AN: Yep, second chapter finished. I dedicate this one to A Timid Soul. Thanks, man. Without you, I would have had to give up on this story as well.

"…eternally in your debt. You can count on Orzammar to send you every last able-bodied man we can spare."

Duran looked up. He had spent the last hour or so in a stupor, impassively looking at the commotion that had ensued after Bhelen's betrayal but not really seeing it. First now, in Harrowmont's study, were the newly-crowned king was heaping thanks on him like dung, he had snapped out of it.

Harrowmont had taken of his crown and had set it upon a special cushion next to his desk, finding it to taxing to carry the symbol of his newly-won power with him at all times. A fitting analogy, Duran thought dryly.

He silenced the elderly noble's ramblings with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Very good, thanks. I myself am, of course, indebted to you as well for your generous help in my own efforts." He made a futile attempt to smile, but stopped when he saw Harrowmont take a fearful step back upon seeing his expression. Instead he half-turned to leave. "I'm deeply sorry, milord, but alas, my attention is needed elsewhere." He made a point of not bowing and turned without waiting for a reply.

Harrowmont gave a nervous laugh. "Yes, I can see that." He laughed again, another short nervous laugh. "I'm sorry, I am not myself right now. " A pause. "To think that the young lord Aeducan would actually sink so low… I guess there are rotten eggs in every family."

Duran had already been half outside the door when he stopped. He knew, in a distanced way, that what he had just heard was just weeks of stress leaving Harrowmont's body, that the old noble right now had about as much control over himself as an old lyric miner. Knew it. But stopped nonetheless. Turned.

Very slowly, with deliberate care, he entered the study again and carefully locked the door behind him. Harrowmont had stopped babbling like an infant and watched him with big eyes, sensing the sudden change in atmosphere.

Before he knew what he was doing, Duran stood in front of him the older dwarf again and grabbed him by his ornamented garments to fling him across the room like a twig.

Harrowmont crashed loudly against the opposite wall and slid down to the ground, from where he did not rise again. Duran strode over to hoist him up on his feet and smashed the noble's back against the wall again. Harrowmont gave him a look of raw horror and struggled weakly against his grip, which went unregistered through the red mist that had defended upon Duran's vision. He smashed Harrowmont against the wall again and again, ignoring the weakly struggling noble underneath him.

A half-strangled moan broke from the old dwarf's lips, snapping Duran out of his sudden blood rage. He looked at Harrowmont's beaten face, whose eyes had rolled back in their orbits. "…-rgive mu, blease…" Harrowmont managed to force out. Duran let him fall down where he stood, where the old noble crumpled to a heap. Duran turned around to walk back to Harrowmont's desk, where he desperately tried to steady himself, while Harrowmont was still sitting with his back against the wall, unmoving and muttering.

His sudden outburst shamed him more than Duran cared to admit. It was unlike him to loose his cool like that, and he normally prided himself on being able to stay detached and cold in most situations, making logical and intelligent decisions even in difficult situations.

But Harrowmont was not the only one who had reached his limit. During the last few days, Duran, too, had been forced to confront many memories and hardships that he would rather have liked to avoid. The confrontation with Bhelen had given him the rest; he could feel himself slipping, feeling exhausted, frustrated, horrified, disgusted with himself and this parade in which he had to play the part of the higher power's plaything…

No more!

He was done with the mockeries of the dwarven nobles and their pretentious tug-of-war games that had cost him his family, his happiness, everything he had loved about his life…

No more!

When he turned around to face Harrowmont again, his face like stone and his voice was hard.

"Today, I killed the last remaining member of my family in order for you to wear this fool's cap!" He pointed at the crown at its velvet cushion. Harrowmont said nothing, just continued to stare at him dumbly, eyes big and mouth agape. Duran turned away again. "I don't care what you plan on doing now that you managed to finally get your hand on the throne. Go play pretender, for all I care. It is not your throne, anyway. You might as well enjoy it for as long as you can. But do not belittle Bhelen. His demise today was an inevitability. My father's and Brother's deaths demanded it, not my loyalty to you. You are only half the man Bhelen was, and you will only be half the king he would have been." Harrowmont's eyes grew even bigger upon hearing this. Duran saw it, too, and understood. He didn't know wether to laugh or cry. "What? Does that seriously surprise you? Did you hope that, after decades of thralldom, you would finally be able to be the master instead of the servant? That you could gain a king's power with no strings attached?" He leaned down to old dwarf, his eyes now narrow slits of anger. "Well, I must admit that I'm not very sorry about shattering that delusion of yours, not after what you said." He straightened again, staring down on Harrowmont with unconcealed spite. "This crown-" he pointed on it again with a harsh gesture "-should have been on my head today, not yours. I was the one chosen by the Paragon and gifted with the right of kingship, and you hold it right now only because of my generosity and duteousness. Know this-" and with that he bent down to Harrowmont again to whisper in his ear "-that you, for the rest of your life, are nothing but a king out of my mercy."

And with that, Duran turned around one last time to leave forever.

He had agreed with his companions to meet again in the Commons, at the entrance to Diamond Quarters. Not finding them there, he steered his steps towards Tapster's, and sure enough, he found them there huddled around one of the dwarven-sized tables in the back of the taproom, half concealed by the tavern's gloom and it's merrily carousing patrons. As soon as Duran had set foot into the tavern, Rascal, the mabari, jumped up and ran to greet him. His impetuosity incited several yells of irritation among the guests.

"Easy, boy, easy." Duran calmed the dog with a short pat on the head. Rascal gave a short bark, and wagged his tail. "One could think he's a mother hen and you are his chick. We had to bribe him into following with us." Duran looked up. Alistair had come to him as well, and was now standing in front of him, giving him an embarrassed grin. "Sorry that we left, but Oghren wouldn't stop whining and cursing about being thirsty and all. And watching him spouting his drunken nonsense becomes quite amusing after a while. We would have waited, but you took longer than expected, and so we thought there would be nothing wrong with letting him have his way." Duran nodded and let his gaze wander down to his gloves. There was blood on them. "Sorry about that. Me and 'his majesty' got into a little argument." Alistair followed his gaze and saw the blood. He paled. He, better than anybody, knew Duran and his terrible body strength from countless spars and playful bouts while they had been in camp, and that he came from the king's audience now with stained knuckles left sinking feeling of dread in Alistair's stomach. "Is he…" He did not finish his sentence. Duran looked up again. "What? Oh no, don't worry. He's fine, just had his feathers ruffled a little." - "Right." Alistair was not convinced. "Are you going to regret what you just did?" Duran looked down on his hands again. "Probably, but I'll get over it. Come, now." He turned around. "Rally the others. I don't want to stay a minute longer in this hole if I can help it."

This first breath of fresh air was almost as good as it had been three four months, when he had first seen the surface. Before then, Duran had never understood why any dwarf would willingly leave the comforts Orzammars, and had always looked down on the dusters, the outcasts, especially the ones who had originally been born underground and had left for the surface for commercial reasons. Now, he understood them better. He had been overwhelmed by the sheer space, the openness that had presented itself before him. In the weeks to follow, he'd had the same experience whenever he had stepped outside, left the confining walls of, for instance, a tavern he had been resting in, or even when leaving his tent in the morning. Now, the sensation showed itself more rarely, but after weeks of time spent underground, it hit him again: the sudden lightness, the diversity of sudden impressions,… He almost wanted to spread his arms and simply fly away in the sky.

The thought almost brought the smile back to his lips. Looking to his side, he saw Oghren, who seemed similarly overwhelmed by the view that presented it to himself. He was making round eyes, and his mouth had formed a dark hole, as he slowly turned around, taking in everything about his new surroundings.

"Quite an experience, huh?" Duran grinned. Oghren turned slowly to look at him. "Is it always like this?" he whispered devoutly. Duran stepped forward to stand next to him. "In a way. It will probably fade at some point, but it will never disappear completely." He sighed. "To bad the weather is like this. When I saw it the first time, it was much more clear, and you could see all the way down into the next valley. But still, it is quite magnificent as it is." Oghren suddenly laughed. It was a different laugh than the one Duran had heard from him before, not sarcastic, or drunken, or bloodthirsty. It sounded like a genuine laugh, and suddenly Oghren looked much younger than he was before, not gritty and dirty and miserable as he had back in the city. He straightened himself and took a step forward. "Well then! What are we standing around here for then, like Brontos with the runs? Looks like we're wasting daylight." He chuckled to himself again. "Still a lot to do, as far as I bothered to pay attention." With that, he went ahead, the rest of the group following him slowly.

"Right." Duran muttered to himself. "Thanks for reminding me." And so he,too, went, without a single look back.

Trian. Father.

Bhelen.

I never hated you. How could I ever have hated you? I can even understand you, to a degree. I just wish things could have been different.

I also wish I had more time. To properly mourn you. To be able to remember. Remember the little boy with these incredibly big, inquisitive eyes. Remember the young soldier, so full of excitement and ideals and passion.

But I have a mission. A mission bigger than everything else in my life, and I know it would just shame all of you, were I to put my own selfish desires before it. One day, when the Deep Roads will swallow me, we will be reunited, and then I will have time. Maybe even before that. But until then…

I may have no regrets.