Beraht liked to come in at all hours; barging his way into their house without a care, just to remind them that he owned the place, just as he owned them and everything they were. The crime lord, like anybody of rank living in this hole they called a city, took a kind of sick pleasure in grinding everyone beneath him deeper into the dirt until there was nothing left. And since they already were nothing to most of the citizens of Orzammar, there wasn't much they could do about it.

It was an unfortunate truth Joachim Brosca found himself being forced to recognise as he listened to the increasingly heated back and forth between his sister and their slave master.

"Please Beraht," Rica all but begged, fighting to keep any real semblance of composure. "I don't want to do this in front of my brother."

"Aw," Beraht responded as his fingertips caressed her jawline, his words invoking sympathy while his tone was anything but. "Don't know what you're trying to shield him from, precious. Boy should know the lay of the land by now. Don't you, boy?"

Joachim didn't look up. That was the deal, after all. He kept his head down and did as he was told, without question. Anything else could ruin what little freedom and autonomy they had.

"Yessir," he grunted, his eyes never leaving his own hands as he casually pretended to inspect his fingernails.

Beraht had clearly been expecting a sarcastic quip, given how his eyebrows rose with both surprise and a strange sort of silent approval that made Joachim's skin crawl. He didn't like having Beraht's approval. He didn't like giving the man any more reasons to keep him around than what he already had. But antagonising the man put his sister in more danger than she was already in, as Joachim had been taught many times over now.

Knowing that didn't make him want to punch the man in his smug face any less, however.

"Listen to the kid," Beraht drawled in Rica's direction. "He knows the deal you made. He lays low, and does whatever jobs I don't want to risk anyone valuable on."

As he spoke, Joachim staggered to his feet and began heading for the door, not wanting to listen to this. Staying was only going to upset Rica even more, and he had his own shit to do, regardless.

"Hey," Beraht snarled, reaching out and gripping him tightly by the arm, pulling him to a sharp halt. "Did I say you could leave?"

"Oh, sorry," Joachim drawled with a heavy air of sarcasm, ripping himself out of Beraht's grip. "I didn't realise you were in constant need of a sycophantic audience."

"Joachim," Rica called his name, her voice halfway between fear and scolding.

"That is a big word for a duster," Beraht drawled, looking over Joachim with a mild curiosity. "Now where does a shit like you learn a thing like that?"

For a moment, Joachim paused, glancing over Beraht and then Rica, his mouth running dry as he tried to think of something, anything halfway realistic to say. He could hardly admit his expanded vocabulary was a simple side-effect of sharing the lives of six other people; at least three of which had a far superior education to anything he could dream of. He didn't have a way with words like Eugene did – the blasted human could say even the most lurid and offensive things with a magnetic charm, to the point he could probably become a world ending despot and people would still love him. Joachim wasn't nearly so lucky. Whatever unique gift Eugene had been born with that made him so effective with words, it was lost on the dwarf. He was forced to rely on cruder means of getting his point across.

And he'd already paused for too long.

Sighing, he squared his shoulders and looked the Carta leader in the eye. "I pulled it out of Jarvia's cunt."

Joachim had already braced himself for the blow when Beraht swung, his clenched fist slamming into his cheek with what felt like the full force of a rampaging bronto. He collapsed onto the dusty stone floor with a grunt, and barely given a second to recover before Beraht's boot connected with his gut, punching the air from his lungs. Joachim curled up in pain, coughing and gasping, as Beraht stood over him, a grim smile pulling at his lips.

"Don't get smart with me, kid," he spat, flecks of saliva hitting Joachim's throbbing cheek. "I own you."

As if he needed the reminder.

"You've got a week, precious," Beraht continued, his attention back on Rica now. "Fuck some horny noble in that time and make my investment worthwhile, or I'll throw you and your piss stain family back out on the streets myself."

"Beraht-" Rica began, but the other dwarf had long since turned his attention away from her.

"You," he barked at Joachim, who was still sprawled out on the floor. "My shop. Fifteen minutes. Don't even think about being late – your whole damn family's on loose sand with me right now."

And without so much as another word, he walked out of the room roughly slamming the door behind him in what Joachim could only assume was some vague attempt at a show of strength; meant to intimidate both him and his sister.

He didn't know why Beraht bothered. They were firmly on his leash, and never going anywhere. There wasn't anywhere else they could go.

"Why," Rica whispered as she knelt down to inspect Joachim's cheek. "Why do you keep antagonising him like that?"

Joachim sat up with a small grunt, opting not to reply to her question. If he told her the truth – that he just felt so much better if Beraht hated him – she'd only chastise him. After all, Beraht was the only reason they had anything of worth, and the only reason they weren't sweeping streets in a desperate bid to keep from starving.

More than once, Joachim had suggested the surface.

And more than once, that idea had been viciously shot down.

But his family didn't know the surface like he did. No one in Orzammar knew the surface like he did – well, except perhaps Yeva, but she was so determined to ignore the connection and everything that came with it that she barely counted. It wasn't without its problems, Joachim knew that, but at least up there they'd be able to get jobs, make a living wage, and generally be considered people rather than little more than rats. But that wasn't a good enough reason, apparently.

He grimaced. It had been good enough for his father.

"Because he deserves it," he managed after too long, the moment he realised that silence was very quickly getting him nowhere. "Bastard."

Rica tutted at him quietly – in that way she always did when she found herself mothering him. Which was all the time, since their actual mother was too busy sleeping off a drunken stupor more often than not. It wasn't fair. The others had all lucked out with their parents – the ones that had parents, anyway – kind loving people who adored their children and wanted only the best for them. Why couldn't he get that? Why couldn't he be the son of people like Cyrion Tabris, or Endrin Aeducan, or Bryce and Eleanor Cousland? Eisa and Ellis had their respective mentors… even Aneurin had his clan, which were basically his family in every way that mattered. Why was he stuck with a mother who greatly preferred being in a drunken stupor rather than actually engaging with reality? What had he done to deserve that? Was the world just punishing him by letting him experience things he knew he'd never have through people whose lives he'd never get to live?

Of course, standing around moaning about how life treated everyone else better wasn't going to get him anywhere. He'd learned that a long time ago.

Rica let out an exhausted sigh, glancing towards the door Beraht had disappeared through. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

He didn't meet her eye. "What, like I haven't seen it a thousand times already?"

"Joachim-"

"Don't kid yourself, Rica. I've seen it before, I'll see it again, and I'll keep seeing it until I'm dead."

"And I feel like every time you do, part of you dies," Rica replied, either unable or unwilling to hide the shaking in her voice, or the tears that were quickly welling up in her eyes. "You're such a sweet boy, Joachim, I hate what Beraht's turning you into."

"Yeah, well, sweet ain't gonna feed us, is it?" he snapped back in response as he finally pushed himself back up to his feet.

Rica shifted uncomfortably for a second or two, before letting out a huge sigh. "Well, it might."

Joachim blinked several times at that, turning on his heels to face his half-sister with an incredulous look. "What're you talking about?"

"I've met someone," she admitted quietly – with absolutely none of the confidence or pride Joachim would've expected from such an announcement. "Or- or at least… he seemed interested."

"And you… didn't tell Beraht that?"

"It's not certain," she reminded him quietly. "I'm hoping to know for sure before Beraht does anything."

"Who is it?"

"No one important."

"Rica, the whole point of this is for you to fuck someone who is important."

"I know," Rica sighed, throwing her hands up into the air in exasperation. "And can you please at least try to watch your language?"

Joachim rolled his eyes. "Ah, man. She gets talking lessons and all of a sudden she's gotta make sure everybody's talking like right bloody nobles."

"Elocution lessons," Rica corrected him tiredly, her response almost automatic.

Ugh, she sounded so much like the humans that flitted around in his head. He used to try to engage with reality in some sad, last-ditch effort to escape the chaos of the others and their respective lives, and here he was, having to listen to his own sister sound all right and proper.

"…whatever," he grunted irritably. "You know what I mean! And you still haven't told me who you're screwing around with."

"I'm not screwing around with anyone," she told him a little hotly. "I just… don't want to get into specifics yet. It may be nothing."

"It ain't nothing," Joachim insisted, his mood brightening considerably. "We don't even need Beraht. No one ever said we gotta back up his story when he tries to weasel his way into the family."

"You know he'll kill us if we don't."

"And bring an entire damn noble house down on his head," Joachim continued gleefully. "Worth it."

Rica simply laughed – perhaps a little sadly – at that and shook her head. "Pity we won't live to see it. And you're getting ahead of yourself anyway; nothing's actually happened yet."

"Can you imagine the look on his face, though?"

"See, this is exactly why I didn't say anything," she sighed, glancing back towards the door. "You should probably head out. Beraht will want to see you."

That quiet dismissal was about as blunt as Rica ever got. Joachim let out a loud, rather theatrical sigh before nodding at her and heading out the bedroom door and into the main interior of the hovel they called home. Joachim tried not to pay too much attention to it; the cracks in the ceiling, the dirty floors, the few stray pieces of ancient furniture that looked merely seconds away from crumbling into dust at all times. It was more – so much more – than any other casteless could ever dream.

But still, it was difficult to be impressed with this dump when he routinely experienced the splendour of Orzammar's Royal Palace, or Highever Castle, or the unmatched luxury that was Kinloch Hold. Oh, Kinloch Hold. He could see it so clearly… the soft velvet drapes, the astoundingly high ceilings, the impeccably well-kept stone floors, the library that seemed to be the size of Dust Town… he would never understand the seething resentment he knew some mages felt. He'd take the templars' constant vigilance, if it meant he could live somewhere so wondrous.

He'd told Eisa and Ellis that, once. Both had stared at him like he was crazy. But it was normal for them. They woke up to it every day. He didn't think they'd ever understand.

He supposed he would just have to settle for seeing it through their eyes.

"Whozzat?" a croaky voice slurred out suddenly as he made his way through the main room of the house, breaking him unceremoniously from his thoughts. "Rica?"

Joachim stopped dead in his tracks, letting out an exhausted sigh and turning just enough to face his mother, slumped in a dark corner, red-faced and clutching a bottle of what Joachim could only assume was the usual swill she pretty much lived on.

"It's the king of Orzammar," he snarked back. "Heard you were single."

Kalah Brosca's lip curled at her son's words. "Don't you sass me, ungrateful brat. I made you, and I can make another just like you!"

"And where's that gonna get you?" he responded dryly, wincing a little as he could practically hear the startling amount of sheer Eugene in his voice. And it mightn't have been such a bad thing, if it hadn't been directed at his mother.

"…everybody's disrespecting me," she grumbled, staring idly at the bottle in her hands.

Because you just ooze respect, don't you, you old hag.

"S'all 'cause your father-"

"Here we go…" Joachim groaned tiredly, trying desperately not to think about just how familiar this whole situation was, how they went through this routine every single damn morning. "If life's so fucking miserable, how about you do something about it? Or at least shut up and spare us all your damn self-pity."

"Don' you speak t'me like-"

"Just go back to your piss already," he snarled back, moving for the door, before wrenching it open, walking through it, and slamming it behind him with all the force he could muster.

Years ago, seeing his mother like this had upset him. He used to do everything he could to help her, to ease her back to sobriety, to do his best to make a life for them so he could look after her. But after so long listening to her blame all of their problems on him, like he'd been the shitty wife who drove her husband to flee to the surface, Joachim wasn't particularly inclined to feel even the slightest bit guilty.

"About sodding time, salroka," the all too familiar voice of Leske called out cheerfully the instant Joachim stepped out onto the barely kept streets of Dust Town. "And here I was starting to think I'd have to bust in and drag you out."

Joachim waved him off impatiently, saying nothing as he headed out towards the Commons.

"Not that I'd've minded," Leske continued to drawl as he jogged to catch up. "Never gonna pass up an opportunity to get a taste of that gorgeous piece of meat you call a sister."

"Keep talking about her like that and I'll deck you, Leske."

Leske let out a theatrical sigh and rolled his eyes at that. "Really? Straight to the threats? Not even a little bit of playful banter? Someone obviously didn't get their beauty sleep."

Joachim groaned and began carefully massaging his temples as he remembered the reason why exactly he was so tired. "Yeah, no kidding."

"Do I even wanna know?"

For a moment – just one, relatively short moment – Joachim found himself seriously considering telling Leske all about the mess with Ellis' pride demon, just to see his reaction.

Instead, he just shook his head and forced a smile. "Nah."

Dwarves weren't supposed to dream at all, let alone find themselves being actively manipulated and tempted by demons. Joachim didn't know whether to feel special about that. Sometimes, when the Fade was beautiful, he did. But then it would just as easily turn into a nightmare and he found himself desperately wishing it all away. He didn't know how to even begin describing his experiences, most of the time. The more he thought about them, the more he tried to remember them, the less sense they made. Which was strange, because at the time, it all seemed to come together perfectly. It was only ever afterwards when he realised the inconsistencies and the gaping holes in his memory.

More often than not, it was horrifying and twisted and full of things that chilled him to the bone just knowing they were there, that they were watching him. Sometimes, he thought he still felt them, even awake. Lingering in the dark, eyes glinting with light against the shadows, lips hiding too many teeth softly whispering in his ear, just to remind him that they were still there, always watching and waiting for the smallest sign of weakness. He didn't know how the mages dealt with it most of the time. Maybe the trick was not to think about it. Maybe the trick was that they were always thinking about it, always aware, always fighting. Maybe that was the only way they could be.

It all seemed so exhausting to him.

He swallowed uncomfortably as he came out into the relatively – compared to the dark dinginess of Dust Town, at least – harsh light of Orzammar's Commons, ignoring the dirty looks that were constantly thrown his way. Joachim simply kept his head down and tried to stick to the shadows as much as possible, as if he hid away in darkness, maybe people wouldn't notice the brand across his cheek quite so quickly.

He didn't know why he bothered, most days. Almost everyone in this part of the Commons knew exactly who he was, and who he worked for. There wasn't any other reason for a dirty casteless such as himself to frequent Beraht's shop almost every day. Though why Beraht even had a shop when he had the entire Carta at his command was lost on Joachim.

It might've been a nice little place, if the memory of a thousand different abuses weren't what immediately sprang to mind the instant he approached the door.

"Old geezer can't be expected to last much longer," the all too familiar sound of Beraht's voice was saying, just as Joachim cracked open the shop's door and peeked inside.

The interior of Beraht's shop matched its exterior – it was clean, well-kept, looking almost like a respectable joint. Joachim could only wonder how much time Beraht spent keeping it that way, considering the sheer amount of blood that had been spilled on those pristine floors. Not exactly what any self-respecting citizen of Orzammar thought of when they tried to imagine a Carta base.

Maybe that was the point.

"Bhelen seems far more sympathetic to our interests than Yeva or Trian," Jarvia replied dryly, her voice low. "But I don't see a way to keep him in line, even if he does manage to take the throne."

"Bhelen has some tastes of his own that he knows I can provide," Beraht pointed out, his lips cracking into a big, almost sick grin as the words left them. "Trian's got all the tact of a rampaging blind bronto, I'd wager at least half the Assembly sees that. He won't be hard to remove."

"And Yeva?"

Beraht stopped in his pacing then, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing in exasperation.

"The fair princess is bound to be a problem," he growled. "Girl's hardly diplomatic, but she's daddy's favourite, and at least knows when to keep her mouth shut. Assembly's practically all over her. The whole damn city is. We need to-" he cut off the instant he noticed the open door and the curious expressions of both Joachim and Leske watching him, "…we'll continue this later."

Joachim tried not to show his discomfort too much, even as Jarvia shot him a poisonous glare that made his very soul practically wither away and leave his mortal body.

If looks could kill, he thought blandly, already trying to put her out of his mind. No doubt Beraht had told her about his attempts at being a smartass earlier. No doubt she'd taken offence, and was preparing to make him pay for the slight the instant Beraht was done with him.

Jarvia always had been the more twisted, sadistic little bitch of the two. Maybe that was why Beraht liked her so much. Maybe that was why he kept her around, even when her presence with him threatened his reputation. She was casteless just as much as Joachim was – just as much as any other pitiful piece of shit living in the squalor of Dust Town. She could pretend all she wanted, hang around Beraht's side putting on airs of being superior, but the brand on her cheek was just as obvious. There was no hiding that.

It had always given Joachim a small, almost sick kind of pleasure, knowing that. Knowing that she was trapped by the circumstances of her birth just as much as he was.

"About damn time you worthless sacks of shit showed up," Beraht spat in Joachim and Leske's direction as they both awkwardly shuffled their way inside, bringing Joachim sharply back into reality. "Thought I told you to hurry your sorry asses here, no delays?"

Joachim's lip curled at the accusation. They weren't even late. Early, if anything. Beraht was just looking for excuses to hate him today.

It couldn't all be because of what happened with Rica this morning, could it? Beraht wasn't that petty.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose at the thought. What was he thinking? Of course Beraht was that petty.

"Came as soon as we could, Beraht," he told him with a small, exhausted sigh. "You got a job for us or not?"

Beraht's lip curled at that.

"And that's just what everyone likes, isn't it?" he drawled, which only accentuated the venom in his voice. "A mouthy casteless who doesn't know what's good for him."

Joachim opened his mouth to reply then, but almost immediately thought better of it. There was nothing he could say here that wouldn't end incredibly badly. He'd learned that lesson this morning.

A shiver went up his spine the instant he noticed that Jarvia was still glaring at him, a silent promise that he was going to be sorry for ever mentioning her name. Joachim wasn't sure what else he could've done. As dangerous as pissing off both Beraht and Jarvia in one day was, he'd take that over the possibility of either of them discovering the truth about what he was… whatever he was.

A dwarf and an elf and a human and a noble and a mage and a thug and a servant and a princess and a forest savage, all rolled into one?

It had been so long since Joachim had stopped trying to make sense of it. Since he'd accepted that there probably wasn't any sense to make of it. None of them understood their situation, despite their best efforts. Not even Ellis or Eisa seemed to have a clue as to what they were or why they were even that way to begin with. Joachim had a feeling it was going to end up being a mystery that remained unsolved, no matter what.

A sharp pain as Beraht's meaty hand smacked him upside the head interrupted his thoughts then, dragging him, almost kicking and screaming, back to reality.

"You're going to want to listen when I speak to you, kid," came the low, growling admonishment. "No fucking point to keeping you around otherwise, is there?"

Joachim kept his eyes glued firmly to the floor, trying to ignore the stinging pain from the blow. Beraht never did pull his punches.

"Sorry," he grunted monotonously.

Beraht pulled away then, letting out huge, somewhat exhausted sigh as he turned back to Jarvia, and began to pace the length of the shop.

"Yeva Aeducan," he barked out suddenly – causing Joachim to jump at the mention of a name part of him automatically wanted to respond to, like it was his own.

In some ways, it was his own.

That particular thought sent an uncomfortable shiver up his spine like nothing else.

"Uh, yeah?" he managed to force out weakly. "What about her?"

"Our illustrious princess gets her big girl pants today, and half the damn city's up fawning all over her," Beraht drawled. "Bunch of merchants bought their way into the Diamond Quarter, all special like, just for the occasion."

"So why're you slumming it down here with us?" Joachim asked a little snidely. "Couldn't afford your own bribes?"

"Let's just say I've been distracted with… other matters," Beraht answered, not as affected by the question as Joachim hoped he would be. "See, the Warrior Caste is hosting a Proving today – all the best fighters, last man standing, the usual kind of thing – in honour of the city's new commander."

Back in the corner by the door, Leske let out a small snort. "Of course they are."

Joachim didn't react to that news – he'd already heard about it. He'd been hearing about it for what seemed like months now, since everyone in Yeva's life had been fussing over her to the point even she was getting tired of it. He knew about the Proving, about Yeva being strictly forbidden from participating despite her best efforts to convince her father otherwise, about how every fighter worth a damn in the entire city would be competing out of some vain hope that Yeva would abruptly go back on a lifetime of vehement opposition to romantic entanglements of any kind and find herself a suitable husband in all the fanfare.

He doubted it was going to happen. Yeva was a lot of things – most notably short-tempered and frigid and kind of an elitist bitch – but wife material? That certainly wasn't one of them. But most of Orzammar didn't know that, not the unwashed masses, not the Warrior Caste, not the nobility, not really even Yeva's own family. Honestly, it was kind of weird to think that he, some nobody casteless from the depths of Dust Town, knew the princess on such a deep and personal level.

A fact he knew Yeva herself couldn't stand, which honestly kind of pleased him.

"It's not exactly often we get every named fighter in Orzammar lined up like this, and I have certain acquaintances who… well, take an interest in this sort of thing," Beraht continued, all while watching Joachim carefully, as if silently daring him to space out and stop listening again.

That could only mean one thing.

"You're taking bets on the fighters," he observed bluntly.

Of course that was happening. It was exactly the kind of thing the Carta boss got involved in – he never could resist a good payout. Where there was money to be made, Beraht was never very far away.

"Nothing gets past you, huh?" came the response – more sarcastic than genuine, though that was hardly a surprise. "There's a lot of coin to be made when people get the fever up, and this Proving? This is better than most. Especially given the news that the princess herself will be in attendance. With everyone going at it extra hard to impress Her Highness, things are more interesting than they would be otherwise."

"We totally know what you mean, Beraht," Leske piped up then, moving forwards until he was standing beside Joachim, all while shooting him a meaningful look that presumably was his way of begging Joachim not to make it worse. "What d'you need us to do?"

"Favoured fighter's an officer named Mainar; a veteran of four darkspawn campaigns," Beraht continued, taking barely any notice of Leske's ass kissing. "Everd's a longshot. Just got back from a Deep Roads offensive. Some young buck who has all the ladies drooling."

It took all of Joachim's self-control not to yawn. "And…?" he prompted dryly.

"And, I've got a lot of money riding on him," Beraht finished with a growl, his glare never quite leaving Joachim's face. "Mine and other people's. So you'll understand why I'm kinda keen to see those eighty-to-one odds pay off."

"So… what, you want us to force our way in and break Mainar's legs?"

"You're a funny kid, you know that?" Beraht drawled. "No, you idiot. I want you to get inside Mainar's chambers, see when he's fighting Everd, and dump this," he tossed a small pouch in Joachim's direction, "in the bastard's water just before the fight. It'll slow him just enough to take the edge off."

Joachim caught the small leather pouch with one hand and quickly began silently examining it, a thousand questions flooding into his mind; none of which Beraht was likely to answer if he asked them. Like, could someone detect it, and was Everd a strong enough fighter to win regardless, and how exactly he and Leske, two casteless dwarves with no social standing to speak of, planned to get inside the Proving Grounds in the first place.

That seemed kind of pressing, actually.

Almost as if in response to his thoughts, Beraht handed something that looked suspiciously like official passes – either forged or stolen, most likely – to Leske, before gesturing at the door.

"And when I say I have coin on this, I'm not talking about some pittance, like the value of your miserable little life," he continued, looking squarely at Joachim now. "If I don't see Everd's name on the winner's sheet, you'd better make sure I never see you, or your sister, ever again."

Joachim tensed at the threat, his fists clenching so tightly they began to shake. Anger crashed over him like a tidal wave and he found himself having to fight tooth and nail just to keep his composure. It shouldn't have set him off as much as it did, but somehow, hearing Beraht threaten Rica like that… it meant something.

Probably because he knew Beraht could – and undoubtedly would – go through with it. He'd already displayed his willingness to destroy people's entire lives over the smallest perceived slights. Joachim had seen it happen to so many other people like him – families of desperate casteless looking for any way out of the shithole that was their lives. He was determined not to become just another victim.

"Well?" Beraht growled as neither he nor Leske moved. "What're you waiting for? Proving starts in an hour or so, you don't have all day."

Immediately, Leske nodded, quickly reaching out and grabbing Joachim's upper arm and pulling him back towards the exit.

"Sure thing boss," he said with a small two-finger salute, opening the door and pushing Joachim through it. "We got it covered. Don't you worry about a thing."

Joachim staggered from the force of Leske's shove, barely able to regain his balance and prevent himself from falling flat on his ass in the middle of the street. He glared up at Leske as he recovered, his lips pursed into a thin line and his expression sour, but his friend paid him no mind.

"For the sake of the sodding ancestors, Joachim, quit picking fights you can't win," Leske muttered as he carefully made sure Beraht's shop door was fully closed. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"He's going to get what's coming to him," Joachim replied tersely. "One day, he's going to regret threatening my family like that."

Leske rolled his eyes dramatically and pulled away from the shop entrance, instead heading off in the direction of the Proving Grounds as Joachim trailed behind him.

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned, dragging his fingers over his face in exasperation. "If gold fell out of my mouth as I talked, that'd be fucking brilliant. And only slightly more likely!"

Joachim didn't reply to that. There wasn't any point. Leske had always been the more quick-witted of the two, and that wasn't about to change. Joachim knew that words weren't his friends. They never really had been. All he had were principles and fat lot of good that was when he found himself breaking them every day.

The way to the Proving Grounds was crawling with people – probably every caste in Orzammar had a strong representation within the thronging crowd. Joachim couldn't help but keep his head low, out of some kind of shame he knew he was conditioned to have. All he could do was try not to bother anyone too much and hope to the ancestors that no one would take notice of a couple more people fighting their way through the seemingly endless crowd.

All this insanity for just one Proving? Yeva really was popular. He was at a loss as to why. But then, given the choice between her or her brothers, Joachim was inclined to say he'd probably pick Yeva too. He just didn't want to admit it. He wouldn't admit that. Not when there was the possibility of her finding out. And given their situation? There was always the possibility of her finding out.

What would she think, when she realised he had infiltrated her Proving? That he was directly responsible for sabotaging one of the fighters that was to compete in her honour? She may not even care. Alternatively, she could call for his head herself, any connection between them be damned.

Was she really that petty? Probably. Royals always were.

He was so wrapped up in his own anxieties that he barely even noticed the brief confrontation between Leske and the guards who stood watch over the grounds. He barely acknowledged when he was told to stick to the trenches and remain unseen out of fear the princess would notice their presence. He didn't really feel it when Leske gripped his wrist and pulled him roughly forwards, through some doors and down a hall that was lined with rooms upon rooms upon rooms, where the individual fighters could recuperate after their bouts.

He'd never been here before. He'd never been allowed. Maybe it should've meant something, walking these halls for the first time in his life, but he couldn't bring himself to be impressed. He'd seen it all before, countless times, through Yeva's eyes. Seeing it with his own, it didn't look any different.

"Mainar… Mainar…" Leske muttered as he continued out in front, carefully scanning each of the countless doors they passed. "You know, it'd be a whole lot fucking easier to find this asshole if Beraht had told us where to look."

"Sure," Joachim agreed with a grunt. "But since when did Beraht do anything that could be construed as helpful?"

Leske stopped in his tracks then, turning on the spot just to give Joachim an odd look. There was a somewhat tense pause as the two dwarves watched each other, Joachim quickly wilting under Leske's confused but somehow still critical gaze.

"…what?"

"You talk so bloody weird sometimes," Leske replied, his eyes narrowing a little. "Construed. What casteless says that?"

Joachim blinked in surprise.

Shit.

Stupid. Damn. Superior human education.

Why? Why, of all the things he could've absorbed through the others, did it have to be all the big words that only made people more wary of him? Why couldn't it be something useful, like an understanding of magic, or how to fight with something slightly more substantial than the occasional shank? Why did it have to be words?

"Well, you know," he began shakily, a distinct anxious edge in his tone as he frantically tried to think of anything he could use as an excuse. "Rica's all about that now. Guess I picked some stuff up from her."

Whether Leske bought that, Joachim didn't know. Part of him doubted it, but still hoped the subject wouldn't be pressed, regardless. He really didn't want to be the first person of all of them to tell an outsider the truth. He was positive Leske wouldn't believe him, anyway. The whole things sounded too much like magic, and dwarves very specifically didn't do magic.

"Whatever you say," Leske responded tiredly, before nodding at something behind Joachim. "That door over there is open."

Joachim whirled around to see that the door Leske was looking at had been left slightly ajar. "…so?"

"So, every fighter has a timetable, right? Let's take a look while we can," Leske told him, pushing forwards. "Who knows? Maybe we'll get real lucky and it'll be Mainar's quarters."

"Sounds a little like you're depending on divine intervention there, Leske."

"What can I say? I'm an optimist," Leske responded brightly, pushing the door further open and stepping inside, only to almost immediately stop. "Ancestors. Smells like a sodding brewery in here."

"Ooh, somebody's been drinking," Joachim responded in a sing-song voice the instant he made his way into the room himself and was immediately hit with the almost overwhelming stench of alcohol.

Bottles of various kinds littered the floor, dominating almost every surface in the room. Quickly, Joachim bent down and picked one up, hoping to score some free booze while Leske found and began reading the timetable nailed to the wall, but found it sadly empty. As he continued throughout the room, he was starting to realise that all the bottles were empty.

It seemed they had stumbled in on quite the alcoholic. This guy could probably give that angry old redheaded drunk in Tapsters a run for his money. If he hadn't known any better, Joachim might've thought he was the angry old redheaded drunk from Tapsters.

But he did know better, and as he rounded the corner, the man he discovered collapsed on the floor and half falling down the stairs was, in fact, young and blond.

Joachim smirked, nudging the unconscious man with his toe.

"Guess he couldn't take the pressure and started on the grog," he chuckled. "Some fucking warrior."

He glanced back at Leske, expecting to hear him laugh, or at least see a smile on his face, but his friend simply stood there, rooted to the spot, all the colour quickly having drained from his face at the sight of the unconscious fighter.

"We're screwed," he murmured. "We're totally fucking screwed."

"What? What're you even on about? We only just got here."

Leske shook his head. "I'm pretty sure that's Everd."

Immediately, Joachim felt his blood run cold in his veins.

No.

No, no, no. It couldn't be. The universe wasn't that cruel.

"Everd?" he repeated, his voice strangely flat considering the storm of emotion building up inside. "Like, the man Beraht wants to win, Everd?"

Leske didn't reply, instead kneeling over the man on the floor, gripping his face turning it towards him.

"Hey," he called sharply, slapping the young man's cheek. "Hey, asshole. You're drunk."

The poor excuse for a warrior let out a delirious chuckle and rolled over onto his side, his hands blindly reaching out for whomever was speaking to him.

"Mm… hey darlin'," he slurred, his eyes never opening. "You come to see me fight? Everd's more than just a warrior… lemme show you… you'll see…"

Leske let out a dismissive growl as he pulled back, easily breaking Everd's weak grip.

"Yeah, that's him," he confirmed, the despair now clear in his voice. "Sodding idiot, drinking before a fight. A dead man could beat him!"

Joachim pulled back, his mind reeling as he was forced to take in the reality of the situation. He'd never really put much stake in the idea that casteless dwarves had been rejected by the Stone and the ancestors, but this really did seem to prove that assumption. The universe really was that cruel, and it had decided to screw him over in particular.

Because he was casteless?

Because he joined the Carta?

Because he was a dirty, good for nothing criminal who didn't deserve happiness or comfort?

All of the above?

He didn't know.

He began to pace then, relentlessly crossing the length of the room and back again, running his hands through his hair and trying desperately not to look at the unconscious form of the warrior upon which everything was riding.

Of course this would happen! Why wouldn't it happen? Why did he ever expect things to go smoothly? The ancestors were conspiring against him and there was nothing he could do about it. They wanted him to get on Beraht's bad side and subsequently pay the price. Why had he ever gotten it into his head that he deserved anything more than that?

He supposed they could keep looking for Mainar, but fat lot of good that was going to do now. Drugs or not, Everd was going to lose, if he even showed up for his bout at all, and Joachim would find himself being thrown into the lava sinks before the day was over.

And Rica-

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about it. He couldn't.

But there was no way out of this. No way at all, unless Everd miraculously sobered up in the next five minutes and became a better fighter than anything the Warrior Caste had ever seen. At this point, Joachim himself had a better chance of winning against Mainar.

He stopped then, tensing as the thought crossed his mind, even as every fibre in his being screamed at him that it was insane, that it was never going to work, and that he needed to get out of here, find Rica, and flee to the surface before Beraht found out anything.

Could he do that? Could he make it out in time? Could he convince Rica and their mother to come with him? The guards would stop them, probably. And Rica had always been the most resistant to the idea of the surface. She wouldn't leave. She'd insist on trying her luck with her patron, and Beraht would kill her for it. He'd find a way to get to her, no matter how powerful her patron was. Beraht had fingers in all sorts of pots. If he wanted something done, there was nothing that could stop him.

He let out a frustrated growl and angrily lashed out, kicking the wall with all the force he could muster.

Why was this happening? Why was it happening to him, right now? This wasn't a decision he'd been prepared to make today. Things were never supposed to get this bad, this quickly.

"Sod it all," he hissed, pulling away from the wall and turning on the spot to face the chamber door. "I'll do it."

Leske blinked several times, confused and more than a little shocked. "You'll what?"

"I'll do it," he repeated, trying desperately to sound more confident and assured than he felt. "I'll fight in the Proving instead."

"Are you insane?" Leske asked. "You're going to fight Mainar?"

"You got any better ideas?"

Leske's eyes darted from Everd sprawled out on the floor, to Joachim, and back again several times before he let out an exhausted groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I- …no. Shit."

"There you go then."

"You're fucking insane, salroka. He'll murder you."

"I can fight."

"You can throw a punch," Leske corrected. "Fat lot of good that'll do you against a trained swordsman of the Warrior Caste. This is suicide."

Joachim threw his hands up into the air helplessly. He knew Leske was right, but what other option was there?

There wasn't.

There wasn't any other option.

He had to do this.

He had to, and maybe, just maybe, Rica's boyfriend, whomever he happened to be, would be enough to protect her.

He could only hope.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. "But it's suicide either way. I'll take Mainar over Beraht any day."

Leske shook his head, torn between awe and pity. Finally, after way too long, he slapped Joachim on the back in what was supposed to be a reassuring manner, not that it much felt like it.

"Didn't think you'd ever be one to suddenly develop a death wish."

"Just piss off already and let me get in the damn armour, would you?"

There was an agonisingly long pause as Leske hesitated and Joachim just stood there, glaring at him in the vain hope that would get him to move any faster. He didn't know what else to do. He had no real idea of what he was even planning to do, only knowing that it would likely end in a horrible death for him. But if Mainar killed him, at least it would be quick, and a warrior's death. A far better end than whatever creative solution Beraht would inevitably come up with.

Perhaps Leske hesitated to leave because he knew that too. Perhaps some part of both of them understood that they may never see each other again, once he did.

"I'll… uh, I'll- I guess I'll go keep watch," Leske muttered finally.

"You do that," Joachim grunted, keeping his attention fixated on Everd's armour as he heard retreating footsteps, followed by the sound of a door being clicked shut.

It suddenly occurred to him that he'd never worn proper armour before. Certainly not this elaborate and expensive heavy plate. Slowly, he inched towards it, terrified of even touching it, as it gleamed so brightly. He knew what would happen to him if he got caught. He'd lose both of his hands just for taking the armour, let alone illegally competing in a Proving. He'd be lucky if he got away with a clean death after this. He'd be lucky if all they did to him was have him be hanged, drawn, and quartered.

It was all so pathetic, really. Here he was, a hardened casteless criminal and an enforcer of the Carta, too afraid to even get near a warrior's armour, for fear of the consequences.

And yet inching towards it all the same.

Truly, this was the most desperate he'd ever been.

He reached out, fingers outstretched as they slowly moved closer and closer to the breastplate, until he was finally just close enough to feel the cool, smooth metal brush against his fingertips, and-

"Your… friend is right," a new but still horrifying familiar voice pointed out sharply, causing Joachim to bite back a scream as he leapt back in surprise. "Mainar is a veteran and a warrior of skill far above your own."

Frantically, Joachim whipped around, eyes wide with fear and clutching his hand to his chest, his gaze coming to rest on the young woman standing before him.

This was everything he'd been hoping would never happen.

"O-oh! Hey!" he practically screamed out in panic, already taking several steps backwards in some final desperate attempt to get away from her. "It's- …uh, it's not what it looks like!"

The woman's eyes narrowed critically as she leaned back against the wall, folding her arms tightly across her chest and looking dismissive. Joachim kept moving back as far as possible, ultimately hitting the stone wall and wishing with every fibre of his being that he could simply melt into it. For so long, neither of them said anything, simply watched each other, him in fear and her out of some twisted curiosity.

Of course she would show up now. That was so like her. He may as well prepare himself to be arrested, because he knew the guards would come bashing down the door any minute now.

"Isn't it?" she drawled quietly, critically glancing up and down his tensed frame. "Because it looks like you're deliberately trying to sabotage a Proving."

"Why would I do such a thing?" he asked, hating himself as his voice immediately shot up an octave.

"You're casteless," she reminded him bluntly. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Yeva-"

"You will not address me by name," she cut across him viciously, her expression cold and hard. "Casteless don't have that right. You are no exception."

Joachim tried not to flinch at her tone; at the dirty look on her face that she always had every time she found herself so much as glancing in his direction.

Once upon a time, she hadn't been like this. They used to look to each other as friends. They used to share so much of themselves with each other, strong in the solidarity of being two dwarves amongst a gaggle of elves and humans. But, just like his mother, just like everyone important to him in his life, Yeva had changed. He couldn't say when, exactly. It must have been a gradual shift, because he hadn't even noticed until, one day, she hadn't spoken to him in months and began watching him with the same cold glare she'd been wearing ever since. And soon, any connection, any semblance of friendship they'd once had, was nothing more than a distant, half-forgotten memory.

Joachim didn't know what he'd done to deserve her ire. He didn't know if he'd done anything at all.

"Why this Proving?" she demanded as she moved forwards, pushing herself off the wall and beginning to pace the length of the room. "Why today? Do you know what today is for me? Can you even begin to understand what it means? Are you doing this simply to torment me?!"

"It's not about you," he insisted, still pressing himself against the wall as hard as he possibly could, never taking his eyes off her. "If I don't do this, Beraht will kill me. And Rica."

"I have had enough of the things you claim to do in order to protect the little whore you call a half-sister," she shot back at him, her tone low and icy – so much so that in that moment, Joachim wasn't sure whose wrath he found more frightening; hers, or Beraht's. "What does it matter, anyway? Your plan will never work. Even if you manage to keep your identity hidden, you will never win."

"I've got the drug," Joachim pointed out quietly, deciding that not reacting to her was his best possible course of action.

As much as he hated Yeva for the things she said, as much as he wanted to yell and scream at her, as much as he wanted to give her even half the abuse she routinely gave him, he knew he couldn't. Because if he knew one thing about her, it was that she was in a far better position to hurt him than Beraht ever was.

Her lip only curled at his response, however.

"A drug that will not damage Mainar enough to give Everd, let alone an unskilled Carta thug such as yourself, a chance to win," she hissed. "It's pointless. Beraht will lose his money, and he will place the blame on you."

Joachim hated that. Hated listening to her. Hated knowing she had a point, that she was right. But what else was he supposed to do? Just lay down and take it? That wasn't an option. She knew it wasn't an option!

"Provings are more than just a test of martial skill," she continued, barely acknowledging him. "There's an etiquette everyone must abide by."

"So?"

"So, you will need to be a better fighter to best Mainar," she pointed out. "And you will have to be a better liar if you want to keep your identity hidden."

For the longest time, Joachim just stared at her, agape. A better fighter? A better liar? But that meant-

He groaned at the realisation.

"You want me to get Eugene to do this for me," he said in a flat, defeated deadpan.

"No," she said with a shake of her head, a few stray strands of her carefully and immaculately braided hair falling out of place. "I want you to think, for once in your life. Who here has the training? Who here has competed in Provings countless times before? Who here knows you, knows Mainar, and Everd; not to mention how each of you fight? Who is this whole spectacle even for?"

There was a deathly silence as he stared, not ever quite processing her words properly. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You're not actually saying-?"

Yeva's hostile expression did not change.

"Put the armour on," she ordered, while squaring her shoulders and her eyes flicking up to meet his. "You won't fair well without it."

Suddenly, even though she was small and slight for a dwarf and a fair few inches shorter than he was, Joachim found himself too terrified to disobey her. He quickly snatched up Everd's armour and pulled it on, struggling with various buckles as he tried to frantically work out what went where. He struggled for almost a full minute before Yeva let out a thoroughly irritated sigh and quickly took over, expertly doing up the armour like it was her own. Joachim simply stood there and watched as she picked up the helmet, and pulled it down over his head, her thin, delicate fingers quickly and roughly tugging at the chin strap and pulling it almost uncomfortably tight.

"But I- …I don't understand," Joachim murmured, pushing up the visor so he could look at her properly, in some attempt to see any signs that she was having him on. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because, like you, I have a vested interest in keeping both you and your sister alive," she snarled, releasing her grip on the buckles of Everd's helmet, causing him to stagger back a step or two. "I don't know what happens when one of us dies. And I don't intend to find out."

The corners of Joachim's lips quirked at that. "You really want to compete, don't you?"

She shot him a dirty look as she reached up, clasped the sides of the visor, and brought it slamming back down. "I'm helping you manipulate the outcome of a Proving being held in my own honour. Do not make me regret it."

Joachim winced slightly as it happened, unable to help but feel somewhat claustrophobic in the helmet. The armour was heavy – far more so than anything he'd ever worn before – and it clanked uncomfortably loudly with each step he took towards the door.

"Damn," Leske said with a low whistle as Joachim pushed open the door of Everd's quarters and emerged back into the hallway. "You actually kinda almost look the part. Where's the drug Beraht gave you? There's still time, I should be able to find Mainar's quarters and dump it in his water before the first bout starts."

Joachim glanced uneasily at Yeva, who simply rolled her shoulders back and exhaled loudly in what seemed to be sheer exasperation.

"No," she replied with such authority Leske actually backed away slightly in surprise. "No drugs. I win with skill alone."