Dragon Age: The Crown of Thorns

by Karmic Acumen

There's something to say about trying to hold onto basic decency in a den full of snakes. It kills you or drives you insane. Or both. Why else would he get himself exiled on purpose? Not that surfacer lords proved much better. Good thing the other Grey Wardens were there. They had such wonderful common sense. Well, most of them, the Assembly was still deadlocked about one or two.

4. Prelude 4: A Long Day

Chapter 4: The Sudden Conclusion to A Very Long Day

"To slay or save one's kin. Sometimes, the only way to achieve either is to do both."

Morning eventually came, but it felt as though an eternity had passed. Raonar could not close his eyes the entire night, instead sitting, cross-legged, in the middle of his bedroom, waiting, his forehead leaning against his clenched right fist. He kept seeing the deathly gaze his father had given him just before he had left the throne room and his ears ringed with his brother's angry declaration. "You should have just died in that Deep Roads excursion!" The memory replayed in his mind, again and again, as the prince strove, hopelessly, to remember something, anything that could at least suggest that Trian didn't mean what he said. it was futile, for the only thing the second son could recall was the intense hate that his elder burned with at that time. Raonar looked up and saw that the last grains of sand in the Hourglass Wall were about to tickle away. And as he saw it, a more pleasant memory, from a more distant past, unexpectedly came to him and almost seemed to soothe the pain he felt inside his chest.

The Hourglass Wall was one of his mother's most interesting inventions. As a great sculptor, she was responsible for some of the more entrancing works of stone art in the Diamond Quarter. Essentially, the wall that the Prince's bed stood in front of was carved in intricate patterns, as if a multitude of miniature river beds gradually came together until they were all united in one single channel. Through them, the 'water', in this case lyrium sand, flowed until it disappeared beneath the floor. A large reservoir, carved directly into the black granite above the ceiling, was where the sand itself was kept, replenished each morning by the servants of the family. Every evening, the Prince would press a stone switch and the glowing sand would start to tickle through the myriad of small passages, creating a show of light that seemed to draw one's soul closer to the ancestors. The sand lasted for exactly nine hours. The prince approached the wall and caressed the thick, cold glass that covered the sculpture. He then let his forehead rest against it and just stood there for a time, until he saw the last grain of sand slip out of sight. And as that happened, his memory of himself and his two brothers playing around their beloved mother as she delicately shaped the rock, while the King lovingly gazed upon them, all those 16 years ago, faded back into the deepest reaches of his mind.

Gorim had not shown up. This troubled the Prince, since his second should have already been there to inform him if anything had changed regarding the plans for the day. There was no need, of course, as Raonar already knew that the mission would go on as planned, even in spite of the events of the previous evening. He put on his armor by himself, grabbed his shield and his blade and, after gazing upon the crystallized representation of Orzammar one last time, slowly, but unwaveringly, left his dormitory and, then, his home, knowing he may never see the inside of those walls again.

Naturally, life in the city was going on as usual, since no one even remotely suspected that anything was amiss in the Palace, at least nothing besides the usual rivalry between siblings. The Diamond Quarter was now free of merchants and the Nobles were leaving their various estates in order to go see the soldiers off and, of course, indulge in the latest gossip. The Prince strode onwards as they enthusiastically greeted him or nodded in acknowledgment, and though he answered them all with a smile, their haughty countenance did not do his mood much good. Eventually, he reached the gates, next to which, on a stone bench, Gorim was seated, his hands together and his chin resting upon them. His eyes were closed and the Prince immediately knew something was amiss. He stopped in his tracks just in front of him and simply waited.

"Oh... Forgive me, my lord" Gorim uttered as he opened his eyes. He was a bit startled since he was taken by surprise but immediately got up and bowed. "How are y..."

The warrior immediately stopped as he suddenly realized what a stupid thing it would be to ask the Prince how he was feeling while knowing all that had happened that previous evening. He then studied his lord's face and was saddened to see it rough and weary, no longer soft and vibrant as it used to be.

"Are you alright?" Raonar asked him with an obvious concern in his voice. "You didn't come to the palace..."

"Am I alright? You're asking me if I'm alright?" his second replied with a tint of anger after which he dropped all notions of protocol. "Look at you! You look as though you haven't slept in months! Your eyes can barely be seen behind those black circles and even your father has less creases on his brow than you do right now! Why... Why did you... Why did you have to do that! Even though all you get in return is scorn and spite, you still protect that asp of a man and even..." Gorim managed to lower his voice at the last second, noticing that people had begun to stare. He then started fidgeting and scratching his forehead, struggling to regain his composure. "By the Ancestors' beard! What-" he was suddenly cut off as the Prince burst into a clear laughter, much to the confusion of the few that were passing by.

"Ah, Gorim! You magnificent fool!" the prince proclaimed as light started to return to his face. "Even though you were born warrior caste you somehow always manage to say exactly what I need to hear. Truly your family must have come from a great line of bards! Ah, how refreshing it is to hear you shout!"

On any other day, the warrior would have protested at the absurdity of that statement but, as it was, Gorim was simply relieved to see some of his lord's spirit return. The two then left and made their way through the commons, straight to the Deep Roads entrance. There, they met their escorts who led them to the underground crossroad where the armies had gathered. Everyone, including the Grey Wardens, were already present. Raonar and Gorim approached just as tactical directives were being distributed.

"Trian and his men will go with the Grey Wardens, clearing the farthest road," Lord Harrowmont dictated.

"That is a sound course of action," Duncan said, "We should be able to sense the Darkspawn, and avoid them once the way is open."

"Now then, get to your stations," the King ordered.

"Come men, glory awaits!" Trian shouted as he prepared to leave, at which point he noticed Raonar and his second approaching. He said nothing, but gave Gorim a nasty glare just before he strode off with his troops.

"Bhelen, you and your men will second the King, clearing the main path," Harrowmont continued after the Grey Wardens and the heir had left.

"Are you sure this is the right idea?" Bhelen protested, "Entrusting the hardest part of the mission to these... outsiders."

"Are you questioning the battle plan?" Harrowmont asked, slightly unnerved.

"Of course not!" Bhelen replied, sarcastically, "I'm sure your caution is for the glory of us all..."

"Enough Bhelen!" King Endrin demanded, "Take your men and make ready! Harrowmont and I need to have words with your sibling."

Bhelen looked at Raonar as he walked up, after which he glared at Harrowmont and turned to leave. "Good luck brother," he said, obviously annoyed.

Before long, only the King, the Prince and their respective attendants were left, along with their troops, which waited some way off in front of the cavern entrances that they would brave that day. For a time, none said anything, as they were still marked by the events of the previous evening. Gorim started fidgeting, fearing that it was now inevitable for his lord to learn of how he had so rashly renounced his loyalty to the throne and revealed the secret of the prevented assassinations. As time dragged on, however, and silence thickened, he couldn't help but stare at the King and see how uncertain he looked.

"This is getting morbid," Raonar suddenly remarked. "It is as I predicted. Father will resign himself to waiting and seeing just what will come of the three of us. The day will proceed as planned, so why are the two of you hesitating? Or did you reconsider your options and have come up with a better idea than the one I had last night?"

"Your father is worried about you," Harrowmont tried to explain, obviously concerned himself since he, too, was quite fond of the Prince, especially after what had transpired.

"And yet he does nothing," Raonar calmly noted. "Ah, but I am just being grumpy because I didn't get any sleep last night."

Endrin now noticed that his son's face was far less lively than he had gotten used to and the complexion of his skin had seemingly changed overnight. The King could not help but remember the look on the faces of seasoned veterans, tired by war and death, that he had so many times greeted upon their return from the deeps.

"Even before I had said anything, there was nothing that compelled you to actually participate in this mission, father," his son went on to saying, sighing heavily. "Why didn't you just stay home and rest?" he then continued, suddenly dropping all pretenses and clearly showing his own concern for his parent. "I'm already worried about enough even without having to worry I may lose you too."

"How can I just stay put?" Endrin retorted with a mixture of faint anger, grief and fear, "How can I just stay idle after all those grim things you said last night?"

"Do you even believe any of it?" the Prince boldly asked. "You do not. At least not all of it. And the so-called battle plan is proof of that. You had Bhelen's men second yours. You want him close, you want to watch him, you hope that I was wrong and that he's the same, innocent child you convinced yourself he is. And if he's not, you hope you'll at least be able to keep an eye on him and stop him from going ahead with his mad scheme." The young man's voice was direct but gentle. Raonar knew he had already brought a year's worth of grief upon Endrin the previous night and it pained him that his father was so determined to not spare himself the worst that was yet to come.

"Bah, it doesn't matter!" the prince burst. "It's out of both of your hands now. So let me go on with my mission to clear the eastern tunnels and meet up with the other forces afterwards... or did those plans change when I wasn't looking?"

The King said nothing more, leaving it to Harrowmont to explain that the second son's mission had, indeed, been changed. Apparently, a special task had been reserved for him, namely investigate what lay ahead of an ancient entrance carved into the stone. The previous King, Ansgar Aeducan, father to Endrin and grandfather to Raonar and his brothers, believed that that door led to the ancient Aeducan Thaig which had been lost for some time. The legendary shield of the Paragon Aeducan himself was supposedly still located somewhere within. The tunnels beyond were narrow and rather dark, as lyrium veins were not as abundant as in other parts of the kingdom. As such, the prince was to take a small strike force, only a couple dozen soldiers, meet up with the two scouts sent ahead and explore the tunnels and the ruins in the search for the shield. Raonar listened closely to what was being said, and with every word, his own suspicion were being confirmed.

"This is foolhardy!" the youth protested. "After all that happened you're just going to send me on an errand to retrieve some shield?"

"Child," Harrowmont interrupted, "Your father just wants what's best for yo-"

"That's the problem! He's being biased again!" the prince responded angrily. "This isn't just some gift for me, a nice mission that would bring me glory! This is his way of making sure that I'm as far away from Trian as possible! He's trying to keep me out of harm's way, the same way he's always shown how I was his favorite. Trian and his forces just went on ahead to fight Darkspawn and ancestors know what else! Don't you two have minds of your own? What do you think will happen when they're tired and decimated after they fight all day? Didn't you listen to what I said last night?" Raonar's eyes had widened and his countenance had become fierce, to the point where the stone itself appeared to tremble under his voice. He immediately lowered the intensity, however, as he noticed that even the soldiers, although far off, had started to give out questioning looks. "I'm not the main target here, Trian is," he said as he restored his composure. "The idea was for Bhelen to believe I wanted to kill him so that he wouldn't hire mercenaries to do it instead! If I'm leagues away, how in the world is he supposed to believe that!" Endrin watched as his son got unnerved, how he started to pout and glare. He never remembered seeing him so agitated before. Then, Raonar let his face rest against his palm and scoffed. "Father, this is your one mistake. You treating me like your favorite isn't making my job any easier."

"it's just as you say, my son," Endrin suddenly begun, slightly taking his child by surprise. "I'm being biased. And it's because of what you refrained from saying last night." The father and the son's eyes met for a moment and they stood still, motionless. "You said I am a strong king, but what you stopped yourself from also saying was that, as a man, I was weak. And it's true, I am a foolish man that clings to false hopes. I am a weak man that can't even love all his children equally. And I am a blind man that can't even see the abyss in front of him, even as he takes the fall."

"But if you know this then why?" Raonar asked, though he knew the answer. "Why are you still taking all the wrong precautions? Why do you chose to decide against what you should decide?"

"It's exactly because of something else you said yesterday: the venom in our city has festered beyond hope. If Bhelen is really planning against you two, then he has already drunk enough of that poison to become a serpent and is no longer my child. And if Trian was actually foolish enough, and hateful enough of you, his own sibling, that he would want to kill you, then he is no better. You were the only one who wouldn't commit fratricide. I'll not lose all my children in the same day!"

Raonar watched his father and his heart ached with anguish at how utterly desperate and confused he was. And as he realized that his own part in his father suffering was prominent, his facial expression turned from defiant to pity. For his father looked as though he was on the end of his rope, as if he was about to lose all purpose.

"Why didn't you talk to me?" the child eventually pleaded. "Why didn't you confer with me before deciding on this? You're sidelining me even though being as close to Trian as possible right now is the best idea... unless..." a realization struck him. "Ah... I see...So that's how it is... Very well, I understand." He paused and put on a straight face, stroking his beard, after which he gazed in the direction of the King's own forces, as if looking for something. Eventually, his eyes stopped searching and he turned his gaze back towards his distraught father. "Then if you're going to be so stubborn about this, I'll want a boon."

The king had not expected this but he could clearly see that his son, though he had conceded to his wishes, would not back down from this one request.

"Alright..." Endrin accepted in a resigned tone.

"Baizyl Harrowmont," the prince unexpectedly uttered in a commanding voice. "You will add him to my contingent."

Lord Pyral Harrowmont's scrutiny of the entire situation was immediately thrown off track as he heard the second eldest Prince demand that his cousin be made a part of his armies. Nevertheless, he said nothing as the King sent for the warrior. Soon enough, Baizyl himself showed up. He was clad in fine dwarven studded leather and his sword and round shield hung off his back.

"You asked to see me, my king?" Baizyl asked as he approached, after which he noticed Raonar was present and immediately showed an earnest smile. "Ah, your highness! It's an honor to see you here! I hope today turns out to be one where the Ancestors find enough favor to shower us all with glory." He then noticed how unusually pale and tired the prince looked and immediately became slightly concerned. "Are you alright, my lord? You look ill..."

"We called you here," Pyral began "Because the Prince wants you to accompany him and his men."

"Ah, truly?" he asked, surprised but in no way disheartened. "Then I am honored! I shall then... do my best to keep an eye out for any deep stalkers as we go along, yes? Just like old times!"

"Ha!" the prince answered with a smile "I'd rather it not be like old times. I seem to recall getting horribly lost and almost losing track of the army. Or was it the army that got lost... I never do seem to remember. Ah well..." After that, he turned to Gorim. "You two go greet the men then. I'll be there shortly."

The loyal second simply nodded and, accompanied by an amused Baizyl, walked off, leaving only the King, Lord Harrowmont and a thoughtful Prince of Orzammar in the middle of the underground crossroads. For a time, none said anything, and with each second that passed by, their hearts sank deeper and deeper. Eventually, Raonar stopped stroking his mustache and sighed deeply, after which he exhaled from the bottom of his lungs and took his father by surprise by embracing him. It took a while, but when the King finally got over his astonishment, he gathered enough courage to hug him back.

"Don't worry father," the Prince said with his eyes closed while only Harrowmont could see how grim and sad his face looked. "Though you have already given up on your eldest and youngest, I have not. By tonight, this will all be over, for better or worse. And even if the worst comes to pass, at least your uncertainty will have gone away." The prince then slowly left his father's arms and left.

Gorim and Baizyl were giving the two dozen soldiers whatever directions were needed as they noticed that Raonar himself was finally drawing near. Then they saw him stop in his tracks and gaze at them all, as if studying them.

24 men, plus Gorim, Bayzil and himself, the Prince counted. Not exactly a very glorious number for his first military commission, he reasoned. He then looked at their faces. Some were older than he was and had the look of men that had seen battle before. Others were young, some even younger than himself, and looked a bit uneasy. However, the common thing about most of them, except some of the older veterans, was that they looked eager, hungry for battle even. This seemed to reinvigorate the Prince and he decided to take all of his unease and grief and shove in the deepest parts of his brain. He would not lead these brave men to their deaths.

"Is everyone ready?" he asked Gorim as he drew near, noticeably more determined. Gorim nodded. "Good. And I assume the Bronto isn't one of those who'll run off at the first cavern ant we encounter? It would be nasty if we ended up without provisions and ammunition half-way through the Thaig, now wouldn't it?" The Prince's tone was surprisingly playful and Baizyl smirked as he heard those words.

"Haha!" Baizyl laughed, "Yes, I suppose it would be quite the sight. Then you'd have to go track it down and bring it back, along with all the weapons and provisions, just in the nick of time like last time. I don't know how you managed to pull that off but I do believe at least half the men would have been killed in that darkspawn attack three years ago if you hadn't."

"Yes, running about the tunnels trying to find lost cattle was quite glorious indeed! Let's hope I won't have to repeat performances, shall we?" the Prince joked warmly. After that, he walked among the men, looking each of them in the eyes as he went along, until he reached the stone door, now open wide.

He stopped and placed his hands on both sides of the entrance, as if trying to feel the stone itself. After that, he just stood there for a time, gazing into the dark path that lay ahead. Lyrium veins were few, so the light was very dim, even compared to the other tunnels he'd been in. Then, to everyone's surprise, he picked up a pebble and threw it into the passage as far as he could, after which he listened to see what sound it would make. Or so it seemed to the soldiers.

The Commander turned around and, with a straight but determined face, gave his first order. "Get in a straight line and tie yourselves by the waist to the one in front and the one behind you." The men were a bit surprised, some confused, but they obeyed. Soon enough, they were all linked to each other with the same type of braided rope. When it was done, Gorim and Baizyl stepped in front, next to Raonar, and prepared to do the same, but the Prince stopped them. "You two are with me. We'll be the vanguard for now. (turns to the soldiers) Now, all of you, put on your full helmets. If we encounter darkspawn, you'll not want their blood in your eyes or even on your skin. Stay alert!"

Raonar was the first to enter the dark passageway, followed immediately by his second and Baizyl, who had taken a hold of the rope that linked the soldiers together. They walked on for a time, undisturbed, and the men started to wonder at the point of being tied up in that fashion. By all accounts, if they were going to be ambushed by darkspawn, they would immediately get slaughtered for not being able to move freely. They did not have much time to question the intellectual capacity of their leader, however, as the ones at the back immediately learned the reason for the Commander's precaution. Suddenly, just as the force drew a wider area that split into several smaller paths, the recruit that was second to last in the row felt something pulling him back and, strangely, upwards. And when he turned around, he immediately understood the reason behind the odd formation that had been decided upon.

"Cavern spiders!" he cried out, alerting the others, who suddenly turned around and saw the last soldier as he had been grabbed by a crawler that was still trying to carry him off. His mouth and nose were already covered in spider web and he struggled to get free of the hold. At once, all the other felt the impulse to rush and grab onto him.

"Hold your positions!" Raonar at once commanded in a thundering voice that caused them all to flinch. "Panic now and you'll all fall over! You two! (points to the two at the farthest end) grab onto the rope and hold fast! Gorim, Baizyl, get over there and cut him loose!" At once the two warriors rushed back and, within the span of a few seconds, had almost reached the scene. In that moment, Gorim, who was ahead, suddenly stopped and turned around, bending forward and putting his hands together in order to help the one behind him jump to the man's rescue. The next instant, the lightly armored Baizyl stepped into the leverage the former had provided and was propelled upwards, enough so that he managed to reach as high as to grab onto the captive. And just as his blade swung in the darkness, two of the giant spider's legs flew off, along with the webbing that had incapacitated the unfortunate last in the line. The latter fell down from the ceiling, right on top of the two that had stopped him from being taken away. A few moments later. another swing of a sword was heard and the crawler itself plummeted to the floor, almost on top of the other men. The spider squirmed as it had fallen on its back, but it had no time to recover, as the one who had chopped off its legs also descended from above, right on top of it, plunging his sword straight between its eyes in the process. The beast stopped moving.

"Don't space out!" the Commander's voice suddenly demanded as his own sword was heard stabbing something. The nearest men turned and saw that another cavern crawler lay dead at the feet of the Prince. "SWORDS!" Raonar shouted. That instant, all his troops drew their blades. "Cut off your bonds! The beasts have blundered in their hunt! "

All the soldier's eyes flashed as they now fully understood the purpose behind that unusual first order. Blades glittered in the dim light and the fetters were undone, just as a swarm of crawlers started to pour out of the adjoining passageways. "Archers! Grab your injured comrade and move to the middle and ready your shots!" the commander dictated. "Wait for my order! The rest of you, form a circle around them and take out your shields!" The command was quickly carried out and, before the crawlers had time to overwhelm them, Raonar and his melee troops, including Gorim and Baizyl, had formed a circular wall around the ten ranged fighters that were present. The spiders stormed them but were either unable to smash through the shield barricade or were cut down by the fighters' counterattacks. The battle dragged on for just five minutes before three thirds of the beasts, roughly 17 in total, had been cut down. All that time, the archers were forced to wait. Then, the creatures that were still alive appeared to become afraid and prepared to retreat. They started to dangle back up into their dens.

"Now! Melee troops, duck! Archers, take them out before they have a chance to squirm back to their filthy lairs!" The soldiers immediately obeyed the command and, even as the crawlers tried to retreat into whatever holes they had come from, the wave of arrows released from the centre of the force struck surely and swiftly in all directions. The remaining six arachnids plummeted, to the ground. Then, Raonar stepped forward and drove the edge of his shield straight through the last creature that still had life enough to move, decapitating it.

"What's the condition of the one in the back?" he immediately asked, not bothering to wipe the bloodstains on his face.

The soldier appeared to be fine, as the spider intended to drag him back to its nest to feed off its blood while it was still fresh. He only needed a little while to catch his breath after having been almost suffocated by the webbing that had been sprayed on his face. He was slightly disoriented but managed to get to his feet as the Commander drew near, though what he saw was no particularly comforting. Raonar still had some blood dripping off his forehead and had frowned in order to avert it getting into his eyes. Between that and how he had his equally bloodied sword still drawn, he wasn't the most comforting sight one could see just after coming face to face with death. Fortunately, the prince noticed the nervous look on his subject's face in time. He wiped his face and laughed.

"Ha! Don't worry young man! I won't bite," he joked, instantly lightening the mood and giving the other men a cause to let out chuckles of their own. "Are you alright?" The man responded with a nod. "Good. You did well," the Prince added, causing him to blush and scratch his head.

"You know," Gorim begun with a smirk of his own "you could have worn a helmet yourself, my lord. Then you wouldn't have turned into this walking pillar of blood."

After the men regained their breath, the commander gave the order to march on. They met a few groups of genlocks on the way through the tunnels, but the light was better now. This enabled Raonar, Gorim, Baizyl and a few of the others to make a relatively short work of them, while the archers took care of any stragglers. For the most part, the creatures ended up dead even before the younger soldiers, some of whom had yet to see a darkspawn in the flesh, had a chance to gasp. Eventually, they reached the first rendezvous point where one of the two scouts was supposed to be stationed. The site looked like the ruin of an old foyer but only the slabs that were once called the floor of the building, along with some derelict columns, were left. As the rustle of the army drew close, a dwarf clad in a suit of dwarven chainmail emerged from beyond the patch of wall on the right.

"You made it, your highness!" the man uttered as he ran up to the others. "I thought the darkspawn had gotten you for sure." His face had some creases, but he was not particularly old, not much older than Baizyl anyhow, and his dark hair and beard had not yet gotten any grey hairs.

"Some vote of confidence," Baizyl uttered.

"These men were trained well. Really, it was the cavern crawlers that gave us more trouble," the Prince answered.

"You're Frandlin Ivo, second son of Lord Ivo," Gorim remarked as he recognized the warrior. "If I'm not mistaken, you're the one who won the Provings that were held in Lord Aeducan's honor yesterday."

"Ah, I thought you looked familiar. House Ivo's promising young fighter that likes exotic fighting tactics?" the commander asked quite intrigued. He also gave the man a scrutinizing look that seemed to make him slightly uncomfortable. "And a Provings champion no less! Then you'll take rear guard after you tell me what lies up ahead."

Frandlin related how he had taken cover to escape the darkspawns' notice. According to him, there were a few pockets of them up ahead and, thus, he wasn't able to venture too far in. The other scout was also supposed to be somewhere up ahead but he hadn't met up with him. After his report was over, Raonar gave the order to move out and the troops, along with their bronto of burden, steadily made progress, even dispatching whatever darkspawn they encountered with relative ease. Eventually, they met with the other scout, a light-armored, rather young but seemingly tough individual who was just as surprised to see everyone alive and well as Frandlin had been. His own report about the darkspawn was not much different from that of his predecessor, though he could confirm that the Aeducan Thaig door wasn't too far off. Sure enough, after a few hundred paces of dim lit passages, a stone door, carved into the stone, became visible at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, it didn't exactly inspire relief when it was revealed to have already been opened. It was even surrounded by several darkspawn corpses. The scout went ahead and inspected the remains.

"These bodies are still fresh," he said, though Raonar could already see as much. "Whoever did this is likely still somewhere inside."

The prince looked at the scene and, for a time, stood erect, thoughtful. "They would have needed an Aeducan Signet ring to get in," he reasoned, "and they seemed to be in quite a hurry if they didn't even bother to clean up the mess."

"The ring could have been stolen," Frandlin reasoned, "recently, or generations back..."

"Unlikely," the Commander retorted and he couldn't help but notice an odd look on the scout's face as he looked through the door. Then, a suspicion was born in the back of his mind and he decided to test a theory. "Scout," he said, almost causing the dwarf to flinch. "They may have set traps. You'll go on ahead and keep an eye out for them while the main force stays at roughly 10 paces behind you."

Needless to say, the scout wasn't particularly pleased with that order and even let a slight scoff as he conceded. He then went ahead, guiding the main force as they crossed the bridge over a large chasm filled with surprisingly clear water. The bridge itself was narrow and forced the men to again use a straight line formation. The area beyond the bridge, on the other hand, was quite spacious, but what caught Raonar's eye was that, on both sides, there were terraces carved into the stone itself, one of which was partially sealed off by a pile of boulders, likely the result of a rockslide. Also, ahead, the Thaig could clearly be seen and most of the buildings looked still intact. Unsurprising, since the settlement itself had only recently been overrun by the darkspawn themselves. Strangely though, at least to the Prince and contrary to what the forces may have thought, the actual darkspawn present in the ruins had been few. This could only mean one thing, and that was the basis for the Commander's next order.

"Gorim," he quietly told his second as they neared the end of the bridge, "Tell the archers to form up in a single row once we cross. Then tell the other soldiers to have their shields ready and form two lines, one on each side of the archers." After that, he turned to his the other commanding officer. "Baizyl, since you're not as encumbered as the rest of us, I have a special task for you."

Soon enough, all the men had assembled as the Prince had ordered, though they still didn't know exactly what the Commander had in mind. They didn't have much time to wonder, however, as the Scout suddenly took a run for it. the Prince expected that to happen, but he was more concerned with the shadows that started moving on both of the aforementioned terraces.

"Archers!" He suddenly yelled as he jumped back and readied his own shield. "Duck and ready your arrows! The rest of you, shields to your flanks!"

"We are in an ambush!" Gorim yelled.

Fortunately, all the men were already on alert after the other previous encounters and, thus, were quick in carrying out the order. Within a split second, the rustle of plates and steel was heard and a roof of metal appeared above Raonar's forces, just in time to deflect the rain of arrows that came from above. Archers had been lying in wait on both sides and the soldiers quickly found that they could do little but stay there and hope the projectiles were of low enough quality not to pierce their equipment. This was problematic, especially considering that more ambushers had been hidden within the former Thaig dwellings themselves and were now showing themselves.

"We won't be able to fight those grunts off while worrying about these arrows striking us down!" Gorim shouted. The Prince, on the other hand, had a familiar glint in his eyes and looked as though he was just waiting for something. He then took a closer look at the right terrace and noticed how one of the crossbowmen was suddenly seemingly dragged off. Raonar grinned. For at that moment, the enemies on the right became confused and agitated as some within their ranks seemed to simply disappear behind the stone-carved trench, one after the other.

"Gorim, get ready," the Commander uttered in a seemingly excited tone, "Baizyl's about to turn this around for us."

it took a moment, but the loyal second finally understood. With all the confusion caused by the scout running off, no one had noticed Baizyl suddenly fading out of sight. The officer snuck off and made his way behind the walls of the old buildings, after which he scaled the now derelict constructions and climbed onto the terrace on the right, even as the ambushers, focused on trying to bring down their quarry, were completely oblivious to the doom approaching them from behind. And before the last couple of archers finally noticed that something was amiss, the other four were already lying dead. They didn't have time to notice the bringer of their end, however, as Baizyl emerged from behind and ran one through with his blade, just as he rammed the edge of his shield into the throat of the other.

"The right side is clear!" Raonar uttered as he saw Baizyl signaling. "Right flank! The threat is neutralized! Shields to the left and draw your blades! Your foes await to test your mettle! Left flank! Cover the archers as they take cover under the left terrace!" The archers quickly did just that and, now that they were no longer under threat of fire, the rest of the melee troops were free to contend with the almost two dozen enemies that had come out of the buildings. Besides the Prince and Gorim, there were 14 other warriors eager to take them on, but their shields were still occupied with trying to deflect the arrows that still rained down from the left. The Commander looked at Frandlin, who had just skewered one of the enemies.

"Take two men and go take care of those pests!" Frandlin was just about to carry out that order but the incoming enemies, aware of what he intended, tried to charge him. That was when the real bloodletting began.

Raonar threw his shield straight into the throat of the closest assailant, instantly killing him. The next moment, he drew out the dagger from the sheath on his side. "Gorim! You're my left flank! Everyone else, split into teams of two! One will be the sword and the other his shield! Charge!"

The troops immediately understood and reacted accordingly. As they divided into teams, one used his shield to deflect any arrows shot at them while the other one took it upon himself to take on the attackers. The ensuing chaos allowed the Frandlin's team of three to make it up the stairs and begin the task of systematically eliminating the remaining ranged enemies. Before long, they all lay motionless. Now, the Commander's soldiers were able to fight without a handicap, and it took the enemies only a second to realize how bad the situation had so quickly become for them. For, just an instant after the Prince leaned forward, his sword and dagger in either arm, he erupted in a flurry that took out two of the nearest foes, and threw off the balance of a third, in little more than a couple of seconds, just as Gorim slammed his shield into one that attempted to flank his Lord. And when Raonar retook his stance, getting ready for another fray, his enemies quaked when they met his gaze. That moment, all of the prince's soldiers fell upon them and it looked like victory was finally within reach. Eventually, only the leader of the enemies was left. He was clad in strong, steel-wrought massive plate armor and had his two-handed sword at the ready. The Commander reclaimed his shield and ordered his units to stay back.

"Imagine my surprise to see house Lantena's insignia on the armors and shields of the men that tried to jump us," Raonar began. "You'd think one would at least have enough of a brain to conceal one's allegiance when committing high treason," the Prince of Orzammar uttered in a sarcastic tone, even as he made it clear to the dwarf that he was about to be dueled. "Especially knowing how they have always shown such fervor when they spoke of honor and the might of their House. And yet here they are, so horribly failing to kill even a single man in their oh-so-honorable ambush, despite their numerical advantage. Your Ancestors, my Lord Dugan, must truly have a sense of humor." Needless to say, all of Raonar's forces gave out an approbative laugh, though the noble's demeanor didn't exactly become more amiable. He took his battle stance.

"You're very bold to challenge me head-on! Being Endrin's little brat won't save you now!"

Dugan lunged at Raonar, aiming for a clean decapitation, but slightly lost his balance when the prince effortlessly bent backwards and avoided the tip by a hair's breath. The noble then followed up with a few consecutive sweeping strikes that also failed to land on their target. That moment, Dugan's eyes met the Prince's, and he felt enraged as he saw the seemingly condescending exhilaration they emanated. Without hesitating, he prepared to perform a vertical slash, thinking only of how eager he was to teach the arrogant young man a lesson in humility. He needn't have bothered, for just as he was ready to strike, he felt a strong palm crushing into his face and ramming him against the Thaig's granite floor.

"Hmpf! Some duel," the Prince said, disappointed. "He's already unconscious."

Gorim stepped up and intended to congratulate his lord on their victory, but stopped when he saw him looking through the other's pockets. Not long afterwards, Raonar found the last piece to the puzzle he had been arranging in his mind, an unsigned missive. He paused, staring at it, after which a realization struck him. "Not all allies can be trusted indeed! But whose allies?"

The Commander slowly got up and walked back to his men, his grim and worried expression causing Gorim to also become concerned. "Are you alright, my Lord?" he asked, but received no answer except the air of fear that had emerged in the Prince's countenance. It was at that moment that Raonar accidentally let his guard down and nearly paid for it with his life.

"Your highness, look out!" a voice was heard, just before the sound of an arrow sinking into flesh knocked Raonar's senses back into him. He almost jumped out of his skin and, when he turned around, he saw one of the more aged men, his back turned to him, struggling to stay on his feet as blood was beginning to stain the ground in front of him. He had jumped in and taken an arrow so that the Commander wouldn't be hit instead.

"It's that damned scout!" one of the others yelled as he spotted the betrayer some way off, hidden behind a derelict wall. Immediately, the coward turned to flee, only to hit his face against the chest of a terrifying Baizyl Harrowmont, whose dark brown eyes now burned, seething with anger. He didn't even give the bastard time to beg for his life, settling, instead, for grabbing him by the neck with his right hand and immediately crushing it.

"How is he?" Baizyl asked as he ran to where the injured man was now lying. He looked at least 40 years old and his head was shaved, while a thick, grey stubble covered most of his face. A worried Raonar was holding his head up, if only to just reduce the amount of blood that now flooded his throat. The arrow had gone through his chest, just about a inch from his heart.

"Why did you do that you fool!" the Commander asked with a mixture of outrage and regret. " That arrow may have missed! Do you have so little value for your own life?"

The soldier smiled, even as blood started flow from his mouth and, between chokes and coughs, managed to utter an answer.

"It's not that (cough) I don't value my life..." He choked, even as Raonar tried to unfasten the suit of chains and get a closer look at the wound. "Do you remember...? Four years ago, that lad who almost got himself killed while following you... as you were scouting the deep roads? And how you carried him on your back... for hours... just so you could get him back to the main force fast enough to give him medical attention?" Raonar remembered it vividly. The boy had spied on him and Gorim as they were getting ready and recognized him as being of the royal family. The prince now realized what the dying veteran was trying to say.

"Don't tell me... he was your son, wasn't he? You think you're repaying a debt..."

The veteran coughed up some more blood and gave a look of pure gratitude to his distraught superior. "It was... an honor to die in your service, your highness..."

"The sod it was!" Raonar suddenly shouted as he drew out a strange-looking vial from the pouch tied to his right leg. "You'll have the honor of fighting in my service for a while yet! If you've energy enough to talk..." he grabbed onto the arrow "then you'll bear with this!" With that, and to everyone's shock, Raonar pulled out the projectile, causing a great deal of blood to spray out of the wounded chest. The next second, he put pressure on the wound and poured some of the contents of the potion straight into the injury. Only the victim knew what he felt at that time, as everyone else only saw the wound boiling. The reaction eventually subsided and the dwarf stopped struggling. He was dead.

Or so everyone thought. To their astonishment, the veteran stirred just a couple of seconds later and, after spitting out just a few more drops of blood, the Prince helped him back up. His wound had almost closed off, leaving the soldiers speechless.

"That's a bit of that... magic you got from the unconscious merchant yesterday..." Gorim remembered, even as he was as impressed as everyone else. He didn't have time to hold onto that admiration, however, as his Lord immediately stepped up to the veteran and, to everyone's confusion, smacked him over the head with such force that he almost fell over once more.

"Foolish old man!" he yelled at him with a reprimanding tone. "You're not very smart, are you? Giving your life so promptly even though you've got him and your wife waiting for you to come back! Honestly, use a shield next time... or just kick me out of the way!"

"You..." the man was stunned "Y-yes Your Highness..."

"Anyway," Raonar continued as he studied his men and saw that, while they were all alive, some had minor cuts and bruises, "Go to our beloved bronto and get patched up. The rest of you, do the same. Gorim, Baizyl, Frandlin... we need to confer in private." With that, the four commanding officers walked off until they were out of the others' range of hearing.

The soldiers quickly tended to their wounds but they could not help their curiosity and kept staring in the direction of their valiant leaders. They could not hear what was being said, but it looked obvious that the Prince was relating some sort of terrible secret to the other three. Baizyl and Frandlin Ivo occasionally gasped and looked completely astonished, even as the other two could not help but show the concern on their faces. But what most struck the men was how completely worried their new Commander looked, even though they would have expected him to be eager and confident after their extraordinary victories. Eventually, Gorim took out a map and spread it on the ground, after which the trio seemed to put together some sort of master tactic. After that, they put everything back in its place and returned to the main force. Raonar stepped up and addressed his troops.

"What do you fight for?" he asked in a thundering voice.

"We fight for our City and our King!" they answered in unison.

"And why do you fight?" the prince continued.

"Because it is our duty!" they answered.

"And are you willing to die for that duty?" he queried.

That moment, the men exchanged looks and immediately answered, unhesitatingly.

"We are!"

The Commander could not help but let a warm smile slip past his stern countenance, a smile which his forces did not fail to notice. However, immediately afterwards, he let out a deep sigh and, in an unexpectedly straightforward tone, spoke a sentence that no one was expecting.

"Then I release you from that duty."

The soldiers barely had any time to realize what was said before Raonar continued.

"I am afraid this mission will have to end here," he uttered. "I will no longer look for the Shield of Aeducan. Instead, I will embark upon a fool's errand as I consider how lucky I am to have these three magnificent men follow a rash youth such as I," he explained as he pointed at Gorim, Frandlin and Baizyl. "What I plan to do will not be for my father, the king, nor will it really be for my City, not exactly. Duty, thus, does not compel you to follow me. So you should all return to the rendezvous point on your own, while the way back is still clear. We four will go on towards our destination alone."

The men were, predictably, more than confused. They started to mutter and question the new order and grew increasingly impatient and frustrated at being left in the dark.

"Why do you say this?" one of them asked. "What do you plan to do? Do you not trust us?"

"It's not a matter of trust," Raonar retorted. "It's just as I said. it is not your duty to follow me in the course I have set for myself now. And I don't know whom you will face if you do. They could be friends, even family, I really can't guarantee against these. Do not question my motives. You're better off not knowing them. The most I will say is that they are as selfish as motives can get, and just as presumptuous."

A period of rustle followed, as the soldiers did not know what to think. Nevertheless, they eventually settled down and said nothing more. What troubled the Prince, however, was that they didn't seem particularly inclined to leave either.

"I will fight for His Highness!" a voice was suddenly heard from the crowd. Soon after, the same man who had taken an arrow for his superior came forth and stood proud in front of the others.

"(sigh) I was afraid you'd say that..." Raonar said, scratching his forehead. "Didn't I just tell you not to throw your life away so easily?"

"You also said that you released us from our duty to follow your orders," he replied, smugly. "Which means, basically, I get to do what I want. And this is what I choose: I will fight for Your Highness."

"As will I!" another shouted. The archer who had almost become Cavern Spider food earlier stepped up and took his place at the side of the other soldier.

"And what of you louts?" the veteran shouted at the others. "What will you do?"

"We, too, will fight for his highness!" they declared as they saluted, without even a moment's delay.

"You see, my Lord," the veteran went on to saying, "Keeping people alive, like you have, has its benefits."

"Or its downsides," the Prince retorted, more than a little troubled. "Don't be stubborn fools. If you come, you'll not find a glorious end. Please, just... go back to the city. A nobles' plot is not worthy of being the cause of your deaths."

"We are not all fools, you know," the aged soldier stated."We saw how concerned you were when you came to greet us at the crossroads, even though you were obviously already tired and troubled by other matters. We noticed how careful you were to spot every detail as you progressed through the tunnels, determined to see us all get through them alive. So if a noble's plot is the reason for your decision, we will simply assume you plan to prevent it from doing any harm, just as you prevented the spiders, the darkspawn and these traitors from ending us. Do not be so quick to take all the burden, my Lord. Instead, let us carry it for you."

"Bah!" the prince scoffed, though he couldn't conceal how glad he was to hear him say that. "If I let you carry it, you'll die under its weight! Then I'd have to carry you all on my back and I will have just exchanged one burden for another!"

"Do not insult us, my Prince," the veteran replied with a disciplinary tone. "We are warriors. We do not need to be reminded of the imminence of our deaths. This discussion is meaningless. We have made up our minds: we will fight for Your Highness, like it or not. So stop gesticulating helplessly and get on to the business of command."

Raonar could no longer contain himself and allowed the laughter that had welled up inside his chest to burst out. "Ah!" he said with delight, not bothering to mask his gratitude. "There's no doubt you're a father! You certainly know how to show the arrogant young ones their place! Very well, if that's what you have decided on your own..." he bowed deeply before them, "Then I consider it a fine honor and privilege to be your commander," he stated as he straightened up, taking a last look at the battlefield. "Then quickly attend to those of our attackers who are not mortally wounded. They may be misguided fools but they are still our brethren. Orzammar already has few enough soldiers for these ones to die for something like this. After that, we set off."

Trian and his contingent had encountered several large parties of darkspawn as they proceeded through the underground highways, but they managed to eliminate them all. The last skirmish was particularly bloody, however, and only about a hundred and a half of the 200 warriors he had at first were still alive. Of those, roughly half were wounded and the army was forced to cease its march in order to attend to the many injuries. Duncan and the Grey Wardens had gone ahead, saying that the darkspawn they sensed now were few and scattered enough that they wouldn't be discovered. This also meant that the army itself was in no imminent danger of being attacked, which made this an opportune time to recuperate.

Trian was not satisfied though. He kept thinking of the previous night and of the many things his brother had said. But most of all, Gorim's words still rung in his ears, preventing his seething anger from subsiding. What most wore on him, however, was that he no longer understood what he was angry about. His heart was in complete chaos.

"Your highness," a dwarf uttered as he approached. He wore a suit of silverite chainmail, had short dark hair, black eyes and a prominent stubble of his own. Trian stared at him for a time, as if trying to remember something.

"Vartag, of house Gavorn is it? What do you want?"

"With your permission, I have a suggestion," the soldier replied with a glint in his eyes that Trian failed to notice.

"Well? Out with it then!"

"See, here's the thing. If what those Grey Wardens said was true, then there shouldn't be many darkspawn in the adjoining tunnels, which means that we don't really need all of our men to take care of them."

"You propose to divide our forces?" Trian asked, though he still wasn't exactly paying attention.

"Well, with your leave... You see, my soldiers managed to get through these skirmishes with minor cuts at most. About 45 men, strong. And I see that you're not exactly satisfied about leaving all the glory to those Grey Wardens. I propose we go and make mincemeat out of the spawn! That always seems to cheer you up."

Trian looked away for a bit, as if considering, then he looked back at the officer.

"Fine, get your men ready. But we're going elsewhere, not to fight darkspawn."

"No? Then..."

"Don't question your future King!" he yelled. "Just do it!"

Not ten minutes later, Trian and House Gavorn's men left, apparently back the way they had come. The Heir did not say where they were headed, nor did he explain what they would do once they reach their intended destination. Strangely though, even as time dragged on and they were kept in the dark, the soldiers themselves didn't show any sign of unease or impatience. On the other hand, their pace wasn't steady and they didn't exactly hold ranks the way seasoned soldiers were supposed to. Eventually, they passed through a section of tunnels they had gone through during their mission. There, the area was far more spacious but had only a single other adjoining tunnel, except for the one they had come through. Trian gestured to his soldiers to stop, thinking he had heard a noise up ahead. The next moment, his brother emerged from the darkness and walked up to Trian, alone and with his sword not drawn, though his shield was at the ready.

"Hmpf!" Trian sneered. "Even after all that, you still show your true colors." The Heir had come all this way just to see if his sibling would show up. And he had, just as Bhelen had told him.

Raonar gave his brother an annoyed look as he stopped at about a foot in front of him. Then, he immediately looked at Vartag, who was now standing behind Trian, dangerously close. "Right, your revealing gaze has laid me bare, big brother. After all, it would be so easy to just kill you and all forty of those," his eyes flashed "soldier-disguised mercenaries by myself!"

Trian barely had any time to consider what his sibling had said. The latter suddenly charged forward and, instead of bashing Trian's face, slipped his shield arm around and behind him in a split second. The sound of metal on metal rung in the Heir's ears as his momentary confusion was promptly dispelled. Raonar had just stopped Vartag from stabbing him in the back.

"Scum of the earth!" the second son shouted as he pushed against Vartag with such force that he was thrown off his feet. He then drew his sword and pressed his back against his brother's. "Your treachery ends here!"

"So, you managed to see through this much..." Vartag said with disdain as he got back to his feet, wiping the blood now dripping from his nose. "Prince Bhelen said you would. I guess he was right in thinking you weren't just some self-important idiot like your other brother." He immediately got up and backed off, ordering to the others. "Now! All of you, just kill them!"

Trian was astonished, but he retained his composure and readied his maul, just as the would-be soldiers charged them. The next instant, he felt Raonar's foot pressing behind his right heel, just as his brother's palm smashed into his face, throwing him off balance and slamming him against the ground.

"Stay down!" his sibling commanded as he let himself fall beside him. The next second, as he lay there, on his back, Trian saw a cloud of arrows fly over them and striking down the nearest wave of assailants.

"Now!" Gorim's voice was heard from where Raonar had emerged. "Protect Their Highness!"

The Heir was awed as he saw a stream of warriors pour forth and start to push back the others. He barely even noticed his brother jumping to his feet and felling the nearest surviving enemy with one swift strike through the chest. Immediately after, said enemy dropped dead right next to him, and Trian finally noticed his own folly. The so-called war paint, as Gavorn had called it, was simply on those 'soldiers'' faces in order to hide their brands.

"Castless mercenaries..." he finally realized. And as he did, he remembered some of the last words that Raonar had spoken the previous evening. "Just so you know, I told Bhelen I'd try to kill you tomorrow.Hopefully this will make him think it no longer necessary to send mercenaries after you." His brother had seen through it all.

"By the Ancestors!" Trian yelled in disbelief as he jumped to his feet himself, relieving some of his frustration by smashing his maul into the chest of the nearest grunt. His rage then surged and, if not for his quick reflexes, Raonar would have been caught in the flurry of heavy swings that his elder surrendered himself to. About ten second later, five attackers lay crushed around him.

"You idiot!" Raonar yelled as he yanked his brother backwards by the collar of his armor. An arrow sung as it passed straight in front of the Heir's eyes, just before he found himself lying on the ground once more. "Don't just charge in like that!" the second eldest Prince demanded as he stood over him. "You'll just waste your ener-" his words were interrupted as an arrow promptly sunk into his right side.

"Gah!" he cried out in pain.

"My Lord!" Gorim shouted in horror.

"Your Highness!" Baizyl followed. Unfortunately, neither of them were close enough to rush to his support, having been engaged by opponents of their own. And as Trian lay still on the ground, disoriented from having hit his head when he fell, he could only watch. And even as his blurry vision cleared, he still couldn't fail to notice the feral gaze in his brother's eyes as he simply pulled out the arrow, blood sprays and all, and ran it through the abdomen of the thug that had come up from behind.

"Hmpf!" the Prince pouted "A flesh wound like this is nothing!" he proclaimed as he promptly decapitated the only other enemy near him. Unfortunately, as Trian noticed, it was pure bravado, for the second eldest Prince lost his balance and almost fell over Fortunately, Trian managed to get up in time to offer him support. "Bah! I'm fine!" he enforced, just as he took a red vial from the pouch on his right leg and drank it down. He immediately got back to his senses.

"Trian, get out of here!" he suddenly demanded, much to his elder's astonishment. "Don't look at me like that! As Heir, you're the main target here."

"I won't just flee with my tail between my legs!" he protested as he charged off into the fray before his brother had the occasion to throw him off his feet a third time.

"Dammit!" Raonar let out as he ran after him while also studying the situation. "Baizyl! Gorim! Protect that idiot of a brother of mine!"

It took a little, but the two managed to get to Trian's location, though they couldn't exactly get close because of how freely he swung his huge war hammer. The Heir managed to eliminate a pair of inexperienced fools, just before a third somehow slipped near enough and made a deep cut into his left arm. Immediately after, Gorim slammed his shield into the man's face, just as Baizyl grabbed hold of Trian as he started to wobble and helped him walk away from the scene.

"Ancestors mercy... " Raonar uttered as he saw how freely the blood flowed out of his brother's arm.

"Commander!" Frandlin's voice was then heard. "They are too many! We'll soon be overwhelmed. We must retreat!"

"I know we're outnumbered but can't these soldiers take care of some undisciplined mercs?" Raonar asked as he tied bandages around the wounded limb.

"I'm afraid he's right, Your Highness," the aged veteran that had taken the arrow for him said as he rushed there himself. "Right now, the battle could go both ways but some of us are still not completely recovered after that ambush. You should take your brother and make your escape while we cover your retreat."

The Prince wanted to protest but, just as he opened his mouth, Trian's body went limp as he fell unconscious from the blood loss.

"My Lord," Gorim repeated "We have to get out of here."

The Prince didn't even bother to mask the disgust he felt at having to make such an ugly choice.

"Before I go, I would know your name old man," he told the seasoned soldier.

The soldier smiled and bowed slightly. "I am known as Melec Medra, Your highness."

Gorim gasped. "Wha... You're the leader of Warrior House Medra? I though you looked familiar! What are you doing here? Shouldn't all Warrior House leaders be with the King right now?"

"The king covertly added me to His Highness's contingent, though I would have requested the Honor myself had he not offered it."

"That old fool, always doing things like these," Raonar said with a sad smile. "Truly, I am fortunate to travel in such august company. But I will not just leave you here to perish." He unfastened the potion pouch on his leg and passed it to the man, keeping only the special one, from the magic merchant, for himself. After that, he also handed him his high-quality white steel blade, much to Melec's surprise.

"Then this is my last order as your Commander. Take this sword and carve a path of justice through these fiends."

"May the Ancestors look favorably upon you," the Warrior wished the four officers as he prepared to rejoin the battle, but he then noticed how pained the young Commander looked at him. "Don't be so distraught child," he said in a soft but disciplinary, fatherly voice. "Decision like these are a natural part of a Commander's role. So respect your underlings and do not insult them by so shamelessly showing your fear as they try to hide theirs. Who knows? We may yet survive for you to save our lives a few more times."

Those words rammed straight through the Prince and he immediately changed his countenance from that of an uncertain youth into that of a stern lord. And as his eyes brightened and his facial expression regained its determination, Melec grinned and turned to leave, but not before letting out a final line.

"Today was... not a bad performance for a young man that hasn't slept for more than 24 hours."

"We should go now, while there's still time," Gorim noted, picking up Trian's Maul.

"We need to see to your brother's injury too," Baizyl added.

Baizyl hoisted Trian up and threw him over his shoulder, after which the three, along with Frandlin ivo, disappeared through the Tunnels they had come from.

Trian felt hazy as his consciousness returned to him, but he was immediately brought to his senses by the sharp pain that awoke in his left arm. The light was dim and, after a while, he barely managed to gather that he was on the ground, leaning against the cavern's wall. Some way off, Gorim Saelac, Baizyl Harrowmont and Frandlin ivo were standing guard. What immediately struck the Heir, however, was that his brother was nowhere in sight. It was then that he felt the odd itch in his palm and looked to the side, where Raonar, too, was lying, seemingly unconscious. At that moment, Trian tried to move his right hand, but finally felt his brother's own left hand clutching to it as hey were bandaged together. What startled him most, however, was that he couldn't tell where his own palm ended and his sibling's began.

"So, you finally awaken," Gorim said as he approached, not bothering to hide his disapproval of the whole situation. "I would ask that you do not get too agitated. Not while you are living off my Lord Aeducan's blood."

Trian was confused but, at the very least, reasoned that it had something to do with the strange feeling he felt in his right arm. "What do you mean?" he uttered, "living off my brother's blood?"

"You lost a lot of your own and we were forced to retreat," the loyal second began to explain, still slightly angry. "Yes, we had to leave those brave and loyal soldiers behind to cover our escape. All because you were oblivious to your own escorts' true identities, I might add. After we lost them, we had to stop in order to tend to your injury. That's when His Highness realized you had lost too much blood. So he made a cut in his left palm, and your right, and joined them with some magic he had acquired some time ago."

The Prince heir was speechless and, for a time, he couldn't decide whether to believe this crazy story. Gorim wasn't at all in the mood for jokes, however, and that was more than enough to 'persuade' him. "Is that even possible?" he finally asked.

"I'm not sure even he was sure it would actually work, but he said he couldn't think of anything else on the spot. Sure enough, after he poured the potion and caused your skin and blood vessels to intertwine... a painful process too... he immediately lied down and said he would... lower his blood pressure by reducing the frequency of his breathing... or something..."

"What? Can he even do that? And what good would that have done?" Trian became more and more astonished with each word that came out of his siblings' second's mouth.

"He said something about your blood flows not being... synched? Really, I'm no physician. Either way, don't get agitated and wait until he wakes up."

"It's not like I'm asleep, Gorim," the Prince's soft voice was heard, almost startling the two.

"My Lord!" Gorim let out, excitedly, as he leaned next to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Nauseous," Raonar cleanly answered, causing Gorim to let out a short laugh, alerting the other two guardsmen. They held their positions, however, knowing danger is always present in the deeps. "It's ok," he continued, "Give us some time, would you?"

"Of course, My Lord," Gorim conceded as he walked away.

As the second walked back to the others, to tell them that both princes were conscious again, the two brothers were left alone, lying there, next to each other, hand in hand. Trian felt a bit awkward and did not even know what to say or think. He glimpsed at his sibling, noticing that he had his eyes closed. This gave him the courage to study him in more details, now that he had gotten used to the dim light. Raonar breathed softly but he still looked quite tired. Even so, however, his white hair and beard seemed to glitter, even in the shadows and despite the dry blood sprayed all over them. Seeing him like that threw Trian off, as he couldn't even remember if his brother had ever looked so completely vulnerable before. At that moment, he remembered how sure he had been, the previous day, that Raonar planned to kill him, and the shame that fell upon him for wanting to do the same was so strong that his heart started to race.

"Trian..." the Prince unexpectedly uttered in a soft tone that still caused his elder to flinch. "You're getting agitated and it's putting pressure on my arm. Stop fidgeting."

A silence followed, after which the heir barely managed to open his mouth.

"How did you know?"

Raonar opened his eyes and threw his elder a glance. "About what?" he asked. "About the mercenaries? Or about the whole deal? Either way, it does not matter. Explaining it to you would take longer than it's worth."

Trian was silent for a time but the pressure on Raonar's arm did not seem to lessen, which made it plain to see, for the Prince at least, that his sibling was still troubled about a lot of things.

"So your second was serious when he spoke about those assassinations you stopped..."

"He did WHAT?" The Commander's own heart started to race and Trian began to feel what he meant by 'pressure on his arm'. Raonar then sighed deeply and seemed to calm down. "Ah, I suppose it was unfair of me to get him involved in all those things and expect him to just keep silent because I said so. I am a cruel man, aren't i..."

"But why did you do it? Step in for me...Even with..." Trian couldn't bring himself to admit he had been an unjust fool. He was too proud.

"Hah!" his brother smirked faintly. "Someone had to keep your ass out of the fire. And if I may be so bold, big brother, you make... excellent ass material."

Much to his own surprise, Trian burst into laughter instead of feeling even remotely outraged by what his little brother had said. And what a clean laughter it was. Even the three others looked back in surprise when they heard the grumpy and normally self-important eldest Prince actually laugh instead of smirk.

"Ah..." he said as his lungs settled down. "What happened to us, little brother? How did we end up at each other's throats?"

Trian received no answer but, by now, he didn't exactly expect his sibling to eagerly answer every inane question he came up with. His revelry was suddenly interrupted, however, when he felt Raonar's hand lessen the hold on his own palm and going limp.

"Brother..." he called out, in an uncharacteristically concerned voice, but received no answer. "Raonar! Little brother! Hey!"

His cries alerted the others who immediately ran to the scene and saw that their Commander had lost consciousness. Gorim rushed to his side and checked his pulse.

"His pulse is weak. I think... I think he lost too much blood. He said this might happen..." he told Trian in horror. "I think... I think my... My Lord is dying..."

"Wait," Trian protested, "This is my fault, isn't it... I drained him of too much blood..."

A moment of silence followed, after which Trian suddenly grabbed the dagger that hung on Baizyl's side. "A warrior can't die in such an unsightly way!" he declared as he passed the edge of the blade in between his and Raonar's hands, instantly cutting them apart without even flinching from the pain. "Bandage his hand, quickly!" he ordered the others, who immediately got right on it. Meanwhile, Trian did the same to his own palm, and when they were done, he and Gorim lifted his unconscious brother by either arm.

"How far from Orzammar are we?" the Heir asked them.

"About two hours if we hurry," Frandlin Ivo explained. "But with your injuries, it'll probably take longer to get there..."

"Then we'd better get to it," Trian ordered with a newfound determination.

Unfortunately, things would not exactly go as planned, for much to their dismay, they found themselves surrounded by lightly armored castless thugs as soon as they emerged from the side tunnel. There were eight of them, three of which had taken position on some high ground and had their crossbow trained on the soldiers as soon as they emerged. The other five, one of which was cloaked and had a cowl obscuring his face, slowly advanced on their position. Gorim and Baizyl immediately readied their weapons and shields and stepped in front, leaving it to the other two to hold Raonar up.

"Well, there you are!" the apparent leader of the thugs noted smugly. He wore a suit of steel scale armor and his brand covered his entire face. "We got promised a fair deal of coin to kill the two brats but we don't mind a little extra sport."

"That snake!" Baizyl let out.

"That Bhelen definitely planned for every possible situation, didn't he," Gorim added with no tint of humor, realizing how bad the situation was. He became resolute, however, and practically dictated Trian's next move. "Prince Trian, Frandlin," he whispered as he and Baizyl exchanged looks.

"Be ready to make a run for it," Baizyl continued. "We'll buy you some time. Use that fire bomb that the Commander saved, 'just in case', to cover your escape. We'll hold them here."

Trian thought of questioning the logic behind it all, but he realized that there was no way all of them were getting out of there alive. "It seems my brother can truly inspire loyalty," he told them with a tint of admiration. "Very well, then."

With that, the party was just about to split up when something completely unexpected happened. Right before their very astonished eyes, one of the mercs seemingly dropped dead. This assumption ultimately proved closer to the truth than the soldiers hoped to think, as it was revealed that the aforementioned cloaked figure, until then the mercs' ally, had lightly stabbed him on the back of the head with his dagger. The next instant, even before the others had time to realize their folly, the figure took out a pair of throwing knives, one in each hand, and threw them straight towards the two farthest archers. Both reached their target, the throat, even though the men were situated more than 5 meters away and on either side. The mercenaries fell to the ground. It was only then that the remaining crossbowman managed to call out to the others and warn them of the danger.

He needn't have bothered, for just as the cloaked figure threw sand into the eyes of the nearest two louts that had charged him, another knife left his grasp and landed deep into the sternum of the final ranged combatant. At that moment, the figure performed a sweeping kick and knocked the two stunned rogues off their feet, immediately following with equally fatal stabs to the chests of both. Only the so-called leader was left.

"By the Stone... What in the Acestors' name just happened?" Trian whispered in absolute astonishment.

"I have... no idea..." Baizyl responded, just as amazed.

"Wha... what the sod!" the thug leader yelled in horror when he turned around, drawing out his two-handed axe. In just five seconds, the smug, cloaked bastard that was supposed to have been just another of their mercenary band had killed off his entire squad. "Bastard! Traitor!" he yelled in outrage.

"Hah!" the cloaked figure gruffly smirked. "A hired goon speaks of treason. How novel."

Gorim's eyes widened.

"Now shut up and fight!" the man added, causing the so-called boss to snap. It took only a few seconds, but Baizyl managed to follow how their savior effortlessly stepped to the side, evading the descending strike. After that, he quaintly stepped on the weapon, driving it into the ground. The next moment, his lightning-fast right hand slashed the enemy's gullet with a masterfully-crafted dagger, even as the man remained unimpressed with the blood that gushed out and sprayed him all over. The grunt fell, lifeless.

"Stay where you are!" Baizyl shouted as he saw the cloaked stranger slowly walking up to them. Gorim, on the other hand, seemed to ease up as he looked straight at what could be seen of his face.

"It can't be," he said, almost delighted. "It is you, isn't it?" he uttered, much to Trian's and the others' confusion.

The man threw back his cowl. "Ha! And here I thought you wouldn't recognize me, since nobles keep saying how all castless look alike."

Gorim exploded in a rain of laughter, unable to even stand up straight anymore, so relieved and glad he was to see that Faren Broska was the one in front of him.

"Wait!" Faren suddenly shouted as he noticed Raonar unconscious. "What in the bronto's ass happened to him?" he asked with earnest concern as he ran over, though Trian and the other two still had no idea what was going on. Gorim waved at them to let him pass. "What did he do this time? Infiltrate another enemy base?"

"Hold on!" Trian shouted as Faren brusquely grabbed his brother, but was immediately cut off as Faren simply slipped passed all of them and laid him down, leaning his back against a boulder.

"His pulse is weak, but only his palm is injured? How did he manage to lose enough blood to end up like this?" the castless man asked, frowning at the others as one that scolds one's children for failing in their appointed task. "Some guardians you are!"

"It's complicated," Gorim replied. "Suffice to say, we ran out of healing poultices and were rushing back to the city when... your... squad... intercepted us."

Faren paused, looking at Gorim a while, not even bothering to glance at the others who were now just standing there, stunned. Then, he reached under his cloak and brought out a red vial, the same one Raonar had given him the day before. "Just in case, he said. Ha! Just in case indeed!" Without a moment's notice, he forced the Prince's mouth open and emptied the small bottle's contents inside, massaging his gullet to make sure the liquid ended up in the right orifice. Just then, Raonar stirred as the color returned to his face and he slowly opened his eyes. He immediately recognized the one kneeling in front of him, but the look he then gave was not what anyone had expected. Trian remembered his little brother making the same look, when they were infants, whenever their mother forced him to wake up early.

"Faren? You're here already? How long was I out?" he asked, slightly confused, but he struggled to his feet and wobbled over to where Gorim was standing, just to take a look at the scene.

"Wow..." he let out, in amazement, even as Gorim was helping him stand up. "I can't believe I missed this... aaawww man..." He then turned to Trian. "Wasn't he awesome? He was, wasn't he."

"Umm... little brother... are you alright?" Trian asked as he couldn't decide whether his sibling was still right in the head. He then looked at Faren inquisitively, wondering if that potion he gave him wasn't drugged or somesuch.

"Hmpf!" Raonar scoffed as he suddenly dropped all pretenses. "You needn't sound so disappointed," he said, dismissively. Then his eyes glinted and he looked at his castless friend with a very cunning grin. "Anyway, since we're already at this part, I can finally put my plan into motion."

"Plan, my Lord?" Gorim asked, more than a little confused.

"You have an Idea?" Baizyl asked.

"Actually," Raonar began, "I've been planning for this situation since yesterday and kept going over it in my mind the entire night."

"Wait," Train interrupted in disbelief. "You planned all of this? The ambushes? And everything else? You mean you foresaw all that Bhelen would throw at you? Do you expect me to just believe that?"

"You needn't sneer so, big brother," the Prince retorted. "I didn't say I planned this. I said I planned for this. I definitely couldn't know exactly what Bhelen would do. Look," he said as he quaintly took Faren's electricity-infused dagger, "follow me and I'll explain. " He then went silent and walked over to the middle of the tunnel intersection, followed by the others who had, by now, become very curious. There, he stopped and they all formed a circle.

"All the actors are here," the Commander begun, pointing at each in turn. "Faren, the castless mercenary. Baizyl, the Harrowmont. Gorim, the loyal manservant. Frandlin Ivo..." he stopped, as if considering something, though the scrutinizing look he gave Ivo made the warrior more than a little uncomfortable. "I'll get back to you later. And, finally," he turned to his brother. "The victim."

"Victim?" Train snorted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"How do you feel?" his sibling unexpectedly asked him. "Are you at all dizzy? Any hint of weakness or fatigue?"

"What? No..."

"Good." Raonar then glanced at the others. "Guys... Don't freak out."

Trian didn't even have time to wonder what his sibling was going on about because he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his abdomen, just below his sternum. He looked down, and, in utter disbelief and confusion, saw that Raonar had driven the castless man's dagger straight into him. The others recoiled in shock.

"Wha... You... After all that..."

Trian tripped on his words as he looked his brother straight in the eyes, unable to read any emotions from his straight, poker face. Then, his breathing became heavy, his vision blurred, and the last thing he felt was his brother pulling the blade out of him and softly laying him on the ground. Then, there was nothing. That very long day, at least for him, was now over.

...

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