Liri rolled a copper over her knuckles idly, listening as Beraht made his usual threats to Rica. Much as she loathed the bastard, he was their only chance right now.

"I can't keep gambling on you forever, precious. You've got a sweet look, something to light a man on fire—but you've gotta make it count." Beraht took a long eyeful of Rica. Liri's free hand brushed against her sword.

"Please, Beraht. I don't want to do this in front of my sister—"

Beraht laughed. "Why not? She knows the slope of the land, don't ya, girl?"

Liri slipped the copper into her pocket and began to sign. "Didn't I tell you the next time you spoke like that about my sister I'd shank you through your ribs?"

Beraht glanced at Rica for an interpretation. "We owe you everything, Beraht. We won't let you down."

Liri glared at her sister. "That's not what I said."

It was probably for the best that Rica censored her, but it irritated her nonetheless.

"That's what I like to hear," said Beraht. "Before me, your sister was just another duster. Now check her out! Braids down to here, gold-capped teeth—she can recite elf-poetry and play the string-harp. Every man's dream! All she's gotta do is find a lord, squeeze out some kid who looks like him, and we're all living the easy life in the Diamond Quarter."

Rica looked up at Liri, a small amount of shame in her eyes. "Please don't get involved. You know that never goes well."

"I don't like him treating you like this," said Liri. Like they really had any other choice.

Beraht glared in their direction. "You just keep your head down and say 'aye' to any job I decide is low enough for scum like you. In return, I put out coin so precious Rica can doll herself up and get a bellyful of some nobleman's brat. Then, you both go free. And I get to join the family and be called, 'mi'lord' for the rest of the little prince's life."

Liri looked at the carta boss incredulously. There was no way this ended after that. Beraht would hold them for life, one way or another. "So what are you doing here?"

Rica passed on the question, and Beraht looked the both of them over again. "Checking on my investments. And right now, they don't bear much gold. I'm giving you another week, precious. If you haven't found a patron, you're back to sweeping streets."

"But… I have." Rica's eyes lit up. "I've met someone… that is, I didn't want to promise, but he seemed interested."

"So get off her back and tell me my job for the day."

"Your buddy Leske's waiting outside. He knows what I'll need from you today. Don't even think about bungling this job. Your whole family is on loose sand with me right now." Beraht's voice carried more threat than usual, which was actually impressive. "And I know you don't have anywhere else to turn." With that, Beraht left them alone in their little hovel.

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You don't have to hide anything from me, Rica."

"I've always tried, though. At least I've made sure you don't have to buy your future with what's between your legs anymore," said Rica with a long sigh. "I should have told you. Beraht's been warning me ever since two of his other girls found patrons at Lord Harrowmont's reception. They've been getting gifts already. Lord Rousten gave Elsye a surface-silk gown and she's not even pregnant. Beraht's getting impatient."

"Have you had that much competition attracting nobles?" More and more girls were working the Diamond Quarter with the hopes of bearing a noble son, it seemed. It was a strange feeling, watching the other casteless girls put on pearls while she put on armor.

"Well, there are enough of us now that they have a name for us. They call us noble-hunters." Rica rolled her eyes. "It's not like we're stalking them for food!"

"Besides, I hear deshyr taste awful, all gristle and fat."

Rica laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand with cultured grace. All those etiquette classes were paying off, at least. "Besides, if they didn't want what we were offering, believe me, there would be nobody doing it."

"I don't understand why the work I do for Beraht isn't enough." Liri shook her head as she signed.

"I know you've worked hard to keep him from throwing us out. I can only imagine the horrible things he's made you do."

Not so horrible, maybe. A couple heads bashed in here, and couple threats made there. A few drops of poison in a goblet and a knife or two in the right back. All in a day's work, really. She was really better suited to the life of a thug than one trying to schmooze nobles anyhow.

"But… there are a lot of desperate dwarves in Orzammar. He could buy any one of them to run messages and knock skulls."

"We wouldn't even be in this mess if I could join the army. Or the Silent Sisters. I already have most of their requirements met, anyhow." Liri chuckled in spite of herself, drawing a soft laugh from her sister.

Rice turned serious again soon enough. "Be that as it may, you know as well as I that the nobles would never allow it. It's sheer folly, one more way the nobility protect their status. They say casteless soldiers are more danger to each other than to darkspawn… the it's an insult to the smith to let us touch a fine-made weapon. Truly, they just don't wish to insult the Warrior Caste by showing that given the same opportunities we could lead an army just as well."

That much, Liri knew. She could list a dozen dusters off the top of her head who would make for excellent warriors or even generals, but instead they were resigned to life in Dust Town, begging or thumping skulls for the carta. "They would rather we all be killed than admit they're wrong."

"I have little love for the nobles, but they know—more than we ever will—what the darkspawn have taken from our kind. Every noble I've met has had a brother or a nephew killed in the Deep Roads. Yet, they let their arrogance blind them to the fact that we could help defend the city against the darkspawn. They would even turn to the humans for aid before us, it seems. There's talk floating around of an alliance against the darkspawn, even that the Grey Wardens have stepped up."

If there was one good thing about her sister's position, it was the information. Rica overheard all kinds of interesting things as she worked the Diamon Quarter. The job wore on her sister, even though she hid it well behind layers of cosmetics.

"Beraht asks too much of you." Liri could see how her sister's shoulders sagged whenever she didn't think anyone was looking. It wasn't as bad as when they were younger. At times Rica even seemed hopeful. But that weight was still there.

Rica fidgeted with the buttons on her sleeve. "You know the nobles are desperate for children. They can barely field enough soldiers to hold the walls against the darkspawn. If I could… give one of them a son, the whole house would celebrate. And we'd all be raised up to noble caste to join the family. It's what Beraht's betting on. That's why he's paid for my clothes, my voice lessons. He wants to share the reward."

"And you said there was a noble showing interest?"

"Yes. That is, I hope. He certainly seems… charming. He treats me like a real lady, not just someone to tumble and forget." Rica was actually smiling. Even if the job Beraht had her set to was sometimes… unpleasant, it was good that Rica could at least find a little joy in it.

"You gonna tell me who he is, or am I supposed to start guessing?" She needed to know—someone needed to do a background check, and Rica wasn't the one. Who is he, who are his trading partners, does he beat his women behind closed doors, do his friends. All important things to know.

"I-I don't want to say… in case I'm wrong," said Rica. Liri narrowed her eyes at her sister. Was Rica blushing? She was actually blushing. "It just seems too mad to think of one of the most important men in Orzammar with… someone like me."

"You know the other options. Cleaning middens, begging, going to the surface… working the street corners again…" Rica shuddered. Unpleasant as it could be pursuing nobles or slitting throats, neither of them wanted to go back to selling a tumble for a single copper. They were worth more than that, at the very least. "No, unless you find a way to save us all from darkspawn and become a Paragon, we're pretty much on Beraht's leash for life."

Liri barked a laugh. "Someone like me could never actually become a Paragon."

"It wouldn't be the first time. Gherlon the Blood-Risen was born casteless, you know, before he went to the surface. And he came back and won the throne!" Rica exclaimed. Her fancy education was paying off, at least. "Many Paragons have humble origins. All that matters is that the Assembly recognizes their achievements. And once they get that vote, they found their own house, and are as noble as if the ancestors themselves made it so."

It would never happen. She wasn't anything special, just another casteless doing her best to survive. The day she became Paragon would be the very same day nugs started to fly.

Still, Rica's hope was a little contagious. Just a little. "That would certainly surprise Mother."

"Oh, don't pay attention to her. She's just a bitter old drunk. She also said you'd never learn to walk, or stop dumping the bed. Make something of yourself just to spite her."

"Maybe I will."

"Maybe you will." Rica smiled fondly. "But until then, we can only serve as Beraht demands, and he won't like it if either of us is late."

"You're right. See ya later." Liri gathered her gear, adding a couple more blades to her belt.

"Don't get into too much trouble. I'll see you tonight." Rica turned to her trunk and began to pull out her expensive accessories.

Liri tried to exit the hovel without catching her mother's attention, but alas, no such luck.

Her mother glared over at her in a haze as she passed, a bottle of moss-wine clutched in her hand. "Whozzat? Why are you bothering me? Rica?"

It was one of those days, apparently. Liri and Rica looked alike, sure, but when she was deep in the bottle her mother could never tell one from the other.

"It's the guardsmen. You're under arrest for drunkenness." If drunkenness was an actual offense, all of Tapsters would be incarcerated.

Her mother stared at her. Even though Liri signed slowly, it took the drunken mess a moment to puzzle out the hand signals.

"Don't sass me, you ungrateful brat! I made you and I can make another just like you." She took another swig. Everything about the woman stank with alcohol.

"I'm the only reason you're here and not dead in a gutter." Too many times, she or Rica had had to pull their mother physically out of a ditch. They stopped trying to drag her out of her emotional ditch years ago.

"Then you shoulda left me there!" She spat, "What've I got that's worth livin for?"

Not much, apparently. "What about me? What about Rica?"

"I know you both hate me…" she shifted from rage to weeping faster than a coin flip. "… I-I know what I done to ya, but… it was for your own good. The world's a cruel place. You… you had to learn that." And then it was back to rage just as fast. "You think you'd be where you are now if I'd let you hide from a few slaps? Everything you are, I made you!"

"Think that's something to be proud of, do you?" A few slaps, indeed. How many times had she hid behind Rica when this woman went on a drunken rampage? Too many. How many years had she and Rica stood on the street corners, selling themselves for less than they were worth, just for what little money they made go straight into a bottle? Too many. Only now that they had a real chance at changing their fates did their mother start claiming she made any of it happen.

"I tried my best! They treat us like dust, tell us we're cursed. How else are we supposed to live? We got nothin! There's no way out. For any of us."

"You're wrong. I'm going to make something of my life." Did she actually just say that? Wow. Rica really was rubbing off on her.

"Sure. That's what they all say. You only got one coin to spend in this life, and it's between your legs."

Liri turned away to stop herself from decking the woman upside the head. She started towards the door.

"Hey, where's she goin? Why's she leaving?" Her mother slurred. "Don't leave me!"

Liri turned back just in time to see the woman fall sideways out of her chair, only to be caught by Rica before hitting the stone. "Never mind, Mother. Why don't you just lie down? That's good." Liri helped Rica move the semi-coherent drunk to the nearby cot. Almost impressively, a bottle of moss-wine still rested tightly in her grip.

"I'm going now. Hopefully she'll dry out by the time I get back."

Unlikely. But miracles happened every once in a while, even in Dust Town.

Leske was waiting for her in his usual place in the square.

"About sodding time. I was starting to think I'd have to bust in and get an eyeful of that spicy sister of yours, ga-row!"

She was so not in the mood for this today.

"Haven't I told you not to talk about Rica that way?"

Leske was unfazed. Apparently he missed the murder in her eyes. "You're just jealous because you want the majesty of Leske for yourself, you shameless hussy. What do you say?"

"I say that you just like Rica because she can't break you with one hand." Liri cracked her knuckles as she finished, just to emphasize the point.

Leske cleared his throat and looked away quickly. "That does have its appeal. But much as I'd love to keep chatting, we'd better get down to business."

"And here I hoped our mission was for me to make fun of you."

"No such luck."

"So what's the job?"

—

He learned a lot on the five-day walk to Orzammar. The most important things were how to pitch a tent, how to cook over a fire, and that the body belonging to Edmund Amell was not nearly as physically fit as his own actual body.

He supposed he would have to adjust soon. If he made it to the "main campain," he was going to do an awful lot of walking around Ferelden.

If any of his traveling companions questions his lack of general know-how, they didn't voice it. He supposed that it could easily be explained that he was in the Circle for so long he didn't know anything about the outside world. It was a really convenient excuse.

Duncan spoke little during the journey, only occasionally making small talk, but mostly giving instructions or asking the occasional question. The other Wardens were more talkative, with each other and with him.

He found himself remembering with an uncomfortable start that none of the men he was traveling with would survive Ostagar. That made it somewhat more difficult to speak with them.

The others seemed to interpret his sudden solemn attitude as homesickness, even going so far to tease him about it. He didn't see a need to correct them.

Two of the nights they camped on the road, he found himself in the Fade with Pride. Pride worked with him on his focus, on his ability to reach into his mana smoothly on command. Edmund told Pride about cell phones. Pride taught him his limits, how far he could push before he reached his breaking point, and what to do if that ever happened. Edmund told Pride about the Internet. They traded back in forth, and for now at least it seemed like this little dance would work.

Though the training in the Fade didn't seem to affect him physically, it did leave him waking with a killer headache in the morning. What he wouldn't do for some tylenol.

Sam and Oliver were discussing the best way to kill an Ogre when Edmund realized they were nearing the gates to Orzammar. He quickened his steps to match Duncan's at the head of the group.

"Will you be recruiting while we're here, Duncan?"

"Should we find someone worthy, I don't see why not," said Duncan. "There is always room in the Wardens for those with the will and skill to face the darkspawn."

Edmund drummed his fingers against his staff, which he'd used throughout the trip as a glorified walking stick, lost in thought. He hadn't told Duncan. Didn't know how to tell Duncan. Didn't know if he should.

He didn't even know when they would be arriving in Orzammar, time-line wise. The Commoner Origin was supposed to take place a week before the Noble Origin. They would probably only be able to recruit one or the other.

If he had to guess, they would be there for the Noble Origin. He recalled Duncan standing at the commission feast with other human Wardens—there to scout the Deep Roads for some mysterious reason. Like they were apparently doing now.

"Well find some here. I'm sure of it."

The market around the cities entrance was bustling, surface dwarves selling wares from armor to artwork. The company of Wardens passed through the middle directly to the gates themselves. Edmund didn't know how to put it any other way. They were… enormous.

The guards recognized Duncan nearly on-sight and let them in almost without question.

Edmund felt like he was stepping into an entirely different world—which was becoming a common sensation, unfortunately. The game simply didn't do the massive Hall of Heroes justice.

Stone dwarves loomed in a massive parade as they made their way to the city proper. Edmund could almost here Orzammar's theme music playing in the back of his mind.

The city was strangely dark—but if he remembered correctly dwarves had dark-vision, so the denizens of the city probably saw fine. As it was for the party of humans, the waterfalls and pools of lava cast an eerie glow on the entire city, enhancing the other-worldly effect.

His eyes began to adjust to the darkness as they were escorted through the city. Being that the shortest of them was still two feet taller than the dwarves around them, they caught a lot of attention from passers by.

He'd have thought he'd have gotten used to being watched from hanging around templars, but this was different. Awe and curiosity, not suspicion.

Their escort brought them to what he assumed was the Diamond Quarter. "This is the Grey Warden compound here in Orzammar. It is a small location, meant for those who stop here before going on to face their—" Sam stopped mid explanation and swore loudly, having caught an elbow in the ribs from Oliver. He glared at his companion before continuing. "before they scout the Deep Roads. Yeah."

Edmund rolled his eyes. Before they went to face their Callings, yeah. That wasn't something they told their recruits.

"We will be staying here while I take care of the matters in the city," said Duncan, as they entered. "Take a few moments to refresh, and then we will meet with the King. Be on your best behavior, all of you."

—

Endrin spoke with them only briefly, busy with matters of state, but promised to cede his request to study in the Shaperate until such a time as he could be spared to address the Grey Warden concerns. That itself could make the trip worthwhile—he'd found mentions of an old Grey Warden outpost in the Korcari Wilds while in the Circle library, but the Shaperate was more likely to have specific information.

Otherwise, Endrin suggested Duncan take his Wardens to the Proving grounds, where a Glory Proving would be fought later that afternoon, saying that such an event would be declared as a showing for the honor of the Grey Warden's arrival. Some of their best would be competing in the fights today.

Duncan eyed the dark-haired mage as they walked the streets of the Commons. Edmund carried himself with an impossible mix of confidence and uncertainty and had an uncannily accurate intuition. Duncan felt he likely knew more than he let on. Provided he survived the Joining, Duncan hoped to get answers about some of the more… unexpected things he'd said.

For now, he lead his Wardens to the Proving ground. Perhaps one among the contestants would prove to be Grey Warden material.

—

Liri's purse was heavier than it'd been in a long while. They'd eat well for the next couple days at least. She glanced back at Leske as they walked through the Commons. He was trying too hard to look casual.

"Don't worry. Just follow my lead, Beraht won't suspect a thing."

"I hope you're right, salorka."

Beraht and Jarvia stood by the counter when Liri and Leske entered the shop.

"… the king is old, his rule won't hold much longer," said Beraht.

"Prince Bhelen seems more sympathetic to our interests than Trian. I'm not certain where Prince Aothor stands. He's been careful publicly, but he's extremely popular—and that makes him a bit of a wild card," said Jarvia.

"We'll have to get more eyes on prince number two. But Bhelen has some tastes of his own that he knows I can provide—" Beraht glanced their way, realizing that they'd entered the shop. "We'll finish this later. It's about time you two showed up. What happened with Oskias?"

"We searched him and everything he had, didn't find anything. He was clean," she signed as Leske translated. There wasn't any way for him to censor her either, since unlike Beraht, Jarvia understood hand speech.

"He didn't have anything? You expect me to believe that?" Beraht crossed his arms, glaring down at them.

"He said he was keeping it all topside," Leske added.

"Jarvia, send a dig-troop topside. If Oskias has a hiding spot up there, I want us up to our elbows in it."

Jarvia nodded. "As you say."

Beraht turned back to Liri. "And the matter of… punishment?"

"Don't worry. I killed him myself."

"That's very interesting, seeing as how my cousin was at Tapsters this afternoon. And he says he saw something change hands between you and Oskias and then the duster sodding stood up and walked out on his own two feet! Does that sound like what I asked? Jarvia, what does that sound like to you?"

Jarvia sneered at them. "It sounds like some jumped-up face-brands thought they could take a bribe and let him walk free. That's just not right."

"The lady says it's not right. You wouldn't disagree with a lady, would you?"

Yeah, but if Jarvia was a lady, Liri was an elf. It wasn't lost on her that both Beraht and Jarvia had their hands on their swords. "I'm not stupid enough to kill Oskias in public."

"Right," Leske continued, backing her up with confidence. "I mean, no one's gonna say spit to you, Beraht, but we can't move that free. We needed to get Oskias somewhere private. We took him to the lava sinks behind the mines. You won't be seeing him again."

Beraht's hand lifted from his pommel to stroke his beard. "Hmm… I don't like you making me look weak… but it's smart to keep the Sword Caste's from asking questions." Beraht barked out a laugh, shaking her head. Jarvia just looked disappointed she wasn't going to be shanking them. "That's what I like about you two. Now, I got something else for you. Make some use of your… unique skills."

Liri gave him an uncertain look. She had a lot of "unique skills." He was going to have to be more specific.

"Let me guess: we don't really have a choice."

Beraht chuckled. "You're catching on. There's a Proving happening today—all the best fighters from the upper castes, last man standing—you know the sort of thing. They're showing off for some Grey Wardens who are looking for candidates to drag off to a life of eternal glory." Beraht began to pace as he spoke, a gleam of greed in his eyes. "Now, it's not often we get every name fighter in Orzammar lined up like that, and I have certain acquaintances who… take an interest in this sort of thing."

"And you're taking bets on the fights."

Beraht carried on without a look to them. "There's a lot of coin to be made when people get the fever up. Favored fighter's an officer named Mainar, veteran of four darkspawn campaigns. I also heard rumors that one of the prince's was signed up—likely Aothor, he's won five Provings previously and likes to test himself against the warriors—but so far there's been no confirmation. Regardless, Everd is a long-shot. Just got back from a Deep Roads offensive. Some young buck who's got all the ladies drooling. I've got a lot of money riding on him, mine and other peoples. I expect to see and eight-to-one payoff. Understand?"

He painted a clear enough picture. She nodded. "Aye, I do."

"Good. When the name Mainar comes up, I want you to slip this drug into the bastard's water. It'll slow his reflexes, just enough to take the edge off, not enough to show. But it wears off quickly, so don't use it until just before the fight."

"Alright. We'll go right now."

"You bet you will. Here's your pass to get on the grounds. The Proving starts as soon as the clock strikes. Here's your passes to get on the grounds. And when I say I have coin on this, I'm not talking about some pittance. Like the value of your life. 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."

Very subtle. Nice, Beraht.

Leske followed her out of the shop and across the bridge. They had a Proving to fix.

—

Edmund stuck to Duncan's side like glue as they entered the Proving Grounds. Maybe they would be recruiting the Commoner Origin, after all. If Brosca approached Duncan, he wanted to be there and see for himself.

Dwarves milled about around them as everyone waited for the fights to begin. Most made their way to the seating area, some stopped by the concessions stand to get a leg of roast nug. He was considering grabbing one himself when a redheaded dwarven woman approached them. The other dwarves avoided her like she carried the Blight. Probably because of the geometric brands spanning her forehead like a crown.

He'd bet gold this was Brosca. If he had any gold. Which he did not.

She shuffled in place, looking up at them with an equal mix of apprehension and curiosity. Duncan bowed to her in greeting. "Stone-met, and blessings on your house." The lady dwarf just blinked, frowning. "That was the proper greeting for an outside the last time I visited Orzammar. Has it changed? Or is there a reason you're looking me so strangely?"

"In my part of Orzammar we just go with 'Hello.'"

Edmund frowned. She was using sign-language. He… hadn't expected that, honestly.

If Duncan was as surprised as he was, he hid it better, and could also understand her hand-signals like he could. "We do the same in my part of Ferelden," the man laughed, "Hello, then. I am Duncan. I'd say 'of the Grey Wardens' but I suspect you already know this. Pleased to meet you."

"I am Edmund, of the same," Edmund said, signing as he spoke. Damn. Now that he looked at her closer, she really looked like his sister, and the sign language made it even more uncanny. Given that she understood Duncan without him signing, Edmund gathered that she wasn't deaf like his sister.

His sister. Melody.

Damn. Now his heart hurt.

He pushed thoughts of his family away. He couldn't afford to be homesick now.

"Are you a member of the Silent Sisters, perhaps? I have met others of your Order in the past." That's right. Utha. It made sense Duncan would know some sign-language. He made a mental note to add that to his record journal.

Brosca shook her head. "No. I'm just Liri. Of… of nobody."

Duncan put the pieces together. "Ah… ah, of course. That's what the face-brand means, then. I remember that now."

"Aye. And yes, you can have me arrested for harassing you, if you want."

Duncan laughed. "For saying hello? My friend, to a Grey Warden nothing short of a slavering darkspawn waking you in your bedroll counts as harassment."

Edmund rolled his eyes. "You certainly know how to make a sales pitch, Commander."

"I only speak the truth." Duncan shrugged. "And in truth, I am very glad to have met you, young lady. Whenever we come to Orzammar we always stay in the Diamond Quarter. It's easy to forget how much of the city we miss. We Wardens are always looking for those who have the courage to spend their lives in battle against the darkspawn. It is rare we find those with both the skill and the will. The best Wardens are ruthless to their enemies, compassionate to their friends, and inspiring to their troops. It's a lot to look for, but I hope to find it here."

"And I think we just did," Edmund said softly.

"In any event, we hope you find what you are looking for. Come, we should get to our seats." Duncan bid her farewell and lead him through the halls.

"She's Warden material, Duncan," he told the man as they walked. Duncan cast him a curious look.

"What makes you say?"

First of all, she was probably guaranteed to survive the Joining. Because plot armor. Did that apply to reality? Probably not. Whatever. "She works for Beraht, a local crime lord. Good at what she does. Anyways, you'll see soon enough. The fights are about to start."

"We're scarce been in the city a day. How could you know this?"

"I use my listening ears. Come on."

The stadium was packed with dwarves, all cheering loudly like it was the Super Bowl. Duncan took the seat of honor, while he and the other Wardens sat at his sides. The Proving Master stood at the edge of the balcony. When he spoke, his voice boomed over the crowd. He eyed the runes carved into the floor. They probably served to amplify sound.

The opening speech was grand and long. Most of it was honoring the ancestors, calling down their favor on the combatants, and praying for the Stone to comfort those who fell. There was a little thrown in there about honoring the Grey Wardens and the glory of the call, towards the end.

The first combatants entered the arena. Officer Mainar, and "Everd."

The two bowed to each other. If he hand't been watching Liri as closely as he was, he would have missed it when she scooped a handful of dirt into her hand.

"Fight!" The Proving Master gave the signal.

Mainar rushed at Liri, who easily evaded the swing of his club and threw the handful of dust directly into his eyes. While he sputtered and flailed about, Liri struck the back of his head with the pommel of her blade, knocking him out cold.

"The winner is Everd!" The stadium went wild. "A truly memorable fight. The young cadet vanquishes the wily veteran."

Mainar was carried off the field, and "Everd" returned to the waiting rooms without a word.

The Proving was set up in a series of brackets, with only the victors advancing to the next round. A few more pairs of dwarves went at it. He recognized a few of the names.

He nearly fell out of his seat when the Proving Master announced the fourth pair of combatants.

"The warrior Burbek Turin will do honorable battle against Prince Aothor Aeducan!"

If he thought the crowd had been loud before, it all but exploded.

"Aeducan?" Edmund asked, looking to one of the nearby dwarves.

"Oh yes. The prince often competes in the Provings, has since he was old enough to wield a blade. He enjoys spending time with the warriors and testing his mettle against theirs. Should the ancestors favor him today, he will become a six-time champion of the arena. He's a crowd favorite, that's for certain."

Edmund studied the dwarven man in the pit. From here all he could make out was fine blond hair and a well groomed beard, and that the man wore heavy armor and carried a sword and shield.

If they stayed in Orzammar long enough, maybe they could get both dwarves.

The dwarves wished each other luck, donned their helms, and drew their blades. Prince Aothor's opponent carried a great sword. The two circled each other around once, then twice. Aothor made the first move, raising his sword and charging in.

His opponent parried the blow and returned in kind. Aothor caught the blow with his shield and pushed back, causing the other dwarf to stumble, but not fall. They kept this pattern going for a short while.

"Liri takes her opponents out before they can get going. Aothor has the stamina to wear them down and outlast them." Edmund half-said to Duncan.

Duncan looked at him, confused. "Liri?"

Edmund shook his head. "Everd."

The match ended with the princes victory as Duncan pieced together his words and chuckled.

The next several bouts proceeded in this manner. Liri would let her opponents rush her, making them do the work in attacking her, before turning their own moves against them to put them down quickly. With Aothor it was more of a back-and-forth, a steady give and take in the blows. He mostly tuned out the battles where neither of them were fighting.

He checked the bracket. The way things were lining up…

The final fight was going to be Aothor Aeducan vs. "Everd."

Oh shit.

—

Oh shit.

Sodding ancestors, why did this kinda thing have to happen to her?

Aothor Aeducan. A fucking prince.

What was the worst about this situation was that even if she did put down the guy who would likely be the next ruler of Orzammar, she wouldn't be able to tell anyone about it. A fucking waste of bragging rights, right there.

Prince Aothor bowed to her. This couldn't get anymore surreal.

"You've fought well today, Everd. Win or loose, your ancestors surely smile upon you this day."

Considering that Everd was currently locked in a storage trunk, that was unlikely.

She shrugged, bowing to the noble and readying her weapons. Aeducan strapped on his helm and did likewise.

"The battle for the championship is here! Combatants, make your ancestors proud, and fight for glory!"

At the signal for the battle to begin, the prince started to close the distance towards her.

Liri took her dagger and threw it, aimed true at his head. He raised his shield to guard his face. Which meant for at least a split second, he couldn't see her.

It was all she needed.

She ran, circling around to get an opening at his flank. By the time his shield came down, her sword was already aimed at his back.

He spun on his heel and parried and stepped back, safely out of range.

Liri scowled. She bent and picked up the dagger from the ground. Aothor swung at her while she was down. She easily rolled away from the blow and sprung to her feet a few paces away.

So far, the rest of Orzammar's "best" wouldn't have lasted an afternoon stroll through the alley's of Dust Town. The princeling was the first one to put up a decent challenge.

They went back and forth, parrying and striking until they nearly settled into a rhythm.

He was trying to draw this out. He wanted her to wear down, to get sloppy.

She was tiring. Three straight bouts with minimal rest between—her arms were starting to get stiff. Aeducan did this kind of thing regularly. He had the advantage here.

She needed to end this quickly.

She sheathed her dagger, but readied the sword. With her now empty hand, she gestured him to come at her.

The crowd was jeering and screaming—she couldn't tell what cries were directed at which fighter. As it was, Aothor shifted his stance, planting himself to the stone.

She sighed—leave it to the noble to be uncooperative. She charged him. He easily knocked the sword to the side before cutting in with his blade.

Perfect.

She caught his wrist with her free hand and twisted. The prince called out in surprise and dropped the sword. Liri kicked it away and went for her dagger.

She was just a fraction of a second too slow.

Aothor swung back with his shield, catching the underside of the helm. Sparks danced in her vision as she stumbled backwards, but she kept her feet under her.

Aothor was staring at her, eyes wide behind his helm. Liri blinked. Sound came back into full focus. The crowd was… furious. Slowly, she reached up to her head and felt hair. She looked down. Everd's helm was lying on the stone at her feet.

Shit.

The Proving Master's voice boomed over the space. "Who are you? How dare you disrupt this sacred—"

"That's not Everd!" Shouted Mainar. An astounding observation, truly. "What imposter did I fight?"

"Casteless," the quiet voice came from the man standing in the pit with her. Liri looked at the noble. He wasn't angry. Just… really confused.

"Casteless!" Roared the Proving Master, "She insults the very nature of this Proving!" soldiers poured into the pit. "Guards, take this… filth, away!"

The prince turned and exited the stadium without a single word to her.

The guards encircled her, cutting off any avenue of escape.

Beraht was going to be pissed.

Beraht.

Rica.

Her blood turned to ice. She dropped into a dead sprint, running for the doors.

She wasn't going to make it. She knew that. But she had to try.

A guard grabbed her as she ran by and struck her in the back of the head. Her vision went black.