The dwarf has been surprisingly lucid on their journey, despite the copious amounts of alcohol he has consumed. The really scary part is that his smell has not become even more saturated with alcohol, so this constant state of inebriation must be his version of normal.
She looks over to Alistair, and notes he's still blushing from when Oghren commented on their relationship using several colorful metaphors. She grins to herself as she turns forward to scout out the last tunnel, looking for darkspawn in hidden passages. The thought occurs to her that Alistair was right; the blight did bring them together. "And it was good," she murmurs to herself. She never expected to find love during this mess, but she did, and her lover is turning into a good man as she thought he would.
They enter a huge cavern and in front of them is a massive blob of female flesh, grotesque in its size and appearance. "Easy there," the dwarf says behind her as she involuntarily backs up for the first time ever, steadying her with a hand on her waist to keep her from retreating further. "You'll trip on me."
Then the monstrous thing sees them and shrieks, chilling her to her very bone. She pulls out her bow and nocks an arrow as tentacles burst from the ground, all around her. The battle is joined.
Afterward, the dwarf who calls herself Hespith gives her chills as she calls that thing a broodmother. It's then that she first realizes why there are not many female wardens. The chance of becoming one of those … things … is pretty high. Oghren casually mentions that on the rare times that a female Grey Warden comes to the Deep Roads for her calling, she is usually accompanied by at least two men. She realizes that Oghren is far more perceptive than he lets on, and that his bluster serves as camouflage for something much deeper.
Occasional reports make their way north to the Free Marches about the situation in Ferelden, but largely the normal communication channels are silent. The country is obviously still in turmoil, and the reliability of what he does hear is suspect. An arling full of walking dead? Werewolves? Abominations rampant in the Circle of Magi? A walking, talking statue? He finds the possibility of any these things happening improbable, let alone all of them. Having them happen simultaneously? He thinks not.
More worrisome are the more infrequent reports of the civil war. Some say Loghain and his father are traitors, some say that the Arl of Redcliffe is preparing for a coup, and others still that the Grey Wardens are under the control of Orlais, trying to invade the country. It's hard to know what to believe. Occasional whispers reach his ears, saying that his father is an evil, cruel man, and that he is responsible for the worst of the rumors. He finds this hard to believe. After all, this is his father that people are talking about. He just wishes that mail was being delivered – with each passing day, his worry for his sister and the rest of his family increases. He's never gone this long without hearing from Delilah.
"Sod it," he grumbles, turning his flagon upside down to make sure it is completely empty. He had been trying to ration himself, really he had, but things took longer than he thought they would. And then he saw Branka, and then he helped kill Branka. That was the worst. He thought he was doing pretty badly, then he saw how unhinged she'd become.
He studies the Warden a moment as she rests, leaning her back against the rock and closing her eyes while the boy puts his arm around her shoulders. She smiles and scoots closer to the kid. He decides that she's a good sort. None of the other dwarves will put up with him anymore, but she just nodded when he asked to join her and actually listened to him when he had something to say. He can't remember the last time that someone did that. And most women would have run away screaming, seeing a broodmother for the first time. She took the thing head-on even though it was a really nasty surprise for her. He doesn't know what they're teaching Grey Wardens these days if she had never heard of a broodmother before. He shakes his head. At least the Wardens are still teaching their recruits how to fight. Those two are worth about five dwarves apiece in the damage they do.
He looks down at his flagon again, willing it to fill itself. He wonders if the mage can conjure up something to put in the flagon. That'd be a nifty trick. He really needs a drink right about now, after the day he's had.
Suddenly, a bottle appears in front of his face. He looks up to see the Warden holding a bottle of something that looks expensive. "I found this," she says and hands it to him. He looks at her, disbelieving. No Oghren you shouldn't drink? No Too bad, you had too many already? She smiles a little, her eyes looking a lot older than what he thinks is her actual age. Her voice drops to a whisper as she says, "I thought you might need to take the edge off. Now is probably the worst time to get on the wagon, eh?" She smiles at him as she says it. He knows she understands. That's saying a lot.
He uncorks the bottle and drinks a large swig from it. The stuff is pretty good, and he tells her so. She nods and smiles. "I guess we should get back," she says as he pours the rest into his flagon and tosses the bottle off to the side. "We have a king to crown." He gets up and nods. He decides that if she'll let him, he'll join their group and see what's what. He'll get to swing a weapon that way at least.
Petra doesn't come to his cell this week. Instead, Irving arrives, books in hand, and the templar with him brings a chair for the First Enchanter to sit on. He exchanges last week's books for these ones, thanking the mage quietly for bringing him his only connection to the outside world. He eyes the bottle of ink and the quill that Irving hands him. That's new. Then, he waits. Irving obviously wants to talk to him if he's bothering to sit down.
Irving clears his throat, then starts. "Fairly soon, the able-bodied mages will be joining the Grey Warden's army to combat the blight. I will need your help."
He raises an eyebrow. "You're going to let me out of the tower?"
Irving shakes his head. "No. Greagoir and I have decided to keep you here. You will be helping to mind the young apprentices. I wish I could trust you to stay with us as we leave, but you know why this cannot be so."
He does understand, but at the same time the thought of being able to do something, to get out and be useful, even just a bit, pushes the words out of his mouth. "What if I swore to you I wouldn't try to escape while the army fights?"
Irving, again, shakes his head. "Greagoir would never allow it. And I agree with him on this. It's too bad. Apart from Wynne, you're the best healer we have."
"Then let me be of use!"
"You will be. I expect you to protect the tower alongside the templars, should the darkspawn come here." He stands and the templar who came down with him picks up the chair. "You will also teach the healing and herbalism classes." Without waiting for an answer, he turns and leaves.
He sighs and looks down at the books Irving has brought him. He notes that they are all textbooks. Included with the books is a sheaf of vellum. So I get to write lesson plans. He opens the first book to the marked page and gets started since he has nothing better to do. He's certainly not going to be engaging in the usual personal time that he allows himself after Petra has come to visit.
