She slouched in a stone chair in Tapster's Tavern and remarked how she punctuated her accomplishments with visits to a tavern. With an elbow propped on the table, she held up her chin and stopped hiding her bad mood. The chair was uncomfortable and the ale was warm. She was tired. She was tired of killing Darkspawn, she was tired of solving Ferelden's problems, and she was tired of rock, and stone, and dust. She was tired of being dirty. She was tired of the suffocating heat. She was tired of being tired.
"Thunderhumpers…" The Dwarf growled while using the back of his hand to wipe foam from his beard. "This party sodding bites nug balls! More ale bar wench!"
The one thing Nuraya did not anticipate about the Dwarves of Orzammar was their capacity to drink. Two weeks ago, she decided it was unnecessary to invite Oghren to permanently join her company, but he insisted on guiding them through the Deep Roads. It was later that Alistair and Zev convinced her to allow him to accompany them to the surface. Originally, she thought Oghren would serve them well by offering some useful advice and perhaps a map. But recruit him to the cause? This she didn't think he was necessary. He was loud, rude and he smelled of stale draught by day and fresh ale by night. Reluctantly, she asked Morrigan to return to basecamp, wondering if this somehow was part of a scheme Alistair cooked up to send her away. She would have preferred to keep Morrigan along, if only to have another girl around, but they only had enough supplies to sustain a party of four in the Deep Roads. For fourteen entire days she was forced travel with three stinking, sweaty men. Tonight she was in no mood to contribute to the current conversation about the bar maid's chest. Not even Alistair's winks or his wandering hands distracted her from her foul mood.
She pushed her ale aside and excused herself from the table.
"Can't hold your liquor Magey? Lemme show ya how the real fighters celebrate victory! By the stone I don't know how you managed to nugger that sodding titted beast!"
"Titted beast?" she asked incredulously and bristled at her new pet name.
He laughed. "Yeah, the broodmother. Could barely focus on my axe, kept staring at her…chests…" he pounded the table and sniggered.
"I have to admit that the thought of eight breasts on a woman might make for an exotic evening. But in this case, I prefer mothers that are more… plain… Of course, I have nothing against the unusual…"
"I think that was more woman than you could handle, Zevran." Alistair now entered the chatter.
"Oh, don't be so sure my friend."
Oghren pointed at Zevran and slammed the table with his fist and laughed hysterically. Nuraya was completely repulsed at the thought of this disgusting creature and their comments. She could still feel the Broodmother's writhing tendrils slither around her neck, squeezing so hard that she gasped for air. She learned that this thing was once a Dwarven woman, so corrupted with the taint, and forever lost to the Deep Roads, only to be kept alive to continually birth genlocks. Nuraya could not understand how they could make light of that situation.
Oghren slurred and held up his mug to toast the others. "To titted beasts!"
No matter her approach, whether it was with sincerity or rudeness, he was incapable of showing her any respect. She wondered if he resented her for killing Branka and destroying the Anvil of the Void. Then again, she doubted that he remained sober long enough to remember those events.
"I'm going in search of some fresh air," she scowled. Oghren let out a very wet, loud and garish belch.
"There is your air freshener, Magey," he bellowed, thumping his fist on the table causing the mugs to rattle. Zev and Alistair held them steady. Alistair tried to convince her to stay a while, but she insisted that she would stay near Tapsters. She weaved her way through the patrons careful not to elbow anyone in the head. It was taking her some time to adjust to their size. Even though the Dwarves were stout and durable, she thought it rude to elbow a stranger in the eye.
Out of the confines of the tavern, the air was still heavy and still. She strolled down the avenue and sat near a lava fall. At first, the free flowing magma filled her with awe. Always having a deep connection to fire, she was drawn to it, wanted to reach in her hand and allow it to flow over her. Regardless of her fascination, sitting near the searing heat did not help her improve her mood. She did not anticipate her intense dislike of this place and felt the crafted cavern walls starting to close in around her. She was glad that everything the Circle taught her was completely wrong. Orzammar had a rich and complex history, untarnished with direct influence from the Chantry. Part of her felt sad that so many had been lost to the Darkspawn. She suspected that her bad mood had little to do with Orzammar and more to do with nearing the end of her quest.
A young girl nervously approached and gained her attention.
"Dagna! Good to see you again!"
"Am I disturbing you Warden Amell?"
"Not at all, come sit. I could use a real conversation."
"Really!" The Dwarven girl perked up and excitedly took a seat beside her, asking "where are your other companions? A surface woman is not safe in these areas. I know you took care of the Carta in Dust Town, but surfacers are always a target here under the mountain. I hear that you convinced the Assembly to accept Bhelen's claim to the throne. Harrowmont's supporters are not going to be happy about that."
Nuraya motioned toward the tavern. "I'll call in the troops if there's trouble."
"So, when are you heading back to the surface?"
"Tomorrow and no worries, I will talk to Irving for you."
"Please, don't think I came over to pressure you, Warden. I can't believe you actually lived there." The Dwarf was still in awe of the Circle.
"Call me Nuraya, please. As far as the Circle is concerned, I hated it. I'd rather be here." She was not entirely truthful, but she was making a point.
"But you were the great Irving's apprentice. I can't imagine leaving."
"He's an excellent mage and a good teacher, this is true. I hope you get a chance to study with him. I'm fortunate to have been recruited by the Grey Wardens. The Circle is nothing more than a prison."
"You were locked in a cell in nothing but your small clothes?"
"Well no. I was free to wander the Tower at will, but I was never permitted off the island. My first sight of Ferelden was on the way to Ostagar with the Warden who recruited me. The templars are pretty horrible to mages. Dwarves are lucky not to pass magic on to their children."
"Instead we have our own prisons. The whole caste business is a bit like that. Once in the smith caste, always in the smith caste."
"I know, but you'll never have to worry about a templar showing up and stealing your children."
Dagna wiggled herself closer and whispered, "but I bet you know the octagonal prism to conjure inferno."
Nuraya conjured a small flame in the palm of her hand and held it in front of the wide-eyed Dwarf.
"Primal geometry is a topic that only scholars care about. You will absolutely revel in the library there."
"Don't get me started! Were you taught about the properties of lyrium?"
"Properties? No. It's just a necessary ingredient. Mages tend to focus on the geometry, runes and keys. Oh, and not getting made tranquil by the templars."
"By the stone! You don't study this at the Circle? Amazing! Lyrium is an incredible substance really. Dwarves have been working with it ever since…well, ever since the beginning. Lyrium vibrates. When heated, it vibrates at a faster rate than when frozen. I have been dying to find out how to combine these properties with arcane geometry."
"I am sure the senior enchanters will be very interested in your work, Dagna."
In the back of her mind, she hoped that this discovery could somehow benefit the mages. What if they could provide templars with lyrium that made them more docile? What if they could hold this knowledge over the Chantry and negotiate their freedom? Perhaps these changes needed to come in small steps. She still needed to work on Alistair. He was still stubbornly insistent on staying with Grey Wardens.
Dagna elbowed her. "Oh, oh…look who's coming. By the Ancestors I wish someone would send him with the Legion."
Nuraya looked up the road and saw Brother Burkel. He had approached her a few weeks ago and asked if she would speak to the Shaper about opening a Chantry in Orzammar.
"Maker's blessings ladies! Such a fine evening!" he said.
"And a good evening to you!" Nuraya answered politely.
"I was just wondering if you had a chance to speak with the Shaper about opening a Chantry."
Dagna looked at Nuraya, trying to hide a smirk.
"I'm afraid I won't be speaking to the Shaper about this, Brother Burkel. I'm sorry." She hoped he was not a distant relative of Harrowmont.
Brother Burkel's cheerful expression fell. "Can I ask why? The Chant of Light should be heard amongst all free citizens of Thedas! I am sure the Shaper will hear a request from the Grey Wardens."
"Well, that's the thing, I don't support the Chantry. They have a policy towards mages that I find…unacceptable. The last thing the Dwarves of Orzammar need is the Chantry meddling in their affairs."
"Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, Should they set themselves against me…" Brother Burkel looked to the vaulted roof and drew a deep breath to continue, but Dagna interrupted.
"Perhaps you should listen to the Warden, Burkel. She lives on the surface and better understands the Chantry."
"What could there be to understand? Blessed Andraste loved all her people. Every Dwarf should have the chance to take the Maker into their hearts."
"Let me assure you, it's very complicated. One thing I would be worried about is the Chantry sticking their nose in the lyrium trade. Templar's need the stuff to control the mages. All it takes is one Chantry…and then next thing you know…they start changing laws, influencing your kings…"
A door slammed and she heard the flatulence from a certain red-haired Dwarf.
"…and then I swung me axe and pow! Right in the balls…" Alistair and Zevran hung on his every word, laughing heartily.
Nuraya pardoned herself from Dagna and Burkel, and rolled her eyes at Oghren.
"You will have to pardon me. Glad we had a chance to chat, Dagna. I'll speak to the Circle as soon as I can. And Burkel, good luck with your work. I'm sure you'll be able to find someone to speak to the Shaper on your behalf."
"You're doing everyone a favor in Orzammar by taking him with you," smiled Dagna as she watched Oghren stagger down the steps.
"Your fortune is my punishment. Maker, did I really offend the Dwarves that much?" she muttered.
"Makers blessings upon each of you!" Burkel waved and headed down the avenue.
Oghren slapped Nuraya on the back when he approached. "Hey Magey! How's she hanging? Off trying to find yerself a girlfriend? Didn't realize you magic types liked to play both teams. Heh heh heh…"
Nuraya bit her tongue. Alistair quickly stepped beside her to shield Oghren from any incoming flames.
"We've been invited to stay at Bhelen's until we depart. Thought it might be a step up from a dusty cave," Alistair said, hoping to diffuse the situation.
Nuraya's face flushed and burned in anger. How was she to focus on her remaining tasks when all she wanted to do was set Oghren on fire? Perhaps this is how Alistair felt about Morrigan. As they walked toward the Diamond Quarter, Zevran strode beside her.
"It has been an interesting excursion, my dear Warden. I am much obliged to have the opportunity to partake in this adventure." Zevran may have a lecherous side, but at least he was polite. Nuraya had kept an eye on him throughout their time in Orzammar. She did not think that Dwarven women would be too exotic for his tastes, and decided to report any misgivings to Leliana. She was pleased that she witnessed nothing that required such a report.
"It certainly has, it certainly has." She didn't mean to sound cynical.
"Might I inquire as to why you've decided to support the young Prince Bhelen? He wasn't as popular with the nobility as Harrowmont. I found your choice rather…uh, how should I say…fascinating. Please don't interpret my questions as mistrust my, dear Warden…"
"In Ferelden, Zevran, we honor the royal line. Bhelen was the rightful heir to the throne. Siding with Harrowmont would only create further uncertainty and instability within Orzammar."
"And just how does Magey know what's good for Orzammar, eh?" Oghren interrupted.
"All beings of this earth are alike, Dwarf. If an opportunity to question the authority of the throne exists, someone will seize that chance, and more often than not, will do far more than ask questions. Bhelen may not be a popular choice, but his pedigree alone will offer more stability than the sword or the golden tongue of a politician."
Alistair remained silent on this matter.
"Sodding politicians. I thought mages kept their glowy fingers out of that nasty bit of business."
"So I am politician now, am I? I'm not sure what insult is worse: Politician or Magey."
"I think our lovely Warden has a point. The Crows have long understood that it's more difficult to corrupt a legitimate heir. We only need to look at my last employer as an example."
"Ugh. Loghain. He's next on our list." Whether Alistair was trying to change the subject with this comment, Nuraya could not be certain. Oghren pounded his fist in his hand.
"Who is this Loghain character and when can I introduce him to the sharp side of my axe?"
When they entered the Diamond Quarter, a group of dwarves slid from the shadows and obstructed their path. Nuraya could tell from their mail that they were loyal to Harrowmont. The vestiges of dissent remained, and would so, until Bhelen's coronation. She was quickly losing patience and had no interest in negotiation. She conjured a fireball and directed it at the leader's groin. He flew backward, clutching his manhood and twisted in agony. Oghren jumped into position and raised his axe far over his head and let it fall into the leader's neck. Zevran and Alistair were swarmed with Harrowmont's goons, and Nuraya quickly backed herself against a wall and blasted each with ice. Noticing a solitary woman, a particularly astute rogue slunk toward her, twirling razor sharp switchblades in each hand.
"Want a piece of Mordek, little lady? Come see your Mordek. Maybe I'll have a bit of fun with ye afore I take that pretty braid of yours to the wigmaker."
Compared to the Broodmother, Mordek was mildly amusing. Quickly assessing that her companions could easily be left without her assistance, she cast flaming weapons as a favor.
"Come play with Mordek." He sneered and thrust his blade toward her arm. Dodging his attack, she unsheathed Galdorbryne. With a whoosh of flame, she parried his second strike and sent one of his blades clanging onto the stone. She brought her blade down to strike him in the center of his skull, but he evaded her attack. She knew he would need to be outwitted and out maneuvered.
"Didn't your mama tell you not to play with sharp things?"
She was beginning to tire of the sexist insults. She swung again and slashed open the arm holding his remaining knife, but his grip tightened. She threw ice, which he easily shrugged off, and noticed him seethe in fury. Apparently, she would not be an easy kill either.
Nuraya brandished her sword in sweeping arcs, making frequent contact with his knife. She did not have the power to force the weapon from his hand. Surefooted and agile, she orbited Mordek, searching for her mark. He was quick and his thrusts strong. With two backhanded contacts to his blade, she saw her moment. About to counterstrike, he drew his blade to his chest, coiling and about to use his momentum to extend his blade into her neck. In that brief pause she paralyzed his arm. She wanted him fully aware of her advantage. His hand drooped like a dead fish and the knife scattered on the road as he watched her. Raising his good arm, she heard a click. A shiv extended from his sleeve and pierced her sword arm. Galdorbryne's halo of flame extinguished as it tumbled to the ground. As she acknowledged her pain, she conjured flame, forcing Mordek to retreat. Back flipping, he pulled his reserve blades from their sheathes and twirled them between his fingers. Lurching, almost flying toward her, he slashed and opened her cheek. She felt a trickle of warmth slide down her face.
Her reserves were tapped and sensing that she could manage one more spell, she cast ice at his feet. He danced ridiculously and fell to the ground. Quickly retrieving her sword, she stepped on his chest firmly and slashed the tendons on his wrists, glaring at him with a wry smile. His dark eyes expressed no fear. Grasping Galdorbryne with both hands, she prepared for her final blow until her concentration was interrupted. Oghren bellowed, raced to Mordek and landed his axe in his forehead. Mordek's eyes bulged and then rolled into his skull. The sound of steel splintering bone no longer bothered Nuraya. She stood back, annoyed, and returned her blade to its scabbard and stepped off the corpse.
"Thought you needed a little Oghren magic there, Magey."
"Thanks," she acknowledged blandly and used the back of her hand to wipe the blood from her cheek and tried to shake off the aching in her arm. Zevran was picking the corpses for any sellable items and wiped the gore from his weapon. He inspected each dagger carefully, turning each blade in his hand before returning them to their scabbards strapped to his back. Oghren twirled his axe, catching it in each hand and whistled.
"Where is Alistair?" she called.
She heard a muffled reply. Behind a great column, she found Alistair beneath a large dwarf. The tip of his sword protruded from his attacker's back. Nuraya kicked off the corpse and Alistair pulled his blade free.
"Looks like you got yourself into some close contact there, Warden." Alistair got up and recovered from his fight.
"I'll be fine. Let's get out of here."
~0oOo0~
Bhelen's servants quickly ushered the companions to their accommodations upon their arrival. Long stone corridors sloped deep into the mountain. They were carved and decorated with Dwarven art, depicting the famous Paragons and the Thaigs of old. There was little light to illuminate their way, save the wall sconces that lit the area in cold light with lyrium crystal. She supposed the Dwarves would find the sun too intense.
Few fires were lit and the air felt quite cool as they followed the servant through the winding halls. The low ceilings, although suitable for a dwarf, made the labyrinthine palace seem cramped. Nuraya wondered if Sten could walk through these halls without keeping the top of his head on constant vigil. The servant opened a stout door. Both Nuraya and Alistair ducked under the casing as they entered.
"Is there anything else you might require?" asked the servant.
"Nothing more, thank-you. We both appreciate Bhelen's hospitality and generosity." Alistair answered. Nuraya was glad that he did not request any food. She was not sure she would be able to stomach another roasted nug.
Lyrium in the hearth cast an eerie azure glow in their room. Nuraya immediately began to peel off her layers and flung her robe over a stone chaise, shaking out the fine granules of dust. She inspected it closely and became upset that dust was beginning to tarnish the silver flourishes. Alistair sat on the bed and unbuckled his boots, stomping out the dust with a sharp clank on the stone floor. When she was done fussing over her equipment, she walked over to him and stood to present him with her back. Like an old husband, he automatically unbuckled the breastplate, and then playfully slapped her rump. A fine layer of dust had settled on the surface of the armor and the grime worked its way into the crevices.
"Maker, this mattress is stuffed with sand," he remarked offhandedly.
"Nothing surprises me about this place anymore. What I would give for a babbling brook. What I would give for a rainstorm! All this sand and dust is a slow means of torture. No wonder Oghren is crusty." She dumped fine red grit from her boot. Her feet were raw and chaffed.
"Oghren's muscle will come in handy. You need to ease up on him."
"I'm beginning to wonder if most of his muscle is concentrated in his jaw."
"You have to get over that, underneath, he's all heart."
On the edge of the bed, she unwound her braid and tried to shake out the dust that irritated her scalp.
"Okay, I will. Only if you do the same with Morrigan."
"Ugh. Not the same! She's just plain evil."
"Then no deal."
Alistair grumbled and acquiesced. He was now down to his tunic and breeches. A small mist of dust danced in the air around the lyrium hearth. He paced about the room and stretched. Nuraya sat in a bit of a daze. She could not tell what time of the day it was. Everyone bid her a good evening, but she had to trust that they knew what they were talking about. She counted the days since she had seen the sun. How the Dwarves tracked the passing of the days she did not know. Did they sleep when it was a matter of convenience? Alistair hovered near her and touched her cheek where she had been cut then opened an injury kit. She pulled away.
"Don't waste that. I'll heal myself. I haven't gotten around to it yet. I thought I might go mad with all that gravel in my clothes." She continued to remove the sand from between her toes.
Alistair sat on the edge of the bed with the kit in his lap. "We have plenty. Let's fix you the old fashioned way. Seems that you prefer fighting old style."
"Guess I am not such a bad student after all." She thought of all the evenings that she and Alistair trained. Zevran even joined on occasion and taught her strategies employed by rogues. Her arms started to feel more solid and her grip had improved. There was something very rewarding about using a blade in battle. And she couldn't think of anything more thrilling than augmenting that skill with magic. She liked the contact and the effort involved. There was something about feeling the killing blow that she did not sense when casting spells. If all mages could feel death this way, perhaps they would not be so careless with blood magic.
Alistair lifted her chin and poked around the wound. She could tell a bruise was forming on her cheekbone, but was not particularly concerned. She would have proudly worn her injury, were it not for the miracle of injury kits. Alistair rubbed in some salve and mentioned that stiches would not be required. When completed, he kissed her passionately and she tried to ignore the grit they shared.
"Anything else that requires my attention?" he asked.
She grinned and pulled up her sleeve, enjoying the sensuality of the tease, and pointed to the puncture wound on her arm. He worked more salve into the area and caressed her pale skin with his grimy hands.
"We are nearing the end, love," he said climbing into bed and pulling her to him.
They had yet to make love. There were plenty of nights when her temptation to remove all her clothing a slip beside his smooth, soft skin was more than she could bear. It was becoming increasingly difficult to not touch him, to prevent her fingers from trailing up his thigh, toward his warm and firm centre. She wanted to caress his chest, and slide her palms to his stomach and under the edges of his smalls. He was also holding back as well and she decided it foolish to discuss the matter. If there was no future for them after the Blight, she did not want any memory of their union. Despite Morrigan's encouragement, she could bear this regret. She knew that memories of their lovemaking would haunt her forever.
She lay on her side and Alistair pulled her close to his chest. She bent her knee and he sandwiched it between his legs She was used to the sensation of his manhood making its attention known. Oftentimes, he would pull away. Tonight, he did not, and caressed her arms lightly with the tips of his fingers.
"We will have to meet up with Arl Eamon when we return," she muttered, growing weary.
"Yes, we have much to discuss." He spoke slowly; she could tell he was fading as well.
She wanted to pry for more information, as she knew he would want to discuss matters of the crown with his uncle. Not wanting to stir any tension, she closed her eyes and drifted off.
~0oOo0~
Once the guards opened the great doors of Orzammar, the winter air punched her in the chest. The sun blazed and forced her to blink and squint. For a good hour, her head pounded and eyes watered. Deeply inhaling the fresh mountain air, she could sense the weight of the mountain rise off her spirits. Running toward a snow bank, she plunged her hands deep inside and brought a handful to her face and rubbed vigorously. It nearly took her breath away, but together with the crisp air, she gained a momentum she had not felt in weeks. Her hands were red and began to throb in the cold. She packed the snow tightly in her hand and tossed a snowball at the back of Oghren's auburn head.
He swung around, axe in hand and growled a curse involving his mother and a bronto. Quickly, she formed another and this time hit him right between the eyes.
He stood, unresponsive.
"What's the matter Oghren? Afraid of falling to the sky?" she teased.
"Come closer so my fist can see you better, Magey."
"Oh come on, you can dish it out, but can't take it eh?"
She walked over to him and noticed his rapidly blinking, bloodshot eyes.
Weakly, he said, "I cannot see Warden. I'm sodding Darkspawn fodder. Blasted light."
Zevran reached in Oghren's pack, produced his helmet and put it on his head.
"Keep yourself in the dark, my friend. If we run into trouble I shall gladly give you direction."
"Sodding topsiders." he grumbled. His voice sounded distant in the helmet.
So late in the game I've discovered how much I like writing about Oghren and Zev together. :D Bioware owns all, but I own Nuraya's soul. An abundance of thank-yous to Kira Tamarion for your timely efforts, my ragged grammar thanks you as well. And DoorbellSpider - I love your commentary, keep it coming and hope you are feeling better. And again, thank YOU for stopping by and checking out Nuraya's story. It's so thrilling so see so many countries. Stay tuned for Chapter 10: Flemeth!
