Varel, dear, I've grown to love you.
Oh, and I realized that in the last chapter I said Valek instead of Varel and I LOLed. I've been reading waaaayy to much Poison Study. Read it, it's awesome. Speaking of awesome, I really want to thank all those awesome people who clicked favorite, follow and review. You guys are amazing.
Say, anyone willing to Beta-read this thing? PM me if you're interested.
Chapter 8: Part 2
Where Heroes Don't Exist
In the Dwarven Kingdoms, it was better to die than to be exiled.
To die, especially in battle, with a blade in your hand and your own blood pooling beneath your rapidly cooling corpse was considered an honor.
More so if you had fallen fighting a throng of darkspawn.
It showed that in your life, you were willing to stand and die for something; the greatest something in a dwarva's life: the Golden City, Orzammar. To give up your life like that meant that you were brave.
Today however, called for a different sort of bravery, one that Varel was unfamiliar with. Up until now, he had only been familiar with the kind of courage that came just moments before he faced a group of darkspawn or a charging Bronto. The bravery he felt now was different and when compared to the kind he was more familiar with, felt small and insignificant much like a small and quivering nug.
It didn't feel like courage at all; and yet he clung to it as if it was a long-lost friend. It made the dwarva even sadder when he realized that it might be the only friend he had left. News of what had happened in the Chamber of the Assembly had spread like wildfire across Orzammar. Everywhere he went Varel was hissed and spat by his fellow dwarvas, whenever he walked down the streets of the Commons, women whispered and men jeered.
Children would stop playing to gawk and point at him. Varel could not even go to his local bar without having lichen ale being splashed in his face. The dwarva's hands shook at the injustice of it.
Why couldn't they see? All of these castes—royalty and casteless alike—that had pointed their stubby little fingers at him and laughed at his 'sickness' were all so sodding stupid.
The truth was there! Right in front of their Stone-blind eyes!
A sudden, crackling sound pulled Varel out of his thoughts and made him look down. To his dismay, he saw that in his anger he had accidentally crushed a sheaf of vellum in his hands. He sighed, it would not do if he started breaking stuff purely on impulse.
Resources were rare in the Deep Roads and he needed to be able to conserve everything he will bring with him.
Gently, Varel unfurled the crushed vellum and blew out a sigh of relief when he saw that it was blank. If it had been one of his maps, he would have really been in trouble. The ex-guard chuckled darkly to himself.
He was probably the first dwarva that drew a map that led to the Surface and not to other dwarven kingdoms. No sane dwarva would ever choose to live underneath the sky when they could live in places like Orzammar or Kal-Sharok. But then again, these places would soon disappear if Varel didn't do anything about it. If he didn't act soon, perhaps all dwarvas would have to live under the sky.
The smile on Varel's face faded as he smoothed his vellum on a stone desk and then, carefully tucked it in his backpack. He was glad that he had been given time to pack his belongings prior to his exile, perhaps it was because the Assembly simply did not know what to do with him. He was, after all, the first dwarva who ever opted to be exiled from his homeland.
The things he had packed rattled alarmingly as Varel hoisted his bag onto his back. He checked to see if his sword was in place and whether it could slide easily out of its sheath. Satisfied, he left the house and traveled to the great gates of Orzammar.
Although he kept his head down, the ex-guard could still feel the stares of his fellow dwarva burn into his back as he approached the gates. It felt like every single dwarva in Orzammar had flocked to the gates that led to the Deep Roads so that they could see Varel's shame. Of course that wasn't at all true; precious few dwarvas knew the exact day of the exile but right then it seemed to poor Varel as if everyone in Orzammar turned their eyes on him, silently mocking and judging.
And can he blame them?
A year ago, he had come back from his guard duty with his companions dead, his breeches soiled and his mouth babbling nonsense about a giant dragon hiding in the Deep Roads. Any dwarva would be predisposed to laugh at whatever Varel would have said in his state. But did they have to mock and spit and hiss at him for telling the truth? Did he deserve so much hate simply because he wanted to save Orzammar? Yes he can blame them.
"Varel Aeducan." the deep voice of another dwarva had jolted him out of his thoughts. The snowy white beard of Hareel, a member of the Assembly came into view as Varel raised his head. The blue eyes that accompanied that beard looked dull, lifeless, stupid.
Weren't the members supposed to be known for their intelligence?
Why were they all so blind then?
Varel didn't respond in words, but merely nodded his head. A small lump seemed to have gotten stuck in his throat. Behind him, he could hear the whispering of the small crowd that had gathered to see his exile and above all that petty mischief; he could hear the soft sobs of Evana Aeducan. He promised himself he wouldn't look at her. Hareel was speaking again.
"Due to your offensive acts against the Assembly and our King, you have been sentenced to die by exile in the Deep Roads."
"Oh, is that what you dwarva told them?" Varel swept a hand to the whispering crowd. "This had nothing to do with my choice, eh?" Evana sobbed harder than ever.
Hareel only glared.
"Do you have any last words to say?"
Varel shook his head. The sobbing was now accompanied by soft shushing noises that could only come from his father. Bron Aeducan had maintained the idea—along with the rest of Orzammar—that he had lost his mind during his last guard duty in the Deep Roads, that the sickness that had taken so many dwarvas' lives was now taking his son's mind.
Varel promised he wouldn't look at him, either.
With nothing else left to do, the giant gates swung open. Varel's heart thumped against his throat and his mouth felt so dry that he couldn't have spoken had he wanted to.
He cast one last final glance at Orzammar, intending to keep it forever embedded in his memory and, in doing so, he caught a glimpse of his parents.
His mother had grown thinner, her long blonde hair once so shiny, had lost its sheen. Her eyes seemed permanently watery.
His father's face had grown more lined.
Varel hated that he would be the one who would have to do this to them.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he took his courage in both hands and walked out of the gates, perhaps for the last time. As the gates shut with an almighty clang, Varel's something squeezed at Varel's heart with surprising ferocity and, although the dwarva had promised himself that he would walk out of the golden city with his head held high, the first thing that Varel Aeducan did on his exile was squat down in the dust and cry.
He had walked a few hours before deciding to rest near one of the nearby highways. He had passed several groups of darkspawn but Varel had opted not to fight them, mostly because he would have been torn apart.
He was lucky, though, so far he had managed to avoid the main horde.
"It's strange though," Varel muttered to himself as he rubbed his sore feet. "Should've seen more darkspawn by now…this deep in the roads."
Could that mean that he was nearing the Surface?
Somehow, he was both excited and frightened by the notion.
Varel suddenly stilled and with swift, practiced movements he yanked his boots back on and unsheathed his sword.
Darkspawn.
No other creature in the Deep Roads could ever make those horrible barking sounds. But there was something different, sounds that didn't belong to the normally raucous noise the darkspawn made. There was…crying. Very loud crying, too, much unlike the soft sobs that accompanied his mother's shaking shoulders just hours ago.
And there were a lot of people crying. Cautiously, Varel peered at the roads and was shocked to see a huge number of darkspawn towing a group of human women, all of them crying hysterically. This was the first time he ever saw humans and he was struck by their height, some of them towered over the other darkspawn.
Their bodies, too, were different from the dwarvas, more delicate than the barrel-chested people of the Deep Roads. They held a certain vulnerability that made them look so breakable, made all the more obvious now that they were drowning in a sea of monsters.
Little girls clung stubbornly to their mothers' aprons all the while sucking their thumbs with a dedication hardly seen in children above two years of age. Their mothers, although clearly terrified, smoothed their children's hair and whispered words of assurances.
Inside Varel's head, the cogs worked furiously.
What were these monsters going to do with the women?
Where did they get them?
Why only women?
Varel's breath caught in his throat as he watched the grim parade march before him, their direction heading deeper into the roads.
Should he follow?
Should he leave? He had, after all, absolutely no obligation to these women. His first priority was Orzammar, he needed to alert the monarchs of the Surface so that they could send help to his city. To follow these women would give the darkspawn more time to draw up their plan of attack.
"Don't be a hero, Varel, they're just humans," he muttered to himself. They were human not dwarvas. His first loyalty should always be to the dwarvas.
Also, if he did follow them, what can he do? Fight off a horde of darkspawn when he had been trying to avoid that very thing?
He would just get killed and perhaps would get the women killed right along with him. No, no, far better to reach the Surface quickly, and forget this ever happened.
Then, he glimpsed a tall, proud woman whose face didn't hold the same amount of terror the others did.
She was frightened, sure, but she held herself with such dignity that she looked more like a queen with her entourage rather than the victim of a horrible kidnapping.
Several children clung to her skirts and the women seemed to congregate around her, as if they could draw from her strength.
Their eyes met for the briefest moment.
And in that moment, Varel could have sworn that her lips moved to form the word, "Help us."
It was then, that Varel knew that he simply could not leave these women here. He had to at least try to save them.
With a sigh, the dwarva crept back to his pack and slipped it on. It looked like the Surface would have to wait another day.
Well, that's it. Sorry it took so long to update but I just came off of two weeks' worth of finals and projects and papers and whatnot. I tell you, it was horrible. I'll try and update sooner next time. Sorry this one's so short but it's 3 a.m. and my mother would kill me if I woke up any later than 7 a.m.
Hope you enjoyed!
