"Kin slayer? Oh, you're not getting in."

The color had left Faeron's face. He looked up at the gate guard and desperately tried to ignore Loghain's messenger. "Endrin's dead? How? When did he die?"

"Losing two sons, one to murder and one to exile?" The messenger almost sounded sympathetic. He must not have realized who he was speaking with. "Who can blame him for seeking peace among the ancestors?"

"The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor," the gate guard explained. He stood, unmoving in front of the entrance to Orzammar. "If it is not settled soon, we risk a civil war."

Frannie reached a hand to Faeron's arm, but then thought better of it. She cleared her throat. "We're Grey Wardens and we have a treaty that obliges Orzammar to aid us."

The gate guard looked unimpressed as he stared at the brand on Frannie's cheek. Fortunately, Alistair was there with the treaty and the guard looked it over and acknowledged the seal while Loghain's messenger flapped his jaw indignantly.

Morrigan waved the messenger off while Silfee blew kisses at the man's momentary speechlessness. He scowled, but as his glare scanned over the size of the group of wardens and their companions, he turned and began his descent down the mountain.

Zevran shook his head. "We should not let him go. He will return to Loghain with knowledge of our numbers and abilities."

"Loghain would have the Grey Wardens be murderers," Wynne said. "It would serve us better to disprove his claims."

Zevran didn't look convinced, but he didn't pursue the retreating messenger.

The gate guard signaled his fellows with a hand gesture and the massive stone doors to Orzammar creaked to life. As the doors opened, everyone was greeted by a dimly lit passage. The cool smell of soil sent flutters down Frannie's belly. Home. She had almost forgotten the smell.

"Wait. We're headed underground?" Donal Amell's voice shook Frannie from her revelry.

"We did come to Orzammar to see dwarves," Alistair said.

"There are enough dwarves up here in the merchant bazaar to sate your curiosity," Donal insisted. He waved a hand at the sky. "Besides, the light is crap down there- there's no way I'd get any of my reading done."

Leliana frowned. "Surely you're joking?"

"It's quite alright," Wynne said. She chuckled softly. "Just as dwarves get sky sick when they reach the surface, some topsiders can find the underground cities a bit... claustrophobic."

That had Alistair doubled over laughing as Donal clutched his heart and screamed, "Wynne! You traitor!"

Frannie might have joined in the merriment too, had she not been maybe an hour's travel from home. An hour's travel from Rica, from Leske. An hour's travel from hugging them both, kissing them both. Warden business aside, she was home.

"Fine, sure, the coward Amell will stay up here." The unhealthy pallor of Donal's skin was currently flushed bright scarlet. "Enjoy your time down there in your enclosed death trap. I will stay up here and read." He punctuated his final words by slapping the blackened and ancient cover of a grimoire.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed and she stalked over to Donal's side. "I will stay above ground as well," she said. "In the off chance that Loghain's men return, we will act as scouts."

"Donal?" Alistair called out. "Are you sure you're going to be okay up here," he raised an eyebrow and nodded toward Morrigan, "with her?"

"These ears on my head do serve a purpose," Morrigan hissed back. "He is only slightly more worth my time than you."

"So I'm moving up in the world, then." Donal picked a shady spot to the far right of the door and sat. He opened the tome and licked his forefinger. "We'll be fine."

With two less, the group continued on. Nema and Faeron were already far ahead of the others, but the dwarf looked far more dazed than the elf. He kept repeating the phrase, "Father is dead," over and over again underneath his breath.

Frannie giggled. "I'm home!" How long had it been? It seemed a short eternity ago that Ostagar had aged them all. The statues of the paragons stared at them, unrepentant.

It felt odd. She was home, she was excited, she was proud, she didn't belong. The stonework looked the same, the merchants' square was the same, everything was wrong. Men were killing each other openly in the streets over who should be king and there were street criers lauding Bhelen as the benevolent and rightful ruler right next to fliers of the would-be king depicted with an offensive beardless caricature. How could everything look as she remembered, smell as she remembered, yet be so very, very not right?

Frannie cupped a hand over the cheek that carried her brand.

Faeron locked eyes with her briefly before he announced, "There are things I need to attend to. We'll be in touch." The disgraced prince turned and marched off stoically toward the Diamond Quarter.

"Now wait just a minute," Alistair spluttered after the other man.

"Leave him," Nema said. "He and I have an agreement."

"Does your agreement involve thinning our ranks until we're indefensible?" Alistair asked. "I've noticed we've been losing people left and right."

Nema faced him squarely. "Don't you think that if I were intentionally discarding people I would start with you?"

"No," he snorted. "I'm more attractive than some of the others and you can always use a bit of eye candy for morale."

"He is rather handsome," Silfee chimed in. "He reminds me of someone from back at home in Highever, but I can't exactly place it. Although I'm quite taken with the elf as well." Her eyes traveled across Zevran's body and he took that opportunity to stare openly at her bosom.

"Don't do it, Zevran," Alistair said. The young man was trying to smirk away the pink tinge that had overtaken to his ears. "She only wants you for your body."

Zevran laughed. "And why shouldn't she? It has been trained by the best."

The blush spread from Alistair's ears to his cheeks. "Well, I... What I mean to say is-"

"Yes. That sounds like it's for the best," Silfee said with a nod. "Because I cannot decide which man is more attractive I shall have to compare you two against your other merits."

The conversation was doing nothing for the color of Alistair's face. "Oh, sweet Andraste's flaming knickers. I respectfully decline. Zevran wins. See? We have a winner and can move on, now. Yay."

"Yes," Nema said. "Let's."

The deshyrs and the Assembly were located in the Diamond Quarter, so that's where they headed. Frannie hadn't expected to see Rica there. Rica, dripping with jewels and beaming ear to ear.

Frannie had wanted to hug Rica. Rica had her arms wrapped tightly around Frannie's waist before she could even silence the fluttering of her gut long enough to react.

"I can't believe it! I heard a dwarven Grey Warden came to Orzammar and I couldn't help but hope..." Rica looked healthy. She looked happy.

Frannie managed to smile and nod as Rica chattered away. Royal concubine, House Aeducan, baby Endrin. A baby? A son! Somewhere in the back of Frannie's mind she had thought that she would be the one, the hero to storm back in to Orzammar and save her mother and sister from poverty. It was nice that Rica had managed without her.

Stone, it didn't matter. She was an aunt! Frannie's head was spinning.

"...I know his chief lieutenant, Vartag Gavorn. He can help you if anyone can." One final squeeze and a kiss on the cheek and Rica retreated back to Aeducan Castle.

"We need to head to the Assembly," Nema said. "This deadlock cannot continue if we're to have dwarven aid."

"Yeah." Frannie nodded. "That's where Vartag Gavorn is. That way we can help Prince Bhelen take the throne."

Nema ignored her and stormed on.