The victory rung hollow for the dwarves that would return to the same life they'd lived before. When they returned to Orzammar-if they returned to Orzammar -the casteless would be overlooked and shadowed by those who belonged to a caste. What could they expect, really? Fighting for a people that despise them right down to their very existence, and then expecting some credit for their heroism would prove to be hopeless.
This didn't make it easier for Urtok to contend with. Once, in another life, he understood why the castes hated the casteless so much. He even agreed with them and spit at the casteless' feet as he passed them. Karma was a very real thing, it seemed, considering he was now among them. He almost missed the days where he was blind and ignorant to the casteless' suffering. 'Ignorance is bliss' could not have been a more relevant statement.
The queen stayed behind with everyone save for a few dwarves from the warrior caste that returned to Orzammar to deliver the good news. If they backed out now before the tunnels were completely sealed, there was a good chance they'd return to another horde of darkspawn to defeat. Occasionally, a group would mindlessly charge into the thaig through the roads they hadn't sealed yet, but they were always cut down in a matter of seconds.
Urtok sat on a rock, tugging on the ruined straps of his greatsword's hilt. He'd dropped it in the fight to elect for strangling a genlock rather than running it through, but as a result, it was trampled by the horde. It would need smelted and refitted before it'd be ready for the next battle, of which there was no doubt of.
Ogosah was a burly woman. In Orzammar, that made her a glittering gem in the eyes of many men and women. Her brunette hair hung in rows of braids tight on her head, and a single long, thick strand of hair hung from her chin that she'd tied a knot in the middle of. Stern, gray eyes glared at the man across from her. "This is the sixth time this month you've sent that sword in for repair," she grumbled while snatching the greatsword from his grasp. He grinned lopsidedly, flashing his gold-capped teeth. "How many more times will it take to get the hint across that I want you to make me a new one?" He leaned his shoulder against a pillar next to the woman's anvil, crossing his ankles. She wasn't amused. "'Til you work up the coin for it, salroka." She sat down before the anvil and got situated, then started thumping the blade's dents with her hammer. "Oh, come on. I'm your brother. No family discount?" The two siblings had the same parents, only their mother was part of the smith caste while their father was part of the warrior caste. Naturally, the male inherited his father's caste, and the female inherited her mother's. It never affected Ogosah and Urtok's sibling compatibility. Everyone in Orzammar knew they were a power couple. "I should give you a family crack on the head, if you keep putting me to work like this," she chided, keeping her gaze on her work. "Speaking of work," Urtok began, pushing his weight off the pillar. "there's this expedition coming up. Nothing major, just to deflower some loot and knock back some darkspawn that are getting too close to Orzammar. We might need your steel out there." "I bet you will. But I can't, it's been too soon after the last time I sneaked out. Mother's starting to think I'm losing my Stone Sense because of all these trips to the surface I've apparently been taking for 'trading'." "Losing your nerve because the old ball and chain says you gotta stay here with all this quiet? Sister, you wound me." Urtok laid his hand on his heart dramatically. She rolled her eyes with a tired sigh. "Alright, but this is the last one. I don't fancy losing my caste for getting caught on a Deep Roads expedition I wasn't supposed to be on. Last thing I need is to wind up with the filthy casteless." She spat the word like venom on her tongue. Urtok had never met someone so vehement towards casteless as his sister. But he got his way, and he didn't give a rat's ass about the casteless, so he smirked victoriously. "Wonderful. We're leaving tomorrow, an hour after the first trumpet. Meet us at the entrance, alright?" At her affirmation, he took his leave.
A much more tired Urtok sat gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles were white. His teeth were sore from gritting them. Slowly, he came to and relented his grip and set his jaw to ease. Almost robotically, he resumed tying new straps to the hilt of his sword. With it laid bare before him, a sigil was carved into the hilt, baring wings cascading from the blade of a sword. The sigil of House Kondrat.
Ogosah was approaching the group of warriors with not one but two greatswords in her grizzled hands. One was the one she traditionally carried on the expeditions she stowed away on, identified by the scuffs and scratches on its length, and the other was so freshly smelted it still radiated a warm gleam and smelled of embers. "You didn't!" Urtok exclaimed, eyes bulging with awe as she handed him the greatsword. She smirked proudly. "Got tired of you always hounding me about it. But aye, I'm expecting some coin from you in the future for this." He didn't even care about the coin. For years he'd been wanting one of the famed swords crafted from House Turana, instead having to use the dulled and all but useless greatsword he currently had strapped to his back. So much for having a sister part of the smith caste, he supposed. Now the advantages were clear. He lifted the old one over his head and tossed it aside carelessly, then turned the new one over in his hand. On the hilt was not the sigil of House Turana, two horns on either side of a hammer, but House Kondrat's signature winged sword. A goofy grin broke out on Urtok's face. He grabbed his sister's wrist and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, patting her back hard enough to cause her to stumble if his body weren't keeping her balance steady. 'Thank you' was a human phrase that dwarves didn't use, and even if they did, such words couldn't even begin to express his gratitude. Her strong arms wrapped around his waist and she tolerated the hug for a moment longer before tugging herself free. "Don't get all sappy on me now. You don't wanna get soft before a battle." She was right about that. Laughing gruffly, he tied the strap to the hilt of the greatsword and swung it over his back. It was heavier than the old one and didn't lack in bulk, but those were always the best ones. He didn't carry around those pencils men called 'swords' and those wooden pieces of shit they called 'shields'. The only thing those were good for was looking pretty, and Urtok didn't need to look pretty for the darkspawn. "Alright, we should get underway," he declared. He turned to his men, a unit of fifteen from the warrior caste. They knew Ogosah wasn't supposed to be among them, but they all loved Urtok enough to keep their mouths shut. It helped that Ogosah had grown on them throughout the years of stow-away expeditions. "We turn back at Caridin's Cross. Whatever we find, you know the drill, twenty percent of the profits to each of us." "Aye," the dwarves agreed in sync. "Right then. Let's go."
Urtok ran his thumb over the sigil. Once, that symbol meant something to him. Honor and duty combined into one, carved into the hilt of a sword by the woman who'd crafted it. But now the sigil didn't represent honor and duty and valor. It represented remembrance, and vengeance. Vengeance he would wreak while at the side of Queen Aeducan.
The woman herself was sitting with whom he assumed was her human lover. The man looked downright foolish, grinning stupidly like he was whenever he was in his lady's presence. He seemed to have said something funny, because Aeducan let out a soft laugh that Urtok hadn't seen until then. Her laughter sparked something in the king and he bore a striking resemblance to a giddy schoolboy, wanting to remember what he'd said to evoke that smile so he could do it again and again and see it more often.
It was disgusting.
Urtok grunted beneath his breath and tightened the straps one last time, then got to his feet. The greatsword he wielded was not nearly as brilliant as it had been the day he received it, so many years ago. Age had taken its toll on both the sword and the wielder, and both sported permanent scars. But even if that sword one day became nothing but a hilt, he'd fight with it until the day he died. He owed it to his sister. And each year, he placed one more sovereign on her empty sarcophagus, even though she'd only demanded payment in jest.
They never found a body. During his trial, Urtok played the fool and swore with his hand on the Stone that he had no idea where she'd gone, only that she was gone. That was only partly true. He knew where she was, what had been done to her, and it kept him up at night knowing how paralyzed he was.
The time had come to stop pretending she was savable, he thought as he made his way towards the queen.