Chapter 11

Started from the Bottom…

(I do not own the franchises utilized in the story. As always, any feedback is welcomed.)

Hel, Jorgen, and Ulf all waited in the stone room Duncan had asked them to remain in as he spoke to the mages about more recruits. Glancing at her companions, she could see clearly that both had very different views on the scenario that they had found themselves in. Ulf, on one end of the spectrum seemed in good spirits. She kept catching him with the faintest smile on his grizzled face, and he kept taking abnormally deep breaths. Maybe he missed this "open air", but she felt it as almost rushing to her head. In contrast to that, Jorgen was withdrawn, and rightfully so. A month ago, he was royalty, and as he was now, his standing was even less than her own, even cast aside by his father, as well as his traitorous prick of a brother. He just kept looking at his crossbow, then at the sword presented to him by Harrowmont. Her mind drifted back to their journey to the surface, and how they found the eccentric dwarf.

In The Deep Roads

"Um, hey, Ulf? I just wanted to say, thanks again," Hel said, the Deep Roads stretched out before them as Duncan had them comb the area in search for Darkspawn. They were told to collect the blood to fill some vials as a test of worth, and so they departed. Normally, Hel would have been terrified. But, having seen what Ulf was capable of, she was more than confident in his skills to keep them both alive. That being said, she wasn't about to let him do all of the work, and had managed to get a hold of some of her concoctions before being conscripted into the ranks of the Grey Wardens. She had more than enough acid flasks and fire bombs to ruin any genlocks day, she reckoned. Hand in her pouch, she followed her titanic companion as he marched down the corridors, the very incarnation of a calm before the storm. Then, he hoisted his axe and waited. At first, the branded dwarf heard nothing. Then, she heard what he must have picked up before: fighting, thick blood splashing against the cavernous wall. He nodded, then entered before her, and made a motion with his hand that signified that he wanted her to follow at his flank. Nodding in kind, he gave him some room to maneuver, then followed at a decent distance.

Before them, several tainted corpses were strewn along the ground. Some had stab wounds, others had hefty looking crossbow quarrels rooted into them, with no special accuracy, but obvious damage and effect. A lone figure stood upon a raised bit of stone, patchwork armor hastily clad as he engaged a group of roughly seven of the blighted monsters. His odds seemed minute to say the least, but his skill was evident by the trail he left behind. As Hel took in the scene before her, Ulf wasted no time in moving forward, and with a swing of his axe, cleanly decapitated the first of the runty darkspawn. The patchwork fighter, having his own plate full, merely glanced up and nodded, as he had his own situation to handle, before cleaving his sword into the head of a genlock that was near him. Not to be outdone by her friend and the mysterious individual, Hel grabbed a throwing knife she kept on her belt, and aimed for a smaller genlock. Evaluating the distance, she gracefully sent the blade flying…

Only for the hilt to make contact with its head, leaving a bloody wound, but not killing it. As it turned to face her, she drew her mace and dagger, and prepared to fight. She had scraps before: of course, she won the Provings just days before. But this was the first time her survival was on the line in a one on one situation. She was hell bent to survive. As it came at her with its crude axe, she parried with her right dagger, then tried to crush its ugly head with her left mace, the one that once belonged to Paragon Aeducan. In response, it raised its arm to block, and while she pierced shatter its arm with a nasty crack, it was not nearly the blow she desired. Ripping its arm away, it also disarmed her mace, and having only the dagger was not nearly as effective as having a weapon I her dominant hand to help. Regarding its twisted grin, she hardened her face. This would NOT be her end. She did NOT crawl out of those slums to die just outside of Orzammar. Adopting a new stance, she braced her back leg, put her empty hand on the pommel of her dagger, and quickly thrusted forward, now puncturing the throat of the genlock, thick, black blood oozing from the wound. She looked up and realized that no more darkspawn remained. She only killed one of seven, and with trouble at that. Retrieving her weapons, she hung her head in shame. A familiar shadow was cast over her, and she looked up to see Ulf, a slight smile on his face. He put his hand on her shoulder and nodded. He didn't speak, but she knew what his message was.

You did fine. You will do better as we go.

As the ragged male dwarf approached them, Ulf filled two vials with the black blood, and Hel collected herself and her equipment. At first, she was lost in thought. Then she glanced at the survivor, and her jaw dropped. He may have been wounded, tired, and in need of a shave, but she recognized him immediately: Jorgen Aeducan, second son to King Aeducan.

"Thank you for the help, I appreciate it," he said, wiping his sweat stained brow. He smelled like death, and was visibly tired. "I've been down here for the past two days, barely making do. I don't suppose you are here with the Grey Wardens, are you?"

"Actually," Hel said, averting her eyes, "we are recruits, sent here on an errand. Prince Jorgunn, why are you here?" A pained look shot across his face, and she knew she asked a question that was a sore topic. "Never mind that, sorry. Why asking about the Wardens, though?"

"I seek to join them," he said, cracking his neck.

"Then we'll take you to Duncan," Ulf said, holding three filled vials. "You seem capable."

"Thank you, giant," he said, nodding to Ulf. "May I ask your names? I appear to be at a disadvantage on those grounds," he said, with a light chuckle.

"Oh, right," Hel said, still averting her eyes. "The quiet one is Ulf, and I'm Hel. A pleasure, your- Jorgen," she said. She was going to give him a title, but she assumed from his postion that he was not on good terms with the Crown at the moment.

His eyes lit up, and he smirked, "So you're the one who snuck into the Provings? You know, I watched you fight. It sure was fun watching some of the other nobles throw a fit over it, I tell you."

Hel glanced once at him, then turned around and began walking back to the Warden's camp, saying "Well, I'm glad you were entertained." His presence unnerved her. Sure, he was now officially even lower on the cast system than her. She was to be a Warden, after all. But her whole life, she'd hear tales of the favored prince. Not the strongest warrior, or the greatest tactician, but he was clever enough, and loved by the palace staff. His very presence reminded her that some came from diamonds, and she was barely worth dust in they eyes of Orzammar.

Having returned, and allowing the pariah to make his case to the senior Warden, Duncan was eager to take on such a resilient, and intelligent, prospect. But he made one thing clear.

"If you are a Warden, you give up any legitimacy you may have to the throne," Duncan said, gravely. "We do not interfere with politics, we have a…history that never mixed well with that."

"As long as I have a fighting chance to live, I have no quarrels with that," Jorgen muttered.

"Really? That simple?"

"That simple. Bhelen may be a fratricidal prick, but he's still my brother," Jorgen said. "He may even help Orzammar, if he takes the throne. I have no desire to stoop to his levels."

"That's it? No desire to avenge Trian?"

"What I want doesn't matter," Jorgen said, a slight edge to his voice. "As long as my tale doesn't end in these damned roads, I'll make do."

"Well, that settles it. Welcome to the Grey Wardens," Duncan said, shaking hands with the disheveled expatriate. "We have some nugs on a spit at the moment, please, feel free to partake in dinner with us. After that, we have a spare bedroll you may have." At hearing those words, Jorgen closed his eyes, almost like he was tring not to cry, Hel thought.

"Thank you," he said, finally opening his eyes. "After being down here a few days, that sounds just like being back at the palace." Patting his back, Duncan led him to the fireplace.

"What you think of him," Hel whispered to Ulf. She was definitely uneased by having him around, but she didn't sense the same evil that clung to Beraht and his footpads. No evil, really. Just social stigma.

"I like him," Ulf said, scratching his chin. "I just want to know why you keep eyeing him like a batch of reactants that are new to you. Blushing deeply, the fair dwarf looked up to object, but stopped when she saw his grin.

"Oh, you were joking," she said, to which he only nodded. Not that she was observing him. Just trying to make sure he hadn't been injured too badly.

Present

Coming back to the present, she just caught Duncan leading in three people: a tanned elven woman, a young man with groomed brown hair and somewhat hawkish features, and another woman, a human with bleached hair and golden eyes. Mages. She had seen some since coming to this tower, but Hel was never as close as she was now. She could almost smell the power they exuded. With her prior companions, everyone else present made her feel suddenly smaller. And not just because she was a dwarf.

"I'd like you to meet your new comrades, Helen, John, and Sheo," Duncan said, indicating them in their order of arrival.

"Nice to meetya," Jorgen said, putting on a friendlier face. "I'm Jorgen." He hid his pain well.

"I'm Hel," the alchemist piped in, then jerked her thumb to Ulf. "The big guy is Ulf. He don't talk much."

"A pleasure," said Helen. "We all look forward to travelling with you, isn't that right?" John only nodded, his blue eyes distant, as if he just lost something…or someone. Sheo, on the other hand, simply looked at Ulf. In turn, he locked eyes with her.

"Do I know you?"

"Trust me, if you have to ask, you don't. It's hard to forget me," Sheo shrugged, saying in a singsong tone. Something was off about her. Ulf looked her over again, before shrugging as well

"So, where to, Duncan? You mentioned a need for more people," Helen asked, cocking her head to the side.

"Next stop, Denerim. I have a contact in the alienage who says he has a good applicant for me, provided we get there in time to stop a wedding." Everyone in the room balked. "Well, provided we can convince her before the wedding. Honestly though, I forgot the date, so it's possible that we are too late." Sheo chuckled, Jorgen was puzzled, and John still seemed absent. "After that, Highever, before searching the Brecillian Forest for a clan of Dalish on the way back to Ostagar. However, due to size and Dalish tendencies, not everyone can come for that part. But we shall figure that out later. For now, pack up. We may have overstayed our welcome."

Hel gulped, hoping that what as just said didn't mean that the supplies she "borrowed" had been discovered missing.