Athadra found Faryn loitering in a makeshift bazaar just outside of Orzammar's gates, halfway up Gherlen's Pass. She'd read that the Avvars believed that the pass had been cut through the mountains by the dwarves themselves, and that it was named for the surface dwarf who had overseen the project. From what little Athadra knew of dwarven society, the fact that Gherlen lived above ground would have been enough to strike him from their records, called the Memories...no matter how striking the feat would have been. Regardless, this part of the pass had been clearly etched by dwarven industry, leading to the gates. After Faryn had sworn to the Maker that he'd passed Sten's sword onto a surface dwarf named Dwyn, who resided in Redcliffe of all places, Athadra had promised to look into the matter again when they emerged from Orzammar.
Except that, to emerge, they would have to enter Orzammar. That task proved trickier than expected; though Alistair insisted that the dwarves respected the Wardens because they came from all over Thedas to face their deaths in the Deep Roads, killing as many of the fiends as they could strike, the guard was adamant. Half a month back, King Endrin Aeducan had returned to the Stone, as the dwarves termed it. Dwarven succession was evidently a convoluted affair, but the guard made it clear that no outsiders were welcome in the city until the throne had an arse in it again.
Of course, one of Loghain's agents was already there; he'd come just two days too late to curry favour on the teyrn's behalf, though the man insisted on calling him King Loghain. That rose eyebrows in Athadra's gang; either this fool was bluffing to make himself seem more important to the dwarves, or Loghain had fallen into a deeper ambition than even Eamon had suspected. Once the man learned Athadra's identity-indeed he only seemed concerned about Athadra, which made her grimace-he challenged them. He wasn't alone, precisely, but his allies consisted of a rogue mage and an upjumped bandit, seeking silver in Loghain's service. Athadra might have taken the lot herself, but she had Alistair, the Sten, an honest-to-goodness golem, another mage, two rogues, and Garahel.
When the fighting was done, Loghain's men were dead and the guard seemed sparingly grateful. He would not be stirred until Athadra fished out those gods-damned treaties; once the dwarf glimpsed the royal seal they contained, he reluctantly agreed to allow them entry. The gate lifted, and everyone shuffled into a stone box that seemed to lead nowhere; the light of a few braziers guttered when the stone gate closed behind them again. There were more dwarves guarding the walls, and for just a moment, Athadra feared they'd walked into some kind of trap...but then the ground trembled at their feet, and she saw that the walls grew taller around them. It took her another moment to realize her error; the floor was dropping, though slowly, and they could do nothing but wait as the shaft swallowed them up.
"I hope you know what you're doing," Alistair said, much less certain than he'd been on the surface. Athadra shrugged, content to wait as the mountain grew over their heads. She couldn't tell if it was a moment or an hour later when the floor subtly halted its descent, and the stone in front of them parted to reveal a high-ceilinged hall, lined on each side with more statues. Light glowed about them, and the heat it gave off told her that it was raw earth, fire-earth the dwarves called magma, which lay in well-dug channels to either side of the main thoroughfare.
More impressive sights lay beyond that entryway; through a heavy door of iron Athadra's party emerged into a great chamber that seemed to mirror the mountain from which it had been cut. She looked and looked, but could not see where the walls closed in upon them. A great river of magma flowed through the middle of the space, and dwellings had been carved on the walls to either side. This was Orzammar, the city beneath the Frostback Mountains...the last bastion of the dwarves against the darkspawn. But the marvels the city offered were nothing compared to the spectacle of dwarves fighting at the crossroads-two factions vying to have their candidate put on the vacant throne. One dwarf died before the guards could restore order, and the partisans only reluctantly split up, their leaders enclosing themselves in the rich district called the Diamond Quarter.
Athadra sighed to herself; she needed the dwarves, or at least needed their hospitality. What gold she'd manage to collect would not last if she had to pay for accommodations herself, but it was clear that there were no ears to hear her without a king.
"So we shall have to sort these people out as well?" Morrigan scoffed as they strolled through the small market, just outside the Diamond Quarter. Some dwarves stared at Shale, but it called insults at the ones who tried to get too close.
"Looks that way," the Warden said, heaving a sigh. Just then, a glint of gold caught her eye, and she nodded Morrigan on ahead. Alistair raised a brow, but she motioned for him to follow, and the rest of the party ambled on without her. The merchant was rude at first, thinking her blood- and travel-stained armour was a mark of poverty, and he scoffed when she pointed to the trinket. But when she let slip that she was a Grey Warden he changed his tone so quickly that it was nearly embarrassing...but Athadra did not talk him down from the discount he offered for the honour of a Warden's custom.
The mirror was heavy in her pack, heavier than the gold she'd paid to claim it, but she made sure to hide it away and offered no explanation of her absence when she caught up to the Wilds-witch. "I was just saying," said Alistair when he caught sight of her, "how it seems that the closer to the surface you live, the better off you are. Unless you're actually on the surface."
"It thinks itself clever, does it?" Shale intoned behind him. "Perhaps it will address its cleverness to the short ones, and we can see how well it swims in the bubbling rockmelt?" The golem laughed, while Alistair paled visibly.
"Please don't cause an inter-race incident, Alistair," Athadra fairly begged. "Or get yourself killed by anything but the gods-damned Archdemon." The taller Warden clapped a fist over his breast in salute and offered a wink, but said nothing further. "Aye, alright then," Athadra said, casting about. "Does anyone know where we might find this empty chair what's got everyone so fussed?"
Leliana spoke up, as she occasionally did when someone needed information. The girl seemed a veritable fount of it, though Athadra could not tell if the half-Orlesian was showing off or just wanted to prove her worth. "I've never set foot here before, but I do know a few tales. The seat of power is the Chamber of Assembly, which is further up in the Diamond Quarter. Though I am not certain how well-attended it shall be, without a king to rule it."
"Let us be off, then," the Sten cut in. He eyed a few well-dressed dwarfs warily, who were muttering in wonder at the two giants suddenly in their midst. His eye twitched menacingly, and Athadra stifled a chuckle when the dwarves scuttled back. With a nod she set off, with the rest of her band in tow. They climbed higher and higher until Shale surprised them all, including itself, by reading the dwarven runes which proclaimed the entrance to the Chamber of Assembly. Leliana scoffed, privately, at having her own translation pre-empted.
The Chamber was actually a collection of rooms which ringed around a grand central hall; each subsidiary chamber housed the most prominent families of dwarven nobility, save the antechamber which Athadra's throng had suddenly filled. Every door was locked, even to the Chamber's proper hall. A few sleazy-looking dwarfs muttered in corners, but a white-bearded dwarf in fine clothes stood stoically before the Chamber's great, locked doors. At first he tried to waive them away, until Athadra casually threatened to bring her displeasure to the First Warden. She had to suppress a smirk, since she didn't even know the First Warden's name, but she didn't let the dwarf know that.
The man changed his tone instantly, even giving the elven mage a curt nod. "Forgive me, Warden. I received a message from the gate, but with the tumult in the Assembly, I simply forgot. I'm sincerely sorry that we cannot properly welcome a Grey Warden delegation, but until our throne is occupied, I fear no other business can take priority."
"Or even get done, it seems," Athadra said testily. "Did the last throne-sitter realize a Blight was breaking out above before he returned to the stone?" The last phrase was odd on her tongue, but she saw the elegance of the euphemism.
The steward's face paled. "No, Warden, he did not. I swear it. It's true, then? The darkspawn have passed Groundbreak?"
"Aye," Athadra answered. "And Ferelden's own damned fool king got himself spitted and roasted by the beasts. What's not under black rot is turning red with civil war. Is there any way these tattered words can be called upon?" She gestured to Alistair, the guardian of the treaties, and he produced the required sheaf which spoke of the ancient dwarven promise.
The steward looked the document over twice, his expression softening for a moment, before consternation took hold of his expression. "I'm sorry, Warden. This treaty compels our king to send his army to your aid. But while Endrin's succession is under dispute, Orzammar has no king, and the army has devolved to the command of the deshyrs." He folded the parchment reverently and handed it back to Alistair. "I would never normally suggest this, but the deshyr lords have been at cross purposes for two weeks now. The same arguments every day, every hour. Nearly every free dwarf in the warrior caste is employed to keep order in the streets or in the Chamber itself, but they won't be able to stop tensions for much longer."
His pause lasted for an instant longer than Athadra liked. "Out with it, greybeard," she said at last.
"The throne is contested by Endrin's son and nominal heir, Bhelen Aeducan, and by Endrin's most trusted advisor, a deshyr named Pyral Harrowmont. They both have convinced nearly a third of the Assembly to their cause, and the remainder seems likely to split evenly between them, unless..." This time, the steward's pause ended before the mage could comment. "Unless someone were to tip the scales. I cannot tell you whom to support, Warden, only that Orzammar must have a king to answer your summons. And if nothing changes, there might not be an Orzammar to have a king at all."
Morrigan groaned beside Athadra, and muttered something too softly for anyone but her to hear. The younger Warden could tell the words were elven, but did not understand them; the smattering of Dalish her grandfather had known was itself an infant's vocabulary, and he'd passed precious little of it on to his family. Athadra's curiosity was piqued, but the steward stood before her, demanding her attention.
"Very well, gods be damned." She ignored the flinches from the Andrasteans in her company. "Thank you, Steward Bandelor. Is there anywhere my friends and I can sleep, or must we take to the streets and tattoo our faces?" The lowest class of dwarves, called casteless, were so identified. Bandelor looked shocked, and then concerned.
"Normally, Wardens and their auxiliaries are welcome to rooms in the royal estate. It is still occupied by Bhelen Aeducan, however, and taking up residence there will be an unmistakable signal of partisanship. Weigh your options; I'm certain Lord Harrowmont will provide accommodations, if he earns your loyalty."
With another sigh, Athadra dismissed herself, but she hadn't made it to the exit of the antechamber when someone claiming to represent Prince Bhelen intercepted her. He had eavesdropped on the exchange with the steward, and promised his lord's generosity, in exchange for a service on the part of the Wardens. That service involved spreading false documents around which implicated Harrowmont in shady dealings, though Bhelen's man swore the papers were legitimate. Athadra took them with no promises.
Her throng was stopped yet again by another agent, this time of Harrowmont's. Evidently, to earn his trust all she'd have to do would be to enter a tournament and fight her way to the championship in his name. The tournament, called a Glory Proving, was to take place in less than an hour's time. That decided the matter more thoroughly than any difference between the contenders for Orzammar's throne. Without signaling her own intentions, Athadra tracked down the two deshyrs and convinced them that they'd been wronged by Harrowmont, and before the Proving had even begun, her party was received by Prince Bhelen himself.