A/N: Please forgive me for being a deplorable updater. I hope you all enjoy this chapter - and yes, we will be out of Orzammar soon. It's such a massive part of the game, and I wanted to do the complexity of not only the quests but the world itself justice. Also, I never understood why the dwarves would want your help - for the game, it makes sense, but in reality dwarves think themselves far superior to other races and they are so fiercely protective of themselves against humans (y'know, because of the whole dismantling elven culture thing) that I really don't see them going, "Oh? You're a Warden! Yippee! Come sit at our table! Join our most important political debates, of which really you have no part since you are not a dwarf." Hmmm.

As always, thank you for your readership. Special thanks to Giggle813, Ioialoha, olivegbg, White Ivy, The Winterborn, momongiri, and little-ivy89. Your feedback is much appreciated :)

Bacci,

Enid

Slowly, Charlotte opened her eyes. They creaked with tiredness, their edges sticky with the residue of a long sleep. Nonetheless, she forced them wide, searching her surroundings.

It must have been the early hours of morning; even in this dank, endless place of horror, a sense of time was beginning to build within her. The others were stirring restlessly, rubbing grit from their eyes and yawning. Riordan crouched by the fire, one knee bent up to support his elbow as he stirred food in a pot. The fire crackled gently, licking up his cheekbones in jagged pieces of white and orange light.

"Muuh…ummm…" Charlotte exhaled gently, trying to bend her upper body into a rise; a hand snapped out and stopped her.

"Whoa now, not until Wynne looks at you," Alistair was scrambling up beside her, his face creased with worry as he studied her pale visage. Charlotte realized her right leg was completely numb from Mastodon's weight, the anesthetizing effect following a triangular shape up to her side. The dog rolled over in excitement and Charlotte winced with discomfort as her muscles warped against his heavy form. Mastodon panted, his stub of a tail wiggling his entire behind.

"How do you feel?" Alistair leaned over her, his face momentarily lost in shadow as he blocked the firelight from her right side. Gently, he pushed the hound back to give her more room. Mastodon grumbled quietly, but was obedient. Charlotte first squinted at her companion before transferring her gaze to the other Grey Warden.

His hair pointed in every direction, mussed from a combination of disturbed sleep and running his fingers through it in agitation. Charlotte had slept for an entire day, with Wynne periodically checking her wounds and dispatching further spells of healing. Alistair had lived what seemed a thousand lifetimes during those twenty-four hours, wrestling with his fear for Charlotte and something so new and startling it seemed impossible his mind could ever fully comprehend it.

For now, however, he was entirely focused on Charlotte's welfare. When she seemed too confused to answer him, he went to Wynne.

"Wynne," Alistair shook the older woman by the shoulder with as much restraint as he could arouse. She was awake in an instant, her bright eyes meeting his with their burning glare of intelligence.

"Charlotte – she's awake." With a ripple of robes, Wynne was up and moving. Distantly, Alistair heard Leliana murmur something sleepy. Her incandescent hair glowed softly against the dark backdrop of stone as she tried to come into a sitting position, one hand rubbing an eye. A few feet from her, Morrigan did not stir, her dark hair a fluffed cap outside the edge of her blanket. The peace was interrupted by a rude snort; Oghren.

When Alistair joined Wynne, she was not alone. Sensing her son's disturbance and excitement, Fiona had too woken and was kneeling across from the Senior Enchanter with a serious expression upon her lovely, delicate face. Her elfin face. His mother was an elf.

And a mage.

His mother was alive.

Alistair's head once again contracted to contain the internal explosion of disbelief and wonder.

Fiona looked up from her study of Wynne's movements to meet his eyes; so green, her eyes were as vivid as the poisonous leaf of Deathroot, with the hard edges Alistair usually associated with finely spun glass. But they softened when they saw his bewilderment, and Alistair was only further confused. Too little sleep and too much revelation had left him hollow of almost all emotion, except for befuddlement.

"Charlotte," Wynne prodded in a soothing, but firm, voice. "Can you understand me?"

With difficulty, Charlotte made a noise that sounded like agreement. Realizing its ambiguity, she nodded slowly, seeming tired even by that effort.

"Are you feeling very weak? Or are you in pain?" Wynne's hands glowed blue as she cast them in a wide arc over Charlotte's body, performing her diagnostic examination with ease as she spoke to Charlotte and looked into her eyes. After a pause, Charlotte wheezed a breath that sounded like "weak" exiting her lips. Alistair went around Wynne to support Charlotte's upper back, cupping her forehead with his left hand. He was relieved to feel no fever.

"That is to be expected, my dear; I will give you some of the energizing draught brewed while you slept. Wait here." Wynne gave Alistair's arm a quick squeeze before going to get a few bottles of the draught. Noticing the commotion, others who were stirring became fully aware and began to converge on Charlotte's bedside. Fiona snapped at them, waving her hands.

"Do not crowd her!" She admonished harshly, her nose wrinkled at their lack of good manners. "She is not well!"

Charlotte waved her own hand in dismissal, seeming to indicate she did not mind. Everyone hesitated.

Aneiren was there, his bed-hair spectacularly unashamed of itself and on full display. Cullen was crisp even in the first moments of the day, his expression grim and fists clenched at Charlotte's still-fragile state. Leliana had also joined them, as had a solemn Jowan and tight-lipped Zevran who, like Alistair, had hardly slept the last two days. Zevran had only reached them this late since Charlotte's return to consciousness because he had taken to fitful circuits of the thaig, looking for rogue darkspawn and other enemies to kill. Following a quick assessment, Alistair saw no blood on the assassin's clothes and surmised Morrigan's shield had been effective, while the elf's wandering had done nothing to quiet his troubled mind. Had he not been so grateful for Charlotte's recovery, he might have smirked. Zevran was not so unflappable as he seemed.

Wynne returned and shoved the others aside with very little persuasion, her stern glare sufficient to create an opening between them. She fed the potion to Charlotte with care, drawing back when the warden coughed delicately, then pouring the solution down again. By the time the second bottle was empty, a glow of color had risen to the surface of Charlotte's skin. Alistair felt the tension in her shoulders lessen against his forearms, and her eyes brightened.

"Better?" Wynne suggested hopefully. With a sigh, Charlotte smiled.

"Much, thank you."

Her voice was still somewhat faint, but it had progressed far beyond that of unintelligible croaks, and everyone within earshot visibly relaxed.

"Is it dead?" Charlotte asked next, once again losing a bit of her color. Everyone rushed to certify that the queen of spiders was indeed burned, carefully dismembered, and spread out in several burial sites so as to discourage any doubt of her defeat. Charlotte breathed out with relief, leaning back into Alistair's firm grip.

"Good," Wynne corked the bottle and came to her feet, turning to nod to an attentive Riordan. "Let us get some food in her, as well as ourselves."

Cheerful murmurs were offered to Charlotte, particularly from her three recruits, who surrounded her in a wall bricked with lines of possessive pride. Charlotte squeezed their hands with gratitude and reassurance, before accepting a steaming bowl from Wynne, who once again parted the sea of admirers.

"Eat your breakfast and stop crowding her," Wynne chided them without heat, her slim shoulders hunched like an infantry soldier about to hold a shieldwall. Aneiren, Cullen and Jowan seemed to evaporate at her stare, retreating to the side of the fire without comment.

Leliana made a more graceful exit, her sweet whisper for Charlotte alone as she slid out of the way. Only Zevran remained, standing stiffly to one side, with Alistair still supporting Charlotte's shoulders. Seeing their example, Mastodon sat resolutely, chin high with an unspoken challenge to just try and tell him to move. Wynne sighed.

"Charlotte, dear, do you require anything further?" Wynne gave a meaningful beady eye to the three species of the male persuasion; Charlotte shook her head.

"No, I'm fine. You must also eat, Wynne. Surely after healing me so thoroughly, you are exhausted."

Wynne smiled, "Do not worry about me, child. I've survived far worse than this." She still took her leave, however, and seemed to sag with an invisible weight as she moved to accept her meal.

"You should both eat as well," Charlotte told Alistair and Zevran, her own spoon still and empty. "Neither of you look like you've slept a wink."

Zevran smirked, a ghost of his usual expression flitting across his face, "If you please, my dear, promise me next time I miss my rest it will be for much more pleasant reasons."

Alistair glared at him with undiluted hatred where Charlotte couldn't see. Zevran resisted the urge to wink at him, his smile only slightly wider.

Sighing heavily, Charlotte replied, "Just go, you tireless womanizer. I need to get better quick and if I'm arguing with you the food isn't going in." With a mirthless chuckle, Zevran relented and went to his bed, folding downward in a tired spiral of limbs.

Charlotte turned slightly, trying to see Alistair's face. Still angry, he went carefully blank, doing his best to muster a smile for her. She was not impressed.

"You look terrible," she confided in a whisper, trying to pull away so she could face him. Alistair resisted her, holding on now for different reasons than before. A terrible vulnerability stole over him, making him tremble within his very soul.

"You looked worse," he whispered back. Fiona had tactfully drifted off to assist Riordan, but Alistair could feel the energy of her concern as she watched them. It held an entirely new meaning than it had before when Alistair had noticed her interest in him and he felt a little sick at heart.

"What's wrong?" Charlotte asked him, sensing there was more to the change in him than just her own danger. Alistair shook his head.

"Eat," he ordered, forcing himself to let her go and stand. "We'll discuss it later."

A small hand shot out and grabbed him; Alistair felt a jolt of electricity at the warmth of her touch. With difficulty, he only lightly returned it with a brush of his fingers, unable to meet her gaze.

"Eat with me, then," she suggested, that charming smile that had won so many over ticking up the corners of her full lips. Alistair's heart squeezed with a combination of joy and sorrow. "And bring the other Wardens. They're overdue some information."

Alistair nodded his assent; back to business, that was probably best. He knew what Charlotte was trying to do and, though he was grateful, part of him yearned for a moment of peace in which he could make sense of everything that had happened – for a quiet place he could take this woman who had transformed his life to process the riot in his heart. But this was neither the time nor the place and so Alistair did what he was best at and pushed his emotions down into a small hole where he could store them until further notice.

Aneiren, Cullen and Jowan were eager to sit with them, to at last revel in their joining of the Grey Warden ranks. To his surprise, Alistair found their newly shared connection equally invigorating and was able to lose himself, however briefly, in sharing the burden that was no longer only his and Charlotte's to bear.

"So, what's with this hunger?" Aneiren asked around a mouthful of porridge. Behind him, Jowan looked like a chipmunk with mumps, his face swollen to accommodate enormous mouthfuls of oats.

"It's to feed your new strength, your speed, your heightened senses." Alistair watched them eat with a touch of affection; he exchanged a glance with Charlotte, who ate with more circumspection in deference to her healing body, and she smiled warmly in response.

"And what of the dreams?" Cullen inquired with his usual seriousness. Charlotte explained the Call and the importance of their connection to the darkspawn. When Alistair elaborated on that by describing the group mind of the darkspawn and how the Archdemon commands them through its song, Cullen looked horrified.

"Could we be controlled by that…. Monster?"

"No," Alistair replied with certainty. "Because we possess the benefit of souls. Darkspawn are empty of anything but hunger and violence. They know nothing of reason – they are but vessels to be bent to the Archdemon's will."

"However, there are other prices." Charlotte added. She described them without preamble, succinctly disclosing the extent of their sacrifice: the Taint and the inevitable march into darkness when it became too much to resist; the loss of bearing children; and finally, the greatest sacrifice of them all.

"One of us… will have to die…. To kill the Archdemon?" Aneiren repeated hollowly, all good humor gone.

"Yes," replied Alistair, his voice firm but calm as he met each of their gazes. Charlotte rustled beside him, clearly distressed that her recruits and friends now also bore this albatross.

"'Let mine be the last sacrifice,'" Cullen murmured; Jowan regarded him soberly and nodded, both of them looking into the distance as they considered their own thoughts. Aneiren did not comment further, but seemed the least happy of the three. Charlotte could not blame him; it seemed hardly fair that he would escape one prison only to trade his life for another kind. Cullen had taken vows to be a Templar, which was a life-long commitment that could mean death at any time. Similarly, Jowan had been without home or harbor when she had found him, so probably felt less trapped than another would. Though she was tempted to reach out to Aneiren, she let him be, and allowed him time to come to terms with it on his own.

Oghren had finally risen and glared at his breakfast while taking a healthy swig, so it was time to move forward. Though they had technically only lost one full day, that was more than enough to send Charlotte's heart hammering. Arl Eamon couldn't be expected to last much longer. They needed to settle their business in Orzammar, and soon.

With the help of two more of Wynne's (and Jowan's, as it turned out, according to his eager report) energizing draught, Charlotte felt almost completely better. She had discovered from a begrudging Alistair and composed Wynne that Zevran was largely responsible for her survival – once again. It seemed unlikely when she had let him live that this man would repay his debt. Already he had repaid it twofold. She shyly approached him as he was packing up.

"Zevran?"

Charlotte understood on some level that Zevran's suggestive humor belied a deeper man with the capacity for a much more somber nature. And, despite her lack of experience, a part of her acknowledged that his treatment of her indicated feelings of an affectionate nature that went beyond gratitude or friendship. What she had not been able to think about, however, was that something stirred within her in return. Now, with his recent gallantry, these unsettling emotions bubbled uncomfortably close to the surface.

"What is it, bellazza?" He inquired, his voice unusually soft. The rest of the camp was all activity and noise, happy to be moving on and with Charlotte's recovery. She had chosen this moment carefully to express her gratitude. Though she would not consciously admit to herself the reason why, a dim, ringing bell of instinct told her to speak with him away from both inquisitive and… possibly jealous ears.

"Wynne told me of how you came to my rescue." Charlotte realized she was fidgeting with her locket of Andraste and took a deep breath, dropping it back against her breastbone. The locket had a long chain which normally kept it hidden beneath her armor. Now, she wore only her loose white tunic over brown trousers, the strings at her neck untied from Wynne's frequent ministrations. Zevran's vivid eyes rose and followed the locket up its glittering chain to her eyes. Charlotte flushed.

"It was nothing, bellazza," he replied softly, something previously hidden unfolding in his gaze. Charlotte suddenly felt warm all over. She found her voice after a few moments of silence.

"Nonsense," she heard herself reply as if from a distance, "You have saved my life twice now; once by disobeying orders," at this, even in her nervousness, she grinned. "And now with this," she pointed at his kit, her finger touching the leather lightly before dropping awkwardly to her side as Zevran's stare grew in intensity.

"I meant what I said, bellazza," he continued in his sultry voice, almost whispering. "From the moment you spared me, I was yours."

Charlotte's throat seemed to close, but not unpleasantly. A swell of feeling was rising from her toes to her stomach, making her fingers and lips tingle. She realized abruptly that her lips were longing for a kiss and the excitement she felt inside was nothing approaching repulsion or fear.

Charlotte instinctively hesitated, surrounded by her comrades, having just escaped the brink of death. Zevran understood; with a tired smile, he broke the spell.

"And I will be," he finished with a low bow, "Until this mission is over."

Once again, her heart constricted. Until this mission is over? She wondered. However, she was too afraid to speak her questions aloud and so only nodded, bowing slightly in return before retreating.

The Dead Trenches were not just a tomb of the dwarven ancestry as all other abandoned thaigs, but a place where the dreams of dwarves who had been sent into exile went to die and be reborn, with one mission only:

Redeem the family name by killing darkspawn.

Charlotte and her band came upon the warriors in the midst of a fierce fight. A long bridge erupted outward to another part of the thaig, currently being overrun with darkspawn. The bridge was flanked by grand pillars, carved into figures of stone that seemed to represent dwarven ancestors. It seemed a fitting picture to see the Legion swinging their blades under the gaze of effigies symbolizing dwarven power.

Charlotte and the others joined the fight, magic crackling in the air as blades shined a deadly descent. The Legion seemed not to question them, only too glad of the help as the swelling numbers pushed them back. Charlotte saw a commander toward the front lines, grunting, his armor bulkier than the rest and his men following his shouted orders. Quickly, she worked her way towards him, throwing a few choice bombs Zevran had made while she slept. A Hurlock attempted to charge her, only to disappear with a gnarled scream as the bridge and its skin melted away under the caustic assault of an acid bomb. The stone sizzled.

"Careful there!" Alistair shouted, beating a Genlock down with his shield before swiping it across the chest. "Let's not go down with them!"

Charlotte peeked over the edge of the bridge into what appeared to be bottomless abyss of darkness, punctuated by the suggestion of jagged stone. "Alright!"

The battle terminated quickly, with a few gargled protests from the darkspawns' lips. Charlotte felt the extent of her injuries in the exhaustion the activity left behind, despite the fact that no visible marks had been left. She sat heavily at a set of stairs which rose toward doors long since closed off from another road that faced the opening of the bridge. Thirsty, she took a swig of water, putting it back at her belt to nod respectfully at the approaching Legion commander.

"Well met," she said, careful to disguise her breathlessness. The commander seemed to overlook it deliberately, extending his arm in a warrior's shake. They clutched elbows.

"Thanks be to you, warden. I assume that is what you are?"

Charlotte nodded, "We are, with some other friends among us."

The commander's eyes narrowed briefly before he shrugged. "I'm Kardol," he informed her tersely. "Commander of the Legion of the Dead. What brings you this far into our territory, warden?"

Charlotte spoke of Branka, the stalled King's election, and her need for soldiers for the upcoming war. Kardol shook his head with disgust.

"Bhelen and Harrowmont should be hung up to dry, if you ask me, but you didn't hear me say it."

Charlotte's eyebrows rose in surprise; Alistair had joined them, as well as Mastodon, while Charlotte noted Wynne and Jowan circuiting among all the soldiers to study their wounds. The Legionnaires looked somewhat bemused at their attentions, but did not protest. Wynne was concentrating particularly hard on a female dwarf who had sustained a nasty blow to the head, her expression benign as the magic took longer to take effect than it would have on a human or elf. Where dwarves enjoyed the advantage of shrugging off battle magic with their natural resistance, they lost the benefit of swift healing by a mage's power.

"That is rather surprising to hear put so bluntly, Commander Kardol." Charlotte admitted; when he gave her a surly look, she added hastily, "Not that we disagree with you. We just have a job to do."

Kardol grunted a breath that could have passed for mirthless laughter. "Aye, I understand that, warden. But you risk yourself on a fool's errand; no way you're going to find that madwoman after all this time. I tried to stop her when she first came through this thaig, but the little tyrant wouldn't hear of it. If she wants to die, I guess that's her own business, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Charlotte's thank you was weak with weariness; the more she heard of Branka, the less conviction she felt about finding her. Had it not been for the amount of time already invested in this quest, not to mention the obvious lack of sincerity on Harrowmont's part, she might have seriously considered turning back.

The Legion turned out to be a taciturn group. Riordan, Fiona and Oghren did their best to glean information from them about what may lie ahead, but had to make do with mostly monosyllabic answers and sidelong stares. Charlotte got the impression from speaking with one of their female warriors, Danka, that they weren't hard-hearted per say, but had seen enough not to be especially enchanted with their existence. As far as they were concerned, what lay ahead was immaterial, as for them nothing waited behind.

One warrior seemed more agitated than the rest, watching their group closely as they gathered their energy to keep going. It was a woman, Charlotte noticed, accompanied by another woman who seemed to be whispering something urgent in her companion's ear. Long experienced with the art of disinterest in her interaction with the nobles at court, Charlotte feigned being busy with other tasks while she waited for one of them to approach her. It didn't take long.

"So, you support Harrowmont?"

The woman's voice was direct and confident; it brooked nothing but the truth from Charlotte. There was a commanding note it her tone, even, and it made Charlotte look up.

"The Grey Wardens have no political alliances," she replied blandly, refusing to be baited. "We merely seek what we must to defend the land from darkspawn."

Openly, the woman snorted. "So really you're no better than the Deshyrs who throw up their hands and exclaim, 'What can we do?' while watching others get stabbed repeatedly in the back."

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, "You are familiar with their practices, I see."

The female solider sneered, then looked away. Her companion approached, somewhat hesitantly.

"Mistress-"

"It is alright, Signe," the woman murmured. Charlotte watched their interaction carefully; something was different about the way this soldier was treated. Signe looked upon her with a reverence beyond that of what made sense for merely a respected comrade, and Charlotte had noticed earlier that the other Legionnaires gave her a moderate berth of space. With little time to waste, Charlotte was impatient to discover the woman's secret and be done with it, but if she had learned anything from recent months, it was that destiny revealed itself in small pieces and could not be rushed lest one pressed Fate beyond the limits of her good humor.

Tying the leather pieces of a pouch and pulling them tight, Charlotte slung the pack back into place at her waist, studiously not looking at the irritable female warrior. Finally, after a time, she spoke again.

"You seek the Paragon, Branka?"

Charlotte nodded, only sliding her eyes over for but a moment before once again looking away. "Yes."

"What she is trying to find, warden…." The woman hesitated, "It is of a greater value than you can understand."

There was something niggling at Charlotte about the woman's voice; the answer for this feeling struggled to present itself, like the nib of a candle flickering in the wind. Charlotte decided to keep her talking to see if it prompted a clearer picture of the memory.

"That is not my concern," Charlotte replied dismissively, seeking to egg the woman on. "I regret the suffering of your people, but I have only one duty and that is to eliminate the darkspawn as effectively as I can."

The dwarf's face twisted briefly before smoothing out – clearly someone practiced at schooling her emotions, but perhaps rusty as of late. "The suffering of our people, you say?"

"Mistress," Signe tried again. The woman held up one hand and Signe instantly fell silent. Charlotte became aware of others listening to their conversation. A slight hum was building in the air, and the unsettling sensation of watchful eyes gleaming behind helms cloaked Charlotte in their gaze.

"And what do you know of dwarven suffering, warden?" The woman challenged. Charlotte thought about that carefully. She saw that Alistair was tense, Aneiren ready next to him, with Cullen hovering protectively over Wynne and Jowan in the background. Riordan and Fiona sat separated from the rest on the steps rising towards the closed doors. They did not seem as alarmed as Charlotte's comrades, but more curious, as did Morrigan who – as always – was alone on the edge of the events unfolding. Zevran stood with Leliana, whose mouth was pursed with concentration as she awaited Charlotte's response. Oghren was sitting a short distance from Riordan, a sardonic expression on his face. By Charlotte's side, Mastodon growled softly.

"Nothing," she replied bluntly. The dwarf's mouth opened with surprise. "I know nothing of dwarven culture except what I have seen since coming here seeking assistance against the Blight. What I do know of is the threat on the surface and what it could mean for all dwarven, elven and human-kind alike if we fail in our duty to stem the tide of evil."

Behind her, Charlotte heard Oghren chuckle softly. She wondered why.

"That is far more honest than I would have credited a human being capable," the woman dwarf replied. Beside her, Signe looked pleased, even hopeful.

"What is it you want?" Charlotte asked, weary of being tested under the conditions already being endured. The woman nodded sagely, reaching up to remove her helm with one hand.

"Mistress!" Signe gasped, reaching out. The other dwarfs were swept with a restless muttering reminiscent of the disturbing whispers of the Wilds. Charlotte ignored them, unable to tell if they were protective of this woman or agitated by her display.

"It is a fair question, warden," the woman answered, a smooth cap of black hair laced with braiding revealed as the shining helm slid away. Her eyes were a smoky, dark blue as deep as indigo, framed by a heart-shaped face flushed from battle. "And one I never thought to be asked again, left to this fate."

Kardol grunted, crossing his arms and watching the woman with a mixture of respect and resentment. His sentiment was mirrored among other members of the Legion, who seemed divided on the issue of this woman's importance. After all, all members of the Legion were supposed to be the same – much as the Grey Wardens, except that they were considered truly dead, with only their bodies continuing on some semblance of life as the rest of who they were was left behind.

"Princess Eva Aeducan," the dwarf drawled smoothly, a small smile quirking her lips as Charlotte's jaw dropped open. "Atrast vala, Wardens. Welcome to my father's kingdom."

"P-P-Princess?"

Alistair's stutter of disbelief was echoed among his comrades, who stared at Eva Aeducan as if she were a novelty too rare to be credited. This may have been explained, of course, by the fact everyone thought she was dead.

"But you're dead!" Alistair blurted helpfully. Charlotte gave him a quelling look and his mouth snapped shut. To their further surprise, Eva laughed.

"Technically, yes." She agreed, twinkling. Charlotte was relieved she found this so amusing, then irritated once again. What now? She asked silently, her eyes driven upward. She returned her attention to Eva.

"How did you survive your exile?"

Eva's smile became sad, "The Legion saved my life." The princess looked over her shoulder and Charlotte saw loyalty among them, as well as indifference. That made sense, she supposed. It wasn't as if all the Legionnaires had benefited from Orzammar's social structure. There very well might be casteless among their ranks, who would certainly consider a princess useless to them, as she probably had been when still in the seat of power.

"I was sent to die, not to join the Legion, so I have done what I can to repay them and bided my time." Her expression hardened, "If Bhelen thinks this is over, he is sorely mistaken. The same goes for Harrowmont."

"Oh?" Charlotte inquired archly, her distaste for dwarven politics making her skeptical. "And what charges do you bring against them?"

"Fratricide, patricide, murder, perjury – shall I continue?" Eva's eyes glittered in the lava's light, a deeply-rooted malevolence stirring within her.

"So you did not kill your brother to claim the throne?" Charlotte asked. Eva hissed angrily, then took a deep breath. Charlotte realized as she watched her why her tone had seemed so familiar – it was very much like that of the Deshyrs she had seen, as well as the nobles at Ferelden court. Eva had a polished way about her that Charlotte knew well from having had the same habits beaten into her with the determination of a smith shaping a sword. That's what all nobles were, after all, in one way or another – a knife shaped for battle of a different, more insidious nature.

"No," Eva replied finally; her eyes were wide and burning, but her tone was calm. "Trian was a bit of a pompous fool, but he still would have listened to my council had I thought the issue important enough. My ambition was not to rule, but to lead expeditions into the Deep Roads to recover more of our culture. Trian was supportive; I had no reason to kill him."

Charlotte studied her carefully for deception, but found none. "So what really happened?" She didn't know why she should care; it affected nothing for her cause. And yet…. She knew betrayal, she knew the iciness you felt in your stomach as it sunk its blade into your back. Eva had suffered as she had suffered, with perhaps even more cruel consequences. Charlotte needed to hear her out.

Eva seemed to sense this in her; she too was cautious, an expert in charlatans and the lowly creatures known as courtiers, who sought nothing but power in its raw form. However, she too felt compelled by the Grey Warden, as Charlotte did with her, and continued.

"Bhelen has always craved the throne; father understood he was not equal to it, but never had the heart to stand up to Bhelen, or send him away. I think he sensed Bhelen's weakness, but underestimated his evil. When Trian's coronation was going to be announced, Bhelen arranged to have him killed and planted me at the scene."

Eva looked away, her gaze distant. "I didn't even get a trial; Bhelen bribed most of the Deshyrs with amnesty for use of the black market."

"Black market?" Alistair asked, evidently hoping to make right his earlier blunder. Eva nodded.

"Everyone in Orzammar tries to pretend that we trade with surface dwarves peacefully, allowing them entrance underground at specified times to bring us goods we need. The truth is very different. Surface dwarves are as casteless as the dwarves in Dust Town. Some are allowed entry, yes, but the majority of goods are actually smuggled in by the Carta."

"You're not serious!" Leliana exclaimed, drawing closer. At this, Kardol spat on the ground.

"That's why them bastards should hang. A good number of us are in here for accidentally finding that out and then being banished for our 'crimes.' Huh!" Kardol sneered, "I was a respected army general, once. When not on expeditions, I helped oversee the Diamond Quarter city guard, which is pretty nice because when you get too old to fight in the army, they might let you retire to some swanky estate if you're lucky. Then I pissed off a Deshyr by arresting a Carta member delivering goods to her house. Now, I'm here." Kardol looked around him and Charlotte noticed several other dwarves coming to their feet, nodding in agreement. Her head spun with the implications.

"We killed the Carta," Charlotte told them. She could see the wheels turning for everyone else, as well. No wonder Harrowmont had been so disbelieving; no wonder the Assembly had not voted anyone in.

They had been right; they weren't supposed to kill the Carta – the Carta had been intended to kill them.

"By the Stone!" Kardol roared; around him, all the other dwarves looked on in slack-jawed astonishment, while Princess Eva's eyes became the size of saucers.

"You… you what?" Eva asked, even she at a loss for words. Numbly, Charlotte explained. While her comrades seemed dimly aware of how narrowly they had escaped a very dire situation – Aneiren particularly was not helping, his head tilted to one side with this slightly bemused expression on his face, as if he had lost consciousness without closing his eyes – Eva understood the implications perfectly at once. She was flabbergasted at their luck.

"Bhelen and Harrowmont must both be furious! You've taken an enormously important piece to play in the election away from them both and now they have to find another way to win the Deshyrs!" Suddenly, she roared with laughter, buckling over as tears spilled over her cheeks. Charlotte saw the Legionnaires were also recovering from their shock and were – By the Maker – they were smiling. Well, a good number of them were. Some were still surly. Perhaps they had been members of the Carta.

Eva struggled to collect herself, hiccupping and wiping her eyes with one hand. "Warden, may the Ancestors bless you, I needed that."

"What does it mean?" Charlotte asked anxiously, once again at a loss in this bizarre place with its never-ending turn of events. Eva sighed, seeming entirely relaxed; "It means, warden, we have a chance to make things right."

The wardens set up a short camp to talk strategy; Kardol, Riordan, Oghren (who would not be dissuaded), Charlotte, Fiona, Alistair and the new recruits spearheaded the effort, while the rest of them circulated through the Legionnaires. Zevran and Leliana understood quickly that it was their job to suss out untruths by charming the other soldiers. Charlotte trusted them to the task while she eked out a plan with Princess Eva.

As with most partnerships, it began with a story: Eva had been framed first by Bhelen, then trusted Harrowmont to help her get a fair trial when it became apparent that many Deshyrs were resting comfortably in her brother's pocket. However, to her horror, Harrowmont had also revealed himself a villain and had worked to convince her father that she was guilty when he had originally promised to see justice served. Without even being allowed to tell her father farewell, she had been deposited into the Deep Roads – without food, without weapons, only allowed the dress on her back in bare feet. The Legion had saved her and, over time, by eavesdropping on soldiers sent to Aeducan Thaig by her brother – who dispatched regular scouting expeditions to keep the thaig clear – she had learned of her father's death and the election. Eva said if they could find the Anvil or Branka, she might have a chance to take back the throne.

"Harrowmont will keep the castes resolutely divided if he can and cut off trade with the surface for everyone except the Deshyrs to keep them happy." Eva explained, her hands weaving in poetic gestures. "Bhelen actually has some good ideas about using the casteless and giving them work, but he's ruthless and bloodthirsty. If he rules…." She shook her head, "As you indicated earlier, warden, dwarven politics are a veritable snake pit. Under my brother's influence, they can only get worse."

"So what are you asking us to do?" Charlotte asked suspiciously. Eva stared at her, considering.

"Let me come with you," she asked. Everyone gaped. Kardol actually snorted, then shook his head.

"Huh," Oghren grunted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, OK."

Eva gave him a cool stare, "Do you have a problem with that, Oghren?" The dwarf started at the sound of his name.

"How do you – " he began. Eva cut him off briskly.

"If you recall, I fought you in the Proving before you were disgraced. I was a bit younger then and fought under a different name. My father nearly tanned my hide as I was not yet of legal age."

"You… you-" Oghren's eyes bugged, evidently coming across the memory. Eva smiled.

"You fought well," she complimented him regally. "And the loss of your wife will not go unnoticed. If you are here to help, then allow me to also be of use and bring to Orzammar the glory it deserves."

Charlotte's eyes narrowed; the princess had a silver tongue. The thing she still didn't know is if it spoke the truth.

"And what if we bring you, Your Majesty?" Charlotte asked, "What will you give us in return?"

"Your armies," Eva replied without hesitation. "I will supply you every soldier fit to fight, with the exception of those who must remain here to protect the city. And once the Blight is over, you may consider me your ally for life."

Charlotte thought that over carefully, reading between the lines.

That was awfully convenient for the Princess if she became Queen. She could throw a bunch of casteless dwarves with no real battle experience at the problem, then close ranks underground to protect her people from the worst if it should happen. If Charlotte died on the surface, there would be no one for the Queen to answer to and her promise would be, for all intents and purposes, fulfilled to the extent that it could be - leaving her free to do as she wished and focus on her own concerns. How very neat of her.

"And of course," Charlotte replied in as respectful tone as she could muster, "We will leave representatives her in Orzammar during the winter to oversee the training and preparations of your men." Smiling benignly, she added, "We could learn much from them, I'm sure."

Eva's eyes narrowed slightly. Charlotte continued smiling.

"That is an excellent idea," Eva replied mildly, clearly thinking otherwise. Charlotte was really beginning to despise Orzammar. Alistair's eyes flitted between them, his expression worried, while Aneiren, Jowan and Cullen ranged from stony faced to bemused. While Riordan and Fiona were suppressing smiles, Kardol openly grinned, his gaze approving. Fiona couldn't help herself after a moment; Charlotte had sounded so very much like Duncan just then.

"Very well," Charlotte declared happily, glad to perhaps have an alternative to those abominable, dishonest men who had so annoyed her. "We shall proceed forward with your assistance and hope for something that can convince the Deshyrs of your superiority. Once so achieved, you will supply us the men we require – oh, and one more thing."

Eva had begun to hold out her hand, her politician's smile returning. It froze in place. Charlotte slipped her hand over the other woman's, her grip warm and sure.

"If you lie to me, Your Majesty," she said softly, leaning in. "The Legion will seem a very appealing existence indeed." She shook once and stood abruptly, clapping her hands together with a satisfied rub. "Shall we?"

Eva stared after her in furious astonishment, her mask briefly slipping. Oghren's smile was obvious through his beard; he clapped the woman on the back, chortling.

"I would listen to her, you know," he advised cheerily. "One of her friends told me an interesting story. Harrowmont royally pissed her off – you know what she did?"

Eva regarded him sulkily, a sneer at her lips. Oghren leaned in conspiratorially; Kardol leaned in as well, interested.

"She cut off Jarvia's head and left it on his desk."

Eva gasped, open-mouthed. Kardol looked impressed, while the Wardens appeared to be torn between nausea and a kind of pride.

"Yup," Oghren stood, hands on his hips. "She's an interesting woman, alright." And he walked off, whistling, leaving the Princess glowering in his wake while all those around her fought the laughter bubbling in their chests.