A/N: Thank you, as always, Lisa, for your help and mad beta skillz! Your suggestions were, as always, spot on!
The Great Underground Empire
For a nation of short people, the dwarves had surprisingly high ceilings. Joss supposed that had more to do with the fact that they lived under a mountain than anything else, but it seemed wrong, somehow, to not have to hunch over to walk into the kingdom of the dwarves. Instead, the ceiling wasn't even visible, and she felt dwarfed by the huge chamber they entered.
The first large chamber they came to was an oddly-angled room filled with the most unattractive statuary she'd ever seen. Not that she'd seen many statues, but a child could have done a better job of creating clay figures of heroic dwarves than whoever had designed the squat, angular depictions that greeted them in the Hall of Heroes.
"This is a paragon," Fergus announced, waving at a nearby carving.
"A pair of whats?" Joss asked, bending forward to read the nameplate. Branka. She wasn't sure if that was a name or the sound a donkey made. The woman, and she used the term advisedly, represented in the statue was as flat as a floor and her hips were as wide as Bodahn's oxcart. Not terribly flattering, unless she'd actually looked that way in real life. As far as she could tell, the woman didn't have a pair of anythings.
"Paragons are dwarves that, through heroic deeds, are elevated to legendary status," Fergus replied.
"And is the sculptor required to drink a keg of ale before creating one of these idols?"
An outraged gasp was her answer, and Joss turned to see a short woman, hands on her Bodahn's-cart-sized hips, glaring at her. So much for diplomacy, Joss thought, swallowing her grin.
"No offense," she added quickly, although she supposed the snicker that colored her words didn't aid her attempt at an apology.
The woman proceeded to lecture Joss about the strength, courage and honor of the dwarves, checking off the names of paragons on her fat little fingers. Then, with a final toss of her head, the woman strode off. Or, rather, strode off as much as was possible given her stumpy legs.
"Well, that could have gone better," Joss remarked to no-one in particular.
"They do seem terribly prickly, don't they? One could say they have short tempers," Zevran commented, coming to stand beside her.
"They do seem to take offense at the least little thing," Joss agreed.
"That's very small-minded of you," Teagan said and then groaned. "You've ruined me for polite society, Josslyn," he continued, shaking his head.
"Excellent! My mission is accomplished and I can return to the Tower, now, where meals are always served on time, the beds are soft, and the men aren't."
They were all laughing, except for Styx and Shale. Joss didn't think the golem actually knew how to laugh, and she wasn't sure she'd want to see a laughing rock giant anyway. Styx simply didn't appreciate her sense of humor. Not that many did, now that she thought about it.
They'd been told by the guards that the Assembly was in session, and it was the Assembly who would choose a new king, so off they went in search of the Chamber of the Assembly. Because everyone knew that the Blight was the perfect time to fight about kings, werewolves, demons and other assorted idiots. Joss remained grateful that the Archdemon didn't seem to know his arse from a hole in the ground because neither did most of Thedas.
"Does it occur to anyone else that these Grey Warden treaties aren't worth the paper they're printed on?" Joss asked.
"No doubt they thought they'd never have to use them," Cathair answered.
"I'm firmly convinced the Grey Wardens don't think. At. All," Joss retorted. "Well, except for us, of course," she amended hastily.
Orzammar was huge, and Joss wondered if the vast areas and soaring ceilings had been built as some sort of overcompensation involving dwarven anatomy. If so, they needn't have bothered if the rumors about noses being indicative of the size of a man held any truth.
"My dear, you're staring again," Teagan remonstrated quietly.
Her eyes had developed a mind of their own, staring down at the armor-clad guard's proboscis, staggered by the length and breadth of it. She tried to force her eyes away but they kept returning to the appendage that graced the dark-haired dwarf's face. Slightly bulbous at the tip, she wanted to reach out and tweak it in the worst possible way.
"You're not from around here, are you?" a perky young female dwarf, her voice as lively as a cricket, asked.
Josslyn reluctantly dragged her eyes from the guard's nose and looked down into a set of cheerful blue eyes. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, smiling in response to the girl's effervescent grin.
"Oh, this is so exciting!" the young dwarven girl chirped and bounced in place, oddly reminiscent of Leliana on one of her crazier days. "Do you know anything about the Circle of Magi?"
Why didn't anybody in Thedas recognize that a person wearing robes and carrying a staff was a mage? Joss was about to ask that question when Jowan piped up. "Know it? She practically runs it!"
After Joss had sent a cold blast at Jowan, who grinned with unrepentant glee, she turned back to the young girl. "Now, why would you be interested in the Circle of Magi? Unless I miss my guess, you're a dwarf."
"Dagna! I'm Dagna and I want to study at the Circle. I've sent a bunch of letters to First Enchanter Irving but he never responds! Is he that busy?"
No, actually, he's dead. Joss decided not to bother explaining that to Dagna the Deliriously Peppy. "How did you come by the First Enchanter's name?"
"There was a Grey Warden here about a year ago: tall guy with a scruffy black beard, I don't know why humans even try to grow beards, no offense, and he told me who it was, and he said he would deliver my letter, and then I wrote several more, and I'll just die if I don't get accepted for study at the Circle of Magi..."
Joss thought Dagna must have an extraordinary set of lungs to have spoken all of that in one breath. She supposed that wasn't too surprising given the size of her chest. But then all the dwarven women seemed to be well-endowed. Which only made the statues seem all that much odder.
"You want to go to the Circle and study? You're sure that's all? No nefarious plans to steal our magic or perform evil experiments on mages to figure out how their magic works, right?"** Joss asked, only partly in jest. The woman seemed a bit too anxious to go to the Tower to learn about a subject she would never be able to put into practice. Fanaticism was not always a good thing, in her experience.
She waited for someone to chide her with a "People skills!" remark of some kind and then realized those who usually cried out such things were elsewhere.
"What? No! No, I would never do anything to hurt a mage. Honest," the happy dwarf claimed.
"In that case, I'll see what I can do, although things in the Tower are a bit topsy-turvy at the moment." Which was a bit of an understatement. At least Petra would have an extra set of hands to help set things to rights, even if Dagna was a bit too happy for Josslyn's comfort.
"Oh, thank you so much!"
"No problem. I'll get back to you shortly," Joss assured, eliciting a snicker from Zev.
It seemed, after that, as if the dwarves came out of the woodwork to ask for help. Or rather, the stonework. A line formed behind Dagna that snaked through the Commons and disappeared into a tavern.
A mother wanted her son found in the Deep Roads. That was a place Joss had no intention of going to visit, lost son or no. The Creep Roads, as she called them, were full of all manner of creepy crawlies, including a sizeable darkspawn horde, if Alistair's information was correct.
Another dwarf, shifty-eyed and as bald as a peeled potato, wanted her to take a package to Godwin in the Tower. He was one grumpy dwarf when she refused, and he immediately attacked her group. The Orzammar guards all became too busy polishing their pikes to assist, not that they needed much help, but it made her wonder why, anytime they ran into trouble, the local constabulary found somewhere else to be.
Someone named Brother Urkel or Terkel or some such wanted her to talk to the Shaperate so he could open a monastery or chapel or something in Orzammar. That went straight to the bottom of her growing list.
Someone else wanted her to look for his missing…
"Nuts? You've lost your nuts?" Joss asked, shuddering. She couldn't imagine that had been a pleasant experience for the dwarf, although he didn't seem to be in pain.
"Maker's breath, Josslyn. The poor merchant lost his nugs," Teagan corrected with a stern expression ruined by a covert snicker behind his hand.
"Right, I knew that. Erm…what exactly are nugs?"
"Nasty little creatures that breed like rabbits and taste like chicken," Zevran informed her.
She didn't even want to know why he knew about nugs. Or how he'd come by his knowledge of their mating habits.
"So, with the Great Underground Empire teetering on the brink of collapse because they can't figure out who to name as a king, you're worried about nugs?"
"Are you kidding? Harrowmont promises a nug in every pot if he's crowned. That's a lot of nugs," the merchant replied, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the event.
Before they left the Commons, Joss instructed Cathair, Jowan and Shale to find rooms for the night. Shale was attracting a small crowd of followers who hadn't seen a golem in a nug's age, evidently. They wanted to touch Shale, as if the golem had some mystical abilities or something.
Irritated, Joss snapped, "Shale isn't some pet rock!"
To which Shale remarked dryly, "I suppose that is better than telling them not to stroke the stone, as It commanded earlier."
The more Joss heard about the two contenders for the crown, Harrowmont and Bhelen, the less she liked either of them. That didn't change when they finally made their way to the Assembly, where the Dishers, whoever they were, had gathered to decide the matter.
Her group had no sooner entered the Assembly then a fight erupted and the entire assemblage was tossed out by a very angry steward, who, oddly enough, carried a mage's staff. She wanted to ask about it, but he was too busy complaining about the idiot Dishers.
"Just who are these Dishers you keep babbling on about?" Joss finally interrupted. Maker's tight arse, didn't these people know there was a Blight going on in the real world?
"Deshyrs. The nobles of Orzammar," the steward said with great dignity. Or as great a dignity as one could have when they were short and round and heavily bearded with great honking conks.
"Ah, the noble caste. That explains ever so much about their inability to think beyond their own little pec…"
"People skills!" Teagan called out, and then looked horrified that he'd done so.
Joss shook her head. "..adilloes," she continued with a sniff. "What did you think I was going to say?" she asked with a smirk. Teagan shook his head and refused to answer. She would have to make it up to him later. Poor man was looking a bit harried and harassed.
"Until the crown is settled on someone's head, we won't be able to honor the treaty, Warden."
"Well, since you've just called a halt to the proceedings, that isn't going to be any time soon, then. Wonderful," Joss replied, her voice creeping fairly high on the sarcasm scale.
Of course, if they were to choose sides and put a king on the throne, the dwarves would be happy to honor the treaty. On the other hand, the Grey Wardens would be furious for breaking their neutrality clause. And that, Joss thought with a grin, was a win-win situation.
"Sure, because both candidates are charming and well-deserving of the honor. Or, you know, not," Joss stated with a shake of her head that sent her chignon into a nervous breakdown.
The steward shrugged and stared at the door over her left shoulder. She took the hint and left. Moments later they stood in the Diamond Quarter again, which, of course, didn't have a diamond anywhere in sight, discussing their options. Joss's head was aching and she wanted to march back out into the cool air because the air in Orzammar was stale and smelled of unwashed things. Lots of unwashed things. They may bathe regularly, and change their clothes frequently, but dwarves smelled like overcooked cabbage and warm ale. And it wasn't as if she could stand upwind of them, or downwind for that matter, since there was no wind at all in the city of rock.
Apparently, they weren't going to be in and out of Orzammar as quickly as she'd hoped. What a surprise.
Word of their arrival traveled quickly. She suspected the city criers had a lot to do with how fast the news spread. After speaking with the Shaperate, who was more interested in Shale and how she'd come to have a golem in her entourage, than providing useful information, and, after being inundated with yet more requests for help, Joss found herself, along with her group, standing outside a tavern.
They had met with Harrowmont's Second, a wheezy, obsequious little dwarf who had tried to convince them to prove their loyalty to Harrowmont by joining a Proving, which had seemed a bit cowardly to Joss.
"If he wants my support, shouldn't he be doing the proving? You know, to prove he's worthy of that support?" Joss had asked him. It had seemed a reasonable enough question, but it had shut the weasel up and he'd slunk away, much to Josslyn's relief.
Not that Bhelen's Second had been any better. That sleazy dwarf had wanted them to wipe out a crime lord to show their support of the late, lamented King Endrin's son.
"If he wants to make the lot of the dwarves better, as you claim, shouldn't he be the one carting away the Carta?" she'd asked. Sleazy dwarf had stalked away.
"So, my choices are to support a weakling, a tyrant, or depart Orzammar without troops. What if I choose none of the above?"
They entered Tapster's Tavern to discuss the matter, only to be accosted by a dishy Deshyr who waved them over.
"Lord Denek Helmi, at your service," he announced, calling to the waitress for a round of drinks.
Helmi was a veritable fountain of information. He expounded on the antiquated caste system, which certainly explained a great deal about the odd politics of Orzammar, and he went on to explain about the casteless, outcastes, as he called them, who lived in Dust Town; forgotten and ignored.
"Wait, wait, wait," Joss broke in. "Are you telling me that dwarven fertility is at an all time low but the casteless breed like rabbits?"
"Rabbits?" Helmi asked, blinking at her owlishly. "What are rabbits?"
"Erm…bugs? No, no. Teagan, what are those bunny-pig things that taste like chicken?"
"Nugs."
"Yes, those."
"That's exactly what I mean," Helmi said with a grave nod. He tipped his mug at her and Joss felt obliged to do the same. Luckily, she was only drinking water. Teagan and Fergus were downing ale like a pair of thirsty sailors.
"So, you're telling me that the decline in population could be solved by allowing these casteless people to mate with other caste-type dwarves but they aren't allowed to because they don't have a caste? Doesn't that strike you as short-sighted?"
"We've signed our own death warrant," Helmi agreed and then stood, swaying unsteadily.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a disappointed mother waiting at home."
The dwarf ambled out, weaving between the tables, calling out his farewells to the other patrons. "Let's put him on the throne of Orzammar," Joss suggested with a laugh, turning back to her companions.
Teagan and Fergus were both flushed, their eyes crinkled with merriment as they toasted each other yet again. Joss glanced at Zev, who was grinning broadly. "I suppose we should get these men to the inn before they fall on their swords."
"Hold on, Warden. You want to put Helmi on the throne, you're going to need to find a Paragon to do it and I just happen to be married to one."
The slurred voice came from a short man with fiery red hair, a matching beard, and bleary blue eyes. He belched as he grinned at her, and she shuddered as his fetid breath hit her full force.
"So you're married to a Paragon? Not too hard to believe since you're such a suave paragon of studliness yourself," she replied when it became apparent that he wasn't leaving.
The dwarf preened and then swayed towards her, leering. "Hold yourself back, princess. I'm taken," he snorted. He obviously didn't appreciate irony, Joss thought with a silent snicker.
Before she could say more, or question the drunken dwarf, as if that didn't describe half the population of Orzammar, she heard a racket that sounded like two brawling cats.
Snapping her head in the direction of the raucous din, she saw, to her amusement, that Fergus and Teagan had taken center stage and were singing. Teagan flung a careless arm around Fergus's shoulders, nearly knocking the tall man off the stage.
"Maker's roasted nuts!" she exclaimed. "Do something, Zev," she instructed her favorite Antivan.
"My dear, I am doing something. I am preparing to be entertained," he replied, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.
Teagan cleared his throat and Fergus did the same before they launched into song. Two brawling cats whose tails were being trampled, Joss amended mentally. She shook her head, laughter welling up.
"A lusty young smith at his vice stood a-filing.
His hammer laid by but his forge still aglow.
When to him a buxom young damsel came smiling,
And asked if to work in her forge he would go.
Rum, rum, rum. Rum, rum, rum.
In and out. In and out. Ho!
"I will," said the smith, and they went off together,
Along to the young damsel's forge they did go.
They stripped to go to it, 'twas hot work and hot weather.
They kindled a fire and she soon made him blow.
Her husband, she said, no good work could afford her.
His strength and his tools were worn out long ago.
The smith said "Well mine are in very good order,
And I am now ready my skill for to show."
Red hot grew his iron, as both did desire,
And he was too wise not to strike while 'twas so.
Said she, "What I get I get out of the fire,
So prithee, strike home and redouble the blow."
Six times did his iron, by vigorous heating,
Grow soft in her forge in a minute or so,
But as often was hardened, still beating and beating,
But the more it was softened, it hardened more slow.
When the smith rose to go, quoth the dame full of sorrow:
"Oh, what would I give could my husband do so.
Good lad with your hammer come hither tomorrow,
But pray could you use it once more ere you go!"***
Joss found herself clapping as she watched her noble bann performing beside his friend, tears of laughter flowing down her cheeks. Had anyone wagered that they could get Bann Teagan to sing bawdy songs to her, she would have accepted, believing such a thing was impossible.
"You realize, my lovely Warden, that I am now most desirous of your noble?"
"As are a fair number of the patrons, I suspect. Let me assure you that the bann's hammer does not, in fact, recover quite so quickly as his song might suggest."
"Well, shave my back and call me an elf, that pot-bellied son of a whore can sing!" the red-haired dwarf exclaimed, slapping a stubby hand on the table in glee. Yes, a veritable paragon of manliness, Joss thought dryly. Who wouldn't want him by their side in a fight?
Looking quite pleased with himself, Teagan staggered back to their table, Fergus stumbling behind. "Come along, wench, time to demonstrate my smithing skills," Teagan slurred, reaching for her.
Joss was nearly overcome with laughter at his cocky assurance that she would find his hammer in good order. She felt certain that his hammer would not be red-hot or even slightly warm, considering the amount of dwarven ale in his blood. She stood and slipped an arm around his waist.
"Zev, help Fergus before he falls down and hurts himself," she instructed over her shoulder as she guided Teagan among the tables. The patrons were cheering and stomping their feet in approval, Teagan merrily accepting their accolades.
The problem was, she realized as she stood with her swaying noble, she had no idea where the inn was. Luckily, the little warrior who could, followed them out. "There's only one place with the right sized beds, Warden. Wheenken, Bleenken and Nada's," the helpful dwarf said.
"And that would be?"
"Follow ol' Oghren, he'll get you there," the dwarf assured her.
Joss glanced around. She saw no-one else around. "And this ol' Oghren would be you?"
"Well, aren't you smarter than you look," he replied with a gruff laugh.
"Oh, my diminutive friend, you will not be happy with your choice of words," Zevran chuckled just as Joss sent a jolt of electricity into the dwarf.
"Oh, foreplay! I'm in," Ol' Oghren said, rubbing his backside.
Joss was still shuddering when they reached the inn. "Thank you for your help, Oghren."
"Aye, aye. I'll be back in the morning."
"Whatever for?" Joss asked, and then realized how ungracious she sounded. "I mean, that's not really necessary, but thank you," she added at Zevran's amused look.
"You think Paragon Branka is standing around the forge waiting for you? We'll be heading to the Deep Roads."
"Never tell me that your paragon of a wife left you behind for a jaunt in the Deep Roads."
"I'll be back in the morning. Be ready," the dwarf said in a rough voice.
Joss was about to disabuse the dwarf of that notion when Teagan began to sing again. Fergus joined in and they were treated, as was much of the Commons, to another rendition of their bawdy song. She used her strength, limited though it was, to push through the door of the inn. A stout dwarf appeared from a back room, his face grim.
"I'm Wheenken Lowunbrow and I'll thank your men to put a lid on it."
Joss blinked and slapped a grin on her face. "Believe me, if I could find a lid for them, I'd make sure they put it on," she assured him. "Now, if you could just show us to our rooms?"
The dour, dark-browed dwarf nodded at a door, before tossing her several keys, which meant she had to let go of Teagan to catch them. Teagan slumped against a wall, grinning irrepressibly at her with unfocused eyes. She couldn't help but return the grin, although she had no idea why she would grin, considering the cheery news Oghren had shared with her about the Deep Roads.
"Through the door, the first three rooms on the right. Mind your head," Wheenken added and snickered when Fergus stopped singing in favor of howling.
The young teyrn's head and the top of the doorway had apparently had an argument, and the doorframe had won with spectacular results. As it was stone, there was already a rather stunning lump forming on Fergus's head. He was going to have a nasty headache in the morning. But then, he would have anyway, even without conking himself on the head, Joss decided.
Teagan ducked his head with a triumphant shout. He was so limp that she swore he had no bones in his body, just water, which was proving difficult to hold on to. But at least it gave her something else to concentrate on. The thought of having to go into the Deep Roads was not a happy one. At. All.
"Don't take advantage of Fergus," Joss instructed Zevran as they stood outside their rooms.
"You wound me, my lovely Josslyn. The great Zevran Arainai does not need to take advantage in such a cheap manner."
Joss wasn't sure if there was an expensive manner in which to take advantage of people but she kept that thought to herself as she man-handled Teagan into the room and kicked the door shut with her foot.
She was tempted to burn Teagan's clothes off because undressing a limp, singing, man was a lot like wrestling with a lump of lard. Not that she had any practical experience in that. She finally gave up when he pulled her down on top of him.
"I'm experiencing a sensation altogether new to me, and frankly, I love it!" he exclaimed merrily.
"Enjoy it now. I'll wager tomorrow you'll be singing a different song."
Of course, he didn't hear her; he was already busy snoring.
** Josslyn's comments to Dagna are based on mille libri's awesome and brilliant evil!Dagna from her story Dangerous to Travel to Known Places.
***A Lusty Young Smith was written by Thomas d'Urfey (1653-1723) in 1698.