"Arrite. Whadja say yer name was again?"
Lyria sat with her chin cupped in her hand, glaring darkly across the table at the dwarf that seemed to be getting more drunk by the second. "For the sixth time, my name is Lyria Aeducan. Daughter of King Endrin."
Oghren burst into laughter and took another swig from his drink. The long plume of his braided mustache ended up getting dipped as well and dribbled the black liquid across the table as soon as he slammed his mug back down. "Riiiiiiiight, By tha way, if I said you had a beautiful body wouldja help me take my pants off?" he drawled. "So as I'ze sayin... I know you know what you know that you're knowing... Wait. Thassnot right. What'z yer name again?"
"My name is Zevran and I'm an elf from Antiva," Lyria answered dryly. "I'm here to assassinate every polka-dotted nug in Orzammar."
Zevran huffed. "So you steal my name now! Perhaps I will steal yours right back! Or take a better one! So there!"
Lyria wriggled her fingers at Oghren. "Take his. He probably can't remember it right now anyway."
Oghren let out a belch to rattle the tavern. "Right. So as I'ze sayin. I know what she went lookin' fer... An if you wanna find her... I'm yer only hope. She went... She went ta... " and then his eyes rolled back and his head impacted the surface of the table. He had passed out cold.
"Perhaps we should begin to prepare for your rival's coronation," Morrigan tittered, waving her hand at the air as if the stench of ale were enough to poison her.
Zevran's nose wrinkled. "Normally I would take this opportunity to rid the man of the contents of his pockets, but in this case that would involve having to touch the colorful gentleman. Although I must say that a lack of hygiene seems to make for a very effective theft deterrent."
Lyria prodded at Oghren's limp body. "This is some kind of divine punishment."
When they finally sobered Oghren up, Lyria started to miss the drunken Oghren already. The sober version was angry, single minded, blunt, and completely ill mannered. But he was the husband of the Paragon Branka and probably the only person outside of the Deep Roads who knew where to find her if she still lived. Harrowmont's final hope for the crown would be the endorsement of a paragon, which meant Branka.
Lyria hadn't set foot in the Deep Roads since her exile, although it didn't seem that changed. It was oddly quiet though, something that Alistair attributed to the Blight. Ironic that when the surfacers got to have a taste of what life was like for the dwarves, the dwarves got a respite. She almost wished that blights happened more often.
Harrowmont had given them a map and plenty of supplies. Oghren gave them a direction. Now it was just a matter of walking.
"So you've spent almost a year on the surface, right?" Oghren grunted at Lyria as they picked their way through one of the ruined thaigs.
Lyria shifted the pack on her shoulders. A shame they had to carry so much gear into the roads, but it wasn't safe to hunt for food since a lot of the animals were tainted. "That's right."
He chuckled. "What's it like? Living in a world with no roof, no stone around you, no braised nug or deeproot brandy?"
She frowned as they passed a toppled statue, perhaps it was of some forgotten paragon. "It's bright, and wide. At first it feels like you're walking around blind and you keep expecting to bump into a wall, but you never do. And everything tastes sweet. There's a sweetness in the liquor, the bread, the meat, and even the water. I'm amazed surfacers still have all their teeth. It explains why they're all so tall though."
Oghren laughed loud enough for the sound to echo through the tunnels, prompting a collective wince amongst the travelers. If there were predators about they all knew exactly where the stupid prey was now.
"I like sweet," Alistair protested. "There's nothing wrong with sweet."
Lyria shrugged, resting her hands on the blades at her hips. "In Orzammar, sweets are for children and pregnant women. We have this drink that we brew from roots and herbs that we give them. It doesn't have alcohol, just a lot of sweetness to help them grow or help their child to grow."
"It sounds intriguing!" Leliana grinned. "Do you think we could find some when we get back?"
Both of the dwarves laughed at that. "Just be sure to tell 'em when the baby's due to pop out, lady," Oghren grinned.
"Actually she has lived as a cloistered sister for two years now. Unless the Maker divinely decided to do something rather naughty, I do not see how such a thing is possible. Not that I haven't offered to help the process along..." Zevran has picked up a pebble and was twirling it between his fingers, making it twitch and dance seemingly all on its own. The motion was almost hypnotic.
Leliana narrowed her eyes at the elf. "My answer remains the same. Perhaps if you were the only surviving man on earth. And perhaps with a great deal of ale. And perhaps if I suffered some sort of head injury..."
The Crow's grin only grew. "See? She said perhaps! I have a chance!"
They made camp at the edge of Ortan Thaig in a small alcove. Lyria noticed that the black taint that seemed to coat the walls was thin here, which hopefully meant there were fewer darkspawn about. Morrigan added a few herbs and spells to encourage the local wildlife to keep their distance. It wasn't completely safe, but it was as safe as they were going to get.
Lyria took first watch as everyone settled in to rest. Since she was the most familiar with the roads it seemed prudent. And it gave her time to think.
Vartag's words still ran through her mind. He was right about Harrowmont being king. He wasn't a strong or charismatic man. He spent his whole life as a servant and a speaker. But he was also a trustworthy and honest man. Still, were he to gain the throne then nothing would change. The dwarves would continue along their slow descent to oblivion and the assembly would probably gain even more power over the king.
Everyone was saying Bhelen would change things if he had the crown. She had heard a multitude of promises, many of which were radical but tactically sound. She didn't know which were true and which were gossip, but she knew enough to know that Bhelen obviously had a plan and a direction and the drive to accomplish it.
What bothered her were the means he was willing to go to accomplish that goal. His blood kin had already been sacrificed on that altar, and he had been weaving lie after lie to shut Harrowmont down in order to gain the crown. She couldn't believe that Bhelen had done all of this souly for the benefit of their people. And she didn't want to believe that Bhelen's methods were the only way to accomplish that goal.
Lyria leaned back and rested her head against the stone wall. The stone that had embraced the souls of her father and her brother, and supposedly even paragon Aeducan himself. She closed her eyes for a moment and murmured a soft prayer to them. Pleading for some sort of guidance or sign. She didn't want to damn her people to extinction, but she didn't trust Bhelen's motives. She almost wished the blight would sweep in and swallow her up. Let the Deshyrs or someone else make this decision. Let it pass from her.
"Napping on the job? A shame, warden. I should tattle."
Zevran was sitting next to her, his golden eyes seem to glow faintly in the darkness. Maybe that was an elven trait. A tiny glimmer of the great magic his race once held. Or maybe it was something the Crows could do. Or maybe it was just a silly trick of the light.
She shook her head. "Just talking to the stone for a moment." Lyria dipped her head and rubbed her eyes.
"And what did the stone say to you in return?" His voice was a soft purring whisper, quiet enough that it could only be heard between the two of them no no farther.
Lyria huffed bitterly. "Not a damn thing. Just like the Maker for you surfacers, right? Doesn't ever actually say or do anything useful. You just have to go by what the past says and hope you don't screw things up too badly."
She felt his hand on the back of her neck, his fingers found just the right pressure points as he rubbed her skin and started coaxing some of the tightness and pain to ease away. "Then why bother talking to it at all?" he asked.
"Good question," she answered, slowly leaning forward and encouraging his massage. Alistair would explode if he saw this, but she had to admit that the elf had skilled fingers. "Maybe I'm hoping for a miracle. Or maybe I'm just sodding desperate." She turned to look at him. "What made you decide to check on me? You're missing your chance to get some rest, you know."
Zevran slid his hands down to her shoulders as he gently eased behind her to continue his work. "Your warden companion keeps you close these days. It's difficult to speak with you alone. Particularly if I want no one to know that I wish to speak to you alone."
Lyria felt his legs hug against her hips. And Zevran must have felt the muscles of her back tense up warily. "What do you need to speak to me about? Is something wrong?" She didn't need another problem right now. Please let there not be another problem to contend with...
"When we last spoke, you mentioned that you saw in me a wish to die," he whispered, close enough that she felt his breath against her ear. "I've been thinking about what you said and I find myself asking my own question over and over again. One that the Maker has also not seen fit to answer for me." His hands went still. "Let's say that wish of mine were true. Why did you not grant it?"
She pushed back against him until he was pinned gently between her and the rock wall. "That's a complicated answer, Zevran. And it might not make a lot of sense."
His hands moved until they were hugging against her stomach. She could feel his heart hammering against the back of her head as it rested against his chest. "I'd like to hear your answer, regardless."
Lyria drew in a long breath. "If you'd ambushed me a year ago, I would have slit you open like a roast and never had a second thought about it. But... the look in your eyes was enough to give me pause. And the way you smiled and laughed when I had beaten you. You seemed to be embracing death, but also trying to work yourself into accepting it. It seemed like you wanted to die, but you also wanted to live." She covered her hand over his. "It's hard to put it into words. I'd never encountered such a contradiction before. And then when you spoke and how you acted even though everyone was saying we should kill you and have it done with... I couldn't. You're so full of life, Zevran. Even in Redcliffe, you were so alive that you kept the rest of us going."
She pulled away and twisted to look at him. "Your dream in the fade where you were being tortured, even then you laughed. And here in the darkest dankest part of the world, you always smile and twist every negative thing into something bright and alive, even if you're only jesting."
The elf quirked his head to the side. "Maybe it's all just an act, my dear. Perhaps I am merry on the outside and sad within."
"You can only keep a false front up for so long. And I see it in the way you do things. Even in how you're sitting with me. You can't simply sit down next to me and talk, you have to feel and experience and share. The times when you've managed to get others to laugh along with you or enjoy something you took a pleasure from, it seems to buoy you up." She glanced towards camp for a moment. "I can't prove it, and nobody breathed a word. But I'd bet my best sword that you had a hand in encouraging Alistair to give me the rose. It's like there's so much life in you that you have to share it. And I look at all of that laid out before me and I can't imagine how someone like you could ever wish for death at all."
Zevran smiled sadly and rested his head against Lyria's. "You've been a good an honest friend, and you have seen even the darkest parts of me and not flinched away. Because of that, and because you have put such trust in me I shall answer." He drew back and pushed her away until he could slide free and sit alongside her once more. "It was the last job I took in Antiva before coming here..."
He spun a story about a beautiful woman named Rinna that he had fallen in love with despite all of the training and conditioning to do otherwise. How they had been betrayed into thinking that Rinna had taken a bribe, and how he had watched his partner slit her throat in retaliation all while she had pleaded her innocence and declared her love for him. He whispered darkly about learning the truth and how Rinna had not betrayed them at all, and how their commander had laughed at him and made it clear how they all were expendable garbage. His own time was promised to be coming soon enough. And it was then that he had chosen to take the contract against the wardens, so he could meet his end at the hands of a legend instead of the betrayal of the Crows.
Lyria listened to his whispers for the next hour as the shadows flickered and danced against the wall of the stone. When he finished his tale the two sat in silence for a long time, their shoulders touching and their hands laced together. A quiet note in the darkness that she understood and held no judgment.
Finally the elf drew himself up and placed his hands against her jaw. He leaned in and planted a light kiss on the crown of her head, murmured something softly in Antivan, and then slipped away to join the sleeping figures huddled away in camp.
She leaned back once more and rested her head against the stone, murmuring a quiet prayer of thanks. Maybe what happened was a message not to worry, that there were people there to support her. Maybe it was part of a larger message that she'd understand later. Maybe it was just happenstance. But it helped settle her thoughts, and she was grateful for it.