Let's Find Branka!

CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: yes
Violence: no
Nudity: no
Sex: no
Other: none

Author's Notes:

Titles... this is what happens when people let me pick titles.

Recap:

Not to be confused with how the game actually goes... The group went to Dust Town to retrieve a book stolen from the Shaperate at Lord Harrowmont's request. The book turned out to be a family tree, showing that Harrowmont are (or were, it's so confusing) not nobles. Bannon decided to keep the book for now.

He also wants to set up camp outside Orzammar, to avoid political spies. And assassins. Not that assassin. :X

Let's Find Branka!

==#==

The Steward met the Grey Wardens in the Assembly antechamber. "There has been a lot of debate in the council about letting outsiders select the next king," he told them.

"Finally," Morrigan said, "some sense."

Bannon added, "Good, did they vote on one?"

"It's still deadlocked."

The thief and witch both sighed.

Bandelor shifted his feet, twisted his grip on his staff of office. "The deshyres have all agreed-"

"So they can agree on something?" Bannon commented.

"'Tis a miracle," Morrigan added.

"-that the one authority they all trust in would be a living paragon."

"Paragons are your ancestors," Morrigan said. "Would that not mean they have all been dead for generations?"

Alistair said, "Not if a living dwarf does something to achieve that honor. There's supposedly one alive, in the Deep Roads."

"If he's in the Deep Roads," Bannon said, "he won't be alive for long."

"Actually, with a Blight on, most of the darkspawn could have left to go to the surface," the Templar told him.

Morrigan regarded him with a suspicious look. "How do you know so much about this?"

"I know things," Alistair said defensively. He shrugged. "That red-bearded guy was telling me about it, last night. He wasn't completely coherent, but apparently, that's his wife who is the Paragon."

"Oh, so a drunken dwarf told you a story, and you believed it," the witch scoffed.

The steward interrupted. "Branka is a living Paragon, and king Aeducan funded an expedition for her to go seek out the secret of creating golems."

"You don't know how to make golems?" Bannon asked, confused. "I thought Orzammar was where golems came from."

"Our ancestors made golems, but the knowledge of the methods died along with their creator, Caridin. Since then, more and more golems have fallen into disrepair, or been destroyed, until we no longer have any.

"Branka thought she could travel to one of the old thaigs, where Caridin lived, and perhaps find his records or devices or some clue as to how to make a new golem. But she hasn't returned or sent word."

"So she's probably dead, like I said," Bannon concluded.

Bandelor shook his head. "We don't know for sure. The Council has decided to approve an expedition to discover what happened, and if possible, to bring Branka back."

"Or," said Morrigan, "just get rid of the Grey Wardens."

Bannon looked at her. "If they did that, they'd be stuck having to make their own decisions again."

The witch snorted.

"It is not always an easy thing to select your next regime," Bandelor insisted. "This decision will have repercussions for generations."

"We understand," Leliana said diplomatically.

"Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont have both agreed to send members of the warrior caste with you-"

"Hold it - No," said Bannon. "We don't need a bunch of fighters who are out to kill each other. Alistair, that dwarf, he wants to find his wife?"

"Yeah. He was complaining that Prince Bhelen wouldn't allow him to put together a search party."

"Well, they are now, so he can hand-pick people he trusts. What's his name? And where can we find him?"

"Um, Oghren, I think. And he's usually at Tapster's."

==#==

They found Oghren at the tavern. It was before lunch, so he was relatively sober. When they informed him the Assembly had approved of an expedition to find Branka, he about ran out of there as if his hair were on fire, to go make preparations.

Bannon and Zevran enjoyed a leisurely lunch in their room, and Bannon outlined his plan.

"Are you sure you want us to leave Orzammar," Zevran asked, "go outside?"

"I think that's prudent," Bannon said. "Don't you feel a bit... trapped? If they're really trying to do us in, we're like fish in a barrel, here."

"I was a bit more concerned about Crows than dwarves."

Bannon frowned in thought. "You think they'll come up here?"

"Eh, probably not." Zevran leaned back and waved it off.

"I think you're more concerned about how cold it is up in these mountains," Bannon teased. "Maybe you should wear some pants."

"Maybe yours, hmm?"

"Well, I was hoping you were more eager to get into my pants than Alistair's."

Laughing, the duo went out to join the others at their semi-private table in the back.

"All right," Bannon started. "Alistair says Oghren wants a small party."

"Less likely to attract darkspawn attention, he says," the Templar confirmed.

"Right, so me, Alistair, and Shale. The re-"

"Am I to be denied the opportunity to fight the darkspawn again?" Sten interjected.

"Okay, this is not the darkspawn horde," Bannon explained. "These are... random darkspawn who stayed home. Sten, I need you to guard the camp."

The giant growled, his pale eyes glittering.

Bannon shot a look to Leliana for some help.

She said, "Sten, do warriors of the Qun not obey the orders they are given?"

"They do. We do." He clamped his lips tightly shut.

The bard turned to Bannon. "I'm sure all of us would go with you if we could."

"Speak for yourself," said Morrigan. Leliana just gave her an exasperated look.

"The rest of you," Bannon emphasized, "are taking care of the camp. Leliana, you're in charge of the thing, in particular." She nodded. He would have to trust her to hide the book. And to handle Sten. And any diplomacy. He figured the old mage's wisdom could help her. "Wynne-"

"I'll be going with you."

Alistair said, "No, you're not."

She quirked a brow at him. "No offense, Alistair, but you're not a real Templar, and you're not the boss of me."

Alistair just blinked.

Bannon said, "Well, I am the boss, so-"

"You will need a healer."

"We can take potions."

"With no way to resupply?"

"Look," he said to her, gesturing to lay the facts out on the table. "This is the Deep Roads, a bunch of closed-in tunnels and caverns, full of who knows how many darkspawn. Far away from any civilization."

"Hence why you would need a renewable source of healing magic," the mage insisted.

"Why it's too dangerous for you. You could get hurt, killed, or worse - Tainted."

"That could happen in any battle we have with the darkspawn, anywhere." She waved off any concern for danger.

"Yeah, but...," put in Alistair. "We'll be cut off from... well, everything. There will be no help."

"Again, exactly why you need me."

"It's going to be rough," the elf warned.

"You already know I can handle that."

Alistair said, "On the road, yes. With fresh air, sunshine, tents, and a cot."

"I'm not made of glass!"

"We can't afford to risk you," Bannon said.

"If you die from lack of a healer, you won't need me later," Wynne pointed out.

"Welllll," started Alistair, "ummm... but!"

"Look! I accepted the fact I might die in the service of the Grey Wardens. This is no different. I won't be put aside because I'm old. Or because I'm a woman. If it comes down to an untenable assault... you could use-" here, she shot a glance up and back over her shoulder- "the extra firepower."

The two Wardens looked at each other, seeing defeat in each other's eyes.

"It's settled, then," said Wynne. She was too classy to smile in triumph, but it took a certain tightness of her lips to prevent it.

"All right, fine," said Bannon. "And no more discussion," he added, shooting a glare at other possible dissenters. "Let's pack up and head out. We'll set up camp, then start this expedition tomorrow."

==#==

The Grey Wardens headed back towards the gates of Orzammar, to set up camp outside. They passed once more through the Hall of Heroes, empty this morning, save for a mother and daughter.

"Look, here is Lantana. If you're a good merchant like she was, maybe you could become a Paragon someday."

"But Momma, what if I don't want to be a merchant?"

"You are a merchant, dear child. You were born a merchant like me, like your grandmother, and all our mothers before us, throughout history."

"But I don't want to be a merchant. It's boring."

"That's like saying you don't want to be a dwarf. You can't not be it. You were born that way."

"Why can't I make things, like Dada and Kaiden?"

"Because you're not a boy. If you marry a man from the Crafter caste, your sons can be crafters."

"Why can't I be a warrior, like Astyth the Grey?"

"Because you're a merchant. You are what you are born to be."

"But why?"

"Why, why? Why's it Stone that makes our sky?" the mother recited in exasperation. "It just is."

The girl turned and ran to Morrigan. "What are you?" she asked boldly, staring up at the woman's gold eyes.

"I'm a Witch of the Wilds."

"What does a witch do?"

"They transform into giant spiders and eat pesky little children."

"Wow! I want to be a Witch of the Wilds, too! Momma, can I be a witch?"

"There's no such thing as a witch caste, dear."

"Why not?"

"You ask too many questions. Now let's go home."

The girl trotted after Morrigan, who had barely slowed to answer her questions. "Can I go with you to the Surface and be a witch, too?"

"I thought I made it clear that I despise children."

Wynne turned to the witch, halting the group. "Morrigan!"

"What do you want me to do? Lie to the child?"

"She does eat people," Zevran said. "And not in a good way."

"Zevran!" Leliana scolded. "Not appropriate!"

Wynne then turned to the dwarf girl. "I'm sorry, little one, but dwarves can't do magic."

"Why not?"

Her mother caught up with her and took her hand. "Dagna, stop bothering these people! It's time to go."

"I can't do anything!" The girl stomped her foot. "It's not fair!"

Morrigan said, "Such is the way of the world, child. If you play fair, you'll never get anywhere."

With a mistrustful glare, the woman dragged her daughter away.

"Well, Morrigan," said Wynne, "I hope you never have children of your own."

"You think I'm wrong?" the witch argued. "Really? The world is fair, Wynne?"

The old mage grumbled, but seemed to have no answer for that. She headed once more towards Orzammar's gate.

Leliana said, "Actually, a baby might soften some of Morrigan's rough edges, no?"

Everyone considered this. "Hmm...," started the mage.

"Sten, what do you say?" the assassin prompted the qunari.

"Leave me out of your petty and useless arguments."

"Argh! You are supposed to say 'no' like you always do!" Zevran tsked. "Why are you such a chatterbox at this time?"

"I am not."

"Ah, fine." The Antivan returned to their 'petty' discussion. "So, you wish Morrigan to have a baby, Leliana? Then I shall redouble my efforts to bed her!"

The bard and mage both groaned, in various tones of annoyance and disgust.

Morrigan simply said, "I hate you all."

==X==