Part 5: Leaders

Chapter 38: Broken

Sneaking past the guard positioned outside his house had been difficult. Ever since Adair's escape, the royal guard themselves had been ordered to camp outside the Cousland's Denerim estate. Commander Connal now greeted the family every morning with that shining smile of his. Aedan had begun to find it infuriating how energetic the young man seemed.

The sun had come and gone three times now, making it the third night since Adair's escape. As promised, Aedan navigated through the crowded Denerim streets to make it to the Gnawed Noble. Even in the evening, the streets still bustled with the night time vendors. They peddled their more niche goods than the daytime: strange cuisines, novelty items, and discount items of dubious origin.

Not as promised though, as Aedan did not bring the translation, mainly because he couldn't understand the damn things.

The sparse notes he had brought ruffled in his bag, not that they would be any help. Barring the accidental ink stain, the Aedan's scribbles had made sense to him when writing it, but a few hours later as he leaned over his desk and squinted at his writing, his own gibberish made less sense than the encoded documents.

As soon as Aedan opened the door the Gnawed Noble, the bustling noise burst though and almost overwhelmed him. The jovial laughter and drunken slurs contrasted against the tense, quiet mood that had overtaken the Cousland family. The threat of a murderer with a grudge against them tended to dour the mood.

And yet, despite the manhunt out for him, Adair had his grizzled, bearded face out in the open, happily drinking beer. He gave a wink and a smile to a passing bar wench with a sort of roguish charm. The girl blushed and waved his fingers back at him, before scurrying off at the behest of her supervisor.

"I see you're doing well to disguise yourself," said Aedan, slumping into the booth.

"Well, suspicious hooded figures tend not to be let into bars without arousing suspicion." Adair still hid parts of his face behind his flagon. He eyed the other customers, looking for any guards amongst them. He spotted several, but based on their loud shouting and slurred speech, Adair assumed they were too intoxicated to care.

"I bet I could pull it off," muttered Aedan under his breath.

"Well, hope you never have to," said Adair, raising his glass. He took a swig of the frothy liquid and gulped down the refreshing mixture. For a second, Aedan felt like Adair was just a normal bar-goer, just casually drinking with friends. The next, his eyes took on the intensity of a wolf. "The translations. Give them to me."

The moment Aedan had been dreading had come. "I can't do it. They're too complicated. You need to take them to someone else."

"That wasn't the deal," growled Adair, seething through his teeth. Finally, Aedan had enough. He slammed the papers onto the rickety wooden table and shoved them towards Adair. "You translate it! Read this here and show me how to do this!" He jabbed his fingers onto the paper, wrinkling it.

Adair paused. For the first time, Aedan saw a bead of sweat run down the man's forehead. Was he nervous? A feeling arose in Aedan's gut. Aedan looked back at the paper, than back at Adair. Aedan scribbled a sentence onto the paper.

"Read it."

Still silent, Adair reached for his ale and chugged it. Aedan's face twisted in disbelief.

"So this entire time...the reason you couldn't do this all by yourself...the reason I'm stuck worrying that a killer is going to rip my throat out..."

Aedan tried his very best not to smash his flagon over the table.

"-is that you can't fucking read," he seethed. Adair rolled his eyes in response. Despite his rage, Aedan could do nothing but silently fume. Adair sipped his ale and waited for Aedan's breathing to simmer down. Aedan closed his eyes and took deep breaths. Now wasn't the time to fret over the small details."How did you even write your reports?"

Adair shrugged. "I just nagged Teharel to write them for me." Ambivalent to Aedan's anger, the assassin rolled his eyes. "Not all of us lived in fancy houses with tutors."

"I have half a mind to rip these things up. They have been nothing but trouble for me. You have been nothing but trouble for me!" Aedan leaned over the table and jabbed his finger at Adair, now not giving a damn about the consequences.

On the young man's sudden movement, Adair grabbed his hand and wrenched Aedan back down to the other side of the table. The veteran's eyes darted about. "We're being watched."

"What? How do-"

"That woman outside the window. Orlesian mask. She's been following you for the last few hours. Probably associated with the mercenary group that attacked Bann Alfstanna's manor. My employer's not the only one who wants this info."

Aedan's forehead throbbed. Another assassin? Sweat rolled down his neck and forehead as he gulped. "Is she here to kill me?" His foot jittered under the table, and Adair glared at him to stop as Aedan was vibrating the table.

"No...I think I know who she is," said Adair, glancing everywhere with his eyes. His pupils blurred as they shot about. "She's more of an...enhanced interrogator." Satisfied with his assessment, Adair yawned and slouched back in the bench. Aedan wasn't sure what shocked him more: the fact another dangerous individual was after him or how casual Adair was about it.

"So she's going to torture me, but not kill me?" stuttered Aedan. Spikes? Knifes? Fire? He didn't want to think about it but the thoughts kept filling his head of unspeakable acts of pain.

Tilting his head in thought, Adair paused to think, before musing, "No, she'll probably kill you afterwards."

Aedan downed the rest of his ale and not caring about the noise he made, slammed the flagon on the table. The container shook in his hands and droplets of ale spilled all over the document and table. "Fucking fantastic," he creaked.

"Spoiled little noble boy has got his underwear all up in a bunch. You really don't handle stress well, do you?" Adair laughed while he waved for another order. "Don't worry, you'll learn."

The thought had crossed Aedan's mind whilst traveling. One day, along the line, he'd taste his old life once again. Bureaucracy was unavoidable. One day he'd have to sit down with a politician and play nice. He'd pretend to laugh at their jokes, listen to their big speech. All of it was a prelude of course. The small talk blurred away in Aedan's ears whilst the politicians would drone on and on. They'd talk about some extravagant party they had just thrown, or some gossip about some lady he didn't particularly care for. Aedan would stare at a spot on the wall directly behind them to give them some semblance of his interest.

What always awoke him from his boredom was always something along the same lines- the same place many of his conversations had gone. The truth of what they wanted.

"I need you to do something for me," asked Harrowmont, sipping his glass of wine and leaning back in his chair.

Sighing, Aedan finished off his glass and set it on the table. "You want me to help you against Bhelen, I'm guessing." The last few droplets of dark red wine swirled at the bottom of the custom blown glass. At the very least, Harrowmont was asking for him, not just his father. As a child, many nobles attempted to chat Aedan up and curry his favor. They'd bring toys, invite him to parties, and flatter him. As a child, Aedan ate it all up and basked in the attention. But after the party had ended, or the toys had been played with, the same kind of remarks would always be made. "Could you ask your father..." or "You'll put in a good word with your fath..."

Over time, he'd grown tired of it. Tired of dealing with politicians and particular conspiracies. Tired of a life being the courier for requests for his father, the Teyrn of Highever, or his brother, the future Teyrn. Now he had finally gotten a life of adventuring and protecting people. He had always thought would make him happy.

Sitting there in the undersized dwarven chair, his eyes drooping from his lack of sleep and blood caked on his greaves, Aedan wasn't sure what made him happy anymore. The depressing thought made Aedan instinctively look down at his almost empty wine glass for refuge. As his eyes lay upon the red droplets, the images of blood shot through his head. A cold feeling ran through his fingers. Aedan's hands felt wet with blood.

A dizzy feeling overtook him. His stomach lurched and Aedan patted by his waist for his sword hilt and clenched it under the table. He felt the sickness leave him and his heart slow.

The dwarven politician tilted his head, confused at Aedan's sour face. Aedan weakly smiled and said, "Sorry, just some stomach issues." The warden kept his hand on his hilt,

"Bhelen cannot be trusted. His father himself begged me not to let him take the throne and fight for our dwarven city myself. "

"The dwarves have sustained our culture for thousands of years. Honor and tradition: that is what our forefathers taught us, and that is how I operate. Bhelen threatens to overturn everything our ancestors worked so hard for, and will pull apart our city with corruption and rotten deals."

Another speech. Aedan struggled to keep his body from shutting down out of sheer boredom. The wine had not helped either, though if he had to stomach more of Harrowmont's talk he'd need more of it.

Truth be told, he had done some brief research on Harrowmont and Bhelen before he had come. Most of the dwarves in the Diamond District spoke quite highly of Harrowmont. If anybody could keep Orzammar from falling into chaos, it was Harrowmont, they had said, yet it bothered Aedan, how a man who spoke of honor like Harrowmont could ignore the wrongs before his very eyes, like the plights of the casteless.

Having left Harrowmont's estate rather bored, Aedan made his way to the royal palace, where he had made an appointment with Prince Bhelen. The servant had ushered him into Bhelen's private study to wait. Still uncomfortable with the tiny chairs he was told to sit in, Aedan stood up and paced in front of the wall. Ancient, faded tapestries hung in front of him. Old drawings of the dwarves and golems, drawn in a distinctive, polygon-like fashion, depicted scenes of battle and prosperity.

A curved sword mounted on the wall drew his attention; Aedan grazed the tip with his finger and admired the intricate handiwork. As mired in the old ways the dwarves were, their smithing had always would be the best in Thedas.

"Very nice piece. From ancient Kal-Sharok, excavated from the deep roads."

Aedan turned around to see Bhelen approaching, though he had to look down a bit. A dwarven servant followed behind him, holding a tray of glasses and bourbon. The servant bowed before Aedan and held the tray out to him. Feeling as though it'd be rude to decline, Aedan took the glass, but set it down on the table for now.

"It is quite a sword." Aedan paused to admire the serrated edge, carefully crafted for maximum cutting power.

"Anything would look fine compared to yours." Bhelen pointed at Aedan's current sword on his hip. The somewhat rusted sword, while mediocre, did seem to fit with the rest of Aedan's old and ragged gear. "Did you pull that off a corpse or something?" He laughed, expecting Aedan to laugh with him. The warden looked to the side and didn't say anything, though Bhelen could hear a low grumble under the surfacer's breath.

"By the Stone. "Bhelen shook his head. "My father told me that the sky addled your brains."

"I had a nice sword, but it broke awhile back." Aedan held up and jingled the bag of shards. For the entire eight months since his family had been killed, he had carried these shards with him.

"You are aware that you're in the greatest smithing center in Thedas?" stated Bhelen, "Here, I'll refer you to a merchant I know. He's in one of the back alleys, but he's damn good." The prince walked with a manner that befitted royalty: his head held up high and his shoulders square, ingrained into him by years of posture lessons. Aedan too remembered his elderly tutor teaching him how to stand up straight. The prince reached his desk and pulled out an frilled quill that had a shine of iridescent blue to it.

"Surprised someone like you knows a merchant personally." Aedan peered over at Bhelen's writing. With perfect calligraphy and clean lines, the youngest (and only living) Aeducan finished the directions for Aedan. With a flourish he signed his name at the bottom.

"I'm not a fool like Harrowmont. Our people are dying, and it's because of our culture. We need the merchants and lower classes, despite how lowborn they may be."

He picked up Aedan's glass and handed it to him. "You're aware of how our economy really works, right?"

Aedan crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, taking a small sip of the golden liquid. Bhelen had his interest, simply by the fact that he had brought the topic of the dwarven economy up. "It's strange to think how the Carta is such a key part of your economy."

With little sunlight and space, farming was almost non-existent for the dwarves. Much of Orzammar's food came from the surface, but they actively discouraged trade with surfacers. Furthermore, any dwarf who left for the surface except for on official royal business was cast out and considered casteless. The surface caste, as they were called, had no more encouragement to deal with the bureaucracy of Orzammar right's and import regulations than the more lax surface trading structure. How then did supplies come in from the surface if no one wanted to trade officially with Orzammar?

The solution to the question was the Carta, who profited from this untapped surface market. They cared not for regulations. Their smuggled goods eventually trickled up through every level of the Orzammar hierarchy. By turning a blind eye to smugglers from the Carta, a precious supply line sustained the population of Orzammar. The politicians could maintain the illusion they followed the law, while allowing the Carta go about their business. Nobody in the Diamond Quarter dared to address this issue though, lest their house be accused of breaking away from the mold.

Bhelen too poured himself a glass and clinked it against Aedan's, such that the tip of Aedan's glass hit the bottom of his. Traditionally, dwarves would clink their glasses at the bottom of one they considered superior, and vice versa. "So you understand my situation. My kingdom needs to change to survive. We cannot sustain ourselves on the Carta's imports."

"'My kingdom?' You talk like you already have the throne."

"That throne is rightfully mine and I will be damned if that disgusting little usurper tries to get his grubby little fingers on it," said Bhelen casually as he took a sip. He closed his eyes and savoured the taste. He wiped his mouth on his fine linen sleeve before speaking again. "No doubt you have heard some...distasteful things about me, but I assure you, Warden, that I am the only one that bring Orzammar back to the glory days, and I will drag them kicking and screaming."

The words that came out of Bhelen's mouth felt right, but his expression and his manner irked Aedan. The way he distastefully treated his servants, how he spoke with such anger and disgust towards Harrowmont. Bhelen carried himself so haughtily, yet Aedan knew that he had to choose him. As much of a worm Bhelen was, he was solving problems.

"Say that I support you...I'll have need of an army."

"The contract obliges me, Warden."

"I'd like a fairly large army, if you know what I'm saying."

"You'd like me to pass my proposed reform to allow casteless to join the army first. Well...while our economy may falter while the trading reforms aren't passed, so will being dead."

With the casteless, the army's ranks would swell a third as much. Wherever the Archdemon was, they had a higher chance of taking it down with a larger army. Aedan grimaced in thinking that he'd be sending more people to their deaths, but the casteless had lived rough lives. A chance for them to rise up might be worth the danger.

Aedan outstretched his hand, which Bhelen shook with an iron grip.

"Well, Warden," smiled Bhelen. He had a crooked smile, as crooked as the sinister heart that beat beneath his fine silks and royal armor. "Ready to play politics?"

After his meeting with Bhelen, Aedan had taken serious thought to the prince's suggestion and had gone to visit the smith. Perhaps he'd feel better with his family's sword by his side. He had most of the pieces, including the hilt. He carried too many things already, both physically and mentally. The least he could do was lose the dead weight of swords he didn't like and use one he preferred. An hour trip navigating through the cramped crafting district had brought him to the tiny smith shop Bhelen had told him about.

Inside, Aedan drummed his fingers against his armor whilst biting his tongue. He kept looking over at the smith, who inspected the sword shards underneath a small examining glass. An intense heat wave blasted against Aedan as the furnace lit up behind the smith. Startled, Aedan jumped backwards, while the smith kept humming and examining the metal like nothing had happened.

The smith slid his looking-apparatus shut and collected the shards into the bag. The soot covered dwarf, grumbling something under his breath, handed the bag back to Aedan.

"What'll be the price?" asked Aedan, eager to get the process started. He reached into his bag and grasped as many coins as his fingers could hold. Counting was pointless- he would play anything to see this sword fixed.

"None."

"Really?" beamed the warden, "I'm surprised you'd do it for-"

"It can't be fixed," interrupted the dwarf. He rubbed the back of his head and looked away from Aedan.

It took Aedan several seconds to process what the smith had said. His brow furrowed. "What?"

"You see, a sword has a core, and the metal is folded around it in a special way. But your core is broken in several key stress points. Pouring a new layer over it wouldn't work."

"Then just smelt it down and forge a new one."

"There's the other problem." The dwarf took a small hammer and banged against one of his complete swords. Then he banged against one of Aedan's sword shards and it shattered. Aedan gaped at the shattered shard. It had never occurred to him to test the metal. "The metal is ruined. You mentioned a mage froze it?"

"Yeah, it got frozen then broken," recalled Aedan.

"There's your problem. The magic fundamentally altered the metal makeup of the ore. We see it a lot when surfacers bring us their weapons. The most I'd recommend this sword for is kitchen ware."

"So I could bring it to the Tranquil, or to another mage to-"

"Every mage has their own magical signature, their own touch. You'd have to get the one who did this to fix it, and they'd have to know exactly how to do it." The grizzled smith patted Aedan on the side of his arm and sighed, "Son, this sword's gone. I'm sorry." The smith waited for the surfacer to react. Aedan could only look down at the floor, dumbfounded.

"I-I-"

Aedan picked up a broken shard and tenderly held it between his fingers. Here lay the last lingering connection to his family. He rang his fingers over the dents and scratches in the old metal. A hollow feeling rung in his chest. The clanging of metal and smell of steel faded. He shuffled over to the anvil and collected the pieces that the smith had broken.

"It's okay." His throat clenched up. "It didn't really matter anyways."

Author's Notes

Well another happy ending for Aedan this week.

Jarjaxle: Well as you can see Aedan does end up going with Bhelen, but he doesn't necessarily like the person himself. As for the comedy, it's is one of my favorite parts to write, so I'm glad you enjoy it. In regard to killing Flemeth, remember that some people don't necessarily like/trust Morrigan, so perhaps convincing them to come may be problematic.

ChocolateTruffles: Haha you caught it! Thought the ME fans might enjoy that one. As for Morrigan, Aedan's already told her he used to be a noble (somewhere in the CH10-12 range) but not why he's in the wardens.

BeattieMatt7: Glad you like the chapter!

dane293584: Glad to hear you enjoy, and hope the wait wasn't too long for this chapter.

NonOmnisMoriar: Glad you noticed Aedan's fragile state right now. I'm planning on putting him through the wringer, especially in regards to Morrigan.

As always, if you like something, have questions, or want to make constructive criticism, feel free to leave a comment in the review section!