A/N: I started this story for this year's NaNoWriMo, using my canon save from the game as my outline. The M rating is for eventual language. As always, Bioware owns everything; I'm merely playing in their sandbox. It's amazing how much I love the intrigue of Orzammar's politics, yet how much I hated setting up the scenes for this chapter and those that will follow. Also, I know I've gotten a little vague with my dates lately, but for reference the first scene in this chapter takes place on the morning of the Ferelden equivalent of April 8th (the in-game month of Cloudreach). I know a lot of people seem to feel that Alistair is a Virgo, but I've always seen him as more of an Aries personally.
"A more facinating culture I have never visited, and my time there was bittersweet.
For while I was blessed to be among a people so dedicated and stout-hearted, I could not shake the feeling that I was witnessing the last days of a proud people that, despite their best efforts, were destined to be overrun by evil."
"You've let the pan get too hot; if you put the bacon in now, it's going to burn before you even get a chance to turn it."
Elissa scowled as she glared over the fire at Wynne. She understood that the mage was just trying to be helpful, but Elissa had been more than willing to settle for dry rations for herself until they reached Orzammar, rather than being bothered with learning how to cook over a camp fire. Hell, she could barely cook on a proper stove; the last time she'd tried Nan had run her out of the kitchens, beating her with a broom, and it had taken weeks to get the burnt molasses out of her hair.
Wynne murmered a short spell and the pan frosted over so Elissa could try again for the fourth time this morning. Sighing, the girl put the pan back to the fire, counting carefully as she waited for it to reach the proper temperature. Once she figured it was ready she glanced at Wynne for confirmation, but the mage was busying herself with the tea and wouldn't give her any clues. With a shrug Elissa reached for two slices and added them to the pan; within seconds they sizzled and blackened.
"That's quite all right, dear," the mage smiled knowingly, handing her a small cup of tea. "I'll finish this up, and we'll just tell Alistair you did most of the work."
Smiling gratefully, Elissa accepted the tea. "He's going to know anyway, I might as well just tell him the truth," she laughed, then made an ugly face as the tea's aroma finally hit her. "Are you certain that the women in the Circle drink this every day?"
The mage's eyes grew distant. "Most of them, yes. The acrid smell is considered far favorable to a child being taken away so soon after birth that the mother never even sees her son's face."
"But... all the mages in the Circle, and all the templars... even if the child also ends up a mage, who better to train him than his own mother and father? Wouldn't knowing that he's loved make a person less susceptible to possession?"
"It's true that love can strengthen a person," Wynne admitted. "But to love in the Circle means that there is something the Templars can take from you. The fear of loss is more likely to weaken the mage than the love itself is to protect him. That tea prevents the women of the Circle from having to lose a child to the Chantry's laws, and it will prevent you from risking a child before this Blight is over."
Elissa frowned, examining the tea again. "But it's not permanent, right? I mean, once everything's over..."
"Not only is it not permanent," Wynne confirmed, adding a second round of bacon to the pan, "if you need, once the Blight's over and the two of you are safely married, there are other tinctures that will increase your ability to produce an heir."
"As long as it won't complicate things later," she conceded, grimacing as she downed the quickly cooling tea. "Andraste's ass, this tastes worse than it smells!"
Wynne laughed. "It's even worse if you try to sweeten it, too. Don't worry, dear. You'll get used to it in time, and you won't have to drink it forever."
"Thank the Maker."
Elissa sat back against the boulders that formed the west side of their shelter. It had been four days since Rainesfere, and if the weather held—overcast, but dry—they'd be in Orzammar in another three. As it was, the sun was probably up by now, but the clouds overhead were so thick that it was hard to tell. In either case, Alistair would still be asleep in their tent for a while longer; Wynne had risen just as Elissa began to collect the pans from their gear to begin breakfast.
The mage handed her the plate of bacon and began a small pot of porridge. "Why were you up cooking so early, if you don't mind me asking?"
Claiming a bit of the bacon for herself, Elissa flushed. "It's his birthday, and I don't think he knows that I know. He had a cake made for mine, so I thought the least I could do is fix breakfast."
"That's fair, dear, but next time, just let me know the night before. It'll save us a significant amount of bacon."
One could almost call the settlement that existed in the clearing outside Orzammar's heavy doors a village, with its alleyways winding between tents arranged in what might be small districts separating merchants of one kind from another. Here were food stalls and an impromptu tavern run by humans and a small smattering of elves; there were armorers and smiths, mostly dwarves, hawking equipment that they claimed was superior to any other found on the surface. The only thing that prevented it from being called such was that all the structures were temporary—tents, lean-tos, and the like. Everyone here had their place, but the place itself was fluid, changing by the day or week as merchants came and went.
They made their way north to the great portal into the mountain itself when Alistair suddenly held an arm in front of Elissa to block her path. "I know that man," he cautioned, indicating the leader of a group of soldiers clustered around the gateway. "Name's Imrek, and he's one of Loghain's men. Only question is if he's here looking for us, or to try and strong-arm the dwarves into joining the bastard."
Elissa watched the man arguing with one of the dwarven guards. "In either case, it doesn't look like he's having a good day. Let's go make it worse for him," she grinned.
"Perhaps diplomacy would bet-" Wynne began, but Elissa waved her concerns off.
"I'm not going to hurt him, Wynne. At least, not unless he forces me to. I just want to have him deliver a message." Elissa climbed the steps to the gates and waited patiently for her own turn while Imrek continued to harass the guard.
"You insult all of Ferelden with your actions, dwarf! King Loghain will not suffer the delay of his appointed messenger!"
She felt Alistair flare beside her, and she laid one hand on his arm to calm him.
"Veata!" the guard replied harshly. "This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings. Entry is not allowed at this time."
"King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr or lords or whatever you call them in your Assembly! I am his appointed messenger."
"So it's 'King Loghain' now, is it?" she prompted finally, and the man spun to see who'd dared to challenge him. "That's awfully odd; we hadn't heard a thing about a coronation while we were in Redcliffe, and I certainly don't remember the son of a common bandit having a claim to the throne."
Imrek's face blanched as he stared first at Elissa, then at Alistair, and finally back to her again. "This woman and her companion are murderers and I demand that you detain them at once! These Grey Wardens are responsible for the death of King Cailan and Loghain will see them hanged!"
"Ooh, he forgot the 'king' part this time," Alistair commented as off-handedly as possible as his temper cooled. Imrek began to sputter, but Elissa ignored him.
"I understand your Assembly is occupied with your own succession, but the one thing this fool has right is that Alistair and I are Grey Wardens. We've come to discuss the treaty signed by the dwarves of Orzammar at the end of the last Blight."
Frowning, the guard considered this. "No outsiders are to be permitted into the city until the throne is decided, but we'd not expected the Warden treaties to be called in under these circumstances either. I'm not authorized to admit you myself, but I'll send word to the deshyrs that you've come. If they chose to make an exception for you I'll come get you shortly."
"You can't possibly be considering letting this murderer and traitor to her country—a stain on Ferelden—in while the king's messenger is denied!" Imrek cried in disbelief.
"I don't care if you're the king's wiper, my orders are that Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled. And I thought I made it quite clear that I'll not be the one letting them in; that matter will be decided by the Assembly."
"Tsk tsk, sounds like you'll most certainly be returning to your so-called 'king' with bad news," Elissa taunted. "But, seeing as you'll be returning to him regardless, d'you think you can be bothered to deliver a teensy message for me?"
Imrek spat on her, and she caught Alistair just in time to stop him from beating the man's face in. She quite calmly retrieved a kerchief from a small pouch and cleaned her face; then, without warning, she just as calmly broke his nose.
"You're lucky I still have this message for you to deliver," she stated coolly, pulling a small, sealed envelope from her main pack and throwing it and the kerchief at the man. "Otherwise, I'm sure he'd have broken more than your nose. Now you and your men get out of my sight this instant."
The few guards Imrek had with him fled immediately, and after only a moment's hesitation he followed and the dwarven gatekeeper eyed her curiously. "I have to say, you've done me a service. That fool Imrek has been barking at me the past week. Are all humans so touched?"
"Not all humans," she grinned mischeviously. "Just the ones who want their noses broken by a girl."
Laughing, he gestured to the other guards to open the gates. "That whole mess about the Assembly having to approve your entry was just to keep Imrek from making a scene; those treaties in your hand supercede even their authority to bar you from the city. You and your friends are free to enter Orzammar, Warden, though I don't know what help you'll find."
"Thank you, ser," she nodded.
The hall beyond was vast, easily rivalling the main hall in the temple of Andraste. Lining the walls and the heavy columns holding the ceiling above were a series of massive statues, each depicting a different hero of the dwarven people.
"They are the Paragons of the Dwarven Empire," Wynne explained as Elissa stared in awe at the mere size of the monuments. "The largest one, there in the center, is Aeducan, founder of the most prominent ruling House since the First Blight."
"Have you been here before?" she breathed.
"No, child, but the Hall of Heroes is well documented. Some of the Paragons here won victory in battle against the Darkspawn, as Lord Aeducan had. Others, such as Caridin and Branka, contributed invaluable technologies to the Dwarven people. But still others were raised up so long ago, or in such odd times, that even should the reasons for such be remembered, they would scarcely be believed."
They continued through the Hall, and Alistair pulled open the heavy gates separating it from the city beyond. But as soon as the doors cracked, he and Elissa both threw their hands over their ears. Never before—not in her nightmares, not in the Wilds, not even during her Joining itself—had the call of the darkspawn horde assaulted her so directly. Without realizing it, she cried out in pain.
"Runners said there were Wardens coming," a beardless dwarf commented, pushing the door open the rest of the way. "First time so close to the Deep Roads too, by the looks of ye. Look a bit young to be taking your Calling, though, if you ask me."
"They're here to discuss the Blight, ser dwarf, not to submit to their darkspawn taint," Wynne replied as she helped Elissa to her feet, and the dwarf likewise reached down to help Alistair stand not far away. "Can you direct us to the Assemby's meeting hall?"
He pulled a crude wineskin from his belt and handed it to Alistair, grunting. "Aye, but I'd recommend they both take a pull from that first, though. Should help to dull the noise in their heads." They took his advice, and while the drink within was disgusting, it did help to quiet the song. Grimacing, she passed the skin back.
"Thank you."
"Least any of us here can do, Warden. Your kind are the only ones who can begin to imagine what the dwarves have lived with for ages. Though I have to admit, I don't envy that noise you hear, if the stories are true."
He led them through what appeared to be a market place. "I don't know how much help the other deshyrs are going to be with that treaty of yours; only the king has the authority to send the army up in the time of a Blight, and until those fools get their heads out of their collective ass there won't be a king to give the order."
"You're one of the voting nobles, then?" Elissa asked as he paused to open another great door.
The dwarf bowed ironically. "Aye, Lord Denek Helmi, honored deshyr of the Orzammar Assembly, and a terrible disappointment to my esteemed mother. So tell me, who were you before joining up with the Wardens, eh?"
"Elissa Cousland of Highever," she replied, nodding slightly. "The mage is Enchanter Wynne of Ferelden's Circle Tower, and my fellow Warden is Alistair-"
"-and a Theirin, by the looks of him," Helmi finished, eyeing Alistair shrewdly. "Don't be afraid to use your father's name, here, boy. It might get you just as far as those treaties when it comes down to it all."
Elissa and Alistair shared a look as Lord Helmi continued to lead them through the city; they now passed between palaces carved of the stone itself. She had known that both Maric and Cailan had agreements with Orzammar's kings, but it never occurred to her that either or both of them might have personally visited the city. For all their differences, Alistair did resemble both his father and brother greatly, and Elissa was almost more surprised that her prince hadn't been recognized sooner.
"The other deshyr lords are inside," Helmi said, gesturing toward the door of one of the palaces. "You'll need to find a way to convince them to pick a king, if you want your support up topside."
"You aren't coming as well?" Elissa frowned, and the dwarf scoffed.
"I'm not going near those blood-sucking ticks until they start talking sense. I don't give a damn which fool they put on the throne, so long as they agree on one and shut the hell up. If you need me, or if they're ready to make another vote, I'll be at Tapster's—just ask around, anyone can give you directions if you need."
Once he was gone, Elissa and the others turned to the door before them. "I guess we just let ourselves in?" she wondered aloud, and then reached for the heavy latch. She expected to have to put her weight into the door to push it open, and was surprised when it gave easily under her hand.
The antechamber immediately inside the door was small, but dozens of voices could be heard arguing in another chamber just on the other side of this first. An elderly dwarf approached them and bowed apologetically.
"Adrast vala, Wardens. I am Bandelor, Steward of the Assembly. The deshyrs within are aware that you've come but I'm afraid they are... otherwise occupied," he finished lamely as the sound of a brawl clearly made its way from the inner chambers. Sighing, he shook his head. "It's a disgrace, the lords and ladies of the Assembly behaving this way while topsiders are within our city."
There was a look in Bandelor's eye that Elissa had come to know all too well; she'd seen it on Teagan's face when they first arrived in Redcliffe, on Ser Greagoir's at the Circle Tower, and on Zathrian's at the Dalish encampment.
"What will it take to get them to agree on a single candidate?" she demanded bluntly.
"At this rate? A damned Paragon in the flesh making the decision for them," he spat. "And unless Branka decides to magically show her face after five years in the Deep Roads, that won't be happening anytime soon."
There was a touch at her elbow, and Elissa turned to find Alistair and Wynne looking at her strangely. "Excuse us, ser, we'll just be a moment," the mage apologized as the two of them pulled Elissa aside.
"Love, what do you think you're doing?" Alistair asked once they were out of earshot. "We aren't here to get involved in dwarven politics, but it sounds a bit like you're about to go play kingmaker."
Glancing at Wynne, it was clear the mage held the same opinion. "There are more important matters at hand, dear," she pointed out gently.
"No, I don't think there are, actually," she disagreed with them. "This is no different than freeing the Circle, uncursing the werewolves, or defeating the demon that possessed Connor. We need their help against the Blight, and no matter what we do they aren't going to provide that help unless we do something for them first. I say we get this over with and get back to the surface."
Alistair frowned. "But Lissa, lives were at stake each of those other times. This is just... politics."
"And so is putting you on the throne come the Landsmeet," she pointed out defensively. "And I'm going to put you on that throne, because I agree with you that we'll both be able to do more good for people in Denerim than as Wardens once the Blight's done with. But that doesn't mean what we're doing topside is any less politics than what's happening down here."
Glancing at Wynne, Alistair shrugged. "She's got us there, you know."
"Find out who the candidates are from the Lord Steward, then," the mage conceded. "If I'm going to be party to this, I want to at least be informed."