Chapter 38

Dragon 9:34

Cassus/Haring Orzammar [Present]

Oswyn did not know what to do with the proffered hand but since its owner was female, appeared to be wearing lots of jewellery and claimed to have been sent by Alistair, he decided to kiss it.

The hand's owner giggled and then asked, "Do all Topsiders have such exquisite manners?"

Oswyn guessed then that he had been expected to shake rather than kiss but there was no reason why he should not come over as very smooth so he bowed slightly which made her giggle again and said. "Only the best of us…"

"Oh," she said and she actually seemed to squee, "You are so like Alistair, KING Alistair, I mean…"

"I think you better come in, milady, so we can talk…" Even through the fog of his hangover, he had realised that it was not the most discreet thing in Orzammar to be nattering with a very excitable lady dwarf right on the doorstep of your 'secret' hideout.

She entered fearlessly. "Ah" she said turning about in the passageway, her blue eyes darting everywhere, "I remember this place…"

"You do?" Oswyn asked somewhat surprised.

"Jarvia's old hideout… You do know I'm a brand, right?" Moreover, she pointed to the scar on her left cheek just below the eye. "Quite a few of my family members had ties to her carta… When you are a duster sometimes your only choice is between collaborating with crime lords or dying slowly of starvation…"

"I've seen dust town… That must be a horrible situation to be in.," said Oswyn and he meant it, yes, people were poor in Ferelden and many lived hard lives but there were none beyond the ken… Why even a bastard could become a king. Ah! He was forgetting the elves…

He took her into the makeshift kitchen and offered her a human sized chair she did her best to clamber on to it. He noticed that she did not remark on or even seem to notice his limp. Briefed, he thought.

"Sorry," He said, "Can I get you some water, or would you want a beer?"

"Oh Oswyn, it is even too early for a dwarf to start drinking…" She said clasping her hands on the table in front of her, she wore several gold bangles and they clanged pleasingly.

"Water then?"

"No need." She shrugged. "Now how can Zinthal assist you?" Se said looking directly at him.

After the fight, Alistair had volunteered to go and look for Mabya. Apparently, the strategy regarding the bronto was that as soon as they were attacked she would be let loose and allowed to follow her natural instincts and hide. She would then have to be fetched back.

"Legend has it, Surfacer," Khegst had told him, "that they can become invisible when evading foes…" Well, that might be stretching his credibility a bit far but after their observations on her lowing, he could not write anything off, he guessed.

He had volunteered because, although he was tired after the fight, he was also feeling a little shaky and jumpy. This was quite normal for him, and in the circumstances, he did not usually make very good company. He thought a walk alone would allow him to calm down and gather his wits as well as get away from the others for a bit; he always felt crowded after a battle and needed space.

The fight had also brought back all sorts of memories of when he was down here before with Neriya and in particular how she used to help him relax after this kind of encounter. They were all fairly creeped out then, except for Oghren who was too drunk, usually, to be creeped, but who provided some very welcome comic relief.

Of course they didn't have the intimacy of a tent while in the Deep Roads but when they found what they thought was a safe area, Neriya and he would sit apart from the others for a time and he used to put his head in her lap while she stroked his hair, sometimes they would talk, sometimes there wasn't much to say… Often he would fall asleep. He really missed that so much. Being with someone whom he knew and trusted every day… Women like Adal and Isabela were fine and he enjoyed their company as well as the rest of it, but he suspected he was a bit of a trophy for them, what would happen, as he got older and less desirable?

There did not appear to be any sign of Mabya at the moment, he decided to whistle quietly. After a few minutes and a few more steps, he thought he saw a shape detach itself from one of the shady cavern walls. Sure enough as he drew nearer it was her, he held out some of the moss he had gathered from the rock walls as he went, Khegst had shown him which type she preferred.

Mabya's strange top lip split, her black tongue came out and she licked the moss from his hand and then nuzzled his shoulder, whinnying gently. She could make all sorts of different sounds, he had noticed. He ran his hand over her nose, noting even there how rough her hide was while she chomped and told her she was the prettiest bronto he had ever seen, which was, of course, very true.

Her packs seemed intact but he checked anyway, just in case. He picked up her leash and she seemed happy to follow him so they made their way slowly back.

"Well," said Oswyn, "One of the things Alistair asked me to do was to ensure that when he returns to Orzammar in future his visits are treated discreetly… He enjoyed that proving the day before yesterday very much, but, essentially, he is a simple man and he would like to come and go without too much fuss and no more provings… I don't know whether you could assist me with that? He will always be happy to meet with Harrowmont but would prefer such meetings to take place in private… Alistair, of course, would like this to be arranged without giving offence to anyone. I think this could benefit Orzammar, too, discretion is always helpful in relations between states and sovereigns..."

Zinthal's little fingers played on the wood of the table. "Seems simple enough, Oswyn. You know councillor Dulin, Dulin Forender?"

"Yes we were introduced the other day…"

"He's your man. Harrowmont likes to make much of your King's visits because it makes him look more powerful and influential, but I think there could be a compromise here… I mean Dulin might suggest some discretion in exchange for the occasional 'official' visit but I can't see that they would be opposed to this… They'll probably just want something back. It would just be a question of making an agreement that makes both sides happy…"

Oswyn nodded. He could have reached this conclusion himself, of course, so he wondered what use Zinthal was going to really be. Then she said.

"Oswyn, one of Dulin's favourite mistresses loves furs… She occasionally walks around in a fur coat, and rumour has it that's all she's wearing, that's unnecessary of course really, but it does attract attention. The kind she wants. They say her bed is covered in furs, and she likes to entertain on them… "

"What kind of furs?"

"The type you can't get down here… Almost anything, fox, bear, ermine… Are there ermines in Ferelden? Ermine usually comes from Orlais, they say…"

"Oh, there are ermines in Ferelden for sure…" Sometimes being a country boy came in handy; there were quite a few stoats or ermines (stoats in their winter coat) around Dragons Peak. Oswyn had been unaware before now that fur was a commodity in Orzammar, it certainly wasn't in Ferelden, and stoats were practically considered vermin there.

"So" said Zinthal, "If you give him some furs you might get a better deal from him than you otherwise would. I would suggest you invite him to a friendly supper one evening, indulge in some banter, he really is a nice enough guy, give him a pressie and then press your case. And don't drink too much, Oswyn…" She said eyeing him, "It is obviously not for you…"

Oswyn nodded, he had changed his opinion about Zinthal.

Zinthal cleared her throat, "You can take me along, if you wish…""I could smooth things over, a little," she said.

"But how could I justify taking you to such a meeting…"

"There is only one way a man can justify taking a woman like me anywhere, Oswyn"

He thought he might have detected a touch of sadness in her voice."Can I think about it?" he asked.

"Of course you can, I would suggest you arrange the meeting for a few days' time…"

"Comment avez-vous apprendre l'Orlais?" Asked Marcus.

"Grâce à ma chérie belle-mère…"

"Ah oui?" Asked Marcus.

"Wonderful woman, Isolde, gave me a perfect appreciation of the language, especially terms like 'le petit bâtard' or 'le fils de putain'… and I had to call her belle-mère. My stay in the Chantry helped improve on it, if not on the irony."

"Surfacers…" Snarled Dolgan from behind them, "Stop twittering in that unholy language…"

Alistair laughed and Marcus grunted.

"Oh well, so much for further practice…" Alistair turned round briefly and mock saluted Dolgan who growled at him again.

"Don't try my patience Surfacer…"

"And that mark on your neck?" Marcus seemed to be very much in a questioning mood today, thought Alistair.

His scarf had obviously slipped a little, "Battle injury. Got in a fight with a lady, on a mattress… She started it…"

Marcus grinned. "I trust the lady was all right…"

"She is perfect, in all possible meanings of that term, if a little tiring."

"Those are the best ones," Said Marcus, "The ones that tire you out… So you don't have to think…" His eyes glazed over for a moment, then he added quietly, "The taint makes whores of us all…"

"What did you say?"

"That the taint…" Marcus cleared his throat, "makes whores of all of us…"

"Meaning?"

"It increases all our appetites…"

"But surely we should be able to resist…"

"Like yourself, you mean?"

"I am a bad example, I am a very weak man, I have never pretended to be anything else, but…"

"I think it's fairly certain that we all feel the compulsion."

"But compulsion is one thing… Surrendering to it, quite another."

"You were with Neriya were you not?"

"I was, yes."

"You were… Together."

"Yes."

"Would you take my word for it that the strength of attraction between wardens of different genders is virtually irresistible? I obviously mean where their sexual preferences are compatible."

"No. I wouldn't."

"But you don't know…"

"Well, I've only ever met two female wardens and I wasn't in any position to widen my acquaintance with the second one… Marcus, why are you asking this?"

"I…" Marcus suddenly looked incredibly sad.

"Do you feel guilty about something? I don't know you very well but you seem a good man to me."

"It is nothing." Said Marcus sighing.

As he settled down to sleep that night, Alistair ran through their conversation again. Marcus seemed very down, very melancholy as if he, like Alistair were visiting places in the past to which he could never return. The Deep Roads themselves were depressing, of course, Alistair thought back to what Lady Hel… Adal had said about finding them disturbing, she had the right of it, he guessed. There was too much past here and not enough future, not a human or a dwarven future, it seemed anyway.

Also he was beginning to feel dirty, after a few years of being able to wash and shave and wear clean clothes every day, he realised he had grown used to it. Now, he was acutely aware that every minute he spent down here he was being covered by more grime and filth: it was incrusted under his nails and in his hair, in his ears, even the corners of his eyes felt gritty. They had barely enough water for him to wipe off the gore after the battle, it was needed for drinking. Yes, there were water sources particularly around most of the Thaigs but not really, on the roads themselves and they needed to make haste, not stop off to clean up. His face was covered with stubble. He knew he smelt, they all did…

Mabya did not seem to mind, though, shortly after he laid down and when he still in the tossing and turning stage she plonked, there was no better word for it, herself down right behind him with a huff, and soon she bowed her head and closed her eyes this time he could hear the occasional rumble from her throat as well as bronto snores. It helped him sleep sooner.

The next day Dolgan called him aside, "Alistair," he said, then he paused for a while all hunched over, his mouth moving, then he looked up at him, "You're going to go with Stone Orchid and her squad."

"Stone—"

"The name's a nick, only female squad commander in the Legion, she's a cruel bitch, even by the standards of the legion, but incredibly effective… And before you ask why you… I can't do that to Marcus, he's at a delicate stage, Khegst and Volkur are too young she'd pull'em to pieces and then piss on 'em. I'd do it I really would but, I… I have a relative in the Legion and she already hates his guts and he has to fight with her…"

"And why do you think I could cope with her…"

"Apart from the fact you're the only one left? You've been through a lot, a hell of a lot, which must mean that somewhere you're tough, as well as pretty. You fought well yesterday, by the way, but you already know that, don't you? You're sarky, probably drive her to nug pegging, catch her off guard… Most of the others are just too afraid of her, insofar as I can make out. AND you volunteered for this, never forget that, Surfacer. Finally, she's a woman, Alistair, and even our damn bronto likes you… So what do you say?"

"Oh, now I get a choice, Dolgan?"

"Not as such: You say, 'Yes, Dolgan,' Alistair… Thank you so very much for introducing new and interesting experiences into my life, Dolgan. I am now overjoyed at having volunteered to go with you, Dolgan…"

Alistair sighed, "Any advice?"

"It's difficult, but look after yourself, don't let her put you down, no stupid stuff… don't forget, you're probably better than she is in many ways and definitely more tricky to replace. By the way, the Legion have no interest in surface politics so though some of them may know you, they'll have no idea of your status. Probably better to keep it like that."

Alistair nodded.

"…and thank me…"

"Why?"

"I just praised you…"

They arrived later that day at the rendezvous point without further incident. It immediately became clear who Dolgan's contact was, as soon as they entered the enormous cavern where they were due to meet up with the Legion there was a loud roar and a figure detached itself from the serried ranks and ran towards them. Alistair almost drew but Dolgan who was standing next to him, grinning widely, stayed him by putting his hand on this arm. Only Volkur seemed entirely relaxed, smiling knowingly.

When the figure reached halfway across a bridge that spanned the chasm in the centre of the cavern, Dolgan gave a matching roar, which sounded almost identical to the first one and in turn, broke into a run. The two figures met half way across the bridge and there was much enthusiastic thumping, fist bumping and growling when they did so.

As Alistair and the rest of the group drew near, he suddenly had the sensation of seeing double, although both dwarves looked exactly the same, their tattoos, weapons and armours were quite distinct and Dolgan, of course, was wearing his Grey Warden pendent. Alistair's confusion was such that he turned towards Marcus who was also looking stunned.

The one that was Dolgan clapped the other on the back once again and shouted in their direction, "Meet Durgan, my little brother…"

"Twins…" Alistair had only seen a few in his lifetime.

"Yes." Said Volkur, "and identical, extremely rare among us dwarva… For that, alone their names were entered into the Memories upon their birth even though they were born dusters… Of course, now further achievements have been entered for both of them. And Dolgan elected to become a warden when Durgan was drafted into the Legion, he wanted to follow him but Durgan suggested there was another way he could help the fight against the Darkspawn…"

The wardens were greeted heartily by the legionnaires, but Alistair could not help but notice that there was one group that stood warily apart. He thought it would be better to get it over with sooner rather than later, so he waded through the throng of enthused dwarvenhood and patted Dolgan on the shoulder. Dolgan looked up at him, without saying anything, Alistair tilted his head in the direction of the isolated group…

"Yeah," said Dolgan, "That's her… and her squad… The bitch."

"Might as well get this over with…" Replied Alistair.

"As you wish, Surfacer, luck…"

Putting on his most easygoing smile and adopting the least threatening demeanour he could, Alistair loped towards the small gathering.

She was lolling in front of it, leaning on a large fearsome looking blade.

"Greetings," said Alistair, in the politest tone he could muster, "I believe I have been assigned to work with you…"

She swivelled her one remaining eye up at him, then cleared her throat noisily and spat, narrowly missing him. Her voice was like rough gravel.

"Surfacer… If you all look alike, which you do…" she said, "Why do you look familiar?"

Alistair studied her carefully for a few quiet moments, for the second time in the last few hours not quiet believing what he was seeing. He thought it appropriate to retain an air of calm detachment.

"Good evening, Jarvia." He replied.