"Why don't you go get something eat?"

Solona's eyes focused, and she looked up to see Alistair standing at the doorway. They had moved Leliana to the closest hospitable place, Natia's house in Dust Town, and Solona was watching over the unconscious bard.

"Solona, you've been sitting here for hours. Let me watch her for a little while so you can grab something to eat and rest a little."

She shook her head. "I'd rather not, Alistair."

He crossed his arms while leaning on the doorjamb. "Let me rephrase this: Wynne has ordered me in, and you out. I would not want to obey her direct orders if I were you."

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a half-smile to match his. Shaking her head, she got up from her chair. "Very well, Alistair." The mage looked upon her lover, eyebrows knitting. There was dried blood in the creases of the bard's lips, and her color was still too pale. She had lost far too much blood while Wynne had worked, but the senior enchanter had saved Leliana, and her prognosis was good. It still scared the shit out of Solona, though. "Get me if she wakes?"

He smiled as he walked over, placing a hand on her shoulder in a familiar fashion. "Of course. It will probably be the first thing she asks for, anyway." He looked her up and down, frowning slightly. "Why don't you bathe, or at least change your clothes? You're still covered in her blood. I can't imagine you'll want her to see that when she wakes."

She looked down, seeing the blood soaking her shirt and hose. She had removed her armor, but had not bothered with the rest. She didn't like the idea of going all the way back to the tavern in the Commons to get her things, but Alistair was of course right, so she just nodded. With one last look at Leliana, pale and naked under a heavy blanket, she headed into the main room of Natia's house, finding the dwarf stirring something over the hearth.

"Ah, salroka, there you are. Wynne and Zevran just left to go get your things from the inn. She thought you might want to change, but neither of them thought you'd be willing to go yourself." She lifted the spoon, serving some of the stew into a bowl. "Hungry?"

The smell coming from the hearth reminded Solona that she was ravenous. Nodding, she accepted the food and sat at the stone table. Everything here was stone. Unlike on the surface, it was wood that was attained if you had money. It was oddly comforting to Solona, who had grown up in a stone castle, surrounded by stone walls. The lack of any wood of any kind in this dwelling was a little strange, but she could not fault Natia for it. The dwarf was poor, and would always be as long as she stayed underground. Solona wondered if the girl had ever considered leaving, chasing her fortune on the surface. Perhaps she could discuss it with her. But not now. Now she was ravenous.

After a few bites of her meal, she asked the dwarf, "Is there any chance you have the same pipes to draw water here that they have at the inn?"

The dwarf, sitting across the table from her, shook her head. "Alas, no. There is a pump for the whole community in the square, and that's it." She nodded over to the corner. "But I figured you'd want to bathe at some point. You can take a sponge bath behind the divider over there. I haven't had to use it since my mother and sister moved out, but I took the liberty of setting it up for you."

"Oh, bless you." Solona paused, considering her new friend. "Thank you for your hospitality, as well. I don't think it would have been fun walking through the Commons with a bloody woman in my arms."

The dwarf waved her off. "You're more than welcome. And unfortunately, that isn't all too uncommon a sight in Dust Town. Well, it's weird to see humans doing it, but otherwise…" She winked, eliciting a chuckle from them both.

Solona finished her stew. She was still hungry, but no longer famished, so she simply took the bowl with her for washing and began to strip her clothing off behind the blind.

"Why do you stay in Orzammar?" she asked as she gathered sponge, soap, and bucket of warmed water, figuring now was as good a time as any to speak of Natia's situation.

Natia's voice came to her from the other side of the blind. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Solona began, soaping up the sponge and lathering her arms and shoulders. "Why do you not seek your fortune on the surface?"

"I suppose," the dwarf began, sounding a little unsure, "because my family is here."

"Your family is here, yes," Solona replied as she stepped into the water for further washing. "But is there anything else for you here?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Solona sighed. "What else do you do, Natia? You cannot ply a trade, nor will anyone teach you anything because of your casteless status. You can only go to the palace and visit your sister and mother. And from what you say, your mother is passed out from drink more often than not, and your sister is already pregnant again. You are not permitted to stay with your sister and nephew unless you agree to bear children for Bhelan."

"What would you have of me, salroka?" Natia's tone was somehow both defensive and plaintive.

"You said you wanted to be part of something bigger than yourself, but your mind languishes in Dust Town while you accept Bhelan's coin through Rica. Will they even teach you to read in this city?" She paused, taking a small bucket and pouring it over herself, rinsing the soap off. Spluttering water, she continued. "Go to the surface, Natia. Learn business from another dwarf; see the sun, the woods." She paused for a moment, an image of the dwarf slashing the carta members with her long knives flashing across her vision. "Or better yet, come with us, fight against the Blight."

"Come… with you? To the surface? But… my family…"

"They don't allow a surfacer back in?"

"They do, but you must wear the brand, and you're only allowed in the Commons or Dust Town…"

Solona paused in her chore of scrubbing her blood-soaked clothes. "Forgive me if I'm being impertinent, but that sounds an awful lot like the rules for casteless who stay in Orzammar."

Natia's voice sounded thin, like she was having trouble breathing. "It's exactly the rules for the casteless. The only difference is that surfacers have 'abandoned the Stone'…"

Solons poked her head around the blind to see the dwarf. Natia sat at the table, eyes unfocused and head tilted up and to the side, as if considering what Solona had said. Smiling, Solona returned to her chore, choosing to remain quiet on the subject. She hoped the dwarf would choose to come with them. They could use a fresh perspective, and she liked the woman. She didn't want to leave a new friend the way Leliana had been forced to leave the friend she had made in Mithra.

The mage frowned as her thoughts turned to her lover. She wanted to kill Leske all over again for what the little maggot had done. He had already lost. And the knife would have done nothing to Solona, but he had aimed it at the mage anyway. But it had hit Leliana instead.

Solona grimaced as she scrubbed, only able to see Leliana's prone, bloodied body in the swirls of crimson in the water. She had caught the bard in her arms, unaware Leske had thrown the dagger at first, unaware of why the bard might stumble. But Solona had made the connection quickly when she saw the handle sticking from between Leliana's ribs. Her mind had gone fuzzy, and she couldn't seem to manage to do anything but stare at the bard's confused expression, even when blood had flecked the woman's lips.

Wynne had wrested the bard from her, and before long Leliana had been topless and Solona's hands were pressed to the wound as Wynne worked her magic. Solona had panicked at that point, and she had begun to demand Leliana not leave her, what would she do if the bard left her.

And what would she do? She'd been thinking about that question since she had taken up her vigil at Leliana's bedside.

This is what Wynne had warned her about at the beginning, and she had shrugged the woman off, for the most part. But she saw now exactly what the elder mage had meant. What if Leliana died, or was so injured that she could not continue with the group? What would Solona do if she was without her love? Traumatically injured, at least Leliana would be alive. But dead? Solona had gone through this one several times. At first, her answer had been that she simply would not be able to continue. The taint, the darkspawn, neither would kill her – grief would, plain and simple.

Then she had thought that through. If she killed herself, or starved herself, or intentionally let herself bleed out from some wound… what then? Alistair would be the only Grey Warden left in all of Ferelden, for one. He would have amazing support in his companions, but two of them – his two closest friends – would be dead, making for a very dreary group, indeed. Could she really do that to him? He would continue to fight the Blight either way, but what would it do to him? It would break him, and he might not make it to the end. And even if he did, could she really be so selfish as to halve their numbers because of her grief?

The answer had been simple: no. She might be numb with grief, but she would simply have to keep on. Her Aunt Leandra had continued on after Malcolm had died because other people were relying on her, and she had people to mourn with. And it would be the same for Solona. She would have Alistair, and Wynne, and even Zevran. Max would be at her side, let her cry into him, or pound her fists against him instead of herself. The same was probably true for Alistair. They would get her through it, and she would drag herself through it for them.

At least Leliana would not die this day. She would be fine, if bedridden for several days. As Solona finished her washing, Wynne and Zevran returned with her things, and she dressed gratefully and joined the others for a more formal supper.

Leliana awoke suddenly. She tried to push herself up, but succeeded only in collapsing back onto the bed when pain speared through her back and deep into her chest, taking her breath from her.

"Leliana! Stop moving, you've been injured!" Hands touched her shoulders, rubbing soothingly until she relaxed. Then Alistair's face came into view. "You're not going to try to spring from the bed again?"

Leliana shook her head slightly, wincing. "No. No, I will stay put." Her voice came out as a whisper. Why was she so weak?

"Well all right, then." He sank to one knee next to the bed, smiling affectionately at her.

"Why do I hurt so?" She coughed, pain spearing through her once more as she tasted iron in the back of her mouth. "What… what happened, Alistair?"

"You remember fighting Jarvia and her guards?" Leliana answered in the affirmative. "Well, Leske had to try one more thing before he did us the courtesy of dying, and threw his dagger. I think it was aimed for Solona, but you were the one it met instead. It managed to find a gap in your armor and sliced into your lung." He shook his head. "For a dying man, he sure had a lot of strength left."

Leliana furrowed her brows. "I… I remember walking up to… to Solona," she whispered, her breath coming in short gasps, "and then I suddenly… couldn't breathe, nor… nor could I stand. I don't remember anything after… after I stumbled."

Alistair nodded. "Solona said you just looked terribly confused before you lost consciousness."

After a pause, she asked, "Is she…?"

He shot to his feet. "Right! Of course! I'll be right back. I was just giving her a break so she could eat something and bathe." He smiled. "She's been at your side for the entire afternoon."

She heard him calling Solona's name as he ran off, and less than a minute later the mage came rushing into the room. Leliana felt a tightness ease in her chest she wasn't even aware of, and tears began to well in her eyes. Sniffing, she shook her head.

"Oh, my darling," Solona breathed, dropping to her knees next to the bed and taking Leliana's hand. She smelled of soap and mushroom stew, in addition to the ever-present tea and honey her breath always seemed to carry. "Oh, my beautiful, wonderful girl."

Leliana laughed through her few tears. Shaking her head a little, she tried to shift. Pain spiked through her, making it impossible to breathe once more. Giving up, she groaned, "Oh, why do I hurt so much?"

Solona smiled, though her brows remained furrowed with concern. "Wynne was able to stop the bleeding and heal the tissue, but you know how it works. You are severely bruised, including your lung. It will be difficult to breathe for a few days. The strangest things will make you hurt. And you lost a lot of blood. You are going to be weak."

"That doesn't… sound fun at all," Leliana breathed, feeling what Solona meant already. It shouldn't hurt to inhale, nor to talk at full volume, but she couldn't deny that both of those things were true. Whispers were all she could manage.

"But come the day after tomorrow," Solona continued, "Wynne says the best thing for it is to have you moving around a little. The organ thinks it's hurt when it's not, so forcing it through some normal motions after another day of rest is all there is for it. Plus, you have to work up the rest of the blood that settled in your lungs."

"Yes, definitely not fun."

Solona chuckled. "Can I get you anything? It's nearly midnight, but I didn't want to disturb you until you woke."

"Can you… hold me?" A stab of pain, brief but insistent as she inhaled, went through her before she could continue. "I think I would… be more able to sleep… with you so near. You relax me so."

The mage smiled warmly. "I can certainly try. Why don't you drink this first?" She held out a small vial of clear liquid. "It is for pain. You couldn't drink it while you were unconscious, but it is perfectly safe now."

The mage helped her roll to her uninjured left side before tipping the contents slowly into her mouth. Most of it made it in, and within minutes Leliana was able to breathe a little easier. She also felt the less desirable effects – potions to relieve pain always addled the mind some – but didn't care, as she was simply going to sleep with her lover.

When Solona returned from informing Wynne of Leliana's condition, the mage stripped herself down to nothing. Easing Leliana under the blankets, she slid under herself, as well, pulling the bard close.

"Are you all right, Solona?"

"Hmmm?" Leliana felt the hum deep in the mage's chest. It made her absolutely giddy. "Yes, I'm fine, my dear. You know me – it's very difficult to damage me permanently."

"Yes, but not impossible…" Leliana ran her hand over Solona's stomach, causing a hitch to the mage's breath. A low giggle escaped her. Oh, but Solona's silken skin felt so good. And the pain was a distant memory. Perhaps if she continued like this she could convince the mage to-

"No, Leli." The mage grabbed her wrist and held it still. "You are hurt." There was a laugh in her voice as she said, "And more incorrigible than I am!"

"But-"

"No," the mage insisted, putting pressure on Leliana's raised head, trying to get her to lie back down.

"You are no fun." Sighing dramatically, the bard lay her head upon Solona's shoulder, feeling sleep settle over her like a warm, familiar lover. "I love you," she breathed.

"I love you, too, Leli. So very much."

The Shaperate was imposing. Solona and Wynne both wore expressions that said the Solstice festival had come early, so happy were they to see so many books in one place. Morrigan, too, was fascinated, though she hid her enthusiasm under a chiding remark about Circle mages, her sideways glare resting squarely on Solona and Wynne. Alistair lost interest quickly, as did Natia, Zevran, and Sten, so the four of them spent the afternoon sparring, Leliana watching, though unable to participate herself.

It would be another few days before she was back up to fighting shape. She had been bedridden for two days instead of one, and only now was feeling well enough to try walking around. She chafed to be moving, but was still coughing up old blood and short of breath from the deep bruising that healing magic could not mend. The bard could not deny that she needed to take it easy.

Meanwhile, the mages went through the books, Solona restraining herself and looking for the Shaper first, who Natia said kept these halls. She found a man near the back, with the ancient scrolls and texts too old to be bound with leather. He had grey – nearly white – hair and beard, and his eyes were turned down in a perpetual look of concern. As she approached him, she wondered what could be troubling him so.

"Ah, Warden, I wondered when you would make your way here. I am the Shaper of Memories."

"Aye," Solona said with a nod. "You are just the one I was hoping to find. But… how do you know who I am?"

"The Grey Wardens' visit has been recorded in the Memories, along with all who accompany you. It is noteworthy, as we do not often have visitors from the surface. The wardens no longer stay in Orzammar, at least not often, instead going directly to battle in the Deep Roads."

"I see. I actually had a great many questions about the wardens."

The Shaper looked genuinely surprised at this. "Did you gain no education from your order's elders?"

The mage's smile was wry. "Firstly, you must know that my order has no elders." He nodded in concession. "And secondly, you may not have heard, but aside from myself and Warden Theirin, our order in Ferelden has been entirely demolished, the day after my Joining, all thanks to… politics." She said the word with every bit as much distaste as she felt.

"Ah, this I know well. Politics are responsible for a great many betrayals, bids for power, and deaths. But the Stone persists, outlasting us all." He paused, staring up at Solona placidly, like the very stone of which he spoke. "Very well, Warden. What do you wish to know?"

"The information I have come across so far leads me to believe you may know some of the Grey Wardens' secrets that my comrade and I never learned. Given that we are awaiting the next major offensive from the archdemon, there is certain information we are desperate to know, information which may help us stop the Blight."

He sighed. "While it is true that the wardens and our very own Legion of the Dead have fought side-by-side against the darkspawn, the wardens held their secrets closely. Secrets, we do not have. History, customs, notable figures, all these I have, and will gladly share with you. In fact, I believe your other human colleagues have already found that section in the Memories." Solona followed his gaze to Wynne and Morrigan along the opposite wall. "But secrets I simply do not have access to." He paused, cocking his head to the side. "I cannot tell you why it is that only a Grey Warden may kill the archdemon, only that the only ones who have ever been successful have been wardens."

"Damn," Solona breathed, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. She had so hoped they might gain some new, crucial information about their order. But nothing could be done for it, and she must continue on, hoping the information would reveal itself to them before it was too late. "Very well. That is unfortunate, but perhaps you have information on the other item."

"Which is?"

She furrowed her brows, frowning slightly. "Arcane warriors. I was told in no uncertain terms that your Memories would hold all the information I am missing about this forgotten order."

His eyes flashed a little, the first expression of any emotion she had seen in him. "I do remember coming across a section… I will need time to research it. It was years ago, and I do not remember the details. Why do you need to know about them?"

"I… well, I am one, as it happens. The only one, it seems, otherwise I might know these things myself." He seemed almost excited at this revelation, and it was contagious. Solona found her hopes rising with his expression. "What do you think you'll find, Shaper?"

He shook his head. "I do not know. Go join your friends researching the wardens if you like. I will start my research immediately."

He left her after that, leaving Solona feeling… stalled. She was excited, but he knew nothing yet. Shaking her head, she went in search of Wynne and Morrigan, glad that the Shaper knew of the arcane warriors, but hoping she didn't have to deal with the strange man very often while they were here.

The needle stung on Solona's bare back.

"You're sure you're okay with this?" Alistair asked, sitting next to her in a matching state of undress.

"I'll be fine. It's not my face, I'm not being held down, and you're not chanting your bloody spells to drain me of energy." She hissed, then, almost to remind herself, "And I want it this time."

"Fair enough," he intoned, hissing his breath out as the dwarf behind him continued with the warrior's own matching tattoo, directly over his spine.

They had learned a great deal of the history of the Grey Wardens, but no secrets, as the Shaper had predicted. Instead, they learned a great deal about the wardens' involvement in the Deep Roads, and in Orzammar itself. Wardens used to make frequent forays into the Deep Roads, taking stock of darkspawn numbers and tracking their activity to discern any patterns that might suggest they had unearthed an archdemon. It was in Orzammar that the wrder received their enchanted weapons and armor: silverite burned into anything that bore the taint, and darkspawn were particularly susceptible to damage by fire – and electricity, Solona had found from experience. Lastly, they learned that Orzammar was where Grey Wardens got tattoos between their shoulders of the Grey Warden standard.

Which was why Solona and Alistair now sat side-by-side, tattoo artists from Dust Town working diligently at their backs. The tattoo would only be an outline of the details, not colored in like the blocky tattoo adorning Natia's face, otherwise it would take more than one sitting to complete. Their dwarven friend had been the one to suggest they come here, for even though these casteless were not respected by the dwarves at large, they did the brand upon all casteless, making for highly-skilled, experienced artists.

Solona was more than happy to oblige. The dwarves' caste system made her incredibly uneasy, and any way she could subvert it was fine with her. Officially, she could not take a stand against a government – Warden Neutrality – except in cases when it stood in direct opposition to her duty during a Blight, something Loghain's Regency did. But quiet subversion she could do, and going to get anything done by a casteless artisan instead of a member of one of the official castes definitely fit that description.

Leliana sat before her, watching with a half-smile as the mage winced each time the needle pierced her skin. The bard was doing much better, walking and moving with little difficulty, though sometimes needing a moment to catch her breath or deal with a muscle spasm with sparring. It had been three days since their first visit to the Shaperate.

"Honestly, Solona, you have been through multiple stabbings, cuts, bruises, a fireball, and a de-gloved hand." Leliana smirked as she spoke, her tone deceivingly light. "How is it that this is what brings the mighty to her knees?"

"Hmph," Solona grunted, wincing again as she tried desperately to keep still. "Shut it, woman. Holding still while someone drives a needle into my skin is not the same as battle."

"That is true," Leliana conceded, her eyes dancing. "But given how you and Alistair are carrying on, you would think you had no pain tolerance at all!"

"She's right. I don't think I squirmed that much when I got my brand, and I was eight," Natia chimed in, smirking. "And it was on my face." The artist working on Solona had produced Natia's, as the dwarves called the facial tattoos upon the casteless. Solona hoped that would put her in his favor – she did not know how to remove a tattoo, otherwise she might have done so after she had escaped the Circle Tower with Duncan, though she was glad she did not now.

She considered that further. At the time, she had bitterly resented the marring of her visage in such a permanent fashion. It had hurt, it had been forced upon her, and all could see it, no matter what she did. She was branded apostate, even within the Circle, and all knew her shame.

But then it began to change. Whenever she saw herself in the mirror, the tattoo was more and more familiar, more and more a part of her, and she had begun to see it as marking her different from the Circle mages who stayed in their cage. She had come to wear it with pride. And then more recently her pride had left her – she was no better than those who had stayed. They knew no better; how could they, when they'd been told from birth what a stain upon the Maker's creation they were? She felt pity for them, even as they were likely to look upon her countenance and judge her for her supposed shame.

"Honestly, 'tis a foolish thing to do," Morrigan commented from her place further in the room, jarring Solona out of her reverie. The witch sat reading the book Solona procured for her within the Circle, as she was wont to do from time to time. "Why would you mark your skin so permanently, and with matching symbols?"

"Were it any other symbol, I might agree with you," Alistair began, smiling at Morrigan in a familiar way, which utterly flabbergasted Solona. "But we cannot ever stop being wardens. Even if we absolutely hate each other later in life, we will always be wardens. And it's something our brothers-in-arms had done. There is something… I don't know. Traditions are important."

"It is true, Morrigan," Leliana continued, her smile showing her affection for Alistair. "Traditions have power. They connect people in ways that mere blood cannot do. Rituals, traditions, customs all vary from land to land, family to family, people to people, and in each place they affirm that people's identity."

"I… have never experienced this," the witch admitted, her brows furrowed.

"Yes, you have, Morrigan, if not much for yourself," Solona countered, her heart breaking slightly at the witch's complete non-understanding of some of the most basic things about living in society. "You chant your spells the same way your mother taught you, yes?"

"I suppose…"

"And she taught you how to survive in the wilderness, how to communicate, how to speak."

"Yes…" Morrigan looked dubious.

"Well, imagine this on a grand scale. A family does things the same way their ancestors did them. Or a clan, like the Dalish, playing music so very different from what we're used to, for generations and generations. The way people talk, the ways in which this fishing village makes their hooks versus that fishing village. All the touching you're so critical of is merely an extension of this; it developed over time, and is now the acceptable way to interact with each other."

"And it is not so for every people, either," Leliana cut in. "Many of our customs are not shared from country to country. In Orlais, the people touch far more often, and far more flirtatiously, than in Ferelden, even the commoners. But the qunari do not touch like we do very often at all."

"While not an entire culture, this is something the Grey Wardens did to connect themselves to each other," Alistair cut in, pulling the conversation back to where it had started. "This tattoo is a way to connect us to our fallen comrades. And it's an honor to wear the same mark that they wore upon their skin."

"I suppose… I suppose I can understand that, or at least allow it," Morrigan conceded, nodding over at him. "Though I do not think I would ever mark myself in this way."

"Not least because it's cold down here without anything on," Solona griped, wishing she could somehow wear a shirt during this stunt.

"Solona, I do believe you are a complete infant," Leliana teased. She got to her feet, dropping a kiss on the mage's cheek before heading for the door of the Dust Town dwelling. "And I think I've seen enough to know I never want one, myself. I think I will go see what trouble I can get to in the market."

"Oh, I'll come with you," Natia called out, jumping to her feet. "You're safer with me there than on your own, anyway, and I've seen enough people get tattooed to know exactly what I'll be missing."

They quickly exited, leaving the wardens to their prickly tattoos, and to the prickly Morrigan for company.

Leliana looked up from her spot at the table at Tapster's as Solona and Alistair entered from the street, Max at their heels. He gave a booming bark and ran forward to greet the bard, nearly knocking her over in her somewhat weakened state. Laughing, she ruffled his face, momentarily wondering at his ability to bounce back so remarkably. Mabari only imprinted on one person in their whole lives, or at least that was the conventional wisdom. Yet here he was having survived his master and imprinting upon Solona, and on Leliana. Though it was clear that Solona was his ultimate master; were they to go their separate ways, and he had a choice, he would choose the mage. But while the two were together? He lived to serve them both.

Standing again, she greeted her lover with a kiss and an embrace, noting the faint scowl on Solona's face as she was released. "Not a good meeting with Harrowmont, then?"

Solona shook her head. "Not really, no. He… doesn't have enough support to risk calling an early vote. He wants us to retrieve someone for him, before the vote happens in four weeks' time."

Leliana furrowed her brows. "Who must we retrieve?"

Solona sighed. "Their last living Paragon, Branka."

"Branka?!" Leliana turned around to find the man Natia had been drinking with at another table pushing himself up and staggering toward them. He had flaming red hair that put her own to shame, with – of course – a matching, braided beard. Unlike most other dwarven men she had interacted with, his hair was short, but otherwise he was a typical dwarf, if swaying a little from drink.

"I hear ya right? Ya said somethin' about Branka!" His voice was coarse, his tone gruff. As he pushed closer, looking up into Solona's face, Leliana was overcome by the smell of alcohol that seemed to exist in a cloud all around him. She valiantly held back her first instinct to retch, frowning down at him as he essentially pushed her out of the way to get to Solona. "That's my wife, woman! I have a right to know what yer sayin'!"

"Relax, ser dwarf," Solona said, holding her hands in front of her to keep him from getting closer. From the look on her face, Leliana was not the only one to notice the stench clinging to the man. "What is your name, ser?"

"Oghren," he grunted. "Pleased ta meet ya. Now tell me, human!"

"Please, ser. Sit back down – over there – and I will tell you all you wish to know."

Grunting, he reclaimed his seat across from a grinning Natia. Solona sat next to the girl, Leliana next to her, leaving Alistair to take the seat next to the redheaded, drunken dwarf. His lack of a frown worried Leliana – could he truly not smell the man? The rest of their companions pushed closer as Solona began her explanation.

"They're not actually sure that Branka is alive-"

"Well it's been two years since she decided to drag her whole sodding House into the Deep Roads," Oghren cut in. "Tell me somethin' I don't know."

Solona glared across the table at him. "You may know, but everyone else does not. Please hold your tongue until I am done, or you will only delay receiving the information I have." Taking a deep breath, she continued. "Branka is possibly the only living Paragon, if she is alive at all. Harrowmont would need her support in order to be assured the throne. He wants us to venture into the Deep Roads to find her."

Oghren growled a little. "I've been tryin' ta get an expedition together t'find her since not long after she left. But now they need her, they're willin' ta send you. Who are ya, anyway?"

"These are the two remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden," Leliana supplied, indicating Solona and Alistair. "Honestly, I am surprised you did not know, Ser Oghren."

"It's just 'Oghren,' and I heard there were wardens here, I just didn't know they were you." He examined each of them with a baleful eye. "Seem a little weak to me. Aren't the wardens supposed to be the only ones who can kill an archdemon?"

Solona sighed. "Yes, Oghren, we are. And we both have more to us than meets the eye, I assure you."

He barked out a laugh. "Ya'd hafta, ta make it in the Deep Roads!"

"Take me with you." The voice was Natia's, cutting off their laughter after Oghren's jibe.

Solona turned to the dwarf. "What?"

"Take me with you, Warden. I've been thinking about what you said the other day and… you're right. I want to be part of something bigger." She paused, looking into her tankard. "I don't know if I want to go to the surface yet, but I used to dream of fighting darkspawn in the Deep Roads as a little girl. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't at least try now that it doesn't require me to 'die' and become part of the Legion of the Dead."

"Well, I…" Solona looked to Leliana, a question in her eyes.

"Do not look at me, my love. You are apparently the one to have spoken with her before."

Solona looked back to the dwarven woman. "Very well. You can certainly hold your own in a fight, and I spoke truly the other day – I do want you along."

Natia looked away bashfully, smiling to herself as Leliana considered her. "We'll just need to get you some decent armor, Natia."

Oghren harrumphed. "Take me with you, Warden. Branka's my wife, and I can track down there. This Duster is good company, but she's never been in the Deep Roads before. I'm warrior caste: I've been down there more than anyone else available t'ya."

Solona just stared at him for a moment. Leliana decided to interfere before the mage insulted the dwarf. "Perhaps he is right, Solona. It has been incredibly helpful to have Natia as our guide in the city. It follows that it would be helpful to have a guide in the Deep Roads, particularly one so practiced at navigating down there. We really would not know what we were doing."

Natia nodded. "He is right, as much as I know you don't want his company."

"Hey!"

The dwarven woman snorted. "What do you expect, Oghren? You pushed your way to drench the Warden-Commander in your stench, and then you interrupt and insult, and now they don't want your company. Maybe if you learned a few manners, you'd have a better time of it." She lifted her tankard in a mock-toast before draining the rest of it.

He grumbled unintelligibly in answer, finally grunting and turning back to Solona. "Fine. I'll try to watch my manners. But if ya tell me I can't drink, I'm drawin' the line."

Solona smirked. "Very well, Oghren, Natia." She held out a hand to each of them, an eyebrow raised. "Welcome to our merry band of cutthroats."

A/N from edits: Just a heads up that, while the group is in Orzammar, there is a side fic called Graphic Dedication, written by Raven Sinead. It is graphic, so if that's not your thing, don't worry about reading it. I just wanted to bring it to your attention.