This chapter has given me trouble. Not the chapter itself, but the terrible, horrible writer's block I suffered with it. Thanks to all at the Cheeky Monkeys forum for helping me get past it with as little pain as possible.

My thanks to those who continue to alert and favorite this story. And to those who read and take the time to review, my special thanks: celtic-twinkie, Bdub, Shakespira, Pirate Ninjas of the Abyss, Zeeji, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Nithu, mackillian, Superstar Kid, Biff McLaughlin, CCBug, avekay, Epiphany sola Gracia, millahnna

The Halla Reborn

Chapter 52

White stone, upon which was graced black and gold veins, traversed along the ceiling to his room. He knew that surface well, having stared up at it everyone morning since they had arrived in Orzammar. What, three weeks ago? He pushed himself up, tugging slightly at the soft sleeping tunic he wore at night. Too long, in his opinion.

He swung his long legs over the side of the bed, pressing his feet to the well woven carpet upon the stone floor. They had not heard word about Adela and her group since the messenger from the Legion had arrived little less than two weeks ago. The silence was deafening, and the young nobleman was having trouble keeping his positive humor alive.

With long, purposeful strides, Fergus strode to the tub that stood behind a screen. With a smile, he glanced over at the stall that stood against the wall behind the tub, a series of holes engraved in the wall, another set upon the floor. Runes marked the wall just beneath the holes. A shower, the dwarves had called it. For bathing while standing up. Marvelous work, really, but what the Teyrn wanted this morning was a good, long hot soak.

Pressing the runes set within the edge of the tub, he waited as the tub filled with hot water. Another wonderful piece of runic work that the dwarves had yet - and probably would never - share with the surface world. As he disrobed and stepped into the steaming water, he wondered if he would manage to garner the services of a dwarven rune master to set such baths up back at home.

His heart clenched and throat tightened, and he almost stumbled the rest of the way into the water at the thought of home. There was no home at this time, only a great graveyard, filled with the corpses of those he had called family and friends. Invaded by the soldiers of his family's enemy. Men and women he had trained with and who served under him died protecting his home. Servants, who only wished to serve and perform their duties, died needlessly. He could not think of his parents, his wife…his son. He knew only that his sister had survived, and yet her whereabouts were currently unknown.

A tilt of his dark head, and then tears dripped from his face into the hot water. Hastily, with more force than truly necessary, Fergus wiped the tears from his face, picking up a cloth and began to roughly scrub at his skin.

DA:O

It had taken them a week to find release from the deeper parts of the Deep Roads, having found a more direct course from Caridin's cavern back toward Orzammar.

The tension had been working it's way from Adela. During their journey back, she and Serena had gotten to know one another better, and spent a great deal of the journey back to Orzammar talking, blond heads bent toward each other. The dwarven noble was an extremely likeable woman, of that the elven warden had already been aware. But, during their trip back towards her former home, the former royal spoke to the elf of her childhood, her siblings, her father. Adela learned that Trian, the elder sibling she had been accused of killing, was fourteen years her senior, the product of her father's first marriage. She and Bhelan were full blooded siblings, less than two years apart in age.

"Father's first marriage had been arranged," Serena explained as they walked through tunnels thankfully devoid of darkspawn. "Freya had been from a highly placed noble family, one that father's father had been seeking to form an alliance with. As the elder daughter, she was chosen to wed Orzammar's king. That happened to be father."

"Wait," Adela frowned, glancing over at the dwarven woman. "Do you mean she was promised to your father, or that she was promised to whomever would be king?"

With a small smile, Serena replied, "To whomever would be king. Grandfather had been confident it would be father, however, there was another in contention, a cousin I believe." She shrugged almost absently. "Father had been popular and won the election easily. So, he and Freya were wed a week after his coronation."

Blinking, Adela could only shake her head as Serena continued. "I understand Queen Freya was a just queen, and it was widely celebrated when she bore Father a son. However, she died while birthing their second son, and the babe died shortly thereafter."

Serena had fallen into silence, and Adela allowed her time within her own mind. She glanced back, watching as Alistair walked beside Oghren, who had been uncharacteristically quiet and thoughtful during their journey back to his home city. Her husband's head raised, amber eyes meeting blues. And offered her a smile. Calm, loving, understanding. She returned the smile before turning her attention back to Serena, who had resumed talking.

"Many years passed after Freya's death before Father even so much as looked at another woman," the royal lifted her head, smiling at the elf. "Even though their's had been an arranged union, Freya and my father had grown to love one another." She shrugged her shoulders, then rolled them to adjust the shield at her back. "But then he met my mother." That smile turned wistful, and her face softened slightly. "Father used to tell me it was love at first sight." She looked directly at Adela, hazel eyes to blue. "Do you believe in that sort of thing?"

Smiling, the elven warden nodded her head. "Most definitely. I also think that it's not always recognized as such, but I strongly believe in it."

"Ah," Serena smiled broadly, glancing back to watch as Alistair bent down to catch something the dwarven male beside him had muttered. "You and your man there," Serena nodded, turning back to her companion. "Mother was from the same house as Lord Harrowmont. A younger cousin. Although a noble, Mother was a warrior, not one of those noblewomen whose head is full of the latest fashions or gossip," now she grinned. "I take after her." There was the shrug of her shoulders that Adela was starting to know well. "So this time, Father married for love."

"What happened to your mother?" Adela found herself asking, mentally kicking herself. She had meant to let Serena tell the story at her own pace.

However, the Aeducan did not seem to mind, and a sad, wistful smile replaced her grin. "She died, in the Deep Roads, trying to clear out a route to the old Aeducan Thaig. That happened about fifteen years ago."

Serena went silent, lost in her thoughts, her memory of a mother well loved. Adela fell into her own, recalling her own mother, how similar Adaia and Serena's mother seemed to be. Without thinking, Adela asked, "What was your mother's name?"

"What was yours?" the dwarf countered, the grin once more upon her expressive face.

"Adaia Mahariel," Adela answered promptly, matching Serena's grin with her own. "She was a Dalish hunter, a warrior of the blade and bow."

Serena nodded, "I thought as much." She turned, watching their path as they continued to walk, tilting her head slightly to listen to the conversations behind them. A thoughtful expression crossed her face as she picked Oghren's gravely voice from the softer tones of the humans behind them.

"Bryndis," Serena said after another moment's pause. Adela lifted her eyes, standing eye to eye with the dwarven woman. Serena smiled again. "My mother's name was Bryndis."

DA:O

Oghren spoke little, during their trek back from Caridin's cavern, walking beside the taller human man, preferring his company over the others. He even avoided Serena at this time, for he knew her too well, and she was a part of his past, soon to be the most important part of any dwarf's future. And, for now, he just could not walk beside the young noble, for fear that she would want to talk about what had happened.

By the stone! He didn't even want to think about what had happened. That week back. In that ancestors' forsaken cavern, with that towering hunk of metal and stone. The madness of it still was difficult for him to shake.

He glanced up at the tall human, walking so quietly beside him. He snorted. Even though he had only known the young man beside him a few weeks, he knew that his silence was extremely out of character.

The lad apparently could keep quiet to save his life.

His hand shifted to his belt, where he had strapped to it a flask of Tapster's finest and harshest swill ever brewed. That hand faltered slightly. Clenching his fist, he muttered, "Sodding tits of my ancestors," and let the hand drop.

"What?" Alistair asked, bending down from his far greater height, a question in those dark eyes.

Oghren lifted his green eyes, smirking up into that too damned young face. "Nothin'," he grumbled petulantly. "Just be happy to get outta these damned roads."

"Amen to that," the young warden responded, straightening up, his eyes going to his young wife walking beside the dwarven noble. Oghren watched as the elf turned, smiling over at her husband, the love she felt obvious in that one, quick glance. He did not need to look up to know that the human returned that look.

And he found himself remembering a happier time in his life, before Branka became Paragon, when she was simply a brilliant, fun loving and wonderful young Smith, married into House Kondrat, married to him.

When she was just Branka.

Belonging only to him, and no one else: not Hespith, not the damned city, not the annals of the Shaperate.

That hand went back to the flask, and this time, tugged it free, twisting the cap, and lifting it to his lips.

Sod the memories.

DA:O

The gates of the grand dwarven city loomed ahead, the metal bound doors gleaming in the runic lights that lined the corridor leading from the city into the Deep Roads. Despite still being underground, Adela had never been as happy to see a place as she was the gates at Orzammar.

She wanted a bath. A bath and a good nap before proceeding onto the Assembly Hall. Judging by the way her companions looked and moved, she was certain they much felt as she did. However, they had already been absent from Orzammar for over three weeks, and she was concerned about the political atmosphere. She glanced over at the dwarven woman who still walked by her side, her helm now firmly over her head, covering her very recognizable face. And, the sooner they had Serena proclaimed Queen the better. Adela had no desire to put the dwarven noble in any more danger than she would be as soon as they entered into the city.

Keeping in mind that Serena was, technically, an exile from Orzammar, Oghren had suggested that she wear her helm and tuck her amulet into her breastplate. The crown was safely packed away in Adela's pack, so there were no identifying marks or crests to mark who walked with them.

The guards immediately opened the gates at Oghren's shout, hurriedly ushering in the bedraggled group back into the city. The gate captain clapped an appreciative hand to Adela's back, causing the slight elf to stumble slightly. Oghren glared at the man as Alistair stepped to his wife's side. The captain called a young dwarf to him, bidding him to bring word to the Steward that the Grey Wardens and their companions had returned from the Deep Roads. With a hurried bow, the youngster rushed off as Adela and her group walked slowly, but with purpose, from the mine entrance and made their way to the Diamond Quarter.

DA:O

"A fine piece there, aye, milord?" the dwarven merchant ticked a thick finger against the shield the human noble was studying. Fergus glanced up, offering the merchant a mere twitch of an eyebrow before resuming his scrutiny of the armament.

Truly, it was perhaps one of the finest pieces he had ever seen. Even the Denerim master blacksmith, Wade, would find dwarven works rival his own. His eyes followed the clean lines and even thickness. He could detect no weaknesses in the bulwark, and so added it to the growing inventory of arms, armor and other supplies he and Leliana were gathering. Despite having no word yet from the Grey Wardens, the group left behind in Orzammar had decided to remain positive and productive, carrying out those chores that they knew would need to be taken care of if they were to continue with their quest against the Blight.

The nobleman glanced over to where the Orlesian woman was studying a rack of finely woven cloaks, under armor, boots and gloves. The young woman had been uncharacteristically disquiet, as were they all. Wynne sat back at the compound, quietly knitting or resupplying their poultices and potions, occasionally recasting the preservation spell over Artemis' body.

Zevran assisted the elderly mage whenever possible, but found himself slipping out into the city, anxious for any word of the Grey Wardens, the Blight or any other news from the surface. He always returned empty handed.

Hafter stood beside the young nobleman now, his head ever to the ground, an almost despondent set to the proud mabari's shoulders. They were all feeling the distance from their companions, anxiety for their safety making it difficult for them to carry on the simplest of conversations. These tasks they set for themselves did little to appease that anxiety, and Fergus found himself almost grateful for the time he had to spend at the Assembly Hall. At least there was enough muttering, negotiations, favor mongering and such going on to keep the Cousland noble's mind occupied.

There was a commotion at the entrance to the commons, and the human noble turned around, watching with interest as a small crowd of dwarves stepped away from their respective stalls and conversations. He glanced over to see that the turmoil had captured Leliana's attention as well, and, with a nod, they finished paying for their purchases and stepped forward, trying to see what the fuss was all about.

A great murmuring rose above the crowd, and soon those murmurings increased to loud shouts, and several cheers. The great warhound at Fergus' feet let out a loud, yipping bark, and plunged forward, into the quickly growing crowd, seeking the heart of the mob. Anticipation tightened his throat, and he heard Leliana mutter something in Orlesian. Almost without conscious thought, his feet propelled him to the crowd, pushing his way through the stocky built bodies of the dwarves that impeded his progress.

Finally, the crowd parted, revealing a bedraggled group of humans, dwarves, an elf and giant Qunari. Relief swept through him, and he felt Leliana's arms wrap around him in a tight hug, her melodious voice lifting in joyful laughter. Together, arms about one another, the pair rushed to their friends, taking in the dirt, blood and such that covered them nearly head to toe, the exhausted look in each eye. Yet, despite how exhausted the group obviously was, they walked, with determined footsteps, to make their way to the Diamond Quarter.

They all met just at the entrance to the nobles quarters, Leliana releasing Fergus to rush to enfold her witch into her arms, heedless of the tears that poured down her face as she kissed Morrigan firmly upon the lips. A slight blush formed along the witch's alabaster cheeks, yet she returned the bard's embrace.

"We were beginning to worry about you," Fergus said, a wide grin upon his face as he stood before the elven leader of their entire group.

Adela looked up, smiling at her friend. "Are we too late for the party?" she asked as Alistair stepped to her side, offering a hand to Fergus, which the noble grasped enthusiastically, gripping it tightly for fear of releasing it and having his friends disappear once more. He noted the tiredness that infected her voice, and he shook his head.

"Not at all, Lady Warden," the noble replied, that grin upon his face making him feel more than a little foolish. "As a matter of fact, I would have to say that your timing is impeccable."

Scoffing at that, her blue eyes sliding over to the helmed figure beside her, Adela nodded. "Well then, let's get this party started."

DA:O

The Assembly Hall was awash in chaos as the various nobles and deshyrs made their way to their respective alcoves. Steward Bandelor stood upon the floor of the Hall, his face passive as his gray eyes fixed upon the grand doors leading into the Hall. Only when he spied the bedraggled form of the elven warden did his face light up, a smile crossing his craggy features. Raising his Staff of Office, the Steward brought the butt of it down, sharply, upon the stone flooring. It echoed, metallically, throughout the grand Hall, and, slowly, the deshyrs and nobles quieted their voices, turning their attention upon the man who called the Assembly to order.

Bandelor did not miss the sharp stare of Prince Bhelan, nor the almost reluctant gaze of Lord Harrowmont, as the Wardens and their companions entered the Hall, to stand at the head of the stairway, awaiting to be introduced.

Teyrn Fergus nodded once to the elf, and then made his way to the alcove set aside for visiting dignitaries, and stood, straight and silent, as he, too, awaited the Assembly to resume.

The Steward shot a warning glare around at the nobles assembled, and silence soon reigned as he turned to nod the Warden Commander forward.

With a glance and nod to Alistair, the two senior Wardens of Fereldan stepped forward, Oghren stepped down the stairs and stood beside the Steward.

Still helmed and silent, Serena stood between Niall and Roland, Morrigan and the Sten flanking her as they watched their companions step forward.

In a voice that echoed with her exhaustion, Adela recounted their travels through the Deep Roads, how they had found Caridin's Cross, Ortan Thaig, and beyond to Bownammar. Oghren shuffled his feet a little as she told of how they had managed to track Branka beyond Ortan Thaig, and, without mentioning what Branka had actually done, that the entirety of her house had been decimated by the darkspawn.

Oghren snorted slightly beside her, and the elf glanced over, concern and confusion marring her features. With a shake of his shaggy head, Oghren stepped forward, and recounted exactly what had happened to his house, to the men and women who had served within that house, and what Branka had sought. More than a few deshyrs gasped as the ill treatment Branka had inflicted upon her family and those who served her, and others proclaimed out loud in anger against her actions. A few, Prince Bhelan included, had stated that the technology of the Anvil would be worth any price, and stood straight and certain, defying any to rebuff his words.

Beside Roland, Serena stiffened at her brother's words, and the warden was certain he heard the noblewoman beside him mutter a curse. Discreetly, he placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder, and felt the tension ease slightly.

"So the Anvil of the Void was found?" a deshyr asked from his alcove, his broad hands gripping the rail in front of him.

Nodding, Adela replied, "Indeed. The Paragon, Caridin, yet remained, alive, trapped in the form of a golem. It was he that bade us to help him destroy the Anvil, in exchange for his support in appointing Orzammar's next ruler."

Eyes shifting and narrowing, Bhelan added his voice to the questioning, "What proof have we of his cooperation?" Adela frowned up at the dwarven noble, a blond brow quirking up in question. "I mean no disrespect to you, Warden Commander," the dwarf bowed deeply, yet his eyes never left hers, "but all we have is the word of outsiders, a disgraced dwarven warrior, and what I presume a casteless from the Legion," his hand swept to include the disguised Serena. "What tactile proof have you of Caridin's assistance?"

A small smile crossed her lips as she slipped her pack to the floor. "The Paragon Caridin had crafted a crown, emblazoned with his choice's personal heraldry."

Intrigued, Steward Bandelor stepped forward, bending his head to the elf as his eyes scanned the contents of her pack. With a slight widening of his eyes, he glanced over at the helmed, feminine dwarven form who stood beside Roland and Niall. Then, a small smile crossed his lips and he nodded, bending down to pick up the crown, and examine it carefully.

The way he had his body turned, his hands upon the crown, none could detect the heraldry thereupon.

"Well?" Bhelan demanded, impatience heavy in his normally soft voice. "What heraldry is emblazoned upon the crown?"

Bandelor straightened, keeping the heraldry hidden under a hand as he turned to look at the Warden Commander. Adela nodded her head, bowing slightly as she stepped aside to allow the Steward ample time to regain his position at the center of the floor.

Once he was back in his place, Adela spoke again. "Paragon Caridin had taken many things into account, but most especially his own understanding of what was going on in Orzammar as well as evidence as presented to his very eyes."

The elf frowned slightly, glancing up at Harrowmont. The elder dwarf stood, calm and curious, his own gray eyes fixed upon the elf. She watched as they slid, momentarily, to the feminine dwarven figure beside Adela and she was certain realization lit in those sharp, wise old eyes. A mere, almost imperceptible nod of the head, and Adela knew he understood who stood behind her at this time.

"And what of Paragon Branka?" another deshyr, one standing close to Prince Bhelan, questioned, her voice rising an octave as she sought to be heard throughout the grand chamber.

"She died when she attacked Paragon Caridin," Adela recounted, telling how the Paragon had insisted that the cost of dwarven lives was well worth the discovery and usage of the Anvil. The elf fell silent as the chamber filled with voices, some angry, indignant, that their living Paragon had died in such a manner, in such surroundings. Bandelor's staff cracked loudly upon the floor, demanding silence as the wardens and their companions answered questions and retold their story.

Finally, after watching the fatigue that consumed the Wardens and their companions continue to take its toll, Steward Bandelor called for a halt to the questioning. A Paragon, one even more famed and legendary than Branka, had crafted a crown, proclaiming his choice of ruler. That, along with the Assembly's previous agreement that the Warden Commander herself could so make the choice, prompted the Steward to call for silence, to allow the Commander to announce whom the paragon had chosen to succeed the throne of Orzammar.

"Steward Bandelor," Adela acknowledged the elder man with a bow, "Would you kindly proclaim to all present herein whose heraldry graces the crown you hold?"

Bowing formally to the chief representative of the Grey Wardens within Orzammar, Steward Bandelor managed to conceal the smile that remained upon his face. As he straightened, however, his countenance resumed an impassive, neutral expression. Stepping back into the floor's center, the Steward raised the crown. There were gasps throughout the Assembly, for the crown itself was created of dragon bone, gold, red steal and silverite. A delicate, simple creation with thirteen points to represent the lost thaigs. A single spike rose delicately at the brow, the personal heraldry emblazoned thereon.

It was as much the beautiful creation the gasps were for as it was the realization of whose heraldry was engraved upon the front of the masterpiece.

Gold inlay set upon silverite, the gold depicting the countenance of a dwarf - the emblem of House Aeducan. Surrounding the silverite was dragon bone, carved into a shield, emblazoned with a thirteen spoke wheel.

As every eye turned toward the female dwarf, Serena stepped forward, raising her head as she removed her helm for all to see.

There were more cheers than outraged shouts, and Lord Harrowmont himself nodded, offering the young noblewoman a smile, a sparkle in his gray eyes.

Prince Bhelan's voice was the loudest to protest against his sister's installation as ruler of Orzammar.

"Need I remind all in attendance that Serena has been exiled? Stricken from the memories themselves for the murder of our Prince, Trian!" He cried out, waving an imperious hand toward his sister.

Adela did not miss the sad expression that momentarily creased Serena's lovely face. Although the dwarven noble had not spoken of it, whenever Bhelan's name came up in conversation, she had taken note of a certain longing and sadness in her voice. The young woman had obviously loved her younger brother, and his betrayal of her had hurt her deeply.

The sound of silverite cracking against stone reverberated throughout the chamber, and every eye once more focused upon the Steward, silence taking hold.

Raising the crown, the old man turned it so that all could see the heraldry of Caridin: a silver anvil, leaking red, upon a black field.

"There is no doubt, my Lords and Ladies," the Steward intoned in a firm voice that carried well in the Assembly. "This is, indeed, the work of a Paragon." He turned to face Serena, bowing deeply to the young woman. "And it would appear that he found both candidates for the throne lacking."

Serena smiled at the man as supporters of both Harrowmont and Bhelan cried out against the man's words. Harrowmont raised his hands, calling for silence. With respect, Bandelor acknowledged the lord, and all fell silent.

With a slight bow of his head, Harrowmont said, "It is true, both of us are unworthy of the throne of Orzammar," he shook his head as his supporters muttered platitudes to the old man. "It is true. When King Endrin asked that I make certain Bhelan never ascend to the throne, the only means I could think to do so was to offer myself up as a candidate. Apparently," he turned to smile openly upon the Aeducan noblewoman who stood below, beside the Steward. "Endrin must have known something that I had not."

Serena smiled up at the man who was also kinsman to her and her younger brother. One of the few that had believed her when she insisted upon her own innocence. The man who had arrange for the mere exile to the surface of someone who had meant so much to her…

Voices again rose, and a call for the Shaper of Memories to come and confirm that the trademark upon the back of the crown was, indeed, authentic. As a runner left the chamber, a general murmur rose from the nobles therein gathered. Bandelor stepped nearer to speak quietly with Serena, and Adela raised her eyes to survey the gathered nobility.

Lord Harrowmont stood there, watching as Serena spoke quietly with the Steward, an almost fatherly look in those wise, tired eyes. He must have felt Adela's gaze upon him for he turned and met her open and frank gaze with one of his own, before bowing his head slightly and turning his attention to one of his sycophants at his elbow.

Her eyes then shifted to where Prince Bhelan stood, glaring down at his elder sister. He shifted on his feet, bending an ear slightly to listen to obvious platitudes from one of his own cronies. That he was nervous was obvious simply by his body language: instead of relaxed and sure as he had been moments before, his feet shuffled slightly, and his spine was now ram rod straight.

Adela's gaze continued their journey over the faces and forms of the gathered dwarves, smiling slightly as she felt Alistair move closer to her side. He remained quiet, taking in everything going on around them, but had let a hand stray to her arm, touching lightly upon her elbow as a show of reassurance. She glanced over at him, offered him a smile, and then looked up to see Fergus watching the entire drama surrounding him with a mixture of amusement, bemusement and interest that only a noble raised to such a station could demonstrate.

Within fifteen minutes the runner had returned, trailed slightly by the elderly Shaper of Memories, his white beard nearly bristling with the excitement the man felt as he stepped nearer the Steward, hands outstretched for the priceless artifact Bandelor still held.

Hands dried out from decades of working parchment, vellum, stone, chalk and such held the crown reverently, his dark eyes skimming over the entirety of the artifact. Carefully, he turned it over, taking in each and every detail, muttering to the young man that stood by his side, stylus and tablet in hand as he took notes of every detail intoned by the Shaper. As he continued to study, his eyes lit up, and he pulled the crown closer, examining the mark of the Paragon Smith minutely. Then, after another moment's study, he nodded, reluctantly handing the crown back to the Steward. The Steward bowed deeply to the elderly librarian, and then turned, crown in hand, Serena's heraldry outwards for all to see, facing the assemblage of nobles.

"Shaper, please advise all gathered herein of your findings," the Steward instructed in a clear, loud voice.

With a nod, the elderly scholar stepped forward, his eyes going once to the crown, and then raising to address the nobles and deshyrs.

"Every master craftsman has a mark, something with which he or she engraves upon their works as a means of identifying it as one of their own. Some masters even add a little extra to their mark, to ensure against forgeries. Paragon Caridin had one such mark."

The scholar smiled, eyes dimming slightly as he recalled the tomes only he, as the Shaper of Memories, had access to. "As the Shaper of Memories, only I, and those Shapers preceding and proceeding me, have access to this knowledge. In so doing, we safeguard against unsavory personages from trying to pass inferior works as one of a master's. That crown," he gestured toward the item in question, "bears the altered mark of Caridin, Paragon, Master Smith of Ortan Thaig, Bownammar and Orzammar."

"You are saying that it is genuine?" The Steward prompted, trying to rush along the history lesson the scholar was obviously trying to impress upon those anxious and harried deshyrs who merely wanted an end to the debate and settle the issue of the throne.

Nodding, ignoring that the Steward had interrupted him, the Shaper replied, "It is, indeed, the work of Caridin."

Thanking the Shaper, Steward Bandelor lifted the crown, displaying it proudly to all those gathered. He then turned, indicating that Serena move to his side. "Then, as by the words of the Paragon Caridin, by the proof of his works that he favors that Serena Bryndis Aeducan, second child of the late King Endrin Aeducan, hereby takes the Throne of Orzammar, to lead us by the will and grace of our Ancestors."

"Let it be so," intoned the gathered nobles, staves of state tapping against the stone as the Steward turned to the noblewoman, who had bent down to one knee before him. Only Bhelan did not add his voice and staff to those of the nobles surrounding him, his eyes dark and glaring, fixed upon the bent head of his sister. A sharp 'No!" escaped his lips as the crown settled upon her red-blond head, and he surged forward from his alcove on the floor level, reaching over to grasp his sword as he advanced upon his sister.

Nobles fell away from the angered Prince, as guards surged and surrounded him. Alistair swept forward, his shield leading, to knock the dwarven nobleman on his back. As the dwarf struggled to regain his feet, the human Warden brought his sword to bare, pressing it against the soft flesh of the Prince's neck.

No one moved, even Bhelan's former supporters had added their voices to the confirmation of Serena as Queen. Hatred and anger flowed off the nobleman in great waves as his sister, Caridin's crown firmly upon her fine head, stepped to him, looking down at him with such sadness in her eyes.

"Bhelan, Prince of House Aeducan," she took a deep breath, blinking passed any tears that threatened to make their presence known. "I charge you with the murder of Prince Trian Aeducan, rightful heir to the throne of Orzammar. I charge that it was you that set upon him and his men, as they valiantly sought to bring the fight to the darkspawn within the bowels of the Deep Roads. That it was by your hand or by your order that he found his death." She took a deep breath, watching as his eyes glittered at her, giving nothing away, and yet everything. "I charge that you then sought to betray and lay the blame of his foul murder at my feet, and thus condemned me to a fate within the Deep Roads that we had never imagined," she shuddered then, recalling Laryn, Hespith and the other women of House Branka and their horrid fates. She made a note to record the findings at the Shaperate, for all dwarves needed to be aware of the broodmothers.

"I, Lord Pyral Harrowmont, hereby second and uphold the charges made against Bhelan Aeducan by Queen Serena Aeducan," the lord intoned from his own floor level alcove, his eyes fixed upon the stony features of the younger Aeducan.

"And I, Lord Anwer Dace, hereby add my voice to that of the honorable Lord Harrowmont and Queen Serena Aeducan," the nobleman stepped forward, his second tier alcove awash in light as he glared down at the still prone figure of Bhelan Aeducan.

"With the charges so seconded, have we a vote as to the guilt of Prince Bhelan Aeducan?" Bandelor asked as he turned a circuit, his eyes fixing upon each deshyr. A series of 'ayes', sprinkled with very few 'nays' rose up. The Steward nodded once, solemnly, and then turned to the newly appointed Queen.

"Your Majesty," the Steward bowed again, "The deshyrs have confirmed your charges. What say you as to Bhelan Aeducan's punishment?"

Her eyes still fixed upon her brother, Serena set her face in an impassive mask. "For the crime of fratricide, the charge of conspiracy against a noble of high standing, the only punishment is banishment to the Deep Roads." Bhelan paled as he struggled to his feet, a guard pulling him roughly up. "He shall journey therein, devoid of armor or armaments of any kind, to fight against the darkspawn until such action brings about his death." She took a step forward, allowing her brother to see the sorrow in her hazel eyes.

In a soft voice she said, "If I thought for a moment, Bhelan, that you would not act against me or any of my supporters, I would merely banish you to the surface." She shook her head, meeting his hate filled glare bravely. "However, it will be only in the Deep Roads wherein you may, once again, regain your honor."

"And so it is decreed," Bandelor intoned. The deshyrs all repeated his words, and the Steward motioned for the guards to strip Bhelan of his armor and weapons. Standing now, clad only in his woolen under clothing, Bhelan stood proudly, not releasing his sister from his glare. Even as the guards led him away, to the great doors that led only into the Deep Roads, he did not relinquish his hold upon her eyes until the grand doors of the Assembly Hall closed behind him.

As the deshyrs and nobles swelled forward to greet their new Queen, Fergus stepped away, moving to where Adela and the others stood, apart, watching quietly as Serena was swept away into something she really had no desire for, but would accept as her duty to her people.

As he approached, Adela turned, smiling tiredly up at the taller human. "So, how have things been here?" she asked, grinning as Leliana moved forward to hug the smaller elf once and the releasing her.

Shrugging, Fergus replied, "Quiet. But, I have a feeling that silence is about to burst," he glanced back to where Serena stood, surrounded by well wishers and nervous guards. "Come. You all look exhausted and, well," his eyes skimmed over their disheveled appearances. "worse. A hot bath, good food and rest is the new duty of the day."

"More like week," Alistair muttered as he pulled his wife against him, bending down to kiss the top of her head.

"A bath," Adela muttered as she and her companions left the Assembly Hall. "I would kill for a bath."