Chapter 53: Deep Roads and Drunkards
As the Proving Master announced that the Warden had been victorious, Flora collapsed back in the wooden chair, a tide of relief flooding through her body. She heard Bhelen's deshyr give a snort of disgust, then retracted her feet quickly as he shoved past her to exit the balcony.
The crowd began to move, the rustling of clothing and audible press of bodies indicating that many were now heading out to various taverns, ready to dissect the day's matches over several large tankards. Flora began to feel rather stupid, sitting in place with eyes and hands bound. She heard the Proving Master vacate the chair beside her, then the sounds of rapid footsteps against the stone. Fingers slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head with tender familiarity. Lips she recognised pressed against her own, heady with the taste of victory.
"Sten, is that you?" she breathed when the mouth pulled away. Alistair let out a bark of laughter, his fingers moving to untie the cloth around her eyes.
"No, my darling, it's Aristo," he murmured lightly, as she squinted against the sudden flare of firelight. Sten himself was standing to one side, his revolted expression indicating that he had overheard her comment. Flora stared up at her brother-warden, a lump of relief rising in her throat. Her eyes dropped to Alistair's arm, noticing that the mail was bloodied and torn.
"Rogue," confessed Alistair with a grimace, stretching out the injured elbow. "My fault; too busy trying to stop his friend from cleaving my manhood off with a giant axe."
Flora grinned up at him, then gestured to Sten as best she could with bound wrists.
"Could you-..?" She waved her fingers vaguely but he was able to glean her meaning. When the Qunari had positioned his seven-foot bulk to obscure them from sight, Flora leaned forward and brought her mouth to the ragged mail. Her lips parted over the torn skin beneath and she closed her eyes. Instead of the gold ring, she felt the cool weight of Alistair's silver amulet against the hollow of her throat, and focused on that instead. When she opened her eyes, she saw not a wound, but individual strands of severed sinew, the torn fibrous matter of the muscle itself.
Now, breathe.
She exhaled, feeling golden mist surge from beneath her tongue. Carried on the force of the air expelled from her lungs, it settled into the wound. The flesh began to knit together, renewing in mere seconds what would have taken months to regrow naturally. It took three more exhalations until fresh pink skin had formed over the healed muscle.
"Good as new," he murmured, flexing the arm and marvelling at its soundness. "My clever girl."
They met Dulin in the entrance hall, Alistair receiving much laudation and praise from the crowds as he passed through. Harrowmont's second inclined his head, not bothering to disguise the incredulous look on his face.
"I must say, I thought that rogue almost had you," he said admiringly, eyes moving to Alistair's bloodied sleeve. "Do you need a poultice or bandages?"
"Ah, no," Alistair replied vaguely, while Flora dropped her gaze. "I'll be fine."
"Lord Harrowmont extends his gratitude to you for fighting in his name in the Proving," Dulin informed them as they stepped out into the Commons. Sten, who had been studiously ignoring several admiring fans, appeared relieved that the main thoroughfare was relatively quiet.
"Grateful enough to actually see us now?" interrupted Flora, then winced as a crier beside them broke into a deafening bellow.
"GREY WARDEN ARISTO CHAMPION OF THE PROVING! ANCESTORS FAVOUR HARROWMONT'S MAN!"
Dulin nodded, leading them down the wide paved avenue. They passed the threshold into the Diamond Quarter, ascending to the highest level of the city.
"Lord Harrowmont's estate is just along here," the dwarf explained, as Flora's head rotated longingly in the direction of a grilled meat vendor. Unfortunately, he was in the process of being escorted back towards the Commons by two grim-faced guards.
"She's been gone two years!" A loud voice drew her attention back to the thoroughfare before them. Their way was blocked by two dwarves, one clutching a bottle and clearly inebriated. The other appeared to be attempting to reason with his drunken companion, shooting them an apologetic glance.
"Oghren, you're making a fool of yourself. You're becoming more known for your drunkenness than your skill with a blade."
The drunk's eyes were as red as his blazing hair and braided moustache. His leathers were stained, and he smelt like a brewery on fire.
"If you all would just listen to me…! Let me go with you on your expeditions!"
"You're a liability, Oghren," hissed back his companion, shoving him bodily out of the Wardens' path. Sten looked appalled at such a wanton lack of self-control, his scarlet irises expanding in disapproval.
"I'm her husband, nug humper! I should be going with you!"
The drunkard's companion turned to Dulin, who was clearly a familiar face.
"Where's the guards? He's been raving outside the Assembly, I just dragged him away."
"Escorting a rogue trader back down to the Commons," replied Dulin, as the red-headed dwarf took another long swig from the bottle. Then, realising it was drained, he tossed it into an ornamental magma display.
"Who's been gone two years?" asked Alistair, gazing at the drunk dwarf with some concern. Flora felt a twinge of recognition, a memory sparking in the back of her mind.
"Paragon Branka," she said, recalling the steward in the Hall of Heroes, and the one named Oghren looked up. Despite his sodden face and shadowed features, a sudden sharpness flared in his dark eyes.
"Aye, lassie." Oghren's face contorted slightly, the machinations of his mind visibly turning. He looked them both up and down; and his ale-addled brain made the connection between them and the rumours that had spread on all levels of the city.
"You're the two Grey Wardens," he mumbled eventually, eyeing them both. "Funny, I thought you'd both be men."
Flora scowled, but before she could respond, Dulin interjected quickly.
"Yes, Oghren, they're Wardens and they have important business with Lord Harrowmont, so if you'll excuse us!"
Dulin hurried them quickly past the gaping and now empty-handed Oghren, towards another impressive stone edifice. Flora glanced over her shoulder; the drunken dwarf was staring after them, swaying slightly on his feet.
"Sorry about that," muttered Dulin as they ascended a sweeping flight of stone steps, leading up to a pair of imposing doors. "Someone needs to take him on an expedition to the Deep Roads and just leave him there."
Sten, after stating that there was no need for him to accompany them on Warden-business, elected to remain outside. Harrowmont's man led them into the interior of the estate, apologising for the necessity of the heavy guard presence. As he explained about the trouble caused by Bhelen's fanatics on all levels of the city, Flora gazed around at the stark and beautiful décor. Display cases of living lyrium were set into the walls, casting glowing shadows over the flagstones. Ornate metal grilles were fixed over streams of slow-moving magma, providing both heat and light. Stalactites clung to the ceiling; rather than being removed, they had been studded with rock crystals and used as ornamentation.
Dulin's man led them into a side wing, which branched off into several passages. Pausing outside an unassuming wooden door, he gave a knock.
"Come in," called a voice from within.
In contrast to the rest of the estate, Harrowmont's study was plain and austere. The old dwarf rose from a desk overflowing with papers to greet them as they entered. He was clad in scarlet velvet robes and wore the gold band of a deshyr lord around his forehead.
"Wardens, it is my pleasure to welcome you to my estate. Thank you for your participation in the Proving on my behalf," Harrowmont said, gesturing for them to take a seat opposite him.
"Will it be enough to seal the election in your favour?" asked Alistair, who to Flora's relief had decided to dispatch with the pleasantries. She nodded, sea-grey gaze searching Harrowmont's lined face. There was something about his kind, grandfatherly mannerisms that reminded her of Bardon, the old fisherman from Redcliffe.
"We need an army," she added, then realised that she was unable to retrieve the old treaties from within her linen shirt with her hands bound. From Alistair's twitching face, it appeared that he had just had the same realisation.
Fortunately, Harrowmont spared him the embarrassment of trying to retrieve them. The dwarf sighed, leaning forward on his fingers.
"I know of the treaties, you need not wave them at me. If I was king, I would readily grant you the forces you require. A Blight may only affect us indirectly, but I have no desire to see the surface fall to the Darkspawn horde."
"So winning the Proving won't be enough for the Assembly to vote in your favour?" asked Alistair, his shoulders slumping. The dwarven lord shook his head helplessly, raising his palms.
"I know that Bhelen has half the deshyr in his pocket. I cannot think of anything that would force Assembly to unite – save for a Paragon's influence."
Flora, whose eyes had not left the old dwarf's face, saw a faint flicker of hope in his raised gaze.
"You mean Branka?" she whispered, as Alistair glanced sideways at her in confusion. "Branka, the one lost for two years in the Deep Roads?"
"Aye, lass," murmured Harrowmont, wrinkled fingers idly stroking the surface of a leatherbound tome resting on his desk. "The Assembly is duty-bound to listen to the word of a Paragon. If you could find her, bring her back to Orzammar- "
"But how do you know she's even still alive?" interrupted Alistair, his jaw rigid. "Or where she is? The Deep Roads stretch beneath the whole of Thedas."
The old dwarf slid open the top drawer of his desk, removing a folded square of parchment. Revealing it as a map, he spread it over the stone surface and pointed to an ink-circled crossroads.
"Our last expedition tracked her to Caridin's Cross, just here. They found remnants of a camp before they were forced to turn back."
He did not add why the expedition had ended prematurely, knowing the Wardens did not require any further elaboration.
"The Deep Roads are quieter during a Blight," he added, his voice taking on a persuasive note. "If you could retrieve Branka and bring her back- we could end the Assembly's deadlock. Then you could get your army."
"And you would be King," added Alistair, narrowing his eyes at the old dwarf. Harrowmont nodded, acknowledging his own gain. When he spoke, his voice was low and earnest.
"Endrin Aeducan – the old king – was my friend. He made me swear on his deathbed that I would not allow his son to take the throne. Bhelen has all the hallmarks of a tyrant in the making."
"Maker, You have to go and make things complicated for us, don't You?" entreated Alistair pitifully to the rock-hewn ceiling. "First the Circle, now this. I bet the Dalish will make us go on a pilgrimage to Tevinter before lending us their aid!"
He glanced sideways at Flora and she met his stare squarely. Something unspoken passed between them, a tacit agreement which needed no verbal confirmation.
"We'll leave tomorrow morning," she said after a few moments, returning her solemn gaze to the old dwarf. "Can you prepare us some supplies?"
Lord Harrowmont gave a nod, relief suffusing his features.
"I will leave them with the entrance guards," he said, rising to his feet and bestowing a bow upon them. "I thank you both, Wardens. Stone watch over you down there."
As they were escorted back towards the entrance by a grim-faced Dulin, Flora nudged Alistair.
"Have you ever been to the Deep Roads?" she asked, and he shook his head mutedly."
"Cleaned out a few entrances with Duncan before, but I've never been properly inside. Usually Wardens only go into the Deep Roads when- "
Alistair paused and she glanced at him, curiously. His face was taut, and uncharacteristically sombre.
"When the taint is about to take them."
This sobering thought occupied Flora until they reached the main thoroughfare. As they bade farewell to Dulin, Sten approached from where he had been leaning against a stone ledge.
"Will Harrowmont be King?" he inquired, bluntly. Flora gave a little wince, shaking her head.
"No."
"Do you have an army?"
"No."
"Are we going to the Assembly?"
"No; to the Deep Roads."
Sten eyed them both with dislike and incredulity.
"It seems as if you have failed in all aspects of this negotiation," he commented, and Flora gave a helpless shrug.
"We don't have a choice," she muttered, feeling the manacles dig painfully into her wrists. "If we have to go into the Deep Roads to get our army, then we'll go there. All that matters is stopping the Blight."
Alistair patted her on the shoulder, half-smiling.
"For a moment there, Flo, you sounded just like Duncan. Except he might have ended up punching someone."
She glanced at him, appalled. "Ooh, I couldn't hit a dwarf! It'd be like hitting a defenceless child."
"Having fought against them," Alistair replied, grimacing as he touched his recently-healed elbow. "I think they'd give as good as they got."
They made their way back to Tapster's Tavern, whispers and covert stares following in their wake. Most were targeted at Alistair and Sten, indicating that news of their victory at the earlier Proving had spread. Sten, who as a Qunari in Ferelden was used to stares, mostly ignored them; but Alistair was unaccustomed to being the centre of attention. Fortunately, those inside the tavern were too focused on their drinks to pay much attention.
Sten disappeared to their room, after shooting them a final contemptuous look. Flora, stomach rumbling, glanced pointedly over at Alistair. They ordered two bowls of stew; then looked around for a place to sit. The tavern was almost full, many of the Proving audience had apparently come straight from the arena. Then, a partially-slurred voice rose over the general chatter.
"Hey! Over here, Wardens…!"
It was the drunkard dwarf from before, occupying a corner table and waving frantically at them. Flora, focused solely on appeasing her stomach, made her way through the crowds and took a seat opposite the red-haired dwarf. Alistair, clutching two pewter bowls of stew, followed more cautiously.
"So, I got a proposal for yeh," the dwarf –Oghren – started with promptly, taking another long gulp from his tankard. The bound Flora nudged Alistair impatiently, and he began to alternate ladling spoonfuls of stew into first her mouth, then his own.
"What proposal?" she mumbled, eyes streaming at the heat. The dwarf leaned forwards, his face alight with anticipation.
"So I put two and two together- which is about all I remember from my schoolin'- and worked out that old Harrowmont must've sent yeh into the Deep Roads."
Flora nudged a distracted Alistair and he raised another mouthful of stew to her mouth.
"How could you possibly know that?" her brother-warden asked, brow furrowing. Oghren tipped back and let out a belch, loud enough to draw approving glances from surrounding patrons.
"Obvious, ain't it? He needs a Paragon to break the stalemate. And the only livin' Paragon is my wife, tooling around on her fool quest in the old thaigs. About time for me to bring her home. I bet Harrowmont's given you some insider information from his last expedition."
"He gave us a map," mumbled Flora, nudging Alistair expectantly.
Alistair frowned, able to smell the reek of ale on the dwarf's breath even from across the table. Ladling up another spoonful of stew, he raised it to Flora's mouth.
"And why should we take you? No offence, but you seem a little catastrophically drunk. Won't you be a liability?"
Oghren opened his mouth to respond, then blinked, gesturing at them in confusion as Alistair raised the spoon to Flora's mouth.
"Sorry, but is this like some… kinky sex thing? Topsider foreplay? I don't understand."
Alistair accidentally rammed the spoon into Flora's mouth so hard that she almost choked on it, spitting a mouthful of stew over the table. Oghren nodded, understandingly.
"Hey, each to their own. Anyway, I might be a drunk but I'm still the best warrior in Orzammar- "
"Maybe a decade ago, Oghren!" called a fellow patron, and the dwarf shook his fist in response.
"Quiet, thunder-humper, or I'll pay your mother a repeat visit! As I was sayin', not only am I the best warrior in Orzammar – past or present!- but I also know what my blasted wife were lookin' for."
Flora regained her breath after nearly swallowing the spoon, eyes streaming.
"What was she lookin'- looking for?"
The dwarf shot her an arch look, before draining his tankard and staggering to his feet.
"Don't want to show my full hand now, darlin', do I? Needless to say, with your map and my knowledge – I'd say we have a pretty damn good shot!"
He slammed the tankard back down on the table, splattering them both with ale.
"I'll see yeh both at the mines entrance tomorrow, shall we say nine bells? Got to give me a chance to sleep this off, heh heh…"
Lost for words, Flora and Alistair stared at one another.
OOC Author Note: I forget to mention in the last chapter – in game, the Proving Master says that he can't pronounce your Surfacer name (which is the excuse for not saying it out loud), so I thought it would be funny to have him interpret Alistair as ARISTO! Also Oghren, as a character, initially horrified me but after spending many hours in the Deep Roads with him …. many, many hours, get me out of here please, it's so depressing…. he's actually quite grown on me! Next time, we'll be preparing to venture into the Deep Roads, and a game of Wicked Grace gets a little bit wicked ;)
