"Ah, Orzammar!" Alistair declared. "Smells like vomit!"

"No," said Lance, scowling at his friend. "It smells like rancid sweat. Vomit is thicker."

"It's like a little city," Leliana declared as they approached the various surface Dwarves and tradesmen outside of Orzammar's main gate. They left the corpses of a half-dozen bounty hunters on the mountain pass. They were wanted men… and women.

They approached the main gate, and Alistair whispered to Lance that it was sealed.

"Is that unusual?" he asked. Alistair nodded.

Three men were standing at the gate, arguing with one of the gate guards.

"King Loghain will not stand for this! As his personal messenger I demand an audience with your Lords or Deshyrs or whatever you call them in your Assembly."

"Veata! There will be no entry to Orzammar!"

"I am the King's messenger!"

"I don't care if you're his personal wiper. No one is getting into Orzammar."

Lance approached the guard, putting on his most personable demeanor. He waved for his companions to remain quiet, especially Morrigan. As much as he loved her, she was about as diplomatic as a Hurlock.

"I need to see your King immediately," said Lance. "I have important business in Orzammar."

The Dwarf shook his head.

Loghain's messenger, a man that Lance had decided could best be described as an insufferable prick, spoke up, "Who doesn't? But if anyone's getting in, it had better be me."

"I am a Grey Warden," said Lance, producing the treaties for the Dwarf guard. "This treaty obliges Orzammar to aid us in fighting the Blight."

The Dwarf looked over the treaties, and handed them back.

"They bear the royal seal. You may enter, Warden. But know that the Dwarves cannot provide the assistance you seek; King Aeducan has returned to the stone."

"What?" the messenger shouted. "This… stain on Ferelden killed our good King Cailan and has caused an uprising in Ferelden nobility! I demand that you kill him immediately."

"We can go right now," said Lance, reaching casually for Starfang. "Really. If you'd like."

The messenger glanced back at his companions, one of them a mage. The mage leaned forward whispering something to the messenger, indicating both Wynne and Morrigan as well as Alistair. Zevran had already moved to the opposing group's rear, having escaped all notice.

"Ah," the messenger said, clearing his throat. "I will return to Denerim! At once! Do not think you have escaped, Grey Warden. You will find justice, eventually."

"Thank you, Warden," said the gate guard when the messenger and his party had left. "That man had been barking for days now. Are all surfacers so touched? Regardless, you may enter."

He stepped aside, allowing the group passage to Orzammar proper.

Lance, being the avid reader he was, had heard tales of the majesty of the Dwarven kingdom, and of their once great empire. Now, he found himself wondering if any of those authors had even seen Orzammar. The real thing was simply too incredible to put into words.

They were in what was called the Hall of Heroes. The room was carved from the mountain, and lit with numerous braziers that hung from the ceiling. The Hall served as a showcase for the countless Paragon statues, each ten feet tall and carved from some unknown stone substance.

"Sweet Andraste's toenail clippings," Alistair muttered. Lance could only nod.

"Well, if there's anything complimentary to be said about these short people, 'tis that they possess a remarkable faculty for carving stone," said Morrigan, looking around, visibly hiding her awe. Lance looked over at her, glad that she was even once cowed by something visual.

She of course turned from awe to fright as she looked up at the stone ceiling.

"But the thought of some much rock over one's head is… disquieting."

"Don't worry," said Lance, reaching over to take her hand. She looked at him, smirking. She shook her head.

"I am not worried. I am only unused to the concept of going underground."

"As am I," said Lance. "And I'm worried."

She laughed, eliciting a hacking noise from Alistair.

"Let us be off," he said. "We wouldn't want to become glued to the floor."

They walked through the Hall, each awed by the magnificence of the Dwarven mastery over rock.

The big stone doors that lead into Orzammar proper were opened for them by a pair of sweaty guards. They shoved them, moving them out of the way and providing the opening to the Commons Area. Lance led the way.

"Well, this is… staggering," said Lance, staring up at the city that spread through the mountain's center. He could hardly believe it. Stone buildings that stretched from the very darkest depths of the magma-choked mountain floor to the highest point. Bustling Dwarves, hurrying about their day-to-day business.

"Wow," Morrigan whispered. Lance nodded.

"Sure is something."

"How dare you besmirch the name of our rightful king, Prince Bhelen!"

Lance looked in the direction of the shout, immediately assuming a fighting stance. The irate Dwarf swung his axe, embedding it in the chest of another Dwarf. A guard approached and shooed them off, ordering them to their respective estates in the Diamond Quarter.

Lance stared, shocked that there would be outright fighting in the streets of Orzammar. Apparently Dwarven politics were as cutthroat as one could get. And then some.

"I will not have fighting in front of outsiders!" shouted the guard captain. He approached the group. "You there! You are Grey Wardens, yes? No surfacer comes to Orzammar unless it is a Warden on his Calling."

"We are Wardens, yes," said Alistair, indicating himself and Lance. "But we are not on our Callings. We are here to seek aid against the Blight."

"Good luck with that," said the captain. "Without a king we've no one with the authority to order our armies."

"I heard that King Aeducan passed on. Isn't there anyway I can get Dwarven support?" asked Lance. The captain shrugged.

"Short of performing a coup of the Assembly? I doubt it. The Deshyrs are deadlocked."

"You vote your kings in?" asked Alistair. "What kind of crazy system of monarchy is that?"

"How has letting your king's spawn take the throne worked for you?"

"Good point."

Lance waved his hand, a little frustrated that they'd gone way out of their way to visit the Dwarves just to discover that it had been a complete waste of time.

"Why are they deadlocked? Who's running?"

"Currently the biggest contenders are Prince Bhelen Aeducan and Lord Pyral Harrowmont. Give it a week and it'll be a new pair."

"Why can't the Assembly decide?"

"Huh. You must be new to politics. With all their backroom deals and fanatics, both Bhelen and Harrowmont have the Assembly split on votes. There's no one left to bribe that hasn't been already."

"What about merit? Surely one has more than the other."

"What does that matter? One's just as good as the other, as far as most Dwarves are concerned."

"So the only way I can get the army moving is if I get the Assembly to pick a king?"

"Well when you put it that way you make it all sound like a glorified fetch quest," said the captain, crossing his arms with an angry look. Lance rubbed the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache.

"Well… do they have political platforms?"

"Political what?"

"What are they running for? Does one promise one thing, and the other another? What are their stances on the issues?"

"Bhelen is a reformer," said the captain, thinking. "He's lost some popularity because of it. He was King Aeducan's least favorite. Harrowmont insists that Endrin wanted him on the throne, not his son."

"What sort of reforms does Bhelen want?"

"He wants to abolish the caste system, for one," said the captain. He scowled as he spoke. "He wants to give the Dusters a chance for 'vertical advancement' as he puts it."

"Dusters?"

"Casteless. Do you surfacers not have castes? These people are lower than the dust they sit in."

"I see," said Lance. He glances over at Alistair who rolled his eyes. Lance had been in politics enough – still too much for his blood – to understand prejudice. Stuffy nobles born far removed from the plight of the underclass often lost touch with what made them nobility in the first place. It was the same with the Elves in human society. Lance had never been to an Alienage, but Marna's stories made it sound awful.

If these "Dusters" were anything similar to the Elves, then Lance knew who he was supporting.

"Where can I find him?" he asked. The captain gave him a strange look.

"In the Royal Palace in the Diamond Quarter, of course."

"Then that's where I'm headed. Thank you."

They turned and headed for the rough direction the Dwarf had pointed out, hoping they recognized enough of the Dwarven language to stumble upon this Diamond Quarter. By the sounds of it, it was where the nobility sequestered themselves from the commoners.

"This must seem like a return to your home, Warden," said Morrigan. Lance shook his head.

"I hated the politics. I never wanted any part of it."

"Oh? You did not wish your birthright?"

"Hardly. It was all nonsense. All about who could stab who in the back with a bigger smile."

"Sounds wonderful."

"For some."

They were in some sort of market, and Lance knew that he was lost. He looked around, saw that there were a number of vendors, all hawking their wares in the best manner they knew how. Which equated to loud shouting.

"Ooh, look at that," Leliana said, stopping to examine a Dwarf who was selling some sort of horrific underground animal. "It's like a cute little bunny-pig!"

"Don't touch it," said Lance. "You don't know where it's been."

"Aw, but look at it!"

Morrigan was examining some sort of robe, made from a silk-like material that Lance was sure hadn't come from silk. In fact, the whole of the party was busy looking at all sorts of items being sold at the market.

Lance laughed to himself. They had a world to save and seemed to be actively trying to do anything they could to not save it. If he wasn't hunting down Witches, then they were milling about in a foreign market.

He looked over the tables, examined the knick-knacks that by and large didn't interest him.

"This all just a huge pile of-"

Then he saw it.

He could scarcely believe his eyes. He reached out to touch it, looking over his shoulder to make sure that Morrigan wasn't looking.

"It was so beautiful. Encrusted with gems and carvings, I was so happy to have it."

He reached to touch the golden mirror that lay on the table. Polished glass, held in gold. He picked it up and examined it, saw that the back was a mixture of carved animals, that the rim surrounding the glass was encrusted with various gems, some of which Lance couldn't recognize.

"You l-l-l-like it?" asked the Dwarf who was running the stand. "It's a g-good piece, despite the lack of l-l-lyrium."

"Yeah, I like it," said Lance. "How much?"

"T-t-ten silver."

Lance handed the man a sovereign, grinning all the while. He took some wax paper to keep the mirror safe in his pack. He made sure to keep it secret from Morrigan. Oh, she would be so happy to get such a gift. He would wait for the right moment, surprise her with it.

What a good day it would be for them both.

And now, about that Diamond Quarter…