Behind the Great Doors is an enormous hallway, filled with statues of dwarves.

"These must be statues of the Paragons, the dwarves' most revered ancestors," Leliana explains, as we make our way down the hall.

"Are they a pantheon, like the Creators?" I ask. Shianni used to tell me stories about our elven gods.

"Not quite; the Paragons are dwarves who have made some kind of significant contribution to dwarven society- they even can be made Paragons during their lifetime, which, to the dwarves, makes them like gods walking amongst men."

"Are there any living Paragons now?"

"…I don't know, I suppose we'd have to ask someone," Leliana answers offhandedly, distracted by the giant statues around us.

There's another set of huge doors at the other end of the hallway, which the sentries open for us. The doors open onto a landing, which is already pretty crowded when we walk in. Two dwarves are arguing with each other, both flanked by about a dozen others.

"It is the Assembly who makes a king, and a king who nominates his successor. None of it is carried in the blood," the grey-bearded one on the right insists.

"Or as now, when someone tries using the Assembly to pull a coup," the other one, a younger, fair-haired dwarf retorts. "Who's to say what my father said in his final hours when the usurper Harrowmont was the only one at his bedside?"

"I'll have you thrown in prison!" the grey-beard threatens.

"You've bitten off more than you can chew!" the other one threatens back.

"Handlers!" A guardsman intervenes between the two. "Separate these deshyrs in the Diamond Quarter! I will not have Bhelen incite a riot!" He snaps, glaring at the fair-haired one.

"You'll not speak that way about the man who should be king!" the dwarf standing closest to Bhelen charges forward, drawing his axe and swinging it directly into the guardsman's throat. I look away instinctively, and when I look back, the guardsman is lying unmoving on the ground while another is shouting at the rapidly dispersing crowd.

"I won't have fighting in the Commons, especially in front of outsiders!" He approaches us.

"Veata, surfacer," he greets us tiredly. "I am Havron, Captain of the Guard. I'm bid to let you walk the Commons, but keep your place. Whoever you are, I want order."

"I am Neria, a Grey Warden. I need Orzammar's aid; we are facing a Blight," Neria says, getting straight to the point.

"A Blight, eh? Surface problems," Havron shrugs. "Well, we have no king to hear you. You can join the shouting at the Assembly in the Diamond Quarter if you want. Bunch of deshyr lords bickering over sand. Bhelen, Harrowmont…is one so different? No Paragons here, that's for certain."

"Sounds like Bhelen and Harrowmont are the ones to talk to," Neria guesses. The captain scoffs. "They've caged themselves for fear of each other. As you've seen, keeping order down among us working people is a fool's errand. No place for a proper lord."

"In that case, where might I go to speak to them?"

"Prince Bhelen speaks through his second, Vartag Gavorn, who you can usually find at the Assembly. Lord Harrowmont speaks through Dulin Forender, at the Harrowmont estate."

"Alright. Thank you for your assistance, Captain."

"Don't get too used to it, I've got my hands full and then some these days," the Captain salutes before trudging away.

The road extends in both directions, but we head to the right first. A dwarven woman (I suppose I should just say woman, now that we're in the city of dwarves) approaches Neria with her arms crossed.

"Did you see that?" she says, exasperated. "I cannot believe what this city has come to. This never would have happened when Endrin was alive."

"People are at each other's throats," Neria answers neutrally.

"That's an understatement," the woman scoffs. "The city is torn apart. King Endrin is dead and the Assembly can't decide who takes the throne- Lord Harrowmont, or that monster, Bhelen."

"Why such hate for Bhelen?"

The woman stares at Neria in disbelief. "Everyone knows he killed his brother Trian and let his father's favourite son take the blame. And many question whether Endrin died abed as we were told… or whether Bhelen helped him along!"

"I see. I'm sorry, I should introduce myself. Neria, of the Grey Wardens, and my companions."

"Nerav Helmi, third daughter of the second matron of House Helmi. A pleasure, Warden."

"The pleasure is mine, Nerav. So tell me, did you know King Endrin?"

"Only as a potential match for one of his sons. He was a good king—stern and fair and just," Neria says wistfully.

Sounds like she wanted to marry Endrin, not his son.

"But let me ask you a question, Warden," she adds. "What brings you to Orzammar at a time like this?"

"We are seeking aid against a Blight- we have a treaty that compels Orzammar to help us."

"A Blight," Nerav gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. "Now? But… our warriors are killing each other in the street! I'm sorry, Warden. I fear you will find no aid in Orzammar. If you'd be willing to seek Lord Harrowmont's support, I'd suggest talking to his advisor, Dulin Forender. He might be able to get you an audience. I should go, good luck Warden," Nerav says, hurrying away.

"Wait, uh, Nerav? Could you point us in the direction of the Diamond Quarter?" Neria calls out.

We pass through a bustling marketplace on the way to the Diamond Quarter, with stalls selling everything from armour to vegetables. A red-haired young woman skips up to Neria.

"You look like you're not from around here," she giggles.

"You could say that," Neria smiles.

The woman claps her hands together gleefully. "Oh, wonderful! I've been trying forever to find someone who really knows the surface world. I-I don't suppose you've heard of something called 'The Circle?'"

Neria's smile falters slightly. "Of course. I'm a mage, myself."

"Then I'm truly honoured," says the woman, grasping Neria's hand in both of hers. "I've never met an actual mage. Is it true you can manipulate nature's forces with your mind? Like you're born with lyrium in your veins? I can't even imagine…"

"There really aren't any dwarven mages?"

"Of course not! Haven't you read First Enchanter Caethelun's 'Treatise Concerning Dwarves and the Non-Heritability of Magic'? He tested dwarves from twenty bloodlines, and found they couldn't perform any level of spell-casting, regardless of lyrium exposure or time on the surface," she rambles. "The Circle speculates that lyrium in the Stone shields us from spiritual influences and over time made us immune to them-"

"Right, but what is it you wanted with the Circle, again?"

"I want to go to the Circle, to study," the woman says. She WANTS to go to the Circle? Voluntarily?

"I don't want to do magic," she explains, misreading our expressions. "No dwarf can cast spells, but I don't see why I shouldn't study it. It would be a valuable exchange; Orzammar would learn of one of the great natural forces of the surface, and the Circle gains direct access to our knowledge of lyrium smithing."

"I can see you've given it a lot of thought," Neria acknowledges. "I can write to First Enchanter Irving for you, if you like?"

"That would be wonderful! Oh, by the way, my name is Dagna, daughter of Janar of the Smith Caste. Tell him I've already begun reading the Tevinter Imperium's 'Fortikum Kadab,' and it's just fascinating! Did you know the Imperial Magister Lords once had genealogies of every human family know to produce a mage child?" Dagna starts off rambling again.

Leliana giggles. "She's so enthusiastic and adorable! I'm glad we're helping her."

Dagna gasps. "Oh, I have to go pack my bags, right now! I'll be in my father's shop, come find me when the Circle writes back!" she squeals with excitement and runs off.

We pass through the Commons and into the Diamond Quarter, and arrive at the Harrowmont estate. Neria is only allowed to bring Alistair with her, as a fellow Grey Warden, so the rest of us have to wait around for a while.

"How did it go?" Wynne asks when they come out.

"Harrowmont's advisor, Dulin, wants us to prove we can be trusted by working against Bhelen," Neria rolls her eyes.

"That makes sense," says Zevran reasonably.

"How? How does that makes sense?" Alistair asks, confused.

"He wants us to go to the Proving Grounds to fight in Harrowmont's name in the arena, and to find out why his other fights have withdrawn from the fights. He obviously suspects Bhelen is behind that."

"So, we are against Bhelen, yes?" Zevran queries.

"I don't know," Neria bites her lip. "I feel like we don't know enough about Harrowmont OR Bhelen, yet. They're both shady, that's for sure. Let's go to the palace next, and see what Bhelen's second has to say."

Again, the majority of us wait outside while Neria and Alistair are allowed in to speak to Bhelen's advisor. We draw a lot of odd looks from passers-by; we do make an odd-looking group, with our golem, our Qunari warrior and a mix of humans and elves of wildly varying ages.

When Neria and Alistair return, they look even more stressed out.

"According to Vartag, Harrowmont is painting the grieving prince as a regicidal maniac. In the meantime, the lord does his own dirty dealings in the meantime to buy loyalty from as many noble houses as possible. He's offered to sell the same plot of land to two different noble houses," she explains, gesturing to the identical scrolls in her hand.

"Are we going to tell the nobles about Harrowmont's deception?" Alistair asks.

Neria frowns. "It's wrong of him to play the houses against each other, so, yes. And then we'll go to the Proving Grounds, see what Bhelen has been getting up to behind closed doors, and then… I don't know, we'll go from there."

I'll be honest, I am already very, very confused.