CHAPTER 15

..x..

The sound of chiming metal came as Alistair and the rest of their party climbed the steps to the city gates. Three men were standing ahead of them, engaged in conversation with the only dwarven guard outside. One of the men was too well armed to be a simple traveler, with steel plated armor and a sword at his hip—gear only a knight or a minor lord could afford. The two others behind him seemed to be soldiers accompanying him, likely for protection.

"What do you mean Orzammar is closed?" the lavishly armored one questioned angrily, fingers curling into fists.

"I meant exactly what I said, surfacer. The king is dead and we're not permitted to let outsiders in until our new ruler is chosen," the dwarf replied gruffly, glaring up at him. He too was armored and armed, with iron chainmail and an axe strapped to his back.

"You don't understand. I am Imrek, messenger to the new king of Ferelden. I have come to deliver a message on his behalf. It would be incredibly disrespectful of you to deny me entrance."

Both men turned their attention to Alistair and the others as they approached, the dwarf scowling in annoyance. "More surfacers seeking to enter? Just what is it that's bringing you people here?"

Alistair gave him a polite bow of the head. "We're here on Grey Warden business, good sir. My friends and I—"

"Grey Wardens?" Imrek's eyes narrowed as he took a step. "You're the ones who killed King Cailan and now wander around slandering King Loghain's name!"

Hearing his hostility, Alistair revealed his sword from under his cloak, regarding the messenger cooly while casually resting a hand on the hilt. "Sorry, but in spite of what you've heard, we didn't kill King Cailan. Teyrn Loghain let him, my fellow Wardens, and many other good soldiers die when he betrayed us and ran for the hills." He gave the man a cocky smirk. "But I know you won't believe me and we're not interested in fighting… So how about you ignore our presence like you ignore that your master's a bloody traitor?"

Zevran snickered behind him. "Ouch…"

"You… dare!" The man's threatening look deepened, hand shooting for his sword.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

They all shifted their stares to Everil as she and Sten climbed the steps on the opposite side.

"Another Warden?" one of the soldiers noted with a scowl.

Imrek turned his glare to her, rough voice dripping with venom. "I heard the female was the leader... and that she was the one who killed Teyrn Howe's men at The Pearl. How convenient you're all here."

"All right, if you're all about to fight, take it off my steps. I don't want blood on the stone," the dwarven guard interjected.

"It won't come to that," Everil assured him, stopping just two steps from the messenger. His facts were skewed since Alistair and Leliana were the ones who killed most of those men to save her. But he didn't need to know that. "As you said, I single-handedly killed Howe's men in Denerim. In your case, however, you are outnumbered. So be smart and weigh your odds. We wish to avoid wasting energy fighting you after our long journey here."

Everil could see his hard stare waver, but he stubbornly retained his posture. "No… I will eliminate all who oppose my king!" He gripped his sword, and in a flash of silver, her dagger was at his neck and her free hand grasped his wrist, keeping him from completely drawing the blade.

Imrek froze in place, not daring to move as he gazed down at her sharp blue eyes. His attention then slowly moved to the other Warden, who'd just as swiftly drawn his weapon and was now pressing the tip to his cheek. Meanwhile, Sten had already pinned the other two men with his greatsword, while Leliana aimed an arrow at them.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" Everil spoke evenly. "Walk away with your life or die here and now. Your choice."

He swallowed at her cold tone, realizing she was both serious and fully capable of ending his life. "All right… We stand down."

"A wise decision." She lowered her weapon, the others slowly doing the same.

"Let's go. We should report back to Denerim," he told his men, hurrying past them and down the steps. His two guards went after him, sending angry glances towards them.

The dwarven guard scoffed. "Well, at least I won't have any cleaning to do at the end of my shift."

Everil sheathed her dagger, stepping closer to him. "We need to go inside."

"Like I said…" he sighed tiredly. "I'm not supposed to let any outsiders in until the issue with the crown is resolved."

"We need the help of the dwarves against the Blight and we have treaties that obligate you to provide it," she insisted, standing her ground while handing him the scroll.

He opened it, eyed the seal on it, then rolled it up. "This is the king's seal, all right. You may come in."

"Thank you," she said with a smile before nodding to the others. The great gates were opened for them and they went into the mountain, the guard mumbling something about troublesome surfacers.

.x.x.x.x.

They entered through a large hall, where massive statues of dwarves wielding weapons and tools of their trait lined the stone walls. Dwarves didn't hold the same religion the people of Ferelden did. Instead of venerating the Maker and His earthly wife, they adored their ancestors. Plaques that read Paragon marked each statue, along with names and details of their respective backgrounds. Paragons were considered to be living ancestors, treated in a similar manner as they would treat a god. Chosen for their extraordinary contributions to their society, their voices were given great significance. To the point where they sometimes made decisions on behalf of all their people and above the king himself.

Upon crossing the hall, they opened the next set of doors to the city and the sight that welcomed them nearly took Everil's breath away. The rough sketches she'd seen did no justice to how great it truly was. Rivers of molten metal lit up the gigantic chamber, circling the buildings of stone carved from the walls themselves. The sound of distant hammering spoke of people at work, echoing through the chasm despite the sheer height of the cave's ceiling.

Rough voices arguing drew their attention away from the majestic scenery and to two groups of dwarves currently facing each other further ahead. "The rightful king is Prince Bhelen!" one of them yelled, shoving another from the other group.

"That murderer has no business on the throne! Lord Harrowmont was handpicked by the king. He should be the one wearing the crown!" said someone from the opposition.

"You dare disrespect our prince!" Another dwarf lashed out with his axe, cutting down the one who'd just spoken. Surprise fell over the Grey Wardens and their party as blood splattered the stone floor, pooling beneath the dying man.

"That's enough!" A guard ran up to separate the two factions, pointing his axe at them. "Break this shit off right now! Fighting like animals... in front of visitors no less! Get out of here!"

Bhelen's supporters took a step back, aiming their weapons at their adversaries. "This isn't over!"

They watched them scatter in opposite directions, leaving behind the grumbling guard.

"Charming fellows, aren't they?" Zevran commented dryly.

With the squabble over, the guard turned his attention to the newcomers. "I thought every outsider was to be kept out of Orzammar until further notice… But I suppose you Grey Wardens are the exception."

"There's two candidates for the crown?" asked Everil. "If one of them is the prince, then why not let him inherit it?"

"You definitely just got here…" he replied with a sigh. "Things are not the same here as they are on the surface, in case you haven't noticed. We don't put so much weight on royal blood since our decisions are made by the people and the Assembly. This means anyone they choose can be king if they have their favor."

"Oh... I suppose it all makes sense now," Everil said, wondering why she hadn't remembered that part of dwarven culture.

"And another reason we didn't just give Bhelen the throne in a silver platter is that most think he killed the king's sons during an excursion into the Deep Roads. He, of course, claims he didn't kill them. But when your own father doesn't trust you with the crown…"

"I take it that's where Harrowmont comes in."

"He says the king picked him on his deathbed. I'm inclined to believe him since he and the king were close friends." He shrugged and crossed his arms with a scowl. "But that ain't my choice, and at this point, I don't care who gets the crown. I just hope the Dashyrs at the Assembly will sort this sodded problem out soon before those idiots turn my streets into a battleground."

"I see…" She frowned, taking in all the information. "So the Assembly would be the one to talk to regarding our request for help with the Blight?"

He stroked his thick, dark-brown mustache. "Hrmph… I thought I heard there was one… But I didn't think it was true. Yes, they would be the ones making that decision now. You can find them in the Diamond Quarter. That way." He pointed to the right. "But I have to warn you, Warden… I doubt they'll agree to it at the moment."

Everil released a soft breath. "Why is that? Isn't the Blight a threat to you, as well?"

"It is, but you have to understand that while you surfacers only deal with darkspawn when they break out into the surface, we dwarves have to constantly deal with them down here. A few more attacking ain't going to be something we'd consider a top priority."

"Great..." She looked to Alistair, who was standing beside her with arms crossed, listening to the conversation. "I suppose we'll have to speak with the Assembly and see what our options are."

"Sounds like that's all we can do for now," he replied with a troubled look, then shifted his gaze down to the dwarf. "Erm.. We'll probably need room and board while we figure things out. Is there an inn around here somewhere?"

"Yes, you'll come across it if you go that way," he said, pointing to the left.

"Got it. Thanks."

As they made to walk away, the dwarf added, "And Wardens…"

Both turned to him.

"You may be honored heroes to us, but don't even think that gives you leave to cause me trouble. Laws still apply to you around here."

Everil smiled at the stern words. "Don't worry. We'll try to be good."

With that they continued on, crossing through the streets and heading for the inn.

.x.x.x.x.

As they trekked through the city it was clear that the conflict between the two candidates was common knowledge. The criers—men and women used here to deliver the news—announced the murder they'd just witnessed moments ago, speaking of it as if it hadn't been the first. The rest of the people walking past them spoke amongst each other, each of them with varying opinions on the matter. All seemingly divided.

Upon finding the inn and paying for their rooms, Everil dropped her things off by the bed and released a tired breath. It was warm inside of Orzammar despite the raging cold outside the mountain, so she slid off her winter cloak and set it aside on top of the rest of her gear.

She rolled her shoulders, her back stiff from having been on horseback for so long, in addition to their current situation. They'd expected there would be hurdles here, but she hadn't thought that obtaining dwarven support would be this complicated. Getting a kingdom without a king to help against a nearly impossible task would be a problem. One she feared even her diplomatic skills would probably not solve without help. There must be a way to get this fixed… But how?

A knock snapped her out of her thoughts while causing Bjorn to lift his ears. "Come in," she called, kneeling by her bag.

Alistair opened the door, giving her a tiny smile. "Everyone dropped their things off. We can get going when you're ready."

"Ah, good. Thanks." Everil rummaged through her bag, grabbing the treaty and a couple of items they might need if trouble were to arise. As she did, he entered and closed the door, silently watching her prepare. She gazed up, glancing towards her hound, and then to him. "I think just the three of us will do for now. The others can remain here and rest. No sense in all of us being tired."

"I guess that's a good idea." He looked around, taking in the dwarven runes, glowing crystals, and other objects decorating the walls. "Hey… I just noticed we all have our own rooms this time."

"Yes." She stood and walked up to him. "We could afford it thanks to Teagan's additional help in our last visit to Redcliffe… And my great coin management skills."

"Are you sure we can?" Alistair put on a teasing smile, gently taking her hand in his. "Those few silvers a night for my room may have been a bit wasteful..."

"Is that so…?" she chuckled knowingly.

"Yep…" He leaned down to brush his lips over hers, gently cupping her scarred cheek. "I think we should get the coin back on our way out. I wouldn't want for us to need it and not have it later."

She leaned into his touch, his suggestive tone and the mischief in his eyes stirring her urges. "And where will you stay, exactly?"

"I'll go sleep with the horses."

"Really?" Everil laughed at the unexpected response, choosing to play along. "I think you're only trying to find an excuse to sneak into my room."

He let out a chuckle of his own. "Aw… you caught me. And here I thought my master plan was flawless."

"You're not as subtle as you think." She softly kissed his lips.

"Can't blame me for trying..." he replied quietly before kissing her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Everil let out a soft moan against his mouth, arms snaking over his shoulders and fingers trailing up to his hair. Her heart began to race as their tongues danced, passionately twirling against each other in an agonizing pace. She felt his hands slowly make their way down her back, then under her gambeson, taking hold of her firm rear. She whimpered, his hard grip pulling on that familiar yearning between her legs.

She reluctantly pulled back, breathing heavily and struggling to calm her racing pulse. "Alistair…"

"Yes…?" he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers.

"We should… go get the coin back for your room."

A deep chuckle escaped him. "Just lead the way..."

.x.x.x.x.

The Grey Wardens and the mabari hound crossed the busy streets of the city, heading towards where they were told the Assembly was located. When they entered, they were greeted by one of its members, an old dwarf with a long white beard and clad in a rather lavish silk robe. He led them into the room where several others were gathered to discuss the election of the next king.

Alistair and Everil were left standing cross-armed by the entrance to witness the heated arguments between those present. The dwarves debated for their individual chosen candidate, split by a hard line, both sides unwilling to cave to the other as their voices rose into shouting matches.

"Bhelen is the rightful heir to the throne and already has a great deal of support from the people. Why not just let him have it?" said one of the men, his booming voice daring the others.

"That he's the king's son means nothing!" a woman shouted back. "Harrowmont has the experience and the temperament to lead us. You cannot question that."

"Who says? The man's an old fossil!" the same assembly member from before retorted, glaring at the woman from across the chamber. "We need a fresh mind! Now more than ever!"

"What we need is a true ruler! Not a criminal!" another Dashyr stepped in.

"You dare accuse our prince!" came another.

After more heated exchanges, a recess was called. Their bickering solved nothing, leaving the decision up in the air until further notice. Thankfully there was no violence, but it seemed tensions were growing between both sides.

"Our apologies, Wardens… it seems you have come at an inopportune time," the old dwarf who'd served as their guide apologized.

"No kidding…" Alistair replied wryly.

"At this point, whatever business you have with us will have to wait until a new king is crowned. I am sorry..." The dwarf shook his head, then trudged away, leaving the three of them standing in the Assembly hall. Without options.

Everil irritably blew up her bangs. "We can't simply give up. There must be someone here we can approach for help with the Blight."

"I agree… But who?" Alistair frowned, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Quite the problem you have there, Wardens. Perhaps I can help."

A dwarf leaning against the pillar behind them drew their troubled eyes, his hand stroking a voluptuous, red beard. Now that he had their attention, he pushed himself off his resting position and approached them on confident steps. "Greetings…"

"And you are…" Everil prompted with a scrutinizing stare.

"Dulin Forender, Lord Harrowmont's top lieutenant. A pleasure to meet you Grey Wardens." He offered his hand for a handshake.

She shook it, then Alistair did the same. And Everil had the feeling that meeting him out here was no accident. "So… You mentioned you could help us?"

He folded his arms behind his back, standing regally. "Lord Harrowmont heard of your predicament and believes you can both benefit from an... arrangement."

Alistair quirked an eyebrow. "If your lord thinks we can help him, why isn't he asking us himself?"

"As you have no doubt noticed in your short time here, it has become quite dangerous for his lordship to meet personally with anyone who has not properly earned his trust. I hope you can understand that."

"I suppose we'll have to…" Everil sighed, folding her arms. "What does he propose we do?"

"A Proving will be held tonight... Where some of the best fighters in Orzammar will participate. He wishes for you to battle in his name and demonstrate your loyalty to him before granting you a meeting in person. You'll be going against Bhelen's fighters, of course. Which means you'll be showing your support for my lord as the next king."

"Our support…" she echoed hesitantly. "Why should we support Lord Harrowmont over the prince?"

Dulin ran a hand over his beard once more, eyes calculating. "Because he's a hot-headed, self-important fool. His own father denied him the right to the throne, bringing forth his best friend as his chosen successor. That should tell you enough about why my lord is the best choice."

She and Alistair exchanged a glance. This was no ordinary choice they were making. Involving themselves in Orzammar's current political turmoil could ultimately result in the crowning of whomever they helped. Someone who would rule over Orzammar and its people for generations.

"Can you give us a moment?" Everil asked the dwarf, hiding her doubts behind resolute eyes.

Dulin nodded. "Of course."

She motioned for her companion to follow, taking a few steps away from Harrowmont's representative. "Grey Wardens serve all races equally so we're meant to be neutral," Alistair spoke first, quiet enough for only her to hear. "We're not supposed to go around using our influence to choose kings and meddle in politics."

"I know…" she sighed tiredly. "But we don't have much of a choice in this case. We still need their help against the Blight."

"Right…" Alistair placed a hand on his hip and pinched the bridge of his nose as if to thwart an oncoming headache. A pause stretched out between them, then he released a long, frustrated breath. "Have I ever told you how much I hate making big decisions? Because this is definitely one of those times."

"You said once that Grey Wardens are also known for breaking the rules when desperate times called for it," Everil continued, a corner of her lips etching up. "Is this not one of those times?"

"Yes... We're definitely pretty desperate…" He returned the lopsided smile with one of his own. "All right then… I guess we'll just have to hope that this Lord Harrowmont keeps his word after we're done."

"He will. I'll make certain of it." She gave him a pat on the arm before returning to Dulin with their decision.

Alistair remained where he stood, watching the two talk and shake hands to seal the deal. He didn't like going against Duncan's teachings, but he also knew his mentor would have likely done the same thing in their shoes. Only time would tell if this choice of theirs was worth the risk.