CHAPTER 24

..x..

The dwarves called the Assembly into session the moment the Grey Wardens arrived from the Deep Roads. And this time, Everil stood at the center of the chamber, acting as Paragon Cardin's messenger while holding the crown meant for his chosen king. Her companions stood at the sidelines, still covered in blood and sweat from their last endeavor, just as she was. They were all exhausted, but she wished for nothing more than to put an end to the charade and secure the dwarven forces they needed.

"Grey Warden Everil. You claim to speak in Paragon Caridin's name?" one of the Dashyrs questioned.

"Yes." Her firm gaze held not a sliver of doubt. "I spoke to him in the Deep Roads while searching for Paragon Branka."

"How is that even possible?" asked a female with skepticism. "Caridin was a Paragon, but he disappeared centuries ago. That he had lived this long is… doubtful."

Everil didn't waver. "He'd been turned into a golem by your then king. His purpose was to guard the Anvil of the Void… to protect it."

"I see…" The same woman leaned forth, hands clasped over the massive, stone table."Does that mean you found the Anvil?"

"I did… But the Anvil turned out to be a monstrous creation that even Cardin himself wanted gone," she answered, her eyes moving around the room, meeting their judging stares. "Many dwarves were sacrificed on it, turned into the golems your kin used against the darkspawn during the First Blight. Such a thing would be too dangerous to keep within these walls, especially in the wrong hands. So he crafted this crown with it, then asked me to rid him of it in his stead."

"Does that mean…"

"Yes." She lifted her chin. "I destroyed it as he asked before he cast himself into the abyss."

The dwarves exchanged glances, whispering amongst themselves. Then a man addressed her once more. "What of Paragon Branka? Lord Harrowmont tasked you with finding her, yet here you are."

A brief pause followed as Everil lowered her head in contemplation. Oghren waited anxiously from where he stood, bushy brows meeting at the bridge of his nose. Her next words could forever change Orzammar's memory of Branka and what she'd done for their kingdom. For better or for worse.

"We found the bodies of Paragon Branka and her entire House on our way to the Dead Trenches…" Her gaze went up to the Assembly, her confident voice resonating within the room. "They were not aware of the costs of wielding the Anvil's power when they gave their lives valiantly to reach it, in hopes to bring it back to the people of Orzammar. My companions and the documents we brought with us can attest to this, as well as detail the trail we followed to reach the Anvil."

Oghren's eyes widened. There was no reason for her to lie, but she sought to keep Branka's image as it was before, rather than reveal what truly happened. Whether she was doing it for his sake or for that of the other dwarves, he didn't know. But he couldn't help but appreciate her effort to keep their faith in Branka alive despite everything she'd done near the end of her life.

A pat on the shoulder had him look up to Alistair, who was standing beside him, speaking quietly. "I told you she wouldn't let you down."

"Yeah…" Oghren muttered back. "Boss lady has a good heart..."

"She does, indeed," Wynne added from his other side, smiling at him.

Another Dashyr sadly shook his head. "Such a shame… We could have used the Anvil. And Paragon Branka was our shining beacon of hope… But she will be honored, as all Paragons should."

"That still does not prove that what you claim about Paragon Caridin is true." The female from before eyed her with suspicion. "How can you prove to us that what you say is the truth?"

"Here…" Everil walked up to the Assembly's old steward, offering him the crown. "See for yourself."

Wrinkled fingers grasped the heavy piece of steel as he inspected the details. "By the Ancestors…"

"What is it Bandelor?" the woman asked expectantly.

"She speaks the truth. This was forged by Caridin himself! His insignia is right here, molded into the metal." He gave the crown to her, her eyes growing wide upon seeing the trademark symbol.

"I… cannot believe it," she whispered in awe, her gaze reverting to the Grey Warden. "Who… Who did Caridin choose?"

Never had she possessed the ability to influence the political processes of an entire kingdom. But from her dealings with him, she was confident that Harrowmont had the temperance to rule Orzammar and its people. She glanced towards the man in question, his sage eyes meeting hers from his position at the side of the chamber.

Now all she had to do was speak.

"He chose Lord Harrowmont."

"What!" Prince Bhelen stood from his chair.

"Silence, Bhelen!" Bandelor sharply intervened, halting the dwarf's protests. Then he addressed the chosen king. "Lord Harrowmont, step forth."

Striding with confidence in his step and the poise of a leader, Harrowmont walked past Everil and to the center of the room, taking a knee before the steward.

"The Paragon has chosen you to carry the Kingdom of Orzammar and its people upon your shoulders." He laid the crown upon his head, then his booming voice proclaimed, "Bow before your new king! King Pyral Harrowmont of Orzammar!"

Claps and cheers erupted in the room as the new king arose. But the celebration was short-lived. "I won't allow it!" Prince Bhelen drew his sword, lunging at Harrowmont with a cry.

Swift on her feet, Everil darted forth, drawing Elethea and blocking his attack before he could reach him. She gazed at him coolly, unconcerned by the savage snarl he was giving her. One of the Dashyrs went to his feet, slamming a hand onto his table. "Bhelen! Raising your blade at your king is treason! Stand down!"

"You should do as they say..." Everil's calm tone carried with it a dangerous edge. "We went through a lot of trouble to place someone on the throne. I'm not about to let you kill him."

"Bite me!" he spat bitterly. "I am the one and only king!"

More men appeared from every corner, running towards her and Harrowmont, only for her party to cut them off. Alistair immediately ran one through, while Bjorn pounced on another from behind. Shale swung at two others, slamming them against a pillar, while Oghren swung his axe, eliminating one more.

Everil kicked at Bhelen's knee, breaking his stance before plunging her sword into his gut. Blood gushed onto the polished floors, staining them a deep crimson as the rebel prince gripped her wrist. He groaned pitifully, then crumbled to the ground. She looked over her shoulder at a relieved Harrowmont. "Are you all right, your Majesty?"

He paused for a moment at the honorific and then nodded slowly.

"Traitors these fools!" a female Dashyr condemned harshly. "Disrespecting our chamber in such a way… Take their wretched bodies out of here!" The nearby guards put away their own weapons and did as they were told, picking up the still bleeding dwarves and dragging them away.

"Something else I must thank you for, Warden," Harrowmont said before reaching for a handshake. "You will have our forces in the Blight, as promised. And you will always be welcomed in Orzammar."

"My thanks, sire..." She sheathed her blade, then shook his hand. "I look forward to fighting by your men's side in this war."

"We will be honored." He dipped his head vehemently. "Watch yourselves out there. And call for us when you are ready."

Everil bowed to him, and with their last task finished, she spun about and strode away. Her companions trailed after her, the guards at the door opening the gates for them to exit. With the dwarven military on hand, their chances of defeating the Blight were almost favorable. But there was yet one more resource they needed to better the odds. One that would prove far more challenging to obtain given the political turmoil churning on the surface.

Ferelden's armies.