voices, voiceless
in the deep
wake us wake us
from our sleep
sister sister
of the stone
mother mother
please come home
wake us WAKE US
from our sleep
voiceless voices
in the DEEP
Nat jerked awake with a gasp, heart racing, and automatically her hands searched for her usual bed companion. Her thoughts were focused on the dream she'd had: dragons, each of them as terrible-as wonderful-as Urthemiel, sleeping buried deep beneath the earth, farther than any dwarf had gone in an Age. Her bed was too small, where was Duran, why had he not stayed with her tonight? She remembered his warm eyes, looking at her with far more tenderness than she deserved-those eyes glowing bright, his entire body glowing bright, his soul burning with the corrupted Old God-
"-No," she whispered, and covered her face with one hand.
For a long minute she wept. She hadn't truly cried in years, not since her father had left them to try his luck on the surface. She hadn't cried when her Prince fell, hadn't cried at the funeral, hadn't cried when she watched his body leave for Orzammar. Now it felt as though all of her grief was choking her, filling her throat and lungs and stomach until she gasped for breath. She lurched away from her tangled blankets to dunk her head in the cool water of her washbasin, nose and mouth and eyes burning, and held herself underneath until she felt she had control again.
The Denerim clocktower tolled five times. She had missed her chance to leave with Darrian and Zevran. She wasn't entirely sure if that was a bad thing. She'd miss the two elves, but she wouldn't know what to do with herself. Now she was committed to whatever course of action the new Warden-Commander had for her. Who will be the new Commander, she wondered, it can't be Alistair or Elyssa-or Tabris, for that matter...
She put her mind off it. Such thoughts didn't have to concern her; she was only a Carta thug, after all. She made her bed as neatly as she could, pulled on her newly clean Warden armour, and climbed up to sit on the windowsill. In the dark, she couldn't see much of the city, and clouds covered the stars- but in the distance, she could just make out the lighthouse, warning ships away from the shore and guiding them towards the deeper harbour.
The sky gradually lightened, and eventually she was able to see the whole city laid out like a portrait outside her window. Beyond, she saw merchant ships finally returning to Denerim, probably laden down with goods and displaced refugees alike. And then the sea, still half-visible from the night's fog.
A sharp rap on her door disturbed her some time after the sixth hour. She turned her head toward the door but otherwise did not move. "Yes, who is it?"
"Message, ser," said a young voice. "From Warden Amell. 'M not quotin' 'im exactly, ser: 'Come t' the Warden compound at once. We 'ave a letter from Weisshaupt.' Ser, do y'know where Warden Tabris is? I can't find 'im to deliver my message to 'im."
"Don't worry about the message to Warden Tabris, he's left the city," Nat said. She jumped down from the windowsill and opened the door, fishing in her pocket. A young elven boy stood there in a fine new tunic of Theirin colours; she vaguely recognized him as one of the orphans they'd rescued from the Tevinter slavers. She gave him a copper piece in thanks and he left at a trot, calling a thanks over his shoulder.
"Might as well get going now, then," she said under her breath. Would she return to the palace? Probably not. She took a minute to pack all the things she wanted to keep into her rucksack, slipped her visible daggers onto her belt, and blew out the candle on her bedside table.
The Warden Compound was much improved from when she'd seen it last, before they'd left for Redcliffe in a tearing hurry. The dust and cobwebs were gone, the candle stubs had been replaced, and the broken chairs had been used for firewood. The replacement chairs looked like they'd been in storage for some time, but they had comfortable blue cushions. Neria and Daylen were already seated by a desk in one of the front rooms. Nat dropped her rucksack near the door and followed suit.
"I'll assume that you know Darrian was planning to leave the city this morning," said Daylen, looking unusually focused on the living world, sharp eyes catching hers. "He's nowhere to be found."
"I thought he'd told you- he told me yesterday," said Nat, raising her eyebrows. "He and Zev both, they're on their way to Antiva. Left before the fifth bell this morning."
Neria, seated on Daylen's right, smiled and shook her head. Daylen sighed. "I was planning to...but I suppose I'll offer you the job, too." He said it dourly, already anticipating her answer. "Neria already refused it."
"What job?"
"We got a letter from Weisshaupt- came in with a ship yesterday, and a runner found me this morning saying that there's a letter for us here. It's from the First Warden. He commends us on the quickest defeat of a Blight in all history, and says that we are free to choose our new Commander of the Grey. He also says we must begin sending reports to the Chamberlain of the Grey, the senior archivist at Weisshaupt, starting with a full account of what happened here during the Blight." Daylen passed the letter to her to read. Nat, who had only learned to read recently and with no great proficiency, merely glanced over it. The First Warden's personal seal was affixed at the bottom- two griffons addorsed, wings elevated, a banner clutched in their claws. On the banner was written something Orlesian.
"And you want me to take the job?"
"Neria's going to be our archivist- she'll need you to submit a report on what happened in the Deep Roads, by the way, since you're the only Warden alive that was there." Daylen put the letter away in the top right desk drawer. "There are two possibilities for you, then: since Alistair's gone and promised support for the dwarves, we need to man the Warden compound in Orzammar. Either you become the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and restore Vigil's Keep and Soldier's Keep, or you run the compound below, and direct operations in the Deep Roads. Also, all the Wardens who go on their Calling will come through your compound."
"Aren't there two Keeps on the surface that have to be manned?" Nat grumbled. "Why can't I run one of those?"
Neria pulled out a sheaf of papers and pushed them across the table. "These are the papers you'll have to fill out pretty much weekly if you become Commander of the Grey. There's a seneschal coming, but these reports still need to be done by the Commander, not a subordinate. On the other hand," she divided the papers in half and tapped the stack on the left, "you'll only have to do these ones if you go to Orzammar. Once a month, a Warden will come by to collect them."
Nat let her head thunk down on top of the table, and then once more, before she straightened and smiled her best Noble-Hunter smile. "Of course I'll run the compound in Orzammar! Don't want to keep you from the pleasure of so much paperwork, Daylen. I know you love to write."
Daylen shrugged philosophically. "It was either me or let them bring in an Orlesian, and you know how well that would go over."
"As smooth as nug shit," agreed Nat. "Fine, fine. Give me the sodding papers to fill out."
It wasn't as easy to leave with official support as it would have been to slip away in the dead of night, as Darrian and Zevran had. There were more ceremonies, plus a post-wedding feast during which everyone chuckled and gave each other knowing looks, and papers to fill out and reports to make. Nat's report of what happened in Orzammar and the Deep Roads was five pages long, detailing all the tasks which Harrowmont told them to do, the long trek in the Deep Roads, and the fate of Branka and her House. She left out everything personal, though; that was no business but hers, now that Duran had returned to the Stone.
Her armour, which had been half-destroyed in the Final Battle, was replaced by a fine set of Grey Warden leathers. She thought she looked odd in blue and silver, and told the Armsmaster as much, only to be told that it was azure and argent, the Grey Warden colours, and she had to wear them. She was given a shield with the Wardens' rampant griffon, also argent on azure, though she knew she would never use it, and plenty of supplies; it took three wagons to finally send her off. Alistair gave her his official warrant of troops to give to King Harrowmont, saying that he would send the rest of the soldiers within a month. He and Elyssa swung her around like a child, then Daylen carried her on his shoulders to her caravan. Neria sat in the lead wagon with her for most of the morning before flying back to Denerim as a swooptail, a bird common to Lake Calenhad which she'd learned to shift into.
Nat had never been in command of anything before, not even back when she'd worked for the Carta. She had learned from watching Duran and Elyssa, and recently Alistair, but wasn't really sure how to put that into practice for herself. Elyssa had advised her to devise rules and punishments for breaking those rules, for all those under her command; Warden recruits would be hers until they went to either Vigil's Keep or Soldier's Keep, but the Ferelden soldiers would only remain in Orzammar under her command for four months before they were exchanged for another group.
Sergeant Alden, a robust redhead, rode next to her wagon; they made conversation, talking about how the trip to Orzammar would go. There were two sergeants in the group, which meant she had thirty-two soldiers all told, not counting their escort; several of them wanted to be Wardens once they finished their three years in the Ferelden army. Alden came from Bann Winter's Breath, where he'd served as a guard for ten years, and Captain of the Guard for another five before the call to arms came from Denerim and the army gathered at Ostagar. He was one of the lucky few who managed to escape the battle, though he admitted that he had felt like a coward at the time, leaving King and countrymen to die a terrible death. Most of his detachment were also from that bann, though they had enlisted post-Ostagar.
The other sergeant rode at the rear, and Nat didn't get a chance to officially meet him until they broke camp for the night. There was a Rivaini ancestor evident in his colour and features, but his eyes and voice were Ferelden and it was clear that his men respected him despite his foreign grandparent. Sergeant Marlon was slender to Alden's beefy, with eyes that sparkled and an easy smile. He wasn't a big talker, but when he spoke they all listened.
As the commander, she had the option to sleep in one of the wagons, but chose to bed down on the ground with the rest of the men instead- she knew they'd respect her more if they saw her as willing to do what it takes. Something about being on the road made her dreams ease, and as the days passed and lowlands turned into the Frostback Mountains her grief abated. As a Warden-Constable, running this outpost, she would do her best to protect the city that her Prince had loved. She would make it strong once more.
It took them two weeks to make it from Denerim to Orzammar with thirty soldiers and three wagons full of supplies. When they finally arrived, the guards at the gates of Orzammar refused to let the humans in on King Harrowmont's orders, although they said, quite graciously, that the wagons of supplies would of course be taken inside- commandeered by dwarves.
Nat woke up from her afternoon nap in the back of a wagon to raised voices. She straightened her rumpled Warden tunic, made sure her shield with the Warden griffon was quite visible on her arm, and made her way to the front of the caravan. There were four guards standing in front of the closed gates, and Sergeants Alden and Marlon looked quite upset.
"What's going on here?" she demanded. "Guards, I am Warden-Constable Natia Brosca and we are expected. Let us in!"
"Sorry, Warden," said one. "The gates are closed to outsiders, by King Harrowmont's decree."
"Am I allowed inside? These men are under my direct command - they won't interfere in Orzammar. They will only be going into the Deep Roads." Brosca pulled the slightly crumpled letter addressed to King Harrowmont from her tunic, straightening the edges. The Ferelden royal seal had started to peel a little, but her body heat had softened it up and now it looked good as new. Well, mostly. "Paragon Duran and I were assured when we brought the crown back from Paragon Branka that we would have Orzammar's full cooperation."
The guards looked nervous now.
"I'm sure King Harrowmont would let you through," said one, shifting from foot to foot, glancing at his fellows. "You were a close companion of Paragon Duran, after all. Go right on in. We won't stop you."
They went quickly, in case the guards changed their minds; the wagons could not enter Orzammar, so they carried everything in to the defunct Warden compound next to the entrance of the Deep Roads themselves, four soldiers staying with the wagons and the rest ferrying everything over several trips. The wagons were sent back empty to Denerim with the five soldiers who had escorted them.
Within an hour Brosca determined that the Warden compound simply would not do. It had been built decades, perhaps centuries, before to house the Wardens who came for their Calling. It was not built to house thirty-two humans and a dwarf. Luckily she had thirty-two men and women with her who were not unfamiliar with hard work. They had surely been used to help rebuild Denerim before being assigned to Orzammar.
And she still had a few contacts in the City of Stone.
"Hey, Leske!" Nat hollered, waving, jogging down the steps that led to Dust Town. "Leske, you sodding rock-licker! What does a dwarf have to do to get your attention?"
Her old friend and once-partner had been lounging against a wall, idly flipping a dagger that he wasn't legally allowed between his hands, probably waiting on a job from the Carta. At her call his dagger disappeared into a loose tunic and he rocked forward on his feet, sticking his hands into his pockets, whistling quietly. "Is that Natia Brosca I see? The duster who left Orzammar a month ago promising to never return?" He grinned crookedly.
"Yeah, it's me. Stone-met, salroka!" They clasped forearms, each measuring the other. There was a new hardness to Leske that she didn't like; what had happened in Dust Town since she'd left? Someone had tried to cut off his brand, by the looks of it, and it had healed badly. "I gotta job for you. Know a bunch of strong dwarva who need work? The Wardens'll pay. And it's not killing darkspawn, don't worry."
"I know a few lads. And lasses." He gave a sharp whistle and a quick hand gesture in the language all dusters knew - come, help, no danger - and within moments a baker's dozen dwarva had gathered around them, strong-looking dusters who could handle themselves in a fight. Most of them Nat already knew from her time here, but there was a new woman, her brand still fresh on her face, the effects of suddenly being casteless still obviously felt. She glared at Nat as if to say she belonged there as much as any duster who'd been born in the dirt. "What's the job, Brosca?"
"The Warden compound near the entrance to the Deep Roads is not sufficient for my needs," she said. "I need to build it out. I've got thirty humans already helping, soldiers under my command, but nobody knows how to build like a duster."
There was general approval at this sentiment.
"Anyone who wants to make money today, come with me. My soldiers are already buying building supplies, and I'll need you to put everything together." She clapped Leske on the shoulder. "Nice to see you again, brother."
A/N: We'll be staying in Thedas for about a year of story time before the search for Morrigan even begins. This is a slow-build story. When she arrives in Middle Earth, it will be about ninety years before the Quest for Erebor. These first few chapters are mostly prologue; future chapters will be much longer, except for a few interlude scenes between Thedas and Middle Earth. I have the whole story planned out and half of the chapters already have their skeletons written. Just have to add some meat!
I will be taking votes in the future on whether or not romance (beyond Brosca/Aeducan) will be included, and if so, who with. If romance does occur it will could change the planned ending.
Cheers, hope you enjoy, would love some feedback!