If Cathiel wasn't familiar with her companions, she'd think this Bhelen fellow was going a tad overboard on his number of guards. As it was, she was pretty sure he could triple the number and it wouldn't be enough to save him from Saitada's wrath if that was the way she decided to play it.

Alistair gave her an uncertain look. She couldn't blame him. Seeing the nasty side of politics like this... no wonder he didn't want the throne.

"Well, who would have imagined..." Bhelen gave Saitada a slight bow, but his voice held a note of threat. "My big sister, back from the dead, and calling herself a Grey Warden. I could hardly believe it when Vartag said you wished to help me regain the throne."

"I just want to stop the Blight. You're my best chance."

He nodded. "You're right." He shrugged. "Harrowmont would bow and dandle you on his knee like a child, but he could never overcome the Assembly's resistance to your treaty." He leaned forward. "This is a time for action, not cultured debate." He slammed his fist into the table. "We need absolute unity to fight the against the fulcrum of true evil."

Saitada nodded. "There will be time for politics when the darkspawn are gone."

"Unfortunately, while this debate rages, I have no power to send the troops you need." He gestured. "You've seen for yourself; the city is a slaughterhouse. Criminals run lawless. I could never hold the throne if I allowed such chaos."

Saitada sighed, and rolled her eyes. She shook her head. "Maybe I could do something about that..." Her voice was slightly mocking.

Bhelen looked at her, then actually chuckled. "Jarvia and her carta are behind this bedlam. If you can eliminate them, I promise as king, I will send as many troops as you need to fight the darkspawn." He gestured at a map of Orzammar. "Unfortunately, Jarvia's base of operations is in Dust Town, and you know how little leverage we have there." He glanced up at her. "The casteless refuse to cooperate with my men. But now that you've spent so much time on the surface, you're practically one of them. Perhaps you'll have better luck."

Cathiel narrowed her eyes. She wasn't sure what that meant, and Saitada gave no reaction, but based on Brosca's expression Bhelen's words were insulting. Saitada merely smiled. "I'll go look for her right now."

"And I will wait eagerly for your return."

#

"I'm sensing there was a lot of subtext to that conversation," Leliana said.

"That sodding jackass," Brosca said. He paced furiously. "Who the sodding hell does he think he is?"

"The king," Saitada said simply. "Jarvia, you know the name?"

"Beraht's lover. She must have taken over after I gutted him. Can't say killing her wouldn't be good for Orzammar."

"She was involved with Beraht?"

"You knew him?"

"He was behind an attempt to poison Trian." Saitada nodded. "And you are right. Taking out the criminals would be good for Orzammar. Know where to find her?"

"Not off the top of my head, but I reckon I can find somebody who does."

"Lead the way."

#

"Well, chew me up and swallow me whole! I never thought I'd see you back here. What happened, duster? You miss getting spit on?"

"Miss getting you in trouble, duster!"

"I know. I've had to get all my trouble myself since you left. But you know, I got really good at it." He gave Saitada an admiring look. "Rowr, who is your friend?"

"Yeah, that's the longest story in the world."

"As long as I get to look at her while you tell it." Leske chuckled. "So, what are you doing here? Now crawling back to die in the Deep Roads yet, right?"

"I'm looking for Jarvia."

Leske gave a low whistle of warning. "Bad idea, my friend. You know she and Beraht were lovers - she still blames us for his death. I've been staying out of sight since you left, but I'm sure she's heard you're back in town. What do you want her for?"

"Can you just tell me where she is?"

Leske lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Look, she'd kill me if she knew I know this, but after Bhelen took Rica up-city, the carta laid claim to your old home. They put a back entrance in. IT just goes to some storage tunnels, but there's probably a way into Beraht's old estate from there." He glanced over his shoulder. "Now I'd better get out of here before anyone sees us together. But, uh, tell me how it turns out." He gave Saitada a last leer before scampering off.

"Charming fellow," Saitada muttered. "His information good?"

"Generally, yeah. This way, come on."

#

"You used to live here?" Lenore said, staring at the house.

"Heh, yeah. Seems a long time ago."

"I don't know, some paint, flowers, and a giant fireball, and it could be quite pleasant." Zevran said.

Wynne shook her head and sighed. Brosca opened the door, and then echoed her sigh.

"Well, look who we have here..." The first thug grinned.

"Jarvia said you were looking for trouble. Congratulations, you found it."

Brosca stepped backwards and glanced at Jerath. "Try to leave one alive."

The elf smiled, and stepped into the hut.

#

"D-don't kill me! Sodding ancestors, what do they teach you on the surface? You fight like a bleedin' archdemon." He crawled away from where Jerath was standing, and looked at Brosca beseechingly. "I was just doing what Leske asked! Said Jarvia gave the word to make sure you never left."

Brosca sighed, and shook his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Leske's working for Jarvia?"

"He told us he'd get you here. All we had to do was take you out." The thug whimpered. "You don't disobey Leske, you know? He's Jarvia's top man!"

"Now that part I have trouble believing. Where is he now?"

"I can't. You have to understand. Jarvia knows where I live. I-I got a little girl there. I tell you anything, she's the one who'll suffer."

"See the guy behind you? The one with the sword, covered in the blood of your half dozen buddies?" Brosca grinned. "I'm going to take him, and the rest of these very scary folks, and introduce them to Jarvia. Violently. Look at me, duster." The thug looked up at him, and swallowed. "I'm the guy that cut his way out of the deep through Beraht."

"The base is below the city. Y-you can get to it through the wall of the third house on this row. Put this token through the slot and it'll open." He glanced back at Jerath again. "Will... will you let me go now?"

"Yes. Go take care of your kid."

"R-really? Oh, thank you. You're a... a good person. How do you say it? The ancestors have shown their favor. Bless you!" He got up, and ran for it.

Lenore glanced at Brosca. "You okay?"

"Surprised. Leske almost did something smart. Cept he forgot who I was." Brosca cracked his knuckles. "Let's go remind him."

#

Cathiel glanced at Wynne. "I think our dwarven companions may be working out some issues."

"These events have not been particularly easy on either of them."

"Still, the rest of us seem almost superfluous."

"I don't know, I'm feeling kind of grateful to the criminal scum," Alistair said. He grinned when Cathiel shot him a look. "I mean, they could be taking their frustrations out on us."

Cathiel laughed. He had a point.

#

Jarvia folded her arms. "If it isn't our little runaway. Come back to finish the job?"

Brosca chuckled, and looked past her. "Leske, if you run now, you'll be able to get yourself a nice head start."

"What was I supposed to do?" Leske shook his head. "You were gone and Jarvia's pulling the strings. Not all of us got your opportunities."

Brosca narrowed his eyes. "I never would have betrayed you."

"You got too much sun on the brain." Leske glared at him bitterly. "You forgot what it's like. When Beraht died, Jarvia came out on top. She's got the swords, she's got the coin, and she's got the bed where I sleep." He spat. "If you were here, you'd have done the same."

Brosca shook his head. "Leske, I think I'm going to introduce your girlfriend to mine."

Jarvia snarled. "When you taste my steel, think of Beraht. Even in death, he has his vengeance!" She started to step forward, and Lenore's fireball caught her full in the face, sending her flying backwards into a barrel. Which then exploded into another mass of flames.

Brosca couldn't help but laugh. The look on Leske's face was great. Behind him, the rest of his companions entered the fray. Brosca left his weapons sheathed as he went after his old friend. It was Zevran that pulled him away. "Amor, I think he has learned his lesson."

"Sodding hell, you killed them all." Leske spat out a tooth.

"You backed the wrong play, Salroka. You'd stayed loyal, I'd have set you up right."

"Who the hell are you people?"

Brosca laughed. "Ain't you been paying attention? We're the sodding heroes." He narrowed his eyes. "Get."

Leske got up, and ran.

"Feel better?" Lenore asked.

"A bit, yeah."

Saitada shook her head. "He going to be a problem later?"

"Eh, he's a bit slow, but eventually he does learn." He glanced around. "If I recall correctly..." He went to a door, and with a few quick motions, picked the lock. "Aha, the carta vault. I know we are still a couple weeks shy of Wintersend, but here ya go."

Lenore giggled. "There is something intrinsically satisfying about robbing thieves."

#

"Well, you've simply outdone yourself." Bhelen's face was smug. "They're talking all over the city about how someone finally went through Dust Town and slaughtered the carta like genlocks."

"We did what you asked. Where are my troops?" Saitada folded her arms.

"Not yet." He tapped his cheek. "Killing Jarvia brought me greater favor, but to truly displace Harrowmont, we'll need something dramatic enough to end the debate forever." He dropped his voice. "What do you know of the Paragon Branka?"

"Smith and inventor. She disappeared in the Deep Roads..." Saitada considered. "Two, three years ago?"

"She is the only Paragon in four generations and she turned her back on her responsibilities. A Paragon is like an ancestor born in this time. If she returned, her vote would outweight the entire Assembly." He gave her a pointed look. "Anyone with her support could take the throne unchallenged."

Saitada narrowed her eyes. "If it will get me my troops, I will find Branka."

Bhelen nodded, his face smug again. "I was hoping you'd say that. So far, my men have traced Branka to Caridin's Cross: an ancient crossroad lost to the darkspawn four centuries ago. Her trail ends there. Perhaps with your Warden's expertise, you can find what my mind could not."

"I'll leave right away."

"You have my thanks. Seek her in Caridin's Cross. I will try to delay the vote until you return."

#

"Resupply, and run any errands you need. We leave in a few hours."

"Um... Saitada?"

"Yes, I know that we've just been asked to do the impossible. But scouting the Deep Roads will give us a better idea of where the next horde is going to pop up, could potentially give us the location of the archdemon, and note that I said nothing about finding Branka alive."

Cathiel nodded. "Okay. As long as you know what you are doing."

"If they haven't sorted it out by the time we get back, we'll flip a coin."

"And?" Saitada gave her a pointed look, and Cathiel's eyes widened. "Oh."

Saitada shook her head. "Triple check supplies. Not a lot of hunting options in the roads."

#

"I don't like politics."

Cathiel nodded. "I spent time helping my father. Ferelden politics really aren't anything like this." She sighed. "Well, except for Howe and Loghain."

"You aren't making me feel better about this."

#

Leliana gasped. "Oh! It's one of those subterranean bunny-pigs! Ohhh, look at him! Come here, you..." She cuddled the nug.

Brehan laughed. "He's pretty cute. Have fun."

"Thank you so much." She kissed him. "You've made my day."

"Just don't let Brosca near him. He was talking the other day about how much he missed roast nug."

#

"Y-you're back. I thought you weren't coming. What did he say?"

"Your father wants you both to come home," Jerath said, crouching down to look her in the eye.

"Both of us? I don't believe he said that. I've never herard him refer to my son as anything but trash. He calls him 'it'!" She shook her head. "But maybe... maybe Mother convinced him, or you did. Oh, my friend, I cannot thank you enough."

He pressed a coinpurse into her hand. It was filled with coin they'd taken from the carta hide out. "He changes his mind, or you just decide you want to build your own life, this should help."

She stared at him, and then before he could dodge she threw her arms around him. "If this were a story, my son would grow to manhood and pledge himself as a knight in your service. When he grows up, I will send him to you. I promise!"

He detangled himself as gently as he could. He hated when they did that. He never quite knew how to handle someone clinging to him. "Take care of yourself, Zerlinda."

"I will. I..." She blinked. "You didn't tell me your name."

"Jerath. Warden Jerath Tabris."

"You are a good man, Warden Tabris."

Maybe. Though if people didn't stop hugging him every damn time, he might just rethink that. A group of thugs confronted him as he started to leave the slums. He chuckled. This, this he knew how to handle.

#

Wynne's face held disapproval. "Saitada said no one was to wander off by themselves." He raised an eyebrow, and then glanced to either side of her. She frowned. "Don't you take that tone with me, young man." She fell into step beside him. "There are assassins everywhere."

"A few less, now," he said. He'd divided up the coin the assassins had been paid among a group of beggars. Several of them had been singing when he'd left.

"What were you doing in Dust Town?"

"Killing assassins, making the world a better place."

"You know, you aren't too old for me to turn over my knee."

They were halfway back to the others when a young dwarven woman called out to them. "You look like you're not from around here."

"Yes, you could say that," Jerath said.

She beamed. "Oh, wonderful! I've been trying to find someone who really knows the surface world." She gazed up at him hopefully. "I-I don't suppose you've heard of something called 'The Circle?'"

Jerath nodded to Wynne. "My companion here is a senior enchanter of the Circle."

The young woman's eyes went wide with awe. "Oh, my lady, it's an honor. I've never met an actual mage. Is is true you can manipulate nature's forces with your mind? Like you were born with lyrium in your veins?"

Wynne gave her a kindly smile. "Don't let the glamour fool you, child. Wielding magic is a dangerous occupation and a great responsibility."

"Why is a dwarf interested in the Circle?" Jerath asked.

She threw up her hands. "I've been trying to reach someone there for years; I've sent missives with every caravan, but I never get a reply." She looked up at them hopefully. "I want to know if they would accept me for study."

Jerath blinked at her, and then glanced at Wynne. She looked confused. He turned back to the dwarf. "Do you want me to ask them?"

Her eyes nearly fell out of her head. "That would be wonderful! My name is Dagna, daughter of Janar of the Smith Caste. Tell them 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 known to produce a mage child?" She squealed. "Oh, I'll go pack my bags right now! I'll be waiting by my father's shop!"

Wynne watched her go with a bemused look. "It might not be kind to get her hopes up."

"They'll accept her."

"You sound certain of that."

"A girl of the smith caste might know a few things about the lyrium trade." Wynne blinked and raised her eyebrow at him. He shook his head at her. "I do pay attention to a few things other than swords."

"One underestimates you at their peril," she said. They began walking again.

He glanced at her, and then considered a moment. "Do you have any regrets at all?"

"I try not to dwell too much on the mistakes of my past, of which there are many. I would go quite mad if I did that." She sighed. "But I do have one regret - the greatest misstep of my life, made even more grave because it had dire consequences for someone else."

"Tell me."

She sighed. "Years ago, I was assigned as mentor to a laid, Aneirin. He was my first apprentice. Aneirin was an elf, raised in one of the elven Alienages, and he was very mistrustful of humans, especially humans in authority."

"I can see how this could be trouble." And he could relate, quite strongly.

"What Aneirin needed was time. Time to get used to his new home, time to emerge from his shell so we could build a rapport. I gave him no such time. I was young and arrogant. 'He is a mage,' I thought, 'he needs to grow up and act like one.' I expected too much from him, too quickly. I gave no consideration to his origin, or his feelings. And he retreated further from me. All I could think of was how stubborn he was, how he was throwing away all his talent and his potential, just to be difficult."

"Was he talented?"

Her eyes became fond. "Oh, very much so. Sometimes I would catch him practicing on his own, but if I asked him to show me what he could do, he would freeze up, or fumble terribly." She sighed. "You cannot plant crops in the cold wintry ground; you cannot teach a student who is closed off and unresponsive. Patience is what is needed, and I learned that too late to help him."

"What happened to Aneirin?"

"Aneirin ran away from the Circle, one night. I had berated him over some trivial, ridiculous matter that I no longer remember. I drove him away because of something utterly unimportant. He was a child, fourteen at the time of his leaving. They had his phylactery and they hunted him down..."

"Why didn't they just bring him back to the tower?"

She shook her head. "They called him 'maleficar': a mage who practices forbidden magic, deserving of death. He was a child, misunderstood and lost. I begged the templars to tell me if he suffered, if they gave him a quick death. I got no answers from them. I was his mentor and they wouldn't even tell me what became of him."

"That was cruel of them."

"I should have known better. I had the best mentors; they were kind, compassionate... why didn't I learn from them?" She sighed. "I failed Aneirin. All I had to do was listen to him. He would try to talk to me, and I would tell him to concentrate on his spells. He talked about the Alienage sometimes... and the Dalish. He always talked about looking for Dalish elves."

"Maybe he did find the Dalish."

"The templars are well-trained and thorough. That he still lives... it would be a vain hope." She smiled. "The apprentices that came after Aneirin benefited greatly from the lessons I learned from him. In a sense, he was my teacher, and I his student."

"See, there is a bright side."

"And there it is. My story. My one greatest regret." She looked at him. "Thank you for listening."

#

"Wynne?"

"Yes, Alistair?"

"My shirt has a hole in it." Cathiel rolled her eyes. Maybe he'd have better luck convincing Wynne to sew it than he'd had asking her.

"I see. And?"

"Can you mend it? When we make camp?"

Wynne sighed. "Can't you mend your own clothes? Why do I have to do it?"

"Sometimes I pick up too much fabric and it ends up all puckered and the entire garment hangs wrong afterward. And you're... you know, grandmotherly. Grandmothers do that sort of thing, don't they? Darning socks and whatnot. You don't want me to have to fight darkspawn in a shirt with a hole, do you? It might get bigger. I might catch cold."

"Oh, all right," Wynne said. Cathiel wondered if it was out of the kindness of her heart, or just to make him stop pestering her. She smiled fondly. "I'll mend your shirt the next time we set up camp."

"Ooh! And while you're at it, the elbows kind of need patching too..."

"Careful, young man, or puckered garments may be the least of your problems."

"Wynne?"

"Yes, Brehan?"

"My shirt still has a hole in it from where I got stabbed by that assassin."

"I know that you know how to sew a decent patch, young man."

"Yes, but since I was stabbed while keeping them from getting to you..."

"Fine. Leave your shirt."

"Wynne?"

"What, Lenore?"

"Since you are already going to be sewing, could you maybe take a look at the seam of my robes?"

"Yes, yes, alright."

"Wynne?" She just turned to glare at Brosca. He grinned up at her. "Don't suppose you could take a look at the clasp on my cloak? It's coming a little loose and..."

"Fine."

Jerath entered the room. "Hey, Wynne?"

"Young man, if you ask me to sew, mend, or look at any piece of your clothing, I am going to turn you into a frog! Or a nug! Or maybe just..."

He blinked at her. "Uh..."

"Fine, add it to the pile. I'll sew it when I have a moment."

"I found a book I thought might interest you in one of the shops." He held it out.

She took it from him. "Oh. Thank you, sweetie."

He nodded, and backed slowly out of the room.