Dragon Heart

by Roc Lammergeier

What really happened to Revan after she left for the Unknown Regions? Is there a bigger threat than the Emperor lurking on the backwater planet of Thedas? The author's take on things. Rated M for violence and suggestive themes.

17. Act XVII

Author's Note: Sorry this is late. And I profusely apologize for how tedious that last chapter was. It was one of my least favorite to write. However, this one was one of my favorites. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!

Again, if you find any mistakes, please let me know! Thank you!

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Act XVII: Orzammar

Revan had totally forgotten what a big deal a golem was to the dwarves.

The surface dwarves that traded outside Orzammar were usually pretty difficult to impress, given how much time they had spent on the surface, but they all stopped their business and stared in awe as the crystal studded golem passed by them. The other oddities – a hornless Qunari, a one-eyed woman, and an Antivan elven assassin – were ignored with prejudice. A working golem! Shale ignored them all completely, of course.

Even the dwarves guarding the entrance to Orzammar were properly cowed, even though Revan suspected they had to deal with a lot of rabble trying to get into the city. They continued staring at the golem as she announced their intentions to enter the city, and they waved the party through without any questions, much to the chagrin of other visitors who looked as if they had been waiting to get in for weeks. When Shale turned to look at the guards as they passed through the large doors that stood between the big sky and the oppressive stone, Revan swore that the dwarves were about to faint. The Jedi was very glad to have the golem at her side. Still, despite wanting to defeat Urthemiel instead of helping him, she felt a wariness toward the dwarves, a thought she continually had to purge from her mind. The dwarves were her allies. The dwarves were helping them. The dwarves were not going to strike her down. Yet.

The entrance led to a massive hall, lined with gigantic stone pillars and the large, intimidating statues of the Paragons, the heroes and leaders of dwarven society. The Jedi had made a point to learn much about the dwarves on her first visit to Thedas, and she could not say that she necessarily agreed with many of their policies and politics. She admired their courage and battle prowess, but their caste system made her sick. Their casteless reminded her distinctly of the outcasts of Taris' Undercity, or the Cthon of the lowest levels of Coruscant; neither were pleasant comparisons. Her companions looked around in wonder, completely oblivious to the darkness that lurked beneath the beauty. Revan could not begrudge them that; the designs were strong but impressive, geometric in form to represent strength but elegant all the same. Zevran commented on how the dwarves worshipped their ancestors, as if the practice was totally foreign to him. Revan did not comment on how many species and cultures she had encountered that did the exact same thing.

They passed through a smaller set of doors that were still impressively large and entered into a gigantic cavern that housed the city of Orzammar proper. It was a truly stunning sight. The city ringed a lake of lava, which illuminated their surroundings and kept the stone warm. Extended over the edge of the lava lake was the Proving Grounds, a ceremonial arena where dwarves fought each other in the eyes of their ancestors for honor or for favor. Merchants lined the streets, calling out their wares. Guards patrolled as nobles and commoners strolled about. The whole city was a bustle of activity, and instantly Revan felt more at home. She was used to cities, they were a comforting presence to her. She knew how to move about in them, though it would be more difficult in a city where she was one of a handful of humans.

She approached a guard that was eyeing them suspiciously. "Greetings good man, have you happened to see another party of Grey Wardens?"

The stout dwarf looked her over before glancing at the golem, who crossed its arms expectantly. "Last I heard, they had taken lodging in the Assembly's guest quarters, over in the Diamond Quarter."

"Thank you, sera," Revan crossed her arms over her chest and intoned her head. He nodded his head in return, but no more.

Revan looked about, noticing the flow of people and getting the lay of the city. To their left congregated more of the common folk, and a whiff of alcohol wafted from that general direction; to their right, those in imported silks and gleaming dwarven armor strode, indicating the presence of more wealth. To the right, then. Revan led the way, her companions content with her leadership. She could read a little of the dwarven tongue, and the signs they had posted indicated that they were heading in the right direction. Again, Shale's intimidating presence attracted more looks than Revan was typically comfortable with, and she could sense from Zevran's shifting that he felt the same way. Luckily, their eyes were practically glued to the golem, and she doubted they even noticed the rest of them.

Criers stood at various points along the streets, shouting the news of the hour to those who cared enough to listen. As they passed, Revan would slow to listen: there seemed to be a squabble amongst the nobility about who should assume the recently vacated throne of Orzammar, with the two leading contenders being a Lord Harrowmont and a Prince Bhelen. And somehow, Rose and Alistair had gotten involved. She sighed as she pieced together the news, having hoped that their luck might have changed and that getting support from the dwarves would have been an easy task. Apparently, they would have no such luck. From what she understood of the dwarves and their culture, they would lend no aid until a king sat on their throne, and their Assembly was as deadlocked as the Republic Senate ever was. No doubt the Steward of the Assembly would have warned Rose and Alistair of this, and no doubt would have pressed them to choose a side and decide on a ruler. It would be no less than she would expect. The Assembly, given its resemblance to the Senate, would need a firm hand or a shrewd politician to actually come to a decision. Given that both sides of this conflict were apparently matched in terms of political savvy, the outcome would only be determined by a strong will: the Grey Wardens. Perhaps, if available, a Paragon, but given that none had come forward to decide this already, she doubted there was a Paragon alive. It had been years since she had studied their political climate, however, so she honestly did not know. It seemed that she would have to get answers from her friends.

The Diamond Quarter was even more impressive than the Commons, where they had arrived. The streets were cleaner and wider, with no merchants hawking their wares, and were lined with impressive palaces and manors belonging to the noble houses. Here, the dwarves were dressed in more lavish finery, and were more discrete in their staring at the golem. Given the decrease in density of people, Revan felt more inclined to speak to her companions, and commented to Shale what an impression the golem was making. Shale merely replied with a "Harrumph!" and a narrowing of its magical eyes.

On their way through the Diamond Quarter, they encountered a strange sight: an armored dwarf with shockingly red hair and a shockingly pungent odor of alcohol was accosting an uncomfortable-looking nobleman, demanding in a drunken slur for the dwarf and his cowardly house to commit more troops to look for his wife, Branka. The name sounded familiar to Revan, but she could not quite place it. The nobleman quietly reminded him that Branka had been lost in the Deep Roads for two years and tried to tell him that if he seriously wanted help, to get sober. The inebriated dwarf shouted some choice insults at the nobleman before sulking away to whatever alehouse would take his coin. Revan observed the direction he took, making a mental note to inquire about who Branka was. She had a sneaking feeling that it was important.

The Assembly was the one of the largest buildings in Orzammar, along with the Proving Grounds and the Royal Palace. It was the seat of power, with influential deshyrs, noble members of the voting body, constantly coming and going. In the entrance hall stood a weary-looking grey-bearded dwarf who was juggling many rolls of parchments and speaking with many people all at once. The grand chambers of the Assembly, where the body convened, was situated directly down the small hall and took up the majority of the space. The drained dwarf tried juggling a scroll to the top of the pile, but it slipped and tumbled toward the ground. Revan reached out with the Force and caught it, then placed it gently on top of the precarious pile as the dwarf, whom she assumed was the Steward, gaped at her in awe. Dwarves did not have magic, so it must have been a rare sight to see it, even if the Force was not exactly magic.

"You must be Dragonheart!" the dwarf finally managed, shifting his horde to be more comfortable. "The Warden Rose mentioned that you would be arriving soon. She neglected to mention the nature of your…companions, however."

"I would imagine she would have, given that she has not met Shale," Revan responded drawing closer. "May I offer my assistance, m'lord?"

"Oh! No, I think I can manage. But, where are my manners! I am Bandelor, Steward of the Assembly of Orzammar," he tried to do an awkward bow, accidentally creasing some of the documents.

"A pleasure," Revan purred. "I should leave you to your work then, Steward. If you would be so kind as to point me in the direction of my friends…?"

"Of course! I have seen to it that they have been given rooms in the west wing," Bandelor replied. "I will make sure that rooms are prepared for you and your party as soon as possible."

"You are very kind, thank you," Revan bowed to him.

Bandelor took his leave of them, glancing back at them once or twice in curiosity, before disappearing to the east wing toward his own quarters. Zevran raised a graceful eyebrow at the odd meeting, but made no comment. Revan led the way down to where she could sense the other members of her party were, and sensing the presence of two of them, knocked loudly on the door. Zevran gave her a confused stare. She held up a finger for silence before they heard the panicked rustling of sheets and the heavy thump of feet hitting the floor. A giggle carried through the stone door along with a muffled swear. Revan exchanged a look with Zevran, and both shook their heads knowingly. Finally, after many seconds of waiting, Rose opened the door.

"Maker's breath!" Alistair exclaimed rather loudly, falling back several steps as Revan stood in the doorframe, arms crossed, with a very large and intimidating golem mimicking her stance directly behind her.

Rose was dressed in the thinnest of slips and looked fairly surprised herself, but quickly met Revan's eye. "It seems you have quite the tale to tell us, Dragonheart."

"And we seem to be interrupting something," Revan noted that Alistair only had pants on. And not even belted. They were getting sloppy.

Rose gave her a playful wink. "Nothing we can't resume later. Shall I fetch Morrigan? Best we all talk."

"Sten, if you would be so kind? She's across the hall," Revan gestured.

The Qunari grunted his acceptance, and the three filed into the room, Shale having to duck a few inches to completely fit. Alistair looked quite shaken at the sight of their newest companion, and Shale smiled, prepared to take full advantage of his discomfort. Morrigan appeared, gave a cursory glance at the rest of them, and lithely took a seat in the far corner of the room that had been untouched during the Wardens' exertions. She met Revan's eye, lifting a brow, full of many questions. Revan had not forgotten the task the apostate had given her. But, there was business to attend to first. As the rest of the party circled up, Revan cleared her throat and enacted a thin magical shell over the room to prevent being overheard, a simple spell she had learned from Flemeth's grimoire. Then, she began.

"First, this is Shale, a golem we found in the village of Honnleath. Shale has broken free from the control rod that bound it and possesses free will, but has been gracious enough to give us its support during the Blight," Revan introduced the golem, not skimping on the details. Alistair got more nervous, but Rose seemed intrigued.

"Well met, Shale," the Warden smiled. "I am Rose Cousland, and this is Alistair and Morrigan. And of course, Fuzzywuggins." The mabari barked happily from his corner, where he kept a watchful eye on all of them.

"At least it isn't a mage," the golem commented. "So it is also a Grey Warden?"

"Yes, I am," Rose replied, her expression indicating that she had caught on to the golem's strange way of speaking.

The golem grunted before nodding to Revan to continue. Revan recapped the events that occurred at Haven, noting that Zevran had slayed the high dragon that had impersonated Andraste and that both Wynne and Leliana had retrieved a pinch of the Ashes and were escorting Brother Genitivi as they spoke back to Redcliffe. Alistair seemed visibly relieved at the news. Of course, Sten interrupted when she gave Zevran the credit for the kill, saying that he had not struck the killing blow even though he had served to cripple it. Zevran, in his typical roguish fashion, had made a comment about being hurt by the Qunari's cruel words more than he had been hurt by being flung from the dragon. Morrigan expressed her disbelief in such adventures, but Sten assured her that, despite the embellishments, it was indeed true.

At the conclusion of her tale, Rose spoke up, filling them in on what had transpired after they had arrived in the dwarven city. The general impression Revan had gotten had been mostly correct: King Endrin, the previous king, had died three weeks earlier and the Assembly had been divided over the succession ever since. The candidates were Lord Harrowmont, a noble and renowned general who claimed that the king had named him heir in his final hours, and Prince Bhelen, the youngest of the king's three sons but the only one left alive after the middle son, Duran, had been accused of murdering the eldest, Trian. There were dark things surrounding both of them, as Rose and Alistair had conferred with both of their lieutenants; the actual contenders for the throne had both been too afraid of assassins to see them personally without a display of loyalty. Lord Harrowmont's lieutenant, Dulin Forender, wanted Rose to fight in The Proving for him, and to find out why two of his fighters had dropped out of the contest. Meanwhile, Prince Bhelen's lieutenant, Vartag Gavorn, wanted them to deliver documents of a sale of Lord Harrowmont's property to two houses to show that Lord Harrowmont was cheating them both. However, Rose had been shrewd enough to take the documents to the Shaperate, who kept records of all that occurred in Orzammar, who had told her that the documents had been forged.

Revan considered her tale. "So what do you think?"

"I think they're both fools," Rose said honestly. "I think Lord Harrowmont is the more honorable man, but…"

"But he is a coward, and is weak. He cannot even keep his own men loyal to him," Zevran looked disgusted.

Rose scowled, but her expression did not indicate disagreement. Revan turned to Alistair. "And you?"

"Me?" Alistair quickly regained his wits. "Right. Me. Uhm…look, I've been asking around, and it seems that Bhelen is well liked by the merchants and the more…radical, progressive dwarves. He wants stronger ties to the surface. He's rumored to have taken a casteless concubine. But honestly…there are rumors he killed his brothers. And maybe his father. It seems suspect at the best. Harrowmont is honorable, but he's…more of a general than a politician."

Silence fell, and their eyes all fell on Revan. Her eye scanned the circle and met them all. "What are you all looking at me for?"

"What do you think we should do?" Rose asked.

Revan laughed. "I do not know. I have not been here an hour. You have been here far longer. You have talked with these people, heard their tales, seen what they have claimed to support. You and Alistair should be the ones to decide."

The lovers exchanged an anxious glance, and Revan was reminded how young they both truly were. They had not seen half the things she had seen at their age.

"Right." Rose looked to all of them. "I think…I think we should go with Bhelen. Alistair?"

"Agreed," the lad replied, surprisingly firm in his response. "At least until he turns on us."

"Very well." Revan stood and stretched. "Who are the nobles whom we shall deceive?"

Rose looked vaguely uncomfortable with the phrasing of her question, but procured two documents from her pack. "Lord Helmi and Lord Dace, though Lord Dace is away on an expedition in the Deep Roads and is being represented by his daughter."

"Where is Lord Helmi?"

"A tavern in the Commons known as Tapster's," Rose answered quickly, having spent much time mulling over her tasks.

"Excellent," Revan plucked one of the documents out of the girl's hands. "I suddenly find myself in need of a strong drink. Be careful in the Deep Roads!"

"You aren't coming?" Rose asked, shocked.

The Jedi laughed. "I avoid the Deep Roads whenever possible. And besides, I have the feeling that I am going to have…additional business in the tavern. A premonition of sorts. I am sure that you all together can handle the Deep Roads."

Zevran looked a little hurt that she was excluding him from her excursion, but she had known he had lied to her when they spoke in Haven. She felt immeasurable guilt over the things she had done to the poor man, and she felt that he would be better off not with her, though it was odd to not have him at her side. Rose showed her the map of the Deep Roads that Lady Dace, the deshyr's daughter, had given them: it would take four days, by Revan's estimation, for them to reach Aeducan Thaig and return, provided nothing went wrong in their travels. As they left the Wardens to put on their gear, and for Revan to make her journey to the tavern as they prepared to venture into the Deep Roads, Revan slipped the grimoire Flemeth had given her to Morrigan. The girl met her eye again and nodded her thanks; she did not need to know the truth. Not that it would have changed anything if the Jedi had actually slain the witch. She suspected Flemeth had known all along that Morrigan would try to kill her, and had probably taken precautions to guard against her fate. Revan would have. And from the information contained within the grimoire, she did not doubt it for a second.

She again wished her companions luck, then took her leave. She had four days to explore Orzammar, to learn its secrets. This was a task that she was uniquely suited to; she had been more than just a leader in the Mandalorian War. She was very skilled at drawing out information many tried to keep secret. She felt it prudent to get as much information on the candidates for the throne as possible, and she also wanted to learn about this Branka that she kept hearing about.

And, most importantly, she just needed a damn drink.

Tapster's Tavern was what one would expect from a dwarven alehouse. It smelled of piss and dirt and sour ale a block away, and it was practically bursting full of dwarves, both commoner and noble alike. The inside, luckily, was relatively clean despite the questionable stains on the floor, some of which looked to be blood. The bartender looked at her curiously, but she tossed him a silver and he quickly resumed taking orders from his patrons and tapping the barrels of alcohol that lined the shelves behind the bar. Comely dwarven lasses bussed the bars and tables, trying to avoid the more handsy of the customers as they worked. Most of the dwarves were too deep in their mugs to notice the rather tall stranger in their midst, but some of the more sober patrons looked up at her arrival. Most of those were smart enough to resume their activities.

Revan stopped a waitress as she passed. "Lord Helmi?" the Jedi asked over the din of conversation in the crowded tavern.

The waitress pointed to a corner, where a gaggle of dwarves were standing around a male dwarf dressed in finer clothes than they. Revan approached, just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation.

"…told him I don't understand why the Provings aren't open to everyone," the lord said enthusiastically. He stopped as he saw the human approach, and waved off his crowd. "Lord Denek Helmi, honored deshyr of the Orzammar Assembly and terrible disappointment to my esteemed mother, who doesn't like me spending time in taverns. You understand what I'm saying, right? On the surface, there are no castes and it works fine. Am I right, Warden?"

Revan was a bit perturbed that she had been identified so easily; she would have to see about doing something to conceal her scars. "A controversial opinion for a dwarf in the Assembly," she remarked coyly, studiously remaining neutral on the subject.

"Very good," he applauded her. "I guess somebody already told you I was good-for-nothing, drinking my life away at Tapster's. Or did they leave off at 'greatest shame to ever fall upon the Assembly'? I've always liked that one. You know, most smiths and tavern-keeps would make decent deshyrs if we gave them a chance and a seat in the Assembly. Orzammar is so mired in tradition no one bothers asking if the castes are even necessary."

"I would agree with you there," Revan said. "Just because one is born in a certain life does not mean that was the life they were suited to. Otherwise I would be a farmer, or worse. That does not, however, mean things on the surface are completely fair. There is still much prejudice against elves and mages, and there are still the destitute and the desperate."

"Ah, I have heard the tales. But surely it must still be better than this," the lord dissented. "At least your elves and mages have a chance at a life."

"Some," Revan conceded, remembering the apostates, the Hawkes, which she had met in Lothering. "I hope it will one day be possible for you to make a difference, m'lord. However, I unfortunately come bearing bad tidings: it seems Lord Harrowmont was playing you and Lady Dace by offering you both the same property."

She did not even have to offer the forged documents to him. He sighed in resignation. "Oh. Well, I'd ask for proof, or why you care, but frankly, I'm so tired of it I'm not even surprised anymore. I don't even want the land, but my house would kill me if I turned it down. Responsibilities, you know. Now I'll have to go through the whole process of rejecting the deal, and they'll both have to try something else. And I thought it was going to be a nice day."

Revan mulled his words. "Why vote for Harrowmont, if you didn't want the land?"

"I actually thought he was the better candidate," Helmi said sourly. "You must think I'm pretty sodding naïve, huh? They're all the same: well-dressed, blood-sucking cave ticks. I'll have to inform Mother that Lord Harrowmont hasn't bought our vote after all."

They bowed respectfully to each other before the deshyr left for his house, muttering bitterly about double-crossing back-stabbing nobles. The Jedi, her primary task complete, went and took a seat at the bar and ordered a mug of the house special. It was a watered down ale that tasted of dirt and stale barley and stone, but it was alcohol. She began inquiring things innocently of the patrons near her, getting the general feel of the city and some of its more recent history. King Endrin had been a strong but traditional ruler, keeping the Assembly in line but not upsetting the status quo. Trian, his eldest and heir, had been fairly disliked for being an arrogant brute but he had bribed and intimidated enough of the deshyrs to have kept the Assembly in deadlock, but before his death there had been rumors that some of the Assembly were considering putting the second son, Duran, up as heir. Apparently, the second son was a formidable and magnanimous ruler, one that liked taking risks and being a part of the action. However, upon assuming a commission, he had led an expedition to retrieve the Shield of Aeducan and upon his return was accused, most thought wrongly, of killing Trian. He had been exiled to the Deep Roads to fight darkspawn until his death. No one had seen him since. Bhelen, the youngest, was widely believed to have been the true murderer, but he had secured enough support in the Assembly prior to the incident that when Duran was brought back for trial, the Assembly had already voted to condemn him before he had even given testimony. As far as Branka was concerned, she quickly learned that she had heard her name since the woman was a Paragon. She had apparently learned something about Paragon Caridin and taken her whole house into the Deep Roads two years ago. Revan also heard some rumors about the shake-ups of the Carta, the dwarven criminal organization, and about how their leader had been murdered by one of the casteless. No one seemed to know what had become of the murderer, but apparently the new leader was a cruel woman and had been extending the Carta's reach into the Commons. Satisfied that she had learned enough after nursing a few mugs of the poor ale and talking with many of the tavern's regulars, she accosted one of the barmaids again and inquiring about the surly, drunk dwarf she had seen earlier in the Diamond Quarter.

"You'd mean Oghren," the waitress, Corra, scowled, disgusted. "Widower of Paragon Branka. He should be by the trash barrel. Easy to spot; everyone gives him a wide berth."

Revan tipped the waitress and made her way to the trash barrel, as Corra had described. Sure enough, a heavily armored dwarf that was suspiciously lacking a weapon was leaning woozily against the wall. His eyes were clearly unfocused from too much liquor. She approached, wondering how he would react. Drunks were the hardest to measure, as their moods were unpredictable, but once their type was discovered they were easy to manipulate.

"What do you want?" the red-bearded dwarf growled at her approach. "Hey, I heard about you. Grey Warden, coming from the surface, great crisis in the world. Someone saw your pals talking to Vartag Gavorn, and now it's all over that you've been doing dirty errands for Bhelen. I figured you'd be the one, you know, who could help me find Branka. But I guess you're just like all the rest."

"I have heard mention of Branka," Revan said nonchalantly. "But I will admit to still being ignorant."

"Branka's a Paragon, only one smart enough to be raised in the last four generations," Oghren said proudly. "She's a smith, invented some kind of new coal that burns clean. It's been two years since she disappeared down the Deep Roads, and your boss never gave her a thought. I wonder, what does he think he can get from her now? I know he's been poking around, trying to find things out about her, what she was looking for. Won't tell me spit, though. He wants it for himself, right? A little blessing from the ancients' technology, and he's assured the throne, is that it?"

Revan spread her hands openly. "To be honest, I do not give a lick what Bhelen or Harrowmont are planning. The Wardens need allies, and that means Orzammar needs a king. My fellow Wardens have decided to throw their lot in with Bhelen and I will support them, but do not think for one second that I or my friends are his lackeys. I genuinely want to help you find her, throne be damned."

The dwarf grunted. "Too little, too late, but it's a nice gesture, Warden. If you think your friends' boot-kissing'll get you an in I don't have, you're welcome to try this. I know both Harrowmont and Bhelen have been asking about her. Two years without a peep, and suddenly they want to start looking. If you find out what they know, it might put me a step closer to finding her."

"In that case," Revan straightened, "I shall let you know if we discover anything. Since there is little I can do about it now though, how about I buy you a drink?"

"Are you propositioning me, Warden?" the dwarf cocked an eyebrow.

Revan laughed. "Merely making amends for being so late."

"Fine, a drink it is!" Oghren proclaimed, staggering over to the bar. Revan sat next to him, ordering drinks for both of them, much to the barkeep's obvious disapproval. Upon receiving his mug, Oghren held it up in a toast.

"To those we've lost!" he cheered sourly.

"To those we shall find!" Revan clinked her mug against his and drank a hearty amount. Oghren chuckled darkly and drank with her. Revan finished her ale quickly, then gestured for another. Oghren eyed her enquiringly, not drinking nearly as fast as she.

"You drink like you've seen some shit," he remarked finally.

Revan gave him a wicked grin and downed the second glass. "Too much my friend. I do not often indulge, but I have recently been reminded of all the shit I have done and for today at least, I would like to forget it."

"Cheers to that," Oghren raised his pint. "But this swill ain't exactly the sort ta take you out."

"Enough of it will," she remarked.

"Ha! A woman after my own heart!" he laughed. "But I bet it'll take more to knock me out than you."

"You are on, dwarf," she challenged him before knocking back her third pint. "Barkeep! Keep them coming! I plan to drink this man under the table!"

"Ancestors, not again," a patron near them remarked with a shake of the head. The barkeeper eyed them with disdain, but a sovereign slid across the bar livened his spirits greatly, and he wordlessly slid two more mugs to the odd drinking pair.

Revan clinked glasses with Oghren. "To loves lost and hearts broken! To lives taken and sacrifices made! May they one day be worth it."

"Amen!" Oghren slurred.

Several hours passed as they drank in the tavern. Unfortunately, Revan's tolerance for alcohol was terribly high given her abilities to heal quickly, so the bar quickly became covered with empty pints that the barkeep was struggling to remove and clean before she was ready for another. It did not help that Oghren had been right about the ale; the stuff barely had an alcohol content, and it took an incredible amount for her to even feel a little change in her brain chemistry. Oghren, too, seemed to have developed a higher-than-normal tolerance, and the barkeep eventually had to tap another barrel just for the two of them in order to keep their appetites satisfied. When her tongue had finally loosened, she inquired about his lack of weaponry, and he explained that he had accidentally killed the youngest son of a Lord Meino in a first-blood match after the lad had insulted Branka by insisting that she had perished in the Deep Roads. As punishment, he had been stripped of weapon and house name. But, the dwarf seemed regretful of his actions and had accepted the punishment, something worse than being exiled. Revan mentioned that she had probably murdered millions at that point, eliciting a shocked expression from Oghren. Revan admitted then some of her crimes in a hushed tone, careful that the other patrons did not overhear her. While tipsy, she was not a fool.

Oghren shook his head in disbelief. "Ancestors' hairy balls, that's some heavy shit."

"Hence the 'getting drunk'," Revan raised a glass pointedly.

"How d'you live with it?"

Revan shrugged sadly. "I joined the Grey Wardens. I hope to one day make amends for my actions. As they say, 'In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.'"

"Sounds like the Legion of the Dead," Oghren remarked.

"They are very similar," Revan concurred. "They say, when one joins, their past crimes are erased. I still feel the burden of mine though. I will do whatever necessary to make sure no more die from my mistakes."

Oghren chewed her words over. "Well, can't say I can understand what you did…but damn if you don't have the biggest balls I've ever seen."

She snorted at the unexpected comment. "What do you mean?"

"Ya just met me and ya tell me you're solely responsible for a Blight!" the dwarf exclaimed. "By the Ancestors, I wouldn't think you were serious except that the stories I keep hearing about you are even more ridiculous."

"Yeah, but most of those are probably at least partly true," Revan said flatly.

Oghren almost spit out his drink. "You fart fireballs our yer arse and shoot lightning out yer eyes?"

"Close enough," she jested.

He chortled and raised her another pint. "To stupid decisions and fitting punishments, then!"

She toasted him in silence. Another hour or so passed before finally, Oghren reached his limit and his head fell solidly on the stone counter, black out drunk. Revan was drunk herself, but not blindly so. She still could function. Mostly. The barkeep's pointed glare told her it was time for the two of them to depart. Revan shook Oghren awake enough to get the location of his domicile before settling her tab and hoisting the dwarf onto her back. The dwarf was heavy, especially in armor, but Revan was aided by her many years of conditioning and her ability to manipulate matter enough that he weighed just enough that her muscles could support him. Any more manipulations of the Force while she was this drunk would lead to her passing out.

On her way through Orzammar to Oghren's humble abode, she received several strange looks, but no one commented on the armor-bound one-eyed human woman almost effortlessly carry a full-grown armored drunken dwarf man. Probably for the best. She would probably have breathed fire for them if they had said anything. And magic in her state was bad. She was trying to keep her impulses in check. Finally, she reached his house. Revan fumbled in her many hidden pouches for the lockpick that Zevran had given her "for a rainy day", and attempted to pick the lock. Unfortunately, trying to master a new skill while inebriated and partially incapacitated by a dwarf slung over the shoulder was proving too difficult for her, so the growled and blasted the lock apart with a burst of magic. Very unsubtle. She was not pleased with herself. Especially once the headache began from her terrible combination of drawing on her connection with the Fade and the alcohol that was flooding her brain. Stupid. She crouched to fit through the smaller door and not hit Oghren's head on the ceiling, then found his bed and flung him on it. She considered for a moment if she should try to remove his armor, but she figured it would not be his first time waking up with a hangover in his armor and left him. Revan tried to close the door before remembering that she may have destroyed the closing bit. Mumbling to herself that she knew better than to get drunk and should have just sucked it up like a good little Jedi like Bastila (that hypocritical pretentious little harpy) had always told her to be, she spent several dizzying moments trying to find the damaged lock and then, cursing herself in Mando'a and Qunlat, magically refit it in the door. The headache was now bordering on a migraine, and Revan figured it was best to retire to her quarters in the Chambers of the Assembly.

The walk back was…precarious at best. Revan kept her head tall and walked in as straight a line as she could manage, but the pounding in her temples was becoming unbearable, and her body seemed sluggish and temperamental. Now that she was not doing anything as ridiculous as hauling a dwarf around or anything as intimidating as walking around with golem companion, most of the dwarves seemed to take very little notice of her. Or at least she hoped they were not noticing her. The walk of drunkenness she was doing was unbecoming of her new order…well her old order too, truth be told. Not that it had stopped her in the past. She recalled some good times on Dxun when she was spying on the Mandalorians and trying to learn of their defenses and battle plans… and trying to learn about their warleaders. She also recalled some of her earlier missions too, in the levels beneath Coruscant's gilded surface, the shadier bits with the darkened dives and tight-lipped bartenders. And on Tatooine, where the only entertainment – and the best source of information – was the cantina. Revan sometimes missed her old life. She missed plumbing especially, with electricity a close second. If only they just had electric lights, that would make her life just a little better. But, her actions had led her here, and so she would stay until she had fixed what she had broken. There was no going back.

True to his word, Steward Bandelor had arranged a room for her in the west wing of the Assembly. At least, she chose it as her room as it was not Alistair's or Rose's or Morrigan's. She slammed the door behind her, stripped off her armor, and collapsed on the bed. Stone. Damn the dwarves.

---

"Why in the name of the Paragons would you want all that?" the dwarven merchant eyed her oddly.

"Do you have it or not?" Revan asked shortly.

The merchant deigned not to respond, but began shifting through his wares. Sure enough, much to both of their surprise, the merchant possessed the items she wanted: the fruit from a prickly Antivan plant and a bundle of dried, white flowers known as starflowers in Ferelden. She paid the merchant for both items and returned to her room in the Assembly. Using the few alchemical things she had brought with her to make the healing poultices for Sten and Zevran, she extracted the oil from the seeds of the flowers and separated the juices of the fruit from the numerous seeds inside it. She combined the oil and the juice into a cocktail and drank it quickly before raiding the items Sten had left to see if he had stashed any cookies. Praising Mythal, she found a few stashed away in the pockets of his pack. The best cure for a hangover: supplements to replace the things purged or purge the things added by alcohol consumption. The cocktail was designed to replace important lipids and minerals the body needed for immune function and blood flow, and the cookies were to restore her blood sugar. She laid down again for a short nap, and when she awoke she felt significantly better, though she vowed to not get that drunk again for a long time to come.

But, it was time for her to do things. This was the second day of her party's voyage into the Deep Roads. She would have two days after this one to come to a final decision about the two candidates; not that she doubted Rose and Alistair, but she wanted to make sure they were not making a huge mistake. Though either candidate would likely support their cause and uphold the Grey Warden's treaty, she knew that there would be more they would face after the Blight. Especially those two. Now that they were securing the last of the treaties, and that Arl Eamon was presumably recovering, Revan would need to start scheming about the Landsmeet, and those two were of key political significance. The Landsmeet would be the trickiest thing to navigate, as Ferelden politics were brutal and their adversary was wily and intelligent. But, no matter who won the throne, Orzammar would be a major ally. Or a major problem. And it would depend all on whom they put on the throne.

Her day, however, did not take the turns she had expected. She decided, as was her nature, to wander about the Commons and talk to the people. Since the dwarves were more insular and cut off from the world above, many only knew that she was a Grey Warden, but not about her being a Dalish or slaying two high dragons. One, if she gave the credit to Zevran for the false Andraste. They were more than willing to talk about their opinions about the election, whether they supported Bhelen or Harrowmont, and on their opinions on the current policies of Orzammar. She found that, much as Alistair had, the more enterprising of the commoners were in favor of Bhelen, as well as many of the younger, more liberal dwarves, while the older and more conservative, tradition-minded dwarves supported Harrowmont. There were exceptions, of course, but that was the general trend she observed. One exception was the girl that could not give a lick about Orzammar in general.

"You look like you're not from around here," the girl commented as Revan passed.

"What gave it away?" Revan quipped, amused at the obviousness of the observation.

"Oh, wonderful!" the girl carried on, oblivious to the sarcasm. "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'?"

"The Circle of Magi?" the Jedi clarified.

"Yes!" the girl practically squealed.

Revan crossed her arms skeptically. "Why is a dwarf interested in the Circle? I thought dwarves were not capable of using magic."

"It's true, but I've been trying to reach someone there for years; I've sent missives with every caravan, but I never get a reply. I want to know if they would accept me for study." The dwarven girl was falling over her words in her excitement.

"Probably the Templar's fault, they can be a bit close minded," Revan remarked. "Would you like me to try and ask for you?"

"That would be wonderful!" the girl clasped her hands and bounced on her toes. "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?"

Revan smiled kindly at the girl, having once been just as excited about learning all she could about the Force. She still had a passion for learning, but her enthusiasm had been tempered by the wisdom of caution. Deciding to impress the girl a bit and hoping her gambit would play off, Revan pulled out one of her many necklaces that was tucked away in her silks. The one she pulled out was an ironbark locket. She flipped it open, meeting a dark, glossy mirror. The locket glowed warm, alerting its twin's wearer that someone was trying to reach them. A few seconds later, a familiar face with a dark shadow of a beard and ice blue eyes greeted her with a twinkling smile.

"Daylen!" Revan greeted him warmly. "How are things at the Circle?"

Immediately, Dagna's eyes alit with glee at seeing a magical artifact like the scrying lockets. "Better," the mage ran a hand through his long hair. "We finally burned the bodies a few days ago. Terrible sight. The only one that didn't cry was Cullen, but even he was shaken. I think one of the elven apprentices that died was his crush. Anyway, did Zevran get better or is he still being difficult?"

"He is better, thank you. I shall have to tell you about it later. Right now, I have a bit of an odd request," Revan brushed aside their usual banter. She still chatted with her friend when she could, and the last time had been on the road to Honnleath, where she had complained about Zevran's taciturn attitude.

"Another one? Did the Qunari lose his sword again?" Daylen joked.

Revan paid the quip with a small laugh. "No. Actually, I am in Orzammar and am talking to a dwarven girl, Dagna, daughter of Janar of the Smith Caste, who would like to study at the Circle. She says she has already started reading the Tevinter text Fortikum Kadab and finds it fascinating."

Daylen raised an eyebrow. "Ah, I remember that tome. Big, thick thing, best used as a paper weight. Tell her we have much more interesting books in the Circle. But, I will most certainly go ask First Enchanter Irving. I think he is taking his lunch with some apprentices. Give me a few minutes." The mage vanished from view, having closed his locket.

Dagna could barely contain herself. "What is that? Who made it? How does it work? Who was that you were talking to? Was he a mage?" She gasped, "Are you a mage!?"

Revan smiled, then held up a finger for each question. "This is a scrying locket. I suspect it was made by the ancient elves of Arlathan. It works by forming a connection with its twin locket and displaying a reflection of what is in front of the twin's mirror. It gets more complicated than that but it would take several books and a practical knowledge of both quantum mechanics and elven portal magic to fully explain even this device, let alone the more complicated devices the ancient elves made. I was talking to a friend of mine, Daylen Amell. He is indeed a mage at the Circle Tower in Lake Calenhad. I am also a mage, of a sort, but I can also use a magic that those here cannot. Technically, then, I am an apostate."

Dagna proceeded to ask her even more questions based on the Jedi's previous reply, to which Revan answered to the best of her ability until the locket grew warm around her neck. She pulled it out, and Daylen once again appeared before her, still smiling. A good sign, then.

"Congratulations!" Daylen exclaimed. "First Enchanter Irving has granted Dagna's request, saying he cannot deny anyone the chance to learn. He asked me to tell her – could you let me talk to her?" Revan turned the locket to face Dagna. Daylen recomposed himself. "Greetings, Dagna of Orzammar. First Enchanter Irving would like me to tell you that this path will not be easy, but if you choose it, you will be welcome at the Circle. You will live with the Tranquil and later, when appropriate, the apprentices. But we look forward to seeing you here."

"Ancestors bless you both; I can't believe it!" Dagna exclaimed. "There hasn't been a dwarven observer in the Circle since Ureldin in the thirteenth century! Uh…I…I need to pack. No. My parents would get suspicious. I need to go. Is there anything I should bring? Books? Tuition?"

Daylen grinned at her elation. "No, just yourself. We will provide everything you need."

"Then I should go…before my parents come looking for me." Dagna turned to address Revan. "If you ever go to the Circle again, maybe I'll see you there."

"I will most certainly come visit," Revan assured her.

The dwarven girl bowed deeply to her before racing off to make arrangements for her travel. Meanwhile, Daylen clucked at her.

"You meet the most interesting people," he remarked.

"I have not even told you about the golem," she hinted.

Daylen sputtered. "You found the golem!? And you didn't call me!?"

"I was busy," she shrugged. "You know, striking down demons, killing high dragons impersonating Andraste, finding a holy artifact, getting drunk with a Paragon's husband…"

He stared at her incredulously from the tiny locket. "All in a week's work, right?"

"Precisely!" she winked. "Though, I did tell Zevran I would give him credit for slaying the dragon."

He laughed and shook his head. "I have duties to attend to at the moment, but I am calling tonight to hear about these adventures. Don't get drunk before then!"

"I honestly would not dream of it," she remarked before he severed the connection.

The Commons, she found, was filled with interesting people. She met a lyrium-addled merchant later, which was a very curious thing for her. She had heard of lyrium poisoning, but had not had the opportunity to see it in person. She knew that it was a serious problem with older Templars who would become addicted to lyrium and begin to lose their memories and become paranoid, but this merchant seemed amiable but easily distracted and prone to talking to himself. She made a mental note to, when possible, investigate Templar addiction. She inquired about the lyrium mining process, but the dwarf was still very loyal to his caste and their traditions and said nothing. Later, she found a mother whose son, part of the Smith Caste, had vanished five years ago in the Deep Roads on an expedition where he had been separated from his warrior companions. Revan assured her that, as a Grey Warden, she and her companions would look for her son, but that the Deep Roads were vast and the chances of finding him were slim. The woman, Filda, was still incredibly grateful, and Revan had to physically extract herself from the woman's tenacious grip on the only link between her and her son. She wandered about more, but by the number of people approaching Tapster's for what passed as their evening she decided it was best she retire for the night. Two more days to go.

---

Day three started out a bit more normal. There was no pounding headache to contend with, no dry mouth or nauseous stomach. In fact, she did not sleep, but meditated instead. The alcohol may have made it necessary for her to sleep in order for her body to recover, but the dreams happened to be even more unpleasant than normal. Urthemiel was getting stronger, and Revan had to protect her mind so he could not exploit their link and endanger her friends. The night before had been sloppy, and Revan was only just realizing how dangerous her indulgence had been. She had seen terrible visions of the ever-growing horde, far in the Deep Roads. Urthemiel was preparing to make his next move, and soon. He knew that if he took down Ferelden, the rest of Thedas would not be able to mount a sufficient response in time, as the rest of the world was stupidly ignoring their plight, still not believing it was a true Blight. Only some of the Orlesian Wardens seemed to be taking it seriously, as some of Duncan's correspondence had indicated. What better time to strike when the only ones who could defeat you were labeled traitors and outcasts?

Meditating allowed Revan to control what she saw and protect her mind from both Urthemiel and the Fade. The ritual she had undergone with the Dalish had allowed her to utilize lyrium and connect with the Fade, but this attracted spirits to her. Even worse, it seemed from her conversations with Wynne and Daylen that she may be even more prone to their influences, as her increased connection to the Force gave her increased control in and sensitivity to the Fade. Daylen even remarked that her abilities – having visions, being able to manipulate minds, and making bonds with others like Bastila – sounded peculiarly like those called "Dreamers". He had promised her that he would gather more information on these special mages, but they were incredibly rare, and usually only found amongst elves.

However, her abilities at the moment were a moot point. Unfortunately, she did not have hours to peruse the Circle's extensive library, or conjecture with a Keeper. However, she was a building over from presumably the most extensive historical record on the planet and she did happen to have hours to spare. She considered donning her armor, but if she was going to be reading she would rather not wear the constricting leather armor. She instead threw on some of the Dalish clothing she had brought with her…and over it tugged on her Jedi robe. The scratchy fabric still smelled like the Temple. Waxing nostalgic, she departed for the archives of the dwarven people of Orzammar: the Shaperate. The building was dedicated purely to the keeping of records of the dwarves, but it was incomplete, with many centuries of records lost or missing after the fall of their empire during the First Blight. Assistants scurried about in the massive stacks of tomes and along a massive stone wall etched with lyrium, and a few nobles milled about, looking for some piece of blackmail or some historical evidence to back a claim or force a deal. Most of the knowledge was on bloodlines and the dealings between noble houses, but the Shaperate preserved everything. Even the arrival of Rose and her party was recorded.

Revan approached an elderly dwarf who was hunched over a stone desk, jotting down something in a massive tome. He looked up at her approach.

"Welcome, Warden Dragonheart. Your arrival has been recorded in the Memories. I am Czibor, Shaper of Memories."

"Greetings, Lord Shaper," she said respectfully. "I have come to ask your permission to peruse your shelves for a time. I believe there is much I can learn."

The Shaper eyed her curiously. "What is it you would like to learn about, Warden?"

"Golems, lost thaigs, dwarven knowledge on the Blights, and the accomplishments of the Paragons, to start with."

The Shaper chuckled at the perceived joke until he saw her expression. He immediately sobered. "The knowledge we have on those subjects is immense…it would take weeks just to skim the knowledge we possess about one of those subjects, let alone all…"

"Well, I best get started then," Revan smiled coyly.

Czibor furrowed his eyebrows in concern, but told her where she might find tomes of interest on each subject. She thanked him, and made her way to the section on golems. There used to be an entire Shaperate dedicated to the golems, but much had been lost in the centuries since their creation. However, Revan wanted to do whatever she could to help Shale remember something of its past, so she quickly read through the tomes on the subject. The secret of golems seemed to be a closely guarded secret that only the Paragon Caridin knew, but there was still much documented about their deeds and abilities. There were no mentions of crystals embedded in the ancient golems, a fact Revan planned on telling Shale. However, there were several theoretical tomes on the magical energies of golems, written by mages that had been curious and had been fortunate enough to be allowed to observe a golem under the watchful eyes of the Shaper of Golems when such a position had existed.

Revan read through an entire stack of books on golems before deciding that she had read enough, and moved on to the Blight. The dwarves knew as much or more than the Grey Wardens, and it was informative to learn about the darkspawn from the perspective of those that fought them instead of from the perspective she had received upon her first visit to Thedas. It was clear that all the dwarves, and presumably the Grey Wardens, considered darkspawn to be savage beasts, incapable of rational thought and only as intelligent as a pack of animals. They noted several tactics that the darkspawn used both in times of Blight and in the intervening periods, describing how, in the absence of an Archdemon, the larger darkspawn – the alphas – would take control of a band and would make war on other bands for territory and broodmothers. They had no idea that darkspawn could be intelligent, except for a page torn away from its source and shoved in the cracks of an old, worn, decaying tome that mentioned a sighting of darkspawn that talked and walked about like kings. Revan scowled; the Architect had claimed he was the only one he knew of that was born as such. She wondered if these were born similarly to him, or if they had been created by him. But, the note was suspiciously lacking in detail, and more she could not gleam.

Despite the skewed perspective on the darkspawn, she found that the dwarves were replete with information about them. She read eagerly; best to know thy enemy. And she wanted to know everything. Their records primarily consisted of records of encounters with the darkspawn and of those who fought them. Most notable, and perhaps most noted, were the Legion of the Dead. She had heard of them, of course, but their history was not. She read excitedly about them. They were much like the Grey Wardens, but they did not take in the Taint and they did not wait to die, but threw themselves earnestly at the darkspawn at their earliest convenience. She read of their adventures and deeds, learning of their great city, Bownammar, that had been lost and recaptured and lost again so many times that the Shaperate had not been able to record it all, and of their many discoveries and feats and heroes. Any could join, regardless of caste or past, and several of their notable members included casteless.

Time was all but irrelevant in the dwarven city, as there were no shadows cast by a celestial body (or two, rarely three) to distinguish rotational periods of their planet, nor stars by which to tell the passage of the planet through the celestial plane. It was only stone. The dwarves, having lived beneath the stone for many generations and possibly having evolved underground, were accustomed to it, their sense of time part of what they called their "Stone sense". But Revan did not have this sense, and she could not tell if it was minutes or hours or perhaps days that she spent reading in the Shaperate. Eventually, however, she had skimmed through a stack that reached close to the top of her head. It was time to leave. She put the tomes back exactly as they were, much to the surprise of the assistants who had been looking at the growing stack with trepidation. She bid goodbye to Czibor and meandered back toward the Assembly…and almost ran straight into an auburn-haired dwarf scurrying out of a back passage in a hurry.

"I am so sorry, m'lady," the dwarf bowed her head quickly, bowing deeply as if in fear of retaliation. "Please forgive my clumsiness."

"Nonsense, I should have been paying attention," Revan dismissed her concern. She would have continued on without paying the encounter any mind except for a brief glimpse of a tattoo on the woman's face. "You are…casteless?"

The girl touched her branded cheek in shame. "I – yes, m'lady."

Revan looked the girl over. Her clothes were of fine make, and from the material probably smuggled into Orzammar from the surface. Her hair was done up, but a few strands were loose, as if the up-do had been done in a hurry. She wore makeup, but did not cover the brand. Not a thief, then. Then she saw the slight smudge marks of the makeup around her eyes and lips and the truth dawned on her. Silly of her to not have noticed sooner. She abruptly took the girl's chin in hand and looked intently at her, much to the terror of the dwarf.

"This man you are seeing – is he hurting you? Is he making you do things you do not want to do? Is he taking care of you?" the Jedi demanded. She recognized a concubine when she saw one.

"What? No!" the girl tried twisting away, but Revan's fingers were talons. "He cares for me! He calls me his 'amber rose'. He's moved me and my mother out of Dust Town! He's promised to help find my sister!"

Revan held her face for a few more moments, examining her for any sign of abuse, before she was finally satisfied that the girl was indeed not being hurt by her patron. Revan had encountered many girls like her in the galaxy, and not all had been treated well. More than one arrogant bastard had received an unwelcome visit from her in retribution. Revan released the dwarf from her clutches, and the girl gingerly rubbed her chin.

"Your sister is missing?" the Jedi continued.

"For a few months now," the concubine explained. "You have to understand, there aren't a lot of options for casteless. She…she worked for the Carta. And she got mixed up in a bad job in the Provings and was imprisoned and escaped but she killed Beraht –"

"Beraht?" Revan interrupted her, becoming invested.

"The old Carta boss," the girl explained.

"Let me guess: the new Carta boss has your sister locked up somewhere, if she is even still alive," Revan pondered. "Who is the new boss?"

"Beraht's lieutenant, a woman named Jarvia," the concubine practically spat. "She's a foul woman."

Revan considered the situation. The Carta were a major problem for Orzammar; this woman Jarvia had apparently expanded the Carta's influence in the few months she had been in power, and now even the nobles could be heard muttering about it. The shopkeepers she had pestered had complained about extortion, the few casteless she had seen were given an extremely wide berth in fear and disgust. The Carta were just another element of instability in Orzammar.

But, if she played this right, they could become a huge asset for their chosen king.

"What is your name?" Revan asked, her voice softening.

"Rica. Rica Brosca," the concubine said shyly.

"And your lover's?"

"I – I cannot say!" Rica blanched.

"Given that you are coming out of a passage connected to the Royal Palace," Revan surmised, "you must connected to the royal family somehow. A lieutenant of Prince Bhelen's, perhaps?" Revan examined the girl's face for a sign that she had hit her mark. The girl seemed uncomfortable, but not squeamish. Not a lieutenant, then.

"Or perhaps Prince Bhelen himself?"

Rica shifted uneasily, a dead giveaway. Revan chuckled. "It is not a secret, dear. Harrowmont's hawkers are crying it out on practically every street corner." Before the girl could say anything to her defense, Revan squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Do not worry; I will not say anything, and I will find your sister."

The girl struggled for words. "I…thank you, m'lady."

"Do not thank me yet; what I find may not please you."

The concubine turned white at the implication of her words, but bowed respectfully and scurried off to wherever she had been heading before. Revan sighed; there went her quiet evening. She turned on her heel and began the long trek toward the deepest, darkest part of the dwarven city: Dust Town. Once, a long time ago, Dust Town had been the actual Orzammar, but centuries of neglect had turned the magnificent city into little more than half-standing ruins and, fittingly, dust. As she passed through the districts of the decreasingly important castes, the city got older and less proud. Buildings had started to slouch. Roofs had collapsed. Then, a stretch of abandoned houses and buildings that time had worn to little more than fragments. Finally, the infamous Dust Town itself, far removed from those that wanted little to do with them. It made Revan sick. Casteless lingered aimlessly about, begging or sitting idle or just waiting to die. Many were sick or starving. Others looked worn thin and tired, barely scrapping by. And still others were watching her, fingering their barely-concealed weapons, evaluating if she was a worthy mark. Some she knew were Carta. Others were lone cutpurses and thieves. She did not blame them; there was little they could do other than turn to a life of crime. All stared at her with distrust and fear.

She first approached a lone dwarf standing idly against a shattered stone column. The dwarf was recalcitrant, but let slip that the Carta was indeed in Dust Town. Revan slipped him a few coppers and moved on. She went and sat at a few fires that the despondent and desperate had lit in the streets and alleys, listening to the plight of the people. The more she asked and the more she listened to them, the more the dusters began talking to her. She would ask after their families, ask about what they did for work, see if they had housing. The breakthrough came when a young mother complained that her baby had developed a cough that would not go away. Revan knew just enough healing magic that she was able to aid the child, and suddenly she had a crowd around her. Many wanted her help with the sick, some wanted her aid with matters she could not help with, and others just wanted to see magic. She helped those she could, asking questions as she healed infections and eased the pain of the injured.

Revan was examining one patient, a woman who had lost both her legs after a guard had broken her kneecaps and forced her to kneel in the mud, infecting them beyond saving, when she asked if the dwarf had ever heard of a woman named Jarvia.

"Know her? I used to run with her," the dwarf woman said, almost proudly. "Jarvia took over the Carta not more than a few months ago, and already she's got every duster with both legs bearing swords for her."

"Know where I could find her?" Revan asked, using her magic to ease the pain from the botched amputations.

"Won't be easy. She's gotten real careful since Beraht died, real paranoid," the woman sighed in relief as the pain lessened. "She's got Carta members all carrying these finger-bone tokens. She scratches some mark into them, so she'll know they came from her. There's doors to her base all over the city, but only one is ever open at a time, and if you show up without a token, you'd never know it was there."

"And where could I find one of these tokens?"

The casteless shrugged. "Can't help you there, salroka. The Carta members keep them real tight."

Revan finished knitting up what she could of the woman's mangled legs. Then, Revan passed her some coins. "For your troubles."

The dwarf opened her palms to reveal the silvers Revan had passed her. "I'll think of you when I go to bed with a full stomach."

Revan finished her line of customers, though none as helpful as the legless woman had been. But, one kind mother warned her to stay away from an abandoned house on the end of the row. A nervous glance toward a member of the Carta lurking in the shadows nearby told Revan all she needed to know. Passing some more coins, she continued her work, until a small child ran up to her and begged her to help his father, who was sick and could not move from his bed…in his house at the end of the row. Revan relished the ease at which this was occurring; not even a few hours in Dust Town and she had already attracted the Carta's attention! Part of her was glad that her companions were not here; she had not had the freedom to exercise her full power for fear of accidentally striking one of them. Or terrifying them. Soldiers on both sides had fled before her when she had truly given in to her power.

The house was suspiciously dark. She opened the door, and as she did the boy that had grabbed her ran off in a hurry. Inside was dark, but such things did not trouble her. She could see with her blind eye that there were seven of them, lightly armored and armed with wicked daggers. Once she had closed the door behind her, the outer two flanking the middle dwarves lit torches and placed them in sconces nearby before all seven drew their weapons.

The one to the right of the center dwarf spoke first. "Well, look what we have here…"

The middle one, the leader by his slightly higher quality gear, added, "Jarvia said you were looking for trouble. Congratulations, you found it."

"No, I think you did," Revan smiled, and with a wave of her hand, extinguished the torches.

She let them have a moment to be confused why it had suddenly gone dark before kicking the dagger out of the right one's hand and catching it. She brought it down on his head, instantly killing him. Then, she pulled the dagger free and, gliding silently up behind the one next to him, stabbed him in the back and through his guts. He collapsed, spasming, and died. The leader was shakily trying to relight a torch. Revan picked up the fallen daggers and took aim, throwing two into one dwarf who was groping in the dark for her. The daggers hit their marks in his eye and his chest, and he fell to the stone floor in a clatter. She got near another, elbowing him in the windpipe. He gasped, dropping his guard. Revan grabbed his hand and made him slit his own throat before he even understood what was happening and could resist. One of the remaining dwarves was panicking, brandishing his daggers blindly. Revan positioned herself well out of the way of his frenzied stabbing, grabbed another dwarf that was still living, and threw the unsuspecting Carta member straight into the heedless blades of his fellow gang member. The crazed dwarf stopped in shock as the heavy, stout body buckled on his daggers. Revan merely grabbed a dagger off the floor and thrust it into the back of his head, severing the connection between his head and his spine. The pair crumpled to the ground. Finally, the leader sparked a flame, only to reveal the Jedi still standing, blood splattering her, but with no weapon drawn and the rest of his men slain on the ground. The scent of piss filled the air.

"D-don't kill me!" the leader fell back in fear against the wall, immediately dropping his weapons. "Sodding ancestors, what do they teach you on the surface? You fight like a bleedin' Archdemon! Sweet bloody Stone, look at them all!"

Revan chuckled at the apt comparison. "Tell me how to find Jarvia."

"The base is below the city," he said eagerly. "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 dug in one of his pockets and procured a bone with a marking etched in its surface. He tossed it to her. "Will…will you let me go now?"

"I think a life of crime might not be the best for you," Revan lilted, examining the finger bone. "I would hate to find you at Jarvia's when I get there. Perhaps you would do better on the surface."

"R-really?" he stuttered in disbelief. "Oh, thank you. You're a…a good person. How do they say it? The ancestors have shown their favor. Bless you!"

The dwarf got to his feet and blew past her in a dead sprint, eager to leave the dwelling of death. Revan shook her head; she was having fun, and that was not good. She needed to show some restraint. And decency. She should not enjoy killing thugs that had had few alternatives. She twirled the finger bone in her hand and made her way to the door that the Carta member had indicated. It was, upon first inspection, a solid stone door, slightly out of place with the rest of the crumbling architecture. There was one small hole, just big enough for a finger – or a finger bone. Revan inserted the bone, and the door clicked open. Revan pushed the door in, revealing a tunnel that led down. It was oddly lit. Revan closed the door behind her and grabbed her lightsabers, getting an uneasy feeling. She made her way down the tunnel, which indeed seemed to lead directly under the city, and finally came to another door. She pushed this one open only to reveal a room with a strip of fire running in the middle and a host of Carta enforcers. One, a burly dwarf with a casteless tattoo, crossed his arms at seeing her.

"What's the password?" he asked skeptically.

"Would a 'please' suffice?" she smiled sweetly.

"Looks like we have a martyr, boys," the doorman grabbed his swords.

Revan sighed, "Why does 'please' never work…"

She ignited her blades, startling the Carta members, and with a flurry of light decapitated the bouncer. The rest stared in horror.

"You have five seconds. Run, or die," she announced. Two ran. The rest hesitated. "Time is up."

She jumped sideways onto the wall and propelled herself off, spinning over the dwarves' heads as she did, slicing through two of the remaining enforcers. Her blades sizzled upon contact. Most did not even have time to scream before they died. The others were quickly dispatched by quick thrusts through their chests and abdomens, or by a twirl of the blade that loped off their heads. Most did not even get the chance to raise their blades against her, and those that did were quick to realize that simple iron could not hold against a lightsaber. It was not a fight; it was a slaughter. She realized after the first few died with barely a gasp that to them, she must have been the equivalent of a dragon: near unstoppable and utterly destructive. She almost felt bad as she cut them down. But they stood between her and her target, and she had given them a chance to run. Soon, she was in a room littered with corpses. She tucked away a loose strand of hair and continued on through Jarvia's base.

The entry room opened up to a maze of tunnels all running underneath Orzammar proper. Most looked relatively new, though she was not sure given she had no Stone sense. But, the labyrinth of stone was not helping her second sight, and she could not distinguish between Carta members and what may have been her quarry. She would have to search all the tunnels, and all the rooms. It was fortunate she had done nothing but read all day, otherwise she would have been exhausted just thinking about the search. Resolving herself, she chose a direction at random, marking it in the stone wall with her lightsaber that she had come this way. She knew how easily one could get lost in dwarven tunnels.

The first route she chose only led her to meet more Carta members. Again, she tried proposing for them to flee instead of die by her hand, but these members were not interested in her offer. Instead, they practically flung themselves onto her blades. A few were smart enough to try and shoot at her with crossbows, but she easily dodged the bolts. At least these provided more of a challenge than arrows, but they were less frequent on account of crossbows being notoriously slow to reload. She cut through their bolts and then their bones, and suddenly the small band was dead. The room they were guarding seemed to be a barracks of sorts. Not jail cells. Revan just hoped her initial hypothesis was correct, and Rica's sister was alive and merely imprisoned. She would find out, one way or another.

Once her chosen passage was cleared, she backtracked until she found her scorch mark. Then, she chose a different path and repeated the procedure. There were a lot of Carta members. By all rules of combat, she should have been overwhelmed. But often they crowded doorways in their eagerness to attack her, and she used this to dispatch them one at a time. They were trained as thugs, not as warriors, and it was apparent by the ease with which she was able to move through the base. She was slightly disappointed in this Jarvia. She had no lookouts, no one to warn the other members of the Carta that she was coming, no strategy to deal with intruders. Every gang member she encountered was surprised to see her and just as surprised that she had killed them. Few had taken her offer to flee. She was sure that at least one of them had run forward to let Jarvia know she was coming, but that was only by Revan's mercy and not by design. And poor planning like this did not bode well for the Carta's business strategy either.

Finally, she entered a room that revealed itself to be a jail. Unfortunately, it was guarded by the Carta's chosen jailor, a leathery dwarf with an evil sneer, and his cronies. The jailor snarled at her from the elevated platform that the cells were built on. He gestured for his boys to get her. Revan dodged their blades and sliced through those she parried, and her riposte cut through them easily. Those she did not kill on her counter-attack she killed as she moved faster than they could follow and stabbed or slashed them before they could attempt another swing at her. The jailor, furious at her slaughter of his men, charged her himself, losing his advantage of the higher ground. She met his high attack with a stab through his throat. He fell with a bloody gurgle as she pulled the blade free. Then, the jail free of hostile Carta, she scanned the room. And practically sighed in relief.

In one of the cells was an emaciated male dwarf with an overgrown beard and black hair that was in desperate need of a trim. In another was a female dwarf, similarly starved, but with more muscle than the male. Her short, mouse-brown hair was tangled and dirty, and a casteless tattoo was branded on her cheek, but her eyes were known to Revan. The Jedi sheathed her lightsabers.

"Ancestors, what are those?" the man asked in awe.

"Better question: who wields them, and for what purpose?" the woman said, her voice fierce but kept in check. This one had much anger held back. Revan would hate to see it released.

"I am Revan," she bowed her head to both of them, "and I was sent by your sister, Rica, to find you."

"Rica sent you?" the woman's voice softened at the mention of her sister. "Is she okay?"

"Rica is fine, just concerned for you," the Jedi assured her. She went over to the jailor's twitching body and searched his belt for the cell keys. Upon locating them, she went to the cells and unlocked them, releasing the two dwarves.

"Thank you, Revan," the man intoned. "I'm Leske, and this is –"

"Natia," the woman extended a hand, speaking for herself. Revan took it. The dwarf's grip was strong for someone who had been kept in captivity for the last few months and starved. "We owe you our lives, salroka. Thank you."

"No thanks needed," Revan smiled. "Now, I need to get you two out of here."

Natia walked over to the jailor and grabbed his blade. "No."

Revan raised an eyebrow in confusion. Leske looked at her in exasperation. "We have a chance to get out of here with our lives! What are you doing?"

"Jarvia needs to die," Natia unstrapped some of the Carta's armor and began putting it on herself. "And I'm going to kill her."

"You want to take down the Carta?" Revan asked.

"No; I want to run it."

Revan grinned in amusement. "You think you can run a crime syndicate?"

"Why not? I read every document Beraht had, I know all his contacts. I fought in the Proving and won. I know every duster and every noble who's fucking one," she explained.

"Natia, you're mad! You can't run the Carta!" Leske protested. "Let's just go home and we can figure this out later."

"You think they won't come looking for us in Dust Town, Leske?" Natia snapped at him. "You think they won't just drag us back here and do the deed this time? And what about my mother and Rica? You think they'll be safe?"

Revan considered the new development. "And you think you can run this operation better than Jarvia?"

"I hear what she's been doing," Natia glared at her. "Guards talk, I know she's been shaking things up in the Commons. Pretty stupid. Soon some noble or other is gonna take action against her because she's disrupted their quiet, charmed life and they're gonna raise an army to take out Dust Town, Carta or not. Nah, the opportunity's up there." She gestured up with her sword. "On the surface."

Revan pursed her lips. "And you think I, a surfacer, want the Carta out on the surface?"

Natia shrugged. "Every place with poor people's got a criminal underground. At least the Carta deal mainly in smuggling and not murder. 'Least they did when I joined."

"This is madness! Surfacer, please talk some sense into her," Leske pleaded.

The Jedi regarded the determined dwarf. "If I let you do this, and you take control of the Carta, no murder unless absolutely necessary. No extortion. No stealing from the needy. And absolutely no slavery."

"Sounds fair," Natia said after a considerable pause. "You got a deal, salroka."

They shook hands again while Leske gaped in shock. "Women!" he finally declared.

"You in or not, nug-head?" she bullied him.

"Do I have a choice in the matter?" he asked resignedly.

"Of course not," Natia remarked, slapping him heartily on the back. "Now, let's go take out this bitch."

Natia tossed two daggers to her partner and then offered a cuirass to both of them. Leske accepted his wordlessly, but Revan just looked at her in confusion. Natia frowned.

"You do realize you're wearing robes, right?"

Revan looked down at herself and realized that in her hurry to get to Dust Town, she had forgotten to change out of her Jedi robes and Dalish garments. All were now stained with blood from her encounter with the thugs in the abandoned house.

"Well, would you look at that. It seems I am," Revan remarked, then sighed. "I hope the blood has not set in yet. I love these robes."

Leske stared at her. "So you managed to get here through most of the Carta's enforcers with no armor?"

The Jedi shrugged. "I have fought through more wearing less."

The dwarves exchanged worried glances but donned their stolen armor. Revan waited patiently, and when they were ready, led the way out of the cartel jail. She took out her lightsabers and held them at the ready. Her two charges backed away cautiously. Revan realized that she no longer had free reign to exercise her combat skills and instead would have to focus on keeping the dwarves alive. Internally, she sighed, but part of her was grateful it would no longer be a slaughter. They entered another room to be greeted by more Carta, and as Revan threw herself in front of the two dwarves to protect them, Natia addressed her gang members.

"Drop your weapons and surrender!" the dwarf's voice echoed. "Or this madwoman'll chop off your manhoods and feed them to you."

The Carta members hesitated, and Revan took the opening to disable them by slashing through their weapons. Weapons were replaceable, limbs and hands and lives were not. In moments, the enforcers found themselves holding useless weapons and faced with an opponent they could not hope to match. They dropped the hilts and held up their hands in surrender, much more suppliant now that one of their own was ordering them too. It seemed that Natia did indeed have some influence over them.

"You lot work for me now," Natia stepped forward. "Go get whoever else is still alive and start cleaning out the bodies. Return 'em to their families."

There was no hesitation. The Carta members ran past them, giving Revan and her thrumming blades a wide berth. They pressed on. The next group they encountered, one young member decided to run at Natia before Revan could intervene. He quickly found himself impaled on her blade. Her eyes were cold as she took his life. The rest surrendered easily and went to join their comrades in cleaning out the bodies that Revan had left in her devastating march to the cells. They encountered more and more Carta members as they approached what Revan assumed were Jarvia's offices, but more and more seemed to surrender to them, and Natia seemed to grow bolder as they progressed. Leske's frown, however, grew deeper with every life they were forced to take due to their unwavering loyalty to Jarvia, or sometimes just to their own stupidity. At last, they approached a door that was carved in more traditional dwarven patterns. Natia motioned for them to halt.

"Jarvia's most likely in here, if she hasn't fled," she explained. "She'll have her strongest warriors with her."

"I can disable them fairly quickly if they are the same caliber as those we have met before," Revan offered.

"Nah, these guys can actually fight, and they'll know to avoid those flame sticks," Natia waved her off. "No, I'm gonna tell her to surrender. Make a big scene. She'll refuse, then I'll throw this –" she held up a throwing knife she had recovered from one unfortunate Carta member, "– right into her skull. Then you two take out whoever still resists."

"All right," Revan said hesitantly, "but plans rarely survive first contact."

Natia dismissed her. "It'll be fine, salroka. Now, let's get this over with."

The dwarf took the lead, confidence exuding from every pore despite her gaunt frame. She threw open the door hard enough that it shook, and again Revan was reminded that this woman was far stronger than she appeared. Inside was Jarvia, surrounded on all sides by her guards. Revan counted ten. Jarvia herself stood proudly, arms crossed, certain that her men would protect her. She was comely woman, with a casteless brand displayed prominently on her face with no attempt to hide it. She bore two axes and several concealed weapons and was well armored. She obviously had expected them, most likely warned by those Revan had let run. She had regrets about that decision.

"So, Bhelen finally realized his throne means nothing if he can't hold it, yet he still doesn't bother to send his own men and sends a Warden instead," Jarvia clucked her tongue. Her recognition of Revan caused Leske to look at the Jedi in sudden terror, but Natia took it in stride. "Well, you picked the wrong side, Warden. It doesn't matter who's king, as long as there's a queen!"

"I couldn't agree more, Jarvia," Natia smiled. "And that queen's gonna be me."

"You?" Jarvia laughed. "You're nobody, a stupid duster who got caught fighting in the Proving and killed Beraht. I should've put you down when I had the chance."

"And I shoulda killed you along with him," Natia hissed. "But I'll give you one last chance. Yield, and I'll spare your life. Maybe even let you stay in the Carta. Else, my Warden'll kick your ass straight to the surface."

Jarvia spit at her feet. "I'd like to see you try."

"Okay."

Natia unveiled her throwing knife and with pinpoint accuracy lodged it straight in Jarvia's forehead. Revan had a brief moment to marvel at the fact that for once, something had gone according to plan, before it all fell apart. Instead of yielding, Jarvia's guards reacted in a frenzy and lunged straight toward Natia. The dwarf had only a few heartbeats to roll to the side. Luckily, Leske had been watching the guards, not Jarvia, and had been prepared. As Natia dodged, Leske slid under one of the guards and stabbed him in the back. Revan quickly jumped into the action, more concerned about preventing anyone from getting a clear shot at her dwarven allies than actually cutting down the Carta guards. She whipped through them, using her stature to her advantage as she leapt over the dwarves' heads and cut off their access to Natia and Leske. The pair had obviously worked together for a long time, and their movements were as coordinated as Revan and Zevran's. They quickly realized that Revan was giving them an unusual amount of opportunities, and they began exploiting them. Revan would slam her knee into one's chest and send him backwards, where he would fall onto Leske's daggers. Natia would parry a blow, and Revan would cut under his exposed guard. Leske would rush a guard, then tumble to the side and let Natia use the guard's distraction to stab him clean through. Soon, only two were left. Both dropped their weapons in surrender.

"Bosk, Cad," Natia nodded to them, "I'm glad you two saw reason."

"'Course, Natia," the one called Bosk whimpered. "Wouldn't want to tangle with you. You've kicked my ass hundreds of times, remember?"

She regarded them coolly. "Well, boys. I'm leader of the Carta now. And my first order of business is to have you two tell the rest of our members." Bosk and Cad exchanged glances. "Now! I won't ask again!" she demanded. With a quick salute, both ran off as fast as their legs could take them.

Natia turned to Revan. "Warden, eh?"

The Jedi shrugged. "This is sort of unofficial business."

The dwarven woman chuckled. "I'd like to see what you're official business is, then."

"Right now, securing a leader of Orzammar. King Endrin is dead, and the Assembly is in gridlock between Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont," Revan explained, sheathing her weapons.

"Shit, how much did we miss?" Leske wondered.

"And, what? You support Bhelen?" Natia inquired.

"My companions do."

Natia frowned. "Wait, what happened to Trian and Duran?"

"Duran purportedly murdered Trian, though whispers say it was a set-up by Bhelen," Revan reported.

"And how exactly is my sister mixed up in all this?"

Revan paused. "Are you sure you wish to know?"

Natia nodded. Sighed, Revan said, "She is Prince Bhelen's concubine."

"I knew it," Natia growled. "Rica told me some noble had taken an interest. Thought it might be Bhelen. Can't believe she didn't tell me though."

"So, what is next?" Revan crossed her arms.

"Been wondering that too," Leske muttered.

Natia shot him a nasty glare. "We take over the Carta. Reorganize our resources. Make new contacts. Get out there. Y'know, prevent some sod wanting the throne from wanting us dead to get it. Then…we'll see."

"No murder, no extortion, no unethical stealing. And no slavery," Revan reminded her.

Natia extended a hand. "Got it, Warden. You ever need anything, you know how to reach us. We owe you our lives."

Revan grasped her hand firmly. "It is Revan, actually. And if either of you ever find yourselves on the surface, look me up. Most know me by Dragonheart."

"Holy shit…" Leske commented. Even Natia blanched.

Revan bowed to each of them. Then, with a quick slash of her lightsaber, took off Jarvia's head.

"For Bhelen," she explained, picking up the severed head by her hair. "A nice coronation gift."

She tucked her blade away as the new leaders of the Carta stared at her in complete bemusement and proceeded out of the back entrance of the Carta base. The exit was apparently a secret entrance, and it led out into some poor merchant's shop. She found herself standing in the back of the shop, surrounded by decent iron and steel weapons and armor sets that were designed more for the warrior caste than the nobility. She straightened and made her way towards the entrance. As she passed the merchant's counter, the man jumped in shock, and when he saw the severed head in her hand, paled to a clammy white.

"Gah!" he exclaimed. "By all the beards of my ancestors! How did you…where did you come from? Y-you made a hole in my wall!"

She tossed him a sovereign. "That hole leads to a tunnel in the Carta's hideout. I suggest you keep that fact quiet and maybe put something a little less…conspicuous there."

"It…it does? Oh, sod it. Just leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with this." The shopkeeper threw up his hands and went into the back, presumably where his domicile was connected, or perhaps more storage.

Revan shrugged, but made her way out of the shop. In the streets of Orzammar, she discovered she was in the middle of the Commons – no wonder Jarvia had started making moves in this quarter. She was directly linked to it. Those passing her fortunately did not look up from their wanderings, so Revan set out back towards the Diamond Quarter. At first, no one noticed her, but as she approached the Diamond Quarter the more well-off merchants hawking their wares grew quiet as she passed and stared openly. Commoners spotted her and, shocked, moved very far away from her. Finally, as she was about to enter the most prestigious of quarters, a guard tried to stop her, even though he was clearly confused by her appearance and why she was carrying a severed head out in the streets. She only had to look at him menacingly for him to quickly let her by. In the Diamond Quarter proper was where she began eliciting more interesting reactions. The criers stopped their crying of the news to openly gawk. Noble women shrieked in terror, and some even fainted. Noble men fell back into their guards, who shuffled fearfully into some loose ring of protection. It was unfortunate she had not brought her other blades. Blood dripping from Jarvia's neck would have been even more of a spectacle.

Finally, she made it to the Royal Palace. The guards almost did not let her in, but her glare was enough to make them cower and open the door. Inside, Bhelen's second-in-command, Vartag Gavorn, stood guard outside of the royal chambers. He quickly noticed the blood-spattered Jedi and very quickly after that saw the severed head. He paled as well, losing his composure.

"I am here to see Prince Bhelen," Revan announced.

Vortag hesitated. "The Prince is currently indisposed…"

"I am sure he will be more interested in what I have to say," Revan assured him.

Vortag, knowing this was a battle he would most certainly lose, stood aside. Revan nodded to him as she passed.

Revan did not even bother knocking on Bhelen's door. Mainly because she wanted to employ the dramatic so the Prince would know that the Wardens were not a force to trifle with. Partly because it had been too long since her last performance. Sometimes a bit of theatricality was called for. Other times it was subtlety. With a prince who was toying with her and her companions and very obviously using them, theatrics were indeed called for.

Bhelen's chambers were as grand as she expected. The stone bed was large and covered with the finest fabrics from Orlais and Antiva and furs from Ferelden. A desk stood in the antechamber, cluttered with documents and books and ink pots and quills. Armor and weapons gleamed proudly from their stands. Bhelen himself was seated at the desk, though he stood as she entered, and was surrounded by several dwarven guards. Across from him, with her back to the door, was Rose, who turned in her seat to see the interruption. Alistair, Zevran, Sten, Shale, and Morrigan stood to the sides, flanking her protectively. Fuzzywuggins was at her feet obediently, though he growled at her entrance. All were surprised to see her. How fortuitous. She liked an audience.

Revan tossed the head of the previous Carta leader towards Bhelen. "Prince Bhelen. I am Warden Dragonheart. I brought you a gift – the head of the previous leader of the Carta. I thought it would be a nice gift for your concubine, and I thought the fact that her sister now leads it would be a nice gift for you."

Bhelen glared at her. He was a younger dwarf, but his eyes were calculating. She instantly believed all the rumors about him having framed his brother and almost believed those that claimed he had killed his father. This was a ruthless leader. But, he was a leader, and the fact that he did not cow from her blatant display bode well for his strength of will.

"That is quite the gift," he said levelly, even as his guards backed away from the head in revulsion and shock. "You did this by yourself?"

"I had some help," she responded modestly, "though my companions did not know of my actions."

They regarded each other for a moment, just as she and Loghain had regarded each other at Ostagar. Bhelen, satisfied in her victory over him, gestured for a guard to take the gruesome gift well away from him. Rose's face, meanwhile, was horrified, as was Alistair's. Morrigan was barely containing her laughter. Sten and Shale, meanwhile, bore expressions more closely resembling surprise than shock, as much as their faces would allow at least. However, Zevran just regarded her curiously in a way that Revan could not read.

"I must say, Warden Dragonheart, you have excellent timing. I was just remarking to your companions that Orzammar was being crippled by the infringement of these criminals. I take it that this matter has now been resolved?" Bhelen tried to regain control.

"I do not think the Carta will trouble Orzammar nearly as much under its new leadership," she assured him.

"Well, you've simply outdone yourself then." Bhelen was not pleased that she knew so much of his personal affairs, but he knew better than to say anything outright. "You have done the city a great service. I promise, as soon as I take the throne, I will send the troops you all need."

Rose managed to get her initial revulsion under control and turned back to the dwarven prince. "And how soon will that be? The darkspawn don't wait for politics."

"Unfortunately, I cannot say when," Bhelen scowled. "While many deshyrs will appreciate my ending Jarvia's threat, Harrowmont still holds great loyalty. We need something more…dramatic to shift the balance."

"More dramatic than that?" Alistair asked dubiously.

"What are you getting at?" Rose shrewdly probed.

Bhelen resumed his seat at the desk. "What do you know of the Paragon Branka?"

"She disappeared in the Deep Roads," Rose said simply.

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

"So you hope to bring her back to endorse you for king," Alistair remarked dryly.

Bhelen shot him a glare. "I hope you will bring her back to endorse me as king."

Rose contemplated this new development. "What makes you think she's even still alive?"

"She had an entire house with her, dedicated to her protection. With the number of ruins still intact, they could last for a long time," Bhelen explained. "And Harrowmont is looking as well. It's too risky to assume she's dead, only to have him take credit for finding her."

"And you think she would support you as king?" Revan interjected.

"I was hoping you could use your legendary charm to persuade her that the rightful king should take the throne," Bhelen answered sarcastically. "However, if the Deep Roads have…addled her wits, it might be best she not return before the kingship is decided."

"Oghren will be so pleased his wife holds such high esteem," she responded flatly.

"Are you suggesting that we should kill her?" Rose asked incredulously.

"I would never say that," Bhelen said carefully. "She is a Paragon; it is my duty to protect her. On the other hand, we must respect her decisions…should she prefer to stay in the Deep Roads rather than help her rightful king take the throne, we must assist her. By any means necessary."

Revan laid a steadying hand on Rose's shoulder; the young woman was obviously not comfortable with blatant murder. Unfortunately, Revan was, and as much as she found it distasteful, she understood its importance. She had had dedicated assassins for just such reasons. Of course, one had been a droid with no sense of morality, but that was a moot point.

Getting herself under control again, Rose finally responded, "Fine. We will find your Paragon Branka."

"Then we will all go down in history as a Paragon's saviors," the dwarven prince remarked. "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 men could not."

"And you did not think to tell her husband this information?" Revan demanded.

Bhelen met her gaze. "Oghren has disgraced himself and is no longer a member of her house. So no."

"We will leave after we rest," Rose rose from her seat.

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

Rose gave a curt nod to the prince, turned on her heel, and with the air of a woman with a mission, strode out of the royal chambers, her loyal entourage in tow. Revan lingered a moment longer, meeting the dwarf's gaze once again. Much passed between them in that moment. And, satisfied, Revan turned to follow the young Cousland.

There was much left to do.