Chairs were never the right size. The bar, Tapsters, catered to its dwarven population, so the seats were wider, and the legs were shorter. It made Nema feel like she was squatting above a chamber pot when she sat. Not that it was an issue of location, necessarily. On the surface, beyond the reaches of Orzammar, chairs tended to be made for humans, even in the Alienage.
Silfee seemed to be making the best of things; she had insisted they order a round of drinks lest they offend their hosts by loitering. The thimble of ale in Nema's fingers stayed untouched as she stared at the bar patrons. The golem, Shale was garnering their group more attention than Nema would have liked, but there wasn't much she could do about it at the moment. Shale stood, hardly moving, at the very end of the bar.
The barmaid, Cora, was more open to talking once their coin had been plunked down, but the exchange was making Nema's nose rankle. Idle gossip and local rumors, most of which were unhelpful. Leliana and Silfee were reveling in it, even Wynne appeared to be enjoying her ale. Nema had never expected the elder mage to have such a taste for the drink, but upon consideration, it made a certain sort of sense. A person would have to snuff out their thoughts with alcohol to graciously accept a lifetime in the Circle, wouldn't they?
Their path was clear, but the end result was still up for debate. Rescue the Paragon, Branka, from the Deep Roads. In return, Branka would voice her support of a king, whether it would be Bhelen or Harrowmont was currently undecided. Nema would just have to grit her teeth and ignore how vexing it was that the dwarves felt their own petty squabbles were of higher importance than a Blight. Perhaps the Wardens should have walked away from those fools and allowed the darkspawn to swallow them all whole. Then, maybe the displaced survivors would comprehend the need for action.
Then again, the humans would probably be kind enough to grant the dwarves an Alienage. All the elves could just go find their Dalish brethren. And the Dalish? Well, Dalish weren't really people by human standards, were they? Nema hated politics.
Alistair sat as primly as he could on the edge of his seat. His discomfort was evident on his face as well as with the way his knees jutted up as he sat. Nema accepted that she, Alistair and Shale certainly weren't winning themselves any friends with their charming social graces. She found it frustrating that in order for people to listen to her she couldn't simply just be right. Nema had to be polite, too. Well, when they were all polite and dead, then maybe she could actually accomplish something.
All things considered, perhaps it had been wise to bring Silfee Cousland along, after all. The noblewoman had that light, practiced laugh flitting across the walls of the pub as she chatted with the dwarven patrons. She even had the audacity to comb her fingers through one gentleman's beard as she said her goodbyes. Amazing that despite being taller and more slender, despite her inherent vapidness, Silfee was able to get along swimmingly with a people renown for a depth she could only dream to possess.
"Well, my votes on Bhelen," Silfee announced with a self-satisfied smirk.
"This I have got to hear." Alistair dragged his chair over to the stone table Silfee was lounging at.
"Yes," Wynne said. "What are your reasons, child?"
"A poll, perhaps?" Leliana suggested. "The majority that you've spoken with are in favor of Bhelen?"
"Oh, Maker, no." The delicate braids that decorated Silfee's hair bobbed as she laughed. "The majority would have Harrowmont lead them to extinction."
Alistair rudely gestured a hand at her as he shook his head. "Typical. The people want one way, so you suggest the exact opposite. That is so like you."
"I'm comfortable with whatever way you want it, Alistair," she replied.
Silfee's influence must have been waning. Nema noted that the only redness in Alistair's face was due to irritation and not embarrassment. "What I want is to best serve these people and their wishes so that we have the strongest alliance possible," he said.
Silfee shrugged. "My vote's still for Bhelen."
"Why do you favor Bhelen over Harrowmont?" Leliana asked. "You still have not explained your reasons."
"Harrowmont is a good man," Silfee said. She leaned back in her chair and curled her legs up beneath her. "Everyone here speaks highly of him. But Orzammar does not need a good man. Orzammar needs a good king. They're surrounded by darkspawn and constantly under siege. Perhaps if darkspawn could be placated with words then Harrowmont would be a suitable choice, but alas, I've yet to meet one that's interested in talking."
Maker, save them all, Silfee Cousland was speaking cold, rational sense.
"What's so wrong with wanting peace?" Alistair asked.
Silfee leaned forward and patted his cheek. "You cannot always negotiate and acquiesce your way to peace. A leader needs to appreciate that sometimes a show of force is an appropriate measure. With darkspawn, a show of force is always the appropriate measure."
"And you think Bhelen will be an effective leader?" Leliana asked.
"He is interesting," Silfee said. "He, without provocation, murdered a brother, framed another and then led his father to an early grave. Perhaps he did it just for the glory of the title, 'king,' but he talks of reclaiming lost thaigs by abolishing the caste system."
"The caste system is rubbish, anyway," Alistair said with a shake of his head. "I don't see why that's a selling point."
"Are you really so simple?" Silfee laughed. Tinkling bells and Andraste's grace. "Why don't humans just tear down the gates of the Alienages? Let the elves fight as brothers against the darkspawn, perhaps put one atop Cailan's empty throne?"
"I still think it's rubbish," Alistair informed his thimble of ale.
Nema had let them blather on long enough. It sounded as though Silfee had convinced the majority and the more she continued to talk, the more she gathered a crowd. They needed to go to the Deep Roads and they needed to crown a king.
"Hey, I heard about you Grey Wardens, coming from the surface, great crisis in the world." His voice was gruff and he smelled like a brewery. A dwarf with flame red hair staggered toward them. "I figured you'd be the ones, you know, who could help me find Branka."
Alistair attempted to very obviously ignore the dwarf, while Wynne politely sipped at her ale.
The dwarf waved a hand at them. "But I guess you're just like all the rest."
"Our only concern is raising allies against the Blight," Nema said.
Her answer didn't satisfy him. "You don't need a king to face a Blight," Maker, he reeked, "you need a Paragon!" He began to gesture madly with his hands as if he could wave away his drunkenness or waft understanding at them. "The Assembly elects them, but they're higher than the Assembly. They become nobles, but they're more than anyone born to a house."
Nema's first finger tapped along the side of her drink. "Which is why we're going to travel through the Deep Roads to find her."
"They're what every dwarf with a spine not made out of soap dreams of being!" he bellowed. The dwarf swayed at her and then blinked. "Wait. What?"
"We are leaving for the Deep Roads," Nema said.
"Really?" That sobered him up.
She stared at him. "Yes."
"Well shave my back and call me an elf!" He slapped his hand on the table and laughed. "Name's Oghren, and if you ever heard of me before, it's probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong." He aimed his grin at Alistair. "And that's mostly true. But the part they never say is how I'm the only one still trying to save our only Paragon. If you're looking for Branka, I'm the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty, sodding helpful finding her."
"He would certainly need more than a clean shave to pass as an elf, don't you think?" Silfee giggled. Nema felt her hands tighten into fists.
"If you know so much about where she is, why haven't you gone after her yourself?" Alistair demanded.
"It doesn't matter," Nema said. "We're down a few people due to their own stupidity. Oghren, is it?"
The dwarf nodded. "Aye."
"You can come with us so long as your information is good," she told him. "Otherwise, the Deep Roads will take care of you."
His grin wasn't kind. "I've been waiting to hear that for two sodding years. Let's leave before you all sober up and change your minds."