Frannie thought it was time she and Faeron talked. It was one of the few rational thoughts that had crossed through her mind while the tears had fallen sporadically during the past few hours. Dirt on the floor of the jail cell had muddied the toe of her boots. It refused to come off despite how hard she rubbed at the leather. The last time she had been in that cell was when she and Leske...

And there were the tears, again.

It was frustrating and exhausting. Frannie couldn't breathe through her nose anymore and her eyes were swollen and raw. She lacked the energy to produce anything more than the slight misting over her eyes that blurred her vision, but every time she had convinced herself she was done with the intense sobbing that had preoccupied her earlier, her mind would stray to Leske. Little thoughts, bad thoughts. Something insignificant, like how she'd never asked him what he was thinking that one time he'd laughed over his mug of ale, and then it would travel to how dull his eyes had been and how slack and wrong his jaw fell open and how it was wrong and she was wrong and everything was wrong.

He didn't look at peace. He didn't look like he was sleeping. He looked like a forgotten, discarded husk.

So it would start like poison in the back of her mind and spread outward, until it shook her chest and burned her eyes. Faeron sat, silent and glaring in his cell as Frannie cycled through these thoughts over and over again.

The last time she had been in that cell, she had picked the lock. It wouldn't bring Leske back.

Zevran seemed to read her mind. From outside the cell, he caught her gaze with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. With a swipe of her nose, Frannie crawled to the side of the cell and gripped the bars.

"Say something," she said. "Please."

Faeron turned his head to face her, but did not move. He stared at her red ringed eyes and his mouth twisted. "There is nothing to say. Neither of us can compromise in this situation without also compromising our principles."

"What does wanting your brother dead have anything to do with principles?" The remark came out more biting than she intended. His eyes narrowed and Frannie resigned herself to the fact that a calm discussion would probably never happen.

"It's just as principled as wanting to protect a sister who has risen far beyond the constraints of her station," he replied.

Her guts clenched. She could feel a sick warmth rising up her spine and flashing out of her cheeks. "Are you saying that the danger my sister's in is Rica's fault?"

"She's a casteless whore," Faeron said. He averted his gaze from her and looked straight ahead. "She has no role in the dwarven aristocracy aside from the opportunities presented to a parasite."

Frannie hadn't realized that her hand had formed a fist until she pounded the ground with it. "And what role do you have in the dwarven aristocracy?" she growled. "Proud Prince Faeron Aeducan, the darling, favored son of King Endrin, kinslayer, brother murderer, banished to the Deep Roads in disgrace!"

"I told you the Aeducan name was dead-"

"Oh, give me a break, you nug-humping bronto's arse!" She pulled herself up and looked at him squarely. "I am so over the 'casteless whore' excuse. We're branded and punished not for anything we did, not anything our parents did, grandparents- who did it? Somebody must've done something! It's so far back not a damn person can tell me what our ancestors did that was so bad, only that I've got a brand on my cheek so I must be scum. Doesn't matter I'm trying so hard to do right despite how many times I've seen one of your nobles pop a shiv in their brother's back!"

Faeron was looking at her, now. It wasn't a kind expression on his face. "Bhelen killed our brother, Trian and let me accept the blame. Then he helped our father along with some poison. Now, you want me to reward him with the future of Orzammar. How is that doing right? How is that fair? Do you honestly think your pretty little Rica is safe in his care?"

"Between a full belly in the Diamond Quarter or all the criminals you've turned everyone in Dust Town into?" Frannie barked out a laugh. "I think Rica'll take her chances with your dishonest lot."

Zevran slipped a dagger into his boot and leaned against the wall of the jail. He said nothing, but his eyes followed both Frannie and Faeron as intently as if it had been a festival day pageant.

"You would put your Rica above all others in Orzammar?" Faeron was losing the aggression behind his earlier statements. As his voice became quieter, it gained a strange, cold tinny to it. "Your loyalty to your family has you defending a man who possesses none."

"Yeah," Frannie realized. "You're right, I would put Rica above all of Orzammar. She's earned it, she deserves that much."

Faeron frowned away whatever was plaguing the back of his mind. "Bhelen destroyed his family for his own selfish gain. He'd sacrifice anything for his station. Casteless, smith, merchant, noble, they're all just pawns to him."

"Even his own son?"

His eyes were an inky brown, wavering and fluid as he glanced at her. "I believe so," he muttered.

"Don't you lie to me, Faeron," she said. He refused to look at her, then. Frannie sighed.

She circled around the small confines of the cell before she finally sat back down. There had been so much time since the last time she'd been trapped in there, but she could pretend there were still hints and whispers of Leske. Maybe he had been the one to make that long scratch along the door of the cell.

"I have lost so much," Frannie said. She didn't like the hiccuping shakiness that her voice had taken to, but she couldn't seem to stop once she had started. "I didn't really have much to begin with. I don't have a home here, anymore, I don't have my best friend. Please don't make me lose my sister. Please don't make me lose my nephew."

Faeron said nothing. He ground his thick fingers into the bridge of his nose.

"Say something," Frannie demanded. "If I have to face the entire warrior caste so that she can escape to the surface, I will. I just, I can't lose anything more- Say something!"

The only sound that punctuated the room was Faeron's long exhale.

"Faeron!"

"I have a son."

That stopped her cold. "Beg pardon?"

"I have a son," he repeated. "It would be a simpler predicament if it were just weighted by how much I hate my brother."

"I don't understand," Frannie murmured. "There's no record of you having a son."

"No, there wouldn't be." He chuckled. It wasn't a friendly sound. "It was right after the Provings. I was elated. I would have taken anyone to my bed and why shouldn't I? I was a skilled warrior who had just bested the others, I was Father's favorite, I had the rest of my life to do even greater things than I'd already accomplished. A girl, Mardy, found me before anyone else."

"This was before Prince Trian?" Frannie asked.

Faeron nodded. "This was before Trian. No sooner had I bathed her scent off me then I was set up by Bhelen. It was easy to forget her after that, all things considered."

She pulled herself closer to the bars, to his cell. "You know the babe's yours?"

"He has my eyes." There was a quick flicker of a genuine smile. "Already, he gives expressions just like my father. The time frames match up. I believe her. There's no reason why she would lie about paternity when the father's a convicted kinslayer."

There was a gathering knot in her belly. Her earlier tears were forgotten in lieu of the chill of apprehension. "Does Bhelen know?"

"I don't know," Faeron said. "Lord Harrowmont has given his word to look after the boy. He'll never be a noble, he'll never rule Orzammar, but he'll be cared for. He won't be abandoned in the Deep Roads."

"That's..." It was hard for Frannie to look at him. As she ran a hand across her hair, she grabbed a fistful of the limp, red hair and tugged. "I don't know what to say."

More bittersweet laughter. "I know. We've two innocent babes and neither deserve to be held accountable for the sins of their fathers."

"There must be something we can do," she insisted. "It's not fair."

"If life were fair, there would be more darkness in your heart over the evils you've endured." The set of Faeron's brow softened and his features thawed. "Sometimes we're fortunate in how unfair life can be."

And with so few words, the tension in her belly began to unravel. Under Zevran's watchful eye, Frannie stood and picked the lock to her cell door. She walked over to Faeron's cell and opened the door. "You would have made a good king."

"No." He stood and gripped her hand in his. "I'm too rigid and love too much. That's like me saying that you would have made an excellent warrior had you been born to the right caste."

"I will be your warrior." Frannie flashed him a broad grin. "Your majesty."

Faeron just shook his head at her.

"Come on," Frannie said. "Let's go see if our friends have returned, yet."

Zevran clapped a hand on Frannie's shoulder as she walked past him and all three of them left the recesses of the carta's jail for the openness of the Diamond Quarter.