57. The Prince of Snakes

They got a couple stares as they wove their way back through Orzammar. Garott supposed the citizens had their right to stare, since the trio was absolutely covered in darkspawn blood. Still, he couldn't help but chuckle. Most of the poor sods had probably never seen a darkspawn in their lives. He hadn't before Ostagar.

And look at him now, covered in the creatures' gore, with a recommendation from Lord Dace tucked firmly in his pocket. Sure, the materials used to 'convince' the deshyrs were likely forged—or at least stolen—but that was right up Garott's alley.

Lord Harrowmont could shove his Proving. He'd already gone through that once, and he had no intention of risking his neck like that again. Prince Bhelen was more Garott's style anyway, if the blatant blackmail was anything to go by. Garott just wouldn't let himself become a lackey again.

"Mm, I must say I like this deadly Grey Warden walk you've got," Morrigan's voice said silkily behind him. "Feeling particularly formidable today, Warden?"

"Wouldn't you be?" Garott shot back with a smirk. "I'm a darkspawn killing machine. Maybe once the Assembly sees how much blood I'm coated with, they'll buckle down and give me my sodding army, king or not."

"Yes, and perhaps my mother will keel over and die in the next couple days."

"Never hurts to be optimistic." He arched a brow back at her, and she laughed. That, at least, seemed to be a genuine one.

He had Morrigan pegged, now, after so long traveling with just her and the Qunari. She was manipulative, yes, but only to certain ends. He hadn't quite figured out what those ends were, but it seemed to have something to do with ingratiating herself with the Wardens. She'd had Percival panting after her back in Lothering (and gotten a couple bites from him, judging by those new marks on her bare skin when they'd left the village), and now she seemed to think that seducing Garott was a viable course of action.

He had to admit that she was a damn fine woman, especially for a human, and he doubted that she was one to get emotionally attached after a tumble. However, Garott didn't trust a person whose motives he didn't understand. Until he knew what the witch was getting out of it, he didn't trust her enough to be alone and naked with her.

Sten followed behind Morrigan, his face impassive as he scanned the crowd with an eye attentive for trouble.

Garott could not believe how glad he was that he'd saved the Qunari. The man was a strong, steady sword, willing to wade right into a fight with his blade swinging, leaving Garott the chance to sneak in and pick around the edges. The dwarves only wished their warriors were so brave. No wonder the Qunari were so damned good at taking over Thedas.

Still, there were things about Sten that Garott found perplexing. He'd tried to pay the Qunari once, as a good boss should pay any of his hired swords. The Qunari had refused to take the purse, and, obviously insulted, had said something along the lines of "You would not reward a spider for spinning a web." Garott could only shake his head in confusion and make a note not to try that again.

Vartag Gavorn had said to meet him in the palace once all the applicable votes had been secured, so that's where Garott was headed. By now, the auspicious glamor of the Diamond Quarter no longer impressed him, due mostly to the conduct of its residents. At least when dusters had quarrels, they settled it by honorably trying to kill one another. None of this whispering behind other peoples' backs and blackmailing and bribing their way to the top.

Then again, Garott supposed if the castes weren't prone to such things, he never would have gotten his job in the Carta, and then where would he be? Begging for scraps, that's where.

Garott tossed the palace doors wide as he entered, and every guard in the place turned to watch him cross the entrance hall. The nobles and servants alike started whispering among themselves as he stepped inside. He smirked at the lot of them, well aware of the eyes that were trained on his face brand. How it must stew them, to see casteless trash elevated to the illustrious Grey Wardens.

Walking around in areas that had been denied him before never got old, if only because it so obviously steamed those who felt entitled to his exclusion.

Garott stopped expectantly in the middle of the hall. There were three doors off the chamber, and Gavorn had not seen fit to offer him further instructions other than 'Report to the royal palace when you're done.'

"What is your business here, Grey Warden?" One of the guards said, stepping forward to meet him.

Garott crossed his arms casually, still smirking. The guards were glaring at the weapons hanging off his belt, and he had no intention of removing them. "Is that any way to address your prince's champion? Then again, I suppose delivering a couple papers isn't exactly the height of heroism. Where's Vartag Gavorn? He here?"

The guard nodded behind him, and another guard went running through a doorway, hopefully to fetch the prince's yes-man.

"We will let him know you came by," the guard said, turning back to him. "In the meantime, honored Warden, please wait outside. You're dirtying the entrance hall."

Garott barked a laugh. "Oh, am I? And do you mean my current coat of darkspawn blood when you say that?" He laced his next words with menace. "Or are you just maybe talking about something else?"

The guard paled. "I would never presume to... We are honored to have a Grey Warden in our midst."

"Yeah? Funny how that works, isn't it? I was born less than a person, not even worth the effort of putting me out of my misery, and now I come back a Grey Warden and it's suddenly an 'honor' to know me. Guess we dwarves are charming, like that."

The guard looked utterly flustered, probably trying to reconcile the casteless Grey Warden dichotomy. However, he was saved from trying to scrounge up an answer by the door on the left opening.

The head that peeked out at him wasn't Gavorn's, and Garott was genuinely dumbfounded at seeing this particular face in the palace, of all places.

"You're back!" Rica cried, bursting out of the doors and running over to him. His sister tackled him in a hug, burying her face in his filthy leathers. "Garott! It's so good to see you!"

It was all he could do to stand there and blink, the usually smooth-running cogs in his head stuttering over this shock.

He hadn't had the heart to set foot in Dust Town yet. He'd fought and scraped his way out of that rat hole, and had no intention of ever going back. As such, he hadn't had a chance to meet his family and old friends. He'd kind of hoped they'd crawl out of the tunnels when they heard of his presence in Orzammar… and he admitted he'd been disappointed when he'd passed a couple days without word. Still, he'd had more important things to do than dwell on missed happy reunions, so he'd shrugged and gotten on with his job.

"And just who is this?" Morrigan asked silkily, though there was an underlying hostility in her voice. "An old flame, perhaps?"

"What?" Rica drew back to look at the witch. Then, she laughed, and Garott marveled that he'd never seen his sister so happy. "No, no, nothing like that. I'm Rica, Garott's sister. And you are…?"

"Charmed, I'm sure." The sarcasm in the witch's voice was thick enough to spread on bread.

"Morrigan, act civilized for a couple minutes," Garott said, finding his wits. "Rica, what are you doing here?"

"You don't know?" His sister peered up at him in surprise. "No, I don't suppose you would, would you? I'm…" Her grin was bright, once again so very unlike the downtrodden sister he was used to. "I'm Prince Bhelen's consort!"

"Oh, how convenient indeed," Morrigan's voice cooed. "If one must sell oneself, one couldn't have picked a better buyer than-"

Her words were cut off by Garott's hand-axe flying at her. She apparently anticipated the weapon, and the axe passed harmlessly through the cloud of flies she immediately shapeshifted into. The axe embedded itself in the wall behind her with a clunk, and several guards around the room looked uncertain over whether to apprehend the Warden or not.

As the Morrigan swarm reformed into her usual shapely figure, Garott scowled at her. "I usually don't mind your snide remarks, but my sister is off-limits. Got that? Or else I'm gonna have to bring up a certain nobleman you ain't exactly been chaste with yourself."

"If you thought I was being sarcastic," the witch said stiffly, "then that is your own failing, not mine. I, for one, applaud such ambition, particularly if casteless life is as unbearable as you have often implied. I say bravo to her for managing to claw her way out of such a dreary existence."

Sten, however, frowned at that. "So the woman seeks to change her own station by attaching herself to one of the leaders. This is strange. What does he get out of this?"

Garott stiffened, but Rica smiled shyly at the question, silencing any response. She smiled up at him, her hand going to her belly. Which Garott realized, was a bit rounder than it had been when he'd left. And not merely from plentiful food.

His eyes widened. "You're…"

She nodded. "Bhelen says he doesn't care… even if it's a girl, he won't turn me away. He's… he's a good man, brother. It means so much to me to see you supporting him."

"As it does to us all," said a new voice, and Garott looked up to see the man himself, leaning in the doorway through which Rica had come.

At least, Garott could only assume this was Prince Bhelen. He looked enough like Marnan, though his hair was a shade lighter, closer to strawberry blond than Marnan's spitfire red. His eyes had the same confidence she did, though, as well as a certain amount of craftiness that Marnan did not.

Not for the first time, Garott wondered what the truth behind Marnan's exile truly was.

"You must be the honorable and suspiciously well-positioned prince," Garott chuckled, not bothering to bow.

Bhelen nodded with a good-natured smile, though his eyes watched Garott with the cunning intensity of a cat on a mouse. "That I am. It is good to meet you at last, Garott Brosca. To say that I've heard a lot about you is an understatement. I admit, the stories do not disappoint."

Yep, this was a silver-tongued adder, if he'd ever met one. He snorted. "You'll find flattery doesn't work on me, your princeliness."

At this, the prince smirked and inclined his head. "I did not say that all the stories were flattering."

At that, Garott laughed in earnest, and finally gave the prince a bow… though it was one of a man bested in a verbal sparring match, rather than that of a commoner to a prince.

The prince nodded his own acknowledgement. "When you've caught up with your sister, Warden, please, meet me in my chambers. We've matters of the throne to discuss, I believe."

"That we do." The prince left back through the doors, and Rica immediately swatted his arm. "Ow. What?"

"I can't believe you talked to Bhelen like that!" she laughed. "I was used to it with Beraht… but not with a prince! By the Ancestors, Garott, if he didn't have the sense of humor he does…!"

"He'd be down one of his most influential supporters, wouldn't he?" Garott said with a smirk. "Don't worry, Rica. Bhelen's not the kind of man to let an opportunity slip by him, even if that opportunity gives him a little lip."

Rica shook her head in exasperation, still smiling fondly. "You haven't changed a bit, have you? I guess I should be glad. When you left to join the Wardens, I was worried you'd come back as some grim, straight-laced figure from out of an old tale or something."

Garott wrapped an arm around his sister again. "Never fear, Rica. I will always be the same irreverent thug you know and love. I just happen to have added 'kicking archdemons in the balls' to my job description."

"I still can't believe it, you know. My little brother… a Grey Warden."

"Says the sister who is carrying the child of a sodding prince." Oh Stone, this would make him and Marnan in-laws. "Seems we Broscas are moving up in the world, eh? What must Ma think?"

Rica caught the question that he would never be able to ask out loud. "She's okay, Garott. Bhelen's providing for her, and for me, and she's doing a lot better these days. She misses you, though."

He grunted, looking away.

"Come on. You shouldn't leave Bhelen waiting." She started back through the door, and Garott followed.

Morrigan and Sten walked behind. When the guards blocked them from following the dwarves into the residences, Sten looked about ready to start adding notches to his greatsword.

"It's okay," Garott said to his companions. "I'll go on alone. You guys wait for me; I won't be long."

"I will not be left out," Morrigan fumed.

Garott arched an eyebrow at her. "If the prince wants to see me alone, then I guess I get to be the only one he'll see." He could tell by the flash of understanding in her eyes that she took his meaning, and he turned and left the pair to their own devices.

Rica led him through the corridors silently. She was nervous, he realized. But was she worried for Bhelen or for Garott?

After a couple minutes, they turned to a set of double-doors and Rica knocked. "Let him in," came that smooth voice from inside, and Garott stepped through the double doors into a chamber bigger than four or five houses in Dust Town. Bhelen sat at a desk off to one side, and nodded a greeting. "Thank you, Rica. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak with him alone."

"Of course, my lord," Rica said with a bow, and disappeared with the soft click of the door shutting.

Garott was left standing alone in the middle of the adder's nest, being studied by the king of snakes himself. It was surprising how nervous he suddenly was. Bhelen was an opportunist, and Garott knew from personal experience just how little such kinds could be trusted.

"Let's not mince words, Warden," Bhelen said at last, the charismatic smile dropping from his face as he leaned back in his chair. Now, the prince was all cold calculation, and that was a change that Garott found himself appreciating. "You're an intelligent man, that much is clear, and not above getting your hands dirty. I can appreciate that. But if you ever dare to come out and accuse me of what you just implied in the entrance hall, I will have you killed. Do not doubt that."

Garott nodded, feeling much more comfortable with this Bhelen than the smiling, laughing one from five minutes before. Heh. "Don't worry; I don't volunteer information. Not unless the price for blabbing is higher than the cost… and since you've got my sister in your pocket, the cost is more than I'd ever be willing to pay."

Bhelen's eyes narrowed. "If you're implying that I'd ever hurt Rica-"

"Why wouldn't you?" Garott let one hand fall to his dagger, lamenting the fact that his hand-axe was still stuck in the entrance hall wall. "She's a casteless concubine. Last I heard, you nobles don't exactly get invested in those unless there's a little bundle involved. You don't even know if it's male, so what's she to you?"

Bhelen stood up, obviously beginning to lose his temper. Garott found it encouraging that this would get him so worked up. "You'd speak of your sister that way?"

Garott laughed humorlessly. "You're one to talk, considering what you did to your own."

At that, both of them froze. Bhelen's eyes went wide as he studied Garott, and the Warden cursed inwardly at the slip. Too late to recall it now.

The prince's lips quirked in a sly smile, and Garott could practically see him putting the pieces together. "You were still in the Deep Roads, weren't you? You and the Wardens? Harrowmont, that scheming son of a nug. He'd spoken with the commander about his projected route… he would have sent her straight to you."

Garott forced a smile, though he felt like he'd just lost a major bargaining chip. More… he felt like he'd somehow… betrayed Marnan. What was that about? What did he care? "Imagine if she came back and testified against you. I bet her accusations would carry a bit more weight than mine, since she obviously knows what went down first-hand."

Bhelen sat back again, eyes hooded. "And you would allow her to do this, knowing that, if Harrowmont won, it would send your sister back to Dust Town?"

"She can find another noble. There's only one throne."

Bhelen was silent for a minute, obviously turning that over in his mind. Garott kept his gaze steady and confident, unsure whether this all was a bluff or not. The only sound for a long moment was that of a nug, scrabbling quietly in a corner of the room.

Then, the prince asked, "What, exactly, are you demands here?"

"Just this: if I make you king, you treat my sister with the respect a girl like her deserves, whether that kid is a son or daughter."

"A non-issue." Bhelen waved a hand dismissively. "I have no intention of turning her away. If the child is a girl, then the deshyrs will just have to hold their tongues until we can present them with a son. Of that, you have my word."

It was Garott's turn to study the prince, and Bhelen met his eyes steadily. Garott couldn't detect any lie in that assurance, and he prided himself in being pretty good at detecting bullshit. Satisfied, he nodded. "Then I guess we both got a good reason to get along, don't we?"

Bhelen's smile was slow and sly, and a little respectful. "That we do. Well played, Warden."

Garott bowed again, smirking. "So, my prince. What's the next step in making you king?"

The prince's smirk widened. "Oh, this is one you'll appreciate, I think. Rica did say you have a strong sense of irony."

Garott arched a brow.

Bhelen stood up. "Orzammar has some… problems. Ones that I'd like to see solved, and intend to do so should I take… receive the crown."

Garott smirked, unfooled.

"And so, I need to send a message to the Assembly, to make my intentions clear. At the same time, it will be cleaning up a deepstalker nest that has been festering in this city for far too long, ruining lives and leeching off what little economy we can maintain."

Garott laughed, because he did, indeed, have a strong sense of irony. "You're talking about the Carta."

"That I am." Bhelen smiled at him, a gleam in his eyes. "What do you say, Warden? Would you like to take back Dust Town, for all the branded boys who have to sign on as a thug or get their heads knocked in, and for all the casteless girls who have to spread their legs to have any hope of anything better?"

Garott laughed heartily. "For them? No. This, I'll be doing for me. You got yourself a deal. Boss."

The prince held out his hand, and sod it if Garott didn't shake it. As he left the room and worked his way back to the entrance hall alone, a nug crawled out of a hole in the wall and climbed up onto his shoulder. Once perched, it chittered something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"Not a word, Morrigan," Garott said with a snort. "Some people would pay for the sort of entertainment you just witnessed. Now, let's find our Qunari. We've got some heads to bash in."