59. An Unwelcome Inevitability

Garott didn't know what was more surprising: that Leske turned and stabbed him in the back to defend his position as the local crime lord's second-in-command and plaything… or the fact that this didn't really surprise him at all. He pondered it, while he crouched over his former friend's body.

Leske had always been an opportunist. He'd gained what little power he could, no doubt scraping his way up to the top over a hundred other lives, but that was the risk everyone took when they joined the Carta. Landing on top of that deepstalker nest was an impressive feat. Took a lot of backstabbing. And frontstabbing, sidestabbing, headstabbing... just a lot of stabbing in general, really.

Garott couldn't hate Leske for betraying him. He probably would have done the same thing, and been more shrewd about it to boot. "You poor son of a nug," he whispered, voice forcibly level as he closed his ex-partner's eyes. "You picked the wrong bet to back." His throat tightened, and he cleared it. "You always were a sodding lousy gambler."

He remained crouched there while the other two looted the corpses, the dwarf working through his grief with the methodical patience of one who'd grown up in the instability of the slums. It would ache for a while, but he'd deal.

Finally, he stood and looked around. "Anything interesting?"

"Only a rather remarkable set of documents in this chest," Morrigan hummed. She held up a stack of papers. "They would be quite devastating to your prince friend's case, were they discovered." Suddenly, the papers erupted into a puff of fire, and Morrigan grinned. "Whoops. How clumsy of me."

Garott grinned himself, nodding his approval.

Sten, meanwhile, cast Morrigan a sideways look. "Was giving all our opponents horrifying visions with magic truly necessary?"

"Perhaps not, but 'twas fun."

Sten rumbled a disapproving "hm," but accepted that and turned toward Garott. "We have cut off the head, but it is unlikely that the body will die. The seed of rebellion is not something that can wiped out so simply."

Garott shrugged. "If it's good enough for Bhelen to give me my sodding army, that's fine with me." He snagged the remains of one of Jarvia's more brilliant traps, because he kind of wanted to reverse-engineer it. "Come on, let's get out of here. I never want to see this place again as long as I live." He led the pair out through what appeared to be a back exit. Sure enough, they emerged in an armorer's shop, much to the surprise of the rather startled armorer, who apparently had had no idea about the secret door into a criminal stronghold in his wall.

It was lucky Jarvia had decided to stand and fight rather than escape… if she had been the first one out of that exit, she'd have probably killed him. And what sort of mess would that make for Bhelen's case?

Triumphant, the trio returned to the palace. Bhelen was expecting them, and greeted them with noble words and a winning smile. Garott nodded and spoke with appropriate respect (well, for him, anyway), but otherwise didn't pay much attention to the conversation. He was suddenly just too weary for all these games.

And who could blame him? He'd just wiped out, single-handed, the organization that he'd worked for since he was ten. He'd killed his best friend and partner of ten years. His sister was carrying an Aeducan child, but there was no guarantee that if she birthed a daughter, the Assembly wouldn't throw her into a magma pit, even if Bhelen did keep his word.

It was all… exhausting. With all that, on top of the Blight, he felt overwhelmed. He even had the sudden urge to see Kalah. His mother.

Then, Bhelen gave them their next, and purportedly last, task: finding Branka. Sodding Branka. Paragon who disappeared into the Deep Roads two years prior Branka.

Garott all but stormed out of the palace, and didn't say anything to either of his companions until they were in the merchant's quarter, pawning off the odds and ends they'd found stashed in the Carta hideout. Then, the tired, rusty wheels in his head started spinning, and he found himself staring at a hunk of lyrium ore up for sale, trying to think of how the blazes the three of the them were going to survive the Deep sodding Roads.

"We're gonna need a map," he groaned.

"Beg pardon, Warden?" Morrigan asked offhandedly. She was admiring a jeweled mirror on the merchant's shelves.

"A map. Of the Deep Roads. We're gonna need one."

Sten said, "I take it finding such a thing is not that easy."

"Nope." Garott turned and started away from the stall, and the pair followed (reluctantly, in Morrigan's case). "Thing is, anything the Shaperate has upstairs will be sodding old. The place will have collapsed and been re-tunneled by 'spawn in the meantime. Might as well be working blind." He stopped them in an alcove off the square and rubbed the exhaustion from his face. "Only two kinds of people might have a good one... Grey Wardens and the Legion of the Dead. I ain't gotta tell you why finding Wardens with maps is a problem, and the Legion... well, if you get far enough into the Deep Roads that you find the Legion, you don't need the sodding map in the first place."

"It seems to me," Morrigan said, "that what we require is not a map, but a guide."

"Guides who'd be either Wardens or Legion," Garott said. "Same problem."

"Has not..." Sten began, then cut himself off.

That made Garott arch a brow. Since when was the Qunari hesitant about anything? "You got an idea, big guy?"

Sten sighed through his nose and shifted, and yep, that was definitely discomfort. Interesting. "I am given to understand that one of your fellow Wardens has frequently been involved in military expeditions into the Deep Roads."

Garott stiffened. "You mean Marnen?"

"Yes. The female karasten." He paused, then said quickly. "I cannot understand how such a thing might be so, that a woman would function as a soldier, but that is what I am told is the way of it. Correct me if I am mistaken."

Garott couldn't help but be amused by that. Stenny was weirded out by ladies in armor? Huh. Who knew? "No, you ain't wrong, and I'd bet my boots the princess would deck you for saying what you just did. You got a problem with woman Warriors, big guy?"

Morrigan huffed and crossed her arms.

"It is not a woman's place," Sten said.

Garott snorted. "Yeah, definitely don't say that in front of the princess." He shook his head incredulously.

"You are missing the point," Sten said sharply. "If she has, indeed, been part of military campaigns into the Deep Roads, then it would stand to reason that she would retain knowledge of them."

"Ah, I get what you're getting at. And, no. There's not a nug's chance in Dust Town that I'm going running to the princess for help."

"I see. I had thought you had no other viable plan for how we will survive the Deep Roads," Sten deadpanned. "It seems I was mistaken, or you would not dismiss this one so quickly."

Garott glared up at the Qunari, who returned the look flatly.

"It seems to me," Morrigan put in, "that the chances of anyone being able to track this woman are slim, particularly if she has been gone for such a very long time. Why not simply venture forth and let what comes come?"

Garott sighed and shook his head. "Bad idea." He unhooked his hand axe and flipped it while he thought. "Look, even with a map, dragging you two down there is a gamble. It's a big darkspawn nest... literally. Chances are better than not that you'll catch the Taint and die." He froze as his mind caught up to his words.

Son of a sod-swilling noble-hunting whore. These two weren't Wardens. If they caught the Taint, then it would be Garott alone against the entire whole damn horde, and even he wasn't slippery enough to survive sheer numbers on that scale all alone.

He turned and banged his forehead against the nearest wall.

"Are you well, Warden?" Morrigan prodded doubtfully.

"Sod it. Sten's right. We're gonna need back-up."

Sten hummed, as if it was a foregone conclusion. "You have assured us that you are not suicidal. Although the truth of that statement is yet to be determined."

"Thank you, Sten, for the ringing endorsement." Garott sighed and turned to address them. "Morrigan, I need you to take a message to Redcliffe."

"Why must it be me, I wonder?" she said with narrowed eyes.

Garott arched an eyebrow. "Unless you know of a way to make dwarves and Qunari fly, I'm gonna say because you can get there the Stone-damned fastest. Besides, weren't you saying the other day how much you hated this 'stinking hole in the ground'?"

Morrigan sighed. "Oh, very well. I shall do thy bidding, as usual."

"As it should be," Sten said with something that, on him, counted as a smirk.

"And you, my large associate," Morrigan rejoined sourly, "are lucky that I do not turn you into a toad." She waved a dismissive hand and started off toward the Orzammar exit. "Do enjoy your hole in the ground, boys. I will be flying free as a bird. As a bird, at that."

Garott snorted and watched her go, then turned to his stoic companion. "In the meantime... come on, Sten." He started walking, this time beelining for Tapster's. "You stopped Jarvia's daggers from filleting my ass. You may not like to be paid, but by my reckoning, that means I owe you a sodding drink. And you're going to take it, whether you like it or not. That's a sodding order."

Sten followed behind Garott as he made his way up the tavern steps, fully intending to get the both of them thoroughly drunk after a day like that. And by the Stone if the Qunari wasn't smiling, just a little bit.