70. Let Your Drunkard Be Your Guide
This time was it… somehow Oghren just knew it. This was hardly the first time the Warden had elbowed his way into the back room of Tapster's, seeking the peace and privacy of the back wall right near where Oghren liked to set his own camp.
But this time, there was something different about the way the Warden's eyes scanned over the crowd, and Oghren sodding knew why the duster was there. He'd heard the rumors; it had only been a matter of time.
Sure enough, the Warden asked a brief question to a barmaid, who jerked a head back in Oghren's direction. The berserker hid his knowing grin in his mug.
About sodding time. For a while there, he'd worried the kid would try to leave without him.
The Warden wove his way toward the back room, as usual, and his Qunari companion followed behind, as tall and stoic as ever. At some point, they'd lost that lady mage of theirs, more's the pity. The woman was an ice queen, from what Oghren had overheard, but by the Stone was she some fine eye candy.
And then the Warden was standing over his table, staring down at him. "You Oghren?"
Yep, Oghren wanted to say. The drunk you keep sitting next to is the guy you've needed all this time. What are the odds, huh?
He settled for a simple "Yep."
The Warden cast a glance back at the Qunari, who grunted. Then, he kicked out a chair and sat in it, so the two dwarves were facing each other. "I'm Garott Brosca, a Grey Warden-"
"I know who you are," Oghren said, setting his mug down. "By now, every nug in the city knows who you are. You're here about Branka, and it's about sodding time."
The Warden blinked, then smirked, and Oghren decided he kinda liked this guy's style. "You expecting me?"
"Only for about a week, yeah." Oghren gestured to the barmaids for another round of drinks. This wasn't the sort of discussion he wanted with a cold belly… but then, few were. "Word is you're gathering supplies to strike out into the Deep Roads. I'm comin' along."
The Qunari spoke. "He would slow us down."
"Slow you down nothin'. I'm the only one in this town who can show you the way."
"Word is you got a drinking problem," the Warden said dubiously.
"Nah, it ain't a problem. Builds character. Trust me, I can find your Paragon three sheets to the wind and with an ogre chewing on my arm."
The Warden sat back with a doubtful look. "You think you can find Branka?"
"She's my wife, isn't she? She's got a special kind of crazy that only I've ever got inside. I know where she was headed, and I can follow her trail after that. You need me."
"Or," the Warden rumbled with a slow smirk, "I could beat the information I want out of you and leave you here to drown in your cups."
"I'd like to see you try, kiddo." Oghren leaned forward over the table, matching the Warden menacing grin for menacing grin. "You may be an ex-duster with a Qunari at your shoulder, but I'm a berserker whose amazing, gorgeous wife left him behind to wander the Deep Roads with a bunch of smiths. I'll cut the two of you into pieces before I even feel that little dagger of yours."
And, much to Oghren's surprise, the Warden threw his head back and roared with laughter. A frightened-looking barmaid placed the next round of drinks on the table, and the Warden picked up a mug. "Sod it. You're hired." He raised the mug in toast, and Oghren tapped it with his own. The Warden drained his mug like a pro, and Oghren figured they'd get along just fine.