11111
Winter was in full force and it was being made all the more obvious the higher they climbed. Thankfully the road to Orzammar was used enough for it to be kept in good repair so even in heavy snowfall the company could keep moving.
In spite of their good progress Odin Brosca was nervous. Not about the journey but the destination. He knew this homecoming would happen at some point, ever since he and Alistair had decided to use the treaties, but there were plenty of reasons he had delayed this as long as possible.
The most immediate problem in Odin's mind was his own neck. It was only through the intervention of Duncan that the Casteless thug who had impersonated a warrior (and humiliated several real warriors in single combat) had avoided what promised to be a slow and painful execution. When he had pointed this out to Alistair on the road to Lothering all those months ago his fellow Wardens assured him that his new status would protect him but the dwarf was not so sure. Certainly Grey Wardens had always been treated as honoured guests in the past but none of them had been wanted criminals in the city. He might simply be barred from entry. Or Loghain's smear campaign against the order might have taken root here; if they decided to apprehend him instead his fate would be bleak. The two nations might feel he was a useful pawn to be sacrificed. The choice would then be where would he killed; Orzammar, at the hands of his own people? Or Denerim before its' self proclaimed leader?
Even if neither of these events happened and he got welcomed into the city unharmed there were no shortage of people who would want him dead. The warriors he had defeated in combat may well choose to face the upstart pretender who had shamed them in front of the city and their ancestors. Even worse was the idea that the Carta would be after him. Odin had after all beheaded the criminal organisation (metaphorically and literally) when he killed Beraht, whoever had replaced him might fear a rival had returned, or a simply feel that a message needed to be sent about the personal dangers of killing a Carta boss. Unlike the warriors the Carta would have absolutely no qualms about using more devious methods to get rid of him. If he did get through the gates Odin resolved to check all his food and drink very carefully indeed, and stay away from any lava pits in case of an 'accidental' trip or shove from a passerby.
But there was another worry, his family. His big sister Rica had always been there for him, she had all but raised him while his mother drank herself stupid, and he had abandoned her. Realistically he knew he had no real choice about staying but his conscience troubled him all the same. If they were still living the city's festering slum otherwise known as Dust Town he would get them out, somehow. Maybe he shouldn't have delayed this.
This grim train of thought was interrupted as the group turned a corner and the great gates of Orzammar came into view. They were shut.
"I thought that the city was open to visitors" Leliana pondered "But from here it doesn't look like anyone's going in."
"Why might that be?" asked Zevran. All eyes fell on Odin, who was scowling.
"There are several possible reasons why" he eventually said "None of them are good."
As they passed through the semi permanent village that stood outside the mountain fragments of conversations from the irate merchants began to paint a picture of what was happening.
"…he'd been ill for months apparently"
"Poison probably, it's always poison."
"His two eldest sons are dead, who will succeed?"
"Blood running through the streets before his body was cold."
It didn't take long to piece all the rumours together.
"So the dwarf king is dead. What perfect timing these things have" concluded Zevran.
"King Endrin was old but he was as robust as ever when I left." Said Odin "I can't say I'll miss him but if there is no new king this will complicate things."
"You do not care about your king?" Asked Wynne, sounding a little surprised at that.
"He may have been my King but Endrin was as traditionalist they get, which meant of course that I and the rest of the casteless could rot for he cared. Hopefully whoever does succeed him will be a little more open to change."
"I see. I had heard stories about the caste system but… is it truly that bad?"
Odin gave the elderly mage a look, but he kept his temper. No surfacer ever went to Dustown after all. "You'll see if we get in, I've got friends and family to visit there before we do anything else."
Before anyone could ask him to elaborate (none of them had ever heard Odin talk much about his life before the Wardens, he was too busy asking about theirs) they reached the gates, and found they weren't the only envoys trying to gain entry.
"Halt! This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings. I cannot allow entry at this time." This was spoken by a guard captain and judging by the tone of his voice this was not the first time he said so, nor did he expect it to be the last.
"King Loghain demands the allegiance of the Deshyr or lords or whatever you call them in your assembly! I am his appointed messenger." Exclaimed the equally irate diplomat, who appeared to have lost any sense of diplomacy or tact, assuming of course he had any to begin with.
The rebuttal was swift, "I don't care if you're the King's wiper, Orzammar will have none but its' own until the throne is settled."
As entertaining as this was Odin decided to make his own attempt. This wasn't going to be easy but if his charm failed he at least had official Grey Warden paperwork to back himself up.
"I was born in Orzammar, and have urgent need to speak to the assembly, let me pass... please."
Loghain's envoy looked at him with contempt but the Dwarf captain looked stunned "Wait, look at me. You're the brand who dishonoured the proving."
Oh good, they remember me, I'm touched. Unlike Loghain's 'appointed messenger' however Odin did not voice the first thought that popped into his head.
"Yes, and now I've returned as a member of the Grey Wardens, here to invoke the ancient treaty signed with Orzammar."
The guards looked grim. "Orzammar has no King to hear you. Endrin Aeducan returned to the stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his sons. The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor. If it is not settled soon we risk a civil war."
Again Odin kept his thoughts to himself (mostly cursing) as the rumours were confirmed. He put a solemn look on his face.
"I had heard of our sad loss, may the stone embrace King Endrin. Nevertheless the assembly must be made aware of the blight. I believe our treaty does allow us entry."
The guard examined the seal carefully before reluctantly agreeing. Naturally this did not go down well among the rival envoys.
"You're letting in a traitor? And what was that you said a filthy brand?" whined Loghain's spokesman.
Odin was about to respond with a few very well chosen insults before something swept past him and charged the emissary. The luckless man had just enough time to look surprised before facing the abyss.
The belch which followed echoed across mountains and caused a small avalanche several miles away. The luggage looked happy and merrily walked back to the group.
Odin put on his most menacing smirk and addressed the remaining messengers.
"Would anyone else like to raise an objection?"
They looked at each other and promptly ran down the road.
"Expertly handled as always" said Odin, patting the Luggage for a job well done.
11111
It was strange to be back in the city.
Odin and the group passed through the hall of heroes into the city they were met with stares and whispers. Some directed at the group of surfacers, who had been let in during a crisis and were now looking around. Others looked at the casteless dwarf, well armed and in fine armour marching as though he had permission to carry such fine items.
"The stories do not do this place justice" murmured Leliana.
"It is spectacular" agreed Wynne.
"Why is everyone looking at us like that?" asked Alistair, who had gotten used to travelling with such a mixed group over the last few months.
"We do stick out quite a lot my dear Alistair, not to mention we tower over everyone" Zevran glanced to his side toward a certain Qunari "of course some of us do more than others."
Sten merely grumbled, his mind was on reclaiming his stolen sword, which if the merchant outside was to be believed was waiting in Redcliffe. With it he may one day return home, honour intact and his mission complete. He would escape from the strange land and its' curious, pungent odours.
He would miss the company though.
As the group entered the heart of the city, they got the traditional welcome ceremony. That is to say they watched two groups of Dwarfs argue before one was killed with axe to the chest.
"Dwarven politics is so refreshing direct, this may be an excellent spot for business" decided Zevran. Before any further comments could be made however Odin got his own personal greeting from the captain of the guard.
"By the stone! I have enough crime without some casteless carrying weapons in the city. Your actions risk pain of death! Name yourself!"
"Odin Brosca, Brand, former member of the Carta, defiler of the sacred Proving, Surfacer and Grey Warden, nice to meet you."
"Warden? You? When I heard they accepted a brand I thought it was joke. Surfacers and their cloud addled heads. Fine, oh illustrious grey warden, what do you want?"
After some careful explanation they found out some more about the succession crisis, namely who was trying to get the crown.
"Bhelen and Harrowmont you say? Interesting, Very interesting" Odin's mind was already churning at the possibilities, perhaps to distract from what he might find in his old home.
"You know them?" asked Alistair, as they headed towards Dust Town.
"Only by reputation"
Odin stopped as they reached the bottom of the steps. Home sweet home, it hadn't changed.
All of his companions looked appalled, even Poacher made gagging noises.
"This is-"
"Sickening"
"You lived here?"
"Even the worst eleven slums is better than this place"
Odin led the way to his family shack (foiling a few attempted muggings along the way) only to find it was deserted. He checked the place thoroughly but everything belonging to his family was gone. He found small caches of rusty weapons and a few worn blankets that looked like Carta stuff.
No one said anything. The feeling of dread was rising…
"Odin?"
"Leske?"
"You know this dwarf?" asked Morrigan, who had been half way to freezing the scruffy creature solid as he peaked through the door.
"Yes, this is my old partner in crime from my Carta days." Explained Odin before quickly turning back to his former comrade "Leske, where is my family?"
"Didn't you hear? Rica got herself a noble! Don't know which one exactly but she and your mother got out, left just after you did. There're living up with their new adopted house in the Diamond Quarter!"
Relief, glorious relief swept through Odin. They got out!
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Thanks for all the reviews/favorites/follows everyone. I always appreciate them.