I've had this chapter and the next sitting on my hard drive for about 2 years, in the vain hope that I'll get my act together and finish this story. I have no idea if that will ever happen, so I might as well publish them. As always, thanks to WellspringCD for beta duties.
"No." Fearghal was gratified to see the brief shock on Bhelen's face, before he assumed his mask again. "In your own words, 'there are no guarantees'. The Carta exists because Dust Town exists; it's a problem you have created for yourselves, you solve it. The Carta is the only means of existence those people have. If you get rid of it this week, something new, and possibly even more desperate, will replace it next week."
Fearghal stood. "We have already compromised our neutrality, your highness; we will not be used to solve your domestic problems. Either the dwarves will honour the treaty or they will not. We have no time to waste on a fool's errand." Fearghal bowed and turned, ready to leave the room, not even looking to see if Alistair followed him. He'd taken just two steps, when Bhelen's voice rang out.
"Wait. You want guarantees?"
Fearghal turned, waiting for Bhelen to continue.
"There might be a way..."
"Might? Not good enough, your highness." Fearghal regarded the prince coldly.
"Oh, the uncertainty is not whether it would be enough, it's whether you would succeed, Warden."
Intrigued, Fearghal returned to his seat. "What are you getting at?"
"What do you know of the Paragon Branka?" Bhelen leaned forwards.
"Nothing." Fearghal shrugged. "But I know Paragons are greatly revered."
"Branka is a woman of the Smith Cast who rose to nobility for her brilliant inventions. Two years ago, she left everything behind to venture into the Deep Roads to search for something that was lost to the smiths of Orzammar centuries ago. She is the only Paragon in four generations and she turned her back on all her responsibilities. A Paragon is like an ancestor born in this time. If she returned, her vote would outweigh the entire Assembly. Anyone with her support could take the throne unchallenged." Bhelen was unable to hide the longing in his voice.
"What makes you think Branka's still alive?" Fearghal thought it was a long shot; the woman had been in the Deep Roads for years.
"She had an entire house with her, dedicated to her protection. With the number of ruins still intact, they could last for a long time," explained Bhelen. "And Harrowmont is looking for her as well. It's too risky to assume she's dead, only to have him take the credit for finding her."
"What makes you think she will support you as king?" Fearghal's mind was working furiously. If this Paragon supported Harrowmont, well, Fearghal supposed he could abide by her decision. After all, they were supposed to be neutral.
"I was hoping you could use your legendary charm to persuade her that the rightful king should take the throne." Bhelen smiled, then hesitated. "However, if the Deep Roads have... addled her wits, it might be best she not return before the kingship is decided."
Fearghal stared at the Prince. "Are you saying I should kill her?"
"I would never say that!" Bhelen did his best to look shocked. "She is a Paragon; it is my duty to protect her. On the other hand, we must respect her decisions... Should she prefer to stay in the Deep Roads rather than help her rightful king take the throne, we must assist her. By any means necessary."
"Very well, we will find her for you."
Bhelen beamed at them both. "Excellent! My man, Vartag, will tell you all you need to know. Good luck, Wardens." With that, he nodded at them and left the room.
They spent the rest of the morning closeted with Bhelen's second, poring over maps as he detailed what they had discovered so far, then Alistair and Fearghal strolled back to the compound.
"I didn't expect you to call Bhelen's bluff like that. How did you know?" asked Alistair.
"I didn't." Fearghal laughed, then grew serious. "If the dwarves can't sort out their own succession and decide on a king so they can honour the treaty, I think our time would be better spent seeking out those who will honour it; we still have to find the Dalish, and that's not going to be easy. The Archdemon won't wait for us; we have to do what we can in the time we have. If that means doing without the dwarves, then so be it. Still, I'd rather have them with us. If we can find this Paragon and convince her to pick a king, then the dwarves will have no more excuses."
"It's not going to be easy... or quick."
"No." Fearghal sighed. "I wonder if we should set a limit to how long we spend looking for her."
"A week?" suggested Alistair.
"That sounds fair enough."
"What if she wants to support Harrowmont?"
Fearghal glanced at Alistair. "Then Harrowmont will be the new king of Orzammar. We're supposed to neutral so if someone who should be making that decision is willing to make it, then I'm more than willing to abide by it."
Alistair looked startled. He cast a furtive glance around them. "But what about Bhelen?"
Fearghal dropped his voice, not wanting to be overheard. "As far as I can tell, Bhelen is the lesser of two evils. If the dwarves could solve their own problems, we'd have arrived here and be dealing with whomever they'd chosen. If the choice is ours, then we back Bhelen; if it's not, we deal with whoever is the king, get our troops and leave."
Fearghal could see the conflict in Alistair's face; he felt it, too. The image of Dust Town would never leave him; if Bhelen was prepared to tackle the unfair caste system, then Fearghal would back him as far as he could, however unpleasant he found the man. However, it shouldn't be their decision to make. He was relieved when Alistair nodded.
"I understand."
They returned to the compound to give the others the news. After speaking with Thamar at some length about what they'd need for this longer excursion into the Deep Roads, Fearghal headed up to the surface with Leliana. It didn't take long for them to find Modolf, the contact Slim Couldry had told them about. Modolf was expecting him and arranged to send the coin Fearghal needed to the compound. When Leliana told him about Zerlinda, the surface dwarf was sympathetic and agreed that if the woman would agree to leave Orzammar with her baby, he'd see she got some help. Fearghal was surprised when his offer of financial help was refused.
"It ain't necessary, Warden. If she comes up she'll be a cloudhead, same as us, and we all stick together. It's not like down there."
It was almost dark when Fearghal and Leliana re-entered Orzammar. Fearghal hadn't realised how much he missed the daylight and cast a wistful look over his shoulder as the great doors swung shut. He caught Leliana watching him and smiled sheepishly before leading the way back to the compound. By the time they returned it was almost time for dinner. Zevran offered to go to Dust Town with Leliana to find Zerlinda once they'd eaten
After dinner, Fearghal and Alistair retired to their room to pack... again. Fearghal watched Alistair tighten the buckles on his pack, then set it down against the wall, next to his own.
"So, we have to set off early in the morning... maybe we should get an early night," suggested Fearghal, unable to stop himself grinning. He saw the flicker of amusement on Alistair's face.
"Undoubtedly. We Grey Wardens need our rest." Alistair moved around the room, turning down the rune lights, leaving only one burning, tugged his shirt loose from his breeches, then sat down on the bed to take his boots off.
Fearghal pulled his own boots off quickly, then crawled across the bed until he was kneeling behind Alistair. He brushed his lips against the back of Alistair's neck.
"Need any help?" he asked, his voice low and husky.
Alistair looked back at him, smiling. "I've been undressing myself for years."
Fearghal rolled his eyes and tried again. "Well, I'm not suggesting you're incompetent or anything, but two pairs of hands would make shorter work of it than one." He slid a hand under Alistair's shirt, trailing his hand over his hard belly.
Alistair shivered at the touch, then chuckled. "Is there something you want, Fearghal?"
"Oh, definitely." Fearghal murmured, pulling Alistair's shirt up, then slipping it over his head. He left it to Alistair to free his arms from the soft linen as his mouth travelled over the back of Alistair's shoulders.
"What...what happened to saying what you want?" Alistair's voice was hoarse.
"Well, I was trying to be subtle... spare you the blushing..." Fearghal paused, his fingers untangling the laces on Alistair's breeches. "... but I suppose I should be setting you a good example."
"What do you mean?" Alistair's breath was coming in gasps and Fearghal felt him tense.
"I mean, I want to run my hands all over you, feel you shiver and tremble," said Fearghal, running his hands over Alistair's chest. "I mean, I want to undress you and taste every inch of you." Fearghal slipped his hand down inside Alistair's breeches, grasping his erection through his small clothes. "I want to suck you until you come so hard, they can hear you yelling in the palace."
"I-I..." Alistair gasped, shuddering.
Fearghal smiled and pressed his lips against Alistair's back, satisfied that the other man was beyond words. He shifted slightly, pulling his own shirt over his head and started to reach for Alistair again but hesitated, listening; he could hear raised voices. Cursing, he picked up his shirt again, but before he could pull it on, the door burst open and a red-haired dwarven warrior marched into the room, closely followed by a furious Thamar.
"I'm so sorry, Wardens, I tried to stop him!" Thamar stood in the doorway, wringing his hands.
The warrior stopped and stared at them, swaying slightly. "You're the Grey Warden's? Standards must have fallen way down."
Fearghal looked past him, at the curious faces peering over Thamar's head. He moved off the bed and stood in front of Alistair, blocking him from their view. "It's all right, Thamar. I'll deal with it."
Thamar nodded, looking relieved and pulled the door closed.
Fearghal turned towards the swaying dwarf, wrinkling his nose; he smelled like a distillery.
"Who are you and what's so important that you had to barge your way in here?" Fearghal's voice was cold. He glanced at Alistair, who was pulling his shirt on.
"Sorry 'bout that. I didn't know you were busy with Warden business."
Fearghal heard Alistair groan softly. "I'm still waiting to find out who you are."
"Huh? Oh, right. Name's Oghren, you might have heard of me." He looked up expectantly at Fearghal, who shook his head. "No? Oh well. Anyway, I heard you were headed into the Deep Roads to look for Branka and if you're looking for Branka, I'm the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her. I also know how she thinks. You, presumably, know everything Bhelen's scouts have discovered about where she disappeared. If we pool our knowledge, we stand a chance of finding her."
"And why are you so keen to find her? What is she to you?" What the dwarf said was certainly interesting, logical even.
"We were sodding married until she left me and took out whole house into the Deep Roads on her mad quest for the Anvil."
Fearghal was astonished that anyone would consider this uncouth, drunken specimen of dwarven manhood suitable marriage material. "What anvil?"
"Branka was looking for the Anvil of the Void, the secret to building golems, which was lost centuries ago. The smith, Caradin, built it, and with it, Orzammar had a hundred years of peace, while it was protected by the golems forged on the anvil. As far as anyone knows, the Anvil was built in the old Ortan Thaig. Branka planned to start looking there, if she could ever find it. All she knew was that it was past Caradin's Cross. No-one's seen that Thaig in five hundred years. So, what do you say?"
"Bhelen gave me a map to Caradin's Cross, but... are you sure you want to venture so far into the Deep Roads? It will be dangerous."
"Hah! I piss on danger! That's settled then. We should get moving, Branka's not going to sodding find herself."
"Be here first thing tomorrow," agreed Fearghal.
Oghren beamed at him. "I'll let you get back to your... whatever it was you were doing," he said with a wink. He peered past him at Alistair. "Is he all right? It don't look normal for a person to go that colour."
"He's fine... just a little shy in company." Fearghal grinned, then held the door open. "We'll see you tomorrow, Oghren. Oh, by the way, I'm Fearghal, he's Alistair."
Fearghal watched Oghren weave down the corridor, then closed the door, turning to Alistair. "Well, that was a stroke of luck."
"What, that he didn't burst in while you still had your hands down my breeches?" grumbled Alistair.
"It could have been worse. He could have turned up ten minutes later." Fearghal couldn't help chuckling at the look of horror on Alistair's face.
"Why is sex so embarrassing?" Alistair sounded miserable. "We've been interrupted by Zevran, twice, caught kissing by Leliana and Wynne; I thought we'd be safe in here and now they've all seen me with my breeches unlaced. We might as well sell tickets"
Fearghal pushed home the bolt on the door. "No more interruptions," he promised. He crossed to the bed and knelt down in front of Alistair, edging his way between his knees. Fearghal ran his hands along Alistair's thighs, feeling the tension there. He leaned in, kissing Alistair gently.
"Now, where were we?"
Fearghal hummed with pleasure as Alistair's mouth parted and he felt the muscles under his hands soften as the tension leeched out of them.