Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 92: Return of the Exile
While Astrid knew that she could enter Orzammar openly, wearing the panoply of the Grey Wardens, that was not the way she chose to enter Orzammar. Bhelen had bested her in a duel of wits that she had not even known she was engaged in. The worm had turned. This time, he would not know he was under attack until it was too late.
Her preparations were minute, exacting: she had rifled through Tara's memory for every detail of Bronwyn's venture in the dwarven lands: everyone she met, everyone she helped, everything she learned, everyone she had fought. Astrid had not the least scruple in calling in Bronwyn's debts on her own behalf.
She had her Wardens, and she had a unit of the Legion of the dead—fifty-five dwarves in all. They were all well-disposed to her and looked on her as their leader. She had newly-corrected maps of the Deep Roads that the scholars of the Shaperate would sell their firstborn children to possess. She had five golems. She could present the Assembly with two thaigs, and a clear road from Orzammar to Kal'Hirol.
They loaded a wagon with supplies from West Hill, piling on the victuals until the axles creaked. Astrid blithely presented the stupefied seneschal with a meaningless promissory note, and she left the fortress behind. If all went well, she would never see the place again. If she did return, she would dare the fool to try to collect.
The journey itself was eerily easy. No darkspawn challenged them. Even spiders and deepstalkers were rare. Astrid supposed that they had been slaughtered by the horde, in the irresistible tide of their passage.
There was plenty of extra Legion armor: the last bequests of those who had died in battle. Astrid donned one of the heavy, face-concealing helmets as they approached the city. The other Wardens would stay at the hostel: Velanna, Ailil, Askil, and Falkor. Astrid herself, and the soldiers of the Legion, would stay elsewhere. As for the golems, they would be brought in, one at a time, as the guard changed. The guards would know that the Grey Wardens had one golem: they would not know there were actually five.
Falkor was the ostensible leader of the Warden patrol; Rodyk for the Legion. Both were now her men.
The Legion entered first, quietly, without fanfare, by twos and threes. Falkor, also in a Legion helmet, came with Astrid, so he could find her later.
They did not go to the vast and noisome Legion barracks. Instead, Astrid led them to a shop, with a secret door. Down a wide tunnel was a large, handsome chamber, suitable for meetings and assemblies. Off of it was the small, luxurious office Tara had told her about. So far, everything was going according to plan.
"This is the Carta hideout, Astrid?" Falkor asked, looking around in surprise. "I thought I was in a noble's house for a minute."
"I'm told the quarters here are very comfortable. Let's get everyone into this first big chamber and then we'll make sure the place is clear and defended. Tara told me that Bronwyn locked the place when she left, but we want to be careful."
Torkel, the smoothest of the Legion, kept the owner of the shop, the smith Janar, occupied and distracted, until the Legion had slipped past, to the secret entrance.
Once Torkel himself joined them, Astrid called them together.
"This was once the hideout of the Carta; the headquarters of Jarvia, until she was killed by the Wardens. We are going to clear the place thoroughly, and make certain that the other exit—the one to Dust Town— is sealed and inaccessible to intruders. I'm told that this place was well-supplied with preserved foods, not all of which were confiscated and taken to the Warden hostel. Sergeants, you will lead your men out and scour the tunnels and chambers for unwelcome squatters. This is our place, not the Carta's."
Using a scribbled map, she directed the various units off on the hunt, and then settled into Jarvia's office. It had been thoroughly looted by Bronwyn's people, but that was no more than Astrid had expected. The furniture was still here, and still fine.
"Now, Falkor," she smiled grimly, "Bring the Wardens in. Get them settled in the hostel. Present the report that we wrote to the King's secretary."
The report covered the march north to West Hill. It covered the battles they had fought and the arrival at West Hill. The great news—the news truly significant to all dwarvenkind? That—that she would present in person, before the Assembly.
"Atrast Vala!" called the guard at the Orzammar barrier door. "Stone preserve you, Wardens!"
"Good to be back," Falkor answered cheerfully. This time he had removed the heavy helmet.
As it happened, the guard commander knew Falkor, and was very impressed that he had become a Warden. He was also impressed by Rune. The other golems were concealed, well out of sight, just outside the barrier door. Falkor would bring the next one in when the guard changed. This was the third watch, due to be changed very soon.
"You'll be wanting to stay in the Warden hostel, of course," said the commander. "Everyone will be interested in your report."
"I'm sure."
Askil, of course, knew every detail of the plot. Velanna and Ailil only knew that Astrid wanted to make a dramatic report of her successes to the Assembly, in order to spite a brother who had treated her so badly.
Once the elves were settled in, Falkor and Askil went about their other errands, visiting their own families; and then paying calls (with suitable letters of introduction) on some of Astrid's old friends, the Bemots, the Daces, and the ladies of House Helmi.
Nerav and Jaylia Helmi were bitter opponents of Bhelen. Jaylia had been betrothed to Trian, the murdered eldest son of King Endrin. Before his own fall and execution, Harrowmont had told them the truth of the matter: Gytha, the second child of the king, had been innocent. It was Bhelen who had assassinated Trian and then framed his sister. It was also now known that the sentence of certain death in the Deep Roads that had been unjustly passed on Gytha Aeducan had been remitted by the Stone itself: for the princess had survived.
There was, Falkor learned, no chance of support from House Harrowmont, for that house was nearly extinct. A few of the younger members had fled to the surface, but the rest had been assassinated at first, and then openly slaughtered, down the last babe in arms. The deshyrs were nervous. Orzammar politics could be brutal, but the extermination of an entire noble house overstepped certain traditional limits.
"I don't deny," drawled the extraordinarily ugly Lady Helmi, "that a counterweight to Bhelen might be a very, very good thing. We'll have to speak to the individual in question, of course."
"Of course."
There was another house to be contacted, too: House Ortan had been restored, and Lady Orta was known to be indebted to the Wardens. Falkor found her eager to discharge her obligation.
Those arrangements were made, and Falkor went past the barrier doors to bring in another golem and take it up to the hostel. Over the next few hours, the process was repeated, both by Falkor or by Askil, until all five golems were safely bestowed in a locked room at the hostel, away from the prying eyes of the servants.
Later, a pair of Wardens, accompanied by their golem, visited House Bemot. The golem was a useful threat. If the nobles gathered there attempted to ambush the Wardens, they would pay dearly.
But there was no such attempt. Lady Dace, senior in precedence, took the lead at the meeting.
"Being recognized once more as a dwarf, a noble, and an Aeducan has no precedent," she remarked, her voice harsh. "There is no law that can be cited."
"I do not ask to be recognized as a noble or as an Aeducan," Astrid said. Her eyes were limpid and calm, her voice under iron control. "I have not fought my way through Taint and blood to be a junior member of my brother's house. I bring great gifts to Orzammar: an entire Road clear of darkspawn; two thaigs completely ready for recolonization. I, Gytha Aeducan, have done this."
Aller Bemot leaned forward, his eyes avid. "Which thaigs?"
"Amgarrak Thaig. It is intact, and has never been Tainted. The lichen ponds are producing again and the veins are rich. And then there is Kal'Hirol."
"Kal'Hirol?" gasped Nedra Dace. "You have found it?"
"I have. The Taint there is thick, but the darkspawn are gone. Orzammar has but a short window of opportunity, but if we work hard, we can build doors to defend the entire Amgarrak Road, from Orzammar to Kal'Hirol. We will have places for our people to spread and to grow."
A silence.
"This is a great thing," said Lady Helmi. "If true, it is the best news that Orzammar has had in many an age."
"It is true," Astrid said at once. "True beyond denial. I have with me a unit of the Legion of the Dead which followed me throughout the battles. Two new thaigs are ours. One is ready for occupation immediately; the other holds important engineering secrets for us, and it, too, can be made habitable with diligent work. I also," she added, with a cool smile, "have five golems in my retinue."
"Five!" exclaimed Nerav Helmi. "That's an army in itself!"
"I shall bring them with me to the Assembly," Astrid said, "in case there are… difficulties."
Lady Bemot had been silent a long time. "Where are the darkspawn? Word has it that the allied army, under Warden-Commander Bronwyn, has pushed them back into the Deep Roads, yet our patrols have seen no activity recently."
"The horde seems to have gone west," said Astrid. "Bronwyn saw them in the Dead Trenches. The Archdemon has led them somewhere else. We have met with only scattered resistance. That is why we must act now. Once the Blight is over and the Archdemon dead, the darkspawn will spread once more, a cancer in the Deep Roads. Let us act to salvage everything we can."
"What is your plan?" asked Lord Dace.
The Assembly was in session: another tense round of obstructionism and name-calling. Bhelen sat on his throne, smiling blandly, looking forward to the day he could get rid of this pack of useless parasites.
Lord Ivo, a loyal ally, bellowed at Lord Bemot, "And I tell you that this trade monopoly will not stand, and I'll shorten you by a head if you—"
"Pardon, Your Majesty… my lords," Steward Bandelor called out. "The Grey Wardens are here, and wish to make a report to the Assembly."
"Let them come in!" Bhelen called out, surprised but genial. The Wardens' written report was positive. It would distract the nobles from their bickering. Their successes only made him look good, since he was linked to their prestige and the admirable Warden-Commander.
The war was going well. Warden-Commander Bronwyn had backed him, and he had backed her in return. She was a sensible woman, for a surfacer, and had seen the reality of the dwarves' situation far more quickly than many born in the deeps.
Perhaps that was the objectivity of the outsider. However she had come to her decision to support him, he was grateful to her. Recent news had suggested that she might be going for the throne of Ferelden. It was a questionable precedent, but from all accounts, she had the best bloodline, and was not about to let the throne go to a lesser claimant. And after all, why should she be intimidated by ancient custom? Bhelen knew that there were times when custom had outgrown its usefulness. In her place, he would not have hesitated to take what was his by right.
The Wardens entered. Bhelen narrowed his eyes, interested in the make up of the group. Five Wardens. Two were Dalish elves from the markings and three were dwarves, two of them wearing full helmets. The leader was someone he thought he might have seen before—someone from a good old warrior caste family. Very appropriate; very honorable. Following them were three officers of the Legion of the Dead, and a… a golem! This was going to break up the monotony!
"My king! Lords of the Assembly!" Falkor began. "I bring great news! The darkspawn are pushed back. The entire Amgarrak road is clear, from Orzammar all the way to Kal'Hirol!"
A roar of astonishment and jubilation rose from the deshyrs. Bhelen was as astonished as the rest of them, and thought back over the Wardens' report. Of course! It was incomplete, only going through the beginning of last month. Why hadn't they updated it? Probably just to create this moment of drama. And Kal'Hirol? That was tremendous news. What a coup, what a success, and so early in his reign...
"Kal'Hirol is taken?" shouted Lord Ivo.
"Kal'Hirol is ours once more," affirmed Falkor, "and another thaig as well, in pristine and untainted condition. Amgarrak Thaig is ready for colonization. The Deep Roads paths to the east are clear. To answer all your questions, I present the hero and leader responsible for these victories, the Grey Warden Astrid, once Gytha Aeducan, Princess of Orzammar!"
One of the dwarven Wardens swept the heavy, concealing helmet from her head, revealing the golden hair and handsome features of one known to each person in the room. At the same moment, the doors of the Assembly swung wide, and four more golems lumbered into the room, shaking the floor, along with a detachment of the Legion of the Dead.
Bhelen's jaw dropped. Instantly he comprehended the extent of his danger. Before he could summon his guard, his exiled sister was already speaking.
"Hear me, Lords of the Assembly! I have returned two of Orzammar's lost thaigs to the dwarves! If we move swiftly, and build well, we can keep the Amgarrak Road, even after the end of the Blight. We can move settlers into Amgarrak Thaig, and our smiths and scholars into Kal'Hirol. Such an opportunity may not come again. I, Astrid of the Grey Wardens, born Gytha Aeducan, say this!"
Bhelen used all his skills to keep his terror hidden, still unable to quite process the horrible sight before him. His voice shook just the least bit when he finally spoke.
"If all this is true, then it is good news indeed. Orzammar has always respected and supported the Grey Wardens, and my decision to send them troops has been proven to be the wise one."
His loyalists among House Ivo rumbled their agreement. There was mild assent from the rest, but more ominously, there was an air of expectancy. A Legion officer stepped forward and spoke.
"All that has been said is true, and more! The veins of Amgarrak Thaig are rich. The workings of Kal'Hirol show unparalleled genius. There is lyrium already mined there, waiting these past ages to be hauled for refining. Both thaigs are empty and unclaimed. Both were taken due to the valiant leadership and example of Astrid Aeducan. Valos atredum! By the favor of our ancestors, dwarven lands are again in dwarven hands!"
More shouting, more celebration. The Shaper of Memories himself was here among them, nodding his snowy, aged head in approval. Bhelen wracked his brains, trying to find a way to take credit for this. Perhaps he could fob one of those empty thaigs off on Gytha. Would she be satisfied with that, and go away?
Amidst the shouting, a voice—he never knew whose—called out, "Deeds worthy of a Paragon!"
Others took up the cry. "A Paragon! A Paragon!"
Lady Bemot—Bhelen noted her with loathing—demanded to be heard.
"When has Orzammar received such news? Not in many ages. Who has done more for the dwarven kingdom? Two thaigs restored, a major Road cleared. New golems to defend us, even! I call for a vote. Let us recognize Gytha Aeducan as she deserves—with the name of Paragon!"
"She is a Grey Warden!" shouted Lord Ivo.
When applied to, the Shaper of Memories was very definite on the matter.
"There is no law forbidding a Grey Warden be acclaimed as a Paragon."
"But surely," Bhelen remonstrated gently, "These admirable deeds are attributable to the honored order of the Grey Wardens, not to the individual Warden Astrid herself!"
Falkor eyed the king coolly. "With all respect, Your Majesty, it is due to our leader's heroism that these things have been achieved. She led us, and she sacrificed herself for Orzammar's greatness." He turned. "With my own eyes, I saw her hold off a monster of a horror never before seen, and save every soldier under her command. Show them, my lady, I pray you."
With a show of reluctance—not entirely feigned—Astrid unbuckled her left gauntlet, and lifted the stump of her arm high. There were gasps and a faint shrieks.
"Lords of the Houses!" she said. "This is what I gave for the dwarven people in Amgarrak Thaig, when we were attacked by a fell monster from the realm humans call the Fade. It was the only living inhabitant of Amgarrak, a creation of madness and folly, but I slew it and left the thaig clean for dwarves! I do not ask to rule you, but I ask that you look upon me with eyes unclouded, and judge my deeds worthy!"
Bhelen clung to the words "do not ask to rule," hoping to survive the session, now packed with his sister's supporters and the five huge golems. She obtained a majority easily, only opposed by House Ivo and House Aeducan. He counted his enemies with every vote.
"House Helmi?"
"A Paragon!"
"House Dace?"
"A Paragon!"
"House Ortan?"
"A Paragon!"
On and on. Silently, Bhelen raged as the Steward and the Shaper tallied the vote and then bowed to her. Reverently.
"Paragon, will you name your house?" asked the Shaper.
"Let it be called House Gytha," she said. "I shall be known as Paragon Astrid, for my best deeds were accomplished under that name. Gytha, nonetheless, shall be the name of my House. I shall gather my household, and they shall take Amgarrak Thaig for their home. Also, I urge the assembly to ready a company of shapers, smiths, and engineers to examine Kal'Hirol. The darkspawn vandalized it, but most of its secrets appear to be intact. We must seize on them."
She spread her arms out, including friend and foe alike, and looked Bhelen in the eye.
"Last, I propose that we immediately set about defending the Amgarrak Road. Let us prepare to maintain our control at the inevitable end of the Blight! Let us hold what we have! Let us build a great series of barrier doors to protect us from the darkspawn. In addition, some new magics have been discovered that will also thwart the incursions of the darkspawn. Let us recruit mages to use them! Let Orzammar be greater than ever!"
Bhelen concentrated on his facial muscles, forcing them into a pleasant smile… a smile of high-minded approval and noble clemency. If Gytha wanted to kill him, she had just passed up her one best chance of it. He would make sure she never got another. If she wanted to take a mob of malcontents and go live in a cave far away, who was he to object?
The other suggestions, of course, were perfectly sound, and he would undertake them right away and then claim the credit. Kal'Hirol? It was a valuable acquisition, and the colonial detachment he sent would include casteless, who were bursting at the seams in Orzammar. He had learned the lesson of Jarvia and her Carta. If the casteless had no other options, they would turn to crime. Why waste all that muscle? The traditionalists in Orzammar might keep them out of the army at home, but in a distant thaig, Bhelen could reshape dwarven culture into something more vital. For that matter, he would find a way to make Gytha accept some of the casteless too, in her 'pristine' little thaig. Serve her right.
"Our thanks, Paragon Astrid... Gytha. This day will never be forgotten."
Another roar of agreement. Gytha smiled at him, in the way Bhelen had known and hated from his earliest youth.
The naming of a Paragon called for a celebration. It was held at the Palace, naturally, and Bhelen gave considerable thought to poisoning his sister in the course of it. Perhaps that would be a bad idea, since Gytha went nowhere without her pet mage and her squad of golems. The best way to deal with his sister, as always, was to send her far away. Maybe the Archdemon would eat her.
And she had to sit to his right, in the seat of honor. She would always be given the seat of honor, now that she was a Paragon. It was horribly annoying, but not as annoying as it would be if he had been killed and she were sitting on the throne. She was in fine armor, and around her throat was a massive torque of gold. She had a jeweled ring on every finger remaining to her, and a golden hand with some kind of hook attached to her stump. Insufferable ostentation. To put her in her place, he invited Rica to the feast and put her in the place to his left, opposite his haughty sister.
That also did not quite go as planned. Rica was dutifully quiet and self-effacing, but Gytha actually addressed her. Voluntarily. On purpose.
"Your sister has told me so much about our mutual nephew. How is dear little Endrin?"
"Oh! You know Freydis? But of course you do..."
"Yes. We're very good friends. She's a splendid warrior and a credit to the Grey Wardens and to Orzammar. She sent you a present."
That was a complete lie. Brosca had done nothing of the sort. However, this was a chance to irritate Bhelen, and as such, it was too good to miss. She produced a pendant from the loot of Kal'Hirol: an amethyst carved into the shape of a flower, set in gold, on an intricate chain. The flicker of envy in Bhelen's eyes was like fine wine. Rica was enchanted.
"How gorgeous! Oh, I've got to write Freydis and thank her!"
"I'll be happy to take her your letter."
"Thank you! It means so much to me!"
Rica glanced at Bhelen, and immediately was quenched by his expression; shrinking away like a rose trying to grow backwards. Astrid gave her a mild, understanding smile.
"I would love to see the child while I'm here in Orzammar."
Bhelen narrowed his eyes. His sister would not be allowed within shouting distance of his little son. "That's... dutiful of you, sister, but hardly necessary. Endrin is a fine boy, but only a baby. Hardly interesting to a hero and a Paragon!"
"How could I not be interested in the next generation of dwarves, brother?" Astrid inquired sweetly. "It would be irresponsible of me, as a Paragon, not to pay attention to their education and welfare."
"He's fed and clean. At the moment, that's all he requires."
"Why, brother! You act as if you thought I wished little Endrin harm! Nothing could be further than the truth. I, for one, have always thought there should be more Aeducans!"
The sharp-witted deshyrs of the Assembly watched the duel of words with thinly veiled delight, wondering when the blades would come out. A few discreet wagers were made. The less acute were pleased at so much family affection and duty, and began lifting their goblet in a torrent of toasts.
"Hail to Paragon Astrid!"
"Hail to Astrid Gytha, Paragon of Orzammar!"
"Hail to Astrid One-Hand, the Deliverer of Kal'Hirol!"
"Hail to Astrid Kingsdaughter, the Golem-Tamer!"
The surface delicacies were delicious, the meat so tender it slipped from the bones. Astrid ate heartily, not shy about asking for more. She gave Bhelen a wink, and whispered, "If I fall over poisoned, my golems have their orders!"
Apparently golems had very good hearing. The biggest of them, richly engraved with runes, turned in Bhelen's direction, and its eyes briefly glowed with the hot blue of burning lyrium. Astrid lifted her golden goblet with a triumphant smile.
"Hail to King Bhelen, who heeds wise counsel!"
Frandlin Ivo stayed late at the feast, nervously watching the apparent détente between King Bhelen and the sister he had forced into exile. Afterward, even more nervously, he watched the Paragon Astrid's departure for the Warden hostel. Frandlin had played a great part in the scheme to make Bhelen Aeducan the only child of the king. Bhelen had lured his elder brother Trian to the site, and had managed to kill him. Then, when Princess Gytha had appeared on the scene, she and her party—including himself— had found Prince Trian dead. Bhelen had been with his father when they came upon the sight of the King's daughter kneeling beside the cooling corpse of the King's heir. Frandlin's job was to swear that there had been a quarrel, and that Princess Gytha had murdered her unarmed brother. The minions with them had sworn the same. Bhelen had often chuckled over the look on his sister's face at that moment. The minions were long since disposed of, lest their tongues wag. Frandlin, on the other hand, had been rewarded with wealth and promotion, suitable to his noble blood. He was in line to become head of his house eventually.
It had all been too good to be true. Now the Princess was back, only now she was raised to the rank of Paragon, far above any mere king. It was worrying. Even more worrying was the fact that the new Paragon had not once looked in his direction. It was hard to believe that she had forgotten him, or the thing he had done to her. On the strength of his statement, she had been exiled into the Deep Roads without even a trial. The King was old and failing, and wished to avoid the scandal. Whether he had believed her innocent or not, he had allowed the farce to proceed, and the gates of Orzammar had closed behind his only daughter. Dressed in rags, barefoot and unarmed, she had been consigned to the dark of the Deep Roads.
"And that," said Bhelen at the time, dusting his hands off cheerfully, "is that."
Except that it wasn't. Somehow, the princess had survived. Somehow, she had found weapons and won her way to the Grey Wardens. She was certainly a Grey Warden by the time the first report of her continued existence hit Bhelen's desk. It had been quite a shock.
It was a lesson to everyone: Never gloat over your dead enemy until you've seen his cold and rotting corpse for yourself.
Frandlin hurried along the corridors of the Diamond Quarter, feeling the need for solid walls between him and the Paragon Astrid. The way was deserted, and lit with the golden light of the lava streams, lambent and warm.
"Hello, Frandlin," said a voice from a shadowed corner. "I haven't seen you since you swore my life away. Did you think you'd never have to answer for your little bit of fun?"
Yes, it was the Paragon Astrid Gytha, still wearing that enormous gold torque. Behind her loomed a monster of rune-engraved metal. Frandlin's blood turned to ice.
"Don't worry," she said, smiling. "the golems will only turn you into red jelly if you run away. I don't need them to fight for me. Is that why you did it? The day I defeated you in the Honor Proving? It was a fair fight, you know. What you did to me? Not so much."
"You can't do this," he protested, his throat thick. "You can't just kill me in front of my own house."
She frowned, thinking it over. "No," she said, with a quick shake of her head. "No, I believe you're wrong. What part of my being a Paragon do you not understand? The law is what I say it is. There is no one to arraign me for it. Bhelen can't help you here."
He drew his sword, blustering. "You can't fight me... you cripple! Astrid One-Hand! You're through with shaming good men in the Proving Grounds!"
Her sword was out now, too, and she was smiling.
"No, I think you're wrong about that, too I don't need more than one arm to kill you." She brought up her left arm. Instead of the hooked golden hand, there was a vicious serrated blade attached.
"Maybe this arm," she mused.
He had fought well, long ago in that distant Honor Proving. He was fighting for his life now, and it showed. He was strong, quick, clever and agile. He was everything a noble of Orzammar should be, if you had no use for truth or honor.
Another golem emerged from the shadows to his right. Frandlin stumbled briefly, remembering that the princess had five of the things. Frandlin made a feint to the left, padding about, looking for weaknesses. Astrid countered, watching his eyes. Their swords touched lightly, ringing with the contact. He lunged, quick and aggressive, and Astrid side-stepped him coolly. slashing down to her left with her saw-blade. It ripped through his gauntlet as if it were silk. There was groan of metal and a streak of red. Frandlin hissed with pain and jerked away. He swiveled, and tried to sweep her legs out from under her, but she danced away.
"Not good enough, I'm afraid," she mocked. "As usual."
A swing, a lunge, a parry, another streak of blood, this time along his jaw. That saw-blade hurt.
They fought in silence, watched by impassive witnesses of stone and steel. The only sounds were the clash of metal against metal. Astrid was playing with him now, inflicting small cuts here and there: on his scalp, on the back of his neck, under his arm. He slipped in blood and sat there stunned, while Astrid cocked her head, looking at him.
"Get up and fight," she drawled.
His nerve broke at that, and he stumbled away, trying to escape.
"Help me!" he shouted. "Help me! Open the door!" He ran toward home, and stopped when another golem emerged, like living stone from behind the threshold. Another appeared, and then and another, until all five were ranged around them.
"Come back and fight me, you coward," Astrid snarled, "Or I'll make them bring you back. Or bits of you, anyway."
With a shriek, he charged her, waving his sword like a roasting spit. She parried it aside. He thrust again, and she parried it to the other side, smirking. Then the heavy serrated blade flash past his face and tore into his throat, nearly beheading him. He tried for some last words, but merely drooled. Then he collapsed, face-first.
Astrid pursed her lips, considering the body. It was not as complete a revenge as killing Bhelen, of course, but Bhelen was her brother, and not doing so badly as king. As Paragon she was not the servant of the law, but above it, which was a very nice place to be. Yes, she could leave Bhelen where he was for now. His stooge would disappear, and he could stew about it.
She shrugged, and gave Rune a command. "The surfacers like to burn their dead. Throw him in the lava stream."
There was a hiss of sublimating flesh and blood. The golden light of the lava dimmed in places, burning, stinking of bone and leather. After awhile, it shone clean again.
"So being a Paragon is a good thing, I take it?" Velanna asked, with a touch of acid. The celebration at the Warden's hostel continued the festivities at the Palace. Astrid made a late entrance, a bit rumpled, but in high good humor.
"A very good thing," she replied, practicing her future discussions with Bronwyn on the Dalish mage. "It gives us a great deal more leverage over Orzammar in the matter of troops and weaponry. We're no longer dependent on Bhelen's moods, which, confidentially, can be bloody-minded. Yes, it's a very good thing. We're in with the Assembly, in with the Shaperate, and in with the casteless. Some of them might well volunteer to join the Wardens."
"I thought you were going to declare yourself Queen, as Bronwyn plans to do," said Ailil. "A Paragon is not a Queen, but more... like a hahren?"
Askil and Falkor hid their smiles.
"More like a Keeper," Astrid said. "A Paragon is a living ancestor, revered by all dwarves for their wisdom and their contributions to dwarven life. We lead by example, but are free of the day-to-day political grubbing of mere kings and queens. And the word of the Paragon is worth more than all the rest of the deshyrs put together."
"It makes it impossible for Assembly to be deadlocked," Falkor said, quite seriously. "No one can prevent us from pushing forward our plans for the defenses against the darkspawn. Velanna, there are other elven mages in Orzammar. If you could give them a bit of training..."
"Why do these elvhen live under the earth?" Velanna demanded, rather indignantly. "It is no place for an elf!"
"Nonetheless, they do," Astrid said. "Some have escaped from mage Circles... some are apostates from alienages, who've avoided the Templars. For all I know some may be Dalish survivors of extinct clans. None are unwelcome in the dwarven realm. We will be here a few more days, organizing the colonists. Why don't you seek out these elves? Some might wish to join us."
"It is very odd," Velanna muttered. "How could they not miss the Sun?"
Hundreds of people volunteered to join House Gytha, even after it became known that she was accepting a group of the casteless. These would be sorted out according to their abilities: those who passed certain standards would be declared warrior caste outright; others would be juniors of the smith caste; the rest would be servant caste, which was still infinitely superior to having no standing at all.
Astrid also made the proclamation that her brother and sister Wardens would be honorary members of the House Gytha as well, and did not distinguish between dwarf, elf, and human in this regard. In fact, she even mentioned a Qunari comrade-in-arms who was to be given the courtesies of the House if he ever came to Orzammar.
It took many days to put together the colonization expedition, but at last Astrid was ready to lead her people out.
Bhelen was overjoyed to be seeing her off—he hoped to battle and death. The event was quite a festive, ceremonious one. Bhelen gave the Paragon the reverence custom demanded, and Astrid patted him on the head.
"Good luck to you, little brother. Try not to destroy the kingdom while I'm gone."
"I think Orzammar will fare quite well in your absence, sister. Do give my regards to Warden-Commander Bronwyn when you see her. I'm sure she'll be interested in your activities. I do seem to recall what she did to the last Paragon who crossed her path."
Yes! He was sure he saw her smile slip for a second. It was a relief to know that Bronwyn was not party to Gytha's plots. Bhelen hoped his sister would get in heaps of trouble with her commander.
Too quickly, her mask was back in place.
"The last I heard, Bronwyn was engaged in making herself Queen of Ferelden. She's no hypocrite. I hardly think she'll disapprove of anyone gaining her just deserts."
"And may you get your just deserts, too, sister," Bhelen said, smilingly. "Very soon."
"Movement ahead, Paragon!" called a scout. They were a day into their march back along the Amgarrak Road.
"Form ranks!" Astrid shouted, and was gratified with how quickly and efficiently her people fell into their defensive formation, with the wagons and noncombatants to the center.
Moving three hundred seventy-four dwarven colonists, four Wardens, sixty-odd soldiers of the Legion of the Dead, and five auxiliary elves, along with all the necessary paraphernalia, was a very different matter from leading a simple fighting unit. There were even a few children amongst the settlers : precious children , in Astrid's view. Dwarves needed to have many more children, and they needed to stop throwing away those children who were of insufficiently exalted castes. None of her people were to be considered casteless. Some might bear the brand of the Dust Town, but there would be no Dust Town in Amgarrak Thaig.
Nor in Kal'Hirol, for that matter. Bhelen was explicit about that, and Astrid agreed with him. If the casteless failed to make a go of their chance in the colonies, it would not be for lack of support from their leaders.
She glanced back over her people. There were some survivors of the Carta among them, clutching their weapons, their faces fierce and determined. No one was here against his will—that was something Astrid had insisted on, when Bhelen demanded she take her share of Dusters. If they wanted to stay in Dust Town, they were welcome to it, though the old Carta headquarters was lost to them.
The new comers were coming up to the place where the Road curved. There were shouts and the sound of weapons and armor. The dwarven archers tensed. Astrid listened, and then smiled.
"Stand down!"
A familiar voice echoed off the walls of the Deep Roads.
"Astrid? Is that you?"
"Bronwyn?"
The two forces met, glad not to be fighting darkspawn instead. Bronwyn gave Astrid a hug. Tara, just behind her, hugged her, too. Loghain watched with admirable patience, until Bronwyn brought Astrid over to speak to him.
"A great many things have happened since we last saw one another," said Bronwyn. "Loghain and I are King and Queen of Ferelden!"
"Well done!" Astrid flashed a smile, pleased for her friend. "Greetings to you then, Your Majesties!"
Falkor stepped forward, grinning, "And Astrid," he said, "is now a Paragon of Orzammar!"
"A Paragon?" Tara said, amazed. Bronwyn raised a quizzical brow.
Astrid smirked, pleased beyond measure. "The Assembly was happy about the thaigs."
They set up camp along the road, and the two parties had much to talk about.
"Quite a crowd you have following you," Loghain remarked. "A lot of campfollowers and support units."
"There's a reason for that," Astrid explained. "We going to fortify Amgarrak Thaig and move into Kal'Hirol to clean it up and make it defensible. I'm bringing some colonists, too. The Assembly has agreed to some serious building along the Amgarrak Road."
Loghain thought that only sensible and proper, and said so. Astrid, in her turn, was curious.
"Why are you traveling the Deep Roads?"
"For the same reason you are, essentially," replied Loghain. "We're avoiding the weather. Since the darkspawn have largely withdrawn, this is the quickest way to cross northern Ferelden. We're on our way to Gherlen's Halt."
They shared maps and discussed routes. Gherlen's Halt was only a day away, but the nearest access point to the surface had not been used in many an age and was near the mouth of the mouth of the River Gherlen, where it emptied into Lake Calenhad. It would still be a surface walk of some hours to the fort. A meal was prepared, and afterwards, Bronwyn casually asked Astrid to come for a walk with her. Loghain waved them away, scowling, engrossed in a dwarven map. The two women strolled through the camp, talking of their adventures. When they were out of earshot, Bronwyn had a question.
"Are you leaving the Wardens?"
"Are you?"
"No. Queen or not, the Blight is my first priority."
"And mine as well. I now have sufficient power to force the dwarves to focus on fighting the darkspawn, rather than fighting each other for influence in the Assembly."
"How is your brother taking your rise to glory? He did not—forgive me for pointing what must be obvious to you—he did not seem like one who would be so in awe of a Paragon as to cease his plotting. When he sent me after Branka, he told me that if she would not support him, I should kill her."
"He won't cease his plotting: no. But nor shall I. I also remember that King Valtor did not scruple to turn a Paragon into a golem. Bhelen will always be dangerous, but for now I have control over him. I am a Paragon: I have my own house, I have great wealth, I control the Assembly, and I have two thaigs to command. I have five golems to defend me from Bhelen's assassins. For now, he will not move against me. Bhelen, whatever else he is, is no fool. He knows that the darkspawn are the great danger, the real danger. Whatever he plans against me, he will stay his hand until the Blight is over. As will I."
Thanks to my reviewers: EmbertoInferno, KnightOfHolyLight, Blinded in a bolthole, Phygmalion, Girl-chama, Necrodeo, Cjonwalrus, Adventfather, Mike3207, Zhar of Shadows, Nemrut, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Enaid Aderyn, anon, MsBarrows, Robbie the Phoenix, Epitomyofshyness, Verpine, Kyren, Chandagnac, JackofBladesX, Tirion, KrystylSky, Have Socks. Will Travel, Eviline, BlackScyther, amanda weber, butterflygirl, Sings-off-key, jnybot, mille libri Guest, anon42, and Tsu Doh Nimh.