disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra stared at the Warden, her expression a complex battle between disbelief and confusion. "A cat is your idea of pure evil?" she blurted, disbelief staining her words.

Kathryn gave the Seeker a blank stare. In slow, clearly enunciated tones she said, "I'm a mouse... and a dog. What do you think?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

The bedraggled, adolescent feline gave a pitiful cry. The morning's constant drizzle had done good work in cleansing the Keep of darkspawn stench, but had left the cat a sodden mess.

Anders looked at the wretched thing with fondness. "There was a mouser in the tower named Mr. Wiggums. Only company I had when the templars locked me up. Miss that beast a lot, sometimes. But I can't keep a cat. We fight darkspawn for a living."

The goofy look on his face told me enough that I should keep my feelings to myself, so I bit back my first response and simply asked, "What do you want to do with him, then?" I was rather hoping that he'd let the damned thing go fend for itself.

"I'm not sure. Seems cruel to just leave him..." The cat gave another pitiful cry, and batted him gently on the cheek with a paw. Bloody thing was just trying to get a slave. "Well, I'll keep him just for a while. Until I find somewhere safer. Is that okay with you, kitty?"

It sounded quite satisfactory to the little hell-spawn, who gave another heart-melting meow and Anders' finger a lick.

"I'll call you Ser Pounce-a-lot! You can stay in my pack. Just for a little while, yes."

As the demon in feline form gave yet another heart-jerking meow, it was all I could do not to let my thoughts appear on my expression.

The rest of the survey of the outer Keep proved troubling. Repairs to houses and wooden buildings could be conducted with relative ease. The fortifications however proved to be a different matter.

The insane pyrophilic dwarf had a considerably more sane brother who was quite disparaging about the state of the walls. He proclaimed them 'woeful, but salvageable'. With the passing of eighty sovereigns, he even displayed some confidence about the prospect. It wiped out the profit from my last lyrium run to the Tower and a large chunk of what I'd skimmed from the templars' money pouches, but I much preferred to have solid stone between me and the hostile world.

After a full day of preparation, my Wardens and I met the gathered vassals of Amaranthine.

And couldn't you just feel the love in the room. The Bann of Amaranthine gave her oath of allegiance in the most insolent manner possible, before sweeping through the assembled nobles, insulting, belittling and generally being a bitch. However, having travelled with Morrigan for a year, her performance was eye-rollingly inadequate. Flemeth may not have been in any danger of winning 'Mother of the year', but she knew how to instil a sense of superiority in her daughter. For someone raised in a hut in a swamp, Morrigan was more regal than any queen.

One noble took me to one side and in hushed tones, claimed that there several nobles who wished to end my rule. It was all I could do to keep my face serious. These people were essentially being forced to bow to an elven mage to keep their lands. Of course they wanted to get rid of me. Only the existence of a conspiracy to do so was of interest. She promised to return soon with what evidence she had collected.

The gathering was both mind-numbing and temper-shortening, and Varel picked up on my mood quickly. He was turning out to be quite efficient in that regard. I accepted his offer to have them cleared the instant he deemed propriety had been served.

For the first time in three nights, I slept well. It was a great relief to rise with the dawn after actually having slept for eight hours.

I gathered my Wardens and headed off to Amaranthine. It was time to start fixing things.

We were a rather odd group, making our way from Vigil's Keep to the City of Amaranthine. Thunder, of course, just trotted along beside me, supremely happy to simply be out and about. He chased rabbits, rolled in the dirt and fetched sticks. To my satisfaction, he also growled at Ser Pounce-a-lot whenever the cat stuck its head out of Anders' pack.

Nathaniel was lost in thought, occasionally glancing at me with a confused look on his face. He still hadn't made up his mind about me, but that confusion meant that he was thinking.

Oghren and his regular sampling from various skins and bottles he kept about his person brought up the rear. So long as he was somewhere between falling-over and sober, he was a pleasant companion to travel with.

Anders was still an enigma though. He seemed quite pleased with his new pet, which I had to consciously refrain from either chasing after or fleeing from. Or immolating - that would be satisfactory too. I could crush it in a prison of force too. Or...

I shook my head to clear it of the violent thoughts. "So, Anders, tell me about yourself."

He smiled at me. "What would you like to know?"

I shrugged. "Anything. What do you remember of your family?" I asked, wondering if he was related to my friend. "Scuttlebutt says that the mage that kept escaping came to the Tower late."

He responded to my question with a wry half-grin and a small shrug. "I did indeed. I was fifteen before I was first dragged off. My mother raised me in Gwaren until she passed away. Her brother turned me over to the templars so that her inconvenient son wouldn't inherit her worldly possessions."

Nathaniel frowned at that, and Oghren scoffed openly. "Nice," I said sarcastically. "What of your father?"

"Oh, I'm a bastard," he said cheerfully. "Never knew dear old Dad. I was curious for a while as a child, but my mother always put off telling me who he was. Of course, that was before she died, so I guess now I'll never know. She did tell me that he was in King Maric's army though. I was the result of him passing through Gwaren."

I looked at him and did some quick mental arithmetic. Yep, that would be about the time. "I think I may know your brother," I said.

He gaped at me. "Really?" Nathaniel looked surprised too.

I shrugged. "I think so. He looks quite a bit like you, and his father did fight in the war. He even sounds a bit like you too. You've very similar voices."

"Is he ruggedly handsome too?" he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Modesty is an alien concept to you, isn't it?" I said.

"Yup," he agreed with enthusiasm. "So, who is it? Can I meet him?"

"Probably, but not for a while. He is from a village on the other side of Ferelden. His name is Matthias, and father was Wilhelm, King Maric's battlemage. A very powerful one too, from what Loghain told me."

Anders looked taken aback. "I... see. So, my father might have been a mage too. I suppose that explains why mother refused to talk about him. And I might have a brother. Wow."

I looked at his expression carefully, trying to judge his reaction. "A niece too. Amalia. Cute kid. I wouldn't take..." I grimaced, "...Ser Pounce-a-lot near her though."

"She's not fond of cats, I take it?"

I winced at the memory. "She used to be. But she had a bad experience involving a cat-shaped demon trying to possess her, that's all."

"Ah," he said tactfully. "She has talent. I hope I get to meet her before she's shipped off to the Circle."

I sighed in contentment. "Oh, that's not likely to happen any time soon. Matthias has put up wards around the little hamlet they live in. No templars know where they are and can't get there if they did."

"My brother is a mage too?"

I nodded. "Yep. We spent a few days in Honnleath snowed in the winter during the Blight. He and I spent a lot of time exchanging spells and theory. You know the barrier spell that mages of Wynne's generation are fond of? Wilhelm developed a variation that can cover an area well beyond the understood limits. Genius, if you ask me."

Anders turned to Oghren. "Do you know him too?"

The dwarf shook his head, sending his plaited beard flapping. "Nope. Met Kat and her crew a bit after that. That golem of his was mighty useful though," he mused.

Anders blinked. "Golem? You mean, like, a big creature made of stone?"

Oghren growled, deep in his chest. "More like, a big hunk of stone made of dwarf. Sodding Anvil." He took a deep swig from an earthenware jug and refused to say more.

We passed the time speaking amongst ourselves. Oghren, once his sour mood had lightened, retold some of our Blight adventures with enthusiasm. Anders recounted some of his mis-adventures dodging templars. It took some encouragement, but Nathaniel even told us of an adventure or two during his time abroad.

Eventually we reached Amaranthine. Refugees and beggars clogged the main entrance to the city. Few people were getting into the city. That would have to change if I wanted the economy moving again.

Following Garevel's information, I asked around and was directed to a pair of trappers who'd set up their camp near the front gate. A human man - lean, scruffy and smelling of ill-tanned rabbit pelts - looked me up and down as I approached. "Are you Colbert?" I demanded bluntly.

He leered at me, and waggled his eyebrows. "Looking for some company, honey-pie? I'm always available for riveting conversations with fine women."

"I'll rivet you to the floor if you call me that again," I said with a sweet smile on my face.

The conflicting signals seemed to confuse him. "I, er, okay. I like a woman who's all business."

I let the smile drop from my face in an instant. "I'm here to talk about darkspawn."

He swallowed nervously. "Oh, you're one of those Grey Wardens." He glanced at his companion; an male elf dressed in similar clothes. And who, it was painfully obvious, shared similar bathing habits. "You find some darkspawn and sure enough, the Grey Wardens come knocking. I can't take all the credit for finding the rift, you know. Micah here fell in first."

The elf by his side gave a mindless grunt. As difficult as it was to believe, Colbert appeared to be the brains of the outfit.

"Keep talking," I said, not particularly interested in the byplay.

"It's quite a ways out of town. We were tracking a buck off in that direction, you see... before this darkspawn mess." He paused to gather his thoughts, which turned out to be rather scattered. "We'd been on his tail for about a week at that point. I'd wager he thought it was great fun, leading us on a merry chase as he did."

I fought down my first impulse to simply throttle the answers out of him, but said, "Go on."

"That buck was a sly one, he was, He had big feet and a-"

Micah cleared his throat meaningfully. I looked at him more closely. Perhaps there was a brain under all that filth after all. Or perhaps just a sense of self-preservation.

"Oh, the chasm! Yes, er... we saw it coming over a rise. It really was something to behold, a huge cleft, as though the Maker himself had cracked the earth in two, like... like and egg."

"I like eggs," the dirty elf added.

"It looked like someone had tried to build over it, but it must have been abandoned a long time ago. No one in town knew about it."

"Who tried to build over it?" I asked pointedly.

"People, I suppose," was the singularly unenlightening answer. "Maybe even the darkspawn. Well, of course we had to investigate! That was when Micah fell in. A shriek like you wouldn't believe, and he was gone."

"Earth crumbled. Not stable," the other half of the brains trust supplied.

"Right, and as Micah lay there yelling about his knee or his head or what have you, the darkspawn appeared."

"What happened then?" I asked, finding it difficult to credit their account.

"The seemed... occupied, like they had some place really important they had to be. Didn't notice us at all. Thank the Maker."

Anders scoffed a bit at that. "The darkspawn were so occupied as to overlook two screaming, injured men? Boggles the mind."

Colbert pointed out the location of the rift on our map, and then said, "So... are we getting anything for our trouble?"

"Here's a sovereign," I said, flicking the gold coin to the man.

"A whole sovereign?" he blurted, looking shocked. "If there's ever a reason to fall into a darkspawn pit, here it is. Maker bless you."

Oghren grumbled as the pair took off to spend their loot. "We're paying for fairy stories now? Word gets out that we're giving gold for fantasies, it'll be the sodding Alienage all over again."

I winced at the reminder of my naivety. "You might be right, but we do know that there are some Deep Road entrances in Amaranthine. Maybe this rift is another."

The dwarf frowned, considering that. "Aye, it's possible. But speaking as someone who's told his fair share of drunken tales, let me get the next one, yeah?"

We entered Amaranthine with only the briefest of delays at the gate, where a junior guard was given an abrupt lesson in when to obey his superior officer and when to exercise his own judgement. Given the guard captain's displayed abilities, I didn't hold much hope for the lesson being learned. He couldn't even keep a lid on smuggling.

Nathaniel led us through the city to the merchant quarter, eager to look for his sister. Anders took a deep breath through his nose as we passed a pair of helmeted templars.

"Ah, can you smell that? That is the smell of freedom. It comes complete with the smell of dogs and dust, but the freedom is in there, too."

I looked up at him. "You think being a Grey Warden is freedom?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "I may not have a choice about fighting the darkspawn, but this is a step up for me. I escaped from the tower seven times. After the last time, they put me in solitary confinement for a year. Eventually, I'm sure they would have branded me a maleficar, true or not, and executed me."

I grunted. "I'm surprised they didn't do it sooner."

He scoffed at that. "They're not murderers. They only kill mages when they can prove we're dangerous. For the good of all. The problem is that mages are tolerated. Barely. It's like you need permission to be alive. There's nothing a mage can do to prove himself. Everyone needs to be protected from you. The end."

I let a slow smile appear on my face. "I can sympathise..."

"I should certainly hope so," he exclaimed.

"...but believe me when I say... that is changing," I finished emphatically.

"Optimist," he retorted before letting loose a huge sigh. "All I want is a pretty girl, a decent meal, and the right to shoot lighting at fools," he said wistfully.

I couldn't have wanted a better lead in line to start flirting. "Pretty girl. Right here."

He smiled at me, genuine humour in his eyes. "Hmm. Maybe I'm closer to the dream than I imagined. Never mind me. Now and again I recall that I'm not sitting in a cell and I have to smile, that's all."

I was about to tell him about the changes at the Circle that had occurred since his last imprisonment there when Nathaniel suddenly stopped, and then raced forward towards a dark-haired woman.

"Want to bet that's Grumpy's sister?" Oghren offered.

Both Anders and I shook our heads. "No bet," we replied in unison.

Nathaniel was more than a little pensive on returning from his reunion. Apparently his sister Delilah had given him some hard facts about their father and his actions, culminating in a declaration that the world was better off with Rendon Howe a memory.

Delilah had actually married out of love, rather than necessity. Her new husband was a shopkeeper of moderate means, but he clearly doted on his young wife, especially since she was on the way to providing them with a child. Despite Nathaniel's misgivings, she appeared to be quite happy and content with her lot in life.

It turned out that Nathaniel was not the only member of my group that ran across a female acquaintance. Anders spotted a rather haggard-looking woman and raced over to speak to her. Their conversation was animated, but conducted in low tones. The woman eventually stormed off, leaving my Warden looking both excited and contemplative.

He returned to us at a slow walk, deep in thought.

"Friend of your's, I take it?"

He automatically responded with defensive humour. "Do I detect a note of jealousy?"

"No," I replied. "You detect a note of curiosity. Completely different tone. Who was she?"

He cleared his throat, as though embarrassed. "Her name's Namaya. She's discovered that my phylactery is here in Amaranthine, in a warehouse. Last time I was free, she was going to help me track it down and destroy it."

I raised my eyebrows. "Seriously?"

He nodded like an earnest puppy. "Can we see if we can find it? It's the last thing hanging over my head from the Chantry."

"It's a trap," I said flatly.

"You don't know that! It may not be!"

"It's a trap, it's a trap," I repeated, sing-song.

"Please stop that," Anders said, raising a hand to his forehead and grimacing at my voice. It didn't escape my notice that Nathaniel also tried to hide a wince.

I wasn't at all surprised. Leilana once told me that I could probably turn back the darkspawn tide if I just tried singing to them. As a trained bard, her standards for judging musical talent were high to begin with, but her description of my voice was pretty close to the mark. "So you agree with me?" I pressed.

"Why are you so sure that it's a trap?" he asked, his voice sullen and flat.

I gave him a look of disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

I took a deep breath, which turned into a sigh. "Anders, just use your head for a minute, will you?"

Oghren snorted, swaying slightly in his early-morning, mild drunken haze. "I'll bet ya a nug supper it was usin' the other head s'wat gets him in trouble in the first place, heh heh."

I poked my tongue out at the dwarf, but didn't bother trying to argue. "Thank you for your input, Oghren. Correction – Anders, please think for a moment will you? Why would your phylactery be stored in a rundown warehouse in Amaranthine?"

He stopped scowling at Oghren and turned back to me. "The templars moved a batch of them here during the Blight. For safe keeping," he said with a shrug.

I rolled my eyes and chuckled. "Look, I know that as a group, templars aren't exactly the sharpest swords in the armoury, but seriously? You think they're going to just leave a bunch of phylacteries in an unguarded warehouse in a city so undermanned that it's close to breaking down into anarchy? They'd have moved them all back to Denerim by now."

He struggled with that for a moment. "Well, okay, it does sound a bit unlikely. But I trust Namaya."

"Why?"

He actually blushed at my question, unable to meet my eyes. Nathaniel even snickered behind his hand. Oghren didn't bother covering his.

"She and I were, well, I er…"

"You give her an ol' flesh tattoo, huh?" Oghren leered. His gravelly voice and pelvic thrusts lending the already lewd phrase even more obscenity.

Anders flashed a look of annoyance at the unrepentant dwarf.

"How do you do that?" Nathaniel asked, his tone more curious than objectionable.

"Do what?"

"Make everything sound so... vulgar."

Oghren shrugged. "It's a gift. What can I say?"

I grinned at the pair. "Quiet children. Anders is about to tell us why he trusts a woman he's slept with and then left without saying goodbye. I for one can't wait for the answer."

The mage coughed, but tried to cover his momentary embarrassment. He ran his eyes suggestively down my figure. "Jealous?"

Nice try, but I could play that game too. "Absolutely," I said emphatically.

He blinked, his surprise evident on his features. In a voice an octave higher than he'd have wanted, he managed to say, "Well then," He coughed, his voice returning to his usual clear tenor. "Perhaps I could show you? You'll see exactly why I trust her."

I put on an expression of pious innocence. "I'm sorry, you think I'm jealous of her? Maker, I'm jealous of you! Namaya is gorgeous!"

Anders spluttered and Nathaniel coughed, both blushing crimson. Oghren's horrifyingly suggestive laugh would have caused a Denerim dock-side prostitute to blush. "Nice work, Sparkle-fingers. Kat don't even freeze darkspawn so quickly."

Nathaniel stared at me open-mouthed. I glanced at him and gave him a wink. "Is there something you'd like to say, Nathaniel?"

He clamped his jaw shut with an audible click. "Uh, no, Commander. Not at all."

I rolled my eyes. "Kathryn, Nathaniel. My name is Kathryn, remember?" I turned and punched Anders in the bicep, causing a low ringing as my gauntlet connected with the circlet around his arm. "Come on, Lover-boy. Tell us why you trust her."

He didn't appear to be able to let it go. "You really think Namaya is pretty?" he asked dubiously.

I sighed and shook my head. "No, I just said that to deflate your ego to the point where it's possible to have a reasonable discussion with you. One without your manliness intruding."

"Hur, hur, his manliness intruding was probably what-"

"Oghren!" I warned, holding up a finger. "You can humiliate Anders later at your leisure. Now spill!"

Anders sighed, but I did spot his relief, despite his attempt to hide it. "Fine. Namaya is... a friend. Last time I escaped from the tower, I hid with her for a while."

"Hur, hur," came Oghren's predictable laugh. "Hiding the sausage, eh?"

"I can set your beard on fire with my mind," Anders said with a mock snarl.

"I can cut your legs off at the knees with my axe," Oghren replied easily.

With practiced ease, I ignored the casual exchange of insults. I'd travelled with Morrigan and Alistair for a year. These two amateurs didn't even come close to their level of inventive nastiness. Not yet, at any rate. "And then what?"

Anders shrugged. "You know that during the Blight, the templars moved their store of phylacteries to Amaranthine for safety. That one over there. Namaya learned that my phylactery is among them. So long as the templars have that sample of my blood, they can find me. I need to destroy it. Unfortunately, the templars caught up to me first. Dragged me off. I never saw her again until today."

"And you still trust her?"

He puffed out his chest. "She did declare her undying love for me the last time we were together. And she had come through for me and located my leash. I think you are underestimating my skills in-"

I held up a hand, hoping to forestall his future humiliation. "Right. Let's recap, shall we? A few days ago, a fanatical templar stormed off in a huff because the King and I wouldn't let her summarily execute you for the crime of sitting in a cell while her comrades were butchered by darkspawn. Right?"

He frowned, but nodded. Nathaniel perked up a bit, wondering what he'd missed while stuck in a cell of his own.

"Right. Now, as she left, she swore that she wouldn't let you escape 'Chantry Justice' for your crimes. Today, you happen to run into an ex-lover who you last saw on the other side of the country and who, somehow, just happens to know a closely-guarded secret of a pedantically tight-lipped religious Order. Not only is she here, but she also happens to know that the one last thing that binds you to templar control forever is also here, close by. Tantalisingly close by, you might say. Is that about right so far?"

"Yes, but-"

I held up a second hand. "Right. So, according to her, all you need to do is break into an abandoned warehouse. A warehouse that happens to look like it was built with ambushes in mind, is solid enough to muffle the sounds of combat, and happens to be nowhere near the customary guard patrol. Indeed, it's practically in the most remote corner of the city. All to locate an irreplaceable object that could easily have been safely returned to Denerim at any time in the past few months, but must have been somehow overlooked. Does that about cover it?" I finished, dropping my hands.

Anders blinked. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it instead. After a second, he opened his mouth again, thought better of it and closed it. His eyes darted around as he thought about the circumstances. "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose it does sound a little suspicious."

"A little?" Nathaniel exclaimed, his expression incredulous.

I gave Anders my best winsome smile. "I do put it that way. But don't fret. On the vanishingly remote chance that it isn't a trap, we can still destroy your phylactery. However, if it is a trap, it is an opportunity I am not going to let slip past." I rubbed my hands together and thought how best to proceed.

Nathaniel leaned to one side and whispered to Oghren, "What opportunity do you think she means?"

Oghren grinned evilly. "Knowing the Commander, it'll be something to do with embarrassing them knights in dresses."

"Knights in… you mean the templars?"

"Aye, that's them. Kat's got what you might call a bit of a grudge against 'em."

I grinned at the dwarf. "Oghren, would you do me a favour and go and have a chat with Aidan. Tell him that we think we may have stumbled on a cell of the smugglers he mentioned. Tell him that in the interests of morale, we'll let his men capture them; we'll be nearby as backup only." I turned my grin to Nathaniel. "Nathaniel, would you please go and officially request the presence of Amaranthine's Revered Mother. Tell her that we have uncovered information about stolen property of the Chantry being stored in a warehouse here in the city, and that she will be required to identify said property and ensure it is intact."

Anders blinked owlishly at me. "Er, what? Hang on! Why are we getting the Revered Mother involved?"

I clapped him on the shoulder. "Anders, what do you imagine will happen when the city guard arrests whoever is in there waiting for us? Just suppose it happens to be Rylock and a merry band of fanatic morons. Imagine the Revered Mother's expression when she finds out that some templars were not only violating the King's orders, but also a centuries-old treaty signed by the very first Divine herself."

Anders scowled. "Alright, assuming it is Rylock, why wouldn't the Revered Mother just side with her? She could order the guards to take her side."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Side against the Hero of Ferelden, a close-personal friend of the King? Side against the Arlessa of Amaranthine and Warden-Commander of the Grey? Against four Grey Wardens? With Constable Aidan and his men as witnesses? How likely do you think that would be?"

"Clearly you haven't met as many Revered Mothers as I have."

I opened my mouth to retort, but stopped to give that some thought. "You may have a point. The Revered Mother in Lothering actually tried to shakedown a tithe from me, claiming it would feed many people."

"Well, it probably would," Nathaniel offered as he started to head off to the Chantry.

I snorted. "It wouldn't unless she had the ability to somehow pray money into food. There wasn't anything to eat in the town at the time."

Nathaniel blushed slightly, but nodded and trotted away. I lowered my voice and continued, "And I had to physically threaten her to get her to release Sten, the cow had ordered him locked him up in an exposed cage and left to the mercy of the darkspawn."

Anders nodded happily. "Yep, that sounds like she hadn't changed much from the last time she ordered me bound in chains and whipped out of town. That woman could suck sugar out of lemons."

"The Revered Mother in Redcliffe was nice though, she actually did everything she could to help her flock."

He looked dubious. "Really?"

I nodded. "Yep. Mind you, her flock had been reduced to about a tenth of its usual size in only a couple of nights. Um, let's see, who else? There were a couple of priests arguing outside the Chantry in Denerim, oh, and Sister Justine the archivist, but the only other high-ranking priestess I've met was the Grand Bitch herself, and that was after we'd killed the archdemon. So, alright, from past experience, it's touch and go if the Revered Mother will back any templars in the warehouse."

"Nice as it is that you agree with me, if there are templars in the warehouse and they get off a Holy Smite or two, how are we going to deal with them?"

I shrugged. "It took four Wardens to subdue Nathaniel when he broke into the Vigil. I can't imagine that templars would present that much of a problem for him. And when he's drunk, Oghren could turn a dozen templars into gory chunks and greasy smears all by himself."

"Well then, we're lucky that he's always drunk."

I grimaced. "Just… cut him a little slack. Please? Don't pity him, whatever you do, but… just let his drinking habits go."

Anders grinned. "I don't know. That's a pretty big thing just to let go."

"Please? Oghren is difficult to get to know, but you won't find a more devoted friend."

Anders gave me a doubtful look. "Are you sure? He doesn't strike me as all that reliable."

I took a deep breath. "All right, short version. His wife left him in Orzammar to go on an expedition. We found her in the Deep Roads. She was looking for the Anvil of the Void, the secret to making golems. We found it first, but since it involved stuffing a living dwarf into a stone suit and pouring molten lyrium over him, Oghren and I decided it wasn't worth saving. Branka, that's Oghren's wife, disagreed, and we fought. He tried to convince her, but she was as obsessed as it was possible to be. Oghren kept trying to talk her around, and sided with us, but he ended up having to fight her himself. He decapitated his own wife." I looked up into Anders' shocked expression. "So he has a few reasons for drinking as he does."

Anders swallowed audibly, and nodded. "Uh, okay. Should I… er…"

I held up a hand. "Hang on. Despite all that, he stuck with me to the end; even after Alistair left the Wardens to marry Anora, and Morrigan… left us as well. Oghren stared down the archdemon with Loghain, Thunder and me. Even after being chewed up and spat out, he got back up and jumped on the damned thing. He rode the archdemon's neck like a stallion straight out of a nightmare and slammed a big hammer of his right between the thing's eyes. He hit a gigantic sodding dragon so hard it was stunned, giving Loghain the chance to strike the killing blow."

Anders appeared speechless. "I... just... wow."

"So just keep insulting him when he insults you. Make up stupid male stories of enormous erections and skill in battle and bed. Share a pint with him. Well, you have a pint while he has a barrel. Just don't pity him."

Anders coloured. "How am I supposed to make up stories to compete with him if he rode the bloody archdemon?"

I snorted. "If you have a strong stomach, you could ask him to show you his scars. Archdemon teeth make very cool patterns. Especially when you consider that they match both on his chest and back." It was only the quality of his Legion armour that saved him, that day on the top of Fort Drakon.

Anders' eyes lost focus as he thought about my words. The faint look of revulsion was probably due to him imagining Oghren stripping, rather than imagining the scars themselves. "I'm sure."

Chuckling, I said, "Anyway, back to the trap. It's only an issue if we're both incapacitated."

He shook his head. "Uh, if it is a templar trap, we'll get a Smite called down upon us. At that point, we're going to be - how did you put it - incapacitated."

I shrugged. "You do know it's possible to resist a Smite, don't you?"

His mouth dropped open. "What? No it's not."

With a grin, I said, "I can resist a Smite from someone of Alistair's power more often than not."

I actually saw a fly buzz into Anders' open mouth and out again. "Really?" he got off eventually.

"Yes, really." I glanced around us. "During the Blight, I saw a darkspawn emissary shrug off one of Alistair's Smites and keep on casting. I desperately wanted to learn how to do that too, so I got Alistair to hit me with a Smite every evening for over a month until I learned how."

"You're serious? Templars can hit you with a Smite and you can keep casting?"

I frowned at him. "Not every time. Look, you've been hit with a Smite before, right?"

"Of course. It's not an experience I'd care to repeat."

"Right. Well, did you tense up? Did you try and ride out the pain?"

"Er, I suppose so."

"Wrong. You've already failed at that point. It's hard to explain, but you sort of have to force it away from you, rather than let it wash over you." I shook my head. "Essentially, it's a test of willpower. If you can mentally force a Smite away from you, it doesn't drain your magical strength."

He looked thoughtful. "Look, it's not that I don't believe you, but... well, I guess I don't believe you. I've never heard of a mage that was immune to a templar's Smite."

"Who'd tell? Any mage that advertised the fact would get an army of severely repressed fanatics dropped on him so hard you'd have to use a bucket and mop to pick him up afterwards. One mage can only defend against so much, and even less experienced templars can dispel magical effects. Besides, do you really think the templars would teach mages how to resist their powers at the Circle?"

He still looked dubious. "So, you can seriously ride out a Smite with no ill effects?"

I shook my head. "Not exactly. Like I said, it's a battle of willpower just to hold onto your magical strength. Smites have an impact on non-mages too. But I've completely shocked many a templar by casting spells at him just after being hit."

"I bet they were surprised."

"Well, that's definitely one of the top five understatements I've ever heard. They usually ended up dead afterwards, so it was a moot point."

"Please tell me you're going to teach me. Pleasepleaseplease?"

I snorted. "Of course I'm going to teach you. We'll need Oghren's help though."

Anders blinked. "Er, why?"

"To Smite you, of course. You need someone to practise against."

"He's not a templar!"

Grinning, I said, "He can do anything a templar can. Andraste's tits, they're only warriors, why would you think another warrior couldn't learn?"

"But… but… but he's a drunk!"

"So? It's not that hard to learn how to do a Holy Smite."

He gaped at me. "How do you know that?"

I shrugged. "If it was, templars wouldn't be able to."

Anders covered his eyes with one hand. "Are you seriously saying that the filthy, drunken, loud-mouthed dwarf in our little group is a damned templar?"

"No, of course not. I'm saying he has templar abilities. Alistair taught him."

He gave me an indescribable look. It was quite an amusing game to keep him off balance. "The King. Our King. The bloody King of Ferelden taught a dwarf secret templar techniques?"

"Yup."

He looked to the sky, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know, I had no idea insanity was contagious. But here I am, listening to you try and tell me that a royal-trained, drunken, dwarf berserker-templar is going to help me learn how to do the impossible."

Before I could answer, a voice called out, "Commander Kathryn!"

I turned to see Nathaniel leading a greying woman of late middle-age and a quartet of templar guards. "Ah, Nathaniel, thank you."

He flicked his eyes between Anders and me, and then turned back to the cleric. "Revered Mother Morag, this is Kathryn Surana, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. Commander, Revered Mother Morag."

I nodded neutrally at the woman. "Hello." Nathaniel closed his eyes and winced.

She nodded stiffly back. "I take it you have not had proper instruction on how to receive a Revered Mother."

I gave her a deliberate smile. "I certainly have."If anything, the woman stiffened even more. "Exactly why have you summoned me here, Warden-Commander?"

I stared at her, observing her mannerisms. "I have reason to believe that there are some stolen goods belonging to the Chantry in a warehouse here in Amaranthine. I would ask that you come with us to help identify the property, after we root out the smugglers."

"And what would these goods be?" she asked acidly.

I shrugged. "I have no idea. I was not told anything other than it was taken from the Chantry."

She eyed me closely, then looked at Anders. With a suddenly amiable smile, she replied, "Very well, Commander. Let us be off. I am most eager to have anything which belongs to the Chantry returned."

I smiled back at her, not missing the double meaning of her words. Anders looked quite pale, but also managed a sickly smile.

"This way," I said, leading the small group towards the warehouse. As we passed by, Oghren trotted up to us.

"Them pansies will be there in a minute, Kat. Who's the prune?"

Two of the templars behind the Revered Mother had minor coughing fits, one even raised a fist to his where his mouth would be under his helmet; just to ensure that we all knew he was actually coughing and not covering a laugh. Morag's lips however, were pursed so hard that they resembled a cat's bottom.

"This is Morag, Oghren. She's in charge of the Chantry in Amaranthine. Morag, this is Oghren, a senior Warden."

"This… dwarf… is a Warden?" she said, looking pained and outraged at the same time.

"Oh, aye," Oghren replied, not the lest bit offended. "Passed my Joining and all." He let loose a resounding belch that just about echoed from the nearby buildings. "Didn't even get the runs afterwards."

Morag pressed a scented handkerchief to her mouth, suddenly looking rather ill.

"Righty-ho, let's go, time's a wasting," I said cheerfully, and continued walking towards the warehouse in question. Anders looked supremely nervous at being in the company of four templars and an acerbic priest, but surprisingly managed to keep his mouth shut.

"How long?" I asked Oghren once we arrived at the warehouse.

"He said he'd be right behind me. Sodding nugs take so long to get ready it's a wonder they even noticed the smugglers in the first place."

I nodded. "Right, well, we'll wait. Nathaniel, do you think you can open the door quietly?"

"Easily, Comm- Kathryn," he said, though not without a sideways glance at the Revered Mother.

"For whom are we waiting?" Morag demanded.

"Constable Aidan," I replied, observing Nathaniel's technique over his shoulder. More like Leliana than Zevran, I noted. His skills were focused more on locks than traps. "We cannot just barge into private property, even with your permission."

Morag blinked, and suddenly appeared unsure. Before she could respond, Aidan trotted up with a trio of guards behind him. "Commander! Are you sure there are smugglers in here?"

"Yes," I lied. "That's the information we've received. Revered Mother Morag is here to observe, since it's Chantry goods that are being smuggled, I understand."

"Revered Mother," Aidan greeted her with a deep bow. "Please remain here until my men and I have ensured the building is safe for entry."

She drew herself up. "I was under the impression the Grey Wardens were conducting this investigation," she declared.

I waved her comment away. "It's more of an joint operation. Now, if you don't mind, this might be dangerous, so if you lot could keep the Revered Mother safe and secure, that would be great. Aidan, after you."

Morag was, as I judged, not used to being ignored and overruled. But by giving her bodyguards instructions to keep her safe, she needed to overrule them before they would let her enter. That took a bit of time, since she was basically insisting they let her go into danger.

By the time her templar escort allowed her into the warehouse, the welcoming committee ambush had been sprung. Just not in the way Rylock had anticipated. The fanatical templar had expected Anders, me and perhaps one or two other Wardens. Assuming that a Smite or two would take care of Anders and I, that meant that the three templars would feel well placed to emerge triumphant.

She was not expecting four Wardens, a mabari, and some city guards. She and her matching bookends suddenly looked a little cautious.

She and Anders bickered back and forth while Aidan and his guards looked around confused. I really needed to speak to Bann Esmerelle about the lack of depth to her city's recruitment practises.

"The Chantry's authority supersedes the crown in this matter. You cannot hide within the Grey Wardens' ranks," Rylock shrieked, spittle flying from her mouth.

I decided that I needed to take control of the situation. "As a Grey Warden, he's not hiding," I said firmly, before turning to Aidan. "Constable, as they are defying a royal command, please arrest these templars. We can sort this out-"

"Now!" Rylock screamed over her shoulder at her companions. As one, they raised their arms and faces.

One thing about the stance templars use to call down a Smite - back straight, arms aloft, feet one-and-one-half shoulder widths apart and face raised to the sky - it doesn't leave much in the way of protection around the front of the neck.

Thunder roared to life and leapt. He tore the throat out of one of the templars with well-practised ease. She was dead before she hit the floor.

Still, that left two Holy Smites crashing down around us. Poor Anders screamed in agony as he was floored by the mystical forces, while Nathaniel hissed in pain as he was sent sprawling. Aidan and his guards were flattened, unprepared for and unused to such a mystical attacks.

Oghren and I grimaced in the face of the force. We then grinned at each other.

With a bellow, the berserker leapt at the two remaining templars. Rylock's surprise at her Smite not being universally successful did not prevent her from defending against the enraged dwarf's swing - just not too effectively. The blow knocked her back on her arse and severely damaged her armour.

I tossed a petrification spell at the other templar, who stiffened under the magic. A second later, he shattered into dozens of rocky shards as Thunder barrelled into him.

"No!" screamed a voice from behind.

I turned to see Morag gaping at the scene. She rounded on me, her face flushed with incandescent fury. "Arrest them! They killed holy templars!" she shrieked at her escort.

I flicked the simplest of conjurations out at her. Constrained by the narrow doorway, neither the templars nor the priest had any opportunity to avoid the effect.

Templars wear heavy breastplate armour and helmets, with comparatively lightweight kilts. I'd exploited their high centre of gravity several times in the past. Even experienced templars find it difficult to keep their feet when the ground is suddenly covered in a thick layer of grease.

The four templars tried pushing past the priest, only to end up flailing their arms and weapons wildly around as they slid over the lubricated floor. One accidentally smashed a companion with his morning-star as he went down. Another tried grabbing a nearby handhold for stability, which happened to be the Revered Mother herself. She went down on her arse too.

It was all rather comical.

Nathaniel shook off his torpor and rose to his feet. He shouted "Stop!" at Oghren and Thunder, who had Rylock backed into a corner.

I took a page out of Morrigan's book of theatrics, and summoned two handfuls of purple fire. "Yes! Everyone stop!" I repeated.

Morag's templar escorts froze at the sight of me holding fire. Or at least, me holding a couple of fireballs over the slick of highly flammable grease in which they were standing. Two of them even dropped their weapons and spread their arms in surrender.

"Right, let's all just calm down, shall we?" I continued, in a much softer tone of voice.

From behind me, Rylock started to shout something, but a meaty thump quickly silenced her. I didn't even bother turning around. Oghren would have it well in hand.

Morag pointed a trembling finger at me. "You murdered a templar!" she howled.

"No, I defended myself against an attack. Constable Aidan here can vouch for that, right Aidan?"

I glanced down at the guard leader, but he was kneeling over a a guard that was convulsing and bleeding from the eyes, nose and ears. "No! Michael, stay with me!"

Bugger. I couldn't really keep my theatrics going if it meant the death of a guard, even an incompetent one. I snuffed the flames dancing on my palms and pulled a pair of potions from my bandoleer. "Anders!" I shouted, bending over and rolling the potions to him, one after the other. "We need some healing!"

Anders, still lying prone, managed to control his trembling body enough to face me, but couldn't grab the vials cleanly. He stopped the first, but the other bounced off his hand and spun away. He picked up the first and raised it to his mouth, tugging the cork out with his teeth. He downed the potent mixture in one go.

"I will see you executed!" Morag screamed, struggling to her feet. She only got half way up before slipping again, this time landing hard on her elbow. She screamed in pain as her shoulder deformed visibly.

"Revered Mother!" one of the templars cried, crawling over to the priest. He gently raised and supported her into a sitting position.

A burst of healing magic flowed around the Wardens and city guards. It was a powerful spell - draining too, but it was damned useful in keeping multiple people alive temporarily until their wounds could be seen to directly.

"Now," I said, with my voice as hard as I could make it. "I think it's time to discuss this treason."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra found herself gnawing on her thumbnail, a childhood habit she had thought broken. Self-consciously, she pulled her hand away from her mouth and put it behind her back; the tactic that had broken the habit in the first place.

Kathryn looked at her with an amused expression. "It must be hard."

"What must be?" Cassandra snapped, still mulling the scene.

"Hearing that a Revered Mother was stupid enough to order her templars to arrest a noblewoman in the presence of the civil authority. Especially since the civil authorities in question had just been caught up, and almost killed, in an unprovoked attack by another templar."

Cassandra's left eye twitched again, but she dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. "That a Revered Mother fell for your ambush is not in question, Warden," she growled.

Kathryn put on an artfully innocent look. "Ambush? I set no ambush?"

"What would you call bringing along a Revered Mother to a face off with a templar?"

The Warden smirked and chuckled softly. "An opportunity."

Cassandra sneered. "To do what?"

"To prove that the Chantry actually does follow the laws of the land all the time, instead of just when it suits them. She didn't have to demand her templars arrest us… especially just after an illegal attack by another templar. That pretty much set Aidan and his guards permanently on our side, especially once Anders got all their injuries fixed up."

"I know!" Cassandra said firmly, turning to face the narrow window so the Warden would not see her expression. "Your little ambuscade forced the ecclesiastical hierarchy into a position of compromise with the crown, just as you wanted."

"And we all know how little experience they have with that," the elf muttered.

That was it. The Seeker rounded on the Warden. "You were there! You could have accepted that the Revered Mother had no involvement, that her outburst was simply done in the heat of the moment, and forgiven her. You could have taken the responsibility to convene a trial yourself if you wanted her imprisoned. But no, had you done so you would have lost what little support you had among your vassals. Instead, you washed your hands of the situation you created."

Kathryn tilted her head to one side, her long red hair falling away from her head. "I'm sorry. You think I had Morag sent to Denerim for trial because I didn't want to face the consequences of trying her in her own city? That the only other option was to let her go?"

Cassandra crossed her arms defiantly. "What other conclusion should I draw?"

The mage closed her eyes and shook her head despairingly. "She was directly involved with an attack on the Arlessa of the arling. I had unimpeachable witnesses to the fact. I could have had her summarily executed without bothering to drag the local magistrate from his wine cellar." She leaned forward. "I sent her to Denerim for trial because Alistair needed leverage over your bloody Chantry. He and Anora were delighted when Morag and Rylock arrived in chains. Do you have any idea the concessions the idiotic woman in charge of the Cathedral in Denerim had to give in order to… oh, I suppose you do."

"Yes," Cassandra replied sarcastically. "I do know. Just as I know that Ser Rylock was sacrificed as a scapegoat."

"No, Rylock was executed for treason. You know, those pesky laws that say you must not disobey your king. She proudly admitted setting up her own ambush at her trial, despite Alistair's order to let Anders go, expecting that the Chantry would back her. That might have worked in Amaranthine, but in Denerim there wasn't a great deal of good will towards you lot, whereas the Grey Wardens were practically considered Andraste's foot soldiers. Telling the world that you were trying to kill a Grey Warden just after a Blight must point to some level of derangement."

Cassandra threw her hands up in the air. "You know as well as I that Ser Rylock's trial was deliberately scheduled in the weeks following your defeat of the Architect and the Mother. Do not try and claim that the timing was anything other than a cynical ploy to demolish any support for her."

Kathryn shrugged. "Possibly. Probably. I wouldn't put it past Anora to have deliberately selected the date of her trial for maximum impact. But still, you must admit, bad-mouthing the Wardens in the city where we'd ended the Blight a half year previously? Highly unlikely to win you many friends. Perhaps the lyrium-rot in her brain started early? Anyway, she finally realised her predicament when the priests at the trial refused to speak up in support. I wish I could have seen her face."

"So, a good woman died to sate your bloodlust," the Seeker sneered.

Kathryn chuckled softly, not the least perturbed by her venom. "I'll admit that I was satisfied to hear that she was hanged, but I was not consulted on her punishment. Had I been, I'd have pushed for Morag to join her on the gallows."

Cassandra took a deep breath and let it out explosively. There was no point in rehashing that situation. It had been resolved years before she had joined the ranks of the Unblinking Eye. Two templars had been killed in the warehouse, four more reassigned, one hanged and one Revered Mother demoted and sent to a convent, her life purchased dearly - with long-accumulated power and influence relinquished. Queen Anora had been most pertinacious in those negotiations.

It was just another ignoble defeat for those in the Chantry who still thought it possible to destroy the Warden.

As much as it galled her that such a powerful figure in the Chantry had been brought so low, Cassandra had to admit that the Warden had played the Amaranthine Chantry-folk perfectly for fools. Rylock had haphazardly manufactured a crude trap, only to have it reversed and sprung on the Revered Mother in a most obdurate manner.

If only Revered Mother Morag hadn't made that outburst foretelling the Warden's execution. If only Ser Rylock had retained the presence of mind not to Smite the city's guards.

If only Rylock had let go of her hatred of the mage Anders.

"How did your mage friend take it?" she asked, suddenly very weary of tales of idiocy she could not change.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Despite his post-Smite trembling, Anders was amazingly chipper once his nemesis had been effectively neutered. He actually wanted to heal Rylock so that she was alert as she was taken away. I convinced him that leaving her unconscious would be better for the guards. They were going to have to deal with the woman when she woke up.

At any rate, despite the fact that he had just been essentially sold out by a friend, Anders' mood was light. We found a nearby food vendor in the market district and ate hot stew until our bellies were full and the after-effects of the Holy Smite were diminished. Once Anders was more or less back to normal, he and Oghren began to banter back and forth with quite amusing zeal.

A merchant guild representative almost wet himself in relief when he recognised us as Grey Wardens. He had, as I was coming to expect, a few jobs that various members of his guild needed done.

I gestured towards the empty wagons parked in an alley behind him. "Are things so tough that you can't restock?"

He gave a self-deprecating shrug. "There are so many bandits out there that anyone with a loaded wagon is a target."

I stared at him for a moment before an enormous smile grew on my face, and I turned a twinkling eye to Oghren.

He returned my expression with an evil grin of his own and with a steely crash, smashed one fist into the other palm. "That's my girl!"

It took only a little negotiation and a couple of sovereigns, but within an hour we left Amaranthine, each of us at the reins of an ox-drawn wagon. Our destination - the supposed rift in the earth with the oddly unobservant darkspawn.

Nathaniel and I were obliged to give our companions some instruction on the correct driving technique. My dour companion even gently corrected some bad habits I'd developed on the way to Highever. Oghren and Anders were both quick studies, and after a few hours on the road I calculated that it would only take us an extra half-day to travel to the spot Colbert marked on the map.

The wagons served quite satisfactorily in their purpose as bandit-lures. Despite the initial misgivings of both Anders and Nathaniel, by the first night on the road they agreed that having the cowardly bastards come to us was far more effective than actively chasing them all over the countryside.

After each brief and bloody encounter, Thunder stuck his nose to the ground and led us to the ex-bandits' camp, where we finished what had been started on the road. The wagons ended up being quite necessary for carrying all the bandits' unearned belongings.

Sharing out the accumulated loot was quite pleasant as far as evening entertainment went. Anders and Oghren even had a crude game of chance going to determine the eventual owner, or at least 'drinker', of a particularly large bottle of Orlesian brandy.

Eventually, they somehow both 'lost' the game and ended up sharing the bottle. Nathaniel watched them with dark amusement, before looking at me with a calculating expression.

"Spit it out, I won't bite," I said mildly.

He gave a wry smile and a soft, almost inaudible chuckle. "Am I that transparent?"

I gave a neutral hum without agreeing. "Aedan Cousland asked me the same thing."

His sharp features lost any amusement. "You know Aedan?"

Nodding, I said, "He and I travelled together a couple of times after the Blight. Fergus was with us too, for the first trip."

Nathaniel gave a deep sigh, and tossed a twig into the fire. "We were friends, Fergus and I. When we were children, I mean. He and I were almost of an age, there's only a couple of years between us. Aedan is a quite a few years younger." He paused, staring deep into the flickering flames.

I decided to remain diplomatically quiet on the topic, and waited for him to resume.

"We drifted apart as we grew older. Once he reached his majority, Fergus was always off on some diplomatic mission or other; with, or for, his father. That left us little time to socialize. He came back with a fiancee after one trip. Neither Teyrn Bryce nor my father were too impressed with his decision; I'm pretty sure father wanted to match Fergus with Delilah."

I shifted into a different position and scratched Thunder's ears, to his delight. "Aedan told me that Rendon seemed keen to match Delilah with him."

Nathaniel shook his head. "Not likely. I don't doubt that father said it, just that he didn't mean it. Fergus was Bryce's heir, remember. And while Aedan was always going to inherit some landholding, it was never going to be an important one. Not important enough for father, at any rate. He had a burning ambition to improve the station of the Howes."

I considered that. "I think he had a burning ambition to improve the station of Rendon Howe first, the Howes as a family second."

Nathaniel's eyes flashed dangerously. "What makes you say that?" he demanded.

I sighed deeply. "His last words."

He swallowed hard. "What... what were they?"

"Maker spit on you. I deserved more."

There was silence for a time. Eventually, Nathaniel said, "I hated him. When he sent me into exile. It was like he was washing his hands of me."

I nibbled on a trail biscuit as I considered his words. Across the fire, Oghren and Anders had finished the brandy and were sharing some of the dwarf's seemingly limitless supply of moonshine. "It's possible he was hedging his bets. You were his heir, after all. Sending you away gave you both plausible deniability and kept you safe in case his plans came to nought."

"Hardly a comfort," he growled. "And given what Delilah told me, his plans were either going to leave him rich and powerful, or reviled and hunted. What's the point of keeping his heir safe then?"

"True," I replied. "But his plans were illegal. You don't strike me as the sort to just meekly accept slave trading."

Nathaniel frowned. "Slaving? What are you talking about?"

I described, in general terms, the awful trade I disrupted in Denerim. The fact that there were almost no elves in Amaranthine indicated that things in Rendon's own demesne were a little more progressed.

"I really wish I didn't believe you," the Howe scion said. "It's both unbelievable and obvious at the same time."

"For what it's worth, I don't think your father was acting in his right mind."

Nathaniel raised his head and stared straight into my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It wasn't just slavers, the nominal leader of them was a maleficar. He used Blood Magic to control the elves he purchased. While I have no proof, I also have no doubt he used his magic to at least influence both Loghain and Rendon into agreeing to his proposal. As much as they needed the coin, I can't see Loghain agreeing to sell Ferelden citizens. Even if they were elves."

His eyes widened. "Father was controlled by a Blood Mage?"

I shook my head. "No. It's painfully obvious when someone is a thrall. But someone of Caladrius' skill wouldn't need to dominate people to get them to do his bidding. Just... make them a bit more pliable. Perhaps wave some gold under their nose while amplifying their base greed. You've no doubt seen people bend themselves into all sorts of illogical shapes to justify decisions they made rather than admit they were wrong."

"But maybe his decision to attack Highever was made when..."

I held up a hand. "No. I'm sorry, but your father was tricked into believing that Bryce Cousland was a traitor long before Caladrius came to Ferelden. An Orlesian agent fed him manufactured 'evidence'."

Nathaniel had no difficulty in believing that the Orlesians had a direct hand in his family's woes. "What happened to this agent?" he demanded.

"She's dead," I replied. "Alistair was with me when we confronted her, and helped go through her effects, so he's got some direct knowledge of the sort of tactics bards use to infiltrate the upper echelons of society."

Our soft conversation was interrupted by some aggrieved shouting.

"You said it was good!" Oghren bellowed from across the camp, waving a leather skin around.

"I did not!" Anders shouted back, his enunciation a little fuzzy.

"Yes you did. 'Excellent', you said!"

"I said 'excerable'!"

"Exactly!" Oghren pointed out.

I covered my eyes. "Oghren?" I called out. "'Excerable' doesn't mean good. The opposite, more or less."

He blinked his mildly unfocused eyes. "Eh? Really?"

"'Fraid so."

He scratched his beard. "Huh? You sure?"

"Pretty sure."

The rest of the short trip was uninteresting, with the exception of the bandit attacks. By the time we got to the indicated spot, our wagons were half full of useful loot. We parked them in a sheltered, flat spot and set up some crude barriers to keep the oxen from wandering too far. Anders, Nathaniel and I surrounded the wagons with runes, glyphs and traps to protect the liberated cargo.

It turned out that 'rift' was quite an apt description. As Oghren rightly pointed out, it looked as though the dwarves had built a section of the Deep Roads too close to the surface, and it had fallen in.

And not recently either. Someone had gone to the trouble of partially excavating the fallen rock and building a series of walkways and scaffolding down into the abyss. Time and poor assembly had left it rickety and creaking, making the descent heart-thumping in the buffetting, unpredictable winds. I had to coax Thunder into attempting the descent.

We did find Micah's bag at the bottom, which gave me some cause for relief. I'd have hated to have spent a whole soveriegn for a fairytale.

A dozen or so deepstalkers tried ambushing us, with a spectacular lack of success. As it was quite late in the day, Oghren and I set about skinning the creatures and carving up the choicer cuts while Anders set up a cooking rock.

Once the rock was almost glowing with heat from Anders' fire magic, we began frying the deepstalkers. Before they were ready however, the uncomfortable, itchy-scalp sensation of nearby darkspawn set me on edge, and I ordered my Wardens to be ready. Thunder's ears pricked, and his attention was drawn away from the remains of the deepstalker carcasses and towards the darkness within the rift opening. A sudden nearby clash of metal on metal caused each of us to jump for our weapons, and we raced along the exposed highway.

The few darkspawn I could sense nearby were hardly going to be a challenge. I thought we were prepared for anything.

We weren't. Who would be prepared to meet a dead dwarf with a smile like a sunrise?

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks again to my reviewers - MB18932, Eucharion, Pintsizedpsycho, Nightbrainzz, SgtGinger, ShyWriter413, Arsinoe de Blassenville and Alifangirl21.

Much of the dialogue has been lifted directly from DA:A, some modified heavily. The next chapter will be up in a couple of weeks - I've got some long days at work coming up...

Til then, enjoy.