Author's Note: So, between this chapter and the next is a little short story I haven't named yet, but will be launching tomorrow! As such, Chapter 66 is getting bumped to Friday. Thanks all for the reviews and follows, your feedback is always welcome and appreciated!

Chapter 65 - Five Hundred and Ten

"So, that's a thing down here, huh? Jumping into lava after you make sad declarations?"

"Don't look at me, Legs. I'm not jumping in any lava any time soon." Oghren ran a cloth across his blade, wiping it free of the blood and other filth it had accumulated in their time in the Deep Roads. "I'm not making any sodding declarations, either."

They had stopped to rest for the evening, having trekked back around towards the Fortress of Bownammar. Kardol and his fellows were nearby, stoking a few fires. Together, they were over 30 people strong for the evening, making everyone feel a bit safer. As safe as you could feel in the Deep Roads, anyway.

"Four hundred and seventeen dead darkspawn, fifty-six dead spiders, thirteen dead golems, though I'm not sure if you can consider them alive or dead... oh, there were four ghosts, and two suicides via jumping into lava, though one is technically unconfirmed." Zevran ticked off the numbers on his fingers. "Oh, and eighteen dead dwarves. What a day."

"Wait, what was just today?" Serena looked up from her journal, her eyebrows knitting together. "We killed over four hundred darkspawn today?"

The assassin nodded, a slight grin twisting his features. "I have lost count of the amount of darkspawn over all, but it is... near seven hundred or so since we came to Orzammar, give or take an ogre."

"By the Maker, well... that must put a dent in the horde, at least." Serena tapped her fingers on the paper of her journal, a low whistle escaping her lips. "I wish we could have gotten a piece of that archdemon..."

"We'll get it, love," Alistair said quietly. "At least we know what we're dealing with now."

"Indeed," Zevran agreed, tossing some dried roots in the fire. "The archdemon is very large, very mean, covered in spikes, and breathes purple fire. I do not know about you, but I am feeling very prepared right now."

"I'm feeling like I want to throw something at you," Serena muttered, sticking her tongue out at the elf.

"What are you scrutinizing over, my dear?"

"Oh, its a rubbing of Caridin's records, the names of all the dwarves made into golems," Serena said, handing the assassin her journal. Running her fingers instead over her mabari's fur, the dog huffed quietly in its sleep. "Lucky he kept them engraved, the paper would have rotted away by now, I imagine." She shrugged. "I figure the Assembly would want it."

"It should go in the Shaperate, if nothing else," Oghren said, squatting down on the mat beside Zevran to look at the journal. "A lot of houses lost people to that blasted Anvil... they'd probably brown their trousers over this thing. Probably pay handsomely, too."

"We are simply overflowing with funds, aren't we?" Zevran shook his head. "I should have left the Crows years ago and started this adventuring... I would be a very rich elf."

Oghren, however, was still peering over the journal. He ran a finger over a line of symbols at the bottom of the page. "'We honor those who have made this sacrifice; let their names be remembered.'" Raising his water skin dramatically, he toasted the others, who raised their own skins in return. "Aye, I'll drink to that."

"Lords of the Assembly, I call for order! This argument gets us nowhere!" A few other dwarves began shouting then, as if the man had called for the opposite of order, some slamming their fists down on the stone desks in front of them while others banged their staffs around.

Serena and the others were standing outside the open doors to the Assembly. She was holding Caridin's crown in her hand, the slick surface of it was threatening to slide out of her sweaty fingers. Her eyes immediately sought out Prince Bhelen, who visibly cringed at their appearance. She didn't even want to think what they looked like, having not bathed in the better part of a week.

Scowling slightly, she stepped out onto the Assembly floor. A dwarven attendant led the way, bowing to the men and women of the Assembly.

"I apologize for the interruption, Lord Steward, but the Grey Wardens have returned."

Almost instantly another wave of rumblings broke out among the lords and ladies present, some openly pointing at Serena and her companions. At the front dais, Bhelen held up a hand to silence them.

"Well, Warden, what news do you bring?"

"We bring you a crown, from the Paragon Caridin, for his chosen king," Serena called. Behind her, Oghren stepped forward, puffing out his chest.

"Caridin was trapped in the body of a golem. This Warden granted him the mercy he sought, releasing him and destroying the Anvil of the Void." Oghren looked up at Serena and smiled as around them the deshyrs broke out into more frenzied whispers. "Before he died, Caridin forged a crown for Orzammar's next king, chosen by the ancestors themselves!"

"I would like to believe Oghren's word," Lord Harrowmont said in his quiet, steady voice. "But it's well know the Warden is Bhelen's hireling."

"We were getting paid for this?" Alistair murmured to Serena as more shouting broke out. "Did you know he was paying us?"

"He wasn't paying us," Serena replied, rolling her eyes at the dwarves. "We did get to sleep in the Royal Palace, though. That was nice."

Alistair chuckled. "It would be nicer if they let us bathe..."

"Silence!" A man stepped forward then, taking the crown from Serena and examining it closely. "This crown is of Paragon make, and bears House Ortan's ancient seal." He turned his keen eye on Serena then. "Tell me, Warden, who did Caridin choose?"

"Paragon Caridin baded me choose Orzammar's next king, as he felt his time in the mortal realm had long since past."

"Why would a Paragon trust someone, an outsider, who knows nothing of us with such a decision?" Harrowmont questioned loudly, his soft voice now forgone. "This is preposterous!"

"You may refer to me as Warden-Commander Cousland, Lord Harrowmont," Serena said tartly. She saw the prince bite his lip on a grin as he glanced sidelong as his rival, who was now blushing furiously. "And seeing as how it was I and my companions who went into the Deep Roads after not one, but two of your Paragons when no one else would, I daresay I have earned the right to be heard by this Assembly."

"I say we hear from the Grey Warden," one noble called. "We have been deadlocked for days." There were other various shouts of 'speak' and many nods, so bowing her head, Serena began.

"As I'm sure you all can tell by our less than radiant appearances, we have spent days in the Deep Roads, following the trail of Paragon Branka. She led her house, bound for Ortan Thaig, intent on finding the Anvil of the Void. Upon reaching the thaig, we found her journal, which stated she had moved them on, further south... to the Dead Trenches."

There was widespread murmuring over that.

"And so we went. Deeper and deeper, encountering darkspawn and crawlers at nearly every turn. It was in the Dead Trenches we saw the archdemon, and the bulk of the darkspawn horde." Serena paused, allowing herself to soak in the shock and surprise that poured down from the deshyrs surrounding them. "It was there we met the Legion of the Dead, and Commander Kardol, who offered me his help in fighting the archdemon, should we prove able to provide Orzammar with a king."

"It was there we fought a broodmother. A dwarven woman turned into a breeding darkspawn, who then destroyed the rest of her house. The house of Paragon Branka." Serena closed her eyes, remembering the terrible creature that had been Laryn. Upon opening them, she decided to leave out Branka's part in the massacre. The woman was dead, as was her house, with the only survivor as Oghren. Glancing at the dwarf, she knew he did not need his late wife remembered in such a manner.

"It was not long after that we found Branka herself, still attempting to reach the Anvil of the Void, after all this time."

"But she was not alone," Serena continued, her voice carrying clearly in the giant room. "Within the chamber of the Anvil stood Paragon Caridin, turned one thousand years ago by a greedy king into a giant metal golem. He bade us destroy the Anvil, for it took dwarven men and women, enslaved their very souls, and made them into the army his king once sought to use to save the dwarves from the darkspawn."

"Unfortunately, Branka died in the assault on the chamber. But as Caridin still lived, in return for our help in destroying the Anvil, he offered us this crown, to present to the king of our choosing."

"It was the will of the Paragon that the Grey Warden decides!" echoed the Lord Steward. When no one challenged him, he turned back to Serena. "Who is it you choose, Commander?"

"I present this crown to Prince Bhelen Aeducan, who I believe will lead Orzammar to an exceptional standard during these troubled times. May the ancestors show you their favor always, your highness."

Serena stepped forward, handing the crown to the Lord Steward, who held it aloft as Bhelen stepped down to the center ring. Serena could see Lord Harrowmont shake his head sadly, frowning at the lot of them like they were wayward children he could not tame. She longed to stick her tongue out at the old man, but held it as the prince made his way past her, smiling broadly.

"Thank you, Commander. I look forward to taking my rightful place on my father's throne." Bhelen lowered himself to one knee as around them the deshyr lords began to gather around, banging their Assembly staffs in a distinct rhythm.

Placing the crown atop his head, the steward smiled. "May the Memories find you worthy. First amidst the lords of the houses, I present the King of Orzammar."

Bhelen turned then to Harrowmont, his face infinitely smug. "Do you acknowledge me as King?"

"I... cannot defy a Paragon," the older man said, dropping to one knee. "The throne is yours... King Bhelen."

"I'll have you not undermine my reign, Harrowmont," Bhelen replied. "Orzammar cannot afford to be divided, and anyone seen doing so is only serving the darkspawn."

"Lord Harrowmont was a worthy rival, if I may say, King Bhelen," Serena said archly. "I should like to see him shown mercy, as I would attend he do the same should the roles be reversed."

"You make a point, Commander." Bhelen paused, seeming to come to a quick decision. Serena hoped he wouldn't have the old man killed, not after all this. "Pyral Harrowmont, I shall see you exiled to the surface, your next of kin shall take up Lord of House Harrowmont and see his place here in the Assembly."

"I shall return to my palace and gather my generals, so we shall prepare our forces for the surface. I will see you there, Wardens. And may it be known that you have my gratitude for all that you have done for me, and for Orzammar." With a curt nod to the deshyrs and Serena, he quickly strided out of the room, meeting Vartag Gavorn at the door.

"Uh, wow." Alistair ran a hand through his hair, his unease reading clearly. "That really makes me not want to be king now."

"Well, at least they can't banish you to the surface at the Landsmeet," Serena murmured, taking his hand as they headed out of the Assembly, the lords flowing out around them. "Though they could put you in Fort Drakon. Or kill you outright."

"Oh, just all that?" Alistair rolled his eyes. "And here I was, worried about the whole thing."

"Aw, well... they'd surely toss me in there, too, so at least we'd be tortured together."

Alistair chuckled, smiling crookedly. "That's why I love you, Commander. You're always looking on the bright side."

After another day in Orzammar, Serena was ready to get back to the surface. A good meal and a bath had done wonders for everyone, not to mention sleep in actual beds. Everyone seemed in much better spirits after that, and the signing of the Grey Warden treaty by Bhelen hadn't hurt any, either.

A discussion with King Bhelen and his generals had taken most of the evening, though Serena thought they got a lot worked out. Kardol and his men would work separately from Bhelen's main forces, of which he could promise at least thirty warriors, offering the Wardens around fifty experienced men and women.

During the discussion the king's brother-in-law, the rescued Faren, had suggested offering interested casteless a chance to fight for the city with the Wardens, in return for looser restrictions, if they survived. While some of Bhelen's generals seemed uneasy about the idea, no one could deny that the more soldiers Orzammar could provide, the better the chances of ending the Blight.

"Looks like Leske and I will see you on the surface, Commander," the tattooed dwarf said, heading out of the meeting with Serena and Alistair. "While the Blight is horrible and all, this opportunity to fight could mean a world of change for the casteless in this city. I hope if you find yourself lacking Grey Wardens in the coming weeks, you won't look too much farther than Orzammar."

"I'd be thrilled to count you among my brothers, Faren," Serena replied earnestly. With a grin Faren had stuck out his hand then, shaking both Serena's and Alistair's before disappearing into his own quarters.

"Oooh, you hear that, Serena? Our first Grey Warden recruit!" Alistair grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they made their way down the palace hallway. "With Faren, that brings the Order up to... three." He whistled low. "I don't know where we're going to find room for all of them to sleep, if recruits keep pouring in at this rate."

"Pfft. And I'm the pessimistic one," Serena mumbled, pushing him lightly on the shoulder.

"You know, we haven't really discussed what we'd do, if we ran into people who actually wanted to join the Order." Alistair sat down on the bed, his knees coming up high because of how short dwarven beds were made. "I don't know if I told you, but I don't actually know the magic behind it. I know there's darkspawn blood, and a drop of archdemon blood, and lyrium, but..." He looked at his boots. "We need a senior Grey Warden, Serena."

"Let's just... try not to worry about it for now," Serena said quietly. "We have the treaties, we have our allies, but there's so much more... Loghain, Eamon, the Landsmeet... we're not nearly done, and I just... I can't devote any more of my time worrying about whether people want to beat down our door to become Wardens."

"We'll figure something out. Cailan was working with Orlais, maybe we can get some Wardens in from there, someone who can teach us the Joining." Serena rubbed her temples. "Not that I'm thrilled to put anyone through that, of course."

"Maybe... maybe it's for the best, then," Alistair said. "There's always the chance, that... you know. Daveth." They were both looking down at the floor now. "You're right. We'll figure it out eventually."

"We always do, love," Serena murmured.

They'd gone to sleep after that, only to wake too soon hours later for the trek out of Orzammar and back to the surface. Serena had been surprised to find Oghren waiting for them as they left the Royal Palace, an enormous pack on his back.

"Aye, Wardens. Heard you're heading for the surface to finish off this Blight. Thought I might... lend a hand."

"We're always willing to take on extra hands," Serena replied. "Especially ones that wield a blade longer than I am tall. Are you sure you don't want to stay in Orzammar, though?" She exchanged quick looks with Alistair. "I thought once you leave, you... can't really... come back."

"That's the long and short of it, Legs," the dwarf replied. "But you know as well as I do there's nothing for me here anymore."

"Then welcome aboard, Ginger." Serena held out a hand to Oghren and after a short pause, he took it and shook it quickly. "I have one demand, though."

"Aye, what is it?"

"You have to bathe at least once a week."

"You want to do what with my daughter?"

Oghren had been the easiest recruit so far. Picking up Dagna, however, was a lesson in patience.

"I do not want to do anything with your daughter, ser," Serena said with a sigh. "She related to me and my very powerful mage friend here that she wishes to study magic at the Circle Tower near Lake Calenhad. Since I and my fellows are heading that way-"

"My daughter can't even do magic! And she's eighteen!" Janar turned to the redhaired young girl, his face mottled with anger. "You're eighteen! You should be trying to better this house through a prosperous marriage, not dreaming of going off to wave wands around!"

"We do not wave wands around-" Alim began. "I'm not some fairy-tale wizard."

"I don't sodding care what you nutters do up at that Tower, my daughter ain't going! You hear that, Dagna? You ain't going!"

"No. I am going, Father," Dagna said quietly. She hefted her pack on her shoulder and frowned. "I'm eighteen, you cannot legally bind me into a marriage I don't want-"

"I'm your Father," Janar stormed, "and I can do whatever I want-"

"No!" Dagna shouted. Her face was flushed and her light eyes were narrowed on her father's dark ones. "I am going to the Circle Tower, and I am going to be the greatest scholar Orzammar has ever known! You can either say goodbye now, or I shall... see you in the Stone!"

"I... but... I..." Janar put a hand over his eyes. "Your mother's gone, what will I... I'll be alone, Dagna."

"You should find your own happiness, ser," Serena said. "Dagna has found purpose in this. To hold her back would only make her resent you."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks for stating the obvious, girly," Janar muttered. "Meddling Wardens." He waved a hand impatiently. "Just... you... you take care of my daughter, alright? She's the only blasted one I got and if any harm comes to her, I'll personally find you and beat some sense into you."

"If it makes you feel better, I'm nineteen, and I'm Commander of the Grey," said Serena. "Young people can do-"

"How is that supposed to make me feel better?" Janar interrupted.

"I... I just meant she can... do great things, even though she's eighteen," Serena spluttered. "Um, we should just go."

"Yes, you should." He put his arms around his daughter in a tight hug. "Dagna, be careful. Write to me so I know you're alright. Don't upset any of the mages, I don't want you coming back to me as a chicken."

"I won't, Father. I'll write you every week." Dagna kissed her father on the cheek, waving as she joined Serena and Alim. "I love you!"

"Love you, too, girl," the old man called. Serena saw him wipe at his face before he gave them a last smile and disappeared back into his shop.

Serena had never been so excited to see the sun before. Nodding politely to the guards, she walked a few steps before catching Alistair's eye and practically leaping into his arms.

"This feels so good!" she whispered in his ear. "No more Deep Roads, no more creepy tunnels filled with corruption! Just sunshine and the cool breeze and... oh goodness, it's freezing out here!" She scrambled for her pack, pulling out another tunic.

"I wondered when you'd remember that," Alistair said with a chuckle. "I pulled my cloak on in advance."

"Well, aren't you Ser Smartypants," Serena muttered, pulling on a third tunic.

"Hey, Serena, uh..." Alistair tapped her on the shoulder, nodding his head back to the giant metal doors. Oghren was still standing there, his eyes closed, breathing heavily as if he'd run. "I think he might be uh, panicking, slightly."

Stepping up to him, the dwarf must have sensed her there, because he held up a hand.

"Give me a moment," Oghren said with a sigh.

"Sure." Serena took a deep breath and closed her eyes too, sucking in the cool fresh air of Ferelden. There was the hint of pine on the breeze, and it reminded her of Alistair.

"By the Stone, I feel like I'm about to fall off the world with all that sky up there."

"I imagine it's a bit like walking around upside down," Serena replied, craning her neck up. "Take your time, Ginger. I need you ready to fight bandits and darkspawn with me."

"If I could fight Randar Vollney's second after downing fifteen lichen-ales in half an hour, I'm not going to be put off by a high sodding ceiling!" Oghren took one last look at the gates of Orzammar, nodded to himself, then to Serena. "Well, let's get moving, aye? We're losing... whatchacallit? Daylight."

"I imagine we have about eight more hours of it, at least, but as you say."

"And we'll be walkin' all that time?"

"Most of it," Serena said, eyeing the stalls as they passed. "When we reach Circle Tower, we'll reconvene with Bodahn and his son, and then we'll have access to our horses and his wagon."

"Bodahn Feddic?" Oghren asked. "Brown bushy beard, son's a little..." Oghren rolled finger next to his head. "Err, simple."

"Uh, yes, that would be him. We met him in Lothering and he's been traveling with us ever since." Serena smiled as her mabari bounced past, shoving his face into a small melting drift of snow. "He went up to Highever to do some trading. He's probably one his way to Kinloch Hold by now, though."

"And he's got a wagon?"

Zevran chuckled from behind them. "Are your little legs getting tired of walking already, my fine dwarven friend?"

"You really keep this lady in your company, Legs?" Oghren muttered. "Sure talks a lot."

"If you like, I could hoist you up on my back?" Zevran offered, grinning broadly. "Carry you around like a child? It would be marvelous fun!"

"Your braids are pulled too tight, pipe-cleaner. You couldn't carry me on your best day." Oghren's eyes flipped to Serena's mabari, eyeing the hound appreciatively. "Now that mutt on the other hand..."

"Listen up, Ginger. If you take the time to build a chariot, I'll have to no qualms with you hooking it up to Peanut." Serena put out her hand. "Deal?"

Oghren grabbed her hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "Aye, you got yourself a deal, Legs!" He turned to Zevran. "Hear that, elf? No more walking for old Oghren. It will be glorious! Spiked wheels, my house symbol emblazoned on it..."

Alistair chuckled. "He's beginning to sound a bit like Cailan, you know?" He adopted the air of his enthusiastic half-brother. "Dog-driven chariots, Duncan! Just like in the tales! It'll be glorious!"

"If only we'd thought to put the king in a dog-drawn chariot," Serena said, shaking her head. "Ostagar might never have happened. Maker, we should have had everyone in dog-drawn chariots. What were we thinking? Running into battle like that..."

"Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, as they say," said Zevran.