Chapter 52: The Wheels Within the Wheel

Alistair / Ser Sellose

Re-examining my situation, I was not entirely sure if I should retch or weep. I was being held prisoner in a lyrium mine to perform forced labor by individuals who had no idea how to properly process it. Resultantly, those mining it became ill from it, suffered severe mental damage and were doomed to die. Murchad and I had only barely escaped having to sift lyrium from the rubble directly, which would have caused us to breathe in the dust regularly, but our good fortune was another's death sentence.

Sifting was mainly a job given to women: frail ones or those who were elderly making them less useful in directly mining because of an inability to swing a pick with power. Over the course of a week, I observed at least five women succumb to the poisoning, reduced to mumbling husks, unable to care for themselves. The Avvarian healer did his best to care for them, but often they were not left in his care for long. The Templars viewed those who became severely poisoned as an unnecessary drain on resources.

The Templars would not execute those poisoned and lyrium-mad however.

In the evening, if there was a candidate for "rest," a pair of Templars would take the afflicted into the deep caves on a litter. There they would leave them at the threshold of the Deep Roads. None but Templars were permitted to go to those tunnels designated for that service, but anyone down wind of them knew what was hidden from prying eyes in those caves. The stench of death wafted up from them and when any looked towards them they uttered a prayer for those poor souls abandoned to die in the dark.

At night, when the sky was encrusted with stars, the workers would be led from the mines. The worker tents looked like eerie specters in the darkness. A single communal fire was lit at the center of the camp and from there a surly Templar at a large cauldron would ladle out gruel into wooden bowls for the workers who would retreat to the shadows for their meals.

None spoke during those times, only slurped and lapped at their food like abused dogs, mongrels too weak to beg for scraps or whimper when they were kicked. All a worker had were the clothes on their back and their little bowl. The tents served any who could find space amid the throngs huddling for warmth from the late autumn chill. Those who were not quick or could not appeal to the mercy of their fellows were crowded out to sleep beneath the stars.

During the time just before the weary surrendered to sleep, the healer would make rounds, wandering the aisles between the tents, checking for injuries or illness. If he came across one displaced, he would cajole those in a tent with fewer occupants to take them. Sometimes he would gently guide the afflicted soul to his own tent to spend the few hours of sleep allowed. That is how he discovered me.

I had no shirt and would not force another from the shelter they so desperately needed. I shivered as I sat beside Murchad in the darkness, my knees drawn to my chest. The man came through the darkness and stopped, "I have not seen you before, but I recognize that mark on your arm from the gossip I have overheard. You are the man who claims to be a king. It would not be the first time I have seen the high brought low, but you do not carry yourself as a noble. I have seen Arl Boese at a distance, at least, and he certainly would not be sitting shirtless in the cold. Why not demand that your subjects make room for you?"

"I am not Arl Boese," I huffed, though I could feel the cold prickling my skin and I fought down the shivering, "but a king who has to prey on his subjects is no better than a wolf hunting its own pack."

For a moment he appeared to consider my comment carefully before stating, "Come!" He turned and began to retreat from us into the shadows between the tents. I found myself scrambling to my feet to follow the man with Murchad dutifully accompanying me.

We wound our way through the maze of tents until we reached the healer's tent with a single lantern flickering with a guttering light casting sputtering shadows as it died. He picked up the lantern and checked the oil, trying to coax it to last a little longer before reconsidering and blowing it out, "This is the last. Perhaps the Templars assumed I would not persevere so long and gave me what little oil they could spare. I do not like the idea of having to beg them for more. Please forgive the darkness, but I cannot afford to waste what few resources I have."

"I have grown accustomed to the dark since coming to the Cauldron," I mused, "it seems that is in plentiful supply."

Rifling through a crude barrel in the corner near a cot he pulled forth a shallow jar of some kind of salve, "You have burns that have obviously not been treated. It is not good to have seeping wounds in the mines. Lyrium in your blood stream will cause you to deteriorate faster. I approve of creating masks for your nose and mouth to limit the amount of dust you breathe in, but you still need a shirt here on the surface at least. I can smell the threat of snow in the mornings now. It will not be long before these flimsy tents will not be enough shelter for these people." He pulled a tunic from a pile of discarded linens and began tearing even strips from what appeared to be an torn shirt, "I believe I have a tunic whose owner will no longer need it. Let us treat the burns and wrap them in some bandages so they won't become irritated with dust."

"How have you come here?" asked Murchad, pulling forward a squat barrel so that I could sit on it while the healer examined the burn on my arm before cleansing it, "The Knight Commander called you apostate. Why have they allowed you to live since they are known to merely execute mages without question?"

"They allow me to live out of desperate necessity. The Templars caught me unaware when I was gathering herbs in the woods two moons ago. I had ventured down from my tribe's camp to replenish my stores before the snow came. I was dragged here in the hopes that I might be convinced to reveal my family's wintering place to the Templars. When their attempts at persuasion failed, they had initially planned to kill me. On realizing that I was familiar with herb lore and that I had some healing skill, they deduced that I might be able to care for the workers forced to dig for them. They were losing far too many to be able to maintain their operations indefinitely. They too have been trying to replenish their stores before the snows come and have found their sources scant," he shook his head, "My people have known of the mines for a while, one of the neighboring tribes had lost a village to them, but we had not known that they were mining lyrium. Mai 'r arglwyddes s adenedd achlesa ni."* He used a clean cloth to dab at the burn while I cringed. He looked hopeful when he inquired, "It stings?"

"Yes."

"That is encouraging since it means that the burn damage is not too extensive and it should heal well. Also it communicates that the wound itself has not been tainted by the lyrium while you were in the mine today. I have discovered that lyrium seems to have a numbing effect on most exposed wounds."

"Thank the Maker for small mercies," I gritted my teeth as the healer continued to treat the burn and apply green unguent to it before carefully wrapping a thick bandage around my upper arm. He then turned his attention to the burn on my chest and I tried to distract myself, "You have not shared your name."

He glanced at me, betraying no emotion as he continued to tend my burns, "Most do not care to learn the name of an Avvar."

"I am not most," I asserted.

"So I gather," he allowed. He proceeded to wrap a bandage around my upper torso to cover the burn before offering, "I am called Cefin."

"This is Murchad and I…I am called too many things…damn Grey!"

"Your name is Grey?" he asked, unable to follow as my thoughts wandered.

"No," I huffed, "Thank the Maker! I am Ser Sellose…at the moment."

"Will you turn into something else in another moment?" the man was becoming more confused by the moment and I could hardly untangle the lie regarding my identity that I had been parading behind for the past weeks.

I sighed, I realized that I had already revealed myself to a number of the workers and this man already knew. Here I was trying to regather the shreds of the lie that had hung upon my shoulders. I looked at Murchad and he shrugged, "What have we to lose?"

"I am Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden."

"I had already been told this," he crossed his arms incredulously, "why continue hiding it now?"

"Habit!" I spat

For the first time he smiled, "My people have a saying about creatures who rely too heavily on habit…they are easier to catch for a hunter that earnestly seeks them. You will not be able to keep hiding this forever, though I doubt the Templars care enough to hunt this out. They are too complacent in their assumed superiority. That might aid you."

"Aid me in what?" the question fell out of my lips, though I knew full well the answer.

"In staging an escape," he prodded, "or at least that is what was whispered by the other workers."

I turned to him and the words almost scalded in my throat, "I do not wish to escape, I wish to destroy this…this atrocity. I want to release these people and crucify the Templars as a warning to any others who believe this is acceptable."

"You are not just concerned in saving yourself then," he observed.

"No," I affirmed, "I am not concerned with saving myself. I have had too many people die on my behalf. My life is not worthy of their blood, of their sacrifice. If I only save myself, I will continue to waste what others offered in my place. This must end, even if it means I die collapsing this place."

He was silent for a long moment before standing up and offering me his hand, "Very few of your people who refer to themselves as `noble' would make a good chieftain. You appear to be worthy of such a title. That is the equivalent of a king, correct?"

I smiled ruefully, "I have not been noble for long. It is a word that does not sit well with me."

"My usage of your language is rough. It does not have the music of mine, but the word `noble' has two edges, like a sword. It is thrown about as if it is an object inherited, as if it is something that can be owned. However, there is another meaning of the word…or am I mistaken?" His hand continued to be held out to me, waiting expectantly to be clasped in my own but I hesitated, undone by my own sense of inadequacy.

Murchad read my silence and answered in my stead, "The word noble can also mean possessing great honor or worthy of respect. I agree with your previous assessment, he is quite worthy."

"Murchad…" I groused.

He cut me off, "How is it that everyone else can see it but you? Even Mae saw it, though she did not realize it. She did not believe it was a waste to give up her freedom to save you."

"She did not realize at the time that I lied to her…"

"You did not do it casually," he was trying to be reassuring, "you had good reasons. If the Templars had known…"

"Yes, if the Templars had known I doubt they would have allowed you to live since they are conspiring to overthrow you with Arl Boese," Cefin stated.

I had not anticipated that statement and suddenly leapt to my feet, demanding, "What? What are you saying?"

"This is the Templar's base of operations. I have not gone into the mines, but have been left on the surface. Arl Boese has been here repeatedly, along with a contingent of mercenaries that have been amassing outside the fort. These men do not perceive me to be a threat. To them I am a savage. They speak around me as if I am a tree or an animal. I have life, but in their minds I am without sense, so they do not guard their words or they assume I will soon be dead like most of the others here and therefore no threat to their plans. All here are doomed, so what one Avvar apostate knows is not important." He explained as I gaped at him in disbelief, "They have been plotting an invasion of some kind. Somehow they have amassed a group of ships near Jader that are accessible from here through a pass of some kind in the far end of the Cauldron. They plan to attack your city by sea."

I felt sick as I sank back into the seat. There were so many scattered pieces, and yet I managed to put some of them together. I vaguely recalled the note that Svenya had retrieved from Ser Eddols' corpse:

"Ser Eddols, once you had been loyal to my father and would never concede to a bastard king reigning – let alone a king who is moved by any wind that should blow in his direction. I am trapped and am fast losing hope of ever tasting freedom again and I fear for our country's future if Alistair continues to rule. We will be easy targets for Orlais to invade once again. I beg your aid."

Eddols had been part of a larger conspiracy here in the Cauldron. They had not anticipated that I would send a retinue to investigate the silence of the Cauldron arlings. When Eddols had found out about the mission, he saw it as a chance to simultaneously dispose of me and prevent the treachery from being discovered. He would have returned to Denerim and told Eamon that we had been beset by thieves. If that did not free Anora to take the throne, if Eamon resisted and tried to take control in my stead with Teagan, Eddols' co-conspirators would be able to proceed with the invasion.

Even though Sers Allnatt and Hulbert would have made it back to Denerim by this time and warned Eamon of Ser Eddols' treachery, he would not suspect something of this scope. Though he might be able to root out some of the Denerim conspirators involved, there would not be enough time to prepare the city. The best Eamon could do would be to seek outside aid.

Denerim was only just recovering from the Blight, and we were certainly not prepared for a naval attack. Our closest neighbor was Amaranthine with the Wardens at Vigil's Keep. They could not offer aid at this time. The main city had been burned to stem the darkspawn taint when a rogue band had attacked it. The Orlesian Warden Commander had just barely managed to keep peace and they were still spread thin, with perhaps only a contingent of fifty Wardens strong on hand. They would not be able to repel a force of Templars and mercenaries combined.

"So the lyrium is not for the Templars," I muttered.

"They keep some," Cefin allowed, "but the amount they mine is more than they would ever need. They push these people to meet the demand of whomever they are selling it to. They have been shipping it from their secret port, I believe, for some time – years mayhap. It is probably what is paying for the mercenaries. They do not have enough Templars to invade a large city, though they are formidable warriors."

"If we were to destroy the mine, help the workers to revolt…" I offered, trying to paw through the pieces to try and discover a way to undo the threat to my city.

Cefin shook his head, "This mine has been here for a long time. Destroying it will prevent more lyrium from being mined, but it won't damage the plan that is in place. Time is short. From what I have gleaned, they were preparing to invade soon. All their requirements have been met, it is merely the arrangements that are lacking."

Then there was no hope…

…and yet I could not help but recall what Rian had said in that dream, "Sometimes it is not about being the hero of all, sometimes it is about being the hero of one! There is more to all this than one woman, but that is where you must start. It is all in ripples, Alistair, like in the face of a great pond when a stone is cast in to disturb the surface. They move outward. Whatever starts in the Cauldron will end in Denerim. You are in the place you need to be in order to address those resulting events and it starts now!"

"I cannot prevent the attack on Denerim," I admitted, looking from Murchad to Cefin, "but I can do something about this mine and what the Templars are doing to these people. We must destroy it and help everyone we can to escape. Then we will see to Svenya, locate her and return her to Herfirien."

"Then I claim you as chieftain of Heidrunscap. These are your people, now, as surely as Denerim. I will be your shield and your spear. Anything you ask of me I will give." Cefin vowed, bowing his head slightly while laying the palm of his hand over his heart.

I looked at him, startled, "I am just as like to get you killed as I am to liberate anybody. We could fail miserably, cut down by Templars or crushed in a collapsing mine."

"You know this as do I. You have committed to doing this, why would you expect me to do less when I am just as trapped. At least I now have someone I deem worthy to follow." He shrugged, his expression communicating amusement, "My people are warriors, Alistair, Chieftain. When warriors recognize one as worthy and in the right, they will follow even to death. To do less is a betrayal not only of our people, but to the inner voice granted by the gods that acknowledges the presence of good and evil. The Mountain Father cast out his heart in a misguided attempt to protect himself and, in doing so, did evil to both himself and to those who relied on him. To deny what we see as right in our hearts causes us to do evil through inaction. We may fail, but we will not be guilty of evil."

"In a way, that is a type of victory," Murchad offered with a wan smile.

With two capable men so resolved, how could I falter at that moment? I clasped Cefin's hand with more confidence than I truly felt. In my mind, I thought to myself, "Now we have a mage, but three men against a garrison of Templars is still near impossible. Though, who am I to complain? I was part of a small group that saved Ferelden from the Blight. I should be accustomed to impossible odds."

At that moment I recalled something Oghren had once told me: "A fair fight is far too boring. Now impossible…impossible keeps things interesting!"

I had learned to be wary when I allowed stray thoughts of Oghren to cross my mind. He has two unusual abilities that I am coming to believe must be some form of bizarre dwarven magic (yes, I realize dwarves do not have magic) or a strange curse (on me, not on him): first, he can call forth obscene amounts of alcohol from nowhere to maintain a constant state of inebriation. Second, if you allow yourself to speak or even think of him, he will appear as if you have summoned him.

Once at the palace, Teagan and I had been joking about the dwarf drinking an entire barrel of pickle juice at the celebration following the defeat of the arch demon. It had been part of some kind of wager between Teagan and the dwarf, and I am not entirely sure that the dwarf lost. He certainly acted like he had won something…

Almost instantaneously, Oghren had been at my elbow, stating that he had come to ensure I was properly seeing to my wine cellars or some such nonsense. I could not be shucked of him for roughly a week, though I made sure to mandate that Teagan was required to accompany me…if I was going to suffer, then so was he. The ordeal finally ended when we agreed to spend an evening drinking with him, comparing the qualities of dwarven ale with a hearty human beer and "that sissy wine that the Antivan elf kept talking about."

Thank goodness that he did not require that we include Antivan Brandy…that would have probably led to far more embarrassing issues.

Teagan and I regained consciousness in the ballroom of the palace and Teagan was in a dress. I could not laugh at him because I was sprawled across the throne, my limbs all akimbo, in nothing but my small clothes, snoring and drooling. Oghren, however, was nowhere to be seen. The best I could glean from a guard was that the dwarf had departed at some time during the night, swearing that human nobles could not hold their liquor with the lowliest dwarf but, "the pike-twirler gave it a good try."

Cefin, Murchad and I had resolved that we needed to come up with a reasonable plan to both disable the mining operation and help the workers to revolt with as few casualties as we could manage. This was not going to be an easy feat because the workers lacked weapons and armor. The mining tools had the potential to fill the need for weapons, but they were clumsy at best. A pick was dangerous, but no match one-on-one against a Templar with a sword and superior training. Also, Cefin was at a serious disadvantage against the Templars because of their store of mage bane. If they hit him with it, he would be completely useless. If we had any hope of succeeding, we needed to plan everything down to the minutest detail and organize the revolt in such a way that it would use the element of surprise to our greatest advantage.

We agreed that we would spend at least a week examining the mine itself for weaknesses that we could utilize. Cefin would continue to monitor the Templars on the surface and how their plans were progressing to determine if there were any further movements towards the invasion. If our revolt succeeded and I managed to escape, I would need to discover a way to warn Denerim and rally support against the invaders. There would not be much time, because we knew that they would want to attack before winter hit or they could potentially have issues with ice.

Neglect became our previously unrealized ally: the Templars guarded entrances, but they did not waste their time harassing the workers or supervising them directly. They send a group to a tunnel and instruct them to mine as much ore as possible. Regularly a crew would be dispatched to gather in wheelbarrows what the miners produced. The only workers that were under constant scrutiny were the sifters, whether as a result of their frailty or the potential that they might fall into the river and be washed away, I could not determine.

I presume the Templars took it for granted that the workers in the tunnels had nowhere else to go other than deeper into the mines and, potentially, into the Deep Roads themselves. None of them would be able to get past the Templars to make it to the surface. The people were already aware that darkspawn inhabited tunnels and the Templars knew they would not stray too far from potential aid. What they did not know was that one of their workers was a trained Grey Warden and former Templar.

When our escorting Templar returned to his other duties in the higher tunnels, Murchad and I separated from the others. Our crew members knew to cover for us by working twice as hard in order to meet our quota, and the various groups set to clear knew not to call attention to our absence. Word had spread quickly among the workers and, though it made betrayal more likely, the cooperation of those who allied themselves with us was overwhelming. Their determination was simultaneously encouraging and heartbreaking: if they could not have freedom, they were content with avenging themselves on the men who had unjustly taken them prisoner.

Murchad accompanied me further into the tunnels, armed with a pick-axe, as was I. His nervousness was palatable as he gripped the wooden handle with white knuckles. He had not been trained to be a warrior as had his older brother and knew that venturing into the darkness was risky, but he did not complain. Like the other workers, he knew we either take the risk of the tunnels or we would fall in the darkness with the slow wasting of lyrium poisoning. At least we could fight back with darkspawn or Templars.

As we wandered, taking in the damp walls and the stale air, my mind wandered to Svenya.

During that first evening I had inquired of Cefin if he could Fade Walk. I had vaguely hoped that he might be able to enable me to contact her as Bruna had previously. Even if we could not speak, I might discern her wellbeing if she should cross the Fade.

Cefin had looked startled at my inquiry, "How do you know of such gifts?"

"I had made acquaintance of an Avvar woman who was able to travel the Fade and she helped to anchor me so that I might find a friend. Since you were a mage, I hoped you might be able to similarly help me." I explained, "My friend…she is in danger…if I could only reassure her that I am alive, that I am fighting to end this outrage."

"This friend would be…Mae? Murchad's sister?" Cefin prodded.

"To me she is Svenya," I smiled in spite of myself at the thought of her. Her humor, her wit, her compassion: the thoughts of her wafted over me like a soothing aroma. "She saved my life…"

His face softened with sympathy, "Such a talent is rare, even among my people. Every mage has the ability to enter the Fade at will, but travel within the Fade is still limited for us. At times I suspect that a mage's abilities prevent him from travelling freely because he attracts spirits more frequently. Most Fade Walkers are not mages and therefore the spirits are more likely to ignore them and the Fade itself does not shackle them as much. They are like foxes and the Fade is a bramble thicket, while a larger, more powerful animal cannot force its way through without potential injury to itself, Fade Walkers are drawn to the spaces and gaps around the thorns. I might be able to enter the Fade, but I cannot navigate it as a Fade Walker. I am sorry, Alistair."

I nodded, "It was a vain hope. It appears my only option is to find her in body wherever her prison is currently and deliver my message in person."

"I hope for all our sakes that you succeed," he smiled, clapping me on the shoulder.

As we navigated the tunnels, I managed to find a series of passages that led us to an upper ledge over the main chamber where the mechanism for the water wheel was located. The wheel itself seemed ancient and bore the markings of the dwarves who had built it. As the stone creaked and ground on the axle, the wheel continued to turn. Smaller wheels were also turned by the axle and pulleys disappeared behind one of the walls. A distant rumble somewhere below indicated that there were further mechanisms connected to the turning of the larger wheel.

There was no indicator as to what the grand wheel's purpose had been originally. The Templars had not done anything to utilize it and ignored it completely. It was more of a monument to long lasting dwarven construction than practical machinery. It boggled one to consider that it had not broken down in the years since Heidrun had been abandoned by the dwarves.

"Sellose," whispered Murchad, "what do you suppose would happen if one of the smaller wheels should become jammed?"

Catching his meaning, I affirmed, "It would probably cause the larger wheel to stop. The whole system that this wheel is supporting could collapse, but it is hard to say if it would have any major effect without knowing where the machinery leads and what it was used for initially. Some of it looks simple on the surface, but I am no smith. If we damaged it there is a chance it could affect the stability of the mine, but without surety of that we could injure people needlessly."

Suddenly I felt a twinge, a pinging sensation up my spine as if all my nerves snapped at once. I wheeled to stare dumbly at a nearby tunnel before grabbing Murchad by the arm and dragging him into an alcove in the rock near the heart of the mechanism.

Having been a Warden, I knew what darkspawn felt like. It was like a roiling in the gut accompanied by a small ache at the base of one's skull. It was as if you could see them with your tongue on the air. It was a sharp taste and an acrid smell that sang with the taint.

Since Wardens could sense the taint of darkspawn blood, we could also sense other Wardens. Oddly enough, it was almost comforting to me to feel that shared ache and know that my brethren were near. When you are standing shoulder to shoulder with others who share your burden, it is like a roaring in the blood. After Ostagar, after having been so accustomed to that roar, it had been lonely to only have the whisper of Tabris' newly tainted blood close at hand, but it had also brought us closer together.

When I became king, that whisper had vanished since I rarely had dealings with the Wardens except for the occasional missive from Amaranthine. It left behind an emptiness to bear the taint alone, sitting on a throne. Perhaps that is part of the reason that Wardens do not get involved in politics. Power of that magnitude makes one far more solitary. We must be surrounded by others like us to be truly comfortable…also the ability to sense darkspawn is not particularly useful in throne rooms.

That familiar whispering thrum was there and my heartbeat pulsed in my throat, calling to that taint of fellowship. As they approached I felt joy, relief…hope. I entertained the belief that the Maker had not entirely abandoned me.

There were two of them and they crept toward the precipice of the ledge cautiously, scanning the chamber below. One muttered something to the other about the wheel with a low whistle, impressed. He had moved with the muted jangle of chainmail, indicating he was in armor, though the other moved more quietly.

I knew not why they were there and I didn't care. They were the only source of aid I had seen since entering the mines. If nothing else, they might be able to help us find an exit route by which to evacuate workers from the mine if we caused the main chamber to collapse, but we had to make contact.

"Murchad," I hissed, "We are going to sneak behind them. I do not want to startle them or draw the attention of the Templars in the chamber below. When I give you the signal, move quickly. Your mark is the short one on the left."

"How do you know they are not working for the Templars?" Murchad squeaked.

"Because they are Wardens, they will help us," I reassured him.

"I hope you are right about this…"

I was surprised that they had not sensed me, but I was one. With two of them together they were accustomed to being around other Wardens with the taint. If they took notice of my presence they may have assumed it was just the taint of their companion. It enabled us to take them by surprise.

Damn….I have gotten so slow.

I took the man closest to the edge, he was perhaps an inch short than I with dark hair. I had taken my shirt off and allowed it to dangle around my neck so that I could cover my mouth and nose with the fabric if it became necessary, but he had leather armor, an obvious advantage. In order to get him safely away from the ledge and reassure him that we meant no harm, we would have to act quickly.

When he was in arms reach, I clapped my hand soundly over my mark's mouth only to be rewarded with an elbow firmly striking my ribs towards the bottom of my burns. It had been a couple of days since Cefin had treated them, so they were no longer raw or seeping, but the branded areas were still tender. We had left off using bandages on them since they were healing and the constant rubbing of the bandages were more likely to irritate them. The blow both stung and forced the air from my lungs.

With the suddenness of the blow, I lost my footing and skidded backward on some loose sand in the tunnel. The man took advantage, turning on me while simultaneously drawing a dagger. As I fell back he asserted his weight with one knee pinning my left shoulder and the other pressing against my chest. The sharp side of the dagger rested horizontally across my throat as he hissed, "Don't move!"

I gasped around the edge of the weapon and tried to regain my air so that I could take a steady breath and explain that I meant no harm. The man's eyes were hard gray slits above a sharp nose and I found myself trying desperately to remember where I had seen his face before…

The sudden familiar laughter erased all thought for my mind as I heard a familiar voice enthuse, "Well, if it isn't the pike-twirler!"

"Oghren?" was the first word I could gasp past my dry lips, looking up into his jolly face. Somewhere in the back of my mind I sighed, "It figures!"

My former comrade then chided his companion, "Nate, you had better get up and put that dagger away. You are squatting on the king of Ferelden."

The man looked unsure for a moment before taking another look at me, then an even harder look crossed his features, but he returned to his feet, sheathed his dagger and offered me his hand to help me up. He offered no apologies, but stared me down, as if I had somehow wronged him.

Oghren suddenly clapped me on the back, which stung considering he had gauntlets on and I still had no shirt, "What brings you to Heidrun Thaig, your Majesty? Did ya get bored with all those fancy balls and councils?"

I shook my head, "That is not far from the truth, but it is a far more desperate situation than that, Oghren. This is a prison mine and, unfortunately, I am one of the prisoners. I do not know what path of the Maker brought you here and I do not care. There are innocent lives trapped here and a plot against the throne that must be dealt with…I could definitely use the skilled help of a dwarven berserker."

Oghren grinned and hopped like a tot at Satinalia, "Ah…impossible odds and a good fight…I knew I missed you for a reason!"

*This is Avvar for, "May the Lady's wings shelter us."

(Originally take from Welsh - probably very poor Welsh at that so please forgive me. I always picture the Avvars as being the equivalent of the early Welsh. Don't ask me why...)