Finally, a new chapter. I'm sorry for delay - I blame Harrowmont and... two other dwarves for it. :)

Thanks to my lovely beta Seika for all her support and comments, and prodding. ^^

Making the Dust Fly

When he got up the next morning, he found the others still dead asleep. Wynne coldly informed him that they had returned only few hours before. She didn't say so, but it was clear as the day–well, at least a day on the surface–that she thought that was his fault as well. Bad influence on innocent Grey Wardens, yes? Never mind that he only had one beer, and even that had been left unfinished when he took their fearless leader home.

Not in the mood to deal with silent accusations of the old hag, he went out for a walk; a bit of fresh air would do him good. Too bad there wasn't any. Airam was right, he decided. This place is disgusting. It wouldn't have surprised him to find a giant spider leaping at him from around the corner.

"Messere Arainai! A happy coincidence to find you here! I was, in fact, on my way to visit you and the Wardens at the inn!"

He turned to the voice, and immediately wished it was a spider. Eric Grimson, the Proving Master, was walking to him as quickly as his fat little legs allowed. They usually dealt with the Armsman; they only met this old fool once, when Airam "qualified" for the Tournament, and Zevran would have sworn that the strong feeling of disgust was mutual on both sides. So what could he possibly want?

"A happy coincidence indeed," he said with a polite bow. "But I do not recommend the visit today. Please come tomorrow, if you don't mind."

"Forgive me my boldness, but I must insist. I need to talk to the kid urgently."

"You mean the Warden-Commander," he corrected the fool, not bothering to hide his annoyance. These dwarves and their arrogance were getting on his nerves. "What do you want with him?"

The Proving Master widened his eyes in mock surprise. "Why, I just wanted to remind him that the Tournament starts in a week, and he is expected to participate."

"I am afraid that will not be possible. We are leaving for the Deep Roads in a few days, by the order of the Assembly," he explained with strained smile.

"And that is precisely why I want to talk to him," the Proving Master replied with an eager nod. "By entering the preliminary rounds, he expressed his agreement to join the Tournament. If he does not participate, it will be considered a violation of the contract, and that would have severe consequences, ruining of the Wardens reputation being the least –"

"Oh, I see." Zevran smiled at the dwarf as cordially as he could. "You are right. The honour of the Wardens dictates that they participate, yes. You should go and explain it like this to the Warden-Commander . I am sure he will agree."

He watched the arrogant fool hurrying towards the inn and felt a little pang of guilt. Oh well. At least it would cause a diversion from the embarrassing memories about the previous night, no? In any case, he had better avoid the inn for a few more minutes.

But he didn't get far, when he heard his name again. What now? He watched the dwarf approach him. He was pretty sure that he had not met him before. Yet the dwarf was smiling as if they had been the best of buddies for years, which could mean only one thing; the dwarf wanted to try talking him into something. That meant he was one of the deshyrs, or at least working for one.

"Messere Arainai. I am Dulin Forender, Second to Lord Harrowmont. I couldn't help but overhear your discussion with the Proving Master, Ser Grimson–"

"Naturally," he said aloud. That was a rather pathetic lie. This guy had not been near enough to hear their talk. Which meant that the whole meeting with the Proving Master had been a set up. "But as I said to Ser Grimson, we are leaving for the Deep Roads–surely Lord Harrowmont is aware of this, yes?–and we still have many things to prepare. Have a nice day."

Harrowmont's lackey was not one to give up easily, it seemed. "Please, listen to me. I have a proposal that could make the whole expedition to the Deep Roads unnecessary. I hope to present it to the Warden Commander today, should he be so kind as to grant me an audience. However, as the right hand man to Lord Harrowmont and you the right hand man to the Warden Commander, I was hoping to discuss it with you first. Please, it will only take a few minutes. May I invite you for a glass of beer, so we can discuss it in a more private setting?"

A few minutes? With all that blabbering? Not likely. But it could be useful to know what Lord Harrowmont wanted, before he met with their impatient, cheeky leader.

"Very well," he said with a strained smile. The dwarf immediately started another tirade about how happy he was, and that Wardens most definitely would not regret it. By the time they reached an inn, his head was aching worse than if he had spent the night with twenty Morrigans and Alistairs. They were taken into a separate room, and brought the best beer. At least, that was what the maid said. The truth was it tasted more foul than any other he had had since they first arrived in this underground hole of a city. He would give a full Assembly of deshyrs for a single glass of Antivan Chianti.

Dulin went on and on, explaining everything into the smallest details. Half an hour later, Zevran was too annoyed to care about diplomacy any more.

"Forgive me for interrupting," he said, "but my time is running out. If I understood correctly, what you suggest is that the Wardens fight for Lord Harrowmont in the Provings because his own fighters deserted for unknown reasons."

"I wouldn't say 'deserted'. That is too – "

"Of course, of course. My mistake." Zevran flashed a wide smile at the fidgeting dwarf. "Fighting for Lord Harrowmont would be a public declaration of the Wardens' loyalty to his Lordship, a bond of honour that can't be broken."

"Precisely. It would also oblige my Lord to grant the Wardens an audience, and to discuss the further steps the Warden needs to take in order to secure the support of the deshyrs in the elections and, consequently, the Lord –at that moment, king Harrowmont, in fact–to the Wardens ."

"And the next step you suggest is to destroy the Carta, an organized band of criminals, and find proof that they were involved in the death of the Prince Thrain, yes?"

"Trian," Dulin corrected him.

"If you say so." Zevran flashed his most brilliant smile at Dulin; he could well imagine Airam's reaction to this pompous, arrogant "offer". But Dulin seemed to think the smile was confirmation of an agreement. Ah, poor sod. Zevran almost felt sorry for him–he was in for a nasty surprise.

"I will forward your kind offer to the Warden Commander," he promised, getting up. "Please come in the afternoon... at six precisely? Can we agree on that?" Dulin didn't have any objections and, after another ten minutes of endless phrases, Zevran was finally able to get out. So much for my walk, he thought gloomily. He had better return to the inn. There was much to do: plan the trip to the Deep Roads, prepare their fearless leader for a visit by another arrogant dwarf... and get rid of what was left from the Proving Master.

But he had hardly taken ten steps when he heard someone calling him again. A cute girl with black pig tails and a radiant smile was waving at him eagerly. He was determined to pretend he hadn't heard her and started to walk faster; but the girl was equally determined to speak to him.

"Please wait, kind Ser! I only want to ask if you know any mage," she said, panting heavily when she caught up with him.

Now that got his attention. Had someone found out that Airam was a mage? Before Airam's fight in Provings, they had all agreed to keep it secret. At first they were not sure if he would be allowed to participate, if it was known, and later they just stuck to the story. Zevran preferred to have it this way; it was always good to have a hidden advantage.

"Perhaps. Why would you like to know?"

"I heard there are many mages on the surface," the girl said, eyes shining with excitement, "and that they shape the world as they wish. Oh, it must be beautiful! Like a dream. Dreams are beautiful, aren't they? Us dwarves can't dream. That's why we can't become mages. It's all the lyrium in the stones, see? We've been exposed to it for so long that we lost any connection to the Fade. It's not fair, don't you think? We can't be mages; all we can do is to read about magic. I've read all there is in the Shaperate, but it's far from enough! Magic is so interesting, isn't it? I could read and talk about it for hours!"

Yes, he could see that. "Ah, I agree with that, but –"

She ignored him as if he hadn't said anything and continued with her rapid monologue. "But as I said I can't learn anything new here any more. So I decided I must to go to the surface, find a real, living mage–"

At least she's not interested in abominations. He couldn't help grinning. There was something endearing in her eagerness to learn; maybe it was because she reminded him of a certain young mage.

" –and ask him to teach me all there is to know about magic. Oh, I know it won't help me and that I'll never be a mage no matter what, but I'd like to learn about it anyway. For academic purposes, you know? And you are a surfacer and a Warden, so I thought you might know a mage or two and perhaps you'd be willing to help me. All I'm asking is to take me to the Mage Circle or at least show me the way, I'm sure I'll find someone to teach me once I'm there–"

She would probably continue forever, if Zevran hadn't started to laugh. She was completely crazy, he decided, but she also improved his mood quite a lot. And he had a feeling he had just the right mage for her.

"Allow me to introduce myself first," he said. "I am not a Warden, merely one of their companions. Zevran Arainai, at your service. And may I be so bold to ask for your name, my dear lady?"

"Oh, that's right, I didn't introduce myself, did I? Please forgive me, I always get carried away when I talk about magic and you're such a good listener. My father would have stopped me long ago. I am Dagna, the daughter of Janar Meldun, of the Smith caste. So you really know a mage?"

"I do, and I am sure he will be willing to help you," he said, grinning widely. "If I may ask, you said you have read everything in the Shaperate... am I right to think it is a library?"

"Yes, I think it's called a library on the surface. It's amazing, it has all the records about our history, and philosophy, and other such things, you know. You should visit, you'll love it. I mean, who wouldn't love such wonderful place?"

Who indeed? Zevran imagined Airam's face when he'd find out about the library, and grinned.

"And it could be useful for the Wardens as well, because there are many books about the darkspawn and about the history of dwarven fights against the darkspawn, including the Blights, though I haven't read those, because there was nothing about magic in them, so I can't say if they'll help or not, and there are maps of the Deep Roads –"

"Maps of the Deep Roads?" Oh this was good. Now Airam would have an official reason to visit the library. And to have some fun at the same time. Maker knew the crazy kid needed it.

oOo

He returned to the inn, taking the girl with him. The situation there was more dire than he expected. Luckily, Wynne's manners were too good to be impolite in front of a visitor. He left the ladies to chat and proceeded to his and Airam's room, from where he could already hear Alistair's angry shouting. Someone should explain to the Chantry boy that such loud shouting was bad for him. It would ruin his voice; one day he would wake up and he'd be mute. Not that he would mind, but it could be devastating for Alistair's career as a King of Ferelden. A king without a voice; that was pathetic even for Fereldan standards.

The reason for Alistair's yelling was standing in front of the door to the room, glistening and dripping cold drops of water on the floor. Alistair seemed to think that to freeze a Proving Master, one of the most important dwarves in Orzammar, was irresponsible and childish, if not outright stupid. Airam apparently remained unconvinced. Watching those two argue was always such fun. Alas, he could never fully enjoy the show; the circumstances always forced him to intervene. This time was no different.

"My dear Wardens, I am pleased to find you in such a... lively mood," he said merrily.

Alistair snarled at him. "It's all your fault, assassin."

"Your accusations wound me, Alistair. I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied with a smug grin. "I haven't even been here, no?"

"He means that guy," Airam pointed his head in the direction of the ice statue. "The guy stormed in here, started blabbering nonsense about the Tournament, and then had the nerve to say it was you who told him to do it. As if I'd ever believe that. You wouldn't do something that mean... would you?"

The tone of Airam's voice said quite clearly he expected only one answer. "Of course not. I distinctly remember telling him to come tomorrow, in fact."

"Good. I'd have to freeze you if you did. I don't like mean people, especially when they're mean to me."

Alistair seemed to have a problem with that remark and started complaining again, but the crazy kid didn't listen any more.

"It's good you showed up, Zev, I wanted to talk to you. Let's go somewhere more quiet..." Airam shot an angry look at the fuming Chantry boy.

"As you desire. But what about the Proving Master? Should you not cancel the spell first?"

Airam looked at the dwarf and the small pool that was slowly forming around his feet. "Tch. He's disgusting even as an ice statue," he complained. "Never mind that fool, he'll unfreeze, eventually. There are much more important things I need to discuss with you now. We'll take your room, Al, all right? And in the meantime, you can remove our visitor somewhere he can melt down in peace."

Alistair didn't like it and tried to protest, but the crazy didn't pay any attention to him any more and walked out of the room. Zevran followed, grinning from ear to ear, curious what Airam wanted.

"Zevran," he said in grim voice, when the door to Alistair's room slammed behind them. "My brain is one big cone of cotton candy... I can't remember things clearly.'

He nodded, trying to look serious. "I see. That could be expected, yes. It's called hangover and–"

"Zevran."

"Oh, but you already know that, yes? Please continue."

Airam sighed. "I think it was just another nightmare, but I need to know for sure. Did I–or did I not–call Sten 'Stenny' yesterday?"

oOo

The next two hours were great fun. For Zevran, at least. He had a strong feeling their fearless leader would disagree. In fact, he had just discovered that Airam was not so fearless, after all–apologizing to the Qunari and facing an offended Wynne certainly seemed to scare him a lot. Not that Zevran could blame him. He wouldn't want to face Wynne right now, either.

While he was briefing Airam in about the previous night, Wynne somehow dispelled Airam's spell on the Proving Master. The dwarf was in foul mood–to put it mildly–and it took her a lot of time and effort to sweet talk him into not making a fuss about "the attack" to the authorities, as well as to keep quiet about the fact that Airam was a mage.

Good thing he brought Dagna with him. She was a perfect distraction; under the permanent flow of the girl's merry babbling, it was impossible to remain grim and angry for long. Just as he expected, Airam highly approved of her interest in study. And in the reading of books. Kindred spirits, those two, even more than with the Poet Tree. Zevran couldn't stop imagining them together; an elf, a dwarf and a tree, discussing the finer points of poetry in Thedas. What a sight would that be! It almost made him regret not paying attention to poetry during his studies; all he remembered now were two or three naughty poems... Hm. He should tell them to Airam, for the fun of it.

Perhaps it would make him stop worrying about the visit from Harrowmont's lackey. They discussed it with Alistair, Leliana and Wynne, and decided it was better to go with the original plan to find Branka in the Deep Roads. It didn't seem wise to compromise the good name of the Wardens by breaking the promise made in front of the Assembly for something this uncertain. There was no reason to believe that Lord Harrowmont would do as he promised. Especially, as Zevran pointed out, as he apparently wasn't much of a leader; his own people were deserting him at the first sign of trouble.

But Airam was worried that he'd say the wrong thing again. Freezing a fool who bangs into your room while you're still not fully awake after a difficult night is one thing, negotiation with the Second of the throne candidate was another–as the crazy kid explained to Wynne when she asked, still in that icy voice, why he didn't use his favourite solution.

Anyone could see Wynne was itching with desire to give Airam another lecture, but he didn't give her a chance. He pointed out that they should start preparations for the expedition. Wynne and Morrigan should prepare as many poultices, potions and glyphs as possible, Leliana and Alistair should take care of supplies and repairs of their armour; perhaps Dagna could take them to her father's smithy... and he and Zev could go to the Shaperate, to see if they had maps of the Deep Roads. They would all get back at five and get ready for Dulin, and think of a way how to reject the "kind offer" of his Lord.

Clever, his crazy kid, no? No logical objection could be raised against the plan; everyone had to agree. Not that he would object; he got to spend almost the entire day with Airam, after all. Yes, this day was going to be great fun.

oOo

The Shaperate was big and impressive. Not as much as the Library di Antiva, naturally, but not bad. A bit too much stone, perhaps. And as the most records were in the old dwarven language, it was soon also quite boring. Unless you were a dwarven scholar… or a crazy kid obsessed with books. Airam loved it. He harassed the scholars with dozens of questions about history, language, culture and politics. At first they were suspicious and not willing to answer, but after a while they relaxed a bit and became friendlier–approximately the same time Zevran became bored to death, in fact.

Besides, the scholars might have decided that they could trust Airam, but Zevran didn't trust them yet. How could he trust someone who called themselves the "Shaper of Memories"? It sounded very fishy. Once something happened, it could not be shaped any more, no? They could be changed, but then they wouldn't be true any more–they would be just a pile of lies, without any value. No; as far as he was concerned, these Shapers could not be trusted.

He browsed through long rows of books, trying not to look too bored. He was just starting to wonder if he should go and remind the crazy kid why they came, when he heard Airam's angry voice.

"A burglar stole it? That's outrageous!"

Zevran sighed. He was sure where this would go. It was always like this. Every time Airam became friendly with someone, they asked for a favour. And in most cases, Airam agreed to help. Why should this time be any different? Annoyed, he walked over to Airam. As expected, the Shaper was asking Airam to retrieve a valuable tome. It was stolen two days ago, probably by some casteless scum from Dust Town –

"Casteless?" asked Airam, frowning. "Wait. Didn't you say all people are sorted into castes?"

"Casteless are not people. They look like people, but they are not real people, if you know what I mean," the Shaper explained.

"I don't," Airam snapped. "How can someone look like a man but not be one?"

"Casteless are cursed by the Ancestors. They are not part of our society. We merely tolerate their existence," the Shaper said, not realising he was losing points with Airam by every word.

"Cursed by the Ancestors? Like the mages are, on the surface?"

The Shaper nodded. "Similar, yes. With the difference that mages can at least be useful for society, on rare occasions, while casteless are just worthless criminals and scum."

"On rare occasions. Aren't I lucky," Airam muttered angrily. The Shaper gave him suspicious look, but Airam didn't elaborate. "Go on, then. Anything you know about the thief?"

It turned out they knew quite a lot; the "burglar" came in broad daylight, ignored Shapers, grabbed the tome and ran out. By the time the guards arrived he was long gone back to the slums, and the guards were not willing to search for him there. It was too dangerous–guards only went there every few months to catch new brats that needed branding. But the Warden was a resourceful guy; surely it would be no problem for him. The more he heard, the angrier he became, and he could see Airam was silently fuming, as well. So he was surprised when Airam agreed to help.

"I can't promise I'll be successful. My time is limited, I'm afraid–we'll be leaving for the Deep Roads in a few days."

"Of course Warden. We appreciate the effort," the Shaper said with a bow. "We will prepare the maps for you, as we agreed; they will be ready tomorrow afternoon."

A few courteous phrases later, and they were finally out of the Shaperate. Zevran's mood immediately improved. "Do you want to return to the inn now? We still have few hours until Harrowmont's Second comes. Perhaps we could go for a walk around the town, no?" he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"I want to go to the Dust Town."

"Because of the book? Leave it to me and Leliana. Give us one or two days and we will find it, I can promise that."

"It's not just about the book. I want to see it. I want to meet the casteless."

Brasca. This was the "let's go see the Crows" all over again. "I understand, but it is dangerous. What do you think will happen when we march in there, dressed like this? We'll get mugged before you count to three."

"I'm not afraid. I can take care of myself." Airam folded his arms.

"And I am the last one who would doubt that," he said quickly. "But there are only two of us. If you want to go to Dust Town, we shall, but let us go back first, prepare ourselves and take at least Sten and Shale with us. Yes?"

"It would take too long. And I'm sure you'd try to find some excuse why I can't go."

That was the idea, yes. Zevran sighed. This crazy kid was too clever for his own good.

"I'm not a little child, Zev. You don't have to protect me all the time. You promised not to roleplay Gran, remember?"

"Yes. I did. But still–"

"No more arguing. Are you with me or not?"

Tch. As if he'd let him go alone. Oh well. He hadn't had a proper fight since they came to Orzammar. As long as they didn't wander too far, they should be fine. If there was a fight, they would kill a few guys, create chaos and run for it. "As you wish. At least promise me you won't say anything cheeky."

Airam laughed. "I'll try. Don't worry, we're going to be fine."

"You, perhaps. But I'm a dead man. Even if we survive the Dust Town, Wynne will blame me for taking you to the most dangerous part of the town. She almost ate me alive last night for making you drunk."

"Oh Maker." Airam sounded and looked positively embarrassed. "I'm sorry for that, I didn't mean to get you into trouble. I promise I'll explain everything when we return, all right?"

Zevran shook his head. "And she'll say it's because of my bad influence on you. No, my dear–if we go to the Dust Town, my blood is on your hands. I hope you can live with that."

"I'll manage. Let's go."

His impeding death sentence apparently didn't mean much to Airam. He complained about it during the whole way to the Dust Town, but the crazy kid found it funny and laughed.

Good.

oOo

During his career as a Crow, he had seen many slums and alienages, dirty, miserable and reeking of despair. Dust Town was the same. Narrow streets, dilapidated houses with walls blackened with mould and dirt, piles of half-rotten rubbish teeming with rats and other vermin, air that was hardly breathable. People with unhealthy yellowish skin, dressed in rags without any shape and colour, hair tied in matted dreadlocks, staring at them with hungry eyes.

"Maker's breath," Airam said weakly, "how can they live like this?"

Zevran gave the boy worried look. This was one of the reasons he didn't want Airam to come here. Mages in the Circle didn't exactly have comfortable life, but it couldn't compare with real poverty and hunger.

"Do you need money? Two silver for teeth, five silver for braids!"

Airam wanted to turn to the voice, but he tugged at his elbow. He didn't want to attract any more attention. They were already being watched; shadows crept at the border of his vision, careful not to be seen, but still there. Four–no, five. Maybe more. Nothing difficult... for now. But it was better not push their luck further. Now that crazy kid saw how the life in the slum was, they could go back, no? There was nothing they could do anyway.

He just opened his mouth to suggest it when they heard heartbreaking cry of a little child. And nothing in the world would stop Airam from helping a crying child. So he closed his mouth again and silently followed Airam to the young girl with a crying baby in her arms. She didn't belong here, that much was obvious at the first sight. Women in slums aged quickly–no matter how beautiful a woman was, by the time they reached twenty their cheeks had sunken in, their teeth rot, and their eyes were dead. This one was bit pale, but still well preserved; she couldn't have been here for long. Interesting.

Airam knelt down next to the woman. "Hello," he said hesitantly. She looked at him in panic. "Please don't be afraid, I don't want to hurt you. I'm Airam Surana, the Warden-Commander. I noticed the baby is ill... I happen to know bit of healing magic. Not much, but maybe I could help, if you let me."

The woman stared at him with wide eyes. "You–you would? May the ancestors bless you, serah! Please help my son!"

She handed the boy to Airam, who cast the healing spell at once. Zevran quickly glanced around; they were still followed, and those people would now know that Airam was a mage. But none of the other dwarves seemed to notice. Good. If they noticed, there would be a long line of cripples begging for healing. Crazy as he was, Airam would probably agree and heal them until he was exhausted. And that wouldn't do. What if those five following them attacked when Airam was weak? He did feel sorry for these people, but he would not put Airam in danger because of them.

Soon the baby stopped crying, and fell asleep. Airam returned him to the girl; she gently put him in a bunch of dirty clothes next to her and tried to kiss Airam's hands. "Thank you! Thank you, serah, thank you so much," she repeated again and again.

Airam yanked away, blushing. "P-please, don't–that's not necessary, no, really, I didn't do that much... Anyone would do the same."

She shook her head. "You did more than his father and grandparents; he's a boy, so they want him dead," she said bitterly.

"I don't understand. Why is it important what sex he is?"

"Because his father is a casteless. I am... used to be, of a Warrior caste. I didn't introduced myself, did I? I am Zerlinda, daughter of Ordel Grondal. I met Dain one day when I was coming home from the market. A thug tried to steal my purse and Dain caught him."

Zevran moaned inwardly. She really fell for that?

We started to talk, and... that's how it began. He was so kind to me... always made me feel special, you know.. He... he said he loved me, that I was everything for him... I was such a fool! All he cared for was a child–a girl child. She would be my caste–"

"She wouldn't be casteless?" asked Airam. "But why? It makes no sense."

"The children inherit their caste from the parent of the same sex," she explained. "If my child was a girl, she would live in luxury and everyone would love her; but because he's a boy, he's cursed by the ancestors, and less than dirt. It is not fair! Look at him! He's a baby like any other! Shapers say he doesn't have a soul, but I don't believe it! It can't be true. It can't!" She started to cry again.

"Of course it's not true." Airam took her in his arms and shot helpless look at Zevran.

"These ancestors, they are all long dead, yes? Believe me, my lady, I saw many dead men and I can guarantee they can't curse anyone. They're a bunch of dried bones, at best, and could care less about you and your child."

Airam gave him another look, this time of pure disgust. Oh well. He was an assassin; his task was to kill men, not to comfort their sad widows, no? At least he tried. Besides, it was true.

"What about your parents? I'm sure they would care–"

She laughed without humour. "When Dain saw our child was a boy, he laughed at me, said I'm useless... I was left in shame, with a casteless child and without a husband. My parents, they... they told me to get rid of my son. To bring him into the Deep Roads and leave him there do die. They will not accept me as their daughter unless I do so. But... how could I do such thing? How would I be able to live with myself?"

"Only a monster would do that." Airam's voice was flat. "If you want, you can come with me."

Zevran blinked. He expected that Airam would offer some help, but this was too much. If they take this girl with them, tomorrow they'd have several dozens knocking on their doors. But how could he stop him now, without making him look like a fool?

"You can stay with Gran," Airam continued enthusiastically. "I'm sure she won't mind sharing a room with you. She's a nice person and a great healer. You can stay there while we're in the Deep Roads, and after that, you can come with us to the surface. I'm sure Bann Teagan or Erwin will help us to find a place for you. It won't be easy, but it will be still better than staying here."

Zerlinda's eyes lit with a new hope. "You would do that for me? But... why? Why going so far for someone you don't even know?"

Good question. I'd like to know that, too. Well... in truth, he thought he knew Airam's reason. And he knew he wouldn't want it to be different, no matter how naïve it was.

"Because I can't let an innocent child suffer just because he was born as a boy." Airam bowed over the baby and gently stroke it's cheek. "People who are willing to hurt a baby are worse than darkspawn," he declared.

Naturally, Zerlinda agreed. Who would let go of such a chance? Thank the Maker, it made Airam to decide they should return to the inn, for the sake of the baby. They hurried back and for a while he thought they'd get out without problems... when the five that followed them decided to intervene.

"Stop right there, surfacers!" one of them shouted. "Where are you taking that woman?"

"Out of this cesspit," Airam snapped.

"Cesspit, is it?" another one asked. "Watch your tongue, kid. We won't let you insult our home."

"Oh, please do forgive me," the crazy kid said, apparently having forgotten all about their agreement not to be cheeky. "I meant this charming place full of flowers, butterflies and rainbows. Can we go now?"

"And such place is not fit for a fine lady like her, is that so?" asked a third one. Zevran narrowed his eyes–the dwarf matched the Shaper's description of the guy who stole the tome.

"So you came to the rescue. How much did her daddy pay you to get her back? Share with us, and we'll let you go. Seventy percent, how about that? No? Then what about eighty?"

"You think I'm doing this for money? Too bad. I don't give a damn about her parents. They're monsters who wanted to kill a child. But tell you what. You're the one who stole the tome from the Shaperate, right? Give it to me and I'll give you five sovereigns, in silver."

Brasca. There is no way they'll let us go without fight, now that we know they're thieves. Zevran put hands on his daggers, ready to attack any time.

"I don't know how you found out, but you're not telling the guards," the guy said, confirming his fears.

But Airam just laughed. "Tell them what? That the guy who stole the book is here? They already know that, you know. And besides, why in the Void would I do that? I don't like the Shapers that much, I like guards of any kind even less–blame the Templars for that if you want–and I'm a convicted criminal myself. I want to find the book because I promised I'd try; I never promised to catch the thief."

The only one who wasn't staring at Airam in shocked surprise was the baby.

"What? You don't believe me?" The crazy kid laughed again. "I was conscripted into the Grey Wardens because I helped a guy who used forbidden school of magic to run away from justice."

Ah. Clever. Completely crazy, but clever. And it worked; the thugs were too confused, and unsure what to make of this weird Warden.

Airam used it to press on. "I would love to help the people in Dust Town more. I plan to come back tomorrow with a healer... I can't save everyone, obviously, but while I'm in Orzammar, I promise I'll help."

In the end they got out of the cursed place without a fight. Incredible. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or angry. Perhaps it would be better if there was a fight, at least a small one. Now the crazy kid would be even more smug and reckless... but at least they could not complain it was boring, no?

oOo

The others were quite surprised when they returned with another girl; Leliana asked him if he had given up on Airam and decided to run a harem. As if he needed more reasons to assassinate her. She really was asking for trouble.

Much to his surprise, Wynne wasn't angry they went to the Dust Town. She listened carefully to Airam's description of the terrible situation there and agreed to do as much as she could to help. Including giving up all her personal money to buy poultices, ingredients for medicine, and food. Alistair and Leliana agreed too, and soon they were planning the cleaning of Dust Town and cooking of free lunches. As if it was that simple. As if it would change anything. It was useless–the moment they were gone, things would be the same as before. Worse, even; it's easy to get used to better things, and very difficult to go back. Besides, the other dwarves would not like it; from carta to nobles, they would get angry and try to stop them. But no matter what he, Morrigan or Sten said, it did not convince the naïve fools.

When Dulin came, Airam asked him what was Lord Harrowmont's opinion on the situation of the casteless. Not knowing that the Wardens had decided to change the dwarven society, he answered honestly–the casteless are trash, Lord Harrowmont doesn't care about them–and the meeting was over before it even started properly. Zevran had a very bad feeling about all this. This would cause trouble.

But in the next few days, troubles did not come. One day of healing and free food, and the casteless loved them as heroes. The thief–Faren Brosca–and some of his friends helped as well, acting as their bodyguards against thugs and carta. And on the second day, several other dwarves appeared, offering help. It turned out they were Andrastians, as improbable as it was. The brother leading them explained that they converted thanks to the surfacer merchant who spent his last years in Orzammar, but they had no revered mother, because the Shaperate did not officially allowed the Chantry.

"Leave it to me," the crazy kid said. "I can arrange that." By which he meant he forced Faren to tell him the name of the guy who bought the tome and then sent Zevran and Sten to "convince" the guy to give it back. Then he took it to the Shaperate... and when he returned, he was beaming like a lighthouse.

"All done! The Chantry is allowed! And tell you what. After I'm done here, I'm going to Denerim. I'm sure I can find a revered mother who will be willing to come and teach you. The new king will owe me, and allow it, of that I'm sure."

"Is he always like this?" Faren asked, while they watched the dwarves carried a protesting and laughing Airam on their shoulders.

Zevran chuckled. "Most of the time, yes."

"But why?"

Zevran shrugged. "He's simply crazy like that."

oOo

The day of their departure to the Deep Roads was coming closer, however. Dagna's father promised to have their armour and weapons ready in five days, good as new. They had maps, heaps of food, potions and poultices, everything neatly packed and waiting; they could not delay it for the charity work with the casteless. And the moment they were not there, the carta would make the problems again, and the little progress they made would be lost.

They were discussing it every evening; the last one before their departure was no different.

"Someone will have to stay here. Wynne you're a healer, you're the most useful for these poor people. And Leliana, you as a sister could help with the new chantry... And Alistair. You'll protect them, all right?"

"No way! Why me? I'm a Grey Warden, I should go to the Deep Roads! Make Sten stay here!"

Sten frowned. "No."

"I want you to stay because you're a Grey Warden. It'll be more official if some of the nobles try to make problems. Faren will help you; he volunteered to be recruited to the Wardens yesterday."

"And you accepted? He's a thief! Besides, we don't even know how to do the Joining!"

"But we'll find out, one day," Airam said merrily. "And Daveth was also a thief. Duncan recruited him when he tried to pickpocket him. I'm sure he'll do fine."

"That is reckless, Kadan. We can't let Alistair stay. The Deep Roads are dangerous. We will need as many skilled warriors as possible."

A loud burp interrupted them. "Then I'll go with you."

They all turned to the door. A dwarf staggered a step or two forward. "You want to find Branka? Then you need me. I am the only one who knows where she wanted to go and what she wanted to find. Take me with you, and I'll tell you what I know."

"Is that so?" Airam asked. Zevran thought the dwarf was lucky he wasn't an ice statue yet. He certainly wasn't very convincing, looking and smelling like a walking barrel of whiskey. With fiercely red wig on the top.

The dwarf burped again, undisturbed by Airam's distrust. "Yeah. Branka is my wife. Left me for her expedition two years ago. Silly woman."

Previously, Zevran wondered what would make a famous smith, a revered Paragon, leave for the Deep Roads. He had suspected that she was insane, and that the whole mission would be a waste of time. Now, he decided he wronged her.