They make it to the Proving Grounds only after numerous interruptions along the streets and causeways, including one by an enthusiastic young dwarven woman begging them to post a letter to the Circle. Talvinder carries the letter in the pocket of her new tunic, happy to post it but happier to be finally approaching the huge amphitheater, and within it, Lord Harrowmont.
Dulin Forender meets them once more among the crowds at the entryway, smiling his same guarded smile, hands clasped behind his back. The dagger he wore the day before, Tali notices, is not visible on his hip, but the way he walks suggests at least one hidden blade in his boot.
"It is a pleasure to see you again, Grey Wardens," he says, and next to her, Tali can feel Savreen's tension. "I see you have the rest of your entourage with you—Lord Harrowmont's box will only accommodate three of you, but the others are more than welcome to enjoy the Proving elsewhere in the stands."
"Very well," Sav says, flashing Dulin a tight smile of her own. "Alistair, Talvinder—you will come with me." Tali catches Morrigan's unhappy expression, but little else as Dulin whisks the three Wardens away, down a long, bustling hall and then up a set of stairs.
When they come to Lord Harrowmont's box, Dulin knocks three times on the door. There's the scraping sound of bolts being drawn back, locks clicking out of position, and then, when the door is pushed open, the noise of a huge crowd washes over them.
"Lord Harrowmont, the Grey Wardens are here to see you," Dulin announces in a voice so loud that it carries out, over the balcony of the box, causing heads to turn toward them in other nearby boxes. Tali sees now that Harrowmont not only wanted to meet them in public for his safety. This is part of a larger effort to grandstand. How very efficient. Lord Harrowmont turns to them at the sound of Dulin's voice, and he is both exactly what Tali expected and nothing like her expectations at all. He is of average height for a dwarf, built solidly and dressed in tones of purple and grey shot through with maroon and gold. His long gray hair is pulled back in a tight braid, accentuating the heaviness of his wide brow and the regal slope of his nose. His pale skin is slightly wrinkled on his forehead and around his eyes, which flash, small and dark brown, beneath thick gray eyebrows. His lips are partially obscured by his ornately braided beard, but Tali can still see the smile that rises to them as he takes in the sight of the three Wardens, looking and assessing in much the same way as Tali's just done to him.
"Welcome, Wardens," he says, in a voice that is deep and warm, with just a touch of gravel to it. "I am grateful that you have seen fit to meet with me. Please, have a seat." Gesturing to three carven stone chairs, Lord Harrowmont himself also moves to sit once again. Tali and the others follow suit, finding the chairs surprisingly comfortable. "I believe you have some business you would like to discuss?"
"That is correct," Sav begins, seated on Harowmont's left side. Alistair has to lean slightly forward to see her around Tali, and as he does so, he slips his hand into Tali's, just out of sight. She unsuccessfully fights back a smile as Sav continues. "How much has Lieutenant Forender told you?"
"He has told me that you have an urgent treaty that must be heard by the Assembly, before the Blight overtakes the surface." Nodding, Sav continues.
"That is the gist of it. There is a treaty signed by the King of Orzammar and the Grey Wardens of old, overseen by the Assembly, which pledges troops and support to the Wardens in the event of a Blight." Here, she pauses, hesitating. "With the current…political situation up above," her tone is even, delicate, diplomatic, "we are in need of secure allies. We cannot depend on the Fereldan army, nor the Crown. I am sure you can understand the precarious nature of the issue." In response, Harrowmont nods gravely, evidently very aware of the precarity.
"The gate guards have told us much about the new Regent's soldiers. The impression is altogether not a good one." At that, Tali squeezes Alistair's hand. It's a small mercy, but knowing the general dwarven opinion on Loghain's demands is a mercy nevertheless. He squeezes back, and Tali is finally able to relax a little back into her chair. "You can rest assured," says Harrowmont, turning side to side in order to address all three of them, "that you are in no danger from the law here. Wardens have ever been our allies, and this Loghain has no sway over the Assembly."
"That is…well. It is certainly a relief to hear it, Lord Harrowmont." As Sav speaks, she, too, relaxes her posture just a touch. Harrowmont moves, looking as though he means to speak again, but he is interrupted by the great blast of a horn and the roaring cheer of the crowd. The conversation pauses as, below the box, on a demarcated balcony, a dwarven man steps forward, up to a conical device. When he speaks into it, the volume of his voice is bolstered, and it rings out over the slowly quieting crowd.
"Stone met!" he yells, and the last of the crowd falls silent. "This is a Glory Proving, fought under the eyes of the Paragons of Orzammar to honor the memory of King Endrin!" A cheer rises up across the crowd once more, though they quiet quickly, waiting for something. Down in the center of the arena, two figures enter the ring from opposite ends. "First up is Seweryn of the Warrior Caste, against Baizyl of the Noble Caste." As the announcer continues, Harrowmont turns to Savreen. Tali has to strain her ears ever so slightly to concentrate on Harrowmont's voice over the descriptions of Seweryn and Baizyl's many accomplishments, but hear him she does.
"I believe it is my turn to ask you what you know of the state of the throne, Warden, for it is crucial that you understand certain things before our conversation moves forward."
"Our understanding is that the Assembly debates amongst itself who will take the throne, and has done so for some time now. It has been…intimated to us that there is a certain level of reciprocity on the table surrounding assistance in the resolution of such an issue," Savreen responds, glancing up and catching Tali's eye for a heartbeat. They are treading carefully—Tali knows to hold her tongue at a time like this. Harrowmont looks Sav up and down with an appraising eye as, down in the arena, the two competitors begin to fight. The crowd cheers and yells, and Tali finds herself distracted by the scene unfolding below as the men rain blows down upon each other.
"Your understanding is not far from the mark," Harrowmont says as, down in the ring, a blade connects with flesh, sending a flash of bright red blood out onto the gravel ground. Tali tenses—surely they should end the fight with first blood? But no, they continue, the crowd whipped to a frenzy by the sight. "You should know that, even had you not sought to aid me, I would be honor-bound to present your treaty to the Assembly. Were the circumstances different, I would not need to ask for your assistance in convincing them—but I am afraid that with no king, they will not act. If you want my support to count, I will have to be king, and right now, there is no sure way to get there—only chance, in spite of Endrin's wishes for his own successor." There is clear frustration in Harrowmont's voice, and it piques not only Tali's curiosity, but Sav's as well.
"Why would King Endrin prefer you over his own son, if I may ask?" Sav's voice is careful. This question has every possibility of backfiring, and she clearly knows it. Tali glances away from the fight down in the arena for the moment, ignoring the commentator and the sounds of the crowd as she watches Harrowmont's reaction.
"You may not know the story," he begins, his voice grave and serious, "but Bhelen is actually the youngest of three." Luckily, it does not seem to Tali that he resents the question, more that he finds it crucial to his motivations. "Endrin's eldest, Trian, was murdered in the Deep Roads not a year ago—it was a tragedy." Below, in the arena, one of the fighters falls to his knees and raises his arm above his head, yielding. The announcer yells out as the loser is helped from the field, while the winner, bloodied but standing, raises his own blade into the air.
"Baizyl Harrowmont is the victor!" Lord Harrowmont smiles at that, rising to his feet and clapping as he continues speaking.
"His middle son, Duran, was found standing over the dead body. As a result, he was exiled—but I, and others, have always thought it suspicious that Bhelen knew just where to look for the both of them." The clapping and cheering slow and begin to die down as the victor leaves the arena, and Harrowmont sits once more. "Endrin loved his sons too much to give voice to such suspicions, and he was grieving too much to functionally oppose Bhelen's steamrolling of the courts. I did not believe Bhelen's set-up—I argued for a full investigation, a trial, while Bhelen argued only for swift vengeance against his own brother." He sighs at the memory, a heavy, unhappy sigh, but he does not cease his story.
"By the time Endrin was well enough to address the Assembly and the courts once more, Duran had already met his death in the Deep Roads. Any suspicions about Bhelen's culpability would have been useless to voice, and would have only succee in robbing a man of his last remaining child. But regardless of his silence, he held them. I knew him long enough to understand his fears, and he knew Bhelen's only interest in ruling was to further his own power." Below, the announcer calls out another set of names, and two more competitors step out into the arena. "It speaks poorly of Bhelen that Endrin himself was the first to think he should not be trusted."
Tali watches as Sav frowns, considering Harrowmont's words. The crowd cheers again, and Tali refuses to look down at the fight unfolding. She has no interest in the anxiety of blood sport, not when their own chances for survival remain so constantly at stake.
"From what we've heard, in the streets," Savreen starts, choosing her words carefully, "it seems there are those who think that the throne is, by rights, Bhelen's, regardless of your claim." Another spate of cheers and groans echoes up from the crowd. Tali keeps her eyes locked on Harrowmont's face as he sighs in slight disappointment—this match does not seem to be going his way, whatever that means.
"No one is born with rights to the throne," he says after a short delay. "The sitting king may recommend a successor, but the Assembly ultimately decides who will rule. Bhelen has lost nothing that ever belonged to him, and nothing that his own father thought he should have. By the same token, the throne is not mine by right, even though Endrin wished to pass it to me. I must prove my worth."
"And you agree with King Endrin? You believe you would be a better king than Bhelen?" Pausing, Harrowmont pulls his attention from the arena, focusing wholly on Sav. Tali can't see his facial expression with his back turned towards her, so instead, she nervously watches Sav's face, trying to find any evidence that her cousin is looking at someone displeased with her. There is none, and when Harrowmont responds, it is in a thoughtful tone, as though this is just another interview, just another question.
"A 'better' king…it is hard to say. I have never sought the throne. In truth, I would rather live out my years as I have always done. My role before was to serve Endrin, first as his advisor, then as an elected deshyr in the Assembly. Both carried less responsibility—and less weight—than the throne itself. Beyond that, a Harrowmont has never been king, and I always assumed Trian would rule after his father. But both Endrin and my colleagues have asked me to step up, and I will not back down when Orzammar needs me." Something happens down on the arena field, and Harrowmont turns his attention back down to it, standing to clap for a moment before returning to Sav's question. "I think, in the end, the fact that I have not looked for the power of the throne might make me a better king, yes. Bhelen desires power, strength—but to be king is not a position of strength, it is a position of respect. In Orzammar, the Assembly makes the laws. The king must respect that." It's a system Tali has never heard of, to be sure, but the sound of it is intriguing, she must admit. When she opens her mouth, hesitant to speak, Sav nods encouragingly over Harrowmont's head. Tali hopes the question she's about to ask isn't going to make her regret her encouragement.
"The Assembly chooses the king, makes the laws—does this mean that, in the end, they have more power than the king?" When Harrowmont's eyes fall on Tali, he seems a little surprised that she's decided to speak at last. He doesn't, however, seem offended by the question, for which she's grateful.
"While we need a single king to preside over important functions and lead us in battle, the Assembly better represents all in Orzammar. The Assembly is made up of deshyrs, elected from the wisest, most noble families, and only majorities may pass laws—you can see how this would benefit more citizens." Tali nods—it certainly sounds better than a single king, but Savreen doesn't seem fully convinced.
"Definitely more of the noble caste are benefited," she says, and her tone is guarded, but Tali knows there's displeasure behind her words. Tali also knows, in turn, that Sav is correct in her assessment. This system may solve some problems, but not all of them.
"It creates a system of checks and balances, so that great decisions which affect all of Orzammar are not left to only one person. But, as you have no doubt gathered, this can create…problems, especially in times where disagreement splits the Assembly." If Harrowmont can sense Savreen's disapproval, he says nothing of it. Talvinder thinks that he might, perhaps, seek to change the subject so that he will continue being able to say nothing of it. "And so, we return to the issue of the deadlock, and your need for assistance—and mine."
"We asked Steward Bandelor if he thought there might be a way to break the deadlock—he said only you or Bhelen might have suggestions." Sav is just as happy to change the subject as Harrowmont is, and Tali, too, is glad that they might be coming closer to an answer to the question of what, exactly, they must do. The grandstanding of a public meeting is fine, something she understands, but the Proving…she would like to be gone from this place. The sport does not agree with her.
"Indeed, I have an idea—but so does Bhelen." Harrowmont's voice darkens in tone as he speaks, and Tali watches his expression shift in profile, the corner of his mouth canting downwards. "I recently sponsored the takedown of one Carta boss, named Jarvia. It seemed for a short time that it might propel the Assembly to a decision in my favor, showing that they are capable of movement. However, when Bhelen heard the news, he…protested my methods. Quite vociferously. It did not matter that mercy had been offered, and refused. He presented the actions of the constables as beyond the law of the Ancestors—a rather ironic accusation after arguing against a trial for his own brother, but I digress. Now, the Assembly is once more divided, and Bhelen plans to force a vote before the week is out. Not only is time to convince the Assembly short, but once the vote is called, the Assembly chambers will be locked. They can hear no other pleas—such as the matter of your treaty—and the vote might take a fortnight or more, if we are unlucky. Therefore, to help you, I must ask that you help me."
Tali cannot help but think that Lord Harrowmont speaks a great deal before requesting assistance. Sav, she can see quite plainly, agrees, though she holds her tongue on the matter, choosing only to follow the path of the discussion.
"What is it you suggest?" She asks the question in the most neutral tone possible. They are all interrupted, however, by gasps and then raucous cheering from below. Harrowmont frowns as the announcer speaks, but claps politely. Tali tries not to listen, but she hears calls for medics, hears the narration of the loser being carried from the field. She doesn't look, but she imagines the blood.
When the clapping—and the booing—has died down enough to hear, Harrowmont speaks once more.
"Do you know anything of the Paragon Branka?" Tali recognizes the name immediately, remembering the altercation they'd seen between Loilinar and the other dwarf, Oghren. Sav recalls as well, and she cocks her head as she answers, brow quizzical.
"Only that someone with the same name has been missing for quite some time."
"Ah, so you are somewhat familiar with her," Harrowmont says. Tali almost jumps as the announcer speaks again, and she tightens her grip on the stone arm of her chair. Thankfully, Alistair doesn't remove his own hand from hers. "She was elevated as Paragon for her invention of a smokeless fuel that made the underground forges safer than they've ever been. She was, and is, revered. Then, two years ago, she took her entire house into the Deep Roads on a mad quest to uncover ancient secrets. No one's heard from her since." Tali remembers the devastation in Oghren's voice as he begged Loilinar for help searching, the desperation. He at least believes Branka is alive, though Tali isn't sure why he clings to such a notion.
"Were she to return and endorse someone for the throne," Harrowmont continues, "the Assembly would be bound to accept her wishes: as a Paragon, she is an embodiment of the Ancestors. Her word would be as good as that of your surfacers' Divine. Or at least, this is Bhelen's take on the situation. He has begun searching for brave and willing souls to venture into the Deep Roads, find Branka, and bring her back to vouch for him as king. Primarily, he seeks to convince Branka's husband, Oghren, to lead the search. If anyone has a chance of finding her, it would be Oghren." Alistair frowns before speaking, giving voice to Tali's same doubts.
"Two years is a long time to be in the Deep Roads. What if she's dead?" There's an unpleasant expression on Harrowmont's face as he responds, but he does his best to rationalize past the rather dour question when he speaks.
"It is indeed a long time, you are correct, but her entire house went with her, all her servants and her relations, some hundred and fifty of them. It would take a great deal to kill so many, even over the course of two years. If, however, she is dead, then bringing proof of her death, or a body to return to the Stone, would still show that as an ancestor, she guided the hand of her discoverer—either myself or Bhelen. This is what Bhelen depends upon, and why he has forced a vote to coincide with this expedition." Below, in the arena, something makes the crowd gasp in shock and horror. Tali grimaces as Savreen speaks again, trying to focus on her cousin's words.
"Are you sure that Branka would support you as king? If we were to find her alive, would she even vouch for you? What if she spoke instead for Bhelen?" Sighing, Harrowmont shrugs.
"It is hard to say what she would do. She wasn't exactly known for her predictability. She never seemed to like being a Paragon. She was devoted to her craft, never cared for politics. But she was one of the most brilliant minds Orzammar has seen in a lifetime. What's more, she hated Darkspawn with a passion. Even were she to side against me, you can be assured she would be a valuable voice to support your treaty." The group falls silent as they consider Harrowmont's proposition. Once more, Savreen looks over his head to find Tali's eyes, and they exchange a long glance.
"Why do you believe we would succeed in this? And over Bhelen's men?" Sav asks. It seems a question Harrowmont expects, or at least one that he had thought of before their meeting.
"The Deep Roads and the Darkspawn within are part of the Grey Warden's natural habitat, just as the Stone is to dwarves and the surface is to topsiders. Never before has a Warden searched for Branka, and you stand a far better chance of success than those who have gone before. What's more, the Darkspawn have retreated somewhat—likely to move to the surface—leaving the way less dangerous and more clear than before. All is lined up for you. There will be no better time. If you can persuade Oghren to accompany you before Bhelen approaches him, no matter Branka's fate, you will be able to turn Bhelen's plans against him and tip the Assembly in my favor. After that, I offer you my personal oath that your treaty will be seen to—not simply a duty of honor, but my word." His words are met with mute contemplation. Tali doesn't necessarily trust that the Deep Roads will be safe, or that 'all is lined up,' but she doesn't want to go to Bhelen, not when Steward Bandelor plainly fears him, not when his supporters readily attack others in the streets, not when King Endrin desired the throne should not pass to him. Besides—what would Bhelen say, what would he do, were they to come to him after having met with Harrowmont? He would not trust them either, and so their bed is made, and it is made with Harrowmont.
"Were we to agree," Sav begins, her voice halting, "were we to agree to search for Branka, how would we know where to begin?"
"My men traced Branka's disappearance to an ancient crossroads known as Caridin's Cross. It is many miles below where we normally venture, but I can provide a map to lead you there. From there, you may be able to track her—Oghren's help would likely reveal more." Savreen closes her eyes, and Tali watches. She thinks their thoughts might be the same in this, and when Sav opens her eyes once more and speaks, she knows she is right.
"If it will win you the throne, we will help you find Branka."
In the arena, another match ends, and Tali does not have the stomach to look.
"Absolutely not. We cannot venture into the Deep Roads during a Blight with only nine people and two mabari." They have been talking in circles for the past half hour, unable to agree on a course of action. The candles flicker, flames nearly drowned by their waxy pools, illuminating the dining room of the Orzammar inn with a sort of dancing, unsteady light.
"What other choice do we have?" Savreen understands why Ranjit would disagree. She might welcome it at any other time, were they not faced with the looming possibility of failure in Orzammar, were her own mind not hounded by the passage of time and the fear that soon, the Blight will be unstoppable. "To turn back? To return to the surface and continue dodging Loghain's men without the allies we came here for?" Caution may be admirable in any other case, is admirable in many cases, and he is right, even, to be cautious, but his questions, his doubt, his disagreement at a time like this—all they do is make you look weak. All they do is to reveal just how bad of a leader you truly are.
"I believe the Warden is right," Sten says, and it surprises Savreen that he is the one to speak in her defense, even though she welcomes it. This is his first interjection in the whole of their conversation—she had not expected him to agree with her as he sat in silence. "To turn back may be a choice, but it is also no choice at all." Hopeful, she turns to Tali and Alistair, both of whom stand, mute and awkward, having said hardly a word since the three of them returned from the Proving. Tali meets her gaze with wide eyes, full of confusion, and it almost makes Savreen yell. You know your own mind, she wants to yell, you know what it is you think—why can you not say it? Why will you not own your thoughts? But to yell, she knows, would do no good. It would only fracture the group further, would only make the deficiencies of her leadership clearer. Worse still, it would only make the deficiencies of her role as a cousin, as a sister, clearer.
"Alistair," she says instead, and though her voice is a bit sharper than it normally would be, he seems to take no particular notice of it. "You have been a Warden longest. What do you say to the idea of heading into the Deep Roads?" Alistair looks at her with a hint of shock, as though he hadn't expected to be called upon to speak, and it does nothing to calm the flames of her ire. He has grown far too comfortable being led.
"It is a risk, that much is certain. The Deep Roads will be crawling with Darkspawn, even during a Blight. They may have stopped attacking the Dwarves, but that's because they'll have found a way to surface, or because they're all gathering around the Archdemon, building their strength—breeding, readying to attack the surface. There's a chance wherever it is we go to search for Paragon Branka is emptied out, but there is also a chance that…well. We could run into anything, is all."
"Yes, but what do you think of the decision to go?" Savreen is trying not to grow annoyed.
"Oh—I don't know. There are risks to going, but the risks might come to nothing." She is failing.
"We ought to leave," Morrigan says, and her voice is tense. "Dwarven allies or no—nothing good can come of being swallowed up by the mountain, 'tis certain." So there are two against the venture, it would seem. Ranjit and Morrigan. Savreen sighs and rubs hard on the skin of her temples, fingers moving in circles that border pain.
"I disagree," Zevran says, and he is uncharacteristically serious. "We cannot leave—the Vashoth is correct." As Zevran says this, Sten inclines his head in recognition, crossing his arms as though to emphasize the correctness of his opinions. "The dwarves are crucial allies against Darkspawn: they have fought them longer and more often than any, no? They will be invaluable in fighting the Blight, no matter what other allies you manage to accrue in your capital city." Two against, three for, one undecided, two still to speak.
"I believe Zevran to be correct." Leliana's voice, though quiet, is stern. It is, however, certainly not pleased. "As much as I dislike the idea of going into the Deep Roads, we need the dwarven army." Savreen looks once more to Tali, and this time, Tali at least recognizes that Savreen desires a response.
"I am sorry, Morrigan, Ranjit," she begins, and the sound that comes from the witch's mouth is half scoff, half groan. Ranjit, on the other hand, remains silent. "But I think that we ought to do this. We haven't turned back yet, though perhaps we've had more cause to do so, and now does not seem the time to start doing so."
"Then that settles it." Savreen speaks before anyone else can. "Five for, two against, and one undecided."
"I never said I was undecided—" Alistair begins, but Savreen does not stop, and instead his voice trails off.
"You are more than welcome to stay in Orzammar while we do this," she says, offering Ranjit and Morrigan some way out, but Morrigan only glowers while Ranjit shakes his head.
"I will not wait idly for your return. Besides, if nine is too small a number, then so is eight." Savreen nods. She hadn't expected him to stay, really. But she finds herself not knowing what to expect with him more often than not, now.
"Very well. Make ready. First we will find Oghren, and then we will find Branka."