Disclaimer: We do not own The Elder Scrolls or The Dragon Age series
Co-Author and Beta: Etheral-23
The Lords under the Frostback Mountains
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Zevran groaned, riding his horse alongside the others, "Bann Kail enjoys his strong drink. Amazed the man still had the vigor for myself and that lovely redhead mercenary."
"We don't need details, Zev," Neria dryly bemoaned.
"You certain, my lovely flower? I know all tricks in wooing whatever man and woman you want in bed" The elven mage's face flushed before turning her gaze in another direction.
Morrigan rolled her eyes at the Crow's antics while adjusting her thick fur cloak. Her eyes were half observing the others and the tome of spells in her one hand. Before noting, Loke was looking up at her while they traveled. "I don't have any treats, hound." A low whine came from the hound, making the witch glare before sighing. Absently going into his pouch, she tossed a piece of jerky that the Mabari happily leaped and snatched, "Gluttonous mongrel..."
As dawn bathed its light upon Edgehall, the Wardens and company had woken early to depart for the trek up the Frostbacks. While Arl Bryton and Banns wished to give them a hero's farewell, they accepted a quiet gesture of extra dried foods and water for the travel to the kingdom of the dwarves.
Marcus was up ahead of the group with Alistair and Sereda. Their eyes fixed up on the mountains in the distance. Half of a year, that was how long it had been since she had been exiled from home. Her elder brother was slain, and her younger brother framed her for the crime. All the while, their father...
She shook her head; dark thoughts would only cloud her mind and judgment.
"I've never been to Orzammar myself," Leliana commented as she rode with Sofie, the larger woman covering her with the cloak draped over her massive arms, "I heard the dwarven city is a marvel to behold, built by generations of craftsmen who honed their craft even with centuries of hardship."
A snort escaped Faren's lip, "We're a stubborn bunch if nothing else. It makes us endearing."
"More like annoying," Shale quipped, walking alongside the group.
Miara took a deep breath through her nose. "I always loved going through mountain passes. When was the last time we went into a cave?"
"Two years ago, we accidentally found that massive unknown Dwemer ruins in Skyrim. And when you pushed that stupid lever-" Serana intoned dryly before being cut off.
"How in Oblivion would I have known that absurd thing would do that!?"
Wynne eyed the two before addressing Oryrn, "What are they discussing?"
"It would take too long to explain. It involves going over the concept of Tonal magic."
"Didn't Sarya mention that's magic that messes with reality?" Brianna commented with a frown, "Like... even more than what magic already does?"
"Oh, boy, does it!" The honorary Telvanni chirped, "You see-"
"Later," Miara insisted, looking very tired just from the memory of it all. "I'll tell you later."
And that was that. The group continued their trek through the snowy mountains. The road was long and clear, even if worth with use, likely the result of the constant caravans that traveled through routinely. Orzammar, one of the two surviving dwarven cities in Thedas, was the only people who could routinely provide the Chantry with lyrium for the Circle of Magic and Templar Order, therefore giving them a great deal of economic power and a trading presence to Thedas at large.
It was something of an unspoken thing to acknowledge how surface dwarves, despite being legally considered castless, still had enough influence to communicate with Orzammar and even work as intermediaries with surfacers, given the Dwarven Merchants' Guild was more aware of the economic and political situations of the countries above ground, while Orzammar and Kal-Sharok remained firmly isolated (the latter in particular far more, which said a lot).
As the terrain elevated with them approaching the mountain range upon which Orzammar's entrance laid, they found the area to be filled with merchants who dealt in trade with the underground city and with surface folk with all manner of items procured from the underground. Though the number of people and their trading posts were small, there were far fewer than they would be at other times, as many wanted to avoid risking themselves with the Blight going on.
Further beyond, built right on the mountain's base, was the entrance to Orzammar, a sturdy construction of the perfect geometrical design. Sereda felt her breath quicken at the sight, dawning on her that she was moments away from returning home. And with that came doubts, "I shouldn't be doing this..." She muttered, loud enough for the others to hear her. "I'm exiled, Warden or not; they won't let me back in."
"Use a helmet," Faren calmly advised. "They can't say no if they don't know it's you."
"Even as a Warden-Recruit, you have the privileges of a full-fledged Grey Warden," Alistair looked back.
"But still-"
Marcus turned his gaze to his dwarven friend, "If nothing else, we might be able to fix what was done and restore your name by the Shaperates."
The dwarven woman stared momentarily before sighing, "I'm not saying that isn't impossible. But it would be extremely difficult."
"Better to try than do nothing. I'll be damn you stay an exile for something you never did. Even if I have to beat Bhelen's arse myself."
A snorted chuckle came from the woman. But still, per Faren's suggestion, she placed her helmet on. If only to make herself not draw attention to the gate guards.
Making their way to a large stable for horses, only Sten remained mounted as his gaze was fixed upon a market vendor. Something his comrades took note of was the intense look coming from his eyes. "What is it, big guy?" Sofie came over once she had dismounted.
"...My soul..."
Miara perked at those words striding over as the Qunari got off his horse. "Asala? It's here?"
Instead of speaking, Sten marched over to the market vendor, being run by a human man with a fur cloak over his modestly refined clothes. All over and leaning against his stall were dozens of weapons, from spears to swords to maces. But only one sword drew the attention of the towering armored man standing in front of the stall. And did more than intimidate the smaller man, who stared at the deeply scowling Qunari. Who was soon joined by a towering Avvar woman and a tall grey elf woman?
"...Uh... C-c-can I help you?" The vendor muttered in a weakly tone.
Sten glared before pointing down to the simple yet very detailed greatsword at the center of the table. The blade looked nearly pure blue with small jagged teeth on one side. The guard and hilt were ornately crafted with a goldish-bronze look. "Return my sword." He addressed.
Those words brought the man out of his stupor, "N-Now, just wait a second. I found that sword among a bunch of dead giants like yourself."
"So you admit to being a scavenger and thief?" A growl came from Sten
"I am no thief!"
A dry deadpan from Sofie, "Do you want to argue with a fully-fledged member of the Antaam?"
The vendor looked at the Avvar, "And what in the Maker's name is an Antaam?"
"A soldier of the Qunari," Miara crossed her arms under her generous bust, "Trained since a child in the art of warfare and battle." The vendor paled, "He could snap you in half with one hand... I mean, look at all these muscles under this armor. You think they are for show?"
Turning his gaze to the greatsword and back up to the glaring giant, the vendor deflated in defeat. "I could have gotten a small fortune for that..." He meekly whined. Without another word, he hefted Aslala from the table and towards Sten, "But I'm no thief, good sir."
Sten could feel the familiar curves of his hilt. Lifting it, he gazed at the blade before resting his forehead against it.
"Told you we would find it," Sofie grinned.
Miara stared at the blade, "What metal is that?"
"Blue-steel. Similar to Silverite but rare to find." His eyes went between the mother and daughter, "Thank you, Kadan." Sofie cocked a brow, "Basalit-an." Miara's tilted her head at the title given to her. "You both are worthy of my respect and honor."
"We are glad to have helped." The Dragonborn remarked with a head bow.
The vendor, however, looked annoyed at the trio, "Yes, yes, be happy all around. Now please leave before people stop buying from me."
Sofie made an intimidating growl with a sudden step forward, and the merchant squeaked like a mouse, backing away and wisely deciding not to anger the warriors before him. Their goal was complete, and the trio marched away, intent on regrouping with the rest of their party. Only Sten did not seem to be in a hurry; he merely looked at the blade in his hands with a longing. Miara understood what that sword meant to him; the wound in his spirit would not be closed just like that; he needed a moment to adjust.
Miara respected Sten, his diligence, discipline, and prowess in battle. It was a soldier's respect. But that's as far as her relationship with the man went.
He was still Qunari, and from everything she learned about the Qun, she'd rather the horned people remain secluded in their part of the world forever. But she also knew well enough that the Qunari did not intend that to be the case. They would try again one day to convert the 'savages' to a greater purpose. Eventually, that might even put them at odds with the Empire.
Sofie, however, was the man's friend. Well, as much of a friend as Sten could have. She was the one who kept the qunari company despite it all. The one who fought with him joined him on meals and initiated a conversation. Argued with him about his views without enraging the devout follower of the Qun.
"Join us when you're ready," Miara told the tall bronze man. "The soul is yet to have tampered, I feel" Sten merely nodded at her words; with that, she departed to join the others.
As her mother gave them space, Sofie crossed her arms over her plated chest and looked at the qunari. "You okay?"
"I had forgotten it," Sten says solemnly, closing his eyes momentarily. "Completion"
"You were without your soul for too long."
"And you led me to find it," He cracked a very rare smile. Almost wry. "Are you sure you're Dragon-Forged? You must be an ashkaari to find a single lost blade in the middle of a country at war."
"Coincidences of astronomical proportions happen to people like me," Those who were related to the Heroes of the Scrolls also led such lives. There were seldom coincidences on their paths, only the winds of Fate causing the paths to converge. "So, you are fit to return to the Qun now than to inform the Arishok of the Blight."
"I am," He replied before pausing for a moment. "But any report I provide would be incomplete, were I not to see this Blight to its conclusion, would it not?"
That made the Nord woman smile, who patted Sten's chest plate before they fully rejoined the others at Orzammar's gate. Despite her efforts could not stop the pounding of her heart. Which grew louder and louder, nearing the gates to what was once her home. At her side, Faren did not need to see his friend's face behind her helmet to feel the tension building in her.
In front of the gates were several dwarves, all in armor and weapons, ready for anyone to cause trouble. At the lead of them was a very thick beard male Dwarf with a cocked brow at the group of people coming their way. "What in the name of the stone did you bunch come from?" he questioned with a deep gruff voice.
"My name is Alistair; I'm a Grey Warden."
"Really? I couldn't tell... Outside of that armor under all that fur," The Dwarf droned, eyeing the others, "Some other Wardens, Mabari hounds, three giants, other humans, and some elves with grey elves?" He looked back to his fellow guards, "You're seeing that golem too, or am I drunk?"
"I see it too," a helmet-wearing guard muttered back.
"Huh." The lead guard glares at the Faren and Sereda, "Surface Dwarves are not allowed in."
Marcus spoke up, "They are Grey Warden recruits."
"Which means they have the rights and privileges to us Grey Wardens," Gin spoke to defend their comrades.
The lead guard leaned towards Faren, who gazed back nonchalantly. Then to the helmet-covered Sereda, "...All right. At least they decided to make some use out of themselves."
"Well, you're cheerful, aren't you?" Sarya quipped.
"Get some ale in me, and I might smile." The dwarven guard turned, "Open the gates!" He looked back, "Watch your necks, Wardens. Things are a bit chaotic in Orzammar right now."
Without another word, the group walked up the stone steps to the massive gate that slowly began to open for them.
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
The passage was long, with great intricately carved pillars supporting the roof. On and on, it stretched, making a few wonder just how deep into the mountain they were traveling. The darkness was kept at bay not by torches but by cased lanterns lit up by a glow that was either natural or alchemical.
"I've been to Orzammar a few times, following my father on diplomatic assignments." The Cousland brought up before looking at the senior Warden. "What about you, Alistair?"
"Only once, Duncan brought us on Warden business on the Deep Roads," He said, frowning. "Maker willing, we won't need to go through them. In the middle of a Blight, that place will be far more infested than ever."
"Alistair..." Gin sighed tiredly, "Given our journey so far, what could possibly make you think it'll be that easy for us?"
"Hey, someone has to be the optimist around here."
"The blind fool, more like," Morrigan derided.
"Oh, Morrigan, still here," The Warden replied airily. "I'm surprised, given how... minimal your presence is in our party has been"
The witch's eyes narrowed, and she looked ready to cast something on the man. But Miara, having experience handling unruly children, ended it. "Morrigan, don't insult him. Alistair, don't engage," She said with finality and authority, the kind Morrigan wished she didn't have on her, but she did...
"Hmph!" The witch petulantly crossed her arms while Alistair let out a soft, 'She started it...'
Sereda was grateful for her companions' antics. They provided respite and humor in what was to be the most difficult moment of her life because soon enough, they crossed the last boundary and reached into the great thaig itself.
Many of her companions looked up in awe at the sheer enormity of it. And Sereda's heart was struck with all the longing she had felt ever since she was exiled. Rows of enormous buildings constructed upon different street layers, pillars, and statues preserved the times of lost dwarven greatness. The glow of magma deep below where the foundations of their city were built bathed the great thaig with an orange glow, seemingly casting it into a state of twilight, something she only had a reference to thanks to her time on the surface.
A great stone bridge suspended over the volcanic floor led toward the great chamber of the Provings, which was built into the earth itself, carved and hollowed out, much like many of the great constructions of this city. And what made her heart beat faster was the sight of the Diamond Quarter, secluded further from the many other districts, almost built to be its own distinct thing. She would have missed it if not for the towering place built unto the mountain wall, the place she once called home…
"...Well, they are truly nothing like the Dwemer," Sarya lamented with disappointment, resting a hand on her hip.
Her brother dryly stared back, "Were you expecting them to be like them despite knowing they're completely different races?"
"I had high expectations!"
Unlike her elven daughter, Miara gazed at magnificent structures with awe and reverence. She could feel the love and care put into every building, arena, and statue in this place. As well as the effort done to maintain their splendor.
"I DARE YOU TO SAY THAT AGAIN, YOU PIECE OF BRUNTO SHIT!" A man roared in anger.
Faren sighed, "Yup. We're home."
Ahead of the Wardens and comrades stood two large groups of gathered dwarves clashing at one another with harsh wild words. The head of both made Sereda freeze in place. The old visage of Pyral Harrowmont stood tall beside his comrades. His hair and beard had gotten whiter than she had remembered. He still wore his refined red clothes with gold accents but saw his sword at his side with a hand on the hilt. His coal eyes glared at the man Sereda once called her brother. Bhelen's red hair was shorter, but his braided beard was still the same.
He firmly held his war axe, almost ready to jump Pyral in a second.
Sereda could only stand there, the whirlwind of emotions she felt keeping her trapped in indecision. A part of her wanted nothing more than to charge at Bhelen and run him through with her sword, the other wanted to denounce him and his deeds publicly, but she knew her voice no longer carried weight. And yet another wanted to jump at Pyral's defense, but she knew it also carried great risk.
Faren, however, had his eyes focused on a figure in particular on Bhelen's side, safely guarded by armored soldiers, dressed in fine silk like the ones Beraht would give her as part of his investment, with actual jewelry that castless like them could never afford even with a lifetime of work. He recognized that auburn red hair styled in braided buns, the same castless brand as his own, the one person who struggled to provide for more than anything in the world.
Rica, his sister, was right there as part of Bhelen's entourage...
Was she-? Was he the one she-?
No... No, that couldn't be true...
The crowd of civilians gathering around kept a respectful distance from the two opposing factions. The whole situation was unstable lyrium was waiting to explode. "This is worse than I thought," Marcus muttered grimly.
"Maker, they look ready to tear each other apart," Leliana breathed in concern. It was only a matter of time before someone did something foolish.
Her fears were soon realized when an armored dwarf on Harrowmont's side stepped forth and bellowed. "You are nothing but a pretender!"
And so, one of Bhelen's devout followers brandished a weapon to defend his lord's name. "You are speaking to the rightful king!"
And used it with deadly intent; a sweep of the blade cut into the less armored legs' section, forcing the Dwarf down with a shout. Shouts and screams rang throughout the two factions, and civilians who ran away were frightened the moment the violence began. The two groups were still backing away to protect their respective lords as Bhelen's man buried his axe deep in the fallen Dwarf's midsection, ending his life in one gory swoop.
"Protect lord Harrowmont!" One of the soldiers shouted as she shielded their lord, dragging him back from the bloody scene before it could escalate. He glared at the prince as he let his men take him away.
"My lord Bhelen, we must go!" Bhelen did not protest. He allowed his soldiers to form a retreating line as he returned to the finely dressed dwarven woman on his side, placing a protective arm around her as they were escorted out.
Faren's suspicions were confirmed right then and there...
The dwarven warrior responsible for the murder merely took his axe out from the dead warrior's gut, spat on his corpse, and followed after his master. His axe's edge dripping with blood all the way.
The corpse was left alone, his dead gaze glazing over.
"Blood on the streets..." Sereda muttered, heartbroken. "What has become of Orzammar?"
The eyes of Ysmir only glowed with disappointment from the scene as the guards waved everyone away from the corpse so they could clean it up. Her gaze turned to Sereda, "I hope we can help in any way we can."
The exiled princess did not respond at the sight of Kardel Torras, captain of the Orzammar guard, coming their way. She was partly relieved to see that stubborn Brunto looked the same since last seeing him. And, of course, she was not surprised he gazed first at Faren and then herself. "Grey Wardens should have better sense taking 'brands' into their group." Kardel focused solely on Faren with recognition, "Especially that one."
"Ahh, Kardel. Did you miss your old friend? Are you still pissed off that this lowly casteless whipped nearly every noble warrior in the Proving?"
"Keep talking, and I'll shove my sword up your ass."
"Oooh, now you want to be playful."
"Okay!" Alistair spoke loudly enough to draw attention, "We did not come here for a fight. We came for help."
Kardel stared at the human dryly, "If you haven't noticed, we have our current problems. What do you dusters need with us in the name of the Paragon's balls?"
"A Blight"
The sarcasm faded from the guard captain's face before turning serious, "Of course, now of all fucking times that had to happen. Explains the messages we have been getting from the Legion of the Dead."
Legion of the Dead. Neria recalled reading about them in Kinloch Hold. An organization of Dwarves who stay in the Deep Roads to fight Darkspawn and anything else threatening Orzammar. It did not matter if you were Casteless or noble. All could join the Legion. Those lives no longer mattered as you became dead to your former life, to serve fighting in the Deep Roads till you drew your last breath.
Marcus said, "Perhaps we can help your people with your situation, which can also help us."
Crossing his arms, Kardel thought for a long moment. "Seek out Steward Bandelor. He is in the Chamber of the Assembly. You can roam around as long you don't cause trouble..." He points to Faren, "You, however, feel free to do so. I can kick your ass then."
"All heart," Faren quipped with a grin.
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Guided by Sereda, the party traversed towards the Diamond Quarter, naturally drawing the eye of many commoners and nobles who would pause to stare. Surfacers appearing periodically was not uncommon, but the fact that this party was so large and varied was what drew attention the most. The two traits that stood out the most were the Warden gear some of the party wore. The Wardens and Orzammar had a long history of respect and camaraderie in their joint efforts to combat the Darkspawn and the odd-looking golem that traveled with them. One curious Dwarf was brave enough to approach the construct to look at it more closely, and the stony glare and sudden glow of the crystal in its frames were enough of a threat to make him scamper away.
"Half of the dwarves here look like they want to put me as decoration."
"Why, you are a work of art after all," Leliana happily said. "Those new crystals we got you to add lovely color to your figure."
"And they slim me down beautifully!" Shale said with no small amount of cheer.
It was funny how Shale could sometimes act like a young woman enraptured by fashion.
They neared the Assembly, the center of Orzammar's political power, where the House deshyrs gathered to vote on various writs and other matters of the state. They could hear shouting as they entered, even from the heavy stone doors inside the chamber. "Ahhh, glad to know politics are the same everywhere," Miara said with faux nostalgia.
The guard kept them from entering as the Assembly was in session. Fortunately, they did not have to wait long as a finely dressed older dwarf with gray hair and a beard arranged in multiple thick braids stepped out, frustration and growing anger glowing in his eyes. "Stone-forsaken dusters and..." The rest of his rambling descended into murmurs, making sure none of the deshyrs who were slowly vacating their positions in the Assembly could hear him. The guard approached him, muttering something in his ear, which caused him to look at their guests with rapt attention. "Grey Wardens? Your visit here is... unexpected."
Sereda would have liked to greet him personally. She had always respected lord Bandelor's ability to remain even-headed, particularly in a tumultuous environment like Orzammar's political landscape. It was why he had been elected as Steward in the first place. But that would risk revealing herself, and she couldn't do that now.
"Lord Steward Bandelor, correct?" Marcus stepped forth, nodding his head. "I do not believe I met you last time I was here; I am Marcus Cousland, son of Bryce Cousland."
"Ahh, yes, I remember your house" The older Dwarf nodded cordially, "What brings you and your companions here?"
Alistair spoke up, "We come requestion Orzammar's aid. A Blight is coming."
The Steward's reaction was composed, far too much for their liking. "Hmm, troubling..."
"That's it?" Gin called out incredulously. "'Troubling'? That's all you have to say?"
"Orzammar is in no state to deal with it at the moment, I'm afraid, nor will its Assembly treat it as an immediate issue unless the current succession crisis can be resolved" At least he sounded remorseful about it. Still, he knew he had no control over it. "Come, let us speak in my office."
Dwarven guards stood in full-plated armor at Steward's double stone doors with spears and shields ready. "Don't recall armed guards in the Chamber of the Assembly," Marcus inquired.
"Things have only gotten more... precarious since you were here last young Marcus," Bandelor muttered in a tired tone.
Inside, the Steward's office was spacious but had few decor items. Outside of carved murals of dwarven faces. Along with a single armor set on full display with a sword and shield beside it. Every inch showed it was used in many battles and maintained with care and love. Outside of that were rows of stone shelves with countless papers and scrolls in all of them.
Hell, even the desk and chairs were made of carved stone. Walking around said desk, Bandelor plopped himself in his chair with a frustrated grunt. In Sereda's eyes, she could see the stress of everything had been weighing much on the honorable Steward. By the stone, how this man has kept everything from not falling to absolute chaos is a testament to his skills and experience.
Rubbing his worn eyes, the old Dwarf took stock of everyone in the Cousland's group. "Quite the motley crew of individuals you have with you." He glanced at Sereda and Faren but said nothing. His brow cocked, "When did elves become grey?"
"Since we hail from a far-off land of Tamriel Lord Steward," Miara spoke in a respectful court tone with a bow.
"Hmm." Bandelor focused on Marcus and Alistair, "I vaguely recall you, lad. Weren't you with Duncan?"
A nod came from the former Templar, "I was. Commander Duncan fell in battle several months ago."
"...Damn. Duncan was a good man."
"He was." It spoke of how Alistair was handling his grief much better now, that he wasted no time on melancholy and returned to the matter at hand. "Will the situation at hand prevent Orzammar from lending aid?"
"I'm afraid so," The Steward said apologetically. "The deshyrs are in charge of the trading writs, deployment of the warrior caste can be done under their purview, but the lack of a king has divided the great houses. Unless we can resolve the succession crisis with a king capable of directing the Assembly, your hopes for troops remain small."
"Damnation..." The senior Warden muttered in frustration.
"Deshyrs appoint the king, correct?" Neria brought up what she recalled from her studies in Orzammar. "But the previous king's heir usually is more likely to receive the popular vote. Is Bhelen that unpopular a choice?"
"If he were, then the matter would be resolved easily," Bandelor grimly said, "Bhelen wasn't the heir originally. But with his brother's death and his sister's exile, he was the only choice left for King Endrin. He has support, be it by loyalty or fear, from enough houses that it causes a stalemate. Pyral from House Harrowmont says that Endrin, in his dying moments, made him swear not to let Bhelen be king, but who can know what truly happened on his deathbed? He is a popular choice amongst the rest of the houses. And there is enough indecision from the middle that it can end up one way or another, depending on what happens next."
Sereda was unsurprised that her brother managed to get by like this, despite his clear unpopularity amongst the Assembly. He would either have the houses under his pocket, or he had blackmail on some. Then there were those more 'radical' who would most likely have aligned their goals with Bhelen's.
"If you want your army, you'll have to throw in your lot with one of the candidates," The Steward advised.
"We're outsiders," Theron pointed out.
"Their accomplishments will still be theirs, regardless of what tools or aid they use" Bandelor shrugged. "As a steward, I must remain neutral on these matters. All I can tell you is that both are radically different. Bhelen wants to 'modernize' Orzammar and will do anything to achieve it, no matter how ruthlessly. Harrowmont is a traditionalist who wants to focus on our safety and tradition, for better or worse. Whom you support is your choice, but one way or another, it will unify Orzammar to allow the army to march to the surface."
A low whistle came from Sarya, "No pressure at all. Just decide the fate of an entire kingdom..."
Sten glanced at Sofie, "Is this necessary?"
The Nord warrior nods, "We can't beat the Blight alone. We need allies. A lot of Allies." At that, the Qunari mildly grumbled at the rampant indecision by so many in this strange land.
"This is not something to jump into blindly, I understand," The Steward addressed with sympathy. "Give yourselves some time to go over what you feel is best. But with a little haste, would be appreciated on my behalf."
Marcus nodded, "We will get this settled, Bandelor."
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Outside the Chamber of Assembly, the group stood or sat on the stone steps in heavy discussion. A dry look was on the face of Zevran, "Is this a daily occurrence for the good guys?"
"Oh, you would be surprised," Miara rubbed her eyes beside him and Serana.
Marcus watched as Sereda paced, "You know your people better than any of us. What do you think?"
"...I need to speak with Harrowmont..."
A few amongst the group shared some concerned looks. "Are you sure?" Brianna brought up, brows furrowing. "The Steward did say he's very traditional. Would he even talk to you considering your exile?"
"I've known Pyral my whole life," The dwarven woman replied, looking up at the mage behind her helmeted face. "He was my father's closest friend and advisor, pretty much part of the family. His loyalty to our line is stronger than the very clear setup Bhelen orchestrated" Her lips pursed, "It has to count for something..."
"If you're certain..." Faren looked like he wanted to argue but held his tongue.
"We can't trust Bhelen," Oryrn offered. "If he plots and backstabs even his own family, I'm not too confident he'll offer any real support to the Blight if he gets the throne."
Sereda was grateful her friends and companions had enough sense to know what kind of deepstalker Bhelen was.
Harrowmont was a stickler for tradition, but he had been so close to her family for so long. He would never allow Bhelen to sit on the throne; he was a man of honor who could be reasoned with. Exile or not, he would see how this was all her brother's doing, that no record on the Sheperate could change the fact she was still an Aeducan.
They needed his help, just as he needed theirs.
There was no argument to the issue, so instead, they went to House Harrowmont's estate. On the way, they noticed a heavy increase in guard numbers around the Diamond Quarter. Unsurprisingly, with Bhelen and Harrowmont residing here, not to mention their supporters, they wanted to avoid repeating what happened near the entrance to the great thaig.
At the entrance of House Harrowmont was one person Sereda recognized immediately. Dulin Forender's short coppery red hair and long braided beard looked the same, along with his plate-mail armor; she swore the man never took off with his sword on his belt and his shield in hand. If there was one person Pyral trusted most, it was Dulin.
"I want guards on full alert for anything. Bhelen has allies in the Carta; Jarvia is capable of anything."
Faren's ears perked upon hearing Jarvia's name. Of course, she would take over after he killed Beraht.
...
Not that Jarvia would be any better. No doubt be worse with her now in charge. But he couldn't shake a nagging feeling. Where in the Stone was Leske?
As Dulin finished speaking with some more guards, he noticed the group nearing the estate. "Last time I saw you, Marcus Cousland. You were a tiny little lad."
"It has been a long time Dulin," The two embraced arms as they strolled up to one another.
"Indeed," Pyral's second soon eyed the others, "We heard Grey Wardens had arrived along with some odd folk."
"Greetings," Alistair nodded, "I am Alistair, senior Warden of this group."
"News has been slow to get here ever since... all this happened," The Dulin said, waving his hand at nothing in particular. As though he just needed to gesture vaguely, and something wrong would be seen in the vicinity. "What do you need?"
"We need to speak with lord Harrowmont, the Ferelden army was unable to stave off the Blight rising from the south, and now we need aid to build another one."
As a dwarven warrior, Dulin has dealt with far more Darkspawn than any surfacer would ever have to in their entire lives. So even the news of a coming Blight only made his eyes narrow in concern. Yet not enough to truly unnerve him, it spoke volumes of how often the dwarves dealt with this. The surface dealt with Darkspawn mostly in the Blights, but the dwarven army? They dealt with it on a day-to-day basis...
"Well, you want to speak with lord Harrowmont, I won't keep you," He said warmly, "But fair warning, he can't get you anything with Orzammar in this state."
"That is what we're hoping to rectify," Alistair replied.
Dulin sighed, "Stone willing, maybe you can help us, Wardens" He waved at two guards standing by the gates. The two nodded and opened them for them. "You may pass, Lord Harrowmont is currently resting from today's events, but he can make time for you."
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
It wasn't just recalling the sights within Pyral's halls that eased Sereda's nerves. But the smell of the stone brought a bit of peace within her restless heart as they strode to Harrowmont's office. Even within the estate were armored guards, their eyes honed in on the group and ready for battle if necessary.
"Things must have gotten bad if armed guards were inside and outside the noble house, I'm guessing," Gin muttered.
That made the gnawing in Sereda's heart stir. Without much further, they found the doors to Harrowmont's office open while the man rubbed his eyes at his desk. In the eyes of the exiled princess, he looked ten years older than she remembered. He paused, gazing up to see the crowd standing at his office. "Grey Wardens, your kind is always welcome in Orzammar. Though given the current political climate, it could have been better." He rose from his seat, "I am Pyral Harrowmont."
"I remember you, Lord Pyral, granted I was a child back then." Marcus bowed respectfully.
The old Dwarf looked at the young human who spoke before recollection came to him, "Ah, Bryce's youngest son. It is good to see you grew well into a fine man."
"Thank you, but from what we have seen, pleasantries are not in the mind of many here."
Pyral let out a groan, "Unfortunately so. These past few months have been trying for all in our kingdom. I fear it will keep building till an all-out civil war. We barely heard much going on above ground, though. How is it?"
"...There is a lot to tell you."
And tell him they did. Of the army's fall at Ostagar, the decimation of the Ferelden Wardens, and their quest to gather another army to stop the marching Blight. It all weighed down on the older Dwarf, who rubbed his temples warily. "Ancestors' spite, why do things continue getting worse?"
"We need Orzammar's aid," Alistair stepped up. "We know it's not in the right state to send aid, but we believe we can help you secure the throne to make it so."
Hope bloomed in the dwarven noble's eyes. "You'd do that?" He muttered with a sharp outtake of air. "In other times, I wouldn't consider outside interference, but Stone helps us; the situation here has deteriorated greatly. If you help me keep Bhelen from taking the throne, Wardens, I will ensure you have as many soldiers as we can spare."
Some relief washed over the large party. "There is something else," Oryrn brought up, and the Dwarf looked up at the grey elf. "There are dwarven exiles in our party," He waved his hand at Faren, who waved happily, and the still-helmeted Sereda, who stiffened. "They are Warden recruits."
"Hmm..." Pyral hummed in thought, "Exiles are not allowed in Orzammar, regardless of the reason, but... the Wardens are longtime allies with a history of taking from Orzammar's criminals and shaping them into fine warriors. They are given leeway as their duty and fate is ultimately the same as the Legion of the Dead," He reasoned. He was mostly talking himself into accepting them. "So long as it doesn't draw too much attention, I believe it should be fine. For what reason were they exiled?"
"I was the castless who fought at the Proving!" Faren said with an easy-going smile.
Harrowmont's shoulders sagged, "Oh, Ancestors, that was you?" He ran a hand over his face. "It's... Alright, we can deal with that. It shouldn't matter in the large scheme of things."
Concerned looks were shared once more, and Sereda steeled herself. It was now or never.
"My crime is much graver, but it is also false" Her muffled voice came out from the helmet, and already it was enough for Pyral's eyes to widen in recognition slowly. As soon as the helmet stopped hiding her face, his mouth hung open in disbelief. "It has been some time, Lord Harrowmont."
The noble staggered as if physically struck, his head shaking quickly from side to side as he struggled to formulate the words. "Sereda?" He muttered in disbelief, "You live?"
"Thanks to my friend here," She waved a hand at the castless Dwarf, "I wouldn't have made it out of the Deep Roads without his help" The former princess sighed. "I've come to help you stop my brother,"
"You shouldn't be here."
His words stunned him. "What?" She blinked back owlishly at him. "Pyral, you must know Bhelen framed me!"
"I know he did!" He says tensely. "I know you would have never killed Trian, but you must understand. I... I can't let you get involved in this. Your crime is too severe."
"She was incriminated," Neria called out in defense of her friend. "We thought you'd understand."
"I do, I just-" He sighed tiredly. "Child," He looked back at the princess with remorse. "I am beyond relieved you are alive and grateful you found your way into the Wardens. But you must understand that only protects you so far. Your presence would risk everything we've done to keep Bhelen from taking the throne! Our histories are never wrong; the Sheperate has written that you are Trian's murderer. How do you think it'd look if you were publicly supporting me?"
"...So you just want to avoid a scandal?"
Like her father, when he didn't even defend her even though he knew she was innocent?
Sharp outrage glowed in Marcus's eyes, "Are you kidding me? After everything Sereda has been through because of Bhelen?"
"I don't mean my words out of spite. You both know that. But you both understand how our politics work here."
"Doesn't make it right," Miara spoke up with an edge in her voice.
Pyral let out a tired, "No. But it is the foundation and tradition of our ways I swore to follow."
Sereda blankly stared in no particular direction. The world around her almost felt a thousand miles away as she could not hear the conversations around her. She stirred, feeling a hand on her shoulder, seeing the concerned look in Feran's gaze. The former princess could not find the words to speak but nodded to the rogue.
"Let us get back on topic," Sofie raised her voice, garnering everyone's attention, "We need to find a way to help you to stop Bhelen from becoming king. How do we do that?"
Pyral stared at the towering woman before sighing, "...Yes, we would need to garner something that would legitimize my right to rule to be assured and uncontested by any Deshyr."
"Do you have a plan?" Marcus asked, and though he kept his tone neutral, it was clear by the look in his eyes he did not appreciate the way Pyral treated his friend.
"I have something in the works, though it will take some time. First, the situation here needs to be curved in my favor," Harrowmont said, "There are several methods by which we can undermine Bhelen's progress, keep other Houses from supporting him, and deal with several issues that have been plaguing Orzammar since the succession crisis started."
Sereda didn't hear the rest. The heavy feeling of betrayal and rejection drowned her thoughts. Harrowmont had made it very clear that he prioritized his political campaign over doing right by her. As though what Bhelen did to her didn't take any priority. They had to defeat him despite her, keep her hidden so she wouldn't get in the way. Discarded the same way her father had discarded her...
Harrowmont eventually addressed her directly, "Either you keep yourself hidden at all times, or you leave," He said with finality, the underlying tone of remorse barely registering. "I'm sorry, but those are the best options."
"...Understood" Her voice came small, empty of emotion. And Harrowmont did not comment on it.
They took their leave, all but having arranged an alliance with Harrowmont, but it certainly felt like they had yet to make any progress. And many of their party didn't know why it felt that way.
"Aside from what we... witnessed," Theron brought up as the company left the estate and walked into the streets. "Harrowmont appears honorable, yet I can't help but feel unease. His promises of the army are welcome, but his long-term goals for Orzammar leave something to be desired" In which he had not given any, was the biggest concern.
"A man like Pyral is solely interested in keeping things as they are," Eyes turned with some degrees of a surprise to a serious-looking Faren. "Follow the tried and true traditions of the past while ignoring today's problems." Bitterness crept into his voice, "And it is not just him. The whole sodding noble houses bark and complain while the fucking blighters have kept throwing themselves against Orzammar's ever-shrinking borders. Why are they shrinking? That is because our people have been dying out for centuries!" He roared with his chest heaving.
As they were now out in the Diamond Quarter, many of the Dwarves walking around also heard him and paused before continuing their affairs.
"And there you see it." Faren sneered, hand gesturing to his fellow dwarves. "Not a single damn one of these mud-worms want even to correct me. They want to ignore the world and live in their little realities. They are all damn fools!"
None of his comrades had seen such passionate rage from the usually easygoing, laid-back, dwarven rogue, thus why everyone stopped where they were and stared with degrees of mild shock.
"For once, he makes sense," of all people, Sten remarked back.
Miara cocked a brow, "I didn't know you cared so deeply for your people."
Running his hands over his face, Faren sighed, composing himself, "I care for only two people in this place. My sister Rica and my best friend, Leske." He shot a look to Sereda, "And in that little show we saw arriving here… I saw my sister with Bhelen."
"What!?" Wynne exclaimed with surprise that was shared with others.
"Rica was a Noble Hunter. They are ladies who pursue nobles to uplift their status. Most are Castless..."
"Maker, that's a thing here?" Gin said, disgusted.
"Yeah, well, it's the only way most girls can escape poverty. I never liked what Rica was doing, but there wasn't much I could do about it..." The dwarven rogue shrugged helplessly.
Sereda gave him a long hard look, "Why would she be with Bhelen?"
"I just said she's a Noble Hunter. You do the math."
"That... That can't be right" She shook her head slowly. "There is no way Bhelen would keep a castless girl around, no offense," She said, raising her arms placatingly, though fortunately, Faren was not offended by her words. He knew the reality of the situation. Not all girls were lucky in their endeavors, even if they did sire a son who would be of noble birth.
"Maybe he's sweet on her," Miara proposed, crossing her arms as she did so. She had seen such things before, so the Dragonborn did not believe it out of the realm of possibility.
"Bhelen? Sweet on someone?" Sereda's scoffed. "My brother's heart only has room for his ego."
"Regardless..." Alistair said while sorting his thoughts, "I think we should also speak with him." Marcus and Sereda slowly turn their gazes toward him. "I am not saying all of us, of course."
"Good, 'cause I can't promise what I would do if I got close to him."
"I would rather be at the market than speak with another high-born," Morrigan made her opinion clear enough for everyone. She dryly looked down and saw Loke whining, rubbing his head against her leg, "You get spoiled enough as is."
Neria rubbed Bran's ear looking to Alistair and Marcus, "Might be best to split up. Not all of us need to see Bhelen."
"Sounds good. Who will come with Alistair and me?" Marcus questioned the others before seeing Sereda looking at him, "If I punch him, you will know."
Miara raised her hand, "I'll go with. I want to know the character of this man myself."
"Which means I'll be going just in case she tries to kill him," Serana conveyed, sighing.
Theron thumbs over to Sarya, trailing away from the others, "I'll keep an eye on her."
"What did you sodding say to me, you nug licker!?"
The group paused upon hearing a drunken male voice roaring in anger. A low groan came from Sereda, who recognized said the voice and all turned to see a red-haired Dwarf with a long braided thick mustache. His face was flushed red, a clear sign of drunkenness if they had ever seen it. Dress in refined red clothes. Who was arguing with a Dwarven guard who wanted to punch the drunk screaming at him?
"Oghren..." Sereda groaned
"At least he is dressed this time," Faren quipped.
"Wait," Serana frowned as she looked at her friend. "How do you know Oghren?" As a member of the House created by the first Paragon in four generations, Oghren had assisted his fair share of meetings with multiple members of the nobility, including the royal family. He was a warrior of no small renown who had fought in the Provings, and against the Darkspawn in the Deep Roads, so Sereda was familiar with him at least. And his... antics.
So that begged the question, how did Faren, a castless dwarf, know him?
"From the bar."
And that answered everything instantly.
"Friend of yours?" Oryrn asked as he crossed his arms.
"Hah!" At that, Sereda had to bark a laugh. "No one is Oghren's friend" It came out meaner than she meant to, but she was in a bad mood; she didn't care about being polite for a drunk.
...A drunk who his wife and his entire clan had left behind.
Okay, she was feeling bad now.
As the group dispersed, Sereda and her closest companions remained together. She, in particular, was curious about what Oghren had riled up now. Though she had a good idea, Oghren always started trouble with anyone in the nobility because Branka and his House were missing, and no one was doing anything about it.
"I said," The well-armored guard Oghren was arguing with replied, "If you spent as much time being useful to the army as you do drinking, then perhaps Paragon Branka would have taken you in her expedition."
"And perhaps you should get off your asses and look for her! Two years!" Oghren spat, and the dwarven guard recoiled from the breath hitting his nose. "Two years, and Orzammar still hasn't gone looking for its Paragon!"
"Is there going to be a fight?" Neria worriedly asked her dwarven friends.
"If there is, it's just gonna be another night in jail for him" Sereda shrugged.
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
The commons area had not changed much, if at all, as Sereda surveyed it all from all the major shops from the merchant and smith castes. To Tapster's Tavern, the path to the Proving grounds, and entrance to Dust Town. The exiled princess now had time to take it all in. She idly observed some people she proudly calls friends begin roaming around to see what her home offered. Marcus, Alistair, Miara, Serana, and Wynne stayed behind to speak with her brother in the Diamond Quarter.
Sarya, with Morrigan, Brianna, and Theron, made for the Shaperate.
The rest and their loyal Mabari returned to the commons with her and soon dispersed. Bran and Loke walked with Neria and Oryrn, who went toward Figor's Imports. Leliana and Sofie dragged Sten to Janar's shop, with Shale tagging along, likely out of boredom. Gin and Zevran were glancing around the smaller vendor shops with an assortment of items for sale.
Which left herself and Faren alone together as the rogue glanced her way, "You have ever been to Dust Town?"
His question caught her attention, "No, I was usually busy or never thought to go down there."
"Well, let's change that." He waved for her to follow.
For which she did with curiosity glowing in her eyes, "If your sister is with Bhelen. Your family would already be a part of the Aeducan House."
"I know how that process works. Rica and... our mother would be out of Dust Town."
"You never mentioned your mother."
Faren's face was unreadable, "Yeah." By his tone, that topic was not one to speak about, "Right now, I'm worried about a friend of mine. Leske, Casteless like I am. He and I more or less had to work for Beraht as his muscle."
Sereda paused, "Beraht of the Carta... You worked for that arse!?"
"If I wanted to eat and made sure Rica did too. " Faren uttered, looking back, "I killed him before entering the Proving. No surprise his old flame took over now... And Jarvia holds grudges more than Beraht ever did. I need to know Leske is alright. I know he can handle himself. But if Jarvia sicked the whole Carta on his stubborn ass..."
"So we're looking for information," Sereda brought up. "Won't the Carta do something when they notice it's you?"
At her question, Faren pulled up a hood and a facemask that obscured up to the middle of his nose, with the hood casting a shadow that left his eyes as the only part of his face visible, "Nope."
"Guess we're both going incognito today," The exiled princess grumbled under her helmet.
"In-cog-nito," He replied, his voice muffled by the cloth on his face. "That's a funny word."
"Surface word," Sereda shrugged.
They continued on their trek. The lady dwarf followed closely after him as he guided her towards the deeper bowls of great thaig. And the moment they left the commons, she felt a sudden shift. Orzammar was not exactly the most colorful place, but the colors in this area just seemed to dull massively; even the absence was gray and sterile. The structures she started to see were colorless and full of cracks, not the carefully maintained buildings of the Diamond Quarter. Even the Commons had a far better look than this place...
Being underground did not make for the cleanest conditions. Everyone was used to a healthy layer of dust everywhere that required constant sweeping. But Dust Town lived up to its name, with the grime and dirt caked in piles and shoveled off to corners. Adding to the crushed look of the poorest quarter of Orzammar.
Then she saw the people and noticed they differed greatly from the other quarters. She had seen poverty on the surface, and she knew the castless didn't have the best conditions, but... seeing it with her own eyes...
Ragged clothes, unkempt hairs, and skin caked with dirt, groups of dwarves huddled together over fires. Thugs in the corners shooting glares at everyone that came too close. She saw a small dwarven toddler fed scraps of edible mushrooms while a gaut-looking mother took nothing for herself.
In an alley, the echoing sounds of violence were heard, some poor soul assaulted over whatever scraps his attackers could steal. And not a guard in sight, Dust Town was bereft of them.
"By the fucking Paragons."
Faren looked back at her under his hooded mask, "Surpass your expectations?" Instead of responding, Sereda took in everything before her horror-stricken gaze. "No doubt you heard stories up in the Diamond Quarter. I even saw a few nobles come down here to look upon worthless who should not even exist because our blood is not tied to some Paragon or noble House. We're barely seen as people, let alone dwarves."
The anger in his voice wasn't meant for her. Sereda could tell that. This was a more generalized fury Faren held for anyone who looked down on the Casteless. While she never looked down on anyone before or after her exile. Her inaction to do anything for her fellow dwarves brought shame to her heart.
"There is still more you need to see," Faren said gently as he began walking again, with Sereda following.
The more they went further into Dust Town, the more she felt a dagger cutting into her heart. Each area looks more deplorable than the last. Their destination came to a shabby makeshift vendor store where a red-hair dwarf spoke to other fellow Casteless. Though faded, Sereda could see the tattoo of the Casteless on his face, "Who is that?"
"Alimer, merchant and informant."
Once Alimer's patrons left his stall, he took notice of the two nearing him, "Ah, come to buy from good old Alimer! Are the prices of commons too steep for your coin purse? No need to fret; I have just as much, if not more, at reasonable prices."
A snort escaped Faren's hidden lips, "So you finally changed that Stone's awful sale pitch you had, eh."
The red-haired Dwarf was about to speak up til; his brow furrowed in thought... He took a long look at the masked duster in front of him. Lifting a finger, Alimer's eyes went into shock as the mask was lowered just enough to see a face he had not seen in nearly a year, "FA-" An armored glove from Sereda soon shut his mouth as she and her friend dragged the Casteless merchant into the abandoned house behind the stall.
Once inside and away from every, Sereda lowered her hand. "Faren!? Your alive, my old friend!" Alimer spoke cheerfully despite being dragged into a building against his will. "How in the Stone did you get back in after... Well, you know." Faren dryly pointed to his shadow hide leather gear with an emblem attached to the corner of the chest. The merchant did a double-take before grinning, "Well, I'll be damned. Are you a Grey Warden now? How about that."
"Is he always this cheerful after being forcibly taken somewhere?"
"Well, you are not from Dust Town, are you?" Alimer looked at the armored woman in the helmet-covered face. "Had a feeling you had a thing for strong dominating women, Faren."
"Missed you too," the rogue Dwarf nodded before getting serious, "I need information."
"About Rica?"
"No, saw her with Bhelen when we got here. I put it together quickly."
"Then you know you are an uncle now?"
Sometimes the world would vanish to someone, the sheer weight of an event or revelation crushing down on them so fast and hard it would drown out every sound and sight, losing any sense of direction, almost like they were falling into an endless void.
Sereda had experienced it three times in her life. The first was her exile. The second was that damn letter where she discovered her father knew her innocence but didn't try to protect her.
This was the third time.
And by the stunned expression on Faren's face, this was his first.
The rogue who took everything in life with a casual shrug and a smile on his lips, who would have a quip or a snarky remark in the face of danger, was truly and utterly at a loss for words. The revelation hit him like a cave-in, and he could stand there with his mouth half-open and his gaze lost.
Sereda was certain that under her helmet, she was the same. This information pertained to their siblings; their minds could only slowly grasp that they were now an aunt and uncle to the same newborn. Regardless of circumstance, the people who had been in such large parts of their lives were parents.
That Bhelen and Rica had a child.
Amazingly, to her mind, Sereda recovered first, tentatively reaching out for her friend. "Faren?"
He barely registered the hand on his shoulder. "...It's been around six months" Sereda knew what he meant, six months since their exile. "She-She must have been a month pregnant by then and... and I didn't know."
Seven months, the usual time for a dwarven pregnancy to run its length.
Faren shook his head before taking a deep breath, heeded to focus, "Thank you for telling me."
"That is for old time's sake. Owed you one at least, but feel you want something else?"
"Leske, where is he?"
At that question, Alimer nodded in understanding while having a wince in his expression, "Well... He is Jarvia's second in the Carta now."
Once more, Faren felt shock course through him before grim understanding glowed in his eyes, "Of course, he stayed with the Carta."
"Why," Sereda asked, "if he hates it as much as you did?"
The merchant answered, "How many Casteless do you know to have good jobs to feed themselves and their families, dear?"
"Sure, a Casteless can get some work with from the Noble Houses. But we're barely paid and abused constantly." Faren explained in a hollow tone. "About the only work in Orzammar where we can have some respect is the Carta... Not that I would call being a thug 'respectful'"
It was unpleasant to see Faren so... morose, defeated even. She had seen that look before on Gin. The look of someone who didn't have anything better to aspire to, who accepted their lot in life, was to be powerless and hopeless. The Faren she came to know and respect wasn't like that, but... perhaps this was still the Faren she knew. All of his pain and sorrow had to go somewhere. And it all floated back to the surface thanks to this place.
This horrible, rundown shack of a district. Where hope was as scarce as food.
Was this truly all the castless could have? Did Orzammar really keep so much from them because of tradition?
Was this what dwarves truly were? Was this what her ancestors truly sought to preserve for so long?
Sereda somehow knew the answer to all those questions, making her seek.
"We'll be around, Alimer," Faren finally spook up with a distant voice to the information trader. "Keep your ears open and stay out of trouble. Danger follows the group I'm in like an angry bronto."
The man solemnly nodded as he watched them go, "Best of luck to you."
Sereda didn't feel they'd been lucky for a long time.
They stepped out of his shop, and Faren saw fit to stop by a dark, deserted alleyway, letting his back hit the wall as he drew a long ragged breath, a hand running over his weary face. "Stone, damn it all..."
"Rica's with Bhelen," Sereda said, "That alone is dangerous given his situation. There has to be a way to pull her out, her and the baby."
Faren's lips pursed under his mask. "I need to make sure she's comfortable there."
At that, Sereda did a double take. "Wait, what? Faren, didn't you hear me? She can't be around Bhelen."
"I'll be the judge of that," He said, pushing himself off the wall. "She always said the noble she was seeing was treating her right. If he is, I'll ensure he continues to do so."
"...You cannot be serious."
"Sorry, Sereda" He sounded remorseful and sincere as he apologized to her. "But my sister comes first and always."
The roguish Dwarf didn't have to see his friend's face to feel the conflict coming from her. Clenching her armored gloved fists before relaxing them. She looked out upon Dust Town. "I understand," Her tone was hollow as she returned to the commons.
Hearing the resignation and defeat in her tone felt wrong to Faren. But he stood by what he believed in. Rica meant more to him than any wealth or status he could desire. He spent his life ensuring she was safe. He wasn't about to change that now, especially for his nephew. Still, hurting Sereda in any way, given everything she has been through, felt bitter on his tongue.
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Sereda's feet felt heavy as she and Faren returned to Orazammar Commons. They took notice of Shale standing outside of Tapster's Tavern. The Golem's glowing orbs took notice of them, "About time... The others finally returned, and everyone is in the tavern."
"Not joining us?" Faren quipped. If a golem could deadpan, this was the closest both were seeing. "Right, never mind."
Both Dwarves entered to find the bar exactly like they remembered from the red-haired Corra filling people's drinks. A couple of dwarves sing drunkenly on the Tavern's stage. A brawl on another end of the Tavern. It was rather easy finding their companions and faithful Mabari hounds who lay on the ground at their respected masters' feet.
"What did we miss?" Faren remarked, garnering the others' attention at their table. Save for Sofie, Serana, and Sten, who stood around them. "Oh," He muttered, seeing a pronounced scowl from Miara. "Did Bhelen manage to piss her off?"
Zevran waved it off, "Quite the opposite. She screamed at the patriarch of a Mining Caste about exiling with his daughter and newborn grandson in Dust Town."
...
"So that was Ordel running past us like the darkspawn were chasing after him," Sereda muttered in a slight monotone.
Shaking her head, the Dragonborn decided to get to the matter. Better for her mood. "So, there's something we need to tell you, Sereda," The dunmer said solemnly, leaning forward on the seat that was one size too small for her.
"I have a nephew," The exiled princess tonelessly replied behind her helmet.
Shocked expressions were evident among her companions, all of them. Marcus and his party had informed the others to prepare better to break the news to her. News she was already aware of, much to their surprise.
"You knew?" Marcus's brows were almost touching. "How could you know?"
"Went around asking for information about my family. That's how we heard," Faren supplied.
"But what does that have to-"
"Because my sister is with Bhelen."
Their companions were stunned into silence for eternity as they pieced things together.
"Merde," Leliana swore, her accent thicker than usual.
"Yyyyyup," Faren popped the 'p' at the end before pursing his lips. "So, buy us a drink, folks; Sereda and I are aunt and uncle."
Sofie let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. Oryrn crossed his arms with a concerned expression as Neria and Brianna shared a look.
Alistair shuffled in his seat, awkwardly scratching his cheek, "Con...gratulations?"
"Tactful..." Morrigan rolled her eyes, ignoring the former Templar's glare.
Theron shook his head, "Regardless. Marcus and the others explained what Bhelen-"
"I need to speak with my brother." All eyes went shifted towards Sereda in an instant. "An I need to see him alone."
After a long silent pause, Sarya was the first to speak, "I could think of a few reasons why that's insane."
"You, of all people, are saying that," The helmet-wearing Dwarf dryly stared at the Telvanni mage.
"And can you tell me with a straight face you won't try cutting his head off?" Gin questioned.
"I can control myself, Tabris. Thank you very much."
Concern bore on Wynne's face, "But after everything that happened between you two..."
Sereda raised her armored hand, "I know fully what Bhelen did to me. But I also know what my father didn't do. And after seeing Pyral... Then going to Dust Town..." She glanced at Faren, who looked back with emotion, "I need to hear everything from his lips. I have to do this."
Crossing her arms, Serana stared long and hard at the exiled princess, "We can trust her to see her brother." Shocked gazes went to the Nordic vampire, "I know a thing or two about fighting against your own family."
Marcus crossed his arms with a troubled look on his face. He looked at his dwarven friend. "Sereda, what do you expect out of this?"
"...I don't know," The exiled princess replied honestly. "I guess I just want to face him."
Her companions respected that, at least.
"Whatever happens," Alistair said, "We need the dwarven support, one way or another."
Of that, Sereda was painfully aware.
Miara sighed, standing up from her seat. "We'll arrange the meeting. Make sure it's safe for everyone."
Good. She was lying earlier; Sereda wasn't sure she trusted herself not to enter a fit of blind rage the moment she saw him...
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
She was partially right. She was enraged just by being in the same room as him. But at least she did not leap to throttle him at the very first chance.
They were only four people in this room, as was agreed upon, Sereda, Bhelen, and one person of their choosing. Bhelen had Vartag, his loyal right hand, standing guard at the back. At the same time, Sereda had asked Miara to watch her own back. Sereda knew what Miara could do; if things went south, this tipped the odds firmly in her favor.
The chamber itself wasn't too large, but there were enough openings for one to flee if the other had laid a trap. Bhelen and Sereda had come without weapons but were allowed to keep their armor for protection, allowing each other to approach without worrying about something like a dagger coming for them. Their heavy armor was more than enough to deflect anything that small.
He still looked the same, but his beard looked thicker to her. She steeled herself as she removed her helmet, his eyes widening only a fraction. "I couldn't believe it when I heard it; my big sister returned and joined the ranks of the Grey Wardens."
"I wouldn't have had to if not for you," Sereda spat with venom. "For what you did to me."
He did not even deny the accusations. "Why are you here, Sereda?"
"To face the bastard who ruined my life and ask him, Why?" Her head shook from side to side. "Why did you do it, Bhelen? What could I possibly have done to you? What did Trian do that he had to die?!"
"The fact you're asking me means you don't understand how Orzammar works," Bhelen derided. "I was fortifying my position to be a better candidate for the throne. Trian would have killed both of us if he had the chance, and you were wrangling support from the Assembly."
"I fought against the Darkspawn and wasn't an asshole like Trian. None of that means I was plotting against you!" The exiled princess shouted, "What kind of person would do that to her own family?!"
"Someone ruthless. I decided to remove you from the picture. You would have done whatever Father told you to do."
"Is the throne that important to you? Do you crave glory and power so obsessively?"
"Yes," His forthcoming reply silenced her, "I do. Because that is how politics in Orzammar works, that is how a king must rule to keep all these vicious deepstalkers in line. The Assembly and the houses would all collapse upon each other if Orzammar's king was not willing to do anything. Trian was hated, and he had no pull or loyalty from anyone. You were popular but would have crumbled when you had to make hard decisions."
She could hear the loathing in her brother's voice mentioning Trian's name. But there was none towards her, even now, even after all he did to her. Merely his acceptance of his actions to get what he wanted. "Father understood this as much I do. But moreover, he and Pyral, along with every damn sodding traditionalist in Orzammar, will let our people die out and not bring any change we need! Yes, I upturned our entire family for myself, and I do not apologize for it. But unlike nearly everyone else in our family, I will not be blind to the fact we are dying out."
Anger glowed in Sereda's eyes. Her clenched fists shook almost violently, but her body wouldn't move. It would not react to Bhelen outright calling their father a fool as much as she wanted to scream, as much as she wanted to punch her brother. Recalling how Pyral treated her upon revealing herself. Dust Town's hopelessness and derelict sight and their people barely scraping by with nothing. How Assembly denied every possible dwarven hand that could hold a blade against the Darkspawn who constantly besieged them, losing more and more territory, letting thaigs become outposts and eventually ruins, instead of recruiting from the thousands of castles they had available.
All because of their ancestor's past grievances.
And the Noble Houses were content with it all as it was tradition.
However, Miara could not help but speak up, "There was no other way for you to get what you wanted?"
"Dwarven politics are cold as the stone, ruthless and unforgiving. There is no middle ground when it comes to us. Sereda understands that, just like me."
She wasn't that naive. Except just how far her people were willing to go after each other just for power and status. For Sereda, it felt like she was struck by a paragon statue with all she had not seen until now. Her body shook before she turned on her heels and began to leave. "Sister," She paused but did not look back, "Make the right choice."
Sereda did not respond as Miara watched her leave. Glancing back to Bhelen and Vartag, she said nothing as she left herself.
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The exile princess's gaze was unfocused, almost dead, looking in no discernable direction upon leaving the building. One noticeable difference, however, was the dwarven people coming to a stop with shock in their eyes. Marcus and the others also bore a look of surprise as Sereda had not even bothered to put her helmet back on. Everything around the dwarven woman blurred in her eyes. The sound was muddled in her ears, walking past the others and standing before a wall.
For a long moment, there was silence until a primal scream ripped from Sereda's lip, slamming her helmet hard against the wall. Over and over, she struck her helmet against the unmoving cement as it started to bend and break under that stress. Her screaming grew louder and louder before turning around and throwing the now useless piece of metal out of her hand.
Tears ran from her eyes, her chest heaving for as much air as possible. "We are helping Bhelen," Her voice was so horse and lifeless before walking away from the others. Neither noticing nor caring to see the immense concern from many of them.
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