Disclaimer: We do not own The Elder Scrolls and The Dragon Age series.
Co-Author and Beta: Ethereal-23
Where the path will take us
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX ~ xx ~ XxX ~ xx ~ XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Kardel Torras stared in shock amongst the crowd of others in the common area. How could they not when it was none other than the kin-killer and exiled Princess Sereda Aeducan? By law, he should remove her from Orzammar at post haste, regardless of being with the Wardens or executing her by just returning. Yet his body refused to move like his fellow dwarfs around him.
Having seen and heard her rage-fueled/heartbroken roar when she smashed her helmet against one of the stone walls. The unbearable pain in her voice sounded more frightening than any Darkspawn or monster in Deep Roads could make.
Now she sat with lifeless eyes staring in no direction on the bridge to the Proving Arena. Her tears no longer fell from her cheeks; she had none more to shed. As if her entire being had been completely shattered, and all that remained was this husk. Around her stood her comrades, all concerned, except maybe three with looks of indifference. On either side of her sat Marcus and Miara, both with grim looks as they processed Sereda's words after her... episode.
The Dwarven woman barely registered their presence until the Fire Goddess asked, "Are you certain this is what you want to do?" Dead, hollow eyes shifted towards the Elf, who did not react but stared back. No words were said. They were not needed, as Miara nodded, "Very well."
Bile could be felt in Marcus's throat; his conversation with Bhelen before this was heated as it was given the actions that were done. And yet, as much as that vicious snake showed the kind of person he truly was. Every fiber in Cosuland's being wanted to run his blades into the bastard. He spoke harsh truths that could not be ignored.
Marcus sighed, "So, how do we go about this? Helping... Bhelen..."
The others in their group gave no counter-retort in changing Sereda's mind.
"We will not be his enforcers," Oryrn expressed, crossing his plated arms. "What he did to Sereda tells us everything about him; he will want us to go along with whatever plot he comes up with. I'm not going to sell our honor for him." It was not just his sense of morality speaking; he would not be a lackey to someone who had harmed a dear companion so terribly.
"Agreed," Alistair nodded firmly. "We need the dwarven army but will not be his pawns."
"So we make conditions?" Gin brought up with a shrug.
"From what I know of Bhelen, he strikes me as someone who knows when not to overestimate his reach," The Cousland said, "We will be his allies in this matter. I can offer my counsel, try to contain him lest the power goes to his head more than it already has..."
"And I know how to achieve what he wants without unnecessarily spilling blood," Miara pitched in. "You and I should handle Bhelen directly. Make sure at no point his interests conflict with ours." The Cousland nodded before turning to Alistair, referring to him in this matter as the Senior Warden and future king of Ferelden. Like it or not, Bhelen would be his neighbor and the king he'd need to deal with once he took the throne.
Alistair breathed softly, "This whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but... do it. We need to show Bhelen we're equals in this matter. We're not under his employment nor his muscle; we're partners." He spat the word like it was foul. "With some fortune, we can keep him from doing any damage."
"Then how do we show Orzammar Bhelen is who they need as king," Neria brings up, holding her staff close with one hand. The other patted her Mabari hound's head, "What can get your people's attention?" She asked Feran.
Said Dwarf was silent, his gaze fixed on Sereda.
"Feran."
"Huh," the man grunted upon finally hearing his name and looking at Surana, "What?"
"How do we get your people to side with Bhelen?"
A shrug came from Feran, "We're a blunt bunch. Just do something around here and tell who you are doing it for, and people will take notice. Something Dwarves and Qunari have in common; we got no time for bullshit."
Sten's brow cocked but said nothing.
"So we make ourselves useful with any problems here and prove our worth." Wynne surmised, expressing her thoughts out loud. The rogue Dwarf gave the older woman a thumbs up. "Then there is bound to be something our talents could prove useful to the people of Orzammar."
"Unless it involves smashing fleshy things, I have no interest," Shale conveyed while staring in no real direction.
"I think it's decided then," Neria said, giving Sereda a concerned look. "It's best we speak with him them."
Sereda's face twisted like she had swallowed something foul; "...Let's get this over with."
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
The smile on Bhelen's face was cordial, friendly even. And completely fake. It was a politician's smile, yet there were traces of honest satisfaction, like a merchant who had been handed a deal heavily tilted in his favor, which wasn't far from the truth.
The Wardens and their company stood around in his estate's main hall, and a few chose to sit as comfortably as they could around the large stone table in the center while Bhelen himself sat at the head with Vartag and his guards at his side. He barely looked at Sereda, who chose to be as far from her brother as possible, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed, glaring at the floor as if it had personally offended her. Everything about the situation was a great blow to her dignity and pride.
"I assure you, Wardens, you're making the best decision," He regally said as he joined his hands in front of him. "I do not forget my allies and always pay my debts."
"Tch!" Sereda scoffed, rolling her eyes. Bhelen either ignored it or didn't notice at all.
"We're not so certain how much Harrowmont will honor Orzammar's accord," Alistair said, keeping his voice distant as he tried to remain neutral with the man who had hurt their friend so much. "We need as many soldiers as you can provide."
"Hmph, Pyral would have sent you a small detachment and then mustered everything up to protect the city. A poor solution in the long run, if the Blighters overwhelm the surface, then they can focus on us." They needed to find out if Bhelen was being honest or exaggerating to make himself the better option. "He doesn't know any strategy. Moreover, he'd try to please the Assembly's traditionalists at every turn, letting bureaucracy get it in the way."
"And bureaucracy is not what your people need right now, I assume," Miara spoke in a neutral tone.
A grunt came from Bhelen leaning back against his chair, "We've had nothing but bureaucracy and tradition bury our people for centuries. Made us more than just blind but also forget that the Darkspawn never relented upon our shrinking borders. We have been losing not just ground but who we are. If traditionalists have their way and keep their heads in the ground, it will destroy Orzammar. And our people need someone to move this stagnant kingdom forward instead of backward."
As much as this man proclaimed, half his reasons were to save his dwarven kind. And it could very well be true. His primary objective was to have authority and dominion.
Sereda bit her tongue, reigning her anger with Faren closely by her.
"Then, if we want you on the throne, we do this right," Marcus declared, leaning forward with his hands on the table. His eyes fixed on the future king, "But let us get this straight. We are not your lackeys. We are your allies. We help you, you help us."
"Noted, Marcus," Bhelen said evenly. "So what's the right way to make me king?"
For a second, Gin and Theron swore they saw Serana's irises slit.
"Well," Zevran made himself be heard, "Getting the citizens of your future kingdom on your side be one."
"Without bribes or threats," Neria took over with strength in her voice.
Vartag groaned, "Take the fun out of it, why don't you."
Bhelen genuinely laughed, "Cute," He said to Neria. "You still don't understand how Orzammar works, I wonder. Is the surface so squeaky clean with all that sky over your heads?"
Neria did not reply; she kept an impassive face, not feeling the need to defend herself to someone like him.
"How I proceed with my affairs is my business. A few people are too stubborn to see I'm the rightful heir, and they need a push in the right direction."
"Push them too much, and they'll fight back," Miara pointed out. "An empire doesn't survive on fears and threats. You need people to see it in their interests that you are on the throne."
Bhelen raised a brow at the grey Elf. "And you think I don't know how to achieve that. Please don't insult me. I've been planning my ascension to the throne for ages."
Sereda's fists tightened. How long had he been planning on killing Trian? How long had he planned on betraying her?
"You're not here to dictate how I will run my kingdom. You're here because you need the dwarven army."
"And we're here to remind you we're allies in this, Bhelen," Marcus firmly replied. "Not your lackeys."
For a moment, nobody said anything. The two men held each other's gaze, barely even blinking as though they were sizing each other up.
Bhelen spoke first, "Then by all means, my allies, I am willing to keep an open mind to your... experienced counsel," He said with another fake smile. "But you will still need to pull your weight."
"Tell us what needs doing," Marcus replied. "We can promise you'll get what you want without unnecessary bloodshed."
"Oh, so it's 'necessary bloodshed' that you're fine with then?" He chuckled. "In that case, the first part to help secure support for my ascension is to show I can keep our great thaig safe. And it's good to have the Wardens here to aid me in that."
Alistair and his fellow shared a look. "We're listening."
"Ferelden is not the only place affected by the Blight. Darkspawn incursions have been on the increase, and that is saying something." He motioned for one of his aids, and the servant unfurled a map of Orzammar's nearest territories, tunnels from the Deep Roads, and locations of outposts and other bases marked with red circles. "Our troops are feeling the heat; if you can help secure these areas and fortify them, it'll show the Assembly I lead our people through our eternal conflict with the Blighters."
Eyes gazed at the areas in question that required aid on the map. "Which needs immediate aid," Oryrn inquired. Bhelen placed miniature stone carvings down on three circles.
"Conventional weapons only get people so far."
Serana connected the dots, "You need our mages."
"It is the one thing we dwarves cannot use: Magic." Bhelen spoke plainly, "Normal Hurlock and Genlock troops and Alphas we can handle well enough. Ogres are, thank the Stone, rarely sighted. Even in the Deep Roads, emissaries, however..."
"Fighting against magic is trickier to deal with," Brianna conveyed with her arms crossed under her bust.
"More than just magic, they need inspiration at those outposts. And in showing who is giving them aid under which Banner. Our soldiers will know it is Bhalen Aeducan who has their backs."
Shrewd, but Miara could see the cleverness with the intention.
"Here, I thought dwarves were resistant to magic," Theron pointed out.
"Their spells that inflict terror and confusion lack particular effectiveness on us," Vartag replied. "A fireball or lightning bolt, however, only so much an innate resistance can help when you're boiling inside your armor."
A gory picture but a truthful one. Mind-altering spells, hexes, and the like would have a reduced effect on individuals with innate resistance or wouldn't work entirely depending on the type of creature they were. Resistance, however, did not mean nullification; an elemental attack wouldn't vanish when it made contact with a dwarf.
She'd been eying the gear dwarves had. Aside from the quality, they were great enchanters, engraving lyrium runes with various. Dwarves did look equipped to handle the Darkspawn. The reality, however, was a harsher one. The Darkspawn outnumbered them greatly; with their constant raids, the dwarven kingdom was always fighting on the defensive, which made their friendship with the Grey Wardens all the more important. Warden's abilities allowed them to feel Darkspawn presence, not to mention the other battle modifiers they could bring to the table, like magic, as Bhelen was requesting.
Alistair nodded, "Point us at the areas that need our more immediate help, and we'll dispatch Warden mages."
"Excellent," Bhelen was pleased with the reply. "Now, the next move should-"
"Yeah, sorry," Faren interrupted, raising his hand. "Strategy and all is not my forte, and I'd not like to be stuck here when there's stuff I want to do."
Vartag looked like he wanted to sever the rogue's head from his shoulders. Bhelen did not look particularly amused either. "I'm sorry this is boring you, Warden..." He trailed off, waiting for the castless Dwarf to introduce himself.
The rogue gave him a smirk befitting of his class. "Faren Brosca."
It was funny how quickly Bhelen's expression changed; he went from shock to bewilderment, to amusement, and finally resignation. "You're Rica's brother..."
"AND your brother-in-law now!"
Vartag gawked with a twitching eye, recalling this man himself, "Y-Y-You fucking Nug shit duster! You know how much gold I lost on that damn Proving!?"
"Ohhh," the mischievous Dwarven man feigned a mournful expression before grinning, "Worth it!" A snorted chuckle came from Bhelen, ignoring the scowl of his second as Faren spoke in an easygoing tone, "Where is Rica?"
"Down the hall, make a right to the last room." The Dwarven rogue gave a cheerful wave to Vartag, who growled with fury, glaring as the man left. Bhelen glanced at his guard, "You still never learned to do your bets right."
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Faren did a double take as Sereda slipped out and followed. "You... are you coming along?" The exiled Princess dryly glared with her eyes still having an empty glow. The man winced, "Sorry, your nephew too."
No response came from his fellow Dwarf while making their way through the Aeducan House. As much as nostalgia rang through the woman being inside her home once more, it was a numb feeling. She felt more like a stranger, ignoring the few gasps of shock from the servants who saw her walking passed them. She only turned her gaze at the sight of her cousin Piotin, who nearly dropped his sword upon seeing Sereda. She said nothing, moving passed him as he only stared.
Beside her, Brosca could not muster any words to his friend. What could he say by the Stone, considering his words back in Dust Town?
His mind vividly recalled the sight of Sereda screaming, slamming his helmet against the wall. The lifelessness of her wails of pure anguish.
He shook away the thoughts as Sereda spoke up, "We're here." They stood at the threshold of an open room, perking up and hearing light singing while infant laughter also caught their ears.
Faren almost didn't recognize her. Everything about Rica was different from what he was used to. As a noble hunter sponsored by Beraht, Rica was much better off than most casteless. She was educated and given proper baths and food to look her best, but that had always been superficial. Rica only did those things for a chance at a better future for their family, for her brother, who dealt in so many illicit things working for the Carta, and for their incredibly unpleasant mother. She was well dressed now; it wasn't just expensive looking, it also looked comfortable to wear, far more than the dresses Beraht gave her to seduce nobles; she looked fine. More than that, she looked happy.
She was happy to be standing by the stone crib, a hand gently fussing over the occupant, who gurgled in utter joy at her touch.
"Rica..." He called out her name without realizing it.
The sound of his voice snapped her from her reverie. She looked at him with a quivering gaze, her eyes watering at the sight of the brother she had most likely believed to be dead. "Faren?" She muttered, lip trembling as she slowly walked towards him. The walk became a jog, then a full sprint as she jumped at her brother's arms, letting out muffled sobs as Faren embraced her tightly. "You're okay..." She muttered weakly. "I thought I'd never see you again."
"And miss the chance to see you?" He gently replied.
A spark of life flickered in Sereda's eyes while staring at Faren's sister. Memories flashed in her mind of a girl she saw in Bhelen's room the day before...
Crimson hair up in a double-bun at the time, now flowing freely down to her waist. Fair, flawless skin with natural ruby lips and vibrant green eyes full of life. The only blemish on her face was the Casteless tattoo on her cheek.
"...I know you..."
Her words roused the siblings from their embrace, letting go as Rica's face bloomed into shock, "P-Princess S-S-Sereda!?"
The former Princess stared, "I remember you."
Rica nodded quickly, "Y-Yes, ma'am. It was during your father's celebration of you becoming commander..." The redhead winced, "I'm sorry..."
Not replying, the female Dwarven warrior stepped into the room, "Did you know?"
Faren's face turned a glare only to be met by Sereda's. Rica quickly spoke up; "Bhelen didn't tell about what he did till after you were exiled. Only Vartag and a few others knew beforehand, as he told me. He didn't lie to me about what he did to you and your older brother. I-I yelled at him for it, but he said it was his only choice to change Orzammar."
There was no lie in her voice the exiled Aeducan could hear. "And you remain here?"
"Bhelen has never hurt me. Not once since we first met. He was the only noble who never mistreated me. He didn't see me as some Castless Noble Hunter. But as an actual person." Rica's eyes downcasted to the floor, "But it doesn't make up for what he did to you and Prince Trian."
Silence engulfed the room before a joy-filled giggle came from the stone crib.
Sereda ignored the concerned looks as she walked over to the crib. Among the soft blankets and pillows was a small body tucked inside the finest cloth protectively. Tiny hands moved aimlessly, grasping anything they could touch with endless curiosity. Gentle brown eyes stared at her with wonder; red cheeks puffed with a joyous smile directed at her and a cry followed by innocent sounds.
Sereda was staring at her nephew.
She often wondered what it'd be like when one of her brothers finally took on a wife and had a family. The type of aunt she'd be, how much she'd dote on them, giving them everything in the world because the little miracles deserved it.
Here was Bhelen's son, the man who ruined her life. Who backstabbed ruthlessly for his thirst for power. Whose radical ambition was to modernize the dwarven kingdom for better or worse and topple anyone who stood in his way.
Why did he deserve to be blessed with a family? A son and a wife he cared for when he had no problem slaying his flesh and blood.
For the briefest moments, Sereda let her hatred extend to Rica and his baby boy. She hated what they represented, hated them just because they were Bhelen's.
She squashed it down firmly, knowing it wasn't fair. Her hatred was meant for Bhelen alone. They hadn't done anything to deserve it. Even now, he still ruined her, inspiring such hatred and loathing in her that she was even willing to direct it at the people whose only crime was to associate with him in any way. Rica was casteless; she had been dealt a terrible hand at birth, but she wasn't guilty of anything that happened. This little boy was innocent; he didn't deserve to have been in the horrible world of dwarven politics, yet this was the legacy they all left him.
Sereda sobbed, unable to comprehend how she should be feeling.
Despite Faren's hand being raised, he did not stop Rica from coming to Sereda's side. The exiled Princess did not react to the other woman who placed her hands on her armored shoulders. Sereda only stared at the ground in tears, as Rica felt her shaking with countless emotions no doubt rushing through her entire being. "I won't pretend I understand the pain you have gone through. But if... hating me and my son would help-"
"I can't..." The former noble's voice was horse and broken as she raised her head. "As much as I hate Bhelen... I can't hate you." Her grief-stricken gaze went to the baby in the crib, "Nor hate a babe just brought to this world by his father's actions. I would be no better than a monster doing such a thing." Rica brought the tearful woman close, to the point Sereda's head rested on her shoulder. "My father, Pyral, Bhelen... I no longer know what I should be doing or how to feel about it."
It tore at the siblings' hearts, who heard nothing but despair from the normally proud and confident Dwarven woman. Here she stood, clinging to her brother's lover, who betrayed her.
"Nobody will blame you if you want to leave," Faren muttered, trying to give her an out. Anything so she wouldn't have to deal with this, with the home that had forsaken her, the family that wounded her, the bitterness of her pride lingering in her mouth as she was forced to swallow it.
Nobody should suffer through these indignities, and Sereda certainly did not deserve any of it.
"We'll handle it."
"No..." Her reply was swift, if weak. "I have to see this through. I need to"
Rica pursed her lips, holding the woman at arm's length with her palms on her armored shoulders. "I know this... will feel like a cruel joke, but I want you to know you have family here, family you can count on."
"You do," Faren added without hesitation, standing next to her sister to give his comrade-in-arms the reassurance she needed. "We can be the family who will never abandon you. Not Orzammar, not Bhelen, us, your friends."
Oryrn, Marcus, the Wardens, their companions and allies, friends and comrades. That colorful motley crew had become closer to her than her family ever had. She had come to rely on them, lean on them for support, and shoulder their burdens.
Even when everything had been taken from her, the Stone had not abandoned Sereda, and it had guided her to people who forged bonds with her stronger than even the mightiest boulder. That, she never doubted.
"...Thank you."
The babe let out a whine, needing his mother's attention. Rica gave her an apologetic look before going over to her child. Seeing the love she openly gave him, that innocent little creature wrapped up in all these horrible affairs.
"What's his name?" She softly asked.
Rica hesitated for a moment before finally replying. "Endrin"
Sereda said nothing.
"Bhelen he... he insisted."
Serada took a deep breath, walking up to her sister-in-law and nephew, removing a gauntlet so that she could place a calloused hand on his oh-so-soft cheek.
"Endrin Aeducan," She muttered; the name weighed heavily on her. She looked at Rica pleadingly, "Make him better than any of us ever were." Sereda was almost begging her in desperation, and by now, Rica had truly begun to understand the terrible legacy of the Aeducan name.
"I will," She was firm in her promise, swearing that her son would be better than those before him.
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Once leaving House Aeducan, the group decided to split up the tasks Bhelen needed within Orzammar before venturing to the outposts. The more diplomatic people in their group soon ventured through Dust Town, the common area, and the Diamond Quarter. The less inclined with the silver tongue went to the Orazammar training grounds around the colossal Proving arena.
Training swords and axes clashed among Dwarven warriors to keep their fighters' edge sharp for future battles. Arrows and bolts were plunged into stuffed dummies by Archers loosed from their respected long-ranged weapons. Around some sparring individuals stood a hardened trainer shouting out instructions and corrections.
All the Dwarves highly regarded the Grey Wardens for their efforts in Orzammar. The Training Grounds Blademaster graciously offered an area for some of the group who entered. A few Dwarfs' attentions were only towering muscular figures of Sofie and Sten sparring with their respected greatswords. Blue and sky-forged steel clashed in a dance of masterful sword skill between the smirking Nord and stonefaced Qunari. Close by, Leliana was going through several swings with her Mithril daggers given to her by Miara.
'Emeric's Judgement' She called them in tribute to an old friend from the past. The way Miara said it with vagueness and deep, respectful nostalgia piqued the redhead's curiosity, but she only got a silent smile before the dark Elf left her. Enchanted with lightning, frost, and fire dancing across the short blades as she flowed around a wooden training beam.
Sofie smirked, "You are happy, big guy."
"I am," Sten responded in his usual monotone. "Asala has returned me. I am whole once more."
How he moved showed a difference in his attacks. The rigidness seemed gone and now moved like an unrestrained siege engine. Was using other weapons outside Asala that uncomfortable for him? Hmm, she supposed it was like what Old Kodlak used to tell her as a child. "When you find 'your weapon,' it becomes a true extension of yourself and who you are."
That was true enough seeing her elven mother holding Starfang.
A few dwarves cheered as the two giants parried with sparks dancing from their blades.
Nearby those three, another trio stood around a table. Alistair gazes with suspicion at the bottles on the table placed there by a smirking Sarya. Neria held one large blue bottle, "I am still amazed how you can make such potions without lyrium."
"Easy since Lyrium doesn't exist back home." The eccentric Dunmer returned her smile to the former Templar, who felt his neck hairs stand. "Well, are you going to try or what?"
The future king blinked with unease on his face, "Can you explain this in a way I understand, please."
"Lyrium is raw magic in mineral form. Mages utilize it to replenish their reserves. And Templars use it to achieve their abilities." The dunmer mage said. "We're trying to use this as a substitute for lyrium," Sarya said slowly. "So you can use your Templar abilities to their fullest potential again."
"Right, that I understand," Alistair replied. "But I'm not sure if it'll even work. Lyrium is, well, lyrium. What is even that potion made out of?"
"Red Mountain Flower and Mora Tapinella"
The senior Warden gave her a very flat stare. "So, plants and mushrooms."
"Nearly everything has magical properties, Alistair, flora especially thanks to the sun. The biggest beacon of magic in our realm."
"Uh-huh," Alistair made a sound indicating he had trouble grasping that. "Yeah, the Chantry doesn't say anything about the sun being a giant source of magic."
"The Chantry doesn't know a lot of things," Neria pointed out, by this point more accepting of many of the revelations imparted to her throughout this journey. "Our basis is this: Lyrium creates a mana pool in non-mages, which Templars learn to expel through their techniques."
"You're referring to how Templars essentially cast spells," Alistair surmised. Another thing the Chantry liked to pretend it didn't count as magic. He frowned as a thought occurred to him, "So wait, does this mean anyone could have the ability to cast magic if they take lyrium and are taught how?"
"Ohhh, he's getting it!" Sarya said, impressed.
"That's the core of our theory," Neria nodded. "For now, we want to try if this creates a pool of energy in you like lyrium so you can once more use Templar powers. And in the long run, perhaps we could... teach anyone magic." A smile formed on her lips as she said so, looking utterly entranced by the idea. It was the discovery of a lifetime.
One is bound to have enormous repercussions.
"I'm not going to pretend the thought doesn't terrify me..." Alistair muttered, magic so readily available to everyone...
Sarya immediately took offense. "Don't tell me you're instantly jumping back to Chantry dogma. May I remind you everyone in Tamriel has magic and-"
"And your people had multiple millennia to adapt to that. Thedas hasn't," The future king replied. "There are already many dangerous, ambitious, and downright evil people. Do you honestly think everyone would be responsible with magic suddenly in their hands?"
"...You have a point," Sarya said, looking like it pained her to admit it. "But don't you think the potential good outweighed the potential bad?"
"I would like the Chantry to use healers instead of only letting them out in very specific circumstances," The Warden muttered, having been in enough fights and seen enough sick and wounded villagers whom a simple spell could have easily saved. "And I know they'd never consider it."
There was the side most people did not notice when it came to Alistair. The man was practical to a fault. More than a few people would view it as simple, but in Sarya's opinion, it was anything but. And it was one of the many reasons the honorary Telvanni had come to like the former Templr so much. He kept their group grounded in his unique, eccentric way.
The sane but quirky little brother she never had.
A sigh came from Neria, "And the Circles have a wide range of expert to master healers who could use their talents to benefit Thedas greatly." She sharply glanced, hearing Sarya muttering in Dunmeri, "You do know Oryrn has been teaching me Dark Elf language, right?"
"So, how much have you been learning from my brother~?"
Alistair had never seen a person turn so red before looking away from everyone and to the ground. Ignoring his blush from the innuendo, he got the main topic of the discussion going again, "So basically, try one of these and see how it works for me."
"Never hurts to try it," Sarya beamed, "If it doesn't work, all you will have to deal with is a nasty taste in your mouth."
"...Charming..."
"Oh, hush, and just try it, little brother."
Alistair shrugged before taking the potion from her hand; he smelled it a little. It did not smell pleasant, but surely it wasn't that bad.
He drank it. And it was worse.
The Templar gagged, coughing. "Oh, Maker, it's foul!"
"Yeah, that's the mushrooms part," Sarya agreed. "It's pretty much impossible to make potions that taste good."
He handed her back the empty vial. "At least lyrium tastes better."
"Because lyrium becomes increasingly addictive if people don't know how to expel the excess power like mages properly," Neria said, her brows furrowing in concern. "That's a lead study on why it eventually causes physical and mental degradation on Templars."
That was true. If these two were right, Alistair wouldn't need to worry about any of that if he stuck to Tamriel's alchemy. Recalling his training, he reached down into his person, and there he found a familiar 'pool' of energy welling up. It felt the same as with lyrium, without the type of rush it created.
"I think it worked," He commented.
"Alrighty then, let's try it out." Sarya lit a small fireball hovering in her hand. "Dispell it."
With familiarity drilled into him by years of strict teachings, Alistair reached out to the fireball with his hand and into the energy pool inside his body. He channeled it outwards in a small concentrated wave, flickering out of him with a soft glare on his palm, and the fireball floating in Sarya's hand was extinguished.
He had successfully cast Dispell without a drop of lyrium in him.
"Success!" Sarya cheerfully exclaimed with a pump of her arms. Neria's excitement was more subdued but similarly present as she smiled widely and clapped a few times.
"You have your Templar powers again, Alistair." She congratulated him. "And without needing lyrium."
"Imagine if the Chantry used this..." He breathed out. "No more forcing Templars into poor wretches after decades of consumption."
"That would be ideal," The Thedosian Elf said sadly. "But I believe the Chantry prefers it that way. Not to mention the political and economic nightmare that would suddenly not need lyrium from the dwarves anymore."
As Sarya had read and learned from kindly old Bodahn, Lyrium makes up nearly most of the earnings for the Dwarven kingdom, with the Empire of Tevinter being one of their largest customers. Of course, other rare raw materials, Weapons, and armor, along with a slew of everyday items only made here, was the other chunk of Orzammar's profits. If people halted their purchases of Lyrium, it would be disastrous for the kingdom and the Noble Houses who made their lives mining their most precious product.
But still, something did not agree with the Dunmeri mage. "Feels like the Chantry is holding a leash on the Templars using Lyrium."
"Not too far off, actually," Alistair let a humorless laugh. "Caging the Mages in the towers with the Templars requiring their lyrium doses to perform their duties." If the young future king was honest with himself, the Chantry ensured the Templar's loyalty, getting them hooked early in their training. "But, it was a necessary evil, I suppose."
"Turning good people into addicts, which eventually destroys the person's body and mind, is far from a good 'compromise.'" Sarya quipped with an edge to her tone.
"I never said I was fond of it. But Thedas had to make do with what we had available."
From those words from Alistair, the Dunmer had no counter. As much as she wanted to say something against those words, she could say nothing, as Thedas had been working this way for centuries since the creation of their Chantry. If nothing else, it was nothing compared to the Alessian Order or what her dearly beloved ashen-haired swallow had to deal with.
She supposed that S'wit Duny did have some uses wiping out the Eternal Fire. As much as she despised him...
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Dwarves were like birds, Shale concluded.
Flocking around, eying him with curiosity and fascination. The latter was a given, of course. He was a superior being, after all. But, like birds, they were annoying. Thankfully, they scattered like those feathery pests all the same with a swift turn of his head and a glare. Not even a verbal warning was necessary. Just the sound of his rocky body moving was enough to threaten them.
To think he'd be back here underground. His memories from his time with his old master were scattered, but Shale remembered a distinct dislike of the Deep Roads and its residents. And no, he did not mean just the Darkspawn. Of course, that had more to do with his dislike of anything fleshy.
Most of his party was excluded; they were... an alright bunch of fleshy beings. They respected his space, let him make his own decisions, and did not force him into anything. The lack of purpose and idea of what to do with his newfound autonomy greatly influenced why he followed them on their quest. There were many interesting sights, a far cry from that dreaded village he had been in for years. For the most part, the mages of their company were far more pleasant company than his old master; the male Dwarf was tolerable. Sereda was nice. Shale found an eager desire to pulverize her brother for some reason. Leliana and Brianna always found him the best crystals to adorn his mighty figure and charge him with pure, raw magical power. Many of them being Sarya's creations.
Was Shale fond of these creatures? Possibly.
Had Shale come to depend on them for purpose and companionship? Absurd. Shale was mighty; he did not need lesser beings' needs, such as friends and family...
The dwarven child ran with a wide smile on his lips and a laugh on his belly. Strong arms caught him and lifted him, his laughter increasing and joined in by another softer laugh.
Shale's head jerked back, his rocky features shifting to express shock and disturbance. What was that? That... vision? Memory? No, it couldn't have been a memory. The arms lifting the dwarf child had been flesh and...
Shale looked down at his large rocky limbs, slowly flexing stone joints as if testing them. His body of incorruptible rock had always been a source of pride, so why was he thinking of it as something... artificial? That was a ridiculous thought; Shale was an artificial being. Why think of himself in that strange way?
"-gotta hand it to you. I was this close to jumping her bones." Brianna's smugness was heard in the stone hall of this temporary House provided to them by their 'ally.'
"Oh, you tell yourself that, my friend." Came Leliana's amused reply. "What Sofie and I share is much deeper than what you could have offered her?"
"I tip my hat to you and graciously admit defeat." The two shared a laugh and then came into view, carrying sacks and bags of whatever purchases they had made in the market. They came upon the Golem and greeted him with a smile, "Hello, Shale-" They soon paused, noticing how... perturbed the Golem looked, for lack of a better word. Just standing there, looking at his arms, confused. "Shale?"
"Are you... alright?" Leliana tentatively asked.
Shale did not react at first; the Golem remained still before finally gazing at its fleshy comrades. "Orzammar... It... makes me feel something."
The redhead drew close, "Like what?"
A low grumbling growl came from the Golem, "That is the problem. I do not know; I see images but can not place them. Feel things I have no understanding to." The self-aware stone entity shook his head, "Perhaps I am broken."
"Maybe old memories you don't recall," Brianna questioned.
"That would be a first for me. I only recall events of the last three decades."
That drew Leli's attention, "Only thirty years. But shouldn't you be able to remember your time since the first Blight?"
"One would assume so," Shale grunted, "But I remember nothing of such a time. Perhaps that fool Wilhelm's modifications damaged my memory of my past." It was the most plausible explanation that made sense to the Golem.
Bri thought for a moment, "Maybe someone in Orzammar could look you over and-"
"No," Shale's voice rose with an edge, "I had enough done to me by that incompetent fool of a mage while being his servant. I will not suffer more humiliations."
At that, both ladies wisely made no more suggestions and moved to another topic. "Have you seen the others?" Leliana inquired, sorting the items they had purchased.
"The Divine Grey Elf, her undead lover, and Cousland are conversing with Dwarves around Orzammar to pull their favor for that Bhelen wretch."
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Watching Marcus display his ability to talk politics was entertaining and educational. Neria took joy in learning anyway but had developed a fondness for diplomacy. She preferred it over the battlefield, where no blood had to be shed. And yet, it carried larger consequences. The wrong words could force people into conflict, and the wrong step could doom an entire group of people economically or socially. There were great risks when playing politics, but nothing was worth venturing bereft of them.
She wanted to take the diplomatic route before violence, so Neria knew she had to learn. The world outside the Circle Tower was dangerous and violent, filled with liars and opportunists. But also those who were trying to look after their own. The elven mage was fortunate enough to know several people who were trained and experienced in diplomacy and possessed a strong moral backbone.
She stood behind Marcus as he sat with the head of a merchant clan, a middle-aged (she believed dwarves aged around the same as humans) dwarven man with large mutton chops connecting to a thick mustache while leaving his chin more or less shaved. Speaking on Bhelen's behalf to gather allies was one of the tasks handed to them, which Marcus handled with decorum and professionalism.
Like most of his race, the head of Clan Prakesh was stubborn. "Bhelen is a man mired in plots and schemes. His focus on the military caste and radical ideals threatens the economic stability of Orzammar." The man emphasized by tapping his finger on the stone table. "He conducts business the same way the Carta does! Meanwhile, Harrowmont knows our Great Thaig's situation and will not compromise our stability with reckless spending."
"Harrowmont is a cautious man, it's true," Marcus replied neutrally. "But if I may, Lord Prakesh, he is not the sort of man that will advance Orzammar's economy."
"Oh?" He raised a mocking brow, "Have you done your study, boy?"
"I have," He nodded graciously, unbothered by the taunt. "Before the succession crisis, Harrowmont had voted against the trading deal with the Orlessian L'Marronte Company, who deal primarily in foodstuff, resources Orzammar needs. And I believed you had voted in favor."
Prakesh let out a low, throaty sound. "We were not able to expand our crops at the time. But Harrowmont was only worried about the drain on our coffers."
"And with that same worry, he argued against reinforcing Vernag Thaig's Deep Roads route, cutting off a useful pathway the mining guild could have benefitted from. He deemed the risk of altercations with the Darkspawn not worth it. And now the caravans have to carry their resources through multiple lengthier roads. They are safer, but you know very well that can change very fast in the Deep Roads."
At that, the lord of House Prakesh remained silent.
"Lord Prakesh, Harrowmont's policy is that of stability, but it also leads to stagnation. He has refused to take risks multiple times, regardless of the potential benefits to Orzammar. And you, as a merchant, know very well that no good business is without risks. There need to be people willing to make those ventures. And Harrowmont is too busy worrying over the potential consequences that he fails to see the *actual* difficulties that arise when they don't take those chances."
The dwarven man frowned, "And does that make Bhelen a better choice?"
"Bhelen may not be the type of man you approve of, but he is the sort of business partner you need."
Neria could see Prakesh going through his thoughts for a rebuke. But heaved out a disgruntled sigh, slumping his head, "You would have made one hell of a good merchant lad," he chuckled before turning serious, "Bhelen is dangerous. But his ambition might get things moving in Orzammar for everyone's benefit." He strokes his mustache before extending his hand, "Very well, I'll take the risk. What good Merchants do."
The Cousland takes the hand and shakes it firmly, "You won't regret it. More importantly, neither will your coin purse or the kingdom."
Giving a final farewell, Prakesh left the table with Marcus leaning back against the stone chair. Neria leaned forward to look at him with her arms behind her, "Good job."
"I didn't sleep through all of Old Aldous's lessons." As much as his younger self complained, he did take his education to heart. A small pang came to his heart as he never got to thank the old sage for putting up with him and Fergus.
Understanding came to the elven mage's eyes, seeing the hurt of bringing up the past, "Do we have anyone else to try to convince?"
"A few more. While Miara does her brand of negotiating..." Mild disdain but also acceptance rang in his tone.
At that, Neria's eyes dimmed, "Rather wish we did not have to do that."
"I agree. But not all the Great Houses will be swayed with words. As much as we wished it was. And Miara has been doing it since before our parents were born." Nearly two centuries had made more than a master of the art of blackmailing.
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
And presently, the Ada of fire sat calmly beside Serana with two Dwarfs sitting opposite them with paled expressions. "I-I-If you leaked that information to the Assembly, our house would be ruined!" One of the dwarves spoke with an aged face of his winter years, white hair and beard. "We would be driven out of Orzammar in exile!"
"Yes, you would," Miara spoke in a very casual business-like tone with her forearms on the table and hands clasped together.
"You vile woman," The younger of the two dwarves growled out.
"Vile?" Serana raised a brow, looking unimpressed. "What your great-great-granduncle did that was vile, which is precisely why your family has done everything possible to keep this little 'drama' from becoming public for years. Even after all this time, the mere knowledge of it would come crashing down on your House like a cave-in."
The older Dwarf's hands tightened so much they shook, knuckles popping. His face reddened noticeably, overcome by the enormous rage he felt. "You think you can come here, threaten our family, and get away with it?!"
"Grandfather..." The younger Dwarf called out.
"I am lord Neroc Streknar of House Streknar, and I won't be bullied like this!" The man roughly stood up from his chair. "I'll have your heads if you do not leave this instant!"
"You think your name is going to save you?" Miara was brought up neutrally. "Oh, the Assembly might doubt the validity of it, but they won't once we show them proof."
"Proof?!" A vein threatened to burst on his temple. "You have no proof! I don't know how you managed to find out about this, but there is no proof to be had!" He visibly spat.
"If that's the case, how do you think we found out?" Serana smiled politely, reaching into her bosom to pull out a cloth. It carried no meaning for the younger Dwarf, but to his grandfather Neroc... he paled frighteningly fast. He had gone from red to ghostly white in an instant.
He merely squeaked at the sight of it, and the tall human secured it back into place.
"Grandfather?" His grandson called out in concern. He knew his family had... skeletons. But even the true scope of what his great-great-granduncle had done eluded him. It had been such a carefully kept secret that he, as the next head of the House, was only told fragments of the story.
Neroc collapsed back into his chair, looking defeated as he barely raised his voice. "What do you want?"
"Your House's support to Bhelen," Miara merely replied.
"Bhelen!" The younger Dwarf cried out in outrage. "That vile deepstalker?! If you think for a moment we-"
"Fine"
The young man turned to the elder. "...What"
"It's over, Norn," Neroc muttered. "We'll do what they want. Our House will support Bhelen."
Norn looked at him in disbelief, shaking his head. "But he is-!"
"I know what he is..." Tired old eyes looked at the two women. "My granduncle... he would have shaken hands with the likes of him."
"Ancestors," The younger man moaned in despair. He couldn't believe this was happening.
The two women stood up, "Bhelen will await your public declaration of support; after that, you can have the evidence returned to you." Serana said, dusting herself off.
"We'd also be remiss not to remind you," Miara continued, "That double-crossing him will end up badly for you."
"Fuck you," Neroc replied. It was amazing how the words could be said so softly yet carry such a level of loathing in them.
Miara groaned as they exited House Streknar's manor; Serana saw the destain in her lover's eyes. "You normally don't mind doing blackmail."
"When they don't have it coming, no. Despite the actions done by Neroc's great-great-granduncle's actions, they are a good and noble bunch." As much as it made the rage in her boil, Bhelen was the only one to make the changes Orzammar needed. His lust for power and what he had done to Sereda made her want to burn the man to ashes.
But she restrained herself. Sometimes, it takes a tyrant to make a nation move forward.
No matter how much it disgusted her.
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Oryrn stood inside Janar Armorers, looking over the shop's namesake and the array of finely crafted weapons forged by the Smith Cast. The shop's owner, Janar, a stout mid-winter dwarf with a trimmed beard and long mustache, spoke with pride of his family and the Smith Caste's accomplishments. "You said your elven mother is a blacksmith?"
"Her very first trade, taught to her by her mentor and adopted father. She is one of the top three greatest smiths in our country of this age."
Now that piqued the shop owner's interest, rubbing his bearded chin, "The Smith Caste would love to speak with someone of such caliber."
Oryrn grinned, "When the affairs around here are settled, and your kingdom has a king. She will be here before you can blink."
"Hah! This old Dwarf will show her a thing or two."
"She's older than you," Oryrn replied without boasting, merely stating a fact. "She'll be teaching you something."
That only made the dwarf laugh more heartily. "Can't wait!"
The tall dunmer purchased a few dwarven-style schematics of armor and weaponry and enough ore that could only be found underground. Something to keep at hand in case mother got into one of her 'moods' again. He strapped the bag with ore on his back and pocketed the parchments, bidding farewell to the smith.
He'd get lost in the market if he didn't have a good sense of navigation. Orzammar was an enormous city, fitting as only one of the two left for an entire race of people. Though the streets weren't as crowded as he imagined, constant warfare against the Darkspawn and a dwindling fertility rate affected the dwarven people, and it showed. But they seemed to keep their commerce strong, such was their dynamic nature.
He saw Wynne walking away from what had to be the local alchemy shop. In her hands, she held leather bags filled with different reagents and most likely flora that only grew underground, given he saw a few odd mushrooms stand out from the top of the bags.
"Wynne," He called out to her, and she turned to see him with a surprise smile. "Do you need any help?"
"Oh, it's no trouble. I can see you're already hauling things yourself."
"I'm stronger than average," Oryrn replied and politely insisted, "Please, let me help."
"Oh, alright," She smiled, shaking her head as she handed him one of the bags.
The two then proceeded to walk off towards their temporary residence provided by Bhelen. "I thought we had a surplus of alchemy materials by now."
"We do, but you know us mages; we love experimenting," Wynne replied amusedly. "Morrigan and Brianna requested some of these as well."
"And they ran it by you," Oryrn raised a brow. "Here, I believed Morrigan only ever talked to Sarya."
"She is... challenging," Wynne said tactfully. "But I cannot blame her for being who she is. I doubt I'd be any different with someone like Flemmeth as my mother."
Oryrn grunted softly, "She has not minced her words regarding Flemmeth's abuse."
"Indeed"
"What of Brianna?" He asked, "Are you two talking at least?"
"Not... as much lately." Wynne sighed. "I fear the girl has set her mind on a dangerous path, and I have no place in it."
The Senior Enchanter knew she was being intrusive by butting into Brianna's life choices. Amell was a grown woman and more than capable of deciding her path. But Wynne couldn't help it; she was always concerned about the youths of Kinloch Hold. She always wanted to see the younger generations follow a righteous path and not succumb to despair or hate. Ensuring youngsters never succumbed to Blood Magic's temptation or other profane acts.
And now also made her next choice of words delicate, but it must be said, "Oryrn," The Dunmeri Templar glanced down at the elderly woman, "There is a matter I wish to discuss with you."
"...This about my mother, perhaps?" It wasn't the first conversation he had had with Wynne about his Divine elven mother.
A sway came from the Senior Enchanter, "No, not about that." She had been talking much more to Miara about that topic and deities in general. But this was not the topic of this conversation. "I do apologize for bringing this up. But... You and Neria are quite taken with each other."
The brow of the Dunmeri elf shot up as he froze for a moment before rationalizing the implications of her words, "Ahh. Is there a problem due to me not being from Thedas?"
"You being from another land has never bothered me. Unlike many others, my eyes are not colored by old hatreds." Oryrn heard the edge of anger in the woman's tone. Likely thought of Loghain when saying that. "My worry is what could happen during our mission. I've seen what happens when people tangle their emotions, which could distract and hurt them."
Oryrn saw that logic, but the thought also occurred to him, "You never brought this up with Sofie and Leliana... It is because Neria is not just a Warden, right?"
A long sigh came from the wizened mage, "I won't stand here and lie. Neria has been like a daughter to me. You understand why I worry for her?"
"I do, and tell you the truth, I have been sorting out my feelings on this... I've never really been in a relationship, to be honest."
That drew a surprised look, "I was led to understand you've been with women before."
"Yes, I have been with women. But just never thought of ever being with someone. I spent nearly a decade and a half as a wandering protector in Tamriel. I… honestly never had a long relationship."
"That is a noble goal," Wynne nodded regarding his path. "I can see why you've hardly had time for such entanglements."
"Hmm," Oryrn hummed in reply. "I care for Neria, I do. I hope I can do right by her."
"I do not doubt you do," The elder mage replied gently. "But perhaps the best thing for Neria is to do nothing at all,"
The elven man stopped walking, looking surprised at the human. "What do you mean?"
Wynne let out a sigh, "Neria is a Gray Warden now. Their order serves a higher calling to protect Thedas, much like you found your calling to protect others. Her duty is paramount; she cannot afford that distraction, and neither can you."
Oryrn remained silent.
"I know life has not dealt her an easy hand, and much as she would love to be with you, it would only be a momentary thing. There is no way for anything to work out between the two of you in the long run."
"You are assuming much, Wynne." His reply came not irate or indignant but concerned. Even if he didn't like it, Wynne's words held truth to them.
"Do you see yourself settling down, putting your quest to an end where you can no longer pursue this path of justice?" Wynne pointed out, "Can you see a future where Neria's duty allows leisure? She is a Warden now; that is what she must be for the sake of others." She gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ask yourself if it's worth it to get in the way of her path."
The Templar had no reply to that.
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Morrigan cocked a brow, "So the potion worked? Hmm..."
"Sounds like you wanted it to fail," Sarya quipped in amusement.
"As much as I loathe the thought of a Thedas Templar regaining his power. In our case, it can be a resource we should use to our advantage.
"You can admit you are happy for our friend."
A low growl from the Swamp Witch as she dryly glared over, "I will accept our bond of comradeship. Nothing else..." The dry glare went down to the Mabari hounds, who made soft whines. "Why are you two following us instead of your masters?"
"Because they are our friends too!"
The raven-haired Witch groaned as she and her Dunmeri friend strolled through the smaller market stands in the Commons alongside Bran and Loke. Despite Morrigan's best efforts, nothing would shoo away those hounds, no matter how hard she tried to the point she just gave up. She had been surprised by them and Sarya, who had been looking for her, and the Telvanni happily telling of her success with Alistair being able to use his Templar powers through Tamrielic potions.
Seeing a grown woman hopping and cheering around like a child was unnerving for the dwarves. For Morrigan, she had grown accustomed to her fellow mage's quirky antics.
Disturbingly so...
Rubbing her eyes, Morrigan focused back to the stalls, "So how are the insipid discussions to sway people to Aeducan coming?"
"Marcus is showing his diplomatic savvy, persuading folks. For a guy who says he prefers battle over politics, he is quite good at it." Sarya beamed before continuing, "On the seeder spectrum, Mama and Amma are bludgeoning the rest." She paused, seeing a wide-eyed look from a dwarven merchant, "Not the physical sense!"
The Swamp Witch ran her hands down her face, "You could speak more discreetly on that topic..."
"I probably should, yeah..."
"For such a brilliant mage, you are one of the clumsiest people I've ever known."
"Let's be fair, that's not a long list."
That was true; Morrigan went out of her way NOT to meet any new people.
The two kept walking through the market; the apostate Witch, particularly, looked through the different pieces of dwarven jewelry with interest. A few in particular caught her eye; they weren't encrusted with large pieces of lyrium, but she could feel tiny bits of the material having been used in their creation. Most likely a byproduct of refining the mystical mineral and not wanting the leftovers to go to waste. Morrigan did not ponder for long before paying for a gold ring with a thin blue line running over its length; she looked at it appreciatingly before placing it on her finger.
"Oh, not a bad choice," Sarya complimented. "You thinking of enchanting it?"
"There can never be too many enchantments,"
"Oh, I should buy some proper lyrium for more research while we're here. There's still so much I don't know about it. Whenever I solve a mystery surrounding it, two more pop out."
If there was someone who could delve deeper into the mysteries of that substance, Thedas knew so little about it. It was Sarya and her master Alfe. "I'm surprised you have not used divination to peer into the deepest parts of the Deep Roads or tried to create a portal, for that matter."
"Oh, master Alfe and I tried, but the greater the concentration of lyrium there is, the more it causes interference with the transliminal energies. All we get is static the further in we try to peer. We can gather that there are titanic deposits of lyrium in certain areas in the furthest reaches of the Deep Roads," Sarya excitedly said with a flourish of her arms, "Much larger than anyone in Thedas has ever seen, most likely. They hold so much power it's impossible to see anything,"
"Why not teleport yourself as close as possible and go from there?"
"Because even a sufficiently sized lyrium vein creates enough of a magical cloud that obscures divination and teleportation without a clear beacon already in place. It'd be miles and miles of leg work before I could even come close to those places; that's not the time I can afford right now."
Morrigan's mind pieced together the meaning behind those words quickly. "This would mean teleportation would be useless if we had to hypothetically go into the Deep Roads."
"More extremely difficult than outright useless. Mama's thu'um might be able to bypass the lyrium, but I don't know." The Telvanni shrugged haplessly.
Well, it would not be a situation that must happen if nothing else. If going to the Outposts was all that was required, magical talents. Morrigan idly scratched Bran's ear while her amber eyes stayed on the merchandise of the stalls. The Swamp Witch stopped at the sight of one item that caught her attention.
Noticing, Sarya looked over Morrigan's side to see her friend looking at a beautiful ornate hand mirror. It made the elf cock a brow glancing back at the raven-haired human. Before uttering a word, she saw what looked like an almost child-like expression glowing off her friend. The Telvanni turned her gaze to the vendor, "How much for the hand mirror?"
Morrigan turned her head to the Dunmeri woman already handing the Dwarf her gold and took the mirror. She promptly placed it in her hands, smiling, "There you go!"
Silence came from the apostate as she just stared with pure bewilderment. "Why did you do that?" That was the first time Sarya had heard such a gentle and soft yet confused tone.
"Well, that is what friends do once in a while. Give each other gifts of affection or because we want to."
Those words only made the apostate mage more confused.
"You did tell me about the silver mirror you took that once," Sarya continued, her voice gentle. "And how Flemeth smashed it. You stole it, but I think Flemeth didn't lack opportunities to make you feel miserable."
Those lessons strengthened her, preparing her for a cruel and dangerous world.
And yet here stood a woman vastly more powerful than herself, who grew up with loving mothers and devoted siblings. It was easy for Morrigan to chalk it up to her superior bloodline merely; Sarya had the blood of gods, after all; it was easy for her to have become this powerful without needing the same lessons Morrigan went through. And yet she and her family still bound themselves to a 'moral code,' as though morality was anything to be valued in a world like this.
And then there were her companions, who kept making her worldview spin. Marcus, with his resilience and drive, was far from a sheltered noble who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Sereda, who had her honor besmirched and was forced to swallow her pride in this humiliating situation, never stopped worrying about other people. The various individuals of this company acted with camaraderie and concern for each other. Morrigan had gone out of her way to avoid being roped into such behavior... having someone care for her like that was terrifying. It was alien. She spent nights at camp looking at how her companions talked and laughed around the fire, feeling ashamed of herself for *wanting* to be a part of it yet having no idea what to do with those feelings.
It frustrated her and made her hate her mother all the more. That her 'lessons' were just pointless cruelty to mold her into the perfect little vessel. Untrusting, manipulative, cruel, just like Flemeth.
But if she pushed away those lessons, that view she had forged of the world from merely watching, never participating. Then what did she have?
"...Thank you," Morrigan replied after what had to be a tense moment of silence, yet she still smiled at her throughout.
"You're welcome!" She said so earnestly. Not because she wanted something out of Morrigan, she could have demanded anything after agreeing to help free her from Flemeth; a mere gift was nothing compared to that. No, Sarya had given her a gift because she considered her her friend.
It was... comforting, joyous, and painful all at the same time. It made Morrigan's eyes sting in a matter they had not done since she was a child, so Morrigan fought back with all her strength to ensure they would not spill.
She cursed this weakness, this sudden realization that she would trade all her power, the only thing that kept her free in this world, for the assurance that Sarya would always be in her life.
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Despite the bile in helping the man who ruined one of their comrade and friend's life and doing anything to help said bastard assume the throne. Seeing the grateful faces of the Castless being given food, medicine, and better clothes did make Gin feel some warmth in his heart. Such generosity was never given to the elves of the Alienage, nor would it ever happen. A grim truth he had accepted, but this. It felt nice to do what no one else would for those outcasts from society for just being who they are.
Not working alone, Theron and Faren aided his goodwill efforts with at least three large wooden carts brought down with some help. A few of the more desperate Dwarves tried more than once to rush for the carts to steal some items. None of the trio faulted them for their actions, but it took strong convincing there was more than enough for everyone to get what they needed.
Though out of the three, Theron had to bite his anger as he spoke, "Bhelen Aeducan is for the Casteless. You are not forgotten."
Oh, Gin could tell his fellow elvhen was trying not to curse out Bhelen's name. Opposite side, Faren was surprisingly somber. His usual wisecracking persona was replaced with a deep melancholy expression. However, he did smile when the Casteless children thanked him tearfully.
Some giving the rogue dwarf hugs, he returned. But as they departed, the dourness returned.
Recognition bloomed on Faren's face as the crippled Nadezda approached them. Though with her bad limps, it was very slow. She gave a cocked brow to her fellow Dwarf, "So what is all those Brosca?"
"Donations from Bhelen Aeducan, my friend."
The braided redhead wasn't dull enough not to know the ulterior motive behind it. She used to work in the Carta, after all. "Think that duster remotely gives a nug's uncle about us?" A dry stare met her question, "Guess I can't look a gift bronto in the mouth, eh?"
Faren snorted as he gave the woman food, clothes, and medicine.
"She has a point," Theron replied, trying not to let the cheerful cry of a child affect him as he handed food to him and his mother. "It's clear Bhelen's not the type of man to act out the kindness of his heart." He reached for a set of clothes in one of the carts to give to a dwarven man. "So I have to wonder, what could he gain from this? The casteless are numerous but don't hold any political power in Orzammar." That power belonged to the Carta.
Faren shrugged, "I think I heard that if he gets the crown, he'll make it so the casteless can join the army."
"Oh good," Gin droned dispassionately, "We're feeding people he wants to use. Makes me feel so warm inside..."
"Although..." Faren trailed off.
"Don't 'although' me, man," Gin sighed. "Don't tell me you're gonna defend Bhelen."
"Look, even if it's for his ends, at least he's doing *something* for us. Most of Orzammar is perfectly happy to let us die in squalor. Getting into the army would be an improvement for many of us here. Pay is really good from what I heard; it has to be with what we deal with in the Deep Roads."
As much as Gin and Theron wanted to counter, neither could bring up a word to say. Compared to outright negligence made by the Shem Lords towards the Alienages. This way was improving the lives of the Casteless in some measure.
And they supposed some could find their calling being a soldier. It is a dangerous profession, but as the Casteless braved survival just existing, they would know a thing or two about hardships more than most. "Those with families can finally provide for them," Theron lamented.
"Without the Carta meddling in their lives. Meaning Jarvia would not have her daggers shoved in their backs. That's a win to me," Faren remarked with strong emotion.
"Is she really that worse than that Beraht you killed?" Gin inquired, handing out some items to an elderly dwarf.
"Beraht was a bastard of Bastards." the elderly Dwarf answered in a severe tone, "Brosca did us all a favor killing him. But Jarvia is a different kind of twisted than her late lover ever was." With those words, the elderly Dwarf gave a nod to Faren, who returned it and left.
The rogue Dwarf side-eyed his elven comrades, "Like old Vedon said, Jarvia doesn't care about politics or sides. Whatever gets her ahead, she will kill, torture, or worse upon anyone in her way."
"Isn't your old friend in the Carta still?"
Feron looked evenly at Theron from his question, "Leske is doing what he believes is right for him to survive. Am I happy about it? No, but that is life in Dust Town."
"It should not be," Theron firmly replied. "You do not deserve this. No one does."
"Nope," Faren shrugged. "But it happens anyway."
"...It will not be forever," The dalish said with a surprising level of gentleness. "One day, it can all be different."
"Heh..." The Dwarf gave him a soft laugh; his smile was sad but not lost or broken. "Maybe." There was still some optimism in him.
Gin always felt he could relate to Faren from similar backgrounds, shaped by events outside their control. Casteless and alienage elves were people decided by 'their betters' to live and die in squalor. They were abused and looked down upon as though their existence was a terrible insult.
Was this the only way for them to move forward? To put in their lot with a man as manipulative and ruthless as Bhelen?
Gin knew better than wanting something to be better. It just wasn't meant to be, not for people like him.
He wished he could be like Faren, who would smile and feel free even in the face of all these terrible things that happened to him and his loved ones. Or like Theron, who remained resolute and proud despite the hardships the dalish Elf endured.
Gin didn't know if he could; he wasn't even sure if he believed in something better than his companions. But Faren and Sereda were his friends; he would stay by their side throughout this terrible ordeal.
That was the best he could do.
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