Ten had read about the great cities of Thedas from the time she'd been able to make sense of the written word. Denerim, with its mishmash of foreign and domestic architecture that made it look as though it were designed by a committee each member of which was high on a different substance, did not make the list. That was never a surprise to her, but she was surprised, upon seeing the grand entrance hall, that neither did Orzammar. She was not quite sure what she was expecting, but a vaulted cavern a hundred or more feet tall, home to a rushing river in the middle of which a stone walkway had been built - was not it. To say nothing of the statues that dwarfed - she cringed as she thought the word - any she had seen even in the finest cathedral on the surface. She knew vaguely that the dwarves did not follow gods, grounded as they were in the one lifetime they believed they had, but rather engaged in a sort of ancestor worship. Then again, her knowledge of the gods of the Dalish told her that that was somewhat similar, that the gods followed by modern elfin polytheists were not necessarily gods per se, but the spirits of ancestors so ancient and so powerful that they had all but transcended their mortal selves. What did surprise Ten was how recent some of the ancestor statues were.

"Paragons," the captain of the guard grunted, by way of an explanation.

Ten was not the only one who was impressed. Indeed all of them, even Sten, were craning their necks, examining every intricate detail. What fascinated Ten was how it was lit. It was certainly dim, but once her eyes adjusted she had no issues seeing. They can't possibly have open flames here, not without some really good ventilation.

"How do you light the city?" asked Ten.

The captain snorted, "Like we'd tell you that. I wouldn't know, anyway. Warrior caste. We do not delve into the secrets of the smiths."

They followed the captain in through another set of enormous doors - Ten was grateful the dwarves went in for making things far larger than necessary, for if they had designed everything to size, Sten would likely have had to squat and all but crawl through. Through it was a cavern which made the first look like a hole dug by a toddler at the beach. Ten could barely see the other side. Promenades extended around the edge of it in both directions, and she could see that the city extended both below and above, ten thousand tiny glimmering lights showing ten thousand doorways. If this represented what the dwarves had been reduced to after generations of being pushed from their full ancestral territory, Ten was wondered at what the full extent of their empire must have looked like in its heyday. We're all lucky they had no interest in the surface. We'd all have been fucked.

"Inns and markets'll be on this level," the captain said, "Further up you get, swankier it is. Lower down is lower caste. If you've business in government that's at the tippy top, though some of the lords keep their estates on lower levels. So, uh, I guess each of you can go where you're most comfortable." Her eyes swept over the group, trying to assess where each of them would belong, "Take care you don't wander into Dusttown though. Well, you two might be all right." She nodded at Ten and Zevran, "You'd fit right in."

Oh, so you can't tell the difference between elf, human, and qunari, but you can see class plain as plain, can't you. Good to know that's what's valued here.

"I'm going back to my office. Folks are a bit starved for news of the outside world, you'll probably find enough people to give you directions. Don't do anything stupid." With a curt nod, the captain turned and walked back through the doors.

"Well, it's certainly impressive," Morrigan commented. Her language was trying to convey that she didn't think it was all that great, but there was an awe in her voice that Ten had never heard before, "It's amazing what you can accomplish with nothing to worry about but the world before you."

"You know, you're allowed to just appreciate things," Ten said, "Not everything out of your mouth has to be backhanded."

"Well those of us who concern ourselves with fighting gods tend to frame everything against that."

"Fighting gods," Wynne scoffed, "Not enough lyrium in the world."

"Well if there is, it is certainly down here," Morrigan said.

"I feel like I shouldn't be hearing this," Ten said.

"Why not? Your people figured out it could be done," Morrigan said.

"And that's why we're masters of the universe right now," Ten sighed, "Let's go find somewhere to stay. I'm hoping there's at least one place that can accommodate Sten."

"If their rooms are on the scale with everything else, I don't think there should be a problem," Lelianna, who had been staring, openmouthed, out at the cavern before her, observed.

There were, in fact, five inns that were able to cater to the taller among them, all on the same stretch of promenade on the level below the entrance. Evidently there was something of an agreement among the innkeepers so nobody had to spend too much maintaining human sized rooms when human sized visitors were not all that common, so each only had one. Fortunately, Wynne, who had likely been taller in her youth but whom age had shrunk and stooped, and Ten, stunted by the lean years of her adolescence, could fit comfortably in the standard rooms, for each was only a bit taller than a very tall dwarven man. This had the effect of splitting the group up, and as it was mostly those over five foot six or so who tended to get into it with each other when left to their own devices, Ten was pleased with the solution, and doubly so when she realized she had dominion over some territory just by virtue of being able to go in the door without stooping.

After everyone was set up in their respective spaces, they met up in the inn with the largest bar room - and the only one that Sten could stand comfortably in. It was, to the comfort of Ten and Zevran and the slight consternation of everyone else, also the one with the roughest clientele.

"So what I gather is that we walked right out of one succession drama and into another," Morrigan said, "I will never understand why people need to make things so complicated." She flinched as two grubby miners escalated from words to fisticuffs about four feet from her, knocking their barstools down in the process. She watched them tussle on the floor for a moment, and then sent a small spark of electricity along a puddle of beer on the ground to shock both of them slightly. Too drunk to realize what happened, they took it as a sign from the stone to knock it off, and backed off to opposite ends of the bar.

"Some things are the same everywhere," Wynne observed.

"It feels wrong to try to put a thumb on the scale here," Ten said, "Either way, there is no blending in and getting blackmail material. I don't even know what they consider embarrassing."

"Oh no, we'll actually have to do something honorably," Alistair observed.

"I don't know that there's anything for us to do," said Ten, "I guess we could see if there's anyone in charge of the forces in the absence of a monarch…"

"You could always just barge into a parliamentary session and demand they get their shit together," Alistair said, "It worked in the Circle Tower."

"You just want to see how far a dwarf can throw me, don't you."

"To be fair, I also want to see how far a dwarf can throw you," Lelianna said.

"As do I," Zevran said, "But, it occurs to me that there is no city this size without its criminal element. Perhaps, manita, you and I would be most comfortable speaking with them first. Get the… how do you say it… the lay of the land. After all, the people in charge and the people who run things are not always the same."

"It does track," Ten sighed, "I've heard that class politics here make surface society look tolerant. I doubt anyone in their assembly would deign to speak with the likes of me out of anything but morbid fascination. After all, the guard captain could just smell it on me."

"Explain. You have clearly become someone of importance," Sten said. He had been taciturn their entire time underground, which at this point amounted to several hours. Something clearly did not sit right with him. Ten didn't blame him, he had to stoop under most doorways and the bar room was the first place he'd been able to stand properly.

"It's how she talks," Alistair said to Sten.

"You all sound the same to me. What a strange superstition," Sten asked, genuinely confused, "She makes herself understood, what is the purpose of the distinction?"

Alistair opened his mouth to answer, but stopped, and then looked genuinely perplexed. He looked to Wynne, who shrugged and looked at Lelianna, who put up her hands and shook her head with an expression that plainly said, 'don't ask me, I'm foreign.'

"I do find it interesting that whenever you actually ask a question about why something's the way it is in civilization, the answer is 'nobody knows'," Morrigan observed, "Well, apart from indoor plumbing, that is rather nice."

"And you know I can talk whatever way I want," Ten said, affecting the higher class accent and cadence that had gotten her so many accolades for her articulateness among the queen's ladies-in-waiting. Little did they know it was just a dead-on impression of an actress who'd gotten moderately famous for lampooning the rich and powerful in taverns across the city. "I just prefer not to."

"Nevermind, don't do that," Alistair said, shaking his head, "Sounds off."

"I just can't win," Ten sighed, "But… in any case, if this city is anything like any other city, then it's like Zev said. There's who's in charge, and then who runs things, and rarely the twain shall meet. So, respectable folks talk to who's in charge, and me and the other gutter runoff will go figure out who runs things. I suspect everyone knows which group they belong in." Ten glanced around the table and saw six nodding heads, "Meet back here tomorrow… it feels weird calling it morning. Beginning of the day?"

"If we can figure out when that even is…" Alistair muttered, "How do they tell time down here?"

"Oy. Surfacer!" one of the miners called. He was sitting at the end of the bar closest to them, holding a cold beer against his eye, "It's the bells. Every eight hours. One tone at beginning of day, then two eight hours later. End of day's four and then no bells until start."

"But there was just one about an hour ago," observed Ten, "How come you're shitfaced already?"

"Ha. Night shift, love," the miner said, "It's end of day for us. Got to tie one on to sleep through all of them."

"Is that why your friend over there and you were trying to beat each other unconscious?" Morrigan asked skeptically, "Just to pass out for the day."

"It's an option. Come upstairs with me and I'll show you another."

"I'd rather chew rocks."

"What about you blondie?"

"I, too, will take the rocks," Zevran said.

"Ah shit, you're a man," the miner said, his face going red under the layer of coat dust. He got up and moved towards the middle of the bar.

Zevran, glorying in the fact that he had just made the creep extremely uncomfortable, called after him, "Wait! Come back! I have changed my mind. I will give you the best morning of your life!"

"Well I see men are men on either side of the surface of the earth," Morrigan groused. She flicked her pale gaze around the table and then announced, "I'm coming with our elfin contingent."

"Are you now," Zevran said. The two of them had not exchanged many words that Ten had seen over the several months they had been traveling together. Morrigan made no bones about having very little use for men, and Zevran had the powers of observation and good sense to realize that if he tried the same nonsense with her he tried with Ten, he'd be on the receiving end of some nasty spell or another and not just a well-timed insult. As he knew no other way to interact with pretty much anyone, he kept his distance.

"Well I wasn't planning to walk in like this," Morrigan said, "Ten, are there pockets in that skirt?"

"Always."

"Think they could fit a mouse?"

"Sure could, but I have a tendency to put things in there, and you know me, those things are often pointy and toxic."

"My other choice was in your hair."

"I will keep the pocket clear. Just don't piss in there, all right?"

"Not unless you deserve it."

"Maybe you ought to do your mouse transformation… elsewhere," Wynne murmured.

"Just because they can't use magic doesn't mean they don't know it exists," Morrigan countered, but resisted the temptation to shrink down right in front of a barroom crawling with inebriated night-shifters.

"Still," Wynne said. She looked around warily, "You don't want to get smashed with a boot if you can help it."

"What about the rest of us?" Lelianna asked, clearly counting herself among the 'respectable folks' numbers.

"See if anyone in the government will talk to you," Ten said, "Figure out who commands the forces in the absence of a king. Surely they can't just leave themselves undefended just because succession is up in the air."

"Didn't we just deal with that very thing happening?" Lelianna asked.

"Well of course, but aren't dwarves supposed to be smarter than the rest of us?" Ten said. It was certainly a stereotype that she and most people she knew believed. Dwarves, after all, valued education and scientific thought far more than their human counterparts at least, and most elves simply didn't have the resources for such a thing. She looked over at the corner of the bar where two women were engaged in a burping contest and wondered if those were traits only ascribable to surface dwarves, or if they were actually conducting a study on what lager produced the most sonorous belches.

"I think we've all seen first how someone can be by all accounts very smart, but at the same time display a staggering lack of good sense," Lelianna remarked, raising her eyebrows at Ten.

"And yet, here you are," Ten observed, "Here you all are. Now, let's get a move on, the sooner we fix this latest nonsense, the less time we spend underground the happier Sten is, and we all know everything is more pleasant when he's in a good mood."

Sten opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it, and made a noise that was halfway between a grunt and a sigh. The respectable folk - being Alistair, Lelianna, Wynne, and the qunari himself - walked quietly out of the inn. The rest of them, including Pigeon, who had been lying obediently under the table, unfazed by smells of beer or bacon, waited a few moments, and then followed. Morrigan slyly transformed bit by bit as they walked down the stairs and out into - was it a street really? That was probably the best word for it. When they reached the bottom, Ten resisted the urge to squeal as she felt the scrabbling little paws seize the hem of her skirt and scurry up her leg, diving into the pocket, which was, as promised, devoid of anything sharp. Pigeon sniffed at her pocket, determined the intruder was not dangerous, and sat down, waiting for a command.

"So if you were the head of a local ah… waste management operation, where would you maintain your affairs?" asked Zevran.

"What do you mean if?" Ten scoffed.

"Ah, we are coming right out and saying it, I see," he commented.

"I don't have much time left, may as well brag," she responded, "But to answer your question, it's going to be a place the law can't or won't go. So either the home of someone too rich or important to touch, or the place too dangerous for the constabulary. The captain warned a group of seven folks armed to the teeth about somewhere called Dusttown so I am going to assume that is where we want to go." She looked left and right, and seeing that the street they were on deadended at some stairs leading down on the end furthest from the gates. Ignoring stares from the locals, the two bits of surface detritus made their way towards them.

"Wait!" The voice was high and childlike, but when they turned, Ten could see it belonged to a dwarven woman who was doing her best to sprint after them with all her might. They paused, waited for her to catch up, and then waited for her to catch her breath.

"Can we help you, miss?" Ten asked when it looked like she could respond.

"There's a mouse in your pocket," the girl said between deep breaths.

"Ah… yes there is," Ten replied. In her pocket she could feel Morrigan shifting, likely so she could dive free if anything stupid happened.

"But it's not really a mouse is it."

"I've been asked many strange questions in my day," Ten said, "This has to take the cake."

"But it's not a real mouse, is it. It's a lady," the girl said.

Andraste's right tit, of course we were being watched.

"How do you know it's not really a mouse that turns into a lady sometimes?" Ten countered, hoping giving a cryptic, stereotypically elfin answer might put a dwarf off.

"Semantics," the girl said, waving her hand dismissively, "Either it's a mouse who learned how to turn into a lady or the other way around, either way, it's magic!"

"And what if that were the case?" asked Ten. Morrigan peeked her grey fuzzy little head out of the pocket to get a look at the stranger asking after her.

"I love mages!" the girl announced, "Do you think I could meet her? You know, when she's not a mouse?" She looked down at Ten's pocket, making eye contact. Morrigan chirped. Ten had certainly heard her talk - or at least do something that had the same effect on the people as speech did - while in some animal form or another. She declined to do so this time, withdrawing back into Ten's pocket and, if the motions were to be believed, began grooming herself.

"Looks like she's not in the mood," Ten said, "But if you want to talk to a mage who is not also a taciturn little rodent, there's one staying in that inn three doors down. She'll probably be back tonight. Hard to miss, she wears the blue robes and everything."

"Really?!" the girl all but squealed, "And she'll talk to me?"

"Probably, just… she's a little old so I don't think she can hear noises as high as the one you just made," Ten said.

"Thank you!" the girl exclaimed, "Also if you're looking for Dusttown, it's at the bottom of the stairs that are at the bottom of those stairs that are at the bottom of those stairs. Well… I think four or five. My dad doesn't let me go there, but apparently it's hard to miss. On account of the dust."

"Right. Thanks, kid," Ten said and turned.

"It's Dagna!" she shouted.

"What?"

"Dagna. My name. And I'm not a kid. Not technically."

"Thanks Dagna," Ten sighed, and started down the first of what would be many stairs.