A Day of Rest and Reflection

The group had returned to the quiet comfort of the Grey Warden quarters in Orzammar, a place that now felt like a sanctuary after the chaos of the past days. Despite the weight of their victory, the air was heavy with reflection. The Anvil was saved, Harrowmont was crowned, and Behlen was gone. But the Blight loomed ahead, a grim reminder that their mission was far from over.

Oghren, sitting on a barrel with his ever-present mug of ale, broke the silence with a loud sigh. "Well, I guess I'll be joining you surface-dwellers on your little Blight-killing adventure."

Adela raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You? On the surface? You do know there's something called the sky up there, right?"

Oghren grunted, waving her off. "Bah! Can't be worse than the Deep Roads. And besides, you're all going to need someone to show you how to swing an axe properly. Not to mention someone who can drink you under the table."

Duran chuckled, clapping Oghren on the shoulder. "Glad to have you with us, Oghren. The Blight's no small task, and I can't think of anyone better to have by my side."

Oghren raised his mug. "Here's to killing Darkspawn and living long enough to drink about it!"

Gorim smirked. "I'll hold you to that, Oghren."

The next day, the group stood in the opulent throne room of Orzammar, an ornate space filled with rich stonework and golden accents. King Harrowmont sat on the throne, his crown gleaming in the light of the lyrium chandeliers above. He looked weary but resolute, the mantle of kingship already weighing on him.

Duran knelt before the throne, his companions standing behind him.

"Rise, Duran Aeducan," Harrowmont said, his voice warm but firm. "You kneel before me as a Warden, but you stand now as a prince of Orzammar. Your exile is lifted, and you are restored to your place in House Aeducan", his gaze drifted to Gorim. "Your exile as well Gorrim Saelac. May you both honour us with your presence in the future."

Duran stood, meeting Harrowmont's gaze. "Thank you, my king. I am honored." Gorim als rose from the floor and thanked the new king.

Harrowmont nodded. "The honor is Orzammar's. You have done more for this kingdom than I can repay. But know this: I will uphold the promise we made to the Stone. The Anvil will be used sparingly, and only by those who volunteer. Its power will not be abused."

His expression softened as he looked at Duran. "And as for your son… know that he will be cared for as if he were my own. He will be taught honor, wisdom, and the strength to lead, should the day come when Orzammar needs him."

Duran's breath caught, and for a moment, he struggled to find the words. "Thank you," he said at last, his voice thick with emotion.

Harrowmont smiled faintly. "The Stone watches over us all. Go with its blessing, Duran. The Grey Wardens have my full support. When the Blight comes, Orzammar will be ready."

The group spent their final hours in Orzammar saying their goodbyes.

Nerav met them in the Commons, her usual sharp wit tempered by the weight of the moment. "So, you're really leaving, huh? Off to fight the Blight and save the world?"

"Something like that," Duran said with a faint smile.

Nerav crossed her arms, her expression softening. "You know, you're not so bad for a prince. Or a Grey Warden. Or both." She hesitated, then extended a hand. "Take care of yourself out there, Duran. And make sure you come back in one piece. Or I'll come up there and drag you back myself."

Duran clasped her hand firmly. "I'll hold you to that, Nerav."

The group gathered before the massive gates of Orzammar, the same gates that had sealed Duran's exile. Now, they stood open, a symbol of the redemption he had fought so hard to earn.

Oghren shifted uneasily, glancing up at the faint light streaming in from the surface. "I don't like this. That sky thing—what if I… y'know, fall into it?"

Gorim snorted, clapping Oghren on the back. "We all thought that at first. You'll survive."

Duran grinned, his voice light for the first time in days. "If I can survive the Deep Roads, exile, and your drinking, Oghren, you can survive the sky."

Oghren grumbled, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. "You'd better be right, Warden."

As the gates creaked open fully, the group stepped onto the stone bridge that led to the surface. The light of day greeted them, warm and bright, a stark contrast to the cold darkness of the Deep Roads.

Duran paused for a moment, looking back at the gates of Orzammar. The city, with all its history and struggles, was behind him now. The Blight lay ahead.

With a deep breath, he turned forward. "Let's go. The Blight won't wait for us."

As the gates closed behind them, the group began their journey, stepping into the light and toward the battles yet to come.