With marching orders from both camps, the sad little band reconvened in the barroom of the inn where Sten was staying. The two groups shared their observations, all except for Zevran, who had been off sulking somewhere and showed no signs of stopping.
"So Bhelen definitely had his brother killed, right?" Ten observed, "We're all on the same page there."
"Oh, absolutely," Wynne said.
"I thought you said the documents were forged," Sten said.
"They were," said Ten, "That doesn't mean he didn't do it. It means nobody wrote it down."
"So he is a kinkiller," Sten said, "I have heard that is considered quite rude."
"It is," Alistair said, "Which is why I really don't understand why we're even entertaining the prince's overtures. The only thing he truly has going for him is being the son of the last king, and that alone is not a good reason to put someone on the throne. If it were, all of you might be listening to me a lot more closely."
"I am sorry your opportunity to be in a position to have us all executed has gone by the wayside," Ten said, rolling her eyes, "But speaking of you and your familial connections, I have a few qualms about Harrowmont."
"As do I. I cannot put my finger on it, but there is something... disigenuous about him," Lelianna exclaimed, "And his hands are hardly clean. That bit with his sister-in-law and niece. Ten, I do not know how you knew to ask about it, but it was…. fishy."
"Full disclosure," Ten said, "I am friends with a dwarf who goes by Hanne Harrowmont. In Denerim. I thought it was an affectation, but… too much lines up."
"And what is the story your Hanne told?" Lelianna asked.
"That their uncle got rid of them after their mother's death," Ten said, "By trying to send them to the Legion of the Dead. They ran instead, up to the surface and clear across the country."
"Wait, you think that the girl in the painting… and Hanne…" Alistair spluttered, crossing his arms as he tried to connect the two, "That's a bit of a reach, don't you think?"
"One hell of a coincidence that a dwarf who calls themself Hanne Harrowmont shows up in Denerim escaping their uncle trying to give them to the Legion of the Dead, around the same time a dwarf named Hanyeshka Harrowmont 'does the honorable thing' by joining up herself?" Ten asked. It took all of her willpower not to slap her own forehead at the sheer obliviousness of the man.
"Right!" Lelianna exclaimed, "So Harrowmont also is a kinkiller. He's just not very good at it."
"I'm still getting my head around 'Hanne's a girl,' here," Alistair said, "That doesn't seem right."
"Did you think Hanne was a boy?"
"Well no, that sounds off too."
"Because it is, Hanne is just Hanne. But…. from what I've gathered, this society is far more taken with gender than up top. Your same-sex parent determines pretty much everything about your life," Ten remarked, "Someone like Hanne would have made everyone even more uncomfortable down here. So it makes sense to trump up a charge against their dead mother and have them gotten rid of, if only for the family reputation."
"We need to consider the bigger picture," Wynne pointed out, clearly sick of the conversation having deteriorated into gossip about people she did not know, "We are not the ones who have to live with our decision."
"I think," Ten said, "We are dealing with two depraved power-hungry maniacs. One just hides it better."
"So we look to policy," Lelianna said, "Are the good folk of Orzammar better off with tradition, or with progress?"
"Tradition lost them almost all of their territory," Ten said.
"But it has kept them together, kept them grounded," Sten countered, "I have met dwarves on the surface. They do not know who they are. They are… untethered."
"Untethered, or unfettered?" Ten observed.
"I don't believe there is a difference," Sten said, raising his pale eyebrows at her.
"You must admit, though," Morrigan, who had been silent up to this point, "If their traditions worked so well, they wouldn't be in this position."
"They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different result," Ten agreed.
"I really hate to say it," Alistair sighed, "But Ten's right. If what we care about is what's best for… how on earth did we get put in this position again?"
"The Maker saw we were good at it the first time," Ten said.
"Good! I got far too close to the block for me to consider that good."
"Well next time I can see you get all the way there and we can be free of your whining."
"There's the Teneira I missed!" Morrigan exclaimed, clapping her hands together, "But beheading is so boring, couldn't you arrange a rack first?"
"I read about this device they use in the Tevinter Imperium. It's a hollow bronze sculpture of a bull, and they would put the condemned in its belly and light a fire underneath," Ten mused, "And the acoustics were such that the screams as he's cooked alive come out like a bull bellowing."
"Point taken," Alistair sighed, "You're both insane, by the way."
"It may turn out," Lelianna pointed out, changing the subject before the conversation could devolve further, "That this Paragon Branka actually does have ideas of her own."
"Right," Ten said, "Well, I think we deserve a few days to get our shit together. Wynne, Lelianna and Zevran are headed aboveground again…" She trailed off as she realized none of her companions were looking at her, but at the stairs in the back of the barroom that lead up to the floor with the rooms. At the top stood a familiar Antivan elf, his hair disheveled. He got his bearings for a moment, and then rushed down the stairs trying to button his shirt as he went.
"I thought he was staying across the street," Wynne said.
"He is," Sten confirmed.
Zevran reached the bottom of the stairs, saw his companions seated at the long table, swore, and then dove beneath it.
"Oh absolutely not!" Ten exclaimed, gathering her skirts between her knees.
"Don't flatter yourself, manita, this is strictly for my own safety."
"Safety? What did you…"
The door at the top of the stairs banged open and a redfaced dwarven man appeared, sleeves pushed up, clearly spoiling for a fight. The barroom fell silent, but for chewing noises as one patron seated at a table in the corner seized a bowl of salted nuts and began eating them, waiting for the action to begin.
"Where'd that surfacer go?!" the man at the top of the stairs roared.
"Runa, calm down!" A dwarven woman, blond hair coming out of two shoulder-length braids and forming a halo around her head, came up behind the man and grabbed him by the elbow.
"I don't even want to look at you, Yadviga," the man, ostensibly named Runa growled, "Where is the surfacer?"
"Which one?" Ten asked, standing.
Runa stared for a moment, blinking slowly. His eyes roamed over the rest of the surfacers seated at the table.
"Man. Blond. Not that one," Runa said, gesturing at Alistair.
"He's under the table!" the dwarf in the corner said through a mouthful of nuts.
Under the table, Zevran muttered something rude and crawled towards the end nearest the door.
"What's Wednesday have to do with it?" Ten asked.
She would be left with this question unanswered as he reached the end of the table and made a break for the door.
"I will meet you at the gates!" he shouted back, "Bring my things!"
Runa began taking the stairs two at a time in a bid to catch up with the absconding elf. Sten let out an exasperated sigh and stood, drawing himself up to his full height, and in two strides crossed the room and stood at the bottom of the stairs, between the irate dwarf and the exit.
"No," Sten said.
"I have no quarrel with you, ser," Runa said, "Let me pass."
"Nor I with you. But you are going to let that young fool leave this city without bloodshed."
"He has sullied my…" the dwarf fumed, and made to square up to the qunari. Sten sighed more deeply, his irritation clearly mounting, and he reached out and placed the palm of his hand on the dwarf's forehead. Runa found himself in a strange standoff, unable to close the distance between himself and this new adversary, and also unable to reach far enough to get a swing in. He settled for getting both hands on the qunari's forearm and trying to force it off his face, but this, too was unsuccessful.
"We can do this until you tire yourself out, or you can let it go," Sten said.
Grunting with the strain of it, Runa redoubled his efforts at moving the qunari's enormous hand. These proved fruitless, and after several minutes, he admitted defeat and backed up.
"Good," Sten said, releasing him, "I suggest you work on your marriage in private."
"Sod this," Runa muttered. He squeezed around Sten's enormous frame. Rather than leave, which is what Ten would have done in his boots, he went to the bar and asked the barman for a small jug of rye. When he received it, he began drinking right from the bottle.
Yadviga paused at the top of the stairs, unsure what to do with herself, but then settled for going back up to whatever room she had come from.
"Well that could have gone worse," Lelianna observed mildly.
"One of these days it's going to," Ten muttered, "That man's libido is getting to be a liability. At least Wynne's fancymen have been discreet."
"Leave me out of this one, thank you," Wynne said, putting her hands up.
"Well I suppose that's that, those of you who are going to go take that strange little girl to the Circle had better get a move on before you leave him out there with nowhere to sleep and no change of clothes," Ten said, "Wait too long and he'll have shacked up with those soldiers."
"Who is going to the Deep Roads?" Sten asked. He had rejoined the group at the table.
"Me," Alistair, "And Ten."
"Morrigan," Ten added.
"Ugh, really?" Alistair groaned.
"Same," said Morrigan, "Really?"
"Come on, unless it's going to be down to me to set bones and stitch people up, we need you," Ten insisted, "The other option is the Circle. Or, I suppose you could always go home to your ma of course."
"Deep Roads it is," Morrigan sighed, "But you must tell me more about all the foreign torture devices you know about."
"I'm always good for a bedtime story," Ten said, "But there's one more thing. There's a… friend of Alistair's here who's going to be tagging along."
"Oghren," Alistair confirmed, "And I apologize in advance for his behavior."
"You? Friend?" Morrigan snorted, "How did that happen?"
"He wiped the floor with him in the course of a brawl a few days ago," said Ten.
"Ah! So he's responsible for the…" Morrigan gestured at Alistair's face, where the bruises were fading, but definitely still present.
"Yes," Alistair said.
"Well then I think he and I will get on splendidly."
"I wouldn't put any coin on it," Ten said, "Consider putting a larger shirt on. His eyes are right at tit-height for you and… well, he's not a subtle man."
"How badly can I hurt him?"
"No permanent damage."
"Define permanent."
"No cutting things off."
"What about kneecaps?"
"I am eager to be underway," Sten said, slapping both of his hands on the table before the two women could bargain in greater gruesome detail, "I understand that Teneira may need some rest, given her ordeal, but after that I really must insist we… what is that phrase…. Haul ass."
"Well, you heard the qunari," Ten said, "Wynne, you'll meet us back here, yes? The rooms are paid up, they will hold them for you."
"To be sure," the mage said, "I will give Ser Gregoir and First Enchanter Irving your regards."
"Maybe just Irving," Ten observed, having a flashback of being airborne at the hands of the knight-commander.
The group nodded at each other and parted ways, Ten in particular to eat something completely unhinged at the tavern with the best food, according to her. There was apparently a particular tuber of a plant that one could harvest at the highest reaches of Orzammar which mimicked in taste - if not in texture - the hot peppers the city elves of Ferelden used to season their food - or disguise its low quality. Ten gleaned from a conversation with the chef de cuisine at this particular inn that It had become a sort of test of manliness for young dwarven boys, seeing how much one could eat before going red and snotty and giving up. Only one inn served it, and Ten rather enjoyed seeing the looks on other patrons and kitchen staff's faces as she doused her bland, nug-and-fried-potato meal, with the stuff and ate it with no visible reaction.
When she returned to the inn she was staying at after four bells, she passed Wynne in the hall, who had packed up most of her things and was heading out the door.
"You can't carry all that on your own," Ten scolded, observing that the woman was positively stooped under the weight of two packs and her tent. Without waiting for a response she took the tent and one pack, and started for the door. Wynne paused, possibly to insist she did not need to be coddled by some impudent brat from the sewers, but decided on just following her out the door to the inn and around the vast promenade to the gates.
"I appreciate the assist," Wynne finally said as they rounded one curve and had a straight shot to the stairs.
"Don't mention it," Ten said, "I was in a cell for several days, I'm eating as much as I can stomach and trying to get my strength back in any way possible."
"The girl, Dagna, she spoke with you, yes?"
"Briefly," Ten said, "Thought Morrigan was some kind of celebrity. Kind of cute, actually."
There was a long pause, in which time the two women made it to the foot of the stairs up to the gate. "I'm worried, Teneira," Wynne said,
Ten stopped walking and turned around, "What about?"
"I fear this might be the end of… everything. For mages in Ferelden," Wynne said, "I had put it out of my mind, gallivanting with you across the nation, playing politics in Denerim, but… now that I am set to return…"
"They did not invoke the Right of Annulment," Ten sighed, hitching her burdens up higher on her shoulders, "That particular disaster has been averted."
"For now," Wynne said, "But I have seen more than seventy winters, and never once, not when we were a protectorate of Orlais, not under the one regime Ferelden has seen since then… never has it even been spoken of. And believe you me, Uldred was not the first mage to use blood magic to try his hand at domination."
"How many times?" asked Ten.
"Oh, I don't know. Five? Eight? Every so often a frustrated mage, usually one who came to use too late, decides he knows better than the Chantry and the laws of the land, takes it upon himself to try to change things. And it is almost always a man."
"And so, what do you think is going to happen?" asked Ten, genuinely curious.
"I don't know. But I feel like the mages have been squeezed, generation by generation, and we are at the boiling point," Wynne said, "I don't often talk about what life was like in the Circle, but now coming into the world at my age, seeing how much it has moved on without me…"
"So what was life like, in the Circle?" asked Ten, "And how has it changed?"
"I went there when I was a girl," Wynne said, "They took me from my mother and father, and my brothers. I was the youngest, and the only girl. I went from being a prized pet to just another snotnosed brat who had to be coached into not blowing the place up. But…. there was always enough to eat. Not like at home. I think some of the templars especially the older ones, sometimes had regrets about their lives. You know, vows of chastity, no kids. So they played with us. Snuck us sweets."
"Do they let you see your family?" asked Ten.
"Occasionally," Wynne said, "I was… docile for a long time. I trusted the senior mages and didn't make trouble with the templars. They let me visit, with an escort at first, then on my own. And I always came back. I was able to sit by my mother on her deathbed. Hold my brothers' children. They were actually quite decent."
"But not everyone thinks so."
"Young men are so angry," Wynne sighed, "They don't like being told what to do. I don't blame them, I truly don't. But… accepting one's fate is part of growing up. I imagine you know that as well as any."
"I have never been good at accepting my fate," Ten said ruefully.
"Which is why you are still a child," Wynne said, though her tone was more light than scolding.
"It's why I'm still alive," Ten corrected her. They had reached the top of the stairs and were looking out onto the great gates, "I don't want to go out there."
"Whyever not? Don't you miss the sun?"
"Of course," she said, "But if I go out there now I won't come back and if I let the three of them go down to the Deep Roads on their own they will do more damage to each other than whatever creepy crawlies await them down there."
"Sometimes I think you fan the flames for your own amusement."
"Of course I do. It's hilarious," Ten said. She put down the mage's things, imagining someone else would come to assist her, "And this is where I leave you. Let us hope everything goes according to plan, and we will all be out of here within the month."