Dragon Age: The Crown of Thorns, Chapter 35

[raonar]

Right, so I've been writing this since June last year and am sitting at almost 400,000 words, which is interesting, considering that I'm barely reaching a third of what I want to accomplish with this.

This is the same story I wrote about some time ago but I didn't get around to posting the actual chapters here. Still, Chapter 35 was, arguably, one of the most highly anticipated yet because it practically kicks off the Orzammar plot line, which is the most important because the protagonist is a Dwarf Noble Warden. There's also how Trian isn't actually dead, as his death was faked (by the protagonist in question), without his consent of course).

So yes, there WILL be a THIRD OPTION as far as choosing the Orzammar King goes, maybe even a fourth option, who knows.

Those that want a reminder (or summary):

-All Wardens were recruited (except the Human Mage, the elf mage is present)
-Ostagar, Lothering, Redcliffe and part of Denerim were visited and dealt with, mostly;
-Pairings: m!Brosca/f!Tabris (yes, those two are together, believe it or not), f!Cousland/Alistair (very original, I know :P). This is it so far.
-m!Brosca and f!Tabris are behind the Dark Wolf heists;
-Chapter 34 Was dedicated to the New Year's prank (it's better than it sounds, I promise). Basically, Loghain, along with the entire Kingdom of Ferelden, were pranked by The Dark Wolf.

Anyway, here is chapter 35. It's a long one, but I hope those few of you who skim through it find it at least mildly interesting.

Chapter 35: Crown of Thorns in My Grasp

"-. .-"

Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne

16 Verimensis, 9:31, Dragon: I must say that Soldier's Peak has turned into quite the cozy place, especially compared to the uninviting, cobweb-filled, century-weathered haunted castle that we first came upon. Of course, not all chambers and hallways have been brought up to speed, but not many untended corners remain to this keep. It is definitely starting to look like a proper headquarters for the Grey Wardens if I do say so myself. Too bad there are no griffons to be found, as I am sure those tall towers would serve well as aeries.

Look at me, daydreaming about griffons and making these young men and women seem more down to earth than myself.

Quite a few things have happened since our arrival. Everyone practically settled in and is quite satisfied with how the renovations are progressing, especially considering that the Drydens are taking care of them free of charge. Even Sten said that he was impressed with how defensible the keep was, even though his flat tone and straight face never abated.

As I understand it, we won't linger here for more than an extra day or two. I believe that Jowan is to be put through the Joining, whatever the brief ritual implies, after which we will only take what time is required to pack our things and move on to the next stage of what Raonar has begun to call Operation BROTHERHOOD Raised to Minus One. BROTHERHOOD stands for Bootless Roaming Of The Exquisitely Rustic Homeland Of Oversized Dogs, the implication of raising it to minus one (which is the same as inverting the meaning altogether) being that this is not such a hopeless (bootless) endeavor at all.

I wisely refrained from asking him just why he did not use some word that could substitute for hopeful (like buoyant, or blithe), because, while I am sure he considered those options, I am not so certain I want to know his answer. Too many of the questions I asked him ended with me getting a headache or questioning beliefs I have held for many a year. I suppose I should be grateful he does not actually make an active effort of trying to impose his beliefs upon others, as I have no doubt he would succeed, simply because the so-called 'logic' he uses when speaking is so... let's use the word 'unique'... that one simply cannot understand it enough to come up with counter-arguments, even if instinct and intuition scream that it is wrong (not that it happens often, if at all).

I just read the last paragraph and realized I could very well be said to not have made any sense.

Moving on.

There are now plenty of living and sleeping quarters in the keep, to the point where I believe all of us could claim a chamber of our own to sleep in. Not that it happened, though I suppose neither did other probable things occur. What I mean is that neither loving couple actually shared a room. I doubt the two pairs are at the part where they are brave enough to consummate their respective relationships, though Kallian and Faren are, I believe, farther along than Gwen and Alistair in that regard.

And that is especially odd because not only are the latter two quite older than the former duo, but Faren and Kallian actually seem to go about each other much more maturely. Gwen and Alistair seem stand offish at times, Alistair in particular, and the lady Cousland has the tendency to lose her temper a bit too easily. She also acts biased, or did so on more than one occasion that I can recall.

I noticed how Raonar seems to strike swiftly and mercilessly whenever either of those two humans start or are about to start on each other. I saw how some of the things he said to them, even in 'public', so to speak, seemed to make both lovebirds uncomfortable, but I did not grow so old without learning how to read into things. He is not being purposelessly mean. He simply realized that the only way either of those two are going to get over themselves is if they are not allowed to get away with acting rashly or stupid, so he points out every unreasonable fact as soon as it happens or he learns about it.

I actually made an offhand comment about this to Theron yesterday, just when Shale just happened to stomp by, and it... she... stopped and said that our white-haired commander told her some time ago how he enjoys making people realize how stupid they're being. The golem did admit that those were not the exact words he used, but it was still interesting how she felt the need to actually stop and engage in that conversation.

As a contrast to how he deals with Alistair and Gwen, he subtly encourages the younger couple. I actually overheard him candidly talking to Faren about various things and ever so jokingly letting sensible advice slip through his words. Actually, he somehow makes sure to be there for everyone at precisely the necessary times. No wonder this adventuring band of ours has grown so tightly knit and coordinated.

Speaking of coordination, that goes for battles as well. We were actually ambushed twice by bandits on our way here form Denerim, both times the enemy being far more numerous than we. On each occasion, we prevailed with little besides minor scratches and bruises. This, predictably, left most everyone in high spirits, as victory usually does. Granted, Sten remained ever so stoic, as did Alim and Theron. But Raonar himself... I actually found him looking at the dead body of one of the attackers. He just... stood there, and gazed upon it with such a distant look in his eyes.

Then he got on one knee beside it and pulled the dead man's eyelids over his eyes.

And then he walked off, as though he didn't even notice me standing just a few paces from him.

I can only assume he is troubled by all of this, by how he seems to be unable to limit his kills to just darkspawn. Even when in self-defense, killing other people still strikes at one's soul. I know how killing makes one grow numb to the sight of death. I believe he is making an active effort to prevent that from happening to him. It must be hard, and yet I haven't caught him brooding even once.

Yes, looking at it, I see more and more why everyone is more or less perfectly at ease with him in command. The simple fact is that everyone seems to have flourished over these past months, both individually and as a group. It is impressive really, how he secured everyone's loyalty as soon as he became a Warden and managed to pull through admirably so far, despite the little we have had to go on up to this point.

Come to think of it, I don't remember ever asking him how he was doing. I seem to have only managed to repeatedly question his judgment... in front of... everyone else. Maker, how self-righteous I must have seemed at those times, and how much damage such direct assaults at his actions could have been to our small collective's unity. And this is all the more jarring because he never resorted to insults or any sort of harsh tone in his retorts. He did at one or two points 'enter his ultimate commander mode', as Alistair joked once, but he was never actually aggressive, unlike myself.

I wonder where that self-control comes from. Maybe I should ask him? He should be in his so-called office, that study he claimed on the second floor, with a pair of small, arched windows overlooking the courtyard and everything beyond the outer wall.

Or perhaps it's not even a matter of self-control. There was no anger for him to subdue, none that I could see in those eyes of his. But if he felt no anger even at the worst of times, I am left wondering just what, if anything, could set him off...

... and if anyone or anything would be left standing afterwards.

I should just banish such thoughts. After all, I need to focus on something else at the moment. There is a certain... presence here, within the keep, that requires that I keep an especially sharp eye out. It already almost gave me a heart attack, but Raonar and Alim assured everyone it was quite harmless and definitely not a demon...

"-. .-"

Even Theron had to admit that Soldier's Peak really was an amazing castle. It was on top of a mountain to the west of the Teyrnir of Highever and could only be reached through an array of caves that were quite easy to get lost in. Once out of those caves, a short path led up the mountain and to the outer walls of the fortress.

The gateway was huge, but there was no actual gate to keep anyone out. That had been destroyed long ago, when King Arland was able to root out the location of the castle and sent his army to quell the Grey Warden-led rebellion. It didn't end well, because the few Wardens, only a couple of dozens, or less, slaughtered almost the entire force, despite being starved. The rest, along with whatever members of the order were still alive, were later killed by the demons that Avernus summoned.

The courtyard in itself was not very large, but was more than roomy enough to accommodate multiple carts, carriages or whatever else one might need to haul equipment back and forth. Mikhael's forge was there, while all his equipment was stashed in one of the storage rooms that all towers had at their bases. There were also the stables, far to the right, the roof recently patched, which were currently inhabited by several oxen and a pair of mules.

The ground became a bit steep on the left, the slope leading up to a semi-natural battlement that overlooked the jagged rocks that surrounded the mountaintop and under which went the aforementioned cave system. A statue of a lady warrior stood there, proud, its head, oddly enough, not missing, and gazing down on said rocks, as well as the outstanding coniferous forest that stretched beyond it, spiked treetops covered in a white blanket of that thing called snow. The forest reached far and low, until it began to mingle with the broadleaf wood on the far-off hills, all trees just as shrouded in white.

That lower wood eventually ended, leaving only a wide plain, the Bannorn, with villages here and there, to extend as far as the horizon. The Hafter River could be seen on the left, even as distant as it was, miles and miles away.

Theron had spent quite a few hours just standing next to the statue and gazing. This was one of those rare winter days when the sky was clear and there was no fog or snowflake in sight. Thus, things were especially clear to look upon, and the elf found some comfort in the fact that there was no blight cloud looming at the edge of sight just yet. After all, if red, evil clouds started to appear, like in Ostagar, it would mean that things were getting especially serious.

Not that anyone expected that situation to take too long in appearing.

Then, there was the castle itself. The front entrance, a large, double door made of solid mahogany, could be reached by climbing a couple of dozen hard, stone stairs. The staircase was flanked by two balustrades, also built of stone. Two columns were on either side of the lowest step, while two, smaller ones flanked the top stair. Most of the snow had been swept off, though everyone agreed it just looked cooler to leave the thick layer on the balustrade itself intact, especially with how the courtyard ground was currently beneath a similar layer, though harder (it had, after all, been stomped on by human, animal and golem feet quite a bit).

Above the imposing archway that marked the double door hung an all too familiar banner, that of a silver griffon, rearing and with its wings spread, on a black background.

Theron Mahariel didn't particularly like shemlen-made buildings, but that was, fortunately, not too big an issue right now because Soldier's Peak had most likely been built by dwarves, centuries ago. After all, how else could it have survived the ages without more than the slightest bits of wear? Even the inside staircases that led up to and down from the higher levels of the castle were amazingly sturdy and wide, to the point where even Shale could walk them without making even the smallest dent (as long as she didn't try to destroy them, that is).

The Dalish hunter happened to make this particular observation because he was climbing one of said staircases at this very moment. After his gazing into the distance was done, he made his way back to the gates, giving acknowledging nods to Faren and Zevran, who were sparring, unarmed. Those two didn't start off on very good terms, what with the Antivan trying to kill them all, but Faren had been quick to let things settle after a few words from the other dwarf. After all, even the rogue had to admit that Zevran didn't leer in Kallian's direction more than he leered at Everyone else, even Theron himself.

The elf immediately tried to find something to distract him from that dangerous train of thought. Still, he felt quite saddened and a bit apprehensive at Zevran's so-called nature. He was supposed to be descended from the Dalish, so where was his pride and integrity?

Some of the Drydens were also around, Mikhael forging as always and some of the children having a snowball fight. Theron realized he actually enjoyed seeing them so lively and that he was not as uneasy around shemlen as he used to be. Originally, he wasn't exactly hateful of humans, and had even chosen to spare those three trespassers that he and Tamlen cornered. After that, well, the way that idiot shot an arrow through Alim's back during the great battle didn't give him a good impression, nor did Loghain's retreat, regardless of Raonar's decision to hold back judgment on the matter.

Truthfully, he wasn't sure he would have stuck around this long if the one in charge had been human, unless they had sufficient leadership skills. He didn't have anything against Gwen or Alistair in particular, but they both seemed to be too quick to anger and more than a little biased.

Looking at it, the hunter realized he was acting like a bit of a recluse also, although, fortunately, he did seem to have familiarized himself with Alim and Kallian, no doubt because of the feeling of kinship. And, of course, the so-called commander had also managed to break through his stoic exterior. Truly, it was thanks largely to him that Theron could stick to this Grey Warden duty without feeling unwanted or in the slightest bit out of place.

Even Anor, his wolf, seemed to drop his arguably haughty countenance when in his presence. The wolf was a smart animal, with sharp senses, and he could tell when someone radiated confidence and purpose like Raonar did.

The durgen'len was a sort of opposite to him, the elf thought, because he really didn't know if there was anything he really wanted. He still felt like an alien, away from his clan, his home, and having lost his friend, who Duncan said was dead without really having any proof.

And, of course, not all his interactions with humans or any other non-Dalish was as encouraging. For instance, Leliana completely screwed up once, when she started to talk about how prized elven slaves were in Orlais, but she sincerely apologized afterwards, so he was willing to let it go.

Regardless, overall, life sucked, but not as much as it used to and definitely not as much as he had feared it would.

The main reason it still felt right to be here was that he actually felt like things will turn out alright and their quest would succeed, and that he'd always have some part to play, as long as that person, whose own people had dubbed kinslayer, was there to guide them all. The Dalish elf didn't really know anything about the circumstances of the white-haired one's exile, but he had no doubt in his mind that it was impossible for him to truly have killed his brother. It just didn't fit. The only way for someone like him to have done such a thing would have been for someone to trick him into it somehow.

And that was impossible.

Absolutely Inconceivable.

Because the simple fact was that the current Commander of the Grey could simply not be tricked. That, or if it WAS possible to trick him, it would take a distraction of major proportions, one even bigger than the end of the world as we know it.

As these thoughts swam through the hunter's mind, he somehow failed to abide by one of his greatest self-imposed rules, namely to never completely lose track of what was happening around him. It didn't help that he had passed through the main entrance hall of the castle and a couple of other chambers on his way to the stairway already. It also didn't help that the door to that stairway swung towards the inside of the stairway when opened. What was also no help at all was that, for the first time in ages, he actually felt safe within those walls, though he didn't exactly understand why himself.

Theron opened the door.

He then walked in and turned around.

After that, he pushed the door closed.

Only to come face to face with the thing behind it.

Thus it came to pass that the Dalish elf actually yelped and tripped over, landing flat on his back and hitting the back of his head against the cold, stone floor with a bang.

Theron wasn't quite certain how it had all happened.

His senses were supposed to be top notch, beyond what everyone else in his clan even dreamed of. All the days, the weeks of walking through the woods blindfolded, with only Tamlen as companion and guide (and source of deadpans, mostly meant as jabs at his ever so 'boring' attitude) had supposedly made it impossible for anything to slip past him undetected. He was quite certain he would be able to keep track of Kallian or Faren, maybe even both of them at once, while they were being as stealthy as they possibly could.

As such, he hadn't been caught off guard in years.

Thus, it came as a total shock to be so completely and utterly startled to near death by that thing.

He didn't immediately look back at it. He didn't even push himself to his feet. Instead, the elf took some time to stare up, at how the staircase went in a spiral, with torches on the wall, at regular intervals. Yes, the spiral was a good symbol to focus on, it brought calm. Of course, he couldn't ignore that thing forever, especially after it floated lower and closer, until it hovered right above his chest as he lay on the ground.

Simply put, it was a glowing orb of pure energy that radiated white light and subtly coursed with electricity. There was no figure, no face inside that brightness, just a sphere of light that occasionally crackled with electric pulses. Alim and Wynne had identified the creature as a Wisp, one of the least powerful denizens of the Beyond, or Fade as shemlen called that plane. No one knew exactly how long it was since it slipped through the Veil and into the keep, before Alim closed it off months ago that is.

Regardless, the spirit had somehow managed to get away from all the demons that poured through and hid deep into one of the most secret rooms. It only ventured out about a week after the Wardens had left for Denerim and started to pop up here and there, scouring the area but generally avoiding people, at least at first.

Once it started getting caught doing basically nothing besides glowing and floating all over the place, and emitting either a crackling or humming sound, the Drydens started thinking of it as the castle's personal poltergeist. They just didn't know how to deal with it, and the wisp itself had made a point of pulling off a vanishing act whenever it was found flying about. Usually, it went straight through walls.

When the Wardens returned, however, Alim, Wynne, Morrigan and the fearless leader soon picked up on its presence and tracked it down, after they stored the Archdemon blood safely in one of the vaults. Saying that most wisps he'd encountered in the Fade, during his Harrowing and otherwise, had been hostile, Alim suggested quick extermination. None of the others said anything relevant, but Raonar just wouldn't have it without more information. Theron assumed he sensed something, as he often did.

Eventually, they tracked down the hidden safehouse that thing was using as a refuge, conveniently stumbling upon a couple of unknown secret passages in the process. Once there, the dwarf approached alone (the Wisp had hidden behind a mound of age-old crates) and became surrounded by light the closer he got. Once he was practically shining white all over, bright enough to actually light up that whole room, he called out to that creature with a different voice, like there were hundreds of people speaking at once.

"Come." was all that reverberating voice said, and that Wisp hesitantly came out and floated over to him.

Needles to say, everyone was staring at him as though he'd just grown a second head.

And then... Raonar actually said, quite warmly in fact, "It's ok for you to be here," in his own voice... and patted that thing like he has the habit of patting his hound (or Faren, amusingly enough) on the head.

That was how Soldier's Keep got its very own spirit mascot. And all the while, those present were staring with differing degrees of stupefaction, and that included everyone in their group except Wynne and Leliana (who were arranging books in Raonar's office at the time) and Sten and Shale. Sten was in Mikhael's smithy, being fitted with a suit of red steel plate armor, while Shale was out in the yard, desperately trying to obliterate some ravens and failing.

And now, that same magical self-aware orb had actually startled the Dalish enough for him to actually fall over. Surprises never cease.

At long last, Theron looked at it with a raised eyebrow and a slight twitch of his cheek. After that, he pushed himself up, and when he saw that the Wisp wasn't going to float off, he impatiently waved in its direction, as if to push it aside. At that, the spirit just bolted away, flew around a bit, paused, and then quickly floated up, following the same spiral pattern as the stairs themselves.

The elf dusted himself off. He actually happened to like his fur-lined cloak, gloves and boots, plus the leather jacket and pants he'd been crafted in Denerim by Master Wade, at the behest of the exile himself. They were comfortable while also offering even more protection than a standard suit of inscribed leather armor. The enchantments in particular were helpful, as they made him quicker to draw by heightening his hand-eye coordination. Thus, he did not appreciate any events that brought any sort of damage to his new garb.

He instantly squelched those thoughts. They sounded worrisomely similar to something Leliana would concern herself with.

Once ready, he at last made for the first stair. That was when the Wisp suddenly flew back down but stopped a few paces in front of him, right next to one of the torches on the wall. It then simply shot a small bolt of electricity at the head of said torch, causing it to light on fire.

Theron climbed the rest of the flight of stairs at a comfortable pace, the glowing sphere of light always just a few steps ahead of him, lighting every torch in steady succession, until the second floor of the castle was reached. Then, the Wisp kept hovering in front of him, until it flew off without warning, across the corridor, going straight through the hard wooden door that led to the commander's so-called office.

Well, that was where the elf was headed anyway. He'd been sent for by the leader after all.

Walking over to the door, he prepared to knock but stopped abruptly when he heard a voice calling from inside.

"Come in!"

Right, Wardens could sense each other's presence.

The elf shrugged off his mild surprise and pushed the tall and wide, pointed arch door open, surprisingly without hearing any creaking noise from the hinges. Of course the commander would have them oiled, he was always mindful of every relevant detail.

The room wasn't very large, but still bigger than most of the individual sleeping quarters. It was square and tall, with a groin vault ceiling (two semicircular barrel vaults). From the point of intersection of said barrel vaults hung a large chandelier that could probably crush anyone if it fell. Fortunately, it was affixed to the stone above it by a chain that branched off into four others. The hunter hid a smirk as he remembered how, the other day, Raonar had studied the same potential for lethality that that chandelier had if it ever fell.

That said, a statue of Asturian (there seemed to be quite a few of those on the castle grounds) had been moved into the room and placed directly beneath the candelabrum (Alim actually seemed strained as he levitated that thing all the way up the stairs to the second floor of the fortress and through the door). Thus, should anything unfortunate happen, like an unnatural earthquake or sabotage (magical or otherwise), said candle-carrying object would harmlessly (more or less) fall on top of that sculpture and, at the worst, end up as a collar or helmet of sorts.

The Dalish elf briefly wondered if this was paranoia or some crazy sense of preparation (though the two may very well be the same thing), but he decided he shouldn't be surprised after everything else that dwarf did, like preparing for Loghain's retreat from Ostagar based on just a few lines exchanged between them.

The whole place had been cleaned up (Alim had made free use of some magical wind to dust everything off and remove whatever spider webs lurked around the corners). Beyond the statue, opposite from the entrance, was an age-old but surprisingly well preserved desk, recently refashioned to be shorter, fit for a dwarf. The obligatory armchair was also smaller than most, though that one was newly-crafted and provided by the Drydens (Raonar had given them a list of things he wanted them to acquire and/or make while they were away in Denerim, the armchair being just one of them). On the wall behind that armchair was now placed Asturian's portrait (Sten approved of the decoration).

The portrait hung in the space between the two arched windows overlooking the front yard and gate, and everything beyond.

There were two bookcases covering the wall on the right, with a lectern between them, on which stood an open copy of "The Four Schools of Magic: Spirit". Whatever books had survived the passing of time now filled the shelves in alphabetical order. Raonar had offered to pay the Dryden children a few silver pieces each if they agreed to arrange the tomes properly, which they eagerly did while the search for the mysterious poltergeist was carried out.

Granted, they did fall and hurt themselves a couple of times, since the higher shelves required them to climb on top of chairs, but the injuries were nothing serious and easily healed with magic. The dwarf noble had made sure that there were no sharp objects or pieces of furniture anywhere near that wall, so that there was no danger of breaking one's neck by falling over a desk or some such thing. He had also managed to convince Wynne to keep an eye on them while they performed their duties. Conveniently, Leliana volunteered to assist.

After all, a bard loved stories and, by extension, books, and Leliana and Wynne actually got along very well. Needless to say, the Warden Commander was quite pleased with the arrangement.

There was a fireplace on the left, with firewood already prepared, though not yet lit. Two suits of heavy plate armor stood on each side of it, as well as two weapon racks, currently displaying several axes, maces and swords. In terms of furniture, besides the two armchairs (which were in front of the aforementioned desk), meant for whatever guests the commander may ever have, were a couch and two easy chairs, forming a sort of semicircle in front of the fireplace.

What's more, there were a couple of three-pronged candlesticks on top of the fireplace, along with the Helm of Honnleath and the Griffon's Helm (one red steel and one silverite helmet whose design included replicas of Griffon wing-like ears).

To the right of the door stood a so-called vanity. Theron glanced at it, and the various combs, brushes and silk threads, with a measure of amusement, but didn't find it ridiculous at all. After all, he had to admit Raonar's beard was one of the few things that made him regret his racial inability to grow facial hair. The dwarf didn't have to work on his beard often (all dwarven things were durable, even beard arrangements), but when he did arrange it, it made sense that it would take quite a bit of attention and time, and appropriate tools.

Finally, to the left as one entered though the door, there was a strategy table, currently supporting a large map of Ferelden. There were several figurines placed upon it (miniature 'dolls' bought form the Wonders of Thedas, replicas of darkspawn similar to the golem doll Alistair said Eamon had once given him). They were arranged as a sort of estimate as to how far into the nation the Blight had spread. There was the figure of an emissary over Lothering, but the several others weren't too far away from the Korcari Wilds, barely into the Hinterlands in fact.

Other figurines, some of them quite old, like knights or soldiers (Sophia Dryden had naturally had her own set of such figurines when plotting the rebellion), were placed around the area marked as the Bannorn, as a crude idea of what the impending civil war will initially look like, based on what information Arl Bryland was able to provide to Gwen and Alistair during their visit in South Reach.

Theron pried his eyes away from the map when the wisp appeared through one of the walls, floated over to the fireplace and, with bolts of electricity in quick succession, ignited the coal beneath the firewood. After that, the glowing thing flew over to where the dwarven prince was.

Currently, he had his arm up and leaning with his forearm against the side of one of the windows, looking down upon the courtyard, his back turned towards the door. He wore a white cotton shirt and brown leather pants and boots, as well as that silver-colored silk scarf of his around his neck, both ends hanging behind him, one even reaching as low as the back of his knees. The elf remembered that he'd had that scarf since before reaching Ostagar all those months ago, though he rarely actually wore it.

Once the Wisp flew over and hovered next to him, the dwarf turned to look at it and actually passed his fingertips over the surface of that energy sphere, as if stroking it. Even more strangely, the spirit produced an unusual humming sound that inexplicably made Theron imagine a cat purring.

"You know, falon, sometimes I ask myself if your ability to make strange things happen will ever run out," he said.

The dwarf finally twisted his body around enough to look in his direction. "Ah, so you think Squip here is odd, do you?"

"Squip?"

"Sesquipedalian," Raonar said with a shrug of both shoulders. Then, he grinned and gave that white thing a nudge. The next moment, the Wisp seemed to transmit indignation by letting out a faint magical pulse before bolting outside through the wall.

Theron walked over to the other window, but his raised eyebrow remained firmly in place. "Sesquipedalian?"

The other one resumed his previous activity, which was gazing down upon Zevran and Faren sparring. "It means 'one and a half foot-long.' I had a pet nug called Sesquipedalian long ago, Squip for short, when I was a kid. We used to get into all kinds of trouble, pranking everyone in sight. I admit, I deliberately abused my so-called princely diplomatic immunity even then, when I was six, in order to get away with a lot of things." Theron noticed him smiling at the memory. "We even made a few nobles faint once. Well, more than once, but only that one time did they all faint at once."

"Sounds like you used to enjoy it."

"Obviously. I mean, it was hilarious. Even king Maric was there when I unleashed my master prank, back when I was seven."

"Master prank?"

The dwarf proceeded to tell him of how he poured cherry jam over the poor nug and unleashed the terror into the throne room, while all eighty nobles were there, plus Maric and Cailan. Needless to say, the animal shook off some of that jam and splattered it over everyone in the room, and, of course, everyone present, with a few exception. And since everyone thought it was blood, they were, predictably, not pleased.

Then he told him how gobsmacked they all were when he even so innocently revealed that wasn't blood.

By now Theron was staring at the short but stout warrior with very wide eyes.

And he blinked.

Twice.

"Didn't you get punished at all?" he finally asked.

"I got grounded... for a while. But the punishment was rescinded later..."

"Why?"

"Trian had an... accident..."

The elf narrowed his eyes. "Why did you pause before than last word?"

Raonar took some of the snow that had gathered on the outside of the window and started to crush it in his fist. "It was... a bit more complicated than that..."

"Like an assassination attempt? On a ten year-old?" Theron hadn't exactly been raised in an environment that spawned people that would so quickly assume such a possibility, but he supposed that if people there had no problem with kinslaying, such murder wouldn't be beyond them either.

"No, not assassination, although, true enough, someone else... did contribute to the whole event."

A silence fell between them after that, and both Grey Wardens settled for just staring out the window. The sun had risen higher in the sky now, causing the snowy mane of the walls and the forest beyond to gleam almost blindingly. The elf studied the other one and saw that he held his eyes half-closed, no doubt so as to shield his untrained eyes from the painful, scattered light. He was still a dwarf, after all, and he wasn't used to such brightness.

Eventually, the exile spoke again, though still looking out the window. "How are the others doing?"

"Well, Faren and Zevran are, as you can see, sparring right outside."

"Yes, and going at it more fervently that would be healthy. Did Zevran try to hit on Kallian again? Faren's been acting a bit territorial lately, hasn't he?" the dwarf said with a chuckle. Theron noticed that look he wore just then, similar to how his Keeper Marethari used to gaze upon all the Dalish children while teaching them the elven tongue or history. He had that same, protective air around him, the gaze of someone whose primary purpose was to see his charges learn and grow.

It was strange that he could look so ancient, even though he was just two years Theorn's senior and, physically at least, looked quite young. The elf had no doubt the females of his own race would find him more than a little attractive (at the very least), up until they got to know him enough to see just how much older, mentally and spiritually, he was.

Granted, all those muscles of his would probably distract females enough that they would barely look into his eyes anyway.

"Zevran hits on everyone," the Dalish couldn't help but say.

So the dwarf sighed. "Tell me about it... Anyway, the others? What are they doing?"

"Alim, as you know, is preparing the Joining concoction, along with Avernus and Jowan, up in the tower. Sten is in the smithy with Mikhael, getting periodically measured up and fitted with an armor his size. Leliana and Wynne are still with the younger Drydens, arranging books in the library and telling stories. Kallian is helping Gwen try on that Warden Commander armor that we got... off Sophia's corpse... Morrigan went into the woods in her wolf form and both the dogs, plus my wolf even, went with her. I don't know exactly where Shale is."

"Oh, Shale's just outside the fortress. I told her to test her fire crystals and improve her control over the magic by producing flames constant enough to melt the snow without causing it to evaporate. I told her to keep at it until there was a surface of smooth ice measuring at least least 20 by 20 meters."

There was a pause.

"Wait... you actually fooled Shale into preparing a skating rink?" The elf was positively flabbergasted, especially considering that Raonar gave an ambiguous shrug in response before saying "Believe whatever you want. All she wanted in return was to relieve her of the life debt she owed to my mabari, so I promised I would."

There was another pause.

"Anyway," Theron finally spoke. "As for Alistair, I think he's lying on a bed, exhausted for some reason."

"Well, I've been pushing him with all that tutoring in command, economy and politics, giving him tests about hypothetical situations and demanding possible solutions. He's probably just worn out mentally. I admit, I'm playing dirty. I've been pushing him as hard as I could, to see just how much he can go on like this before his templar discipline runs out and he snaps at me. He's actually been exceeding my expectations."

"Well, why are you pushing him? Just for your enjoyment?"

"I am so hurt you would think that!" he moaned overly theatrically. "Nope. I figured that, when he does snap, he'll either start whining or grow a backbone and call me out on how I am being unreasonable, probably offering a strong argument as to why, even though my methods are actually working. If it's the former, I'll point out that he can probably take more of it if he has enough energy to whine, and I'll keep at it until he figures out that the second option is what I'm after. If he does the latter, then my work will be done. Making him wise enough to know when things should change, and making him smart enough to know how to change things for the better is, in the end, what I am trying to accomplish."

"So you're deliberately turning yourself into the bad guy?" Theron asked with some bemusement.

"Yes. I can actually be quite convincing, even without lying. All I do is let people assume whatever they wish and do nothing to discourage their flawed reasoning until the most opportune moment."

"I see... So that's what Shale meant by how you like to turn everyone's logic on its head and show them how stupid they're being..."

There was just a short bout of laughter.

"So why did you call me up here?' the elf finally asked.

The Commander stepped away from the window and headed to sit at his desk while gesturing to the other one to sit in one of the armchairs across his desk. "So far, we've managed to secure the goods in the Grey Wardens' cache and the aid of the mages against the Blight. We already decided we weren't going to use this place as the gathering point of our armies. It's too remote, too small, too hard to reach and, frankly, I'd prefer it if we kept it as secret as possible. Levi already agreed to be discrete."

"And?"

"Well, we don't exactly have a safe place to meet just yet and Redcliffe is not an option if Eamon doesn't recover. Unfortunately, we don't really have any other options. So I figured we would give Eamon some more time, see if he recovers on his own. I really have no intention of chasing this myth of Andraste's Ashes, not unless we find something concrete to point us in the right direction and support the idea that they really exist."

"And since we only have treaties for the dwarves and my fellow elvhen..."

"Exactly, I want to contact the Dalish next."

Theron thought about asking why he didn't want to go to Orzammar but decided against it. It also happened that, with the sun high in the sky now, light no longer streamed directly into that room, through the windows facing the sunrise, so it had become a bit dark.

"Squip!" Raonar called out.

A few moments later, the ball of light flew into the chamber straight through the stone floor and hovered excitedly.

Theron gazed with interest as the exile actually gave that thing a task to perform. "It's getting a little dark in here. You mind lighting up those candles on that chandelier up there? And on these candlesticks and those on the fireplace?" He pointed at the two golden candlestick that were on the desk, next to the bottle of ink, the quills and stack of parchments, one of which had been recently written upon.

The Wisp made an electric hiss, as though asking Do you doubt my abilities?, and quickly set to work.

"Why does that thing even obey you anyway?"

"Oh, he doesn't obey me, per se, he just trusts Honor and, by extension, me, because Honor does. You get it. And it's not like he doesn't want to be useful. I think he actually enjoys interacting with us. I just had to show him he didn't have to be afraid."

Theron scratched his head.

"What have you been writing?" the hunter then asked, doing his best not to feel any more weirded out by the fact that Raonar had a spirit for a pet now.

"Oh, these are the papers that will attest Jowan's becoming a Grey Warden, if he survives. I used the records Duncan made of us as a template. Some background information, a basic personality profile, abilities, etcetera. I don't plan on repeating what Alim and I did during Kallian's joining. We don't really have any more of that alchemical drought to fix our blunder with, so either Jowan will live or he won't."

"Ah."

"Anyway, back to my point. I intend to go find the Dalish next. Do you think your clan is still in the Brecilian forest?"

"I am unsure. They may be, or they could be elsewhere, probably further north. They may even have left Ferelden for all I know," he failed to completely conceal the apprehension in his voice, apprehension at having been torn from them. "Regardless, my clan was not the only one wandering those woods. They are vast and ancient. I also understand there are rumors of Dalish sightings to the east. If that is where you wish to go, and if there are any of my people there, I should be able to track them down with no trouble."

"I see. Good, my thanks then."

He made to get up, but the other one stopped him with a wave of his hand, so he asked the predictable question. "Is there something else?"

The dwarf opened a small door to a small cabinet that was actually part of his desk and took out a bottle of wine, of all things. He also took out two goblets. "Don't even think about saying you don't want any. I already know you love red wine more than everyone else in this group except me and Wynne."

Theron sighed, but did as requested. It's not like he had anything against a good drink either. With all the weeks in Denerim, and all the weird looks people gave him whenever they happened to spot his tattoo, even with his hood drawn, he had ended up spending quite a bit of time in that common room of theirs, just to avoid those many shamlen. As such, it was only a matter of time before the commander 'corrupted' him enough to concede to sharing a glass of wine.

He fell in love with the drink immediately. Raonar even complimented him on how relaxed he was while drinking, and at how he supposedly knew how to savor it instead of drinking it all at once. They eventually started to share stories, either from their peoples' history or their own lives. Theron had been a little wary at first, but the dwarf seemed to know just what questions to ask and when to stop, so as to not press him too much, and the elf found himself more and more open to such socialization.

It was for that reason that, instead of complaining or going silent, the elf said "Thanks. I actually could use a nice glass of wine right about now."

"So," the exile said after he took the first sip. "How have you been doing lately?"

"-. .-"

Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne

28 Verimensis, 9:31, Dragon: And, once again, we are in Denerim, lounging in our common room in Warden's Rest, though the name still hasn't been made official.

After Jowan went through the Joining and became a Grey Warden, Avernus immediately began to pass on his knowledge onto him and have him assist with whatever research the Commander asked him to carry out. I am unsure exactly what he is supposed to do, but I will have faith that it is for a worthy purpose. I decided not to question the wisdom of having someone like Jowan among the Grey, but I suppose the order can better ensure that he doesn't end up causing havoc or making any mistakes while trying to do good.

After some more days at the fortress, we began the next stage of our quest. We are now headed southeast, to the Brecilian Forest, but Raonar decided we would drop by Denerim as well, to see the aftermath of the Dark Wolf's last and greatest 'accomplishment.' We were able to go through the front gates unmolested because Alim subtly weaved disorienting spells on the guards stationed there at the time. Apparently, Dwarves were very thoroughly inspected, along with whatever luggage or cargo they wanted to bring in or take out of the city, over the first couple of weeks after our departure.

Shale and Morrigan, along with Sten and Gwen's mabari, Damon, were left behind with Theron and his wolf and set up camp outside of the city. They should be able to handle the cold for one night, aided by magic an all the furs and tents. The bodily warmth of the dogs will also no doubt help, and Morrigan will probably just turn into a bear and have little trouble keeping warm. Mostly, the goal was to keep Shale out of the city, as she would have drawn too much attention (which is why we left her at the keep last time).

Rumors also sad that Loghain had almost decided to confiscate a whole slew of goods owned by dwarven traders and smiths, and hold them 'for ransom' until the Dark Wolf showed himself or was exposed. Eventually, he figured it would not do to turn half the smiths in the capital against you when you should be hiring them to make weapons and armor for your soldiers, for the war.

Unfortunately, not everyone had even that much restraint. Some of the more easily excitable humans started picking fights with some of the dwarves in the city, especially in bars. One such brawl actually occurred in this very establishment, though less serious quarrels have been sprouting more and more frequently. Bella even expressed concern over the safety of her business. While the Wardens stayed here, those weeks prior to New Year's day, their presence and intimidating appearance was enough to keep most people in line. With that element gone...

It seems Bella hasn't yet managed to find some competent bouncers, and Goldanna stopped letting her children come over for fear that things may get worse. Needless to say, Alistair was upset at this and vowed to try and find a solution. Of course, he later realized he had no idea how he could find someone trustworthy and strong enough to fill the part.

On the bright side, in the end, no one had any idea what had become of the Shadow of Denerim, but tales and whispers kept spreading and inflating, even making up whole stories, about the Dark Wolf's exploits. Some painted him a hero, others as a villain, other as a shapeshifting demon. But what was most odd was that there were even several tales about the master thief's alleged prowess in the bedchambers, of all things.

We learned of most of this yesterday afternoon, when we arrived. Faren looked a bit green when he heard some of the more... graphical details of said stories (he had mingled with the people in the dining and drinking hall of the inn).

Earlier today, Zevran coyly disclosed that it was he that provided the first tales of passion with the Dark Wolf as the protagonist, during the week prior the major heist, in secret. Not soon after, Alistair and Raonar each had to cast a templar's smite on Faren and the Ativan, respectively, because Faren was strangling the latter (they discovered that Faren was not resistant to Templar abilities in the process, so at least that whole debacle helped with something). Unfortunately, since they were in the common room at the time, a bunch of papers were thrown around by the smites' blasts. A couple of wine bottles were also knocked off the table and shattered.

Zevran and Faren are currently scrubbing the wine off the floor as punishment for acting in such an immature fashion. Faren is muttering under his breath, something about 'sodding assassin perverts', while Zevran doesn't seem to be able to stop grinning for some reason. Alim is on a chair, keeping an eye on them, by Raonar's order, who took a trip to the Gnawed Noble Tavern, to see what other rumors exist. Alim is currently zapping Zevran with lightning whenever the latter happens to look in the other lad's direction.

Ah, and there goes another zap..."

"Alright, that does it," the Grey Warden blood mage uttered in annoyance. "Faren, you can stop now. Go upstairs and get some rest."

The dwarf just pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the cramps in his legs, and made for the staircase while continuing to mutter under his breath.

"Zevran, you keep at it," Alim added. "And don't give me that beaten dog look. You think I didn't realize the reason you positioned yourself behind Faren? How indecent."

"You wound me!" the other elf cried out. "You punish me for enjoying such an exquisite view? What reason could there possibly be for such cruelty? Or do you get off on electrifying other people while they are on all fours?"

Zap.

Zevran grunted, when he finished cringing that is, and dutifully went back to the act of scrubbing the floor.

"Don't tempt me, Zevran, or I will really bring out the big guns."

"Ah, I admit, I haven't seen a truly big gun in ages. This should be interesting."

There was a pause.

"I am so giving you nightmares tonight..."

"Ah, so you actually care enough that you wish to enter my dreams? My, but our connection is getting stronger by the minute!"

Zap.

Zevran resumed scrubbing.

And Alim sighed. "I think I'm getting a headac-" His mouth stopped moving, In fact, he momentarily stood completely still. Then, his left arm started trembling, and his eyes widened in shock. Without a moment's warning, he was on his feet and had pulled the left sleeve of his brown shirt all the way to his shoulder (he wasn't wearing robes, it would have given him away as being a mage after all). His whole arm had suddenly lit up white and the white tendrils had begun to even course out of him, flowing through the air like loose strands of magical energy.

Before anyone could even ask what was happening he had already turned into a huge shepherd's dog and rushed out the door, almost breaking the lock in his charge. Rinne followed after him just half a second later.

"-. .-"

"I told you this was a bad idea, Arik," Dekel told his companion in his ever so gruff tone. "This tavern ain't our kind of place. Look at us, all shoddy dressed while everyone else is lookin' all right and fancy."

The other dwarf sat down on a seat next to him, at their round table, and slid him his tankard of ale. "Stop whining, alright man? if this is going to be the last day I get to live decently, I want to do it in peace." Of course, he knew well why Dek was upset. They had pretty much exhausted every ounce of money they had, except for the silver they were going to pay for their ales.

And he had to agree with Dek's assessment about their looks as well. Most people in that Gnawed Noble Tavern looked clean shaven, dressed in fine clothes and all that stuff. By contrast, Dekel was one of those dwarves that hadn't been blessed with an overly friendly face, and his build was large, so he probably looked surly, if anything. The fact that he was bald (well, shaved in the head anyway) and had a thick, black stubble didn't really help matters and had already drawn a few awkward glances. Of course, Arik's own physique was also among the higher half of the hierarchy in terms of muscle mass, unsurprising considering their former profession.

Still, at least he had a full set of brown hair, just long enough to cover his scalp and hang in front of his forehead in a few loose strands. He didn't have a beard either, but neither a stubble. He used to have a beard, modeled after the one that king Endrin had, but he had to shave it all off a few days prior because he didn't have the time or mood to maintain it anymore.

Their garb was also not exactly suited for that particular establishment. They each wore suits of hardened leather armor and whatever winter wear they could afford. This whole getting to the surface thing had come as a total surprise, almost as big as not having been killed instead. They didn't really know whether they should be grateful or spiteful towards that bastard that had sent them to the surface against their will. At least they could be sure that hating his 'master', 'Prince' Bhelen was totally justified.

Both Arik and Dekel were silent as they drank their ale, doing their best to make the tankards last for as long as possible. They could have probably stretched whatever money they had left over a few more days, but they would have ended up on the streets and penniless anyway, so they figured they would at least try and have one last good evening before being reduced to beggars or thieves.

Thievery. They dreaded the idea. It was totally against what they had striven for, what they had done all their lives. They were supposed to keep everyone else safe from criminals, by keeping them locked up in cells. Of course, after what they witnessed last year, they were no longer naive enough to think that everyone who gets sent to the prison deserves it.

And because they didn't want to surrender their honor, they had unjustly been thrown out of Orzammar, on the whim of a brat that was barely over half their age (Dekel was 40 and Arik was 38).

Arik shook his head, trying to get these thoughts out of his mind. He didn't want to start brooding. This was supposed to be a happy evening, or at least a mildly pleasant one, something to lift their spirits, at least for a while. Seeing that Dekel was occupying himself with staring at the ale itself, he figured he would try to find something to distract himself with as well.

Coincidentally, he was so seated that he could see the door to the tavern. As such, his attention was drawn to said door opening in order to allow another dwarf to walk in. He wore a fur-lined cloak, a grey one, mostly unassuming, off which he shook the snow before finally walking again. Arik wasn't Warrior Caste for nothing, so he immediately noticed the steady and certain walk that person had. He also caught a glimpse of a dagger, in a sheath on the side of his belt as he strode towards the bar. Arik assumed that person was wearing a chainmail shirt beneath his clothes as well.

That was definitely no merchant or beggar.

Unfortunately, since the bar was behind him, he couldn't keep staring at that newcomer indefinitely. On the other hand, he wondered if he'd make a good company. There weren't any other dwarves in that tavern just then and he thought he might be able to fill the time by asking about that Dark Wolf fellow. No doubt a tale about a master thief that pranked the whole kingdom just for laughs would be a welcome means of spending what will likely be their final day of decency.

It was a minute later that he was really surprised, as the very same newcomer just showed up and sat on a chair right across from them at the same table.

Arik and Dekel both looked at him with reservations. They could well see his physical build was superior to theirs, even through the cloak, because his shoulders were very wide. He sat sideways, with his right forearm resting on the table. What put them on guard, however, was that they could see nothing of his face. His hood was drawn forward and the lower part of his face was covered by what looked like a white scarf.

"Anything we can help you with, stranger?" Arik asked in his most casual tone, while Dekel just narrowed his eyes and drank more from his tankard, though never drawing his gaze away from their 'guest'.

Apparently, he was all business. "Barkeep says you two came from Orzammar."

"Aye, we did." Arik couldn't help but feel that voice sounded strangely familiar, even muffed by that scarf, or whatever it was.

"And I understand that there is some... trouble there?" the voice sounded remarkably flat.

It was Dekel that answered. "Pah, trouble? That ain't even half of it. Sodding city's closed off 'cause the king finally kicked it." The newcomer tensed. "O'course, the gates didn't seal 'fore spittin' us out. Soddin' politicians and their stupid whims."

There was a pause, though silence failed to form because of how noisily both dwarves sipped form their ales.

"So King Endrin really is dead?" the third one asked, though his voice sounded a bit more strained, like he was keeping himself from breaking something.

"Aye," Arik confirmed, sadly. "Passed on little over a week ago. We knew he was sick for a while, but it still came as a surprise. I mean, I don't know about the nobles, but most of us common folk didn't want him gone. And he was just in his fifties too."

"I told ya man," Dekel cut in. "He was poisoned, there ain't no other explanation."

"Dek, we can't really know that."

"Poisoned?" the stranger asked, drawing their attention. Only Arik noticed that his previously relaxed hand was now clenched in a fist.

"We don't know, alright? We... left... Orzammar just a day after the news came out."

"Who do you think poisoned him?"

"Look, I just said we don't know for sure what happened." Arik didn't realize it, but he was subconsciously behaving cautiously because of how Orzammar always made one wary of speaking accusations to anyone, lest a knife sink in their backs when they least expect it.

Dekel, however, had had enough ale not to care anymore. "If I were to guess I'd say that it was that Bhel-."

"Dek..." Arik glared at him, but by the time he turned in the direction of the one questioning them, he saw that he had already left their table and was walking away, far less steadily than when he came in.

"-. .-"

Denial would have been a normal enough reaction.

When learning such a shocking truth, any other person would instinctively try to shield themselves from the shock by having their brains seek and find various reasons why the news they learned could not be true. They would start by thinking how improbable it all was, then move on to trying to prove the source was unreliable, all so that one didn't lose the entire foundations upon which their hopes and current goals lay.

So, normally, the exiled dwarven prince would start to list reasons why it couldn't possibly be. He would think it was all too sudden, that it must have been a mistake, misinformation. He would say that it was too soon. He would say that he wasn't old enough to die yet. He would desperately try to convince himself that there was just no way things would collapse in on themselves so quickly.

Unfortunately, Raonar had conditioned himself to be incapable of denial. Denial was a trap, a psychological liability that served only to mislead and prevent one from seeing the truth and the solution to any given situation in a timely fashion. Denial did nothing but act as a barrier to greater understanding. So he really didn't need those two men to tell him that the King was dead. All he needed to confirm was whether or not the Gates of Orzammar really were sealed.

The great Ozrammar Gates only closed and denied entrance to surface merchants, pilgrims and other normally allowed visitors only during times of great political upheaval. That there was not just a rumor that the king was dead, but that he had been assassinated or killed, was more than the exile really needed to confirm it.

Yes, Denial would have been a normal enough reaction.

Denial would have been the preferred reaction.

Because denial allows one's body and mind enough time to prepare for the actual acceptance of the truth. It allows the mind to grow stronger or more flexible, instead of crumbling under the weight of such a merciless revelation.

But because he was incapable of Denial, the former prince was slammed full-force, and many loose ends and scenarios converged in his mind. And for all their diversity, all of them seemed to point to a single idea, a single hypothesis, a single assumption. And in that moment of weakness, the Warden Commander forgot one of the major rules he abided by, the one that dictated to never make assumptions.

And he made the assumption, that terrible, terrible assumption.

"Did I kill father...?"

Before he knew it, his shoulder hit the wall and his right hand was clutching at his chest. He felt as though he had suddenly been stabbed through the heart, and his temples started to throb, his breathing to falter. His sight became blurred. The view of the tavern crumbled into a boundless void, barren of all light and shape, and all sound faded from his ears, until all he could be aware of was his heart pounding more and more irregularly, as though it was about to burst out through his chest.

And when he withdrew his right hand from above his heart and used it to push himself away from where the tavern wall once was, a new pain appeared, in his left hand this time. So he looked down at it, and saw that is was holding a crown unlike any other. It was made of several stems, knitted together and formed in a circle, all of them bearing many thorns, long, and sharp.

A crown of thorns was what he was holding, a crown that had already shred his palm and had become covered in his blood.

He was suddenly unable to move, half his weight supported by his right hand as he was still leaning against the inexistent wall on the right. All he could do was stare at that crown, stare, incapable of thought, as though his whole being rejected everything he saw, heard and felt.

And he stood still until his blood gathered at the tip of one of those thorns, enough to form a single drop.

The drop disconnected from the spike.

It fell, a small sphere, a bead whose red was perfectly visible even despite that absolute darkness.

And when it reached the same level as his ankles, it disappeared, but not before stirring waves.

And suddenly, the exile saw that he stood in shallows that reached as high as his ankles, the only strange thing being that, instead of water, it was all blood. It was all an endless plain, covered in blood, and the few, concentric waves that that drop stirred ended when they reached bodies.

Dead bodies, tens, hundreds, thousands littered the field, half-submerged in the swamp of death, that swamp of blood, blood that had flowed out of humans, elves and dwarves alike, all of them dead, killed, slaughtered. He even saw several qunari, some of them with horns protruding out of their skulls, but still as dead as all the others.

He looked ahead, but saw no end to that view, only a blur that made it impossible to see the horizon, because the sky was also red, blight clouds covering it completely and roaring with thunder and lightning, creating a wretched symphony that made Ostagar look like little more than an afterthought. Only when the thunder left his ears did he hear the grunt of what could only be darkspawn, and he looked to the right, to see that what his right hand was really leaning against was the hideous face of a genlock.

The scare was enough to make him almost fall over, and he did, but only because he tripped on the corpse behind him. He pushed himself up and spat out blood, but had to dive to the side, causing splashes once more as he evaded that monster's enraged strikes. Just by sheer luck, his hand closed around the hilt of a sword, and he brought it up and through that creature's chest just before it could stab him.

Covered in so much of that red death, and already numb to the stench, he pushed himself to his feet, only to hear the sound of stomping and clatter of arms behind him. So he turned around and saw it, the endless mass of monsters whose first line of attack was just a hundred paces away, all of them standing in the same, ankle-deep bloodmarsh as him.

Genlocks, hurlocks, shrieks, ogres, even odd, bug-like things, like half-torn chrysalises with ant-like legs, stared at him, or at least raved in his direction with what could only be hunger. And there, at the forefront, was the old God Urthermiel himself, his sickly green eyes bearing the semblance of gateways to the realm of insanity, if such a thing even existed, as they stared down at him.

But even that personification of doom could not capture all of the exile's attention, could not prevent him from looking down at his left hand again and see that the crown of thorns was still in his grasp.

"-. .-"

Arik was ready to go back to looking at his ale when he saw that stranger suddenly clutch at his chest and lose his balance, the only reason he didn't collapse completely being that his shoulder struck and stuck to the tavern's wall as he wavered. The tavern's other patrons didn't immediately notice the scene, but their attention would soon be captured.

The dwarf pushed himself away from the wall, but could do nothing more.

He keeled over and fell forward, only narrowly missing a vacant round table and the chairs around it.

Arik didn't really know why he did it, but he jumped from his seat and went to check on him.

"Sod," was all Dekel said before he let go of his own tankard and followed after him.

Arik didn't really mind all the people that were now staring in their direction. He carefully pulled the man over, until he was on his back. Then, he touched his neck, to feel for his pulse, and saw that he was still alive.

"What's up with him?" Dek asked as he knelt on the other side of the unconscious person.

"Not sure..." Arik kept ignoring the many eyes that were staring at them now. He leaned low and listened to his heart. It sounded a bit off, but not by much.

Only after that did they think about looking at his face.

The first thing they did was push back his hood.

The second was pull down the scarf and reveal the rest of his face.

There was more than just a moment of silence.

"Hey!" the barkeep shouted. "Is everything alright there?"

Dekel and Arik looked at each other and saw that they were both equally shocked. After that, they nodded.

"It's fine!" Arik replied, pulling one of the stranger's arms over his shoulders, but not before covering his face as it had been before. "Our friend here is just a bit out of sorts!" Dekel, meanwhile, pulled the man's other arm over his own shoulders, after he retrieved their belongings from next to the table they had been sitting at that is.

"Here," Arik told the waitress as he shoved his remaining silver into her hands. "That's for the drinks."

Before anyone could say anything more, the two carried the third man outside. After that, they quickly walked off, thankful for the fact that night had already fallen. This way they would not be looked at by everyone. Their better eyesight, which they honed during many years of living in places with low light, would let them see better in the dark than any possible pursuers, not that they expected to be followed.

"Is he really...?" Dekel let out in what could only be awe.

"I think so..."

They kept walking for a while minutes, until they managed to find a narrow enough alley, and dark enough, to stop in. At that point, Dekel took off his cloak and set it on the ground like a blanket. After that, they laid the 'stranger' on it.

"Shit, man, this is so wrong. Why did we have to get kicked out of the inn today? Putting him down here is so not healthy."

"I know, Dek, but we don't really have a choice. I'm not really sure what happened to him. So far, I could tell it wasn't an outright heart attack, because his heartbeats sound mostly fine. It was close though..."

For a while, neither man dared touch him.

"What's he doing here of all places?" Arik wondered aloud.

Eventually, Dek found the courage to expose the 'stranger's face again and force one of his eyes open. The silver-cyan irises confirmed it.

Not that they could think about what to do next.

A growl came from the shadows.

Both dwarves turned to face the source of the noise with practiced ease. They maces were in their grasp within less than a second. "What in the Stone's name was that?"

Whatever it was, it began to prowl closer. A black paw emerged and crushed the snow underfoot, then the head appeared, sharp fangs visible as the hound sneered. Its eyes reflected some stray light for a moment.

"Oh shit, a mabari!" Arik realized as he put himself between the animal and the one lying on the ground behind them. "Shit shit shit! Dek, don't let him get near him!" And while they got ready to fight, both former guards couldn't stop asking themselves Why are we doing this again?

The hound leaped.

Within a second, it was wrestling with Arik, having bitten onto his mace. The dwarf was thrown to the ground, impacting the soft snow with his back, but struggled valiantly, never letting go of his weapon. It no doubt helped, because it surprised the dog enough for Dekel to swing his mace at it and strike it clean in the ribs.

The dark hound yelped and ended up rolling, but eventually got back on all fours and sneered at them both.

Dek pulled his companion up and looked at the hound again. The moon had come out and now cast a pale light on the city. And since the snow magnified that light, the dog was perfectly visible now, as was the other silhouette.

Yes, leaning against the back of a house, right at the start of the alley and with the moon behind him, was a taller person, with a very lean build and a cloak that hung off his shoulders. The light also revealed his pointy ears.

"Surrender him and you won't be hurt," the elf, now revealed to be a man, said flatly.

"So you can do what?" Arik asked, taking another sidestep, until he was between the newcomer and the one lying on the ground behind him. Meanwhile, Dek had kept his eyes on the dog, who had brought its head low and was snarling.

But the elf would not waste time. He suddenly stood straight, and white light, like runes, lit up on his left arm, now revealed to be completely exposed, even in that cold. "I will not ask again," he uttered, his voice as cold as the ice around them. He even flicked his fingers, causing an actual spear of ice to practically grow, like a plant, out of the snow-covered ground.

So the dwarves readied their steel shields. Since they had no place of their own any longer, they had been forced to carry all of their belongings with them, and that included their meager equipment. And since Dekel had all his attention on the hound, Arik had to speak again.

"Who are you and what do you want with his highness?"

There was a pause.

The hound suddenly relaxed and looked at them with curiosity, even producing an odd whining sound.

As for the elf, the light on his arm faded into blackness again, and the spear of ice fell from where it was floating in the air and shattered.

"-. .-"

Everyone, except those that had been left to camp outside the city, was waiting on the edge of their seats. They had convened in the common room, their usual place when in Denerim, after Alim so suddenly rushed out the door, followed by Raonar's war hound.

Faren, predictably, was the most nervous, and had only managed to sit still after Kallian put her arms around his shoulders from behind. They were all already past the point where they asked pointless questions like "What happened?" or "Shouldn't we go after them?" Leliana had taken to singing a tune on her lyre, something supposedly originating in the Free Marches, while Alistair and Gwen sat on one of the couches, next to each other, but not meeting each other's eyes. Wynne was just hoping nothing serious had happened.

Nevertheless, everyone would later agree that the strangest thing was how Zevran was not leering in anyone's direction. Instead, he was finishing getting equipped in his leather armor, having declared that he was going to do one of the things that what assassins are good at, namely tracking people down.

Fortunately, there was no need, because the door suddenly snapped open, only to allow not one, but three dwarves to barge in, led by Rinne, the black dog herself.

The last to come in was Alim. "Clear one of those couches! Now!"

Everyone jumped to their feet, leaving both couches bare, not just one. Alistair and Gwen quickly moved the table aside, so as to allow easier access, and whoever those two dwarves were quickly carried the prince over to it and let him lie down as carefully as they manage under the circumstances. After that, everyone gave Alim and Wynne more than enough space to work, including the newcomers.

But the two strangers didn't have enough time to get their bearings, because they were pulled around by someone. "Who are you two? What happened?"

Both dwarves looked stupefied, not just because a castless was shouting in their faces but because he was bloody scary. The next instant, they had been grabbed by the front of their cloaks and pulled closer, until his gaze was drilling into their eyes. "I asked what happened?"

"That's enough, Faren!" There was general shock, because the one who ordered that, in an uncharacteristically commanding voice, was Alistair, of all people. "Let go of them and go sit down somewhere."

"Thank you! Finally, some quiet!" Alim pronounced as he and Wynne were running their magic through the dwarf as best they could. And that wasn't much, considering the very nasty effect on magic and, thus, healing spells, that the exile was known for in his entourage.

Kallian tugged on the shocked rogue's hand and led him over to one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, which had been turned to face the center of the room now. There, she sat on his lap after he took his own seat.

"Now then," Alistair continued. "Forgive my friend there, he's just on edge."

"We understand," Arik barely said, still surprised.

"Who're you people?" Dek followed. "You've even got a brand with yo-" his mouth suddenly found itself frozen over, before Faren could say anything. It seems the elven mage had enough attention to spare for the stopping of stupid questions.

"Apologies," Alistair said, completely ignoring the utterly flabbergasted look on Arik's face at how his friend had been silenced. "But you will have to explain yourself before we answer that question and we're sure we can trust you."

"Right. Well, I know this might come as a bit of a surprise but..."

"Yes?" the human encouraged him.

"This here's Dekel Blackstone and I'm Arik Nordak, Warrior Caste.. well, ex-warrior caste anyway. We, uh... we were the Orzammar Diamond Quarter prison guards during the time his highness was held in a cell there..."

"-. .-"

Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne

17 Verimensis, 9:31, Dragon: It seems that no sort of joy can last for long in this group.

King Endrin Aeducan, father of Raonar, our commander, is dead. He died just about a week ago, as this was how long it took our two guests to arrive from there to Denerim.

We only learned this yesterday evening, when Raonar was carried back to the inn we are staying in, unconscious, by two other dwarves who revealed themselves to have been the guards on duty while he was held in the prison of his home city.

Held imprisoned unjustly, it seems.

In hindsight, I suppose I should not be surprised he really is innocent. Apparently, Arik and Dekel, as they call themselves, were present at the confrontation that occurred between out leader and his younger brother, the one that engineered their elder brother's murder and framed Raonar for it. I believe there was a moment when Raonar had this Bhelen by the throat. Apparently, Arik and Dekel were hidden in the cell right next to our commander's and were supposed to intervene on Bhelen's behalf if anything should go awry.

They didn't interfere. According to them, they were so shocked by what they heard that part of them just couldn't move, while the other part actually hoped he'd just snap Bhelen's neck and be done with it.

As the two told us, Bhelen didn't really punish them, have them killed that is, at first, either because he couldn't move freely while his father was still alive, or because he didn't really realize they had failed him. After all, the whole 'by the neck' episode lasted a very short time. They also said Raonar actually seemed to try and cover for them and their hesitation to come to the youngest prince's aid.

Regardless, the fact remains that, the evening of the second day after the king's death was announced, they were cornered by a certain Frandlin Ivo and struck in the head, from behind, quite powerfully. As such, they were quite surprised to be waking up, especially in those strange circumstances. Apparently, they had been placed in body bags, well, produce bags actually, and had been loaded onto a large cart, along with a pile of empty crates or other cargo that merchants may take form Orzammar to Denerim.

It was also surprising that they had been 'packed' along with their weapons and pouches of gold, not that it was much. Once they succeeded in getting out of said bags, they went through the expected surface hangover (disorientation, nausea, sight discomfort etc.). it didn't help that they were in a moving cart at the time.

Apparently, they had been hauled off by one of the merchant caravans that had been forced to leave the city. During times of political unrest, like the death of the King and lack of successors, the Orzammar law was that the gates be sealed and all contact with the surface cut, including the surface dwarf merchants, until a new monarch was chosen by the assembly. As they said it, a certain lord Pyral Harrowmont claims he was named Endrin's successor and is opposing Bhelen.

Neither Arik nor Dekel knows exactly why they were covertly exiled from the city, but they assume it was Frandlin being sadistic. After all, many think that exile to the surface is worse than dying, because the ones that go live above ground won't be able to return to the Stone. A ridiculous notion, most likely.

Regardless, what truly concerns us is our commander's unconsciousness. As the two said, he asked them about the King and, after they told him, he walked off a bit before clutching at his chest and suddenly collapsing. I found nothing physically unwell with him, which is fortunate, considering that healing magic would probably not work on him anyway, because of that tear in the veil he harbors. I finally got around to asking about it last week, and he was surprisingly forthcoming. A dwarf with the Spirit of Honor as guardian, who would have thought?

Alim also found he could do nothing than wait. Meanwhile, he has summoned us all here, the two dwarves included, even Theron, Sten, Morrigan and Shale from outside the city, suspicions about golems be damned. Teyrn Loghain isn't in the city right now anyway, and the guard patrol, led by Kylon, is still on our side, so it should be safe for a day. The common room is a bit packed, but Alim said what he has to say was very important and would shed some new light on everything.

The only ones not here are Faren and Kallian, who said they already know what is to be said. They are upstairs, in the prince's room, watching over him.

"-. .-"

Without warning, he gasped and bolted forward, sitting up in his bed and sending the wet compress on his forehead flying all the way into the wall. The next thing he noticed was not Faren drawing away in surprise, or Kallian practically jumping back from the fright. What really let him know he was still alive was the really bad headache. Last thing he remembered was fighting the Archdemon on top of a mountain of darkspawn corpses and then... a flash of light.

And as he realized he had just fought off three month's worth of Archdemon nightmares, he remembered just why he had been left vulnerable. "Did I kill father...?"

Suddenly, both his hands were taken a hold of by others, his right one in a strong grip, and his left on in a tender hold. "Screw that, man, stop thinking that way," Faren said on the right.

"At least you woke up. We weren't sure you would," the city elf was heard on the left.

He let himself fall back on the pillow and waited until his vision cleared. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Since last night. So... about fourteen hours," Kallian answered. "We heard what happened. You collapsed after those two guys downstairs told you about... your father dying. I'm sorry, I really don't know what to say."

"Neither do I..."

They both sounded so lost, Faren especially. "Those two downstairs? What are they doing here?"

"They carried you here," the lass said.

"You're really something, you know that?" the other rogue said in awe. "I mean, those two were willing to fight to keep you safe even though they only had contact, or whatever it's called, with you for a couple of days."

"What? What are you talking about? What contact? I just met them yesterday..."

"Uuh..."

"Maybe you didn't see their faces. They said they were the guards of the prison when you were held there, back in Orzammar."

There was a pause.

"Tell me everything they told you."

So they did. It only took about ten minutes.

"So that really was why the guards didn't interfere when I had Bhelen by the throat. Too bad me saying that I knew they were there wasn't enough to cover for them. I guess I held him by the throat for a bit too long, so their hesitation to jump in was a bit more obvious."

"How can you possibly think of everyone at once?"

Faren had asked that, and he sounded worried. Raonar decided he's have to apologize to him later. Now though, he had to think. "Sorry guys, I'm okay now. Thing is, I've been blocking the Archdemon out of my mind, meaning that I haven't had nightmares, for several months now and he was so pissed because of it that he decided to make up for it now. I was just... a bit surprised when I lost consciousness, enough that he could break my mental defenses."

"Oh," they both chorused.

"Anyway, I need some time to think. Do you mind? I'm fine, really..."

They only looked at him a bit longer, so he tried to smile, but he didn't really know if he got it to look right because his headache may have made him cringe. Regardless, they nodded and cleared the room.

This was bad.

His father was dead.

"Father is dead."

It was too soon. Just too soon. His father hadn't gone past his fifties yet. Did he misinterpret the letter? Did he do anything stupid? Did Raonar overestimate his wisdom? These were just a few questions swimming through his mind right now.

He reviewed all the information he had uncovered. His father was dead. No doubt people will start to say he was poisoned, which may or may not be true. Bhelen might have even done it, but it was unlikely. After all, it was Endrin's approval he craved, like any overlooked child would. So he probably hadn't done it.

Then again, there was how he had supposedly been disowned, not that the rest of house Aeducan acknowledged that fact. As such, Endrin had probably not made an official announcement. Regardless, that he disowned Bhelen at all at least showed that he regretted sweeping his other sons under the rug.

Those two said Harrowmont was running for kingship now, and that Bhelen had failed to gather enough support. They also said it was Frandlin ivo that cornered them and had them covertly thrown out of the city.

This meant that Frandlin was made the one to take care of part of Bhelen's dirty work. He'd probably been sent to dispose of those two, now that they could be removed without the king getting suspicious or doing anything against it. But instead of killing them, he had them hauled out of Orzammar...

... because it was the only way they could live. That he left them their weapons and gold proves he wanted them to live, and that he placed them in a caravan bound for Denerim was even more telling.

This was a message.

A message from Frandlin Ivo to him.

A message that said "Come back as soon as possible." After all, he had sent those two towards the place most likely to spread the news of the Dwarven King's death to all corners of the nation, and where they had the biggest chance to actually find some work, some way to make ends meat.

Yes, if Frandlin was still alive, and in Bhelen's service, then Bhelen couldn't have found out that Trian still lived. And the fact that Harrowmont was opposing Bhelen meant that at least that part of his plan had proceeded correctly and his brother lacked the needed support in the Assembly.

What should he do now? They were supposedly bound for the Brecilian Woods. Did he have the right to divert their planned quest for his own reasons? Looking at it, that whole political mess in Orzammar really was not the Grey Wardens' concern. Yes, he did have a treaty for his people, so he could at least justify a visit somehow, but it wasn't just up to him. Alistair had already been a bit upset at how they were putting off the search for the Urn, and they had already spent more time than was needed in Denerim, although, granted, that really was ultimately for some Grey Warden business.

He took a deep breath and decided to go downstairs and wash his face, maybe have something to eat before actually deciding on what to do. He just hoped people wouldn't prod him too much.

He got out of the bed and changed his clothes. After that, he slowly existed and made his way down the corridor, then down the stairs, all the while unable to stop thinking of his father as an idiot for just going ahead and dying. He felt anger, something he rarely indulged in. he felt betrayed by his father again.

Then, after he reached the bottom of the staircase and turned around, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Everyone was there. Everyone, even Shale, and those two dwarves from the previous night. Everyone was now staring at him, with expressions he didn't really have time to prepare for.

Kallian, Faren, Theron, and Alim looked the least perturbed.

Shale was... well, looking like Shale, though still managed to come off as a bit intrigued.

Sten was standing a bit more solemnly than usual.

Leliana looked positively marveled for some reason, like she had just stumbled upon a storyteller's equivalent of a gold mine.

Zevran had a grin that threatened to split his face.

Wynne, Gwen and Alistair actually looked ashamed.

And, finally, Arik and Dekel looked at him like he was a god or something.

So, being bombarded by so many different emotions at once, the exile asked the only thing he could. "Why are you all looking at me like that?" Though he already suspected the reason.

The first to move were the newcomer dwarves. Basically, they walked up to him and kneeled. "It is good to see you well, your highness," they said at the same time, heads bowed low.

There was a pause.

So the prince rubbed his forehead. "Can this get even more awkward? Get up, both of you." So they did, but still looked at him with utmost awe. "And my question remains unanswered. Why are you all looking at me like that? Did I grow a second head when I wasn't looking?"

"That would be... because I told them," said the elven mage. "About how you didn't actually kill your brother I mean."

A white eyebrow rose way up. "Why? And what exactly does that mean?"

"Well, I know Faren didn't want to talk about it, and that Kallian was sworn to secrecy but, well," Alim grinned. "I was never sworn to secrecy. So I knew most of the general idea and told everyone while you were unconscious. So yes, everyone knows now, about how you sacrificed everything in order to stage Trian's death and, in so doing, keep both of your brothers alive."

"And uhh.." Faren broke in, rubbing the back of his head. "I kind of... put in some details, as one who was there I mean. I figured since the nug was loose anyway, I may as well make sure they get the right version of the story."

The exile wasn't sure whether he should feel relief or something else. Still, he was quite convinced that, whatever emotion he was supposed to experience right then, it probably could be expressed through a sigh. So he sighed. Deeply.

"Let me just say that you're incredible, your highness! I mean, you have to be the crazies- I mean the smartest dwarf alive,' Arik gushed. Yes, he was definitely coming down with a serious case of hero worship.

A few people chuckled in the background before Alistair got up from the couch he was sitting on and took a few steps towards him. "So, when are we leaving?"

"What?"

"When are we going to Orzammar? You did pack, right?" the templar said with a grin of his own.

"I can't ask you guys to do that," the dwarf weakly said. "I mean, it's not fair that we should just change all plans because of my personal problems."

"But you have to go back, your highness!" Dekel protested, but went silent when Arik elbowed him in the ribs.

"What personal problems?" Alim intervened in his academic voice. "By my assessment, resolving the political crisis in Orzammar as soon as possible is mandatory, because it will ensure that a civil war will not erupt and end up killing all the soldiers our treaty was supposed to recruit against the Blight. And I know that the only reason you haven't said this yet is because you don't want to seem as though you're abusing your authority as Commander of the Grey."

"Wait, you're the leader of the Grey Wardens?" Arik echoed, proving that he could actually look even more worshipful than before. "Damn, if I were a deshyr, I would totally vote for you as king, my prince."

"Your enthusiasm is refreshing but a bit disturbing," the much younger dwarf told them. "Look, I appreciate this, but I'll only have us to go to Orzammar if everyone agrees unanimously." There was a sea of raised arms even before he finished speaking. Even Morrigan had raised her hand. "Ahem, well, I suppose that takes care of that..."

It was only then that Wynne got up from her chair and walked over to the silver-eyed warden. Alistair led everyone else away, not that they couldn't overhear anyway.

"I feel I must... apologize," the elder mage began while fidgeting. "I realize I was... a bit difficult," someone coughed into his fist in the background, "more than a little difficult and-"

"Look, apologies aren't required," the prince cut her off with a placating gesture. "That goes for everyone else. I deliberately chose to keep you all in the dark about what really happened to me."

"I beg to differ," Wynne protested, entering her teacher-to-apprentice mode, oddly enough, not that it had any effect. "I immediately assumed the worst about you and it took me months to change my opinion, despite all evidence to show how flawed my reasoning was."

"Fine. Then just keep a more open mind next time. Apology accepted."

"Thank you."

"So!" Zevran finally spoke. "When are we leaving?"

Raonar sighed. "You do realize I am going to shamelessly use all of you for my own ends, right?"

"Well, given the history of your own ends, and how they always seem to be a variation of saving everyone, I doubt anyone will really have a problem with that," Gwen stated quite casually.

He actually laughed at that, a laughter filed with gratitude. "Thanks guys."

"Any time," Alistair said with a wave of his hand.

The dwarf began to stroke that perfect beard of his. "Heh. Fine, then we'll leave Immediately, so start packing. There's just one more thing I need to take care of before we go." He looked at the two former prison guards. "You two, follow me."

"Yes, your highness!" they dutifully acknowledged.

And he went through the door that led to the main hall, where all customers came to drink and generally have a good time. The prince made his way to the bar, where Bella was doing whatever it is hostesses do. "Ah, greetings there honey. Feeling any better? Was worried you were more sick that your friends let on."

Arik and Dekel were mildly shocked to see someone address their prince so casually, but they were stopped from saying anything by a gesture from him. "Indeed, I'm just fine. Now, Bella, I heard you're looking to hire a pair of bouncers..."