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[Sarah1281]

Costin_Razvan wrote...

Your kidding me....Cammen?!

Well you've got to admit, if Alistair unnecessarily trying to save you is going to ****** you off because someone else kills the Archdemon in the meantime, who would be more aggravating than Cammen?

I mean, unless Vartag or Frandlin Ivo came out of nowhere and did it. But since I can't see two people as important-or-dead as them going to fight on the Surface I picked Cammen.

[Costin_Razvan]

I admit it is indeed aggravating....my head would probably explode if such a thing happened....

[Sarah1281]

My twenty-third story was 'They Can't All Be Warden Material' where Duncan's tendency to recruit based on skill rather that personality really comes back to haunt everyone who is forced to spend time with her.


Angélique Amell, Circle Mage for all of six hours and Grey Warden for less than half a year, was not very happy and had no problem letting everyone around her know it. "This is such a drag," she complained, sweeping her long golden hair out of her bright violet eyes as she walked along the empty halls. She was very pretty and liked nothing more than to be reminded of it by the less-beautiful people of the world. "I wanted my homecoming to be all special and happy! I'm a Grey Warden now! I'm awesome!"

"And you've managed to escape this gilded cage," Morrigan said approvingly. She hadn't been a fan of their gorgeous leader at first, but after Angélique had gone out of her way to shower her with jewelry and mirrors, that opinion had quickly changed. '

"It is not a gilded cage," the least-pretty member of Angélique's current entourage, the ancient Wynne, snapped. "And where did you learnt control your magic anyway? Not at the Circle, certainly."

"Very good," Morrigan clapped her hands together in faux-cheer but declined to give her history.

"I agree with the anc…I mean, I agree with Wynne," Angélique hastily amended her statement before the ancient Wynne realized what she secretly referred to her as.

"What?" Morrigan gasped, unable to believe it and clearly wondering if she'd misjudged her initial misjudgment of Angélique. "But I thought you were glad to be out of here!"

"I am," Angélique agreed. "But the Circle isn't nearly pretty enough to be a gilded cage."

"…I don't quite think that's what they were arguing about," Alistair spoke up hesitantly. He had told her once that he had never been so grateful to have escaped the Templars before he met her which was just the sweetest thing!

"No?" Angélique cocked her head to the side, causing her magnificent tresses to ripple as she did so. "Well then I don't care. Stupid Uldred ruining my homecoming…Everyone is far more interested in him than in me and I'm too pretty to be ignored!"

"I know, I know," Alistair tried half-heartedly to soothe her. "Let's try not to do anything drastic this time, okay? Remember what happened in Orzammar?" Even though Harrowmont was clearly the only candidate with a soul and Bhelen hadn't even really bothered to deny the accusations of double-fratricide that were being lobbed his way, the Prince had spent twenty minutes waxing poetic on how beautiful Angélique was and so had quickly secured her loyalty. And if that weren't bad enough she handed the new King an army of golems because anyone with such discerning taste deserved the best. There were times he regretted his complete and utter lack of leadership ability…

"I don't know what you're-" Angélique began to deny virtuously before getting distracted by the sight of a Templar behind some sort of magical barrier. "Oh, hey, it's that Templar guy with the speech impediment! Hi, Templar guy with the speech impediment!"

The Templar in question brought his hands up to cover his ears. "How many times have I told you that my name is Cullen?" he asked wearily.

"It is?" Angélique looked adorably surprised. "Strange…that name strikes me as evil."

"Me too," the ancient Wynne concurred, "although I'm not sure why."

"I say we kill it," Morrigan suggested eagerly.

"We can't just kill him!" Alistair objected. Honestly, what was it with mages these days? Or was it just the ones he was forced to travel with?

"It's always the same," Cullen began rocking back and forth. "You'd think that in my shameful fantasy, at least, she would finally get my name right…but no."

Angélique brightened at this. "Shameful fantasy? That sounds promising. I want details!"

Cullen groaned. "What's the point? We've had this conversation so many times before…you've acted them out time and time again…often calling me Edward…"

Angélique snapped her fingers. "That was the name! Edward!"

"No, no it wasn't," Cullen insisted. "It's Cullen!"

"Alright, alright…" Angélique said sadly. "There's no need to bite my head off…"

"Sorry," Cullen apologized, immediately remorseful. "Wait? What am I doing? I may have a sinful desire for Angélique but this isn't she! It's a demon!" He closed his eyes tightly. "Be gone, foul temptress!"

"I-I'm not a foul temptress," Angélique told him, sounding on the verge of tears.

"Wait a minute," Alistair said, sounding confused. "You're inexplicably in love with Angélique, too? Honestly, I don't get why this keeps happening…"

"I'm very pretty," Angélique offered.

"No one's that pretty," Alistair said grimly.

"What? I don't understand…that always worked before," Cullen sounded lost as he now-open eyes revealed the four were still standing there."

"You're not very bright, are you?" Morrigan asked, sounding amused.

"Leave him alone, Morrigan," the ancient Wynne commanded. "The poor boy is exhausted!"

"I don't get it," Angélique announced. "You like me? And did you get a speech coach while I was gone or something? I'm noticing a distinct lack of stuttering and it's actually kind of freaking me out. It's like you're a whole different person. Well, no, actually it's like you're the same person but without the stuttering. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's weird."

"I didn't get a speech coach," Cullen informed her. "I just am past the point of caring about trying to impress you. Not that it ever did much good…you can't even get my name right…" he murmured, suddenly glum.

"Um, since you seem to realize that I'm really here, maybe you should stop saying these things?" Angélique suggested tentatively. "It's kind of getting awkward."

"Don't you see that I don't care anymore?" Cullen cried out.

"Well, maybe not now," Angélique allowed. "You will, though, the minute this is over and you get a good night's sleep. Maybe the sleep deprivation and torture is where your newfound crush on me came from-"

The ancient Wynne coughed pointedly.

"Yes, anci-Wynne?" Angélique asked politely, managing to catch herself again.

The ancient Wynne merely shook her head. "Oh, don't mind me, child."

Angélique narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You know something that I don't, don't you?" she pouted.

"I am a great deal older than you, child, and I suspect there are many things I know and you do not," the ancient Wynne said delicately.

Angélique rolled her eyes. "That's an understatement. I actually meant about the Edward-"

"Cullen!" Cullen interjected.

"Whatever," Angélique sighed. "The situation with him," she nodded towards Cullen.

"This boy has been in love with you for some time," the ancient Wynne revealed.

Angélique drew back in surprise. "What do you mean? You never even met me until Ostagar; how would you know?"

"I never met you personally, no," the ancient Wynne confirmed. "Though Irving was always going on about your remarkable talent…and you're somewhat regrettable personality."

Angélique beamed at the praise and seemed not to hear the criticism. "Aw, I heart Irving, he's great."

"Why can't you just say love like a normal person?" Alistair demanded.

"Why do you even bother asking?" Morrigan inquired. "You know she'll just say she's too pretty to conform to other people's standards of language."

"It's true," Angélique confided.

"And he also said that you never listen properly," the ancient Wynne continued.

"I hear that," Alistair muttered.

"The entire Tower knew that Cullen often followed you around and stared at you," the ancient Wynne revealed. "Not to mention he could barely string two words together in your presence…"

Angélique shrugged. "I just thought he had a speech impediment and was kind of an idiot."

"I am not!" Cullen objected.

"Well, to be fair, you kind of acted like it," Angélique said matter-of-factly. "And did they really, anc-Wynne?"

The ancient Wynne nodded in amusement. "Oh, they certainly did. It was, perhaps, the most popular topic of conversation for months. You really never noticed it?"

Angélique shook her head innocently, creating another ripple. "Not even slightly."

"You have my sympathies, Templar," Morrigan said grudgingly. "Your love interest is barely aware that you exist, even now."

Cullen sighed heavily. "It is probably for the best. It is forbidden, anyway."

"This topic is making me feel oblivious and I don't like it," Angélique complained, heading for the stairs to the
Harrowing Chamber. "I'm going to go save Irving now. Make sure to bring that Litany thing we got from Nail."

The ancient Wynne rubbed her temple exasperatedly. "That's Niall, Angélique."

She followed their unlikely leader, trailed closely by Morrigan and Alistair.

"Wait!" Cullen called after them. "I haven't even told you how they're all abominations!"

It was too late; they were gone.

"Oh well, they'll find out soon enough." Cullen paused. "I just hope Angélique actually notices…"

Modifié par Sarah1281, 08 juillet 2010 - 03:21 .

[Costin_Razvan]

That's......madness!

[Sarah1281]

My twenty-fourth story was 'The Myth of the First Warden' where the Warden decides not to bother playing at being Arlessa and makes Loghain do it instead.

"Well that's settled, then," Aunn Aeducan said cheerfully. "I've finally sorted out all my Surface problems and get to head straight back to fix the mess my little brother and I made of my House…"

Loghain Mac Tir looked incredulously at her. "You can't just leave now."

"And why not?" Aunn asked defiantly. "Like I said, I've dealt with all my Surface issues and now I need to deal with my problems in Orzammar. And I have a lot of problems. While killing all those relatives who spent my whole return visit snubbing me felt really, really good and I don't regret it for a second, their deaths also really hurt our House so I need to hurry up and return. Ancestors know I probably should have gone back already but I was too busy recruiting volunteers to supplement the troops Anora's already sending to help drive back the darkspawn. Come to think of it, I'll probably need to convince Harrowmont to let them in…oh well, I guess that's just one more reason to head back."

"But what about Amaranthine?" Loghain inquired.

Aunn blinked. "What about Highever?"

Loghain frowned, not seeing the connection. "What about Highever?"

"Oh, so we're not just naming geographical locations in Ferelden?" Aunn asked innocently.

"Of course we're not!" Loghain exclaimed.

"My mistake," Aunn said easily. "It would be helpful if you specified what, exactly, about Amaranthine you think should prevent me from going home?"

"Not prevent," Loghain clarified. "Delay."

"Alright then, what about Amaranthine should delay my return to Orzammar?" Aunn obligingly rephrased her inquiry.

"Anora – and, I suppose, that boy – have decreed that Amaranthine was to be given to the Grey Wardens," Loghain reminded her.

"You know," Aunn said slowly, tapping her chin. "I do vaguely remember hearing something like that in between all my goodbyes and good news. Good for them. From what I can tell, the Wardens haven't had the easiest time since they've returned to Ferelden and this should really help them out."

"The Arling is going to need an Arlessa," Loghain hinted. "The Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens is a natural fit, I should think."

Aunn gasped theatrically. "By the Stone, you're right! Has anybody told Anora this? I would ask if anyone's told Alistair but he refuses to have anything to do with the Wardens since he quit."

Loghain rolled his eyes. "I'm certain that my daughter is well aware of the need to grant the title to the Warden-Commander."

"I'm still not seeing what this has to do with me," Aunn confessed.

"You're the Warden-Commander," Loghain told her bluntly. "At least until more Wardens have been trained."

Aunn laughed. "Me? As if."

"There's no one else," Loghain insisted. "The boy resigned from the Wardens and is now King – Maker help us – besides. Riordan is dead and I am too likely to meddle. There are no more Ferelden Wardens. Therefore, the job falls to you. Unless, of course, you'd like to let the Orlesians handle it?"

Aunn shuddered, looking a little lost. "Oh, Ancestors, no! I can just imagine…all those accents…"

"Now you see why it has to be you," Loghain said gently, knowing the argument was about at a close.

"I know nothing of the sort," Aunn disagreed much to his surprise. "I appreciate the need to have Wardens you can talk to without making your ears bleed, but I've got to stop the other Houses from tearing Aeducan apart."

"Well what do you propose we do then?" Loghain challenged. "If you won't do it, I can't do it, and we agree that the Orlesians are not an option."

"I vote that you do it," Aunn declared.

Loghain stared at her. "Are you even listening? I just said that I can't do it-"

"Why not?" Aunn interrupted. "You obviously feel that this is important and, frankly, have nothing better to do."

"If I stay here I will meddle in politics," Loghain explained wearily. "I won't start off meaning to but I know myself well enough to realize that if I stay in Ferelden that will end up happening. I'm no longer a Teyrn and cannot afford to get involved. Think of the problems it will cause for Anora if she has to try and save me from my inability to stay out of the way."

"Not for nothing, Loghain, but didn't you just say that whoever is the Warden-Commander of Ferelden would logically also be the Arl of Amaranthine?" Aunn queried.

"I believe I used the term 'Arlessa', but yes, I did. Why?" Loghain asked.

"Seeing as how there are only three Wardens in Ferelden right now and Alistair's quit, I intend to step down from active duty, and the other one is you, that makes you the senior member of Order. Sure, you've been a Warden for all of two months but what a two month's it's been. I man, do you really think the Wardens in Orlais could match your darkspawn body count?" Aunn demanded. "And as Arl you'll be expected to meddle. Sure, you'll have less power than you did as a Teyrn but not much less and you'll adjust."

"I don't suppose they would unless they've been on any Deep Roads expeditions to Kal-Sharok and it is true that Arl's have a great deal of power," Loghain conceded. "But people will never accept me as Arl. I've done too much damage over the last year to have them all forget so quickly."

"Well, it's not like this is Anora and my idea so she can keep you in Ferelden and I can go home," Aunn claimed.

Loghain raised an eyebrow elegantly. "It isn't?"

"Of course not!" Aunn exclaimed, sounding vaguely indignant. "We have no choice in the matter. Anora just gave the Arling to the Wardens and the First Warden – who, as you should know, we all must listen to – is the one who decided that you're going to be Arl. Either Anora can take the Arling back from the Wardens or she has to allow you to follow orders."

"The First Warden?" Loghain repeated. "I've heard of him. He lives in Weisshaupt, right? I suppose people would have to accept that…But why would he choose me instead of you?"

Aunn looked confused for a moment before her expression cleared. "Right. I'm not going to make the same mistake Riordan did about assuming that Alistair and I knew everything we ought to about being Wardens so, and please remember that we're alone and no one else could possible overhear us, what exactly do you know about the First Warden?"

"I just told you," Loghain said, a little irritated. "You claim you've been listening yet you keep asking me to repeat myself…He lives in Weisshaupt and the Grey Wardens all follow his commands unquestioningly."

"I thought so," Aunn nodded. "The First Warden isn't real, Loghain."

Loghain blinked. "He isn't real? Are you sure?"

"Not even slightly," Aunn confirmed. "You've heard how the Wardens in the Anderfels are all mixed up in politics? They hide behind the cover of the First Warden whenever they do something controversial so their name isn't attached to it. Similarly, if Wardens who aren't from the Anderfels would like to do something but feel that they can't for whatever reason – maybe because of how it would look – they simply claim that the First Warden ordered them to do it and possibly fake a letter with the instructions on it."

"You're not serious," Loghain said flatly.

"Oh, but I am," Aunn assured him. "Anora told me all about it and since no one but Wardens are allowed in Weisshaupt and the Anderfels are thousands of miles away, non-Wardens don't find out about the hoax and the non-Anderfels Wardens invocation of the First Warden is never questioned."

"If no non-Wardens know about this then why would Anora?" Loghain asked skeptically.

"Oh, she found out from Cailan," Aunn explained.

"Cailan wasn't a Warden, either," Loghain pointed out. "Although Maker knew he wanted to be one…"

"I have no idea how Cailan knew," Aunn replied. "Although he seems to have known everything else. Did you know that the first thing Anora did when she saw me after the Blight was over was demand to know why I wasn't dead if I slayed the Archdemon? I've learned so much more about the Wardens from Anora. You should ask her about them sometime, since you're now one of them and at this point you can either hear it from her or from the Orlesians."

"I guess Cailan's fascination might have actually been good for something after all," Loghain mused. "So what do you propose? That you pretend the First Warden wants me to lead the Arling?"

Aunn nodded and held out a letter to him. "As it happens, the orders arrived this morning. The First Warden is fully cognizant of how groundbreaking it is that the Wardens have been granted a place in politics outside of the Anderfels and beseeches you to be mindful that your actions will have an effect on the future of the Grey Wardens."

"I see," Loghain said, taking the letter and scanning it. It read pretty much like Aunn had summarized. All in all, it could be worse. Although his long-standing Grey Warden paranoia was flaring up again at the thought of all these brazen Warden lies. Notably, they didn't seem to bother Aunn but then he'd heard tales of Orzammar politics and he knew that she had grown up at the heart of it. "Am I to be the only Warden there, then? It may take awhile to find quality recruits and not all of them will survive the Joining."

"Anora's already found one," Aunn told him. "A knight, I think. What was her name again? Oh right, Mhairi." She hesitated. "As for the rest…I believe the Orlesian Wardens also received orders from the First Warden and will be sending over a dozen Wardens to help you out. You'll be the Warden-Commander, though."

Loghain stood transfixed by horror. "Great," he finally managed to say.

Aunn noticed his dismay. "Not to worry, Loghain; they promised they'd only send the ones with the least noticeable accents."

Modifié par Sarah1281, 08 juillet 2010 - 02:01 .

[Sarah1281]

My twenty-fifth one was 'Endrin Aeducan and Endrin Aeducan' where Bhelen confronts his brother about the stupidity of naming their sons the exact same thing.


There were times when King Bhelen Aeducan honestly could not remember why he had ever remotely hesitated at the thought of his killing his older brother. Yes, they had been close growing up and Reidin had always been there for him and made sure to distract Trian when he was being overly critical but there were times when he did something so incredibly idiotic that Bhelen really wished that he'd just stayed dead.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded.

Reidin glanced over at him. "I have no idea. You'll need to specify about what, exactly, you want me to tell you what I was thinking." He tilted his head, considering. "Although, if I'm being honest, then I may still have no idea even if you do elaborate."

"You named your son Endrin!" Bhelen accused.

"So I did," Reidin confirmed serenely, clearly not knowing or caring why his younger brother was annoyed by this. "Or rather, so Mardy did," he corrected himself, "because I honestly didn't care what he was called. Not to mention that I was still in shock about actually being a father in the first place. I mean, I know that that was technically the point of that threesome but given what happened afterwards I kind of forgot."

"You forgot?" Bhelen asked incredulously. How does one just go around forgetting things like that anyway? It was very unprofessional. Then again, given that very shortly afterwards Reidin had been cast out to die for Trian's murder maybe allowances could be made. It was a little irritating that he'd had to have Trian killed himself instead of convincing Reidin to do it but the minute his brother had paled and cried out, horrified, 'You mean I would have to be King?' he had known it was a lost cause. Still, it was a little late to change that particular plan and Reidin's popularity would have made him an unwanted complication anyway.

"It's true," Reidin assured him, picking up on his skepticism. "For that matter, I still don't actually remember her or that other girl but Gorim claims that I did sleep with them and that I told him it was epic. Besides, I suppose the kid does look like me so why not?"

"Focus," Bhelen ordered. That was one good thing about Reidin's return: after years of being forced to endure Trian ordering him about like some sort of cross between a child and a pet, he was now able to be the one giving orders to his family members. Of course, Trian and his father were dead and Reidin was now a Paragon but those were minor details. "Why would you let that casteless woman name your only heir?"

Reidin shrugged. "To be fair, I was hardly a Paragon back then and I wasn't even a Prince at the time so what did I need an heir for? Besides, if it was a really stupid name like Vartag I would have vetoed it."

Since Reidin's return to Orzammar, their relationship had improved quite a bit (although given that when Reidin had initially left Orzammar it had been Bhelen's attempt to kill him it would be difficult not to be on better terms) mostly due to Bhelen's desire to have the only living Paragon, his popularity, and his influence on his side and because Reidin had never been one for grudges and loved his new status as Paragon. Still, Vartag and Reidin could not be in the same room for longer than two minutes before they started sniping at each other and, if left alone, would probably end up trying to kill each other. It was ridiculous, naturally, but didn't appear to be serious enough for him to intercede.

"The suffering you endured because of the usurper's treachery is regrettable," Bhelen said smoothly. Even in private he preferred not to mention anything that might contradict the official story which, after Bhelen had decided to reinstate his older brother, was that the usurper had Trian killed, framed Reidin for the deed, and then attempted to frame him for the framing. "Still, at least you proved yourself a true Aeducan in the end by bringing him down, ending the Blight, and having the humans send troops to take back our land from the fulcrum of true evil."

Reidin looked amused. "You really like that phrase, don't you? And while I will fully admit that it is really unoriginal to name your child after someone else – particularly if that someone is important like a King as that gives them far too much to live up to – you have to keep in mind that Mardy really didn't expect to be allowed to name him and she didn't want to make me wait around all day after I'd just saved her so I guess that was just the first thing that occurred to her. Why are you so concerned, little brother?"

How was it possible that he really didn't know? Was it even possible? "Because Rica and I have also named our son Endrin and now we have two Endrin Aeducans who are very close in age and similar in appearance."

"Really?" Reidin looked mildly curious. "That could be frustrating later, especially for our sons, I suppose. Why would you do that?"

"I was trying to honor Father and add a little bit of joy to his life while he was dying mourning you and Trian," Bhelen answered, unsure of why he was even being asked to explain such an obvious concept.

"And you were trying to convince Father not to replace you with Harrowmont," Reidin added with a knowing smirk. "Too bad it was a wasted effort."

"I told you not to use his name!" Bhelen hissed. He wasn't being at all reasonable here about a House as old as Orzammar itself and which wasn't simply going to go away because he hated it. And even if he was then Reidin was still doing it on purpose. "And it wasn't Father's fault that the usurper took advantage of their past friendship to try and advance his foul ambitions."

"I'm sure you'd know nothing about that," Reidin muttered.

"Nothing but what I've seen other do," Bhelen claimed. "As I told you when I warned you about that conversation the usurper had staged where Trian was ordering his men around: I would not have wanted the throne at the cost of my brothers' lives. It's good that you survived, at least."

Reidin rolled his eyes. "I'm sure. And you can't blame me if you chose the same name that I did. Doing that is even more unoriginal than Mardy's was in the first place."

Was her serious? Bhelen wasn't sure but he may as well assume that he was and respond accordingly. "I named my son before you did."

"Are you sure?" Reidin asked quizzically. "Mine's older, after all."

"Of course I'm sure," Bhelen said, a little indignantly. "My Endrin was named before Father even died and if you were offered the chance to name yours and you didn't return until after Father's death then it is impossible for you to have named your Endrin first."

"Maybe," Reidin conceded. "But since my Endrin is older everyone will just assume you stole the name from your poor not-immediately-recognized nephew."

Bhelen sighed. "Undoubtedly you are correct. But since there was no way I could have known you were letting the boy's mother choose the name and that she would pick Endrin this is not in any way my fault."

Reidin looked unconvinced. "Mardy didn't even ask me about a name until I could make the pair of them Aeducans and you wouldn't agree to that until I had crowned you."

"Well I didn't want to fix your baby mess and then have you put the usurper on my throne," Bhelen said reasonably. Even if he himself hadn't wanted the throne, Reidin had always been rather fond of the man who would have prevented him from claiming his birthright.

"If I were going to do that I'd just have had Harrowmont adopt little Endrin," Reidin countered, no doubt enjoying annoying his brother by using the usurper's actual name. "Of course 'Endrin Harrowmont' sounds stupid so there was very little risk of that happening, especially once Zevran and Wynne's attempts to sway me to different candidates ended in them arguing over whether murder was wrong. Again."

"But you could have made him a," Bhelen paused slightly as he realized that he would, indeed, have to invoke the usurper's name, "Harrowmont until you ended the Blight, became the head of House Aeducan, and finally became King yourself." Yes, he might know that that simply wasn't the kind of thing that Reidin was interested in but given his own longstanding interest and the lengths he had gone to achieve it he simply could not wrap his mind around why.

As per usual, Reidin spectacularly failed to give out any stunning insights into his character. "I was never really very interested in any of that. It's kind of a drag." He coughed. "Oh, and then there's family loyalty, of course."

"Ah yes, that," Bhelen said dryly. "So easy to forget, really."

"And what do you mean it's not your fault?" Reidin demanded. "I had seen you a few times before Mardy named the kid and you didn't even mention that you even had a son, let alone what his name was. You first heard about my son when Mardy tried to explain about him and you knew he was mine when I mentioned it to you. Given Father liked me better and I had just lost him as well, it's not unreasonable to think I might choose that name."

"That's all very well and good, Reidin, but the fact of the matter is that you didn't choose his name, his mother did," Bhelen pointed out.

"But I could have," Reidin said dismissively. "You had all the facts and I didn't. It's on you, really."

"We're going to need to give nicknames to them now and they will sound undignified and nobody will be able to tell them apart…" Bhelen trailed off, shaking his head. "Does this really not bother you?"

Reidin shrugged again. "Not really. Then again, I really don't have to worry about it; you're the King, after all."

Yes, Bhelen was definitely going to have to kill him at some point.

[Sarah1281]

My twenty-sixth story was'Breaking the News' where poor Gorim is left trying to tell the rather uninterested soon-to-be-exiled Prince of Orzammar about his fate.

Gorim Saelac wouldn't be exaggerating if he called these last few days the worst of his life and it was only going to get worse: he had been charged with being the one to break the news to Reidin Aeducan as King Endrin had retreated to his palace to deal with his grief and Lord Harrowmont didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. Still, it was his last chance to see Reidin before the sentence was carried out and Reidin likely perished so he couldn't say he minded all that much.

"You've got ten minutes, ser," the guard told Gorim impassively. "Orders and all. You understand."

Yes, Gorim did understand. He understood all of it. That didn't make it any better. "Of course," he replied a little distantly. "Leave us alone, will you please?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, ser," he said before marching back the way he had come.

Gorim watched until he had reached the very end of the hallway and thus was safely out of hearing range before he turned his attention to the man he had come to see. "My Lord…" he began uncertainly. It wasn't like he hadn't tried to plan out how this conversation would go but he still had no idea how he was supposed to tell him just what Orzammar had in store for their favorite Prince. "I…" He couldn't do it. Not yet. "I would have come sooner had they allowed it."

Reidin, looking perfectly at ease in rags though Gorim knew he had never so much as gazed upon them before, tucked a strand of his light blond hair behind his ears and looked up from his book. "Oh, hello Gorim," he said politely. "It's good of you to have come."

"How are you holding up?" Gorim asked. He didn't expect the answer to be a positive one but he could hardly avoid posing the question without coming off as unbearably rude and he desperately wanted to hear that the other man was alright even if it were only a comforting lie.

Reidin cocked his head as he considered the question. "I'm doing good," he announced. "I was a little bored earlier but Bhelen brought me this book. Some scholar named Genitivi apparently wrote it a few years back about the Surface. Did you know that there is an actual hole in the sky and that it goes on forever? And that it's blue?" He shook his head in disbelief at that little oddity and either completely oblivious or simply unconcerned about the more pressing issue he'd just brought up.

"Why was Bhelen here?" Gorim asked sharply. Sure he was no longer technically Reidin's second but someone had to look out for him and at this point it looked like it was either him or Harrowmont who was already trying to comfort the King for Reidin's completely unnecessary death.

Reidin shrugged. "He said something about wanting to look into the eyes of the man who killed his brother and ask why I did it."

Of all the… "But you didn't do it! He was already dead when we arrived," Gorim pointed out, trying to keep his anger under control. He had never liked Bhelen. Sure, he was less abrasive than Trian had been but he had never quite trusted someone who could be so important and yet stay so completely in the background. And looking back, Trian hadn't actually been all that bad. If nothing else, he'd never framed Reidin for fratricide.

"You and I might know that along with Ivo and anyone else Bhelen involved that is still among the living but until I hear otherwise then that's the official story," Reidin said stubbornly. Ancestors knew that the deshyrs didn't deserve it but the Assembly had Reidin's loyalty so he would stand by whatever they decided even if they had clearly all been bribed. As reluctant as he was to admit it, Bhelen had shown himself to be stunningly brilliant over the past two days and that was why he couldn't just let this go.

"So why was Bhelen really here? Was he trying to kill you?" Gorim pressed. If he had then he would have done a spectacularly poor job of it and it was highly unnecessary given the news he had yet to deliver.

Reidin looked amused. "Bhelen? Kill me? I doubt he'd do so personally. Plus, I'm rather unarmed here so it's not like I could have stopped him. No, I think he mostly just came to gloat," he mused.

"So it's not enough that he's ruining your life? He had to come down here and rub your face in it?" Gorim demanded, his resentment rising. If only Bhelen had been the one to die then none of this would have happened as Trian was certainly not a mastermind of the same caliber Bhelen was revealing himself to be. How had they all been so blind?

"I don't mind," Reidin said serenely. "At least he could be bothered to visit unlike, say, my Father. I congratulated him and he seemed pleasantly surprised. We talked for a bit and then he gave me this book. It was all very cordial."

Gorim could hardly believe it. "Cordial? Are you serious? He framed you for fratricide!" he exclaimed.

"And he assured me that it was only a little personal. He has some daddy issues, you see," Reidin confided, "but it's really not all that relevant. For that matter, I'm really starting to get some daddy issues of my own with the way I haven't seen my Father at all since he ordered me dragged through the streets of Orzammar in chains. I mean, really? People could actually see me!"

Reidin would be concerned about something like that when he clearly had much bigger problems. "Your father hasn't left the Palace since you were arrested," he informed him. "He said that he couldn't bear to lose two of his children at once."

"And so he's doing nothing to intervene with whatever is happening to me," Reidin said dryly. "Brilliant. I can really see where Bhelen gets it from."

"Okay, you can't possibly blame your father and not Bhelen when he's the one who actually put all of this into motion," Gorim protested.

"Can't I?" Reidin asked rhetorically, raising an eyebrow. "I know what Bhelen wants to get out of this: he wants the throne and I am more than happy to let him have it. How, exactly, does this benefit my father?" Yes, Gorim was well aware of Reidin's ever-growing paranoia of being forced to take the throne which was one of the reasons he had always supported Trian: he viewed his older brother as his last line of defense again being forced to become King himself. What's more, Bhelen knew it, too. If he hadn't before he had tried – and failed – to convince Reidin to take action to make his succeeding their father more likely then he certainly had after Reidin had had a mild panic attack at the very thought. Still, Reidin's disinclination to take the throne didn't necessarily mean that he wouldn't be chosen which was Gorim's theory about why Bhelen blamed Reidin anyway.

"Maybe he doesn't want a scandal to cost the Aeducans the throne," Gorim suggested a little lamely. "Honestly, it's not like we've discussed this at length."

"And even though he has a reason for abandoning me he still can't be bothered to come and see me," Reidin said, entirely unsympathetic to what his father was going through. Then again, given that King Endrin was essentially killing his favorite son to prevent a scandal Gorim could hardly blame him. "I was a little put-out that it's taken you, what, two days to come by but if you couldn't get in then I can't blame you."

"I'm actually surprised that your brother found the time to come see you given how busy he's been since Trian's death," Gorim admitted, deciding it was about time to gently lead into the subject. If he could have put it off indefinitely then he would have but he didn't have all day and Reidin needed to know. Better that he heard it now from him then from an impassive Lord Harrowmont moments before it actually happened.

"Oh? What he's been up to?" Reidin asked, perking up. He must be extremely bored if he actually wanted to talk about politics. Reidin would always do his duty and get involved where he had to but to actively seek it out? That was…really, really bizarre.

"He's taken Trian's place in the Assembly and convinced them to immediately condemn you and exile you into the Deep Roads," Gorim said as quickly as he could, hoping he wouldn't be asked to repeat that.

"Really? He works fast," Reidin said approvingly. Gorim wasn't at all sure why he was being so complimentary towards something that was likely to get him killed but then again it might just be a noble thing. "If I ever see him again, I'll need to congratulate him again as now I'm even more impressed than I was before!"

"Yes, I suppose he's more clever than either of us ever thought," Gorim conceded. That much was painfully obvious at least or else he never would have managed to pull it off and something of this magnitude had to have taken years. "Some of the Lords, particularly Harrowmont, are rallying but far too slowly to be of any use to us." It didn't appear that they would manage to organize fast enough to even save him let alone Reidin so he almost didn't mention it but surely he'd want to know that the entire Assembly hadn't turned against him and that some were as shocked and appalled by this as they were. Not to mention that since tradition and ceremony were minor obsessions of Harrowmont's Gorim wasn't even sure if he'd even mention his belief in Reidin's innocence as he cast him out.

Reidin snorted. "Well isn't that a surprise." He stopped and a look of concern spread across his face. "Wait, us? Are you in trouble, too?"

"I'm afraid so, my Lord," Gorim confirmed. He wasn't particularly eager to dwell on his own misfortune but it honestly wasn't anywhere near as bad as Reidin's fate. "My knighthood will be stripped and my name torn from my family's records…"

"'Will be'?" Reidin repeated, apparently seeking more of an explanation.

"That won't happen until I'm exiled to the Surface which the Assembly will need to work out the details of over the next weeks," Gorim elaborated. And what a fun next few weeks they would be. Still, it would be easy compared to what awaited Reidin and so he really couldn't complain to him now could he?

Reidin winced sympathetically. "They're sending to the Surface? Harsh. Do you want to borrow my book?" he offered, holding it out.

Gorim shook his head. He was not about to take literally the only thing Reidin owned right now. "I'm sure if I need it later I can find my own copy."

"So that's several weeks off? Please tell me that that's not how long I'll need to stay here," Reidin pleased. "The food here is frankly substandard to say the least and the décor is depressing!"

"No, Lord Harrowmont is going to be down here in a few minutes to hand you a weapon and shield and then send you on your way," Gorim assured him. Just how bad had the past two days been if he was eagerly awaiting his death sentence? Then again, Reidin had always been a strange one.

"Good thing I have this book then," the soon-to-be exiled Prince said brightly. "I wonder how long it will take to find a path to the Surface…"

Gorim blinked, surprised. "You intend to find a way to the Surface?" It would appear that he didn't need to worry about trying to convince him then.

Reidin shrugged. "Why not? The Deep Roads are really dull and there's not much food down there and I've never liked mushrooms anyway. Besides, the darkspawn find a way to the Surface occasionally – more often now with a Blight amassing, I should think – and they certainly don't come through Orzammar so there has to be another way, probably more," he said reasonably.

"Lord Harrowmont actually let me in to see you so I could tell you that the Grey Wardens are still in tunnels connected to those you are to be sealed in," Gorim revealed. "He may not have managed to get you sent to the Surface but he was able to influence where you were sent, at least. You could find Duncan and escape with the Wardens."

"Sounds like a plan," Reidin said agreeably. "Was there anything else?"

There was but Gorim wasn't quite sure how to say it. Finally, he decided to just spit it out. "I begged to go with you and fight at your side but Bhelen's pet nobles wouldn't hear of it."

Reidin inspected a nail. "I'll probably be better off without you."

Well that he hadn't expected to hear. Some admonishes that he should have tried harder, some angry accusations about whether he had actually done so, even some platitudes about how he was better off but this? He didn't quite know what to say. "My Lord?" he asked, startled.

"Well, no offense, but I'm a better fighter than you and if anyone is with me I'll have to worry about being," Reidin shuddered and made a face, "all responsible."

"I can take care of myself, my Lord," Gorim insisted, mildly affronted.

"I know," Reidin told him, sounding sincere. "But while my tentative plans seem to be to go find I might get lost and stumble across the Legion of the Dead and decide to join them instead. Then where would you be? Forced to either do that as well or have to go forth and look for Duncan on your own and that's really not fair."

"I suppose so," Gorim said reluctantly. At any rate, even if he managed to convince Reidin that it would be a good idea for him to come along it's not like he would be able to so there was little reason to argue the point. "Well, if you ever decide to commit to responsibility, I'll be in Denerim."

"Okay. I'll make sure to look you up if I don't manage to get myself killed," Reidin vowed. "Oh, and if I don't forget…"

Honestly, Gorim wasn't quite sure how Reidin was going to survive without him.

[Sarah1281]

My twenty-seveth one was 'I Quit the Blight' where the Warden, foolishly taking Alistair's 'I don't even know if Wardens can have children' to mean she won't get pregnant, ends up having to drop out of their epic quest.

Ahria Tabris nervously tugged on her bright red hair. She really did not want to have this conversation but she knew that if she put it off for too long then she might be tempted to never reveal the truth and she couldn't hide it forever. The two hadn't thought anything of it when she had requested just their presence on a 'scouting trip' and that was the only way she could think of to ensure any degree of privacy. "Alistair, Zevran, we need to talk."

Predictably, Alistair started looking incredibly uncomfortable. "Uh-oh. That's never a good sign. But wait…you dumped me. Why do I have to be here for this?" he demanded, looking over her shoulder as if there were an escape route somewhere behind her.

Ahria sighed. This had nothing to do with anything and she really should just let it go but it annoyed her a little and she was all for further delaying this conversation anyway. "We've been over this before, Alistair: we were never involved."

Alistair immediately started giving her the puppy dog look (and her mabari Nelaros really didn't have anything on him though her fellow Warden often swore he didn't realize that he did that) and Ahria had to look away so that she could remain strong because she knew that she was right. "I get that you chose Zevran but please do me the courtesy of not pretending that our past didn't happen."

"But we don't have a past," Ahria reminded him. "I just asked if your Templar vows meant that you were a virgin and accepted a rose that you gave to me under false pretenses!"

Alistair crossed his arms and frowned at her accusation. "It was not under false pretenses."

Ahria raised an eyebrow skeptically. "No? Then tell me how does 'I wanted to give you this to remind you that there is still beauty in the world since your life keeps falling apart and things are pretty horrible right now' translate into 'If you take this that means we're in love'?"

"Try and keep in mind, Ahria, that he's a virgin. He's hardly an expert at wooing," Zevran spoke up, giving Alistair a significant look that made him flush although Ahria had no idea what that was about.

"I guess…" Ahria agreed reluctantly. It was one thing to make allowances but quite another thing to be expected to feed someone's delusions that you dated them.

"But I will agree with Alistair that nothing good ever comes from a conversation that begins with the words 'we need to talk'," Zevran prompted her.

"Well…" Ahria hesitated. She had known for about a week now and she still had no idea how to broach the subject but there could be no more stalling as both men were looking expectantly at her. "It's not good, exactly, but it might be so later. For now, though, this is practically a disaster."

"Well? Do not just leave us in suspense, my dear Warden," Zevran said playfully, deliberately dispelling some of the tension.

Now or never. "I'm quitting," Ahria blurted out.

"You're quitting? Quitting what, exactly?" Alistair asked, confused.

"The Grey Wardens," Ahria clarified, hoping he wasn't about to make this difficult.

No such luck. "You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking," Alistair said uncomprehendingly.

She couldn't say that as much as she might want to. "I'm sorry, Alistair."

"You can't just quit the Grey Wardens!" Alistair cried out, sounding somewhat desperate.

"Watch me," Ahria said simply.

"But…but what about the Blight?" Alistair asked, getting increasingly frantic.

"Ferelden still has you, Alistair, and we've just finished getting all the treaties. You'll be fine," Ahria said gently. She forced a smile. "I have faith in you."

"May I ask why you're so eager to leave the Wardens, Ahria?" Zevran asked curiously. As her leaving wouldn't mean that all the pressure of stopping the Blight would fall to him he was taking this a lot better than Alistair was. Well, at least until he found out her reasons for doing so.

"Well, it's not like I'm eager to do this but it must be done," she prevaricated.

"Why?" Zevran pressed.

"I…" Ahria trailed off. This was so very stupid and embarrassing and the worst possible timing and… "Oh, Maker. I can't say it."

"I can't accept your resignation until I have a reason and it needs to be a good one," Alistair said firmly. Were there Grey Warden policies against leaving the Order during a crucial time like this? Jory hadn't survive attempting to forego the Joining but Alistair wasn't Duncan, she had a better reason than simple fear, and he had been a clear security risk from the start. "We need you, Ahria."

Damn, he knew her and her weaknesses too well, it seemed. But it wasn't like she could just change her mind about this. It was the only choice she could really make and be at all responsible. "I'm pregnant," she said quietly, hoping they wouldn't ask her to repeat it.

Again, her luck failed her. "…What? My hearing must be going. I could have sworn that you just said that you were pregnant," Zevran said, his eyebrows shooting up higher than she had known was possible. At least this time it wasn't Alistair again or she'd probably hit him.

"That would be because I did and I am," Ahria said defiantly.

"Really?" Alistair furrowed his brow. "But…how?"

Ahria rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Alistair. You're a grown man. If you really don't know by now then ask Wynne. She was trying to tell you where babies came from earlier, wasn't she?"

The ex-Templar quickly reddened. "I know where babies come from!" he insisted.

"So you've said but I'm not convinced," Ahria said flatly.

"And neither am I," Zevran agreed. "I think you had best lay our doubts to rest right here by telling us everything we know and we can helpfully correct whatever misinformation you may have heard."

"I am not going to have this conversation with you!" Alistair exclaimed, looking faintly horrified. "And I meant that I didn't know it was even possible with the taint and whatnot."

"Well apparently is it," Ahria said lamely. What else was she supposed to say? 'No, Alistair, it's not possible but it happened anyway'?

"Am I wrong in assuming that I am the father?" Zevran asked slowly, sounding almost hesitant.

"Of course you're the father!" Ahria said indignantly. "How can you even doubt that?"

"Well, we haven't exactly agreed to be exclusive," Zevran pointed out delicately.

Ah, right. Zevran's commitment issues. It wasn't like she didn't understand intellectually but basically being told that he didn't care who else she slept with as long as it didn't hurt the other person's feelings was not one the high points of their relationship. "But I have been. You're the only person I've been with since I became a Grey Warden and I'm not far enough along for it to be from before."

"So you're pregnant," Alistair repeated, shaking his head. "Well, we're not going to judge you or anything."

"I should hope not but it wouldn't matter if you – or rather, Wynne – did because there is nothing wrong with having a child with the man that I love," Ahria told him bluntly, her eyes flashing.

Zevran choked. "Wait…love?"

"Yes, love. Is that a problem?" Ahria challenged. She knew that she probably shouldn't have even brought it up but since she had she really didn't need the father of her child getting flaky on her right now.

"I…I'm going to need some time to process this," Zevran told her.

"Well if nothing else I won't have time to deal with that until I'm done getting you guys to deal with the reality of my pregnancy," Ahria informed him.

Zevran nodded his understanding. "I shall endeavor to think quickly then."

"Ahria, I'm not really sure how to ask this but…is that safe?" Alistair asked hesitantly.

"Safe?" Ahria echoed. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean…I have never heard of a Grey Warden having a child after they joined the order," Alistair explained. "At first I thought that it was impossible but if you're pregnant than clearly it can happen. Still, with the taint and everything…what if the baby is tainted? You could be giving birth to a darkspawn or something!"

"I'm a Grey Warden, not a broodmother!" Ahria protested, going over to smack him over the head.

"I know but we don't really know anything about this," Alistair backpedaled slightly, rubbing his head. "Even if you don't give birth to a darkspawn the taint can't be good for the child."

"Pardon but what is this 'taint' that you speak of and would it really be that harmful to my child?" Zevran asked solemnly.

"I…it's a Grey Warden secret, really, but we won't be able to tell if there's a problem until it's born," Alistair said hastily. "It will probably be fine."

"I see," Zevran said, sounding unconvinced. He shot Ahria a look that implied he'd be grilling her on the matter later but that was fine by her. This probably was relevant information for him to know.

"You can still come with us, you know," Alistair told her in an effort to change the subject. "The Grey Wardens don't come with a morality requirement or make you take any vows of chastity."

"Yeah, but I'm pregnant," Ahria reminded him.

"You keep saying that but I'm not seeing why that matters," Alistair confessed.

Maker, had he never been around a pregnant woman before? Actually, that was entirely possible…and even if he had been since at Redcliffe when Connor was born Isolde was no fighter and so he might not see the problem. "I can't fight, Alistair. Frankly with all the times I've been stabbed, attacked with magic, fallen from great heights, or gotten darkspawn blood on me it is a miracle that I even managed to get pregnant in the first place and that's not even taking into account the taint-reduced fertility. Honestly, I'm not sure if I'll be able to successfully carry this child to term as it is and there's no way that that will happen if I keep fighting. Not to mention that as my pregnancy progresses I will physically become incapable of fighting."

"Oh. Well, it's not that I'm not happy for you both because I am but…is during a Blight really the best time for you to have a child? Especially if you're one of the only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden?" Alistair demanded.

"Well it wasn't like it was on purpose!" Ahria told him, a little irritated. "But you told me that it wasn't even possible for a Grey Warden to have a child and I sort of figured that you would know."

"I said that I thought it wouldn't be possible," Alistair defended himself. "Clearly I was wrong."

"And now we both will have to suffer the consequences and Ferelden may very well fall because of it," Ahria said gravely.

The three stood in a solemn silence for a moment before Zevran broke it.

"Ahria, I'm not sure if this is the best time but there's this piece of loot I've been meaning to give you. It's meant a lot to me but feel free to sell it if you don't like it…"

[Arassi]

I just love your dialogues! These are always fun to read. Keep up the most excellent work.

[Sarah1281]

My twenty-eighth story was 'Wait, You Already Knew?' where not only has the Warden already realized Alistair's parentage but wasn't even aware it was supposed to be a secret.

Alistair stopped suddenly as the bridge leading to the village of Redcliffe came into view. He was out of time. The problem was, even though he had known this day was coming since he had seen the truth about Loghain, he still wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to break the news about his father to his fellow Warden. For that matter, he was nearly positive that he didn't want to. Still, it wasn't like there would be any avoiding it once he saw Eamon again and so it was best to just try and get this over with now. "Angélique, now that we're here at Redcliffe, there's something I need to tell you."

Angélique Amell smiled winningly at him. "I know that the sun shimmering through my hair is achingly beautiful and that I have on the most gorgeous armor that you've ever seen. You may feel free to tell me all about it, though, if you'd like," she invited.

Alistair rolled his eyes. He should have known she'd find some way to make this about how pretty she was. And she was very, very pretty with her long blonde hair and sparkly violet eyes – she was probably the prettiest girl he'd ever seen – but it just wasn't enough for him to overlook the fact that she was…well, Angélique. "I'll pass, thanks you."

"You can't resist me forever, Alistair!" she declared boldly, tossing her head to send a ripple through her lengthy tresses.

Alistair watched impassively, grateful that his years in the Chantry had given him some hard-won self-control. "Yes, I think I really can."

Angélique, predictably, misinterpreted this to suit her desires. "You're so sweet to worry about my virtue!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in delight.

"Are you even listening to me?"Alistair demanded, a little annoyed.

"Of course, Alistair sweetie. You're very special to me, you know," Angélique said seriously, seeming to have forgotten all the times he had asked her not to address him by some inappropriate pet name.

Alistair debated pursuing this argument once again but decided against it. He couldn't put this off forever, tempting though it may have been. He sighed heavily. "You know what, never mind. Do you remember how I told you that I was raised by Arl Eamon?"

"No," Angélique replied promptly. She tilted her head in mild curiosity. "Who is Arl Eamon?"

"The Arl of Redcliffe," Alistair reminded her. A blank look was all he got in response. "You know, where we just showed up? He can help us deal with Loghain."

"Oh, right. Him," Angélique said, sounding utterly unconvincing. She seemed to realize this as she quickly pushed forth. "So you were raised by him or something?"

"Yes. What ever happened to 'I listen to everything you say because you're special to me,' anyway?" Alistair wondered sarcastically.

As he had expected, the sarcasm was once more lost on Angélique . "Nothing. It's still true," she declared earnestly.

Alistair put his hand up to his forehead. "Angélique is better than facing the Blight alone, Angélique is better than facing the Blight alone…" he repeated like a mantra.

"Aw, I feel the same way!" Angélique gushed, somehow managing to take that as a compliment.

Alistair cleared his throat loudly. "The reason Arl Eamon raised me was because my father was King Maric."

Angélique waited for him to go on. When it became clear that he wasn't going to, she prompted him with, "Okay…"

"Okay?" Alistair couldn't believe his ears. "Okay? I've been worrying to the point of losing sleep for weeks now over how to tell you this and all you have to say is 'okay'?"

"Congratulations on your acknowledged royal parentage!" Angélique tried again, looking positively radiant as she beamed.

"My mother was a maid up at Redcliffe castle and…" Alistair trailed off as he realized something odd. "Why aren't you surprised? You do realize what I just said, right?"

Angélique drew back, moderately offended. "Of course I do! You just told me about you and King Maric."

"Then…why aren't you reacting more strongly?" Alistair asked, confused.

"Well, how am I supposed to be reacting?" Angélique inquired politely.

Alistair shrugged. Now he was expected to be scripting other people's reactions for them? "I don't know. Maybe some shock or horror?" he suggested.

Angélique nodded. "By the Maker, you're a bastard prince? I never knew! To think that I, a mage, would fall for you! This can only end in tragedy," she cried out obligingly.

Alistair studied her carefully. "How genuine was that reaction?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Not even slightly," Angélique confessed. Damn. Clearly she was some actor. Now if only he could think of a way to get her to act like she was somebody he didn't dearly wish to strangle half the time…

"Why aren't you surprised?" Alistair asked instead. "Most people would be, I think."

"Oh, well I already knew," Angélique said casually.

Alistair stopped breaking and automatically took a step back. "You…what? But how?" he asked weakly.

"The Circle Tower has a room full of portraits of previous Kings and, honestly, if you had the same hairstyle as Cailan did then you'd look exactly like your father," Angélique explained as if it were obvious. Since he was a former Templar-in-training perhaps he was expected to know there things? "As it is, when I first met you the resemblance kind of freaked me out. Didn't you take after your mother at all?"

Alistair looked down, disheartened. "I'm not even sure what she looks like," he admitted as the vague, ghostly image of Goldanna danced in front of his eyes.

"Cailan looked just like you and Maric as well but even if he had Maric's hairstyle it was a lighter color. Anyone who had ever seen you and either Cailan or Maric – or even just a portrait of one of them – will either make the connection or be too stupid to live," Angélique announced.

"And…you noticed this, did you? All by yourself?" Alistair couldn't help but ask, figuring that she probably wouldn't notice the insult. Angélique wasn't stupid, of course, but her consistent degree of self-absorption was actually quite remarkable.

"Of course I did," Angélique replied, sounding a little surprised at having been asked. "It was actually pretty obvious."

Alistair shook his head suddenly, rejecting her words, rejecting the very notion that all the sacrifices he'd been called upon to make, all the miseries of his youth were for naught. "No, I can't believe this! It's not that obvious!"

"About a year or so ago, there was this Orlesian noblewoman who came to tour the Tower for whatever reason. When she saw Maric's portrait she got upset and started talking about…" Angélique trailed off, a puzzled look crossing her delicate feature. "Well, you, actually."

"An Orlesian noblewoman?" Alistair repeated, rubbing his chin. "There aren't many of them left in Ferelden. I wonder if that was Lady Isolde. I don't know what she'd be doing at the Circle Tower, though."

"Well, I don't know either," Angélique told him. "Still, whoever she was she clearly had seen you before and made the connection."

"But…that's impossible. Very few people even know about me," Alistair insisted, crossing his arms defensively.

"Very few people might have been officially informed, Alistair," Angélique allowed, "but unless you want to let me drastically change your appearance permanently then people are going to continue to recognize you."

"No one has ever said anything…" Alistair mused, pointedly ignoring her suggestion that she be allowed to do any kind of advanced magic on him. Maybe that was the Templar talking instead of him, as Morrigan was apt to say, but he really didn't trust her that far. It was a sad, sad day indeed when one couldn't even trust one's own fellow Wardens but there you had it. It almost made him regret having put her in charge but at least they were usually fully clothed whenever they followed Angélique someplace.

"Maybe it's for the same reason that I didn't: it wasn't relevant and was obvious enough that I didn't realize that it was supposed to be some big secret," Angélique offered.

"The most oblivious girl I know is the first one to see it," Alistair muttered, horrified. "This is either pathetic or a really, really bad sign on the secret front."

Angélique was no longer listening. "You know, this village has a really misleading name. The cliffs aren't even red or anything! Some landmark…"

[Sarah1281]

My twenty-ninth story was 'Fear of Ruling' where Bhelen tries and fails to convince his not-interested older brother to commit fratricide.

Prince Bhelen Aeducan waited until Trian was safely out of the room before he made his move. He shook his head and allowed a trace of weariness and annoyance to seep into his voice. "I honestly don't know how you put up with him."

Reidin shrugged slightly. "Easy. He's the only thing standing between me and the throne."

Most people wouldn't list that as their reason to put up with an abrasive older brother and, in fact, might well have that as their motivation to get rid of a more tolerable brother. Not that Bhelen would know anything about that, of course.

Reidin had always been a little odd, though, which was why Bhelen was approaching this far more delicately than he had when he had fed Trian the same story. A basic 'Oh, dear. Reidin may try to kill you' on his part had been enough to elicit a predictable reaction of 'Oops. Can't let that happen. Have to get him first' from his paranoid eldest brother. He had known Trian would accept any confirmation of his fears about Reidin no matter how unsubstantiated but Reidin never seemed concerned with sibling rivalry and so it was smarter to be able to actually be telling him the truth about Trian.

"He and everyone else in Orzammar are well aware of that fact," Bhelen said at length. "And that's part of the problem."

"It is, isn't it?" Reidin agreed with a sigh. "Why couldn't I be the youngest? Then there would be not one but two people in line for the throne before me and I could stop worrying that Trian is going to do something stupid and get himself killed."

"That's a very interesting attitude, big brother, though of course I appreciate the vote of confidence," Bhelen said dryly. "The problem is that Trian either isn't aware of your disinclination to take the throne or doesn't believe it." Or felt it was still too great a risk given Reidin's overwhelming if inexplicable popularity ad the fluid nature of alliances in the Assembly.

"I suppose that would certainly explain his ever-increasing hostility," Reidin mused. "Is this really something that I need to concern myself with, do you think?"

"Unless you want to end up dead, it is," Bhelen responded flatly. If things went as planned then Reidin would end up dead anyway but he could hardly tell him that, now could he? Reidin really wasn't at all like Trian and had always made it a point to be there for both of his brothers over the years, not that Trian had been all that receptive. Bhelen knew why it was necessary to have Reidin killed but he wasn't entirely sure why he wanted it to happen. Trian wanted Reidin dead because and insecurity but Bhelen was better than that. It was probably just his inability to separate Reidin the brother from Reidin the rival that was making him actually look forward to this. Reidin's status as favorite might be annoying, after all, but it really did him no favors as their father's insistence on coddling him was damaging his ability to keep his ear to the Stone and to get involved with the deshyrs. It was far more obvious why he wanted Trian dead; the man had treated him the exact same way their entire lives and he was beyond sick of it.

"Ending up dead certainly sounds unpleasant," Reidin agreed. "Alright, Bhelen, tell me."

"Trian has begun to move against you," Bhelen confided, lowering his voice as if worried that someone might overhear this confession. That wasn't sodding likely with all his carefully placed bribes, but he had to keep up appearances. "I never thought his much-proclaimed honor would allow him to actually act on his jealousy."

All that really mattered in Orzammar, of course, was the appearance of honor but Trian had some ridiculous notions about actually being honorable, probably because he was counting on that to keep him alive as plotting against the named prince was outright treason…if you were caught, which Bhelen wouldn't be. Still, the thought of Reidin committing such treason was enough to propel Trian forward to confronting him on the matter. His desire to have the nobles turn their back on their brother by having him answer for his crimes before the Assembly would appease his sense of honor and if Reidin wouldn't surrender then he could at least say that he tried to settle things peacefully. That might be a problem but if Reidin would commit to planning fratricide then that and the bribed scouts from tomorrow's expedition should be enough to ensure that it ended in a bloodbath.

"Trian's jealous of me?" Reidin asked, surprised. "He acts like he thinks I'm the most incompetent person he's ever had the misfortune to be forced to acknowledge."

"Well, he's not going to admit to it," Bhelen pointed out. "But I assure you that he is and everyone knows it."

"Gorim, is this true?" Reidin demanded, turning to Gorim.

"It is, my Lord," Gorim confirmed, doing a good job of keeping most of the 'you should know this already' out of his voice.

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Reidin asked, puzzled. "That seems rather remiss of you."

"My apologies, my Lord," Gorim told him.

Reidin turned back to his brother. "Anyway, how do you think he intends to act on this mysterious jealousy you claim that he has? More lecturing? I don't want to be rude or anything but it drives me crazy when he does that."

Bhelen shook his head sadly. "If only. Big brother, Trian is going to try and kill you," he declared dramatically, enjoying the grandstanding despite himself but hoping that he wasn't overdoing it and making Reidin – or, more likely, Gorim – suspicious.

"Why would he want to go and do a silly thing like that?" Reidin wondered. "I mean, I know we don't really get along but fratricide is kind of extreme."

"I wouldn't have thought he would either if I hadn't overheard him giving orders to his men," Bhelen lied.

"If you go agree with me that this is so unbelievable then why would Trian even do it?" Reidin asked again.

"He's decided that you're a threat to taking the throne," Bhelen explained slowly. He paused before going on. "Maybe he's right."

Reidin snorted. "Pull the other one, little brother."

Well that was unexpected, to say the least. He hadn't thought that Reidin would doubt him while he was still detailing the common knowledge about Trian's reasons to dislike him. "Pardon?" he asked uncertainly.

"I am desperately afraid that the Assembly would pick me to succeed Father as I would then feel morally obligated to abide by their wishes," Reidin reminded him. "Trian being King is in my best interests." He paused. "Well, unless he goes mad with power and decides that he'd like nothing better then to spend the rest of our lives bossing me around because that would be really annoying and I'd be better off with you on the throne."

He really wouldn't. In fact, given that in Trian's plan Reidin's death was only a possibility while in his own it was a certainty it was really quite the opposite. "Why are you so against ruling, anyway?" Bhelen wondered aloud. "I mean, maybe if it were just not wanting to have to do what it takes to become Orzammar's next King but you make it sound like more than that."

Reidin shrugged. "There's no profound reason, really. It just sounds like a pain."

Bhelen stared at him. "You think being the King would be a pain?"

Reidin nodded. "Of course. You'd have to attend Assembly meetings all the time, listening to deshyrs complaining all the time, couldn't wander off into the Deep Roads to have impromptu darkspawn-killing parties whenever you want to, wouldn't be able to travel, definitely couldn't plot to run off and join the Grey Wardens...not to mention that would probably really kill my social life and romantic prospects."

Bhelen didn't even know how to respond to any of that and so he elected to just ignore it. "Just because you might not be actively courting the Assembly doesn't mean that they still wouldn't choose you and – as you just admitted – if they did you would accept the appointment. Besides, it's rather difficult to believe that you aren't courting them."

Reidin tilted his head to the side. "Really? What have I ever done that could possibly be misconstrued as me 'courting the Assembly'?" he challenged.

Bhelen couldn't resist rolling his eyes at the question but that was okay as that was perfectly fitting for his persona as harmless if sarcastic. He wasn't sure how he'd be expected to spend years pretending to be the anti-him if he hadn't decided to keep the sarcasm. "Oh, I don't know. There was that one time you entered and won your own Proving just to win glory and to please the crowds-"

"AND to score a date with Adal Helmi," Reidin interrupted. "There is nothing sexier than a woman who could probably kick your ass…"

Bhelen really didn't see the appeal of such a dangerous relationship but given his tastes tended to run towards casteless girls – or rather one in particular – he supposed he wasn't really one to talk. "And then there was that time that you slaughtered the heir to House Dace just because his father dared to insult our House-"

"And because he insulted Gorim and I hate House Dace anyway," Reidin cut in again.

Would he let him finish a sentence? Honestly! "And then there was that time that you managed to find the Ortan Thaig-"

"Which was a complete and total accident as I was actually just trying to make my way back to Orzammar," Reidin reminded him.

"Be that as it may, we may be able to locate Caridin's Cross and who knows what else from that information," Bhelen pointed out. "And these sorts of things happen all the time. It's really a wonder you're not the heir already. If you win glory against the darkspawn tomorrow – which you will if Father has anything to say about it – then good luck avoiding becoming Father's successor."

Reidin looked horrified. "There must be something, anything I can do!"

"You've got a little more important things to worry about than that," Bhelen said grimly. "Trian's out to kill you, remember? Maybe you should deal with him first and then hope that you not being heir will work itself out."

" 'Deal with him'?" Reidin repeated dubiously. "Like…kill him? Why would I do that?"

"Because he's trying to kill you and so clearly self-defense?" Bhelen offered.

"Yeah, but that seems really counterproductive towards my ultimate goal of staying off of the throne," Reidin remarked.

That was probably true but it worked great in Bhelen's own plan to keep Reidin off of the throne. "You can't just ignore this, big brother."

"Sure I can," Reidin said cheerfully. "It will be easy. I'll try and talk to him after the expedition tomorrow when all the excitement dies down and if he tries anything before then then I can just run away!"

Gorim looked like he was getting a migraine. Bhelen felt a sudden pang of sympathy for him: it really couldn't be easy to be the second to someone who was so reckless and seemed to lack even basic self-preservation instincts. He didn't think he'd fight whatever token punishment the Assembly would give to the warrior before him.

"You are my elder and so I shall respect your decision," Bhelen said, making sure to sound concerned. "Be careful, Reidin, I would hate to lose the brother I actually like."

That was a waste of time. Still, never let it be said that he didn't have a backup plan. Now, to find Vartag and instruct him to contact those mercenaries again with their new orders to make sure to save Reidin from becoming King. Really, if Bhelen weren't planning on killing his brother then Reidin really should thank him for working so hard to respect his wishes on the matter.

[Sarah1281]

My thirtieth one is 'Why Can't You Just Do It?' where Alistair just can't understand why his fellow Warden, who also happens to be a mage, can't do Morrigan's ritual with him instead.

Alistair Theirin was leaning against his bedpost, counting the cracks in the ceiling when Caunira Surana walked in. It would have probably been more comfortable to do this while lying in bed but he hadn't undressed yet and so the armor would have made things rather uncomfortable. "I didn't expect you to still be up," he greeted her when she made no move to speak.

Caunira raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Really? Not only are you yourself still up and in full armor but we only left Riordan's room twenty minutes ago."

Oh, but she did have a point. "…You looked tired," he said lamely.

Caunira ignored the excuse in favor of beginning to explain her reasons for being in his room. "So, you know how you were complaining earlier about how me engaging you to Anora probably dooms you to die a virgin?"

Alistair grimaced at the reminder of his bride-to-be. Anora wasn't the worst choice in a wife and she was certainly good at what she did but even if she was beautiful and her evil father was dead he had to say that he was not a fan. Still, he supposed he'd have to get used to the idea eventually as Anora told him that should he survive the Blight then they'd be married in six months time. It was almost enough to volunteer to do the deed, to be honest, and Alistair had the strange suspicion that Eamon knew exactly what he was thinking. "That was actually the least of my reservations about this but it's so good of you to notice."

"Any time, Alistair," Caunira said absently as she nervously tucked a strand of her long dark hair behind her ears. Caunira didn't really get nervous and so this instantly put him on alert. "Well, Morrigan and I were talking and she's decided to sleep with you."

Alistair's eyes widened in horror. He briefly considered the possibility that she was joking but if she was then it was, quite frankly not funny and she would know better than to lie about something like that. But…this didn't make any…no. It was really hard to try and think about this through his growing repulsion. "What? How…very nice…" he managed to say at last. "Sadly, I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline her oh-so-generous offer."

"It's important," Caunira said firmly.

"Not to worry, Caunira. I spent my teenage years resigning myself to die a virgin. I'll be fine," Alistair told her, trying to sound light-hearted. Maker knows that that probably wasn't why she was mentioning this but it was how she had brought the subject up and so if she wanted to stall then he would and maybe if he stalled for long enough then he wouldn't ever need to face this.

Caunira looked at him almost pityingly, perhaps having some idea of how much this idea was deeply disturbing him. "I don't want to die tomorrow," she blurted.

Alistair's shoulders relaxed marginally. That was what this was all about? He should have known, really, but that still made her request that he sleep with Morrigan a bit – a bit? Who was he kidding? – of a non sequitur. "You won't have to. Riordan said he'd take the final blow."

Caunira just stared at him for a moment as if she couldn't believe that he actually thought that Riordan's assurance that he'd sacrifice could be counted on. "Riordan didn't seem to notice Loghain's infamous paranoia about Orlesians – which some people in Orzammar asked me about – and he's got an accent no matter what he might claim about being from Ferelden. He's spent the last few months languishing away in Howe's dungeon. He also can't be bothered to tell us relevant information in a timely manner. You can bet that if I knew we'd need a human sacrifice to feed to the Archdemon tomorrow, I wouldn't have beheaded Loghain," she said flatly.

Alistair growled at the mere idea of that traitor not being cut down like he deserved at the Landsmeet. His only regret about the way things had played out was that he hadn't been able to do the deed personally but Caunira had some ridiculous notion about how Anora might not marry him if he killed her father and so insisted on beheading the former hero herself. "If Riordan can't do it then I will," he volunteered.

Caunira snorted. "Not sodding likely."

"Why not?" Alistair asked, puzzled. She had just said that she didn't want to die, after all, and it wasn't like he was going to fight Riordan for the right to do it.

"Because you're going to be the King!" Caunira reminded him as he could forget. That had been his mind so Eamon had suggested it, doubly so now that it was official and not just a terrifying possibility. She made a face. "That, as much as it pains me to admit it, makes me more expendable than you."

"I disagree but we can talk more about that after you explain what the idea of me and…and her has to do with wanting to live," Alistair told her. She had carried them this far and without her he honestly had no idea what he would have done, alone and lost in the Korcari Wilds with only two crazy and evil apostates for company and the terrible knowledge that he really was all alone… "I mean, unless you thought that doing this would make me suicidal but I already volunteered and you nixed that idea."

"If you sleep with Morrigan, the Archdemon can die without taking one of us with it. I'd do it myself if I could, but I'm not a guy so I can't," Caunira explained, sounding far too calm and matter-of-fact about this for Alistair's tastes.

"How do you figure that?" he asked tightly.

Caunira shrugged disinterestedly. "Some kinky sex ritual of Flemeth's."

Alistair blanched. "The thought of this ritual being Flemeth's bothers me on so many levels."

"I aim to please," Caunira deadpanned. "Look, I'm really not sure on the specifics of this ritual because Morrigan was being cagier than usual."

"But why a sex ritual?" Alistair was having a great deal of difficult getting over that part, particularly as he would have to be the one to actually do the deed with their would-be savior. "I mean, I'm hardly an expert or anything but the only explanation I can think of for why sex would have to be involved would be if a child were to be created and we all know that she's not have that."

Caunira didn't reply but her already not pleased expression turned positively grim.

Alistair's heart sank. "She…she's after a child, isn't she?" Just what the Kingdom needed, another bastard with its sights on the throne.

"She'll probably make a better mother than Flemeth?" Caunira offered lamely.

"That's kind of like saying you make a better Warden then Jory. It may be true, but it's not really saying much," Alistair pointed out, his mind racing. "And why would conceiving a child save us anyway? I don't see how a new life being created would prevent the Old God's soul from going…into…wait." His eyes found Caunira's and he silently pleaded with her to tell him that he was just imagining everything. No such luck as she quickly looked away.

"Look on the bright side, you never thought you'd get a chance to be a father," the elven mage tried to sound positive. She hesitated. "Although I should probably warn you that Morrigan intends to leave after the battle and never come back."

"I certainly never thought I'd get a chance to be my father who sired a bastard and then had nothing to do with it. With me," Alistair said bitterly as the memories of growing up unwanted invaded his thoughts.

"At least it won't be your fault she won't stay?" she tried again.

"I don't trust her," Alistair said bluntly. "She's evil."

"I know she can be abrasive at times and she may not be the most trustworthy person around," Caunira admitted, "but she's hardly evil."

"Caunira, don't take this the wrong way but you're hardly the best judge of evil," Alistair told he gently so as not to inadvertently offend. "I mean, your best friend is a dangerous maleficar that nearly doomed all of Redcliffe, got Connor possessed, and poisoned Arl Eamon."

Caunira rolled her eyes. "Look, he was only my best friend because the only other candidate was Angélique. Besides, Jowan's not evil, just physically incapable of making good choices."

"One could make the same argument about Morrigan," Alistair argued. "I might be willing to do this to save you – and that's a big maybe – if it were anyone but Morrigan. Why can't you do it?"

"Because I'm female as well," Caunira said, looking like she was trying very hard not to sound like she thought he was being stupid which, to be fair, if he had actually been asking that he would have been.

"No, I mean: this is a magical ritual that can save us. Morrigan can do it because she's a mage. You are also a mage. Why can't you and I do the ritual?" Alistair asked reasonably.

Clearly Caunira disagreed with how sensible his question was, however, as she laughed. "What, you mean other than the fact that with the taint reducing the fertility of a Grey Warden the odds that two can have a child together, even with a magical ritual, are very, very low? Or the fact that I'm not even sure that this is a ritual that can be performed by anyone? Or the fact that I don't know how to do the ritual?"

"Well if the ritual can boost fertility for one Warden why not two? And it wouldn't hurt to try while sleeping with Morrigan would hurt. A lot. I might even cry," Alistair said earnestly. "And why wouldn't you be able to perform the ritual? Would it have some special requirement that you had to be human to do it or related to Flemeth? Maybe if the two species weren't compatible but elves and humans can have children together just fine."

Caunira's eyes hardened. "I know. Human children. Forgive me for not being at all interested in aiding to the destruction of my race, Alistair. Besides, Morrigan said that she went along on this journey specifically to get this baby so that we wouldn't have a random stranger showing up here tonight after us not having seen her since Ostagar demanding a baby." Alistair had forgotten Caunira's distaste for elven-human (or elven-anything-that-didn't-happen-to-be-elven) relationships due to the children issue. He probably should have remembered, given his own disastrous attempt at courting her before she had practically ran into Zevran's arms. Not that he was bitter or anything.

"Can't you, I don't know, read ritual from one of her Grimoires?" Alistair asked hopefully. "Even if you won't do the ritual yourself you could at least see if there is more information on the ritual so I'll know if I'm going to be killing a baby's soul or setting forth a great evil or causing another Blight one day or…or…whatever!"

Caunira shook her head. "You don't get it, Alistair. If she knew about the ritual before coming and she only even saw the first one once our journey started and wasn't allowed to read the second one until we semi-killed her mother then she couldn't have learned about the ritual from the books."

She had a point. But still… "That doesn't mean that the ritual wasn't also recorded in one of the books."

"Maybe not," Caunira agreed. "But the books, even if I did succeed in stealing them, are written in a language I don't understand. Unless you think it's a good idea to ask Morrigan to try and teach me this language in one night so I can look for information she doesn't want me to have then I'm afraid I just don't see the point in doing so."

"You don't think Morrigan would be willing to help out?" Alistair asked, already knowing the answer.

Caunira laughed. "Please. She's been putting up with us for over a year because she wants this baby. Why would she just hand over the knowledge that we would need to do it without her? In fact, since it only requires one Grey Warden I might be able to do it with Zevran so it would be an elf and that would solve the 'can two Grey Wardens procreate' problem."

"I suppose I can't see her doing that," Alistair admitted. "But…surely there's some other way?"

"Of course there is," Caunira told him seriously. "And that's you getting left behind tomorrow while I go off and get myself killed so you get to blame yourself for the rest of your life as it will be all your fault as you couldn't just suck it up and sleep with Morrigan." A beat. "And I'm also making sure that everyone else knows this, too."

The thought of all their angry companions coming after him for Caunira's death was not a pleasant one. It might get him out of being King but it might not even be worth it. "Fine…Let's get this over with before I change my mind."

[Sarah1281]

My thirty-first story was 'So, Did You and Oghren Ever…?' where Sigrun asks Aunn whether she'd even been interested in Oghren since, you know, shared species totally equals a mad desire to jump each other.


Sigrun stood in the doorway as she watched the departing Warden-Commander of Amaranthine packing. Aunn had made no secret of how much she didn’t appreciate filling in as Arlessa while the Ferelden Queen did what she had to to get her father appointed to the post instead and so it was hardly surprising that, barely a week after the Architect and the Mother had been slain, she was going back to Orzammar.
 
“Commander, I have a question for you if you don’t mind,” Sigrun said hesitantly. It really was rather silly but since Aunn was leaving she may never get another chance to ask this and really would drive her crazy. Sigrun wasn’t actively serving with the Legion anymore so she wouldn’t have much opportunity to go to Orzammar – until she found time to do her Calling between all the Warden responsibilities she’d suddenly been saddled with – and she’d been discouraged from going back to the city anyway. She could always ask Oghren, she supposed, but it was always…difficult to talk to him since he took and gave offense so freely.
 
Aunn looked up from her pack and smiled encouragingly. “Ask away, Sigrun.”
 
Even with the invitation to proceed, Sigrun still hesitated. “It’s kind of a personal question. And…weird. I’m actually not sure why I’m even wondering about this at all but once I started I really could stop thinking about it. Trust me, I’ve tried,” she rambled.
 
Aunn laughed gently at how flustered the other girl was. “It’s alright, you know. You can ask me anything and if the question bothers me then I just won’t answer it.”
 
“Promise you won’t get mad?” Sigrun asked, just to make sure.
 
Aunn nodded dutifully. “I promise.”
 
“Or laugh?” Sigrun pressed.
 
“I’ll make an effort,” Aunn replied, preferring not to make promises she might not be able to keep and she had no idea what Sigrun was about to say.
 
“Okay then,” Sigrun said, taking a deep breath once she’d run out of stall tactics. She’d already put this off for weeks and was really running out of time. “You know how Oghren was the only other dwarf travelling with you to end the Blight?”
 
Aunn tilted her head. “Well, unless you could Shale,” she confirmed.
 
Sigrun frowned in confusion for a moment before remembering that Shale was the golem that had been travelling with them and golems being discovered to have been made from dwarves had been almost  as hot a topic for gossip as the new King. “You’ve also said that you’re not interested in non-dwarves, right?”
 
“I must admit that Teagan may have been an exception,” Aunn said slowly, “but nothing happened. Other than that, though, yes. Why?”
 
“Well, did you ever, you know, like Oghren?” Sigrun asked in a rush, feeling very much like she was a hormonal teenager again.
 
Aunn choked and a few strands of blonde hair fell out of her braided double bun. “Wait, what?!?!”
 
“Were you ever interested in Oghren?” Sigrun obligingly repeated despite suspecting that Aunn knew exactly what she’d just asked.
 
“I don’t even…” Aunn trailed off, shaking her head. “Why would you ask me something like that?” she demanded.
 
“You said you wouldn’t get mad!” Sigrun protested.
 
“I’m not mad although I may have gone into shock…” Aunn declared, looking rather pale.
 
“It’s not that weird of a question, surely,” Sigrun said stubbornly. “You guys were travelling practically alone for months on an epic quest to end the Bligh…closeness develops due to proximity and your hormones get the best of you…things happen.”
 
“Not with Oghren they don’t,” Aunn said firmly. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels.”
 
“So, what? You didn’t like him?” Sigrun asked just to make sure.
 
“Of course not!” Aunn exclaimed, sounding a little horrified at the very thought. “Why would you even think that?”
 
“Well, it’s like I said. You and a select group of people were all travelling alone for weeks and months on end, he was the only dwarf…” Honestly, Sigrun did think it sounded like some pretty weak justification but she’d seen couples get together for less. She didn’t understand it and apart from the decidedly non-helpful ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’ then no one who did could explain it.
 
“Do you like him?” Aunn challenged.
 
Sigrun made a face. “No. Just…no.”
 
“Then why would I? It’s been a few months since you joined up with us and, aside from Dworkin and Voldrik Glavonak who are usually busy and always stay at the Keep, Oghren’s the only male dwarf around,” the Commander pointed out.
 
“Well, yeah, but…” Sigrun couldn’t even finish that sentence.
 
“I know,” Aunn said understandingly. “So there’s no misunderstandings later, let me make it perfectly clear that I never had any designs on Oghren. Just because we’re the same species and there aren’t many dwarves on the Surface doesn’t make me so desperate I’d want to jump the first one I see. There are many, many reasons why I wasn’t interested. To begin with, I wasn’t single when I got exiled and it took a few months to find out that my boyfriend and moved on. I was rather attached to him, I’ll admit, and so I wasn’t looking to immediately jump into anyone’s arms, let alone Oghren’s.”
 
“Yeah, he doesn’t seem like he’d be the most comforting of individuals,” Sigrun conceded.
 
“No, back before hated me, Alistair usually did that even if he didn’t know any of the details,” Aunn informed her.
 
Sigrun started. “Alistair? As in King Alistair?” The very thought of talking to royalty about your problems…ah, but Aunn was royalty as well, wasn’t she? It was always so hard to remember that as, despite Aunn’s regular mentions of how much she loved Orzammar, House Aeducan, or other noble things she didn’t really act like any of the nobles Sigrun had ever met…which basically just meant that she didn’t act like Sigrun was beneath her notice.
 
“The one and only. And then there’s the fact that Branka had just died so I felt it was a little soon for him as well,” Aunn continued. “And while I’m fine with vulgarity in friends, I’m hardly looking for it in a boyfriend.”
 
Sigrun nodded knowingly. “Oghren was really lucky that he’s resistant to magic after he spent fifteen minutes telling Velanna all about how non-cushioning her ass was.”
 
“And then there’s the alcohol. I can’t stand Orzammar ale, obviously, and while Surface ale is much better I still end to avoid it. Being intoxicated lessens your inhibitions, after all, and that can get you killed,” Aunn explained. “Oghren’s tendency to be drunk all the time bothers me. Other people may not care but it’s kind of a deal-breaker for me.”
 
“Drinking at all?” Sigrun wondered.
 
Aunn shook her head. “Drinking like Oghren. Keep in mind that it’s not like he’d even be interested in me. He’s not over Branka, for one, but besides that would need to change him far too much in order to date him and no one wants to hear their girlfriend telling them that they aren’t good enough. I’m also very concerned with what other people think and always make sure to watch what I say in front of people that I don’t trust – which is a lot of people – and having to watch himself all the time, particularly while drunk, is just not something Oghren would enjoy.”
 
“I’m not entirely sure he would even be capable of it,” Sigrun confessed.
 
“Not to mention that my ambitions are a little higher than ‘hang out with the Grey Wardens and kill darkspawn as required.’ Besides, you really have no idea all the time I’ve spent hearing about not getting in a relationship with someone of a lesser caste which, given the complications, I wouldn’t do lightly and again it implies that he’s not good enough if I’d have to hide that I was with him. It’s…” Aunn paused, clearly struggling to find the right words to use, “not a good situation. For anyone.” Sigrun wondered if Aunn had seen a relationship like that go bad and that was why she was so hesitant about it. In Orzammar, cross-caste relations could go very bad very quickly.
 
“I don’t know, Oghren seems pretty set on staying up here and castes only really matter in Orzammar,” Sigrun pointed out. It wouldn’t negate Aunn’s other reasons but it would make this hypothetical couple less of a problem. Even if Aunn were going back for now, she didn’t have to stay back and from what Sigrun understood she had spent a few months back in Orzammar already prior to coming to Amaranthine.
 
Aunn winced. “That’s the other deal-breaker. My first love has always been Orzammar and he has lots of issues with it. I don’t blame him; they were pretty awful to him. Much worse than they were to me, actually, and I was legally responsible for fratricide, which also meant the death of the named heir to the throne,” she mused thoughtfully.
 
“Oghren says that he can’t believe that you’re going back under the circumstances,” Sigrun confided.
 
“They’re making me a Paragon,” Aunn replied with a shrug as if that settled it. “And even if they weren’t, just the fact that I can go back is enough. Oghren…tell me where he fits into that? He’s got a lot of problems and having a girlfriend won’t ‘save’ him. Look at poor Felsi: she tried and now she has an infant daughter named after me to take care of all alone.”
 
Sigrun bit her lip. “So you think that he’s hopeless?” That was rather a depressing prospect, particularly from the person at the Keep who knew him the best.
 
“Oh, who even knows?” Aunn said, distinctly uncomfortable. “The fact of the matter is that if he can be helped it will take a long-term time commitment and a lot of effort but I’m not staying. It may sound cold but I just can’t be that person and I’ve got my own issues. We would be a disaster.”
 
Sigrun thought about it. It did sound a little callous on the face of it but if she wasn’t staying and Oghren was then there wasn’t much the soon-to-be Paragon could do. Still…“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” she said suspiciously.
 
Aunn rolled her eyes. “Leliana and Wynne always used to ask me about Oghren all the time. Leliana was a romantic and Wynne chronically needed to be convinced that we weren’t going to run off to Antiva and leave Ferelden in the lurch…”

[okiness]

Oh my god. You might just be the funniest writer for Dragon Age ever. I...I think I love you :') I'm sitting here howling with laughter...I can't wait to move onto the longer ones and well....just wow. I'm impressed. This does NOT happen often..

[Sarah1281]

Okay, my thirty-second one is weird but Kryyptehk wanted her Warden Arden/Anora on the Cailan marriage so ... 'Impossible.'


“I am insanely jealous,” Arden Cousland declared dramatically as she strode into the room of Anora Mac Tir – soon to be Anora Theirin.
 
“Of?” Anora asked politely as she ran a brush through her long golden hair, her eyes flickering to the reflection of the other girl in the mirror.
 
“Here let me,” Arden offered, shutting the door behind her and moving to stand behind the future Queen. Anora looked a bit skeptically at Arden’s typical blonde bun so she continued with, “Maker knows I have enough practice since my mother has the same hairstyle.”
s
Anora obligingly relinquished the brush to Arden’s waiting hands and closed her eyes as the Lady Cousland gently began to run it through her hair. Erlina would normally not let anyone in to see her when she was looking less than the strong, capable in-control girl made of ice but Arden had always been the exception. It wasn’t like she was the type to let something so simple as a denial of permission keep her out anyway. “You didn’t answer my question.”
 
Arden laughed lightly as she fingered a strand of Anora’s hair idly. “Of what? Of you, of course!”
 
“One would think that one Teyrn’s daughter would not have much cause to be jealous of the other’s daughter,” Anora replied, purposefully misunderstanding what the other girl was saying.
 
Arden rolled her eyes. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Lady Anora. Your wedding is in a week!”
 
“I hadn’t realized that you were so eager to get married,” Anora said, raising an elegant eyebrow in faux-surprise. Maric himself had only been declared dead three weeks ago and so it was mildly scandalous for the wedding to be occurring so quickly but Cailan was so young and inexperienced that everyone would feel a lot more comfortable if the daughter of the celebrated War Hero Teyrn Loghain were there to support him. Though the idea of being the ‘support’ was one that did not appeal to her at all that was only how it would work officially. Unofficially…Cailan had always been rather pliable. “As it happens, your mother gave me quite a different impression. I’m sure she’ll be relieved to hear that she was mistaken.”
 
Arden groaned. “Oh, please don’t. I still haven’t quite forgiven Fergus for telling her that I liked Bann Teagan.”
 
Anora stiffened. “Oh?”
 
“Don’t be like that,” Arden urged. Having finished brushing, she perfunctorily began the familiar braiding process. “I just mentioned offhand that I found him charming and, frankly, he is. I have no idea why he’s still single.”
 
“If that is your attempt to assure me that you’re not interested then you’re failing miserable, Arden,” Anora said icily.
 
Arden sighed. “Well, let me put it this way. Eamon may be an Arl but Teagan is a Bann. I could never settle for that no matter how charming he was.”
 
“I don’t like hearing about your interest in men,” Anora said firmly.
 
“At least I’m not the one getting married,” Arden countered.
 
“This wasn’t my choice!” Anora objected. “It’s been arranged since I was still in my swaddling clothes. You knew this before we even started.”
 
“True,” Arden admitted. “And it’s not like I’m not jealous of you anyway.”
 
“You want to marry Cailan?” Anora asked skeptically. “I don’t want to marry Cailan. I’m very fond of him, of course, but he’s barely twenty and he may be reasonably discrete but I’m not blind. He won’t last a month into our marriage before turning to someone else.”
 
Arden made a face. “That’s a cheerful thought. At least there is nothing to stop you from doing the same.”
 
“Except the fact that if he does it, it’s his royal prerogative. If I’m caught then not only would that put the heir status of any children I have in question but it would make me out to be a harlot. And should Cailan have any children that would also make them see me as a concubine,” Anora said heatedly, her eyes flashing. “And would you believe that Cailan came up to me all excited just yesterday telling me how he’d found out that he had a little half-brother? If his existence hadn’t been hidden, you know what that would have meant for Queen Rowan. And Cailan…he sees nothing wrong with this.”
 
“Okay, so maybe it’s not the thought of marrying Cailan that appeals to me,” Arden conceded. “Especially since we grew up together! No matter how suave he may look now I remember an awkward little boy whose voice kept cracking.”
 
“That didn’t seem to stop you when you went after that knight of yours,” Anora pointed out.
 
Arden winced. “Can we not talk about him please?”
 
“It ended badly?” Anora hazarded a guess.
 
“More like it never took off the ground,” Arden reported gloomily. “I had seen him when I was younger but missed most of his growing-up years and so when I saw him again…wow. I suppose I should be grateful that he didn’t try to use me to increase his station but…” she trailed off, a little embarrassed.
 
“He wasn’t interested?” Anora supplied, almost sympathetically.
 
“No, I think he was,” Arden insisted although she had no way of knowing for sure or if she just clung to that belief to appease her wounded pride. “But he was worried about his precious knighthood. Apparently, I wasn’t worth the risk.”
 
“I think you’re worth the risk,” Anora said sincerely, wanting to erase the hurt in Arden’s eyes and feeling the irrational desire to crush this anonymous knight whose identity the other girl had never disclosed. “Although given your apparent disinterest in those you grew up with I’m not sure why you ever fell for me.”
 
“I don’t like those I grew up with because then they saw me during all my awkward stages and I’ve seen them through all of theirs,” Arden explained. She finished one of Anora’s buns then kissed the top of her head as she pinned it up and moved on to the other one. “But you…you’ve never been awkward.”
 
“It’s nice to know I succeeded in giving off that impression even back then,” Anora mused. “A noble has no room for weakness, you know.”
 
“Maybe,” Arden said noncommittally. “I know that I couldn’t put as much thought into everything I do and you always do. Still, even if you have to marry Cailan to get it, you’re still getting to become the Queen.”
 
“Queen-Consort, technically,” Anora amended. “But Cailan being, well, Cailan I imagine my role will be far greater than that of a mere heir producer. I’ve been raised for this and I will do an excellent job. Hardly modest, I know, but it’s the truth and there will be plenty of time for false modesty later. Besides, Cailan’s never really shown an interest in the art of ruling. Not like you.”
 
“Well you know me,” Arden said with an easy shrug. “I’ve wanted to be Queen since I was four. But noooo. Apparently you had to have an arranged marriage with Cailan.”
 
“Your life must be so difficult at times,” Anora deadpanned.
 
“Sometimes I weep at the unfairness of it all,” Arden agreed solemnly clearly fighting a smile. “Still, if there’s anyone that can keep this nation running and prevent Cailan from doing something stupid in a misguided attempt to match ‘Maric the Savior’ then it’s you.” She was quiet for a moment as she continued to braid Anora’s hair before she softly continued with, “I wish I could marry you.”
 
Anora froze. “Arden?”
 
Arden smiled wistfully. “Don’t worry, Anora. I’m not going to do anything stupid. You can’t be Queen without marrying Cailan and even if you could you still couldn’t marry another girl.”
 
“If you know it’s so impossible then why do you wish it?” Anora asked quietly.
 
“I don’t know,” Arden confessed. “When everyone asked my brother why he wanted to marry an Antivan he said ‘The heart wants what the heart wants’.”
 
“I’ve always thought that was rather a stupid thing to say,” Anora remarked. “It just means that they can’t think of a proper explanation and so they fall back on useless romantic statements.”
 
“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to marry me?” Arden asked, trying and failing to keep her voice casual as she quickly finished up with Anora’s second bun and pinned it up before stepping back quickly.
 
Anora caught her wrist. “There’s no point in wishing for Cailan not to be the new King or for Ferelden to allow us to marry but…just the same…I do love you and I want to keep you in my life come husbands or politics or whatever else life may throw at us.”
 
Anora really didn’t enjoy exposing such vulnerabilities but she decided that ultimately it was worth it as Arden was smiling again. “It’s not perfect but then I despise perfection. Anora…I really do think that I can live with that.”

[Avilia]

I'd just like to say...you made me late for work today ;-)



I loved them all Sarah - you have a wicked eye (ear?) for dialogue.

[Sarah1281]

Avilia wrote...

I'd just like to say...you made me late for work today ;-)

I loved them all Sarah - you have a wicked eye (ear?) for dialogue.

Thanks.

I'm glad you liked them.

[Liliandra Nadiar]

All very enjoyable. Liked how insanly laid-back Reidin is and how much it continuosly frustrates Gorim and Bhalen.

[Sarah1281]

My thirty-third story was 'She'd Almost Ended It' where Sereda Brosca has to watch Alistair try to break up with her because she can't live with the only option that could save their relationship.


The sad fact of the matter was that Sereda had almost ended it before it had to come to this point. Months ago, they had rushed through saving the Circle Tower and then headed to Redcliffe and Alistair had stopped her. He said that he was the son of a King and that it didn’t mean anything but he wanted her to know in case somebody mentioned it. He didn’t want her to think he was hiding things from her. The fact that he had neglected to mention his father until Redcliffe Castle had come into sight made that claim rather laughable but she’d had bigger worries.
 
Sereda had never had a proper boyfriend back in Orzammar. She had no idea who Rica’s father was except that he was some noble who had rejected her for the high crime of not having been born a boy. She suspected that Rica had always secretly felt guilty for that, for not being their family’s ticket out of poverty. It was ridiculous, of course, since Rica couldn’t help what gender she was and since if Rica had been the boy everyone had wanted then her casteless father never would have entered the picture and Sereda wouldn’t have even been born. Rica knew this, of course, but Sereda could tell that she still felt guilty.
 
And then there was Sereda’s own father. He left when she was still a baby and she knew better than to ask her mother about him but Rica had been a few years old at the time and she said that she remembered that the two were happy together, that they spoke longingly of marriage and that their mother wore a necklace he crafted for her out of polished slate. It was so hard to imagine that. Her mother had always been so very much in love with her wine moss that the thought that she could have been in love with another dwarf…well, frankly it was terrifying.
 
Her mother had loved and lost and it was clear what that loss had done to her. Maybe it was just the bit that broke the bronto’s back, maybe it was that her mother wasn’t strong enough, maybe her mother hadn’t ever been able to get over the father whose name Sereda didn’t even know…whatever the reason, love or – more specifically – losing it had destroyed her. Maybe she wasn’t her mother and not all men were her father but they were all Dust Town, too. She didn’t want to risk it.
 
Since coming to the Surface she had been thinking a lot about her father, wondering if she’d ever come across him, if either of them would recognize the other if she did. The Surface really wasn’t so bad and she wished more than anything that her mother had had the courage to leave with her father. Their life would have been better up here, everyone’s was. Even the elves in the Alienage that everyone always looked upon as the lowest of the low had it better than she had had growing up and they could even legally work! Her only concern was that then she wouldn’t have been here to help Alistair fight to end the Blight but surely Duncan would have found someone else to take her place. Maybe they’d have been more competent and maybe less so but it wouldn’t have been the end of the world. Probably.
 
In the end, everything always seemed to come back to Alistair. She was a stranger in a strange land on the Surface. She liked some parts of it like the fact that she was a person up here even with her brand and how clean everything smelled. The hole in the sky was something she still wasn’t quite used to and the openness was dizzying at times but it wasn’t so bad. Still, she had never expected to have time to find someone amidst all the running and fighting and forcing-people-to-follow-their-treaties-ing. Everywhere she went there was Alistair, though, and so time wasn’t exactly something the pair lacked together.
 
Alistair had been so sweet. He had known little of her people’s ways but then, neither had she really and if anyone had asked she’d still be hard-pressed to say who little Endrin’s royal grandfather was or his uncles. Or was it his uncle and aunt? She wasn’t even positive about that much. He was a human but then most people were on the Surface. His open grief had made her uncomfortable as you never admitted things like that in Dust Town but she’d managed to help him through that without putting her foot in her mouth too many times and somehow, over the past year, they’d just…clicked. Sereda Brosca and Alistair Theirin…who would have ever thought? It couldn’t happen. It had. It still couldn’t.
 
Alistair had seemed so sincere with his insistence that he wasn’t royalty and that he had only kept that secret so she wouldn’t look at him any differently but that made no sense. Sereda was well-aware that Rica with her noble father and casteless mother was only casteless because she was a girl. If she’d been a boy then her mother could have been a…a qunari for all anyone cared and she’d – he’d – still be a nobleman. King Maric was male and so was his son. And humans didn’t even have castes anyway. How could she possibly believe he hadn’t been royalty?
 
She had almost ended it then and looking back, she could see that she really should have. It would have been difficult because she had liked him a lot but she hadn’t loved him yet. It had been too soon and she wasn’t quite that easy. Still, against her better judgment she’d let him convince her that she was just running away from the happiness that they’d found with each other and so she’d stayed. After all, she’d rationalized, even if he were royalty if nobody knew about it then did it really make a difference? No one knew so he wouldn’t be called upon to do anything that might tear them apart.
 
Then Arl Eamon had woken up and all of a sudden he’d switched from Alistair’s definition of nobility to Orzammar’s and Alistair was called upon to take the throne. At the sodding Landsmeet, she had been called upon to decide who would lead the county. She didn’t want to choose and so she didn’t. Alistair and Anora were now set to rule together. Both had the potential to be good rulers, she thought, but the one’s weakness was the other’s strength and so they fit together, at least it terms of ruling. She was convinced that together they could be great and they had better given what she was giving up here.
 
Sereda was standing in the dining room at Eamon’s Denerim estate with all of her friends who weren’t secretly royalty and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Not that that was all that difficult since they all seemed set on giving her space.
 
Suddenly the door burst open and there stood Alistair, dressed in his dead brother’s armor and looking more awkward and miserable than she had ever seen him. “We…need to talk,” he said slowly, not quite able to look at her. “I hate to ask everyone to clear out like this but this really needs to be done in private.”
 
“Don’t worry, Alistair,” Leliana said gently. “We understand.” With that she exited the room, followed closely by everyone else. Leske looked back at her as if asking ‘are you sure you want me to go’ but when she didn’t reply he left as well. He was far more loyal as a dog than he’d ever been as her partner-in-crime.
 
“So…” Alistair began awkwardly.
 
“So,” Sereda agreed. She didn’t want to have this conversation but standing here pointedly avoiding it was almost worse. She wanted it to just be over. They both knew how this would play out, why did they need to actually go through with it?
 
“You made me King,” Alistair said, the words sounding wrong coming from him. He still was so very unused to the whole idea and now it was a reality…or at least it would be once he survived the Blight and had his joint coronation with Anora. “I never wanted it, not really but after everything we’ve been through I’m coming to the conclusion that it won’t be that bad after all. Anora certainly seems to know what she’s doing so I can learn from her even though I’m not about to let her walk right over me like she expects. I certainly can’t be any worse at this than Loghain, right?”
 
“At any rate, you’ll likely try to kill me less,” Sereda said vaguely. She couldn’t take this. “Alistair-”
 
“I am going to marry Loghain’s daughter,” Alistair interrupted. “I knew it was coming and yet I guess I didn’t exactly expect you to go through with it. But now you did and here I am and here you are and we’re…well, we’re not exactly in the same place, are we?”
 
Sereda didn’t say anything. What was there to say? He was right and they both knew it so maybe if she didn’t say anything this would be over faster.
 
“I’m going to need to have an heir at some point,” Alistair continued delicately when it became obvious she wasn’t going to say anything. “And though Maker knows I don’t want to it’s going to have to be with Anora. My future wife. I don’t even know if one Grey Warden can have a child, let alone two but a half-dwarf would never be accepted and it wouldn’t be right – for either you or for her – so it has to be Anora.”
 
“I had rather thought that that would be the case,” Sereda told him, hoping to forestall any more rambling. He didn’t want to do this any more than she did and yet…it had to be done. “Is this your way of breaking up with me?”
 
Alistair looked pained. He had obviously wanted her to create a miracle as she had time and time again at the Circle, with the werewolves, at Redcliffe…but there were no miracles to be had this time. There was only a breakup neither of them wanted…or she could be his mistress.
 
It wasn’t like mistresses were unheard of to Sereda. In fact, her own sister was the mistress to the King of Orzammar. It was just…she may not have known what, exactly, Rica was expected to do until shortly before she’d first met Duncan but she’d seen others doing it. Her own mother had done it, albeit unsuccessfully. If you were a casteless you had had only two ways you could advance – well, three if you counted rising through the ranks of the carta. You could become a part of the Legion of the living dead or you or a close relative could bear a noble son. That was it. Rica wasn’t a fighter so she’d become a noble hunter. She had done better for herself than any noble hunter of their generation, at the very least (had the main part of the ruling family ever made use of a noble hunter before? Honestly, she had no way of knowing). Sereda loved her sister dearly and owed her more than she could say but…royal concubine was the best Rica could ever do.
 
Sereda was different. Sereda had always been different. She’d had it easier than Rica had, certainly, because she’d had Rica looking out for her all these years but she’d always also had that troublesome spark of defiance about her that made her a fighter and nearly got her killed time and time again…and that had also ultimately given her an out. Duncan had seen her fight and even though everyone else had dismissed her victory, dismissed her very existence at the sight of her sodding brand Duncan had not. He had been impressed. She was Grey Warden material, according to him, and he was willing to anger Orzammar at large to save her so that she could join him.
 
She was a Grey Warden now and, no matter what the close-minded fools back in Orzammar or her ale-addled mother might have to say about it, she had escaped Dust Town. She was a new person now: a stronger person, a more powerful person, just an overall better person. She loved Alistair, she truly did. She loved him with a ferocity that surprised and scared her and even made her think that she could begin to see why losing her father had so destroyed her mother. Sometimes love wasn’t enough though. She would melt the Stone before she settled for the best a casteless could ever achieve in Orzammar.
 
“You remember when I told you you shouldn’t run away from the truth?” Alistair asked rhetorically, taking a deep breath. “Well…it’s about time I followed my own advice. And the truth is that while I love you more than I ever thought possible, you and I…we can’t…”
 
“So that’s a yes then,” Sereda said unnecessarily, her voice hollow.
 
“That’s a yes,” Alistair confirmed grimly. “I’m not the King yet and I’m certainly not married but I have to do this now because if I don’t then I don’t trust myself to be able to do it when the time comes and that would put all the burden on you and that’s simply not fair…well, this entire situation isn’t fair, really, but I don’t need to add to it. Maker knows I’ve tried to think of another way but I just can’t think of any so if you really can’t think one either…”
 
He looked so pathetically hopeful that Sereda almost wanted to tell him. Then they could go and be happy for awhile longer but long-term it would never work out and, as Alistair had so aptly put it, that simply wasn’t fair. “Nothing that I’m willing to live with.”
 
“Then…I guess this is this it, then,” Alistair said, his face crumpling. “I…I’ve got to go. Important Kingly things to settle with Ano-with Arl Eamon before we leave for Denerim.” It was sweet of him to censor himself but there was really no need. It wasn’t like she was in denial about Anora; she had been the one to initially propose their union after all.
 
Sereda watched him go without moving, without even breathing for fear that she would blurt out some desperate plea for him to stay that would just make the whole thing worse.
 
Funny. She hadn’t known that it could rain indoors.

[Sarah1281]

My thirty-fourth one is a little AU what-if about Endrin living to see is daughter return to Orzammar to ask about the treaty called 'It was Never Going to be a Happy Reunion.'


King Endrin Aeducan was gazing down at his namesake, wondering vaguely when they had passed the point of no return and when this small child would become as completely ruthless as his father when the news that a Grey Warden had entered Orzammar came. Bhelen had been standing around anxiously like a child desperately wanting to be praised but that simply wasn’t going to happen. Yes Bhelen had given him his only grandchild but if he hadn’t killed Trian and Aunn –mostly Trian, really, given how his daughter had felt about the matter – then that wouldn’t be the case. It seemed like he’d been more eager for approval than ever since the day he’d legally become an only child but perhaps it was just that Endrin had never bother to pay enough attention to him to notice before.

Why Bhelen seemed to think that killing his brother and sister would make Endrin proud of him was beyond him. Was it because of Nuraim? He had never admitted the role he had played in his elder brother’s death but Bhelen had proven unexpectedly brilliant and had undoubtedly put the pieces together. If one looked at the facts, logically, Endrin having arranged for his elder brother’s death to get the throne meant that he supposed he could see where Bhelen would get the misconception that he would not only be fine with but actually support a similar move in the next generation.
 
The problem was, of course, that it was a different situation altogether. Nuraim had always been a rather stupid man. He had thought to be the single truly honorable noble in the pit of corruption that was Orzammar and to somehow ‘save’ them all with the shining goodness of his example. The people had liked him well enough and there was a good chance that he would have been chosen King upon their father’s death if only because the Assembly knew that they would be able to manipulate him every time he turned around and, potentially, that they’d be able to see another House take the throne once Nuraim’s rule had ended. It wasn’t that Endrin had hated his brother for all that he often wondered how he was even still alive but he had wanted the throne – and badly – and Nuraim’s rule would have an unmitigated disaster.
 
Trian did show disturbing signs of Nuraim’s same ‘I was born first so therefore nothing will stop me from becoming King’ thought process but his ever-present paranoia about his sister stopped him from holding Nuraim’s unbearably naïve worldview. Had Trian been like that, of course, he would have had him replaced on the spot which, though a huge blow to Trian’s pride, might have saved him. Aunn’s main issue had been a lack of commitment to even never leaving Orzammar given her Grey Warden fascination (although she’d often assured him she would never dream of leaving forever), much less to taking the throne.
 
Those hadn’t been insurmountable issues, however, and even if they had been he could hardly be expected to be that coldly logical about his children. Bhelen, all caught up in his own brilliance and determination to prove himself the best after all, didn’t seem to realize this. If it came right down to it, Nuraim was in his way just as surely as Trian and Aunn were in Bhelen’s but since they weren’t Endrin’s political opponents how could he possibly be expected to see it as the political necessity Bhelen did? The worst part was that he couldn’t even say with certainty that it was all just politics for his last-choice heir. He hadn’t seen it before but Bhelen really seemed to hate his siblings and Endrin was left wondering how it had come to this. Was it his fault? He had never meant to play favorites – who did, really? – but Trian had, as was customary, been the named prince from the moment of his birth and Endrin had always wanted a daughter so when Aunn was born how could he help but love her a little more? Unless he outright asked Bhelen, which he couldn’t very well do without having to openly acknowledge what the boy had become even if he could trust him to be honest about his reasons, he really had no way of ever knowing and all this wondering would just drive him to an earlier grave.
 
The fact of the matter was that Bhelen didn’t understand, he never understood. Harrowmont did, however, far more than Endrin would have thought give his disapproval of the choice to allow Aunn’s exile and to leave Trian’s murder unpunished. He was the final person in the room, alternating between smiling down at the baby and frowning at Bhelen.
 
The messenger was still waiting for an answer.
 
“A Grey Warden is here?” Endrin repeated. “That’s rather unexpected. Is it Duncan?”
 
“No…” the messenger said hesitantly. “It’s, well…”
 
“What is it?” Endrin prompted.
 
“It’s the exi-” the messenger started to say before thinking better of it. “It’s your daughter.”
 
“What?” Bhelen hissed, his eyes narrowed.
 
Endrin froze. Aunn was still alive? And a Grey Warden at that? That was more than he’d ever dared hoped. He never thought he’d get a chance to see her again and now…for better or for worse they would get the reunion he’d been longing for since the day she’d been sealed into the Deep Roads. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a look of deep satisfaction on Harrowmont’s face.
 
“You,” he addressed the messenger, “bring my daughter here. Bhelen, you have a wonderful son and I am deeply honored that you chose to name him after me. I will have to ask, however, that we continue this another time as I’m sure whatever Warden business Aunn has will be important if she’s returned here to handle it personally. Lord Harrowmont, I need to speak with you before Aunn gets here.”
 
A dark look crossed Bhelen’s face for a moment as he was, once again, dismissed in favor of his sister before his face smoothed out into a mask of impassivity so swiftly that if he’d been paying less attention he might have missed it. Endrin could deal with that later, though. It wasn’t like either of them were going anywhere after all.
 
The minute Harrowmont and Endrin were alone together, the King said simply, “You knew.”
 
Harrowmont shook his head. “I’d hoped.”
 
“That was still more information than I had,” Endrin pointed out. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
 
“As you may have known, the Grey Wardens were delayed in leaving because of all the…commotion following the end of the expedition,” Harrowmont explained. “As such they were still in the Deep Roads when Aunn was sent out there and I had Gorim tell her. It was still such a long shot, though, that I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up if she hadn’t managed to find them after all.”
 
“I should thank you for saving her,” Endrin said quietly.
 
Before Harrowmont had a chance to respond, the messenger returned followed closely by Aunn. “I present to you the Grey Warden,” he announced before bowing quickly and leaving.
 
Aunn looked better than the last time he had seen her, pale and haunted-looking and standing over Trian’s body before she’d been dragged through the streets of Orzammar in chains on his orders. Her hair was done up in its customary braided double bun and her face was expressionless. It would seem that she had found Gorim if the heirloom shield on her back was any indication and she had a finely crafted sword which, for whatever reason, was glowing a bright blue color. What really drew his eyes, however, was her armor. The craftsmanship on was so skilled that the one who had created it might well have been one of the royal smiths of Orzammar. What was really interesting – and sure to cause a great deal of controversy – was the symbol of House Aeducan emblazoned on the front.
 
The three stood in silence for a few long moments before Harrowmont took the initiative and stepped forward. “It is good to see that you managed to find the Grey Wardens safely, Aunn,” he told her sincerely.
 
Aunn actually smiled. “Without you, I wouldn’t have even known to look and so I must thank you for saving my life.”
 
“It was really the least that I could do,” Harrowmont assured her. “I only regret that I could not do more.”
 
“Yes, well I think we all have a lot of regrets about that time,” Aunn said curtly. “I hope you won’t let that get in the way of our business here.”
 
“Why, exactly, are you here?” Harrowmont inquired curiously. “As a Grey Warden you are permitted to circumvent your exile and enter Orzammar but I wouldn’t think you’d be keen on returning so soon.”
 
“I wasn’t, exactly,” Aunn admitted. “But, as Duncan mentioned the last time he was here, a Blight is amassing on the Surface. The humans seem to have decided that the best way to make sure the darkspawn don’t kill them all is to kill each other first and so most of their army is gone and there are only two Grey Wardens left in Ferelden. Unfortunately, my fellow Warden would be a bit…out of place here in Orzammar and so I came instead.”
 
Endrin wondered exactly how badly ‘out of place’ the other Warden would have to be for Aunn to come in his stead but decided not to ask. He knew that he really should say something and yet…here was his beloved daughter right in front of him after having been dead for nearly a year and he had no idea what to say to her. ‘I’m sorry for letting Bhelen and his pet nobles kill you’? He had more or less said that in the letter he had given her already but did that really make it better? His reasons for doing so hadn’t changed even if he was growing less and less satisfied with the idea of Bhelen succeeding him by the day. Who else was there, though? Piotin? The boy was a fighter not a politician, just like his mother. The main thing that was stopping him from keeping the throne from Bhelen, even more than his duty to House Aeducan, was the knowledge of how much he had already sacrificed to, essentially, give Bhelen the throne. Justice for Trian, justice for Aunn…If Darina were still here she’d have never spoken to him again for what he’d allowed to happen to their children but then again if Darina had still lived then there was every chance that it wouldn’t have happened in the first place.
 
He wondered suddenly if Aunn had read his letter. Did she know that he regretted his actions – although he wasn’t sure if he regretted them enough to change them if he could – or had she done what he’d feared and burnt it without so much as opening it? She’d kept the shield but then he knew that she would. Their shared heritage meant too much for him not to. Perhaps the reason he didn’t know how to begin was because she hadn’t so much as glanced his way since she’d arrived.
 
“So you’re here to call upon the ancient treaties then,” Harrowmont realized.
 
Aunn nodded. “I am. The Assembly may not want to hear it from me but a Blight is coming and if we can’t stop it on the Surface then we’ll have to deal with them in Orzammar and I don’t think anybody wants that, no matter how corrupt they may be.”
 
“I do not think that the Assembly will oppose your treaty,” Harrowmont opined. “You have returned at a good time. Still, the treaty specifically obliges the King to aid you and so you really will need to work out the details with your father. I should go let the Assembly know the purpose for your being here so they’ll be ready to vote to send troops when the time comes.”
 
With that, he quickly left the room leaving just Endrin and his daughter standing there in an awkward silence.
 
“It is good to see you again,” Endrin told her as the silence stretched on so long as to become unbearable. “I must confess that I did not think that I would get a chance to.”
 
“Understandable,” Aunn addressed him for the first time in a low, measured voice. “Seeing as how I was supposed to be dead.”
 
“I didn’t want you to die,” Endrin said quietly. It pained him that he should even have to say this but, given the circumstances, it seemed necessary.
 
“Having me thrown into the Deep Roads in rags and with no way out seems like an odd way of accomplishing that particular goal,” Aunn said as though she were discussing a new weapon she’d recently purchased.
 
“You know why I did that, I hope,” Endrin replied. If she didn’t, if she hadn’t read the letter then things were even worse than he’d thought. He had rather intended that letter to be a final goodbye but since it so very clearly wasn’t now it seemed he’d need to at least mention it or else let it remain the bronto in the room.
 
“I do,” Aunn conceded. “You had me killed so that you could avoid a scandal.”
 
Endrin frowned reprovingly. “You make it sound so lurid.”
 
“Forgive me but I feel very strongly about the issue,” Aunn said with a deceptively mild tone. “And that’s not to say that what I said was wrong.”
 
“No one had you killed given that you stand before me very much alive,” Endrin argued.
 
“That was hardly part of anyone’s plan but Harrowmont’s,” Aunn pointed out. “The Assembly and, more specifically, my brother would have seen me dead and you would have let them.”
 
“And what would you have had me do?” Endrin challenged. “Nothing could have cleared you of suspicion. All I could have done was prevented the Assembly from exiling you but the price…”
 
“I know,” Aunn said softly. “I suppose I didn’t really expect anything different even though I wanted to. Just because I knew and just because I understand doesn’t mean that I have to forgive, though.”
 
“I suppose that I expected that,” Endrin said with a heavy sigh. “What happened to you? Lord Harrowmont let you know that Duncan was still in the Deep Roads and now you’ve taken it upon yourself to stop a Blight?”
 
Aunn nodded. “Indeed. It took me awhile to find Duncan but once I did he offered to let me join the Grey Wardens. I really had no other plans and fighting darkspawn has always been one of those things that I was good at so I agreed. The human army was preparing to face the darkspawn at the ruins of Ostagar and had already won a few minor skirmishes when I’d arrived. I became a Grey Warden, Ostagar became a massacre, and only Alistair and I remained of the Wardens. Due to circumstances beyond our control, the new human regent has declared Grey Wardens to be traitors to the Crown and doesn’t appear to believe that there even is a Blight so we’ve been calling upon the treaties. We’re almost ready to challenge the regent and put Alistair on the human throne but we need to hope that there are rumors about the Dalish elves movements by the time we leave here. We tried to find them earlier but they made themselves scarce.”
 
Endrin didn’t quite know what to say to that. It wasn’t that he doubted Aunn’s capabilities but the mere thought that the responsibility for ending a Blight had fallen upon her shoulders and that of this human Alistair’s – was he a human? Probably if he were also apparently a prince or other high-ranking noble – was an unpleasant one. He had always been more protective of his daughter than he’d ever been of his son or Bhelen so it was ironic that it had worked out this way. “My daughter…” he shook his head. Aunn’s eyes flashed as he addressed her thus but that’s what she still was to him, no matter what had happened between them. She was certainly more of a daughter to him than Bhelen was a son, at any rate, not that that meant much in and of itself. “That’s quite an undertaking.”
 
“It could be worse,” Aunn said dismissively. “I’ve been luckier than most people who have been condemned to walk the Deep Roads, I’d imagine.”
 
Endrin stayed silent. What was he really supposed to say to that? Yes, she had been luckier? Joining the Legion would have meant that at least she hadn’t had to live on the Surface even if it didn’t have much in the way of life expectancy? He was sorry?
 
“How’s Bhelen been?” Aunn blurted suddenly, looking like she couldn’t believe she’d actually asked that.
 
Endrin couldn’t believe it either. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re really concerned about him?”
 
Aunn shrugged. “Concerned, curious, it’s all the same. I’d just kind of like to know how he’s fared since Trian and I ceased to be standing in his way.”
 
Endrin almost winced at how callously she referred to the incident. That was likely how Bhelen saw it, however, and it was true even if a bit cold. “He has been building up his support. No one’s underestimated him since…then which he seems to both approve of and get a little frustrated with. He was actually in here presenting his son to me when word came of your arrival.”
 
Aunn started. “Bhelen has a son? I have a nephew?”
 
“His name is Endrin,” Endrin revealed. “And he’s four days old. His mother is a redheaded casteless girl. She’s been around for awhile so you might have even seen her.”
 
“I believe I know who you’re talking about,” Aunn confirmed, frowning a bit.
 
“He mostly looks like Bhelen although he has his mother’s nose,” Endrin continued, remembering how Aunn had hated the traditional Aeducan nose the men in their family usually had. When she was younger, she’d actually been frightened of it although she’d always been dreadfully embarrassed whenever she was reminded of the incident.
 
“Thank the Ancestors for small mercies,” Aunn murmured. Endrin found himself irrationally relieved that she hadn’t become so much a Surfacer in the last ten months as to start saying Surface things like ‘Thank the Maker’ even if some people would point out that, as an exile, Aunn technically had no ancestors. He never would, though, not to his daughter and not when part of the responsibility for this lay with him. “I’m never going to get a chance to meet him, am I?” Aunn asked a bit sadly, her eyes hooded.
 
“I don’t think that Bhelen would allow it, no,” Endrin affirmed.
 
“He’d probably assume I wanted to kill the kid,” Aunn mused. “And even if he managed to satisfy himself that I wouldn’t try, he’d want to hold the fact that he has an heir and I don’t over my head…not that I even need one at this point.”
 
“Are you happy on the Surface?” Endrin asked solemnly, not sure exactly what he’d want her answer to be. He loved his daughter and didn’t want her to be miserable of course but he still didn’t want it to be so easy for her to just forget Orzammar. It was terribly selfish, of course, but such was dwarven nature.
 
Aunn didn’t answer immediately. “No,” she finally admitted. “I’m glad that I’m getting a chance to try to do something about the Blight as I’ve never been happy to just sit back passively and watch other do things but…I just don’t like the Surface.”
 
“Why not?” Endrin prompted, paradoxically both saddened and deeply relieved to hear that.
 
“I’ve met other dwarves who’ve left for the Surface,” Aunn announced, her voice calm and controlled. “They cite things like a sense of privacy, the fresh air and plant life, and the freedom of no castes as reasons why they prefer the Surface and I have to admit I can see their points on several issues but…it’s not home. As has been made abundantly clear to me, Orzammar won’t be my home either but if I could I’d still live here.”
 
“I wish I could help you with that,” Endrin told her honestly, the fact that all that was stopping him was concerns for the throne went unspoken but hung heavy between them as it wasn’t like she wouldn’t be able to figure it out.
 
“Even if you could, I’d have to leave anyway until the Blight’s over,” Aunn pointed out. “And those always take years to defeat.”
 
“I’ve heard that the Grey Warden who ends the Blight has died the last four times it’s happened,” Endrin began slowly, uncertain if he should give her this hope that may prove false. “Of course, the first time the Blight was ended everyone died so it may mean nothing. Archdemons are tremendously difficult foes, after all. Still, if you can stop the Blight and you can live to tell the tale…you’ll be a hero. You know how our people love heroes.”
 
Aunn stopped breathing. “Are you saying…I might be able to come back?”
 
“There are no guarantees,” Endrin cautioned. “But it really is your best shot.”
 
“Then I guess we’d better get down to business,” Aunn said determinedly. “So we can make sure to stop the Blight before Bhelen takes the throne or it will never happen.”

[Liliandra Nadiar]

It would have been very interesting if Endrin had still been alive when the PC goes to Orzamarr. Of course, then that aspect of the game would've been a great deal shorter most likely.



Though, now I wonder how Endrin would respond to the casteless Warden.

[Sarah1281]

Liliandra Nadiar wrote...

It would have been very interesting if Endrin had still been alive when the PC goes to Orzamarr. Of course, then that aspect of the game would've been a great deal shorter most likely.

Though, now I wonder how Endrin would respond to the casteless Warden.

The game would have been shorter...unless Bhelen was blocking you at every turn and you had to sneak into the palace. That's probably DN-specific, though.

I think Endrin probably would have reacted to the DC a lot like Harrowmont did. Very respectful of their role as a GW but awkard as hell if their casteless status came up. Probably more in line with how the Shaper reacts (refusing to apologize for her life, refusing to acknowledge she'd ever been to Orzammar, outright telling her her presence hasn't been recorded in the memories as she doesn't exist) if the DC tries to make him feel guilty for her life or point out that she's their only hope and her brand means that Orzammar would see her as worthless.

[Sarah1281]

My Thirty-Fifth one was 'The Queens of Ferelden' where Kryypehk's Queen Arden go to see her former lover Anora in prison in hopes of convincing her to swear fealty to Alistair to avoid execution.


Arden Cousland stood silently as she gazed upon the political prisoner. Alistair hadn’t thought that this was a good idea and he was probably right but he hadn’t known of the history the two women had shared. She had to do this.
 
Anora, former Queen of Ferelden, finally deigned to look up her replacement. “You have something to say, do you?”
 
“I wanted to see how you were,” Arden said a little lamely. She knew that Anora had no intentions of making this easy and, all things considered, she couldn’t really blame her.
 
“And now you’ve seen for yourself that, aside from being locked up like some sort of criminal, I am just fine,” Anora said tightly. “You may leave now.”
 
“Don’t be like that, Anora,” Arden pleaded.
 
“Like what?” Anora asked innocently. “Bitter? Why ever would I be bitter? It’s not like you betrayed me and took everything.”
 
Arden drew back as if she’d been struck. “Don’t say it like that. I didn’t have a choice.”
 
“Oh no?” Anora asked mockingly as she raised one elegant eyebrow. “So I suppose that someone forced you to declare yourself Alistair’s Queen at the Landsmeet? That doesn’t sound like the Arden I remember. Or was one of your mage companions a maleficar who left you no option that way?”
 
“You had your chance to be Queen,” Arden said flatly. “It was your father that brought us to the point that Alistair was even being considered to succeed his brother.”
 
“Yes, my father that betrothed violently murdered,” Anora said balefully.
 
“I…wish he had handled that differently,” Arden conceded. “Seeing him lop of Loghain’s head like that in front of you…it reminded me of my father’s death. He’s his own man, though, regardless of what you, Loghain, and even Eamon might have believed. The minute Alistair stepped forward to duel your father his fate was sealed.”
 
“Our glorious new King: a revenge-driven maniac,” Anora deadpanned.
 
“Don’t say that,” Arden said sharply. “It’s not like you didn’t know it could happen and it’s not like he didn’t do plenty that others would have seen him hang for.”
 
“Even so, my father could have easily been killed without needing to hand the throne over to Alistair,” Anora pointed out. “Or did you think I could order my father raises from the dead it I retained my crown? I was an excellent Queen, limited though my consort status made me.”
 
“I thought that once,” Arden admitted. “You seemed born for the role and you certainly were raised for it.”
 
“Then why didn’t you let me keep doing the only thing I’ve ever been meant for?” Anora demanded.
 
“Because this past year has opened my eyes,” Arden shot back. “I’ve finally seen the real Ferelden, not just the idyllic parts that a noblewoman is permitted to see. I went to the Circle Tower and I found the situation desperate enough that there was a blood magic uprising there and deals being made with demons with the root causes occurring long before Ostagar. I went to Denerim and found the guards more criminal than those they arrested. I went to the Alienage and found that it’s long been a practice of the former Arl of Denerim’s son to rape and kill the elves living there. This was under your rule, Anora, this was your responsibility and what did you do? Nothing. You said that you were ruling for Cailan these past few years and I believed you. You’re the voice of the status quo and that’s frankly not what Ferelden needs right now.”
 
“You really think that Alistair will do any better?” Anora laughed incredulously.
 
“I don’t know,” Arden admitted, looking down. “I really wish I did. I do know that he is a good man, a kind man and that he cares about injustices. He may not know the art of ruling like you do but he’ll learn and he’ll have Eamon and I there to help teach him. You’re so caught up in trade and relations with other nations that you completely overlook the problems with your own and that’s not good enough anymore, for Alistair or for me.”
 
“That’s the price of progress!” Anora insisted. “How grateful do you think the people of Ferelden will be that you’ve made sure that they’re nice and comfortable in their everyday lives once we stagnate and fall further behind the other nations of Thedas? They already think we’re a backwards nation and they don’t take us seriously.”
 
“Those are legitimate concerns,” Arden agreed. “And Alistair and I will address them but we won’t abandon the people we’re supposed to be ruling to do it. You get so caught up in the big picture and your grand plans, Anora, that you can’t see what’s right in front of you and the little man always suffers because of it. You’ve always been like that.”
 
“My grand plans?” Anora repeated, sounding as if she couldn’t believe it. “And what about you?”
 
“What about me?” Arden asked carefully, wondering where the former Queen was going with this.
 
“You’ve wanted to be Queen since you were four,” Anora spat. “You admitted as much to me! And then, when you found yourself in a position to rule Maric’s bastard’s side, what do you do? You take it.”
 
Arden stiffened. “I happen to love Alistair, you know.”
 
“Of course you do,” Anora scoffed. “You loved me, too, when I was going to be Queen. It’s a wonder you never set your sights on Cailan as you could have tried to secure a crown that way but I suppose you knew as well as I did that he was never one to pick a girl and stick with her. It’s all about power for you.”
 
Arden shook her head in disbelief. “Now I know how Leliana feels. I’m not you, Anora.”
 
“So you deny wanting the throne?” Anora challenged.
 
Arden hesitated. “I…no, I can’t do that. I did want the throne but it wasn’t worth sacrificing everything over. I fell in love with Alistair long before he ever thought to mention that he was a prince. Yes, I was thrilled to hear that because, yes, I did want to be Queen but if I had to, if I thought the throne would have destroyed him, I would have given it up in a heartbeat. Could you honestly say that you would have done the same for anybody?”


Anora didn’t even bother answering that. “So…what? I’m not fit to be Queen because I have my priorities straight and place the welfare about the nation above a man?”
 
“I’m not sure I’d agree that that’s having your priorities straight, choosing to sacrifice the man you claim to love for the sake of your ambitions,” Arden said wryly. “When it comes right down to it, it’s like Eamon said. You’re a good administrator but you’re terrible as far as people are concerned. That’s always been your problem. If I had to choose between someone who was good at administrating but poor with people and someone who was good with people and a terrible administrator then I would have gone with you but that’s just it: Alistair has the potential to be both. I have the potential to make him a better ruler than he’d be by himself.”
 
“You’re just making excuses,” Anora accused.
 
Arden looked at her former lover sadly. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I wish I could change your mind but it’s pretty clear that you’re determined to believe the worst in me. I do love Alistair, though, and I did love you. I’m not even sure if I had to say who I loved more, you or him that I would be able to choose. But Anora…you’re the one who ended things six years ago when you married Cailan. You can’t possibly expect me not to have moved on in that time and you certainly never gave any indication that you were pining after me.”
 
“I would never pine,” Anora said icily, “much less after you.”
 
“Just the same,” Arden continued, brushing off the sudden flash of hurt. “As angry as you may be now, please don’t belittle what we had then.”
 
“Why are you even here?” Anora demanded. “Surely you didn’t come to reminiscence about the ‘good old days.’”
 
“No,” Arden admitted. “That’s not quite why I’m here.” She took a deep breath, knowing that Anora wasn’t going to like this. “I need you to swear fealty to Alistair.”
 
Anora stared at her for a moment in disbelief. “I would have thought you’d have known me better than that, Arden, particularly after I declined the first time I was asked.”
 
“Be reasonable, Anora,” Arden implored her.
 
“I’m being perfectly reasonable,” Anora claimed, crossing her arms defiantly. “Why should the Queen swear fealty to the man who stole her throne?”
 
“Because Eamon wants you executed,” Arden said bluntly.
 
“That’s hardly a surprise,” Anora said, sounding a little bored.
 
“If you don’t swear fealty to Alistair then I think he’s going to agree with his new chancellor,” Arden told her, trying to make her see reason by sheer force of will.
 
“And if I do, what then?” Anora challenged. “A lifetime of captivity? An exile from the homeland my father fought tirelessly to free?”
 
“We haven’t really talked about it since Alistair can’t quite believe that you’ll actually agree to swear fealty,” Arden admitted.
 
Anora snorted. “He’s smarter than I gave him credit for.”
 
“We haven’t had a chance to appoint a Teyrn to replace your father,” Arden informed her. “It’s land given to your family by King Maric and though your father died in disgrace no one ever got around to stripping him of his lands first. As such, if we can trust you not to start an uprising, I should be able to talk Alistair into letting you keep the teynir. It’s not quite the throne, I’ll admit, but it is literally the next best thing and frankly, Anora, you’re not going to get a better offer.”
 
Anora was quiet as she thought the deal over. “Still so sentimental after all this time…” she mused, shaking her head. “I’ll…think about it.”
 
“I suppose that’s the best I can hope for,” Arden said, actually smiling a little at the thought that Anora’s legendary stubbornness might not get her killed after all.
 
Now, to convince her husband to go along with it without actually mentioning that little detail about her past involvement with the future Teyrna…

[Sarah1281]

My thirty-sixth story was 'On Second Thought...' which fills the following prompt from the Zev thread:

prompt:Zevran's a real smooth talker, yeah? Give me a situation he needed or thought he wanted to talk his way into, and turns out things are not as advertised--he needs to talk his way out. Art/fic/radio drama/interpretive dance/toolset--whatever. If you can make it work, do it. Time limit is one hour, because this one might be tricky in some media.

 And this came in at 56 minutes.


Angélique Amell gave a girlish giggle and kissed Alistair on the cheek before tossing her long golden hair behind her and bouncing away.
 
Alistair watched her go with a silly little half-smile on his face before starting and furiously scrubbing at his skin where his fellow Warden’s lips had touched.
 
Zevran watched the sight, amused. As he had suspected, Alistair was furiously fighting his own attraction to their illustrious leader and he had to admit, he was rather curious as to why. Was it the mage thing? Wynne’s ‘you’re not old enough to have a girlfriend and save Ferelden’ thing? The ‘I was almost a Templar and had resigned myself to celibacy’ thing? There was only one way to find out and it would certainly make the long walk to Orzammar pleasanter.
 
“Girl trouble?” he asked, the innocent concern in his voice belied by the sly smirk upon his face.
 
“You have no idea,” Alistair muttered, still trying to get any trace of Angélique off of him.
 
“True, I do not,” Zevran replied easily. “I would like to, though.”
 
“Why?” Alistair asked suspiciously, wincing a little as rubbing at his cheek became painful. He reluctantly lowered his hand. “So that you can laugh at me?”
 
“No, no,” Zevran assured him. “So that I may help you. And then, perhaps, laugh at you. But at least you’ll get some advice, no?”
 
“I suppose…” Alistair said slowly, clearly wavering. “And it’s not like I can ask anyone else. Leliana would tell me to go for it as she loves a love story, Wynne would tell me not to risk it as I’m a Grey Warden and have responsibilities, Sten would probably order me to use real words, Angélique’s dog hates me, and can you even imagine what Morrigan would say?”
 
“Yes, everyone else would be most unhelpful in this matter,” Zevran agreed readily. “So why don’t you tell me all about your problems?”
 
“I don’t have ‘problems’, per se,” Alistair began. “I have one problem and her name is Angélique.”
 
“Oh?” Zevran inquired, raising an eyebrow. “It didn’t look that way earlier. She even kissed you goodbye before leaving.”


“And you saw my reaction to that, didn’t you?” Alistair asked grimly. “Or rather, my delayed reaction?”
 
“Yes, you looked pleased before acting like you thought she had poisoned you,” Zevran confirmed. He paused. “Do you think that she poisoned you?”
 
“Oh, if only,” Alistair said with a heavy sigh. “I hate Angélique. I really do.”
 
“It didn’t look that way earlier,” Zevran said dubiously. “Not that I judge, of course. Sometimes hate sex can be the very best kind.”
 
“I was always raised to think that sex should only be done between two people that love each other very much,” Alistair said stiffly. “And it’s a good idea if they’re married, too. And by ‘married’, of course, I mean ‘to each other’ and not having a sordid affair.”
 
“Ah, but you were raised by the Chantry,” Zevran pointed out. “And incidentally, Chantry sisters…not nearly as inhibited as you might think. In Antiva, those vows really tend more towards guidelines anyway…”
 
“I am not hearing this,” Alistair said, staring quite determinedly at a tree in the distance.
 
Zevran decided to take pity on him. “Ah, but we were talking about Angélique, no? What is it about her that makes you uncomfortable?”
 
“She’s the most vapid, oblivious, self-centered person I’ve ever met. Yes, she’s pretty and yes that’s affecting me but she’s just not worth it,” Alistair growled. “And she seems to have decided to set her sights on me. I really have no idea what to do.”
 
“Surely you’re exaggerating,” Zevran said confidently. He may have only entered Angélique’s company a week and a half ago but surely the beautiful woman who saved his life couldn’t be that bad?


“I’m not,” Alistair insisted. “It’s like…you know how I hate Loghain, right?”
 
“I think everyone who has been in your company for longer than five minutes is aware of that little tidbit,” Zevran said dryly.
 
“Well say I had my sword pressed against Loghain’s neck and one of his men had taken Angélique prisoner and threatened to kill her unless I let Loghain go,” Alistair said, trying to find the best way to explain the situation. “My first instinct would probably be to kill Loghain and then thank Loghain’s man. I would never actually do that, of course, because it would be wrong and because Angélique is the only other Grey Warden in Ferelden but, Maker forgive me, I would want to. Desperately.”
 
“I’m really not seeing a problem here, Alistair,” Zevran confessed.
 
“You don’t?” Alistair looked surprised. “I see several.”
 
“Well, your murderous inclinations towards your fellow Warden might be a tad disconcerting if you can’t control yourself but you’d think your years in Templar training would be good for that if nothing else,” Zevran said dismissively. “And you have a choice here. You can either ignore your attraction to Angélique and continue nobly suffering as you pine away for your one true love to come alone-”
 
“Which sounds like what I have been doing,” Alistair interrupted. “But you don’t have to make it sound quite so…”
 
“Quite so what?” Zevran prompted.
 
“Quite so pathetic,” Alistair finished.
 
“I am doing nothing of the sort,” Zevran claimed. “If you feel that what you are doing is pathetic then perhaps you should consider a change?”
 
“But…I don’t think it is,” Alistair disagreed.
 
“Then there should not be a problem. But your other option, if the waiting around and hoping your attraction will go away option doesn’t work out, is to just give in and have angry hate sex until you get over her,” Zevran announced. “Or until one of you kills the other, whichever comes first.”
 
“Didn’t I just tell you that I couldn’t do that?” Alistair asked, aghast. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering to talk to you at all if you’re not going to listen.”
 
“I was listening,” Zevran insisted. “It’s just that you told me what you were raised to believe by the Chantry you’re no longer a part of and I don’t really see why that must dictate the rest of your life.”
 
“Well…” Alistair looked uncertain. “I really don’t know. It’s kind of complicated.”
 
“Tell me all about it,” Zevran invited, hoping he was about to hear something good he could feel free to tease the former Templar about later.
 
“Well, I suppose it all goes back to my childhood,” Alistair mused. “My mother died in childbirth and my father hardly loved her, their…liaison was just for fun. I never even met the man, you know, but I can’t help but think that if they had loved each other then I would have had a far happier time of it. And then there’s Arl Eamon. He refused to take politics into account when he married and even though his wife is, when, Lady Isolde and I don’t see how anyone could want to marry her they seemed very happy together. And he was always impressing upon me the need to not fool around with just anybody and to definitely not carelessly reproduce even though I was only ten when I was sent off to the Chantry. That, of course, couldn’t have helped my issues on the matter given their take on sex and I spent many of my formative years there. And then, of course-”
 
Zevran watched in horror as Alistair seemed intent on regaling him with his entire life’s story. Sure, a little teasing material was always good but this seemed like the kind of thing that would occupy him all the way to Orzammar and he suddenly found that he wasn’t quite as desperate for a diversion from the walking after all.
 
“That…that’s all very fascinating, Alistair,” he interjected the moment the other man paused to take a breath. “But all this Chantry talk…it’s much more Leliana’s specialty than mine, I suspect.”
 
“But I already told you that-” Alistair began to protest.
 
“Yes, well, just have her try to get to the root of your sex complex,” Zevran cut him off. “She’s probably the most qualified among us to do that anyway and the most knowledgeable about the Chantry. You can feel free to come back and ask me about Angélique in particular once Leliana’s helped you with your issues if it’s even still a problem. Who knows? You might just figure out what to do on your own before then.”
 
As Zevran practically shoved Alistair Leliana’s way, he hoped the almost Templar would be able to work it out on his own. Either way, that was hardly his problem anymore, he decided as he sidled up next to Morrigan, his mind racing for the best way to go about melting Morrigan. He had a bet to win, after all.

[Sarah1281]

My thirty-seventh story was'Dust Town's Really Not All Bad' about the misadventures of the aptly-named Pollyanna Brosca as she tries to navigate her origin.


Pollyanna Brosca was a diehard optimist and that was something she took great pride in being. Growing up on the streets of Dust Town was hardly ideal, of course, but she had always believed that most people made life worse for themselves by dwelling on the things that they couldn’t change and not being happy for the things that they did have. Dust Town was always going to be Dust Town, after all, no matter how miserable they were so why not try and put on a positive attitude?
 
Take today, for instance. The biggest crime lord in Dust Town, Beraht, was standing in the main room of their humble abode for a meeting with Rica. Most people hated Beraht but Pollyanna really didn’t get why. He was a little rough around the edges, certainly, but he was also providing Pollyanna, her sister Rica, and her mother Kalah with the money that they needed to survive. In return, he expected her and Rica to work for him but that was only fair. After all, Kalah’s illness meant that she couldn’t help and if they didn’t help Beraht make money then how was he supposed to be able to help other families like he’d helped the Broscas? He really was such a good soul.
 
“I can’t keep betting on you forever, Precious,” Beraht was saying. It really was sweet how he used such positive terms of endearment to help them feel valued. Most people didn’t bother to try and cheer a duster up but Beraht always went the extra mile. “You’ve got a sweet look, the kind that can really drive a man wild, but it means nothing if you don’t go out there and work it.”
 
Rica stared determinedly at her feet. She always got so embarrassed when people called her pretty. Pollyanna supposed some people might find Rica’s shyness adorable but she just wished that she could be more confident. She’d worked hard to make her natural beauty shine through amid all the dirt and grime of Dust Town and she should be proud of that. “Please, Beraht, you know that I don’t want to do this in front of my sister-” Rica’s voice held a pleading note. Really, was that necessary? Pollyanna knew that she wasn’t nearly as pretty as her big sister but that was fine since she had other things she was good at and Rica didn’t need to always try and make sure her feelings weren’t hurt by hearing about how beautiful the elder of the pair was. Still, it was so dear of her to try and protect her in this way.
 
“Why not?” Beraht asked, clearly amused. He knew that Pollyanna’s self-esteem wasn’t nearly that fragile. “She knows the way the world works, don’t you girl?” That was another thing that she appreciated about Beraht: he never treated her like she was too young to understand things.
 
“Of course I do,” Pollyanna said brightly. “And you don’t need to worry, Rica, it doesn’t bother me that you’re the pretty one. I know that I am just as talented in other areas.”
 
Rica rubbed her forehead like she was getting a headache, which she did a lot. It really was too bad that Rica got such migraines but at least it was making Pollyanna more appreciative of her lack of health concerns and Rica could be relieved she didn’t have more serious health problems.
 
Beraht laughed. “Oh, but she is a sharp one. Listen, Rica, I’ve got places to be so I’ll just tell you this: I’ve invested a lot of money in you and as such I’d really like to see something come out of all your elven poetry and string-harp lessons. That said, I can’t keep backing a losing side forever and you haven’t even found a patron yet. You have a week or I’m cutting you loose.”
 
Oh, dear. That dreadful. Beraht must be having a hard time with his business. Pollyanna would just have to work twice as hard to compensate for this.
 
“But…but I have found somebody,” Rica insisted. “It’s nothing definite yet but he said that he wanted to see me again so I think that I’ll be able to meet that deadline.”
 
“Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath,” Beraht replied. “I’ll be back in a week to see if you’ve come through. Pollyanna, your buddy Leske is waiting outside for you to do today’s job. It’s very important so no screw-ups. Your whole family’s on loose sand with me right now and it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.”
 
“Okay, thanks for your concern,” Pollyanna said cheerfully, waving goodbye as the crime lord just shook his head and muttered something about lyrium-addled dusters before taking his leave. Beraht was right: they really did have nowhere else to go and if they weren’t doing what they were supposed to well enough then it was really very kind of him to be so forthcoming about it so they’d have a chance to shape up and prove that his taking a chance on them wasn’t for nothing. She always liked to prove to people that their faith wasn’t in vain. Maybe if they proved this to Beraht he would feel better about taking the risk to help other desperate people.
 
“I am so sorry you had to see that,” Rica said, sounding mortified.
 
“You don’t need to hide things from me, Rica,” Pollyanna said soothingly. “We’re sisters and that means that we’ll accept each other no matter what.”
 
“I suppose that’s true. Still, I’ve always tried to protect you. Sometimes I think I’ve done a little too good of a job but at least I’ve kept you from having to buy your future with what’s between your legs,” Rica said grimly.
 
“What?” Pollyanna asked blankly.
 
“I’m trying to find a noble to get me pregnant, remember?” Rica prompted. She’d tried, she really had, but perhaps a three-year-old wasn’t the best person to raise an infant. It had certainly produced…interesting results with Pollyanna, at least.
 
“Oh, right,” Pollyanna said a little sheepishly. “You’re going to have an adorable baby boy and then I’ll have the best nephew in the world. He won’t ever have to even see Dust Town and then we’ll all get to go up to the Diamond Quarter. You’ll wear fine clothes and mother will stop drinking and Beraht will get his reward for having helped us out so…and my faith will be rewarded.”
 
“That’s the plan, little sister, that is the plan,” Rica said wearily. Pollyanna felt her heart go out to her poor, hardworking sister. She was always out so late that Pollyanna was sure that the fact she hadn’t settled on the father of her future son was through no fault of her own. She just wanted to make sure she found someone who would be a good father. It couldn’t be easy to have all the hopes and dreams of the family pinned on her. “Now I have to go get ready and you’ve got your own job to do.”
 
“Have a good day, Rica,” Pollyanna told her earnestly. “And good luck. Remember, I believe in you!”
 
“You believe in everything,” Rica said fondly.
 
“Someone has to,” Pollyanna said determinedly. “And it might as well be me. Besides, good things come to good people. Things will work themselves out, just you wait.”
 
With that, Pollyanna left Rica to go get ready as she checked on their mother.
 
“Greetings, Mother,” Pollyanna said gently. Kalah hated loud noises first thing in the morning. The fact that it was already afternoon meant very little as she was still sleeping. Rica had always said that their mother was sick but Pollyanna didn’t really think all the alcohol was helping her condition. Or maybe it was and she’d be ever worse off without it, which was a truly chilling thought. Yes, it sure was lucky that they had the money to get alcohol to treat their poor, ailing mother.
 
Kalah groaned and opened her eyes a fraction. “Huh? Rica, is that you?”

“No, it’s Pollyanna, mother,” Pollyanna helpfully identified. Sure, Kalah would figure it out soon enough but it was much more polite to clear up the misunderstanding personally.
 
“What, you think I don’t know my own kid?” Kalah asked defensively. “That I need you to tell me which one you are?”
 
“Not at all, Mother,” Pollyanna quickly assured her. “I was just trying to save time…which this explanation has just wasted. Still, such is life. How are you feeling?”
 
“Don’t ‘how are you feeling’ me like you’re so high and mighty,” Kalah groused. “You’re lucky Rica looks out for you or else I’d have had you out there with her.”
 
“I really am lucky that I have Rica, aren’t I?” Pollyanna said happily. “She’s a great sister. I’m sure not everyone has such a wonderful sister and that deeply saddens me.”
 
“If it were up to me I’d have put you out there with her. Remember, you were born with only one coin to play and it’s between your legs,” Kalah said cruelly. “You’ll never escape Dust Town no matter what you do…the dust clings to everything and everywhere you look it’s all you can see.”
 
“That is so sweet of you!” Pollyanna gushed.
 
“Huh? Sweet?” Kalah asked confused. “Don’t know how I could ever mistake you for Rica, she’s not the one barely aware of her own reality.”
 
“Yes, very sweet,” Pollyanna confirmed. “You want me to find a nice guy and have an adorable baby and be happy just like Rica’s going to do. I don’t think that’s in my future just yet but you never know. Now, it’s been lovely talking to you but I really must go. I don’t want to keep my bestest friend in the whole world waiting!”
 
“Maybe this time she won’t come back,” Kalah murmured hopefully as she passed out again.
 
“That’s the spirit, Mother!” Pollyanna encouraged. “Just keep believing.”
 
She slipped out past Rica and saw Leske leaning against a wall trying to look cool. She was well aware that she often got far too excited to be able to look cool with any kind of verisimilitude so she was lucky that Leske was willing to pick up the slack for her.
 
“Good afternoon, Leske,” Pollyanna said with a smile. “Isn’t today a wonderful day?”
 
Leske practically fell over. “How long were you standing there?” he demanded. Leske was so silly sometimes. He was a perfectionist about the strangest things and didn’t want her or anybody to see his cool stance until it was perfect.
 
“Not long at all,” Pollyanna assured him. “So what’s the plan for today?”
 
“We’re supposed to go find a Surfacer named Oskias ,” Leske explained. “He’s a smuggler that Beraht suspects of holding out on him.”
 
Pollyanna frowned. “Oh, now that’s just not nice at all. I’m sure he had a good reason, though.”
 
Leske snorted. “Yeah, if by ‘good reason’ you mean ‘wanted more money’ then I’m sure he had a great reason.”
 
“Do you have any idea where we should look?” Pollyanna wondered.
 
“Well, I’ve heard he has family in the merchant caste so he’ll probably be up around there. I suggest we check Tapsters first,” Leske answered.
 
“Why Tapsters?” Pollyanna asked.
 
“Because if he’s not there we can still go get drunk,” Leske replied as if it were obvious.
 
Leske may be silly at times but there was a reason he was her best friend: he could always look on the bright side.
 
-
 
Pollyanna always liked to go up to the common area of Orzammar. It was much nicer and cleaner than Dust Town and she enjoyed making the other dwarves feel better about themselves when they saw her. ‘Sure’, they might think, ‘my business isn’t making a profit but at least I’m not a brand.’ She didn’t even have to do anything but walk by for her mere presence to cheer up those lucky enough to be born with a caste. That’s why she was hoping for a nephew. He’d be much happier with a caste no matter if it was among the nobility or a humble servant. If she got a niece instead she and Rica would make sure to love the baby anyway and make sure that she never blamed herself for any hardship that they might face.
 
She spotted Oskias the minute she stepped foot into Tapsters as he was the one with the strange darkened skin. There were people here in Orzammar with darker skin, of course, but this just looked…different. She’d seen it before on Surfacers, something to do with that giant ball of light they claimed lived in the hole in the sky.
 
“Hey, I was saving that seat,” Oskias said rudely, barely looking up from his drink when she and Leske sat down at his table.
 
“That’s thoughtful,” Leske smirked. “Chasing scum like you down is hard work, Oskias.”
 
“How…how do you know who I am?” Oskias asked, suddenly frightened. “You’re not with Beraht, are you?”
 
“We are,” Pollyanna confirmed. “And we had heard that you weren’t giving Beraht his share so we hoped that you could explain the situation for us?”
 
“Well, she was hoping,” Leske corrected. “I just want to hurry up and kill you.”
 
“That…that’s really not necessary, is it?” Oskias asked desperately. “Look, I might have taken just a little money that I haven’t shared with Beraht but I was planning on it, honest! It was just a side deal that I hadn’t gotten all the details worked out on yet!”
 
“Yeah, something tells me Beraht’s really not going to care,” Leske said flatly.
 
“Listen, I don’t have any coin down here but I do have two lyrium nuggets. You can take them and sell them if you let me go,” Oskias offered.
 
Leske frowned. “Cheating Beraht? I don’t like it. Sounds like just the kind of thing that gets two dusters like us killed. What do you think, salroka?”
 
“We don’t have to cheat him at all,” Pollyanna told him. “I wouldn’t feel right about betraying the trust of someone who has done so much for us anyway.”
 
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Leske sighed.
 
“Is this girl for real?” Oskias asked uncertainly.
 
“Unfortunately,” Leske replied, rolling his eyes. “Alright, what do you propose we do instead?”
 
“We can give the two lyrium nuggets to Beraht instead,” Pollyanna suggested. “That way he’ll be happy with us and we don’t have to worry about him finding out we’ve done anything wrong.”
 
“That’s probably the smart thing to do,” Leske agreed. He paused. “And I really can’t believe I’m saying that to you but there you go.”
 
“Since you two appear to have a plan, what are you going to do with me?” Oskias asked worriedly.
 
“Orzammar is too dangerous for you right now and maybe forever,” Pollyanna said seriously. “I’d suggest going back to the Surface and not returning for a good long while.”
 
“That’s a risky idea,” Leske told her. “Beraht won’t be happy we let Oskias go. We should just kill him.”
 
“I don’t like that plan,” Oskias spoke up. “I think you should listen to her.” He nodded his head towards Pollyanna.
 
“Well, we’re hardly asking you what to do,” Leske pointed out. “You’re obviously biased.”
 
“We can’t just kill him!” Pollyanna protested.
 
“Why not?” Leske asked matter-of-factly. “It’s what we were sent here to do, after all.”
 
“No, we were sent here to see about that lyrium and now we have,” Pollyanna said stubbornly, crossing her arms.
 
“It’s called ‘reading between the lines’,” Leske said slowly.
 
“Well I don’t think I care very much for you lines,” Pollyanna sniffed. “Killing him like this just wouldn’t be right.”
 
“I don’t want to argue,” Leske said tiredly. “You never listen to reason and your sister always gets mad at me. He can go, I guess, but we’ll have to tell Beraht that we killed him.”
 
“Oh, thank you!” Oskias practically shouted. “I have never been so grateful to see someone so weak-willed before! And you, my lady, are as kind as you are beautiful! May the ancestors bless your steps!” He dropped two nuggets on the table and sprinted for the exit.
 
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Pollyanna said, deeply touched. “See? I told you sparing him was a good idea. He’s clearly a great guy.”
 
“Or a guy who just got a new lease on life,” Leske countered. “We should get back to Beraht before someone tells him they saw Oskias leaving. But first…a drink.”
 
-
 
Pollyanna walked in on Beraht and some woman she didn’t know talking about how sad it was that the King was so old and wouldn’t live forever and enthusing over how much they liked Prince Bhelen.
 
“It’s about time you two showed up,” Beraht greeted curtly. “How did it go?”
 
“Oskias had two lyrium nuggets on him,” Pollyanna reported, handing the nuggets in question over to her boss. “And then he left.”
 
“He…left,” Beraht said dangerously. “Please elaborate.”
 
“We didn’t want to kill him so he left,” Pollyanna repeated.
 
“Not in the Tapsters, certainly, as there’s far too many witnesses and it could cause problems if the warrior caste gets annoyed by blatant murder in their tavern so we lured him out and then killed him before tossing his body into the lava,” Leske quickly covered for her.
 
Beraht looked thoughtfully at the pair before nodding. “Good thinking. I must admit, I wouldn’t have expected such forward-thinking from you. That makes me feel a lot better about sending you on what could very well be the most important job of your careers: I have several hundred sovereign riding on the Proving today. I’m betting on a fighter named Everd. He’s a long-shot but he’s just back from a Deep Road offensive. To prevent cheating, the fights aren’t announced until just before the matches start. When the favored fighter Mainar comes up, make sure to poison his water. Get this done as close to the start of the fight as you can as the drug only slows his reflexes for a short time.”
 
“But…that’s hardly sportsmanlike,” Pollyanna protested.
 
Beraht closed his eyes in a ‘why me’ gesture. “Maybe not but I really need the money if I’m to be able to continue helping that sister of your out.”
 
“I understand,” Pollyanna said solemnly. Sometimes you had to do things you didn’t like in the name of helping other people. Hopefully this Mainer would understand.
 
-
 
They were stopped on the way in by a guard who noticed their face brands but Beraht’s passes got them in easily enough. They spotted a human standing around who was presumably one of the Grey Wardens they had heard about. Pollyanna wanted to talk to him but Leske convinced her that they had no time and weren’t supposed to draw attention to themselves anyway.
 
It was easy enough to find where Everd was. The problem was…
 
“He’s drunk,” Leske moaned, banging his head against the wall. “And not even the ‘mildly out of it but I can still kick ass’ kind of drunk, either. He’s dead to the world. And so will we be when Beraht finds out.”
 
“But…it’s not our fault,” Pollyanna said, confused.
 
“You really think that that matters?” Leske asked incredulously. “Beraht is going to skin us alive! Unless…the warriors wear full-body armor and a helm, right? If you put this on you could take Everd’s place in the fight. You’re a better fighter than me so it has to be you. I don’t know if you can beat them but you stand a better chance than this drunken sot does.”
 
“I don’t know, Leske,” Pollyanna said uncertainly. “That doesn’t sound like a very moral thing to do.”
 
“Okay, seriously, girl? You’re a thug in the carta of Dust Town and you have been for quite some time. Where in the world did you get such a moral compass?” Leske demanded.
 
“Rica said she wanted me to be a good person so I learned it from her,” Pollyanna replied promptly.
 
“And how did you manage to survive for so long since you’re clearly in denial about what it means to be a carta thug?” Leske pressed.
 
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Pollyanna confessed.
 
“What I mean is that you always expect things to work out and for everyone to be all nice and moral and, guess what, no one’s actually like that. Not the dusters, not the warriors, and especially not all the uppity nobles,” Leske ranted. “You’d expect a girl like you would have learned better by now or else been chewed up and thrown away. What I’m asking you is, how in the world hasn’t this happened to you? What hasn’t anyone you’ve tried to help sensed weakness and gutted you?”
 
“Why hasn’t anyone bad managed to kill me?” Pollyanna seized on the only part of the conversation she really understood. “I’m just that good with a dagger.”
 
Leske sighed. “I suppose we might as well make use of that. Listen, Pollyanna. You’ve always wanted to enter a Proving, right? Well here’s your chance. You may not be able to let anyone know, but here’s your chance to prove that dusters can be just as good as anybody else.”
 
Pollyanna grinned. Leske had been seriously confusing her earlier but there was the optimistic best friend that she remembered. “Alright…one of condition. We do this, we do it my way and that means no more illegal activities than strictly necessary. I fight Mainar, I do it honorably. No drugs.”
 
“If that’s really the way you want it,” Leske said dubiously. “Hey, do you hear that? They’re calling for you. Or Everd, really. Hurry up and change into that armor.”
 
“Okay,” Pollyanna agreed. “Make sure that Everd doesn’t get out of his room and get us both killed before I come back.”
 
-
 
The Proving was actually a lot easier than Pollyanna thought it would be given all the fuss. She’d been up against Mainar first thing which was incredibly nerve-wracking but she’d tried to respond to his pre-battle words with similar ones of her own (mentioning glory or the Stone generally seemed to be a good bet, she’d found) and had soundly thrashed the legitimate fighter. Huh. That was rather unexpected no matter what she had told Leske. It seemed like her decision to face him fairly paid off as she never would have known that she could beat him in a real fight otherwise.
 
Her next opponent was a warrior named Adalbo who went down easier than Mainar had. Her third opponent caused a bit of a slip-up on her part as she hadn’t quite realized that Silent Sisters literally never spoke but it wasn’t like Lenka could tell anyone, right? The Proving Master sounded greatly surprised to announce the underdog Everd as the Proving Champion…until the real Everd stumbled out into the arena. Pollyanna almost had a heart attack. How had he gotten out? Leske was supposed to be watching him!
 
“Remove your helm,” the Proving Master ordered. “So that we may all see the face of the Champion that has bested the best.”
 
“Alright,” Pollyanna said shakily. This was not going to go well for the next few minutes even if she’d eventually be able to get out of this mess. On the bright side, at least she’d be able to prove to these people that a casteless really could stand up to the best the warrior caste had to offer and thoroughly trounce them. They wouldn’t want to believe it, of course, and would probably stay firmly in denial as they obsessed over the ‘outrage’ but it wasn’t something they would ever be able to forget and no matter what happed to her, she’d try and remember that. “Here I am.”
 
As she removed her helmet, there were gasps from the crowd and the Proving Master himself looked like he was about to faint as he called for guards to take her away. The Grey Warden was leaning forward, a thoughtful expression on his face. This horrible ‘dishonor’ didn’t seem to bother him any.
 
As the guards swarmed her, Pollyanna comforted herself with the fact that there was nothing else she could have done and at least these people were forced to see her.
 
-
 
“Hey, salroka, wake up,” Leske was whispering urgently.
 
Pollyanna’s head felt like someone had been stomping on it repeatedly and so she wasn’t exactly eager to do so. “Nnn…go away…”
 
“I can’t do that, Pollyanna. We’ve got to get out of here or else Beraht’s going to have us both killed and probably Rica, too,” Leske continued insistently.
 
That got her attention. “What are you talking about? What’s going on? Where are we? And why would Beraht kill us, much less Rica?”
 
“Don’t you remember?” Leske looked surprised. “I suppose they did hit you pretty hard. Everd got out of his room and stumbled into the arena, you were revealed to be casteless, and the guards arrested you and then found me and assumed I was involved so they arrested me as well. Why’d you have to fight them, anyway?”
 
“I was trying to prove a point,” Pollyanna admitted, rubbing her head. “It may not have been the best idea in hindsight but I wanted them to see that I wasn’t ashamed of who I am and I wouldn’t meekly surrender because of who my parents were.”
 
“Well you took quite a few of them down with you,” Leske reported. “You really impressed that Grey Warden, I think. The guards took their frustration with you out on me since you really made them look bad. They questioned me for ages and then Jarvia showed up and we were moved down here to a carta prison. Listen, salroka…Beraht has lost more money on this than you or I could even begin to imagine. I know you think he’s a good guy but even good guys have tempers and we really can’t take the chance that he’ll, er, go after Rica. We need to get out of here so we can check on her.”
 
“He already said that we were on loose sand with him,” Pollyanna remembered. “I…I can hardly believe it but you might be right. I can’t take that chance. If nothing else, Rica needs to know what happened and that I’m alright. Let’s get out of here.” She promptly took a pin out of her hair and inserted it into the lock on the cell.
 
“I’ve already tried to look for a way out while you were unconscious but I couldn’t find anything,” Leske cautioned. “I really hope you have an idea.”
 
“One moment,” Pollyanna said as she continued fiddling with the lock. It snapped open and she pushed the cell door open and stepped outside.
 
“How’d you managed that?” Leske asked, stunned. “Picking locks doesn’t seem like a very ethical thing to know how to do.”
 
“I don’t see what’s particularly unethical about it as long as you don’t use it to hurt people,” Pollyanna disagreed. “I practiced on my own lock anyway so it’s not like I was breaking into other people’s things.”
 
“Hey, you can’t do that!” the single, not very attentive guard in the room declared as he lunged at her. Pollyanna quickly tripped him, stole his helmet, and then kicked him in the head making him go down like a light.
 
“Impressive,” Leske said, awestruck. “Now get me out of here and we can escape. We’ll probably have to fight our way out of here but I can’t really think of a better plan.”
 
“Neither can I,” Pollyanna said grimly. “But at least we can try not to kill as many as possible.”
 
-
 
As it turned out, Leske didn’t actually feel the need to make sure to not kill the carta members they came across but since he did seem absent-minded at times – like when he forgot he was supposed to be watching Everd – Pollyanna chalked it up to a mix between that and fear for Rica.
 
“I'm cutting the **** free. If that freak of a sister of hers can't stay in her place, I don't need precious Rica, either,” Beraht was saying coldly once she and Leske made their way to his office.
 
Pollyanna couldn’t breathe. How could he say things like that? He was supposed to be helping him! Was the bet really worth that much? She didn’t understand. Even thought Leske convinced her to escape so that they could check on Rica she hadn’t really thought that there was any need to. How could she have been so wrong about him?
 
“Rica?” one of the thugs with him perked up at the name. “That the one you got all done up in lace? I been wanting to get my hands on that.”
 
“Heh, I know what you mean...” a second thug agreed, a lecherous smirk on his face.
 
Beraht spread his hands magnanimously. “She's yours if you want her, boys. And let me tell you... it tastes as good as it looks.” His face twisted into an unpleasant scowl as he saw Pollyanna and Leske standing in the doorway. “What in sod-all is that doing out of its cage?”
 
“I trusted you,” Pollyanna said quietly, drawing her weapon. “And you were going to let them hurt Rica. You hurt Rica.”
 
“If you weren’t such a fool this wouldn’t come as such a surprise,” Beraht sneered at her.
 
“Let’s see who’s the fool when I cut your sodding head off,” Pollyanna said darkly before lunging at him.
 
Leske quickly took out his weapon and joined the fray. The fight was short and brutal and in the end it was a triumphant Leske and Pollyanna that stood over a decapitated Beraht and his two goons.
 
“Rica…” Pollyanna murmured. “We’ve got to find her!”
 
“Calm down, salroka,” Leske said soothingly. “From the sounds of it he was just ordering those two we killed to attack her when we walked in. She should be safe. But, uh, can you let her think that I was the one who killed Beraht? It really doesn’t matter if she thinks you’re a badass.”
 
“I don’t even care at this point,” Pollyanna said, feeling drained. “Let’s just get out of here. The good news is that we won’t have to go around working for Beraht but now how are we supposed to support ourselves? Killing a carta boss…that’s pretty big and anyone who takes Beraht’s place won’t take too kindly to that.”
 
“Hey, don’t tell me you’re giving up on me now,” Leske said earnestly. “As much as your ever-cheerful nature often annoys the living daylights out of me, seeing you depressed is really freaking me out. Today you entered and won a Proving, you escaped from carta cells no one has ever escaped from, we killed Beraht before he could send anyone after Rica, and are about to get away with it all! If that’s not things working themselves out then I don’t know what is.”
 
A slow smile spread across Pollyanna’s face as she realized that he was right. “And to think I almost gave up right as things are starting to look up…thanks, Leske. You’re a true friend.”
 
“Anytime,” Leske replied absently as he peered over her shoulder, checking for someone to come investigating what had happened. “Let’s get out of here.”
 
“Agreed,” Pollyanna said. The pair hurriedly made their way to the shop the carta was using as a front but had barely taken two steps out into the commons before they were surrounded by guards…and that Grey Warden from earlier.
 
“There they are! Seize the fugitives!” the Proving Master instructed before deigning to address the fugitives in question. “Drop your weapons and walk down slowly. We will use force if you resist.”
 
“Well, we tried,” Leske said wryly.
 
“Look on the bright side,” Pollyanna suggested. “Beraht’s still dead and Rica should be fine.”
 
“Wait, Beraht’s dead?” the Proving Master looked flabbergasted. “He had a lot of powerful enemies, certainly, but also some very powerful friends. Are you trying to say that you killed him?”
 
“Strictly in self-defense,” Pollyanna confirmed. “He was going to kill us and then go after my sister.”
 
“It seems that once again you’ve demonstrated your courage,” the Grey Warden mused. “My order could certainly use someone like you.”
 
The Proving Master started. “Duncan, you can have your pick of any in the warrior caste! You can’t possibly take her! She’s wanted for treason!”
 
“Treason?” Pollyanna repeated indignantly. “I borrowed someone’s armor without asking! And he probably got it back, anyway.”
 
“I can and I am,” Duncan said firmly. “I, Duncan of the Grey Wardens, extend the invitation for you to join our order, friend.”
 
Pollyanna’s eyes widened. “What? Me? Are you sure?”
 
“More than sure,” Duncan confirmed. “I wanted to recruit you after having seen your display at the Proving. Why would I change my mind after you managed to fight your way out of prison?”
 
Pollyanna bit her lip. “Leske, you think I should?”
 
Leske laughed incredulously. “I can’t believe you’re still standing here! This is the chance of a lifetime, salroka. I want you to take it. You’ll be safer up there anyway and perhaps you’ll, er, fit in better. Don’t worry about Rica. I’ll take care of her for you!”
 
“I’m just thrilled to hear that,” Rica murmured.
 
“That’s so sweet of you!” Pollyanna gushed. “I could never find a better salroka than you no matter how hard I looked!”
 
Leske looked embarrassed. “Yeah, well, just get out of here, okay? Have fun on the Surface and think of me when you kick some darkspawn ass, will you?”
 
“I will,” promised Pollyanna solemnly. “And Rica? You’ll be okay down here with just you and Mother? I know I’ve made things difficult and I don’t want to just abandon you.”
 
“Don’t worry about me,” Rica said warmly. “That potential patron I mentioned? He really came through for me and found someplace for Mother and I to stay. I’ll be fine, I promise, and I’m not about to be the one to deny you the opportunity to be more than just a ****’s little sister. And like Leske said: maybe you’ll fit in better up there.”
 
“Fit in better?” Pollyanna asked confused. “What do you mean?”
 
“It doesn’t matter,” Rica claimed. “Just go and remember that I’ll always love you.”
 
Pollyanna turned back to Duncan. “Well, I guess I’m leaving then. I must confess, I never expected this but I knew that things would somehow work themselves out…”