Xanthos stopped what he was doing as he heard a slight shuffling sound emanating from outside his study, followed swiftly by a knock on the door. "Come in", he said before continuing to write his letter. The one on the other side opened the door and passed the threshold, walking with a slight gait that indicated a twisted ankle.
There was enough in his peripheral vision to get enough of an image of who the Dwarf was. A stout and solid frame with a small but nonetheless intricately braided black beard, adorned in armor with the crest of House Harrowmont upon it and Smith House Toldra, and piercing golden eyes -- almost supernatural in their aura.
"Renvil, it's good to see you're doing well." Xanthos said. He raised a glass of juice to his lips and continued about his duties, stoic like a Qunari.
"Well enough, all things considered. My ankle still has yet to heal from the last mission. Blasted spiders...."
A small smile passed over the king's face as he finally set down his quill and gazed at the Dwarf before him, standing dutiful and ready for his next assignment. Gorim was sitting on a sofa imported from Orlais in the background, evidently relaxing, but even so he was never once unready to fulfill his obligations as Second in whatever capacity was needed.
Rising from his chair, Xanthos walked around the desk and rolled up the parchment before securing it in a tiny container made by some of the finest artisans Orzammar had to offer. Intricately carved with images of dragons and kings, it was also something that could only be opened by a specific action. To try and force it open would ruin the contents within. He then handed the cryptex to his friend, leaning against the edge of the desk and crossing his arms.
Renvil examined the item with fascination, turning it over in his hands to understand each and every little aspect of it. There hadn't been such a thing in the Dwarven lands before. Indeed, it was something Xanthos had thought should be crafted, for there were many people that would be giddy to have trade secrets of Orzammar.
"Renvil, I have another assignment for you. I wish for you to head up an expedition to Kal-Sharok in my name. I wish to expand on the levels of communication my father re-established."
If Renvil was surprised, he said nothing. Kal-Sharok was the seat of the old empire, across the span of two nations and beneath a labyrinth of tunnels and caverns long since left to the Darkspawn's filth. To travel there would require not just a considerable amount of manpower, but a large sum of funds as well.
But what was Kal-Sharok other then a bitter memory of a bygone age, an echo of the sounds of Dwarven prosperity? No doubt the isolation they'd endured had taken a toll on their status, but even then Xanthos suspected they would have found ways to circumvent such limitations. The one rule of society was that when your survival is on the line, you will break down whatever barriers are in your way.
As it happened, there was still grousing among the nobility at Xanthos' talks of helping them. Many had argued that for their refusal to acknowledge the sovereignty of Orzammar over Kal-Sharok, they should be forgotten and left to the Stone -- if it would even accept them. Lords Meino and Bemot were happy themselves, but their concerns were focused purely on money. And that was how it was, the noble houses only cared about themselves or tradition.
To Xanthos, it was about so much more then that. It was about survival.
"You should first take a ship from Amaranthine to Kirkwall and talk with Varric Tethras. I understand his brother has been adamant in his search for anything related to Kal-Sharok, hoping it would help his own ambitions. From there, head towards Cumberland in Nevarra, where the rest of your expedition will await you."
"How many people am I to take?"
"Ten of the Legion will accompany you, along with two Golems, forty of House Aeducan and Harrowmont's soldiers, some of the Shaperate, and three merchant caste caravans. Word has already been sent to Kal-Sharok that we are planning to meet with them, so they will not be surprised by it."
"Very well, your Majesty. When would you like me to return?"
"You won't be returning Renvil. I need an ambassador there, someone willing to throw aside tradition and who can earn the respect of the Dwarves there by learning their ways easily. They are still bitter at being sealed away, and I cannot blame them. But demanding they swear fealty to us will only widen the gap, not shorten it. For the moment, we are two separate kingdoms, brothers caught in a feud, willing to work together out of a sense of pragmatism."
"I see."
Xanthos could see in Renvil's eyes that he probably wondered if it was a punishment of some sort, but the thought was quickly banished. There was nothing to punish, but it was more of a reprieve. Renvil's father fell in the Blight and it took a heavy toll on him, where he devoted himself solely to missions in the Deep Roads. A new start would do wonders for his spirits, and what better way was there then to leave Orzammar and be able to maintain caste?
But it wasn't going to be an easy mission either, as he told his delegate. The Carta had since moved north to the Free Marches and established a tight grip on the region, moving lyrium from the old abandoned mines and thaigs all around. Nasir's reports on the Cadash Syndicate's movements were thoroughly detailed, and Nasir's pull within his family was enough to give Xanthos some measure of authority over them that he hoped to expand. He could only surmise at what the Carta was planning and what they'd do, split into the various families they now were.
The Cadashes had long since taken control of the Free Marches since their exile some time ago, but now they had competition. The remnants of Jarvia's group moved to Ferelden and Kirkwall and began to violently take ground, with a penchant for backroom dealings and mercenary work and selling their services to the highest bidder. As he had heard, the seat of Templar power in the east was facing renewed troubles on the age-old debate of mage freedom vs. security. No doubt the Carta would take advantage of the situation, using both sides to bring in coin. Smart, to be sure.
"The Carta will most likely seek your head, Renvil. They'll end up hearing about this expedition and I can't guarantee they won't try anything. I'm willing to bet they'll try and kill you, replace you, and then set up shop in Kal-Sharok under your name."
"I'll be more then careful, your Majesty."
With that, Renvil bowed his head and turned to leave, still dragging his foot slightly across the floor. He was certainly a stubborn Dwarf, that was certain. He should be in bed resting, yet he chose to carry on through willpower alone. Commendable, if reckless. Xanthos sighed and shook his head before looking at Gorim, who seemed to be content as he ever was. Did anything ever faze him?
"This is bound to net you more enemies, you know."
"I'm surprised there are people who aren't my enemies yet." Xanthos said in jest. "No matter. We've already dealt with two assassination attempts already. Let them have a few more."
"As you will."
"At any rate, let's go down to Tapster's for some ale the surfacers make. By the Ancestors could I use one now..."