The Frostbacks lived up to their name.

Where the lowlands of Ferelden were muddy and rainy, the Frostbacks were cold. The entire party (save Shale, of course) switched over to the winter gear that Teagan had provided in order to deal with the weather. Simple leather and cloth were no longer enough, and they all donned thick fur cloaks and hats. Alistair, in his heavier armor, was better off, but even he had to switch out his leather gloves and boots for thicker ones of fur. The further up the trail they went, the heavier the snowfall became.

Poor Zevran probably felt the worst of it. Being Antivan, he was hardly used to the cold of the Ferelden lowlands, never mind the mountains.

“How does anyone live here?” he complained, his face almost entirely obscured by a thick scarf.

“Wearing many layers,” Fiona said. She was similarly wrapped up, with a hood pulled low over her forehead and a scarf pulled up to her nose.

It was when they encountered a group of highwaymen when they learned what Wynne had suffered during the demon attack at the Circle.

They dispatched the highwaymen with ease, but after the fight, Wynne collapsed.

“Wynne!” Kitranna went to the woman's side, but Wynne managed to get to her feet without assistance.

The older woman rubbed her forehead. “I...I fell,” she said, blinking.

“You fainted,” Fiona corrected.

“I hope your age is not catching up to you,” Morrigan said.

“Hey,” Alistair reprimanded Morrigan with a scowl.

“It is an honest concern!”

“Are you alright?” Kitranna asked, ignoring Morrigan. She guided Wynne to sit on a log by the side of the road, and the party gathered around her.

“For a moment there I thought I was...I thought it was all over.”

“Not yet,” Kitranna said. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Wynne shook her head. “I am not hurt.”

“Then what's wrong?”

Wynne looked at all of them, who each looked back at her expectantly.

“We can't help if we don't know what's the matter,” Fiona pointed out.

Wynne shook her head. “No...no, you are right,” she said. “Something...happened to me at the Tower, before you arrived. I saved one of the apprentices, Petra, from a demon. But I...did not survive the encounter.”

“You appear quite mobile for a dead woman,” Zevran said, raising his eyebrows. He handed took a skin of water and flavored it with some honey, then handed it to Wynne, who accepted it.

“I am not dead,” she said. She didn't drink from the waterskin, just held it in her hands. “It is...hard to describe. I engaged a very powerful demon to rescue Petra, and it sapped my strength to kill it. When I was done, I no longer had the strength to keep my heart beating.”

Morrigan leaned forward, looking fascinated.

“What happened next?” Kitranna asked.

“I remember impenetrable darkness,” Wynne said, closing her eyes. “All-encompassing. But then—I felt a presence, enfolding me. It is impossible to describe.”

“Perhaps it will be easier if you drink some of that?” Zevran said pointedly, looking at the container in her hands. “Regain some of your strength?”

Wynne peered at Zevran curiously, but drank. Then she continued her story. “I was being...held back, firmly, but gently, as a mother would a child eager to slip from her grasp. I felt light and warmth flowing through my veins again, and I began to be aware of sounds again, and the pain of my hip pressing into the stone floor.”

“Ah,” Morrigan nodded as if everything made sense. “Your injury called a friendly spirit to aid you in a time of need.”

“The Fade contains many spirits,” Wynne said with a shrug. “And the spirit that helped me—without it, I would be dead. It has not left me. It is here with me still, bonded to me.”

“But what does that have to do with why you collapsed?” Kitranna asked.

“I am supposed to be dead, you see,” Wynne explained. “It is the spirit that is keeping me in this world, and this is not the way of things. Perhaps the spirit did not expect this. It is weakening, gradually but surely. I am living on borrowed time.”

“Do you know how long you have?” Fiona asked.

Wynne shook her head. She got to her feet and dusted off her knees. “No,” she said. “But I can feel when it is weakening, so I should have some warning.”

“Had you known how to call friendly spirits, perhaps one could have aided you in your battle with the demon,” Morrigan said. “Then it would not have felt the need to bond itself to you. Or, you could have done as the Tevinters do, and bind a spirit to your will intentionally.”

Wynne shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, I would not do that.”

Morrigan tilted her head up. “'Tis your loss, I suppose.”

“I do not think it is. Come, we should make the most of the time we have.”

In their journey to the gates of Orzammar, they encountered several Dalish who came to them with messages from various Clans, pledging their alliance to the Wardens. They got the distinct impression as they went through the mountains that they were being watched, but they never caught anyone in the act.

At last, however, they came to the gates of Orzammar. They were literal gates, two huge iron doors set into the hillside, towering overhead. There was the remains of the stone highway that scattered the lowlands, and ruins of enormous statues around as well. Before the gates was a collection of tents and ramshackle shacks built in the shadows of the gates and the statues, the makings of a tiny town. Dwarven and human merchants mostly, no sign of any elves or vashothari.

The merchants watched Kitranna's group with wary eyes, the dwarves outright staring at Shale, but no one bothered them. There was someone already at the gates when they got there. Several dwarven guards, and a contingent of humans arguing with each other.

“King Loghain will not suffer the delay of his appointed messenger!” the human at the forefront of his group exclaimed, and everyone in Kitranna's party stiffened. The dwarven guard were having none of it.

“Veata! This land is held in trust of the sovereign dwarven kings,” said the dwarven guard. “I cannot allow entry at this time.”

“King Loghain demands the allegiance of the Deshyr, or lords, or—whatever you call your Assembly!” the human snapped. “I am his appointed messenger!”

“I don't care if you're the king's chamber-pot-cleaner, Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled.”

Kitranna frowned and glanced at her companions, before stepping up. “What if our reason is urgent?” she asked.

“Ours is urgent as well,” said the human, looking Kitranna up and down, then glancing at her party. His eyes lingered on Kitranna's ears and on the staffs that the mages carried. “If I don't get in, no one should.” Both he and the dwarf stared up at Shale for a moment.

The dwarf folded his arms. “It doesn't matter the need,” he said. “Orzammar has no king, so there is no one to negotiate with. King Endrin Aeducan passed to the Stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his sons.”

“Are you sure there's no one we can talk to?” Kitranna asked. “This has to do with Orzammar as well as Ferelden. Haven't you heard that a Blight is coming?”

“Wait. Who are you?” the human asked, his eyes narrowing. “Who do you speak for? What does the Blight matter to an elf?”

The dwarf snorted and rolled his eyes, but didn't comment.

“We're from...” Kitranna paused. “We're from Bann Teagan,” she improvised. “Since the army failed at Ostagar, we're here to try and ally with Orzammar against the Blight.”

“Bann Teagan?” the messenger pursed his lips.

Out of her pack, Kitranna pulled the documents that secured Orzammar's aid for the Wardens in times of Blight. “Here,” she said. “Maybe this will help.”

The dwarf looked the document over. “This is the royal seal,” he said with a nod. “Only the Assembly is authorized to address it. You may pass.”

“But--!” the human said. “She is not a messenger of the King!”

“Last I heard, Loghain wasn't even in line for the throne,” Alistair said. “When'd he declare himself King?”

“She has better documentation than you do,” the dwarf said before the human could argue with Alistair. “And she hasn't been at my door for a day and a half, demanding to be let in.”

The doors creaked and groaned as the other dwarven guards moved to start the mechanisms to open them.

“What about Leliana?” Wynne asked. “How will she follow us?”

“Oh, right!” Kitranna said. She turned back to the dwarf. “We have another member of our group running behind us. She's a human, with red hair,” Kitranna said. “About ye tall. She has very important information for us, so if you see her, could you let her in?”

“I can't do that,' the dwarf said. “If she doesn't have the right documentation, she'll just have to wait out here.”

Kitranna put her hands on her hips and looked at her party. “Should we just wait here for her?”

“That would waste valuable time,” Morrigan pointed out.

“Would it suit if I alone waited here for her, and then when she arrived, we went in together?” Wynne asked the guard. “You know I am with Surana.”

The guard stroked his beard in thought, eyes darting between Kitranna and Wynne. At length he nodded. “I make no promises,” he admitted. “But at the very least, you will be informed of her presence.”

“I guess that'll have to do,” Kitranna said. “Wynne, will you be alright out here?”

“I will be perfectly fine,” Wynne assured her.

“If you are sure...” Fiona said.

“I am.”

“You're going to let them in?” the human exclaimed, and they all turned to look at him. They had just about forgotten he was there. “Foreigners and—mages?”

“Yes,” the guard said.

“But--!”

The doors were open now. Fiona clapped Wynne on the shoulder, and then the others went inside.

Beyond the doors was a broad staircase that lead down into the mountain. The staircase was lit with torches, and carved into the walls were many images of, one assumed, the history of Orzammar.

The further down they went, the hotter it got. Soon the torches were replaced with flat crystal windows, beyond which there were flows of lava which lit everything with a dull red glow. They soon found themselves shedding their cold weather clothes and putting them away.

“Have you ever been here before, Shale?” Alistair asked the golem.

Shale shook their head. “Not that I can recall,” they said. “I believe I was found in a thaig far from here, though I do not remember how I came to be there.”

“Flemeth made mention of Orzammar once or twice,” Morrigan said absently. “Apparently, Elvhenan and the dwarven kingdom had some sort of relationship with each other.”

“Did they?” Fiona asked, peering at Morrigan.

Morrigan shrugged. “I do not know if that is the truth, nor did Flemeth say much about it.”

“Some elvhen and dwarven ruins are old enough to be contemporaries, aren't they?” Kitranna mentioned.

“They are,” Fiona said. “but very little work has gone into studying elvhen ruins at all—not that I know of, anyway. I am sure the Tevinters and Orlesians have plundered what they could, however.”

“Is it not the common understanding that elves and dwarves are rivals?” Zevran asked.

“You don't really believe that, do you?” Kitranna said.

“Not really,” Zevran said. “But for some reason, many people seem to think it. I could not say why—I have gotten along with most of the dwarves I have encountered.”

“The ones you didn't assassinate, you mean?” Alistair said.

“Yes, precisely,” Zevran said with a winning smile.

The stairs were long, and it took them quite some time to come to Orzammar proper. However, at long last, they arrived in the city itself. They found themselves in an enormous antechamber decorated with large statues of varying ages. The ceiling was so high overhead that it faded into darkness, even with the lava lighting the room.

It was hot, incredibly so. The lava that had lit the entry stairwell was even more prevalent here, and even though it was all kept behind many layers of crystal, the heat still seeped through.

Unbelievably, the dwarves that were there were either in full armor, or in dress suited to a Ferelden autumn. One dwarrowdam was in a heavy-looking dress that fell all the way to her feet and covered her up to her neck.

The dwarves glanced at them as they passed, some with curiosity, most looking irritated and wary.

As they walked further down the hall, Alistair commented “Those statues are of their Paragons, if I remember rightly. The best of their ancestors.”

Kitranna glanced at the statues—they depicted different dwarves, both men and women, holding different weapons or tools. One was clearly very new, placed near the front, depicting a dwarrowdam with broad shoulders and a hammer in her hand.

They passed through the Hall of Heroes, and out into the main city. If the Hall had been large, the city itself was absolutely enormous. It was even hotter here, as the entire city was built into a cliff-face overlooking a massive sea of lava.

“How can they possibly stand to live in such heat?” Morrigan grumbled. She had taken off her cloak and now her scarf as well.

“It is not so bad,” Zevran said. “I rather like it.”

“Hush, both of you,” Fiona muttered. They were coming up on a crowd of dwarves who looked less than pleased with each other.

“It is the Assembly who elects a king, and a king who nominates his successor,” one richly-dressed dwarf was saying. “None of it is carried in the blood.”

Another dwarf, this one clearly younger and in armor, with a weapon slung over his back. “Or, as now, when someone tries using the Assembly to pull a coup,” he said. “Who's to say what my father said in his final hours, when the usurper Harrowmont was the only one by his side?”

The older dwarf scowled. “I'll have you thrown in prison for what you've done--!”

The younger smirked. “You've bitten off more than you can chew!”

Another dwarf came between the two. “Handlers—separate these two before they start a riot! I won't have Bhelen inciting violence!”

Another dwarf, also in armor, stepped forward, pulling his weapon. “You'll not speak that way about the man who should be king!” he raised his ax, and everyone could quite clearly see what was about to happen.

On impulse, Kitranna slammed the dwarf with a strong ice spell. There were gasps and exclamations of surprise, and everyone turned to her.

“That wasn't wise,” Fiona muttered.

“...I don't like people waving big axes around,” Kitranna said by way of explanation.

Several guards came by and dispersed the crowd. The two dwarves who had been arguing with each other, Bhelen and Harrowmont, glared sourly but allowed the guards to come between them.

“Don't usually like surfacers interfering in our affairs,” one of the guards came up to Kitranna. He was in more decorated plate than the others, indicating he was probably in charge. “But I don't really like people killing each other in the streets, either, so I suppose I should thank you for stepping in.”

“You're welcome,” Kitranna said. “Sorry if I upset anything—I just really don't like people waving their weapons around. Never ends well.”

“That's a pretty good instinct, I suppose,” the guard said. He folded his arms. “Why are you here? The Blight?”

“How'd you know?” Alistair said.

“That's just about the only reason any surfacer comes down here, if they don't want to trade,” he said. “And there's been some pretty bad darkspawn attacks in the Deep Roads. Doesn't take a genius to figure out there's a Blight stirring.” he sighed. “Surface problems.”

“Is a Blight not your concern as well?” Morrigan asked.

He shrugged. “It's not the same for us as it is for you. We know how to deal with darkspawn, have for hundreds of years. And surfacers don't have lakes of lava protecting them, either,” he gestured out to the cavern where the lava rested. “Either way, we have no king to hear you, so we can't be much help. You could join the shouting at the Assembly if you wanted, but I don't know that it'll do much good.”

“You have so little faith in your leaders?” Morrigan said.

“How is that surprising?” Zevran said.

“Is the situation that bad?” Kitranna asked. “Because we kind of need some dwarven aid.”

The guard rubbed the back of his head. “Bunch of deshyr lords fighting over sand. Bhelen, Harrowmont...is one so different from the other? No Paragons here.”

“Sounds like Bhelen and Harrowmont are the ones to talk to,” Alistair said.

“You could, if you really wanted to,” the guard said. “Personally, I think the lords should toss them both out on their ears and go and find Culwydd Aeducan, but that's not going to happen.”

“Who's that?” Kitranna asked.

“Bhelen's older sister,” he explained. “They say she killed the oldest brother, Trian, and they sent her to the Deep Roads for it, but just about everyone knows Bhelen's the backstabber of the family.” he shifted on his feet. “I'm not really the one to be telling you this. If you want, the Diamond Quarter's up that way,” he pointed to a set up steps that lead up to a higher level of the city. “Go to the Shaper in the Shaperate. If you want to try getting our help, I suggest you know us first.”

“Well...thanks,” Kitranna said. She looked around at her companions. “We should get going.”

“Yes, you should.”

They headed up the long flight of stairs to the Diamond Quarter. The heat did not abate in the slightest, but the stone became smoother, the carvings more intricate. True to its name, the Diamond Quarter had many precious gemstones embedded in the various carvings and decorations. The dwarves here were dressed richer, in fine clothes and jewelry or intricately worked armor.

“D'you think dwarves could make armor for someone human-sized?” Alistair said, eying a dwarrowdam in shining plate.

“There are many dwarven smiths on the surface,” Fiona pointed out. “I assume they would be able to.”

“But those are surfacer smiths,” Alistair pointed out. “Would anyone down here even bother?”

“Perhaps not for you,” Morrigan muttered. “But perhaps for Surana, they would.”

“I don't know,” Kitranna said. “I think I annoyed them.”

“You also prevented a possible riot,” Morrigan pointed out.

“Sometimes a good riot is all people really want,” Zevran said. “They may not appreciate her meddling in their affairs.”

They walked past several town criers, two of which appeared to be having some sort of passive-aggressive duel of words, as they shouted opposite opinions of Bhelen and Harrowmont.

“Where did he say we should go?” Kitranna asked. “The Shaperate?”

Fiona nodded. “It's where their historians are,” she said.

“What would it look like?” the signs here only had images, no words, like most of the towns in Ferelden. However, unlike Ferelden, many of the symbols were unfamiliar to her.

Fiona shrugged.

“We could always ask someone,” Alistair said.

“We haven't come across it yet,” Shale said suddenly. They all looked around at the golem.

“You know where it is?” Kitranna asked.

“No, but I do know what it looks like, and we have not passed it yet.”

“Oh. Well, let me know when we do,” Kitranna said.

“If I must.”

Several dwarves looked round at Shale, clearly not expecting the golem to talk, but no one said anything. They continued on their way.

They did find the Shaperate at last, at one extreme end of the Diamond Quarter. Shale pointed it out immediately when they came across it, and they went inside.

They were immediately struck by both the lighting and the temperature difference. It was far cooler inside the Shaperate than outside, and the light was not lava or torches, but brilliant blue crystals set inside clear sconces. The feeling emanating from the sconces told Kitranna they were made from Lyrium.

“Well, this is certainly a relief,” Morrigan sighed, wiping her forehead.

“We're looking for the Shaper, right?” Kitranna said.

“That's who he said we should look for,” Alistair said.

“The Shaper would have the best information about Orzammar and the people competing for the throne, so yes, that is who you are looking for,” Shale said, sounding somewhat irritated.

They moved further into the Shaperate, finding themselves in a library crowded with many old books and tomes. It was quiet, and several dwarven scholars moved among the shelves.

They asked around, and one of the scholars pointed them to an old dwarf with a long gray beard, who stood at the back of the library. They approached him.

“You are the Warden.” the Shaper said, looking Kitranna over.

“I never said I was,” Kitranna said.

“Do not take me for a fool,” the Shaper said, a tiny smile flashing across his face for an instant. “What other surfacers but Wardens care to deal with the Blight?”

“Not very many,” Alistair admitted.

The Shaper sighed. “The Memories often speak of the swiftness with which change overtakes us, but it is different to see it firsthand.”

“Change?” Kitranna asked.

“Even Orzammar has not seen a Blight such as this for a long, long time,” the Shaper said. “The king is dead, and things move in the Deep Roads." He shook his head. “I apologize, Warden. I should not burden a stranger with such things.”

“That's what we're here fore,” Kitranna said. “Don't worry about it.”

“You came here for information, I assume, not portent and signs. Forgive me, I am Czibor, the Shaper of Memories.”

“I'm Kitranna Surana,” said she. “Fiona and Alistair are Wardens also, and that's Morrigan, Zevran, Jowan, and Shale.”

“The golem has a name?” Czibor said, furrowing his brow.

“Should I not?” Shale rumbled, making the other dwarves in the room jump and look towards them.

“There is nothing saying you should not,” Czibor said. “But I have never known a golem to even speak, much less take a name.” he grabbed a piece of paper and wrote a note down on it. “But we have lost much lore concerning golems.”

“I hope you have not lost the information we seek,” Morrigan said.

Czibor looked at her. “That depends entirely upon what you wish to know,” he said, lips pursed.

“We wanna know more about your government,” Kitranna said. “Harrowmont and Bhelen, and the way your Assembly works.”

“We want to try and help,” Alistair put in.

“A noble goal, but one I do not think is possible,” Czibor sighed. “However, that is certainly something I can tell you about.”

He told them of the Assembly, how the dwarven kings were picked. Bhelen was the son of Endrin Aeducan, but apparently many people did not trust him to lead. He was brash and violent, pushing for more contact with the surface, as well as with Kal-sharok, the only other inhabited dwarven Thaig still in existence. Harrowmont, on the other hand, was more restrained, wishing to be more isolated in their conduct, and was a firmly established noble. However, there were many dwarves, particular younger warriors and nobles, who disliked his policy of isolationism.

Traditionally, the king or queen appointed their own successor, but in this case, Endrin had appointed no one, which was what was causing the split in the Assembly.

“Someone told us Bhelen had siblings,” Kitranna said. “A brother and a sister. Could one of them stake a claim on the throne or...?”

Czibor's face fell. “A sad tale, that,” he said. “Yes, Bhelen had two siblings. An older brother, Trian, and an older sister, Culwydd, and now he has neither.”

“What happened to them?”

“It is written in the Memories that Culwydd killed her brother in the Deep Roads, and she was exiled there for kinslaying,” Czibor said.

“I sense some doubt there,” Alistair muttered.

“There is indeed doubt,' Czibor said. “The trial was very quick, the circumstances suspicious, the details murky. But that is what is written in the Memories, so that is what occurred.”

“What if there was to be evidence that proved the opposite?” Fiona asked. “Would you be forced to change the Memories?”

Czibor shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said. “It would depend upon the evidence.”

They talked some more, Czibor providing more details about the Assembly, as well as some basics about the Caste system. He spoke with extreme distaste about the Casteless, something which made the hair on the back of Kitranna's neck stand up. They left soon afterwards.

“So...” Kitranna said. “I suppose...to get rid of the deadlock, we have to make sure someone becomes king.”

Morrigan sighed. “Surely there is a faster way to secure an alliance?” she said.

“It doesn't sound like it,” Fiona said.

“So, Bhelen or Harrowmont?” Kitranna said.

“We don't really know enough about either to decide, do we?” Alistair said.

“I would say, we should find this missing sister and put her on the throne,” Zevran suggested.

They all looked at him.

“Zevran, she was exiled to the Deep Roads,” Alistair said slowly. “For killing her brother.”

“The chances are better that she did not actually kill him,” Zevran said. “The entire thing sounds quite like a fouled up assassination attempt, or a successful attempt at staining her reputation for some reason.”

“She is still in the Deep Roads,” Fiona pointed out. “She is likely dead by now.”

Zevran shrugged. “I would not wish to ally with either of these people,” he said. “They seem like they would support the assassination trade, if you take my meaning. Helpful for assassins, not so much for anyone else.”

“I think we should ally with Bhelen, barring any other options,” Fiona said. “He is more progressive and open to interaction with the Surface, which means he will probably be more likely to ally with us.”

“We should go and see him, then, right?” Kitranna said.

“We should go to the Assembly,” Alistair said. “If we can't talk to him, I bet we could talk to someone who supports him.

So the Assembly was where they went. Like the Shaperate, it was lit not with lava, but with blue Lyrium torches.

The Assembly itself was enormous, packed with various dwarves, all looking extremely unhappy. Most of them were in armor, but some were in rich clothes and jewels. No one paid Kitranna's group any mind when they walked in, as someone already had the floor.

“Your mind has gone to dust if you think we would pass that writ!” the speaker was a middle-aged dwarf wearing armor, a mace slung over his back. “Half our houses would go broke without the surface trade!”

“The proposal would only be effective until we had a King or Queen to ensure we are respected by the surfacers!” argued another dwarf, this one with a long black beard and a sword at his side.

“Leaving you conveniently positioned to take over all contracts!” the first speaker accused. “I'll see your head on a pike, first!”

Kitranna's group tensed, and their hands moved closer to their weapons, but their caution was not needed. A new person raised their voice.

“Deshyrs, Lords and Ladies of the Assembly,” she said, holding up her hands for peace. “I've already doubled the guard to prevent violence—must I summon more?”

“Steward Bandelora, Bhelen's sympathizers are tying our hands with trivialities!” the middle-aged dwarf exclaimed. “They may as well open us to the sky!”

“I suggest we put the matter to a vote,” suggested a dwarrowdam in a heavy brocaded gown. She also, oddly, had a mace strapped to her back, and a shield as well.

“And I suggest you have a taste of my family's mace!” shouted another dwarf, slamming his hand on the table.

“Enough!” Steward Bandelora called out as the Assembly erupted in arguing. “The Assembly is in recess until the members can regain control of their emotions!”

The deshyrs dispersed, the guards watching the more irate members for signs of violence, and Kitranna and the others were relegated to an outside hall. Steward Bandelora came out of the Assembly after them, slamming the door behind her.

“Stone-forsaken fools and dusters...” Bandelora growled. She glanced at Kitranna, and her back straightened. “I'm sorry. This is an Assembly of the Clans. Only Deshyrs and occasional guests of state are allowed in.”

“We're the Wardens,” Kitranna said. “From the Surface? We need to speak to your Assembly.”

“We have permission,” Alistair added.

Bandelora rubbed her forehead. “Right, right, I should have recognized...forgive me. I'm so exhausted, I completely forgot the message from the guard. I hope you can forgive our unrest—the loss of King Endrin has hit us hard. Respect for your role is great, but you won't have a proper audience or hearing until we have a monarch on the throne.”

“Is there anything we can do to help with that?' Kitranna said. “We thought if we supported one of the candidates...”

“Perhaps the support of the Wardens would break the stalemate in the Assembly,” Bandelora said. “But both Bhelen and Harrowmont are slow to trust in these uncertain times.” she looked up at them, her expression thoughtful. “Who were you thinking of approaching?”

“Prince Bhelen.”

Bandelora let out a long sigh. “Would that Prince Trian or Princess Culwydd were still with us,” she said.

“We've heard people say that a few times,” Alistair said. “Is Bhelen really that bad?”

“He's very—fiery,” Bandelora said. “Headstrong, impulsive. Very young. His siblings were a stabilizing influence, or at least, it appeared that way.”

“What about Harrowmont?” Fiona asked. “What of his reputation?”

“If you seek aid against the Blight, you would be better off going to Bhelen,” Bandelora told them. “Harrowmont is far more level-headed, but he wants us to pull back from the Surface.” she frowned. “He was a great friend of King Endrin, but many people trust neither him nor Bhelen. That's why the Assembly is so split—King Endrin died very suddenly, and most assumed he would have chosen one of his older children for the throne.”

Zevran raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side, listening intently.

“Can we talk to Bhelen?” Kitranna asked.

Bandelora shook her head. “He's barricaded himself in the Royal Palace—if you want to contact him, you'll need to go through Vartag Gavorn, his second.”

“Where can we find him?”

“He's often here, in the Assembly.” Bandelora glanced around. “I am not quite sure where he is at the moment, but I am sure you can find him. I'm simply sorry there isn't more I can do for you.”

They spent a few minutes looking for Gavorn, and finally found him in another side room. He recognized them the moment he saw them.

“Wardens, welcome,” he said. He had short, dark hair and beard, much less hair than the other dwarves. “It is always a pleasure to have one of your order in Orzammar.”

“You're the second to Prince Bhelen?” Kitranna asked.

He inclined his head. “That I am.”

“We need to speak to him. We're trying to break the Assembly's stalemate, so we can--”

“So you can get aid for the Blight on the surface, yes, I am aware. You must understand, Harrowmont hides behind his good reputation while sending spies and assassins. Bhelen can't know who to trust. It's been like a knife in the heart for Bhelen to see so many of his father's men stand with the usurper, and so soon after Lady Aeducan betrayed her brother especially.”

Kitranna and her companions all looked at each other. Morrigan had a skeptical expression, and Fiona seemed doubtful as well.

“Is there something we could do to prove our...good intentions?” Alistair asked.

Vortag's eyes narrowed in thought. “Harrowmont has engaged in a campaign of bribery and coercion to ensure every house serves him. But, if a neutral party, a stranger, were to approach certain key members, perhaps with irrefutable proof of Harrowmont's deception...”

“And I suppose you have this evidence,” Fiona said, folding her arms.

“I am certain my lord prince would show his gratitude.”

Kitranna's mouth twisted.

Zevran leaned forward. “What kind of evidence do you have?” curiously, his accent had smoothed out some, as if he were intentionally lessening it.

“Lord Harrowmont promised the same portion of his estate to two different deshyrs, Lady Dace and Lord Helmi,” Vartag explained. “Harrowmont can't possibly grant it to both of them, but they won't find that out until the vote is cast.”

Zevran smirked and raised an eyebrow. “And I assume these lords are on poor enough terms that they would not compare notes?”

Vartag nodded. “Exactly so. I have copies of the promissory notes Harrowmont gave both of them--”

“And these would appear accurate?” Zevran said. “Could either of these lords—or, the Lord and Lady, rather—detect a forgery?”

Vartag frowned. “They are not forgeries,” he said.

“But that is what they will suspect,” Zevran said. “If the two persons who are to be monarch cannot trust outsiders, how can any noble?”

Vartag's lips thinned. “No, they are accurate copies,” he said. “Once Lord Helmi and Lady Dace see them, they are bound to reconsider their votes.”

“And you are quite certain there is no third party that they may support?” Zevran said. “This kind of plan always had the chance of backfiring.”

“No, there's no third party,” Vartag explained. “Having two candidates is rare enough as it is, we're not usually deadlocked like this.”

“Hm.” Zevran glanced at Kitranna. “If you wish, I can do this,” Zevran said with a shrug. “I have done many variations upon this exact same errand before.”

“You call this an errand?” Jowan exclaimed.

“Yes.” Zevran glanced at him. “It is simple enough—especially since it only requires exposing one layer of subterfuge and not introducing any others.”

Kitranna tapped one side of her face.

“If we are to do this, we must do it now,” Morrigan said.

“Alright,” Kitranna said. “Zevran, if you can do it, do it.”

Zevran smiled, and turned back to Vartag. “There you are—I am your humble messenger. You are certain they will not be overly suspicious of a surfacer delivering this information?”

“No, most likely not,” Vartag said. “You probably want to try and deliver it anonymously anyway, though.”

“That is something I can certainly do.”