Legend (Dragon Age Origins)

Chapter 36: Sword Of The Beresaad

The gateway Orzammar stretched out before them, built into the eastern face of the mountains. Four pillars carved from pure stone stood higher than the tallest branches, casting long thick shadows across the cobblestone road as they navigated their way down the crest. The front gates were a construction of two large metal slabs that required the effort of several men to haul them open, tugging furiously on the brittle chains mounted to the front of the doors.

A large market was set up at the front, dozens of brightly coloured tents shining like gems in the sunlight. There were numerous stalls selling different exotic wares, packed so tightly together alongside carriages and scaffolding that it could be mistaken for a small village of its own. At the centre of the marketplace lay a sizeable fountain with a statue of a dragon at the centre, a steady stream of murky water spilling from its gaping jaws.

Dru peered down with unmasked curiosity as Sten navigated their horse through the narrow passages between the tents. Hastily constructed wooden tables were laden with different items of interest; gemstones, strangely curved weapons, bedazzled armour and rich foods that carried the pleasant aroma of spices and oil.

Sten grunted as he looked them over, urging the horse toward the large red-and-yellow striped tent that sat by the mountain base, serving as a make-shift stable for visitors of the dwarven city. He and Dru were sharing the saddle of Eamon's largest horse, an Amaranthine Charger stallion. Dru was seated at the front, balancing rather uncomfortably on the pommel of the saddle. Despite the discomfort, she enjoyed riding with Sten. Her usual fears of tumbling down mid-ride were diminished by Sten's large arms that encased her on either side. When they fell into a gallop, he would press his arms against her, securing her lithe body like a belt.

"Can you keep moving?" Alistair whined loudly.

He and Zevran were sharing a horse as well, and he was wiggling around in his seat behind the elf, who was leering toward a human woman. The pair had bickered ceaselessly throughout their journey. Zevran seemed cruelly pleased with Alistair's inability to escape him and probed him endlessly with questions regarding his upbringing and sex life. In turn, Alistair chided him about his own escapades as an assassin. The arguments had reached a stage where Sten, irritated, abandoned the pair by mustering their horse into a furious gallop that threatened to buck Dru off.

Alistair let out a loud sigh of relief as they reached the stable and slid clumsily down the length of the horse. Gripping the reigns, Sten swept one leg over the side of their horse and jumped off like he was stepping from a stool. He grabbed Dru from below the armpits, carrying her down like she weighed nothing more than a small bag of grapes.

"I told you to go with the others in the cart," Dru said as she straightened out her twisted cloak.

"And I told you," Alistair said incredulously, "that I'm also a Grey Warden and should be there when we present the treaty to the king."

A dwarven woman with curly red hair pushed through the tent, her olive-coloured eyes lighting up at the sight of the odd group. "Ah, Alistair, right? Bann Teagan sent word that we would be expecting you around this hour." Her accent had a twang that was common with the dwarven manner of speech.

"Yes, I―" Alistair stepped forward to introduce himself but Zevran leapt down from his saddle at the same time, pushing Alistair aside.

"You must be the lovely Ingrid," Zevran said, taking the stablemaster's hand and planting a kiss on the back of it. "Teagan spoke fondly of you."

Ingrid giggled, pressing one hand against her chest. Dru didn't recall Teagan speaking of her at all, though Zevran's interest was clearly focused on the tight corset and low-cropped bustier that she wore. It was no wonder that he had insisted to come along with them rather than by cart as originally planned.