![]() Or at least that was what he had been able to tell in the day or so since he'd arrived. They liked their wooden sculptures of dogs and their smelly beer and they even seemed to like their snow. These Fereldans liked their doors large, solid, and made of oak. There were probably pigeons nesting in the wooden rafters, judging by the filthy floors, and he saw little about in the way of ornamentation. ![]() But no, instead he was left sitting alone on a bench in a hall with frosty stone walls that loomed high overhead. ![]() Perhaps a few mighty hearths with fires blazing, enough to keep the place toasty warm. He had hoped for some warmth here, at least. Everyone in Ferelden wrapped themselves up in thick leathers and furs, trudging heedlessly through the snowy streets, and yet no matter how much clothing he wore he could still feel the chill right down to his bones. The city was gripped in the winter winds that blew in from the south, and Duncan had never been so cold in his entire life. ![]() He was inside the royal palace in Denerim, the capital city of Ferelden. ![]() There, the best one could hope for was a bored magistrate in a dingy courtroom as far away from the glittering estates of the aristocracy as they could manage.īut this wasn't Orlais, and he wasn't just a street thief any longer. In Orlais, lowly street thieves didn't receive the benefit of a judgment handed down personally by the local lord. Less than a year earlier, the only way Duncan would have seen the inside of a palace would have been at the sword-point of a prison guard. ![]()
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