Injured. As in me. As in ow! - Alistair
Oh, son of a bitch.
Arais turned on her heel, pulling her staff from her back as she did. She had thought the Deep Roads were bad, but Kirkwall nights were worse, hands down. Tonight Lowtown was offering up a scattering of men leading a pack of overly aggressive Mabari. She let out a blast of energy as half a dozen hounds surrounded her, moving out of the pack before unleashing a fireball into the main group. She refocused on the Mabari and froze them solid with a wave of ice, but as a group of reinforcements leapt from the rooftop of the Hanged Man, Arais realized she was going to be overwhelmed.
Just then, the door to the Hanged Man flew open, and no sooner had a few of the men turned their heads to face the new threat than an arrow tore its way through three of the gang members' hearts, and a small group of Mabari began fighting amongst themselves. Releasing another blast of energy that flung back the three men attempting to surround her, Arais took the brief respite as an opportunity to eye her unexpected ally. Before she could focus, however, a bolt of lightning blinded her as it streamed from the doorway, skimming past her arm and raising her hair on end.
She blinked rapidly and refocused her attention as a strong jaw latched down on her thigh. Rotating her staff in a flourish, she put all her strength into a downward thrust, impaling the Mabari's skull with the bladed end. Arais used her injured leg to hold down the Mabari's head as she unsheathed her weapon from its skull, not even flinching at the pain it inflicted on her own wound.
Suddenly, Arais heard Lowtown become blissfully silent as the last remnants of one of her ally's tempests fizzled and died. She turned from the corpse of the Mabari and stared at the strangers who had aided her. The light from the torches was hardly sufficient for her to get a good look, but she could easily make out a woman surrounded by a dwarf, an elf, and a man—clearly a mage. The dwarf looked like every other dwarf, only oddly dressed and missing a beard. The elf had strikingly white hair that clashed pleasantly with dark skin, which was glowing with markings that Arais sensed lyrium in. The man was exceedingly familiar to her, but in the poor lighting of the streets she was unable to place him.
Lifting her robes above the wound on her thigh, Arais let her hand hover above it as a shimmering blue light swirled around the teeth marks, knitting them together with ethereal sutures. The pain eased instantly as the last of the marks disappeared, and she sighed, wishing she could use magic to mend the tears in her robes as well. She straightened and returned her attention to the group waiting by the entrance to the Hanged Man.
"Wonderful, another mage," the elf said bitterly, every syllable dripping disdain.
"Seems I'm not the only one that attracts trouble in Kirkwall," the woman, clearly leading the group, said in an amused tone. The elf's comment didn't seem to faze her in the least.
"It's a curse I've had to deal with for over four years," Arais lamented. "I thank you for your assistance. You have impeccable timing—"
"Gwyneth, though everyone just calls me Hawke."
Hawke reached out a hand, which Arais accepted promptly. "Perhaps you can help me. I'm looking for someone."
"It depends on the person. Four years in Kirkwall and I still can't tell all the dwarves apart."
"Except me, of course," the dwarf said in a mock-offended voice.
"Of course, Varric." Turning her head to look down at him, Hawke added, "I could never mistake you for another dwarf. You're the only one without a beard. Besides Sandal, anyway." The dwarf laughed, and she turned back to address Arais. "Anyway, you were saying?"
"Well, I'm not looking for any dwarves. I'm actually looking for a Grey Warden. Well, a former Grey Warden." Arais noticed the man directly behind Hawke tense, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. His identity was now on the very edge of discovery, but she still couldn't place him definitively.
"Does this 'former Grey Warden' have a name? Do you, for that matter?"
Hawke's voice had now taken on a protective, guarded tone, and it was then that Arais was able to place the man in the shadows behind Hawke. "Anders? Is that you?"
"Yes, it is." Anders paused for a moment, then, "Maker, Arais? I can't believe I didn't recognize you sooner. We were at Vigil's Keep how long together? You're not looking for me, are you? Because I like you and all, but I'm not going back."
"No, I'm not looking for you. And I would never force you to come back. I know how you feel about that."
There was a pause before he asked, "How is Ser Pounce-a-lot?"
"Depressed. I'm convinced he'll never be happy again: he misses you."
"Touching as this is," Hawke interjected, "Can someone fill me in here, please?"
"Oh, my apologies," Arais said, her amazement at stumbling across the master escape artist by complete chance nearly overwhelming her. "I am Arais, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden."
"Wait a minute," the dwarf, Varric, interjected. "You're the Hero of Ferelden? Somehow, I imagined you'd be taller."
"You also probably imagined her riding a griffon," Hawke teased.
"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed. "Griffons have been extinct for centuries. I'm offended you'd think I'd imagine something so farfetched."
Hawke and Anders laughed, and Arais was surprised to hear the elf—who had been silent aside from his comment earlier—let out a quiet chuckle. It seemed unlike him.
After a moment of silence that followed the laughter, Arais pressed on, eager to end her search, "I'm not exactly here on an official Warden search. It's…personal."
"What do you mean personal?" Hawke asked, seeming a touch impatient.
Arais sighed. "I'm looking for one of my former companions, from during the Blight. He aided me most of the way through my journey, until..." she trailed off, finding it difficult to remember the Landsmeet without feeling that aching regret. "His name is Alistair. I received word that he was in Kirkwall, and I came hoping to find him."
"Well," Hawke began, "I think I can help you, but maybe we should go inside and talk. Those Dog Lords have been giving Kirkwall trouble for weeks now, and they seem to phase out of the walls."
Arais nodded and waited as the group turned and reentered the Hanged Man, following as soon as Hawke's silhouette was framed in the doorway. Upon crossing the threshold, she was struck with the smell of cheap whiskey and stale ale, followed by the stench of urine and vomit. Disgusting as it was, it wasn't nearly as bad as some of the taverns in Ferelden.
It didn't take long for Arais to realize Hawke's true motives for suggesting they move inside. One of the patrons by the entrance was lamenting to another about the drunkard claiming to be the Prince of Ferelden, and that he was once a famed Grey Warden. Arais laid her hand over her eyes, knowing immediately that it was Alistair.
Turning to where Hawke and the rest of her party stood, Arais said, "Thank you. I didn't quite expect this, but I'm truly grateful."
"It was nothing," Hawke stated. "Though in hindsight, I suppose I should have warned you about his current…state. He's in the corner, to the left of the stairs."
Arais only nodded her understanding to the woman and her companions before heading off in that direction. She could hardly believe it, but after all these years she was finally going to be reunited with Alistair. And she was bloody terrified.
For anyone who may have read my last Dragon Age story, you may notice a similarity in theme here. I promise it'll be different, I just wanted to take another stab at the reunion between one of my Wardens and Alistair. o.O
