Author's Notes: Hi everyone :D Very glad to be back, and I'm glad to see you're all excited about my (and this story's) return! I wrote a lot of the earlier chapters of this story ages ago, so as I go through and proofread them, it's kind of like I'm reliving it. I forgot how anxious poor Thayer at the beginning. I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I did, let me know what you think!
So much for never traveling by boat again.
Thayer wanted so much to forget everything about the week he'd had to endure on the Waking Sea. The unrelenting storms kept the boat in a constant state of rocking, creating a horrendous environment for eating, sleeping—everything. By the time the boat docked in Kirkwall, Thayer all but jumped out of his cot and onto the solid ground of the boardwalk.
Every bit of confidence seemed to seep from his pores as he took in the sights of the city around him. He had bought a map of Kirkwall prior to leaving Amaranthine, but nothing could not properly convey the sense of dread and malcontent that saturated every corner. Nobody looked happy, even seemingly at their very best. The architecture was foreboding, daunting. Above, the sky was a dull, thick grey, as if threatening rain at any moment. Worst of all, however, was the smell; something lingered in the air, a scent of staleness that could have easily been mold, or even corpse rot. It was indescribable.
Why, out of all the places in the world, had Alistair come to Kirkwall?
What if he's not even here? A voice in Thayer's head rang.
He chose to ignore it. Alistair was here. His gut told him so.
But could he trust that?
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, wrapping his robes even tighter around himself. The cold air from the Waking Sea continued whipping around him, lashing at his already paled cheeks and ears.
He walked along a stone pathway that guided him and the other passengers from the docks to a large, wrought-iron gate that led to a staircase up and into the city. A small crowd was gathered in front of it. Never a good thing.
Thayer approached with purpose the man standing watch at the gate. Not surprisingly, he ignored him until the mage said, "Excuse me."
His answer was flat, uneventful. "Yes?"
"Is there a reason the city is closed off at the docks? I need to get in."
"What's your purpose here? If it's good enough, maybe I'll let you in."
Having been used to everyone knowing who he was by now, this bout of anonymity that came with traveling almost made him state just who he was. He refrained, however, not wanting to make a public spectacle of himself. If people knew the Warden-Commander of Ferelden were here, he would never get a moment's peace.
"Since when do I have to have a purpose to get into a city?" he asked incredulously.
"Look, Fereldan, not everyone's going to be getting in to Kirkwall. We're already overflowed with your damn peasants and we don't need any more. I don't care if the Blight's over. You need good reason to come into this city by order of the Viscount. Too many of you remain, gumming up our system."
Thayer needed a quick lie. And since being direct appeared to be the preferred method of communication with this man, he went full-throttle.
"I'm not Fereldan, you arse. I am a merchant who works in the city selling finery. I left on some personal business and have since returned. So let me through if you know what's good for you."
The man seemed nonplussed. "If you're a merchant, then how come I don't recognize you?"
"Do you work every shift here at the docks? No? I didn't think so. I don't recognize you, either, so I reckon we're in the same boat."
Thayer and the guard stared one another down for a solid moment before the guard finally gave in. He sighed, rolled his eyes and gestured to a man behind the gate. Within a minute the mage was on the other side, staring at all of the people left behind. Part of him felt guilty for not helping them, but knew he had to get over it. Until people recognized him for who he truly was, he had no intention of invoking his status and title in a land like the Free Marches. Not after what Nathaniel had told him about it.
Once safely out of the guard's sight, Thayer retrieved his map and quickly reviewed where he was. Kirkwall was a massive city, larger than Denerim on a grand scale. He related it almost in size to Val Royeaux, only much less energetic and vibrant. To his dismay its dreary environment had already begun to drag down his mood—which only a moment ago he had felt was near its lowest.
But he was in the city. That was all that mattered.
The Hanged Man tavern was in Lowtown, part of the undercity. If he was reading the map correctly then he just needed to explore deeper within so he could find the place in question.
In truth, looking back, he'd done some very poor planning prior to his trip to Kirkwall. Although he'd gathered necessary items such as rations, equipment and money, he hadn't taken the proper time to figure out where he would stay while here. All of his time had been taken up thinking about what he would do when he found Alistair and how he would convince the other to come back home with him.
Though on most levels Thayer didn't want to stay in Kirkwall any longer than he had to, he couldn't deny that his insatiable curiosity for the world around him was drinking in every single sight he passed on his way through Lowtown. It reminded him a lot of the seedier parts of Denerim he had fought through countless times during the Blight. People of all kinds crowded into every corner, onto every stoop and every stairwell…and many of them looked worse for wear. How were they dealing with this wintry weather in such thin clothes?
Maybe the guard was right about there being too many people in Kirkwall. Thayer had more than enough trouble passing through the streets without bumping or running into someone.
Once he found a relatively open square with space to breathe he double-checked his map. Was he even in the right place?
Thayer's search continued well into the evening. As the sun set and the natural light above faded into the west, he started feeling somewhat ill at ease. At times like these he cursed himself for having such a foul sense of direction.
He usually relied on Alistair for that.
Worrying his lip, the mage finally cracked and asked a merchant for assistance. The guard he'd lied to was assuredly long gone by now. He doubted the woman he'd gone to for assistance would recognize him again in the future. If she did…well, he would worry about that if the time ever came.
She wrote on his map a small pathway for him to follow, which guided him easily to the Hanged Man tavern. He wasn't sure he was in the right place until he saw a pair of inebriated guardsmen stumbling out from behind the thick wooden door.
His heart flipped in his chest. He was basing so much off of a single letter that had no substantiating evidence to support it.
What was it Leliana had told him ages ago?
Logic uses your brain. Emotions use your heart.
He had to have faith.
He gripped the long handle, pulled it open and stepped inside.
The first thing that hit him was the smell. Whatever noxious scent had lingered in the air outside paled in comparison to the stench within the tavern. Thayer caught whiffs of barley, sweat, smoke—everything mingled together in a malodorous cloud. He couldn't help but lift his hand to his face to help take a few filtered breaths in order to get himself used to it.
He stepped further into the tavern. There were a surprising number of people scattered about, but even despite the spacious interior and vaulted ceiling, the whole inside felt staggeringly compact. He supposed it was because of the numerous circular tables that were strewn around the tavern.
Finding Alistair in here seemed almost akin to finding a needle in a haystack. Dimly lit as it was, he would have to get up close and personal with most of the individuals if he really wanted to make sure he found the warrior. Somehow, he didn't think that the patrons of the pub would appreciate that.
Thayer took in a deep breath. The tavern's scent burned his throat as he inhaled. He shrugged it off. If he didn't keep his focus, he was going to lose his momentum. Losing it in an unfamiliar land with strange people all around him would be more than just troublesome—it could prove dangerous.
Anders had mentioned seeing Alistair here drinking, but he hadn't mentioned if it was at the bar, a table, outside… Plenty of options lay ahead of him. He supposed the best place to start was the bar. As he approached, he thought of asking the bartender if he had recently seen anyone who fit Alistair's description.
Of course he'll have seen someone like that, Thayer thought irritably to himself. There were plenty of tall, stocky blonds who came through here. Just looking around the tavern now he could already count three, none of whom fit the bill for his Grey Warden companion.
The bar remained relatively empty, aside from an olive-toned woman wearing a tight white top and her hair tied up with a blue bandana, her elven companion with his snow-white hair and some man with a thick beard looking worse for wear. Though the occasional patron came up and ordered a drink, nobody seemed to stick around for too long.
In order to better blend in Thayer ordered a mug of spiced mead. With it in hand he stepped away from the bar, finally delving deeper into the tavern.
Given how Anders had described seeing Alistair, the young mage didn't figure he would choose to sit amongst many people. If there was one thing Thayer knew about the warrior, it was that he liked to brood when upset. Alistair would want his personal space so he could sulk in peace. On some level that irritated him, and he didn't understand why. Then again, wasn't that exactly what Thayer himself had done?
Feelings were such complicated things sometimes. It was a wonder he managed to get by, given the lack of experience he had with things of this matter. Living in a world ruled by logic didn't help matters of the heart, and that drove him mad.
"Where are you?" Thayer murmured under his breath, the familiar twang of longing tightening around his heart. Even after all this time…
Background noise filled Thayer's ears as he walked through the tavern—peoples' menial conversations, chairs sliding across the floor, the constant creaking of the entry door as people came and went. He kept his eyes focused as best he could through the smoky haze lingering in the bar. He passed each and every table slowly, moving with purpose but maintaining brief eye contact on each individual upon the way. He circled the entire first floor without any success, which stirred discomfort within him.
What if Alistair weren't here? Anders had said he'd seen him recently and that he was staying here at the tavern, but it had taken Thayer so long to get here. What if, for whatever reason, Alistair had decided to leave? Thayer would have absolutely no way of knowing where he was, or what he was doing.
He has to be here.
Was that his heart or his head talking, he wondered?
Thayer approached the stairs towards the back of the tavern, hesitating momentarily at the landing. He watched one of the waitresses wander up with a serving plate of drinks. Was he allowed to go up there? Or was it some sort of off-limits area, servicing only certain patrons?
He didn't have time to be indecisive. If Alistair were up there and he didn't go check, he'd never forgive himself.
The mage waited for the waitress to return downstairs before he made the quick hop up. Once he reached the second level he surveyed his surroundings. This area did seem to be a little more private, with what looked like three or four sitting rooms total. Up here he noticed more guards, still dressed to the nines in their heavy armor. As he passed one room, he took notice of a blond dwarf speaking to a tall, broad-shouldered brunette whose back was to Thayer.
After peering into two other rooms with no avail, Thayer finally came to the last one. It was dimly lit compared to the rest of the spaces upstairs, which limited what he could see buried inside. Stepping in without invitation seemed far too bold, and he didn't want to offend anyone—or worse, provoke them into attacking him. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what he might find inside. This was his last hope for this damn tavern, and if Alistair wasn't there, he'd blow it up in anger.
Well, perhaps he wouldn't blow up the tavern…
Thayer gave himself no time to prepare. He quickly peeked around the corner into the room, waiting momentarily for his eyes to adjust. Inside the dark, enclosed space sat several small, round tables. Most were empty, save for one. Atop the occupied table an oil lamp's flame flickered from side to side. What little light it cast a faint shadow upon the man sitting there, his hands loosely gripping a flagon.
He didn't need to look any closer. The feeling in his heart told him he'd found who he was looking for.
Thayer wasn't sure what he had expected Alistair to do when they came across one another again. He continued to stand there in the doorway, tightly gripping his mug. He felt like he might break it.
Alistair stared at him, but something was off about his gaze. He seemed distant, hazy.
He was drunk.
The mage started to say Alistair's name but felt the sound catch in his throat.
Both men stared at each other. Thayer took a deep breath, and finally was able to talk.
"Alistair."
Alistair didn't respond; he remained still for a few seconds before looking away from Thayer and down at his drink.
After a pregnant pause, the warrior said, "Thayer."
His voice, even gravelly and low as it was, sent a warm flush through the mage's body. He knew it wasn't the right response to have; he couldn't help himself.
Alistair continued, "Am I…ugh…"
Thayer moved closer out of instinct. "Are you what?"
Alistair slowly shook his head back and forth, nearly knocking his flagon over with his hand. Now that Thayer was closer he could see how sunken and bloodshot the other's eyes were, how flushed red his skin was. He hadn't shaved for days—a soft, blond peach fuzz had settled in upon his face.
Despite their proximity Alistair made no move to pull away. He just looked down at his flagon, haphazardly brought it to his lips and took a sloppy drink. Some of it splashed out and down his front. He didn't seem to care to clean it up, even after he put his drink down.
"Must be halluci…nating," he muttered under his breath. He burped.
How was he supposed to proceed from here? He'd played over this moment dozens of times in his head while on the boat to Kirkwall, but seeing Alistair alive, seeing him so broken…it had quickly erased any and all planning that he'd accomplished.
Behind him came the sound of shuffling feet. He turned his head and caught sight of a man and a woman stumbling past in the hall. They stopped, stared, and then quickly disappeared into another room. Thayer was glad for that; this was a private moment, and he wasn't about to have it ruined.
He looked back at Alistair, finally moving in close enough to take a seat beside him. He set his drink atop the table. Alistair turned to face him and drooped forward, nearly knocking his head into Thayer's collarbone.
The mage sighed quietly.
"You're not hallucinating," he said. "I'm here. We're in Kirkwall."
"It can't be you," Alistair murmured. He drooped forward once more, and this time his forehead made contact with Thayer's shoulder. "It can't be you. You're…you're in Ferelden."
"No, I'm here. I promise."
"Smells like...you…you smell like cinnamon. Mmm."
Alistair attempted to pull back and lift his head up. He ended up pushing himself harder into Thayer's body, causing the mage to shift so he could keep his place. They were in a strange position between their two chairs with Thayer supporting the majority of their weight. Try though he might, it was getting increasingly difficult. Alistair was much larger than him.
But at least he was talking to him.
It was sad on some level, he thought, that he could be happy about that. After everything they'd shared, and he was scared that Alistair would never want to speak with him again because of their falling out.
Thayer looked down at his companion. Alistair was breathing evenly, his eyes half-lidded. He was starting to fall asleep.
They needed somewhere private to go.
He hoped somewhere nearby had rooms available…
