A/N: And now the conclusion.
The man was heavier than he looked, especially with armor on. He was struggling to carry him through the back alleys toward the Chantry. So far no one had noticed him, but he wasn't sure how long that would last. He almost tripped over a rock that was half-buried in the ground, but he managed to right himself at the last moment.
He was passing the marketplace, the merchants advertising their goods at the top of their lungs in an attempt to lure customers. All the merchants were human, as usual, though there were a few dwarves passing through. They looked armed to the teeth and everyone gave them a wide berth.
He wasn't intimidated, though. He had just killed a man and was trying to dump the body in a well that was on the opposite side of the marketplace. He didn't know anyone who would even think about doing what he was doing, but that wasn't going to stop him. It was completely likely that he was far from the first one to attempt such a feat.
He was almost to the Chantry now. All he had to do was go around the wall and the well would be on his right. He was getting physically exhausted. He wasn't sure if he would be able to make it to the well, but he forced himself to keep going. He had to. If he kept still for too long, the guards would get suspicious and he wasn't sure if he could convince them that he was simply taking a drunken friend home.
He managed to round the corner and reached the well. He tossed- well, more like dropped- the body down the well, watching as it fell into the water below. He remembered the sword that the man had on him. He could have used that to fight the other two he now had to find. Then again, an elf walking around with a sword and no armor would look suspicious to a guard, so it was probably for the best. Now he had to go to the alley behind the Pearl. I can finally get justice for you, Mother…
After zigzagging through the streets for an hour or two, he found the alley behind the Pearl. He had been to the Pearl once when he was drinking with Soris and a few friends. He was lucky he didn't catch anything from the women there. From what he remembered, they looked a bit 'dirty' in the first place. Then again, he was drunk so he wasn't exactly thinking straight.
He looked around and saw no one, so he decided to wait. He started thinking about what he would do to kill the men he was hunting. He would probably have to disarm one of them and use their weapon or weapons. Even then, it would probably be a lopsided fight simply because he didn't have armor. He would have to keep moving, make sure they couldn't hit him. There was only two of them left so he would have a better chance than his mother did, though it still wasn't ideal.
He hadn't even realized he had been waiting for about a half hour when the two men he was waiting for showed up. They looked so smug, walking like they owned the city and everyone in it. Typical thugs.
By the time he realized that he was marched toward them, he was halfway there. They had noticed him and turned to face him, both of them with annoyed scowls on their faces.
"What're you looking at, elf?" the red-haired one said, the annoyance in his tone obvious.
"A couple of pathetic shems who prey on unarmed elves," he growled in response. He hadn't even realized what he had said until after he spoke.
He saw both of the men glare at him. "You've got a lot of nerve, knife-ear," the blonde-haired one spat.
"And you're both pathetic. That's why it took three of you to kill my mother!" He was clenching his fists tightly. He wasn't even thinking now. It was like he was watching as someone controlled his body rather than acting out of impulse.
The red-haired one raised an eyebrow. "You mean that little knife-eared wench we killed a few weeks ago?"
Darrian was now breathing through his nose heavily in anger. He glared at the men in front of him and his fists tightened. "How dare you speak about her like that." He wanted to move. He wanted to take out his anger on the men in front of him and anyone else in his way.
"What are you going to do about it, knife-ear?" Both the men in front of him crossed their arms across their chests.
That was more than he could take. He tackled the red-haired one to the ground, punching his face as hard as he could repeatedly. He then found himself being lifted into the air, armored arms wrapping around his stomach. He shook violently, trying to escape the man's grasp and continue his onslaught. The red-haired man slowly got up, his right eye swollen and purplish-black in color along with a busted lip and broken nose.
"Argh… I really wish you hadn't done that," he said.
Darrian spit into his good eye and jerked his head backward violently, connecting with the bridge of the man's nose and breaking it. He lunged at the red-haired one again, forcing him to the ground a second time. He started punching his face again, harder this time to ensure permanent damage at the very least.
He found himself laying on the ground on his back, the blonde-haired man charging at him with his longsword and dagger. He rolled backward to get to his feet before ducking under a swing and punching right into the man's gut. Air rushed out of the man's lungs from the blow, stunning him long enough for Darrian to grab the man's throat tightly and repeatedly punch him in the face again and again. The man's hands released his weapons and rose to his throat in an attempt to pry Darrian's hand off, to no avail. Eventually, the man's arms went limp as Darrian continued his onslaught until he found himself on the ground yet again.
The red-haired man was standing over him with a shield and longsword, his face beaten and broken. He thrust toward Darrian's chest and Darrian rolled over onto his stomach to avoid it, pushing himself off the ground and facing his opponent. He ducked a swing and punched the man in the chest, denting his armor. The man was forced backwards a step from the force of the blow, struggling to regain his balance. Darrian roared with rage as he tackled the man to the ground a third time, renewing his onslaught on the man's face. He continued swinging over and over again, never letting up or slowing.
He woke up on the ground, rain starting to fall from the sky. His hands were roaring in pain as was his side and back. His head ached too. As he raised his hand, he noticed that it was covered in a red substance. He examined the substance, realizing that his other hand was covered in it too, as was his clothes. Then he noticed the two mangled bodies lying a few feet away from him.
He knew that he was covered in their blood and almost started to panic. He slowly stood up, ignoring the pain that wracked his body as he did so. He needed to change, needed to clean himself and leave no evidence that he was the one who killed them. He looked over and saw a clothesline; a tunic, a pair of trousers, and several cloths hanging from it. He pulled off his blood-soaked clothes, tossing them far away from him as he grabbed one of the cloths and wiped the blood off of him. After he cleaned off his hands, he realized that his knuckles were split and bleeding somewhat. He tossed the cloths where he had tossed his clothes before grabbing the trousers and tunic off the line, pulling them on.
He turned around and looked at the carnage that he had caused. Both of the men's faces had been beaten in, a dark red mass filling the deep indents. Their armor was dented with fist-sized indents and there was blood everywhere, pooling around them.
He forced himself to look away. He turned and ran, heading back to alienage, blocking out the pain and exhaustion. It was then that he realized that what he wanted was not justice, but vengeance… and he got it.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this glimpse into Darrian's past. Don't worry, there will be plenty more of Darrian in TLFW. I have big plans for him, so please continue reading and reviewing. Your support means a lot!