Chapter 14

Laughter echoed from the hallway into the room where Melisende rested. Turning over, she tried to drown out the terrible sounds with a pillow. How dare people laugh when she felt so horrible? Her heart felt like it was about to break, her head wanted to explode, and she felt sick to her stomach. Moaning in pain she finally sat up.

There was nobody else in the dusty room above the tavern. She wondered where Ronan had gone off to. And then she remembered what she had said.

"Andraste's bloody knickers, what have I done?" she asked as she stood up from the creaky old cot. You are nothing. That was not what she had meant to say. It hadn't come out right. No wonder Ronan had left. How could she be so cruel and mean? "Stupid, stupid Melisende."

What had she meant to say? You are nothing I ever imagined. You are a great friend. She had wanted to thank Ronan, but it hadn't come out right. Her inebriation had muddled everything.

She punched the wall. The wall with the tortured looking humans. It was the only thing she could think of doing. They deserved to be taken out of their misery. She welcomed the pain as it tore through her knuckles.

Melisende had to find Ronan. She had to make it right. She tore through the room, tearing open the door, letting it slam into the wall. She didn't care if she made a racket. She would never forgive herself for the stupid words that had come out of her mouth. Why had she turned to the bottle? Why had she drowned herself in ale until she was a slobbering drunkard? She thought she was over that.

She turned the corner sharply and ran straight into a solid figure, her hands grabbing onto fur-covered shoulders to stay steady. She looked slightly up into familiar amber coloured eyes.

"Anders?" she managed to ask through her surprise.

Anders nodded and then pulled her back into the room she had come from. He closed the door.

"Isabela told me there was a Grey Warden in town. It sounded like someone I knew."

"You know Isabela?" Melisende asked. She hoped Isabela had not mentioned anything about the Pearl. It would be too embarrassing. It was enough that Ronan knew... Oh, Ronan.

Anders shrugged, a slight smile crossing his face. "Sort of. We run with the same... crowd."

Melisende watched Anders thoughtfully. It seemed like he had lost some weight. "So this is where you ran off to?"

"I had to go." Anders replied. "I couldn't be a Grey Warden anymore. I am sorry."

"But how you left... I couldn't believe it." Melisende said, thinking of the carnage Anders had left behind.

"I... wasn't myself."

"You don't look yourself. You look... sad, tormented. Much like these damn drawings everywhere in Kirkwall." Melisende pointed to the wall.

Anders chuckled. "Well, you're not the only one who's said so. I really should look into a looking glass more often."

It was good to hear Anders laugh, but Melisende couldn't bring herself to do the same. She cracked a pitiful smile to her old friend, but could do no more than that. She hoped he wouldn't notice. "If you didn't want to be a Grey Warden anymore, then why are you here, talking with me?"

"I wanted to make sure you were alright. Isabela said you were here with an elf, but that you didn't seem yourself." Anders explained. He looked around as if he was expecting the elf to be around.

"I am alone." Melisende said, trying to stay calm. As if Isabela knew her. But she couldn't hide from Anders. He knew her too well. He looked concerned.

"What's wrong?" Anders asked. "What brings you to Kirkwall?"

"A terrible thing." Melisende replied, her voice catching. "Oh Anders, Tristan... I don't know if he is alive."

"You haven't found him yet?" Anders asked, his amber eyes crinkling up in concern.

"I did find him. We were on a ship, on our way to the Anderfels..." Melisende took a deep breath. She didn't know if she could say it out loud. She could feel tears forming in her eyes. "A dragon sunk it. He may be dead..."

Anders walked over to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "You survived. Perhaps he did too."

"I have to get back. I have to know the truth."

"It would be a curse on the world if that man were dead. He is a mage, a great mage and a hero that could bring justice for us all." Anders said.

Melisende felt his body tense. She looked at him curiously. The way he had said that, it had sounded so vehement, so full of loathing, for what?

"Sorry, I'm rambling." Anders said. His body relaxed. Even so, Melisende felt slightly uncomfortable and broke free from his comforting arms.

"Anders, you are a good friend. You risk a lot coming to see me." Melisende said. She gave him a conspiratorial wink. "I never saw you."

"Thank you, Mel, but somehow, my presence here won't be secret for long, if it isn't already out. Many people already know I am a Grey Warden, or was. You don't have to protect me."

"Even so, not everybody would be so kind." Melisende thought of Clotilde and Marcel. They probably would have turned him in to the Templars. But Melisende couldn't do that, could never do that to a friend. She had to admit though, that there was something off about him. She didn't think he had purposely caused all that carnage on the plains. Or perhaps she just didn't want to think that.

"A pretty girl, the right to shoot lightning bolts at fools, have you found that here Anders?" she asked, remembering something he had said to her once.

"Can a mage even find those things in the world we live in?" Anders replied with a question of his own.

Melisende felt that she was talking to a stranger at the same time that she was talking to her old friend, if that were even possible. He not only looked thinner, wearier, but his voice had lost its playfulness. "You have changed."

"No," Anders replied, "I have focus now. Justice is a part of me."

"Justice?"

"I took the spirit into me."

"Oh Anders, why would you do such a thing?" Melisende did not really understand what Anders was saying. How could he take a spirit in? Wouldn't he become an abomination? Or was this similar to Wynne?

"He was a friend in need." Anders said. "Tell me you, of all people, wouldn't do the same?"

"You got me there." Melisende admitted. She did go to great lengths for her friends. "But, he's a spirit. I don't know much or anything really of... weird stuff, but surely that cannot be a good thing?"

"No, you clearly don't understand," Anders said rather impatiently. He sighed. "Sorry. Let's just leave that as it is. What are you going to do? Do you need help getting home?"

Melisende fingered her pouch. It was not very heavy. She had used up a lot of coin on the dreadful ale. She didn't think she would have enough coin for passage. "I'm not sure I can make it home."

Anders reached into his pockets and pulled out a few silvers. He held it out to her. "Here, a gift for an old friend."

"I cannot accept that Anders." Melisende made no move toward the coin. Anders looked like he needed the coin more than she did.

"Take it," Anders pushed, and with a smile, continued, "Ser-Pounce-a-lot needs you."

"Ser-Pounce-a-lot needs you, Anders."

"I can never go back."

Melisende sighed sadly and accepted the coin. "Fine. But I will find a way to repay you."

"It's a gift. It doesn't need repayment." Anders said.

"I should go. Thank you." Melisende stepped closer to Anders and hugged him, perhaps for the last time. She didn't think she would ever come back to this dreadful city. "Take care," she whispered as she let him go and left the dreary room over the tavern.

...

Melisende searched around town for Ronan, but she could find no trace of him. She found a ship that was sailing to Highever within hours. Her mind went back and forth trying to decide whether she should take ship or stick around and find Ronan. The sailors warned her that there was no guarantee when the next ship to Ferelden would leave. She needed to get home, but she didn't want to leave Ronan behind.

Perhaps he preferred it that way. She had been cruel to him. Maybe it was better that they just go their separate ways. She remembered Tristan warning her about Ronan, how he would hurt her. She wanted to laugh at the irony. She was the one who had hurt him. She wanted to laugh, but she couldn't. Instead, she boarded the ship to Highever, to home. Though it didn't feel right, with her heavy heart and a bag full of worry. Ronan was on his own, easy prey for bandits. And there seemed to be a lot of them in the Free Marches.

He could take care of himself. Ronan was a great warrior. His wanderlust would subside and he would return to his clan. She would see him again, she tried to reassure herself as the ship sailed away from the City of Chains.