"Ugh, smells like humans," Velanna scowled.
"That's right. Smells like piss and sweat and dirt and… freedom. Isn't it glorious?" Anders answered with a wink. Velanna grumbled something under her breath as she cast a disdainful stare around Amaranthine's rickety buildings and uneven streets. A breeze wafted over piles of rotting refuse that littered a narrow alleyway. Two blocks ahead towered the Amaranthine chantry, blocking out the early afternoon sun with its ornately carved spire. The entrance was a full level off the ground, requiring a climb up a staircase that led to a round platform and a statue of Andraste.
"Oh right, and I'm sure the Dalish camps all smell like bouquets of Andraste's Grace. Do your people not sweat? Or shit? Or are your farts like sweet little sighs from a newborn babe?" Anders laughed.
"No. I don't know," Velanna sputtered indignantly. "You are a vulgar man."
"Sweetheart, if you think that's vulgar, you should—"
"Anders." Solona warned. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow as Anders immediately clamped his mouth shut.
"Call me sweetheart again and see what happens," Velanna glowered.
"He won't," Solona stated. "He will be respectful. And quiet. Right, Anders?"
Anders cleared his throat, his eyes glimmering. "Right, Commander."
Silence reigned for a block and a half, as the group peered down streets and around houses, not really sure what they were looking for.
"Velanna, is this your first time to a human city?" Nathaniel asked eventually.
"Fortunately, yes. I have seen them from the outside. I've never had any desire to enter one before. Still don't in fact. But if I must endure one in order to have a chance at rescuing Seranni, then so be it."
Nathaniel nodded politely.
"Speaking of sisters, what exactly are we supposed to be looking for here, Nate? I can call you that, can't I? Natey boy?" Anders teased.
Solona felt the air around Nathaniel prickle, his back stiffening. She cast a glare toward Anders, whose smile only slightly fell. His eye caught Solona and he gave a defiant shrug.
"What!? I wasn't talking to Velanna!"
Aware that three sets of irritated eyes were bearing down upon him, Anders bowed apologetically.
"Fine! Yes! I'm a bad bad mage," he offered. Amber irises flicked to Solona, carrying that suggestive spark that seemed a permanent feature of his over the past few days.
"I'm gonna need a spanking," he breathed in Solona's direction.
Lowering her head, Solona ignored the remark, aware that Nathaniel was watching her, his posture still discomfitingly stiff.
"He still hasn't answered the question though," Anders added. Something about his tone rankled, and anger blazed up Solona's spine. In a swift move she'd turned to face him, her hands balled into fists and already growing icy with building magic. Anders' face fell into an apologetic mask. He raised two hands in surrender.
"Okay, okay," he said. Slowing his steps, he relegated himself to the back of the group. "I'll just be back here. Not saying anything."
Gritting her teeth, she attempted to offer Nathaniel an apologetic smile. Jaw tensed, he regarded her calmly.
"Brunette. Petite. Looked quite a bit like my mother," Nathaniel said. "You've all seen the painting of her I assume."
Solona nodded and faced forward. Velanna's head turned side to side as they past new houses and alleys, her facing screwing up in various frowns and sneers. Nathaniel and Anders already knew Amaranthine's streets well enough, and Nathaniel better than them all. Upon entering the city that morning they'd worked their way from the first market to those deeper within the city gates, stopping first to ask a guard if he might know where Delilah Howe lived. Each breath Solona took as they approached the next merchant seemed to vibrate with nerves. At times it appeared that her own anxiety seemed to surpass even Nathaniel's, but she knew that couldn't be possible. Though never a heavy talker in the first place, on this day Nathaniel was too quiet. Solona stifled the urge to reach out and take his hand during a few particularly tense moments, wanting to offer him some small gesture of support. Instead she paced him as they searched the city, staying by his side rather than several steps ahead as was their norm.
Halfway through the walk, she'd already regretted bringing Anders. Being the group's healer meant he was indispensable during battle, but for a quick afternoon away at the city they really had no need of him. He'd just joined the group as they walked toward the Keep's gate, taking his place at the rear of the pack. Solona shook her head, deeply regretting not ordering him to stay behind. The thought had occurred to her but she'd shrugged it off. Each day now she woke with a new confusion of feelings about the mage. For so long she remained charmed by his irreverent humor, even when others found him obnoxious, but the glossy veneer of her old circle crush had begun to fade. Which was helped along by the fact all the space Nathaniel had decided to give her had only caused her attraction to him to grow. Once eager to be the object of Anders' attentions, now each time Anders waggled his brows in her direction it took effort not to roll her eyes.
Solona sighed. If only her 16 year old self could see her now. She was certain his interest in her would go right out the window the moment she refused to play along with his domination/submission game, but as the Warden Commander, that game was built right in to the normal state of their relationship.
Solona turned to face him and Velanna.
"You know, you two are free to go your own way for the afternoon," she informed them. "There's no reason Nathaniel and his sister need an audience."
Velanna scoffed. "There's nothing here I need to se— wait… actually, does this city have an alienage?"
Solona nodded.
"Well, sure. I've heard terrible things about these alienages. It would be interesting to see how true the rumors are."
"Anders, please show Velanna to the alienage?"
"Only if she promises to be nice to me."
Velanna snorted. "I make no such promise."
Solona raised an eyebrow, silently challenging his concern. You know you like it when she's mean.
"Fiiiine…" he whined as he led her off.
Left alone with Nathaniel, Solona suddenly felt hyperaware of her own movements. Concentrating so hard on not stumbling, her foot caught on an uneven cobblestone, forcing her to catch herself.
"I can leave you too," she offered quietly. "I don't want to get in the way."
Nathaniel appraised her out the corner of his eye, his lip curling slightly. Butterflies took flight in Solona's stomach, battering against her ribs. She couldn't help but take in every detail of his face each time he glanced his way. The strong jaw, the stark contrast of his bright grey-ish blue eyes against his pale skin and black hair. He still looked tired, the creases below his eyes stained with a purplish-red. The need for air struck her intensely, and she gulped a desperate breath as she looked away.
"What would you do?" he asked. Solona blinked dumbly, her brain not providing the answer. She cleared her throat.
"Um. I have a package to pick up from Octham. Weisshaupt has sent down a few items, things they say will be useful against the darkspawn. The road between the city and the Keep is still a little too insecure to chance sending them directly onto the Keep."
"Interesting. Must be important," he remarked. Solona nodded.
"Well, would you… like to meet my sister?" he asked gently. "Assuming we find her." Solona took a deep breath and cast him another look. His face beaming warmly down upon her had a visceral effect. She nodded again.
"But I don't want to impose. It's the first time you've seen her in… how long?"
"Years."
"And you…" the words caught in her throat. She could hardly imagine. To consider the possibility of someone she loved, that she had assumed was dead, that she had already grieved, suddenly had actually been alive that whole time… "you thought —"
"Just come," Nathaniel interjected. The words hung in the air, no qualifiers attached. Warmth bloomed in Solona's chest. With a sheepish grin she took another step forward, glancing around Amaranthine's familiar buildings. The streets glistened with moisture from the overnight rains, but Velanna was right about the smell. Wet trash and molding hay imbued the air with a musty dankness, which wasn't helped by the occasional chicken and cat darting through the dirt. Solona glanced up at Nathaniel and looked away just as quickly. The night with Anders had faded to the back of her memory most of the time, but those seconds it did reemerge it took effort not to wince physically. Conflicting desires knotted up her insides. It was difficult to regret a night that was so enjoyable, at least until looking up into Nathaniel's face. It was him that she'd truly wanted that night. It was him that she wanted still.
How remarkable Nathaniel's physical transformation was, and yet, nothing about him had actually changed at all. It was all merely Solona's perception of him. This was a fact she knew but which never tempered the effect. Once sallow skin now appeared milky and robust, his hair a thick mane of black silk, his eyes, sharp and piercing, reflecting his constantly changing thought and emotion. When once she'd barely noticed his presence, now she felt sharply aware of his every breath. The desire to go back under the bridge and do everything differently twisted painfully in her gut.
Quiet, soft steps continued down the streets. Being alone together, though surrounded by peasants, remained unexpectedly riveting. Two pairs of marching guards passed, heading in the opposite direction. Solona eyed his hands as they walked, his fingers fidgeting for a moment before falling still again. But somehow the silence was comfortable, as it always had been.
"Your sister knows you live?" Solona asked finally, but quickly realized that was a silly question. How could he know what she knew, when he'd only found out about her himself? "I mean — nevermind, that was a dumb question. She couldn't know, right?"
Nathaniel only laughed quietly and flashed her a wry smile. All the unsaid words since their night together collected into a lump in her throat. She wanted to rid herself of it, but the timing felt inappropriate. Surely Nathaniel already had enough on his mind.
A sharp intake of breath broke through her thoughts and she looked up to see Nathaniel striding ahead, his eyes fixed on a petite figure leaning over a table.
"Delilah?"
Nathaniel and the small woman hugged, her bright grey eyes brimming with tears as she looked him over. Solona found herself hardly able to look away from Nathaniel's face, softened and beaming down at the small woman. Solona quickly grew to feel like a third wheel, and lingered only long enough to make a brief introduction, and to hear the woman explain that she didn't marry out of desperation, but out of love.
Octham was nowhere to be seen when Solona approached his counter. A slender blonder woman stood in his place, dutifully glancing back and forth between a notebook and a cluttered shelf, making small marks in the notebook with a quill. Glancing up at Solona, she froze, her large green eyes growing wider as Solona continued her advance. When the woman rushed over to a far section of counter and pulled a package up from some lower shelf, it was clear that Solona had been recognized.
"You must be… er, well, I'm not sure how to address you? Serah Amell? Warden-Commander?" the woman tittered. "Probably Warden-Commander, right?"
Solona gave a quiet nod. "Sure, whatever."
"Here it is. Your package. Octham said you were coming today, said the route between here and the Keep wasn't secure enough for such an important delivery. We've never received a package from Weisshaupt before. Octham wanted to be here to give it to you himself, but Jillian, his wife—"
"It's fine," Solona said as she reached for the package. The woman's hands lingered on it, as though reluctant to let go. Nervous energy radiated off her, vibrating palpably through the air. Solona stood calmly and regarded her, waiting.
"I'm Tinsley," the woman declared, her eyes bright. "I still can't believe we have Grey Wardens here. I mean, in Amaranthine. Like living here. I guess it's all the darkspawn, huh? I've read all about you guys." Tinsley drummed her fingers against the package, and then caught herself. With a giggle, she slid the box over to Solona. Small and wrapped in brown paper, Solona still was unsure what it even contained. All Woolsey had said was that it would be helpful against the darkspawn. Shifting on her feet, Solona threw the girl a polite but muted smile.
"Well, you. I mean, I've read about you, Warden-Commander. And Alistair, and all the other heroes of the past blights. Jeez, sorry. Octham told me not to bother you with too much chatter. I told him I wouldn't, but… I'm just. I'm in awe, really. You are all just true heroes. You ended the blight! Or Alistair did anyway, right? Still… knowing what would have happened if it had been you… such a sacrifice you make for the world. For all of us. I mean, truly the ultimate sacrifice, right?"
Solona gave a stiff nod. The woman was speaking so quickly that her words barely had time to sink in. Even hearing Alistair's name, a sound that normally made her physically wince, came and went before she had any time to react.
"Well, people die every day," Solona said gravely. "If a blight was allowed to spread unchecked we'd all die anyway."
Tinsley's fingers continued their drumming.
"Yeah, but not like… I mean, it's not like what happens to you Wardens. And especially the one who kills the archdemon."
Solona stuffed the box into her pack, with the idle thought that perhaps she should offer the girl a chance to join the Wardens, if she was truly so fascinated by them. The offer died in her throat as Solona imagined day after day of chatter in her ear, following her around the Keep, asking questions. She'd only been standing at Octham's counter for five minutes and she was already growing weary of the barrage of words. Still, it wasn't the first person she'd met with a fascination of the Wardens, though there were fewer of them as time went on.
A sharper appraisal of the girl revealed nothing indicating an ability to fight, or provide a useful skill in battle. She dressed as a peasant and wore no weapons, her limbs were lanky and without substantial muscle. Clearly she was a bookish type, and not one who'd be able to hold her own against a darkspawn. Perhaps an unfair assessment, Solona acknowledged inwardly, but stronger women hadn't even survived the actual Joining. Slinging her pack over her shoulders, Solona's mind wandered back out into the streets of Amaranthine. She sensed no other Wardens within range, meaning Anders and Velanna must have made it to the alienage. And she had no desire to rush Nathaniel along from his visit with his sister. The hours ahead were wide open now that her package was secured. She'd need to figure out some way to pass the time before they all rendezvoused back at the tavern later in the afternoon.
"Death is death," Solona answered her finally, before taking her first step away. Tinsley's brows furrowed.
"Well, not…" Tinsley paused. Solona froze, curious. Tinsley's frown broke into a nervous smile. "Well, I mean, not for the one…"
Waiting, Solona tilted her head.
"I mean, that's why it's such a sacrifice, right?"
Solona frowned. "Sorry?"
"Well, yeah, death is death, but normal people, even normal Wardens don't lose their soul. Right?"
Solona turned back toward Tinsley, her body going numb with confusion.
"Or, do all of you? Maker, that would be even worse." Tinsley pulled a thick tome up from below the counter and began flipping through aged, earmarked pages. "I mean, that's not what the book said. I thought it said it was only the one who killed the archdemon…"
Frozen into place, Solona stared dumbly down at the book. Its cover was frayed and fuzzy, a dull bluish-grey that resembled a certain archer's piercing eyes. Torn between wanting to get out from under the girl's overwhelming attention, and a morbid curiosity for whatever gibberish the girl was spewing, Solona stood unmoving, unsure what she was waiting for. Finally, Tinsley landed on a page, a long finger skimming lines until she stood up straight, grunting a sound of triumph.
"See, here," she said, her finger scanning back and forth, "…it says that if the archdemon is killed by a non-Warden, its soul tries to pass to the nearest tainted being, which would normally be a darkspawn. But when killed by a Warden, the Warden is the nearest tainted being, and the interaction of the Warden's soul and the archdemon's prevents possession, but also results in completely destroying both souls."
Tinsley looked up at Solona, her large green eyes studying her expectantly. White noise filled Solona's head, obscuring any possibility of understanding the words just spoken.
"I mean…" Tinsley pulled the cover closed and looked at the front of the book, "this was the most comprehensive book I could find on the Grey Wardens… it was my grandfather's. He said his grandfather was a Warden, and brought this back from… somewhere. guess it's too much to hope it was actually from Weisshaupt."
Solona stared at her as she lowered her head, "I know I'm not supposed to talk about it, but it's no secret for you, right? Sorry, this isn't what I meant to talk to you about anyway. I guess I just, I mean…"
Solona swayed on her feet. Slowly, bits of what Tinsley had said began to reconcile themselves in her mind. She suddenly became aware that Tinsley was staring at her, her smile gone and replaced with a scowl of worry.
"Shit," Tinsley muttered, "sorry. I wasn't supposed to bother you. Please don't tell Octham. I know I talk too much sometimes. I just get so excited." Solona took a delirious step back toward the counter, her eyes locked onto the book. A nauseous souring in her gut spreading out, leeching the strength from her limbs. Tinsley continued to chatter, but Solona heard little of it.
"Let me see that." Solona grabbed the book just before Tinsley had it fully closed. She spun it around and struggled to focus her eyes upon the small lines. Tinsley's finger appeared, marking the line she'd just read from. Solona saw the words, but the truth of what they meant seemed too far away for her mind to grasp. "…the attempt by the Archdemon to possess the Warden fails, destroying both souls in the process."
Three, four times her eyes passed over the same lines. The white noise reduced itself into a high-pitched mosquito whine. Behind it, Tinsley's chatter continued.
"Thank you," Solona said weakly before turning and stepping away.
Tinsley's apologies receded. "… please, Octham will never let me man the counter again…"
One foot in front of the other, steps fell heavy over rounded stones. Someone said her name in greeting, but Solona was late in looking up. Unsure who said what, she kept walking. Her mind swam. Stopping in the middle of the street, Solona searched for a place to sit. Children with smudged faces played in a yard, wiry men rushed back and forth, carrying the objects of their days work: wood, leather, sacks of unknown items. One block over would be Nathaniel's sister's shop but Solona couldn't fathom returning there so soon. In the distance, again, rose the spire of the chantry. Solona turned her body toward it, knowing at the very lease she could sit inside and think.
The pews were empty, save for a bent over old woman in the front who was immersed in her prayer. A statue of Andraste stood regally within her shrine, surrounded by the soft twinkle of flickering candles. At first Solona sat, the voices in her own head a susurration of whispers and cries, nothing making any sense. Movement in the back corner of the temple caught her eye and Solona spied a lay-sister moving about. With a breath Solona was up, striding toward the sister who was busy shelving a book. Quicker than she was prepared for, Solona stood before her. The woman offered a gentle smile and a greeting, one that Solona barely heard.
"What do you think it means if a soul is destroyed?" Solona blurted out. The sister tilted her head and gave Solona a skeptical smile.
"I beg your pardon, my dear?"
"If a soul is destroyed? It can't go to the Maker then, right? He's… the man — person— whose soul is destroyed, they're just gone?"
"That doesn't happen, dear. The Maker protects his children. All those who seek his grace will take their place at his side in the afterlife."
Solona sighed. Most people weren't knowledgeable about Grey Wardens, or the taint, this she'd learned long ago. As Warden-Commander even she still knew so much less than she should have. How bloody unfair that Duncan… that whole mess at Ostagar… if only she and Alistair weren't left alone to try to figure everything out without any help… Pain streaked up her forearms as she balled her hands tightly into fists.
"But let's say it was possible," Solona continued, ignoring the woman's pitiful stare. "Let's say it's something that happens under very specific circumstances. A soul is destroyed…"
The sister's smile turned into something that made it clear she was merely playing along.
"Well without a soul, there is nothing to go to the other side, is there?" the sister answered. "No piece of the person remaining to seek out their place by the Maker. So, yes, such a circumstance would mean they were just gone, wouldn't it?
The room began to spin. Solona sucked in a hollow breath, not seeming to find the sustenance the oxygen should have afforded.
"How blessed we are that such a thing isn't possible." The sister placed a warm hand on Solona's arm. "This person, this man, as long as he lived a good life then you can trust that he is at the Maker's side, waiting for his loved ones to join him."
Nodding absently, Solona stumbled back to a pew and collapsed down into it. Swallowing down an urge to heave, Solona squeeze her fingers at her brow, trying to quiet the storm raging in her head. The words the sister spoke rang false. Of course it was possible the book was wrong, wasn't it? Solona closed her eyes and forced her mind back to the battle in Denerim, that Warden Riordan had been the one to tell them that whoever struck the killing blow to the archdemon would die too. Hadn't he said something else about the archdemon? Something Solona didn't understand at the time, so she'd merely written it off. So bloody much she didn't know!
Solona growled in frustration, but the anger quickly dissipated away, replaced by an acidic despair. Flashes of every time she'd rushed forward into danger streamed behind her eyes, each time she'd lain on her rooftop, staring up at the stars, imaging that Alistair was staring back down at her. That he knew what she was doing every day. That he was there, somewhere, waiting. She'd spent so much time pretending she could feel his presence, could feel him out there, waiting for her.
Had one of those foolish attempts at death been successful, would she have been met with… well with anything at all? She couldn't even picture it. To discard her mangled body and then be met on the other side by an empty room, devoid of even the single loved one she'd ever had. Or a Maker who'd never once done anything for her? A loneliness just as deep as that she'd known in the last eight months, only this one to last, unbroken on into eternity?
Minutes ticked into hours, or so it felt. The sun through the chantry windows changed angle. People entered, said their prayers and left. Solona sat unmoving, the shapes before her blurring into a kaleidoscope of dancing colors and shadows. The nausea eventually faded, leaving behind a dead, empty coldness. As empty and cold as the afterlife she'd been pursuing.
Standing, Solona walked without thought or direction. Despite the absence of any motivation, one foot stepped in front of the other, carrying her out of the chantry. Down the stairs and into the street. The sky had deepened into the harsh blue of late afternoon, and the time to meet the other Wardens neared.
Streets and houses passed by with Solona barely glancing at any of them. Around and inside her pervaded a hollow chill. She could scarcely guess how close she'd come to death in the past few months. How close she'd come to finding out that the place, the person, she'd put all her hopes into might not have been there at all.
Could the book be wrong? She'd glanced at the front and saw a title, a name. For a moment Solona stopped in the middle of the street, suppressing the urge to run back to Octhams and ask the girl if she could borrow the book. Would there be more to learn of Alistair's fate there? More to learn about her own? It seemed there was so much now that she didn't know, so much still a mystery of her own existence, and this fate she'd chosen. Damn Duncan for dying! Damn him for keeping her in the dark!
Finally she stood before the door to the tavern. Behind the walls came the rumble of drunken revelry, laughter both high pitched and deep, the sounds of patrons unwinding from their workday and enjoying each other's company. With a sigh of weariness that she felt deep in her bones, Solona entered. Her instinct to wince away from the sounds of joy and slink into a dark corner reigned over her movements. Her thoughts calmed, their disarray settling into the resolution to drink herself into oblivion, as she'd done on so many nights. The world seemed an even harsher place than before, and she needed to escape it the only way she knew how.
Fitting herself into a gap at the bar, Solona hailed Mick, the bartender and waited patiently after he acknowledged her with a nod. Wine wouldn't be strong enough this night.
Words from a gruff voice grumbled in her left ear. Solona picked at a gouge in the wooden bar top with her thumbnail, her mind fixated on those words she saw in the book: completely destroying both souls. Solona's body seemed to have doubled in weight, her head hanging heavily on her neck, her knees struggling not to buckle. It wasn't until an arm nudged her roughly in the side that she realized the gruff voice was speaking to her.
"I said hey lassie! What'r you drinking?" A glance toward the voice revealed a bald head and bedraggled face that belonged to a short, portly farmer. His pock-marked nose was covered in little red veins, his eyes nearly lost beneath drooping red eyelids. Solona ignored him, glancing impatiently back toward Mick, who was arguing with a skinny man over a slip of paper that sat on the bartop between them.
"A little ungrateful aren'tcha? Most lassies would at least have the manners to accept a free drink," he said. Solona shook her head. Her first attempt to answer emerged from her throat as a croak. She tried again.
"No thank you."
"Come on, I know I ain't nothing to look at," he continued with a hiccup. The man was clearly intoxicated, and probably seeing double. "But I'll make sure you get all the drinks you want. Tiny little thing like you, probably only need, what, two? Three at the most, right…" The man's harsh laughter bellowed in her ear. He nudged her again, his arm lingering against her. Throwing him a glare, Solona scooted away.
"But I treat my ladies real nice, I promise. Ask Scotty over there." The man gestured down the bar.
Rolling her eyes, Solona felt the Fade tugging at her blood, whispering a promise of immense power. Unable to remember the last time she unleashed herself in battle, Solona relaxed into the shimmer of mana, her fingertips growing cold as magic collected once again in her palms. Focusing her eyes on the man beside her, for a moment she entertained the possibility of letting him have it. What was left for her now anyway? The only person who had ever loved her, the only person in her whole life who gave a single shit about her, was dead. And not just dead. His soul had been destroyed.
If the book was true anyway. And why the fuck put something like that in a book? Where would she even try to confirm the truth of the matter? Woolsey would be her first stop. And if not there, then a letter to Weisshaupt. But those words seemed to have already sunken in as truth. That there would be no eternity by Alistair's side. There would be no reunion.
So what did it matter if she maintained a respectable facade anymore? Why shouldn't she just continue to do whatever the fuck she wanted, just as she'd begun to do over the past few weeks?
"Here you are," Mick said, finally making his appearance, and breaking her out of her momentary daze. He slid a bottle of wine in her direction, and she could tell by the aged label that it was a good one. Still, it wouldn't be good enough.
"Something stronger tonight," she said quietly. The short man beside her raised an eyebrow as he took in the vintage wine bottle sitting before them.
"Well shit," he mumbled. "Maybe you should be buying me the drinks!" He clapped a rough hand on the small of her back as he laughed. Eyeing him for a second time, Solona extinguished the magic thrumming close to her surface. However much he might deserve it, it wouldn't be fair to damage Mick's bar. This, after all, was his livelihood, and he'd always been so good to her. Always quick to hide her when she wanted to escape attention, and never letting her pay for anything. Solona sighed. Mick took back the bottle of wine and retreated to the far end of the bar. The portly man's hand slid lower down her back, his fingers pressing suggestively into her spine. Solona reached behind to grab his wrist, plucking it away from its downward trajectory and dropping it back onto the bartop.
"I said no thank you. And don't fucking touch me."
At the edges of her awareness, the tickle of another Warden, their presence growing closer and clearer as it neared the entrance of the tavern. Gripped by equal parts relief and anxiousness, Solona glowered the short man beside her.
"Aw, there's no reason a little lass like you needs to spend your evenin' drinkin' alone," he slurred with another hiccup. He lifted both hands in surrender, "I promise I'll keep my hands to myself." He leaned in close, his rancid breath steaming against her cheek. "This bar is full of savages, you know. I'll keep ya safe, little lass. No one likes to drink alone."
Mick slid her a new bottle, an unopened Antivan whiskey, along with a shot glass and a wink. The Warden presence was close enough now to have entered the door, and seemed to be making a beeline in her direction. Whoever it was moved silently, meaning it probably wasn't Anders. Even Velanna would have been a welcome sight, though she had no idea what the two would talk about while they waited for Nathaniel and Anders to arrive. Solona reminded herself that, as much as she wanted to give herself over to the whiskey, there was still the walk back to the Keep, a 2 hour journey at its quickest. The realization that she couldn't drink herself to unconsciousness sank in, flooding her with disappointment. Only steps away was the other Warden, but the man beside her still waited, hands raised, his invitation hanging in the air.
"I won't be drinking alone," she told him as she turned toward the approaching Warden. Tall and clear eyed, Nathaniel's face still held the uncharacteristic softness she'd seen after he first sighted Delilah. Throwing a shot of whiskey back, Solona swallowed down the burn and reached for Nathaniel. She slipped an arm around his waist and watched his face evolve from a contented calm to a confused amusement.
"There you are, love," Solona said, gazing up into the almost blinding beauty of his face. "I was wondering when you were going to show up." He raised a brow, his mouth open but seemingly unable to speak. His arm slipped around her as Solona turned back to the portly man and gave him a shrug.
Grabbing the bottle off the bar, Solona pulled Nathaniel toward the tables deeper within the tavern. Most in the far back were occupied, with many of the city's workers already in their regular places, enjoying their post-work drink. Moving as if in a dream, she angled the two of them toward one empty table along the wall, but it was one which was still well within the sight of Mick and her unwelcome propositioner.
I actually like to drink alone, thank you very much.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to Nathaniel. "Please just play along for now? I just need that man to know not to bother coming after me. It's this or a ball of ice to the face."
With a curled lip Nathaniel gave a nod, his hand tightening around over her hip. After setting her bottle on the table she leaned against him, her recently acquired knowledge resurfacing in her mind, and suddenly growing to a crushing weight. She dropped her head on his shoulder, wanting to groan, to wince, to beat against something. Instead, for a moment she just rested, letting him bear the burden of her heaviness. In her ear thumped the even beat of his heart, his breath whispering against her ear. Trying to get a hold of herself, she pulled back and took a swig directly from the bottle of whiskey. Grimacing as it scorched its way down her throat, she looked up into his face.
The spotlight of his stare rendered her momentarily dazed, wiping clear the jumble of thoughts that kept her gut clenched into a ball since the moment he'd stepped away from Octham's. Nathaniel raised a hand and gently combed a strand of hair out of her face. The soft tickle shuddered down her spine, connecting with the blooming warmth of the whiskey. A lump developed in her throat again, that familiar knotting of the unspoken apology she'd been carrying around for four days. She glanced toward the bar to see the short farmer flicking his bloodshot eyes in her direction.
"Solona," he breathed, her name rolling off his tongue like a caress. "I owe you an apology."