Chapter 3

Anything you recognize, I don't own. Attribute it all to Bioware, except the pirate song, which is the theme song from Pirates of the Caribbean. Enjoy ;)

Last night,

Can't remember,

What happened,

Where'd we go?

-Good Charlotte, Last Night

It was after noon by the time Tristan awoke. Fine fingers of pale gold sunlight slipped through the gaps in his velvet curtains, spilling onto the rich red carpet that was spread over the floor. He sat up quickly, both surprised and irritated with himself for sleeping in. He was usually always an early riser. Standing up, he strode across the width of his small cabin and opened his closet. His style of clothing was simple; a loose fitting cotton shirt, snug fitting breeches and a pair of knee-high Orlesian leather boots. Mindful of his promise to Sonja, he left his staff safely in the back of the closet and instead strapped his pair of daggers to his back. He needed the practice anyway, he told himself, as he climbed up the companionway to the upper deck. He took a deep breath of crisp sea air as he stepped onto the deck, smiling contentedly at the azure blue sky above his head. The storm had blown over and the Kalipsa had seemingly suffered no damage from their misadventure.

"You've been asleep for hours." Sonja commented, when he finally found her standing at the stern of the ship, staring out into the small stretch of open water that filled the docks. "The Captain has already headed into town."

Tristan's eyes automatically flicked back towards the city, and he felt a small pang at the sight of it. Somewhere there, hidden deep between the white stone buildings, was his family's estate. He wondered what it might be like to see it once again…

"I think I'm going to head into the city as well." He murmured. "I might as well see about getting us some supplies while we're here."

"I'll come too!" She said quickly.

"I don't need a babysitter Parish." Tristan growled as he descended the gangplank onto the docks, with Sonja hot on his heels. "I'm just going to the market."

"So am I." She replied firmly, falling into step beside him. One glance into her steely grey eyes was enough to convince him that she wasn't going to back down.

"Fine." He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Tag along if you must."

She beamed with happiness. "Brilliant!" She said, clapping her hands together and glancing around eagerly as they took the road which led up to Lowtown. After a few moments she grimaced, shaking her head in disgust. "This town is filthy."

He chuckled at her words, suddenly reminded of how very Orlesian she could occasionally act. Her boyish clothing and short, spiky blonde hair was usually enough to make him forget that she came from a city where women stuck live birds in their hair for the sake of fashion.

"Perhaps you'd better stay on the ship then." He teased her. "You wouldn't want to get your boots dirty, now would you?"

"Very funny, Amell." She groused, glaring at him. "It was just an observation." She added defensively.

Glancing around, Tristan couldn't help but agree with her. Even the Denerim Alienage had been cleaner than this.

"Hightown is better." He commented, remembering the large, white stone buildings and pretty terraced gardens from his childhood.

"You've been here before?" Sonja asked in surprise.

Tristan nodded his head, his blue eyes still flickering over the dilapidated buildings on either side of the road they walked on. "I was born here." He said, shrugging one shoulder. "I spent the first five years of my life in this city before I was sent to Ferelden's Circle of Magi."

"Maybe your family is still here?"

He shook his head quickly. "No. They moved." Hoping to change the subject, he pointed one finger ahead, gesturing towards a large statue of a hanging man which had been strung up over a door. "What do you suppose that is?"

"Someone's idea of a sick joke?" Parish offered. They both stared at the statue for a few moments, watching as it swayed ever so slightly in the gentle breeze. As the pair of them watched, the door suddenly swung open, and a rank smelling man with bloodshot eyes stumbled out, muttering incoherently.

"Dear Maker…" Sonja breathed. "It's a cult."

"Let's check it out!" Tristan said enthusiastically, moving forwards. Ignoring Sonja's frantic protestations, he pushed the weathered door open and slipped inside the dark interior.

"I think I just found half my crew." He said with a smirk, catching sight of the group of sailors who sat at a table near the back. It was only just after noon, yet each of them held a mug of ale between their hands. By their bloodshot eyes and the sour stench of ale and vomit which clung to them, they were obviously all hung over.

"They should all be keelhauled for this." Sonja seethed, glaring across the tavern at them. "They're acting like drunken louts. If Reynold saw them like this…"

"Leave them Parish." Tristan said, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the bar. A burly blonde haired bartender approached them. "What's the strongest thing you've got?" Tristan asked him.

"Moon shine." The man responded without hesitation, despite the fact that the stuff was illegal in almost all parts of Thedas save for the Tevinter Imperium.

"We'll have two shots of that." Tristan told him. "And keep them coming."

"Tristan!" Sonja gasped. "We are not drinking that stuff."

"I'll make you a deal." The Hero of Ferelden told her, a mischievous glint in his cobalt blue eyes. "If we each drink three shots, I will show you the house my family and I used to live in."

Ever since he had stepped foot in the city, he had been haunted by an almost overwhelming urge to revisit his old family estate. Some part of him, it seemed, was desperate to know a little of what he had lost the day he had been taken to the Circle.

If I'm going to reopen old wounds, I might as well be drunk when I do it. He thought. Oghren would be proud.

The bartender placed two shot glasses filled with a clear liquid onto the bar. Sonja picked hers up, eyeing it warily.

"You're a bad influence Tristan Amell."

"So everyone tells me. For the life of me I still haven't figured out why they made me a Warden Commander."

"It probably had something to do with you killing that archdemon." Sonja replied, without lifting her gaze from the small glass she held between her fingertips. She suddenly stiffened, glancing around suspiciously. "Maker I forgot… We're not supposed to let anyone know who you are."

Tristan followed her gaze around the bar. "Don't worry Parish." He reassured her. "I don't think any of the unconscious patrons heard you."

"Nevertheless." She said firmly. "We should find something else to call you while we're here. How about…" She paused, her brow narrowing as she wracked her brain for a name. "Dirk?" She offered eventually.

"Dirk?" Tristan laughed. "By the Maker, how did you come up with that?"

"It was the first blade you learned how to use." She responded eagerly. Tristan stared at her for a moment, startled by her seemingly all extensive knowledge of him.

"Fine." He agreed eventually. "If it makes you feel better you can call me Dirk." He raised his glass up pointedly and with a sigh, she did the same. "Cheers." He said, clinking his glass against hers before draining the small measure of burning alcohol in a single gulp.

…

Five hours and countless shots of moonshine later saw Sonja and Tristan stumbling drunkenly through Lowtown in search of his childhood home. The sun was slowly sinking behind Sundermount, casting gloomy shadows over the city of Kirkwall. Tristan shook his head miserably as they walked.

"No… This isn't right… it's around here somewhere. We just have to find Hightown." He glanced around, his brow furrowing as he glared at the rundown buildings that surrounded them. "I don't think this is it…"

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.
We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot.
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.
We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot.
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho." Parish sang drunkenly on top of her voice, her voice echoing around the empty streets.

"Parish!" Tristan cried despairingly. "Get serious here! I think we might be lost!"

"Come on Tristan!" Sonja coerced. "Sing the next verse!"

"No."

"Please?" She begged.

The Warden Commander sighed, opened his mouth and began to sing.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.
We extort and pilfer, we filch and sack.
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.
Maraud and embezzle and even highjack.
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho."

Sonja giggled delightedly, clapping her hands. "I love this song!"

"You hate this song." Tristan replied, frowning as the street they were walking down ended in yet another dead end. He glanced up at the unfamiliar houses around them, feeling slightly hopeless.

"But it's about pirates!"

"You hate pirates."

Sonja's face fell as she thought about it. "You're right…" She said slowly. "I do hate pirates. Filthy bastards."

"So I've heard." He replied noncommittally.

"Maybe we should go back to the docks." She offered, still humming the tune to the song.

Tristan nodded his head, suddenly relieved that he wouldn't have to find his old home after all. "Yes, yes. Let's go back to the ship!" He glanced around again. "Shit… Which way to the docks?"

"Um…" Sonja cast a quick, uncertain glance around before pointing towards a random alleyway. "Let's go that way. There's a bunch of people there."

Tristan whirled around, surprised to find a group of people crowding the entrance to a side alley at the other end of the road. His natural curiosity getting the best of him, he led the way towards them.

"Please, all of you," A guard said as they approached. "I can't fight the damn air. Stay back."

"Yes, stay back." Tristan told the crowd commandingly. He turned back to the guard. "Now, if you'll excuse me." He added, walking forwards.

"I'm sorry Messere but that means you too." The guard placed a restraining hand against Tristan's chest. "There's been some sort of gas leak here. It's poisonous… It's been driving people mad."

The guard's words sobered Tristan up somewhat. He took another glance down the alleyway, grimacing as he noticed the fine threads of noxious green gas creeping towards them. If the guard waited any longer, the gas would begin to seep even further into the city. Someone had to stop this – and fast. Even as drunk as he was, Tristan realized he was probably the most capable person for the job.

"Let me through." He said quietly, meeting the guardsman's eye. "I can fix this."

"Trist… I mean Dirk…" Sonja hastily corrected herself. Tristan was amazed she could even remember his alias as drunk as she was. The girl was swaying on her feet. "I think we should listen to the good guardsman here and just leave."

"I can fix this Parish." He replied firmly. He turned back to the guard. "Give me twenty minutes. And make sure that she doesn't follow me." He gestured towards Sonja, who instantly started protesting even louder.

"Dirk! No! Listen to me! That's a bad, bad idea… Let's just turn around and go…"

"I'll be back before you know it." He replied, cutting across her tirade. Before either she or the guard could stop him, he quickly slipped into the alleyway, disappearing into a sea of green gas.

He pressed one hand against his mouth as he walked, the harsh chemicals in the gas causing him to choke. His foot caught against an oddly shaped rock and he tripped, cursing loudly.

"Of all the nights to get drunk." He groaned. Turning around, he snatched up the item he had fallen over, glaring at the piece of steel he held uncomprehendingly. It was only when he stood up and caught sight of the leaking barrels that were situated all around the alleyway that he realized what he had stumbled upon. It was a latch, one which would seal off the barrels to stop them from spewing the gas out onto the streets. With this in mind he moved purposefully towards the nearest barrel. Between the poisonous gas and the copious amounts of alcohol in his system, his hand-eye co-ordination was slightly off and it took him several minutes of struggling and swearing to secure the latch in place. He stepped back once he was done, smiling proudly at the result of his efforts. The barrel had been effectively sealed off. He glanced back around the side alley.

One down, three more to go. He thought, his blue eyes flickering over the remaining unsealed barrels. He moved forwards, scanning the ground for yet another steel latch. A movement to the left of him caught his eye and he jerked his head up, narrowing his eyes at the group of black clad bandits that were moving towards him. At a glance he could already count at least a dozen of them. He momentarily considered using the blades strapped to his back, if only to appease Sonja, but almost immediately dismissed the idea.

Screw being inconspicuous. He thought. I'll settle for just staying alive. And with that he stretched his hand out towards the approaching wave of bandits and sent a chain lightning straight into their midst.