Chapter 2
The tide undulated to and fro on the shore, a gentle and serene movement that both entranced and frustrated Tristan. The color of the cold Frozen Seas fascinated him. On the other hand, he was disappointed. The great expanse of water was like any other ocean. He supposed however, that it was just him. He was weary and he was taking it out on the wondrous sight of nature before him. How could something so beautiful be so disappointing? How could somebody have done something so incredible yet feel so lost? How could things have fallen apart so quickly and with such a sense of finality? He was hopeless, and he couldn't explain why. He had everything, yet he had nothing.
As Tristan watched the waves rolling in and out of the beach he contemplated how he had gotten there. After his meeting with Morrigan, he had gone to visit with the Dalish woman, Siofra, as he had promised. What she told him he still couldn't quite believe. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. It was something he had never wondered about, had never really longed for, for what purpose was there in longing for something you never had a taste of? She had told him that she was his mother and that his father had been a mage in the Circle Tower. An escaped mage, killed by Templars. The story sounded outrageous, for wouldn't he, having lived in the Circle for most of his youth, have at least heard of his supposed father? In any case, he hadn't really said anything to the woman. He had politely excused himself and left. He didn't know what she wanted, or what she expected. If she was telling the truth and she was his mother, then what was he supposed to do? Take up residence in the Dalish camp? He had left. Maybe he was a jerk. It seemed that was all he was good at being these days.
Before he had been recruited by the Grey Wardens, Tristan had been content with living out his days at the Circle Tower. Sure, it was not the happiest place to live, but after spending some time in an orphanage and on the streets in Denerim, it was a warm place to stay and at least the food was plentiful and good. He had never been ambitious. He never asked for glory or admiration. But that had all come when he became a Grey Warden and when the Blight cast Ferelden into some of its darkest days. He had to admit, he had reveled in the adventure and the sense of urgency. He had embraced becoming a leader. That was a surprise to him. But now, with everything seemingly back to normal, he felt… dissatisfied. He needed to be alone, at least for a little while.
Tristan had been on his way back to the Keep when he had suddenly panicked. He couldn't go back. He didn't want to go back. As much as he missed his friends and comrades, he suddenly felt stifled. He couldn't go back to the drudgery of routine, the constant begged favours, and all the other stuff that came with being a commander, a person of note. He had thought of going to Denerim, to see Leliana, but maybe, he thought as he remembered how they had last parted, she was better off without him. She deserved someone who would grow old with her, not somebody who would disappear to die one day, like a sick old dog disappearing into the wilds when he knows his time is up. Nor did he want her to see the monster he would become when the taint inside him finally took over. He dreaded transforming into the darkspawn he had fought for so long. He didn't want to put Leliana through that. He didn't want to put anyone through that.
Instead, he turned back south. He had briefly thought of returning to Siofra as he passed the Brecilian Forest. A little part of him wanted to know more about her, to see if she was in fact telling the truth. But he decided not to. If she was his mother, he didn't owe her anything. She had, in spite of everything, given him up. So he continued through the Brecilian passage. Just outside of Gwaren, he turned to this beach.
Loki, Melisende's mabari hound, was his only companion now. The dog lay beside him, on his back with his paws in the air, wanting his belly to be rubbed. Tristan obliged. He had tried to send the hound back to Denerim, but Loki was too stubborn, and too loyal. He had followed Tristan here.
"Tired of being a stud for the Ferelden army?" Tristan teased the dog as he rubbed his belly. Loki whined and let his tongue roll over his mouth. Loki sat up suddenly and eyeing a water bird, went charging into the water.
"You may be a war hound, Loki, but you sure can't hunt for beans…" Tristan commented to himself as the bird flew away. He began to shed his armor. As part of his old life, he wouldn't take it with him anymore. He examined his sword, felt the pommel mould into his hand, and pricked his finger on the sharpness of its blade. He wouldn't take Vigilance with him either. He traced the heraldry on his shield. The griffin, a long dead creature, was the symbol of the Grey Wardens. Though with the taint running through his veins he could never escape being a Grey Warden, he would leave this behind for now as well. He whistled for Loki to return to his side. The dog came running back to him.
"Loki, dig." Tristan commanded the dog. Loki turned his head from side to side, not really comprehending Tristan. Tristan began to dig into the sand with his hands. Loki, always one to paw and dig up the ground, began to furiously imitate him, wagging his tail and barking in delight. Tristan stopped and watched the dog's progress. When the hole was deep enough, he stopped the dog. He gathered up his armor, sword, and shield and dumped it into the hole. He took a deep breath. Did he really want to do this?
Yes, he thought. He needed time to himself. He had paid his dues and more as a Grey Warden. He killed the archdemon; he should be dead anyways. Now, with nothing seriously threatening Ferelden, he wanted to live a life of his own choosing… at least until the taint overcame him. As he made up his mind, he began burying his possessions, pushing the sand over the hole. As he did so, he pushed all that was bothering him out of his mind; Morrigan and his son, the Grey Wardens, the Dalish woman, and Leliana. When the hole was nearly covered, he paused. He took out his small knife. Clutching at his hair, pulled back into a braid, he hacked it off. The braid, now separated from his head and lying in his hand, he tossed into the hole. He covered the hole. He felt his constant headaches drain away. He breathed a little easier. For the first time in his life, he was free now, wasn't he?
Tristan stood up and watched the sky. It was getting dark, colder. He had only a short tunic on which left his arms bare, thin pants which did nothing to stop the bitter wind from biting through to his skin, and nothing covering his feet, for he had buried his armored boots. He ran his hands through his hair, finding it odd when they became empty not far from his head. Loki nudged his leg and whined. Jingling his pouch of coin, Tristan began walking toward the town of Gwaren, not far off in the distance. He would have to buy some shoes and a cloak, he thought as his feet touched the cold ground.
"I need a drink, too," he said as he avoided stepping on a sharp rock.
…
They waited until he was nothing but a dot in the distance. Then they clambered onto the beach and began digging. The two loggers were brothers, poor, dirty, and when they had seen the man burying such fine armor and weapons, they thanked the Maker for their luck. The eldest reached into the ground and pulled up the sword, admiring its glowing gleam and feeling the power emanating from it. Oh yes, this would fetch a fine price in the markets. But they would have to sell it somewhere else, for if the man caught them in Gwaren, who's to say what he would do to them? He looked quite powerful and skilled. And although he had crazily buried his possessions, that didn't mean he was getting rid of them forever, right? So they would go to Denerim. The merchants there would offer more sovereigns for this kind of fine armor and weaponry than the merchants anywhere else anyway. And then they would be rich men, finally. No more toiling in the outskirts of the forest, cutting down trees and dragging them to and fro. They would finally live like kings.