Chapter 5

Streams of sunshine filtered through the cracks of the shutters onto the bed. Tristan tossed and turned, unable to sleep peacefully. It was that dream again.

Tristan had been in Gwaren for about two weeks. He had spent his time mostly in slumber. He had never slept so much in his life. He hadn't realized how tired he really was. But his sleep wasn't peaceful – it rarely was for a Grey Warden. There were still darkspawn below, he still heard their murmurings in his sleep, though it wasn't as loud as during the Blight. And sometimes, like on this day, he dreamt of his past, of when he was a child.

It was one recurring dream. Tristan was sure it was a memory. He was an orphan child, running through the streets of Denerim. In the back alleys, he came upon a man. A tall mage with shoulder length, wavy brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and almond shaped, brown eyes. The mage looked at him curiously, a strange interest lighting up his face. Tristan got the feeling that the mage knew he had powers, powers that he had yet to tap into. The mage crouched down in front of him and showed him a trick – how to make fire burn from the palms of his hand from nothing. Tristan mimicked him, astonished to see that he could do it too. The mage had smiled and ruffled his hair. And then a group of Templars came by. The mage covered his head in a hood, smiled once more, and then dissolved into the darkness. Tristan never saw him again. He didn't know why this particular memory had come back to him all of a sudden. Why now?

That had been his first experience with magic. He would practice in secret, perfecting the fireballs and sending them flying into the stone walls near the river. A group of older boys had been hounding him, teasing him, and pushing him around. Tristan had thought the mage had been sent by the Maker, for he used his newfound abilities to get back at the bullies. But it had backfired. He hadn't been able to hurt them and only succeeded in garnering attention to himself. Somebody had alerted the Templars, who took him back to the orphanage. After being interrogated by the chantry sisters, he was sent to the Circle Tower, where he lived until recruited by the Grey Wardens.

As he dreamt again of that memory of his first time realizing he had magical abilities, he woke with a start, shoving the covers off. He swung his legs to the floor, where they nearly hit Loki. Loki whined and rolled out of the way.

"Sorry, boy." Tristan muttered. "I need some fresh air."

…

Tristan walked around Gwaren, reveling in the feeling of being a nobody. Now that his hair was shorter, it had darkened slightly. Not that he thought anybody would have recognized him even if he hadn't cut his hair. Gwaren was once, after all, Loghain's Teyrnir. If the place ever had heard of him, it was as Loghain's murderer. He doubted they had painted a pretty picture of him. On that note, he kept mostly to himself, avoiding attracting any unnecessary attention.

Of course, that was a little hard to do with Loki trotting around behind him. Mabari warhounds were prized dogs and people tended to look at him curiously and then at Tristan. The tattoos on half of his face did nothing to help his cause either. Usually, the only people who had facial tattoos were barbarians, Dalish elves, or dwarves. Sometimes he got the feeling that some people thought him a thief, for why else would a human with a tattooed face carry himself so well and travel with a mabari warhound?

Tristan took a seat on a bench in front of the inn. He wasn't quite ready to go back to his room. The sun was shining brightly and emitting a warm glow, rare for the time of year. It might be his last chance to enjoy the outdoors before it turned bitterly cold. Loki lounged on his stomach in front of Tristan, watching the busy streets of Gwaren curiously. Tristan hoped he wouldn't have to hold Loki back again – the dog had nearly knocked a couple of people over in an attempt to catch an orange cat. Every time he saw that cat after the first time, Tristan quietly cast a paralyze spell on Loki and shooed the cat away. Loki whined at him after, but it was for the best. Tristan didn't want to attract any more attention.

As Tristan basked in the simple anonymity of sitting on a bench in the sunshine, he heard some sharp voices from around the corner. It was an argument, he thought, as a man's voice boomed loudly in complaint. A woman replied sweetly and assuredly. At the sound of the woman's voice, Tristan sat up straighter, craning to hear. He hadn't been particularly interested in the argument, but there was a familiarity in the women's voice that he couldn't ignore.

"The axe you sold me broke. It was nicked when you sold it to me. You cheated me. I want my money back!" the man's voice rang out from around the corner.

"Oh no. You are mistaken. There was nothing wrong with it. It was you that caused it to break," the woman replied calmly with a flirtatious lilt to her voice. By the Maker, Tristan thought, that has got to be Brenna. As he realized who the woman was, he momentarily contemplated running into the inn to hide. But he changed his mind as the argument escalated.

"Give me my money back, harlot, or else…" the man threatened.

"Or else, what?" Brenna replied loudly. And then Tristan heard scuffling noises. That was it; he had to go see what was going on. He stood up from the bench and turned the corner. He saw the man, a burly lumberjack, grab Brenna's arm and twist it around with one hand while with his other he tried to reach for Brenna's pouch. Brenna tried to twist herself away and swatted at him, but he didn't let go.

"Let go of her." Tristan called out as he neared the struggle. The burly lumberjack looked up at Tristan. Noticing that Tristan was unarmed, he let out a loud laugh, yanking Brenna closer towards him.

"I said, let go of her." Tristan warned again. This time Loki came clambering beside Tristan, and sensing Tristan's mood, he was growling and ready to attack the lumberjack. The lumberjack noticed and took fright, but instead of just letting Brenna go, he shoved her hard onto the ground and then sent a menacing look of defeat to Tristan.

"You're lucky," he growled as he spat onto the ground near Brenna and took off down the alleyway. Tristan went over to Brenna, who had not yet seen him because of the struggle. He held out his hand to help her up. She glanced up in his direction and with surprise, accepted his hand and was pulled up into a standing position. She brushed the dirt off of her clothes – a long black flowing skirt, skin tight tunic, all covered with a fur trimmed cloak.

"Tristan?" she asked, curiously scrutinizing his new look.

"Yes," he replied. "Are you alright?"

Brenna nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"You should be more wary of the people you deal with." Tristan cautioned.

"It's nothing I haven't handled before, thank you very much." Brenna replied, a little offended that Tristan would think her an idiot. He hadn't said that of course, but his tone certainly gave her cause to think so.

"Well then," Tristan took in a deep breath. "Seeing as you can take care of yourself, I will be on my way. Nice seeing you again, Brenna."

Tristan turned to leave, Loki hot on his heels. Brenna stood in the alleyway for a brief second, too stunned to move. Did that just happen? No, what just happened? Puzzled, she quickly caught up to Tristan.

"Wait!" she called out to him. He stopped as she nudged her way past Loki to end up in front of Tristan. Loki let out a little yelp of annoyance. Brenna petted his head in reassurance.

"Yes?" Tristan asked. He was happy that he could help Brenna, but now he was worried that she would follow him around town. Not that she was displeasing or anything, in fact, she was quite pleasing to look at, but the whole point of him coming to Gwaren was to be alone.

"What are you doing here?" Brenna replied with a question of her own. She sent him a smile which was at once enticing and questioning.

"Nothing." Tristan couldn't help returning the grin. It was odd, wasn't it? Running into Brenna was the last thing he expected. He might have been annoyed the last time he had run into her, but now, taking in the sight of her, he thought of a different memory of her altogether – one that involved a whole lot of naughty behavior.

"Really?" Brenna smiled again, even more tantalizing than before, if that were possible.

"Well… would you like to discuss this further in my room?" Tristan gestured toward the inn with a wicked leer.

Brenna laughed. She wasn't quite sure what was going on. What had happened to Tristan? The last time they had met he was quite rude. But she had attributed the grumpiness to whatever business he was on. Now he was inviting her to his room? She thought he had a woman. And what had he done to his hair? Where was his armor? His sword? She considered his proposal hungrily; on the one hand, she would like nothing more than to go to his room, and if his expression was any indication of his wishes, have a romp in the bed sheets, or on the floor, or wherever he wanted, she was that wild about him. But on the other hand, she felt like something was amiss with him. She didn't want to let herself get hurt. She decided to make a counter-proposal.

"I will go to your room, but only to talk." Brenna firmly stated.

"Oh?" Tristan arched a brow toward her. She wanted only to talk? Well, maybe that was a better idea. Now that he thought about it more, perhaps it was best. He still thought of Leliana every now and then. He certainly didn't want to jump into bed with Brenna and have her think there was a future between them. It wouldn't be fair to her; he knew she had a thing for him. It was plainly visible the last time they had met. Talk. He supposed he could do that. He couldn't really withdraw his invitation because she wanted to talk… could he? Nah. He better just agree with her. "As you wish; let's go talk."

…

Tristan pulled up the only chair in the room and placed it in front of the bed. Making a sweeping gesture with his left arm, he offered one or the other to Brenna. "Take your pick, my lady. The bed or the chair?"

Brenna laughed. What was up with Tristan? She hadn't seen him so lighthearted since she had first met him at the Circle Tower. "I'll take the chair, thank you."

Tristan helped Brenna take a seat in the chair and then lay back onto the bed, lounging with his hands behind his head. Loki jumped up onto the bed, causing it to shift a little.

"Woah boy." Tristan held Loki's slobbering tongue at bay with his hand. "Why do dogs always have to lick everything?" he jokingly asked. Loki had been following him around for a long time now, yet he still hated being licked or drooled on by the hound.

Brenna snickered at the sight. "Since when did you have a dog?"

"Oh, he's not just a dog. He's a mabari warhound. He was with me during the Blight and he's been with me the last couple of months." Tristan playfully pushed Loki away from him. Loki whined and then settled down for a nap. "Loki's not mine, though he seems to have imprinted himself onto me for now."

"I see." Brenna replied, smiling at the cheer radiating from Tristan. Her heart fluttered and she suddenly wished that she hadn't suggested they come up only to talk. But no, she couldn't think like that. She shook herself out of her revelry. He seemed happy, but there also seemed to be something amiss with him. She would prod it out of him. "What are you doing all the way here, in Gwaren?"

Tristan looked at her with a cocked brow. "Do I have to be doing something to be here?"

"I just thought you had duties elsewhere; that is all." Brenna replied. He was Commander of the Grey Wardens, wasn't he?

"Well, I don't. Sorry." Tristan said with finality. He really hoped she wouldn't continue to question him. He only wanted to live his new life. He wouldn't be going back to the old life; at least that was how he felt the more time he spent away from it. When he had buried his weapons and armor, he thought it was possibly only temporary, but everything had changed. Maybe it was just because he had finally caught up on his sleep, but he felt renewed. No, it wasn't just because of the rest; he savored the feeling of being in charge of his own life. No more would anyone tell him what to do – the chantry sisters who ran the orphanage, the First Enchanter, the Templars, Duncan, and then Alistair – it was time for him to choose his own path.

"Why did you cut your hair?" Brenna broke the silence as Tristan ran a hand through his hair, lost in his thoughts.

"I thought we came to talk." Tristan jested. "This feels more like an interrogation than a friendly conversation."

Brenna sighed. "Fine. Be evasive. But if you need to unburden yourself…"

Tristan cut her off, shaking his head. "There is no need." Grinning, he continued, "Now, Brenna, tell me, what have you been up to, besides cheating customers and then fending them off alone in back alleys?"

"You're horrible." Brenna friskily answered with a coy smile, stretching out her limbs like a languid cat.