Warden's quarters, Denerim

[Of course everyone can join this. Calli went alone because it's her nature, but it doesn't mean that you can't join and ask and whatever you want]


It wasn't the same, yet it was as painful as she had expected.

Host yourselves in the Warden's quarters, the human King had said. They were burnt and destroyed, but I ordered to clean them and arrange some furniture for you all

All the things they had were gone long ago. Only the memories remained.

Calliara was standing in the middle of a quite large room with a stone fireplace. The big bed that was there wasn't hers, the dresser either, nor the mirror, the rug or the courtains. Everything was impersonal there, but she felt the tears in her eyes.

She had been quite happy there. Sure, it was a human city, she had a ceiling over her head and a stone floor beneath her feet, and was encaged by stone walls and couldn't smell the trees and the rain... but Duncan and the other Wardens, her brothers, had been there. Now they were just ghosts in the corridors.

Closing her eyes, she could swear that she could feel the ghost of a kiss touching her lips, and then her forehead. That was the way Duncan used to greet her when they were alone in their quarters (officially, Duncan's quarters, but everyone knew). In public, just the brief touch of his hand in hers and a quick smile. Creators, how she missed him. She loved Drake with all the broken heart she had, and pieces were slowly returning to their places thanks to the Changeling, but it didn't mean she had forgotten. It was a bittersweet pain now, but it was still there, and she didn't wanted it to fade away.

There was nothing there. All her musical instruments, all of them gifts from the other Wardens and Duncan (because it seemed that they had no better imagination than giving instruments to a bard), were ashes. The few books were ashes as well, and her clothes. She never told anyone but Duncan, but sometimes, in private, she liked to wear dresses and pretend she wasn't a Warden, a soldier, something made to kill foul creatures. Sometimes she liked to pretend she was just a young woman in love.

But everything was gone, and she had nothing but Drake, Bowen, her puppy, her new guitar, some beautiful carvings and the new Grey Wardens. It was a good start. With such little things the biggest legends had been written.

"May I come in?" A soft voice cut in through the quiet, asking gentle to make sure she didn't offend. Macha leaned against the stone doorway of the bog, cold room, watching the elf inside with careful but sympathetic eyes.

The whole thing with Aliatair, and the new Wardens - it was all almost too much for Macha. She wanted to love them all like brothers and sisters - needed to, in some respect, to fill the part of her heart that had died with her family - but it was all still too new. Too different. With Alistair and Nygozy and everyone, she could almost pretend that things were they way they'd been, but she couldn't just forget her mistakes, or the losses that she'd suffered. That they'd all suffered.

But that didn't mean she couldn't try. If she could reach out to any of them, it would be the first bridging of something . . . something that she needed. A battle wasn't the best place for introductions - her mind quickly flashed to bird tattoos and blood and screams - and now didn't seem much better, considering the melancholy that the elegant elf seemed to be in. But she had to try. Maker, she had to try. Even if they hadn't gotten off on the right foot, maybe she could fix it. If there was anything to fix, that was.

Macha didn't like others to know when she felt scared, or vulnerable, or unsure. It was easy to cover it all up with a mask of bravado and humor - the ever pleasant Cousland survivor, the woman who wouldn't let her family name die. The Warden who'd fought to nearly to the death because a world where all of her friends were dead wasn't one she wanted to live in. But she dropped all of that now. Now, maybe she could talk to someone who might understand, if even just a little bit. All that stood in her way was preconceptions and a centuries old Elf-Human hatred, and she could work with that. She wished, for a moment, that she'd brought Argos with her, instead of leaving him to sleep by the fires in the kitchens - he was her support pillar.

Gareth had sighed a lot since the death of Bann Vannick. Granted, no one liked the man but by the Maker, it was unexpected. The responsibilities of being an Arl notwithstanding, Gareth was stressed because he had gotten word from his cousin Fergus that Macha was alive. When he had heard both of them survived the Blight, the amount of relief washing over him threatened to drown him. He had spent the past three weeks looking for his cousin, knowing sooner or later she would end up in Denerim. She was a Grey Warden now, according to Fergus, which meant she likely would be lodging with the other Wardens.

Heading into the Warden Quarters of Denerim's castle, Gareth admired the paintings on the walls of Wardens past. Once, he may have joined the order, but someone had to rule Umoja in his parents' stead while they were ill. And he didn't know the Couslands were survived by his cousins, so he refused the call and went on living as a responsible leader (Hah).

"Maker, was it the right choice?" He asked. As always, the Maker did not answer. It was useless. Oh well. He called out for his cousin a few times while he wandered the halls.

''You may''

Calliara was sitting now just in the same spot, just the middle of the room, elbows resting on her knees. Relaxed, or maybe just defeated, sated of everything. She didn't look the human girl, but her voice was not harsh.

''Sinjan and Drake told me a bit about you, that you travelled with them. I am sorry if I was hard with you before''

Macha hummed, coming into the room fully. For a moment, she stood, looking down at the elf, and the folded her legs under her to sit down, near enough the elf to be friendly, but far enough to avoid being invasive.

For a moment, she was silent, too, glancing down at her folded feet, picking absently at the black fabric of her trousers. It was true that she wanted to be the best companion that she could, but getting to that point would be difficult. She had an entire-life's worth of experience of dealing with people on a political level - she knew how to smile and nod her head and look good for her family, her King, or her Order - but she had only ever been intimate with her family. She liked to think that she'd been a naturally friendly person before - she'd loved to talk to the servants and guards at the castle Cousland - but since then, she'd been more wary of people. She'd made friends with Nygozy and Drake and and Sinjan and Alistair and Sten and Shale and everyone because they'd been forced together. At first, she'd been in a bad place - angry and bitter and mistrustful of anything that so much as moved - but they'd gotten her through it as best they could. They'd stuck by her. They'd always be the most precious people to her, because of that.

But, since then, her life had gone back to politics and polite, empty smiles. She was a figure - one of only two left of the once-great Cousland family, and the only major Grey Warden presence in Denerim, where everyone was still looking to the new King and his former allies. If Nygozy was the Commander of the Grey Wardens, then Macha was their publicist, she thought with a wry amusement. Now, she had a chance to add more people to her new, ragtag family, and she didn't know how to go about it. Political smiles and meaningless conversation wouldn't work, but neither did she have some pressing war at her back where she could forge her friendships through fire and steel. She hadn't realized that she'd started trusting people again until she'd recruited Fremelda, and now, she wanted to trust Nygozy's new Wardens. She wanted to be their friend and ally - someone they could trust, in turn.

She hummed again, looking at the elf. "Think nothing of it. I think I said then - civil conversation rarely comes in the midst of battle. I couldn't hold it against you in any good conscience." She tilted her head, and smiled gently. "Proper introductions might be in order, then - I don't trust what Sinjan might say about me." She chuckled to show that she was only kidding, and then held out her hand in the greeting she remembered from the Clan in the Brecilian Forest. "Andaran atish’an, emma falon. My name is Macha Cousland, the heir of my dead father's land, and a senior Grey Warden." She finished, and then her face heated, and she ducked her head, rubbing at the back of her neck nervously. "I'm sorry if my pronunciation is off. I haven't spoken proper Elvish to anyone in a long time."

Calliara looked at her curiously, and almost smiled with her pronunciation

''Andaran atish'an, Macha Cousland. Human nobility don't mean a thing to me'' The Dalish offered the human a wolvish grin ''I am Calliara Mahariel, more senior Grey Warden than you, and Nygozy's lieutenant''

After one of two seconds doubting, Calliara extended her hand to shook Macha's

''I am sorry I forgot my manners. There are too many ghosts and too many memories for me in this quarters''

Macha smiled, and took Calliara's hand gladly. "I suspect it doesn't. I think, sometimes, I just need to remind myself." Her smile seemed sad, then, but she quickly shook it off, and released Calliara's hand to look about the room. "There are so few of us left - though I've heard there are more in the Anderfels - that I think anyone who survived the Blight is a 'senior'," she mused dryly and with no humor. It was not hard to forget all that they had lost in the war. Looking around the room, she could see how it might hurt Calliara to be here. Sometimes, even, the few times that she had seen Alistair come down here, the memories seemed to haunt his eyes. She regretted, not for the first time, that she had know the other Wardens before Ostagar.

"But," she said, turning her gaze back to the elf, trying to shake the regret from her voice. "I suppose it's not so hard for anyone to be senior over me - I've only been a Warden for little over a year. Sometimes it feels like it's been centuries, though. I should congratulate you, though. Nygozy is a good woman - I respect her very much, and she's done a lot for me. I might even consider her among my closest friends. Being her lieutenant, I only like you more." This time, she managed an honest smile, and felt that she meant it. As much as it pained her to remember everything she'd lost, it was nice to be reminded of the things she'd gained, as well.

"Your manners are fine, my friend. I would not fault you for feeling haunted in a place such as this. I never knew the others, besides Duncan and Alistair and Nygozy's band. Alistair used to talk about them often, though." It was sad, she thought, that Ferelden's new King rarely spoke of those days to her, anymore. But then, he had more thank enough on his shoulders, than to be worrying about his past, as well.

''They were good men'' Calliara whispered, her voice without emotion, not moving at all, and apparently not breathing, but her eyes said it all. ''And they are all gone''

After a few moments she turned her head again to Macha

''I've been a Warden for almost six years. I was sent away two or three months before your recruitment with another two Wardens to deliver a message to Weisshaupt. That's why we didn't die in Ostagar as we should had''

So that girl knew Duncan. It was painful hearing his name, being in his room and looking at the furniture that was not his, but was placed in the same places. It hurt her more than expected, but that pain was welcomed. Calliara didn't thought that Duncan could have told anyone about them though, even Nygozy didn't seem to know. Only Alistair, and because he had been recruited way before the dwarf and the Cousland girl.

''So... you knew Duncan'' Creators, how it hurts

"Six years?" she repeated, voice still quite but obviously surprised. "It must feel like a life time," she murmured, almost as much to herself as to the elf. She paused, and she too looked away before looking back to Calliara. "It seems . . . horrible to say, but you're very luck you weren't there. It's important, I think, for survivors to live, so that they can remember the people who've died. Because, if we don't remember, then those people really will die."

It seemed silly, to say that out loud, but it was something that she had to repeat to herself every day, when she felt that remembering her family, or remembering Ostagar, felt like it would kill her more painfully than any sword might. It seemed an obvious thing to say, but if it might help, then Macha would freely offer it. The stiff, cool composure of the elf - Macha didn't want to see anyone sitting like that.

"I knew him," she answered. "But only a little. Alistair knew him much better than I did. He saved my life. I owed - still owe - everything I have to him. When Howe and his men," she paused, hoping it wasn't too obvious as she swallowed hard, "butchered my family, Duncan was the only thing that stood between me and my family's fate. I know that I didn't listen to him then, but I know now that he stopped me from doing anything . . . stupid, in those two weeks we were on the road to Ostagar." She smiled, the ghost of the memory dancing in front of her eyes like a dream. She didn't remember that time between leaving Highever and going to Ostagar very well. All she could remember was a searing pain - like her heart had been physically torn from her chest - interspersed by unfathomable rage, and Duncan's steady voice had been like a lifeline she'd held onto like a drowning man. "He was a good man. A very good one. I think everyone I know who knew him has said much the same. I regret that I'd had so little time to know him. Sometimes I think I hardly have the right to mourn him at all, when people who knew him better can control themselves much easier."

Calliara nodded silently while listening to her, her fingers touching lightly the ring, Duncan's ring, on her middle finger.

''That's a thing he could have said. That someone has to live to remember the ones that died, so they won't fade away for real. But hurts too much... I am sorry for your family. I really am. It seems that almost everyone among us has tragic pasts...''

And Macha continued talking about Duncan. Calliara's heart ached, but she welcomed the pain and even managed to smile a bit.

''He saved my life too. And Bowen's. And... well, he was an spetialist saving people's lives'' She managed to laugh, her voice almost cracking, and one single tear falling down her cheek

Macha shook her head, letting both of her arms fold neatly in her lap. She wished again that she could have had Argos's body to curl her arms around, like she did when she thought about the past too much.

"You don't have to be sorry. It's something I need to - to handle on my own. I appreciate the thought, however. It's very kind of you, when you seem to have so much more on your mind to worry about." It was true, though, that they all seemed to have gone through their fair share of heartbreaks and hardships. She supposed, with a wry grin, that one didn't so easily go into their line of work unless they had nothing else to lose.

The noblewoman watched as the elf tried to hold herself together, the edges of her forced-calm breaking as a hard laugh and tear slipped past her defenses. "Can you," she started slowly, wondering if this would help the elf, or only make it worse. She swallowed hard, and then looked up from staring at her hands to look at Calliara with a sympathetically hopeful look. "Tell me more about him?" Her breath hitched slightly, and she quickly added, "but, you don't have to, if it would hurt too much to talk about . . . "

Calliara shook her head slowly, letting her eyes wander through the room that once was so known but now was not.

''He was very serious, I bet you knew that. But because he had to. He had a great humour sense, and if was... let's say a bit tipsy, he could tell the best and worse jokes in the whole world'' The Dalish had to smile, even if she was feeling her heart aching painfully ''Would you believe that he liked fishing? Bowen and him could spend hours in a river or a lake just trying to get something. Maybe days. I never understood that. If you want a fish, just get it and don't wait for it to come to you''

She wiped off the tears on her cheeks absently

''He was nice to everyone but hard when he had to be. With the recruits he was severe, true, but... but he acted with them as if he was their father, someone to look up to. Every time one was hurt, or sad, or sick, or needed to talk... he was there. I lost the count of the nights he spent in the infirmary, just sitting by someone's cot so they wouldn't be alone. He was the first to tell you your mistakes, but he was the first also to tell you your achievements''

It made her sad, to see the elf crying while she had no way to help, or offer any comfort. Any sympathy she might give would only be hollow - she didn't know Duncan, and she didn't know Calliara, and it would only make her look insincere. So, instead, she sat in silence, and let the elf pretend whether or not she saw the tears as she told her little story.

"I remember him being like that," she said quietly. "It was only for a bit, but at the Joining . . . I could see from the way he spoke to Alistair that he was both like a father and a friend. It was obvious from the way Alistair spoke about him . . . afterward. But it's good to know he was like that with everyone." She wondered if Nygozy was every daunted by the fact that everyone had loved Duncan so much. Then, so few who remembered him were left, and even if they couldn't help comparing, Nygozy was a brilliant woman on her own. Another in a line of great commanders, rather than a replacement, then.

And at the end of the elf's words, all she could give was an unhelpful "I'm sorry for your loss," because what could she say that would have any more meaning than that? "You sound like a person who knew a lot about him - like someone who loved him a lot. I'm sorry that I don't have any more comfort to give than a lame 'I'm sorry,' when you deserve more than that." She looked towards the fireplace and wished that the hearth was lit - it might have helped to drive some of the cold away from the room.

''It is ok'' Calliara whispered, trying to smile ''I loved him''

They stayed like that for a while, in silence, the Dalish felt better having someone there, even if she barely met Macha some hours before. If Nygozy, Sinjan and Drake trusted her, it was enough, so it meant she could trust the Cousland girl. And knowing that Macha had lost loved ones as well made the Dalish feel somewhat close to the human.

''Everybody knew even if Duncan never said anything. Of course I never said a thing as well. But everyone knew, and when I came back with Bowen from Weisshaupt, and I spoke to Alistair, and I saw some people that knew the Wardens here before Loghain's betrayal and all that happened... And they all were looking at me with pity in their eyes, and I just couldn't stand it... It was... it was like being certain that he was gone. That he is truly gone... And I couldn't tell him good bye...''

Calliara hid her face in her knees, bracing herself on the floor

''He promised me he would be waiting for my return... He promised''

Macha kept quiet becuase, really, what did you say to someone after something like that? She had never loved someone that deeply outside of her family, and even though she knew that the two loves were just as powerful, they were still different. You family would always wait for you - it took a special sort of lover to promise to wait, no matter what. But Macha knew the pain of I should have been there to save them or die with them very well, and that, at least was something she could honestly sympathize with.

She placed her hands on the cold floor, and quietly pushed herself just a little closer to the grieving elf. Without knowing if it was needed or wanted, she raised her hand and placed it gently on the shaking shoulder, giving whatever comfort she was able. Macha didn't like it when people watched her cry - she couldn't imagine that the elf would like it much, either. But she was here, now, and Andraste damn her if she was going to let someone think they were completely alone in a thing like this. Calliara was her ally, and soon, Macha hoped, she might even be her friend. And friendship was a two-way road.

"I thought," she started slowly, "that my brother was dead for a long time. They'd told me he'd arrived at Ostagar safely but - well, who could have survived that? And all I could ever think to myself was 'he was there, in the Wilds, and I didn't go to see him before the battle started.' I didn't get to tell him that his wife and little child had been murdered by someone we had thought our friend. Sometimes I even thought that it might be better if he'd died not knowing, but it didn't make me feel any better." She paused, wanting to make sure she worded herself right - so often, she simply started rambling about the past, but that wouldn't do Calliara any good now. "But I'd thought he'd died without me ever telling him how much I loved him - I'd had that, at least, with my parents. But then, I remembered that there's something strange, about the people who love people - they love you even if you're not there. And I learned well enough that warriors expect to die every time they brandish their swords. 'Goodbye' is always on their mind. I think - I think Duncan tried to keep his promise, but I know that, for him at least, you'd already said 'Goodbye,' even if you thought you might be saying 'Hello' again when you got back. He died a hero, and he died knowing that you loved him. For a Warden, I can't imagine a death more beautiful than that. It's only hard for those of us left behind to see it that way."

Gareth had heard voices and crying nearby while looking for his cousin as he patrolled the halls. He followed the voices and sure enough came to a door. Without really knocking he decided to sneak in and see who was there. Opening the door ever so quietly, he tip toed in and, crouching down, snuck up behind the two women there. Then he placed his hands on his hips and stood up to his full height with his winning grin on his face. "Did someone order a man with extra sexiness on the side!?" He shouted in a stereotypical heroic voice. Snapping his fingers, he released a little bit of confetti from the pod he just broke via snapping.

"Gareth Feres-Cousland, at your service, ladies!"

Calliara stood up amazingly fast for someone that had been crying silently while sitting on the floor. Not in a million years would she let anyone unknown see her that way.

And then she saw the confetti, and frozed, her skinning knife already in her hand

''What the...??''

Macha was up, dagger drawn, not a moment after Calliara, as soon as the voice reached her ears. She didn't speak, barely constraining an instinctive growl, and then froze as the words finally settled in her mind, and the figure in front of her took shape in her eyes besides 'surprise figure, possible enemy, be ready to attack.' And then, like Calliara, her entire body froze, but for an entirely different reason.

For a moment, all the woman could do was stare. But - but how?! How was this possible? Her mind instinctively went to all of the most outlandish answers it could, ignoring what must have been the much simpler truth. No - it was a demon, possessing a body. Some sort of illusion, or magic. But the confetti, the bravado that fell on deaf ears - who could be so elaborate? It could only be him.

"Gareth?" She finally choked out, her voice so contorted with the tightness in her throat that the name was barely a squeak. She made no show of clearing her throat, but her next words came out stronger and more sure, though nowhere near less confused. "What in Andraste's name are you doing here?!" Besides the obvious - you should be dead, I'd given up on you, you should be in Umoja - what on the Maker's green earth was he doing here in the Grey Warden barracks?

Gareth's facial expression comically melted when he saw knives pointed at him, and when he saw one of the women was his cousin, Macha, he beamed again. "We have got to stop meeting like this, cousin." He said indignantly. "I mean, seriously; how insecure must you be to point a knife at someone unarmed and this blindingly handsome?" It seemed Gareth was more or less the same as he used to be before the massacre at Highever. While he was quite jovial on the outside, his eyes showed a hidden maturity to them since they last met. Hell, he saw Macha was even more mature now.

"What in Andraste's name are you doing here?!" Macha demanded. The Arl of Umoja frowned. "Looking for you, of course... I heard you were in Denerim. Even that you were at that party last week where Bann Vannick was killed." He said, dropping his hands, and his face turning serious. "Fergus told me everything." He said with a sad glint in those dark gray eyes of his.

Calliara was furious. Furious for being caught being weak, crying and opening her heart to a Warden sister.

Furious because that room was hers and was full of memories, and it wasn't a party hall, damnit!

''Get out of here'' The Dalish snarled. Turning her head to a side she looked at Macha ''I give you my thanks for listening to me. You don't realize how much I appreciate it and I'd like to speak with you more. But if this is indeed your cousin, get him out of here before I kick him out''

Macha nodded, straightening as she looked sharply at Gareth, and then turned a softer gaze towards Calliara. "Of course. Speaking to you meant more to me than you might think. Give me a moment to deal with this one." Without another word, Macha strode forward, grabbing Gareth's arm, never breaking stride as she all-but dragged him out of the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind her. When she was finally in the hall with Gareth, she dropped his arm and cross her hands over her chest, raising an eyebrow as she did.

"Gareth, for someone who's so 'attuned to what women want' you should probably learn that a woman least wants to be hit on when she's crying. Especially when she's a woman who can gut you in under a second." She frowned, then sighed, and when she picked her head back up, she was smiling, her eyes a little brighter as the welled slightly.

"I can't believe you survived. I mean - Fergus had said he thought as much, but I haven't written him any letters lately, and I couldn't know . . . It's just very good to see you. Are you well? How is Aunt Jinian? Is the Arling under good command?" The questions spilled forth, then, but she kept her voice under control - it would do no good to become over emotional. She wanted to make sure Calliara was still well - she'd reacted badly to Gareth's surprise visit - but Gareth was family (though Calliara and the Wardens were also her family, now), and she'd thought him dead for a very long time. She wanted to at least make sure he was alright before she slapped up upside the head, intent on teaching him how to treat a lady.

He lifted an eyebrow at the hostility shown to him. And before he could say anything he was forcibly dragged out by his cousin, who then started to grill him with question after question. He placed a finger to her lips first. "One thing at a time, cousin. You should know me by now. I can't stand seeing a woman cry. I have to go cheer them up. It used to work on you when you were sad. Worked on a few serving girls as well. Am I well? As well as can be, all things considered. I did almost get gutted by two beautiful women, you know. Serves me right for trying to lighten the mood." At the mention of his mother, Jinian, a lump rose in Gareth's throat and he hesitated in speaking for a moment. When he did speak it was a hoarse whisper. "Dead. She died of shock hearing what happened at Highever. She heard the news and then... just..." He looked away, composing himself. "The scream she let out... Oh Maker, it still rings in my ears. As for the Arling... I am the Arl now. Father has only gotten worse. Mother's death he took badly.

"I started by organizing a rebuilding effort of Highever Castle while you and Fergus were busy with the Blight." His fists clenched. "I wish I was there, to see you kill that traitorous bastard Howe."

It was Macha's turn for a lump to rise in her throat, and her fists clenched so tightly that she was certain they began bleeding. It didn't matter - the pain in her hands was good for forcing the anger back down so that it didn't come spilling out of her. Aunt Jinian . . . another thing Howe had taken from her, it seemed. She couldn't even be happy that Gareth had fixed up Highever, or had become Arl in his own right (even though that spoke ill of her Uncle).

"I didn't," she said harshly, more to herself than to Gareth. "I wasn't there to kill him. I was out of line - I nearly cost my friends their lives for my arrogance and hatred. In the end, I decided it would be best if I left. Howe was killed by Nygozy - I'll never be able to thank her enough. My only consolation was that I was at least able to redeem myself during the fight in Denerim. I would have been shamed forever if I'd let Howe's memory destroy my future as a Warden and soldier." She had always been ashamed that Howe hadn't died, looking at her with fear in his eyes. But she'd gone crazy with the idea of killing him, and no matter what, her revenge was nothing compared to the quest to kill the Archdemon. It had been the right thing for her to to, to go to Orlais to clear her head. It wasn't something she would apologize for. Fergus had understood that she hadn't been able to do it - he'd just been glad that she'd survived, and that Howe was dead, no matter what way. She bit her lip, hoping that Gareth wouldn't think she was weak, or that she'd failed for not being the one to kill that traitorous wretch.

Gareth closed his eyes, listening to Macha's story. He had been hoping she was the one who ended the man who betrayed their family, but apparently that was not so. Still, he could tell she felt like the family was avenged and that was enough for him. Without saying anything else, he pulled her into a hug. It had been a very long time since they last saw each other. Two years of little to no word.

Macha clutched Gareth to her, smiling to herself as a comfortable feeling sunk in. Here was her family, and he was safe and the same as ever. Even if he had the same haunted look in the back of his eyes that she saw in her own every time she looked in a mirror, he still acted like the Gareth she'd known all her life, and that, more than anything, was comforting. Like a piece of home that she's thought she'd lost had come back to her.

"Gareth," she said as she pulled back, laying a friendly hand on his shoulder. "I don't even know what to say. It's been so long - so much has happened. It don't even feel like the same person, anymore. Listen," she paused, looking back to the room she'd dragged him out of a moment before. "Let me talk to Calliara now. Why don't we get drinks at the Gnawed Noble tonight, and we can talk more freely." She left it off like a question, but hoped that he'd agree. Now was not a time where she could devote the emotion she needed in talking to Gareth about everything that had happened. It had been a long two years, and it would take a long night to tell all about it.