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The dining hall was alight with the fireplace’s homey aura. The Lighthouse’s weary occupants gathered again for what would surely be one of the final times they’d all find themselves under the same roof. Drinks were flowing and all were enjoying one another’s company; however the conversation amongst the group that’d splintered off near the pantry had abruptly switched to a topic that seemed to perturb Altirez.
“Got this one from a charging ogre, would’ve gutted me if I hadn’t jumped out of its path at the last moment.” Davrin gestured to a large scar that left a notch in his eyebrow. “Bet it makes the other Darkspawn think twice before trying the same though.”
“Why’s that?” Taash leaned forward, enjoying the tale.
“Well, I made it out with this. The ogre ended up mounted on a wall in some dusty Weisshaupt study.” Davrin took a well-earned swig from his tankard, and next the attention fell on Lucanis.
“Alright Lucanis…” Davrin began with an intrigued smirk. “Noticed that burn on your arm a few times now. What’s the story?”
“This was a Venatori parting gift from years ago.” Lucanis rotated his forearm, sleeve pulled back to reveal the scar in full: a patch of tightened, burned skin coiled its way from his wrist to elbow. “I guess the target knew they were done for as I cornered them. They’d cast a ward on themself. On themself! Whole body burst into flames as I landed the killing blow.”
“Thats Venatori for you— petty, down to the last breath.” Davrin shook his head, chuckling.
“Hey, you got em’ in the end.” Taash encouraged.
“Eh, they still got the last laugh.” Lucanis emptied the remainder of his mug. “One of my favorite coats got completely ruined.”
The pair’s attention then darted to Taash. They smirked, revelling their opportunity to reveal the tale of one of their prized battle wounds.
“…Do we even need to ask?” Lucanis gestured for them to begin talking.
“… What?”
“Really, Taash?” Davrin pointed upward toward the side of his head.
“Oh. Seriously?” Taash clued in that the pair were fixated on their broken horn. “That doesn’t even break my top five scar stories!”
Enjoying the company, but noticing that Bellara had caught onto him stirring in his seat and fidgeting with his tankard, Altirez grew increasingly uncomfortable. Her reassuring palm resting on his knee did little to quell the anxiety broiling within him, though he appreciated the gesture all the same.
“Fine.” With a smirking eye roll, Taash began describing the dragon hunt that took their horn. “Was climbing onto the back of a Stormrider after she’d electrified the ground we were fighting on. ‘Slammed into the cliffside with me on her back before The Lords’ could bring her down: and goodbye horn.” They raised their tankard and drank to the victory.
As the spotlight rounded the circle, it now fell on Altirez to reveal the story of a scar. When the group’s eyes landed on him, he responded by promptly rising from his seat. “I’m going to grab another bottle, anyone need anything?”
For a moment, the group shared some quick wayward glances before the tension was broken by Altirez. “Lucanis, coffee sufficiently spiked? Davrin, how about some Gingerwort and Truffle tea?”
“Only time I’ve been curious to try a tea.” Lucanis interjected.
“Wonder if Emmerich brought any of those Spirit Vapours he told us about with him.” Davrin struggled out between stifled snickering.
The group broke out into a cacophony of laughter. Smiling warmly, Altirez took his leave into the courtyard. As the laughter settled, their attention now fell on Bellara.
“I’m gonna, um, help. With the… bottle.” She paused awkwardly before scooting her seat back and trailing Altirez out of the room.
When Bellara caught up to him, Altirez was already halfway down the hall to the room they’d renovated into their cellar.
“Hey.” She called out as she hurried to his side. “Everything okay?”
Altirez met her concern with a smile he couldn’t help but let slip. “Yes.” The pair entered the small room, letting the large circular door shut behind them.
“I’ll rejoin everyone in a moment. Just needed a minute.” He leaned forward against a display case housing several bottles of wines and spirits.
“Okay. Sure.” Bellara approached from behind, putting a hand on Altirez’ shoulder. “I’m here if anything’s bothering you.”
He turned to meet Bellara’s gaze and pulled her in close. “Thank you. I’m alright, though. Promise.” He leaned in and their lips met, she melted into him as the pair leaned back against the wooden case causing bottles to rattle against one another.
“Just didn’t feel like explaining this.” He gestured to the scar snaking from his upper lip and connecting to the top of his ear. “Not exactly a story that fit the atmosphere.”
“You don’t need to justify anything, Altirez.” She grasped his hand and pulled it away from the scar, placing his palm on her chest. “It’s your past, your story to or not to tell.”
After a few more tender moments, the pair slowly separated. “Guess we should get back with that bottle before they send a search party.”
Rejoining the revelry, bottle in hand, the group had thankfully moved on from their sharing circle. A tender evening of cherished company was shared by all, eventually culminating in the party electing to retire to their prior quarters: for old time’s sake.
As the pair readied their bed in the aquarium room, a feeling of unease hung over Altirez. He knew Bellara sensed it too, but withheld her concerns for fear of prying.
“Do you want to hear the story?” Altirez blurted out as she let her hair down and crawled into the sheets.
Bellara paused, eyes darting sideways toward Altirez, still standing by his side of the bed. “If you want to talk about it, of course— but there’s absolutely no pressure to share if you don’t.”
“I do.” He basked in the comforting aura, both from her presence and the drink warming his veins. “I want to be a completely open book with you, Bellara.” He sat on the edge of the mattress. She slid closer as he began.
“I think I was… about seven or eight. So she would’ve been eleven or twelve.” He paused for a moment in contemplation. “Doesn’t matter.”
A silence befell the room for a moment before Altirez mustered the courage to continue.
“I woke up one night to my sister Orena kneeling atop me, carving into my face with a pair of garden shears. Said she was trying to give me ‘elf markings’.”
Bellara instinctively clasped her hand over her mouth, muting a quick gasp.
“When I started screaming, the first person to barge into the room was Esaviun, a slave who tended the Estate. He’d been with Charon and Iriel for years. He pulled her off of me. That’s all he did— didn’t strike, or subdue or scold her in any way, just pulled her off of me. Then Charon and Iriel entered the room, both bolting past me.
To this day I’ve never seen my father move like that: not his usual composed, confident stride. Not the precise, calculated strike he’d drilled into me during our training. He launched himself at Esaviun in a rage-drunken stupor. I remember the look in his eyes, glazed over and feral as he grasped the man’s neck and slammed him against the back wall.
‘If you ever deign to lay a hand on my child again, I’ll…’ He was choking him, both arms locked straight and his own face turning red with the effort. It wasn’t until my mother let out a startled shriek once she’d noticed me, after tending to Orena, that he was snapped from his trance.
When he turned and saw me, the first time he’d looked at me since entering the room, I barely recognized him. The look of deflating rage, shame and concern blended into an alien expression I never could’ve pictured on my father’s face until that moment. I remember them rushing me to another slave outside the estate that could tend to the wound until proper medical attention arrived. I remember them arguing before holding me down on a table while a woman I didn’t recognize leaned over me, sewing my cheek shut.”
Remembering where he was, he pulled himself from the grips of the memory and shook the scene from his head. Glancing back at Bellara over his shoulder, he noticed tears welling in her eyes.
“Sorry. That was… a lot.” He began to feel ashamed for having shared, until he felt her arms wrap around him from behind, and her chin rest on his shoulder.
“Don’t apologize… It’s just awful to imagine you going through that. I’m so sorry.”
“The worst part is,” Now, he too had tears streaking down his face. “I feel like I failed her. I never got to fix things. My father, hell, even Iriel came around eventually. But Orena fell in with the Venatori…“
Altirez took a moment to compose himself. “… She died with all of that hate and malice in her heart. I couldn’t break through to save the person beneath it all. Or maybe I didn’t try hard enough, gave up too easy—“
“No. That’s not on you, Altirez. It’s not your responsibility to ‘fix’ anyone.”
“I know. I just really hoped I could get her to see the light, too.”
He slumped back down onto his pillow, and was quickly joined by Bellara wriggling in close beside him. “Thank you, for listening. I just had to get it off my chest once I’d brought it up.”
“Of course. I know you’d do the same for me.” She kissed his cheek and rested her head on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat until the pair relinquished themselves to sleep.
