Scrounging for coin was no longer something that was necessary in Garrett’s day to day activities. So perhaps, his presence in The Hanged Man should have dissipated over the years as well, after returning from the Deep Roads a rich man. But there was just something about the place he couldn’t shake. Having spent years in its presence before he could afford anything better, the swill there had a welcoming taste, despite how horrible it was, and any drink that was actually of substance made him dizzy and dulled his senses far too much. Garrett was equally loathed and appreciated at this point of his stint in Kirkwall that had turned permanent, and he decided it was better to always watch his back.
Someone slid next to him, and it would have been applicable to be wary of such—seeing as most of the people in the tavern were looking to start a fight. But the armor the man wore bode Garrett some dubiousness to his usual suspicion. He wouldn’t have recognized the crest if he hadn’t seen it before—nearly three years ago, the last time that he’d seen his sister before she’d been wrenched from his grasp by that very crest, never to return. Grey Warden. A small sliver of hope rose in his chest, and Garrett wondered for a moment if he would be able to ask questions about his sister—perhaps see how she was fitting in, if she was liking it, if she was…. happy. Why would she be? She had no choice in the matter of her life or death; it’d been a situation of circumstance, nothing more.
It would always haunt him at night, how things could have gone differently, better or worse. It didn’t matter that it was finished, because at the rate he toiled over those past events, his knuckles would start to show blood sooner or later.
The mention of Denerim brought some interest. ”Heh,” Garrett put his mouth to the edge of his mug and drank deeply before answering. ”I hardly remember it. Not sure if I blame this stuff or all of the Darkspawn that were far more annoying than any pickpocket.” A slight nod of affirmation, and then, ”I’m from Lothering myself. Nice little place. Quiet. At least… it was. After a while, even the creatures that lived there started to go crazy. I suppose it was only a matter of time before everyone in the town did as well.”
Another side glance at the armor, and then he decided not to question the fellow Fereldan on any potential relationship to his sister. Perhaps the answer would be a painful one, and he wasn’t in the mood to feel anything but the burn of alcohol at his throat and a warmth in his stomach tonight. Another swig was taken, a grimace, and a stifling of a burp. ”Just about every day I’m here, yeah. What, uh….” a vague gesture to the crest that made the bloke stick out like a sore thumb in the middle of a tavern filled with mostly tattered rags (and himself, he supposed), “…brings you to these parts? Please don’t tell me I’ve got to uproot again. Just as I was starting to get used to the smell…”