This celebration felt like a home he'd never known.
He wished Aydra had been able to experience it.
He could see how she would have danced and laughed, changing partners with the organized jig they were doing on the dance floor. How she would have propped her feet on the tables or sat on the stone banister and smoked with each of them while she listened to their stories. He imagined Draven would have been with her and showed her around to his friends and laughed at her mingling in the dance until she pointed to him and urged him to join her.
His chest knotted as he thought of how these people would have bowed to her without thinking twice about it. How she could have walked into that Temple with nothing more than her confidence and a smile, and they'd have given her anything she wanted. The respect she commanded without ever asking or forcing it on someone was something he had always been envious of.
Dorian didn't realize he'd stopped walking until Corbin touched his shoulder and asked if he was okay. Dorian inhaled sharply and nodded.
Corbin led them through the crowd towards the tavern. Reverie was stopped on the way by a Blackhand asking her to dance. Dorian thought for sure she would have turned him down, told him she didn't do such things, but Reverie smiled at the man and took his hand.
Dorian wanted to punch a wall.
Corbin laughed at his side, having apparently seen the reaction, and Dorian scowled at him.
The tavern was filled with a ruckus that made him forget about his jealousy. Amber light filing around the great bar, Blackhands were settled at all manner of tables, clanking their drinks together and pouring them back. Their drinking games were well underway.
Dorian couldn't help the smile on his face.
Corbin clapped his shoulder firmly, to which Dorian winced, but pushed away. "Looks like you're being summoned," he said in his ear.
Dorian followed his upwards nod to the back corner of the room where a round table of Blackhands sat, laughter and high clanks of mead mugs sounding. The haze of herb filled Dorian's nostrils, and he saw then why Corbin had signaled him to that table.
Hagen was sitting there, his hand thrown in the air and motioning the two to sit.
"I'll grab the drinks," Corbin told him.
"Here—“ Dorian pulled in his pocket for a few golds and gave them to his Second. "Have him keep them coming."
Corbin nodded, and Dorian left him to filter through the crowd to Hagen and his friends. Hagen stood upon his reaching them and gave him a great hug.
"About time you rose from the dead," Hagen said gruffly, clapping him on his back and making Dorian stifle his wince. "I was beginning to think that woman of yours had poisoned and chopped you into pieces, mate."
Dorian forced a smirk. "Not yet." His gaze flickered around the table then, and Hagen shook his shoulders.
"You remember everyone?—“ Hagen threw his hand out as though he were showing off the table and then began to point “—Falke, Damien, Dag—“ but the noise of booming laughter drowned out Hagen's voice, and Dorian strained to hear the rest of the names.
"OI!" Dag shouted as he rose from the table. "Your High Elder's trying to introduce you, idiots," he said to the ones who hadn't shut up.
The others muffled their laughter behind their hands and turned in Hagen and Dorian's direction. Hagen gave Dag an upwards nod. "Thanks," he said, a noticeable crack in his amused voice. Dorian resisted the urge to laugh as Dag sat back down. One of the others said something under their breath, and Dag jumped mockingly at them, to which the man flinched and spilled his drink on his partner.
Hagen chuckled under his breath and squeezed Dorian's shoulder. He continued with the names, none of which Dorian would remember until finally, he returned to Katla sitting at Hagen's side. She had pressed up to the table as Hagen spoke.
"You're still alive," Katla said to him.
Hagen pulled out the chair for Dorian, and Dorian sat. "For now," he replied.
Corbin joined them then, along with the bartender who had brought another round for the entire table. Dorian settled back and merely listened to the Blackhands talk, hearing them contradict one another with tales and stories of the week's training battles. Katla was apparently very proud of the recruits she had been working with. So much so that when Damien tried to interject his own version of the story, Katla sat up and cut him off.
"I am much better suited to tell that story," Katla countered, an obvious swim of the drink in her. She sat up in her chair.
"Here we go," Hagen muttered playfully.
"Oi! Smythies—“ Dag called out, raising and snapping his fingers. "Another round. Kat's got a story for us."
A razor blade whipped from Katla's side and cut the air in Dag's direction. It landed in the wood of his cup just as Dag had pressed it to his lips. Mead spewed over Dag's clothing, making him bolt out of his seat. But a glare did not spread on his face, and instead, a smirk rose.
No one seemed to think this out of the ordinary.
