Yet Broken Still You Breathe

Chapter 10

"Everything I want to say/I swallow." - Lyric Hunter

Trigger warning: Brief mention of past child abuse

The flickering light from the torches cast eerie shadows on the tidied hallway, giving it an otherworldly feeling. Gwen stood outside Alistair's door, her knuckles frozen in mid-air as she hesitated to knock. Her stomach churned with nerves - would he be angry with her for intruding on his personal space, or would he see her late-night visit as presumptuous? With a deep breath, she reminded herself that it was too late to turn back now. She'd already come all this way. As she lifted her hand to knock, her mind raced with thoughts of what could await her behind the closed door. Would he even be in his room, or had he gone elsewhere? Or perhaps he was already fast asleep, known for his uncanny ability to drift off the moment his head hit the pillow. The quietness of the hallway only added to the tense atmosphere, making every sound seem amplified and every step feel like an intrusion.

The wooden door groaned in protest as her knuckles rapped against it, the sound muffled yet insistent. It echoed down the hall, like a haunting call to attention. The silence seemed to swallow up the noise, making it seem all the louder. The tap-tap-tap of her knocks was accompanied by a slight creaking, as if the old door were vibrating alongside her fist.

At first, there was no noise from in his room and Gwen wondered if she'd somehow manifested her wishes to avoid her anxieties into the universe. But she should know better. If there was something she wished for, the Gods would ensure she never got it. She wasn't sure what it was about travelling with this party that had given her that spark of hope that had long since been snuffed out, but it was starting to become a nuisance.

"It's open." Alistair's voice rang, though cheerful in its intonation, upon closer listening, there was a forced quality to it, a hint of melancholy lingering underneath the feigned enthusiasm. The tone wavered and cracked in places, betraying the exhaustion and disappointment that Alistair was trying so hard to hide. It was like a thin veil, barely masking the true emotions lurking beneath.

Gwen cursed the Gods, at this point, her luck couldn't possibly get any worse. She tacked on a quick curse for making Alistair feel so... dejected. Maker knew he did not deserve this.

Her fingers fidgeted with a stray string on her sleeve, the thin thread catching on her skin as she nervously debated whether to leave and pretend like she had never been there. But it was too late now, the weight of her guilt pulling her back towards the door. With a deep breath, she straightened her posture, smoothed out her rumpled clothes, and made sure her bandana was firmly in place. Slowly, she reached for the doorknob and turned it, her eyes adjusting the the change in lighting.

The dimly lit room was filled with the warm glow of two flickering candles. One stood tall on the dresser, casting shadows on the peeling wallpaper, while the other sat precariously on a rickety table next to the bed shoved into the corner of the room. The space was cramped, barely able to accommodate the stand where Alistair had haphazardly placed his polished armour. Despite his meticulous care for it, it now appeared out of place and neglected in this small and dingy room. As she entered the doorway, Alistair perked up at the sight of her figure illuminated by the torchlight from the hallway. He quickly put on a forced smile, but she could see that it did not reach his eyes, which seemed clouded with exhaustion and weariness.

"Gwen! To what do I owe the pleasure?" He exclaimed cheerily, moving as if to stand but stopped when she raised her hand, signalling for him to stay put, looking confused but curious about her presence.

"You looked..." Gwen cocked her head to the side, her eyes narrowing as she examined him and his smile turned nervous as though he was worried he had done something to upset her. "Sad." She finished lamely.