Shaw was... different in Denerim. It was subtle at first. He took point as soon as they were within ten leagues. He pointed out landmarks, then told their stories. Then his postured changed- his chest puffed out a bit more, his scowl softened by degrees.
By the time they made it in through the gates, he was near unrecognizable as the sullen Warden who would glare at anything that was unfortunately enough to get his attention. There was some discussion, started by Shaw, about how to handle it if he was recognized. “I’ll need you all to just let me handle it.”
“Sh-shaw?!” One of the guards recognized him from his youth, another child of the gutter who took up arms to find a better place. “Linshaw Frain!” He left his post and scampered to stand before the warrior.
“Pick yer jaw off the ground, Ric, yer lettin’ bugs in.” Accent thick as anyone had ever heard and smiling He uncrossed his arms and grasped the man by the shoulders. “Look at you! A proper uniform, eh? One that almost fits, too. Guess they’re lettin’ anyone in these days. Dark times indeed if Arseface Ulric bears the heraldry.” Ulric laughed and grasped Shaw by the forearms.
“Hey, that’s Corporal Arseface to you.” A laugh from Shaw- still harsh and underused, but less bitter than normal. “They, uh, sent your likeness around. Said you’re a traitor.”
Attention was being garnered by the rest of the guards, some taking a step closer. Shaw looked over Ric’s shoulder and shot them an icy look of warning. They stopped dead in their tracks. “Aye, that’s what they say.” He kept a steady grip on Ric’s shoulders. Ric, for his part, knew that look. He pat Shaw’s forearm with his hand.
The rest of Shaw’s party began to grow uneasy. He made them swear to trust him but- -
“Well, I don’t care a nug what they say. I knew you would never betray good King Cailan, and certainly not the men you served with in the army.” Ric looked over Shaw’s shoulder to the rest of the party, gave them his least nervous smile.
“Is this him? The one you grew up with?” A younger guard- barely more than a child- did not heed Shaw’s warning glare. He stepped forward and rested his hand on his pommel, nervous.
“Aye, boy, I am, but if you want to keep that hand, I’d take it off the sword.” Slow and low, the color draining from the boy’s face. Shaw focused all of his intensity on the upstart, but Ulric stepped in.
“He’s right. We’re standing down.” Ulric took a step back and Shaw’s hands fell. He turned to his men. “These men will go unaccosted through the city. I’ll send word to the others- - -”
“But ser!” Bold, for a runt. Shaw saw potential in the young guard, but that would have to wait until after the Blight, if any of them survived. “We have six guards here, we could- - -”
“I saw this man take down a dozen thugs when he was younger than you, and you are no where near the fighter he was back then. Stand down.” Ulric turned to face Shaw once more. “You’ll be fine in the city, the older guards know the Wardens wouldn’t have turned.”
“Always were sweet on me.” Shaw’s arms were crossed again, his smirk enough to make Ulric roll his eyes.
“I’ll meet you at the Gnawed Noble after sundown. Try not to get into too much trouble before then.”
“Good to see you are stupid as ever, if you think that’s possible.”
“Prick.”
“Arseface.”
It was much the same inside the city. Half the city remembered him, it seemed. None gave them trouble, except for the odd veteran of Ostagar too blinded by Loghain’s legend to see what was really happening. No matter. They were dispatched easly enough.
The Wardens avoided the main streets- and a number of alleys. He spoke more, laughed more. Their business took no time at all with him guiding, but as the sun sank- -
“I’m heading to the tavern. Don’t wait up for me.” Unlike the stoic bruiser, who rarely drank at all other times and generally disliked crowded rooms- especially when the patrons were wont to be belligerent.
Some of them chose to join him, though he gave them fair warning that he and Ric would mostly be talking about old days. ( Shaw so rarely talked about anything that wasn’t relevant to what needed to be done at that moment- a chance to see more of his past was probably exciting. )
“Edwina, love, you look as sharp as the day I left.” Smiling, a rare one that showed glimmers of teeth.
“Linshaw Frain! Maker’s breath, you are an image of your father. I heard you died at Ostagar.” The tavern owner did not look shocked to see him.
“You also heard I entered the city at the south gate this morning at ten bells. Come off it.”
“As handsome as your father, but as mouthy as your mother, I see.” She crossed her arms and huffed, but turned her cheek to Shaw. He gave her a quick peck below her rouge.
It was the first good night since Ostagar, though Shaw felt like he had undergone the Joining once more when he woke up the next afternoon. ( His good humor did not last long after they left the city once more, though he made no mention of being homesick. )
