A Favour for a Favour, a Drunks Edition

Garryn gave a noncommittal shrug, a small smile playing on his lips. Sometimes, you need to escape the stuffiness of the palace, even if it's just to a bustling tavern. It's a nice change of pace. He took another sip of his drink, his gaze meeting Aoife's, it was clear he was holding back, that there was more on his mind than the usual. "At least, that’s what I tell myself."

But to be honest, Garryn continued, his gaze momentarily shifting to the drink in his hand, it's not easy being a king. There's a weight to it, a responsibility that can be...overwhelming at times. He was the eldest son of Bhelen, he always knew he’d be king some day, but what he never planned on was witnessing his father die while they evacuated all their people out of Orzammar and onto the surface. Most days he didn’t feel like anything, other days he felt like a failure, he’d never coveted his father’s title, but he’d never expected to have it forced on him as young as he was when the shit had hit the proverbial fan.