The first glass burned. It always did, even when you were used to it, and Marken was far from used to it. But, the burn was good. It distracted him from the day, all of the things that had happened. The murder of a guard, the one he'd invited to 'guard' his wedding, Ellas attempted kidnapping, his own locking in a cell... It all swirled around him, as he tried to drink it away. A second glass followed, though he couldn't drink all of it. The burning didn't diminish, and he was glad for it. His only companions were the crackling of flames from the fireplace of his sitting room, and the clinking of ice against glass as he drank his rum.

He heard the faint knocking, Ellas soft voice calling out to him. His name, stuttered out. He considered not answered, telling her to leave him alone, to get the hell away from him. It had hurt when she'd screamed at him, for defending himself, defending her. Like he wanted to kill her, like he enjoyed it. That had hurt the worst, how she just assumed he had the worst intentions in mind... How she thought an assassins life was worth his own.

But, in the end, he wanted to resolve this. He refused to disallow her the trust he'd given her in the past, refused the opportunity to have a companion who could speak to him, could drink with him. He refused to have his wife hate him without reason. Standing up, he took one last swig of the rum, before replacing the glass on its coaster. Liquid courage, alcohol was often called. They weren't wrong, that much was certain, as his inhibitions were burned away. A shaky hand cracked open the door, where he looked at Ella. His eyes were glazed over, though it was obvious he hadn't been crying or anything of the sort. he was just... It was hard to describe what he was. "Come in..." He sounded half-hearted in it, and his voice conveyed his hurt, though he opened the door wide enough for her to enter, waving his arm for her to sit in a chair beside his.