A/N: I would really like a few opinions on this, even just one or two, with criticism very welcome! It'll help me decide whether I want to continue this, leave it as a oneshot or to simply delete it.
It is the wolf that sees her fall first. They are fighting off another batch of slavers come to get them, come to leash them and drag them snarling and screaming like a rabid beast back to Minrathas. The rogue slaver managed to sneak by them in the midst of battle to get behind her and hilt his daggers into her back. A choked sound escaped her then, her summoning of the storms interrupted, leaving behind burning ozone that made him wrinkle his nose and turn -
She falls, his precious mage, his mate, and the daggers slip from her body with a loud squelch.
He is hysterical - the man stuck behind the wolf, screaming, "No, NO! Ida, please!" It brings the wolf to the forefront, snarling, biting back the anguished howl that wants to echo the man. "No! I will not allow it!" Instead, the beast bares his teeth as he swiftly advances. The rogue seems to see that his act has the worst attention on him, now, and he is a target of more than a simple elf. The wolf shifts behind the body's thin-pupiled eyes, the lyrium markings glowing brighter and brighter as animal and man converge in this single goal.
Slavers scatter at the sight, leaving their comrade, tripping and stumbling, behind. Terrified, the rogue trembles with the stink of fear, and the wolf smiles with their lips - all sharp teeth and malice and bloodlust, knowing what the slaver sees reflected in the green of their irises. You are dead.
They pin the other down with a sharp thrust of their blade (the blade that she gave them), using the weight of it and their body to keep him there, wriggling in his pain like a caught fish. Time is taken to slowly fade both their sharp, gauntleted hands into the rogue's chest, scraping and sheering their way past ribs and lungs and to his heart. It beats, frantic and gasping, in their metal claws, and then seizes when they slowly slide it through his body. The wolf makes sure that the organ is seen by their prey - and it is - before he crushes it in their hands, and the light in the other's eyes dies.
Behind them they can feel the cool mist of healing magic, and they turn, and Danger is bent over her prone form, frenzied pleadings falling from his lips, louder and more desperate no, please no as the precious seconds pass. The man within flinches at the echo of his own words from the abomination, but the wolf has eyes only for her, and the sudden rise of her chest. He can hear the stuttering of her heartbeat from where he is and she is not dead.
She is not dead.
And suddenly they are at her side, curled around her, and the wolf is whining for her, using their lips, begging Danger (keep going, mage, keep going, do not stop!) in a babble of Arcanum and Common. The mage does not pause, his thin hands shaking as he poured all he could into waves beneath her skin, healing any and all wounds she has.
The minutes are silent aside from the wolf's entreaties and her unsteady but stubborn heartbeat, before the mage lets out a hard breath that hissed with frustration. Somehow that is the signal for the Wench to tip his head back by mere inches to pour a bitter solution of lyrium down his throat. The healing is renewed, stronger than when he started, and they are grateful even though the bitter magic is washing over them by proximity.
The man within is anxious, brows furrowed, but all the wolf can see is that gentle rise and fall of her breathing. All he can hear is the sound of her heartbeat growing louder and stronger, and all he could smell was the acrid scent of looming death leaving her, replaced by the rains and the storms she represents, the scent of change that had drawn the wolf to her. They curl tighter around her vulnerable body, both man and wolf, sharing their warmth even through the metal they are armed in. Resting their cheek against her warm chocolate skin, he nuzzled her; the man calms just a bit while the animal simply rumbles, watching for when her eyes open. They want to be the first thing she sees when they do.
"It's done," speaks Danger (the abomination; a pause, Anders, the man corrects sullenly.) "She'll need to rest for a few days, she…" the blonde human looked down at her face, the long eyelashes, the parted lips, her dark skin. "She lost a lot of blood, so she'll be weak until she recovers." His jaw clenched. "Take care of her, dog."
The both of them are barely able to hold back the growl they feel, and it is only the speeding of her heart that turns their gaze back expectantly. Her eyes flutter open, the palest of golds, piercing under lidded eyes; the sight of those orbs makes them both grow warm.
Their eyes meet hers, and she sighs, "Fen." Wolf, she is calling, and the beast rumbles for her with their throat. She was the first to tell the difference, the first to care. She smiles, "Fenris."
The man half-smiles at her, but it is the both of them who answer, "Welcome back, Ida."