Now
Now, things were different.
Hawke eyed the elf across the table. He was stubbornly looking into his cup of wine, swirling it around, apparently feeling her gaze and unwilling to meet it. She glanced away, and immediately caught movement in her peripheral vision. His dark, mossy irises burned into her face; she could physically feel it.
But when she again turned to look at him, his eyes had slipped over to Varric, who sat beside her telling the others about the latest rumor involving Hawke. His handsome face was distracted, his broad, long-fingered hand tapping incessantly on the table. Frustration simmered within Hawke and she scowled before whipping her face in Anders' direction.
The mage looked up from his manifesto and raised a brow. "Feeling okay?"
Hawke scowled more deeply and looked instead at her hands. They were curled on the table the group occupied at The Hanged Man, twitching occasionally, and then stiffening when she again felt Fenris's stare from the chair a foot across the table-top.
Now, things were different.
He had kissed her three nights ago. It was burned into her brain, everything, always at the back of her mind and in moments of silence planting itself firmly in the front. It buzzed loudly when she was quiet among her friends, and played over and over again when she was alone, never ending, until Anders or Isabela — never him — would swing by to chat and it was again subdued until she was lonesome again.
As Merrill chittered happily and gently bounced against Hawke's shoulder at Varric's tale, Hawke thought back to it, again trying to decipher its meaning, and what to do about it.
Fenris had accompanied her, Varric and Isabela to snuff out the last of a group of rogues stalking Lowtown at night. They had called themselves 'The Silver Nugs' (Hawke had laughed at the name), and their hideout was in the elven alienage, which further amused Hawke since the Nugs were purely dwarven.
"How exactly do they plan on hiding here?" She'd muttered with a smile, catching Varric's eye and grinning more broadly when the dwarf chuckled and responded with a "Just look for the complete opposite of everyone who lives here — 50 sovereigns he's a Nug."
Fenris had been watching her when she joked, and she hesitantly gave him a glance over her shoulder. He had been faintly smirking and his eyes had glowed with something she couldn't pinpoint exactly before he'd turned away, dipping his head.
A brief tug of longing swelled within her, powerful enough to make her take a step towards the elf. Then she caught herself, and just as well, because Fenris's face had snapped back up and he was staring at her with big, green eyes, both fearful and surprised, for it was apparent he had seen her intent, even in her single step.
It was the first time they'd held each other's eyes in days. Hawke again felt the tug from him, only fiercely more powerful this time. Fenris swallowed, and she saw him clench his fists. He leaned forward, not quite taking a step but seemingly about to. Then, suddenly, his jaw clenched and he stood resolutely straight again, holding her gaze unsteadily.
She pretended she was stepping towards Isabela, who was, as usual, in the back.
"Pirate," she demanded, trying to keep a playful tone even as Fenris's cheeks flushed a very faint pink in the corner of her eye. "Get up here. I need those eyes. Dwarves are good at planting traps, and you have the best vision."
She pointedly did not meet Fenris' clever, sharp, clearly superior eyes as she made the first excuse she could think of.
"Aw, but the view is so much better back here," Isabela purred, sweeping her gaze down Fenris's back before shooting Hawke a coy pout. "You have eyes. Use them."
Hawke knew exactly how Fenris looked underneath his armor, and while she was a tad smug knowing something her sleazy pirate companion didn't and never would (Maker forbid), it also made her heart ache.
Fenris had made her feel and see and wonder things she never could have dreamed of.
And then he'd left.
"Just get up here and help Varric scout," she snapped, more harshly than she'd meant to.
Isabella rose a brow but said nothing, slinking in front of Hawke like a tigress.
Hawke glanced quickly at Fenris. He was fiddling with the red ribbon wrapped tight around his gauntlet, hiding behind a curtain of white hair.
With a sigh, Hawke kept walking, now very aware of Fenris' careful footsteps close behind her. Varric walked just behind her on her left, and Isabela beside her on the other side, pouting, albeit sassily.
Hawke reached up to knead her temple, suddenly much less eager about the upcoming thrill of battle.
She thought about not Fenris.
So preoccupied was her mind not thinking that she caught Isabela's warning too late.
"Hawke, look ou—"
CHINK.
With a cry, Hawke fell to her knees as the trap clamped around her ankle with the ferocity of a rabid dog.
The surrounding walls exploded.
Nugs swarmed into the clearing from the shadows, screaming war cries.
"The leader! She's down!"
"Get the others, quickly!"
"No, go after her!"
Dwarves roared to and fro, brandishing blades as long as themselves and shields large enough to cover their entire bodies.
There were more than Hawke had been expecting, and now it was not funny.
Hawke tried to tug her leg out of the unnaturally strong clawed teeth as her companions immediately fanned into a quick defensive triangle around her. Isabela swooped down in front of her on a knee. "I gotcha, Hawke!" she cried jovially, all previous poutiness gone. The pirate set to work on the trap, her face going concentrated.
Hawke felt a whoosh just by her ear, and pitched sideways, crying out as she tweaked her trapped knee. The dwarven arrow struck the enormous tree behind her, taking a bit of her hair with it.
"Maker's balls!" The curse flew easily from her lips and she struggled more fiercely against the trap, further ripping her leggings and her skin.
"Stop moving!" Isabela yelled, ducking quickly as Fenris's blade swung around after cleaving completely through a dwarf's neck. Hawke could not halt a shriek as the bearded head bounced too close, and she kicked it away with her free leg, whimpering. It skittered across the ground before hitting the door to Merrill's house. Merrill was apparently not home — praise the Maker for small mercies.
"Okay," cried Varric from his position, "Even I think that was absolutely disgusting, Elf! I think I'm gonna puke!" He volleyed another bolt, decidedly more sick-looking. Fenris did not reply, merely scooting closer to Hawke with grim fierceness on his face, all the more evident with the beheaded dwarf's gore spattering his cheeks.
He saw the rogue too late.
With a whoosh of black smoke, the assassin appeared behind Hawke, twirling his blades once before digging them into her back.
Isabela choked out a cry and quickly reached forward to catch the woman before she faceplanted into the ground. The trap clicked open with an ironic creak. Hawke began dribbling blood from her mouth almost immediately, and she let out an agonized wail, her hands trembling as she tried to reach back to pull out the knives.
At her scream, both Varric and Fenris whipped around. Varric's green face tightened into fear, and he hefted Bianca up quickly and fiercely. "Bastard!"
The rogue's body hit the ground only after receiving five bolts to the chest and one directly between his eyes. Varric fired two more into the downed man with two consecutive blood spurts, his face uncharacteristically angry, before whipping around to stare down the remaining dwarves. They all took a step back, fearful now that their leader was so brutally dead, but still looking hesitant.
Fenris suddenly stepped forward, his sword and impassive face gleaming with blood.
"If you take one step towards her," he snarled, "I will paint the walls with your remains. Interficere te omnia fruor.*"
Hawke didn't speak Arcanum, but the words he spat were rather obviously a death threat.
As if to emphasize it, as he stepped forward, he stabbed his enormous blade down directly into the assassin's face. The squelch it made was audible even over Hawke's keening, and Fenris menacingly twisted the blade. "I do not have time for you. I suggest you start running before I make time." His voice was trembling, and Varric eyed him warily, as if he was about to explode.
Hawke watched through bleary eyes as the dwarves fled, practically shoving each other out of the way in their haste. Then suddenly her vision started tunneling, going black around the edges, and she wailed, holding herself closed. Isabela was panicking, her hands moving from Hawke's face to her neck to her back, brushing the blades still imbedded there, then flicking back up to her cheeks.
"We can't take out the knives without more blood coming out," she explained shakily when the two men turned around, "And I don't have any bandages on me." Varric's face remained angry, but was quickly consumed by worry. Fenris's face, however, seemed more enraged than anything.
"Why didn't you stop him?" he snarled, stalking towards Isabela and leaving his blade wedged in the dwarf. He swept about in a circle for a moment when Isabela didn't reply, then swung towards her again. The pirate cringed, but Fenris only bent down and pulled Hawke towards him. "Why didn't I?" He made to push her hair out of her face, then scowled at his clawed gauntlet. Varric moved closer to help, but Fenris growled and waved him off before gingerly undoing the straps to his glove and then tugging it off with his teeth.
"We need a mage," he snarled around the metal, then spat it ungraciously on the ground. His eyes swung to Hawke's fluttering ones. "Hawke?" Fenris's voice quickly softened and his eyes turned to puppy-mode as she watched him. "Are you alright? Can you hear me?"
She uneasily moaned, swaying to and fro. "I can't…" She swallowed, trying to speak past the blood in her mouth. "I can't brea…"
The elf's eyes seemed to flash mournfully, and he brushed her hair back with gentle, tingling fingers before looking up at Varric.
He's touching me…The thought swam blurrily in her mind.
"I need to carry her," Fenris murmured quietly, "we need to go to Anders."
Varric nodded and turned quickly to the pirate. "Rivaini, go, warn him. We'll be right behind you." When she didn't move immediately, uneasily looking at their fallen leader, Fenris's eyes snapped up.
"Go!"
Isabela went. She cast one look back after reaching the steps up to the rest of Lowtown, her usually carefree face drawn and gray, before sprinting off with a weakly cheerful, "Hurry up!"
Varric reached down and scrimmaged through Hawke's belt pouches. He pulled out a red vial from her side pocket, then uncorked the bottle with his teeth.
"Here, Hawke," he said tightly, tipping the vial towards her lips, "drink this."
She swayed, dipping close to Fenris's chest and moaning when he flinched instinctively away. Fenris quickly tried to compensate, drawing near again and looking angry with himself, but she was falling forward now, and Varric steadied her by her shoulder.
"I can't breathe," she finally gritted out, drawing a very shallow breath before coughing violently. It wracked her body and more blood pooled in her mouth. Fenris made a choked noise and, after a moment's hesitation, grabbed her by the nape of her neck with his gloveless hand.
"You need to take this, Hawke," he growled, gently but firmly, and squeezed just behind her ears. She opened her mouth, feeling like a dog being force-fed medicine, and Varric poured a little of the red liquid down her throat.
Her back felt a little less like a bear had ripped it to pieces.
She felt the dwarf take her hand, somehow feeling amused when Varric blatantly ignored Fenris as the elf tugged her closer, almost possessively, with a growl.
"It'll be okay, Champion," Varric said gently, squeezing her hand in a rare show of tenderness. "You're the hero of this story. You can't die, it's physically impossible. I'm surprised you even bleed."
She tried to muster the strength to laugh, but could only fight up a smile. "Varric," she said fondly, squeezing his fingers back.
Fenris took the potion from the dwarf and tipped more into her mouth, effectively silencing her. "I do not know what this will help… But we need to go."
Varric made an approving noise and rose. "Keep an eye out. Lots of people would love to catch Hawke this vulnerable."
Hawke's blurring vision still picked up Fenris's sneer as he gathered her to him. "Let them try," he snarled, then moved his eyes to the panting woman in his arms. "You are not vulnerable, not while I am here. I will not allow anyone close enough to touch you again." He looked pained, and Hawke felt her chest ache along with her back and twisted knee.
"I will protect you. No matter the cost to myself." Green eyes soft, he stood, cradling her against his chest and gently avoiding the hilts in between her shoulder blades. "I'm so sorry I let this happen," he murmured, briefly pushing his face into her hair and squeezing her.
Hawke was not certain if he was apologizing for tonight… or that night years ago that neither of them would ever forget. She pressed into his strange, animal-like nuzzle for only a moment, reveling in his closeness after going too long without it, before he pulled back.
"Let's go."
The trip to Darktown had been agonizing. Fenris kept trying to force health potions down her and would get frustrated when Varric told him it wouldn't help.
They'd made good time, though, sprinting in between the four attempts Fenris made, and met Isabela and Anders just outside his clinic.
The mage made a strangled sound at the sight of Hawke.
"Give her here," he demanded, making an impatient motion with his arms when Fenris didn't immediately obey. Hawke raggedly inhaled, exhaled, and then coughed, suddenly very aware of the blades in her.
Fenris growled like an animal and pulled her closer to him, squishing her painfully against his bloody metal chestpiece.
Anders held his stare, making a similar if not nearly as convincing sound in return.
"Will someone just get these damn knives out of my back?" Hawke snapped, rousing enough to give both the elf and the apostate her famous rogue-glare.
Fenris still refused to relent, lips drawn back in a snarl, and after a snort of irritation Anders gave up, turning and stalking towards the bed in the run-down place he called home. Hawke's steed followed warily afterward, his step quick but clearly giving off waves of distress and mistrust.
He only let go when Anders returned five minutes later with a multitude of herbs and a large wad of bandages.
He was also the one to tug her top off, fighting past the armor and nearly biting off anyone's arm that wandered too close. Anders made several irritated sounds, but Fenris seemed determined to be gentle, wincing with her when he had to pull the bloody, taut leather past the hilts of the blades. Finally, she lay before them in just her breast-band, on her side facing him, and Fenris shot everyone surly, hateful looks when they even glanced at her too long. Hawke watched him watch everyone else even as he wiped the blood off his face with a crumpled piece of gauze.
Varric excused himself, erubescent, with the excuse to go tell everyone else rolling quickly from his mouth, and Isabela left to get rum from Anders's meager supply of alcohol, which left Anders and Fenris alone with a weak, half-naked Hawke for far longer than was safe.
Fenris's hand was clamped firmly around her own, but he made no further contact, not even looking at her, keeping his eyes on Anders's fingers.
Hawke remembered the excruciating pain she'd experienced when Anders had pulled out the blades. She'd cried out. Fenris had strangled her hand with his, and she held tightly back, reminded of the times she'd held her mother's hand when she'd been scared or in pain. Right now she was both, and the strange comfort of having someone you cared about hold your hand was not lost on her. It was even more comforting when the elf pushed her hair from her face with his other hand, being careful with his gauntlet, and then kept his hand on her cheek, his clawed fingers splaying into her hair and brushing her ear.
Bethany used to do this when I was sick, she remembered faintly, trying to think rather than feel. Even when I was spewing like a fountain, she'd hold my hair back.
Her fond thoughts of her sister intermingled with her confused fondness for Fenris, and while she was far from comfortable, she did not scream again, even when Anders applied some sort of herb that hurt like seven Hells and stitched each long, ragged cut.
"It's not as bad as I thought," the mage sighed in shaky relief after he'd finished healing her. "I was… afraid he'd hit her heart, or ripped open her lung..." Anders trailed off, and Hawke heard him clear his throat behind her, apparently catching the look on Fenris's face. "But it wasn't that bad. Her left lung WAS punctured — that's why she was coughing up blood — but it was small, and you guys got her here in enough time for her to be healed pretty easily. The right one just missed her other lung, and only stabbed through muscle… and nicked a vertebrate on her spine." Anders made a sympathetic sound and added, "You may have a permanent ache in your back, Jaiko."
He responded to her groan and curse with only an affectionate laugh, and Hawke heard him move to touch her shoulder as he paused in bandaging her, but he must have caught Fenris's eye again. The mage hastily continued his analysis.
"She's lost a lot of blood, though." As he wrapped the last bandage snug around her back, taking care not to brush her chest under Fenris's watchful green eyes, he looked up at the elf. "She needs some food, and sleep."
Fenris scowled. "So go get her food. I will remain here until you get back."
Anders frowned. "Well… I usually go out to eat, so there's no food here. I'd need to go to the market, and I'm scared to leave her alone for too long…" Hawke heard the uncertainty in his voice and frowned.
The guard wolf met his eyes steadily, apparently not agreeing as well. "She will not be alone. I will be here. Did you not hear me, mage?"
The other man balked, and Hawke felt annoyance hit her back as it pulsed from him.
"Why don't YOU just — you know what? Whatever. She needs food now, and bickering here with you like a child will not help her." Anders briskly snapped his box of medical supplies closed, then sneered, "At least I care for her well-being more than I care about staying with her. But you aren't too good at either of those things, are you?"
Fenris snorted derisively back, but made no other comment as the mage marched off. Hawke felt his discomfort and guilt in waves despite the unconcerned look he'd plastered on his face. She too felt uncomfortable at the reminder of her and Fenris's first and only night together, though she tried not to let it show. She was not certain whether the correct course of action would be to rub his fingers that were still clinging to hers, or to let him go and let his emotions flow out of him.
Balls... she thought darkly, having no choice but to simply lay there watching him like a love-struck halla.
The room was suddenly far too quiet, and Hawke despaired as her ex-lover's hand left her face and he looked awkwardly at the ceiling. She clung tightly at the hand still remaining twined with hers, though, and he didn't try to pull away.
After a long moment of tense silence, he looked down at her, eyes steely. "Are you alright?" His voice was stiff, and Hawke felt her heart hurt.
"Mostly," she managed weakly.
Fenris grunted approvingly and, after a brief look of uncertainty, took the gauze he'd used to wipe his face and started wiping at hers. Hawke closed her eyes, taking in his touch even if it wasn't directly his fingers.
"You've got blood everywhere," he said after a moment, sounding both amused and disapproving.
"And it's not even those stupid dwarves' blood," she said, mock-sadly. "I hardly look fierce when I'm bleeding all over myself."
Fenris's voice dropped all humor. "You were stabbed twice in the back, Hawke. Blood is understandable."
"It'll take a lot more than a couple of backstabs to kill me." She tried to smile, but stopped at the stricken look that passed over Fenris's face.
"Fenris…?"
"You scared me," he murmured a second later, holding her eyes. Hawke swallowed, and wanted to squeeze his hand, but he looked too much like he'd shatter at the pressure. She watched his large, green gaze waver for a moment. Then the elf looked away from her, softly turning pink, but also scowling.
"When you screamed, I just... I couldn't...".
He swallowed. "Watch where you're stepping next time," he growled, tenderness starting to leave his voice as he tried to pull away.
Hawke sighed tiredly and now she did squeeze his fingers. He stopped retreating and stilled, but still didn't look at her.
"Fenris. I've been hurt before, worse than this," she said. Fenris seemed to stop breathing, and his face looked like he'd been slapped. She continued quickly. "I'm just... glad you're here."
He turned towards her, still appearing injured, and Hawke despaired. She reached over, clasping his bare, lyrium-etched hand in between both of hers, struggling not to wince as her back creaked under its stitches. He seemed to stop breathing, eyes shooting down to their joined hands and a panicked look flickering over his pointed face. "I'm sorry, Fenris, what did I say—?"
"Stop." Fenris's voice was as sharp as the blade he carried. She obeyed, and released him, stunned.
For a moment there was complete silence.
Then, the elf let loose a long-suffering sigh, his shoulders slumping and shaking his head. "Hawke..."
He bent, looking into her eyes. Hawke felt suddenly much too alive to be so close to death, and she caught her breath as Fenris's smoky green eyes flickered with dark guilt, and something else, bright and hot, that made her entire body tense with deep-set anticipation. "Do not do this to me. Please. I cannot."
She finally caught on. Hawke, shocked, stared at him for a long, aching moment, lips parting as she attempted to breathe. His eyes snapped right to the movement, and he took her by the shoulders, gave her a firm shake.
"Hawke, we cannot!" His eyes were burning now, never leaving her mouth, and his lips curled back in a snarl before he spoke again. "Why are you so—"
And suddenly he was kissing her, pulling her up to him by her face, one hand bare and buzzing with lyrium, the other gloved and cold against her sweaty cheek. Hawke's heart palpitated, and she frantically kissed him back, reaching up and digging her fingers into his hair. He growled, pleased, and buried his own hands into her messy, slightly bloody copper locks.
Fenris kissed her fiercely, hungry and insatiable, in classic Fenris style. They melded together perfectly, her waning strength resupplied by his steady, dominating arms. Maker, she had missed this.
She had missed him.
Her heart sang and she smiled against his mouth, her injuries forgotten, and humming in pleasure when he responded with a throaty "Jaiko..."
He still cared. He still wanted her.
And, despite how he'd left her, broken her heart, and not been there to see her cry herself to sleep for months and months... she still cared and wanted too.
"I found the rum, and it's — oh-ho, sorry I interrupted!"
Fenris broke off with a startled gasp, pulled away so quickly Hawke was left flailing and had to scramble to stay on the table. Isabela waved a hand in apology and began to retreat, her eyes and smile coy, but Fenris gestured with his fist to stop her.
"Stay," he said darkly, pulling far from the table and sulkily sitting on a barrel in the corner. "Hawke needs to sleep, and I am… not well. It appears I am more tired than I thought. I will leave... soon."
Hawke nearly said something, made a sound to release the knife that plunged into her heart, but she did nothing. It was done. And he was running again.
She decided she would feel emotions again when he wasn't there.
Isabela smirked. "Looks like her hunger problem still needs to be taken care of, though. I doubt she's any less starved now. Maybe even more so. And as for sleep," the pirate drawled, oblivious of or disinterested in both Hawke's and Fenris's glares, "I think that's the last thing she needs... Though a bed could still be involved…"
"Isabela." Fenris's voice was deceptively quiet, but trembled, though with shock, desire, or anger, Hawke didn't know. Nevertheless, the pirate shut up, grumbling as she plopped onto the foot of Hawke's bed.
"Sourpuss," she groused to no one in particular, and stretched languidly before taking a long drink of rum. "He'll come around, surely, the man is obviously sick... in the chest, anyway, not counting his head…"
If Fenris heard her, he didn't reply, staring at the ground and sighing.
Hawke caught a glimpse of his eyes — guarded, cold, and glowing with a hidden fire — before he dipped his head and was hidden behind a shield of white hair.
He had left without a word when Anders returned, not even sparing her a glance.
They had not met eyes since that night.
Hawke was bewildered. She'd thought she'd felt correctly when she had sensed the passion and longing in Fenris's kiss. But now she was definitely second-guessing herself.
I probably seemed like I was begging for it, bringing up being back-stabbed and hurt, like I was accusing him, and then holding his hand, she thought sullenly. He probably kissed me out of pity.
She heard the small voice inside her that questioned that notion, brought up the fact that he'd practically groaned her name. Her first name.
He'd only called her by 'Jaiko' one night before...
Now, as he stubbornly avoided her gaze, Hawke ached to hear him say her name again, and pushed her small, hopeful voice away. He can't even look at me. It was just... a moment of weakness from him.
But no. That seemed wrong. Fenris was not weak, never. Hawke stared at the elf, uncomprehending, and he stared at the floor.
She couldn't help it; her eyes trailed him.
His thin, strong chest… his masculine, hunched shoulders. His neck, elegantly long and sensuously caressed by the lyrium, and chin, curved with the forked markings… his full, pouting lips, his proud, elven nose. His downturned eyes, the most dashing and disarming green she'd ever seen. Long, unnatural white hair, hanging in his face and leaving him looking thoroughly disheveled and absolutely charming.
Blasted man, she thought sourly. He shouldn't be able to look so handsome when he's ignoring me. The Maker hates me.
Suddenly, he looked up.
Hawke was so surprised she looked away. Then she realized herself.
Balls!
She snapped her eyes back to the elf, and he was still watching.
Ah, Maker, what have I done to deserve this?...
His eyes were narrow and guarded, calculating. They swam in uncertainty, and Hawke despaired, thinking that perhaps the kiss was a test to see if he still wanted her, and that she had failed.
Her eyes started to drop when suddenly he loudly placed his wrist on the table.
BANG.
She snapped her head back up, staring at him. So did everyone else at their table. Fenris gave everyone an apologetic oops, sorry glance. Everyone but her. The elf waited until, one by one, everyone turned and continued their various conversations.
Everyone but her.
He steadily held her eyes, the snake charmer to her viper, searching and intensive.
And, ever so gently, he tilted his head towards his wrist.
The red ribbon was lit up in The Hanged Man's jaunty fireplace glow. Tied to his wrist by her own fingers that night three years ago, alongside a whisper and giggle, "Isabela told me that, in Rivaini, a ribbon tied to your wrist means that you're taken. Now everyone will know you're off-limits." And he'd smirked, telling her that he would wear it proudly, and complained that she only had one hair ribbon, and what would she wear to show that she was taken, too? She'd smiled impishly, kissed him, and told him she'd just have to borrow one of hisribbons, surely he had plenty to spare, right? He'd laughed, called her silly, and proceeded to pounce on her again. "You don't even wear things in your hair, Jaiko."
He'd never taken that ribbon off.
Now, as she stared at him, he met her eyes again. She could almost see the memory swimming in his eyes, too. He stroked his thumb along the red cloth, eyelids half-lowered, a sad smile flicking one corner of his mouth up. And, as he met her eyes again, his lips soundlessly mouthed three words.
"I am yours."
She saw the words in his eyes, too. A little more time. I'm sorry. Please. Soon. Danarius. My past. I can't, not yet. Don't give up on me. I haven't given up on you.
And she nodded, small, and mouthed back. "I am yours."
Fenris's eyes glowed then, and though he didn't smile, he was doing everything but – his toes nudged softly against hers under the table, his hand came across to stroke at the ribbon affectionately, his eyelids drooped halfway over his eyes, expressing his want for her. But that smile never showed, and she knew that until his lips curled up in a confident, loving smile, the one she'd dreamed about seeing on him one day, that for now, he wasn't ready yet.
He wasn't hers now. He couldn't be hers. He was still discovering himself. He still had to become completely free. Loving someone was too much right now – too much like being owned. Giving himself completely to another person – his heart, his mind, his soul, his touch, his thoughts, his body, his fears and wants – was something he was going to struggle with.
But someday, he would be ready.
Not now.
But soon.
Interficere te omnia fruor - "I will relish killing you all."
Thank you to plotbunnyprey for fixing my Latin. 33
I needed to get out of my Writer's Block, and get back to work on my Fenris fanfics - or as I call them, 'Fenfictions'. Now that I'm out of my funk I'll get back to work. XD Lemme know what you think!
This will probably remain a oneshot.