Hunting the wyvern bull had been particularly stressful, difficult. A task of dodging venomous spit fired at them, much like fire from a dragon's jaws, rather than a real battle. A dance of taunting and diving from the path of its charge to swing wildly at its flank as it passed. And the tough hide weathered many strikes before the beast came tumbling down, falling to the chase. It had not been the prey who was chased, however, but the predators. Each companion had taken their turn to capture it's focus and dash like mad away in fear, and ever a breath away from a painful death.
It was every wonder how the rich and powerful found joy in such an activity. The only possible explanation pertaining to the fact they tended to sit back and watch as their dogs and attendants commenced the hunt for them.
And so, despite being surrounded by bigots drunk on fine wine, Fenris found himself content to be placed in a gated garden instead of on the untame peaks. Safe from the beasts that prowl the mountain side, if only to contend with monsters of a different sort. Albeit more civil on the surface. A respite for the moment, he toyed with a small rose bud, just curling it's velvet petals from its core of perfume, with his armored fingertips. Avoiding eye contact with every passerby as they carelessly disregarded him on the misconception he was a mere servant. Waiting with near complaint beside rival Anders for the reappearance of Hawke, who had been dragged off by Tallis to change into proper party attire.
He soundly hoped the other elf was not taking the time to possibly appreciate the curves he so adored. Jealousy tightening his throat, but guilt dousing his fire. Kept apart, estranged, for three years at his behest. There was no telling if any interest has actually been fostered between the two. Tallis seems to be a very sarcastic sort, infatuated with teasing. And, Hawke, she has always been a flirty source of temptation, far more persuasive than any demon. These thoughts roil in his mind until he hears the light clapping of her nearly bare feet on cobble stone. Donning, still, the minimalistic shoes always worn with her robes rather than proper slippers. He can tell from the familiar sound.
His eyes lift lazily like a sunrise from the horizon to acknowledge her, expecting his sight to be assaulted by gaudy Orlais finery. Both overdone and in a contrasting pallette to her complexion, in order for her to fit in. He is caught speechless by what he finds.
A gown of fine linen cloth slips down from her delicate shoulders to her dainty toes. The cut of the top plummets down to her waist both back and front where the skirt begins, leaving her bosom open. The inner most curves of her breasts peeking from beneath, and an emerald confined in a gold set cascading down on a long chain to fill the space it leaves. Both the hem and shoulders boast pastel bluegreen running into the dress and fading to the linen's white as they flow. They make her scarlet tattoos burn, and her hair and irises shine like a blazing sunset. The warm tugging in his gut cries ballads of testimony to her fair beauty, in which he is drowning.
"So very lovely," he hears Anders drawl.
Fenris' gaze darts to the abomination, catching him in awe. His eyes wide enough to flood their oakwood brown with white. Fenris notes the flattered smile and timid blush it earns from Marianna, and his teeth grind as he seethes. Gripped further in jealousy. It does not last long, his focus is recaptured by their gracious lady as she draws close, Tallis appearing at her back. The mischievous elf is clothed in a tasteful draping herself, making the pair seem intended. Fenris swallowed down the wish that it was him at Marianna's side, having trouble of it when it became apparent they would have to split apart to avoid suspicion. Tallis was not wrong in this notion, but it did not ease his mind that she would be wandering through the courtyard with Hawke, leaving him behind.
"Be on the lookout. And, above all else, be careful," Marianna's shimmering voice tells them, the concern in her tone thick.
Anders gives her a solemn vow for assurance, although Fenris thinks it is her who should be more concerned with caution. While they keep away from the crowd to lurk at its fringes, she will be inevitably calling attention to herself as she mingles. And far more likely to cause awareness as to their ploys in the fray. What could befall her then would be more severe and inescapable as she would be surrounded. In spite of this, they turn to stand watch inconspicuously at the fountain's rim, his muscles stringing taut beneath his skin. Wary of how vulnerable they all will be separated.
Fenris' shadowed irises try to focus on the activity of nearby guards, but get caught up throwing glimpses her way. His focus tracks her for a while, how she slinks from one border of the collected guests to the other, stirring up trouble. Ears still tentative to any raising of alarm about them. Standing ready, always ready, to bail her out of a sudden mess should this fair weather turn to a tempest of accusation. For now, he can do naught but watch. Vigilant of every circumstance and alert to every move made by her current company at any given moment. There is a buzzing within his skull, bleached noise surmising his anticipation. It ever nags at his impulses, keeping him rigid and poised endlessly, with no thought given to time as it eases past.
He tries to ignore the pathetic attempts Anders makes at small talk, knowing it will quickly morph into a preaching of Templar oppression. But, he is soon drawn in by the quips made in Anders' frustration at Fenris' avoidance. Egged on by baited barbs thrown in his direction, they keep their voices low in their hostile debate, but Fenris soon finds himself locked in confrontation. His glare boring into Anders', hands flexing with want to phase his fists into the man's caged lungs.
"You may as well join the Templars yourself," Anders hisses, "You love their 'noble' cause so much. You can throw Hawke into the gallows yourself!"
"I can promise you I'd be more concerned with locking away a far more dangerous, and particular, abomination," Fenris growls, "You have proven their fears true. You ran from the Circle and merged with a demon straight after."
"Says the cowardly elf who runs from everything. Even the love of a woman he has never deserved."
Fenris very nearly flares his brands, craving to teach Anders the true meaning of fear by clawing through flesh and bone. Causing no final agony but the unforgettable pain of what the ghostly lyrium lines can do. A memory Fenris would vye to ensure would not soon be forgotten by either of them, so long as they draw breath. Beyond his insufferable quarry, Fenris catches sight of a guard peering their way and, reluctant, gives up the fight. Leaving Anders the smug assumption of victory, but earnestly unwilling to push this war any further and spoil the reuse they have taken pains to place.
Fenris allows silence to simmer his anger into a more bearable heat, relieved when the notice they have attracted is dropped. His glare is only ripped away, taken from Anders' throat when he is certain of the safety of lost interest. Sweeping his irises, instead, over the gathering. His vision seeking their maiden of fire and sunlight amidst the crowd for added security. Thinking her image would better soothe his nerves and angst than any refuge taken by losing himself in his own mind.
She is not present. Neither is her companion.
He flings glances to every corner of the garden. From the Duke Prosper, to the aligned trays that make up a buffet, to every wysteria bush and lily altar beside the paths. Every look turns up nothing, no evidence of Hawke's whereabouts to offer up solace. The taste of worry in his mouth is bitter, the texture dry. He wets his lips with concern and turns to share the sensation with Anders who searches too, every bit as frantic. Their yearning expectations are left empty.
Fenris curses the distraction Anders had so blissfully created previous to their panic. He berates himself for succumbing and allowing his focus to get entrapped, with no thought given to the risk it has provided. A risk that has resulted in loss. A loss that weighs heavy on his shoulders and wilts his spine under the pressure of it.
His fit of harsh Tevene informalities is cut short, whittled away as he is left alone. Anders has begun to move before it can finish, making way through the yard as casually as he can bear to fake in his fear. Fenris follows suit, casting back his eyes to trace the guards left unattended. They are long since preoccupied with socializing and take no peek his way. In due course, the pair make a breach of the fortress, like-minded in the theory she will be found there. It takes great effort, but they discover their entrance into the keep through an unsupervised window.
Hawke and Tallis have either broken in during the absence of his attention, or they have been subject to capture. Fenris is sure of it. Considering Anders' brisk pace under the shelter of the hall's arches, the conviction is mutually shared. As unpleasant as the man's solitary company is, Fenris finds relief in his urgency. Every bit as glad to know he takes this seriously, as Fenris is for the forced silence between them. He gives surrender to the intuition that Marianna is in the enactment of some plan, and not imprisoned. He is careful not to drop that hope beneath his footfalls.
With no amount of ease spared for their fortune, they take to chaotic weaving between patrols. Flashing through cracks in the silhouettes of support columns, and crouching behind every obstacle to anxiously peep out from hiding and determine a pattern of movement. An armed opponent marches at every turn, a treacherous predicament. Even while they cloak themselves in the darkened corners of each room. Fenris finds his held breath in regards to Hawke's wellbeing to be fading, fast.
Anders takes to the lead, barely stalking past a waiting guard to drop down at a sculpture's offering of a cold shoulder. He rises up again to shoot a look down the foyer, prompting Fenris to walk in his previous footsteps. Fenris snarls, soundless in his grimace, but takes the encouragement and sneaks past. Stooping at the mage's other side as he reaches it. With Anders at a better vantage, he defers to the Grey Warden once more, allowing him to construct the next plot.
Anders lurches forward, but suddenly determines the opening to be insufficient, and retreats. In his haste, he reaches back to press Fenris further into cover. Fenris shrinks hastily away from the hand stretching towards him, feeling, already, a dull ache in his tattoos long before it makes contact at his arm. It grows to a slight searing of his skin, and he locks the roar it threatens behind his teeth. Also refraining from lashing out at the touch, taking revenge for the agony. He quakes in the grip of its oppression, and can scarce keep the blurr of fury from the edges of his vision.
He fails to follow tightly on Anders' heels when he does flee to the next refuge at last, narrowly escaping a guard swinging round again. In fierce disdain, he rams into the 'Abomination' as he joins the man in concealment, pinning him to the wall with a crushing grip. He brings his face in close, blowing a heated exhale, heaving his displeasure onto Anders. A spark of utter vehemence lit behind his eyes.
"Do not touch me!"
The whisper barely comes out, uttered so hushed a hound would not hear it. But, Anders grasps the point, returning disgust for Fenris' aggression.
After giving Anders a sharp jerk in warning, he releases the hold that tethers his offender against brick. Turning his back to bolt away, plunging down the stairs ahead in haste, the mage gives hesitation to follow in his wake. But soon does with reluctant compliance, and both stow away to the dungeon below. Gaining reprieve from the wary vigilance of patrols and the embrace of a labyrinth. Vast and shadowed, deep, in every direction.
Fenris breathes a foul curse into the air, the sound darting close on the heels of another made by Anders. If imprisonment had become their fate, this is where Hawke would be. And neither doubted that her presence rested within one of these rusted cages, lost within these drab twists and turns. Not now. With how far they have come, it is a wonder they have not fallen victim to the same predicament. But a blessed wonder none the less and his resolve has in no way lessened. With the curl of his hands into fists, he sets himself to traverse this maze. If Marianna needed aid, he would be there to render it.
He wanders off to the right passage, taking it without much thought. They must start somewhere, and Anders allows him to decide where without any qualms passed between them. They press close to opposing walls, peeking through every set of bars that hang like veils over the stone cold cells, seeking anything familiar. And visions of dusty bones oppress their eyes and come to disquiet their minds, leaving them to fear the worst. Like grime slithering into the bowl of their skulls to soak their ideas with gritty concepts of brutality and torture, even death. It afflicts them with sickness.
Fenris works his tongue soundly behind barely parted lips in a promise that he will indeed never leave her to find unfathomable trouble again. She is very skilled at coming upon it, but not so much getting away from it. One day her luck will run out, and what are her friends to do then? Move on as though they could easily forget all the many years spent being bound together by her alone? Blasphemy.
Long hours drop behind their steps as they puzzle out if they have passed through this way, or that way, or turned round in a hazardous circle. Their need is pressing ever frantic and their patience, which has been strung tight along, freying apart. There is no time to waste, yet their time is being thrown at walls recklessly and left abandoned all the same. They come skidding to a halt at yet another turn, having broken stride into a run a while ago, vying to speed the process. During which there is a pause to reflect on their movements and catch a breath. Yet again, their frustrations come bleeding through to the surface.
"That's it. I'm taking the lead." Anders huffs.
Under the belief he could navigate far better, and beyond tired of the complexity of this place, he moves to walk onward.
"You think I'm going to trust you to find Hawke?" Fenris mocks, condescending.
Anders is stopped in his tracks, his blood boiling thick beneath the skin.
"Could you stop with the, 'all mages are evil,' diatribe for one minute!"
The requested demand echoes out before them like a tolling bell. A testament to insufferable emptiness around them, and an alert to nearby guards if they are not careful enough. Fenris groans with a weariness that does not befit his youth.
"They may not all be evil, but one of them in particular is extremely annoying."
They set out shoulder to shoulder at a dash through one corridor after another in an endless connection of dead ends. Neglecting to allow the other to take the lead and just running crazed through this foboding mess. Forgetting which way was what way, and where they were moving, whether it be forwards or backwards. And fate chose then to bless them with a faltering call that directed them to the object of their desire.
Hawke's voice, like the tinkle of fine jewelry, came leaking through the fractures in the walls. They were drawn to it like stranded travelers to a rescue beacon, a blazing torch in the dark of night. Driven into a frenzy, they spared no ounce of energy reaching that light before it had a chance to fade off, and were greeted by a most beautiful sight. Tallis appears before them in the distance, and, soon after, Marianna emerges. Both free from the confinement of their dank pen. Both on the edge of violence at the thundering footsteps approaching. Until a glance deciphers their coming company to be friends not foes.
"There you are!" Fenris bays like a hound in brief triumph.
His clawed gauntlet snatches her arm, careful not to leave scratches with his hold as he looks her over in concern.
"Were you hurt? What happened?"
His fuss relaxes into near stupor as his search turns up nothing. Not a hair out of place nor a cut or bruise to be found on her tender flesh. He knows she is a healer, that she can close wounds with ease. But, somehow, knowing that no harm was ever brought to her regardless, warms his chest with comfort. And her unfailing beauty, no tear to her gown or even dirt at the hem, strikes like a snake again. Catching him off guard, and poisoning his muscles to weakness with relief.
Anders begs to leave, calling him back awake from the hazy dream into which he was falling. Mere illusions of utter contentment, far from real while they remain lost here and under threat of ambush. Until they escape these horrid and twisted walls, the world can not be quite right again. But, Hawke is hesitant, unwilling to struggle back through the keep to get out. Fenris thinks better of it himself, not wanting to turn back into the maze.
Tallis scoffs, "There is a better way than fighting through the Duke's entire army. I'll show you."
She turns and takes them through a few halls deeper in. Past uncanny statues of men and women. Stone shaped so realistic in composure, they startle the companions. Standing ever watchful in the darkness, and crumbling away beneath the cold. They are not typical sculptures and even Hawke speculates the involvement of magic. All are happy to leave the stiff prisoners behind.
Beyond the monolith wardens, Tallis brings them to a chamber clearly used for torture. Where the others think little of it, preoccupied with retrieving lost armaments, Fenris is captured by the sight. A grimace dulls the spark in his eyes, memories toying with the fringes of his focus. He forgets himself a moment, inspired by fears into drifting far beyond these past days. Until Anders steps up beside him, breaking apart the alluring recollections with his presence. Fenris offers a scowl in greeting.
He peers over his shoulder, turning back in haste when he realizes the women are changing. Yet, tempted to brave a look at Hawke and slide his eyes down the curve of her back. A much more pleasant concept to place his thoughts on. He refrains, already berated by Anders for his initial peek. A blush dusts his cheeks as he prepares for further scolding from Marianna in displeasure at his poor manners. He is grateful to experience only a few words of disdain from the pair. Both being exceedingly anxious to leave, they do not bother wasting effort with reprimanding.
They are happy to be in more appropriate attire with their weapons in tow. Hawke's eyes shine like the sky with noonday sun as she takes up her battle worn staff. Obviously feeling adequate safety as it rests in her hands. She flashes Fenris a faint smile as she tucks it away in its hold at her back. His embarrassment is soothed by the gesture.
It is from this room that Tallis shows them a great crack in the brick. A rift just large enough to squeeze through to the dark expanse on the other side. She explains it was a refuge at one point, that it will be a path to the mountain fields. Closer inspection reveals the opening to be unstable and, if they take this route, they will have to be certain of their choice. There may not be any chance to back track and contend with the tangled prison passages again, should they change their minds. Marianna makes the decision to pine through the network of tunnels, and everyone defers to her judgement. She prompts everyone else to pass through ahead of her, keen for any signs of collapse at their entry point.
Tallis slips through first, precariously perching on the rim and leaping down. Anders drags himself through next, barely able to force his bulk through the slender port. Fenris presses through after, faring little better with his masculine stature. He lingers, shoving a hand back through to aid Hawke as she climbs up into the hole. Keeping her steady as she moves to drop into the cave's threshold. It holds, never giving way overhead or under her feet as she jumps. They wander off from it, pace steady and less strained now that they have escaped fortress.
Tallis veers ahead, their guide and trail blazer. Marking the way, still, through the bends and the crossroads. Narrow as they are, they do not abolish sanity as the last challenge had. Patience is tested, but they are more certain to conquer. And it is a world of difference displayed openly in their postures.
Fenris keeps to Marianna's side, the silence between them starting to gather weight. Her irises are fixated onward, as are his, but his mind is flailing away to her stance beside him. They trudge to the end that awaits them and all his thoughts are consumed, mercilessly, as they have been for many months now, with how long it has been since a night that has become an obsession. A trap always sprung and victorious, the moral being the fact he loves her but would not give into it. And he regrets the missed chance to have what was offered. A future, earnest and more than he could dream of for himself. A horizon crowned not only with the reign of freedom, but someone to share it with.
He always worries for her sake, but assumes he has taken for granted there will always be another opportunity to put things right with her. Today, that had been stripped from his veins, leaving true fear in its place. This very well could have turned out differently. He may never have found her. She could have been killed, murdered. Until now, she had always been within the security of his watch and guard. He could react and prevent distaster, protecting her from the adversities she manages to become part of. Today, she was taken from his care and left to fend for herself in a lethal situation. He knows she not helpless, nor incapable. But, he feels far more confident keeping her close.
Under the burden of silence growing, he confesses.
"You frightened me," he mutters forlorn.
"Me?" She rings back in surprise.
"Before we found you, there was a moment when I..."
He thinks to all of the wretched fates he had, mortified, entertained in his panic. Every gruesome idea clear in his imagination and would be for a long time to come. She is worth more than he can tell her of. The devastation of losing her is more than he can bear to ponder.
"Don't do that again."