I
…
The chill in the air made the humidity of the coastal town bite hard at the tips of Fenris' fingers. Metal gauntlets and plates had been the mark of a slave owned by someone with power—someone who could afford the metal workings for something dispensable. They had gone from thus to basic protection, and now to an icy coat across his knuckles threatening him with frostbite. It wasn't cold enough yet for that to be a real concern (he hoped), and the numb ache that came from weeks of travel was more than enough to distract from it. Kirkwall was within reach before nightfall at least. There would be shelter somewhere that provided more protection than the unforgiving rockslides of the Storm Coast.
The elf had wrapped himself up in tattered rags and a cloak, covering his armour and markings as best he could. The hood draped around his face unevenly. It was high enough so that green eyes sharp despite the lack of sleep could still see around him but low enough to cover the shock of white hair that would give him away. The pack he kept on his side was small. No rations remained, a tattered blanket he'd stolen from an abandoned campsite was wrapped around a measly dagger (more useful for paring wood than flesh) and single gold coin. He could figure out the details later. Fenris was still determined to put distance between him and the Tevinter hunters that had their eyes on his bounty. Cold skin was not enough to make him forget the burn of the markings.
Bare feet sloshed and drudged wearily through the mud. The cold slime between his toes was enough to make him long for a bath. The smoke pillars rising from the village surrounding Kirkwall castle whispered promises of warm water, hearth and meat that hadn't been salted into a preserve. Fish and bread and…
Fenris shook his head, feet determinedly moving forward. His journey was not done yet. In the field ahead a knight in glistening silver armour slammed his sword against a young boy with a wooden shield. The boy cowered and shook beneath the blows. Fenris did not need to be close to know his knuckes were white around the leather grip on the practice shield. The sword that slammed repeatedly into the wood, however, was anything but practice. The sword was easily the size of the child, wielded by the two unforgiving hands of the towering knight.
Keep walking. The little voice in the back of his mind urged him to focus instead on the smoke pillars. One of those had to be an inn with fresh bread and ale.
A wimpering cry from the young boy drew his attention back sharply. A loud crack and the shield had split in two, but the knight did not seem to notice. The heavy metal swung at the retreating boy's figure catching him across the back with a sickening slice. Fenris did not stay put long enough to see if the blade had run too deep. He snatched the dagger from his pouch and dropped the sack in the field without any further hesitation and charged at the knight.
The heavy helmet gave him the advantage of surprise as he plunged the blade into the slits between back and chest plates, searching desperately for a heart to slice open. The blade was too small, to hampered by bone. Fenris growled in frustration, the lyrium in his arms burning. The sensation of phasing through a live man was one he would never grow accustomed to, but he found the man's heart with no issues and ripped it free. Only briefly did he see the wide eyes bulging in terror behind the helmet of the man he had killed but he paid no mind. Instead, he saw the wide eyes of the injured boy staring at the gushing organ in his hand. The wounds were severe across his back and he stumbled to find his feet. Fenris quickly dropped the heart.
"Don't be a fool. I'm not here to hurt you—" Fenris was aiming for softness, but even he could hear the hostility in his voice. The boy, failing to stand, pushed himself into a helpless crawl. The blood gushed down his back and Fenris could hear him choking on the blood filling his lungs. Fenris reached a hand out to stop him, the icy gauntlet drenched in the boy's master's blood clamping down on his shoulder.
The boy flipped over in a haphazard motion, bloodied hands gripping tight a small dagger aimed at Fenris' throat. He had killed the boys' murderer and all the child saw was a threat. An elf glowing with strange markings that had pulled a humans heart from his chest. Fenris watched and did not interfere as the light passed from his eyes, and the dagger fell harmlessly to his side. He reached out to close the child's eyes as gently as the spikes on his hands would allow. He glanced up at the smoke pillars contrasting more sharply against a sky that was fading to a dull yellow. He had time.
…
II
…
The grave was shallow. It was the best he could do. The knights' body had been stripped bare and thrown aside like the result of a bandit attack. For all the guards would know, that's what it had been. The fancy garments cushioned Fenris' side nicely and the armour, though slightly too large, covered his markings and gave him the look of a native Kirkwall knight. The helmet hid his hair and face. It was disguise enough for now. He did not like wearing the skin of another that would abuse the power he had no right to.
He stared at the pale body before him, the stab wound and the heart lying a few feet away. He was tempted to leave it as such. Leave it for the hunters that chased him as a warning to what this slave was willing to do to them. Leave it as a warning for the guards that dare ask questions. But he could not afford such bold statements. Not yet. Not when he was so fresh from his flee from Tevinter. Not when he was still running. But the man did not deserve a grave nor the respect that came with it. Instead, a tempered fire took his body, ashes hushed and stomped out before the smoke could draw attention.
The sky had darkened and the house across the field was looking more and more appealing. Behind it were empty stables. Likely an investment by the now dead knight. Candlelight burned dimly in the windows, flickering since they had not been changed in hours. Newly booted feet trudged through the field towards the weather worn wooden door. Like sleepwalking, Fenris hardly remembered the crossing. All he knew was the warmth of the room behind the door, the feel of furs beneath his feet and a cot well laden with quilts.
Poorly constructed wooden shelves held rusted weapons and vases. The kitchen reeked of old food and stale water. The floorboards creaked under him and the fireplace had only embers left. The house had only one room, really. The cot was towards the fireplace and looked like it could comfortably fit one. The boy, he supposed, slept on the floor somewhere. Or perhaps the stables. The thought had Fenris' upper lip curl into a bitter scowl. He slung the dirtied helmet and rucksack on the floor, not feeling bad for the bloodstains soaking into the wood. The cot was calling to him. He wanted to rest so badly, even if just for a moment. Just one night without running.
This is a bad idea. The voice of reason returned. The guards are going to find the boy. They're going to look here first.
Fenris stood there mournfully staring at the bed. Reason told him he needed to keep moving. This was not going to be a quiet cottage for long. But the blankets—
Something moved.
Fenris' slack posture tightened in an instant and his hands gripped the handle of the dead knight's sword. It could have just been a shadow from the fire but a quick look told him that it wasn't emanating enough light for that. He scanned the room slowly and carefully. Something rustled behind him and he whirled around. The flickering candle went out. Fenris raised his sword slowly.
He saw out of the corner of his eyes the glint of metal and felt a warm body suddenly pressed to his back. The twin blades caught him just beneath the chin and kept him frozen to the spot. Hot breath hit his neck followed by the purr of a low voice.
"My," A female voice rumbled, "You are certainly not Ser Vincento. You have much better hair."
He remained still, biting his tongue. He could rip the assailant to shreds as soon as she—
"And this, this is his armour," she said. One dagger slithered away so her hand could check for the crest then wander the gaping hole in the side where Fenris' fist pulled the still-beating heart from the knight. She feigned a gasp. "Am I to assume our noble knight has passed?"
"There is nothing noble about beating a child to death." Fenris snarled before he could stop himself. The woman's laugh was throaty. He thrashed lightly against her hold only to be rewarded with a sharp edge digging into his throat. He raised his chin daring her to finish the motion.
"That leaves us both in a precarious situation, my friend," she started. "I had a good gig here. He'd leave to go train for that stupid competition, and leave his house unattended. How am I supposed to rob a dead man?"
"Hardly my concern, thief," Fenris spat the words. The woman laughed again.
The knife withdrew and Fenris pounced on the opportunity. He had her pinned to the wall in seconds, his hand wrapped around her wrists holding the daggers high above her head. He grasped tight enough to hurt but only the glint of white teeth and shiny red slips greeted him. The woman's eyes shone gold in the light of fading dusk, her wild black hair tamed back with a simple blue bandana. Golden hoops hung from her ears and her neck glittered with gems. Fenris' grip did not falter. With a playful look, she dropped the daggers to either side.
"And more handsome than Vincento, too. A pleasant surprise." The sword on his back did not seem to intimidate her. "I am Isabela. And I have a business proposition for you."
If possible, Fenris' scowl deepened. The woman, Isabela, did not seem to care. He pressed an armoured palm into her wrists, freeing his other hand to grab the still bloody weapon. She watched with mild interest, gold eyes following his movements with ease. He pressed the blade to her gut, the weight of it harder to bear with only one arm. She stared up at him with mock concern. She worried a plump lip between her teeth and batted her lashes.
"You'd kill an unarmed woman? How cruel. And here I thought you needed me." Her voice was low, like a secret.
He wanted to press the blade into her torso and have done with it. It had been a long day of travelling and one more death on his hands couldn't hurt the body count, but she was watching him. Her eyes glittered. She knew he wouldn't do it. He dropped the weapon with a clatter and returned the weapon hand to where he held her wrists. She arched into him a little, wriggling her fingers above his grip. He ignored the movement. She traced his form again with her eyes and Fenris was unsure if she was checking for threat or… something else.
"One body is a tragedy," she started. "Two is a problem. But three bodies? That'll start a hunt."
"Then why didn't you just leave?" He snarled. She twisted her wrists meaningfully.
"You're a bit of a hefty obstacle, sweet thing. And I wouldn't want someone as handsome as you being the loose thread that unravels my plans; especially when I was oh so close to payout," she said with a pointed stare at the wrists bound above her head. He did not budge. She smiled coyly at him. "But you do present a very interesting opportunity to make up for it. You would have cover, lodging… even steady pay if you can back that sword with more talent than our dearly departed friend."
Fenris responded only by narrowing his eyes.
"You see, Ser Vincento was a bit of an investment," she explained. "His gold was nice, but like all drunkards it would have eventually run out. Except that I took the liberty of signing him up for a contest. A contest with a very generous prize."
"And why should your folly concern me?" he asked.
"Because at the light of dawn tomorrow, a messenger is going to come to escort the poor late Ser Vincento to the first challenge of the competition. And they are going to make a very interesting discovery, aren't they pet?"
Fenris felt his stomach drop. He wasn't even half a mile into Kirkwall and he had already blown his chances for laying low. Of course he had had to kill the one man that the entire city was expecting to see on a regular basis. Of course.
"Now that robs me of his victory gold and leaves you sticking out like a eunuch in a whore house. Shame, isn't it?" she said. The look in her eyes was nothing akin to mournful, however. She looked like she was pausing meaningfully so he stayed silent out of spite.
"Aren't you going to let me go so I can tell you my brilliant plan?" She wriggled again.
"No."
Isabela sighed, finally looking a touch cross. "That armour, his armour, fits you. Barely, but barely is good enough. And I'll wager with all that broody, chip on the shoulder thing you have going on that you won't have too much difficulty staying silent. We'd have to cover that lovely face with the helmet, but-"
Fenris' eyebrows knit together and he squeezed her wrists. She grinned.
"So when that messenger comes tomorrow, you'll go with him and win the first challenge for me. You'll have your cover, and I'll have my gold. If you're nice, I might even share. See now? I told you it was brilliant." She flashed him another smile and wriggled again. "Now will you let me go? As kinky as this is, I'm starting to lose feeling in my fingers."
He searched her face for some sort of trick. Winning a swordfight was simple enough but there had to be a catch. She met his gaze as impassively as if they were strangers in a bar. One of her slender fingers traced the edges of his meaningfully. He dropped her without ceremony. She winced a little, rubbing the ache out of her wrists and carefully sliding the daggers from the floor back into their sheaths. Outside the sky had gone dark, the pillars of smoke no longer visible save for when a gust of wind carried them across a patch of stars. A yawn threatened to creep up the back of his throat but he quashed it with a harsh swallow.
As much as he hated to help anyone who had been happy to threaten him not fifteen minutes earlier, the woman had a point. He needed cover and the leaden weights on his shoulders and calves told him he couldn't keep running. Not tonight.
"Fine," he said, bending down to pick up the helmet. "What would you have me do?"
"Strip." She said delightedly with a wink. Fenris choked on air. She laughed again. "I need to mend that armour by tomorrow morning. So you'll have to take it off."
The elf's face may as well have cemented itself into a permanent scowl. Isabela did not seem to mind.
