(Prompt ~ Finish Him - write a story in which your main character is about to finish off their nemesis. The catch, they were best friends not long ago. What happened between them? Fenris, Marianna Hawke, and Varric Tetheras.)
Marianna marched through the gallows courtyard, breath flagging in her haste, Varric at her heels. In all of the chaos between Templar and mage, the others had been scattered about, forced to separate to effectively hold off the opposition. They had split into pairs, and moved off to beat back the bloodthirsty Templar Order from the Circle's tower. Varric, of course, had argued his way into being her partner, and both were headed for the gate to keep anymore from charging in.
*He* catches sight of them, a compliment of Templars at his back. He has been waiting for their arrival. For her. His sorrow is drowned by vehemence, smothered by his convictions born of the past. His rage clouds his judgement, turning him against her, and tearing them apart. But she should have known. She was the only betrayal to his beliefs, and that was now corrected. Soon to be undone, taken back.
Putting on speed, he moves to intercept, cutting them off, and presenting a challenge.
"Broody!" Varric calls in dismay, very concerned for Hawke as always.
She bites her lip, stomach sick, the sensation of the sudden encounter and it's coming consequences overpowering. She nearly faints from the haze of becoming profoundly light headed. Her limbs tingle, her eyes locked to his. Beneath their shadows, she can almost detect a similar regret within, but it fades further into the depths still and is lost.
"Fenris, we don't have to... These people are being treated like slaves, just as you were. And now, they're going to be slaughtered for something they didn't do. Blame Anders, blame me! But, please, don't do-"
"Silence, witch!"
Her plea is cut short by his impatience, by the chains he continues to bind himself with but never sees.
"Come on, Broody. You don't honestly want to hurt us. What about all our adventures together, all our matches of Wicked Grace? We were friends." Varric offers in another attempt to shake him out of it.
But he will not be moved.
"Say what you will, it doesn't change anything. We are on opposite sides of this war and are destined to battle."
He removes the greatsword at his back, taking a ready stance, both hands gripping the hilt so tight his knuckles turn white.
"It cannot be avoided."
"But it can! Fenris please!" Hawke cries, desperate to stop the future that is about to swallow her whole.
He moves to strike her, swiping at her middle with his blade. An attack she narrowly escapes, looking back to him with shock and utter remorse. Great pain.
"I said silence, witch!"
He gives her barely a moment to recover, to grasp the concept before her, and swings again. Another attempt at slicing her midriff. She is no more prepared for it than she was the first, and narrowly ducks away. Beyond him, the Templars watch like an ignorant audience, leaving them the cuertesy of settling their differences alone. But, Varric readies Bianca, loosing a warning shot that grazes the elf's ear.
"I'm sorry Broody, but I won't miss next time. Just let us go. We don't have to do this."
He was still begging still trying.
Fenris moves for a charge, and Varric raises his crossbow again, hands trembling. Marianna takes hold of him, staying his weapon and pulling them both from the path at the same time.
"I'll take it from here, Varric," she mulls softly, "Just stay back."
"Not a chance, Hawke! I won't let him kill you."
She stills his argument with a glance, "Please Varric. Give me this."
With difficulty, he surrenders to her will with a despairing nod.
She takes up her staff and faces her nemesis, eyes resting at his scowling face. He is handsome still, appears to her as he always has. She could almost imagine his glare was merely the usual expression he wore as they followed each other through everything. And any breath now he'd utter some sort of dry banter, spurring Varric into humor. But he wouldn't. They would never have that again. Reality corrupted her happy delusions, shredding them to ruin and leaving her to mourn her losses in the dark that was accumulating in her heart. This was the end of everything.
It couldn't stop her recollections, couldn't keep them silent. They came surging forward in a continual and victorious assault through every move made in their vying attempts to dominate the other. In *every* move they made. And, what she didn't know, is that he was plagued with the same sickness of memory. Sharing each with her as they set themselves at each other's throats.
A thrust of his blade, artfully missed in her sweep to the side. ~'My name is Fenris," he says, standing his ground. She gives a nod in greeting, taking note of his dark appearance. He too notices her, how her robes leave her soft curves revealed. They were sufficiently intrigued with one another.~ A vortex of flame presses him back, pinning him to a support column with its borders. ~'Maybe I should be thanking Anso," she smiles sweetly, a gentle blush arising. 'Maybe you should," he chuckles back, butterflies in his stomach.~ He rolls away from where he is trapped, skin heating until it is nearly singed as he braves the fringes of the fire licking the air. He spins round to catch her at her back as the spell drops. ~'I am perfectly capable of fending for myself.' There is a slight bemused frown at the corners of his lips. 'It's just a bit of food, Fenris. I'm not taking away your independence." She scoffs with a roll of her eyes. Admittedly, it did have a tantalizing aroma to it.~
She takes the cut, but the molten twister had kept him too far away. It is little more than a scratch, one that she easily heals up with her magic, after dancing far enough away from him. ~'And I am an apostate, refugee. Does that bother you?' He, again, finds himself amused by her wit. 'You have me there...'~ He gives chase, finding it difficult to keep up with all her defensive prancing. ~'I enjoy listening to you talk.' He smiles brightly, flattered. He can feel his core heating up as he aches to get closer. 'The are few pleasures greater than speaking with a beautiful woman,' he offers in turn, pleased to see her swoon ever so slightly.~ He catches up to her, only to be tossed back by a torrent of invisible magic, a powerful wave that washes over him. ~'Maybe we should leave.' Her hand is so gentle at his shoulder, he nearly doesn't notice. 'Don't comfort me!' He bitterly pulls away, not wanting to be weak, to submit to empathy even if he craves it.~ He stumbles up before she can twist a banner of red and gold about him, taking his turn to shamble away. ~'We're friends Fenris.' She assures him. He turns his back anyway. 'I'm afraid I don't know what that means.'~
He launches forward, bearing his sword down on her, about to cleave her apart. ~'Command me to go, and I shall.' He offers, desperately hoping she will not send him away. 'No need.'~ She counters by casting a wall if white flame between them, yet again driving him back with the unbearable heat. ~I just wanted to be happy. Just for a little while. Forgive me.' His shame nearly chokes him as he leaves.~ He gives a powerful pulse from his markings, knocking her uneven, and putting a halt to the onslaught of white. ~She sobs away into her knees, beset by horrific pain and miserable loss. And he drapes his arm around her, wishing he could push back the tide of despair.~ The loss of balance is too brief. She recovers and sends a river of fire racing to meet him before he can make good on the opening created. ~He watches her battle with the Arishok, terrified of the fate that could claim her.~ With a sharp jerk to the left, he clears from its path and charges for her, coming so very close. ~'I'm here Fenris...'~ She just manages to keep him and his weapon at bay with the length of her staff, and he draws back a touch to come around it.
The most current of their interactions comes bleeding to the surface. She chose to defend the mages after all they had done, after the deaths caused by the 'abomination'. He could not stand for it. But, it hurt. It hurt so much to throw all they were to the dust, to condemn himself to killing *her*. It was unbearable, the thought of striking *him* down. It was so very hard to fight each other with such murderous intent. Both began to quake as he swung around to take the final blow, Hawke offering up the sharp double blade at the tip of her staff. A last act of defiance that would meet his gut, as his greatsword met her shoulder.
Varric took in a sharp breath as he looked on, gripped already in the coming tragedy.
All at once they froze up, both a hair's width away from their own demise at the other's hands.
"Do it," she cried, encouraging him to take the final plunge and on the verge tears, "Take the final blow!"
"You will not?" He demands bitterly, prompting her to take it instead.
Her tears spill over the brightness of her amber eyes, her aura fading away.
"No," she rasps in her sobs, "I can't bear to hurt you, Fenris. I just can't do it. Call me weak if you will, but I'd rather that than kill you."
He tries to force himself to take her urging, to end this conflict between them, and can't do it. He just can't kill her either.
"I... I cannot. I cannot do this."
He backs away and says it as though announcing it to the awaiting Templars, and the teary eyed dwarf who still holds his breath.
He nearly falls to his knees, a mutter on his lips, "I cannot..."
Neither Marianna nor Varric had ever felt such relief, soothing every ounce of heart ache that had been wracking their very souls up to this point. It did bring her to her knees, not just merely threaten to. Her breath is catching the emotional storm breaking inside her, seeping so very deep and through the whole of her.
"Thank the Maker. Thank you..."
She holds to her staff, bracing upon it to keep her from dragging her dignity further to the ground.
"If you are not with us," says a Templar, as they step up in Fenris' stead, "Then you face us as the mages do."
They sought to finish what was started, but Fenris would have none of it. He took up their challenge to fend them off as Hawke dragged herself to her feet. Varric broke in with bianca, and the battle began anew. And for however long this fragile peace lasted, they fought together, just as they used to. An alliance forged out of pure necessity. None of them knew what awaited them ahead. None could foretell if this would seam them back together, or if this familiar closeness was temporary. But, for now, it was all they had. And they clung to it with their every fiber.
Such a strange outcome for something that was meant to be the end of everything.