Hi guys! Long time no see! No real good reason for this, other than I miss these kids like crazy. Bioware owns Fenris, sadly...
(so real quick, I've finally started doing original stuff as well! Come visit me; I'm under the same name at FictionPressdotcom. I'd love to know what y'all think!)
One year.
He had thought no day could mean more to him than the day of his escape. Then, he'd won his freedom, and thought no one moment would ever mean more. And as usual, he'd been gently but thoroughly proven wrong.
Fenris James FitzBhanna locked the gallery door behind him with a jingle of keys. The November air was cool on his skin, crisp and smelling richly of Texas fall. He tucked his keyring into the front pocket of his jeans, tapped his back pocket to be sure he'd remembered his cell phone—he had—and stepped into the autumn sunshine. No day could possibly mean more than today.
He took his cell phone from his picket and typed a quick message: We are still on for tonight?
He waited patiently at the crosswalk for the reply: Wouldn't miss it for both worlds.
Fenris felt a smile creep across his features. The message on the screen faded, to be replaced by a blurry portrait of Erin's face pressed close to his against a background of bluebonnets.
One year.
He had puzzled over how best to mark the occasion. Recreating the exact circumstances was obviously impossible. He had toyed with the idea of whisking his lover away for a weekend, but between the demands of her schedule at the research lab, and the unpredictable nature of his own responsibilities at the gallery, that too was nearly impossibly. He had casually asked among his small network of clients and artists how they celebrated special occasions with loved ones, but had been dissatisfied with each and every answer. His sketchbook was scattered with pages of ideas he'd jotted down and immediately discarded. How could anything common even come close to expressing what the past year meant to him?
The answer took time. It took care. It took sleepless nights hunched over two different sketchbooks. It took several appointments at the gallery with an acquaintance who, he would swear, could work wonders with fine metal. It took a clandestine video conference via Erin's laptop with Helena and Laurie, who were only too happy to lend their assistance and squealed with glee at volumes only Scooter fully appreciated. It took a small kitchen fire he was able to put out without discharging the small, red canister of foam underneath the sink. The answer was perfect.
He hoped.
He still had some time before Erin's shift at the lab was due to end. He hurried home, taking long, loping strides through the square toward the villa-style apartments beside the river. He nodded in greeting as he passed friends and clients. He kicked out of his shoes and dipped one foot into the river's lazy current for luck. He took the stairs two at a time to their front door, and absently scratched behind Scooter's ears as he tidied the apartment. He followed Helena's and Laurie's regimented instructions to the letter. While the spiced meat sizzled in its skillet, he arranged the table on the balcony overlooking the river, and thanked whatever god was listening for the lack of any strong wind as he lit a row of short, stubby candles. Scooter trotted to the door as her keen ears heard the sound of Erin's car in the parking lot. Fenris dashed into the bedroom and reached into the back of the walk-in closet where he still kept his armor, and almost reverently took a small, velveteen box from its hiding place in one of the pouches on the belt.
Erin was standing in the middle of the living room when he emerged, a bewildered smile on her lips. Fenris gathered her in his arms with the ease of long familiarity and kissed her gently. Her satchel dropped to the ground with a quiet thud, and she arched into his embrace in greeting. "Hi," she laughed, a touch breathlessly.
He let his hands settle on her hips and swayed back and forth for a moment. "Hello," he murmured, and was gratified to feel her shiver with anticipation. She'd left the white coat of her academic office at the lab, he noticed, leaving her in figure-hugging jeans and a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt that scooped just below her collarbones. She caught him staring, and ducked her head self-consciously.
"What?" she asked, making a show of patting herself down. "Oh shit, do I still smell like the lab—?
He chuckled and held her more firmly when she would have wriggled away. "You're beautiful," he explained. "And you smell fine."
She relaxed in his arms. He felt her breathe, and counted with her. One, two, three—
One year.
Fenris led her into the kitchen with one hand pressed gently to the small of her back. Two salted glasses rested on the counter. He shook together a margarita according the directions he'd written on his hand—slightly smudged, now. Erin claimed her perch on the countertop and watched him curiously as he put the finishing touches on the seasoned beef in the skillet and pulled the warm tortillas from the oven. "You didn't have to—" she began to protest.
"I did," he interrupted firmly. He scooped the meat onto a platter, and arranged the tortillas around it. She followed him onto the balcony, twitchy smile fading into a gentler, more vulnerable expression as she took in the candlelit table. Her blue-green eyes shimmered in the dim light, before she lifted her gaze to meet his.
"One year ago today, we met for the first time," Fenris answered her unspoken question. "Then, all I knew was hate. All I knew was the need for revenge. I landed on your sofa—there," he pointed northeastward, where her old apartment stood. "I had no idea this place existed. I had no idea you existed. And I never imagined then that I could love anyone as I do you.
"Today is the most important day of my year, Erin Campbell. Today, I met the woman I love more than life." He drew the velvet-covered box from his pocket, and slowly lifted the intricate pendant from its sateen cushion. The silver butterfly dangled from a delicate chain. Silver and space pressed together like lyrium and the Celtic knot she bore on her shoulder. Erin gently touched the tip of one finger to its wing. It swung gently in the candlelight, and its shape seemed to change to that of a dragon, its wings outstretched in flight.
"It's perfect," she whispered.
Oh thank the Maker, he sent up his heartfelt prayer of gratitude and released the breath he'd been holding. He spun her until her back faced him, and joined the two ends of the chain at her nape. "Consider it a token of my gratitude," he murmured, and pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just behind her earlobe.
She leaned into the caress, gaze burning bright with a hot promise. He grinned wickedly at the thought of what he had planned for dessert, and pressed a long, lingering kiss to her lips. They came up for air only grudgingly, unwilling to let a good meal get cold. Erin raised her margarita glass to his with a musical clink, and the cool drink tasted of past, present, and future all at once.
"Happy anniversary," she murmured.