Note : I had this written, then upon managing to post my story up (finally), I decided that it was far, far too terse and lacking in character. I can't say I'm happy with the first chapter, but apparently I did something right.
Anyhow, enjoy this one. My dislike for my first chapter caused me to go back and revise this one, and I added about 1000 words. I'll endeavor to write chapters of at least 2500 words each from now on!
Tell me what you think.
The Danger of Touch
By Ambrel
"Tired"
The sun was setting.
Daylight seemed to linger here in the streets of Hightown, but that was probably the point. Everything was always so high up, dozens of feet above the dusty streets of the rest of Kirkwall. This late at night it made little difference as the sun was nearly gone behind the gentle roll of the coast. The streets were nearly empty and the hightown market, where I found myself this day, was beginning to slow. Merchants were busily securing their wares as the last of their potential customers trickled home.
I was tired.
My feet dragged against the rough stone that passed for pavers in this city. It was the only outward sign of my fatigue that I allowed to show. Through an utter act of will and perhaps some help from the Maker himself, I kept my back straight and shoulders unbowed. Of the people who were still out at this time, most passed me by, either too busy with their own concerns to notice me or studiously looking away from my markings.
I bet that would come in handy for pickpocketing.
Varric's voice was unbidden in my head even as I eyed the fat purse of a high class tailor as he shambling towards me, his pudgy waist almost shoving his money pouch in my direction.
My hand twitched. Hawke needed money. I'd still not repaid her nearly what I owed, though she called any debt between us square and forgiven.
I'd be lying if I said I did not have a problem with that kind of resolution. While I had secured my freedom, it was only through her philanthropic nature that allowed me to keep it, so tenuous was my hold.
I glanced to either side, then up the stairs that led to the manor district. No guards were readily present. The square was sparse but there were still some people about. My hand moved before I'd even consciously thought of doing anything.
The sun slipped below the waves and it was suddenly dark. Even without power coursing through my wounds, the markings were as apparent as a lamplight on the sea.
I'd glow like the Maker's own beacon, damn it all. That'd cause problems for Aveline. She was one person who I didn't necessarily go out of my way to antagonize. I balled my fist and kept my hand firmly at my side, eyeing fat little human and his fat little purse as they trundled out of my path.
Ah, well. I'd have to give Varric's idea a try some other time. I continued to Denarius's mansion, ignoring the dull ache of new bruises and glad that the long day was finally done.
The door was open, as always. We'd been pretty rough on the edifice when Hawke helped me clear out the slavers. The heavy oak door was wrenched slightly to the side. It was difficult to close completely without the use of both hands and a goodly portion of upper body strength.
With a sigh, I pushed the door open and stepped through. It wasn't in me to wrestle with the thing today.
The lazy glow of the banked fire beckoned from the massive hollow room at the top of the stairs. Perhaps leaving the flames alive while I was gone was not the safest practice in the world, but I had the feeling that it probably would not break my heart if I accidentally burned the Magister's mansion down.
Before I climbed the stairs, I paused at the wreckage of an old table and salvaged a few planks of the aged wood, hefting it over my shoulder. Sometime, I imagined, I would have to actually get my hands on some firewood. For now, it gave me a feeling of satisfaction to systematically destroy Denarius's things. I suppose it may have been a smarter investment to try selling off some of the unbroken pieces but I could never bring myself to bother with it. The stipend that Hawke allowed each of us to keep from our expeditions kept food in my belly and wine in my cabinet for the few occasions that I felt the need to indulge. I needed little else.
In short order, I had the fire burning merrily again at the expense of one antique table.
Such a long, trying day. I'd acquired several new bruises and a newly healed gash across my brow. Hawke had a soft spot for her fellow Ferelden expatriates and we'd spent the better part of the day eyes-deep in a bloody mine. Not a great place to showcase my strengths or hers, in my opinion, but it wasn't my call. Too close quarters for me to bring my blade to bear. To close to defend against sucker punches and flying knives. Not to mention, I'm not used to moving as a team like this. I am used to watching my flanks and taking down all that is in sight. Having to account for and refrain from injuring allies was a new experience that I was not altogether certain I appreciated.
Damn near lost my eye tonight. Didn't particularly like having to thank Anders for his care, but I did prefer to have the ability to see. Wouldn't much be able to repay my debt without my eyes, I reasoned.
The fire was warm. Overly so.
Perfect.
I dragged one of the upholstered chairs close to the fire and sagged into it, pawing at the buckles that held my breastplate to my body. They were of a deceptively simple design that made it easy to remove if I was wearing it, but difficult as all the hells for someone to remove if they didn't know the trick.
It clattered to the floor, followed by my gauntlets. The sword rested against the mantle.
I considered my belt and vest. I almost didn't want to remove them, despite the sweat starting to collect on my skin. If I looked at the bruises I knew were there, it would give them permission to exist. They'd be that much harder to ignore.
Like the bruise spreading over my bicep. I could tell it spread under my jerkin. I sighed, glancing over at the one shelf on the wall that I had claimed as mine amidst all the other brick-a-brack. "Of course I'm out of elfroot potions. Of course."
No sense bothering with it now.
Exhaustion had begun to take me and I slouched comfortably in my chair. My feet were stretched out toward the flames and had become delightfully toasty. Amid the musty smell of the books that littered the room and the slightly acrid odor of the treated wood burning, there was another scent that relaxed me. It had become something of a companion to me over the past events of my life.
Wildflowers.
There was a veritable garden of wildflowers in the courtyard behind the manor. In the weeks since claiming the house, they'd overgrown carelessly through the knee high grass. The bobbing heads of yellow, violet, and blue made for a serene view during the day and at night, when the heat of the sun faded from memory, their scent hung heavy and fragrant in the air.
No matter how far I ran, how fast, or where, there were always wildflowers.
A waking doze claimed me, the kind where your unconscious mind takes control and leaves you sluggish and unresponsive. The kind that usually happens after a long bout of exhaustion or exertion.
It was languid, in a way. I don't relax often and when I do, it is usually because my body forces it upon me.
So that is how I imagine I was when she walked in. Slumped in a chair as though dead with my eyes half shut, half of the buttons on my vest undone, one hand wrapped around my belt buckle and the other hanging off to the side.
Well, it could have been worse. I hadn't started drooling yet.
"Fenris?"
I twitched, then startled awake. My eyes were barely open before I registered that I'd grabbed my sword and fallen into a fighting stance. Hawke was in the process of seating herself on the wooden bench opposite my chair. She held her hands up in supplication, a cloth bag clutched in one fist.
I hadn't heard her come in at all.
"Hawke." I acknowledged, settling the sword back against the hearth once my heartbeat slowed. "What brings you here?"
"I didn't see you at the Hanged Man tonight."
I made a non committal noise and eased myself back into the chair. "That would be because I was not there."
"You broke the tradition. We always go to the bar after work."
"Yes. You do."
She stared at me for a moment. I had no trouble holding her gaze. After a few long silent seconds, she rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll stop being subtle. Are you alright?"
"I expect I will be after a good night's sleep." I replied pointedly.
A dark eyebrow rose in skepticism. "You're not going to get that in a chair. You look as though you barely made it that far before you just stopped working entirely."
I rolled my good shoulder in a half-shrug.
The fire crackled some more. Hawke had a sheen of sweat across her brow and she'd only been there for a moment or two. She edged away from the flames. "Why do you keep the fire so bleeding hot?"
"Helps with the pain." The words were out of my mouth before I realized it. My mouth twitched into a frown. "I'm sore, you see." Good recovery, ass.
"I could call Anders over-" She halted at my expression.
"I'll be fine."
I turned my face to the fire and rested my chin on my palm, desperately fighting the lethargy that was trying to envelope me. She moved. I caught the motion out of the corner of my eye.
Good. Better that she left. I did not want to deal with pity or concern right now. Not after my little slip of the tongue. Let people know your weaknesses and they will take advantage of them.
"There's blood in your hair." Bloody hells, she was a foot away.
"Haven't had the chance for a bath yet." I replied automatically, turning to face her and letting my hand drop to my lap. "Is there a reason for the inspection?"
"I worry when my friends act strangely."
"Going home is hardly strange behavior." I said. "Pardon my honesty, but you've known me for all of a few weeks. Are you so quick to lower your defenses and call people friend?"
"I tend to consider someone who takes up arms against my enemies a friend." she said. Her eyes, shrewd as ever, were free of guile.
"A cat may kill a snake, but I doubt the mouse would consider it an ally," I retorted. My eyes felt gummy but I stubbornly refused to rub them. Instead, I focused my ire on her.
She rolled her eyes, reached for the cloth bundle, and withdrew a couple small vials with red liquid. "You look like shit, Fenris. Here. There's nothing wrong with needing some help now and then." The vials flew through the air and I caught them automatically. "Have you eaten yet?"
"I'll eat later." I said, standing to tuck the vials on my shelf. I covered a wince as my twisted ankle twinged. "My thanks for the supplies," I muttered under my breath, mentally calculating them into my total debt.
"If you wont' let me bully you into eating tonight, you should come by in the morning for breakfast. Bethany's turn to cook. I think Varric and Anders said they'd be there."
"I'll pass."
She tossed her head and turned on her heel. "Great. See you tomorrow."
I returned to my chair but it didn't seem so inviting now. It seemed Hawke had somehow managed to draw a draft into the room with her coming and going. The fire burned imperceptibly lower.
Bloody humans.
I didn't go to her home that morning. Instead, I took the opportunity to poke about the docks. Hawke normally left off for a few days following a job and that mine was a particularly rough run. The supplies she had brought me helped to soothe the battle injuries, but not my pride.
Just one more kindness I felt the need to repay.
In those few days of recuperation, I normally found myself walking next to the water. It was soothing. It wasn't hot like the flames I preferred, but the salt laden breeze did something to calm the sear of my markings. Perhaps it was just a trick of the mind, but most days, I'd happily accept anything that lessened the constant ache.
The water was choppy that day. Grey skies hovered close over an ocean that was at once both blue and black. A storm was in the air and the people on the shore knew it. The dock workers moved quickly with their heads down. Superstitious sailors made signs with their hands as they battened down the loose gear on the docks and their ships. Urchins were even seeking cover beneath awnings.
Though it was early morning, I was nearly alone on the dockside as the storm moved ever closer. Soon enough, I could see the first hazy signs of rain in the distance. Ocean-borne storms are always fast, outstripping even the fastest ships and swamping anyone unfortunate or foolhardy enough to be out on the water. It was quite a sight to watch the approaching onslaught from the shore, though in this particular city, it was a fairly common occurrence. Something about these storms stirred up the schools of fish that most of the poor wretches depended upon for their livelihoods.
Ah, fish. Perhaps the only drawback to the otherwise beautiful ocean.
I waited, as was my ritual. It had become something of a forlorn hope to receive word of Denarius's whereabouts from the disreputable roughs I'd paid off. I'd taken his home weeks ago. In another few weeks, I would be counting the time in months.
The storm drew closer as I watched. Someone behind me yelled something about how a knife ear should know better than to stand out in a storm.
I ignored it.
The sun had nearly vanished behind the clouds.
The clouds moved quickly. Like all natural wonders, it engulfed everything in its path without concern for the damage it might do. In the space of one breath, I was standing in the humid air, and the next I was surrounded by thick, angry raindrops.
The rain pounded my body as I turned and slowly walked towards the stairwell leading from the docks. It felt good. Not as good as fire, but it helped. Extremes help. Cold rain, hot flames. It was just a pity I'd not worked out how to get my hands on some ice. Ordinary ice. Of the non-magicked variety.
A familiar figure stood at the crest of the stairs. I noticed right before I had nearly run into her. At first I thought it might be Hawke, come to look for me as she was wont to do with all of us when the mood takes her, but I was mistaken. I neared the figure and once I was not so blinded by the rain I recognized the overly emphasized feminine stance of the smuggler.
Isabella.
Again.
Surely the Maker has better things to do than torment me.
I wish he'd go see to them.
