Chapter 2 – Talking Proper
Fenris slammed the door to the mansion behind him. Turning, he opened it and slammed it shut again, harder. Damnable woman! Growling, he stormed through the lower floor looking for something to smash. Grabbing a painting of a smug human woman with ridiculously exaggerated assets he drove a mailed fist straight into them, smiling at the shatter of glass. Better. Spinning, he stuck his foot through another nearby painting, one of a dog wearing a comical hat and an bemused expression before, foot tangling in the frame, promptly falling over backwards. He contemplated the vaulted ceiling for a moment before banging his head a few times against the wooden floor for good measure.
He was being childish, he knew it. That thrice damned woman seemed to bring it out in him. When he'd first met her he'd found her beautiful. Still did, if he was honest with himself. Her early, forward attempts at flirtation had been refreshingly charming, if a little aggressive, but now every time she opened her mouth her voice set his teeth on edge. It was not as if she had an unpleasant voice. On the contrary, it was low and musical…but the way she spoke. He winced at the thought. She was brash, brusque and too often brutally honest. If there was a connection between her brain and her mouth he could not see it and she more often than not acted before she thought. Most Tevinter women, those who weren't disgusting, ambitious blood mages, were charming and graceful, trained in all aspects of the social niceties. He had admired a few whilst in Danarius' service as he would fine wines or works of art. He eyed the remains of the paintings scattered around him. Fragile as they are.
She was most definitely not fragile. She was wiry, mannish to the point of choosing to dress like one, more likely to start a fight than run from one. She'd been picking fights with him from the first day he'd met her. She knew his feelings - they were not prejudices! - towards magic and mages and yet she still insisted on involving him in jobs which more often than not required them to fight their corner. Having to spend time with the disturbing apostate who threw her covert, adoring glances was bad enough but then to watch her speak kindly to him, throw a companionable arm around him…that…that abomination!...made his stomach twist in on itself. She had never deigned to touch him so familiarly he was glad of it. Anders' need for constant reassurance simply proved his weakness - he had no need of her attentions, affection was easy to exploit.
I have no wish to be petted like a dog, especially by her.
He wondered if any of it was deliberate, gestures solely designed to provoke him, and decided sulkily that it was. He'd long ago learned to school his features into a sardonic mask and he had learned quickly upon meeting her that she found his impassivity annoying enough try and get a rise out of him as often as possible. As a result they were unable to converse for more than a handful of minutes without flying at each other's throats.
I daresay a couple of weeks' enforced company will lead to significant headaches for the both of us if not actual bloodshed.
Sighing, he sat up slowly. His foul mood was only due in part to Hawke anyway. He'd been talked, no, bullied into this lyrium-touched plan. Even Varric's smooth persuasive manner had done little to mask the underlying command and, oh, how he hated being ordered to do anything. He'd earned his freedom and subsequently anyone telling him what to do made him bristle like an angry cat. The only reason he was still stuck in this piss-hole of a city was the faint chance that Danarius might return so that they could finally end this pointless farce. And for that he needed the help of Hawke and her motley band of companions.
He made a noise of exasperation and stood, brushing glass off his feet. Still, if the plan worked he'd have gold enough to buy a band of mercenaries, effectively removing the need for any continued association with the bullish Ferelden woman.
Reason enough.
He wandered into the foyer of the mansion eyeing the crumpled body at the foot of the stairs. In the months he had been living in Danarius' old place it had not even begun to decompose, blood magic he supposed. Out of the smeared windows he could see the sky darkening. Hawke would be arriving soon.
He was unable to stop himself arranging the body so it appeared to be making an obscene gesture at any who entered before he went to clean up.
Hawke threw open the door of the mansion and stomped into the foyer. She relaxed slightly on realising Fenris was nowhere in sight and frowned at the body sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. Drawing closer she gave a surprised snort of laughter at its position.
Ornery elf. Maybe he does have a sense of humour after all.
Fenris looked up as she entered the drawing room. "Good evening, Hawke." He gestured to a chair and frowned slightly as she plonked herself into it gracelessly, legs splayed. He met her challenging gaze and bit the inside of his cheek. Calm. This will be more bearable if you remain calm.
"I thought tonight we would start by working on your diction."
"My - ?"
"The manner in which you speak."
"I know what diction means, you condescending - " Rein it in, Hawke. You can do this. "I mean" she amended carefully "what's wrong with the way I speak?"
What's right with it? he swallowed the automatic barb with difficulty. "I am merely pointing out that on formal occasions, new acquaintances will expect civil conversation, generally on trifling matters, and polite interest at the very least." He looked down. "The Viscount's son himself will be eager to learn more about you and polite enquiry should be met with charm and tact."
"Are you suggesting I am incapable of these things?" She felt her fists clench and promptly sat on her hands, taking a deep breath.
"I have no idea what you are capable of. I am here so you may practice. Let us begin. I will be…a friend of Saemus'. Stand, please." She rose warily and they moved to the centre of the room. "We are meeting for the first time" he said, and, taking a step towards her, bowed and took her hand. She flinched slightly and watched him in amazement as he brushed his lips over her knuckles. "My name is Fenris, may I have the pleasure of knowing yours?" He peered up at her through his hair. His eyes were startlingly green in the firelight.
She swallowed, threw an awkward curtsey and wobbled slightly, mouth tightening as she saw his lips quirk in amusement. "Hawke. Nice to meet you."
He straightened. "The correct greeting is 'how do you do, Ser,' and you cannot introduce yourself as Hawke. You must use your given name." His brow creased. And I have no idea what that is.
"It's Marian. Before you say it, I hate it so I never use it."
"Marian" he rolled the name around his mouth thoughtfully. "Marian"
"Yes? What of it?"
"It's just…" he looked vaguely perplexed. "You don't strike me as being a Marian…"
I'll strike you any minute, Ser, see if I don't.
"And what exactly is a Marian supposed to look like? Fat old fishwife? Poncy powdered lady? Painted whore?" snapped Hawke. She saw him wince slightly at her language and her temper flared as he dropped her hand quickly. "What sort of a name is Fenris anyway?"
His face darkened immediately. "Fenris is not my name. Fenris is what my master called me." He turned away, grabbing a bottle from the desk. Hawke watched him take a large mouthful. After a pause he offered it to her. She took a swig and raised her eyebrows.
"Expected it to be saltier."
"I'm…sorry?" He looked confused.
"What with being made of the blood and tears of Tevinter slaves and all."
He gave a bark of laughter as she handed him the bottle. She relaxed and settled back in the chair.
"So…what is your name?" He eyed her balefully, taking another mouthful.
"I do not know."
"Why not?"
He slammed the bottle down. "This is irrelevant. We have discussed introductions, you can choose either to dismiss my advice or act on it."
Bloody grumpy elf, it was an honest enquiry. "Fine. Whatever. What's next?"
"Women at court must be more inclined to listen than speak. Another matter I suggest you think on. You are too eager to give your opinions and often – "
She bristled. "So you're saying my opinions are not worth hearing?"
"And often you interrupt. This may be construed as extreme rudeness. I am not saying this should be so but the gentry imagine what they have to say is always of great import and dislike it when you cut them off. Listen, nod and add a polite comment every now and again. If you cannot think of one simply make approving noises. Saemus especially will appreciate that." Hawke frowned at him. "You wish to gain his approval? Let him talk and you will. If you must speak, count to three first, do not simply blurt out the first thing that comes into your head."
Hawke opened her mouth angrily but caught his eye and shut it again. Patronising bastard. He has a point though. She let out a breath. "Yes. Mother always says I should think before I speak. It's just that sometimes I can't help myself." She gazed into the fire, eyes unfocused. He tilted his head slightly, unused to seeing her so unguarded.
"I just…react. I guess I've gotten worse since leaving Lothering. We…lost people because I was too slow." She frowned in mild surprise. Must've taken a bigger mouthful of wine than I thought.
"If you react without thinking – "
"If I stop to think I'll remember…" she said softly, shaking her head and straightening.
"Maker's breath, woman, you interrupted me again!" The words were out before he could stop them even as his mind re-spooled her last comment, almost too quiet to hear. He regarded her suddenly hostile expression and decided against pressing the issue, annoyed with himself. And there we managed not to snap at each for thirty seconds.
Hawke's jaw worked. "Anything else?"
Fenris paused, groping for the most tactful approach. "Perhaps you may wish to practice more formal speech."
She ground her teeth. "Not tonight I don't. My mother has a book, I'll bring it over. She used to be big on getting us all to speak properly. I was never that interested though. Better things to do. It has practice conversations."
Fenris stiffened. "I need no book – "
"Well I do. It's late, I'm tired, I'm going." She stood up and headed for the door, pausing at the archway. With a visible effort she turned and inclined her head slightly. "I thank you for your instruction, Ser. I bid you goodnight." With that, she was gone.
What's a Lothering peasant doing with a book on formal speech? He growled low in his throat. She would think even less of him if he revealed his little handicap. He grabbed the bottle again and took a long swig, closing his eyes. Her expression as she had gazed, unseeing, into the flames rose in his mind. She had looked so sad. He grunted. A trick of the light, nothing more.
There was a soft thump from the floor below and moments later he heard the front door slam shut. Padding downstairs he found the body rearranged in such a manner that it appeared to be pointing at its own arse. He sighed and went back to the drawing room.
Hawke, Bethany, Merrill and Aveline ambled slowly through the Hightown marketplace.
"They're late" said Hawke, yawning suddenly. "Maker knows where Isabela is, personally I'd rather not know."
Bethany yawned in sympathy. "You were up late last night reading that old book of Mother's." She nudged Aveline. "I even caught her curtseying to the mabari. Learn anything new?" She giggled as Hawke scowled at her.
"Nothing I didn't already know. Or care about." She pursed her lips. "Still, I said I'd practise. Every little helps, as they say." She fluttered a hand and curtseyed neatly. "My Lady…"
"So the first lesson went well, did it?" Aveline raised an eyebrow. "You're practising for him?"
"I'm practising for me. It went…all right. He's still a patronising, uptight arsehole but we managed not to savage each other too much. Incidentally," she cocked her head. "Did you know his name isn't actually Fenris? He doesn't know what it is. Wouldn't tell me why but it's odd, yes?"
"Ooh, what do you think it is?" said Merrill excitedly. "It could be Simon…or…or Bernard."
"I don't think it's Bernard." Hawke grinned at the thought. Bernard the mighty elf warrior.
"Why not?"
"He just…doesn't strike me as a…oh, here they are." Fenris, Anders and Varric approached. Hawke nodded at them before Anders touched her arm gently. "You look tired, Hawke. Everything all right?"
"She was up late reading a book on talking proper" said Bethany, grinning. "She's really getting into this. It's ancient and fusty, you'll love it Fenris."
"I have no interest in peasant literature" he muttered darkly, covering his sudden discomfort with a scowl. Hawke clenched her fists. Aveline, looking at her sidelong, could have sworn she was counting under her breath.
"We're not peasants!" exclaimed Bethany indignantly. "Mother came from a very well to do family here in Kirkwall. She eloped with a mage when she was younger but our name is still known and we will regain our family home. Hopefully when my sister manages to…to make herself known to the gentry."
Fenris raised an eyebrow. "My apologies. Your breeding was not immediately clear to me."
Hawke took a step towards him. "One more word out of you, wolfie, and you'll lose whatever assets you prized up until now. And I'm not talking about your oversized phallic symbol."
Fenris advanced on her slowly. "Sword envy, perhaps? Seems like you should have been a brother rather than a sister to Bethany. Perhaps in truth you are."
There was a sudden, awful silence.
Fenris saw Bethany's stricken expression and stiffened as Hawke took several quick steps towards him, her hands on her blades.
"Don't you ever – " His markings flared reflexively but he froze in surprise when he noticed the sudden quaver in her voice and the wet shine of her eyes. She whirled, taking Bethany's arm and tugging her away. He watched the two leave for long moments before turning to the others who were eyeing him with varying expressions of disgust.
"Hawke lost a brother whilst fleeing Lothering," said Aveline quietly. "And Bethany a twin"
"I…did not know." Not a trick of the light, you fool.
Anders glowered at him. "You know very little about any of us," he said flatly. "Because you've never bothered to ask."
Varric eyed him coldly. "If you ever wish to leave this place, Broody, you'll go apologise. Because right now, she's your best ticket out of here."
"Is that an order?"
"A request, Fenris. Only that."
They left him standing indecisively in the busy marketplace, Anders taking care to bump him on the way past. Merrill stopped and eyed him, lips pursed.
"You know," she said slowly "I can stop blood going to places it needs to go to. I can make things drop off with my brain. Don't you go upsetting her again." She stalked off.
Fenris sighed. To his chagrin he was a little ashamed of his behaviour. Having no idea wasn't really an excuse. He needed a drink and clearly no work was going to get done today anyway. He started back to the mansion, his expression dark enough to send people scrambling to get out of his way.
