Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to BioWare.
Prompt 2: Wonton
Word Count: 621
It was as if she had whispered the word in his ear, phantom breath caressing his flesh, intimately sighing against his skin. A tremor passed through his body as her meaning registered, his entire visage falling into ice.
"Um, guys, that's not- I mean, really-" Varric stammered, his normally charismatic tongue failing.
But Fenris was already moving, cold fury sinking into his veins like poison. His bare feet tread silently on the rocky ground, their passing nearly untraceable as he stalked towards the blood-stained Witch.
He stopped a hairs-breath away from her, glowing hand upraised, metal fingers like claws. His lyrium markings flared at her proximity. She stared up at him as he leaned close, the intensity of her gaze making something in him shiver. Memories of agony raked their way to the forefront of his mind and he flung them back, refusing to entertain such thoughts. His cold eyes glinted, lip curling with loathing.
"What did you say?" His voice was dangerously soft and he nearly smirked at the way she shivered.
"I'm sorry." She paused, tongue flicking out to lick a drop of blood before it fell, her voice light.
"Did you not hear?"
She raised a limp hand, grasping the back of his neck delicately, thin fingers twining in the silver strands that curled at its nape and pulled herself closer. He stiffened; glare sharpening at the contact, mouth forming into a snarl, though his body froze at her next action.
Her other hand, her staff hand, ran down his torso, stopping inches from his lower abdomen. Fenris inhaled sharply, nearly flinching when real lips brushed against the shell of his ear, her breath warming his icy skin.
"Slave."
Memories surged forward with vengeance, nights of pain, of pleasure, meant only for the Master, the Mistress, whomever Danarius whished, filling his head with their filthy words, their wonton sighs. All the voices whispering, calling out the same word with sickening fervency: Slave!
An instant of eternal torment and then the images receded, his hate burning them away from his conscious mind like a fever burns away sickness. Rage colored his vision red, hand descending, silver tattoos pulsing bright and then suddenly he was falling.
The metal of his gantlets tore though the sleeve of her armor, cutting into the flesh of her shoulder and raking down her arm rather than ripping out her still-beating heart.
He hit the ground, struggling to get up and finish the job, only noticing Hawke when he was forcefully pushed back down.
"Now, Daisy, I expected better of you." Varric was saying, tugging insistently at Merrill's uninjured arm. He gripped her harder when she didn't respond, still staring down at the pinned elf with cold, hollow eyes. Rodent whined again, nudging earnestly at his master's hand.
Varric's smile was grim, despite his cheeky tone.
"You could have at least hit him!"
"Varric!" Hawke barked, shoving his captives' face deeper into the dirt when he viciously tried to release himself.
"Yes?" The dwarf grinned wider, unrepentant.
Hawke jerked his head to the right, indicating that they should leave.
"Quickly!" He snapped.
Varric nodded, all humor gone from his beardless face as he silently pulled Merril's unresisting form farther down the forested road and out of sight. The mabari trailed after them, ears perked intently.
Fenris twisted, gloved hands finding perches on the uneven earth, leaving long rivets in it as he tried to throw the rogue off.
Hawke shifted, using his larger body to his advantage and fixing the elf in an unbreakable hold.
"Maker, Fenris! Why do you have to pick at her so?" He huffed straining to keep the white haired man immobilized.
"I will kill her." The elf warrior growled, sending up puffs of dust with each ragged breath.
"Don't you get it, Fenris? That's what she wants."
AN: Review Please!
~Delgodess
