It was close to morning, but still pitch dark outside. The wayside inn calmed down, most of the guests – traveling merchants or patrols – drunk and more or less asleep. A thick mist of smoke twisted into ominous shapes in the dark corners at the ceiling.
The door opened very suddenly and a waft of chilly breeze boiled the patterns of smoke. A lean female figure, dressed in what once may have been a man's velvet finery, dark hair chopped short – clearly with a dagger. Visibly exhausted, a haunted look in her gray eyes. She stumbled several times on her way to the bar, leaned onto it heavily for a moment, but soon her anxious gaze lifted and fixed on the innkeeper.
„I need a sell sword, my good man. Know of any here?"
The old barkeep pointed his chin to one of the darker corners.
„Tha' one. S'upposed to be quite deadly, though 've ne'er seen 'im do anythin' but drink."
She followed his gaze with an almost longing hope.
He has been sitting there for what seemed like an eternity, his dream twisting over and over in his head like a poisonous reptile. He had been turning a cup of wine – which never seemed to go empty – in his fingers, until it fell to the ground a few hours ago. Since then, he has been drinking from the bottle and had no idea how much wine he already tasted.
After a certain point it all tastes the same.
„Serah?"
Somewhat slowly he lifted his gaze.
For a moment he thought he'd met this woman before. Her haunted gray eyes; her tense, alert face; her hair ragged and her clear pale skin and high cheekbones smeared with dust from the road.
He didn't speak.
„I heard you are a mercenary. A good one. I can pay."
For a moment he considered the level of his drunkenness, but he realized he hadn't been able to get properly drunk since...
He felt a low growl starting in his throat.
„Who am I to kill?" he heard his voice rasp quietly.
Her gaze lingered on his lips for a moment, before she said in a somewhat resigned voice:
„Anyone that comes near me when I sleep."
She pulled several gold coins from her pouch and stretched out her hand to him.
He took them from her and held her gaze, unintentionally.
This was unexpected. Interesting. It took his mind off Hawke and all the rest of the horrible mage business.
He stood up and led the way.
The elf offered her his room and his blanket, and as it was the last room on the top floor with a window facing the forests, she thought it a good strategic point.
She was nervous, but she needed sleep. Desperately. She's been running for days, dozing off in mossy valleys before awakening with a terror and running off again. She always felt someone's eyes on her and couldn't stop.
But she still was nervous. She slumped on the blanket and turned her eyes to him.
He seemed sober enough, sitting right next to the door in the shadowy corner. His long sword lightly rested against his knee. He was watching her.
„How many?" he asked.
She shook her head.
„I don't know. I only know I'm hunted. If you can't..." She paused. „If there are too many, just... wake me first. I won't hold a grudge, feel free to run, but I want to run too."
He looked at her, and for a second she thought she saw pain and a smile, too, curve his elegant elven lips.
„If I run, you'll be slung over my shoulder. I do my jobs properly."
She attempted a smile, but failed miserably and fell asleep almost instantly.
Fenris watched her exhausted face unclench and she looked almost beautiful, although dusty and pale. He pondered what she could be running from. She didn't look like a criminal, and the way she handed him the gold was almost careless. As if it didn't belong to her. Of course, after a few days without sleep, gold is irrelevant. He knew that far too well. Maybe she was a noble from a family fallen from grace. Or...
There was a quiet sound from the corridor, like the friction of a foot on a wooden floor when a figure turns abruptly.
He closed his eyes to feel the vibrations and see without seeing.
His fingers closed firmly on the hilt of his sword.
He wasn't afraid and he wasn't nervous – the things he'd already seen couldn't be outmatched by common assassins. The only though on his mind was that the exhausted young woman at his feet needed to rest.
The door was flung open without a sound.