Act 2
Brown and grey. Everything seemed brown and grey when she awoke. Not black, not the familiar white of the stones of the palace, not blues or oranges or purple. Brown and grey. Hard, distant, unyielding. Which meant she wasn't in Twilight anymore. She closed her eyes; they weren't any help anyway, too blurry from her time asleep. Time would fix that, but she didn't want to see Hyrule. Not again. Hyrule…a sudden panic gripped her throat and plunged itself into her mind. A terror filled her stomach and sent it rolling. If she had been usurped again…if she had been turned into an imp…stripped of most of her power, her beauty, her very identity…for that was the only thing it could mean. She couldn't take it again.
Her eyes flashed open again and she bolted up, desperate to know if she was, indeed, back in her exiled form. Too soon. A stabbing pain ripped through her skull, right behind her eyes. Her chest screamed as if on fire, and her lungs burned from lack of oxygen. Every nerve in her body quivered in pain, and she collapsed back, the pain so strong she couldn't even scream, just gape like a fish out of water. Luckily, though, the pain caused her eyesight to suddenly sharpen, and details came into view. The only thing she noticed in her agony, though, was a young woman, not much younger than she, standing over a stone bowl. She had black hair, facial tattoos, and the pointed ears of a Hylian. Her wide, green eyes widened considerably more at seeing her awake, and the girl rushed over, babbling in a tongue that was far from being Hylian.
Another woman entered then, an old, gray-haired Hylian with faded tattoos and a robe that bespoke authority. She stared helplessly at the two women as the pain seared through her.
"You will be okay," the old woman spoke slowly as she took her hand. Her normal hand. She was not an imp, thank the Goddesses! A soothing sensation filled her, thanks to the old Hylian's magical ministrations.
"Thank you," she managed to whisper before falling back into the deep sleep of healing.
"Broody. Hey, Broody!" a baritone voice called him out of his mind.
Fenris came too, realizing he had been staring into the mud-colored liquid at the bottom of his tin mug, into what passed for ale in the Lowtown inn. How long had he been sitting there?
"What are you doing?" the owner of the voice, a dwarf, asked as he pulled out a wooden chair and plopped himself down beside Fenris.
"Thinking," the elf responded, still looking into the mug, but now debating if he should risk taking another swig of the stuff. After all, it tasted worse than the mud it resembled.
"Well that's never good," the dwarf looked away and whistled at a bar wench. "Get us another round of this piss, will you?"
The bar wench gave him the dirtiest look she could muster before going to fetch them another of ale. A paying customer was a paying customer, after all, even if he was trying to buy out your employer. A fact which Varric, the dwarf, never let the employees forget.
Right on cue, Varric grumbled, "When I own this place, it'll be quality piss, at least."
Deciding that he was getting another mug anyway, Fenris risked the distinct possibility that he would get drunk and swilled the last gulp of ale. He wiped off the residue with the back of his hand and tried not to spit out the disgusting aftertaste of what could accurately be called piss. The bar wench, an ugly serving woman that had worked The Hanged Man since before Fenris had arrived in Kirkwall over three years ago, brought them two more dingy tin mugs with just a bit of froth gathered on the surface of the piss/ale and taking Fenris' empty one away to be wiped briefly by the barkeep's dirty cloth and then put back to use for the many Lowtown lowlifes that came and drank at the inn.
"To mysteries from the Fade!" Varric lifted his mug in a toast. "And may this new mystery Hawke found bring us less misery than the last!"
Fenris raised his mug and clanked the bottom with Varric's, sending a little wave of muddy liquid over the rim and onto the table. "Yes, less misery. Though, this girl seems even more powerful than that damn lyrium idol."
"So Hawke said," Varric said after a swig and a pause to let the ale run its sluggish course to his gut.
"So he told you?"
"Of course. He told me everything. And he also told me that you saved her, Broody," Varric eyed him over his mug.
And with that, Fenris chugged the entire mug of ale. Varric watched, stunned, somewhere between disgust and awe. When the last drop of ale was gone from the mug, Fenris slammed it down on the table and issued a loud belch in triumph that he was now, officially, a slight bit drunk. The ale, weak as it was, still had enough alcohol to make Fenris' stomach warm and his throat tickle. He felt his mind go a tad fuzzy, too. It should have taken a lot more to get him drunk, considering how much he normally drank, but after trips to the Fade, his body's resistances were lower than usual. A pleasant side-effect of something not-so pleasant, Fenris decided.
Varric raised an eyebrow when he was done, ignoring the expressions from the other bar patrons. "I take it you aren't very happy about it, then?"
"Not in the slightest," Fenris agreed.
He nodded understandingly. With a small smile, Varric gulped his ale, though not quite as viciously as Fenris had. Slamming on the table, much like Fenris had, Varric snapped his fingers at the wench for another round, which she grudgingly supplied.
"You two better keep yourselves in line," she hissed at them as she gathered the empty mugs.
"Of course, sweetheart," Varric leaned back and gave her one of his suave, charming smiles that people usually just rolled their eyes at, which the bar wench also did.
Flicking his eyes back to Fenris, the dwarf leaned forward conspiratorially. "So," he grabbed the handle of his mug, "what was it you were 'thinking' about?"
Fenris took another swig before answering. The ale was beginning to make his head feel nice and fluffy. "The girl, why I saved her, y'know," the elf waved the question off nonchalantly, now that he was tipsy.
"I don't know, that's why I'm asking, Broody," Varric patronized him. "And what do you mean, 'why you saved her'?"
Fenris shrugged slightly. "Because I don't have the faintest idea why I did. She's probably some kind of spirit, or demon, or, worse, another mage."
"Really? Not the faintest idea?"
Fenris gave him a warning look.
"Come on, Fenris, you saved her for a reason, didn't you? And don't tell me it was her body."
The elf winced in his mind. Varric never used his real name unless they were talking about something really important. And with his addled brain, he couldn't really think why this would be important at all.
"I felt, I don't know—"
"Hope?" Varric suggested.
Fenris looked up in surprise from the bottom of the mug, where he found himself staring yet again. "Hope?"
"I think you were hoping," Varric leaned back in his chair, a triumphant, knowing smile spreading across his face. "Hope that maybe she's different, that she'll prove you wrong."
"Wrong about what?"
"Wrong about magic, about mages, about yourself," the dwarf responded.
"Right, because not all mages are evil, or so they keep telling me," Fenris said bitterly.
"No, I think you're hoping they're right, on some level," Varric declared. "That's why you keep hanging around Hawke, even though he's a mage and you really don't need him to find Danarius."
"Yes, I do," Fenris protested, his forehead creasing in confusion.
"No you don't," the dwarf contradicted. "All you need to find Danarius is contacts, and you've made enough. You stay with Hawke because you want to see if he'll be like the rest of them, or if he's going to prove you wrong and turn out to be the good guy that doesn't go blood mage or abomination. And that's why you saved the girl. You want her to be a mage, so that she can prove you wrong, too."
Varric took another swill. "That, or it was 'divine intervention' or something."
Fenris rolled his eyes before drinking. "Sounds like you got me all figured out, Master Dwarf."
"'Course I do," Varric smiled proudly. "Come on, I got a better bottle of stronger spirits up in my quarters. Let's get piss-drunk tonight, eh?"
He awoke to the rich tone of a woman calling for him, and the rough voice of a dwarf yelling at him. Fenris pulled the cover tighter around his pounding head, trying to block out the sound of the world that just kept turning despite his many protests. Finally, the voices got too close to his room, and their noise reached his sensitive ears no matter how many covers or pillows he tried to block them out with.
Slowly, he sat up, trying unsuccessfully to lessen the pounding in his head that felt worse than a hammer taken to the base of his skull. He swore for the umpteenth time that last night would be the last night he would ever drink that much again as he squinted against the slits of sunlight that dimly fell through his ratty curtains. He shuffled to his bedroom door and clumsily pushed it open, perhaps with a bit of excess force than was really needed. The voices got nearer as the banging of the door brought the intruders closer to his location.
"Fenris!" the rich voice of a woman called for him sweetly. She rounded a corner, and stood there, looking at him like a cat looks at a juicy, fat bird. A smile broke out on her face. "Varric! I found him!"
The dwarf appeared soon after, but upon rounding the corner, quickly put his hands up defensively, shielding his eyes. Fenris heard him swear in surprise.
"I have to say, I quite enjoy this picture," Isabella purred.
"Yeah, you would," Varric agreed sarcastically. "Thank Andraste you have on a loin cloth, Broody. I think I'd have to stab my own eyes out otherwise."
Isabella's smile widened. "But then they could go on my necklace!"
"Sure, but I thought you just wanted elf eyes?"
"I'd make an exception for yours, Varric."
"Right, thanks." Varric peeked through his fingers at Fenris. "Come on, Broody, get some clothes on."
Fenris crossed his arms, irritated that he had been dragged out of bed. "Why?"
"So we can go, of course!" Isabella joked.
The elf shot her a dirty look, "Go where?"
"The Alienage," Varric said as he began walking toward the kitchen. "Keeper Marethari wanted you to visit, since, after all, it's been a week since the girl woke up."
Fenris grunted and turned back to his bedroom. "I'll pass, thanks."
Isabella lunged forward and grabbed his arm. "Oh no, you don't. Hawke ordered us to use force if necessary to take you, because Hawke doesn't want to offend our dear Keeper."
"Does he really expect me to care if I offend her?"
Isabella gave him one of her warning looks, which she gave only before she was about to twist a limb off. Fenris calculated the odds of beating her in his present condition, but with his pounding hangover, it probably wasn't going to happen. Sighing in resignation, he headed in the bedroom, to the dressing room. Isabella sat on the bed and waited as Fenris pulled on one of his tunics and leather pants, then strapped on his chest plate. He emerged a few minutes later, ready to go but looking like hell anyway. The pirate giggled at his bedhead and pained expression before leading him to the kitchen, where gratefully Varric was making one of his legendary hangover cures.
Isabella pushed him into a chair and passed him a bowl of the slop that looked about as bad as the food in The Hanged Man, but tasted far better. Within seconds of his first bite of the gruel, the pounding in his head lessened, and after he had scrapped out the last bit with his semi-dirty spoon, his head had cleared completely. Varric and Isabella were watching him with interest as he finished. He looked up from the bowl with confusion.
"You must've had one hell of a hangover, Broody," Varric finally commented.
"I came home and drank another bottle of brandy afterward," Fenris answered. Varric pressed his palms to his forehead in exasperation as Isabella just laughed.
Isabella took his arm and, with Varric leading the way and Fenris grudgingly keeping pace, the small party headed to Lowtown and into the Alienage. Not many people were out, even this late in the morning. They passed several people Fenris had seen before, some that Hawke had helped or that had just lived in Lowtown for longer than Fenris had lived in Kirkwall. Merrill stood outside the hut like a guard, looking lost and forlorn. When the blood mage saw the party of her "friends" approaching, she brightened considerably. Fenris' mood just grew darker. Mages.
"Varric! I was starting to worry that you might not come," Merrill began blabbering.
"Of course we came, sweetheart," Varric said. "We want to see this girl Hawke and Anders have been going on and on about."
Merrill's face lit up in a smile. "Oh, she's wonderful! She woke up about a week ago, and she's been steadily getting better since! Marethari predicts that she'll be able to move about in a few more days!"
Fenris crossed his arms, slightly annoyed that he was even there. And, he was slightly annoyed that Merrill had taken such a liking to this girl. It wasn't unusual for her to like strange people, after all she liked Hawke and he was about as strange as they came. It just seemed too weird that she was as powerfully attractive awake as asleep.
"—and she learns so quickly!" Merrill continued. "When she first awoke, she only spoke ancient Elvish, but now she can mostly understand Ferelden and she's beginning to speak it, too. It didn't take her very long to start understanding our conversations, either. We were talking one day, and—"
Fenris' mind blocked out Merrill as she continued blabbering about the girl. Marethari had appeared at the door, and was staring very intently at him, trying to get his attention. Just as he noticed her, so did Merrill, her First. She stopped in mid-sentence, and turned to look at her master.
"Master Dwarf, Mistress," she addressed Varric and Isabella, "would you like to meet her?"
Isabella lit up, and even Varric smiled a bit. They entered the dim hut, and Marethari shut the door after them, leaving Fenris alone with the blood mage. For the thousandth time, Fenris debated smashing her head against the wall, but for the thousandth time decided against it. Much as he hated blood mages, he couldn't kill her, much as he might have wanted to. She gave him a sort of awkward smile instead, one which he tried to return unsuccessfully.
"She asked about you," Merrill said shyly, in her feeble attempt to make conversation.
"Really? Why?" Fenris responded sarcastically.
Merrill didn't notice his tone, instead responding to his question. "Well, because you saved her, of course! At first, she didn't understand what had happened. But she knew that someone had saved her. So, the Keeper explained everything to her, and she seems to be taking it all pretty well. And she wants to thank you for saving her life."
His chest constricted in a tumble of emotions. "Thank" him? Even though he was still debating whether he should have just left her to die? He quickly quelled his boiling passions and tried to appear indifferent and apathetic, like he normally was.
Fairly soon, Varric and Isabella emerged, both with dreamy expressions on their faces. Apparently she was that remarkable. Varric shook his head, trying to shake whatever was gripping him before using his favorite swear, "Andraste's knickers!"
Marethari appeared at the door behind them and beckoned to Fenris. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against what he knew awaited him and plunged himself into the gloom inside the little hut. The Keeper grabbed his arm, not to reassure him, but as a friendly gesture. Fenris gritted his teeth to keep himself from yanking his arm back from the mage, despite secretly admiring Marethari on some level of his brain. In front of him, illuminated by an orb of magelight that apparently she was supporting herself, was the girl.
She was even more beautiful awake than asleep. Her blazing eyes were like the embers of a fire, a flame that kept everyone warm on a cold, blustery night and filled him with warmth. Her hood was down, revealing all of her silky, orange locks. Upon seeing him, she smiled sweetly, then broke into a grin that revealed her white teeth beneath. She was breathtaking.
And she was a mage.
Another surge of conflicting emotions swelled through the elf. He had hoped, just a little bit, that perhaps she wasn't a mage. Now, that hope was smothered by reality, by the indisputable truth that she was, indeed, a mage. One of the people he loathed. Susceptible to demons and the temptations of blood magic. She would turn, as they all did, and become a horrible abomination or perhaps something worse.
"You are…Fenris?" the girl asked in a high, breathy voice in halting Ferelden.
He nodded, unable to speak with the emotions clogging his throat.
"I am…Midna," she held a hand to her chest to indicate that it was, indeed, her name.
"Midna," he repeated dumbly.
She nodded, a small smile still on her face. "I want to…thank you."
"Thank me?"
"For…saving me. You…did not have to."
Fenris scowled. No, he did not have to, and yet, despite his better judgment, he had. And now, it turned out he had just saved yet another mage. He cursed himself, but he knew he had to be polite to the girl.
"You're welcome," he said miserably. "Good day."
He pulled away from the Keeper, their shocked expressions locked on his back, and walked out of the hut, his temper rising. He needed air. But, unfortunately, all of Kirkwall, both inside and outside, was stuffed and clogged with the scent of people and animals. There was no reprieve for him outside. Varric and Isabella were waiting for him, but even they were shocked at his stormy expression.
"Fenris?" Varric asked hesitantly.
"She's a mage! A goddamn mage!" the elf fumed.
"Calm down, Fenris—"
"No, I will not calm down! I saved a f*cking mage, Varric! One of them! Damn her, damn me!" he shouted. "Maker knows what she'll be like! She'll probably be possessed within a week, or—"
He broke off suddenly. At the door was a fuming Midna, her eyes no longer warm and dancing, but a consuming inferno, burning all who came to close. And she was focused on Fenris. Leaning on the doorframe for support, she glared furiously at him. The intensity of her fury was frightening, even to Fenris, who normally dismissed mages with an impassive attitude. The wall behind her darkened as she summoned her power, cloaking the area in an oppressive blanket of terror.
"I am not," Midna growled in a threatening tone, pronouncing each word with emphasis, "one of your…silly…mages. I…cannot be possessed…by any demon. And…I need no…blood magic. I…am more powerful…than any mage or spirit…in either realm."
And with that, Midna's eyes began glowing a blood red, and a boiling thunderhead began to gather above them, electricity shooting of from its bottom in bright blue bolts. The ground below them began to shake, and the wind began wiping their hair, threatening to rise and carry them with it. Terror and panic gripped Fenris' throat. He had only been this terrified in Tevinter, at the hands of Danarius. But this was a different kind of terror, on he wasn't familiar with. And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Midna's eyes returned to a burning inferno of yellow and orange, but she had released her magic. Marethari pulled her back from the door, and with an inscrutable look at Fenris, shut the door with force.
"Broody," Varric said, still staring at the door in shock, "I think you just got told off."
"Shut up," the elf snapped, turning away and briskly walking back to the abandoned mansion that served only as his living quarters. Isabella and Varric followed behind, whispering quietly behind his back. Meanwhile, Fenris brooded. Only a few mages had been angered enough by his hatred of their kind to lash out at him, one of them being Anders. None had ever lashed out quite like Midna had, however. It was unsettling. But more unsettling was the guilty feeling in his gut that, despite all his anger and hatred, refused to go away.
Even when he was back in the mansion, the guilty feeling refused to go away. So, he rifled through Danarius' liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of some Antivan brandy, some of the strongest in the cabinet. Popping out the quark, he poured a healthy dose of liquor into a crystal goblet and drank it all in one swig while lounging on one of the plush couches. The brandy burned going down, coating his throat in the sticky taste of alcohol, and his brain went slightly fuzzy. But the guilty feeling refused to go away. So he poured himself another glass.
After the fifth glass, when his head was definitely fuzzy but the guilty feeling still lingered in his stomach, he heard the front door open. He teetered unsteadily to his feet and looked around for his sword, thinking it might be one of Danarius' minions trying to catch him off-guards, when Hawke appeared at his balustrade. Fenris sank back down onto the couch.
"Hawke," the elf greeted him with his sixth glass of brandy, his voice surprisingly steady for being on the edge of drunk.
"Fenris," the mage said just as curtly. "I heard about what happened in the Alienage today."
Fenris grimaced and poured the contents of the glass down his throat, not even tasting the alcohol anymore. "I'm sure you did."
The burly mage crossed his arms in displeasure.
Looking up at him in drunken confusion, Fenris grabbed another crystal and filled it with brandy before offering it to Hawke. Hawke eyed it curiously, but he took it anyway and sipped it more delicately than Fenris. Throughout it, his dark eyes never left Fenris' face.
"You know," Hawke said after a swallow, "you might want to apologize."
"Apologize?" Fenris filled his own glass and drank it in one draft. "To a mage?"
Hawke gave him a disapproving look. "To the girl. Mage as she might be, Anders did some tests on her. She wasn't lying about not being able to be possessed. Apparently, her people had a type of magic that dispels demons. In fact, Anders hypothesized that a demon couldn't even be in a certain radius of her, so she probably couldn't even become a blood mage, either."
The elf grunted. The vague feeling of terror from Midna's display returned, and Fenris realized he had been terrified, not of her power, but of her disapproval and hate. Suddenly, the concept of using a glass for the brandy seemed ridiculous. He took the bottle in hand, lifted to his mouth, and drank all of the dark liquid. But the guilt wouldn't go away.
"That was a new bottle, wasn't it?"
"Yesh, sho?"
Hawke shook his head. "You're becoming an alcoholic, Fenris."
"Wha'eve' helpsh, I don' care any mo'," he slurred.
Hawke set his brandy on the coffee table and hooked his arm under Fenris, lifting him up and escorting him to the bedroom.
"Sleep it off," the mage instructed patronizingly.
But Fenris didn't have the strength or presence of mind to retort. He was out in minutes.
Fenris looked hesitantly at the hut, unsure if he should be there at all. He had awoken in the morning, a potion to help with the hangover conveniently left there by Hawke as Fenris swore yet again to stop drinking so he could avoid the messy and painful hangover that persistently plagued him the next day. Hawke's words, and the guilty pit in his stomach, still lingered in his head. So, dressing himself and trying to think of what to say, he had decided to go to the Alienage and do what Hawke suggested: apologize. A part of him was screaming not to go because, after all, she was a mage. She probably would turn on him, as all the mages he had known eventually did. But, if what she and Hawke had said were true…
Heaving a great sigh, he strode forward and knocked on the door with his armored knuckles. Merrill answered almost immediately. Her eyes widened in shock at seeing him there, and her jaw dropped just a fraction.
"Fenris!" she exclaimed. "What are you—"
"I'm here to see the girl," he interrupted her. "Alone, if you don't mind."
Her mouth shut tightly, but her slowly widening eyes gave away her surprise. She nodded, and moved aside so he could pass. As soon as he was inside, she moved outside and shut the door behind her, immersing the single-roomed cottage in shadow.
Well, mostly in shadow. Several magelights stuck in corners and on the ceiling, again by Midna's hand, casting the room in a purple and blue light. Midna, meanwhile, sat in a chair by a grimy window, looking out onto Kirkwall. She did not look up at his entrance, as if waiting for him to speak first.
Taking a breath and clearing his throat, Fenris started, "I wanted to…to…" The words stuck in his throat. He hadn't realized how difficult it would be to say that one word to a mage. "To apologize."
"What for?" Midna said in her high, breathy voice.
The elf ground his teeth. "For…assuming…logically assuming…that you were like every other mage I've met."
Finally, the girl looked up at him with her captivating ember eyes. Immediately, a warmth stronger than Antivan brandy spread through his limbs. She actually seemed rather sad.
"And I…wanted to apologize…as well."
Fenris stared at her in dumb shock. What? he thought.
Midna turned back to the window. "I…realize now that I don't know…what you have been through. I…was wrong to treat you…so harshly."
His jaw dropped a degree. A mage? Apologizing? To him? This had never happened, except when he had told Hawke his story.
"Did Hawke tell you?" Fenris asked skeptically.
Midna turned back to him, her slanted brows narrowing in confusion. "Tell me what?"
Her confusion told him that, indeed, she knew nothing of his past. And yet, she had apologized. He was flabbergasted.
"I realized…after you had gone, that you…might have had…experiences…with mages that I do not know about," she smiled wanly. "I…cannot blame you…for assuming that I would be as bad…as those like me…that you have met. You…do not know any better…and can only be expected…to expect…the worse."
Fenris sank against the wall behind him. She had apologized. To him. Apologized. A mage. It was shocking. Maybe everyone had been right. Maybe she was different. He felt his heart rebelling against the logic in his brain, telling him to try trusting her. He was so shocked that he couldn't suppress that hope.
Looking at the ground like it was the bottom of a tin mug, he started, "There was only one mage that ever apologized to me. And that was after hearing my story. He felt…bad for what had happened to me. But you don't even know me. And yet, you apologized."
Midna tilted her head toward him and gave him a sad little smile. "I knew a man…once. He was…a lot like you. He…did not trust me…either. But he had no choice. I learned later that his love…had been kidnapped…by a henchman of one of my people. And my people…were invading his world. I understand now…why he did not trust me then. So, I can understand…why you might not trust me. My anger blinded me…before. That is why…I apologized."
Fenris shook his head, looking back up at her. "You are one strange person, Midna."
Her smile got bigger. In that moment, Fenris realized that he would do anything to see her smile like that at him again.
Author's Note: Uh...things are moving along quite well, aren't they? This is pretty fun to write, especially with Alex Clare's "Damn Your Eyes" playing in the background, a song I highly recommend. Anyway...reviews are welcome and appreciated! Thanks for reading!
