Thanks to everyone for your reviews, favorites, alerts and general greatness :D I was pleasantly surprised to find people interested in this story. It's something I write between chapters of Lyrium Ghost, when possessed dwarves get the better of me ;) It's supposed to be my girly story. Every woman needs a girly story! So this is mine :D However, this chapter could have been better. :/ It's not my fault. Varric demands the spotlight. :)
Chapter 3: Absolutely, Positively, Scandalous!
Grace believed her next breath would surely be her last. If she made another mistake, it was certain she would never master Orlesian fine dining and her hopes of marrying a rich noble would be dashed. Spinsterhood and cats would become her future instead of banquets and balls. Grace's delicate hand hovered over a three pronged fork at the left of her plate. She glanced at her grandmother and then back to the table. When there was no indication from Madeline that the fork was appropriate to use during the second course salad, Grace's hand gravitated to a larger, more ornate four pronged fork.
"Ahem." Madeline cleared her throat, but never made eye contact.
Grace immediately withdrew her hand and drifted to the next fork.
Madeline shook her head. "It is the long one on the right, dear." She looked up from her embroidery briefly to see a large pout on Grace's face complete with slumping shoulders and hands lying limp in her lap. What a face. Madeline covertly rolled her eyes. If her father saw this he would surely laugh, but his mother... Maker she would not tolerate this foolish obsession with Orlais.
"You mustn't put your hands under the table either, love."
Grace sighed with enough intensity to make the folded napkin in the shape of a swan fall over. "Why not?" She asked with the eloquence of a six year old.
"That is considered a very serious transgression in Orlais," Madeline softly spoke. "They would assume that you were going for your dagger in order to assassinate your host."
Lately, Grace had started to feel like she knew her grandmother less and less. Madeline had an in-depth knowledge of Orlesian table etiquette that was so impeccable many nobles sought her instruction before venturing to Orlais. This, Grace had only discovered after asking her mother to pay for an Orlesian tutor. Madeline demonstrated her knowledge of their customs and dining in such a natural manner that Grace believed she must have lived in Orlais at some point. When she inquired, her grandmother simply smiled and continued with their lesson.
"Why don't we retire to the sitting room for some tea?" Madeline said. Her warm and tender smile managed to brighten her granddaughter's sour face. "Those biscuits you like arrived from Kirkwall today. What do you say, dear?"
Grace rose from her seat. She rubbed a few wrinkles out of her dress and primly walked to her grandmother's chair. Madeline smiled up at her granddaughter as she helped her walk from the dining room to her favorite rocker in the green sitting room.
"The roses are in bloom," Madeline said and she pointed to a large white rose bush that had decked their lawn for as long as Grace could remember. "Those are my favorite."
"Do you want me to call for Thalia?" Grace asked. The young woman crossed her legs and studied the flowers in the garden. "She could pick some and bring them in here for you to enjoy."
Madeline sighed. "That won't be necessary dear, besides, I gave Thalia the day off. There was a dress she wished to buy at Mrs. Abshire's shop."
Grace's face contorted in a look of surprise. "How can Thalia afford clothing from that shop? Why, that is where I get my dresses made, grandmother."
This was a moment Madeline was certain she would look back on and remember fondly. "I gave her the money to buy it."
"What? Why would you do such a thing?" Grace placed her hand over her mouth as if what she had just been told was a dirty secret. "She is a servant."
Madeline began to knit a sweater for Thalia's newly born nephew. "Oh, is that why she brings me my tea every morning?"
"Grandmother," Grace scolded. "This is serious."
"Oh I quite agree," Madeline said. Her eyes remained fixed firmly on her knitting.
Grace leaned over and began to whisper. "You cannot give money to every elf that needs it. Already, you have given enough."
"I have, have I?" Madeline looked mildly amused but a smidgen annoyed. The elderly woman's eyebrows were drawn together. "Should I consult you, dear next time I wish to make a purchase?"
"Because of you, we have an Elven quarter," Grace gestured in the direction of the location. "Not an alienage, but a whole section of Starkhaven lined with lovely homes for those..."
Madeline lifted her knitting needles and pointed them at her granddaughter. "Not another word or I will make you come to Thalia's party with me."
The young noblewoman's mouth gaped open. "What?" Her eyes widened in alarm. "You are going to a servant's party?" Grace flung her arms up and allowed them to fall heavily onto her lap. "Grandmother, you can barely walk."
"Well, I did suggest we have it here, but Thalia insisted it would be easier for her sister and her baby if it was closer to home." Madeline peered up at her granddaughter and continued speaking as if it were a two way conversation. "And I quite agree."
Grace flopped backwards into her overstuffed chair. "Grandmother, I simply do not know what to think."
"Good, dear, because you think too much. It can mar your complexion." Madeline hid a cheeky smile by keeping her head down and staying focused on her knitting. "Now, please read me some more of that book. I believe we are about to meet the elf."
I am so confused, thought Grace. She picked up the book while trying to decide if she had unwittingly participated in a conversation concerning Thalia and her family. Maker, my grandmother is odd today. Giving money to servants, going to knife-ear parties, what is she thinking? I hope this remains hidden.
"Grace, dear, I am not getting any younger," Madeline said. "Please read."
"As you wish, grandmother," Grace spoke. I just pray there are no lewd words or overly descriptive moments this time.
Grace began to read:
"Sister!"Carver yelled to Marian. When she did not answer he raised his voice believing she had not heard him over the noise in the Hanged Man. "Sister!"
Marian ignored her brother's insistent cry and headed to the door at a faster pace.
"Sister... sister... sister!"
Instinctively, and against her better judgment, Marian turned to face her brother. As the eldest, she had often been tasked with helping her mother raise the twins. Now that Carver was the only remaining sibling, she felt the responsibility of his safety weigh heavily on her shoulders. "What, what, what?" she answered.
Carver drifted away from the bar and strutted over to his sister. Ugggg... Marian rolled her eyes. Carver has been trying his luck again. This time with the barmaid Norah, who... Oh Andraste's twisted knickers, is eyeing up his backside. I bet he's been bragging about his 'swordsmanship' and showing off that Maker-awful tattoo again.
Over the years, Marian had watched her brother grow from a weedy boy who liked to eat bugs and torment small fluffy animals into a muscular teen, and finally, a formidable young man. Unfortunately, his maturity did not synch with his body. For most of her life Marian had been baffled by Carver's attitude, that was, until she met Gamlen, her uncle. If it wasn't for the fact she had been present at the birth of the twins, Marian would have been adamant that Carver was really her uncle's bastard son.
Carver squared his shoulders in his usual pretentious custom and shot his sister a perturbed look. He was a stout lad with large biceps and a wide chest. Several strands of his course black hair stood upright, like a cockerel's comb. But whether his body appealed to women or not, Marian was certain that after a woman had one lengthy conversation with him they would run for the hills and never look back. At least, they would if they had an ounce of sense. Most that he chatted up did not.
"Didn't you hear me when I called for you, sister?" Carver's question sounded like an accusation. "Where are you going?"
Maker, what did I do in my previous life to deserve him? Why couldn't he be a shy, more introverted brother that likes to sit quietly in the corner and contemplate the meaning of life?
Marian's expression hardened as she considered her brother. "I think it is safe to say that everyone from the Hanged Man to the Chantry heard you."
"What? Carver said in a thuggish tone. "You too good to associate with me now that you're the bold adventurer and do-gooder?" The loud offhand comment made several of the patrons turn their heads and stare at brother and sister. The unwanted attention embarrassed Marian. Carver was excellent at disturbing the peace.
"And this is exactly why I ignored you," Marian said. She laid her hands on her hips and sighed. "Every time we speak it ends in an argument."
Carver folded his arms over his chest. When he noticed others were staring he gave them a sharp look. They returned to their drinking. "All I wanted to know is where you were going in such a hurry."
Andraste's tits, this is not something I want to discuss with him. "I have plans to visit Fenris," Marian simply said. Every muscle in her face strained to remain neutral. Carver was a professional when it came to finding her weaknesses and exploiting them. "I need to go."
"The elf?" Carver bluntly stated. "The one we helped last night with those glowing tattoos and strange voice?" She's up to something and she's not including me as usual.
Leave it to Carver to ineloquently describe the finer points of a person. "Yes, that would be the one," Marian said, "Unless you know another person in this city named Fenris, but of course, your associations are limited to the Blooming Rose."
Carver pointed to the ground and took on an objectionable stance. "You think that's wise? Didn't you see what he did last night?"
"Carver, who exactly in the group do you think failed to miss a man ripping out another man's heart," Marian said and her gestures became highly animated. "The only difference between us and him is that we would have killed the slaver with an arrow or a sword. Fenris is… talented… in different ways and it is not his fault," she hurriedly finished. "Who are we to judge?"
"Fine, whatever," Carver said. "Go play with your pet elf just don't come bitching to me when he puts a hole in your chest."
Marian gave her brother a look that was somewhere between sympathetic and patronizing. "I do not think I will be bitching to anyone if I have a hole in my chest, Carver. The younger brother mumbled an obscenity under his breath and skulked away in an overdramatic fashion. Marian rolled her eyes. I need a drink.
Outside the Hanged Man, she headed straight for a merchant's stand that sold an assortment of food. I can eat like royalty tonight after winning twenty silver from Varric. The stall was almost empty but for a few meat pies and apples. I wonder if Fenris likes meat pies? Maybe he does not like meat at all? Do elves eat meat? In the end she bought two meat pies and four apples. I guess we will find out.
During her walk from Lowtown to Hightown Marian considered Fenris, who had been on her mind since their meeting. He is a great warrior from what I have seen; tall and lithe, strong, skilled, fearless... sexy. The realization hit her like a stone wall. She shook her head and sighed. I swore I would not let this happen. Mother and Carver must come first. My... infatuations are unimportant. But sweet Maker, you made that elf difficult to ignore.
Keeping her family afloat and her mother hopeful was a burden that she had carried since her father's death many years ago. The responsibility had left little time for anything else, including a social life. They depend on me, but am I allowed no happiness? Must it all come down to duty?
Marian kicked a stray pebble to help vent her frustration. It landed in a bush and scared a cat out of its hiding place. Maker, I cannot even walk down the street without making a commotion. Fenris started plaguing her thoughts again, their meeting, and the dire circumstances which had led him to seek help.
She had been offered a job by a dwarf named Anso, to recover his lost goods. Later, after her people had raided a small hovel in the alienage and faced numerous slave hunters, they learned that their true employer was Fenris; Anso had simply been a cover.
There were no words Marian could find to adequately describe the first meeting with Fenris. He had emerged from the shadows with the simple silhouette of an elf. But when he walked into the light, it could clearly be seen that he was not an ordinary flavor of maleness.
Marian had immediately drunk in the sight of him. Fenris's hair had been a violent white against the shadowy alienage walls. The unkempt locks spilled down into his face and swept across one eye. He had stared at her with the intensity of a bird of prey, which she still found ironic. Her eyes had eventually been drawn to the space between the elf's metal gauntlets and leather pauldrons. The bare skin of his bicep was etched with white markings that wound along his arms like vines. Since their meeting, she had given considerable thought to how much of his body might be covered in those white vines and exactly where they end.
"Grandmother!" Grace laid the book in her lap and shook her head. "I cannot read this to you." Her small delicate finger accusingly pointed to it. "It is filth and completely unbelievable."
The knitting needles did not stop. "Keep reading dear. It is nothing I haven't heard before and... I quite like the elf. He is scandalous," she said in a low whisper.
Grace continued to show her disapproval by making a face that looked like she had just eaten a lemon. Once she was certain her silent protest had been made, she picked up the book and continued to read:
Marian had seen death come in many forms, but when Fenris's glowing gauntleted fist reached into a persistent slave captain's chest and tore out his heart, it had been a new experience. The sinew ripped apart and the sound of squelching muscle had made the bile rise in her throat, especially when she had noticed that the remainder of the heart lay next to the captain's head.
"Honestly," Grace said and then she sighed. "Grandmother this is disgusting."
"Less fuss, more reading, dear," Madeline insisted in a pleasantly light tone. The easy way her grandmother spoke sounded displaced to Grace, considering the subject matter. It was more suited to a chat about flower arranging not a mutilated man. "It will get less gruesome."
"Maker, I hope so." Grace mumbled. She unwillingly continued:
Fenris stepped forward and apologized with enough eloquence to impress a prince. The soft angular lines of his face and his straight body had added to his lofty air. Marian found him a contradiction from that point onwards.
She remembered fondly how his olivine eyes had settled on her face; defiant, piercing, contemplative, and then, unexpectedly he complimented her leadership. Marian had blushed. It was the first compliment she had received in years, and the fact it had been given by a handsome man added to the pleasure of receiving it
After hearing his explanation for the deception, Marian had agreed to help him face his former slave master, Danarius. She learned that Danarius was a magister of the Tevinter Imperium, a man in a position of extreme power, but one that she would be willing to kill.
They met Fenris in Hightown to stand with him so he would not need to fight alone. Nothing had come of it except a battle with shades and an empty mansion. Fenris had acted poorly after the fight, but Marian could not find it in her heart to remain angry. In her life she had faced many trials, but rarely alone. There was always a mother and loving father willing to help when it was possible. Fenris, she believed was the epitome of alone. Marian was determined to become his friend and if the opportunity presented itself, flirt along the way.
It surprised her to find that she had arrived at the dilapidated mansion's doorstop. Her thoughts had been all consuming.
Marian knocked on the worn mansion door. There was no reply. That is not really unexpected. I would not answer the door either if I had a magister of Tevintar wanting to skin me alive. She peered into the nearest window. Darkness greeted her eyes, and with no sign of life, fear started to eat away at her thoughts. What if... Marian you are an idiot! Someone should have stayed with him through the night and helped him keep watch.
"Hawke?" a deep familiar voice asked. "May I help you?"
The startled Fereldan whirled around half scared out of her wits and stumbled. She found the handle to the mansion door in time to keep from falling. "Maker," Marian said breathless. Her hand moved to cover her heart. "You frightened me, Fenris." Did I really almost fall flat on my ass?
Fenris noticed Marian's highly tinged cheeks. "Are you... well? You seem to be unsteady on your feet."
Wonderful. He thinks I am ill. Marian corrected her posture and brushed away pretend dust to deflect from her embarrassment. "I am fine, Fenris."
"I see," Fenris replied with an air of disbelief. "Do you require my assistance?"
"I... no... I mean yes. It is complicated." Maker, if you are merciful please kill me right now.
He appeared to be amused. "Oh? Maybe we should finish this conversation inside." Fenris leaned over Marian in order to open the door. He was close enough for her to feel the heat of his body and smell his scent; a mixture of leather, wine and the outdoors. "Please, enter."
He is charming for a brutal killer. Marian walked into the foyer to find the dead bodies from the previous night's escapades piled in a large mound. Maybe I should reconsider the charming part.
Marian pointed to the dead people. "Are you doing a spring clean, then?
Fenris kicked a stray metal helm towards the pile. "This mansion does require some upkeep," he said and a wry smirk crept onto his lips. "I did consider leaving the bodies to ward off intruders, but the putrid smell of rotting flesh is not something I wish to endure."
She studied the floor and the many loose tiles. "I could set some traps for you, that is, unless you are going to have the floor retiled. They would be easy enough to hide in this..." She curled her lip at the mushrooms growing in the corner, "area." This is worse than Gamlen's hovel, which is quite an accomplishment.
He inclined his head in appreciation. "Thank you. I... may enlist your help at a later date if there are unforeseen problems." Fenris held out his hand and gestured towards the grand staircase. "Come with me, Hawke."
Marian followed Fenris up the stairs. She tried to imagine what the mansion must have looked like before it had become a decaying cesspit. The place retained some of its grandeur. There were ornate pieces of furniture still in useable condition, large gilded mirrors, marble fireplaces, and as she recalled, a library full of books. Maker, how I would love to borrow a book. The only piece of literature I have found in Gamlen's hovel involves picture of big breasted women devoid of clothing.
Fenris opened the door to what used to be the magister's bedroom. The room was lit by the light of the fire and two solitary candles. Above, Marian's eyes were drawn to the large hole in the ceiling; he would be exposed to the elements. That has to be the least of his worries, still... he will catch a chill. The position of his bed baffled Marian. It was not far from the hole in the ceiling, yet there were other places in the room that would offer more protection.
"Do you need help moving your bed?" Marian asked. She watched Fenris take a seat in an old tapestry upholstered chair. He gestured to the chair opposite and Marian was seated. "If you leave it there you might find yourself under a rain cloud in the middle of night." Hmmmm, Fenris soaked, wet... glistening. Marian mentally sighed. What is wrong with me?
A slight smirk formed on his lips. Fenris glanced over at his bed and then back to Marian. "Your concern for my bed is most admirable, but I prefer to leave it where it is." The smile wilted into a thin line and his face became pensive. "I enjoy the stars," he whispered.
I like the brooding, but I was hoping to see some of the other faces he is capable of making. "Do they not have stars in Tevinter?" Marian chided. She was desperate to see him smile.
Fenris peered up at the hole in the ceiling. The night was clear and a spray of stars had peeked out from behind the clouds. "Of course," he answered and for a brief moment his face lifted. "It was one pleasure that could never be denied a slave. They are there for all to see and enjoy."
There is so much depth to this man. It was plainly obvious last night that he is unique in more ways than one. "That is a lovely thought," Marian said and she found her eyes looking up through the hole and admiring the view.
A faint blush painted Fenris's cheeks. He quickly changed subjects. "We did not get a chance to speak last night."
Did he... is he blushing? I did that without even trying? Maybe I can do it again.
"Last night was quite grueling but... worth it." Marian flirtatiously said. The look on Fenris's face remained unchanged. Maker, I am bad at this. It is simply depressing to think my little brother is more successful at flirting than me. Fenris hasn't looked at my breasts once.
Fenris ran his hand through his hair and shifted his weight. Marian tried not to openly stare at his moving bicep but failed. When Fenris returned her scrutiny, she became avidly interested in the fireplace.
"I would like to become more familiar with you and your companions since we will be traveling together," Fenris said in a stale tone. "In my position you can never be too careful."
He is so sensible and logical. It is such a nice change from Carver. "Ask me anything you like," Marian pleasantly replied.
Fenris raised an eyebrow. "Anything?" If she did not know better Marian would have taken it as a playful challenge.
Is he... flirting? It has to be wishful thinking on my part. But still... the way he said it. She decided to test her theory. "Anything," she said in a low seductive voice.
Fenris's head tilted to the side as he studied Marian. "Do you need a drink?" A pitcher of water was within arm's reach. He looked at it and then back to Marian.
The question had pulled Marian out of her flirtatious revelry. "What? Why do you think I need a drink?"
"You sound hoarse and though I am unaccustomed to entertaining guests, I would be hospitable."
Marian wanted to curl up into the fetal position and whimper when she realized her sultry whisper had been mistaken for a dry throat. She forced a cough. "Maybe later," she said, feeling a little defeated.
"As you wish," Fenris said. He shifted in his seat. "I know you are from Ferelden, but little else."
"Oh," The sudden change in conversation had come as a surprise. A much needed diversion from her disastrous attempts at flirting. "Yes, my family came to Kirkwall to flee the Blight. Along the way I met Aveline, the red-headed woman that accompanied us last night."
"She is very proficient with sword and shield. I was impressed," Fenris said. "Carver also accompanied us. He is your brother, correct?"
"Unfortunately," Marian said. Fenris chuckled at her blatant admission. The sound had lifted the little dark rain cloud above her head away. His voice reminded Marian of a rich red wine and she found her eyes drawn to where the words formed. "He can be trying."
Fenris awarded her with one of his rare half smiles. "You... do not get along then?"
I am not making a good impression. It's not my fault Carver is an ass, but he is still family on the days I don't disown him. "We tolerate each other. I do love my brother, but Carver is... headstrong."
Fenris read between the lines. "Reckless?"
"Yes," Marian stated without hesitation. "He feels entitled. I really do not mean to paint him in a bad light. He can do that all by himself." Fenris smiled at her comment. "But, honestly, he does have his own fine qualities."
"I am sure those qualities will become apparent in due time." Fenris said. They shared a small smile. It lingered for longer than was comfortable and with a forced cough, Fenris carried on. "This dwarf, Varric, I have not had many dealings with dwarves. Is he trustworthy?"
Dwarves and money go hand in hand. It makes sense that he would wonder about Varric. For all Fenris knows, he might tell the Carta there is a huge bounty on his head. "You do not need fear Varric," Marian smiled. "He won't sell you out, but he might ask you too many questions."
"I do not understand," Fenris said.
"Neither do I," Marian retorted and grinned. "He likes to tell stories."
Fenris's head bowed slightly and then he peered upwards at Marian looking for any sign of deceit. "Stories?"
"Yes," Marian said. "Varric likes to tell stories to the patrons at the Hanged Man. People pay to listen and he is rather ruthless when it comes to details. If he finds you interesting do not be surprised to hear your name on the lips of every person in Lowtown. He will either make you a hero or the most contagious leper to ever hit the streets of Kirkwall. Carver falls into the latter category."
"I see," Fenris said. "I will have to make certain that every word that leaves my lips is carefully chosen."
His lips... Marian found that she was undressing him with her eyes. When he observed her observing him too closely, she pretended to suddenly become interested in her fingernails. After what felt like an hour of torture, she was brave enough to peer up, only to find that his eyes were still fixed on her face. Maker, those eyes are sharper than any weapon. I feel naked and so vulnerable. How does he do that with a single look?
Marian was the first to look away. Elves were a common sight in Lothering and especially in Kirkwall. None of them had ever commanded her attention or made her wish that she were suddenly a foot shorter and pointy eared. In truth, she had never met an elf she considered attractive. But Fenris had her enraptured from the moment they had met. Even though it was against her better judgment, she hoped the attraction was mutual.
"Would you be interested in accompanying me to Sundermount tomorrow?" Marian asked. It had taken considerable effort to finally say the words. "Before you answer, you must know that it will be a two day hike."
Fenris considered the statement. "As I said before, I am at your service, but if I may ask, who else will be joining us on this..."
"I will not lie, it is a strange task I have to perform," Marian shook her head and looked up at the ceiling as if it could offer a better explanation. "Honestly, Fenris trouble seems to find me no matter where I go."
He sniggered. "I have only known you a short time, Hawke, but already I can tell that you are an extraordinary woman. My only regret is that I did not find Anso sooner."
Maker, I know I must be blushing like a virgin in a whorehouse right about now. He called me extraordinary. Until now, the best compliment I ever received was from Danny Hartley, and all he could say is that I had a nice pair of tits. Everything Fenris says sounds eloquent and effortless.
Marian's face was turned down. Smiling at the floor was less intimidating than a tall, dark and broody elf. "I... well Carver," she blurted out, "Varric and Aveline will be joining us on this merry quest."
"Merry is not a word I would associate with Sundermount," Fenris said. His once placid face had slightly darkened. Marian could tell he was swimming in unpleasant thoughts. She found that his moods were as changeable as autumn. "But I will gladly accompany if that is your wish."
"Then it is settled," Marian said. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Come to my uncle's house any time before the Chantry bell rings eleven." Marian stood. Mother has probably torn her hair out from worry. This was supposed to be a short visit. Maker, it's not my fault. "If you change your mind please send word."
Fenris bowed his head in acknowledgement of her request. While he was not looking, Marian admired his long white locks in the candlelight. The length of his hair reminded her of the men in her mother's romance novels. When she was a young girl she would sneak into her parent's room and pick the lock on the chest at the end of the bed. Inside, she found several books her mother kept hidden away. Marian would read as many pages as possible before being summoned. Some pages she knew by heart. Those were the ones she was certain her mother would not be happy to know she had read.
If Fenris were only named Drake or Quinn I would be living 'Release the Chains'. That was an excellent book and... as I recall, Quinn killed his slave master in the end. I wonder if I can find a copy of it at the bookseller in Lowtown? Maker knows no one would sell that sort of thing in Hightown.
Marian and Fenris descended the stairs in silence. It wasn't until she was almost out of the door that Marian realized she still had the meat pie and apples in her pouch.
"Oh, I almost forgot." Marian opened the pouch and rummaged around inside. "Here." She handed Fenris a meat pie wrapped in cloth and two apples. "I bought food for us to enjoy while we chatted, but as usual, I got carried away."
A sad thin-lipped smile pulled Fenris's lips taught as he stared down at the food in his hands. When he looked back up at Marian, she was certain that for a mere second he looked like he might shed a tear.
I knew elves did not like meat! Marian sighed. Look what you have done, woman. You have offended that poor man with your slaughtered cow pastry pie. I suspect it is too late to apologize. Maybe I can salvage this situation.
"I wasn't sure what you liked so I bought both fruit and meat," Marian pointed to the apples to emphasize she had considered he may not like meat. "Maybe tomorrow you can tell me your favorite food. I..." she brightly smiled, "can make certain that whatever it is goes into your pack."
"Thank you," Fenris said. The words were spoken with some effort. "This is appreciated."
He opened the door for Marian and once again assured her that the food was well received. When the door shut, Fenris stared at the food with longing. It had been two days since he had eaten.