There are quite a few of you still here! *steals theifkingbakura1's popcorn* Thanks for sticking by me in my lack of punctuality.
03. The Mistake
All of our reasoning ends in surrender to feeling.
- Blaise Pascal
-M-
I didn't get it.
I awoke, tried my hand at sewing, afterwards I left for the kitchens. I finished cleaning the breakfast plates, swept and mopped the floors, and then stared at the wall for a full five minutes, deep in thought.
It was a blessing that I was not caught in an idle state. There was a flow to the operations within the mansion, a timely cycle with grueling repetition - one kink in the wheel and there would be hell to pay. Slaves were rarely given significant orders; most knew their duties by heart, and there were hardly deviations from routine. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened, I assumed, other than Kornyn passing by while I swept the floor and giving me a curt nod.
Thatwas a little strange.
I did not understand Fenris. I did not understand Tevinter. I did not understand what I was supposed to be learning from this experience.
Life had been only confusing in Kirkwall.
In Tevinter, I would not be surprised if Fenris began whistling a few Orlesian opratic performance melodies.
"Having fun?" asked a familiar voice. I turned from the wall to see Kornyn, his shifty eyes mocking, leaning against the opposite wall. His russet face was a welcome one, if not a slight annoying. None of the people in the mansion acknowledged each other unless there was a duty to be done, and so I found his interaction strange.
"How long have you been here?" I returned to sweeping debris into a pile on the floor, a mind numbing task.
It had been my first almost-full day in Tevinter, and already I sensed a pattern:
The wind would blow sand in.
The slaves would sweep sand out.
The sand would miraculously return to the floors.
The slaves would sweep the sand out...again.
Repeat ad nauseam.
Interesting as it was to be in a new climate, my curiosity was soon dampened by frustration for the heat and dry sand that collected as dust on every surface.
It would take a battalion of slaves just to keep every surface relatively clean - I was glad that I had never felt the compulsion to move to Tevinter. I had only been living in the manor for a few hours and was already repulsed by the climate.
"I have been present long enough to see how clueless you are," he replied, his hand attempting to rub stiffness from his neck.
"I thought you told me not to talk to other slaves," I said, my glare half-hearted. Kornyn had a sweet, bright face that was difficult to be cross at, no matter how annoying he seemed to be.
"I said with the Mistress around," Kornyn pointed out. He flashed his piercing yellow eyes slowly around the room, making his point. "Do you see a mistress?"
I turned from him to wipe down the counter. "Are you always a smartass, or am I special?" I glanced over my shoulder at him to catch his eye roll.
"It's not that." He shrugged, the corner of his mouth tipping up. "You are...different."
"So I've been told," I groused. Several times.
"It is not bad," he assured me. "It is...refreshing to have someone around who is nota slave."
"Newsflash," I said, turning to the counter and abandoning my broom by the pile of sand. I made a mental note to retrieve a dustpan when I had a free, Kornyn-less moment. "I ama slave."
"You were bought like a slave, and you are treated as a slave," Kornyn said, cracking his fingers nonchalantly, "but we can all tell that you are different. You are not a sheep."
"Ba-ah," I mimicked, earning a snort from him as his eyes followed me to the richly-colored kitchen counter.
"You see?" he said, chuckling. "No slave would be speaking, let alone teasing." Kornyn kicked the pad of his foot against the wooden floor, and I glared at the movement. So help me, if he kicks my pile of sand... "They whisper only in their beds, when the lights are out and the Magister is sleeping."
"I did not hear any whispers last night," I challenged, rinsing a ratty rag through the water in the basin. The water was a murky gray; I was unsure if I was cleaning the rag or dirtying it further.
If slaves do not talk so much, how come you are jabbering away at me?
If I had to take a guess, I would say that it was in Kornyn's nature to be talkative, outgoing person. He easily fit the type description.
"That is because they are trying to be good examples," Kornyn said, leaning beside me, his elbow brushing mine as he arched backwards onto the counter. His skin was ashy. "Did you not notice? I heard Svanna was trying to be strict with you." He grabbed my wrist. "They are trying to train you, Marian, before the Magister has to."
"Sure," I offered noncommittally, wiping sweat from my brow. It was stifling in the mansion; we had left the chill miles behind in Vol Dorma, apparently. "Why is it so hot?" Kornyn, at least, did not seem affected.
He merely shrugged. "It's always hot - except in the market, which is a bit west of us."
I sighed. "Of course it is." If Fereldans despised anything other than foreigners and highwaymen, it was extreme heat.
"Tevinter has a heated climate," came a cold voice. "I assume wherever you two were yesterday was the exception."
"See?" Kornyn joked feebly, as if Fenris's statement proved anything at all. His eyes cut to the intimidating elf. I had the urge to turn my head to see him for myself, but kept my eyes resolutely on my filthy rag. Do not acknowledge him. Do not acknowledge him."Nothing is normal with you around. Not even the weather."
"Do you have nothing better to occupy yourself with?" Fenris snapped, sounding pissed.
I tried to rein in my shiver before it came to fruition.
Maker damn that tone of his.
Maker damn him.
The temptation was too great; I had to turn around, completely abandoning the pretense of ignoring him.
Damn, damn, damn.
Can't a girl have values anymore?
Obviously not, if they have met Fenris.
"He does not have to go if he does not wish to." I narrowed my eyes at him, not meeting his gaze. My voice was low; I attempted to sound threatening, but I only succeeded in sounding like I had an illness.
He is not the same, I insisted to myself, glaring at the hollow of his throat. No matter how similar he appears, the dark-haired Leto is a stranger.
A stranger that whips innocent people.
The battle to redeem him in my mind as the same person was being quickly lost. Despite the fact that I knew his rightful name, I still refused to acknowledge him as 'Leto'. He was Fenris; he would alwaysbe Fenris to me, no matter his appearance.
"He has his own duties to attend," Fenris growled in return, his eyes widening irately at my rebuttal.
"I do not, if I can be honest." Kornyn smiled impishly in my peripheral. "My whim is completely at Lady Marian's," he said with a mock bow, bending at the waist and twisting his arm into a flair. I groaned, rolling my eyes as Fenris openly seethed at his words, his face twisting.
"For both our sakes, never call me that again," I hissed at Kornyn, casting a wary glance at Fenris out of the corner of my eye, gauging his fury.
On a scale of one-to-ten, Fenris, just how angry are you?
"I suggest you distance yourself, Kornyn," Fenris warned, his hand ghosting over the leather strap of his whip, itching for action. He tried to school the expression on his face, but I wasn't fooled. I pointed to the door, and Kornyn winked at me.
"He's fine, my lady; he just needs to learn that heiss a slave, as well, which makes him just as degenerate as the rest of-" Kornyn immediately jerked out of the way as Fenris's hand swung out to smack him. He chuckled and waved at me as he ducked from the kitchen, leaving a steaming Fenris in his wake.
Fenris exhaled angrily through his nostrils, watching him go with a cool gaze.
"He is going to get himself killed, isn't he?" I asked tiredly after Kornyn had disappeared. I was in no shape to put up the bullshit facade right then; my irritation with Fenris dwindled to an inkling of dull feelings with him near.
That elf did strange things to my head.
Like scramble it.
Fenris sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That, or he will force meto do it."
How unenthusiastic of him. I raised my eyebrows and leaned my elbows back onto the counter, mocking Kornyn's previous stance. My poor washrag sat forgotten in the basin, a lost cause. "You didn't seem too reluctant when you were about to break his neck."
So hot and cold.
Does he even realize how confusing he is? Can he appreciate what we endure when we are in his presence?
He had the decency to appear sheepish, but only slightly so. "Someone has to teach him a lesson." I wondered vaguely what he was doing here, but it was a fleeting, easily banished thought. "It is challenging, being the only person with any sense of propriety."
"I'm sure," I murmured, placative. "Everyone else has to do their job while you sit back and look menacing." I hid my smirk by scrunching my lips; a failed attempt, as his glare returned full-force with one glance at my face. "Quite challenging, indeed."
His sharp, green eyes halted any further comments from me. "You have no idea what you are talking about," he said, a barely-perceptible tone inside the folds of his voice a slight melancholy. Curiosity tugged at the wings of my mind, begging me to inquire further.
"Then tell me about it," I offered, hoisting myself onto the counter top he had previously scowled at.
Fenris had a habit of scowling at everything within eyesight. I was unsure if I found his cold insolence repulsive or alluring; on one hand, spending any amount of time with one so brooding tended to wear upon my nerves.
On the other hand...
I had to admit that I enjoyed his dour expressions, to a point.
Perhaps I was merely attracted to tortured souls - if that were the case, I would have to pay a kind visit to Anders when I returned, just to be sure.
No one does angst like Fenris, the woman inside me sighed in appreciation.
I agreed whole-heartedly, but remained unconvinced of the attractiveness of said trait.
He always looks so...mean.
"We cannot be seen talking," Fenris countered immediately. I smiled inwardly, hiding my satisfaction of the evil eye he bore at my current position: perched on a station where food was prepared. How rebellious of me. "We will both be-"
"I don't see anyone," I said, paraphrasing Kornyn's words from earlier. "Really, it will only be a nice chat between the two of us."
"That is impossible," he said, fisting his hands, and I was unsure if he was referring to us talking in general or us have a nice conversation. "Make no mistake, Marian," he spat. "I will not be put off guard by your inane prattling; I have had years of conditioning that will not be -"
"Touchy," I interrupted, raising my hands in surrender, palms facing outward. I grimaced at the turn of the conversation. "Then let's not talk." You selfish prick. I inhaled deeply, counting carefully and slowly to five, not desiring to spark either of our tempers. I would not fight with him.
The pretty rock had sent me here to learn to be with Fenris.
So far, I had not learned shit.
Thanks a lot, rock.
I finally released my exhale, staring longingly at his long, angular face. He looked so young, so untarnished. The scowl was the same, but the full, vicious loathing was absent.
He had no idea what was ahead of him...
It doesn't have to be ahead of him, said a voice in the back of my mind. I doused that inner flame immediately, unwilling to consider changing this past - alternate reality - whatever it was.
Still...
A tempting thought, albeit a clever risk. I could possibly jeopardize our entire future; what if I changed events? What if I did something, or said something, that had the ability to change the course of Fenris's life?
Or my life?
What if Fenris was never passed to Danarius, never inflicted with lyrium, never escaped because of something I did?
What if my family never departed Ferelden?
There were millions of things that I could do wrong, or correct. I was not even supposed to be there, if I were being honest with myself. My presence was an abomination upon this time, but there was nothing that could be done about it.
If this was not the past, however - just a figment of my imagination, or an alternate reality - would it even matter?
Would I have to live out the remainder of my existence in this place?
I shivered at the thought. Never being my own person, always answering to another's beck and call. It was no way to live; I abhorred the notion, my gaze returning to Fenris as we sat in silence.
I had to say something. The silence was approaching awkward, and I did not wish to be strangers with him - I never had, even when we weretechnically strangers. There was something about him, an attractive quality that appealed to me regardless of how he cursed and raged.
I inhaled, contemplating my choice of words. I was insanely curious of him, of his life. I wanted to know everything. I had to admit that I mostly wanted to know because, if at some point that I should ever return to my own time period, I would be able to tell Fenris...the future Fenris...of his life. It would be a privilege to learn, and even more rewarding to share with his amnesiac self later on - if, of course, this was even real.
Burning with interest and stumbling over confusion, I had to restrain myself from blurting the first questions that came to mind. But I had to ease his discomfort first. Any subject would do, so I picked my favorite one.
"Fenris, have you ever-"
"My name is Leto," he corrected.
"Of course it is," I said. "Anyway, Fenris, have you ever eaten Ferelden-style cake?"
"Cake is for mages," Fenris said, staring at the floor. "Mages and humans."
I flinched. Even without the markings, without Danarius, he held such hatred for mages. "Cake is for everyone, though," I pushed, trying to incite his notice. "I remember eating cake for every birthday." I smiled at him, hopefully inviting conversation. "And in my family, we had a lot of birthdays to celebrate."
His ears twitched. Come on, I thought to myself, silently urging him. "You have family?"
The smile wiped from my face as I felt the familiar sting that came after remembrance. "Yeah," I said, throat thick. I cleared it. "I had a family."
Fenris was quiet for a moment, but I knew I still held his interest. Did hehave a family? Did he ever celebrate a birthday with cake and a younger brother, or did his mother ever surprise him with a warm kiss and fresh cookies?
"What happened?" he asked coolly, trying to not show is intrigue.
I sighed. "It's a long story..." I trailed off.
Come on.
"If you had a full human family, you would not be here," he said, shifting on his long legs.
"You said we could not be seen talking," I reminded, hoping he would take the bait. Teasing him was sinfully fun.
Come on.
Fenris glanced around the room, looking out the one window that showed the late hour of the evening. He took a deep breath, then glared at me, knowing I had influenced him but unable to curb his interest. "Do not tease me, girl," he said, but I knew he was not angry. "I see no one around."
Got you.
I smiled at him, but it was short-lived as I realized I would have to remember my family-members' ill-fated deaths.
Keep it short, keep it simple. It was the easiest way to avoid getting choked up, and I was not about to get emotional with an audience. "My father died a long time ago in Lothering - an accident. It was a direct blow to our entire family. Da was everything to us," I said, frowning.
How had I gotten onto this subject?
I looked up at Fenris's face, measuring his interest. Though he faced the wall, his eyes were directed at me, and I could only hope that he was paying attention. Satisfied in knowing that this was for a cause, I continued. "We fled Lothering after..." Well, I couldn't very well say the Blight, could I? If my suspicions were correct, and I had been somehow transported to the past, then the Fifth Blight wouldn't have happened yet. I cleared my throat. "After he died. My brother, my sister, my mother and I... we were all each other had, and we ran for Kirkwall." I inhaled, putting my arms to the cool countertop in a vain effort to ignore the heat.
"We had an uncle in Kirkwall and we were to stay with him until we thought of something better to do, I guess."
Pausing, I thought of what I could say. Could I tell him that I spent my years in Kirkwall finding fools to follow me? Finding him?
Definitely not.
"Did you make it to Kirkwall?" he asked me, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Yes," I said, deciding to tell as much as the truth as I could. "But on the way out of Lothering, my sister..." Poor Bethany. I blinked as I remembered her heroic effort of trying to save Mother. "She was killed by an ogre."
"An ogre?" Fenris asked, his eyebrows raising. "Ferelden sounds like a dangerous place."
I chuckled, clearing my throat. "A dangerous place that rears dangerous people, or so I am told," I said. "Mother, my brother and I made it to Kirkwall safely. We lived there for a few years, but my brother contracted a disease and passed." Or joined the Grey Wardens, but I did not want to explain why we were in the Deep Roads. That was a different story altogether; for all intents and purposes, Carver was dead, and I was most likely never to see him again.
"And your mother?"
My fists clenched until I quieted my instinctive reaction to that particular memory, loosening my fingers. "She was butchered," I said, voice even. "By a madman." I inhaled. "I have no more family to speak of, other than my uncle - and he only cares about me when he needs money."
"How did you end up here?" Fenris asked, attempting to appear nonchalant.
"I could ask you the same thing," I prodded, feeling as if I had shared too much and he too few. "How did you end up in this place, Fenris?"
He grimaced. "I was sold."
"By who?" I asked. Who would ever sell Fenris? He was strong, swift, and gifted beyond measure.
Not to mention extremely handsome.
"My late Master's eldest separated the lot of slaves, detached them to other magisters," he said, voice cold. "I was one such slave."
"And your family?"
"Never mind my family," Fenris said, straightening. "I must return to my post."
I watched him exit, a wry, crooked smile on my face, feeling both accepted and rejected and completely undecided about I felt about it.
-M-
I was carrying a half-load of laundry up two flights of stairs - really, how many stairs did one household need? - when I bumped into a girl. Rather short in stature, she had blonde hair and lime eyes - features I noticed after I had dropped my load of laundry.
I groaned, rolling my eyes as the girl gasped and fell to her knees, frantically gathering up the fallen rags. I lazily tugged on one of her pigtails to slow her movements. "Don't sweat it," I said, garnering her attention. She looked up, green eyes finding mine quickly in surprise. "I drop shi- things all the time." I glanced around at the grand doors and expensive furniture that decorated the expansive hallway. "What brings you up here, baby doll?"
The girl blinked her large, round eyes up at me, then diverted them nervously to the other end of the hall. Her little hand motioned me down to her level, and I leaned my ear towards her mouth and let her whisper to me.
"There is someone here."
Nothing else, just the four words. But they were so genuine, so serious, that I had to listen to her. If there was one thing I had learned from children throughout my life, it was that they were more perceptive than even the craftiest adults. Who was I to question her tentative declaration?
A hallway never seemed so ominous in the bare-light of the evening. A few candles flickered along the walls, offering a slim amount of light to observe the obstacles before us. There were expensive, ancient vases on stands, decorative weapons that hung on hooks, and impressive paintings that were framed in thick tapestries were scattered across the walls.
Who did she think was here?
It was late; most of the slaves were in bed, but Svanna had specifically assigned me the task of laundering the fabrics that would need to be pristine by morning; the Mistress of the castle was prolific in politics and had a meeting in the early noon and would be upset if Senatorial robes were unclean.
I cast my gaze around the hallway, lingering on an adornment. A sword. Something a mage would normally have no use for, thus it was hung on an expensive rack on a lavishly decorated wall, remaining unused.
I sighed. I would have loved to make use of that sword, had I been back in Kirkwall. In fact...
Swiftly moving my feet so they did not patter against the naked floor, I carefully removed the finely-welded blade from the wall and tested its weight. A light blade, possibly something a rogue would carry - definitely not one of the massive broadswords that Fenris would normally have strapped to his back.
No, this was a sword of which I could wield.
Placing my fingers against my lips, I signaled to the girl. Not that she needed reminding. She slipped to the wall and kept her mouth tightly shut, her curls all but disappearing behind a curtain.
Smart girl.
Walking down the hallway, I was careful to mind my surroundings, looking for anything - or anyone - out of the ordinary. I was not sure what that would be, since I had barely been in the mansion a day, but I knew something must have put the girl on edge.
I was hoping it wasn't the Magister and I would not be placed in the shithouse for desecrating a sacred item.
That would be unfortunate.
There was barely a second's notice, and then a dart was thrown at my face. I flung myself sideways, watching as the blade sliced through the air and found purchase against the far wall.
I swiveled around the dark hallway, stance closed, arms in, sword bared, just as I was taught.
My eyes darted, searching for any sign of movement.
"You cannot hide forever," I whispered, having only a few extra seconds of tension before it was broken by the sound of a blade being unsheathed. I whirled around, lunging forward, aiming directly towards the sound.
Whoever said mages were nothing without a staff had obviously never met a Hawke.
The blade I bore cut into the person's shoulder, and I heard a distinct grunt of pain echo off the walls. Before they had a chance to recover, I jolted forward and kicked them in the knee, sending them into the floor and smacking their blade away.
I pressed my blade against their neck - a man's neck - and grabbed the back of his masked head.
"Who sent you?" Always a standard question.
"Die," he growled beneath his breath. My sword nicked his Adams Apple.
"I'll ask you a final time," I said slowly. "Who sent you?"
"Burn in hell," he spat. Already tired with these games, I shrugged. It was his choice, after all - I raked the point of the blade across his throat, watching him choke and suffocate on his own life blood.
What was he to me, anyway? The Magister most likely had several enemies.
None that I cared about, surely.
"After you," I said quietly as he slumped to the floor. I groaned when I saw the mess I had made - I would most likely have to clean it up, too.
I sighed and wiped my blade against the clothing on his back, replacing it against the wall where it had been hanging. Now, where was that girl?
"What did you do?"
I turned towards the growl, already knowing who I would face. Must be Kismet. "Absolutely nothing," I lied with a cheeky smile. Fenris glared at me, opening his mouth to speak.
A door creaked open, and we held our breaths.
"What in the name of the Divine is happening?" the Magister muttered irritably, stepping out of her room. She wore an elegant nightgown, spun with a soft blue silk.
I eyed it enviously, shifting in my uncomfortable rags. She even wore matching slippers.
That bitch.
She glanced to the body of the assassin on the floor, and tittered. "He was for me, I expect?"
Fenris bowed his head, face red with fury. Fury that was directed at me?
When was his anger not directed at me?
When it is directed at some other poor sod.
She rubbed her head, her finely-laced gown shifting with the movement. "Well, then," she yawned, uninterested. "I'll see you are finely compensated for your job well done tonight, Leto, with a furnished meal."
"But Mistress-"
She held up her dark hand to stop him. "Tomorrow, Leto. I must get my sleep, you understand; tomorrow the Senate meets, and I will not miss it."
Fenris bowed his head submissively again, and the Magister turned her gaze to me.
She stared, brown eyes intense. I swallowed the lump in my throat, wondering if she suspected anything. Was I supposed to attack that man? Should I have attacked him? If my Mistress had died, what would have happened to the people in the mansion?
Could she sense that I was a mage?
"Who are you?" she asked, cocking her head sideways, her messy black hair falling across her face.
"My name is Marian, Mistress," I answered, summoning my most powerfully contrite tone. Fenris sniffed beside me.
She squinted her eyes before recognition glimmered in them. "You are a new addition to my home," she said, nodding. Like I was a piece of furniture for her enjoyment. "Very well. Clean up this mess, and for the Divine's sake, bury this body somewhere."
She returned to her room promptly, and shut the door tightly behind her.
I blinked. "She isn't...concerned...about this?" Did she not care about finding out who would send an assassin after her? Not that I cared, it was merely...
A little odd.
Fenris exhaled through his nose, staring at me in my peripherals. I ignored him for as long as I could stand, staring into the darkness of the hallway, before I had to turn and face him.
"What?" I confronted, raising an eyebrow. His eyes narrowed. "What?"
"You killed a man," Fenris pointed out, nodding to the corpse.
"You have not?" I challenged.
"You killed an assassin," he continued being stubbornly obvious. "You performed my -" Fenris clenched his jaw, inhaling, "a guard's - job."
"That just means I'm faster than you," I bluffed, knowing that I very well was not faster than he. I walked back to my pile of dirty laundry and began down the hallway, checking the outside of the doors for washable items. I picked up a few washrags and tossed them onto the pile.
One fell to the floor. I groaned, prepared to stoop down to pick it up again, but a quick, tanned hand flew before me and snatched it up.
"How?"
"Excuse me?" I replied, trying to grab the cloth from his hand and failing.
"How did you kill him?"
"With my bare hands," I deadpanned, stomping back to the stairs.
"He was cut," Fenris said, eyes flashing to the wall. "You used the ornamental knife, did you not?"
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," I conceded, carefully placing my feet on the stairs, unwilling to take a tumble with all the rags in my arms. "If I said yes, would you have to whip me?"
He didn't say anything, only followed me quietly down to the foyer where I dumped my armful of clothes. They could wait. I moved quickly to the supply closet in the kitchen, grabbing a bucket and some rags. I handed the bucket to Fenris.
"Make yourself useful."
I left him in the kitchen and ascended the stairs, dropping my rags. I sighed heavily and approached the body, still bleeding.
What a mess.
I could think of no way to move him without causing greater catastrophe. There was no choice. I eyed the window at the end of the hall - it would have to do. I grabbed the dead man by his feet and dragged him, popping my back in the process. I whimpered at the stabbing pain in my shoulders and contemplated kicking the corpse in retaliation.
A light thunk echoed in the hallway, and Fenris was pushing me out of the way. "Open the window," he ordered quietly, face shadowed by the glinting candle light.
I did as he asked, none-too-eager to get away from the heavy weight of my kill. I cracked the window open and pushed it aside as Fenris managed to drag the body over to me. I grabbed the man's torso, and together we swung him over the lip of the window, sending him crashing down into the dry yard.
"Any chance we can leave him there until the morning?" I grimaced.
"He can wait," Fenris assured, eying me warily. I returned his gaze blankly, waiting for his inevitable accusation.
It didn't come.
I turned away from him, walking over to my rags. He had filled the rusty bucket with water for me; I dunked a rag in the bucket and set to cleaning the bloody floor.
"You were injured," he said as I descended to my knees. I kept my eyes on my work, but acutely heard his position shift.
"You are delusional," I murmured, scrubbing out a stain. "I am not injured."
"You are," he insisted, his hand reaching out to stay my own. His fingers wrapped around my wrist and lifted my arm. I glanced down at the side of my smock and grunted. It was there; a faint, red line that ran across my side, about four inches long. I hadn't even noticed the pain.
"It will heal."
Fenris said nothing, but I saw him stand. He released my arm and walked to the stairs; I immediately thought that he was leaving me in peace. A few moments later, however, he returned to my side, bearing an iron box. He set it beside my legs as I worked on the floor, trying to control how far my attire slid up my legs.
I attempted to ignore his presence for as long as possible, but it did not work. He grabbed my arms again, halting my progress.
"Can I do my job, please?" I asked, irritated.
He held my wrists together with one hand, stretching my hands over my head and stopping me from returning to my task. He opened the latch to the box with his free hand, pulling out a roll of gauze. "Why did you do mine?"
"I don't know," I said. "I was there, there was a weapon, an invader. It was what anyone would have done."
"It was not," Fenris argued stubbornly, releasing my hands to try lifting the bottom of my smock up. I slapped his hand away.
"Do you mind?" I hissed.
"Anyone else would have ran," he said, green eyes staring into mine. "Anyone else would have retrieved me, or another guard." His hand returned to my thigh, where the gray smock rested. "You have been trained."
I broke our eye contact so as to not give anything away.
"My Father taught me a little self defense," I played it off. "Just in case. Seems like it came in handy tonight."
"Let me bandage you," he insisted, sliding my smock up my thigh again. A jolt shot up my waist, and I smacked his hand away.
"You could procure an infection," Fenris pointed out in an aggravated tone, holding up the gauze.
"Why would youcare?" I complained, remembering saying the same words...before? In the future?
The sentence, even in my head, made me a slight light-headed.
"Because you do not deserve to die of an infection," he growled beside me. "If an assassin cannot kill you, I will not allow a small cut to do you in just because you are too obstinateto receive assistance." He took a deep breath. "If you do not let me do this willingly, then I will take you to the resident nurse and expose you as the hero of the night. I am not sure what the Mistress would do to either of us, as we both lied-"
"I did not lie!" I inserted, fighting a losing battle. "And I am notstubborn!"
"-by omission and I did not do my job - and neither did you." His steely eyes were tough to stare at, so I scowled in the opposite direction with a pout.
He pronounced his words very carefully, leaving no doubt as to what he was saying. "Will you let me assist you?"
"Go for it," I answered, unenthusiastic, ready to be done with it. He slid the simple wool up my thigh and side until the shallow cut was exposed, just beneath my right breast. My face heated a fraction, and I tried to stomp down the instinctive reaction I had to his closeness, preferring instead to cover my bottom half up as well as I could with my hands.
He worked diligently, and I only glanced over once to spy his face - he was blushing, just as I was, the tips of his pointy ears a light pink. I looked away, feeling invasive, but a small smile played on my lips.
He cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to him. I stared at his face blankly for a moment before he tugged on my gray - now stained - smock, helping it fall back into place.
"Sorry," I apologized, uncertain of what it was for. I took a deep breath. "Thank you."
"No need," he brushed me off, rising to his feet. "It is the least I could do."
I nodded and grabbed a rag, dunking it into the soapy water. I lifted the bucket in front of me and tossed a quart of water on the floor, watching it run down the hallway. Fenris stood still, watching the window, not making a move to leave.
I shrugged and went to work, scrubbing off the blood.
Cleaning up after a kill is a big pain in the ass.
My concentration was broken by a gasp and a hard thump of Fenris crashing to the ground. My eyes widened at him, sprawled onto the soapy water, a startled look on his face. His hands were clawed uselessly on the floor as he tried to remain in one place.
I chuckled at his position, shaking my head. "It's slippery, you know," I said, looking up at his face and gasping.
His eyes were burning.
"Are you," his brows furrowed angrily. "Laughing at me?"
I pressed my lips together, my eyebrows rising. His tone made me hold my breath; I sincerely didn't want to spark his ire further, but he had soap bubbles sliding down his chin.
A giggle slipped out as a bubble slipped from his nose, and I clasped a hand over my mouth. I shut my eyes and doubled over, unable to control the laughter.
A slap landed on the side of my face, and I felt water drip down my forehead and off my nose. I gasped, my eyes flying open to see Fenris, three feet away, a satisfied grin on his face.
I wiped the soap bubbles off my face, slightly in shock.
He threw soap at me.
He threw soap at my face.
I grabbed the bucket, yanking it towards me. His eyes widened and he started to push away from me, scrambling backwards down the hall. I grinned evilly, snickering as I hefted the heavy bucket and threw the contents at him, soaking his head. I snorted aloud as I watched it drip from his strands of brown hair, his face scrunched to keep the soap out of his eyes and mouth.
He shook the water off of him, running his hands across his face. His face was fuming, but when he opened his eyes...
Fenris's foot kicked out, flinging water onto my smock. I squeaked and immediately retaliated; cupping water in my hands and tossing it right back at him. I laughed at his expression as he grabbed some suds of his own, and we proceeded to fight.
It was unlike any other fight we had ever had.
It was playful.
It was fun.
I totally kicked his ass.
We rolled in water for about half an hour before we were both tired; I did not get a laugh from him, but the grins on his face appeased me. I coughed out a final laugh, my nose full of soap, before I collapsed beside him, panting and soapy.
"It is a good thing we didn't wake the Magister," I chuckled, running a hand through my hair. "We would have gotten in trouble, right?"
Fenris didn't say anything, so I turned to face him. I ran my hand down my side, fingers bumping over the deftly-applied bandage. He appeared to know what he was doing when it came to superficial cuts; I wondered how he would fair with a more problematic injury.
"How often do you do this?" I asked, smiling at him.
"Do what?" he asked, the exhilaration draining from his face. My smile dwindled as I watched his expression change drastically.
"Have fun," I said, grimacing. What was wrong with him?
"Never," Fenris said, eyes taking on a strange light.
"Never? You have never had fun?" A uneasy feeling of nervousness swelled in my chest. "I suppose that would be fair; you don't have any friends, right? I mean," I babbled, "I wouldn't want to be friends with the person responsible for punishing me."
He glared and sat up, trying to keep his balance on the slippery floor.
My eyes widened when I thought of what I said. "Not that you are a bad person! I mean, it is...what you do, right?" I cringed as I realized I was messing everything up. "Like how I have to clean. I can't help that I have to clean, and you can't help that you..." have no friends.
You are a bitch, Marian Hawke.
"Sorry," I said, biting my lip. "I'm too nosy for my own good. I'm usually better behaved."
"I do not have any friends," Fenris repeated, frowning. I sat up beside him. "You are correct."
I winced. "That sounds bad, doesn't it?"
"It is only the truth."
"I'm sure you have friends, Fenris," I said, wanting to pat his arm - something - but feeling incredibly awkward. "It's just...you are always so cross."
I cringed again. "Sorry, I'm just putting my foot back into my mouth." I tried to stand. "Let me help you up," I said, my feet wobbling. I stepped closer to him and my foot slipped from under me.
Before I could crash down, he was there, nimbly on his feet and balancing me.
I hardened my jaw, pushing him slightly away. "Thanks," I muttered, feeling as if I had ruined his good humor with my inquisitive nature. I needed to get him away from me before I said something to further my stupidity. "I did not mean to piss you off."
Fenris sighed. "I am not mad at you, despite what you believe."
I looked up at him, having to crane my neck to have a good look at his face. "Really?"
He nodded, brow darkening. "I am...frustrated."
I raised an eyebrow. "Frustrated" and "mad" sounded eerily alike, in my opinion.
The warm hand that had covered my arm for balance scalded and kept me in place. I could not move away from him if I wanted to. "You have bested an assassin," Fenris said, grasping me harder. "You are a slave with no known background or history of training, yet your first reaction is to defend." His eyes narrowed. "My eyes will be on you, Marian."
"How flattering," I said, smothering a sardonic grin before it could blossom. "I've always wanted an elf to seethe at me from afar."
Fenris groaned, finally releasing me to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Mind your place," he warned, a flash of clarity peaking in his eyes. "You are a slave, first and foremost - remember that your life is not your own, and you have no say so over your actions."
"Why do you even bother warning me?" I wondered aloud, taking a step closer. "You have only known me a day; do I not deserve a chance to learn for myself?"
His mouth wound tightly shut as he observed me and I tried to pick apart his thought process.
I raised a sly eyebrow at him. "You likeme, don't you?" I goaded. His face switched colors too quickly for it to be a coincidence - I had hit a target.
I was unsure of how far off the mark I was, however. "It's true," I laughed, poking him in the shoulder. "The big, bad wolf fancies me!"
I had forgotten how fast crushes could develop. I could hardly remember a time when mine was fully forming for him - the Fenris I knew, that is. Whenever I knew him.
"I do notfancy you," Fenris said patiently, the blush on his cheeks cooling. "Discard such nonsense from your mind. I suggest you not mock me," he growled, sending a wave of fire into my belly. I tried not to show my flustered nature on my face.
"Or what?" I teased, stepping closer and staring up at him. "You'll-"
I did not get a chance to finish my jibe; his lips descended to mine, his arms locking me inside of his unbreakable embrace, his mouth molding against my own in a chaste, but fiery, kiss.
My eyes clenched shut as my body excited; I was unable to take a full breath until he released me several seconds later, panting and blushing, confused and freshly kissed.
"I-" I began, trying to break the tension in the air, but he backed away faster than I could speak. "Wait-"
But he was gone, ducking as quickly as he could from the third floor. I barely caught sight of the tips of his ears before he disappeared completely down the stairs
"Fenris?" I squeaked, my voice echoing off the walls in the lonesome hall, his absence leaving a gap of unoccupied space in his wake.
Too soon?