Hello once again! We're flying through this fic now, aren't we? You guys are all probably thanking NaNoWriMo for making me write these chapters faster. Personally, I'm cursing it to the Void, to use a Dragon Age term :P But I am enjoying the pace at which the story is unravelling - I just dislike my loss of the lazy life haha.
Anyway, it's another short chapter, unfortunately :( But this is across the span of a single, albeit important, conversation, and I think we'll be back to nice, long, complicated chapters with the next one. Well, if Hawke, Fenris and co. behave themselves and stick to the (very loose) script in my head. They're not very good at doing that...but what they substitute it with is usually better, so I'll go with it haha.
I was looking back at the previous chapter, where I set the 'one month' deadline, but considering all the things I have planned for the fic, I may have to extend that to maybe four or five months. I'll leave it for now, but just so you know, that may be subject to change if I realise in later chapters that I can't fit everything that's going to happen into a month XD
Once again, I can't respond to individual reviews, but I read them all, so thank you, everyone! And thank you to the readers/lurkers as well as the reviewers; everything is appreciated.
I will leave you with the Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me, and chapter ten. Enjoy!
Looking at him; his ready stance, the way he'd purposefully positioned himself in front of the door, Hawke realised that Fenris was subtly trying to intimidate her into giving him straight answers, even before asking any questions.
Bless him. He used to know better.
With a hint of a smirk she couldn't help, Hawke leaned back against the wall beside a large map of known Thedas, her weight on one leg, arms folded.
"Well, seeing as you've locked the door, and I don't fancy my chances of getting past you in this condition, I'll talk. I've got nothing better to do anyway, other than...I don't know, eating? Sleeping? I've only had one portion of food today, and very little sleep, but you go right ahead, Fenris." She said airily, though with an undercurrent of genuine irritation. The latter was directed at herself, however, at being caught. She knew he'd catch her eventually, but it still irked her that she'd had no warning.
It wasn't that she was complacent anymore. She was just exhausted, and distracted.
From the small cracks in the serious mask he wore, she'd annoyed him. Good – hopefully he would get pulled into arguing with her and forget his original point.
"Don't turn this on me, Hawke. I've tried to speak with you before, but you avoided me. Why?" Or maybe he wouldn't be distracted. His demanding tone brooked no argument, so she didn't argue. She returned to diversions instead.
"I've been busy," she answered, honestly enough. She had been busy. Just not so much so that she couldn't stop to talk when he saw her in the hallway.
He didn't fall for it.
"You ran away from me!" He growled, much to her indignation.
"I didn't run! And I've had to work – I've had a lot to do lately," she protested, pushing away from the wall as she unconsciously fell deeper into the exchange. After all, she'd walked. Quickly, but it was still walking, not running.
"So much so that you couldn't stop and talk for two minutes?" He asked scornfully.
"Well, unlike some people, I've had actual work to do, not just following some pompous bastard around all day-" she stopped abruptly when he took several swift steps towards her, his jaw tight, one hand half-lifted as though to cut across her words physically. They both halted, painfully aware of what had happened the last time they'd lost their tempers.
Slowly, Hawke let out her breath, closing her eyes and searching for calm. Her heart was still under the impression she was running for her life, but she managed to settle some kind of temporary composure around her like a shawl. She gradually reclined back against the wall, her arms once again crossed, but her shoulders hunched protectively in a way they hadn't when she was baiting him.
"What was it you wanted, Fenris?" She asked quietly, her eyes gazing at his reflection in the dark window. She watched him relax, though his brow still seemed furrowed and his voice was slightly strained.
"I just wanted to talk again, then when I didn't get to speak to you I wanted to find out why you ran from me." He replied as softly as she had. He was looking down, examining the carpet apparently as he scuffed his feet across the floor. He was quiet for a few moments, then his eyes lifted back to meet hers in the window again.
"Were we always like this?" He asked. Frowning slightly, she turned to meet his eye directly, her head tilted quizzically. He gestured at the two of them, then behind him vaguely to indicate the past. "This. Arguing all the time. It just feels so...easy to fall into. Not familiar, exactly, but when you speak to me, the retorts are just there. It's like a well-practiced form that I can do without thinking. I-" He stopped, then waved dismissively with an impatient sigh. "I probably sound ridiculous." He muttered, breathing an Arcanum curse under his breath as he stared around at the top of the bookcases. While he wasn't looking Hawke smiled.
"Actually, we got on very well. We certainly had our disagreements, mainly over the mages, but overall...we were very close." She paused for a moment, wondering if he'd read into that and half-hoping he would. "But you did bicker quite frequently with some of our other friends. You always were quick on the come-backs, if I recall. Maybe that's why it comes so easily to you now."
His head had tilted to the side in confusion.
"Friends?" He asked curiously.
For a moment Hawke wondered why the concept was odd to him – even she had made some acquaintances that, in the absence of true companions, she'd term friends – but then she remembered the first time she'd spoken with him after he'd lost his memory, and the way the kitchen staff had gone quiet and given him a wide berth. By being Danarius' fearsome bodyguard, he was estranged from the other slaves. By being a slave, he was isolated from the guards and other free staff of the household.
Quite simply, he was the loneliest person in the estate.
'Oh, Fenris...' Her heart tightened with sympathy, but knowing he wouldn't appreciate it, she quickly disguised the emotion as well as she could with a casual smile.
"Yes. You had quite a few, in fact. If I recall, you men had a weekly Diamondback session at your place. Aveline wasn't too happy, but-"
"Wait. 'My place'? I had my own home?" He asked, looking utterly bewildered now. Silently, Hawke cursed. Idiot, running away with her mouth!
Oh, to the Void with it.
"Yes, you did. Well, it wasn't technically, legally yours, but no one challenged your ownership, really, and Aveline – she was Guard Captain – kept the patrols away from your home and diverted the questions about it, so you stayed there for years without any problems."
He stared at her, seemingly unable to comprehend owning something, especially something as large and as influential as a home – even if it wasn't proven by a slip of paper.
Hawke wondered what his reaction would be if he knew he'd illegally owned a mansion, and not just a house.
"But...where was this? It couldn't have been Minrathous, surely." He sounded lost, his eyes completely unshielded as he looked at her, pleading for some sort of sense to be returned to his life.
Hawke bit her lip. Should she tell him?
'He's already figured out it wasn't Minrathous. May as well tell him where he was living for so long,' she thought decisively, releasing her lip. For a moment, she thought his eyes had been just a fraction too low to be meeting hers, but then his gaze was firmly locked on hers again, and she dismissed it as an illusion of the low light.
"Kirkwall," she breathed, feeling a lonely pang as the name left her. "We lived in Kirkwall."
Rather than look understanding, Fenris only became more incredulous.
"Kirkwall? I've never even heard of that place before," he snapped in agitation, starting to pace.
Suppressing an impatient sigh, Hawke cast around the room, then spotted the map. Quickly, she turned to it and scanned the northern coast of the Waking Sea, making a small noise of triumph when she spotted the tiny label 'Kirkwall'.
She waved Fenris over when he asked her what she'd seen, and heard his near-silent approach.
He glanced at the map, then hastily redirected his gaze at the ceiling.
Hawke looked at him, amused.
"The map isn't on the ceiling, Fenris." She chastised gently, however he shook his head stubbornly.
"Slaves aren't allowed to read, Hawke," he admonished in return. He jumped several inches and looked down so quickly Hawke thought he'd snap his own neck when her hand touched his arm, avoiding armour and markings alike to brush his skin. Her grin was both irritating yet infectious, when he saw it. He stubbornly kept a disapproving frown on his face, however.
"Now that I have your attention, can I remind you of two things? One is that a) you can read, and b) I'm breaking a lot of rules to tell you this. Now if you care more about rules than finding out where you lived for seven years, then that's fine by me." She said pointedly. He glowered at her, knowing he wouldn't turn down her challenge. She just smiled at him, silently acknowledging that she knew he wouldn't either.
Damnable woman.
But after casting her a long-suffering look, Fenris hesitantly turned to the map, following her slender finger to the little black dot on the map, and the small, dark brown print beside it.
"Kirkwall," he murmured, testing the word in his mouth for familiarity. There was no sudden bolt of recognition or understanding, or even of the name being right, but the word left him easily, as though it had passed his lips many times before. It was an odd sensation.
He was aware of Hawke's eyes on him, and out of the corner of his own he could see her trying to stifle the hope that he would find the name familiar.
Somehow feeling inexplicably guilty, he slowly shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Hawke. I don't remember a thing. There's nothing but a...an ease of saying the word, if that even makes any sense."
He thought he heard a soft sigh, but when he glanced sideways at her, there was no obvious disappointment in her face.
But...
From behind his screen of white hair, Fenris studied her expression closer. There was the smallest hint of tension around her eyes, and though her mouth didn't seem taut, it wasn't fully relaxed, even after she'd murmured some platitude about not needing to apologise and went back to staring at the map.
He shouldn't have even noticed these things...but once he'd seen them, he realised there were other, tiny details he would never have seen before. The tension running along her shoulders, the way she had unconsciously turned towards his side, just fractionally.
Fenris had no idea what to make of these observations – he was half-inclined to believe that they were nothing more than the product of a near-sleepless night and long-term aggravation caused by the very woman he was studying.
Hawke shifted slightly, and Fenris hastily redirected his gaze to the map, keen not to be caught staring. He needn't have worried, however. Hawke was still staring at the small label of her home, though her wistful eyes were vacant with memory. The tip of her finger still rested just below the name, as though that fake proximity could take her back to the place. For a moment, it was her that looked lost.
"Hawke?" He asked softly, carefully – as though not wanting to break her reverie. She started slightly, turning to him quickly with eyes wide with a lack of comprehension. She'd not even heard what he'd said, just his voice.
He shot a slow, deliberate look at the map, to prompt her into answering instead of clamming up and running away again. Sometimes, when he was talking to her he felt like he was trying to skirt around a large, sleeping dragon in a small room without waking it.
"Are you alright?" He asked when her face remained blank and uncomprehending.
She made a small, near-silent 'oh' of understanding, blinking and looking away with a dismissive shake of her head.
"It's nothing, I just-" She stumbled over her words, before expelling them again, her hands half lifting from her sides only to slap powerlessly back to them in an aimless gesture. "Homesick," she admitted, finally looking back into his face with an attempt at a smile, "I'm just very, very homesick."
Fenris' head tilted slightly, his brow puckering slightly. In mild confusion, this time, not anger or frustration.
"Yet you've never tried to leave," he stated in a murmur, the faint note of wondering to his voice turning the fact into a question.
She stared at him, her lips parted as though she were about to speak – why did he keep looking at her mouth? – a frown of consternation on her face as she stopped her impulsive response and scrabbled mentally to find another.
"What makes you think I've never tried to leave?" She settled on finally, shooting a quick glance to his eyes before her gaze veered away from him completely – dodging the question, and knowing she was doing so badly, he knew.
"Any slave that attempts to escape is publically flogged, and every other slave is assembled to watch. It happened about a week after my memories began – you must still have been in the dungeons, or you would know. Apparently it was a new slave, but he didn't get over the gates in time and the guards caught him. He got thirty lashes, if I recall. Since that is the only time in the past three months that a slave was punished for trying to escape, I assume you haven't tried, otherwise you would have been lashed, or you would no longer be here." He countered easily, somehow absurdly confident that he was right.
She was staring at him again, trying to argue if the sudden, terminated quirks of her lips were anything to go by. Finally she shot him a grudging look of respect and gave in.
"Fine, you're right. I've not tried to escape since you lost your memory," she answered honestly, hoping that would sate his curiosity. He, however, picked up on what she hadn't said.
"But you did before?" He said quickly. He could almost see the curses she was directing at him mentally behind her eyes.
"I- look, Fenris, I can't talk about this, okay? I'm not allowed," she protested, taking a step back from him and looking towards the door. He recognised the signs of an impending flight.
On impulse, he seized the hand that had rose to push his words away, trapping her in place and closing the gap between them again.
"But you did try to escape?" He pressed, trying to catch her eye as she looked, torn, between the door and his hand holding hers, almost against his chest.
"I- no, Fenris, I'm not allowed-" she tried to pull away without any real force; he held firm, finally capturing her eyes with his as she shot a distracted, almost panicked look at his face.
"Please," he murmured, taking another step so that their bodies almost touched. His proximity settled her decision, however, and she put her free hand against his breast plate, pushing him away with one hand whilst jerking the captured one free in a sudden, almost violent movement.
"Just leave it, Fenris, please!" She nearly shouted, backing several steps away from him. The distance broke his intense determination to get an answer, and left him staring across the few-feet gulf between them.
He realised that Hawke's breath was coming quickly, even though pushing him away couldn't have exerted her much. She was gazing at him with such torn eyes that he couldn't speak, only now realising that, in his fervour, he'd scared her.
"Fenris, don't do this. Just don't. Please." It was that dry, hoarse whisper that stayed with him as she turned; unlocked the door and vanished from sight, her footsteps hurrying down the hall.
'Don't. Please.'
Why did those words sound so familiar?