Note: Hello? Anyone out there?
I'm writing this one again.
Sorry for the long, long, loooong hiatus.
The Danger of Touch
By: Ambrel
"Hounded"
The storm raged through the night.
In the small hours of the morning, the rain lessened, then stopped altogether. I'd not slept much, if at all. My eyes were dry and there were the beginnings of a headache clawing at the space behind my temples.
The place in the main room that Hawke and her mother had set up for me to sleep in was still neat and orderly, a fact that did not escape Hawke's attention when she emerged from the chamber she shared with Leandra. I folded up the unused linens and stowed them away in the chest before Leandra could wake up and see that they hadn't been slept in. Hawke grabbed an apple from a battered basket near the fire and bit into it, watching me. She didn't speak.
I paced to the window and undid the latch. Outside, the mud-slime still slicked the ground but the air was clear in that certain way that only happens after a good storm. I took a deep breath of the fresh air. It did much to clear some of my headache.
Hawke appeared at the window beside me, crunching the last of the apple in her teeth. She pitched the core at the midden heap that lurked out on the street, seemingly for that very purpose. Her fingers drummed on the sill. There was a heaviness to the silence that I felt obligated to break, but I wasn't sure how. I turned and leaned against the open window, relishing the cool breeze on my back.
"Hawke," I began, then paused. I blew out a breath. "I wanted to apologize for – venhedis!" I yelped, reaching for the sword on my back, knowing it wasn't there.
The door to Hawke's room had opened. Instead of her mother, a mountain of fur, teeth, and muscle passed through. It was huge. The head was square and blocky, the chest like an aged barrel, and teeth that gleamed in spite of the banked smoldering ashes. The creature moved with the kind of grace that comes with being a predator. It zeroed in on me immediately, planting its paws to the hard dirt floor and inhaling deeply.
I froze.
"It's only two nights, Little Wolf. If you manage to evade the dog-man's pup for two nights, I'll see to it you have a rest day afterward." A sharp smile creased the magister's face.
The man beside him held the leash of a massive beast with intelligent eyes. It locked those eyes on me and inhaled deeply. The man mirrored Denarius's expression.
The magister leaned back. "You have an hour's head start, Little Wolf. Prove that a dog cannot catch a wolf."
I ran.
"..ris!"
The thing's hackles had risen. It smelled me, smelled the sour scent of my shock.
"Fenris!" There was a touch on my arm and it was cold. Cold like fingers of ice. I turned my head and stared into Hawke's concerned face. "What happened? What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" came the taunting voice. "Afraid of a little bite, little man?"
The hound snuffled its nose to the ground. It had the scent, but was confused. Too many trails. But it was closing on the right one. I was as still as I could be, but I had to breath. The leaves that sheltered me rustled ever so slightly on the breeze.
The hound looked up and grunted a low bark. Then it bunched its muscles and jumped.
I flinched from the pitched tone of her voice. Couldn't help it. My shoulders hit the wall and my elbow banged against the side of the window aperture as I moved. I ducked my head and drew in a quick, silent breath.
"Mother, get the dog back in the room. Now."
Leandra appeared and asked a question I couldn't hear or understand. The diminutive woman grabbed the beast by the scruff and hauled on it. I couldn't find the strength to tell her to run, to get away, to keep herself clear of those things. She was too small to match that beast, too-
-the young elf boy was barely past his tenth year when the hound caught him. In a spray of blood the boy was gone, little more than a bloodied corpse before he hit the ground. The dog had sailed past me on a powerful leap that left a foul scent behind it, like something unwashed.
It was brutal, but it gave me my chance. I slipped away.
"..the matter with you?" Hawke was asking. She shook my arm.
"Nothing." I said. My voice was hoarse, as if I'd just been running. "Nothing. I have to go."
"But-"
I turned, fumbling for the door latch. My fingers kept slipping, then Hawke closed her hand over mine. I jerked my hand away as though stung.
She reached out with her other hand and lifted the latch. "At least let me walk you home."
I shook my head. The fear had begun to abate, only to be replaced by humiliation. The door was open and I grasped the frame, using it to pull myself out of their home.
Stupid.
I'd known the dog was there. For the love of Andraste, the smell of the hound had been one of the only things that made the small enclosed space less-than-nauseating. I'd known it was there.
But you hadn't seen it awake. It had been asleep in the other room.
It had been there the whole time.
The door gave me troubles even when I hauled on it with all my weight. It must have been the rain. After several minutes of wrestling I managed to get it to wedge shut enough that it wouldn't slip back open and cause a racket.
The house was comfortably cool, but I wanted heat. My arm still burned where Hawke had touched me and all I wanted was for the feeling of touch to go away.
My armor fell from my body as I scrabbled at the buckles. I left a trail from my chamber door to the fireplace, stopping only when I was wearing only the trousers I'd found to replace the ones I'd ruined.
The fire was dead. I poked at it, hoping to find a coal that still held some heat within, but it was for naught.
In my discarded belt pouch there was a flint. I retrieved it, and a dagger. My hands were shaking, but I managed to build a pyramid of tinder and struck the flint with the knife. It lit.
Another stick of furniture fed it.
The flint fell from my hands, followed by the knife. I sat back and stared at the fire. It grew. I fed it more wood. It grew again.
After a while, I stopped shuddering.
She showed up later that night. I heard her fight with the swollen door, then heard the measured rhythm of her feet on the stairs. There was only one set of footfalls. She'd come alone.
When she finally made it into my chamber, she sat down in 'her' chair, as though our nightly ritual had never been broken. I still sat on the floor beside the fire. The stone of the hearth was warm by that time, and I had a thin sheen of sweat on my skin.
But my arm and hand still felt cold.
I mumbled under my breath, clenching my fist.
Her voice was not hesitant, but it was quiet. "What?"
"I hate being touched." I muttered again.
She fell silent.
Another beat passed, then, "Would it help if I apologized?"
I shook my head. Then I lowered it. And then I sighed.
"It wasn't your fault." I said. "You didn't know."
More silence.
I chanced a look over my shoulder. The fire was bright enough that I could see a trickle of sweat over her brow, and the sparkle of firelight reflecting from her eyes. She was watching me with an intensity that brought unpleasant memories to bear again. I looked away, willing them to stay hidden below the surface. A prickling sensation up my spine prompted me to grab my discarded shirt and pull it on. When I looked back at her, she'd moved her gaze to the hearth. Her face was coloring in the heat.
I dragged myself to the bench and settle on it.
The night began to pass like they had so many times before. I was tired. My head ached for lack of rest. I made no pretense at caring for my few possessions this time. I just sat, stared at the fire, and tried to quell the shame that rose in me.
Show weakness. Show how she doesn't need your help. She'll realize that you aren't worth helping, and that you're better off a slave. Just like everyone else who turned you in.
"I was going to apologize," she said suddenly, "And to thank you."
"For what?"
She looked down at her hands. "I wanted to apologize for getting upset at you. And then avoiding you. I didn't want to hear what you said. I didn't want to hear what anyone said. But you were right."
I frowned. Right about what? And what did I say?
She continued, her voice dropping gently. Sadly. "I was lying to Mother. About more than… More than that. The Deep Roads, I mean."
I knuckled my eyes and looked at her. "And?"
"I spoke with the viscount." She replied. "I got him to return the Amell household, name, and holdings to my family."
"In exchange for…?" I asked, putting voice to the question she expected to hear.
"In exchange for dragging his son home from his new best friends in the Qun."
I grunted in surprise. "That could not have been easy. The Qunari do not suffer adherents to leave."
She hitched a shoulder in a shrug. "He wasn't an adherent. At least, not yet. I took him home, he pouted, and the viscount gave me the deed to my family's home."
I nodded. "Then you will be set."
"Yes."
"Good," I began, but she interrupted me.
"I wanted to thank you, too." She said. "If it weren't for you pushing me, I probably would still be listening to Gamlen complain about my cooking."
"What is there he could possibly complain about?" I asked in surprise, before I could stop myself.
She chuckled. It was shortlived and sad sounding, but it was the most mirth I'd heard from her in a long time. "The fact that we spent money on food, mostly."
Silence reigned again, companionable and comfortable.
As the last light faded to darkness and the fire finally began to shrink, I said, "I suppose you will put down the sword, now that you have lands to administer?"
She looked at me in surprise. "I hadn't thought of that."
"You are a noble now, correct?" I said. "Surely there are responsibilities you must consider now. And you no longer need to scrounge for what you have."
And I still owe you a debt.
What could I possibly do to repay it, that you cannot have done with a wave of the hand?