A/N: I own nothing…damn you Bioware and all your greatness. Also, language translations are at the bottom for quick reference. Enjoy.
In sleep we lie all naked and alone, in sleep we are united at the heart of night and darkness, and we are strange and beautiful asleep; for we are dying in the darkness and we know no death.
~Thomas Wolfe
x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x
Patience, she believed, was not something that one is simply born with. At least, it was definitely not with her case. However, she did know that patience was something that could be learned and cultivated just as any form of training. Years of hunting, stalking, and moving within the shadows had disciplined her in the meaning of patience and taught her when to wait for the opportune moment to strike. However, all those years of discipline were proving to amount to nothing because she was almost positive that the small group she was traveling with was literally insane.
"So the nug turns to the bartender and says, 'Well, I at least thought it tasted good.'"
Varric and Merrill burst out into fits of laughter. Falon hadn't been following the story, but when she glanced behind her shoulder, she was unsurprised to see the elf with the same sour expression on his face. He immediately caught her looking at him and she turned her sights back onto the road.
"Insufferable bastard," she mumbled to herself.
"What's that, Falon?" the mage called a few steps behind her.
"Nothing, just talking to myself."
"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."
Falon sighed, "No, you didn't…just never mind."
She had to admit it was rather…different being around a mage like Merrill. She was very quiet at times, especially around those she didn't know, but like the flip side of a coin, she had a curious, almost innocent, nature. Combine that with her lack of social experience outside her clan, and the mage had the most extraordinary tendency to say some to the most peculiar things. Falon thought she had gotten used to it, but every once in a while, Merrill would surprise her. And of course, one couldn't forget the fact that she was a blood mage. Albeit one with boundaries, morals, and the most naiveté behavior towards demons and spirits, but a blood mage none the less.
Merrill's voice suddenly broke the silence and pulled Falon out of her quiet contemplation, "It must be nice now that your back on dry land and amidst the trees again, Falon."
She wanted to point out to the mage that they were still in territory that she had not hunted in years and that she had only the vaguest impression of what roamed the woods now, not to mention that there were a few in her present company that put her on edge more so than their voyage or Kirkwall ever did.
Instead, she simply replied, "It's good."
"So it's safe to say that you spent most of your life in the forest, right?" Varric asked.
"Yes," Falon replied without looking back.
"And you don't visit cities or towns too often. What do you do when you have to go to sleep?"
"I sleep on the ground?" she replied hesitantly. She didn't quite understand his question.
"But you don't have tent, just a small little bedroll," the dwarf pointed out. "What do you do if it rains?"
"I usually will build a shelter, find a tree to sleep in, or a cave if the territory allows it."
"Oh, like those strange humans with the scraggily beards that we would sometimes find in the forest," Merrill said. "What were they called again? Oh, yes, hermits. They would sometimes talk to animals too, but I also would notice that they talk to other things like rocks and sticks. Are they also considered rangers, Falon?"
She heard Varric chuckle behind her but opted to remain silent as she continued to lead them down the road. Falon silently begged Merrill to shut up just this once. It was bad enough Fenris was taking a jab at her almost every mile, but he didn't need the mage supplying him with any extra opportunities.
"And what other similarities do rangers share with half-crazed men wandering the forest?" came the elf's prodding remark from the back of the group. "Other than their eccentric tendency to have conversations with trees and rocks."
'Do not reply. Do not reply. Do not reply,' she continued to say in her head, but she could feel the muscles in her arm tense the moment he opened his mouth.
"I don't see what's so strange about being able to speak with the trees," Merrill said. "In fact, I think it would be quite useful. You would never be lost because you could always ask for directions."
"And I suppose you find talking with beasts to be perfectly normal?" the elf replied.
'Back off,' Falon thought to herself.
"Well, I suppose so if they could talk back. I really wouldn't know since our clan didn't have a keeper of the halla for a long time. I've always wondered what halla thought about all day. Do you know, Falon?"
"I never really took the time to ask, so no."
"Wait a second," Varric said, "you're saying you can actually speak with animals?"
"Not all, only the ones that are clever enough. How else did you think I was able to coax a halla away from its elves?" Falon said over her shoulder.
Varric shrugged and reshouldered his crossbow, "You can't really blame me. Even I know you can't take every story you hear seriously. But I have to admit, that is an interesting talent."
"Good to know, I'll make sure to tell the bears and the spotted mountain cats that you find it so fascinating."
"So who do you talk to when you are on your own in the woods?" Merrill asked after a few moments.
Falon shrugged, "Other hunters if I come across them. Wolves mostly. They're smart and I can usually hunt with them if game is scarce."
"That must be interesting."
"I suppose," she said and without thinking she added, "They test each other a lot, especially with new members. Older wolves know how to handle themselves, but it's the little wolves that don't know when to choose their fights."
She heard the growl and shift of the dirt beneath his feet, but she knew it was no beast behind her at that moment. Still, she reached down and loosened her sword from its sheath just in case. She could play this game too, the only difference was that she rarely lost. Besides, it wasn't much of a challenge when your opponent was so quick to anger.
"Falon," Varric suddenly spoke up, "you've been on point since morning. How about the elf and I take the lead and you and Daisy take over rear guard?"
Falon stopped to let Varric catch up, "Fine by me."
However, her eyes weren't watching the dwarf as he passed by but the elf in black armor. He was staring daggers at her through his white bangs as she returned his glare. His hand wasn't anywhere near his blade, but she didn't miss the way his hands twitched.
"Let's get a move on, elf. We want to get there before winter at least."
He slowly walked past her and it wasn't until both he and Varric had put a good bit of distance between them, did she relax somewhat and begin to follow.
"Oh dear, I said something wrong again didn't I?"
Falon's brow furrowed as the mage fell in stride beside her, "You? No, that was all me again. Don't trouble yourself over it."
"But I do worry about it."
"Why?"
"Ever since Barnegat, you both have been rather…"
"Pissy?"
"Well, yes."
"There isn't much I can do about that."
"I think there is." Falon gave Merrill a questioning look but let the mage continue. "Fenris isn't very good at expressing how he feels. You haven't known him for very long, but by what he's been saying and how he's been acting, I think you've really upset him."
If Merrill didn't have such a serious expression on her face, Falon would have laughed at the very idea that she had somehow hurt the feelings of the warrior whose specialty was phasing through his opponent's chest and ripping out their heart.
"You can't be serious?"
"No, I'm pretty sure I am. I'm not sure what you said back in that town, but well, I know it wasn't good."
Falon sighed and for the hundredth time that day cursed her lack of discipline with these people and her stupid, flippant mouth.
"It's rather strange," Merrill whispered.
"What is?"
"When we traveled with Hawke, Fenris would always argue with her, mostly over magic. He would even bicker with me and the other mage, Anders. Anders and I, well Fenris would always speak his mind, even if it meant upsetting Hawke."
"I could believe that. So why do you defend him even though he's so adamantly against magic?"
"Hawke didn't turn out to be who we thought she was, but each time Fenris started a fight with her, Hawke was somehow able to end it without having it come to blows. Everyone may not be happy, but it could always have been worse."
"I see. So you're saying I should be more like your Hawke."
"Hawke did abandon us and handed Fenris over to his former master, so maybe not completely like her. But as much as I've tried to help him see it differently, I don't think Fenris will be able to see mages any other way."
They walked together in silence for a short while. Merrill kept her eyes on their surroundings and every once in a while would be distracted by the swirling storm clouds in the sky.
"You think I should be the one to bend this time, don't you?" Falon said quietly.
"I can't really be the one to say that. I was there, but I didn't know what was said."
Falon inwardly groaned and was half tempted to spit as she remembered what happened in Barnegat only a couple of days prior.
x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x
~Two Days Earlier~
The place was a ghost town in almost every sense of the word. They were all exhausted after the fight with the siren, but there was little hope of finding refuge in on the decrypted buildings. Instead, she convinced them to move on until they reached the cover of the trees. Merrill had shown an amazing display of power back on the ship, and despite her fatigue, she was having trouble containing her excitement. The mage had explained that fire had been an element that she had never before commanded with such strength and control before. Even Varric noticed. Falon didn't think much of it at the time. Merrill had turned the tide of battle and the mage should have been proud that she had defended the group. And even though she was grateful for Merrill's magic, her main focus at the time was to get out of the open so the party could recuperate. But of course, things were never that easy.
"How typical of a mage to feel pride from so much devastation and chaos."
The somewhat easy-going mood of the group shattered around them like a stone through a glass window. Falon knew better than to say anything. The fortnight spent on that damned boat had left her malnourished and dehydrated which in turn made her short-tempered and sharp-tongued. Besides that, the three had known each other longer than she did. They should have been able to settle things like this on their own without having her to step in. Not to mention that the last few times she had had intervened had not ended well.
"Believe it or not, I didn't mean to set fire to the ship, Fenris."
"Yes, I can see how wrought you are with regret."
"Is it really so wrong that my magic aided us?"
"No, not unless what you've done was through blood magic."
"I have not used blood magic ever since our battle with the slavers in the forest," Merrill said as each word rose in volume. "And even if I did-"
"That's enough!" Falon barked from the head of the column. Three pairs of eyes snapped to attention. "If you haven't noticed, we're in unknown territory, some of us are wounded, we're out in the open, and the lot of you aren't helping the situation by being so loud everything within a three mile radius can hear us. I don't know about the rest of you, but I've had my fill of blood and violence for one night and would prefer it if something wouldn't attempt to make a meal out of us again tonight."
Her outburst seemed to have the desired effect. Merrill fell back in line with Varric following suit. Even Fenris grudgingly began to follow but not without adding one more of his opinions on the matter.
"I am still at a loss as of how you are still alive after all that has transpired, blood mage," he murmured.
It had been enough. The woman rounded on him and thanks to the steep incline of the hill, she had a good two inches over him for a change.
"If you're looking to pick a fight, then you can do so with me, Fenris. I told her to use her full power with that thing. I was also the one who rammed the ship into the pier, so don't let Merrill have all the credit for sinking that tub."
Fenris glared up at her, and if he had fangs, he would be baring them at her right now.
"I don't know who's more reckless, the blood mage or the disillusioned ranger. How is it exactly that you're in any position to talk about the dangers of magic?"
"I have enough sense to know when I'm in danger or not, unlike others who waste their time and energy fighting imaginary threats. Now back off."
At the time, she knew she was pushing him to some point, but her own stubbornness was refusing to back down to him again. Maybe in a city where everything was unnerving and foreign, but not here, not in the wilds which was her domain. Either he sensed her willfulness or was in no mood to drag it out further. Whatever the reason, he was the first to look away and slowly make his way past her and up the hill. Falon let him go. But just before he was out of earshot, she heard him and his spiteful remark in Arcanum.
"Arrogantia competens alicui magus."
And before she could even contemplate the effects of her words, she shot back, "Scires, manu gladii."
The sharp rasp of metal surprised her. Instincts kicked in as she flung herself down the slope. Her good hand flew to her hilt as soon as her feet hit solid ground. She crouched low and was poised to either strike or flee as she stared up the hill but all was still. Fenris was glowering several feet away with an ire he had reserved solely for mages but was now directed at her. His hand was wrapped around the hilt of his broadsword and she knew from experience that he could draw his weapon nearly as quickly as she could hers.
"Whoa, hold on, let's just calm down."
Falon didn't take her eyes off Fenris, but it was then that she noticed Varric had stepped between them. It was a pity; she knew Varric was smatter than that.
"Falon!"
The woman practically growled at the dwarf. Inside she was angry with more than the elf's sharp retorts. She was more frustrated with her own careless words that she had just thrown at him, but that didn't mean that she was going to allow him to attack without some show of self-defense.
Nor, she stubbornly admitted to herself, did it mean she could strike out at the infuriating elf because of her brashness…. Falon slowly released her sword and rose from her fighting stance. Varric visibly relaxed and turned hopefully to Fenris who was still poised to strike.
"C'mon, elf. We're not going to get anywhere if we spend every other minute trying to hack each other into little pieces."
Ever so slowly, Fenris's markings dimmed and he released his sword. Without a word, he turned and marched back up the hill. Varric made sure he was out of earshot before rounding on the woman walking past him.
"What in the Void was that all about?"
Falon managed a small grunt as she trudged on. She was still angry and didn't want to make matters worse by snapping at the dwarf. Instead, they made it to a safe spot for the night and for the rest of the trip both she and Fenris had managed to travel in a somewhat passive silence. However, the few times they did speak, it was usually only a curt reply or statement laced with ire.
x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x
Falon sighed again as she pulled herself out of her musing to catch up with Merrill. She hated this…this constant walking on eggshells. She half wished Varric hadn't stopped her and Fenris. Perhaps then, maybe between the flesh wounds and flying metal, a point would have somehow gotten across. But then again, if the elf was anything like her, he wasn't going to be forced to do anything against his will, especially with a threat of violence.
"So tell me, Merrill, how did this mage of yours keep the peace?"
Merrill quickly turned her attention away from a black and violet butterfly that was fluttering in her face and back to the ranger.
"You mean, Hawke?" Falon nodded. "I don't think you could really call it peace. Maybe more like a…what's the word I'm looking for? It's when everyone is still upset, but they all decide to not fight?
"A truce?"
"Yes! It was more like a truce most of the time."
"Alright, so how did you all manage this?"
"Not very well at times. Especially when we all first met Hawke. Sometimes we all got along fine, like with me, Varric, and Isabela. But then Aveline could not stand Isabela in the beginning and of course Fenris would rarely talk with me or Anders unless he had to. But that never seemed to bother Hawke."
"She didn't mind that her friends were at each other's throats?"
"No, I think she did, but she didn't let our differences keep her from getting to know us." The butterfly came back and landed on the small white flower that Merrill had tucked in her hair that morning. "I remember the first time she had seen me use blood magic. It was obvious she was displeased with it, so it surprised me to have her still come visit after I came to Kirkwall. Even after she became more popular in Hightown, she still found time to keep in touch with us, even Fenris."
"You sound like you miss her."
"I do, though I guess it's silly considering what she's done."
Falon didn't reply as large gray clouds rolled overhead and blocked out the sun. The trees began to sigh and sway as the wind picked up and snatched at their robes and cloaks.
"Back then," Merrill continued, "Hawke helped all of us in some way. I suppose the most shocking thing about her handing Fenris over was that even though they were not friends, Fenris seemed to actually respect Hawke in a way. You might even say he was loyal."
In the darkening sky, the clouds opened up with a half-hearted roll of thunder. Falon pulled her hood up and felt the warm rain patter against the oiled leather. Merrill hardly seemed to notice it or the dusty road turning to sticky mud beneath her feet.
"Varric had a saying for them that I thought was quite catchy." Falon nodded her head to tell Merrill she was listening. "He said they always had a way of being able to agree to disagree. I guess that was the only way Hawke was able to get things done."
When the wind began to pick up and the rain started to turn cold, Falon knew she would have to soon begin searching for a place to lead them off the road and find some suitable shelter for the night. But before she left, she turned back to the mage.
"Even after everything she did, do you regret meeting her, Hawke I mean?"
Merrill stopped and stared at her feet as she pondered the ranger's abrupt question.
"No," she said slowly, "I don't think so. Yes, I regret some of her decisions, especially with Fenris and with leaving me behind, but I don't regret meeting her. I have a feeling that if I hadn't, things would have actually turned out far worse than they did. And besides, I would never had met Varric or Isabela or have met the other elves in Alienage and learned about their plight. I grew stronger over the years in Kirkwall, and overall I think it was for the better."
"That's…a good quality that you have, Merrill. You have the capacity to forgive. You don't see that too often these days."
Merrill had a strange expression on her face that made her look as if she were both sad and happy at the same time.
"What is it?" the ranger asked.
"It's nothing. It's just I enjoy talking with you. You remind me of the Keeper sometimes. Only we don't argue as much and you don't have this disappointed look all the time."
Falon merely gave the mage a half-hearted smile as she shook her head, "I wish I had the wisdom of a Keeper, Merrill. Perhaps then, I wouldn't find myself in half as many predicaments."
x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x
He didn't belong here, that much he knew. He was a trespasser, unwelcomed and unwanted in a feral land of darkness and whispers. But he couldn't turn back. They were coming. He could not see them, but he could hear their metal, he could smell their eagerness of the hunt, and could practically feel their magic taunting him. So he ran from the false safety of the high walls and into the dark trees. But still they found him, so he ran further until the earth became water, yet he did not stop. He crossed the fathomless water until he found new lands, new earth that was foreign yet familiar at the same time.
The forest loomed before him as both a sanctum and nightmare. But he couldn't turn back. Behind him were horrors that he had endured before, but in the shadowed unknown that stood before him, there was the possibility of survival. Slim and practically unattainable, but it was there. He ran forward. He endured every cut of the thorns and stones to his face and limbs. He endured the suffocating darkness that grew thicker around him with each frantic step. All there was left was the constant fear of being captured. He wanted to fight, to tear, to claw at all that dared try to collar him again. But he could no longer see. He could no longer move. He could no longer scream. The darkness was too thick.
His body began to fail him. He had lost too much blood. He had run too long. He wished to fight, but there was no strength to call upon. He fell.
The ground was cold and hard. And although his senses had abandoned him, he knew they were close. They always came when he was most vulnerable. He shouted out into the darkness, but the shadows consumed his feeble cries. And then he saw it.
He was at the heart of the great forest, the center of its power, the resting place of its single most terrible force. He struggled to get to his feet and run from this new horror that lingered in the shadows like a constant promise of death, but already it had sensed his presence. Slowly it turned, and as it did, the shadows shifted and warped beyond the edges of his vision. The fear of the others made him run, but the sense of fear and terrifying power of the unknown creature before him made him pause.
The creature's form was unfinished and made of only mist and shadows. All but it's eyes. Bright and glowing, they cut through the darkness and fixed on him with a crimson stare. He resisted, unsure of whether to flee or stand his ground. The creature held him in place with its burning gaze. Everything that was him, his fears, his rage, his sorrow, all was laid bare before it. But there was a fury in that creature's stare. One that called to the very core of his being and it frightened him.
They were close now. Only a few moments and they would be upon him. The creature stirred and as it did, his body was his own again. He readied his sword. A savage growl cut through the silence and then the pain returned.
x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x
It was the hand on his skin that instinctively caused him to lash out. Foreign and unwelcomed, he snatched the offending appendage as well as its owner before the tendrils of his nightmare had fully released their hold on his mind. There was a startled gasp as he threw his attacker against a tree and pinned her there by the throat. A gloved hand wrapped around his wrist in an attempt to loosen his vice-like grip while at the same time struggle for air.
"F-Fenris!" The words were hoarse and pleading, but it was familiar enough to startle his thoughts. "Wake up!"
The elf took one look at the green and brown eyes staring frantically up at him and instantly released the ranger. Falon gasped for air and fell to her knees as Fenris took several steps back. She coughed before finally leaning back to rest against the base of the tree.
"Perhaps," she rasped, "I deserved that."
"Perhaps," Fenris said cautiously.
Sleep had fled him entirely despite the trouble he had gone through earlier to attain it. Awake and alert, he was still shaken from his nightmare which with each passing moment he was forgetting more and more. The only pieces he could recall now were crimson eyes staring at him through the darkness and then Falon's presence seconds before he woke.
Fenris realized he was getting lost in his thoughts and turned back to the woman sitting silently beneath the tree. She was watching him closely. Not in a fearful way, but in a way that made him somewhat uncomfortable.
"What were you doing?" Fenris demanded.
"I was on watch," she stated. "You were murmuring in your sleep. It got worse, so I tried to wake you."
Earlier that day, the ranger had led them to a small grove of pine trees not far from the main road. The trees were numerous enough to conceal them and a fire, but sparse enough for them to maneuver easily through them. But in his usual fashion, after they had settled down for the night, Fenris broke off from the others and placed himself far beyond the edge of the firelight.
However, Fenris frowned at her statement, "You had taken the first watch already, where is Varric?"
The ranger shrugged, "He was tired and I don't need much sleep."
That was usually his reply. Fenris glanced past her and between the sparse growth of trees. Both the mage and the dwarf were asleep in their bed rolls with a fire pit containing the smoldering remains of their fire. Even when he had been accompanying the others in the past, he had been notorious for letting others sleep though their shift, Varric especially. It wasn't a courtesy to others but rather himself because he either couldn't or wouldn't allow himself the small reprieve of drifting off into the Fade. However, this never sat right with Hawke, and Fenris had constantly been reprimanded by the mage each morning.
And just like that, his ire had returned. Just merely thinking of the mage and her insufferable antics made his wrath burn anew.
"Are you alright?"
He wanted to shout out to the intolerable woman no, but did his best to hold his tongue. She glanced at his clenched fists, but made no other move. As Fenris struggled to rein in his emotions, she continued to sit there passively with and unreadable expression. But just sitting there, so calm and fearless as if the events just moments before never occurred only seemed to anger him more. This woman, from the moment they met, always had a way of making him remember his past. And he resented her for it.
"I'm fine," he finally managed to say.
Even to his ears, his words were unconvincing, but the ranger still remained seated at the base of the tree.
"You shouldn't sleep away from the group like this," she said as she stared into the darkness between the trees. "You're making yourself a target."
"If I wanted your advice, I would ask for it," he snapped.
Judging by her reaction to his heated words, he might as well of said something about the weather. The moon had waned over the past few days and now only a small sliver was left in the sky. It was still enough to see by, but there were moments when the long shadows played tricks on his eyes. At the moment, he almost believed he saw the briefest hint of sadness on the ranger's face before she looked back up at him.
"Back in Barnegat," she said, "I won't take back what I said before, but my last comment, the one in Arcanum… I spoke without thinking. However, it's still no excuse and I'm sorry for offending you."
Fenris stilled as his earlier trepidation from his nightmare fled him completely. In the brief encounters between the two of them, there was always tension either from their views on magic or merely her insufferable presence. Yes, there were instances when she backed down, but while her words and body language hinted that she conceded, there was always a glint in her strange eyes that seemed to taunt him. There were moments when he felt that she knew something that he didn't. And when the confrontations would abruptly end, it was as if she were humoring him like she would an unruly child. It was not something that should have irritated him, but it did. He had been a slave for the majority of what he could remember. If he was not being talked down to, he was being talked at, however, he couldn't recall a moment where someone actually apologized for offending him. He wasn't convinced.
"What are you playing at?"
"I'm not playing at anything," she sighed into the night. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tree before looking back, "I felt bad, I wanted to say I was sorry, that's usually how it works. At least that's what I believe it to be. You know how good us rangers are with social graces."
Fenris's eyes narrowed, "Do you even know the true meaning of what you said?"
"About two seconds after I said it, yes." The glint in her eyes dimmed, "As I said before, I hadn't meant it in that way, but I was still out of line."
When he first heard her speak in that all too familiar tongue, his initial shock was replaced with pure anger. He had heard slurs such as knife-ear far too many times in both Common and Arcanum that it was slow to spark his ire nowadays. However, hearing the term sword-hand in Arcanum, and from a human no less, he had nearly taken her head or at least gone for her heart. In Common, the phrase sword-hand was interchangeable with a warrior or mercenary. However, it was not the case in Minrathous. The term was almost always a title that masters bestowed on select slaves and in most cases the slave had never handled a sword in his or her life. In fact, the slave's skills didn't go beyond the bedchamber. Magisters thought it humorous.
Fenris pushed the dark thoughts aside. He was an ocean and continent away at this point. It should have been enough for the time being.
"Why are you here?" he said without looking at her.
There was a pain in his jaw and he realized that he had been grinding his teeth the entire time since she had arrived.
"Because, contrary to what I might say, I do respect you."
"You know nothing about me," he shot back.
"Perhaps but I've watched you and I've seen the way you fight. You seem to understand what it takes to survive unlike Varric whose street smarts aren't going to help him where there are no streets and Merrill who…well is Merrill." She picked herself up and brushed the leaves and dirt off as she stood before him. He sometimes forgot how small she was. She was maybe two or three inches shorter than himself, but it was a trait that was disguised by the way she held herself. "I'm asking if we can agree to disagree on some things, Fenris."
"What would be the point?"
"I don't want to have you as an enemy for one."
Fenris sneered, "Don't make presumptions of me based off the company I've kept in the past. Unlike some, I keep to my word. But there are times that I do question your motives."
The somewhat diplomatic air that the ranger had maintained was slowly crumbling, "I have done nothing that would cause you or the others not to trust me."
"You have done nothing to truly gain it either."
The woman's eyes widened in astonishment while her mouth dropped slightly.
"Of course not," she hissed, "I've only saved your life twice! Three if you count the siren."
"Yes, a fine job you did there. I think I still have the lump from your spectacular rescue."
"Better a lump than having that fish pick pieces of you out of her teeth with your own rib bones."
She took a step forward until there was only a few inches between them. He noticed she had on her usual attire except for her leather coat, mail, and sword. She still had her dagger, while his own weapon and armor lay only a few feet away.
"It's like I said before," she said, "you see danger in practically everything around you."
"Has it ever occurred to you that is why I have survived for so long?"
"There's a fine line between caution and paranoia, Fenris," she said evenly. His markings were beginning to glow and he could feel the lyrium burning in his blood. "You can't even…" She glanced down at his exposed arms and stopped. There was a short pause and he could see on her face the internal debate she was having with herself. Slowly, she took a deep breath and dropped her gaze. "Never mind," she said as she turned and began to leave. "Think what you want, it makes no difference to me."
But before she was gone, Fenris caught that same look of impatience and pity in her eyes that he had seen before. And instead of simply letting her walk away, he struck.
He snatched her by the back of her tunic but she twisted around and struck him hard in the ribs. He took the hit and then swiped her feet out from under her before she could get into a solid stance. She refused to let go of him and was forced to follow her to the ground as she fell. But once there, he pinned her down by bracing his arm across her chest and arms.
"We are not finished," he practically growled.
"Well, then once again, my apologies," she sneered as she tried to break from his hold. "I thought the conversation was done."
Fenris waited until she ceased struggling and her brown and green eyes were fixed on him.
"If you have something to say then say it, don't make assumptions and belittle my intelligence."
She blinked several times as almost all of her ire drained from her face, "I do what?"
"I won't repeat myself."
She continued to glare at him and shoved at him again, but without a solid purchase, he didn't budge, "You stubborn ass! I don't assume you're an idiot, I just stop arguing with you because you're such a closed-minded son of a bitch that after the first ten minutes of talking with you, I know it's a fruitless endeavor. Now…get…off!"
She had shoved her elbow into the soft earth and then thrust her fist into his exposed side and into his kidney. His breath was knocked out of him as she scrambled a safe distance away. While he composed himself, he heard her curse and murmur something about the mage being right. When he glanced back up from his spot on the ground, she was still there albeit glaring at him wearily.
"You want me to speak my mind, Fenris?" she panted. "Fine, here it is: I'm not you blasted Hawke! From what I've heard, she sounded like a real top notch ass and I'm tired of you assuming that everything I think and every move I make will be like her."
Her breathing was labored as her temper slowly diminished. The entire forest seemed to have grown quiet but her words still seemed to hang in the thick silence.
He didn't respond to her because he was uncertain as to what to say. At first he wanted to vehemently deny her claim and point out once again that she was making ridiculous assumptions, but he stopped himself. He remembered moments, brief instances whenever she was present. He had thought it was just healthy suspicion, but he had to admit that Hawke was never too far from the back of his thoughts. Had he really been comparing the ranger to Hawke? Where there times when he had compared Hawke to Denarius?
"Fenris." He was abruptly pulled from his musing by the quiet but firm voice of the ranger. There was no look of aggravation or annoyance or any sign of fear in her features. There was only a passive look of understanding. She slowly approached him and then offered him her hand. He looked at it uncertainly, but she didn't pull it back. "I'm not asking you to trust me, Fenris. I don't expect you to trust me. But…that's not to say that I wouldn't like to have it."
A deeply rooted part of him scoffed at her words, but another part, one that he had thought died that day in the tavern, urged him to risk it just once more. The time they spent there seemed like ages, but to his own surprise, his hand rose from the dirt and grasped the ranger's gloved one. Without a word, she helped pull him to his feet. He stood there for a moment debating his next move when Falon slowly stepped away.
"I'll see you in the morning," and with that, she slipped between the trees and back to the smoldering fire as quietly as a shadow.
x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x
Dreams…
Dreams, nightmares, premonitions…they were all the same thing. They were all the same thing when your own thoughts betrayed you every minute of every day. Yet now, perhaps he would take insanity over the nightmare he was waking up to now.
The old, musty smell was foreign to him, while the floor was frigid against his naked skin, but he hardly had the strength to move. Everything hurt, as if he had been burned a thousand times over. Yet when he opened his eyes, he could barely make out his own hand inches from in front of his face.
"Wh-…"
Even his voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in days.
He concentrated while searching for that wispy barrier between this world and the Fade, but the further he reached the colder he became…
He couldn't feel it. The Fade. He couldn't feel it.
Panic had sunk its claws into his mind. Was he Tranquil? Do Tranquil even know they are Tranquil? If he was why was he frightened?
A jolt from deep within his mind seemed to shock him from his mild delirium.
Justice.
The spirit was still with him, and if he was still with him, then his magic wasn't all gone either. There must be something else at work. Again, Anders tried to reach out to the strangely reserved spirit, but his response was little more than a weakened echo.
Bound…we…can't…
Too quickly, Anders realized he was not making any attempts restrain the spirit as he had before. If anything, it felt as if he had been silenced, but he had never felt a spell this debilitating before. Not only could he not feel his magic, but his very body felt as if all the vitality had been drained from him.
It was then he noticed something heavy cinched tight around his neck. His trembling hands went to it, but the moment his fingertips touched the warm metal, a merciless shock tore through his arm. He had to wait several minutes until feeling finally returned to the appendage.
This was bad.
Templars he was familiar with, but slavers trafficking in mages were something else entirely. As he attempted to get his wits under control, the memory of the room, the gas, and Apate all came hurtling back to him with painstaking clarity. Hawke had been right, they shouldn't have…
Hawke.
Anders made another attempt to rise and despite the bile at the back of his throat, he forced his legs to carry him as he stumbled forward. He nearly split his head open on what appeared to be some kind of metal which he soon realized were old, iron bars. Further inspection only revealed what he had first suspected. He was in a cell. Unfortunately, he was in a cell utterly alone with no trace of Hawke.
Suddenly, a light appeared beyond the edges of his cell. For a moment, the dimness of it felt like it was blinding him. The sound of a heavy lock unbolting was followed by at least two pairs of heavy footsteps from above him. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out what he presumed to be another cell across from his own and also the base of a rickety set of stairs. And then soon after, two male voices accompanied the looming footfalls.
"Come now, you know how Apate is when it comes to you piddling around with her stock. The last one she had saved for a magister."
"She was only mildly spoiled when I was done. Besides, nothing I did was going to compare to what that mage had in stored for that elf."
The voices were utterly unfamiliar to him, and they both possessed an accent that he couldn't place. However, he did know that wherever they were from, they didn't mean him or Hawke well.
"Still," the first voice went on, " Apate's not going to be happy if she catches you down here."
"Heh, I heard the Baiter found two more earlier this week." The more Anders heard of the second voice, the more agitated he grew. He had spent enough time in the Circle to know that whatever his intent was down here, it wasn't going to be good. "They say they weren't elves, but were still very nice to look at."
"You should watch yourself, I heard mentioned that these are no fledgling mages that had fled their sheltered Circle."
"Pfft, they have the collars on, don't they?"
"Collared dogs are still able to bite."
"If you're just going to be a killjoy this entire time, then make yourself useful and keep a look out outside. I won't be long."
The first gave some offhand remark followed by the clink of a set of keys. The lock unbolted and Anders heard the door open and close as he left. Unfortunately, he could still make out the heavy breathing of the other guard.
He pressed himself up into one of the dark corners of his cell and watched as the guard's shadow descended the steps. At his side he carried a small lantern, and as he grew closer, Anders was able to make out more and more of his prison. Across from his cell, he confirmed there to be another one as well as what appeared to be more along a stretch of hallway, though he couldn't see anyone inside of them or perhaps they were just cowering in the shadows like he was.
The guard grew closer and it was then he was able to make him out as he passed the mage's cell. He was average height with corded muscles that rivaled that of the qunari. A greasy black beard and beady black eyes drunkenly wavered over the various cells along the hallway, but that wasn't what made Ander's wary. It was the sneer and the dark look in those sadistic eyes that unnerved him.
For a brief moment, Anders felt his inside grow cold at the possibility of the guard stopping in front of his cell door. Pulling out his keys and inserting them into the door's lock…
But instead, he passed him over and instead went to another cell that nearly went beyond the eyesight of his. He watched with disgust as the guard went to his belt just like he envisioned he would and pulled out a set of keys, and then unbuckling his belt and dropping it to the floor.
Cursing to himself, he dug deep and clawed at the wall preventing him from accessing his magic.
"Just-"
He coughed, but the words were like pieces of glass in his throat. They wouldn't come out and the more he tried to force them, the more painful it became.
And then he realized just what it was that was around his neck. Memories of the qunari mage that Hawke had escorted through the underground passages of Kirkwall replayed over in his mind again and again…
Yet even if he was bound like this, he could stand by and let this happen.
'Justice…'
There was the sound of someone groaning. A woman. Instantly the resolve in him grew twice as much as a new panic in him arose. There was scuffling and several hisses and curses as the voices became louder.
Again Anders reached for his magic, now hurtling himself against the barrier and merely rewarded with a searing burn around his neck for the trouble.
From across his cell, he heard the confrontation arise into a full on fight. There were grunts and shouts as whoever was in the cell put up a decent fight against her attacker. Several times he thought he heard a body fall to the floor and believed it over only to have it continue as the guard let out another vehement curse. Failing to grasp his magic and now voiceless, he resorted to slamming his fists against the bars to no avail.
"Bitch!"
The sound of slapped flesh echoed in the silent dungeon, and he watched as the mage was sent spinning to the ground. It was then he saw her as she hit the floor close to the bars of her cell. Her lips were freshly split and bleeding while a fresh bruise was appearing on her cheek. Her vibrant blue eyes were beginning to dull, but when they fell onto him, there was a spark of recognition that was whisked away as Hawke fell unconscious.
'Justice!'
This time he threw himself against his restraints, both physically and mentally, and was heedless of either backlashes he received. The only thing that mattered was getting to her.
The panting of the guard brought him back as his mind waivered once again. He could see the scratch marks marring his face and the multiple bruises and cuts littering his eyebrows and lips. But Anders brief satisfaction in this was quickly washed away as the battered guard grabbed the woman's wrist and made to drag her to the back of her cell. It was then that it seemed his flaying had finally caught his attention. The guard looked up at him, and gave him a disgusting smirk and wink before retreating back with Hawke.
'Damn it all to the Void, JUSTICE!'
But again. Only silence answered him.
'NO!' he shouted into his mind as he slammed his hand into the bars. Too overwhelmed, he didn't even feel the sharp metal slice into his arm. 'It is because of you that you and I are what we are now. It is because of you that we are here now. And it's because of you that she risked everything! You will help her!'
It felt like he was being choked with a white-hot, metal wire as a wave crashed against the barrier between him in the Fade. And it was then he made the decision. Dropping the last of his defensive, he surrendered the last confines of his mind to the spirit and was swept away as a flood gate of power overwhelmed him.
What followed after was a blur of light and blood and screams. Whether it was the guard or his own he couldn't tell. All he knew at that moment was power. He was power. He was light. He was Justice.
But just as quickly, it came hurtling to an abrupt stop. Warmth and life seemed to have been stripped away from him in a matter of seconds. He was suddenly acutely aware of the searing pain around his neck and blood coating his arms and splattered over his torso. The bars of the cells had been torn asunder as if some beast had mauled their way out of them.
He blinked dumbly at the wreckage around him. He could smell burning blood. He knew he should be looking for someone. There was purpose for all of this. But he couldn't remember.
Somewhere in his dementia, he realized that there were three men standing before him. They were eyeing him fearfully with their swords drawn and in full armor. This time, he had the sudden urge to blast them into oblivion but hesitated because he couldn't remember why again.
"Why is he still standing," the one closest to him shouted fearfully. "He's taken at least three, how is still able to connect to the Fade like this?"
"Does it matter? Hit him again!"
He recognized the all too familiar surge of magic and the lingering essence of lyrium around the man.
A templar.
The smite hit him full force and nearly brought him to his knees. But ironically, it was the burn of their collar that ultimately kept the blackness at bay. The fire that followed came without warning. He didn't even realize it was him raising his own arms and opening his palms as a blast of fire engulfed the three.
But the absence of power was apparent now. That had been the last of it. The darkness would not be kept from him for much longer. He slowly turned his head to the side and saw a form lying on the ground. Her body was pale and almost seemed to glow in the blackness around them. Was she unharmed? He didn't know.
He made to go to her as a searing pain ripped through his shoulder and with it, the last of his reserves.
He fell to his knees gasping for air as the remnants of the Fade and Justice's power fled him. But in the flickering bouts of his awareness, he saw an elvhen face appear above him. She smirked down at him with a frame of brown hair and pitiless eyes while she carried a longbow in her other hand.
She fearlessly kneeled down in front of him and placed a hand on the side of his face in a mock display of comfort. He wanted to tear himself away from her touch with all his being, but simply couldn't summon the strength to do it. And for some reason, he felt she knew this.
"You care for her," she stated sweetly but at the same time, those dark eyes grew even darker. "That's touching, but unfortunately for you, such feelings are moot from now on. I suggest you understand your place quickly, otherwise you will be in for a very rude awakening."
He could barely comprehend her at this point.
His head…
It felt like something was slipping from the back of his mind…
Someone…
"Get one of the slaves down here and bind his wound. We're keeping him. Alive."
"You can't be serious? The mage is possessed. He took out four of my men in less than a minute. He's a liability that we can't afford to let loose onto the rest of our stock."
"Keep your pants on Varylis. It will only be for a few days, and I trust you, it will be well worth it." He was forgetting himself again. But this time, he felt like he was forgetting something more important than ever before. "Put the shackles on him as well and place him in one of the bottom holding cells. We want to make sure he isn't further damaged before our client arrives."
Neither his mind nor body could withstand it any longer, and he simply let the darkness take him.
How well do I know Latin? About as much as I know nautical terms and lingo.
How much did I abuse Google Translate? Sooo much…
Arrogantia competens alicui magus. (Arrogance befitting a mage.)
Scires, manu gladii. (You would know, sword-hand.)
Please leave a review if you have any opinions, until then, see ya around.