A/N: real life sucks. Just saying. My posting pace is going to slow even further (if you haven't noticed), so I apologize now, but I promise I am not abandoning any of my fics!
Speaking of which, I should be working on Skyrim, but I felt inspired to work on this story instead. I hope you don't mind ;D
As ever and always, thank you all so much for each and every Favorite/Follow/Review. Hugs and kisses! *gushes*
Chapter Twenty-One: Bitter Sweetness
Beautiful.
That was the only word to describe it. It was a beautiful day. The sky was clear, showing a canopy that fell from pale cornflower at the apex, to a brilliant azure at the horizon. The trees were a vibrant green alive with all manner of birds and blossoms. Even the dirt road, normally a dusty and lifeless brown, seemed somehow animated and full of promise as it passed beneath their feet. And the sun was so bright and warm, it was rivaled only by the company he kept.
Fenris smiled to himself, a strange new feeling suffusing his chest every time he looked at the beautiful woman walking beside him. How it had happened—whatever the miracle or force of nature or random coincidence—remained a mystery to him. But he couldn't deny it had happened, nor did he wish to; Hrodwynn was beginning to show feelings towards him.
It started the other night, after supper at Hawke's mansion. She had helped him up from the floor, and her fingers had stayed in contact with his a little longer than necessary, while a blush tinted her cheeks. That blush returned often over the next couple of days, he could see it even now as they walked, talking about matters so small they were hardly worth mentioning. But that blush, that timid pink, like a cherry blossom, so delicate it shouldn't have been perceived, except her skin was normally so pale even that small amount of color stood out in vivid contrast—and he was the cause of it.
"Why are you staring at me?" she asked him, suddenly changing the subject. "Is there something in my teeth? In my hair? What?" Her fingers started for her head, intending to rake through and remove whatever imagined leaf or twig had lodged there. But he caught her hand in his, holding her fast, startling her enough that she stopped walking to look at him.
For a moment they stood there, staring at each other, both slightly confused—by his actions. He had made a bold move, taking hold of her, stopping their progress, causing her to face him. Yet she didn't resist him. She responded with openness, neither taking a step closer nor pulling away from him, simply standing there and waiting. It was obvious to him that the next move would be his to make, if he could again be so bold.
He swallowed nervously. He was not good with flirting; what he had done with Isabela was more direct, more physical and less emotional—and held far less pressure not to fuck up. This was new ground for him, but as in everything else he did, he made his best attempt at success. His other hand lifted up, slipping his fingers into the short silky strands of her hair, stroking from behind her ear to the back of her skull, cupping her head as if he would cradle it. "As a matter of fact, there is something in your hair."
She knew he meant his fingers, but the way he stroked her scalp, carefully keeping the sharp edges of his gauntlet away from her sensitive skin, sent shivers down her spine. Oh, Maker, this was enjoyable, she admitted to herself, thinking of all the times these past couple of days, when he'd find an excuse to draw near to her, speak to her, touch her… Feeling emboldened, and a little flirty, she licked her lips and tilted her head and spoke the words before she could lose her nerve.
"And, um, my teeth?"
Though it was an obvious ploy, it was made innocent by her lack of experience. But he'd be a fool to pass it up. And Fenris was anything but a fool. "Let me check."
There was a fluttering burst inside her chest, as if a hundred butterflies had taken flight all at once. She was afraid to open her mouth, for fear of belching those butterflies into his face, but he was slowly leaning in closer, his lips parted, as unrelenting as only Fenris could be. So she matched him, closing her eyes, opening her lips, tilting her head a little further so their noses wouldn't bump.
When their lips met… when she felt his skin against hers… when their bodies drew closer together almost of their own volition… when everything that should be so wrong, felt so right…
Hrodwynn was overwhelmed, so sure of what she was doing one moment, and so inundated with frustrated confusion the next. She could no longer deny it; Fenris loved her. That he had spent years hurting her in an attempt to protect her continued to make little to no sense. But she had to learn to put that behind them, because the fact remained: he did love her. It was obvious in everything he said or did, such as this kiss. His lips pressed against hers, mouths slightly parted, but he made no initial move to deepen their kiss. He merely held the two of them together, moving slightly, accepting he had been invited inside but continuing to hold himself aloft until he was sure—until he was absolutely positive—her invitation was without reservation.
She gave a little moan, muffled inside his mouth, and flicked her tongue out between her teeth.
Triumph surged within his chest, rushing through his limbs, building the anticipation, but he refused to allow it to control him. He wanted this to be all for Hrodwynn—at her pace, and only as far as she was comfortable. He gave her entrance first, his teeth lifting out of the way, his tongue drawing hers deeper into him. She pursued, chased him into his mouth, broke off to explore his teeth, reengaged to wrestle with his tongue. He thrust and feinted, warred and retreated, toying with her while his eyes watched the expressions sweep across her features. She was scared, eager, frustrated, determined, predatory, and more—oh, so much more.
And he had these reactions, these emotions, this woman, all to himself.
One of his hands was in her hair, holding her head fast. His other hand had remained entwined with hers, capturing her fingers, straightening their arms down at their sides, encouraging their bodies to remain close. His leg shifted, allowing him to lean over her, forcing her body to bend slightly backwards, as he took over the kiss. Now he delved into her soft velvet interior, now he mapped the terrain of her teeth, now he sparred with her tongue.
She whimpered, yet it wasn't out of fear or pain, but longing.
That was his cue. He leaned back upright, bringing her with, making sure she had her feet underneath before he broke off the kiss. She followed, not wanting it to end just yet, and he had to smile—briefly, because the next moment her eyes opened and he didn't want her to think he was laughing at her. He knew she wanted to kiss some more, which is why he ended it, to keep her wanting. It was a petty tactic, he could admit that to himself, but it was a sound tactic. He had been giving her these little tastes over the past few days, touches and kisses and private smiles, and she had started to respond, more frequently, with more interest. He was winning her love…!
"We should get going," he gently reminded her, brushing a lock of her hair behind one ear before pulling away, "Wouldn't want the others to catch up with us."
She licked her lips, lapping up some extra saliva with her tongue. "Right. We are supposed to be scouting the way to Dietrich Crossing, aren't we."
It wasn't a question, just a mildly disappointing statement. "That was the plan."
They started walking down the road again in silence. Fenris was comfortable with the peaceful quietness, as always, but Hrodwynn was feeling talkative. She lasted all of twenty paces before asking, "How much further do you think it is to the Crossing?"
He took a moment to look around them at the countryside, taking note of what landmarks were visible. "Five, perhaps six miles. We should leave the road soon, start scouting the hills for any sign of Brekker's ambush party. Just around the next bend will do, I think," he gestured at the boulder-strewn bend in the road.
"If it even is Brekker doing the ambushing." Her voice sounded wistful, as if she was afraid that, despite all the evidence, it would turn out to be someone else and they would be no closer to getting rid of Brekker. That would mean she'd have to stay with Fenris, which she didn't mind, she only minded being forced to do it. Oh, Maker, this was getting too complicated, she groused to herself, please please please let it be Brekker so this whole mess could be put behind them and they could do what they wanted without any pressure or excuses just honesty…
"It's a fair assumption," he broke over her rambling thoughts, rescuing her from her self-made, imagined torment, "Dietrich Crossing was marked on the map I saw in Brekker's office, and it is along the route the caravan will take today. At any rate, we should find out what Brekker's interest is in that particular location."
"I know, it's just…" her voice trailed away, unable to find the right words to describe the feeling she was having, something akin to longing and regret, both at the same time. She sighed and did her best to ignore the uneasy feeling. "Do you want to split up?"
"After all the trouble I've been through to convince you of my feelings?" he sounded slightly miffed, looking at her askance with his ebony brows curved. "Even if we catch Brekker himself leading his men at Dietrich Crossing, and there's no more threat against your life, I'll still want to spend time with you."
She incredulously stared at him as they neared the boulders around the bend in the road, and noticed the corner of his mouth twitch. In an instant she knew he was teasing her, a side of him he rarely showed; to the best of her knowledge, she was the only one who'd seen this part of him. She rolled her eyes and smiled a little self-consciously, that delicate blush hovering over her cheeks, her heart feeling warmed and touched by his attention. As they entered the corner, she bumped his shoulder playfully, mindful of the spikes in his armor, and retorted, "You know what I meant. You take the north side of the road, I'll take…"
"Stop right there!"
Both of them stopped, not so much because they were ordered to, but because they were taken by surprise. Fenris looked up at the top of one of the boulders, at the man who had shouted at them, and hissed, "Hunters!"
Hrodwynn didn't ask the obvious question, what type of hunters; the strange cut of their clothing and thick accent told her they were from Tevinter. Spinning around so she and Fenris were back to back, she could see something he could not—they were surrounded. More hunters came out from behind the rocks, armed with everything from bows to swords to staffs, and began to press in close to cut the two off from any escape.
"You are in possession of stolen property!" the man on the boulder continued to shout.
Fenris ignored him, barely turning his head or moving his lips as he quietly instructed Hrodwynn, "Get out of here, back to Hawke. I'll hold them off for as long as I can." He reached up to grasp the handle of his sword.
Her hand stopped his, her gentle touch stronger than the steel of his greatsword, her soft whisper a forceful command. "Too late for that; we're surrounded. Just… follow my lead."
He let the hilt slip through his fingers, dropping his arm slowly, mindful of any sudden movements thanks to a pair of archers, one on either side of the road. "What are you going to do?"
"Stall. Hawke and the others can't be that far behind us." She turned back to face the man who had been doing the speaking, walking around Fenris to stand in front of him and assume a superior position. "Good day, good Ser. To what property are you referring? You'll have to forgive the question; you see, I am a thief by profession, quite a well-known thief, if you'll forgive my modesty—oh! Within the right circles, of course. No thief is good if they're known too well by the wrong sort." She gave a little laugh, flashing him a spunky little smile and batting her bright emerald eyes. "Allow me to introduce myself: Hrodwynn of Kirkwall," she flourished an overly grandiose bow.
"I don't care about…"
She straightened up quickly, trying to look surprised. "Oh, take my word for it. I am a fairly good thief. I'm the only person in Kirkwall who can crack a Siggerdson. And I've been thieving for over ten years. So you see, it's quite reasonable that I would have no idea what it is you think I've stolen from you. You know," she tapped her chin thoughtfully, her other hand cupping her elbow, "It would be of great help, if you could at least narrow it down a bit for me. Was it something I took off your person, or from your home?"
The Tevinter hopped down from the boulder, looking confused. "I'm talking about the slave…"
She broke over his words, pretending she hadn't heard him. "I would guess it had to be from your home, only because I mostly do lock picking. I prefer not to pick pockets. Don't get me wrong, it's not the risk involved; I love the rush of adrenaline as you cut a man's purse right off his belt, that feeling of anxiety, wondering when he'll notice the lack of weight, daring yourself to walk beside him for a time. But there's too little reward. Generally people don't carry as much in their purse as they keep locked up in their homes. So chances are, I stole something out of your home, though I have to say quite honestly that I've never been to Tevinter."
"Do not sass me!"
"Ser!" she actually sounded offended, her hand over her heart, "I assure you, I am being quite sincere…"
"I don't care what you are or… where you've been," he stalked closer, a finger pointing accusingly over her shoulder at Fenris. "I want the slave traveling with you. He belongs to a Tevinter Magister by the name of Danarius. I have been hired to return him to his rightful owner."
"Ah, well," she hedged, glancing over her shoulder and praying Fenris would continue to keep his mouth shut, "That's going to be problematic. You see, Fenris here isn't mine to hand over to you."
That brought the Tevinter up short. He was still slightly off-balance by Hrodwynn's irrelevant elaboration of her thieving reputation. "What? No, doesn't matter. You are going to hand over the slave…"
Fenris could no longer hold back, feeling the bitter sting of repeatedly being called a slave, recalling to mind the humiliation of being seen—and treated—as someone else's property, as something less than a person, like a shoe or a fork or a footstool. He crouched, his lyrium markings flaring into life, and shouted, "I am not a slave!"
Well, that did it, she thought to herself, knowing there would be no more opportunities to stall for time. The next moment happened so quickly her movements could barely be seen. She grabbed the Tevinter's wrist with both hands, his finger still pointing at Fenris. Her fists twisted in opposite directions, rubbing the tender skin raw, making him give a startled cry. She used his distraction to gain leverage and bring his wrist around behind his back, pulling it up high to where he was forced to stand on his tiptoes to ease the strain on his shoulder. Satisfied that he was secure, one of her hands let go to slip to the small of her back. Bringing out a dagger, its blade reflected the brilliant sunlight as she pressed it against the soft skin around his throat.
After the initial burst of movement, everyone grew exceptionally still. Even Fenris who, a moment before had been crouched and prepared to leap into a fight, now kept himself immobile. The archers shifted their aim slightly, trying for a clear shot, but Hrodwynn's thin frame was too close to the hunter's broad shoulders. And her dagger too close to his carotid artery.
She took a deep breath, her eyes flickering to either side of the road, making sure everyone was holding their positions, everyone's attention was on her, everyone knew she held their leader one heartbeat away from death. "Let me be quite clear," she said, her mouth right next to his ear, speaking slowly and succinctly so there could be no misunderstanding. "I meant it when I said that Fenris was not mine to hand over to you—because he is his own man, not a slave. Besides," she raised her voice so the others could hear, "If you abducted Fenris, it would be considered kidnapping. And our friends wouldn't like that."
"What friends?" the Tevinter tried to force bravado into his voice, but it was difficult when her hand twitched. He could feel the edge of the knife scraping against his skin, abrading it, taking off more than the whiskers he had missed while shaving that morning.
"Take a look for yourself," she shifted them around so he could see—the hunters were now the ones in the trap. "Meet Varric, and his one-of-a-kind crossbow, Bianca."
"Hello," the dwarf said, his voice pleasant, his crossbow aimed at the nearest archer. He stood on a small rise, giving him a clear view of the entire group despite his stature.
"And there's Aveline, Captain of the City Guard."
Aveline was a couple of paces from Varric, halfway between him and the road. She didn't answer, other than to draw her sword and hold her shield at the ready.
"I could continue the introductions, but the one you really need to worry about is right there," she had turned them halfway around to face the road leading back to Kirkwall, Fenris moving to guard her back. "Tall man, dark hair, long staff with a mace on one end. See him? That's Hawke. He's the one you really don't want to piss off. The last man who did… well, I think there's still a few junks of his brain matter stuck on the spikes of that mace."
"You have one second to stand down," Hawke obligingly threatened. For emphasis, he swung his staff out from behind his back and struck the ground with the blunt end, sending sparks of magic shooting into the air.
One of the archers started, not having expected Hawke to be a mage—not with that formidable looking staff—and his arrow slipped from his bow.
Hrodwynn thought she felt the passage of the arrow, she knew she had heard the twang, but she didn't think she felt any impact. She swallowed, lifting the hunter's wrist higher onto his back, feeling him struggle to free himself without dislocating his shoulder or slicing his neck open. Chaos broke out around them, mages and warriors and archers all attacking at once. She could hardly follow it all, but managed somehow by the grace of the Maker to get both herself and her prisoner out of the fray. She stood on the side of the road, with her back to a boulder, her front covered by the hunter, her eyes wide as they took in the battle.
There were bursts of magic, ringing of struck steel, thumping of crossbow bolts, all playing out in front of them, but Hrodwynn kept her back firmly secured against the boulder. She didn't care quite so much about the lead hunter, using his ample form as a shield, but she was fairly sure that he would survive. Mostly out of faith; Fenris would want answers from him.
The fight seemed to last a long time, and yet take no time at all. The last man went down beneath Fenris' gauntleted fist. Then he turned towards them, and she felt the urge to swallow nervously. His eyes were dead—not as if a life had been taken, more like they had never been alive in the first place, like a statue or a painting—while he stared at the man in her arms. He walked forward, and an acrid scent suddenly filled Hrodwynn's nostrils. The Tevinter had pissed himself.
The hunter started babbling—in Tevene—but Fenris would have none of it. He grabbed him by the collar of his robes and yanked him from Hrodwynn's grasp, throwing him face first to the ground. The elf followed, landing on him hard, knocking the air from his lungs and temporarily ceasing the babble. "Speak Common!" he ordered, his gauntlet now in the man's hair, his knee almost breaking his spine, as he lifted his head and stretched his throat tight.
"Don't… don't kill me… please… I beg you… don't…!"
Fenris knocked his face against the ground, busting his nose. When he lifted his head up again, a fountain of blood could be seen pouring out with each heartbeat.
"Where is Danarius?"
"He's… he's not… I don't… he never…"
Fenris once more hit the ground with his head. "Tell me!"
"Fenris," Hrodwynn said gently, softly, coming up carefully on his side, one hand held forward placatingly.
He glanced at her for only a moment before he snarled, "Stay out of this!"
She didn't back down. He seemed oblivious to the arrow slicing through his arm, other than the appendage hung awkwardly at his side. Yet he was more than capable of handling the hunter with only one arm, so she wasn't sure he had noticed his injury—just like that first night they met, when he hadn't noticed a festering wound in his back. She kept her position, neither backing away nor inching forward, but remaining by his side. Should his injury overwhelm him, should shock set in and cause him to faint, she didn't want the Tevinter to get away.
"Last chance," he leaned in close, his voice oozing like snake venom in the hunter's ear, "Where is Danarius?"
"In-in-in-in-in Tevinter… I swear it!"
Fenris seemed stumped by his answer, leaning back and easing his hold by a minuscule amount. The hunter took this as a good sign, that he was answering correctly, and continued.
"He… he didn't come himself to catch you… he sent his apprentice… she's the one who… who hired us…"
"…Hadriana…"
Hrodwynn felt a cold chill drip down her spine, despite the heat of the day. Fenris' voice was so angry, so hateful, so overflowing with levels of pain and torment and angst. She couldn't imagine what this Hadriana had done to deserve such a reaction from Fenris, and she had the distinct feeling she didn't want to know. His hand, still fisting the hunter's hair, began to shake, and she couldn't tell if it was from rage or fatigue.
"Where is she!"
The hunter couldn't answer right away, his face slammed yet again into the dirt and rocks of the road. He threw his arms out to the sides, not to gain leverage, but to show surrender. "Wait! Wait! Let me answer! Just don't kill me!"
"Where!" Fenris repeated his demand, bending the man's neck painfully once more.
It hurt, his voice choked by the awkward angle, but he managed to get out, "The Holding Caves… they are old slave pens… north of Kirkwall…"
"I know the place," Fenris' voice remained cold and low, like the growl of a wolf about to rip his prey's throat. Looking at how he was holding the hunter, he might very well be preparing to do such a thing—if his other arm hadn't been injured. Hrodwynn thought he may have finally noticed he was wounded, as he looked slightly baffled for a moment, or irritated, or frustrated, when he swung his shoulder but his arm refused to cooperate. Whatever he felt, it made him hesitate.
Hesitation that once more gave the hunter false hope. "Then… then you'll let me live?"
The plea snapped him out it. Fenris leaned in close once more, moving past the mental and physical obstacles that had caused the slight delay, "Why? So you can run off and warn her I am coming?"
The markings on his arm flared even in the bright sunlight, his hand phasing into the hunter's skull. The next moment, his head burst like a puss-filled abscess.
Someone wretched. Hrodwynn wanted to as well, having gotten a front row seat to the show, but she swallowed down the bile. "Fenris," she said quietly, trying once more to gain his attention now that the hunter was dead and the fighting was over. "Fenris, your arm."
He looked at her, finally, his eyes dead and cold like the grave. She refused to look away, her lively emerald orbs overflowing with enough vitality for both of them. She took a deep breath, trying to ease the racing of her heart, and said again, "You've been hurt, Fenris. Let me take a look at your arm." She reached one hand towards his injured appendage, her fingers shaking only slightly, before they lightly brushed against his skin.
Something came back to life inside him at her touch. Something warm and tender and fragile. Something only she could reach. The next moment it was squashed beneath a tidal wave of rage and vexation and futility. "I was a fool!" he shouted, pulling back from her. "I was a fool to think I was free! They'll NEVER let me be!"
"Fenris," Hawke began, and Hrodwynn tried to wave him off, but it was too late. The elf turned his ire on Hawke, since the true target of his wrath was out of range.
"Hadriana is here!" he shouted, gesturing with his good arm. "Hadriana, Danarius' most trusted apprentice, and my personal demon of torment. You don't know what she…" He pressed his lips into a thin line, keeping whatever he had been about to say a mystery to them all. "Never mind. She's here. Now. That's all that matters. And I am going to kill her. I will rob Danarius of his prize pupil! I will hurt him where it hurts the most!"
"Fenris," Hawke stood his ground, refusing to back down from the unbridled hatred, "We're busy right now. Let's finish our business with Brekker first, then we'll deal with this… Hadriana."
"No!" Fenris stalked right up into his face, spittle from his lips flying to hit Hawke's cheek as he spoke. "We go there. Now. We kill Hadriana. Today. We rid the world of her! And we send her head back to Danarius in a box!"
"Hey, Broody," Varric tried, using his most reasonable tone, "Listen, even if we wanted, we can't go right this minute to the Holding Caves. Some of us have been hurt, in case you didn't notice."
Fenris rounded on him as soon as he started talking. In frustration he grabbed the shaft of the arrow in his arm and ripped it out. "There! Now we can go!"
"What about Button?"
That stopped him short. Hrodwynn, too. She had been trying to get close to Fenris again, using his feelings towards her against him, hoping he wouldn't lash out at the one person he professed to love. But Varric's words slammed into them both with the force of a gale.
She was hurt?
"The back of your shoulder, Wynnie," Anders' gentle voice explained for her benefit. "The arrow, it grazed you before it hit Fenris."
She turned her head to blink at him. Then she turned her head further to try to see over her shoulder. She could just make out the edge of a rip in her tunic, puckering upwards and outwards over the wound she didn't feel. "Damn," she felt tears springing to her eyes, "I love this shirt."
Fenris loved the tunic as well; it was the emerald green he had bought for her just a few days ago. Guilt overwhelmed him again. Hadriana was here—because of him. She had hired hunters—to capture him. The archer had shot that arrow at him—and nearly killed Hrodwynn in the process.
He should leave. Leave her. Leave Kirkwall. Leave the Free Marches and return to Tevinter and kill Danarius himself—or this would never be over! Danarius would never let him go, and the people he cared for—the woman he loved!—would keep getting in the way. Keep getting hurt. Until one of them, or all of them, ended up dead. Because of him.
"Hey, Broody, it's alright, see?" Varric shifted into his field of view. "Blondie's already healed her. Now it's your turn." Varric wasn't sure who looked more uncomfortable at the prospect: Anders being asked to heal Fenris, or Fenris having to allow Anders to heal him.
"Please, Fenris," Hrodwynn was at his side again, touching his good arm, turning his attention towards her and away from Anders. Perhaps it would be palatable, to both of them, if neither one caught the other looking. But the elf wasn't fooled, at least. He gasped when he felt the cool healing power of magic, pervading his arm, brushing against the lyrium brands and setting them aflame. The others saw the sneer and misinterpreted it, knowing only of his hatred for mages and magic.
Hrodwynn saw the creases grow in the corners of his eyes, and knew the magic was somehow affecting the lyrium in his body, causing him pain.
She also knew he would not want pity, not from anyone, especially not from her. No matter how badly her arms ached to hold him, to comfort him, to soothe him, she merely gave him a nod of understanding.
"We, ah, should get going," Aveline offered. "There's still a few miles to go before we get to Dietrich Crossing."
"No."
"Fenris…" Hawke started, but the elf would not let it go.
"We have to go to the Holding Caves. We have to get to Hadriana, before she can get away. Now!"
"Listen to reason," Hawke stepped forward again. "We're a lot closer to the Crossing than we are the Caves. Let's finish this first, then we'll go to the Caves. I promise."
"And in the meantime?" Fenris sneered. "What if Hadriana gets away?"
"Why would she leave?" Varric countered. "She sent these hunters here to ambush you, right? Who knows how long that might've taken? She'll probably give it at least a couple of days before she starts to wonder. Then she'll have to send a search party out to look for these guys, giving us another day or two…"
"You don't know Hadriana," Fenris countered, "Not as I do! She won't rely solely on these hunters. Besides, she knows me. She knows that if I catch the merest hint of her scent, I will come for her. As soon as these hunters are overdue, she'll leave and head back to Tevinter, just to save her own neck!"
"Fenris," Hrodwynn finally got her chance to try reasoning with the bloodlust-infused elf. He rounded on her, his face in a feral sneer, which softened when he saw the look on her face. She was a little scared, true, and deeply worried, obviously, but there must have been something else there, something deeper or stronger or perhaps mysterious—because he didn't attack. "We won't let Hadriana get away. Hawke's given you his word. You can trust him; you know you can." Boldly she took another step towards him, still scared, still in awe of his rage, still determined to get through to him. She touched him once more, her hands on his shoulders, and stepped almost intimately into his personal space, as if expecting some sort of embrace or tender endearment. Leaning in close, she added in a softer tone, for his ears only, "You can trust me, too."
His hands came up, taking hold of her upper arms a little too tightly—not out of any intention to harm her, but due to the forcefulness of his emotions. He held her in place a moment, the longing and need and pain in his features overwhelming, but then he gently pushed her away. "Fine. We'll deal with Brekker first. Then Hadriana. But if she gets away," he let go of Hrodwynn and moved closer to Hawke, "If Hadriana slips through my fingers, I'll go after her myself. Alone if I have to!"
The implied threat didn't need to be spelled out: if Hawke took too long, if Hadriana for whatever reason decided to flee, Fenris would leave Kirkwall to hunt her down and kill her. Without Hawke. Without the others.
Without Hrodwynn.
Hawke nodded, accepting the terms. "Time's wasting."
Maker, this was a mess.
Hrodwynn had been hard pressed to keep up with the fleeing elf, and despite all her abilities to slip through crowds, despite all her knowledge of shortcuts, despite all her best efforts…
Fenris got away from her.
She leaned her backside against a building, hands on knees, and panted, taking a moment to think back over all that had happened that day. After the ambush with the hunters, they had continued to Dietrich Crossing, but were too late to rescue the caravan. They did catch Brekker's men there, and though they made quick work of them, Brekker himself was not present.
Bastard.
Next they had gone to the Holding Caves, as promised. At least that turned out partially for the best; Hadriana had been there, and Fenris had killed her. But that was where things finally ended up in the privy. Fenris had given his word—his WORD—to Hadriana that he wouldn't kill her if she told him about his sister, but after she told him what little she knew, he reached into her chest and tore her heart out, holding it's pulsing mess before her eyes as the light faded from them.
Hrodwynn wished desperately she could un-see what she had seen, but that wasn't possible.
Fenris had left immediately after that, no word, no explanation, just a stoic statement that he needed to be alone.
Bloody git.
It wasn't that she was stalking him, she told herself. Nor that she was in love with him and wanted to console him after a deeply and personally painful experience, not that he would accept such a thing. Nope, she only wanted to make sure he didn't do anything stupid while he was in such a distracted state. She feared… what she wasn't sure, but she feared.
The sun had set long since, the night in full swing. Most honest people were indoors where it was lighted, warm, and most of all protected—Hrodwynn was not one of those honest people. But neither did she fear the night. She knew the streets of Kirkwall: Hightown, Lowtown, and Darktown. She knew the gangs that roamed them: Coterie and cutpurses and cutthroats. She knew the dangers and the pitfalls and the shortcuts and the places where she could gain the advantage in a fight—or hole up if necessary.
And she also knew the sounds of a woman in trouble.
The cries were coming from a small side street that led away from the main thoroughfares and ended in a disused courtyard. She knew of the place, and avoided it like the Blight because she knew there was only one way in or out—and no place to hide if you happened to find yourself trapped inside. Trapped, like the woman who's cries were increasing in volume. Cursing to herself, she gave up her plan to track down Fenris, and jogged across the thoroughfare towards the head of the side street.
The woman was beginning to sound panicky, confused, her pleading voice echoing down the lane. There was something familiar about those cries, but it didn't sound like any woman she knew. Too young for Leandra, too high-pitched for Aveline, too confused for Isabela, and yet not Merril either. Briefly she wondered if the woman sounded familiar because the emotions she conveyed were familiar, but Hrodwynn couldn't remember a time she had been pleading so desperately, all her spunk and bravado dried up, all her options and opportunities closed off.
Well, except for the time a dragon was about to roast her and Fenris alive at the bottom of the Bone Pit Mine.
Or the time Jaxon had her neck in a noose and clippers around her finger.
Or the time Carver lay dying from the Blight, and she had been forced to give him an overdose.
Or just a few days ago, when she found herself hanging from her wrists and a lash cracking against her back…
Alright, so there might be some sort of sympathetic telepathy being felt. Either that, or…
Hrodwynn came around the last bend in the street and wanted to curse again. There was an elven girl being taunted by four men, her skin nearly as pale as her hair. The men were all dressed darkly, their intentions obvious to Hrodwynn even if the girl hadn't figured them out. She should turn around and leave the poor child to her fate. She should do so before she was discovered, before her fate joined that of the girl. Yet she couldn't make her feet move.
She recognized the girl. It was the young elf they had found in the Holding Caves, whose father had been sacrificed to Hadriana's blood magic. The same girl Hawke had sent to his mansion, with the intention of hiring her as a servant. Looked like she hadn't make it there yet. And she might not, unless Hrodwynn could find a way to get them both out of that alley. Fighting would be out of the question; not only were they more heavily armed than she was, but she was still tired after everything that had happened that day. With no other option available, she threw her shoulders back and put on her best smile.
"I thought you were taking me to my new master's estate."
"We are, honey, it's just through here. Oh, wait, now I remember. We took a wrong turn. Oh, well, why don't we rest for a moment? Come here and we'll sit down next to each other, real cozy-like."
"Orana," Hrodwynn called out, putting as much authority in her voice as possible. She boldly marched past one of the men to take the elf's arm. "Where have you been? Hawke's been looking all over Kirkwall for you." She turned and started for the mouth of the cul-de-sac, propelling Orana before her, continuing to speak in part to the four men, in part to Orana. "Thank you, good sers, for seeing to Orana's safety, but we really must be going—run—Ser Hawke doesn't like to be kept waiting—I said run—and he's been very anxious—get going—ever since we got back to the city and no sign of his new servant—get the bloody shite out of here!"
"Are you telling me to run?" Orana finally asked.
"After them!" one of the men called out.
"Yes, damn it, now run!" Hrodwynn gave up trying to push the other woman ahead of her, and opted for pulling her behind.
"Oi! Where do you think you're going?!" another of the men shouted. Hrodwynn didn't hesitate, her movements fluid. She twisted around while pulling the knife out of the small of her back, her arm whipping out and over the top of Orana's head, the blade flying from her fingers to bury itself in the neck of one of the would-be rapists. She finished her spin, having to let go of the elf but taking hold of her again with her other hand, just as they turned the corner and left the alley.
The men were strong, determined, and pissed off over losing one of their own, but no one knew the streets of Kirkwall like Hrodwynn. She wove and ducked around pillars and past market stalls, jumped on top of a couple of crates to climb a fence, veered around another corner, yanked Orana with her through a small door, slammed it shut, locked it tight, and clamped her hand down over Orana's mouth before she could ask any silly questions.
The two women stood face to face, panting through their nostrils, ears straining to penetrate the wooden barrier. Heavy footsteps pounded past, masculine voices calling to each other, and finally silence. Still Hrodwynn did not remove her hand, instincts advising her to be cautious. Orana didn't argue, didn't protest the almost bruising force against her lips or the partial suffocation of fingers across her nostrils. Her eyes were wide in the darkness, her fear evident, her fatalistic acceptance of her situation giving Hrodwynn pause. She leaned in close and tried to ease the girl's mind, whispering, "I'm waiting to see if they double back. Just stay quiet a little longer."
Still Orana didn't react, far too accepting of her fate.
Hrodwynn had to remind herself; up until a few hours ago, Orana had been a slave. She didn't know freedom, a sense of self, a right to one's own person. All she knew, was basically to do as she was told, to accept what was done to her or those around her. So of course she didn't question Hrodwynn's strange actions or her assumed authority over her person. Yet there was hope; earlier she had questioned why her mistress would kill her Papa. So, maybe, Orana could learn freedom. Fenris had.
Thinking of that arse did nothing for her mood. She couldn't help but wonder where he was or what he was doing… Well, she knew what he was doing; he was brooding. But he shouldn't have run off like that. He should have stayed. He should have explained things to them. He should have defended himself—she would never repeat what Anders had said of him for breaking his word. He should have told them… told them…
Looking into Orana's eyes, Hrodwynn began to change her mind. Hadriana had been Danarius' prize apprentice, according to Fenris, so Fenris must have known her, he must have interacted with her at least some of the time. And he spoke her name with such hatred, such unbridled loathing and disgust. He had torn her heart out with such unholy satisfaction. He had felt no remorse over breaking his word, as if it had been a foregone conclusion.
Hadriana, a woman who had hunted and chased an escaped slave across a continent. A woman who, on one hand liked the soup prepared by one of her slaves, and on the other hand cooly sacrificed the very same slave's life to fuel her blood magic. What other atrocities had she committed? The answer was there, right before Hrodwynn: in Orana's eyes, in her posture, in her attitude, in every fiber of her being and every quirk of her personality.
Someone outside tried the handle of the door, giving it a few quick rattles and a half-hearted tug. Orana trembled—with fear or anxiety or a mere chill Hrodwynn couldn't determine. But she did know the men were finally leaving, looking elsewhere for the two women, or perhaps going back to their fallen comrade—but she doubted they cared that much for him. No doubt they were more upset over the lost entertainment.
"I think we're safe now," she breathed for the girl's benefit, "But we should probably stay here for an hour or so, just to make sure."
"Where… is here?" Orana asked, timidly, not certain if she should question Hrodwynn's authority.
She smiled encouragingly at the girl's bravado, not that much could be seen in the darkness, and answered, "An abandoned store. Used to sell spices, back before the Blight. But the owner went bankrupt, and no one's bought the place yet, so we won't be discovered before morning. Then it'll be safer to make our way to Hawke's mansion; less gangs patrolling the streets." She walked over to where a patch of moonlight was falling through a hole in the roof. "Let's sit down over here, where we can see each other, and talk for a bit, just to pass the time." She righted a stool and dusted off the seat, before finding an old crate to use for herself.
Orana did as she was bid, sitting on the proffered stool obediently and without question. Hrodwynn sighed, thinking it could take years for Orana to come to understand what personal freedom meant. But for tonight, she was going to selfishly take advantage of Orana's state.
"What would you like to talk about?"
"Nothing in particular," Hrodwynn shrugged, trying to sound guileless. "Why don't you tell me about yourself, about working for Hadriana…?"
It was late afternoon before Hrodwynn finally made it home. She gave a private little giggle over that—thinking of Fenris' mansion as home. Wearily she shook off the bemused and befuddled thought as she pushed open the door and slipped into the dimly lit interior. "Maker, but I'm knackered!" she grunted as she closed the door behind her.
And looked up into the face of Fenris. He had removed his armor and gauntlets and belt and sword, but he did not look more comfortable. He was standing just beyond the foyer, his expression so dark it was a perfect contrast to his shock of white hair. She didn't feel any foreboding, however; it wasn't so much a look of angry brooding as it was, well, in a word: regret. Good, she thought to herself, he should feel regret. Not for what he did to Hadriana—after what Orana had told her, the bitch more than had it coming—but for leaving her like he did. Yet she didn't start any sort of fight with him, instead smiling and starting forward. "Hello, Fenris."
"Hrodwynn, I…" he reached out as she walked past, but his hand wouldn't touch her. She hesitated, giving him time to finish, willing him to speak, to let her into his private life, to do anything that would confirm that he truly loved her because… because…
Because she needed him to love her—she needed to know he still loved her—because she might… just… perhaps… feel something… When it became apparent that he could not or would not speak, she made herself perk up and say, "I'm famished. Got anything to eat?"
"Upstairs," he nodded, eagerly seizing the safe topic of conversation with fervor, "There's a roasted pheasant in my room, with some boiled potatoes."
"Sounds delightful," she sighed, starting forward again.
He fell into step beside her. "Hrodwynn, I…" He looked so eager, so pained, so ashamed, yet all he could utter was, "I'm sorry."
It cost him; she could see how much those two words hurt him, cut him to the quick and left him bleeding out across the floor. Her heart softened, her hands ached to reach out to him, to hold him, to comfort him—but he would never accept such treatment from her or anyone. Instead she asked, "About what?"
HIs eyes studied the steps as they climbed, "What I did to Hadriana… I broke my word… I know you think the worst of me…"
"Not for that," she brushed it aside as she pushed open the door to his room. She took a moment to inhale the delectable smells coming from the hearth where the food was keeping warm. She looked up at Fenris and saw how his brows bent with confusion, no doubt unsure as to why she wasn't pissed off at him—or perhaps wondering what she was pissed off about, if not that. "I talked with Orana last night," she explained, even as she grabbed a drumstick and ripped it off. "I ran across her in a blind alley. She had some difficulty finding Hawke's mansion, got herself caught up with a rape gang, but I managed to get her," she gave an appreciate snort, "Well, actually, get us both away from them. While holed up and waiting for daylight, we sat and talked for a bit. About Hadriana." She took a bite of the delicious meat; even slightly dried out it was more than satisfactory.
"I… don't understand… you should be mad… Hawke was… and the others…"
"The others don't matter," she swallowed the food, poking at him with the cleaned bone, "But Hawke does. After I finally got Orana there safely, Hawke told me you talked with him, explained things to him. That was good thinking. If you can get Hawke to trust you again, after what happened, the others will follow his lead. Oh, Maker, but I didn't realize how starving I was until I started eating! Don't you want any?" She used her only knife—the other still buried in a body somewhere in Hightown—to slice off a chunk of breast meat. She held it out for him, but he declined with a shake of his head. She shrugged, took a healthy bite out of the meat, and chewed contentedly. "Hmm, I don't think I've eaten since before the ambush. No, wait, I did have a bite at Hawke's place, after I got Orana there in one piece. Even managed an hour or two of sleep, before we all headed down to Darktown to confront Brekker. Turns out, he had some sort of weird personal grudge against Hawke; nothing at all related to the Coterie. All this time, it was just some petty little dispute. Bloody git." She chomped on the last bite for a moment, "Jaxon wasn't there, unfortunately. But Brekker and the rest of his men are dead. Tough battle. You should have been there." Her eyes flashed as hard as emeralds.
He nodded.
"Still, that mess is all behind us. No more Brekker. No more Coterie troubles. Just the normal shit that seems to follow Hawke around wherever he goes." She tore off the other leg, her hunger eased, and nibbled at the flesh. She made her posture easy, relaxed, opened, and prayed he would take the invitation.
He did. "But… what about you? You saw me… rip someone's heart out… after I promised…"
Hrodwynn made a rude noise, tossing the half-eaten drumstick into the fire. "Damn it, Fenris, didn't you hear what I said? I talked with Orana. About Hadriana. She didn't know anything about Hadriana and you, but she told me plenty of the things Hadriana used to do to others, the atrocities, and not just to her own slaves. And not just to slaves. The woman was a bitch. She deserved to be put down, like a mad dog. In fact, I wish I'd known then what I know now; I would have held her down for you."
He stared at her, incredulously, unable to allow himself to hope. "You… you're not mad that I… that I gave Hadriana my word… and broke it…?"
"No, I'm mad, but not about that," she stood up to confront him, nose to nose. "I'm mad because you left. You left me, after all your talk about wanting to be with me, share your life with me, face the future with me. After all your professions of love, you turned your back on me and left!"
"I… I needed some time… to think… I… I didn't want to hurt you…"
"Over and over and over again with that!" she shoved at his chest, making him stagger back beneath the brunt of her assault. "I'm sick to death of it!" She shoved him again. "Every time things get tough," and again, "Or dangerous," and again, "Or something from your past resurfaces," and again, "You use that sorry old excuse!" and one last time. "Well, what about me? What about my feelings? What if, maybe, I don't want to see YOU hurt?"
He blinked at her.
"What if…" the words held in her throat a moment, almost too emotional to speak, "What if it hurts me, just as much as an arrow through the heart, every time you push me away?"
His mouth opened, but he had forgotten to take a breath, to give his words voice.
"I want to trust you. I…" as she continued to confess, she could feel her anger turning to tears, stinging her eyes, causing them to glisten in the muted daylight. "I might—might!—want to love you. But how can I? How can I if you're not here?" She stepped up to him again, and he flinched, throwing his hands up, half-expecting another shove.
"When will you get it through that thick skull of yours, that you're not alone in this. That you have friends. That there are people who care about you. That I…" she paused to swallow, "That I care about you."
His hands fell, slowly, to her shoulders, his expression so eager—so hungry—it hurt them both. She moved closer, her hands on his chest once more, but tenderly this time, barely making contact with his tunic, the fingertips of one hand hovering over his heavy-pounding heart.
"Stop shoving me away. I'm here, Fenris. And I'll be here. For you. Whenever you need me." There were depths of meaning in her words that reached far beneath the surface.
"I need you," he admitted, his voice so low and gravely it sounded as thunder along the distant horizon.
"I'm here." Her bright green eyes flickered between his dull green, as if to share a spark of color with them.
"No, Hrodwynn, I mean…" he leaned in closer, his eyes hungrily devouring all she would give him, "I. Need. You."
"I understand," she answered simply, plainly, and with far more calm than her racing heart should have allowed. "I'm here," her hand moved to cup his cheek. "I need you, too. Here. And now."
A/N: technically, this is not a cliffhanger. *evil snigger* But I promise, the next chapter will be posted in a day or two *wink, wink*