Chapter Twenty-Nine: Blindsided
This time was different.
This time, there were booted footfalls reverberating through the stone floor.
This time, there were voices outside her cell, echoing softly down the hallway, some sort of whispered discussion or mumbled banter.
This time, the bluish-white light pulsed and flickered, flowing and ebbing, throbbing stronger each time like a heartbeat becoming infused with adrenaline.
And this time, she did not wake up beforehand.
"Do you think Isabela's crew can handle the guards?"
"If not, they shouldn't be allowed to call themselves pirates," Varric softly answered Hawke's question. He was all but strolling beside Hawke, shoulder to hip, the two men taking their time as the elf moved ahead of them. Fenris' lyrium never dimmed, never wavered, as he passed the top part of his body through each and every cell door, searching for Hrodwynn. It was a slow process, a painstakingly thorough process, and the time it took chaffed at the elf's nerves, but he couldn't afford to miss a single cell. Varric of course tried to ease the tension with a bit of humor—just a small bit, because he too was anxious for Hrodwynn's welfare.
"However did she convince her crew to attack this estate, anyway?"
"Who knows," Varric shrugged, trying not to see the disappointment and fear and worry gnawing on Fenris' features as he pulled away from yet another wrong cell. "Probably something about hidden treasure on the grounds, or a vault overflowing with gold and gemstones. And how, now that the master is dead, most of his retainers would probably not put up much of a fight, preferring to find new employment rather than giving their lives for someone who's already dead themselves and no longer able to pay their salary. So the imagined treasure would be easy pickings for the crew."
"There is a treasure," Fenris' voice floated back to them, as dim as the sparse torchlight, having just pulled away from another door, "And it really is inside a vault. I told her where to find it, and how to break into it."
"Of course there is a secret stash," Varric sighed, his voice tinted just a little bit with envy. "So Isabela gets to line her pockets after all. Somehow, that doesn't seem fair."
"Oh, I don't know, Varric," Hawke answered, his eyes too watching the elf closely, anticipating that first reaction that would mean that the search was over, "Isabela gets a little richer, sure, but we will have gotten safe passage to and from Tevinter—and Wynnie, in the bargain. I think we come out ahead."
Varric groused, softly, and added, "Just so long as she and her men keep the guards busy enough that they don't notice us."
"They're on the other side of the Keep," Fenris interrupted again, "And three stories above us. There's no reason for any of them to come down here, not when they're trying to get away from attacking pirates." Despite the assurances in his words, his voice was tight, his fists tighter, and his movements the most tightly controlled as he methodically turned to check the next cell. First the one on the left, then the one on the right, then move forwards to the next pair. Left. Right. Next. Left. Right…
"She's here," his voice breathed, his hands automatically bracing against the frame of the doorway to steady himself. He completely forgot that his head and shoulders were inside the cell, inside and staring at… Could it be… It had to be… It must be…
It was the body of a young woman, though looking less like a person and more like a broken doll, a doll that had been tossed aside by a child amidst the throes of a temper tantrum and now lay forgotten where it fell on the hewn stone floor. But a doll with the form of a woman, and creamy pale skin, and dark red hair.
He didn't even consider pulling back outside the cell long enough to tell Hawke and Varric that he had found her. Instead his fingers went numb and loosened their grip, his hands slipping from the frame to fall at his sides, his body leaning forwards just that little bit more so he had to take a step and phase through the door.
"Ah, Elf?" Varric called out to him as he and Hawke hustled up to the door. They had immediately noted Fenris' odd behavior, and had hesitated themselves when he had, hardly daring to breathe much less hope. They remained standing still in mute optimism, right up to the point where they saw him tip himself into the cell. Only then did they rush forward as one, hastening to reach the cell before he passed through, but were too late to catch him. Varric gave the door a quick pound of frustration with his fist before calling out, "Hey, Fenris! Hawke and I can't do that trick you do, ya know. You wanna open the door first? Pick the lock from inside? Oh, never mind; I'll do it." Varric knelt down before the door handle and took out his picks, muttering to himself the whole time.
Fenris heard nothing of this, the thickness of the cell door making most of the words indistinguishable anyway. He stood as still as a statue, his whole body shimmering with the bluish-white glow of lyrium, but in the soft light he could only make out a few forms and shadows, nothing distinctive that would confirm his suspicions. He pulsed stronger, suffusing the chamber with light and allowing him to see clearly. The sight that met his eyes left him feeling physically staggered, as if someone had dealt him a blow beneath the belt.
There was a woman in here. From the vulnerable position her body had been left in, he immediately knew what type of abuse she had been suffering. Added to that, her right arm was bent awkwardly beneath her, and he could tell by the odd bump beneath her skin that her humerus was out of her shoulder socket. Her left leg was bruised above and below the knee, and twisted in a way that showed it was obviously broken. Her scalp was irritated and oozing in places where her hair had been pulled out in small chunks, half-dried blood blending into the dark red strands and snarling them with filth. Beyond these more serious and apparent injuries, there were a seemingly countless amount of bruises, abrasions, cuts, welts, swellings…
He swallowed, his eyes searching for any hint, any clue, that this was Hrodwynn, both afraid and desperate to confirm her identity. He stared at her side, trying to see past the gore and filth, to the skin beneath, to the creamy pale skin, to the tiny little scar in the valley between two ribs, a scar Jaxon had given her when he stabbed her in Darktown three years ago, forcing Fenris to chose between either chasing him or saving her life.
…oh, dear Maker, this was Hrodwynn…
He didn't know if he felt relief or guilt, happiness or rage. He'd found her, but—venhedis—what she must have gone through this past month or more. And she was just lying there, unaware of his presence, her body exposed and battered, but at least it was a body still moving with breath.
His own body didn't dare to breathe, his chest held tightly in a vice, his limbs refusing to respond to his commands. He needed to go to her, he needed to confirm it was her, he needed to turn her face towards him and see her familiar features…
…but all he could do was stand there and call her name. "Hrodwynn?"
She heard him; the sudden voice inside her cell, so close to her and without warning, made her start awake. But awareness brought pain, throbbing and aching and sharp and deep and unending. She panted a soft moan for the agony, her strength nearly used up in the wrinkling of her brows, as she struggled to find the energy to fight him off again. No, no, no, she thought to herself, it's too soon, he was just here, the other one hasn't come yet with a healing potion, if he's here again he'll kill me for sure and I can't… I can't… I won't… I must…
"Hrodwynn," she heard him say again, even closer this time, and—she would not stop fighting him!—she strove to lift a hand to shove him away. Something caught her hand, or rather HE caught her hand. The next moment, his arm was under her shoulders, lifting her off the cold hard ground. She managed to open the one eye that wasn't swollen shut to stare at the face before her.
A blurry shape was all she could see, swarthy colored skin marred and disfigured with bluish-white swirls of lyrium shining brightly. She whimpered against the hurt and managed a harder shove against HIM.
"Hrodwynn, stop, it's alright now, it's me, Fenris, don't be afraid, look at me, my love, look at me, it's me, Fenris, see?" He made his markings glow even stronger.
"Nooooo…" her voice came out in a part-groan, part-wail, part-battlecry, and part-prayer. It wasn't Fenris. It couldn't be him… "…it's never him… it's always you… every time… the false one…"
"False… what?" Fenris asked, confused.
"I won't…" her voice tried to fail her, but exhausted or not, beaten half to death or not, it wasn't in her nature to stop fighting. Not able to manage much more than a whisper, she pressed on, "I'll never… never… never betray…"
"Hrodwynn," Fenris called yet again, beginning to wonder if she might be suffering some sort of hallucination or fever. Her words were so confusing, they left him without any understanding of what she might be talking about. Betrayal? The false one? The one who had been hurting her, perhaps? But she couldn't mean him, could she? Her head lay in the crook of his arm, her one good eye almost rolling back as she nearly fainted. He cupped her cheek, as tenderly and as lovingly as he could while wearing his gauntlets, and all but begged her, "Hrodwynn. Look at me. Look at my face. Look at the lyrium. You know it's me. It's Fenris. No one else has these markings."
"You do," she countered, finding the will to sneer at him through her swollen lips, leaving him even more confused.
"Of… of course I do. I'm Fenris. I am your love."
Her shoulder convulsed in what might have been a sarcastic sort of snort or a laugh. Her head wobbled, knocking against the edges of his armor, as she shook it. "You fooled me once. Never again. Never… never… I'll never… betray… him again…"
He was at a loss, stumped, bewildered, unable to comprehend what was wrong, and because of that he could see no way to help her—other than convincing her somehow that he was who he said he was. That he was Fenris. That he was her love. Her lover. Sudden inspiration struck and he knew what he had to do. "A-am-amatus," he stuttered, willing her to understand, willing her to see him, willing her to know him.
The single word did the trick. She stopped trying to shake her head. She stopped trying to shove at him. She stopped fighting and paused and stared up at him through one bloodshot emerald eye sparkling with the reflected light of his lyrium.
"I call you amatus," he elaborated, his blacker than midnight brows curling with emotion, feeling slightly encouraged now that he had gotten her to focus on him. "It means, you are loved by me. And you call me Fen. You thought it was the nickname for Fenris," his lips smiled slightly as he continued, his fingers lightly brushing the hair away from her face, pulling it free of the half-dried blood staining her temple, "But Fenris is the nickname. Fenris means little wolf; and Fen, the wolf. But that's what you call me. Fen. You, and only you. No one else calls me that. No one else knows of that. You are my Amatus, and I am your Fen."
Her bruised lips trembled, her one good eye overflowed with tears, and her hand weakly reached up to him. "Is… is it… is it… really you… this time… please… let it be…" She stopped herself, almost biting her lip with fear, before allowing herself to whisper that one private name, "Fen…?"
He caught her hand again, gently, and pressed the palm against his lips, heedless of the gore etched into the creases of her skin. "It is," he vowed, his breath warming her chilled fingers.
Contradictorily, this only seemed to upset her more. She started to weep, tears slipping out of the bruised eye as well as the open one. "I'm sorry," she whispered through the blubbering, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. But when I saw him, I thought he was you, and I called him…"
"Shh…" he stroked one finger over her mouth to silence her cries, wishing he wasn't wearing his cold and hardened armor, wishing he could hold her against his chest, feel her so close to him that the two became one. His hand moved to her cheek, the sharpened talons carefully avoiding scratching her, and wiped the tears away in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "Shh, amatus, it's alright now. You're safe. I'm here. It's over."
"Is it?" she half-laughed, half-hiccoughed, her feverish and tormented mind only managing to move from one nightmare to another. "You know what will happen next? He told you, didn't he?" She gazed at his face for what she supposed might very well be the last time. Oh, Maker, but this hurt, knowing their fate—that Danarius would allow them this reunion, before wiping Fenris' memory and then making him kill her. At least neither of them would have to live with the pain and the guilt: she would be dead, and Fenris would never remember.
"Who told me what?" he asked, but seeing the pained expression on her features, he decided they could pursue that topic of conversation at another time—when they had the time. "No, never mind that. Listen to me, Hrodwynn, just listen. Hawke and the others came here with me. To rescue you. Danarius is dead…"
"He's… dead…?" she interrupted, the pain vanishing before the brunt of her confusion, as if she could only hold on to one emotion, one concept, at a time.
"Yes, he's dead, and we came here to rescue you. Isabela and her crew are keeping the guards distracted…"
"Isabela's crew…?"
"…while Hawke, Varric and I search for you. But we've found you. I've found you. And I'm taking you home. Back to Kirkwall. Do you understand?"
She had finally stopped interrupting him, and instead faced him with a slack mouth and a blank stare; now it was her turn to be baffled.
"That's a bit too much to take in all at once, there, Broody," Varric hummed from the opening door. "Why don't you keep it simple for now? Button, we're hear to rescue you. And, whoa, was NOT expecting that."
"Expecting what?" Hawke asked, having stayed out in the hallway, ostensibly to keep watch.
"Er, nothing, just, ah," Varric had very quickly turned his back in what he thought was a very gentlemanly manner. It wasn't the intimate reunion he had just walked in on that had caught him off guard, or the horrific state of her injuries, but the state of her, erm… "Mind if we borrow your cloak?"
"My cloak?" Hawke had taken a few steps down the corridor, but he turned around and came back, his curiosity guiding his steps. "Why would you need my cloak… oh!" He'd gotten just far enough to see into the cell, to see a pair of pale legs covered only in filth and blood. He didn't look any further, didn't need to, the expression on Varric's face confirming his suspicious. Then the implications of Varric's words sank in. "No," he said in almost a moan, taking half a step back, his hands raised up as if to ward off a blow. "No, no, no. This is my favorite cloak. It's practically new. I love this cloak. My cloak."
Varric crossed his arms, standing in the doorway of the cell, facing Hawke.
"My brand new cloak."
Varric didn't say a word, didn't change his expression.
"My very-expensive-brand-new-favorite-cloak."
Varric moved, but only to hold out one of his hands expectantly.
Hawke sighed, hating it, but knowing he had never stood a chance. He unfastened the solid gold clasps at the neck, and gave the lambswool lining one final stroke, before swinging it off his shoulders. "Here. I hope she appreciates this, the sacrifice I'm making, for her." He shoved the cloak into Varric's outstretched hand before he changed his mind, and then he moved off down the hallway again, muttering to himself and hugging his arms as if he suddenly felt a chill, "…my birthday gift… to me…"
Varric gave a little smile and shook his head, knowing Hawke really didn't mind giving up his cloak; it was almost a habit the way those two irritated each other. He cleared his throat and shifted backwards a couple of steps, not wanting to turn around again, trying to preserve as much modesty as he could for Hrodwynn—Maker only knows what she'd suffered, what she'd had to endure, these past several weeks. "Here."
"Thank you," Fenris reached behind him to take the cloak. He didn't want to take his eyes off of Hrodwynn. He couldn't stop staring at all the hurts on her body, all the signs of abuse, all the pain and humiliation etched seemingly permanently into her features. Because he knew, he had been the cause of this. It had been his amnesia, his mental block, his inability to be intimate with her, and the search for a way to break through his troubles—fasta vass, it had been his sister and his former master, for Andraste's sake!—that had resulted in her being imprisoned her here for over a month.
He may as well have had done this to her himself. And she undoubtedly felt the same way, and blamed him, judging by her earlier words.
Finally, though, when the cloak was in his hand, he had to come out of his brooding and act. He spread the garment over her like a blanket, the lambswool side inwards to lie softly against her vandalized skin. She sighed, feeling the warmth leftover from Hawke's body still embedded in the fabric, feeling that warmth start to warm her. Though Fenris supported her in his arm in a reclining position, her buttocks and legs still lay on the cold stone floor. She gave a little shiver for the dichotomy, warmth above and cold beneath, but already seemed a little better for the small comfort.
"Varric," Fenris called softly, still unwilling to look away, "Did you remember to bring those healing potions?"
"I'm going to pretend like I didn't hear that," the dwarf answered. He turned around, now that it was safe, and walked over to Hrodwynn's other side. He knelt down next to her and examined her carefully, palpating her limbs through the cloak, all the while moving slowly so as not to startle her. "Leg's broken?"
It wasn't so much a question as a statement in need of confirmation, which Fenris gave in a single nod. "And her shoulder's dislocated."
"My hand…" she added, trying to pull it out from beneath the cloak to show them, but her arm still wasn't working right.
"Sh, my love, don't try to move. Let us do it for you." Reluctantly, Fenris set her back on the ground, he had to before he could fix her shoulder, but he tucked the edges of the cloak beneath her, allowing her some small comfort. Then he carefully took hold of her upper arm and slipped it out from beneath the garment.
Varric gave a soft hiss, but hoped he caught himself in time before Hrodwynn could hear him. "You, ah, you got this?"
"I know what I'm doing," he said with far more confidence than he felt. He had absently noted her hand, wrapped up tight in all that was left of her tunic, but his focus was on her shoulder first. With one hand holding her arm from without, and with his other hand phasing and holding her shoulder from within, he gently eased the bone back into place. He pretended he didn't see her turn her face away with a grimace.
"Nice trick," the dwarf grudgingly allowed. "Think you can do it again on her leg?"
Fenris didn't bother with a reply—not a verbal one, anyway. He leaned over her and quickly went to work, wanting to get this done, wanting to spare her all the discomfort he could, wanting her whole and restored. To him.
Hrodwynn tried not to look, she tried not to move, but all she could think of was how this was not right, this was in reverse order, the bones were setting not breaking—yet the lyrium was still the same. She had to trust Fenris, she had to trust that it was really Fenris this time, but dammit it was hard! The glow of lyrium… His hands phasing into her body… She brought her hand up to her face, found the knot in the bandages, and bit it in an effort to keep herself from screaming.
"Here, let me see that," Fenris commanded softly, finishing with her leg and moving back to her hand. She didn't want to—was he really here? Her love? Her Fen? It was so hard to believe—but she had no reason to keep it from him. Nor the strength to deny him. Shaking, she spit out the knot and let him lift her hand away from her face.
"He, ah, he broke it, that first time," she sniffed, looking at her hand as he carefully unwrapped her makeshift dressing. "He found my lock picks. Figured I knew how to use them. Figured I was right handed. So he took the picks, tore up my clothing, too, looking for anything else I might have secreted away. And then he… he broke my fingers."
Neither Varric nor Fenris pressed her for any details. She had already said more than enough for both of them, Fenris again feeling the guilt bury him—he had sent her here, after all—and Varric figuring it had been Danarius who had stripped her and broken her hand—which was practically a death sentence for a thief, losing the ability to pick locks.
The bastard.
"This… this is beyond me… I can't…" Fenris whispered to Varric, lifting up his dull green eyes, completely at a loss. The bones in her hand had indeed been broken, some of them crushed, and so long ago and after so many healing potions, that they had already set themselves. In the wrong shape. The palm of her hand was curved, tucking her two smallest fingers inwards, and leaving her thumb to stick outward in a slightly disjointed angle.
"Anders…?"
Both men closed their eyes in response to all the faithful hope she placed in that single name.
"Yeah," Varric was the first to find his voice, dropping his face to start fumbling at his pouch, "Yeah, sure, Anders will fix that, soon as we're back in Kirkwall. Here, Button, drink this. Slowly. It's a healing potion. That's it. Take your time. No need to rush. You're safe now."
It wasn't quite a lie, more like an exaggerated truth, which was something Varric was very good at telling. They were still in the middle of a dungeon beneath the Keep of a dead Tevinter Magister whose men were either fighting pirates or fleeing them… Yup, they neither had time, nor were safe. But Hrodwynn believed him and felt calmer for it, and that was what was important. She took the potion and, sip after sip, swallow after swallow, grew stronger.
When the vial was empty, he discarded it behind him and went for another. Focused on his pouch, he had taken his eyes off of her, so he was startled when her other hand slipped out from beneath the cloak and reached for him.
"Varric?"
He stared at the fingers, the nails broken and chipped, clutching at the front of his tunic. He placed one of his calloused hands over hers as he looked back at her face and saw the effects of the potion beginning to work, the bruise around her eye fading and it beginning to open. She was looking at him now with two eyes, two very tearful eyes looking like a pair of emeralds through a shallow stream. The swelling and cut on her lips began closing even as she spoke, "Is this a dream, or is this really happening, this time?"
This time, he repeated to himself, wondering how many times the poor girl had lain here, in this cell, dreaming of escape, dreaming of being rescued, perhaps dreaming something very similar to what was happening right now. His eyes twinkled, his hand giving hers a reassuring squeeze before moving their hands from his tunic to rest over his heart. "This is real. I'm real. I mean, come on, do you think your imagination—on its best day—could ever hope to match the reality of my chest hair?"
She didn't laugh, she didn't even smile, but the corner of her mouth did give a twitch. It wasn't much, but it was encouraging. He let go of her hand and went back to searching in his pouch. He had seen the signs, too—he had seen how she flinched away from Fenris when he used his lyrium to set her bones. He had also felt the trembling in her hand as he had held it to his chest. He wasn't an idiot, he knew what had been done to her.
But he also knew, this was a woman who had fought for everything she had in life: she had fought to survive living on her own, fought to learn her skills and prove her unmatched reputation, even fought against an unseen and untouchable enemy to win the chance to be with the man she loved. And judging by the state she was in, he knew that she again had fought back, that she had never given up, that there remained some spark within her. He had to encourage that spark to flicker, to catch fire, to flare back into life. "You're doing just fine, Button. One more healing potion I think should do the trick, at least until we're back onboard Isabela's ship."
"Agreed," Fenris hummed. He was feeling nervous, antsy, twitchy, staying in one place for so long. He had been far too familiar with these cells while a slave of Danarius—both after and before The Procedure—and wanted to get moving and get her to safety as soon as possible. Memories were flooding back, more and more of them the longer he spent in this place. It was getting hard to breathe, hard to focus, and he had to keep staring at Hrodwynn, keep reminding himself of his guilt, to keep the demons of his freshly rediscovered past at bay.
"That should do it," Varric emptied the last of the potion into Hrodwynn's mouth. "I'll step outside and see how Hawke's doing, make sure the coast is clear, that sort of thing. Think you can finish in here on your own?"
Fenris nodded, once, thankful that Varric somehow understood the difference between when he was needed, as in tending to her hurts, and when he was no longer needed, as in this awkwardly tender moment. He waited until he heard the dwarf shuffling his feet out in the hallway before he settled his gaze back on Hrodwynn's face. She wasn't looking at him, her eyes moving constantly around the room, flitting from place to place like a bird, her breath panting softly through her parted lips. He took her hand, gently through the bandages, and asked, "Do you think you can sit up?"
He saw her brow wrinkle a bit, her tongue slip out to taste the blood clinging to the now whole skin beneath, before she nodded, "I… I think so."
He slipped his other arm beneath her shoulders and lifted. He didn't let go of her, didn't lose contact with her, as he helped her sit up. She was tense, pulling in on herself, almost pulling away from his touch, but not completely. She knew she needed his help, his assistance, his strength, however much it pained her. Once she was sitting, he let go of her hand, letting fall with a soft plop onto her lap.
"We need to readjust this cloak. Doesn't seem like there's any sleeves for your arms. Would you mind, being wrapped up inside it, like a blanket?"
Yes, she very much would mind it, but the only other option was to go naked. So she shored up her courage, pushed down her panic, and shook her head. This really was her Fen, she chanted to herself, with Varric and Hawke and the others. This really was a rescue. The nightmare really was over.
"Hold on a moment," his husky voice thrummed while he adjusted the cloak around her shoulders, "Let me tuck this side in, then I'll carry you."
She sniffed, her breath coming and going in soft little gasps, as she asked, "F-F-Fe-Fenris, um, do you think, maybe, you could stop glowing?"
"Why?" he asked, making sure the open edge of the cloak would lie between their bodies after he lifted her up.
"Just… please… stop? For me? Please? Don't ask, just…stop!"
He did stop, but only the movements of his hands, his glow remaining. Instead he ducked his head, trying to see her face, but she wouldn't look at him, wouldn't even open her eyes, her face screwed up in an effort to block out any light coming from his lyrium brands. Well, he was finished making sure she was covered, and with the cell door open, what little light there was in the hallway would probably be enough to guide them out of the cell. He allowed the markings to grow dim, his arms wrapping around her as if to hold her in place, as if to keep her from disappearing back into the shadows now threatening to swallow them both.
She flinched again.
He tried to ignore it, tried to deny the fact that it had happened, thinking she was undoubtedly trying to do the same. Fasta vass, but he could feel the shaking of her whole body as she fought to remain calm. He shouldn't have to do this, he shouldn't have to hesitate before touching his love, his amatus. He shouldn't have to ask permission before sweeping her into his arms and off of her feet.
She seemed to feel the same way, to understand his angst as well as her own. Bravely, without any words of her own, without waiting for him to find his words, she leaned over towards him and bent her good leg, ready to be carried. And he did pick her up, scooping her off the ground and rising to his feet in a very fluid motion that was unmistakably Fenris.
"Amatus…"
"Fen," she answered quickly, cutting off his questions. She tucked her head against his shoulder, her own hurt shoulder nestled securely between them, her hurt leg supported comfortably from his arm. "Please, Fen, no questions, not yet, let's just go. Let's leave here. Before he comes back."
"He won't be coming back," Fenris vowed, stepping out into the dim light of the hallway. "Whoever did this to you is either fighting off Isabela's pirates, or running from them. Danarius is dead; there's no reason for any of his guards to remain."
"That won't stop him," she whispered.
"Ah, there they are," Hawke beamed at her, only somewhat forced. He briefly eyed the filth and gore already staining his cloak, before finally giving up that he'd ever get it back. "I've already scouted down this way a bit, seems like it goes on forever. I was thinking we should go back the way we came…"
"We go forwards," Fenris countered. "Two lefts, then a right, then we're along the outer wall of the building."
"Wonderful," Hawke droned, "Then all we have to do is find a door leading outside."
"Or make one," Fenris agreed.
That stopped him short, well imaging the hole Fenris could make even in a solid stone wall, should he put his mind to it. "Ah, I see your point. Still, we should wait for Varric, don't you think?"
"Where is he," Fenris asked, turning in place. He wanted to keep moving, to get them—get Hrodwynn—out of there, and this unexpected delay was making him nervous, sending alarm bells ringing through the back of his head.
"I think he's organizing a breakout." When both Fenris and Hrodwynn stared at him, he elaborated. "I did mention that I did a bit of scouting earlier. I found the master key for the cells, and since you were taking so long, I began setting the other prisoners free. Couldn't very well leave them in here to rot, could we? Now that Danarius is dead, Maker only knows when someone would be along to check on them, if ever. Anyway, when Varric came out, he took the keys and the prisoners down that way a bit. He's talking to them, making sure they understand their master is dead, and making sure they promise to free anyone else they come across. They should make quite a distraction, once they reach the outside. Help to add to the chaos and all that."
"Did you see Laconus?" Hrodwynn asked, her voice sounding tired and tiny and hesitant.
If he was surprised that she spoke, he kept the reaction well hidden. "No idea. Who's Laconus?" Hawke asked, shaking his head.
"One of the guards. He…" she had started answering, but stopped so quickly Fenris was sure she had stopped breathing. And he was sure he knew the cause.
"This Laconus," Fenris pressed, both wishing he could see her face, and thankful that he could not, "Is he the one who r— er, hurt you?" Blessed Andraste, but he had almost said That Word.
She seemed as disturbed as he by near-naming of what had been done to her, shaking her head quickly and vehemently. "No, ah, no." She licked again at her healed lip. Most of the dried blood and flecked away now that there was no longer a wound beneath, and she swept the last of it away with her tongue. "It was Laconus' job to keep me alive, until Danarius came back. Every time the other one finished…" she had to swallow the words choking in her throat before she could continue. "Laconus would visit after, with a healing potion, only he didn't this time. I thought, maybe, you might have seen him out here. He should be around somewhere."
"Maybe, maybe not. If this Laconus is still around," Varric tried to reassure her as he came trotting back down the hallway towards them, "He's probably fighting the pirates. Most likely, though, he's run off with the others; nearly all of the hired soldiers have fled. And quite a few of the slaves are finding they have a taste for freedom—once I convinced them that their master really is dead."
Hrodwynn seemed to curl in on herself a little tighter. "But HE will still be here."
"Laconus?" Varric asked, falling into step a little ahead of Fenris so he could glance back over his shoulder every once in a while. Only he was short enough to get a clear view of her face, of the fear and the pain and the remembered torment underlying her expressions. "I told you, he's probably fighting Isabela's crew…"
She shook her head, seeming to curl in on herself even tighter, but courageously fought to clarify, "No, the other one, the other Fenris, the one who…"
Her words broke, suddenly, completely, irreparably, as her lips clamped down tight to keep the sounds from escaping her. Everyone politely ignored the words she couldn't say; there would be time enough later to deal with all that had happened. Hawke, however, zeroed in on the words she had said. "The other Fenris?" he repeated, slowing his steps. He raised his eyes from Hrodwynn's ducked head—he couldn't see much more than her hair anyway—to look at the elf. "What other Fenris? Is there another one of you, running around here? A twin brother perhaps? Another sibling you haven't remembered yet?"
Fenris was in no mood for Hawke's droll quips. "No, Hawke, I don't have a twin. I only ever had the one sister. I know my memory is still spotty, coming back in bits and pieces here and there, but a brother I would remember. Especially if he looked like me."
"He's changed his appearance to make himself look like you," she whispered again, as if afraid of summoning the demon himself if she said too much. Yet she couldn't help herself, couldn't stop the secret, once it started spilling out of her mouth. "His hair… his clothing… his markings…"
Fenris stopped walking, the other two going a pace or two before they also stopped. They turned back, staring at her, but she wasn't meeting their gaze, her eyes locked within a horror only she could see.
"What do you mean by that?" There was a tingling sensation, crawling down Hawke's spine, uncomfortable and un-ignorable. It started at his neck, making the short hairs stand on end, before dripping down like ice water, hitting the small of his back and making him twitch. Automatically his hand went to his hip, ready to swing out his staff/mace if the situation called for it.
He never got the chance.
"I… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, Fenris," she blubbered, squeezing the tears from her eyes, feeling the words burst out of her mouth before the force of her guilt, never seeing the lost and confused looks of the others as they struggled to try to understand her mingled and barely intelligible words, "But he tricked me. I never meant to betray you. But he showed up, and his hair was white, like yours. And he wore armor, like yours. And he had markings on his skin, like yours. And they were glowing, like yours. And… And I thought… it had to be you… no one else looks like you… but it wasn't… and by the time I figured that out, it was too late… I'd called him Fenris… and he… he…"
There was the pounding of bare feet, slapping the floor as they stepped out from the wall to their side.
There was a burst of light, bluish-white, exploding without dust or debris from the same wall.
There was another burst of light, almost reflexive, and definitely in response to the first burst.
A grunt, a gasp, a groan.
And then the hallway went dark once more.
It took a moment for Varric and Hawke to adjust their eyesight after the sudden change, blinking furiously to remove the stars. And by the time they could see again, one single fact was undeniable.
The two of them were alone.
…
"What the fuck!"
Two male voices cried out in unison, before going silent, also in unison. It was a full three heartbeats later before another sound was heard.
"Did…" the word popped out of Varric's mouth, bursting like a bubble. He had to take a deep and steadying breath before he could manage a full sentence. "You saw that, right? Tell me you saw that."
"If you mean," Hawke breathed, his amber eyes wide in the dim torchlight, "Did I see Fenris standing there, just now, with Hrodwynn in his arms, while another… Fenris…" he had no other word for it, "White hair and lyrium markings and grafted spirit hide armor—the whole thing! Another Fenris came phasing through that wall, bump into OUR Fenris, and all three of them… phasing… right through that other wall…?" His hand had been flapping, gesturing, trying to add articulation to his seemingly inadequate words. It hung there in the space before him, at a loss, two fingers twitching randomly just to have something to do.
"Yup, that about sums it up," Varric agreed, his own eyes wide. He blinked a few times to get them to return to normal, before clearing his throat. "I, ah, I didn't know he could do that."
"Do what?" Hawke's eyes were still staring at nothing, "Duplicate himself?"
"No, ah, phase someone else through a wall. I knew Fenris could pass through himself, but he couldn't take anyone with him. At least, he couldn't three years ago; remember that fiasco at the Orlesian Embassy, when he had to leave Hrodwynn behind because he couldn't take her with him through the wall? It seems he's found a way around that, this time."
"Yes, apparently so," Hawke coughed, trying to kick his brain into gear, "Erm, perhaps it had something to do with there being two of, ah, two of them, two people phasing, and they created a sphere of… phase-magic-thingyness… and Hrodwynn was caught up inside it, and was carried with them to… wherever…?"
Varric scoffed, "Leave the description and plot devices to us writers, Hawke, and just focus on what you do best."
"Which is?"
"Looking pretty. Come on, we'd better hurry."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Varric began jogging forwards, one had extended towards the wall the others had disappeared through, "Our friends are behind that wall somewhere. Don't you think we should catch up to them, just in case they might need a little help?"
"Yes, right." Hawke mentally slapped himself, coming to his senses. Sure, Fenris had disappeared through a wall with some unknown antagonist and was now out of their reach, but he could take care of himself, so no worries there. Yet Hrodwynn, barely starting to recover, after all she'd been through…
"Also, there's the mystery of the second Fenris." Varric was almost running, desperate to find a doorway through the wall. "Don't know about you, but I'd sure as hell would like to know if there really is another one of these phasing elves mucking about the place. Just in case he comes after me some day."
"Yes, well, again, good point," he was almost out of breath, struggling to keep up with the shorter limbed dwarf. Damn, but when Varric made up his mind to do something, the man could move fast. "But we don't know where they went, I mean, what's on the other side of this wall. They could have phased straight through to the outer courtyard for all we know."
"Nah, the wall's curved the wrong way," Varric countered, "Away from us, not towards us. There's a room behind that wall, a big room, and one we've got to find a way into if we're going to be of any help to our friends."
Hawke gave up pestering the dwarf, hearing the sharp and anxious tone in his voice. Varric was worried, and Hawke could grudgingly admit he was worried too—worried for Hrodwynn, who had looked so broken and weak and barely hanging on. But he was also worried for Fenris. It was beginning to become a little clearer now, Hrodwynn's mysterious statements earlier about there being two Fenrises; it must have been this other one who had, er, abused her. Hawke had very little doubt what Fenris would do to the man who had hurt her so badly.
He only hoped Fenris wouldn't destroy the entire Keep in his quest for revenge.
A/N: Sorry if it's taken awhile, but I've been working on these two chapters—this one and the next, because even though the last chapter might have seemed like a cliffhanger, this is the real cliffhanger, and you know I never want to leave you guys hanging for too long, so both chapters had to be written before I could start posting.
Also, work's been a bitch again, but since when is that new? Anyway, the next chapter will be out in a day or two, just want to do a final once-over before posting.
As always and ever, thank you for every like, follow, and comment! *HUGS*
