Author's Note: Again, a thousand apologies, but this time my long absence was out of my control…
My computer barfed. Totally dead. Would not turn on. Thankfully it was fixable—though only after far too many looooooong weeks due to scheduling difficulties and crippling agoraphobia, all of which was followed by being overwhelmed with stunning writer's block ofter this chapter took a wrong turn…!
*gasp, gasp, pant, wheeze*
But I now have my computer back, my muse behaving and curled up at my side, and am focused and writing once again :'D
Chapter Thirty-Six: "…Of Mages and Men…"
Fenris was standing, standing and pouting, with his arms crossed over his chest, his black brows drawn downwards, his jade eyes cold and dark. "Are you sure? Hrodwynn said…"
"I'm sure, Fenris, I think I would know if I had done so." Varric placed his hand on his chest, "Look, cross my heart and hope to die. I'd even swear on my chest hairs if that would assure you: May they all turn gray and shrivel and fall off leaving me as naked as an elf if I'm lying… I. Did. Not. Send. Hrodwynn. On. A. Job."
The elf didn't seem convinced, but he did stop pressuring the dwarf. Instead he turned to Aveline, who was looking as sober and serious as the others, and opened his mouth to begin questioning her.
"No, before you even ask, no," she headed him off. "Though truthfully, we could use the extra manpower, with the tensions between mages and men getting a bit spicy, but I haven't asked Hrodwynn to do any jobs for me, either. I'll swear it to you, too, if you'd like, on Donnic's outstanding debt, double or nothing…"
"No, fine, that won't be necessary," he waved the offer aside, "I'll believe you. And," he paused, feeling less and less sure about this, but knowing it had to be done, he had to confirm the lies, before he could discover the truth. "And… have any of you…?"
"Honestly, Fenris," Merril spoke first, her voice soft and sincere and serious, "Ever since my clan… well, let's just say I rarely get out much, on jobs I mean, or have any of them to ask others to help me with, unless it has something to do with the Alienage, and there's really not much in the way of jobs there, either, just basic helping out each other type stuff, nothing for Hrodwynn to do, really."
"As far as I know," Sebastian stepped forward next, "She hasn't done any jobs for the Chantry, either, but I could ask around if you'd like."
"As much as I'd love to tease you on this," Isabela hummed next, "Now is not the time. No, I haven't had any jobs for her, either. So, what's this about, Fenris? What's wrong? Why are you grilling us about these non-existent jobs?"
He wanted to turn away, feeling exposed and unmanned. Even though these were all his friends, their friends, this was never an easy thing to admit, but… "Hrodwynn's having an affair."
The silence that greeted his statement was shattering. All of them were staring at him, standing around in a loosely formed circle, in the middle of Anders' old, disused clinic. Next to them were stacked crates and crates of drakestone, not to mention barrels of sela petrae, not a bad accomplishment considering all their setbacks. Anders should be pleased.
But after Fenris' little announcement, pleasing Anders was the last thing anyone was thinking about.
"Are you out of your mind?" Varric was, of course, the first to find his voice. "Hrodwynn? Our little Button? Stepping out on you?"
"I know it's hard to accept. Believe me!" Fenris rough voice barked out his rage and humiliation, while refusing to allow the slightest tint of red stain his swarthy skin. Seeing everyone's shocked reactions to his manner, he tried to calm himself down, or at least tone down his voice as he continued, "I didn't want to even consider it. But look at the facts…"
"Yes, let's," Aveline jumped in, taking charge, "Always a good place to start. What are the facts? Tell us, as you know them, but not any of your conjectures. Only what you can confirm and how you can confirm it." She half sat on the edge of a crate, settling herself in for what she feared would become a long argument.
Fenris' nostrils flared—Maker! but the indignity of having to share what he knew with others—but these were his closest friends, other than Hawke, who wouldn't be there for a few minutes more, that is if Hrodwynn was at her post keeping a lookout and not sneaking off again to…
He shut off that line of thought and, clinging to a quickly fading hope that he was wrong, he started. "Hrodwynn's been… acting different lately…"
"I told you that would be the case," Isabela rolled her eyes.
"No… not like that, I mean, yes, she has had troubles like you described back on your ship, but there have been, erm, other issues…"
"If this gets intimate," Sebastian moaned, "I don't want to hear it."
"Oh," Merril blinked, "Oh, no, I don't think we should hear this…"
"Stay on track!" Aveline commanded, reining in everyone's wayward conjectures before they could run amok. "How, Fenris? How has she been different?"
He turned his face away, but he did answer, "She kissed me."
"Right," Varric's voice was droll, "A kiss. That is out of character for her."
"It's not that, no, I mean, it's not that she kissed me, but she KISSED me," he tried to make the meaning clear, the difference between a normal kiss and the kiss she had given him, but in peeking at Varric's face, he had no idea if he'd been successful. He took a deep breath and soldiered onward, hoping that someone—anyone!—would also think what he thought, "And then she slipped away. I didn't see her again, not for hours, and when I did, she was sweaty and breathless and smelling of… smelling of…"
"What?" Aveline pressed. "Smelling of flowers? Of the sewers?"
"Of another man."
Varric's lone eyebrow rose over his forehead, almost to his hairline. "You can smell that? That it was another man, and not a woman? Human or dwarf or…"
"Elf."
Varric wanted to reply to that, but he had nothing for once. He brought a beefy hand up to his face and scrubbed around his mouth, stalling for time.
"That's fairly plausible, Fenris. She might have just been kissing you goodbye before heading out to run some errand or job, probably hired by this elven male. And after, she could have raced home to get back to you, which is why she was out of breath."
"There's more," he brushed aside Aveline's explanation. "She's been secretive as of late. She often heads out on these 'little jobs' of hers, saying that one of you has asked her to do something, always something small, and always something I cannot help her with. I've tried following her a few times, but she keeps giving me the slip."
"Shit, Fenris, I know you've had trust issues," Varric groaned, "But Hrodwynn? She's the love of your life, and you of hers. You know that. How could you spy on…?"
"How could she!" he spun around to face the dwarf, more challenging than questioning. "She's lied to me, repeatedly, about where she's going and what she's doing. You all confirmed that just now; she hasn't once been on the job for any of you as she's claimed. There, Aveline, there are your facts! Hrodwynn has been lying to me, repeatedly. What else am I supposed to believe?"
"Fenris," Isabela approached him next, though warily, as if she knew she was approaching a feral and wounded animal, "Just… take a breath and think about this for a minute. After what she's been through, do you really think she could, well, be with another man?"
"I'm certain she can't be with me; Matthias saw to that."
"But, she kissed you," Merril piped in, "You said it yourself. Surely she wouldn't be able to kiss you if she still felt upset about what happened."
"She could," his voice grew venomous, "If she wanted to distract me. She could make herself kiss me to keep me off balance, to make me lower my guard, all so she could slip away and be with…"
"Some other, unknown, nameless, smelly elf. Right," Varric's voice was equally sarcastic, "And I thought I had an overactive imagination."
"I'm serious!" he growled, baring his teeth.
"So are we," Sebastian agreed, though far more calmly. "More importantly, we're trying not to allow you to, well, jump off the deep end. I know, Fenris, I know, she's been lying to you. I think we have established that, right?" He looked around at the others, seeing them nod in agreement, and continued, "But surely not for the reasons you're supposing. There must be another explanation, another possibility you haven't explored, another reason why she doesn't want you involved in this—whatever this is."
"And what is 'this'?" he countered. "What could she possibly be doing that she would not wish to have me know about? Other than having an affair, of course."
"I… I don't know," Sebastian spread his hands in defeat, looking to the others again, but they refused to make eye contact, each of them staring at the floor or the crates or something else. If he was going to defend Hrodwynn's honor, he'd have to do it alone. "Perhaps, ah, perhaps it has something to do with a surprise for you? For your birthday? Or it could be something personal, something she doesn't want to share with you, or at least not yet. Something to do with finding out about her past. Maybe she's looking into the Earl…"
"Not that again!"
"What a second, what earl?" Varric asked, and as soon as he said it, he knew, remembering that letter Sebastian had tried to hide from him and the partial name he had read. "Not the Earl of Edmonte?"
"That old tale?" Isabela scoffed, crossing her arms beneath her bosom. "Everyone and their sister has dreamed of being the long lost daughter."
"What old tale?" Merril asked, her ever insatiable curiosity overwhelming. "Who's this daughter?"
"It's an old story, well, more of a legend, really," Varric answered. "It was quite famous a while back. Must've been, what, ten… no eleven years ago?" he looked at Isabela, who nodded. "It was all anyone talked about for a time, but it hasn't really been much about it lately because, well, after a Blight and a battle with Qunari, who's going to remember some Free Marches earl that got his family kidnapped and everyone killed? It's old news." He waved it off.
"But the timeline fits!" Sebastian insisted. "Hrodwynn showed up here, in Kirkwall, around 9:26, the same year and location where the earl's family was kidnapped, and…"
"And we're getting off topic," Aveline hopped off the crate and took a few steps, drawing attention to herself. She had allowed Sebastian a bit of lead as it seemed he might be on to something, but considering the thundercloud spreading over Fenris' features, she decided it was time to intervene. "The bottom line is: we can sit here and speculate for hours—not that we have the time—on what she's up to, voicing every pet theory we have, but the only way to truly find out is to ask her. And the only one who can ask her," she laid a hand on Fenris' shoulder, "Is you, Fenris. She will tell you, I know she will. Just ask."
"Ask who, what?" Hrodwynn herself was appearing, asking a question, slipping in through the door. She looked around at the others, but seeing the mixed expressions on their faces, and the darkness in Fenris' eyes, sent a cold chill down her spine. "Well, this is awkward, you all going quiet soon as soon as I walk into the room."
"We're quiet," Varric answered, "Because you were supposed to be keeping a lookout for Hawke and Anders, and your coming in must mean they're close, right? So we need to be quiet, right?"
"Nice one," Sebastian agreed, "I mean, yes, exactly, we need to be quiet now."
"Um, yeah," Hrodwynn looked at the Brother, but he refused to meet her gaze, as did Merril. She looked to Varric next, but his gaze was as steady and unreadable behind his grin as if they were playing cards. She didn't even bother with Isabela, and though Aveline seemed concerned it was not unduly so. Fenris… she felt too guilty herself to even try to look at him as she took a position at his side. "Yeah, right, they just got out of the tunnel. Should be here any second."
"Line up, everyone," Varric commanded, "Remember to smile—you especially, Broody, and wait for my signal. Merril, could you handle the lights?"
"What? Oh, right, the lights." She cast a quick spell that cast them all into darkness, the lamps and lanterns going out all at the same time.
Hrodwynn's face felt like it was burning, giving off heat and light even in the pitch black. She wanted to ask what was going on, why everyone seemed at least a little bit upset about something, but she knew this wasn't the time or the place… nor was she sure she wanted to know. She could all but feel the energy boiling off of Fenris' body beside hers, something not quite anger, not quite fear, not quite hurt… but all of it screaming of danger. She wasn't sure what had happened, but despite Varric's assurances, she was sure of one thing: it had everything to do with her.
Her musings were interrupted by voices just outside the door.
"But, Garret, I really don't feel like going out tonight. And why to this old place?" The voice was Anders', muffled through the thick wooden portal.
"Because, as I told you, I have something special planned for tonight. Just for you."
"At my old clinic?" Anders' voice didn't sound convinced.
"Yes, love," Hawke's voice was weary, as if he'd been having this discussion for hours, and was either barely winning or beyond ready to give up—or a lot of both. There was the sound of a wet and sloppy kiss. "Do you trust me?"
"With my life," was Anders' ready answer.
"Do you love me?" Hawke's voice took on a deeper and sultry tone, and half-teasing.
Anders gave him half a laugh before answering seriously, "Always."
"Then believe it when I tell you that you are going to enjoy this. Now, come on!"
"I… suppose I could give this a try," Anders' voice became clear as the door began to open, "Just so long as it isn't something lame, like everyone's gathered here to celebrate my birthday or something, and they all jump out and yell, 'Surprise!' right when we walk through the door."
As a matter of fact, the two men were walking through the door at that very moment, the interior of the clinic dark and silent. Hrodwynn could see Anders take a few steps further inside before suddenly stopping. He half turned back to the entrance, Hawke framed in the dim light coming from the opened door, and said. "You, ah, do know it isn't my birthday today, right?"
Hawke paused for a moment, thinking of the irony, before he came to his senses and tried to act as if nothing of the sort was about to happen. He closed the door behind him, pitching them back into the darkness, "Erm, right, because I would never wish to celebrate your birthday, I mean not like this, though I would of course love to celebrate it, actually I don't know when your birthday is, but that's not important right now…"
"What he's trying to say," Varric's droll tones drifted towards them from the shadows—oh, how he was enjoying this!—and finished, "Is… 'Surprise!'"
Merril cast the spell that returned the light to all the lamps in the room. Hrodwynn had prepared herself, better than the others, her eyes shielded and ready for the sudden brightness. As she blinked only a few times, she watched Anders intently, studying his face, waiting for that precise moment when he would realize what was going on. He seemed a bit slow on the uptake today, one hand curled and pressed against the corner of his eye, holding back stinging tears. When he did finally clear his vision and focus his eyes, the look on his face… as he gazed around at all of them… was…
Horror?
Hrodwynn knew him so well, she could see the wheels turning in his mind, could anticipate the first shuffling half-step backwards, could imagine him turning and looking to Hawke for support.
Hawke, it seemed, knew Anders just as well as she. He was already at the other mage's side, his hand placed reassuringly in the small of Anders' back, holding him steady, keeping him anchored to the spot. Anders looked at him and whispered, "What…?"
"Now if we did happen to know when your birthday is, then we could really give you a surprise," Varric teased.
"I… you'll never… I mean… no, you won't, but…" Anders gave up and turned to the one man who could help him, the one man who had gotten him into this. His strawberry-blond brows curved as he pleaded, "Garret… what the fuck?"
Hawke flashed his most charming smile. "Varric spilled the beans," he began by way of explanation, and if he happened to get the gloating little dwarf in a spot of trouble, it would be well-deserved. "He told us how you came to him, a few months back, asking how you could get your hands an a few certain rare items—items you needed rather badly. Love," his other hand reached out to settle on Anders' cheek, holding his gaze and attention, "Love, I wish you would have told me. I wish I hadn't learned about it secondhand from Wynnie who heard it from Varric who heard it from you. I should be the first man you tell. You know I'll do anything for you."
"I… ah…" Anders blinked and quickly racked his brain, trying to remember what exactly he had told Varric about his reasons for needing the drakestone and sela petrae. He had easily figured out to what 'certain rare items' Hawke was referring. The sela petrae had to be what was in the baskets; the smell permeated the whole clinic! And the drakestone was obviously in the crates, the trademark from Hawke's mine branded on the sides—so that was the reason for the sudden trip up there last month. Anders swallowed, stalling, his thoughts racing, before answering, "I know, love, I know all you would do. The drakestone… up at your mine… you fought a dragon for me!"
"He wasn't the only one," Sebastian added, taking half a step forward and drawing the attention of the two mages. "We, all of us, helped in collecting these items for you. We want you to be cured, Anders. We want you to be free of Justice's possession. We really do care about you."
"You…" now things were clearing up a bit—Justice's possession! Of course! Inwardly he smacked himself on the head as he remembered. He had told Varric that he would need the items for a potion, an ancient Tevinter elixir or some such, that would separate Justice's spirit from his body without either of them having to die. It was a lie, of course, though if his true plan succeeded, he might just find some sort of peace from the constant irritation of the injustices surrounding him every day…!
He licked his lips, forcing the spirit back into its corner, forcing it back into dormancy, before it could take hold of him. Soon, he promised, soon it could rest—soon they could both rest—if there was as much drakestone and sela petrae as he suspected. He gazed at the faces before him, Sebastian, Varric, Isabela, "You all…" his eyes traveled from one to the next, Aveline, Merril, Fenris, "…did this…" until he at long last settled on Hrodwynn's face at the far end of the row, "…for me?"
Hrodwynn smiled, a little sadly, a little hopefully. She could not give up completely on him, thinking that if Justice was gone, then her old Anders would return—conveniently forgetting that Justice had been a part of Anders all the time she'd known him. But the look on his face, of longing, of long-suffering, and of his own hope, encouraged her own smile to grow just that little bit more. Maybe he, too, wanted to be friends again.
Her hand reached out, fingers searching, to find Fenris' and hold on, discretely, at their sides. He squeezed back in return, gently, and glanced at her. There was a strange expression on his face as there had been on the other's faces earlier, though his was subtle, one that perhaps only she could have noticed. She cocked her head as if to ask what was wrong, but he had turned his attention back to Anders.
A lock of hair slipped forward to tickle her cheek, making her twitch. That had been happening more and more lately, ever since the bald patches had grown in and she could stop wearing the scarf. She now had a dozen or more of these short, loose curls that like to tickle her cheeks and temples. It was annoying, really, and way too frequent of an occurrence, but it was loads better than having no hair at all! Besides, the curls would straighten themselves out once her hair grew a bit longer. Her crippled hand reached up to tuck the offending lock behind her ear.
Anders saw that movement, his gaze moving from her eyes to her hand, and his expression changed, settling into something sad and remorseful and overwhelmingly… guilty…? Quickly he dropped his eyes and muttered, "I don't deserve this."
"That's where you're wrong!" Hawke's voice was forceful, cutting off any self-imposed and undeserved guilt before Anders could get going. The man really knew how to punish himself! "Anders, my love, I don't understand why you wouldn't tell me about this potion. Oh, I know, you told Varric you didn't want us to get our hopes up, just in case it didn't work or something like that." He put both hands on Anders' shoulders, his fingers burrowing into the mantle and securing the man before him. "But that's just plain silly. I love you, Anders. I want what's best for you. And if this doesn't work, then yes, of course I'll be disappointed, we all will," his hand briefly let go to sweep them all in before taking hold of him once more, as if fearing he would disappear in a puff of vapor if he let go for too long, "But so will you. And that's why, Anders, that's why we all need to know, so we can share your disappointment, your failure, or hopefully your triumph. It will be so much easier for you to bear with us beside you."
Anders' eyes were turning red and watery, but he hoped everyone would think it was from the brightness of the light. "I truly cannot express… just how much… this all means to me…"
Hawke embraced him, turning him slightly away from the others, and spoke gently into Anders' ear. "Whether or not this works, whether or not you can free yourself of Justice, I want you to keep this forefront in your thoughts: We all have helped you in this endeavor."
"I… yes, I will," he pulled back from Hawke and dabbed at the corner of one eye, feeling like a knife had been plunged through his heart, and doing his thrice-damned-best to hide the guilt over the pain he was about to inflict. "I won't forget, I… I don't know what to say."
"How about, 'The first round's on me,' that usually does the trick," Isabela suggested, effectively moving everyone past the awkward moment.
Varric chuckled, Aveline rolled her eyes, Merril clapped her hands and oohed, Hawke groaned, but Anders laughed, thankful that Isabela had given him such an easy way out of his corner: distract everyone with alcohol! "Yes, alright, the first round is on me. And the second. Come on, everyone. Let's go to the Hanged Man for drinks!"
"You're not, um, worried," Sebastian wondered, though he did start forward, "That someone might break in here and steal all this?"
"Who would want to?" he shot back, waving his hand in front of his face at the smell, "But I'll cast wards on the door to keep people out, just in case. Come on, to the tavern!" Anders started tugging Hawke towards the door, the others coming up behind them.
"What about this supposed 'cure' of yours?" Fenris pressed next, "Don't you want to start brewing it as soon as possible?"
"It won't take long to prepare," was Anders' ready response. Truthfully, he didn't want them in the clinic when he started working on his plans, or they might realize what he was truly up to. "I can whip it up in a day, so one night longer doesn't really matter, does it?"
"The man's offering to buy drinks, Fenris," Isabela dug her elbow into his ribs, "Stop distracting him from his noble cause with your silly questions."
"Here! Here!" agree Varric, settling the matter for everyone.
Most of the little troupe was laughing as they left the clinic, any earlier concerns forgotten or at least tabled for the present with the promise of free ale before them. They waited for Anders to cast his wards and then, linked arm-in-arm, they headed for the tavern. As chance would have it, Hrodwynn ended up towards the back, next to Anders, with Fenris a little ahead of them. "So, erm," Anders struggled, thinking he should make conversation, "You're not, um, worried at all, are you, about being here? In Darktown?"
"What?" she blinked at him, her mind having obviously been elsewhere at that moment.
"I, ah," he rubbed at the side of his nose, his voice dropping though to remain for her ears alone, "I heard about your little, erm, trouble, I mean, that you're not supposed to be here anymore, in Darktown." It wasn't what he wanted to talk about, but it seemed an easy subject for breaking the ice, and there was a lot of ice between them.
Fenris, trapped between Isabela and Aveline, twitched his head, his ears possibly catching their voices, though hopefully not their words.
"Nope, I'm not," she sounded unconcerned, her chin lifted and her eyes sweeping back and forth, wary but confident. "Even Jaxon isn't so stupid as to come after me openly, not with this lot around. Now if i were sneaking around down here on my own," she shrugged, "Sure, then it'd be open season. But with three mages, three rogues, and a couple of heavies?" She peeked around a wayward lock of her bangs at Anders and finished, "I'm safe enough."
"That's, um, that's good," Anders nodded, "I, ah, I wouldn't want you to get into trouble. Especially on my account. With you being here, in Darktown, at my old clinic, I mean, getting that stuff for me, and…"
He could feel her sigh as well as hear it, especially when she put her hand against his chest and stopped them both. "What are you really trying to say, Anders? Spit it out; it's got to be less painful and embarrassing than what's been said so far."
"I just… I want to say… I mean… I should… you should know…"
She rolled her eyes and started walking again, "I take it back; it is more painful."
Hastening to catch up, he thought he could hear a snigger from Fenris, but that might have been imagined. Yet before he could respond, she continued.
"Look, right, I get it, I do, this Justice thing," she waved the fingers of her right hand in the air between them, as much as she could, "It's hard for you. Always has been. That's why I was willing to help." She stopped, again, the soul-reaching look in her emerald eyes halting him in his tracks. "I really do get it, Anders. I can see how much it haunts you, this spirit, how much it changes you, even hurts you somehow."
"Wynnie…" he broke over her words, needing to stop them before they could take hold, before they could break through the wall around his secrets. He grabbed her hand, her crippled hand, and his cheeks burned. Finding another topic of conversation, trying to distract and steer her away, he gestured to her fingers and stammered, "You know I… I could…"
"No," she gently pulled her hand away, "That is to say, not yet, I don't think I could handle another row with Justice. Let's tackle one problem at a time, shall we? Justice first. Then, for afters, well, we'll see," she looked to where the others were walking up ahead of them, slowly but still leaving them behind, and she started forwards once more. "What I want to say, Anders, is that, well, when we first met, I was just some lost little girl without a home or a family."
"A little girl I allowed to stay in my home, like my sister?" he countered and affirmed at the same time.
"That's right, you did," she nodded and agreed. "But I'm grown up now, my own woman, with my own life, and my own love, and I know you don't approve, really you've never approved of my, shall we call it, 'vocation,' so it's just more of the same that you don't approve of the man I love."
Immediately his features darkened, "Of all the men in Kirkwall, why such an opinionated, egotistical, hypocritical…"
"Like I said," she ground her words out between her teeth, too, "I'm not your little sister, or whatever I was to you. And that's alright. That's life, you know. So that's where we are. You with your mess, me with mine. And I can accept you, baggage and all," she waggled her fingers again, Anders beginning to take the hint that the gesture was referring to Justice without her having to speak its name, "And I want you to accept me too, how I am, different than before, but still the same, right?"
Not much of what she was saying made sense, or how she said it, but that was a woman for you. Still, he suspected he got the gist of it, "Never to go together, side-by-side, again, is that it?"
"I wouldn't say that," she bumped her shoulder into his, somewhat playfully, "We are walking side-by-side right now, aren't we? And even having sort of a conversation. But as for, well, our friendship," she looked off to their side, having seen something in the shadows, something distracting judging by the way she was reluctant to turn away while she kept talking, "Let's, ah, let's just see what happens after Justice is gone, alright? I mean," she brought her full attention back to him, "Look, even without you being spirit-possessed, I'm still different, right? I'm still not that little girl anymore, but a grown woman old enough to make up her own mind, which I have, and I love who I love, even though you don't approve, and you love who you love, even though I don't approve, and neither one of us will like the other's lover, but we can still accept it, right, that we love who we love and that it won't change just because the other doesn't approve. That is possible for us."
He wasn't quite sure he had followed all of that, but the last bit he understood. It wasn't a question, but a statement, and one that he confirmed. "Yes, it is, though sometimes I do miss the little girl you once were, and the little family we made, you and I, how I sheltered you in my clinic, and how you made sure I ate and slept. Those were good times, Wynnie, and I'll always cherish the memories," he sighed, taking her hand again, though this time only as a friend and without an offer to heal her. "Wynnie, I can still call you that, can't I? I mean, you haven't, erm, grown up too much for silly little nicknames, have you?"
She looked back at him again, and smiled, "No, I mean, sure, Anders, you can still call me that. You and Hawke are the only ones who do call me that. And," she squeezed his hand in emphasis, "After Justice is gone—note my confidence in your plan—after you're free of its possession, then if you want to take a look at my hand, without having to care about, erm, otherworldly interference or impositions, then sure, see what you can do for me. But not until after, right? Just in case…" She made a face, and he was sure she would do almost anything to avoid another run-in with the spirit that drove him.
Anders hesitated. He didn't want to wait, and it wasn't because his real plan did not involve brewing a potion to free him of the possession. It was because he honestly did not believe he would ever truly be free of Justice… but there was always the possibility he could change her mind. "Right. Let's catch up with the others, shall we?" he effectively changed the subject this time, "I saw you looking off that way, towards the Coterie thug in the alley back there. We'd be safer back in the group, wouldn't we?"
"You saw that, did you?" she blushed. "It wasn't one of Jaxon's men, the uniform wasn't right, but that doesn't mean Jaxon couldn't be nearby, or that one wouldn't recognize me and talk to another Coterie thug, and the word spread that I was here. So, yeah, let's catch them up."
Her steps hastened, as did his, but before they reached the others she had one last volley to fire. "And, um, Anders, you know I'm fairly good at brewing potions, learned from the best and all," she flashed another brief smile at him. "I mean, would you like me to help you with this potion of yours? I've no idea what the recipe could call for, but I do know some of those older recipes have very precise timetables and…"
"No!" he answered too quickly, and since they were back with the others, Fenris' head was twitching again. "I mean, no, I've got this. It's really not overly complicated, surprisingly simple really, so I can manage it on my own. But," he smiled down at her, "Thanks for offering."
She smiled up at him, and it was almost like old times again. "My pleasure."
Anders' smile turned warmer with a little nostalgia before he let go of her hand. "Excuse me, I've got to go butter up Garret. Left the house without my purse, so if I'm going to be buying those drinks, I should probably get some money."
"From Hawke?" She scoffed at that, "Good luck."
"Thanks," he deadpanned before trotting up to the front where Hawke was walking. Getting money out of Hawke was almost as difficult as getting it out of Isabela, but he did have an unfair advantage. "Oh, Garret, love, could I ask a favor of you?"
Hawke groaned, feeling Anders' hand slipping inside his robes, "I knew it. I just knew it. From the first moment that drinks were mentioned. I knew I would be the one paying. Yes, love," he sighed, twisting his hips towards his mate—no mean feat to accomplish while walking—and added archly, "Take whatever you want. I'll just have to have you pay me back later. Tonight. At home."
Anders laughed, readily accepting the price and brushing against Hawke's member 'accidentally' as he withdrew the coin purse. He felt… well, in a word, he felt good, better than he had in months, in fact. He had begun to believe that his little project would never come to be, that he would never be able to feel at peace again, but not now. Now he was surrounded by friends who cared, friends who had brought him more than enough of the drakestone and sela petrae. He jangled Hawke's borrowed purse in his hand and felt laughter ringing from his chest. Things were looking up.
Things were looking up, Hrodwynn hummed to herself as she and Fenris walked home. Truthfully, most of her good mood was due to the buzz humming between her ears and the warm mushy feeling in her stomach. The swill they served at the Hanged Man may taste like piss mixed with vomit, but it was still potent. She giggled, not really having a good reason to, simply feeling happy in the moment, and took Fenris' hand as she glanced up at the sky.
"Andraste's wedding veil, but the stars are bright tonight. Look at them, Fenris. They're all over the sky!"
"They usually are."
"But they are more… I don't know, more of them maybe, or they're brighter, or maybe they're closer tonight. Do you think that could be it? Do the stars move closer and further from Thedas, and tonight they're just really, really, really like super close?"
She turned around to walk backwards, still holding his hand, still staring at the stars. She appeared unperturbed by the grunt he gave for an answer, or perhaps hadn't even heard it, her eyes squinting their focus upwards so much so that she didn't see where she was going. A hole from a missing cobblestone caught the boot of her heel, pitching her sideways and away from him and into a closed market stall. She cursed over the noise she made, giggled as she caught the tarp covering a stack of crates, and cleared her throat as she straightened the stall. Confident that her unintentional trespass would go unnoticed by the owner come morning, she dusted off her hands and turned around, beaming, but Fenris was not there. She blinked and cast about until she saw him half a block further along. He had continued walking, his head uncharacteristically bowed and his shoulders sloping and his toes dragging in the dirt and filth of the street. Finally a somewhat persistent twinge of warning penetrated the fuzzy warmness that had been swaddling her and she realized something was wrong.
"Fenris…?"
He neither answered nor paused nor twitched his head.
"Fenris." She started jogging after him, again with no response.
"Fenris!" Hrodwynn was feeling hurt now, and concern, the slight giddiness of earlier vanishing with alacrity. She reached out and touched his upper arm, mindful of his spiky armor, but he was just a bit too far and her crippled fingers slid off without being able to hold on to him.
"…Fen…"
Her voice was small, like the mewl of a kitten, but again he did not answer. He merely reached out, unlocking the door of their shared though purloined mansion, and vanished into the dark interior.
She hesitated on the threshold, unsure of what would happen once they were both inside, but it had to be better than this silence. "Right," she nodded to herself, following him in and closing the door behind her.
"Right," she repeated, stalking into the main hall where he was lighting a lamp. "Right, I get it," she elaborated, taking the lamp from his hand to light their way upstairs. "You're upset, but obviously you must see that I have no idea over what, so out with it! What's got your knickers in a twist? Is it Anders? Did helping him—helping a mage—did it leave a foul taste in your mouth?"
"I… I don't know, is it?" he countered. "Is it Anders?" As soon as he said the words, he seemed to deflate again and sighed, "No, of course it wouldn't be Anders…"
They reached the top step and were greeted by their pair of cats. Her cat, Felinus, approached them directly, rubbing his lithe body against her calves and purring so loudly it almost sounded like a growl. His cat, Cassia, awaited them further along, perched demurely on the banister and grooming her face with an unconcerned air. She did pause long enough to cast a disapproving frown at them, but returned to her lathing when it seemed that Felinus had matters in hand.
"Yes, Felinus," Hrodwynn gently nudged him aside with her boot, "We've got a bit of something for you two. Let us get to our room first, alright? Then we'll feed you. And what, exactly, do you mean about that crack over Anders?" She'd already had one very confusing talk with that particular mage, and it seemed she was going to have an equally confusing talk with this particular man. "Is what Anders?"
"Is it… never mind, I… I just…"
Fenris lifted his face to hers and she stopped dead in her tracks. His lips were parted in some sort of silent yet unending wail of agony. His ebony brows were bent over the archways that closeted his eyes in shadows. And those eyes, his pale green eyes, appeared faded and washed out beneath waves of… sorrow… or pain… or loss…?
"Fen?"
Their cats forgotten, she reached out for his arm again, and this time she did not let him slip away. "Fen, you are scaring me. What is it? What's wrong?"
"I… I can't," he moaned. He tried to turn away, but she kept hold of him. He did manage to turn his face away.
"Can't? Can't what? Please, Fenris, what is it? Did someone say something? Or did something happen tonight that I wasn't aware of? Tell me, please, you're scaring me."
"I…" He wanted to answer her—Maker knew how desperately he wanted to answer!—but what if what he said came out wrong? What if he ended up making a fool of himself, or worse—hurting her? "I don't know how to do this." He had to wrench himself free, but instead of running, he moved deeper into the chambers they shared.
"That much I've managed to figure out," she snarked, watching him walk away. When it appeared he wasn't going to flee, but instead kneel down to light the hearth and warm up the room, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She hoped that doing one or two of these little, routine, mundane chores might ease the tension between them. Walking over to set the lamp on the table, she busied herself with unwrapping the cloth that held the chicken for their cats to eat—at least she thought it was chicken, Maker only knows what sort of meat was in the pot pies they were serving at the tavern tonight. When the pair jumped up, in unison, and began to devour their mystery feast, she turned from them back to her own partner. "I just don't know what 'this' is. Can you tell me? Please? What is going on? What's hurting you so badly?"
Fenris was leaning against the mantle, his hands gripping the wooden ledge, one knee cocked as he watched the flames begin to grow. His face in profile to her, it seemed he would be having an easier time talking to the hearth than to her.
"I love you."
She tilted her head and offered him a smile, if he would only look up. "I love you, too."
"Do you?" his head twitched, but he didn't face her. "Never mind, don't answer that. Just tell me… no, wait, I… I don't need to know… I only…"
'Only what!?' she wanted to scream, but kept her peace. He was finally talking, and she didn't want him to lose what little momentum he owned.
He shifted, just far enough for his pale green orbs to lift to hers. "Are you happy?"
What an odd question, she wondered to herself, but answered truthfully, praying he would see her honesty, "I am."
Instead of reassuring him, her words, her affirmation, appeared to have the opposite effect. He dropped his gaze once more, his shoulders slouching further, and he turned completely away from her. "I… good… yes… I understand. I won't stand in your way. I want you to be happy."
"Fenris?"
"Will you be leaving tonight? Right away? Of course you will. Better to make a clean break of things, isn't it."
"Leaving?" Her voice all but barked with incredulity as she stalked up to him. "Who's leaving? For where? What are you talking about? Fenris," she grabbed him and spun him around, "Fenris! Make some Maker-damned sense, would you?"
"You… you're in love," he swallowed.
"Yes, idiot," she released him to cross her arms over her chest and cast her sternest look at him, "With you, remember?"
"I… no, I mean, you love some one else, another man."
"I… WHAT!?"
"I'm not blind, Hrodwynn," he shook his head sadly at her, "Nor an imbecile. I've seen the signs."
"What signs?" Oh how she wished that warm fuzzy feeling from earlier would return. Instead, after all the confusing twists and turns already in their brief conversation, her temples were splitting with a headache.
"You leave here, at all times of the day or night, staying away for hours…"
She gave her lips a brief once over with her tongue, feeling a bit nervous, remembering what she had told him about her little excursions, "I told you, I'm doing odd jobs…"
"Don't lie to me!"
The ferocity of his order made her jump, almost made her squeak, it was so unforeseen.
"I can take it, Hrodwynn, I can take all of it; only do not lie to me about it."
"I still have no idea what 'this' is, exactly." She didn't like the hardness to his eyes, or the feral lift of his upper lip, but she wasn't going to back down, either. "What…?"
"You've lied to me, every time you say you're going on one of these 'little jobs' for a friend of ours. I've talked with them, Hrodwynn, all of them, Varric, Isabela, Sebastian… No one—not a single one of them!—has asked you to do any sort of job. Ever! Whatever you're doing, wherever you're going, you've been lying to me. That ends. Here. Tonight! I can handle the betrayal, so long as he makes you happy, but I WILL NOT abide any more lies!"
Her mouth was moving around soundless words, forming unheard vowels, chopping off breathless consonants, as she tried to salvage some small part of this evening. Was he… actually… suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting? "You… but what… who…?"
"I know you're seeing someone," he continued. His anger was softened with something else, longing or yearning or regret, overflowing through the breaking of his already cracked voice, as he pressed, "I can smell him on you, whenever you return, someone elven and male and not me. Does he make you happy? That's all I ask. So long as you are happy, I can let you go. Just… be honest with me. Please. No more lies. Who is he? Who are you seeing? Can you tell me, who has stolen your heart from me?"
"No one," she shook her head, trying to figure out how to answer, "I mean, no, wait," she sighed. She knew it had been wrong to try to hide it from him, but how could she have known that he would have taken it to such an extreme? Giving up on keeping things secret, she decided to tell him the truth. "Fine. Right. It's Everyone. I've been seeing Everyone."
Fenris looked like he was going to choke. "Everyone?"
"Not… no… dammit, Fenris!" She wanted to throw something at him, wondering how he could be so obtuse. "Stop fixating on this stupid idea that I'm in love with someone else. I don't mean everyone-everyone. But Everyone. The beggar. In the alienage. The one with the poems."
"You… you've been seeing him?"
"Not in that way," she rolled her eyes. "But, yes, I have lied to you about those little jobs I've been on. There were no jobs. It was only an excuse I used so I could go and talk with Everyone, the beggar," she clarified before he jumped to any more conclusions, "About that one poem of his."
"I thought…" shouldn't he be feeling relief? "I mean, you're not having an affair."
"No," she wanted to laugh, but felt herself far too close to hysterics to risk it, "I am definitely not having an affair. How could I? Fenris," she reached out to him, cupping his cheek, keeping him before her, "You are the man I love, the only man I love. And I know, we haven't managed yet to be intimate, but think about it: if I'm still having trouble letting you touch me that way, how the fuck would I be able to let some other man touch me that way?"
"Because he's not me." Now, after this little discussion, it was sounding less and less plausible, even to his own ears. Yet he needed the confirmation, "Matthias made himself look like me…"
"Ugh, enough about that bastard!" Her nostrils flared, her eyes glinted; damn, but she was tired of it, of everyone being overly concerned for her feelings, of superimposing what they thought she should be feeling and doing over what she was actually feeling and wanting to do. "Yes, he tried to be you, to make me think he was you." Her words paused when she sensed him trying to turn away. Her fingers dug into his cheek, her thumb bracing on the other side, but she kept him before her, "But no, he was nothing like you! I can see that. Clearly. The way he touched me was nothing like the way you touch me. So there's no similarity, understand?"
He could barely move, but he did manage to nod, taking her hand with him. "Then, um, so there's no affair?"
"There's no affair," she confirmed, letting him go. "Though… I can see now, I do owe you an explanation. I mean, I have been sneaking off, and behind your back, just not THAT way."
"With Everyone." He felt a little bit vindicated, as well as horribly embarrassed over his gross misassumption. But at long last she was being honest with him, and he wanted to know what had been going on, so he held his peace and waited for her to continue.
"It's only that, well," now it was her turn to feel embarrassed, angsty, and shift around until she was staring into the flames, "First you said you wanted to help me, to find my memories, to see if Everyone and his poem held anything of value for me. But then you said it was a dead end, that Everyone didn't know anything that could help, and you made it obvious that you weren't going to help me any longer. But I knew he knew something useful. I went back there, to talk with him, loads of times." She started tapping her foot, lightly, against the stand holding the poker. "I got him talking about his poem, the one we heard that first night. He knows me, I'm sure of it. And he can help me remember, if I am the Earl's daughter, which is very likely…"
"Hrodwynn…"
Her hand was toying with a lock of her hair from the base of her neck, twisting the strands around her twisted fingers. "The time fits, my first memories begin the same year the Earl's family is kidnapped, and at the docks, where they were being held…"
"If they were being held here in Kirkwall…"
"And the likeness is uncanny, in that painting Sebastian had a copy of…"
"That was of a little girl, who could have changed quite a bit while she grew up…"
"Not to mention Everyone's poem, the one about me…"
"He makes up lots of poems, and never remembers them…"
The tapping stopped, but the fingers continued their fidgeting. "Oh, he remembers this one. I got him to repeat it for me, a couple of times, so I could copy it down. Look, here, see?" she pulled the parchment out of her pouch and brought it over to the lamp on the table. The cats had finished their meal and had remained to watch the tableau unfold, their opinions enigmatic behind their feline stares, as they followed the stabbing of her finger on the parchment. "He talks about his little dove, that's me, or the girl, the Earl's daughter, you know what I mean." Her eyes flashed like emeralds, wide and dilated in the dim light.
"Hrodwynn…" Fenris bowed his head and stared at the poem, merely to indulge her, while he tried to figure out what was happening with her. The scrawl over the paper was hers, though a bit more erratic and uneven, crossed out here and there with other words scribbled over or beside. He could barely follow it, barely followed her, as she continued.
"See, everything in his poem lines up. 'Captured by evil,' those would be the pirates. And talking about the little dove falling and breaking her crown, that would be me jumping off the ship, hitting my head, and losing my memories…"
"Hrodwynn…"
"And here," she continued, without allowing him to break in. It was starting now, and she wanted to explain it to him—she needed to explain it to him, to have him understand, "It talks about how Everyone tries to follow me, probably because he was supposed to keep me safe, but he gets caught again, and the pirates realize that he helped me escape, so they blinded him for it…"
"Hrodwynn…"
"But he keeps looking for me, for his little dove, knowing that even if he can't see her, she'll… I'll see him. And I did see him. And I do know him. Or I'm sure I must know him. And I will, it'll just take…"
"There was never any mention of this elf, blind or otherwise, in any of the stories about the Earl and his family…"
"Well, of course not," her eyes grew even brighter, shining with a manic light of their own, "He was a servant. No one ever mentions the servants in these kinds of stories, not unless they did something really heroic, like save the day, but he only saved the girl, saved me, and lost me right afters, so no one mentions him…"
"Listen to yourself…"
"Everything fits, Fenris. All of it. I just can't remember it yet, that's all, but I will. Soon. I need to find a key or something that will make everything make sense. It's in here, in this poem, I'm sure of it…"
"Hrodwynn!" Fenris barked, grabbing her shoulders and manhandling her away from the table. She gave a small cry, either hurt or surprised by his actions, and tried to turn back, but he would not have it. "Hrodwynn… amatus… look at me… listen to me."
"Let… go…"
"No! Look at me, my love, my amatus, look at me. Listen, listen to me, listen to what you are saying, this doesn't make any sense."
"You see? That's why!" Her anger and frustration flared to the forefront, hiding her hurt and disappointment. She shrugged off his grip and took a step backwards. "That's why I didn't tell you where I was going or who I was seeing. Because of this," she rubbed at her arms, and briefly he wondered if he had bruised her. "You don't believe Everyone. You don't believe me. You've got your memories back, but you won't help me with mine!" Suddenly she bit her tongue, realizing where her thoughts were going, and not wanting to follow them quite that far.
"I do," he countered, "I will, but, Hrodwynn, not this way. This way is…"
"No!" she shook a finger at him, fearful that he was going there, to that dark place she knew was just before her, and he would drag her along. That place where she blamed him for her continued amnesia. That place where she felt if he suffered for her, as she had for him, then she would regain her past, as he had his. That place where she might, she just might, want him to suffer, need him to… "No, don't say it. Do not say it. It's not true!"
"True or not," his voice grew calm, trying to soothe her, wary of her emphatic overreaction, "This… quest… of yours, to find your past through some blind old beggar who has a nonsense poem that in part might have something to do with a kidnapping of a family that could possibly resemble you… It speaks to madness."
Her face turned a blotchy red as a small cry tore past her throat. Her hands flew up, clasped tightly at the sides of her head, and her eyes squeezed shut tight, as if holding out the sights and sounds would hold out the truth. "I'm not," she whispered, spittle forming at the corners of her mouth. "I'm not. I'm not. I'm not…"
Fenris' heart was breaking. Whatever he had been fearing earlier that day, whatever he had given voice to earlier that evening, was nothing compared to the horror he was witnessing at that moment. "Amatus," his whisper matched hers, "Amatus, please, I… I can't help you… I want to, but… I can't… please…"
"I'm not," she repeated. Opening her eyes, the whites now reddened with tears that finally escaped to cascade down her cheeks, she stared at him with determination and mania. "I'm not mad. I can't be, please, I don't want to be."
"I don't want you to be either, but this…" for lack of words, his hand swept over the parchment, "This is not well. You must realize that."
"I…" she wanted to agree with him, but she didn't want to give up her only chance, or what seemed to be her only chance, at remembering her past. And yet she could feel how closely her quest kept pushing her towards that dark place. Perhaps there was no middle ground, no solution to her enigma, no escape from her purgatory: either discover her memories and slip into madness, or remain sane and forever ignorant of her past. "No, no, no, nonononono…"
"Hrodwynn," he wrapped his arms around her, trying to muffle her protests against his chest, "I'm too close to this. Perhaps…" he licked his lips, hating to do it, but thinking the only way to calm her and reach her was to give in, just a little, "Perhaps there is some truth to your theory, about Everyone and the kidnappers, but I'm too close to see it clearly. And so are you. You need," he stopped himself, pulling back far enough to see her face and brush some of the hair out of her eyes, "We need help. From someone objective. Someone who's not directly involved… who's not emotionally involved."
"Not," she blinked at him, and seemed to be coming back to herself, at least in part, "You're not suggesting Hawke?"
"No, not Hawke," he shook his head, "He knows us too well. I was thinking of someone else, a Mother up at the Chantry. Her name is Mother Elyse. She's…"
He paused as he tried to determine how best to describe the woman, and Hrodwynn jumped into the empty air with her own words. "You're not converting me to the Andrastian faith!"
"No, of course not," he tried to keep his voice steady. "Besides, it doesn't work that way; I can't force you to convert, you have to want to. No, I want you to talk with Mother Elyse because she's, well, a bit different than the other Mothers."
Hrodwynn sniffed, blinked, but she was looking at him, seeing him and not this other mad dream of hers. "What do you mean?"
"Let's just say," he didn't want to grow overconfident; Hrodwynn appeared to be her old self, but she hadn't agreed to his suggestion yet, "She's a bit more… worldly. If anyone can understand, can sympathize, with your troubles, all your troubles, she can."
There, he'd said it as plainly as he could without really saying it.
"She was raped." Hrodwynn pulled back from him. "Is that why you want me to talk with her, because she was raped like I was? You think we're going to bond over this or something, and then I'll give up on the idea of Everyone helping me get my memories back?"
"Never dream of it."
"Good, because I'm not giving up on Everyone."
"No one's asking you to," he allowed. "I'm only asking you to speak with Mother Elyse. Talk with her. You don't even have to share your experience with her, or your theory about the Earl of Edmonte, or anything. Let her do the talking. Or just sit in silence and meditate. But, amatus, please," now it was his turn to cup her cheek, to hold her before him, "Please, for my sake, come with me to the Chantry. Tomorrow."
"The day after," she countered, looking out the window to where the sky was beginning to grow pink with the sunrise. "It's already late, or early by the looks of it, and I'm tired. Fen, I…" Was she truly doing this? Was she willing to go and speak with a Chantry Mother of all people? Fenris seemed confident that this Mother could help her. And she knew she needed help—Andraste's knitted knickers but she needed help! And it definitely couldn't be worse, could it, than what she was currently going through, floundering around on her own, and unwilling to allow Fenris to help her lest something terrible happen to him like it did to her…? "I'll go, I'll talk with Mother Elyse, but not tomo—erm, I mean, I'll talk with her tomorrow, but not today. I need some sleep."
He nodded agreement. "Tomorrow then."
At that moment, he couldn't have possibly had an inkling of how badly he would come to regret such a decision.