A/N: A nod and a thanks to Enchanter T.I.M for the very funny bit of inspiration. I'd also like to thank everyone who has reviewed as a 'guest'. I've been trying to reply to all reviews recently just to comment or say thanks; so to all the guests I offer a heartfelt 'thank you'.
Chapter 51: Grey
Hawke clicked the door shut behind her. She turned to face the dark wood and brought one hand up to rest on its surface.
"I'll be staying right here." She informed the Archon's slave.
"Yes, Mistress." The woman replied.
Hawke took a deep breath and backed away, taking up a position leaning against the opposite wall, staring down the door, wondering if she knew a spell that would allow her to see through it. She crossed her arms and frowned.
The slave stood, hands folded passively, the picture of serenity. Hawke found it unreasonably irritating.
Hawke felt dirty standing next to her. She felt dirty when they were wandering through the mansion. She felt dirty being in the presence of the Archon. She wanted to wash the sounds of sex out of her ears. The Tevinter heat was oppressive and the thin fabric of her dress felt saturated. By her own sweat or by the mist of incense and lovemaking hanging in the air she couldn't say. If there had been a desire demon affecting her earlier when she was kissing Fenris outside, then the thing must be otherwise occupied now, because she couldn't remember ever being less aroused than she was at this moment.
They stood in silence for a long time. Hawke huffed and shifted her weight. She paced, then leaned back against the wall. She huffed again and bit at her nails. At some point, she started talking to herself, pacing and murmuring impatient curses in Trade and then in Tevene for good measure. She huffed and then repeated the process.
"May I get you a glass of wine, Mistress?" The beautiful elf asked her after around the fourth course of pacing and cursing.
"No. Thank you." Hawke remembered that Fenris ordered her not to drink anything. "And I'm not your Mistress."
"Yes, Mistress."
Hawke rolled her eyes. "Your name is Renna?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"My name is Hawke. Tell me, Renna, do you want to be free?"
"I do not, Mistress."
"Hmh." Hawke hadn't exactly expected a yes but the elf didn't even hesitate before she answered. The poor thing didn't know any better, but it was worth a try. "Just as well. Fenris told me I wasn't allowed to rescue any slaves this evening. And I'm not your Mistress" Hawke said for a second time. "Slavery makes me...uncomfortable." To say the least, she thought.
"Ah, yes, Valen mentioned you were from the Free Marches. He's told me there are no slaves there."
Hawke turned her head to the elf. She wasn't sure she had heard correctly. That almost sounded conversational and not deferential. She stood up straight and faced the slave. "Did you say 'Valen'?" Hawke thought that seemed a bit familiar for a slave, even one as intimate, to put it nicely, with the Archon as this one was. But, then again, she didn't pretend to understand whatever twisted etiquette was involved between Master and sex slave. "And I'm originally from Fereldon. No slaves there either."
Renna smiled shyly. She looked both ways down the hall and Hawke thought she saw her elven ears perk slightly listening for any sounds near them other than the hedonistic moans coming from below. When satisfied they were alone and outside anyone else's hearing, she continued speaking but she still wasn't quite looking Hawke in the eyes. "I imagine our land must seem very different to you. We have our ways and you have yours. I hope that you will come to be more comfortable here soon."
"I will never be comfortable with slavery." Hawke grumbled. "There's enough pain and suffering in the world, without having to sell people into it."
"As you say, Mistress. There is enough pain and suffering to be found everywhere I suppose. Perhaps we're just honest about it here."
Hawke cocked her head at the Archon's slave. She found that statement to be surprisingly insightful. Before she could explore this strange discussion further, the door opened and Fenris emerged.
Hawke was next to him in one step. She took a quick appraisal of his body, his lyrium and his magic. She felt satisfied he was well until she noticed his hand, cut up and bloodied. She grabbed it by the wrist and said, more scolding than she intended, "What happened?"
Fenris looked...bewildered. It was the only word that seemed to fit his expression. "It's nothing. I broke a glass of brandy." He looked from Hawke to Renna.
The slave bowed her head, gave him a small smile and said, "Thank you for your help Messere." And then she walked back into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Hawke didn't have time to question the other elf's statement, because Fenris spoke.
"Did you talk to her about...anything?" He inquired urgently, seeming a little more like himself now that they were alone. His ears too now twitched, listening, and his eyes shifted from one end of the hall to the other.
Hawke felt lost, but that was absolutely nothing new to her these days. She was just happy Fenris seemed fine, if a bit on edge. "Actually, we had the oddest conversation. But it was about nothing of import really." She gingerly held Fenris's hand as she spoke, trying to heal it, but the finicky magic wouldn't come to her, distracted as she was by the evening's events. "Oh, fuck it all, I'm still a shit healer when I can't concentrate. I'm just going to make it worse if I try to mend these cuts. Can we have your sister do it when we get home?"
Hawke pulled loose the silk she had tied up in her hair and wrapped it gently around Fenris's wound. "Yes, of course." He said. "We may go now. We should go. Now. I have much to tell you. But obviously not here." When his hand was bound, he took hers and started leading her back downstairs.
For a brief moment she was relieved and she actually felt good. They had survived the 'party' with some semblance of virtue still intact. They had survived another encounter with Antonius, who made Hawke feel like there were scorpions under her skin. And she had survived being waist deep in Tevinter licentiousness without killing someone in indignation. But it was only for a very brief moment.
What Hawke hadn't realized was that she and Fenris had been seen following the Archon and his slave into his bedroom. And whoever hadn't seen them had heard about it in less time than it took to say 'fucked'.
As she and Fenris descended the stairs, the other guests made no attempt to hide their staring. And their whispering. And their leering. Hawke hadn't considered that, to these people, making use of slaves was very different than being invited to the bed of an Archon. One was so common it escaped notice; the other was apparently important enough to warrant gossip.
Under the burning glare of half the Magisterium, she and Fenris walked down the steps and through the mansion in search of an exit. She became acutely aware of their appearance. Fenris was minorly injured and still looked mortified. Her hair was messy and loose around her shoulders from hastily pulling it free to bind Fenris's hand. Under the circumstances it was enough for anyone to infer something. From this lot, Hawke guessed, it was enough to craft an entire story of perverse debauchery.
This was a walk of shame like no other. And she hadn't even done anything to be ashamed of.
Hawke made a decision right then. She would never attend another party in Minrathous again.
xxxx
Fenris almost carried Marian home to make the long walk go faster. As it was, he dragged her behind him most of the way and she practically had to run to keep up. When they arrived, most of the lights were out and the household appeared to be asleep. He was grateful there would be no chattering Dalish chit and no too-perceptive sister to deal with. He was also grateful to see the ever attentive Orana entering the main hall to greet them, uncorked bottle of wine in hand.
Fenris grabbed the bottle and upended it into his mouth right there; unceremoniously emptying the thing without even tasting it on its way down his throat. Hangover be damned, he needed to be drunk and he needed to be drunk now.
Orana yanked her hand back when he took the bottle from her as if she was scared she was going to be bitten. He didn't blame her. "I'll...um...I'll just bring more upstairs then." She offered nervously and ran off to the cellar. Marian had her hands on her hips. The material of her dress bunched up just slightly on her thighs from her widened stance. Her dark hair was in disarray and looked slick with sweat from the heat and the pace he forced her to keep to get home. He was already dizzy from the wine, having guzzled it far too fast. A drop of it lingered at the corner of his lips and he swiped it into his mouth with one of his cut fingers, the taste of blood mixing with the taste of the tannic vintage.
"I've heard all Tevinter wine is made from the blood and tears of slaves." Marian said, cocking one eyebrow at him.
He suddenly wanted the taste of Marian in his mouth too. "I told you that." He replied roughly before he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into a kiss. She let him, opened for him and hung against him with her arms reaching up to his neck. He was well and truly drunk now, but whether from the wine, his blood or from Marian, he wasn't sure. He released her and swayed a little when he stepped back. He steadied himself on the arm that she offered him.
"Love, whatever has you so disconcerted will be best discussed in bed. And after I get to down a bottle of wine too." Marian led him upstairs.
Clothes were discarded. Wine was brought and consumed. Shutters were opened wide to let in the poor excuse for a breeze on this night that was even too hot for Fenris. When they were both pleasantly affected by drink, having used it to wash away the memory of the more uncomfortable highlights of the evening, he was ready to relate the details of his conversation with the Archon.
He was sprawled upon their bed, next to Marian, when he started the tale. He began at the beginning and told her every word. She listened, silent. He stood up halfway through and walked in and out of the moonlight coming from the windows, casting shadows around the room. She sat up to watch him pace and she listened. He fidgeted with his hands, running his fingers along the lyrium in his arm and twisting the ends of the silk still wrapped around his unhealed lacerations. Her eyes followed his movements and she listened.
When he finished, he was spent. Having to live through the story twice, the second time feeling the weight of its implications, was more taxing on his psyche than he had been expecting. It was galling and terrifying at the same time that they were being drawn into a battle that was not of their making and not of their choosing; that they were to be forced into peril yet again, all to fight someone else's demons when they had only just defeated their own. Was he to risk losing his love for the sake of saving another's? It was maddening.
And yet he couldn't bring himself to hate. He didn't hate Antonius. That revelation made this situation even more disturbing. For the others who had earned his hate, which he had cut down using it, he spared not a thought for anything deeper than how much dirt it would take to fill their graves. And it was so much easier that way. His battles had been black and white.
But now he was drowning in shades of grey. It made him think of the Archon's eyes; grey with sin and grey with vice, grey with malice and danger, grey with fear and with love. He didn't hate the man. He couldn't hate him once he admitted to himself he would be doing the very same thing to hold onto Marian. Worse, probably, if necessary.
So he had made the decision. He would help Antonius. Because he had to. Because he wanted to. Because it was the right thing to do. Because this was their fate.
Fenris sat down on a chair by the balcony and looked out at a patch of black sky peppered with white stars. He leaned his arms across his bent knees, nervously toying with the expensive silk now stained red with his blood. He was certain Marian wouldn't understand. Some parts of her world were even more black and white than the night sky with its stars. Her loyalty, her fierce need to protect, her blind all-consuming love. He could only imagine these things would not allow her to see this situation rationally. She would want to clear the battlefield of their perceived enemies, not make bargains with them. Not help them.
"So what did you say to him?" She finally spoke.
"What do you mean?" He said, his voice tired.
"What did you say to him when he asked you if you still considered yourself fortunate to have found love?"
Fenris looked over at Marian. She was only a few feet away and his body ached to be even closer to her. His lyrium pulsed with her heartbeat and his magic clawed at his insides wanting to join with hers. He didn't really consider it a matter or good or ill fortune to love Marian. It was the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins. It was life.
"I told him that nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you."
Marian smiled. It spread slowly across her face. Her eyes crinkled and she laughed low in her throat. Easy, softly. She rose from the bed, moonlight shining on her skin and she came over to him. She pushed him back in the chair with one delicate hand and climbed up to straddle him. He shook his head, the motion tossing his hair away from his eyes so he could see her clearly.
"That was a good answer." She praised him through her smile. "If you say we help, then we help. And may the Maker preserve us for it because He owes us."
He looked at her dumbfounded. Of all the ways he expected her to react, submission without any kind of fight, or argument, or ranting, certainly wasn't one of them.
"Oh don't be so surprised! I'm not as black and white as you think." She stroked a finger along the length of one of his ears.
He shivered involuntarily at the sensation and she laughed again. He still sometimes fooled himself into thinking he wasn't as transparent to her as he obviously was. "Thinking of you as black and white, Marian is not meant as an insult. There was a reason the Archon presented this to me. He doesn't trust you will submit to his rules. He knows you are dangerous to him. Despite holding your blood, I could tell he fears you will try to act against him without thought to the consequences if you feel we are threatened. And I must admit I agree with him. Unfortunately, he knows I will play his game to keep you safe. This is no more than he is doing for the woman he loves."
"Exactly!" She declared, as if the inner workings of her mind were somehow made clear. Which wasn't the case, but fortunately she elaborated. "I'm also getting better at these Tevinter games, you see. I can respect the fact that Antonius is acting out of love. I'm glad to see at least one of the mages in this city, outside this house at least, isn't completely bereft of tender emotions. It makes him more human. Or more half-human. Or more half-elf. Whatever. Anyway, I see where the man is coming from and I want to help him for the sake of his love, and his woman and their unborn child. Buuuuut," She dragged out the word, sounding especially mischievous, "that doesn't mean I'm not going to try to use at least some of this situation to our advantage. As you said, he fears me. And he should. He should fear both of us. He's bought our help with my blood. But our loyalty he has yet to pay for. And he's going to need that too in the end if he really wants to win. Truly win. You Tevinters may be well versed in intrigue, but you clearly have much to learn about living life in love. He doesn't just need us to kill demons for him, he needs us to help him live."
He looked into her eyes and he knew what she meant. The air in his lungs. The blood in his veins. Life. There was so much more to navigating Life, than navigating mere existence in this dangerous and oppressive land. Having something you didn't want to lose was often worse than the wrath of any demon. It was, after all, how Fenris came to this moment in the first place. Because the Archon knew he couldn't lose Marian.
Was it possible Antonius saw in them more than tools to conquer enemies? Did some part of him know he would need honest allies in the days to come?
"But these are things to be addressed in the morning, love. Tomorrow we continue to move forward. We help the Archon. We build on the foundations we've dug here. This is our home." She waved her arm in a wide arc, gesturing outside at the city that lay sleeping under the night sky. "And it's a lovely shade of grey."
She brought her arm back between them. "For right now, however," She took his injured hand in hers, "I want you to concentrate with me."
A faint white glow started in Marian's hand and then traveled into his. He concentrated on it. He felt the magic in the light and it tingled as it worked its way into the lines of lyrium in his fingers. It wasn't powerful or even very strong at all. It was mild and cool.
"I know you feel it. But can you heal yourself with it?" Marian asked him.
He moved his fingers and turned his wrist, feeling the flow of the spell enveloping his hand. He didn't do much, he just let it be there and after a time the light faded away without him having to think about it or consciously dismiss it. Marian gently untied the silk and revealed his hand, mended by his own magic.
"Good as new." She beamed at him briefly, and then her shoulders slumped. "I should let you know though, that was pathetically weak. You're about as shit at healing as I am, but you'll make do, just like me." She stretched out the length of soiled silk in her hands. She flung it around behind his head, holding onto the ends and she pulled him towards her with it. He let himself be gathered into her and they collided into a kiss. The ache in his body eased, his lyrium sang and his magic was calmed. She twisted the silk around her fingers tightly and drew him in closer. The cloth rubbed at the nape of his neck and he felt his lyrium ignite down his spine at the sensation. She must have felt the wave of light move down his back because she moaned into his mouth and squirmed her pelvis closer into his lap. Her tongue eagerly sought out his and her legs squeezed around his waist.
His hands found her hips and he directed her wild writhing to the exact place they both needed her to be. She gasped when he thrust up inside her, her hands still pulling at the silk and her elbows now pushing against his chest as she rode him. His fingers rested at her waist as he let her control their pleasure. Her head fell back and away from their kiss and her hair shook with the motion of her body. Fenris looked his fill at the wanton woman giving herself to him and he wanted to cry out at the satisfaction of it all. Of being here with her, of being free. But he held it in, using that raw emotion instead to drive himself into her further each time she fell on top of him. She whimpered sweetly with need. Her head came back down and her mouth found the tip of his ear. She sucked deeply on it while she pulled at him with the silk. Her hips pumped with fevered movement and he felt her climax on top of him while she bit down on his ear. He couldn't possibly hold out any longer after that and with a pained moan full of regret that it was over so soon he came hard inside her.
When they stilled, she nuzzled against his shoulder, still intimately joined with him. He relaxed back into the chair and reached up to pull the silk from her grip. He slid it from the back of his neck. It still felt of magic and still smelled of her hair. He kept it in his hand as he carried her back to the bed. She rolled sleepily to her side and he pressed up against her back, preferring to feel her along his body while he slept despite the heat. As he drifted off, he rubbed the silk between his fingers. He held onto it and held onto Marian all night. She had taught him how to heal himself. He would hold onto that knowledge forever. He would hold onto her forever. And he thought he might just hold onto this bit of silk forever too.
