Author's note: Hello everyone! I'm back. I know it's been a while, but I haven't stopped thinking about either of the stories I have on here. I had hoped to finish writing it all out a while back, but things got rather chaotic. Now that I have a little more time during this quarantine, and my other responsibilities have lessened for a bit, I've decided to revisit these stories. So, here's the first post in a while. An update for Destiny's Arrow will soon follow. I hope to post the next chapter for this story later this week, if not at the start of next week. Just need to review it one more time before posting. Enjoy!


SERENA

"Creators balls, that hurts," I curse, as I stumble through the front door into Fenris' mansion.

I clutch tight onto my bleeding left side, a wide, stinging cut dwelling underneath, a portion of it rubbing against the bottom of my Dalish leather chest armor.

Fenris hears me and walks out of his room on the second floor. "What happened?" he asks, running down the stairs, hustling in my direction.

"Nothing. I was careless. I'll be fine," I insist.

But even I know that's a lie. I'm going to need more than a simple poultice. Or a single night's rest. Serves me right for letting myself get so distracted. What a rookie mistake. And while living with Fenris, no less.

Fenris nears and lifts my hand to peek at the injury. He frowns. "Take it off," he says, lifting my chest armor just a smidgen to reveal the entirety of the wound.

"I said I'll be fine."

"Vhenedis, woman. Take it off!" he snaps.

I purse my lips and nod. "Can we . . . at least do this upstairs? I don't think I can keep standing much longer."

Fenris sighs. He takes my right arm and slings it over his shoulder. He helps support me as we climb the stairs together, one slow limp at a time. Grunts and silent curses included.

Inside my room, he sets me down in a solitary, wooden chair I've kept placed beside a window. All I can see beyond the dusty pane is the occasional golden firefly, flickering in the moonless night.

I should've known better than to wander about after dark tonight. Lowlifes always gather when the nights are darkest. But for some awful reason, I thought I'd be fine.

I groan and lift my hand off my wound. My palm's covered in blood. That's going to be lovely to wash off. Especially with this terrible pain.

Fenris, meanwhile, starts searching for medical supplies in my nearby travel pack on the floor. He pulls out a small poultice and some wadded-up bandages, then turns to face me again.

He stands there, just watching me, intently. No doubt waiting.

I gulp and reach for the bottom of my chest armor. "Don't look," I warn him and pivot away, ever so slightly.

He turns around, and I take the top of my armor off. I hold it tight to the front of my chest, covering any potential exposed bits.

"Okay. You can turn back around now."

Fenris does so and kneels by my side. He starts applying the poultice to the wound, building it up along the entirety of the cut.

I suck in air through my teeth. "Damn," I whisper, the stinging feeling worse than blighted ocean water seeping into my bloodstream.

"Why didn't you go to the abomination?" he asks, still dabbing on the poultice, one horrific pat after the other.

"He's still beating himself up about that girl. I don't want to bother him."

Fenris doesn't respond.

He's probably thinking I should've bothered Anders, regardless. But he seems to be restraining himself. At least for the moment. A surprising but welcome consideration since I know how much the mage's most recent actions vindicated his worries.

"What. Happened?" he asks as he starts administering the bandages.

"An ambush. A few slavers," I explain, still cringing. "They were looking for some elves to prey upon by the docks. I happened to suit their fancy . . . "

"You killed them I take it?"

"Joyfully." I smirk.

Fenris smiles. "There," he says, standing up. "That should do it for now. You should visit a healer in the morning. Next time you go out at night, have someone accompany you so this does not happen again." He walks back over to my pack and stuffs the leftover materials inside.

"I got a cut, Fenris, not my guts torn out. This is nothing to be concerned about."

He stops and turns to face me. "This time it was a cut. Next time it could be worse. You are not invincible, Serena. Although you try to be." He kneels in front of me again. Using one finger, he strokes the top of the bandage. "Having a scar on this flesh would be a terrible sin." He looks up at me, a seductive softness evident in his piercing, emerald gaze.

My breath catches in my throat. "Yes . . . Yes, it . . . would be," I whisper.

And even I know, against all reason, that a crimson blush must be blooming on my cheeks.