FENRIS

The mansion's quiet. Too quiet.

When Hawke told me he escorted Serena back to Hightown earlier, I half-expected to walk in hearing her retching or spewing out an elaborate string of elven and dwarven curses upstairs.

But nothing.

I make my way up to her room and knock once before entering.

Empty.

Only her daggers on her nightstand confirm she must've dropped by here at some point.

Perplexed, I turn back around and check my room, in case she stumbled her way in there to curl up near the fire.

But no. She's not there either.

The room's still dark, with no hint that she previously entered.

Could she have stepped out again? Doubtful. So then, where is she?

I rush downstairs once more, pausing only a moment at the bottom to glance around, to consider.

There are only so many rooms in this house. Fewer yet that she frequents . . . She would not seek out the kitchen in her current state. That leaves but four other options . . .

I march into the west wing.

We do not use it often, the rare exception being when everyone decides to participate in our weekly rounds of Diamondback.

However, such occurrences span far and few between these days, due to everyone's conflicting whims and schedules.

As such, it mostly just gathers dust in the interim. At least . . . until Serena goes on another of her cleaning rampages again. An unexpected but welcome novelty coming from the Dalish. One I dare not discourage.

I enter what remains of the west wing's central library through the foyer's connecting corridor. No sign of her.

The adjacent main hall: also empty, save for a new mouse occupant, scurrying around in the corner.

I step into what used to be the grand dining hall next.

A lone candle flickers on one of the two long tables we fixed up not long after I settled in. It rests along the far opposite wall, bordering several thin windows overlooking the outdoor courtyard. Serena sits on top of this table, leaning her head and body up against the wall, so she can peer out the nearest, moonlit windowpane with ease—not an ounce of drunkenness reflecting in her steady gaze.

"You're faring better than I had anticipated." I smirk, and Serena jolts.

She shifts her attention onto me.

A pensive look quickly overcomes her again. But there's a newfound sense of sorrow to it, a regretful gloom that catches me off guard.

"I've been . . . thinking," she whispers, and my blood runs cold.

I consider stepping closer, taking a seat.

But as much I want to be nearer to her, or for her to elaborate quicker on her prior statement, I know it is rare for her to speak in such a grave tone; and I would hate to dissuade her from completing her voiced thoughts by intruding upon whatever space she may need to do so.

Serena hesitates, even with this arduous courtesy.

"Fenris, I . . . I don't think I can pursue anything romantic with anyone again just yet," she finally stammers. "It's not that I don't care for you. I do. A lot more than I care to admit. And I am tempted. Very much so. But look at me."

She gestures to her entire being, a conflicted, almost self-defeated expression plastered on her beautiful face.

"It's been more than three years since we've all met, and I've only just told you all one truth about my chaotic past. But it's not even just that," she continues. "There's so much more—that I'm dealing with, that I've experienced. I'm not trustworthy right now. And I can't just expect you or anyone else to wait around until I'm ready or willing to share more, because I don't know how soon that might be."

She curls into herself a bit and buries her fingers deep into her hair.

"I'm struggling, Fenris," she whispers, and my chest throbs at the undeniable despair now plaguing her voice. "I feel so . . . broken inside. Like I'm fading. I've lost so much and kept so little throughout the years. And no matter what I do, I feel like I'm just running around, making it worse."

I gulp down the illusory lump aching in the back of my throat. "Is that how you truly feel?" I ask, clenching my fists—the only action I can think of doing at the moment that won't startle her or prompt me to run up and embrace her.

She looks up at me with sad, conclusive eyes. "Yes . . . it is," she affirms. "I know that's probably not what you wanted or expected to hear. But I had to be honest with you. I don't want to lead you or anyone else on. I'm just . . . not ready. I wish I was, but I'm not."

It's strange.

Although I feel an irrefutable pang of disappointment, twinging in my chest, there's also a profound sense of relief upon hearing her words.

Perhaps this means I had felt the same? Neither of us are in what anyone would call the best place at the moment. Some might even argue our problems outnumber our merits, begging the question as to why Hawke and the others put up with and protect us to begin with.

But here we are. Two hunted, foreign, elves squatting in a stolen Hightown mansion in the heart of trouble-infested Kirkwall. And on the verge of possibly entering a relationship.

It is not as though such complications escaped my worries the night of our first explosive encounter.

Back then, I could hardly control myself at first. However, Serena's brief moment of hesitance rekindled a fire under my own—reawakening all the fear, the worry.

The questions unending.

They started off simple enough.

Such as, even if we were to ignore all of our problems together, in order to pursue something more between us, could I withstand the potential pain of one day embracing her, as would be expected of me?

Most of her touches felt as soft and painless as a refreshing, summer's breeze. But there's no guarantee such idealism would last forever.

Then the questions got more complicated. Switching to: even if I could withstand the potential pain, what could I offer her, while Danarius still lives?

A life on the run with a former slave? Forced to continuously keep watch over our backs for however long she chooses to stay with me? Yet another burden to add to her already troubled shoulders?

And then, there was the grimmest quandary of all: the matter of her being a mage.

Up until now, I've kept quiet on the subject, debating privately on my own over the entirety of the situation, ever since her adventitious reveal.

I know now how I feel about her as both a comrade and a person with certainty. And when I first made my move that night, I felt assured with my resolve—that I could believe she was different. That she is different. That she would never succumb to the twisted ways of the accursed magisters.

But there is more to those feelings. I know that. I'd be a fool to deny it.

I want to trust her. But can I ever do so fully?

Will I ever be able to do her or a relationship between us justice and swallow this internal fear? This hate? Or is there a chance I will always one day turn on her, fearing and regarding her as just another potential abomination, lying in wait?

I can not say. And although I've struggled to reach a definite answer over the past several fortnights, and even more so over the past several days, it continues to elude my grasp. The doubts still lingering, swirling within the pit of my gut. Forcing me to swallow my pride and withhold my hand, despite the desire to keep pushing forward, to not give up.

It seems I still need some time for reflection as well . . . This decision may be best for both of us, before we pass a point of no return.

"Does this have anything to do with the nightmares you've been experiencing?" I ask, hoping to redirect the conversation.

I have thought about these struggles long enough for one night. Probing further will do neither of us good here, not when she's still visibly upset.

Serena's eyes widen. "You know about those?"

I shrug. "You talk in your sleep. I've witnessed a few such occasions."

She nods. "They are a part, yes," she mutters.

Her body tenses.

It's obvious in the way she squeezes onto her forearms and avoids making eye contact with me that she doesn't wish to discuss it further. Not yet. And it's not like I can fault her for it, either.

Nightmares can prove to be a very personal and private dilemma, plagued with forgotten memories and atrocities of the past that one might rather be lost to the abyss.

I suspect that out of everyone in the group I would understand such challenges best. After all, up until this past year alone, I too grappled with recurrent nightmares of the past. Now they only manifest once every blue moon, most often after encountering another blood mage or slaver on the streets, while out on one of our many missions for Hawke.

"I cannot imagine what you might have been through." I lower my head, bidding the memories of the nightmares away, lest they threaten to take root further and pursue me into my dreams later tonight. "However, I am in no rush. Take all the time you need. I will . . . reflect as well. And I will still be here when the dust has settled—as a friend, if nothing else."

Serena beams up at me. Her spirits exude overwhelming relief and joy, like a serendipitous ray of sunlight bursting through an endless horde of storm clouds. "Ma seranas," she whispers, bowing her head, and my breath gets caught in my throat. "What did I ever do to deserve you and the others in my life?"

The tenderness of her words lightens my own heart.

I crack a small smile, walk over, and pick up one of our abandoned stacks of cards lying at the corner of the table. "Care for a round of Wicked Grace?" I ask, showing her the deck. "We'll see how fortunate you still feel when I settle my current debt."

Serena's jaw drops in exaggerated shock. "How bold of you to assume you could achieve such a feat in one match! You must be feeling quite confident, lethallin."

"Perhaps." I shrug. Though, 'lucky' might be a better word.

I sit down in a nearby chair.

Serena smiles down at me again, motioning for me to commence shuffling and dealing the cards. Her efforts at shifting moods come off flawless, fluid, simple—undemanding of further explanation or need. A diplomatic and marvelous wonder, promising a guaranteed, shared future between us, whatever may come to be.

Yes, lucky indeed.

Author's note: Three chapters in one week? I think that's a new record on my end. Can you tell I'm getting excited to write the upcoming chapters yet? XD

The next chapter is already in the works. I anticipate posting it sometime around the middle of next week, if not sooner. Be prepared for more answers to underlying questions and further questing episodes, as we shift to the more adventurous/plot driven aspects of the story on our way to the major conclusions of Act 2.

Thank you again as always for reading! Stay tuned! :)