Sunset, Opéra de Val Chevin

That there was a bitter cold in Fenris was mundane knowledge for those who knew him. Nothing moved him, nothing swayed him, and when he did speak, he would often come off as thorny and apathetic. If passion was to escape him, it mostly came out of anger. The years near Hawke may had melted some of it away enough that a humorous side to him emerged to the public, and indeed, it was in the delightful remit of her private knowledge that he, in fact, had a lot to say in the comfort of dark and quiet rooms, but, on the whole, she had accepted his arctic temperament.

So, when she saw him writing down the details of some random announcement as if he were possessed, ardently deciding things and dragging her along the street, she could only think that the zoo café sold him tea with piles and piles of drugs in it.

"But are they really going to dance, or is it more like a cute hop and a skip?" Hawke said.

Fenris looked almost offended. "They are breathtakingly applaudable dancers! And if you're lucky, you'll see their repertoire of sounds too. Some can mimic sounds as intricate as wood cutting or people chattering. And then there are the architects. The smallest little bird can build towering and enduring sculptures out of the mere flora lying around!"

She walked with him down the promenade, confusion slowing her down and a very talkative Fenris pulling her hand to compensate. He went on and on about this species and that species, the marvellous intelligence behind different courting rituals, and, in fact, about the marvellous intelligence of birds in general. The only thing that made him pause was the occasional sign post.

"Damn, Fenris, there's a right sparkle in your eyes," Hawke said incredulously. She knew he liked birds, but apparently, didn't know how much.

He frowned and stopped, touching his forehead. "No, I'm fine. I don't have a fever," he said, and dragged them on. "What was I saying…? Ah, yes, so for some peculiar reason the female twelve-wired bird of paradise likes it when the male smacks her across the face with his wiry tail. She judges him on it, too. Can you even imagine?"

"That some girls like it rough? No, can't imagine that one bit," she said sarcastically.

He smiled to himself for a second, but then raised an eyebrow. "Does that not come into conflict with your feminism?"

"Not if I'm the one in control," she said, winking, which gave him an inexplicable expression; somewhere between revolt and curiosity. "Though I suppose that may come in conflict with your past trauma."

He studied the ground pensively. "That certainly depends on your definition of control."

She looked up. "Well, for me, it means I lead a… dance, but in a way you expressly desire, and you're free to stop it anytime for any reason with no judgement and no consequences."

"Hmph. You make dominance sound like a basket of cupcakes," he said sceptically.

She put a hand over his back and her eyes caught his. "You know… I can be soft and very positive. I'm not just into rough," she said flirtatiously. The revolt half of his face now melted into transfixion, and then he bumped into passers-by.

He cleared his throat and smiled in amusement. "Anyway… you were saying…?"

She bit her lip. "I've said enough," she said. "But to really answer your original question—I admit, if I'm the one being controlled, it's hard to separate it from the larger context. I struggle with it sometimes. It gets my blood boiling to think that what I see as a kink in the bedroom, the world has historically seen as something to be desired and expected of my gender on the whole. It shouldn't be. It is an abomination on society. And a part of me feels like I'd be reinforcing it. But, even so, I've had the privilege of being able to resist and decry that culture. So, I can't even imagine the ire and clash you must feel on the subject."

He laughed a bitter laugh. "I think you're plenty familiar with my ire and clash."

"I have witnessed a few memorable takes," she said.

Fenris never smiled without cause, but this time it was clearly fake. A guilty smile.

"Hey," she said, ruffling his hair gently, "forget about that stuff. I'm an idiot, too. Remember when I got mad for the pettiest reason and pinned you down on your bed? That was not cool."

His eyebrows went up, as if he'd forgotten and had to think it through again. "That was… certainly a very confusing experience."

"They've all been, haven't they? So, I think we should start clean," she said. "Confusion, anger, upset—no, no, no. Communication, consent, respect—yes, yes, yes."

He nodded in agreement, and went into his thoughts. "You've clearly thought this through," he said, somewhat impressed.

She pointed at her head. "Can't turn this thing off."

He laughed. "I know how you feel." He made a grimace, thinking. "And yet, we can't both be dominant, can we? Have you thought that one through?"

"Not with that limited thinking," she said, chuckling.

"So… what?" he said with half-lidded eyes. "On Mondays I take out the flogger, and on Tuesdays you put a spare hilt up my arse?"

Hawke guffawed, wiping away a tear. "We can be equal, Fenris. We'll start from there. And we'll return there no matter what detours might interest us in the future," she said. "Honestly, we're talking bullshit about advanced forms of fucking when we haven't even done the basics. Feels like skipping a few steps. If it ever comes to that, however, and you feel more comfortable in control, I could be good for it."

"Because it would be your choice?" he said.

"Surely it has to be. But it's more than that, I think. It matters not just that there is a choice, but the relationship in which that choice is made," she said. "A power exchange necessarily requires power to be had for the exchange. We must both recognise I do have that power, and you must honour it. It should be a choice made on the basis of equality, and an incredible amount of trust. That makes it a real choice. Whether I am with a person with whom I share such a deep level of trust, however, is an entirely different question."

"I hadn't thought of it that way. You raise an interesting point." He went quietly into his thoughts. "It is certainly my hope that we are on our way there."

"There where? To Smacksville?" she said jokingly.

"To deeper trust, you incredible anus," he said in mock annoyance.

The opera was smack down in the heart of the city, a towering pride of three stories with a huge round window on its rococo façade. All manner of rich and fashionable people coated the stairs to the main entrance. Through the glass doors, the inside looked vast and divine, duck egg walls adorned with white veins and myriad of schedules.

"Seems we're early. You go ahead and get the tickets. I'll have a smoke," she said.

She took out a cigarillo and sat down on the stairs. It wasn't exactly the Orlesian way, but who cared? She was in too good a mood. She took a long drag and looked at the purple sunset in between street lamps. This was going to be a fun learning experience. Not necessarily the opera, but seeing him so enthusiastic. But who was to say? She had never gone to the opera. Her mother tried to get her to come in Kirkwall, but she knew it was a pretext to find her "a suitable husband". She was dodging that ostentatious arrow like the Blight. Then again, it seemed she was into the opera-going type. Funny, how that turned out.

And if this weird romantic trip wouldn't get Aveline's ear glued to her mouth, nothing would.

Then a dark-haired young girl caught her eye, and she felt her chest tighten. Holding her hand was a dark-haired man with a templar insignia on the side of his belt.

"Andrei!" she found herself saying involuntarily and she hurried towards them. When he looked at her, it wasn't him behind the mask. And the girl was much too cheerful to be Devon. "I'm—I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."

Then someone touched her arm and she was startled.

"Are you alright?" Fenris said.

"Oh, it's you," Hawke said, breathing out. "I'm fine," she lied. She took another long drag to calm her nerves.

He scanned the people behind her. "Why don't we go inside? It might take a while to find our seats."

"Yeah, let's."

The concert hall was divinely busy with baroque reliefs along little balconies and what looked like a very expensive painted ceiling. The orchestra hid underneath the stage in a disquieting disorder of prep sounds. When they got to their seats, their immediate neighbours took turns looking at them.

"This is so high-brow there's no room for a bloody forehead," she said, looking up.

"Speaking of heads, it is nice to know nobility hasn't gone to yours," he said, reading his libretto.

"What are you staring at?" she said to the people in front of them.

His eyes popped up. "Just ignore them. Don't waste your energy."

"Makes me feel like we're the unmasked harbingers of ruin."

"Having second thoughts about the dresses?"

"No, but would that really help?"

"Not by much. It's mostly me they have a problem with. But I suppose your attire suggest to them you couldn't possibly afford me, nor the clothes on my back."

"Joke's on them. You got them yourself, and the tickets."

"So, I did," he said, smiling to himself. "The tickets were quite expensive though."

"That's alright. What do I owe you?"

"Absolutely not," he said sternly. "It was my idea—it is my treat."

"Well, shut me up," she said, smiling to herself.

He had a crooked grin and his eyes provocatively aimed at her mouth. He drew nearer in that way, raising her temperature. But then his eyes came to hers slowly. "I would, but it might start a war or something," he said in a low, deep tone. Lingering.

Oh, damn the rich. Damn them to the Void. She inhaled slowly, turned her gaze to the stage, and gently exhaled. "And yet you are happy to tease an entire theatre of vampires?" she rebuked.

"And you. Don't forget you," he said with a smirk.

The lights went dark and the music started in earnest. The curtains opened to a smaller stage on top of the main one, where a bird of paradise was obsessively and efficiently tidying up his little home. Some manner of fake trees surrounded it. Then another bird came flying in and rested on a perch above him. He made some very odd moves that caught her attention, then he flew on the top of the branch she was sitting on.

"Oh, no, what's happening?" she said, worried. His crush didn't seem impressed.

"He is forgetting that female Carolas do not take kindly to being looked down upon," he said, smirking.

"Ooh, I see," she said, then cheered him on. "Come on, Toby, remember your manners!"

"Toby?" he said, chuckling.

"He looks like a Toby," she said. Then the bird flew away and came back on the lower end of the branch. "Yes! Good work, Toby! My man!"

"Well, Trixie seems to be happy now," he said, cheek in hand.

She came to his ear and whispered playfully: "Toby and Trixie sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

Then, something incredible happened.

Toby flew down. Carefully, gracefully, he assumed a ballerina-like posture and his plumage went up around him like a little dress. Along beautiful music, he went through three stages of dance, each more astounding than the next. She couldn't believe her eyes at how people-like it was, Fenris helpfully narrating every step of the way.

Now she was the one with the highest brows around, and a dumb-founded open mouth. He closed it for her, his face his own dance floor of laughs and grins.

During the intermission, they went out on the balcony.

"Maker, Toby was on fire!" Hawke said enthusiastically, lighting what was left of her cigarillo. "Did you see how he was swaying his cute little antennae?"

"Yes, it is all part of the dance. Even his pauses are meaningful," Fenris said as they reached the balustrade.

"So…" she said, making saucy eyebrows. "When are you going to dance for me?"

He guffawed. "I am not a dancer."

"And I'm not a judge," she said, leaning in. "Works out quite well, doesn't it?"

"It's…" he said, clearly uncomfortable, but still smiling. "Oh, will you just stop?"

"I will most certainly not!" she said enthusiastically. "You will dance for me!"

"I will ignore you now," he said, reading his libretto.

Delightfully exasperated, she rolled her eyes and rested her arms atop the balustrade, watching the sunset.

"I don't think I've ever been on a second date before. Not officially, anyway," she went on conversationally. She gave him a good, hard look. He was leaning back against the balustrade with a knee up and his arms crossed. The suit looked so good on him it was painful. "On which one do people sleep together?"

"I don't know… Thirteenth?" he said.

Her eyes doubled in size. "Okay," she said, chuckling.

"Then again, unofficially, this could very well be our… what?" he said, squinting, "257th date?"

"Well then, you make sure to work on those dance moves, 'cause on the 268th there'll be one of these with my name on it," she said confidently, taking a drag.

"This is why I like you, Hawke," he said calmly, reading. "You're a dreamer."

She snickered and her eyes brushed over the first page. "Man, how many shows are there?"

"Operas," he corrected. "A couple dozen of international renown. I've seen most of these."

"Danarius an opera man?" she said.

"Oh, yes," he said, accentuating every syllable.

"What's the one we're watching then?"

Fenris turned over the page. "Le Melusine. I don't know this one."

She frowned. "The… Water Nymph? I thought this was about birds."

"No, Hawke. The birds were just an avant-garde opening."

"Hey, be easy on me. It's my first time," she said, leaning back.

He smirked and hit her thigh with the libretto. "Look at you being clueless and unprepared for once. How does it feel?"

"Exciting?" she said. "Are you excited?"

"Very," he said, reading further. "It seems the story is based on an elven legend. But… oh, it looks like the composer is Chasind," he said, showing it to her.

"Really? Wow," she said, reading. "But the song titles are—"

"Arias," he corrected.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. The arias seem to be in the common tongue, and the Chasind titles in parentheses. Maybe it's an adaptation? Shame. It's a beautiful language."

"At least it means we're going to understand what's going on. But not all of them were Chasind," he said. "See? That's Elvhen. Lire Isilnna. Song to the moon."

"Nice," she said. "Also a beautiful language."

"I don't know it very well," he said. "Elven slaves do use a bastardised version of it in an effort to conceal their conversations from humans, but Danarius didn't like me interacting with them. They wouldn't have trusted me enough to switch codes. And they understandably felt great resentment tending to me as if I were above them."

"But you were, technically, weren't you?" she said. "Isn't a personal bodyguard among the highest caste for a slave?"

"You're technically a noble," he said. "Do you feel like one?"

She grimaced hard. "No."

"Do you enjoy being served by other Fereldens in Kirkwall?"

"It made my skin crawl when Bodahn called me Mistress."

"Then you understand."

"Must have been very lonely," she said, thinking. "Well, now there's nothing stopping you. I have Armand's new address. I bet he'd love to hear from you. What do you say?"

Fenris touched his neck absent-mindedly. He'd left the necklace in Kirkwall. "I'd like that," he said softly.

"Cool. You can tell him all about Val Chevin," she said, watching people going back inside.

"Hmph. I will need a lot of ink," he said. But a smile was pulling on his cheeks and he came closer, putting an arm behind her waist. "Perhaps I will focus on the highlight?"

"Woof," she said approvingly. Nothing like those sweet, violent throbs between her legs.

The first act had commenced. A delicate and gloomy moon floated above a forest lake. A fancy "elf" man presided over it like a king, while a vagrant old human woman was selling flowers to travellers and occasionally pickpocketing them. Then another "elf" came out of the lake, trying to sneak past her father.

"What… is happening?" she said, confused. "Are those… fake ears?"

"Of course," he said coldly. "Why hire actual elves when you can just strap a pair of fake ears?"

"So… we're just going to keep watching this offensive display?" she said, unsure.

"It is what it is. I can't turn the pendulum of history," he said. "But if I live long enough to one day see myself in the people up there, I shall be a happy man."

"Well…" she said, shrugging. "It's not going to turn itself, is it?"

The "elf" girl was in love with a human prince, and wished with all her heart she became human so they could be together. Then the "elf" father got very mad at the daughter and smacked her flying across the room.

"We're off to a terrific start," she said sourly. "Why do you like opera again?"

He chuckled. "Well, there's a lot of intelligent work put into these stage sets. You'll see later how the voices can take you up in the air, lift your soul in an inexplicable way. But ultimately, for me, it was the grand blessing that, for a couple of hours, Danarius would be silent."

She looked at him childishly. "I'm not gonna be silent."

"I know," he said, grinning. "With you, I wouldn't have it any other way."

Now alone and forsaken, the water nymph cried out to the moon in the most hauntingly beautiful song. She sang in Elvhen this time. It barely mattered what she was saying, because the way she sang, Hawke could understand perfectly her agony. It was that deep, painful thorn in your chest when you yearned for something so purely and honestly, something that you could scarce live without, but you knew was near impossible to get. It was her yearning for her lost family. It was his yearning for a home. It pulled on the garden of thorns inside her soul so intimately and completely, she was in awe and in tears.

Fenris put his hand over hers. She turned her palm up and their fingers intertwined tightly—because he was right; her soul was being lifted from her body, even if it was in beautiful despair. And he was feeling it too, his thumb was pushing onto hers, getting tighter with the nymph's every wail.

Then the girl called on the vagrant old woman, who turned out to be a witch. She pleaded with her to make her human, but the witch had a price. The girl gladly gave up all her jewellery, but there was more. If she became human, she would lose her immortality and her voice. And if the prince didn't love her back, he would die and she would be eternally damned.

"Typical," Hawke said sourly. "The woman has to give up her voice."

"So, so boring," Fenris said, cheek in hand. "Muteness, the loss of her family, heritage and immortality, and eternal damnation, however—this prince must be very strapping if she would take such a lousy deal."

"Or she's just that young and stupid," she said. "I've been there."

"It figures why I've never seen this one in Tevinter," he went on. "The evil pickpocket witch. It paints a bad picture of mages."

"Well, I think I've got no more offense in me left," she said tiredly. "Be a dear and take over that one for me, will you?"

He chuckled. "Oh, how foolish I was. I should have whined about the elf-face sooner."

"Yeah, sucker," she said, grinning. "Now you're stuck with the mages. Woe is you!"

He put his hands together. "Woe is me," he said in agreement.

Then the ground raised underneath the water nymph, who found herself atop a glass column of water. The witch prepared her spell to the violent rhythm of the orchestra, lights flashing to and fro, and the water bubbles strangely forming a luminescent mermaid's tail under the girl.

"Surely that can't be magic," Fenris said, confused. "In the Imperium, sure, but here?"

"Must be a dwarven mechanism," Hawke said.

"Very impressive."

"You can say that again."

Then the mermaid's tale dispersed and the column came down. The girl started walking, all happy and smiles. The prince showed up and sang about the white doe he was hunting, and about her white beauty, and how she must be his prey.

"Ew," she said.

"Not your type?" he said.

"Nope. Eternal damnation, please!" she said.

Two more acts and intermissions later, the prince took a foreign princess as his wife. For all the nymph's efforts to be human, she was too "cold and passionless" for him. Then he changed his mind and sought her out, but she was already damned at the bottom of the lake. If she kissed him, he would die, but he didn't care. Life wasn't worth living without her. And so, he perished, and she succumbed back to the bottom of the lake as a demon of death.

"Did you see it coming?" Fenris asked as they were preparing to leave.

"I doubt anyone would dedicate two hours of complex staging and music just to tell a story about living happily ever after with Prince McFuckFace," Hawke said.

He chuckled. "You really didn't like him, did you?"

"He left her because she wouldn't fuck him!" she said passionately. People looked at her as they left. "Hi, how are you? Lovely play, wasn't it?"

"Opera," he corrected.

"Oh, give it a rest," she said, snickering.

They went outside. It was proper dark now. Myriad of carriages awaited at the front.

"Did you enjoy it, though?" Fenris asked.

"I did," Hawke said in a surprised tone. "I may not agree with the story, or the direction, but the production was amazing! Those were some very talented people."

He gave a little smile. "Maybe I shall take you again? I'd love to hear your thoughts on Fidelius if it's ever played in Kirkwall."

"Oh yeah? Is that another tragic old-time love story?" she said tiredly.

"It is a love story, but it is more about Leonore, a woman of great strength and resilience in the face of political injustice."

She pointed at him. "Count me in. Aveline too!"

"Is she involved with anybody, perhaps?" he asked.

"That… is a very good question," she said. If she was, she was hiding it very well.

"Forgive me one moment," he said suddenly. He raised his hand and shouted over the street. "Hugo!"

"Who in blazes is Hugo?" she said, looking over his shoulder. "Is that Édouard?"

"Hugo is a waiter where we are staying. And apparently, his Édouard is our Édouard."

"You made friends?" she said incredulously. "Sorry, let me try it without sounding so patronising… You made friends? Nope. Can't do it."

The men crossed the street to meet them. Hugo seemed happy to see them, while Édouard was just Édouard.

"Bonsoir, Rhys," Hugo said. "So, iz this the famed paramour I've heard so much about?"

"Have you, now?" she said, smiling. She shook his hand. "Leonore Harding, at your service."

"I apologise for the delay, but I simply couldn't miss this," Fenris said, pointing back at the opera house.

"Bold," Édouard said approvingly.

"Can someone catch me up, please?" Hawke said.

"I was going to show you to Les Catacombes de Fleurs," Hugo said. "No harm done. We were going zere tonight anyway."

"Ah, right," Hawke said sarcastically. That still didn't make any sense. But the day seemed full of surprises, and she was feeling whimsical. "I simply cannot return home before I see these catacombs!"

"Onwards, zen," Édouard said stoically. He raised a subtle eyebrow to Hawke. "Madamme Harding."

Damn. She didn't even remember the name she had given him. Ah, well. What did it matter? She was at least two degrees of separation from her true identity. Safety first for an apostate and a fugitive.

Moving through the dispersing crowd, Hawke spared the two seconds of distance from the couple. "What the hell are flower catacombs?" she whispered in annoyance.

"Some kind of art thing," he said. "Oh, right. We are painters. Roll with it."

"Ho-kay," she said in amusement. "I am a painter, though."

"So am I," he said nonchalantly. He frowned, as if he were hurt. "Have you not seen my masterpieces over Kirkwall?"

"Uh-huh, of course."

Hugo and Édouard led them so deep downtown it felt more like the undercity. As opposed to Kirkwall, however, it was beautiful; full of lanterns, colourful markets and street food stands. If there were criminals, they were being very covert about it.

Then there was the sewer lid under the bridge people kept going inside (even that was fancy).

"My mother taught me not to go into sewers with strange men," Hawke said suspiciously.

"You will not regret what's at ze end of zis," Édouard said, and went in.

"Absolutely!" Hugo said and crawled in. "Come now, where's your sense of adventure?"

She looked at Fenris and they both shrugged.

One sewer, two hallways and a relatively better entry fee later, Hawke and Fenris found themselves into the most bizarrely beautiful catacombs they'd ever seen, topping even the abandoned thaig.

It was a vast labyrinth of dark walls covered in huge, floating, living clusters of flowers. The cores were red, with blue and pink flowers at the edges and petals brushing out everywhere. When they got closer, they realised they weren't real at all, but made out of what could only be described as sourceless light.

"What…?" Fenris said, perplexed.

"How?" Hawke said incredulously.

Hugo looked very amused. "Have fun, you two," he said, and took Édouard to the bar.

Fenris went close to the wall to touch it, and looked as if a shiver went through him.

"It's magic, isn't it?" she said, coming close. "Oh, yeah, there it is."

"Definitely," he said.

"That amount of sustained magic would thin the veil like crazy, not to mention that it's night-time, yet… it feels normal," she said, confused.

"If there were demons, we'd certainly know about it," he said, looking at the myriad of people strolling around. "But maybe we should stick with those guys, just in case."

She spun around with a dumb expression. "Nuts to that! I'm gonna explore."

He sighed loudly. "Festis bei umo canavarum," he mumbled, following her.