SERENA
I'm not patient. I know this. The world knows this. But now, frustration and impatience threaten to overcome me, like the small group of darkspawn who overran the ruins of Ostagar.
Without any real notice, days have turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Yet, here I still am. Stuck in the rotting Kirkwall alienage, with nowhere else to go, no place to call home. My only place in this chaotic city: the vhenadahl, the tree of the People. But even that offers little to no comfort or privacy.
To live with the Dalish once again continues to only be a childish fantasy. A personal desire I know can never be satiated. A faint glimmer of hope on a darkened horizon.
But perhaps that's for the best.
I have no right to return. My hesitance to reveal myself to them is proof of that. And after everything else that's happened, I deserve no less. I deserve to be alone, for the rest of my life. I deserve to never speak to anyone or anything again.
So, why? Why do Varric and Hawke insist on involving themselves with me, despite all this?
I've tried to dissuade them, to push them away, or to at least increase the distance between us every chance I get. Yet, still, they persist.
You'd think Varric would pick up on the hints, that perhaps the dodgy elf is trying to shove them away for a reason. But he either continues to remain oblivious or he simply doesn't care. And now, here I am, finding it harder and harder to refuse their presence.
Just how long must I endure this pleasurable form of torture? Another year? Two?
No. I should escape Kirkwall before it's too late. Before I make another grave mistake and risk becoming too attached.
The past must not be forgotten. For their sakes and mine.
. . . But my promise of aid to them still binds me to this wretched city like a chain! And until I fulfill my pledge, even the Dread Wolf can't change the fact that I'm nothing more than a prisoner, trapped in an iron cage!
"Blasted Creators . . . " I bang my head back against the vhenadahl's trunk, the prospect utterly exasperating me.
If only I didn't take all of my promises and life debts so seriously, maybe I wouldn't find myself stuck in this mess. Tamlen and Morrigan always did say it would be my undoing. I guess this shows just how much I've been listening.
Clenching tight onto my scythe, I glance down at the square below me again, hoping to find something to amuse or distract me from my troubles. Alas, instead of finding a scrawny elf initiating a brawl or a woman arguing with a scorned lover, the very cause of my worries descends the alienage's steps and struts over to me. The handsome shem has his characteristic goofy grin plastered on his bearded face, his short, brown hair ruffled and wisping off in all directions. He walks past the few elves occupying the alienage's main square, completely oblivious to the anxious, wide-eyed looks they all give him.
"Hawke, what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" I ask unenthusiastically once he's in eavesdropping distance.
He lifts an eyebrow at me, an innocent curiosity shining in his dark-brown gaze. "I think I'd like to know why you are up in that tree first. Isn't it supposed to be holy?"
"The vhenadahl? No. It's merely a symbol of the Dales ancient homeland, Arlathan. No one here appears to know its true significance. Or if they do, they do not dare show it." I pause and look around, catching a few elves staring quietly at us from the sidelines. We meet eye contact, and then they quickly scurry away, back to their business. Just as they should. The insatiable gossipers. "As for why I'm up here, this is where I live now, temporarily. I refuse to rest my head elsewhere."
"But isn't it a tad . . . uncomfortable? You could always come live with us at Gamlen's and at least have a roof over your head. Gamlen owes us that much."
The corners of my lips curl upward, a rumbling chuckle building inside my chest. "My, how bold you are, serrah! To invite a young woman into your home, after hardly knowing her two full weeks? You must be quite the charmer, lethallin."
I glance down at Hawke with a wide smirk.
It takes him a moment, but Hawke immediately starts to fidget, his cheeks flushing a slight, bashful red. "That's not—I meant—" He rubs at his forehead and takes in a deep breath. "Let me clarify. All I meant was . . . was . . . "
He bites his bottom lip and looks off to the side.
I laugh so hard my stomach aches. "It is a joke, my friend! Relax! I know what you meant," I promise, tearing up.
Hawke's shoulders droop, visibly relaxing from decreased tension.
I swear, teasing him can be so much fun. Even more so than Alistair sometimes. Although, I still think I prefer Alistair's witty retorts. Oh, and his rambling chatter. And don't even get me started on his atrocious flirtation attempts.
"In all seriousness, however," I continue, shaking away the precious memories before I get carried away, "I appreciate the offer, but living in a building made of cold, hard stone sounds far less comfortable for me. and I doubt Gamlen would welcome it. I will continue to claim my space here. The outside world is where I belong."
Hawke smiles and crosses his arms. "The reason why you're so bound to the outdoors is because you are Dalish, correct? What part of Ferelden do you hail from, if I might ask?"
I scowl down at him, my barriers jumping all the way back up. "Oh, curious, are you?" I hop off the vhenadahl and land right in front of him. I lean in close until our faces stand only an inch or so apart.
Hawke blushes, but he doesn't avert his gaze.
He starts to squirm under my continued stare a little. Clearly trying his best not to, but losing that battle.
I snicker, then bend forward to whisper in his ear. "Such mysteries I'll leave up to your wild imagination."
