SERENA
Our return trek to Kirkwall finishes faster than anticipated. Hawke's ability to assemble the others even more so.
Our company of four quickly grows to that of nine. Even Aveline, who's usually busy managing the city guard, somehow squeezes in enough time to make an appearance.
The entire group of misfits now sits gathered around Varric's long table in his room—Hawke and Isabela being the only exceptions.
Hawke stands directly across from me, pacing the length of Varric's quarters, while Isabela leans against the wall behind him, her arms crossed and watching Hawke like . . . well, a hawk. The others all sit at the table with their heads bowed low. Only Varric and Sebastian dare look around in the heavy silence.
"Serena, I want an answer. Now." Hawke stops and puts his hands flat on the table, facing me.
He leans slightly over the edge, peering straight at me with an intimidating disposition.
"Why were those men after you? You know, don't you?" he asks.
I fold my hands out in front of me, meeting his stern gaze with one of my own. "Even if I do, I believe that is my business, Hawke. I can choose whether or not to disclose such details to everyone. That is my right as a free person, is it not?"
Hawke frowns. He digs his fingers deep into his dark brown hair, muttering something quietly under his breath. More than likely Ferelden curses or unflattering complaints. He then rubs his hand across his forehead and sighs. "Do you not trust us?" he asks, giving up, staring straight up at the ceiling.
I narrow my eyes at him, not anticipating that reaction. There's almost a sad look to him now. One that twists my stomach and fills me with worry and regret.
"Up until now, you have hidden the fact that you are a mage, a former Dalish of the Sundermount clan, and who knows what else. We haven't been very demanding about what you disclose, or when you disclose it. But now I believe you should. Whatever they were after you for, it affected the rest of us. And if we're going to be at risk of being attacked while accompanying you, I want to at least know what we're going up against instead of running in blind!"
"Then perhaps you shouldn't accompany me any longer. Have you considered that?" I snap back in defense.
Yes, that's what they should do. It's for the best. It's the exact thing I've been trying to do since the beginning, until they forced me into their lives. Perhaps we've delayed it long enough.
Hawke's jaw drops. His gaze shifts from side to side, the hurt in his gaze undeniable. But needed.
"Hawke, I don't know exactly what kind of person you seem to think I am," I persist, standing up, ready to run, "but I'm not the kind of woman that is easily intimidated. Either you accept my privacy or I will take my presence elsewhere. If I truly felt the information was absolutely crucial, I would tell you. But it is not. It is my matter. Allow me to handle it myself. It is not your concern."
Hawke's eyebrows scrunch together. He lifts up one hand, looking prepared to give another angry retort, when Varric rises from his seat. The legs of his chair screech loudly against the tavern's wooden floor. "Alright, that's enough out of you two." He glances between the two of us. "Arguing in circles like this will get us nowhere. So, until you two are willing to discuss this in a calmly, professional manner, I'm calling this meeting to a close."
I huff and march my way toward the door. Eager to get out of here, beyond these walls that feel like their suffocating me, without turning back.
"Lethallan, wait," Merrill interrupts.
I stop.
"I think they deserve to know."
I spin on my heels to glare at my ex-clanmate and friend.
She lowers her head and fidgets awkwardly in her seat. "Although, I understand your fears," she murmurs, "the truth will come out eventually, one way or another. And from what I can tell, you trust them as much as I do. Perhaps they might even be able to help?"
"You would have me involve them in such a risk? Has that demon corrupted your mind, Merrill? I'm sincerely starting to wonder."
Merrill flashes me a horrified look, but I reject any feeling of regret there.
She's not thinking straight. She's not. To involve them with this, this! All of it. It could put all their lives in danger. Even more so than they are now, when they might only be considered passing acquaintances at best.
I glance over at the others before glaring back at her again. "Regardless of whether I trust them or not, this is something far beyond them. You and I both know that. It put our clan at risk for years. Yet, you would have me put them through such hardship as well? Are their troubles not overwhelming enough already?"
"That's not what I'm saying!" Merrill shakes her head. "All I'm suggesting is that you trust them with the truth. Even if they are unable to help, or they do not wish to get involved, they at least deserve to know. They're already at risk by having association with us. They need to know who and what to look out for to better protect themselves and you."
My rage almost explodes.
If I could safely burst into flames, I would. But I'm not about to be the one who burned the Hanged Man down.
Unable to listen to her words any longer, I barge out of Varric's quarters, down the tavern steps, and out into the blistery cold of Lowtown.
Her naive foolishness will be her downfall. Not just with that mirror, but everything. I know what I'm doing is what's best. I know what it means to protect. To sacrifice. I've only been seeming to do it my whole life. And I'll be damned if I sacrifice their safety in an act of passive selfishness. No matter how hurtful my actions or abandonment seem.
FENRIS
Several hours have passed since our group's conversation inside the Hanged Man. Hawke has barricaded himself inside Varric's quarters, venting in incoherent grumblings as he drowns most of the dwarf's alcohol reserves, much to his reluctant permission.
The others have returned to their homes at Varric's behest. Something I obliged, at first. But now I'm off to enter the lioness's den. Though, I do not know why I bother.
I should be furious with Serena. Furious that she's withheld such vital information from us, from me, for years, and that she continues to do so.
And yet, I am not. I cannot seem to stay angry with her. Nor can I leave her alone. Despite the situation's mounting frustration, and my own desire to do so.
I knock twice at her front door, impatience gnawing at my bones.
Nothing. No answer comes. Not even after several moments of my standing there, in the frigid cold.
I try tugging on the rusted handle.
Unlocked . . . as usual.
The door groans against the half-rotten floorboards as I step inside. Only a single candle flickers in the far corner of the room, staving off the night's surrounding darkness. Serena sits stretched out on the floor beside it. She looks up at me, a lazy glaze evident in her glossy, teal eyes, a bottle of red clutched tight in one gloved hand.
"Please tell me you're here to inform me there are some slavers in Kirkwall that need immediate slaughtering," she says.
The corner of my lips curl up into a faint, irresistible smirk. "As pleasant as that might be, unfortunately, I am not." I sit down on the ground beside her.
Neither of us look at each other. Our gazes remain fixed on the floor.
Serena takes a few swigs of her wine, then inspects the bottle in front of her carefully. "What do you want me to say, Fenris?" she asks, sounding tired, exasperated. More so than I've ever heard from her before.
"Nothing, unless you wish to."
She sighs.
An inner battle rages on her pensive expression. One whose ferocity I cannot presume to understand on mere appearance or intuition alone.
At last, she escapes the internal turmoil and turns to face me. "Can I trust you?" she asks. "And the others, too?"
"That is something for you to decide. I cannot make that decision for you."
"What if I want you to make that decision for me?" She angles her body further towards me, sitting up straight as she does so.
"Even if that is what you wish, I cannot do so . . . And no matter how many times you ask, that answer will not change."
Nor would I want it to.
Serena huffs and shakes her head. She returns to her previous sitting position, taking another big gulp of her wine.
The alcohol's no doubt clouding her judgement, only making the situation worse. "Here. That's enough of that." I reach for the bottle. But she pulls away.
"Don't," she growls, glaring me down, and I back off in surrender.
I will not risk my life or limbs to try to stop her. Not when she's still swift enough to dodge an attempt.
She takes another gulp of the wine. "You know, I never wanted to come to Kirkwall," she admits, and I quirk a confused eyebrow at her. "At first, I was just stopping by, picking up some basic supplies . . . I intended to move on straight away. My visit got prolonged when I found out my clan was here. I only meant to check up on them, to see how they were doing. And then, Hawke and Varric came along and messed everything up."
She lets out a low, wry laugh. But there's almost no humor to it. Mostly sadness and profound regret. Similar to the time when we first spoke after she visited her clan.
"My oath to help him was the only reason I stayed in Kirkwall for so long," she continues. "I had plans to leave immediately, after the expedition . . . But I didn't. Why? I don't know. Maybe I got too distracted with helping Hawke fix up his estate, or it was to remain close to my clan . . . But now look at the mess I'm in." She knocks her head back against the wall, her earlier smile quickly fading, replaced with a growing darkness. "It might be better if I use this time to escape. Before you and others get involved in my troubles any further."
A hard lump forms in the back of my throat. With it comes an intense sense of unease, of nervousness, of dread, that all swirl around in the pit of my stomach. "Where would you go?" I barely manage to whisper, the words heavy on my tongue.
She tilts her head toward me. "Hm. North, maybe? Perhaps I'll go to Starkhaven, help Sebastian out from the inside. At least that way I'll be productive for a while."
"Do you believe that the others and I will simply let you go?"
Serena stiffens, and her head perks all the way up. "Do you intend to stop me?" Her challenging gaze bores deep into mine. Her inner fire returned with a vengeance.
I don't respond. But I know my answer. As surprising as it may be.
Serena gets on her hands and knees and leans over me. Her revealing armor and exposed midriff quite distracting, even while intimidated.
"Do you intend to stop me, Fenris?" she repeats, her tone still low, threatening.
"If so, what then?"
Her fierce expression wanes, shifting to that of curiosity, then confusion. "Why?" she whispers.
I continue to make eye contact with her. Using my gaze to convey my answer.
Some sort of recognition occurs to her, and Serena scoots back, slumping down beside me again. "Don't look at me like that, lethallin," she whispers. "You don't want to go there."
She curls her legs up close to her chest, as if using them to erect a physical barrier around herself.
"Just as your past haunts you, my past haunts me," she says. "Besides, I am a mage. You hate mages. You've made that abundantly clear since the first day we met. I'm also a hunted foreigner. You don't want to get too attached to someone like me. I will only bring you more pain and trouble."
"That seems to be a risk we all share, even without your contribution." I shrug.
Serena doesn't respond to that.
I reach for her cheek, desperate to look into her eyes again.
"Don't," she snaps, snatching my wrist.
A pleading look flickers in her troubled gaze.
"Please, don't. I . . . I can't." She shakes her head sadly and looks away.
I watch her curiously. Conflicted over the newfound emotions and revelations guiding me. But with a quiet reluctance, I retract my arm and pull away. "As you wish . . ."
"Ma serannas," she whispers. "I am sorry."
"Do not take this as a surrender," I warn.
Serena tilts her head up at me, to look at me again.
"I have no intention of giving up."
"What? But you just—"
I shrug. "Perhaps Hawke's stubbornness has rub off on me. Either that or I have been stubborn to begin with. I cannot say. But here it stands." I pause and meet her stunned stare, a part of me shocked at how I'm feeling as well, about a mage no less. "I . . . didn't think I needed anyone . . . or wanted anyone . . . until now."
Her cheeks pinken, darkening to the slightest red. "You were stubborn to begin with," she grumbles, pivoting away. She then takes another swig from her bottle and drinks it until the very last drop.
SERENA
My head's swimming. Pounding.
Through a blurry haze, I spy Fenris sits slumped up against the cracked wall of my home beside me. His long, elegant lashes rest atop his gorgeous, tanned cheeks, soft snores escaping his parted lips.
Those plump, luscious lips.
I blink a few times in a rogue ray of morning sunlight, peeking in through a jagged crack in the front door. My mind empty as I stare at his sleeping beauty before recalling last night's . . . discussion. At the Hanged Man. And here.
An anxious tingling feeling prickles along the back of my neck at the thought, spreading like wildfire across my cheeks. Waking me wide up.
I remember the way Fenris looked at me last night in a rush. The things he said. What he almost did. I haven't felt such nervous fluttery sensations in years. Not since the time of the blight. Or a few months after that.
Sensations I thought to never experience again.
Although I had suspected the elf had feelings for me, and perhaps saw us as more than friends, it's all been confirmed now without a doubt. The look in his eyes last night said it all, and his words and actions said the rest. Simply recalling the intensity of his stare sends shivers tickling down my spine, prompting a new burst of heat to rise to my ears.
I quickly jolt and jump to my feet, eager to escape the awkward and unwanted sensations, and its accompanying realization.
The movement startles Fenris.
He stirs and flickers open his stunning green eyes, looking straight up at me.
"Good morning," I muster through sheer willpower alone, taking a few cautious steps back, toward my bed.
"Morning . . . " Fenris grumbles, wiping his weary eyelids, as if it's the common interaction in the world.
I pick up the fruit basket from atop my nearby dining table, heart racing, nerves twitching. "Here. Breakfast." I walk it over to Fenris and hold it out for him.
"How typical of you," he smirks, with a teasing voice.
"I could let you starve." I flash him a serious scowl.
"Don't I know it," he chuckles, dark and lovely, making my heart skip a beat once more, just at the deep baritone of his voice.
Paired with those burning green eyes of his, it's a deadly combination. One that could probably make any woman melt.
But no. Not me. Not this time. I won't fall for those kinds of things again. Never again. I can't.
He takes an apple from the basket and bows his head. "My thanks," he says. And gods, how his voice is making this difficult.
I return the basket to the nightstand, still feeling oddly jittery as I lean against the neighboring wall, attempting to feign indifference.
Determined to make the act work. For it to become my new reality. My new life-saving mantra.
"What are your plans?" he asks, taking a big bite of his fruit.
I gulp. "I'm . . . going to speak to Hawke . . ." I whisper, a bit too focused on the way his lips brush against the apple's skin.
"About?" He takes another bite.
" . . . Everything."
My agitation skyrockets just saying it out loud, but Fenris's almost expecting silence makes it a thousand times worse.
"I still don't like it," I insist. "But as much as I hate to admit it, Merrill . . . may be right. If you're all certain you want to know, and you're prepared for what may follow, you deserve to know. You have all proven your worth ten-fold."
"Only ten?" Fenris lifts a cheeky eyebrow at me.
"You know what I mean." I roll my eyes.
Fenris takes another bite of his apple's seeded core then stands up. "Shall I go gather the others?" he asks, seeming unsurprised and not unnerved by it all.
"You don't need to do that . . ." I whisper, glancing away again.
"Allow me. I'll leave Hawke to you, however."
