SERENA
The soothing lullaby of a lone, cooing dove echoes throughout the moonlit chantry courtyard. A pleasant respite, after a long and tiring day spent along the Wounded Coast.
Between the abominations and shades our group had to fight when we found the qunari's lost patrol, and the confrontation we had with Lieutenant Harley and the Evets Marauders immediately afterwards, it's no wonder we're all a bit exhausted and not in the most jovial of moods upon our return to Kirkwall tonight. But Fenris appears to be the worst off of all, and it's evident in his continuous stiff posture and scowl.
Not that I blame him, of course. The day included almost everything he's grown to hate about magic and Tevinter, disbarring an official magister or slaver to count. Though, that tattooed blood mage—Fell Orden, I think his name was—certainly came close.
As such, I can't say I regret killing or encountering the lot of them. Especially to rescue the trapped city guardsmen. But I do wish they hadn't set up so many traps. They were a bugger to disarm, even with Varric's help. And now, I'm stuck coping with not only intense, subsequent exhaustion, I'm also forced to deal with the ill-timed events aftermath, on my own!
I look up from my sand-covered boots and watch as Fenris storms into his decrepit mansion. His whole-body's still taut, coiled up—ready to snap from the day's lingering frustrations.
If I leave him be now, he'll definitely burst. But do I really want to risk trying to deescalate his mood now? He's obviously still really upset. But why? His bad moods never last this long after a fight, not unless it's somehow related to Anders or Danarius. And this fight definitely wasn't . . .
I sigh.
It's either I try to catch him now or he might take it out on our wine supply later . . . Elgar'nan, guide me.
"Fenris?" I call out, as the two of us near the foot of the mansion's main staircase.
"What?" He stops and glares back at me.
I gulp.
Nope. Not risking it. He's still pissed. And I like my heart where it is.
"It's nothing. Forget about it," I insist.
I try to weave my way around him to escape up to my room. Escape being the only option.
"Enough!" he snaps.
He grabs me by the arms and pushes me hard against the wall, his markings flaring a brilliant blue.
My heart thuds. I gawk up at him, his face now mere inches from mine. His scorching, green eyes bore into my own, their unrivaled intensity trapping me in a stunning prison, preventing me from dare looking away.
"You have been avoiding me all week," he growls. "And the moment you decide to try to speak, you don't. Do you not realize how frustrating that is?"
All cognizant thought I might've had grinds to a halt.
Oh Creators. That's right.
I have been avoiding him all week. I haven't even spoken more than a passing greeting to him in days! And now I've all but opened up a discussion about it!
A new burst of heat swirls within my cheeks. I'm suddenly overtly aware of Fenris's every touch, every breath. Each new, mounting sensation sets my tingling nerves ablaze. Just like the night he tended to my wound—the night I fell into a burning, restless sleep and into even more vivid, suggestive dreams.
The intimacy of the dreams return in instant.
"I-I-"
The words get lost in my throat.
I avert my gaze, unable to withstand his disarming scrutiny.
It's like he's tearing down all my bloody walls, and I'm just stuck here, defenseless—at his mercy.
"If you have something you wish to say, out with it then," he demands. He tilts his head to try to make eye contact with me again, but I just keep craning my neck further and further away to avoid it. "Well? What is it? Have I upset you?"
He leans in even closer now.
The heat coursing through my limbs boils over. Making me tremble. Making me weak. " . . . Too . . . Too close." I whisper, shrinking into myself, shutting my eyes. "You're too close!"
Fenris's grip on my arms suddenly lessens.
There's a long pause, one where I feel I might finally catch my breath. Or slow my racing heart. But I still don't dare glance in his direction.
How could I? I can't! Not after saying something . . . something like that!
"Are you . . . embarrassed?" he asks. "Is this what this has been all about?"
My pulse quickens inside my chest. "Is looking into my reactions all you can think about?" I give him my most confident smirk to throw him off my trail.
"I've been able to think of you and little else." He leans in closer with another dispelling scowl, breaking my front in an instant. "And you know this, too." He strokes one cheek. "You are simply testing me . . . and my patience. But the wait is over. Your façade is finished."
Fenris's soft lips crush against my own.
I jolt.
My thoughts spin.
I can't move, much less breathe.
Everything blurs.
His hot tongue delves deep into my mouth. Pushing. Winding. Twisting. Coaxing my own with a beckoning touch. The pleasurable twirling impossible to deny. Tasing of elfroot and mixed spice.
A quiet moan escapes me in surrender to the delicious flavor and caresses. The experience so perfect—so fierce, so succulent, divine—it's as though we're devouring our first real meals together. Like beggars forever starved of the other's touch. A missing piece to an unknown puzzle.
The realization startles me.
No. No! We can't. We mustn't!
"Wait, Fenris . . . " I somehow gasp, pulling back, breaking his spell.
But it's no use. His warm tongue dives into my mouth again. And with its reemergence, my thoughts halt, derail.
My worries melt in his strong embrace. The only thing I can do is try to stay afloat among this tsunami of unbridled passion. This building, irrefutable heat.
His hands grasp out at me, perhaps sensing the growing submission. They tug at fistfuls of my hair, muscle, and skin—the possessive and demanding nature of the rough touches sending electric tingles trickling down my spine, complimenting the tickling across my lips. My legs quake into a reactive sputter beneath me, like that of a newborn fawn, still learning how to walk. And then . . .
My knees buckle.
I fall limp. A well-placed hand of his on my lower back catches me mid-fall, pushing me harder against him.
Fenris breaks off from our kiss and stares straight down at me, both of us panting, our faces only a breath's width apart. An undeniable hunger dwells within his close, provocative gaze. Seeking. Waiting. Wanting. Threatening to pounce again at a moment's notice, should I only grant him continued permission to feast.
It's both terrifying and enthralling. Enthralling because his eyes are so beautiful, so tempting. The most gorgeous shade of emerald green I've ever seen. Like the Brecilian forest, sucking me in. But also terrifying because I know what accepting such an offer would mean.
There'd be no turning back. No pretending that any of this didn't happen—that there isn't anything more between us. Nor would there be any stopping once we've started. We'd both lie raw, vulnerable, and exposed by the end of it. A curse just as much as a blessing. One I'd ordinarily opt to run away from at full speed. And yet, in this moment, I can't find it in me to deny it.
The pull I feel toward him is too great.
Too intense.
Too real.
Too . . . everything!
And if he's willing to risk it—to forget all of our differences, including our pasts—why can't I? Why shouldn't I?
"You're going to regret this," I whisper with a firm shake of my head.
Then, unable to reject his certain gaze any longer, I jump up, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him with everything I can muster. He reciprocates in fervor. Our actions moving faster now. More desperate. His hands drop to my hips, his armored fingertips kneading carefully into the exposed skin there. They drift even lower. And lower. Beneath my armored skirt, until he hoists me up by the thighs to carry me at his waist.
Our cores brush against each other in the new position. The two so painfully close now, I can feel him straining against his breeches. A whimper escapes me at its touch. My legs unintentionally clench tighter around his waist, wanting to feel closer.
Fenris lets out a low growl in response.
With a staggering swiftness, he pulls us away from the wall, and I can tell we're moving, heading upstairs. But I don't care. I can't stop kissing him, holding him. I need to be closer to him, no matter what form that takes. I don't falter in this resolve, even when I hear him kick open his bedroom door. Something I would usually scold him for, under any other circumstance. But right now, I couldn't give a fig. Let him break it down for all I care. To the Void, I'll help him do it, too.
He plops us both down onto his mattress inside with a low grunt—the two of us still kissing and tasting each other. Drowning in each other's unique flavor. Neither of our limbs moving fast enough. Our fingers race to unclasp and remove each other's concealed weapons and leather armor; every piece tossed aside like worthless baubles on the floor, impeding us from the real treasure.
When only Fenris's leggings and my small clothes remain, Fenris leans down and sucks at the base of my neck. I let out a sharp gasp. A sweltering daze overcomes me, like a veil of flames, cast behind my eyelids. The burning intensifies. Spreading further as his explorative fingers trail downward—across my ribs, my navel, all the way down until he grasps my inner thighs.
Our nether regions meet with force once again with one hard thrust. My body arches into him on impact, curling from increased want and need. The desire to strip us down bare—now—near overwhelming. And gods, what I would give to make that happen! To make these sensations last!
A loud knock echoes downstairs.
I flinch, the passion-lidded haze dissipating into a panicked-induced spiral. "The door," I squeeze at Fenris's bare shoulders.
"Leave it," he growls, nipping at the side of my neck.
Another bout of pleasant shivers courses through me at the demanding tone of his voice, at his heart-racing touch. But I don't waver.
"Fenris!" I snap, unable to ignore a potential intruder, no matter how much I might like to.
Fenris springs up with a loud, objecting snarl and stalks out of the room, sporting nothing but his black leggings to call protective armor.
I consider yelling out at him—ordering him to at least take Lethendralis, if only for precaution sake. But the moment passes. I wait in a tense, anxious silence, sitting half-naked on top of his bed, attempting to cover myself with his blanket the best I can, should anyone dare walk in. Although, I doubt it possible, if they wish to keep their hearts in their chest.
Fenris returns a few minutes later, his white tattoos iridescent in the pale moonlight. The swirling, lyrium-infused designs curl across his polished muscles; the entirety of the wandering patterns on his chiseled form more gorgeous than I ever thought possible. A true wintry wonder to behold.
I fight the urge to reach out, to trace the lines and muscles with my fingers, my lips, my tongue. Oh gods, how curious I am to learn how far south they truly go. What they look like, complete with the whole package.
My mouth waters at the thought.
Creators, what is wrong with me?
"Who was it?" I somehow force out in a hoarse whisper, struggling to recompose myself, to regain a semblance of a sobering thought amongst this mind-blowing, lecherous heat.
"A friend of Varric's," Fenris mutters, sitting down on the bedside. "No one important."
He reaches out to touch my cheek again and stares at me for a long moment, as if probing or debating something new within.
He then lies down and slips under the covers, tugging me softly to his chest. "Goodnight," he whispers, propping his chin on top of my head.
And no matter how long I lie awake, waiting, Fenris does not continue.
The two of us sit at the kitchen table close to noon the next morning. Both of us have already dressed, but we've yet to exchange more than a few passing words and glances with one another.
Fenris currently sits opposite me, sipping on some black coffee I brewed up for us earlier. His personal favorite, despite the alarming bitterness.
I peek up at him from the plate of fruit I've been picking at in the meanwhile. Just looking at him makes me remember his touch again. The lasting inferno it elicits spreads throughout my entire body, warming my arms, my cheeks . . . my lips.
Mythal's mercy, what was I thinking? What am I thinking?
Why did we do that? How long have I been warning myself about giving in to such impulses? Did I really forget the past so easily last night? The danger? I must've been out of sorts.
That's what I try to convince myself, but in all honesty, I know I've been waiting for something like this to happen between us for years. There's no point in denying it. The elf has always caught and held my interest, to some degree. There's just something about him, drawing me in, tempting me into a spiraling heat of madness I've tried hard to refuse.
And then, that willpower collapsed last night. All from a kiss.
I recall Fenris's very first kiss from yesterday—the way his tongue forcefully entered my mouth, claiming mine in an endless battle of will for domination.
My breath hitches in the back of my throat at the raunchy memory. A new inferno coiling within my nethers.
No. Stop. Don't think about it! Stop thinking about it!
I lower my head and push my fingers against my temples.
You are the Hero of Ferelden! An Ex-Warden Commander! Not a blighted, blushing school girl!
I peek up at Fenris again, my mind still reeling, fuzzy—a complete, utter mess.
He doesn't seem to have noticed my surging internal turmoil. His attention remains engrossed on drinking his coffee, while staring out a nearby window. His silvery-white hair shines in a rogue beam of sunlight. Combined with his elegant, winding tattoos and leaner figure, it makes him appear otherworldly, like a forgotten elf of old. A stunning immortal.
The sight's breathtaking.
Creators, he's breathtaking.
How in the Void did I ever think I could resist such a man, if this is all it takes for me to fall into such a hopeless, puppy-dog daze? You'd think I'd have more control over myself. That I'd stop acting like a hormone-crazed da'len after all these years.
I groan inwardly at the accurate comparison, upset by my own weakness, as predictable from my past as it might be.
One mighty Hero of Ferelden, indeed . . . I really need to get my act together. I have to speak to him about last night—about why he stopped, about what it meant. If I don't, I might just go mad trying to figure it all out, if I haven't already.
Anxiety churns in my stomach again. I swallow hard and sit up straight. "Fenris?" I whisper.
He looks over and focuses on me. "Hm?"
Oh no. No. I can't do this. I can't ask. Not when he's looking at me like that!
"Never mind. It's nothing." I glance away.
"Speak. What's on your mind?" he persists.
I jolt and fidget with my hands in my lap. I guess there's no avoiding it now. He'll just get upset, if I do.
"Last night . . . Why didn't you . . ?" I trail off. I can't finish the sentence. Otherwise, my cheeks might just burn off. And what a sight that would be.
Fenris puts his half-empty cup of coffee down, a deep, thoughtful look now overtaking his expression. "I . . . don't want to rush you—to rush this," he says. "Do you not feel the same?"
My chest lightens and constricts in a matter of seconds.
How do I feel?
How do I feel?
Do I want him to continue? Do I want him to stop?
I don't know.
Frustration, confusion, disappointment, and relief wage intense war within me. Each fighting for supremacy, but none earning a clear win. "No-No, you're right," I whisper, choosing to believe it a wise decision, amid the current, confusing stalemate. "I was just . . . curious. Ma serannas, Fenris. I appreciate the . . . consideration."
Fenris nods. He pauses and clears his throat. His gaze shifts down to the ground. "I should . . . apologize," he continues. "I . . . lost control over myself last night, after I promised to not do such a thing. I would not hold it against you if you were angry with me."
"No! I'm not angry!" I perk up, giving him a quick shake of my head. "Just . . . jostled. That's all. I wasn't expecting it, but that doesn't mean I didn't . . . enjoy it."
A building blush creeps up the tops of my ears at the admission, the feverish spike impossible to suppress.
Fenris smirks at me. "I'll keep that in mind," he says.
My heart just about leaps out of my chest at his smile.
Gods, just what kind of nonsense am I getting myself into? Letting him make me feel like this?
"Lets-Lets keep this from the others for now." I stand up and step away from the table. "I don't think I'm ready for Varric to start writing another book about us yet."
"Nor I," Fenris chuckles. And oh, how that deep timbre of his tingles my ears.
He rises from his seat and steps nearer to me, making my breath catch in my throat.
"Should we go and meet the others?" He caresses my cheek.
The gentleness of his electrifying touch almost makes me collapse in his arms once more.
But no. I can't. I won't. Not like this.
I need to figure out what it is I actually want first—what I'm okay with—if I ever hope to reclaim control over myself again. A hopeless, blushing school girl is not who I want to be, as Alistair would say. It's not who I should be. Ever.
Steeling my mindset to this decision, I clench both of my fists, my determination unyielding. "Yes. Lets."
