A/N: ugh, this chapter was hard to write for some reason. I suppose it meandered too much. Forgive me for any OOC, but for some reason I keep playing with my favorite companions in game, and I haven't gotten to know the others too well, so I've taken some liberties. I hope you enjoy it, anyway :'D
Chapter Four: Mr. Snuggles' Surprise
The voice behind Fenris was strong, confident, authoritative—and he had obeyed, he had taken a full step, away from the door and into the street. The suddenness of the movement, of taking an action that wasn't of his own volition, slapped him in the face. He was no longer a slave. He didn't have to obey every command without question. He stopped and tried to pretend that the step was only so he could turn and get a better look at Hawke, standing behind him in the now open doorway, his eyes over his shoulder scanning the crowd for the girl.
Still, it took every ounce of willpower to question, "What?"
"Follow her," Hawke repeated, sounding distracted. "We can't let her think she's useful to us." He gave up searching for the bright green tunic and dropped his eyes down to Fenris. He saw the elf's eyebrows drawn downwards into a frown, and knew he was sounding too harsh, too bitter, too jealous…? True, he didn't like the instant rapport between Fenris and Hrodwynn, but this wasn't the time to bring that up. Instead, he used that connection to his advantage. "If she feels she's a part of our group, she may try to come with us. And the Deep Roads are full of dangers we can't imagine, definitely not a place for a little girl. She could get hurt if she comes with us, or worse." He reached out and set a hand on his shoulder companionably, mindful of the strange and spiky armor. "For her own sake, it would be better to keep her out of this as much as possible. So follow her to this healer friend of hers. After she leaves, speak with him yourself. Convince him to help us, or to meet me in the Hanged Man tonight and I'll convince him. But we have to keep Hrodwynn out of this, for her own good. She's just a little girl, after all."
She's not a child, Fenris felt the impulse to argue, but he had control over himself once more and his disagreement remained silent. He could see the wisdom in Hawke's words, so without any further sign of protest, he turned to pick up Hrodwynn's trail.
She wasn't hard to follow, her green tunic coming into sight after a few minutes. She wasn't moving quickly, either, more meandering through the streets, stopping at a stall now and then to look at some brightly colored ribbon or bit of cloth. She even bought a yellow ribbon before she seemed done with her shopping for the day. Her pace picked up then, and he followed her down several streets and around a few corners, before they eventually made their way into Darktown.
The sun was just about to set. Down here beneath the city, however, it didn't matter if it was day or night, as there was no view of the sky. The buildings were dismal, carved out of the very earth, some of them no more than a small hollow in a tunnel wall with a large board for the doorway. The people, mostly expatriate Fereldens, moved listlessly through what passed for a street, whether due to poor health or outright sickness or a lack of caring.
It grew harder to follow Hrodwynn, not only because her tunic didn't show as bright without the sunlight, and her red hair faded to auburn in the dismal tunnels. It was also because she began to move as listlessly as the crowd, her steps slow and her course meandering like it had in Hightown, but without any rhyme or reason. She simply appeared, well, like every other Ferelden down there, and following her became more of a challenge.
He couldn't say why, but his enjoyment increased with the difficulty.
The crush of bodies became another obstacle. Fenris quickly discovered there was a flow to the masses, and he was often battling his way upstream. Several times he had to steer to the side, squeeze against the stone and earth until the tides of movement changed, allowing him to inch forward once more. She seemed either impervious to the flow, or oblivious to it, slipping around eddies and avoiding rip currents like it was second nature to her. Twice the disparity of their progress caused her to slip from his sight, and left him with several minutes of intense searching until he spotted her hair or tunic or that yellow ribbon clutched in the fingers of her left hand. Still, that was only because she remained on the street. Had she ducked into a building while out of his sight, he would have lost her completely.
He was infused with adrenaline by the time they reached their destination, his lips parted to allow for his heavy breaths, his face slightly flushed with his increased heart rate. He almost felt disappointment when he saw her stop outside a door, fumbling for a moment at the latch. He had just begun to consider his current state, with that analytical part of his mind which never quite shut off and always viewed and reviewed his actions and reactions…
"This is my home."
Hrodwynn's sudden statement was surprising, and undoubtedly directed at him. She turned so he could see her face, and even in the dim torchlight, her bright green eyes glittered like emeralds, a striking contrast to the paleness of her skin. Dark red lips pouted, dark red brows scrunching in disapproval when he brazenly stepped up to her. "What are you doing? Following me?"
Venhedis, what could he answer? Outwardly, initially, yes, he had been following her. But now…?
"Hawke put you up to this, didn't he?" she narrowed her eyes, taking his silence as admittance. She made a small face and glanced away before looking him directly in the eye. "Well, just so you know, this is where I live, alright? It's late enough, my healer friend has probably closed his clinic for the day. Tell Hawke I'll still talk with my friend, probably in the morning. And there'll be plenty of time to meet him at the Hanged Man, if that's what he's worried about."
No, that wasn't what he was worried about, but again Fenris couldn't find the words. He saw her expression change, from irritation to confusion to disinterest. She turned back to the door, and his hand reached out, intending to turn her face towards him again.
"I wanted to see you got home safely."
The words just sort of… spurted from his mouth, awkward and unwarranted, and hung there in the space between them like his hand. She didn't turn around, she didn't see his hand. If anything she glanced further away before saying to the door, "Well, I'm home, safe, so thanks." The wooden portal opened and closed to swallow her petite form, leaving Fenris alone in the street.
Automatically his steps began taking him away, his course set for the Hanged Man. Even as his eyes scanned for danger, his thoughts scanned the little episode. Somehow she had known he'd been following her. Somehow she had known—or made an educated guess—that Hawke had been the reason. Briefly he considered the possibility that, because she had discovered his surveillance, she had lied to him about arriving at her home rather than the healer's shop. For some reason, however, he didn't think she'd lie, not to him. She had stepped inside that building, without a knock to ask permission, or a call to alert someone to her presence. No, she had entered the building just like she lived there.
He pushed her out of his mind as he reached Lowtown. The sun was fully gone by this point, and there would no doubt be thieves and highwaymen lying in wait for any unsuspecting pedestrian. Not that he was unsuspecting, or posed any sort of tempting target, but he never took chances. Ever at odds with the world, with fate, Fenris remained on constant guard until he reached the Hanged Man.
The atmosphere inside the tavern was as it had been the night before, overwhelming and palpable. He ignored it as best he could and made his way over to Varric's table. Briefly he wondered if the dwarf had rented the table as well as the room, holding court there once again, drinking and telling stories to any who would listen. The group was smaller tonight, the two Hawke siblings and Isabela, who was probably only there because she also rented a room. Fenris strode up to them and nodded curtly in greeting.
"Fenris! That was… quick," began Hawke, his exuberant spirit dwindling away as he looked around them, "…and fruitless. Where's the healer?"
Fenris took a seat, his face impassive. "She knew I was following her. Instead of going to see him, she simply went home."
"She went…" he snapped his mouth shut, figuring it wouldn't be any help stating the obvious. "And you believed her? She could have been lying, and how would you know!" That wasn't the right thing to say either, Fenris' expression growing even darker.
"I realized, once she knew I had been following her on your behest," Fenris began, his harsh voice low like a growl, "That she could have said something like that to throw me off the scent. I don't believe she would lie to me, however."
"Why? Because she has a crush on you?" Carver took exception at Hawke's taunt, but couldn't manage more than a startled scoff. "Oh, don't look so disappointed, Carver. I told you a kitten would be less fuss."
He was so caught up in his brother's reaction, he missed the expression that flickered across Fenris' face. Varric saw it, but he wasn't so deep in his cups as to give in to the impulse to point it out to everyone. Isabela started teasing Carver about his interest in the girl, which in turn fueled Hawke's irritation.
Fenris sat quietly mulling over the idea. Did Hrodwynn have a crush on him? He thought she had just been nice the other day, coming to see him and tend a wound he had been too preoccupied to notice. But she had been more than eager to come to his home again today, thinking she would be seeing him and only him. Perhaps Hawke had a point; perhaps Hrodwynn did feel some sort of adolescent attraction towards him. He breathed a heavy sigh; such a thing would get her hurt. He'd have to find a way to discourage her. A broken heart over a childish crush would be a lot less painful than a knife through the heart for assisting an escaped slave.
Hawke gave up trying to interfere with Isabela teasing Carver about Hrodwynn. Rolling his eyes away from them, he finally noticed Fenris' silence. He wondered what was going through his head, his expression so grim, so determined.
So strong.
He had felt his own attraction to Fenris from the very first moment. He was so lithe and graceful in battle, yet so awkward and unskilled in dealing with people. He found himself fascinated by the stark contrasts, intrigued by the dark mystery, and wondering about his tastes.
"Well, it doesn't matter now," he dismissed all the arguing with a flick of his fingers. "We're going to have to trust Hrodwynn to speak to this healer friend of hers on our behalf. Hopefully, she can convince him to meet with us. Then," he looked pointedly at Carver, "We'll have to make sure she doesn't invite herself along on our expedition. For her own safety, of course."
Varric smirked into his mug. He suddenly had the urge to make sure that Hrodwynn came with them into the Deep Roads, if only to watch the interactions between Hawke and Carver and Fenris. And he could do it, too; all it would take would be a well-placed word or two with his brother. Sure, Bartrand could be obstinate and insufferable, and Varric hadn't handled the situation with Hawke in the best manner, but he knew he could get Hrodwynn into their little group, as long as she had something useful and unique to offer.
He glanced at Hawke's smug expression, Carver's pout, and the brooding look on Fenris's face. Oh, yes, this was going to make for an interesting story.
At the very least, it would be fun.
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"Anders?" Hrodwynn asked, dangling the yellow ribbon just out of the kitten's reach, the tiny, pink padded paws batting at empty air. It was late, the clinic closed and the two of them enjoying a small supper. Theirs was a simple arrangement, started after she had ducked inside one evening to find a warm place to spend a winter night. They had passed the time talking, and by morning had a sort of understanding worked out. She brought in the coin, made sure he ate every day and got some sleep every night—in other words, didn't work himself to death trying to save every sick person in Darktown. In turn, he gave her the use of the small loft over his clinic—and if anyone ever came asking after her, he'd say he didn't know anyone who fit her description. It wasn't ideal, but it kept her off the streets at night. And, thankfully, he didn't comment on her legally dubious activities, and she didn't comment on his fondness for cats.
"Anders," she repeated, looking across the table at him, "How can some aches be loud, and others quiet?"
He blinked and set aside his spoon, seriously considering her question. "Well, I suppose, an ache could be heard if it came from a swollen joint, one that might make a popping noise when moved. Or if the afflicted person moaned when feeling the ache, or if the ache was severe enough to inhibit their movements, say, causing them to drop things or stumble into furniture. By contrast, a quiet ache would be simply felt by the person, and no one else would know about it. Does this answer your question?"
She let her hand lower a little too far, and the kitten managed to steal the ribbon from her fingers. "I… guess so…"
He heard the lingering confusion in her words, and decided to pursue the subject. "I'm curious. What was the context of this question?"
She sighed, watching but not entertained by the kitten trying to run off with the brightly colored strip of fabric, tangling his legs and attracting the attention of the other kittens. "Someone mentioned an ache the other day."
"Oh, one of these new friends of yours?" he guessed, referring to the people she had told him about in the Hanged Man, the ones who wanted to meet him.
She hummed an agreement, nodding as she picked her spoon back up, pushing around the chunks of vegetables in the savory stew. "We were just talking, exchanging names and the like, and one of them asked if my ache was silent."
It took a full ten count for Anders to figure it out. "'H'!" he exclaimed so suddenly it made her jump, lifting wide green eyes up from the wrestling kittens. "They asked if the 'H' was silent." At her dumbfounded nod, he felt like slapping his forehead. He hadn't known her for more than a few months, but it had been long enough for him to figure out there were some subjects Hrodwynn was sensitive about, and her lack of education was one of them. Calming himself, he patted his robes and searched his pockets, hoping to find a stylus and parchment. Giving up, he dipped his finger in the stew and, in very large lines, began drawing on the tabletop. "They were talking about your name," he explained, his tone of voice as gentle as he could manage, pointing out the letters as he continued. "It starts with the letter 'H', but there's no 'H' sound in your name, ha, ha. Instead the sound starts with the second letter, 'R', r-r-r-r-rodwynn. Understand? The 'H' is silent."
No, he hadn't handled that well, judging by the pink color flooding across her cheeks. Quickly he decided to change the subject, wiping up the gravy with the sleeve of his robe. "So, ah, tomorrow, are you sure about this?"
She took a deep breath, standing up and bringing her bowl to the wash basin, giving herself time to get the heat off her cheeks. "If you're willing to meet them, then yes, we should take precautions. I don't really know this Hawke or his friends. They seem nice," she tipped the last of her stew into a bowl for the mother cat and all her kittens. He followed her, gently shooing a kitten out of the way with the side of his boot, "For the most part, and I don't think they're working for the Wardens, or they probably wouldn't have been looking for work from Anso." She took his bowl from him and did the same, only the kittens wouldn't move out of the way, so some of the stew ended up on the tops of some heads. "But Hawke wasn't interested in me until after I sort of mentioned to Fenris that I knew a healer in Darktown. So maybe they've heard about the bounty, and decided to turn you in to the Templars for the reward. Then again, maybe Hawke does have legitimate business with you. Either way, just stick to the plan; you'll be safe because no one will be expecting it."
"You don't trust Hawke, do you."
It wasn't a question, but she answered, "No, it's not that I don't trust him. I just don't like him. And I get the impression he doesn't like me. I suppose it doesn't matter what he thinks of me, but since he wants to bring one of my friends into this…"
Anders watched her green eyes glitter like emeralds, hard and regal. He appreciated her loyalty, and again blessed whatever fate or power that had given her the impulse to find shelter in his clinic one night last winter. And he feared the day he ever found himself at odds with such a determined and resourceful young woman.
"It's late, you should go to bed," he suggested. "I'll do the washing up."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but had already started turning away, more than willing to leave him to it. "You'll go to bed afterwards and get some sleep, too, won't you?"
"I promise," he nodded. "No more work tonight. Now, go to bed. And don't forget to take your ribbon to add it to your collection." He leaned over and placed a brotherly kiss on her forehead. She gave him a small smile and started for the ladder to the loft, pausing to pick up her ribbon—abandoned in favor of the stew. "Just a moment, don't forget your kittens. I, ah, can't remember which ones are yours."
"That's alright. They know which ones they are. Watch." She had stopped at the ladder and tapped the side of her boot against it, making a noise like she was climbing upwards. Two kittens pulled themselves away from the furry pile around the empty feeding bowl and bounded towards her. She gave a little laugh, reached down to scoop them up into one arm, and then began climbing the ladder for her loft.
Anders listened to her moving around up there as he began washing up. He was glad she was in his life, seeing her as the little sister he never had, and enjoying her companionship and loyalty. He did feel sorry for her, however; not knowing all that much about her past, he could tell she had never had much of a childhood, and though she fiercely insisted she was old enough to make her own way in life, there were little things she did—like her collection—that told of this denied childhood.
He sighed and set the last dish aside, thinking he just might mix up one or two batches of healing potion before going to bed.
"Good night, Anders," her voice called out from over his head. She must have heard him finish with the dishes, and decided to remind him of his promise. He looked at the ceiling, as if he could look through it and see the girl, lying on her bed amidst the bright bits of ribbons and remnants.
"Good night, Hrodwynn," he called back. Turning away from his work, he blew out the candles and headed for his own bed.
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"She did say she would be here," Hawke harrumphed, sitting next to Varric, his arms crossed. His mood was cross, too, something that had Fenris instantly on edge.
"You said she'd meet you here in the afternoon," Carver reminded him, his tone slightly exasperated, "And it's barely midday. Give her a few hours at least before you get all pissy."
Hawke was about to retort, but he realized in time his little brother was trying to get him riled up. Like he needed any more excuses. He uncrossed his arms, just to make a point, and began drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
The door opened and everyone turned to see who had entered. Their eyes quickly grew disinterested at yet another commoner, hood up and shoulders hunched to ward against the chilly day. Fenris couldn't say why he automatically followed the newcomer's movements, taking careful note of where he sat with his back to the wall. Thinking about it, he realized it probably had more to do with Hawke's mood, than any real sign of danger. Hawke was agitated; and it was a long-ingrained behavioral pattern for Fenris to be in a higher state of alertness when Danarius had been in such a state of mind…
He didn't want to admit why Hawke would cause such a reaction within him, preferring to think it was because Hawke was a friend, and any friend who was upset or in danger would cause the same sort of hyper-awareness and protectiveness.
Still, he forced himself to relax, to lean back a little on the bench, and make his eyes scan the whole tavern. The conversation of the others washed over his ears, a low kind of hum in the back of his head. He heard what they talked about: the jokes and stories Varric told, the discussion Isabela had with Merrill regarding her previous conquests, and the petty verbal bickering between Hawke and his brother. Outwardly he made small noises when appropriate, but inwardly he focused all his attention on letting go of that premonition of danger.
Varric and Isabela were in the middle of a discussion, possibly about daggers—Fenris wasn't sure as he had missed that part of the conversation. Apparently Carver had, too, as he suddenly coughed into his mug, his face turning red. The main door opened and Hrodwynn walked in, still in that bright green tunic that matched her eyes so closely. She glanced through the room, smiling when she found them at their normal table. Briefly Fenris wondered why she had looked around; surely she knew where they sat every day.
"There you are!" she said as brightly as her tunic, approaching them. "No Aveline today?" Her brow furrowed a little, as if the lack of the city guardsman upset her. She took a seat next to Carver, who's welcoming smile was warm enough to cover his brother's cold reception.
"She's not interested in today's business. And you're late," accused Hawke, eyeing her across the table and past the end of his pointing finger. "I have better things to do, than wait around all day for you to play at being a messenger service."
"I… ah… you asked to meet here during the afternoon, and I got here before evening, didn't I?"
"I don't need your cheek, young lady," he shook the finger at her.
"And I don't need your scolding," she countered. "I did this as a favor to you, remember? And no one said I had to help you. In fact, for all I know, this could be a Templar trap, set to capture my friend." She stood up abruptly, like she was ready to leave that moment.
"Templars?" Hawke asked, genuinely confused by her sudden accusation. "What do you mean? I know you mentioned some 'bad people' were after your friend, but I thought you meant thieves or cutthroats, not… Templars?" The look on her face was answer enough. He rolled his eyes and turned to the dwarf next to him. "Damn it, Varric, you didn't mention there'd be any Templar entanglements."
"I'd only heard rumors," answered Varric, trying to protest his innocence, "That there was a healer in Darktown who might know of some forgotten entrances into the Deep Roads. Nothing about any Templars…"
"Wait," Hrodwynn held up her hand, retaking her seat. "You mean, you're not working for the Templars? Or the Wardens? You really are only interested in some information?" She had hoped that was the case, Hawke being a mage and all, but he might have been working undercover as an apostate or something. She had to make sure, first, before Anders walked into a trap.
Fenris noted that the man in the hood had stood up, but relaxed again when it appeared he was going upstairs, not to their table. He also noted that everyone at the table took notice of his movement—everyone but Hrodwynn. She resolutely kept her eyes glued on Hawke's face, making her lack of reaction remarkable. Fenris glanced towards the stairs, but the man had reached the top landing and disappeared around the corner. He turned his attention back to her, watching her even closer than before. He had thought she was trustworthy, but he had been wrong before.
Hawke was having entirely different thoughts. Damn, but he hadn't wanted Hrodwynn to figure any of this out. He would have cursed Varric's loose tongue, but the dwarf grinned unrepentantly at him, making him think the slip had been on purpose. "Like Varric said," he began, hating the idea but knowing he had no choice, "We only want to talk with the healer. We don't know if he's even the healer with the information we need. So, no, Hrodwynn, this is not a trap." He leaned closer, "Now tell us, what did your friend say? Did he agree to meet us?"
She was silent for a few seconds, before she looked around at all the others at the table. "Can we talk in private?"
"Anything you tell me, I'll be telling them as soon as I can, you know."
She set her chin. "That's up to you. I made a promise, to speak with you in private. The sooner that's done, the sooner I'm out of your hair." She knew that last part would get him, and predictably Varric spoke up.
"You could use my room. Just at the top of the stairs."
Hawke looked like he wanted to argue, but as she hoped, the thought of getting rid of her quickly was too tempting. "Fine," he sighed, a little overly dramatic for the situation, "Let's go get this over with."
He pushed away from the table, and she followed obediently at his heels, neither one noticing the way Fenris kept his eyes trained on them.
Varric's room was cozy and somewhat messy, giving the impression that he had lived here for some time. Hrodwynn didn't touch anything, only stepping inside a few paces. Hawke walked to the center of the room before turning and crossing his arms over his chest. She wouldn't have been surprised if he started tapping his foot, the stance was so comical.
"Well?"
"His name is Anders," she began, still standing near the door. "Well, that's not his name, it's where he's from, but that's what everyone calls him. He's… ah… a healer, a mage actually, and a Warden, but he's on his own now. So you understand there are quite a few people looking for him, and very few who are his friends."
"Yes, I got that impression already. Has he agreed to meet with me?"
She kept herself from rolling her eyes, barely. "In a moment."
"You'll tell me in a moment?" he repeated, incredulous. "Why can't you tell me now."
"No, I mean…" she stopped, tilting her head to listen at the knock on the door. Three sharp taps, followed by two slow thuds. She flashed a smile at Hawke and said, "I'll let him explain." Two quick steps and she was at the door, holding it open for a hooded man.
"Who are you?" asked Hawke, angry enough over his conversation with Hrodwynn to be flustered with the presence of an unusual visitor.
The man pulled back his hood, revealing a strong face framed with strawberry blond hair and at least three day's worth of stubble. "She was supposed to have told you my name by now."
"I did," she protested, closing the door firmly. "Hawke, this is Anders, the healer you were asking about. Anders, this is Hawke. I thought you were going to wait a little longer."
Anders shrugged, "I saw someone I recognize—and trust—sitting at the table with him. I figured, if Isabela sees something in this Hawke fellow, he can't be as bad as you've made him out to be."
Hrodwynn groaned and hid her face behind a hand, but was saved from any sort of retaliation from Hawke. A pathetic mewl spilled out of one of Anders' pockets, and he coughed. "Excuse me. Would you like a kitten?"
"A what?" Hawke blinked at him.
Anders pulled two kittens out of two pockets. "A kitten. Mr. Snuggles surprised me a few weeks ago. Well, I suppose I should call him Mrs. Snuggles now. Or Ms. Snuggles. Never did figure out who the tom was. Anyway, I have several kittens I'm trying to find homes for. Would you like one?"
Hawke's eyes were wide as he looked at the fuzzy fur balls hanging in his hands. "Ah, no, thank you, I'm, ah, allergic to cats."
"Oh," Anders sounded disappointed, but not upset.
"Why don't you give them to Hrodwynn?"
She laughed, "I already have two. But I'll take these and see if I can find them a home while you two talk. Come on, kitties, maybe the bartender has a problem with mice." She continued to coo and coddle them as she walked to the door to let herself out. She was confident in Anders' opinion of Hawke. She still didn't like the arse, but if Anders knew Isabela, and Isabela trusted Hawke, then she supposed she could trust Hawke not to turn him in to the Templars or the Wardens.
"Sorry about that," Anders said after the door had closed, "But Hrodwynn is a little overly dramatic at times."
"So I've noticed," hummed Hawke. "I take it this subterfuge was her idea, all the privacy and cloaks and secret knocks."
It wasn't a question, but Anders nodded anyway. "There are several people after me—most of them want me dead or tranquil—so yes, this was her plan to keep me safe, give me an option to back out and get away if it was a trap. She means well, truly she does." He draped his cloak over the back of a chair. "Hrodwynn is a fiercely loyal friend, a good thing to have at your back, even if she's over zealous at times. Now, what was it you wanted to talk with me about? If you don't mind, I'd like to get this over with so I can get back to my clinic."
Hrodwynn didn't hear any of their conversation, intent on making her way back to the common room, and maybe sitting beside Carver for a little while. She had closed the door and gotten to the top of the stairs when she came face to face with Fenris. It was so sudden and unexpected, that she dropped one of the kittens to the floor. "Oh!"
"Hrodwynn," he said, his voice deep and dangerous, sending shivers down her spine. The dropped kitten, after shaking off the surprise, promptly began pawing at Fenris' ankle. He looked down, slightly confused, at the kitten trying to climb his leg.
"Fenris!" she said, losing all sense of composure. She bent down to pick up the kitten, at the same time he did, and she had to stop quickly before they bumped heads. She let him pick up the kitten, holding it carefully in his gauntleted hands.
"What…?" he couldn't find the words to finish voicing the question. He stared distractedly at the kitten, pawing and gnawing on his hands, not intimidated at all by the eery streaks of lyrium marking his palms, or the razor sharp points at the ends of his fingers.
"Hey, she likes you."
He pulled his eyes up from the warm, soft bundle in his hands to pin her with his stare. "Where's Hawke?"
"In there," she thumbed over her shoulder, "Talking with Anders."
"The man in the cloak."
She looked up at him finally, and felt a jolt of apprehension at the look on his face. Quickly she tumbled through an explanation, just to ease his worries. "Yes. I had Anders wait to make sure this wasn't a trap, but he said he saw Isabela—I guess they know each other—anyway, he decided Hawke was alright, if she thought so, so now they're talking. Want one?"
He hadn't followed half of that. He latched on to the last thing she had said and asked, "Want one what?"
"Kitten," she gestured with the one she was holding to the one he was holding. "I bet that mansion you're living in has a few mice; you could use a good mouser. Their mother's a champion mouser in Darktown."
"I'll, ah, consider it," he tried to evade, but he did start following her downstairs, distracted by the kitten's apparent and instant fondness for him, its little body practically vibrating with its purrs.
"Fenris, I see you've finally gotten a little pussy!"
Isabela's voice rang through the common room, making every eye turn to stare at them. "What? No, just Hrodwynn. I mean, it's her pussy… kitten."
Carver's mouthful of ale went straight out his nose. Varric roared with laughter, slapping Carver's back to help him spit out the last of the ale. Isabela's eyes danced, more than satisfied that she had flustered Fenris. She had flustered Hrodwynn, too, judging by the bright pink spots on her cheeks.
"I don't get it," Merrill chirped, "What's so funny? Oh, wait, you don't mean…" She stared at Fenris and Hrodwynn, took in the matching kittens and awkward expressions. "They wouldn't have had enough time for that, would they?"
Carver's face was red, he was trying so hard to catch his breath. Varric sighed, "Have another drink, Merrill."
