Chapter Nine: One Wrong Turn…
On one level, Fenris was aware of everything around them as they approached the gates of Kirkwall. His gaze scanned the countryside for danger. He answered negatively to every color Isabela guessed. He noted the way Carver shyly held Hrodwynn's hand, and the soft giggle that accompanied her blushing cheeks.
Most of his attention, however, was focused inwardly on his private struggle. No doubt the others thought he was brooding, reviewing the battle with the dragon, finding his mistakes and working on strategies to keep himself from making the same mistakes again. He let them assume, as the truth was far too personal to admit to anyone—almost too shocking to admit to himself. The one scene from the battle that kept playing over and over within his thoughts, was not how he let the dragon strike him from his blindside…
…but how he had almost kissed Hrodwynn.
She had raced out to help him, had seen the dragon about to roast them with its fiery breath, and had tried to shield him with her body. He had also seen what was about to happen, and he had turned the tables on her, had ignored the white-hot poker of pain in his leg to roll her beneath him, and had become her shield, their faces so close together they could taste the other's breath. He knew, if Hawke hadn't stepped in and knocked the dragon's fire off course, he would have kissed Hrodwynn, he would have died with his lips pressed to hers…
"Elf, if I get you a first place ribbon, would you stop brooding?"
Fenris turned to look at Varric, his expression unchanging, and lied, "I'm not brooding at this moment."
"Bullshit," Varric challenged. "I bet you haven't heard the last dozen or so colors Isabela's guessed."
Carver kept hold of Hrodwynn's hand, asking, "You don't have anything pressing to do later, do you? I mean, we could meet at the Hanged Man, for drinks or something."
Fenris tried not to listen to Carver's clumsy attempt to ask Hrodwynn out on a date. Instead he tried to take a small amount of pleasure in reciting, "Robin's egg, cobalt, azure, indigo, teal, cerulean, lapis lazuli, sapphire, bluebonnet, ceil, cornflower, periwinkle…"
"Alright, alright," Varric held up his hands, "I give up. You are a remarkable elf; you can brood and pay attention. Bully for you."
"I'd, ah, love to," Hrodwynn smiled timidly. She had been thinking of getting home and flopping onto her bed and sleeping for a solid day, but all thoughts of home and rest sped from her mind in the face of Carver's offer.
"Is it even in the vicinity of blue?" Isabela asked, eyeing the gates as they passed through into the city.
"Haven't the two of you spent enough time together?" Hawke groused at his younger brother, knowing full well his disapproval would only encourage Carver—and Carver's pursuit of Hrodwynn would ingratiate Fenris to him.
"No," Fenris answered Isabela truthfully, trying to ignore whatever sort of pathetic protest Carver was making. As much as he hated seeing her with another man, he knew it would be best for Hrodwynn. "And your time's up; we're back in Kirkwall."
"It's been trying enough," Hawke continued, "Watching the two of you blush and giggle. Couldn't you take an afternoon off? Let the poor girl catch her breath?"
"Damn," Isabela muttered. The small troupe reached a market square, where several major streets intersected. No doubt they were all going to go their separate ways, but she wasn't about to give up so easily. "Still, how do I know you're not lying."
Hrodwynn shook her head, as Carver and Hawke began a small row. She turned away, not wanting Hawke to see the expression on her face. They had just started to get along, after all, and for Carver's sake she didn't want to make things worse between them. But she couldn't really understand why he was so upset over her and Carver wanting to spend time together. And Hawke had to see how, the more he tried to discourage his brother, the more Carver insisted he wanted to be with her. The thought hit her that Hawke knew exactly how Carver would react, but that would mean he was actually encouraging Carver to pursue her.
"Lying?!" Fenris protested, mildly emotional for once.
"Bluffing, if you prefer," Isabela amended placatingly. "I want some sort of proof, before I pay up. An unbiased judge or… or… or show me your underpants!"
Hrodwynn barely heard the others, her eyes growing wide as she tried to take in every detail. Not half a block down the street, a party of a half-dozen or so thugs came into view. They were men and women she recognized. And worse, it looked like they might have seen her. Her heart raced as she brought a hand up to hide her face, appearing to be scratching at her hair while peeking around her palm. The group was walking slowly, looking like they were strolling down the street, not heading towards her and the others, but perhaps to a shop or a stall a few yards away. Maybe they hadn't spotted her yet, but something in the way they walked, the swords and daggers belted at their waists, the leader intentionally not looking at her and the others…
"Where would the sport be in that?" Fenris evaded. "Besides, I'm not dropping my leggings in the middle of Hightown just to win a bet. Aveline would have to arrest me."
"And I'm not giving up without some assurance… Hrodwynn!"
The girl jumped, almost squeaking guiltily as she spun around to face them.
"Hrodwynn," Isabela continued as if she hadn't noticed her reaction, more focused on settling her bet with Fenris. "Hrodwynn, you set Fenris' leg after the fight. You must've taken his leggings off to do so, right?"
Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and she was sure her eyes were wide as saucers, but she forced herself to nod in answer.
"You've seen his underpants, haven't you?" It wasn't so much a question as a statement, and Isabela swept on without waiting for an answer. "And I'm sure you've heard most if not all of the colors I've guessed. So you be the judge: have I or have I not guessed the color of his underpants?"
Normally, her face should have been glowing red like fresh lava. With her mind on the thugs coming up the street, however, she was able to keep herself from blushing about what she had seen beneath Fenris' leggings. Still, she didn't trust herself to look at him, just in case, and steadily kept Isabela's gaze as she answered truthfully, "You haven't."
Isabela's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she knew the girl wasn't lying. "I don't get it. I must've named every color imaginable. Unless…" her voice trailed away as she tilted her head, "Is it a pattern of some sort? Like polkadots or plaid?"
"No," Fenris shook his head, and Hrodwynn agreed when Isabela turned back to her.
"Damn!" she cursed softly.
"I've got to go, Hawke," Aveline broke in. "I've been out of the city for severals days; I should check in and make sure the place hasn't fallen apart during my absence."
"Of course, my dear Aveline," he broke off his fight with Carver to bow over her hand. "Drinks later, at the Hanged Man?"
"No more guesses," Fenris stated plainly. "You've lost the bet."
"Are you sure?" Isabela pressed Hrodwynn, her ample bosom looming intimidatingly over her. "He didn't promise you a percentage of his winnings, if you lied for him, did he?"
"What winnings?" Hrodwynn refused the nervous urge to lick her lips. Dammit, she wanted to peek over her shoulder and see where those thugs were, but she couldn't do so without alerting the others. "The bet was double or nothing—if you won, he'd have owed you six silvers, double his previous debt. As it stands, his debt to you is wiped off the board, but he didn't win anything, either."
"I'll make it if I can, Hawke," Aveline vaguely promised. Promptly she turned on her heel and stalked off.
"She's been touchy ever since the fight with the dragon," Merril commented, watching her walk away.
"She's always a bit grouchy when she misses a fight," Varric agreed. He wasn't so concerned with Aveline, or with Hawke and Carver, even with Fenris and Isabela, as he was with Hrodwynn. He alone had noticed her odd behavior, and began casting about for the source of the girl's discomfort.
Isabela tapped the stud on her chin again, thinking carefully. "Hmm, I suppose you're right," she purred, her voice growing dangerous. With a wicked little smirk, she turned back to Fenris. "Alright, you win. But I'd like a rematch someday."
"Perhaps," Fenris allowed, relieved that Hrodwynn had played along. She must have… He also very carefully avoided looking at her, not wanting to know—to see confirmation on her face that she had seen… everything… Not that he felt embarrassment over having been exposed; being stripped so his leg could be set was chaste compared to some of the things he had done, and had been done to him, in his past. It was only that it wasn't, well, proper for someone as young and innocent as she was to see such a thing. "Until next time, Isabela," he gave Isabela a short though proper bow, which only made her smile deepen.
"I should go, too, I suppose," chirped Merril.
"I'll go with you," Isabela said, taking her arm. "Or rather, you'll come with me. I need a new scarf, and there's a stall down the next street that sells the most stunning fabrics. I need a woman's opinion to help pick out something that will set off the color of my eyes."
"Oh, of course, I'd love to go shopping with you."
"Coming, Hrodwynn?" Isabela called over her shoulder.
No one had any doubt why Isabela wanted Hrodwynn to shop with her, but as the two were walking towards the Coterie thugs, Hrodwynn had even more reason than the color of Fenris' nonexistent small clothes to turn down her offer. "Ah, no, thanks, but I, ah, have a date with Carver. Sorry."
Isabela pouted beautifully, a bit wasted in the present company, but let the matter drop. She was sure there'd be another time she could corner the girl and get the truth from her. "Fine. Just me and Merril, then. Come on, the stall's this way. And I heard they've received a shipment of some lovely Orlesian silks earlier this week. Vibrant colors and intricate patterns…" her voice trailed away to be lost within the sounds of the other pedestrians on the street.
"I should be going," Fenris felt the need for a little solitude, the need for meditation to get his head straightened out. Through no fault of her own, Hrodwynn was becoming a source of discomfort and disruption in his life. He needed some space and time to study his reactions and regain his focus. And give her time to becoming thoroughly enamored with Carver.
"Do you have to?" Hawke pouted, taking half a step towards him. "I mean, I have a business proposition I'd like to discuss with you. Perhaps over drinks, at the Hanged Man?"
"Why do we always end up back there?" Carver asked.
"It's the cleanest tavern in town," quipped Varric.
"That doesn't say much about the other taverns, does it?" grumbled Fenris. "Perhaps tomorrow, Hawke. I have something else to see to, first."
"Until tomorrow, then," Hawke let him off the hook. He knew Fenris could see for himself how well Carver and Hrodwynn were hitting it off; he'd get his little favor out of the mysterious elf yet.
Hrodwynn suddenly noticed she was the only woman in their dwindling group. Not wanting to be the last one standing there, she made her own excuses. "I'll, ah, see you later," she mumbled, barely daring to glance over her shoulder. The thugs were no longer approaching them, but they weren't far enough away for comfort.
"Wait, Hrodwynn!" Carver called after her as she tried to slip away. She didn't turn around, as that would mean the thugs could see her face, but she did allow him to catch up with her. "What's the rush? I thought we had a date."
Fenris stopped, turning back to watch the unusual and unexpected exchange. Hawke was also interested in the two, wondering if he had pushed too hard and seeing his chances with Fenris go up in smoke. Varric was the only one not paying them attention, watching the street more than the young couple.
"I, ah, I'm not feeling well," she lied, prying Carver's fingers from her arm. "Look, just, I'll meet you at the Hanged Man later, alright? Tonight. Promise. Just… I gotta go…" She pulled away the last finger and let go, letting his hand drop to his side.
"What the…?" Carver stared after her retreating form, her dark red hair bobbing and weaving around the other pedestrians as she slipped away. Hawke and Fenris also stared after her as if they could see the cause of it etched like a symbol onto her cloak.
Varric heaved a heavy breath, eying the group of six or seven armed men and women who happened to duck into the same alley as Hrodwynn. "Shit," he breathed, looking up at the others. "Hawke, I think we've got trouble. Rather, Hrodwynn's got trouble."
"What do you mean?" he managed to ask before Carver could voice his own question.
"That alley she just entered," Varric nodded, already starting to walk in that direction. "There was a group that went in after her. Looked like members of the Coterie. Now, that might be a coincidence, but…"
"But given Hrodwynn's propensity for trouble," Hawke finished for him, "I doubt it, too. Damn!"
"Why would they be after her?" Carver's voice was tight as he fell into step beside Hawke and Varric. "She just did one job for them. It's not like she messed it up or anything, did she?"
Fenris thought about what she had confessed to him the other night, under the influence of the healing potion, how things hadn't turned out exactly as planned, how she had selfishly taken those few extra moments that messed things up. He didn't voice his opinion, thinking if she wanted them to know, she would have mentioned it without the aid of an intoxicating elixir. As they entered Darktown, he ranged ahead of the other three, knowing he could track her and the thugs better than the others.
"I don't know, Carver," Hawke's voice was genuinely concerned. "But come to think of it, she has been acting strangely since we got back to Kirkwall." He looked around the crowded and shadowy streets, but could see no sign of the girl or the thugs. Fenris, however, acted like he was hot on their trail, and putting his faith in the elf, he began to follow that stark white head of hair.
"I've been watching those Coterie thugs," Varric added, straining to keep up with Hawke, "Ever since I spotted them. Back in Hightown, they looked like they were interested in a particular stall, but one of them kept glancing over every time Hrodwynn's name was mentioned. As soon as she left, they followed her. In my book, that's never a good thing."
"But why?" Carver almost whined.
"I don't know," Hawke wanted to be cross with him, but allowed him the luxury of venting his confusion. Hawke had to keep his own confusion in check, or it would overpower his focus. And if they wanted to rescue Hrodwynn from whatever trouble she had gotten into, he needed to keep his focus. "We'll ask her when we catch up to her and make sure she's alright."
The three fell silent after that, each with their own worries, each with their own problems. Hawke was going over basic plans and strategies, trying to guess what had happened and anticipate what they would find. Carver's right hand was worrying at his belt, gripping the buckle in an effort to keep himself from whipping out his greatsword and charging to her rescue. Varric had given up entirely on keeping an eye out for Hrodwynn or the thugs, his stature making it difficult to see through the crowded streets. Instead he focused on staying within an arm's length Hawke and Carver, trusting them to keep sight of Fenris, and trusting him to track Hrodwynn.
The streets of Darktown were filled with bodies meandering like zombies, their faces blank and void of thought or emotion, their pace sporadic and oftentimes chaotic, their bodies and clothing stained and reeking. Varric hated this part of Kirkwall, avoided it at all costs, but Hrodwynn was in danger. For her…
For her, he'd move the Fade and the Void. That little girl had been through enough in her short life. Well, perhaps she wasn't quite so little, being taller than him. Nor was she so young as she sometimes appeared, being in the middle of that transitional stage, no longer a child yet on the cusp of womanhood. But not having a past, not knowing of your family or friends, and no sign that anyone had been looking for her all these years, was too much for anyone to bear on their own. Someone had to be her family. Someone had to care.
She had too much spunk to end up like the others down here, bled dry of any life or color.
Fenris was unaware of the others' internal turmoils, struggling to suppress his own so he wouldn't lose sight of Hrodwynn's pursuers. She had a long lead on them all, only an occasional flash of red hair letting him know she was still moving, still trying to get away. The thugs, however, were persistent, knowing the ebb and flow of the currents almost as well as she knew them. They had ranged out, one or two slipping off down a side street, presumably to head her off. Fenris cursed under his breath, knowing there was no way to warn her of the danger in time. All he could do was track, track and follow and hope that Hawke would know what to do when they reached the end of their journey.
All too soon he had to stop, leaning against the outside of an abandoned warehouse as he waited for the others to catch up. His sharp ears could hear sounds of talking coming from behind the door, one voice sounding a lot like Hrodwynn's, or so he told himself. No one sounded too excited or alarmed, yet…
"What is it?" Carver asked as they came up to him, "Where's Hrodwynn? Are they inside? Let's get in there…"
"And do what?" Hawke countered, gripping his brother's shoulder before he could reach the door. "We don't know what's going on. She might be meeting with them on purpose, for all we know."
"But she was nervous when she spotted them."
"Maybe because she didn't want us to notice them," Hawke spoke calmly, trying to ease his brother's fears, "Or for them to notice us. Let's find out what's going on first, then if she needs it, we'll rescue her. Fenris," he looked at the elf, still listening intently to what only his sharp ears could hear, "Can you slip inside, unnoticed, find out what's going on?"
He didn't smile, nor did he speak, but he did give a terse nod as he passed his hand into the latch of the door. Varric whistled between his teeth as Fenris undid the lock and pulled his hand back out before opening the door and disappearing within. When the brothers looked at Varric, he shrugged and said, "What? Call it professional admiration. An ability like that would be very useful in my line of work."
"What is your line of work, exactly?" Carver asked.
"If I told you," Varric's voice grew dark and dangerous, "I'd have to kill you."
Carver swallowed, half believing him.
Hrodwynn was having similar feelings, though finding it a bit more difficult to swallow. "Jaxon," she choked through the noose around her neck. It wasn't so tight as to cut off her air supply, but it was tight enough her fingers were having a hard time trying to loosen it. It didn't help that one of the thugs had thrown the other end of the rope up over a low rafter, and was threatening to pull it and lift her off her feet. As things were, she had to stand on her tiptoes to keep herself breathing. "Jaxon, you don't want to do this. Brekker likes me, remember? He'll have your balls…"
"Brekker will thank me," the thug in question, the leader of the little group, stared down at her reddening face. "He's pissed-off at you, you know. Not only did you screw up the job, but you skipped town. Shouldn't have done that, makes you look bad, running out on the boss."
"I didn't…" her words cut off as the man behind her tugged on the rope.
"You didn't what?" Jaxon taunted her, knowing it was too hard for her to speak. "You didn't muck things up? Or you didn't skip town?"
The man holding the rope eased off a little, and she managed a choked answer. "I didn't screw up. The whole point was to break into the safe, to make it appear that the location was not secure. The safe was broken into. Nothing stolen, but…"
"But Gallad was supposed to catch you in the act. Only you didn't show when you were supposed to, and someone else almost caught you."
"I got away!" she coughed. "Everything worked out!" The rope pulled tight again, the rough fibers rubbing her skin raw. She had managed to get a few of the fingers of her right hand between it and her skin, her left hand still clawing at the stiff hemp. She needed to hang on, to keep her wits about her. Jaxon was bluffing, he had to be bluffing. She only had to keep breathing, let him scare her or intimidate her or whatever he had planned, then he'd let her go. Desperately she tried not to think about his reputation, how he often went too far…
"Not according to plan," Jaxon shook his head at her. "You were only supposed to break into the safe, remember? That's it. Break in. Leave the contents untouched. But you rifled the papers. Took them three days to determine that nothing was stolen. Three days before they moved the merchandise to the other location. Three days that weren't in the plan. Three days that meant the boss missed his opportunity."
"I didn't know…" She didn't so much as speak as she mouthed the words. It was almost too hard to breathe, and she tried twisting her neck around to where her fingers fought to keep a little space open.
"Brekker went out on a limb, letting a little punk like you work on a job this size. And you blew it!" Jaxon stopped ranting, seeing what she was doing. Quickly he grabbed her wrist and pulled her fingers free, letting the rope tighten around her neck. He saw her face twist up in pain, the red color darkening, and smiled with sadistic satisfaction. "You're no longer his favorite little pet. Next time, you won't be his first choice. Next time, I'll be the one breaking into the Siggerdson."
"That's what this was all about?" she barely managed to wheeze. "You're jealous? Of me?" She tried to laugh, making a macabre scene, her lips stretched wide in a cross between a grimace and a grin, looking like a skull, a red corpse with dark red hair and bulging eyes. "I didn't know you liked men. I don't think Brekker does, but go ahead and try. I won't stand in your way…"
Jaxon struck her. The force easily split her lip, her face already swollen and flushed with blood. Her toes lost their purchase, making her swing and twist on the end of the rope before the man holding it let her regain her footing. Jaxon, however, had had enough. He still held her right hand, and signaled one of the others to take hold of it. "You think you're so fucking smart," he growled, pulling a pair of clippers from a pouch at his waist, "Laughing at us, while you play and act all coy and innocent, like a pretty young girl, twisting everyone around your little finger. Try that now. Try that, after I take a few of these childlike fingers."
Her vision was darkening at the corners, letting her know she didn't have much time left. "…don't…" she gasped, unable to pull away, unable to look away, as Jaxon brought the clippers to her hand. "…Brekker… won't…"
"Who do you think sent us to look for you?" Jaxon opened the clippers, taking perverse delight in sliding the cold metal around the base of her first finger. He squeezed, gently, just enough to break skin, just enough to draw blood. He felt her body jerk, her other hand pelt harmlessly at his shoulder before going back to trying to loosen the noose. He turned to look at her, smiling his enjoyment, his satisfaction. "Tell me, Hrodwynn, how hard will it be to break into a safe, without this finger?"
She opened her mouth, but could no longer find the air to make a sound. He was bluffing. Maker! He had to be bluffing. Even if he was telling the truth, even if she had screwed up the timetable, Brekker wouldn't want her dead much less maimed. She had broken into a Siggerdson. That was something only three or four people had done; and she was damn sure Jaxon wasn't one of them. Brekker wouldn't want her dead, he wouldn't want her useless to him. Scared, sure. Beaten, quite possibly. Raped even. But still able to work.
Unless he knew she was able to use her left hand as well as her right hand. Brekker might be pissed off enough to let Jaxon maim one hand, knowing she could still use the other…
Jaxon squeezed a little more, the metal slicing through the thin flesh and reaching bone. "This is where muscle comes into play."
"My thoughts exactly," a new voice sounded, somewhere out of her narrowing field of vision. Damn, but through the blood pounding in her ears, it sounded like Hawke. She had no strength left to even consider trying to twist and see who was there—if she hadn't imagined the voice. The noose was too tight, the clippers too tight, for her to attempt to move. Instead she hung here, dancing on her tiptoes, staring at Jaxon and his clippers.
Jaxon spun to face the intruders, one hand still holding the clippers in place. He saw two young men standing there, similar enough in coloring to be brothers. One held a greatsword in a competent manner, the other held a staff across his shoulders, his arms draped lazily over the thick rod. "Who are you fuckers?"
"Name's Hawke," the one with the staff spoke again, his stance appearing easy to anyone without a trained eye. Jaxon was no fool, had seen men hardened by adversity and war and death, and recognized those qualities in Hawke. "This is my brother, Carver. We'd appreciate it if you didn't damage our employee there."
"Your… employee?" Jaxon repeated.
"It means she works for us," Carver quipped, aiming the point of his sword at the nearest thug. "I told you anyone who was dumb enough to mess with us, won't be able to understand large words."
"I know what employee means, you jackass!" Jaxon almost shouted.
"Ah, my faith in humanity is almost restored. Now show yourself to be a smart fellow and let our friend go," Hawke nodded to Hrodwynn.
"Seems to me you're the ones should be showing yourselves to be smart, by leaving," Jaxon countered. "In case you can't count, we have you outnumbered, seven to two."
"Those would be bad odds," Hawke agreed, trying not to see how purple Hrodwynn's face was turning, or how quickly her fingers weakened at their clawing around the noose. "If they were accurate, I might be concerned. You fail, however, to take into consideration our positions."
"Positions? You and your brother are right there, surrounded by four of my best fighters."
Hawke allowed a smile to tug up one corner of his neatly trimmed beard. "A likely boast. I hardly think these are your best fighters, or they wouldn't have let me go on like this for so long. But I digress. By positions, I mean our friend up there with the crossbow."
Jaxon followed Hawke's nod, looking at a stack of crates off to the side. Lying on top was a dwarf with a nasty-looking crossbow aimed directly between his eyes. He shifted slightly, placing Hrodwynn in the way of any incoming bolts. "Fine. Seven to three. Still not very good odds."
"I make it four to four, don't you, Carver?"
"Quite," he said shortly. He wanted to start fighting already, his sword thirsting for blood. Seeing Hrodwynn growing weaker and weaker felt like torture. And all that blood coming from her hand…
"Four to four?" Jaxon repeated, confused. "Count again. Your numbers are off!"
"Not really. Three of you are tied up with Hrodwynn, one holding the rope, one holding her hand, and you holding the clippers. That leaves four to fight us. But there's not going to be a fight," he predicted, stepping forward menacingly, taking one arm down from around his staff to point at Jaxon. "Because either you loosen your grip on Hrodwynn…"
"Or what?" Jaxon made it appear he was about to snap the clippers closed. Suddenly he stopped, his expression turning to fear and surprise.
"Or I won't loosen my grip around your heart." Fenris' voice was harsh, as cruel as the thugs who had, until a few moments before, been eagerly watching a young girl being tormented.
The thug holding Hrodwynn's hand cursed; he hadn't even noticed the elf's approach, conned like everyone else into looking up at the dwarf on the crates. He thought about letting go and stepping away, but he didn't know what would happen if he did so, the strange elf glowing menacingly. Frozen in indecision, he looked to his boss for direction.
Jaxon was also at a loss for his next move. He believed Fenris, feeling the cold claws palpate within his chest. "Fuck!" he gasped, unable to fathom how such a thing could have happened. He trembled, every muscle in his body screaming for him to make a run for it.
"Go ahead," Fenris droned in his ear, reading his mind. "Pull away. My hand won't move. It'll stay exactly where it is." He leaned back slightly, as if he was giving Jaxon permission to try to get away. "Of course, your heart will also stay exactly where it is, within my fist. You'll be ripping your own heart out of your chest."
Jaxon's trembling stilled.
"There, Carver, I think he finally gets it." He didn't answer Hawke, adjusting his grip on his greatsword, feeling too anxious to acknowledge their victory. Not until Hrodwynn was free. Not until they were well away.
Hawke ignored his brother's petulant silence and took another step forward, swinging his staff easily from his shoulders to his hands. Jaxon tried to move back, remembered belatedly Fenris' fist around his heart, and settled on a pathetic whine. "Brekker won't forget this…"
"I hope not," Hawke readily agreed. "Hrodwynn works for me now. No one from the Coterie is going to come after her. Understood? If anyone does…"
Fenris' grip tightened right on cue.
"Let go of the clippers," Hawke suggested, "Very carefully."
Jaxon did so, the clippers falling away and leaving her hand intact. His men relinquished their own holds on her, letting go of her hand and the rope very gently. Hrodwynn wavered on her own two feet for a moment before she began to collapse. Carver sheathed his sword and raced to catch her before she could hit the floor. He cradled her on his lap, nearly breaking a fingernail in his eagerness to get the noose off her neck. Her eyes were open, but he couldn't be sure she had seen him. She was breathing, however, and encourage by the sign of life, he ripped off part of his tunic to wrap around her bleeding finger.
The atmosphere in the room had remained tense, no one daring to do more than breathe. "Carver…?"
"She's alive," he answered Hawke's prompt. He finished tying the makeshift bandage around her hand and lifted her up easily in his arms. Already the purple was fading from her face, though her breathing remained raspy and her eyes unfocused.
Hawke saw Varric climbing down the crates to join them, and knew it was time to go. "Well, it's been lovely having this little chat with all of you, but it's getting quite late and we must be going. Oh, I'm sure I don't have to mention the whole obvious, tedious 'don't-follow-us' bit. I think we've established you're intelligent enough not to need the warning. Good day, gentlemen. Fenris…"
Hawke had to say this last bit, looking at the elf who continued to stand there, his hand around Jaxon's heart, his expression dark. Truthfully Fenris hardly heard him, his thoughts full of the torment that Jaxon had just put Hrodwynn through, full of the torment he could inflict as justifiable retribution, full of the satisfaction he would feel when the blood-bloated muscle ruptured, hot liquid bursting out between his fingers…
"Fenris!"
He started out of his daydream, a little confused to find the man in front of him was still alive, and would remain alive. He hesitated a moment longer, feeling the heart beating rapidly with fear, before he finally withdrew.
Jaxon waited until the door closed, until the strangers and their unworldly elf were out of sight, before he dropped to his knees, the crotch of his leggings soaked.
Outside on the streets the four of them were hastening away as unobtrusively as possible. "Damn it, Fenris," Hawke ground out between his teeth, "You almost ruined everything back there."
"I fail to see the problem," he replied mildly, his eyes scanning before them as well as behind them for danger.
"You nearly killed the git," Hawke continued. "We need him alive, to report back to their boss that Hrodwynn is off limits."
"If I had killed him, it wouldn't have mattered," Fenris argued. "The others could just as easily deliver the message as he could have. In fact, his death would have only added emphasis to how serious you are regarding her safety."
"Could we argue ethics another time?" Varric suggested. "We really should get off the streets, in case that clip-happy maniac loses his wits and comes after us."
"Good idea. Besides, Wynnie needs a healer," Carver added his voice to Varric's argument.
"And just where do you think I'm leading us?" Hawke snapped. "Anders' clinic is only a few blocks away, around that corner."
Carver shifted her weight, but truthfully she was nothing in comparison to the sword strapped across his back. "Let's not dally, then. She's passed out."
In unison the other three men stopped and turned to look at the girl lying still in Carver's arms. "Is she breathing?" Varric beat Fenris to the question.
"Yes, she's merely fainted," he assured them. They started walking again, but Fenris took a moment longer before he could pull his gaze away to watch for trouble.
"After what she's been through, she's earned it," Hawke said with less heat, and far more concern than he had even shown towards her. Carver suppressed a smile; as much as he would have loved to tease his brother that he did care about Hrodwynn, now definitely wasn't the time.
They reached the clinic without any fuss, though quite a few people did take notice of the unusual troupe, four men—two of which were human, one a dwarf, the last an elf—and one young woman. One concerned elderly woman and her son took enough interest to follow them, probably thinking the four of them might have unsavory designs on the girl, but backed off when they saw them knock on the clinic door.
Anders opened the door, the light silhouetting him from behind. Even so, Hawke could see the dark circles under his eyes, and the lines of exhaustion around his mouth. Anders had a clear view of them, though his eyes ignored their battered armor and drawn weapons to settle worriedly on Hrodwynn's form lying boneless in Carver's arms. "Get in! Quick!" he hissed, walking with Carver and checking over Hrodwynn as they approached the table, trusting the others to close the door.
"Set her down. Gently," he added, unnecessarily.
"I will," Carver assured him, mindful of the blood-soaked bandage around her hand and the abraded state of her neck.
"Bloody Void…" Anders voice faded away into the room, no one daring to breathe, watching him as he examined her for every injury. His pale fingers dabbed gently at the raw skin around her neck, and shook while unwinding the bandage to see the twin slices on her finger. Assuring himself that was the extent of her hurts, he leaned back and began casting a spell, spreading his hands over her. His eyes and hands glowed, almost radiated, with whitish-blue rays of light before he released the spell.
Hrodwynn gasped, her body arching on the table, her eyes flying open to stare unseeingly into the room. Carver gave a small cry and leaned over her, gripping her shoulders as she closed her eyes and her body relaxed.
"She's alright," Anders assured him, "Just asleep." He watched for a moment while the young man continued to stroke the smooth skin of her neck and hand, needing to see for himself that she was healed. "Carver," he remembered his name from their introduction the night he met Hawke at the Hanged Man. "Carver, why don't you take her upstairs to her loft? She'll sleep for a little bit, and it'll be more comfortable if she's in her own bed."
He didn't need any more encouragement, easily lifting her once more. "Her loft?"
"Over here," Anders guided him over to where the ladder usually stood. He climbed onto a stool and reached up with his fingertips to push open the ceiling tile. Then he groped for a bit beyond the edge of the opening until he found a leg of the ladder. After he had pulled it down, Carver shifted Hrodwynn's weight to dangle over his shoulder before he attempted to climb up to her loft. They all watched him carry her upstairs, Fenris standing guard at the base of the ladder in case he should happen to lose his grip.
Once they were safely in her loft and out of sight, Anders rounded on Hawke. "Not a hair on her head!" he hissed, his face so close to Hawke's that a light film of spittle sprayed onto his cheeks. "You promised! You swore to me that not a hair would be harmed."
"Hey, Blondie, calm down," Varric tried to get between them, but Anders merely loomed over his shorter stature. Varric tried to ignore the insult, but he was getting damned tired of humans overlooking him—literally.
Hawke began to explain, stepping away from Anders, "She wasn't hurt on the trip. This happened after we got back to Kirkwall."
"Because of the job she did," Varric tried again, "For the Coterie."
At last Anders looked away from Hawke, his shoulders heaving with the effort of keeping himself under control. Fenris watched him warily, noting the signs, seeing the Abomination—that demon or spirit or whatever Anders preferred to call it—nearly break loose. Anders stepped away from all of them, reaching the table and gripping the edges tightly enough to whiten his knuckles. "The Coterie…?"
"Yes," Hawke said, cautiously. "After we got back to Kirkwall this afternoon, and Hrodwynn left us to come back here, we noticed she was being followed." Briefly he told Anders what had happened, the scene they had walked in on and all that they had overheard regarding the job. He knew it hurt Anders to hear how Hrodwynn had almost been maimed, even killed, but he wasn't going to keep anything from the man. Not if Hawke wanted his cooperation later. And everything turned out for the best, after all, mostly.
"She's not going to work for them, not anymore. She'll work for me from now on. And I promise you, Anders, I won't let her do anything dangerous."
Anders had turned back around to lean against the table, though he stared at the floor. He seemed calmer, acknowledging that the danger was past, that Hrodwynn was fine, that everything would be alright from then on. He even managed a smile of a sort, a timid and awkward gesture, but at least genuine. "I… I should be thanking you, Hawke, for all you've done for her, not blaming you for something that was out of your control." He paused to scratch at the side of his nose. "I've never spoken with her about it, telling myself she doesn't need me sticking my nose into her business. I'm not her father. I'm not any relation to her at all. I'm just a poor bloke she stumbled across one cold night. I've been a coward, fearful that she'll leave if I push too hard." He lifted his eyes up to Hawke. "She's special, she is, alive and vibrant, something rare and treasured in a place like Darktown. I… I couldn't bear it if I lose her."
"Do you mean," Hawke began to think he had made a mistake encouraging Carver, "You love her?"
"Yes, well, no, not that way, not like that, I mean, more like a little sister or a favorite niece really."
Anders said it so mildly, that Hawke nearly laughed with relief. Seeing that everything had worked out, more or less, and not hearing any noise from Hrodwynn's loft, he decided it might be time to leave. "We should, ah, be going, I think."
"Right," Varric agreed with Hawke. "We do have plans for drinks at the Hanged Man. In celebration of our successful little enterprise."
"Why don't you come with us?" Hawke offered. "Looks like you could use one or two stiff ones."
Anders gave a small smile. "As long as you're talking about drinks."
"He is," Varric assured him. "He has a date with Isabela for that other need."
"Oh, Maker," he swore, "Did you have to remind me?"
"What is this?"
"Never mind," Hawke moaned. "Let's get some drinks first. Then, I might tell you—if I get sotted enough."
Hawke grabbed Anders by the arm, pulling him to his feet and starting him towards the door. He stumbled along reluctantly, one final thought occurring to him. "But what about Wynnie…" his voice trailed away as his face lifted to the ceiling. There were no sounds from the loft, Carver and Hrodwynn quiet.
"They're fine," Hawke tugged on his arm again. When Anders looked at him, he winked. "Let's leave them be, shall we?"
"Oh! You mean, they, he and Wynnie, that they, but they wouldn't, not tonight, would they?"
"Do you want to stay and find out?"
"No!" Anders answered a little too quickly. "I mean, yes, I'd love to go with you for a drink or two. Wynnie's going to sleep the rest of the night, probably, most likely, considering what she's been through. And your brother is here to keep a close eye on her."
He raised his voice loud enough to carry upstairs. The tone sounded false, but Hawke hoped Carver had only heard the words. "Maker," he muttered under his breath, finally getting Anders to the door.
Fenris was the last to move, still tense. Even after Anders calmed down, even after Hawke reassured him, even after Varric started smiling and joking again. He couldn't let his guard down, not after all that had happened that night. He gave one final glance over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing slightly, wondering why it was so quiet in the loft.
"Hey, elf," Varric's voice was just enough to distract him, "You play cards, don't you?"
"I, er, that is, I've never had the opportunity to play myself, really, though I've watched others play."
"Do you know how Wicked Grace is played?"
"I think I could figure it out."
"Good! With Anders, we'll have just enough to make the game interesting. Come on, I'll even buy the first round of drinks."
"How could I say no to that?" he asked rhetorically as Anders closed and locked the door behind them.
Carver hadn't heard a single word the others said all evening. He didn't even hear them leave. His whole attention, his whole world, centered around a small young woman with dark red hair. Carrying her up the ladder had been tricky. Getting her to her bed had been nearly impossible.
To say the ceiling was low would be an understatement. He rubbed at the sore spot just off center on his forehead, where he had collided with a rafter. At least he hadn't rammed Hrodwynn into the beam, just his own head. He'd grown more cautious after that, bending over almost double, but the hilt of his greatsword kept catching on the rafters. He finally had to give up and remove his weapon and pack, so he could crawl on his knees with her in his arms. The light from below was just enough to see by, if he moved carefully. Yet it had been mostly luck that helped him find her bed, when his face ran into a makeshift canopy, a random weave of brightly colored strips of ribbons and remnants draped between two buttresses.
It was a small mattress, just her size, and felt soft enough to be stuffed with down. He wondered how she had managed it, until he found the discarded and empty pillows. He smiled at her ingenuity, thinking how long it must have taken her, smuggling one small—and undoubtedly stolen—down-filled pillow at a time up here and moving the contents from the pillow to the mattress. Yet she had persevered, and must sleep very peacefully at night knowing she had the most luxurious mattress in all of Darktown.
Thinking of his own hay-stuffed mattress in his uncle's hovel, a twinge of jealousy spasmed in his heart.
He quickly pushed the emotion aside and focused on Hrodwynn. She had yet to wake up, which concerned him a little bit. He wanted to get her into bed, though not in that way, but he was fairly sure she wouldn't thank him if she woke up in the morning to find her priceless mattress ruined by her stained and bloodied clothing. He was also fairly sure she wouldn't thank him if she woke to find him undressing her. Feeling trapped, and like a first rate jackass, he decided to try to gently wake her, and he'd start with getting her cleaned up.
It took several long moments of fumbling round in the semidarkness, but he finally found where he had abandoned his pack. He brought it back to her side, searching the contents mostly by touch, taking out what he would need. He worked efficiently, lighting a candle to see by and using a spare tunic as a washrag. He started with her hand, rolling up the sleeve and wiping off the sticky, half-dried blood. When he was satisfied with his efforts, he shifted to wipe the grime off of her face.
Her eyes opened at some time during this, though he couldn't be quite sure when. She didn't speak, not right away, but he did suddenly realize that not only were her eyes opened just a bit, but they were focused on his face.
"Hey," he said softly, giving her a timid smile.
"Hey," she answered, her voice hoarse. She gave a small cough to clear her throat, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Memory flooded back at that moment, crashing over her like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her in sensory overload. She gasped and tried to sit up, but Carver was in her way. Changing trajectory, she lurched and rolled off to the side, finding a face-full of empty pillow fabric.
"Take it easy, Wynnie, you're alright. You're safe. Back home, in Kirkwall, your own room, your own bed. It's over, Wynnie. You're safe."
Some of what he said penetrated her scattered wits, his calm tone doing more to reassure her than anything else at that moment. She rolled back to look at him, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek, to confirm that he was real. Then her eyes focused on her finger, still attached, without even a scar to remind her of her near miss.
"You with me yet?" he asked. She looked back at him, finding his blue eyes even softer in the dim light, overflowing with concern.
"Yes." Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears. Damn, she was tired. But looking past him she could see she was in her loft over Anders' clinic, and taking a deep breath she could feel she was alive and whole.
"I was, ah, that is, I thought you might want to sleep, you know, in your bed, but not with your clothes on, on account that they're, well, filthy. I was only going to clean you up a bit, wipe off the worst of it, and then, well…" his stammering finally trailed away, a bashful heat threatening to crawl from his neck to his forehead.
Hrodwynn didn't quite follow all that he said, or maybe she was too tired to care. She also didn't make the effort to look too closely into her own motives. Her fingers began unlacing the neck of her tunic even as her feet rubbed against each other, trying to kick off her boots. Carver reached down and helped with the boots, looking up in time to see her toss her tunic aside. He swallowed thickly, thankful that she was wearing small clothes, but then she began undoing the fastenings of her leggings. He found himself staring as she wiggled and wormed her way out of the skin-tight fabric.
He sat, frozen, hardly daring to breathe, as he watched her slip beneath the covers, catching more than a glimpse of her smooth skin the color of cream. He should leave, he knew he should leave, for her own good if not for his. He didn't trust himself, not after what he'd seen. Despite her youthfulness and small size, she had the body of a woman, round and soft in all the right areas. And his own body became hard in contrast.
"I… ah… should…" he cleared his throat, not wanting to say those words, knowing he should, but damn it!
Then she rolled back to look at him, her emerald eyes deeper and darker in the faint light, and sealed his fate. "Carver, please," her small voice barely reached his ears, "I'm still a little shaky. Don't leave me alone, please. Stay with me tonight. Hold me. Please?"
Briefly he wondered if any man faced such a doom with such a mixture of eagerness and dread. He nodded, fearing his words might betray him and destroy this opportunity if he gave them voice. He kicked out of his boots and slipped out of his vest and tunic so fast he nearly tore a buckle. In a final effort to spare her—or himself—some trouble, he kept his leggings on and made himself remain outside the covers. He did open his arms, her small body cocooned within the blankets curling invitingly into his side, her dark red mane tucking under his chin, her cheek resting against his tattooed chest.
One hand came out of the covers to curl over a sparse patch of chest hair, artfully blended in with the snout of the Mabari. She gave a little contented smile before blissful slumber overtook her.
It was hours before Carver found the strength to relinquish his body to sleep.
