Chapter Sixteen: …Into the Fire
Five people stood around in a lopsided circle. One, an elf, stood straight and immobile, an ebony brow twitching as if indecisive on whether to curve upwards. Next to him a young woman was leaning her backside against a dresser, one hand frozen in midair as if she had been reaching for the elf, but suddenly thought better of it. Opposite them stood two men, one dark and the other fair, the dark one squeezing his eyes shut as if trying to block out the past few moments, the fair one staring in abject horror at the final member of the group. This last person, a dwarf, stood serenely in their midst, a smile on his face as if he had just solved the greatest mystery of life.
"You've got to be joking!" Anders burst into the silence.
Hrodwynn's head was pounding again. The sudden statement knocked her out of her stupor and she moved her hand, away from Fenris, to hold her temple. Maker, this day could not get any worse! Not that she was tempting fate, but Varric had just suggested that she and Fenris pose as… lovers…?
"I'm not joking," Varric answered, still calm and confident. "It makes perfect sense. Fenris, madly in love with Hrodwynn, sees her picked up by thugs. Understandably concerned, he follows her thinking she's in trouble, and starts to fight off her captors when they emerge from the sewers. It's the typical overprotective, jealous lover kind of character. I couldn't have written it better myself."
"You're forgetting one thing," Anders continued, "He HATES her!"
Hawke cleared his throat, "It's the only way this will work." The statement was quiet, but penetrating, and all eyes turned to him. Though he wished it could be otherwise, he knew he had to throw his weight behind Varric and convince Anders that this was the only way, convince Hrodwynn that she had to pretend to love Fenris, and convince Fenris that he had to stop denying his feelings. Maker's breath, but this was going to be difficult. Damn Varric and his quick tongue.
"I think I'm going to throw up," Hrodwynn said, the hand that had been holding her head moving to cover her mouth.
"That's just brandy on an empty stomach talking," Hawke brushed aside her childish reaction, his voice growing harsh and commanding in sync with his irritation. Yes, he'd hurt her feelings, he could tell that by the stricken expression, her green eyes growing wide and watery, but she couldn't play the child any longer. "Listen to me; all of you. This is important. I need to know why Brekker is after me and what he's planning. You're already involved in that, Hrodwynn, and it's not through my doing so you can't blame anyone but yourself." He watched her face fall downwards, but she didn't look like she would deny it. Good. "Now, the only way for you to get out of this, is to see it through. That means convincing Brekker that you're useful to him. Right?" After she gave a little nod, he turned to the next in line, Fenris. "You mucked that up, so you are going to have to fix it, right, even if it means playing the part of her jealous lover. I know it's not an ideal solution," he tried damn hard not to look at Varric; he'd lose it if he saw that smug expression on his face, "But this is the best—perhaps the only means we have of getting Hrodwynn back into Brekker's good graces. You will be polite and attentive towards Hrodwynn. Understood?" He didn't wait for any sort of concession from Fenris. The elf wouldn't give it anyway; it was enough that he didn't protest. "And you, young lady, will act demure and flattered by his attentions." Having nailed them both to the spot, he looked to Anders next, his voice finally softening a touch. "And you must do your best to make this easier for her. That means keeping your opinions to yourself."
Anders' face filled with bitterness before he dropped his gaze to the ground. Hawke stepped in closer to Anders, putting his hands on his shoulders. He didn't want to hurt the man, but he had to make this work. And, maybe, somehow, if the Maker favored them, things just might turn out for the best. "I know how you must feel about all this, but for Hrodwynn's sake as well as mine, this has to work. Don't make it any harder for her than it has to be."
"Actually," Varric started dryly, "Anders fits the role of disapproving, no-man-is-good-enough-for-my-daughter, fatherly type quite nicely. What?" he added when Hawke shot him a dark and menacing look. "I'm only trying to help."
Fenris had been quiet this whole time, mulling things over as Hawke had argued, or rather issued commands at them. He couldn't understand why Hawke was so agreeable to Varric's insane idea. Hawke knew he had feelings for Hrodwynn, how he feared she might develop feelings for him, how that would only drag her into danger… But she was in danger now, and it was thanks to his actions.
Vishante kaffas, but Anders was right: this had to be a joke. Or a nightmare. Or a cruel twist of fate. He couldn't go through with this, acting as if he loved Hrodwynn… Well, alright, technically he could do that, because he did love her—resolutely he denied the impulse to glance at her. But she must hate him now; he'd certainly done his best to see to that! How could they expect her to set that aside? Better yet, how could they expect him to overcome the disgust and hatred he'd built inside her? She would flinch the first time he would try to hold her hand. She would vomit the first time he would try to kiss her. And he didn't want to think of how she would react the first time he would try to embrace her.
Discreetly he shifted his hips, pivoting his groin away from her knees, just in case she got any ideas for a preemptive strike.
"Broody's the only one who hasn't voiced an opinion on this, yet," Varric very deliberately—and maliciously Fenris was sure—put him in the crosshairs.
Hawke had tried not to look at Fenris too much during the argument, knowing what he'd see written on the elf's face. He looked now, and saw he wasn't that far off. Fenris looked like a guilty man walking up to the gallows, knowing his punishment was just and well-deserved. As soon as they locked eyes, Fenris wiped the expression away, turning stoic and unconcerned, before anyone else could read his features. "It's just another job."
It was silent for a count of three before Anders all but screamed at Fenris, "You cad! You're not seriously suggesting you get paid for this!"
Even Hrodwynn looked horrified, as if she had taken his words the same way. She stared at his profile, angry and hurt and humiliated…
"No, of course not," Fenris replied, far too calmly in her opinion. He didn't look at Anders, but continued to stare at Hawke, his face impassive and unreadable. "I only mean, Hrodwynn and I have both worked for you in the past; this is just another job, only this time we have to work together. Her part is to find out what Brekker is up to. Mine is to provide a reasonable explanation for this morning's disaster that will get her back into his organization. It's not as if there would be real feelings or any sincere intimate actions between us."
"Maker forbid," she mumbled to herself, dropping her gaze to her lap. She missed the momentary flicker in his expression, the flutter at the corner of his eye, the thick swallow bobbing in his throat. "Fine. Whatever. We'll do this. But first," she looked with disgust at herself, "I need a wash."
"Good idea," agreed Varric, a little too quickly for Hawke's liking. "You get cleaned up, then we'll all go to the Hanged Man for a bite to eat."
"She's still weak," Anders argued, "Wouldn't it be better to go out and bring something back for her?"
"Nah, she'll be fine," Varric assured him. "And if not, it'll give her and Fenris an opportunity to act all schmoozy-whoozy with each other."
Hrodwynn coughed quietly, wary of letting Hawke hear her, "I think I did throw up a little."
"Come on," Anders said, taking her elbow and helping her towards the back corner of the clinic. "You can wash up back here, behind the screen, while I get you some fresh clothing."
"We'll wait outside," Hawke ground out between his clenched teeth, grabbing Varric by the arm and tugging him along.
"I'll join you," Fenris seized the opportunity to retreat.
"Oh, no, lover-boy," Varric wagged a finger at him, shaking off Hawke's hold. "You stay here, inside, in case someone from Brekker's group is watching this place already. You can't stand to let Hrodwynn out of your sight, remember?"
Fenris, if possible, turned even colder and paler, like a statue of marble. Unlike a statue, he moved, walking as far from Hrodwynn as the room would allow. Mechanically he picked up a stool, set it in the corner, and slouched down upon it, stretching his long legs before him. With his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms crossed over his chest, he passionately threw himself into his favorite pastime, brooding.
Anders shot him a hard look, but refrained from commenting. He finished getting Hrodwynn started and made sure that Fenris couldn't see around the screen, before heading towards her loft for a change of clothes.
Hawke left them to it, getting ahold of Varric once more—firmer this time—and dragging him by the back of his collar from the clinic. He might have closed the door behind them a little firmer than necessary, but he was irritated. "Maker's breath, Varric, what in the bloody Void are you doing?!"
"Ah, come one, Hawke," he finally slipped out of his grip. "Isn't it obvious? I'm playing matchmaker."
"You're playing with people's lives," he countered. "No, scratch that; you're playing with fire, lyrium fed fire, provoking Fenris like that… and Anders… oh, Maker…"
"Is that what has your knickers in a twist? Anders' feelings?"
Hawke turned slightly away, leaning his hand against the outside of the clinic as he struggled to regain control of himself. "Varric," he began, starting carefully, "You don't understand what's truly going on. Fenris…"
"Fenris is in love with Hrodwynn," he supplied, "Has been for years. Though why he's done everything he can think of to deny it and make her hate him, is beyond me."
"He's afraid for her," Hawke answered. He supposed on some level he should probably have registered surprise at Varric's insightfulness, but he was too used to the dwarf's ability to read a person's character. "Yes, Fenris loves her; he has practically since the first moment they met. But he believes his life is in danger, so long as Danarius is alive and hunting him. He doesn't want to share that danger with anyone, especially a young woman he loves."
Hawke may not have been surprised at Varric's insightfulness, but Varric was surprised at his. "So, er, how long have you known about his feelings?" he asked carefully, not wanting to bring up a sensitive subject—such as Hawke's little brother.
Hawke had no qualms about it, but he did take a deep breath before answering. "Since our little adventure at the Bone Pit Mine. Why do you think I threw Carver at her?"
For the second time in as many moments, Varric was surprised. "Come again? You made Carver love Hrodwynn?"
"In a manner of speaking. On the way to the mine, Fenris confided in me his feelings for Hrodwynn, and his fear that she might be starting to return those feelings. He didn't want her to get hurt, caught in the crossfire, should Danarius come after him. He asked for my help to discourage or distract her, which I agreed to do. I knew Carver had a crush on her, so I started bullying him to leave her alone, knowing it would have the adverse effect and make him pursue her all the more."
"And Hrodwynn, of course, was flattered by Carver's attention and returned his affection, falling madly in love," the storyteller in Varric ran away with the idea.
"Oh, I don't think she loved him," Hawke mused, "Not as much as he loved her, at any rate. But I don't think he ever figured it out. And it was a comfort to him, believing that she loved him, right up to the end."
The conversation got depressingly sober, making Varric look for some way to lighten it. "Damn, Hawke, pulling a sneaky stunt like that; you've got no call getting upset over my tactics."
"I'm not upset over your tactics, no, but over your whole plan. Pushing the two of them together, when all he's done for the past three years is to try to make her hate him…"
"Which is why I'm stepping in now," Varric interrupted. "Like you said, it's been three years; I think Fenris is in the clear. Oh, sure, Danarius is probably still hunting him, but he's lost the scent, probably thinking that Fenris left Kirkwall after those last hunters failed. Danarius will never track him down now. So, why not let Broody find a little happiness? He's earned it."
"And Hrodwynn? What makes you think she can love him, after all he's done?"
"She's just confused," Varric waved her emotions aside. "Once he starts paying her attention, proper attention, she'll start to develop better feelings towards him. At least, that's my hope. Otherwise…" he sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck, staring at the clinic door as if he could see through the wood, "They do love each other; I'm sure of it. But if Fenris keeps hurting her, they're going to end up hating each other—loving each other deep underneath it all, but hating just as passionately. That's not the good kind of relationship to have, you know. So, maybe, just maybe, if they have to pretend to be nice towards each other, maybe that'll rub off and they can start, well, actually being nice towards each other. It's the only chance they've got, Hawke, before it's too late."
He wanted to argue, he wanted to find another way, he wanted… But he had to admit, Varric was right. "Maker's breath," he sighed, "I pray you know what you're doing."
"Yeah," Varric gave a harsh exhale, "So do I."
Hrodwynn had no idea what Hawke and Varric were talking about. She was tired, dizzy, the alcohol making her feel warm and fuzzy, and the whole bloody situation with Fenris making her feel…
She paused, a towel covering half her face, one dark green eye peeking out to stare at nothing. In thinking about it, standing quietly all by herself, with no one bantering over her head or making plans for her life, with time to think about Fenris and her feelings… she didn't know what she felt. Other than numb; she definitely felt numb. She supposed she had every right to feel numb, perhaps a little shock added to the mixture for good measure. She had certainly earned it.
Her fingers dug into her scalp as she toweled her hair dry, staring at the mess around her. Three buckets of water sat used, muddied and clouded with, well, something she didn't want to think about. Several towels were soiled with the same gore, laying forgotten or ignored on the floor. Her clothing she regarded as a lost cause, the tunic ripped and both it and her leggings sticky and stained with half-dried blood. She didn't even want to try to save them, bundling them up together and tossing them into the corner. She'd discard them later, after she was feeling better.
Anders had draped her spare pair of leggings over the top of the screen, along with an emerald shirt that perfectly matched her eyes. Having washed off her skin and cleaned her hair, she turned to put on the fresh clothes. Maker, but it felt good, enjoying stretching the soft leather hugging her hips and thighs, and taking advantage of the freedom that a loose-fitting linen tunic could bring, all without the ickiness that was on the spoiled clothing and had been making her skin crawl. She picked up her boots with trepidation, but thankfully they had remained mostly untouched by the, er, mess. A few quick swipes with a towel, and she could at last finish dressing to emerge from behind the screen.
Both Anders and Fenris were waiting for her, Fenris because he had to, Anders because, well, because he was Anders. She smiled for him, a shadow of her usual snarky grin, but it was enough to let him know she was doing alright. He gave her a bit of a relieved sort of smile and nodded his head. Then she looked further to Fenris, saw his long-limbed body moving with feral grace as he stood up, and felt a small jolt of something race through her chest. Fear, she decided, or apprehension, or doubt that she could pull this off. Just the thought of that body close to hers, of what Fenris was capable of, of how he felt and acted towards her…
"Wynnie!" Anders' voice was alarmed, seeing her face turn pale as she stumbled the last few steps towards him. The next moment he was there, holding her arms, steering her towards a chair. "You're too weak for this. I knew it. Stay here. I'll tell Varric and Hawke we're not coming."
"No, Anders," she gripped his arms, preventing him from setting her down or slipping away, "It's alright. I'm alright. Just tired, is all. Like you said, a good meal will do me wonders. That's all I need. A nice hot meal."
"And you think you'll find a good meal at the Hanged Man?"
She gave a weak laugh, "It'll be better than your cooking, at any rate. And I know you won't let me cook, not in the state I'm in."
Anders hummed. "You're right about that." He straightened up, looking down his nose at her, his gentle eyes calculating as they swept her over from head to toe. "Oh, very well, let's get this over with. You! Elf! Are you going to stand there, or are you going to come here and take your 'love's' hand?"
Fenris rather meekly obliged, extremely out of character. Hrodwynn couldn't look at him, however—couldn't lift her eyes higher than his waist. He had gotten his belt back, the dark material hiding the stain she knew had to be there. Her blood. On his belt. On his armor. She held herself very stiff as his hands, gauntleted once more, reached out to take over from Anders. It was a miracle she didn't flinch as his warm skin touched hers.
Fenris felt the rigid tension in her body. Venhedis, but this wasn't going to work. He tried to think of something to say, something that would reassure her or ease her anxieties—something that would excuse the past three years. "We should get going. Could you step outside and ask Hawke if there's anyone watching the clinic?" It wasn't exactly what he intended to say, but it should get rid of Anders long enough for him to say something else to her. Anders looked like he was going to object, so Fenris added, "We'll be coming behind you, just a little slower, and it would be good to know if we have to start the charade in earnest, or if we can take our time getting used to this."
"Please," she added her voice to his when Anders seemed to hesitate.
"Yes, well," Anders cleared his throat, "I'll just step outside, then."
Hrodwynn watched him go, still unable to look at Fenris. She started to take a step after him, but Fenris didn't move, making her have to abandon her step or risk falling over. With his grip so tight on her forearm, she had no choice but to lean back towards him. "We shouldn't keep them waiting…"
"Just for a moment," he cut over her protest, his words soft despite the eternal coarseness of his voice. Maker, what was he about to do? "I… Hrodwynn… I know you hate me…"
"Only as much as you hate me," she fired back at him.
If anything, the spark of defiance, the quickness of her wit, reassured him. And just as quickly saddened him. If only her words could be true; if only they lived in a world where there was a chance for them. He didn't want to love anyone—to be loved by anyone—not until he was free, not until Danarius lay dead at his feet. But she was tempting, had always been too damn tempting, and this implausible situation gave him the opportunity to…
Maker, he prayed, did he dare let himself indulge in a dream…
"Believe me, Hrodwynn, the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable. I know I've… I've hurt you… in the past… and I'm… sorry for it."
She finally looked at him, finally lifted her eyes to meet his, her lively green orbs flickering back and forth between his dead and dull green ones. "I bet that had to hurt to say."
There remained a wall in her expression, a protective barrier to keep him out, keep him from hurting her again and again and again. There was old pain in her voice, however, pain that couldn't be wiped out in a single moment. Yet for her sake, he had to try. One hand moved to her face, cupping it, gently pressing the unarmored part of his palm and fingers to her cheek. "More than you could know," he admitted, sincerely. Before she could ponder this statement, he continued, "I'll try to make this as easy for you as possible. I promise I won't do anything if it will make you feel uncomfortable. Just tell me, and I'll stop. I swear to it."
Her eyes continued to flicker, searching for something in his gaze, something in his soul, that would explain his sudden change in behavior. "Why?"
She watched those ebony brows curl and twist above his eyes. Yet he didn't answer her, instead dropping his hand away from her face and starting them towards the door.
"Ah, there you are," boomed Varric, his voice easily carrying out into the street. "All set? Good, then let's get going. I'm starving."
Hawke took one look at the two of them before he started for the Hanged Man, muttering, "Maker preserve us."
"Here, here," agreed Anders.
Varric kept up a light banter along the way, his quick wit and easy charm helping to put everyone at ease. Everyone except Hrodwynn. Her mind was preoccupied with the enigma walking beside her. She could remember, when they first met, how she likened Fenris to a wild animal that had been trapped, caged, abused, and then suddenly freed. That part of him was constant, the animalistic economy of movement, the predatory awareness of his surroundings, the sheer unfettered energy rolling off of him like a physical wind. Nowadays it frightened her, as that sharp tongue and threatening presence was often directed at her. But back then, before the Deep Roads, before Carver, she had found this quality… exciting? Intriguing? Unique?
And just a moment ago, standing in the clinic alone with him, she had felt something stir within her, a kind of excitement, a rush of adrenaline. If only she could convince herself it was due to that dangerous and savage quality, and nothing else.
"We've got trouble," Varric said so softly, she didn't hear him.
"What is it?" Hawke asked, fearing the worst.
"We're being followed," Fenris answered, also aware of the danger, "Ever since the clinic."
"What do we do?" Anders tried not to look around, but it was too tempting. Hawke, thankfully, stepped into his line of sight and kept him from blowing their cover.
"We continue on to the Hanged Man," Varric answered, before adding even more quietly over his shoulder. "You two start hanging back, just enough to, well, I'll leave that part up to the two of you. But make it convincing, will ya? Then catch up with us before we reached the tavern."
"Understood," agreed Fenris.
Hrodwynn was finally starting to realize something was happening. She grew nervous, scared, listening to them talk, yet again deciding her fate for her. Abandoning her to an elf who hated her. That strange twinge again gripped her heart, and the palms of her hands suddenly felt very, very sweaty.
Yet Fenris was stoic, his steps slowing, allowing the others to pull ahead of them. He had answered Varric's suggestion with a calm and emotionless tone, like he was taking orders during a job. 'Circle behind that hill and flank them.' 'Attack from the front while I fire from the rear.'
'Fall back and snog with Hrodwynn.'
"Maker," she whispered, feeling herself start to tremble. She tried, she honestly tried to convince herself this was just another job, a part to play, and it didn't have to be that bad, he'd promised to stop if she asked him to…
"Hrodwynn, you're not helping matters."
"What?" she asked, louder than the whisper he had uttered out of the side of his mouth.
"Relax." He slowed their steps even further, right down to a stop, and turned to take both her arms in his hands. Carefully, as if he was handling fine crystal, he guided her backwards until she felt the solidness of a stone wall behind her. "Better?"
It was and it wasn't. She had a nice, strong, sturdy wall to support her, but she was also feeling cornered, Fenris between her and the retreating backs of Anders and the others. "We shouldn't take too long…"
"We'll take just long enough," he answered. Damning himself, knowing full well he was taking selfish advantage of the situation, of her troubles, giving himself the excuse to kiss her, just once, just to see…
"I don't see them," she whispered, her eyes scanning far too quickly to notice the thugs, even if she happened to look right at them. "You said we were being followed, but where are they?"
"Over my left shoulder," he supplied, and suppressed the smile when her eyes moved to her left. "MY left."
"Oh," she shot her eyes in the other direction, her cheeks turning pink again, "Right. I mean, left. Your left, my right."
"You're babbling."
She peeked past his ragged mop of hair to the other side of the street. "I'm nervous," she responded, distracted by the sight of four Coterie thugs, one of which was the large woman she remembered from… had it only been yesterday? Thankfully there was no sign of Jaxon, but the thugs there were watching her and Fenris very closely.
"Do you need me to stop?"
She pulled her eyes away from the thugs to look at Fenris. Had he really just offered…? Was he serious…? Would he step back without…?
"It would be more convincing if we did kiss," he argued mildly, "But not necessary. I could simply stand here and touch your face, like this," his hand was back, this time caressing her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing across her skin with an electrifying tingle. "It's up to you."
Up to me, she repeated to herself. She could ask him, and he would stop. But did she need him to stop, or was it only a want? She could almost feel that large woman's eyes on her, taking in every detail to report back to Brekker. That gave her the answer. Hawke needed her to spy on Brekker. She needed Fenris for an alibi. She put her hand over Fenris' and said very softly, "I need you to kiss me."
Some sort of emotion swept across his face, gone almost before it came, an expression she had seen once before, when he had taken his first taste of Agreggio Pavali. His hand in hers, he tilted her head, just a little, while he tilted his head the other way. They were of the same height, he barefoot and she in her heeled boots, so all he had to do was lean forwards.
Hrodwynn had been kissed before. There was Carver, certainly, her first; loads of kissing and even some petting with him, though he'd never—what did he used to say?—taken her to see Ferelden. Since him, there'd been two or three boys she had flirted with, mostly because they showed interest in her, but they had never lasted very long nor gone very far. So in all her meager experience, there was nothing that could have prepared her for this.
Fenris' lips were warm and comfortable, a conflict of firm softness, of resilient muscle, of purposeful indolence. He kept still, merely pressing his flesh against hers, nothing untoward or forceful or invasive. It was careful, timid, like dipping a toe in the water before diving in, though in this case she felt he had no intention of making that dive. He kept the two of them together for a little while, his hand holding her head in place.
Then he pulled away.
Cold. That was her first impression, after his lips left hers. She felt cold without him there, and instinctively her body leaned forwards, seeking that warmth she had lost.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice sounding alarmed when he saw her waver.
"Wha…?" She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—to find him staring at her, ebony brows drawn with concern. She realized that she had been about to put her arms around him, and stalled for time while she tried to think of something to say. "I…" she had to clear her throat and try again, "Er, I think so, I, um, I mean…"
"Still a little lightheaded from this morning?" he offered her an excuse for her embarrassing actions, like he did yesterday, when he came across her sporting a bloodied lip and bruised ribs. She didn't bother to try to discern if he was being honestly solicitous, or if he somehow knew exactly how and why she had reacted so… She couldn't find a word for it. Feeling her cheeks flush, she dropped her face and nodded, unable to trust herself to speak.
He'd done it, he crowed to himself. He'd kissed her without causing her to swing at him in anger. They'd shared a moment, a first kiss, however brief. And it was pleasurable for them both, judging by the way she had closed her eyes and leaned into him. Just as quickly as he felt his triumph, he felt it sour, thinking how it had been built upon a lie. Cursing himself for toying with her, he took half a step back. "We should catch up with the others."
She blinked at him, her lips parted, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet them. "Right," she took a deep breath, and he refused to watch the way her bosom strained the laces above her cleavage. "I am feeling a bit peckish."
"Come along then," he took her arm, holding on to her as if her life depended on it, which in a way it did. He could see out of the corner of his eye the thugs breaking up, leaving only one behind to tail them. He hoped that meant they bought the act.
The act that wasn't an act. Maker have mercy on his soul.
Hrodwynn was tired. Beyond tired. She sat down on the couch in front of the fire with the intention of never stirring from that spot.
"Is there anything I can get you? A cup of wine? Something more to eat?"
She shook her head, too tired to verbally answer Fenris. Her stomach felt full to bursting, Anders having set plate after plate of food in front of her all afternoon. He said she needed to eat so her body could replace the blood she had lost. Then he announced she needed to rest. That's when she and Fenris left the Hanged Man. Alone.
She hardly remembered how they got to his mansion, only that they arrived in one piece and, he claimed, without being followed. It wasn't that she trusted him, it was simply that she was too tired to give a bloody shit!
"A blanket perhaps? Or a pillow?"
"I'm fine," she moaned softly, his insistent attention finally making her mad enough to muster the energy to speak. "I just want to sit here for a bit."
Cassia took that moment to appear, seemingly out of the shadows, her brown fur an excellent camouflage. She bounded up onto the couch next to Hrodwynn with a fluidity of movement that reminded her of how Fenris moved. She reached out a hand to pet the furry body, feeling as well as hearing the rumbling purr as Cassia leaned into the touch.
"Anders said he would come by in the morning with your cat."
"I remember," she mumbled, thinking it odd, how much the normally taciturn elf was currently babbling. But at least now he seemed out of things to say, his words falling into silence. Of course, that didn't mean he was quiet. She could hear him, moving around, somewhere behind her, but she had no idea what he was doing. Nor did she care. Cassia had crawled onto her lap, kneaded her thighs a few times before curling up to nap. She was so soft and warm, her purring so soothing and constant…
Fenris watched her slump against the side of the couch, her hand still on his cat. He wasn't surprised; in fact, he was thankful they had made it to his home before she passed out. Still, he wished she could have waited until after he finished straightening his bed.
Venhedis, but that sounded bad, even in his own head, regardless of how innocent the thought had been intended. He only ever used this one room in his mansion, and he'd never entertained visitors before tonight… well, except for that one other time Hrodwynn spent the night. Yet that had been three years ago, and the other bedchambers had remained unused since then, so his was the only usable bed in the whole estate. He was making it up for her, thinking she'd sleep better there than on the couch.
But she was fast asleep, the stress and the blood loss and the warm meal all taking their toll on her young body. He walked up behind her, quietly, to watch her sleep. Just for a moment. Just to reassure himself that she was alright. He stood there, staring down at her, captivated by the vision, before he knelt beside the couch.
Hrodwynn's dark red hair lay in haphazard lengths, falling in front as well as behind her face. He gently brushed a strand that was covering her eyes, revealing them to indeed be closed, her dark eyelashes laying long and curled just above her cheek. He touched the side of her face next, encouraged by the rosy color and warmth of her skin, so far removed from the grayness she had sported that morning, or the coolness he had felt when he kissed her. His gaze lowered to her lips, to that red that rivaled Agreggio Pavali. She had tasted so sweet this afternoon, so pure and honest, and he hadn't even delved inside, slipped between those lips to the mystery within.
Nor should he. Ever. He was still an escaped slave; nothing could change that. For the rest of his life he would have to live with that hanging over his head. Even if he somehow found and killed Danarius, it couldn't change the fact that he had lyrium seared into his flesh in a distinctive pattern. One look at him, and people would know what he was, what he had been, what he could never escape.
He may have left his master, but he could never lose the shackles, not when they penetrated bone deep.
He came out of his dark musing to find her still asleep, peacefully ignorant of the brooding elf looming over her. Feeling the lecher, he set aside any thought or dream for a normal life and put his hands on her. Cassia noticed him, her purrs growing louder, turning from contentment to warning, adding an irritated flick of the tip of her tail for good measure. Fenris ignored her, his focus on the woman, trying his best not to wake her as he slipped his arms beneath her body. Satisfied with his grip, he stood, lifting her with him, cat and all.
Hrodwynn remained asleep.
Carefully, deliberately, he carried her to his bed. He settled her onto the mattress, stretching her body out so she would be more comfortable. Cassia jumped from Hrodwynn to the bed, setting herself near the corner, her greenish-gold eyes watching Fenris closely. Under her scrutiny, he somehow felt very guilty over what he was about to do. Cautiously he undid the buckle of Hrodwynn's belt and pulled her tunic free from her waistband. Next he twisted to reach her boots and tug them from her feet, gently so as not to wake her. He stood up to admire his handiwork, decided she should be comfortable enough, and walked to the foot of the bed. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it up, tucking it in around her slumbering body, securing her for the night.
Cassia continued to watch him, her eyes never seeming to blink, as he turned away and headed for the other side of the room. Satisfied that he was done messing with Hrodwynn, she resumed her perch and curled up on top of her newly-rediscovered-old-friend, leaving Fenris alone on the couch.
Hrodwynn hadn't been aware that she had fallen asleep. But when she woke, she was startled to find herself in a dark and unfamiliar room. She felt confined, her movements restricted by a blanket she couldn't see. It was a feeling that reminded her all too much of something she had recently experienced— Jaxon holding her still while his blade spilled her blood. Immediately she panicked, whimpering, struggling to free herself, her eyes straining to make out anything in the darkness. There was a sound nearby, some sort of growl, and thoughts of wild animals filled her sleep-addled mind. Again she cried out, a little louder, unable to keep the fear silent, and made one last effort to free herself.
She felt her body spin, fall, and land so suddenly it knocked the air out of her. It didn't help that she struck something, hard and poking directly into her ribs, though somehow cushioned. It was too familiar, falling through the air into darkness, the pain in her ribs, unable to breathe. Jaxon was there, somewhere in the shadows, she was sure of it! She coughed, gasped, and opened her mouth to scream.
"Hrodwynn!" a harsh voice called. There was a glow, on the edge of her vision, and eery bluish-white. The glow should be scaring her, she thought, but as it neared she grew oddly comforted.
Fenris was coming to save her, as he had done before.
She gasped again, swallowing the scream, and almost gagged on a wad of saliva that her befuddled mind thought was blood. That was what had happened, Jaxon stabbed her, she fell through darkness, Fenris caught her, but she was bleeding… dying… unable to feel… to move…
"Hrodwynn?"
He came into view, his markings glowing on the edge of being invoked, giving soft and wavering light to his arms and torso. He leaned over her, his hands reaching out to touch her, but she couldn't feel him. It was like she was numb, wrapped in thick wool and cocooned from all sensations. Her throat rattled as she struggled to take in air, her chest feeling tight and restricted…
Fenris had been woken by the noises Hrodwynn made, immediately growing alarmed and preparing himself for a fight. He jumped up from the couch and vaulted himself towards the bed before he saw she wasn't there. Panicked for a moment, he spun around, his eyes tearing through the whole room, before he saw Cassia race out from beneath the bed. Cautiously he crept around the foot until he could see the other side. He took one look at her and immediately knew what was wrong.
Slowly he approached her, calling her name, his hands held out to offer calm and comfort. He saw how she had flailed in her sleep, twisting the blanket around her form, causing her to fall off the bed and grow even more entangled to the point where she could barely move. She was scared, confused, possibly having woken from a nightmare. He didn't want to add to her fear, so he moved carefully, staying clearly within her vision, holding the gaze of her wide eyes and willing her to trust him, to resist the scream that was echoing behind her gaping mouth.
His hands found a corner of the blanket, and he began unravelling it from around her.
By some miracle of willpower she managed to hold herself still. Or perhaps it was due to the shifting light of the lyrium, glimmering mesmerizingly before her eyes. Fenris was, well, not naked, thankfully, the glow disappearing at his hips into his leggings, but he was not wearing his tunic. She couldn't help but see—lines, curves, dots, swirling and flowing and pulling her gaze from his shoulders to his stomach. They shimmered as he flexed his chest, they danced as he moved his arms, they spun as he pulled the last of the blanket from her and rolled her onto her side.
She rolled back, immediately, pushing herself to sit up, thankful to be able to move, to be able to feel, to be able to breathe. Her hand felt something hard, right where her ribs had been lying on the floor, and she looked to see that what she thought had been Jaxon's knife turned out to be the heel of her boot. A stuttering laugh erupted from her chest, burbling and bubbling, adversely threatening to grow into hysterics now that the scare was over.
A hand touched her shoulder, warm through her tunic, and she turned back to find Fenris looking at her with concern. "It's over, Hrodwynn. It was just a dream. You're alright now. Safe. Remember?"
If he had been confused earlier when he found she had rolled off the bed, he was downright shocked when she gave a small cry and fell into his arms. Not so much that she trusted him—that she looked to him for comfort, but that he could ignore the pain and enthusiastically return the embrace.
Fasta vass, but it was too easy, felt too good, sitting there on the floor, her legs to either side of his knees, her arms holding his shoulders fiercely, her head tucked beneath his chin. Even though she trembled, even though she continued to fight off the lingering nightmare, even though she thought he hated her… Maker! but he had longed for this. How simple it would be, he postulated, to go from kissing her hair to kissing her lips, from holding her on his lap to holding her beneath his hips. The blanket was beside them, soft and rumpled, a perfect nest for two lovers. All he'd have to do was lean over a little, bring her with him, stretch his body over hers, encourage her to open to him and…
Fenris had done a lot of things in his life, what he could remember of it, things that were defiant and contrary to what was normally acceptable behavior. He had put to death an entire village that had shown him nothing but empathy. He had escaped a harsh and brutal master who had owned him body and soul. He had lain with a man—a mage—the ultimate proof of his freedom, and taken great pleasure from the fact.
But he would not do this.
Hrodwynn felt his muscles flex and strain, yet he seemed unaffected by the effort it took to lift her from the floor and replace her on the bed. She felt him pull away, and instinctively she held on tighter, not wanting to lose his warmth, his comfort, his companionship. A whimper escaped her lips, and she heard an answering whisper from his, "Festis bei umo canavarum." *You will be the death of me*
Then he slipped from her grasp.
"Fenris?" she said more clearly, pushing herself up onto one elbow to follow him with her eyes. But he didn't go far. Hating himself, hating every selfish intention and calculated movement and dreadful desire, he picked up the blanket and returned to the bed. Wordlessly he placed it over her, straightening it, tucking it in at the foot of the bed. As he walked around to the other side, she rolled onto her back to keep her eyes on him, the green orbs seeming to glow with a power akin to his lyrium brands. He endured her scrutiny as he picked up the edge of the blanket and crawled beneath it.
She gave a small cry of triumph, like a child who had just found their favorite toy, and squirmed back to his side. Within a few moments she was back asleep, peaceful and content, her head pillowed on his chest, one arm draped securely and possessively across his waist and hips. Fenris, however, remained awake, not because the lyrium markings hurt to be touched, not because he hated himself and his actions and motives, but because he knew this was one dream that could never be.
And he didn't want to lose a moment of it to sleep.
