A/N: before anyone comments… No, the title of this chapter, "Done," does not mean I'm done with the story. Still loads more to tell. Hopefully one more chapter early next week, before I cycle on to another of my stories.
Also, I always feel like I'm giving too much away, putting warnings in at the beginning of chapters. I mean, this story is rated M. You should expect /some/ parts will be hard to read, right? Right? *ahem* Anyway…
The following chapter contains scenes of intense emotional and/or physical suffering.
Chapter Nineteen: Done
Hrodwynn blinked, the sunlight so bright it stung her eyes. She was being marched into the courtyard in front of the Orlesian Embassy, still on the Embassy grounds, though the gates were open to allow the citizens of Kirkwall to witness Orlesian justice. It seemed slightly ridiculous to her, a slim young woman like herself, in chains so heavy her guards had to carry the links, but she did have to admit that it made for a dramatic statement. That she was being made an example of was obvious—having her trial so public and in the middle of the day was a bold statement that Orlais would not tolerate any criminal activity on their soil, by any person or persons, from any citizenship. Yet try as she might, she could not find a way to turn this to her advantage. And after Jaxon's visit, she had received no word from Hawke or anyone that they were planning something—anything, an escape, a pardon, a change of venue…
She feared she was on her own.
Unseen by her watering eyes, towards the back of the crowd that had gathered beyond the gates, stood an elf with shocking white hair. His lifeless green eyes followed Hrodwynn's every movement, drinking in every detail. He noted the fading bruise over one eye; it must have been swollen shut at one point, though she could open it now. She stumbled up the platform steps acting dizzy and weak, and he feared she hadn't been fed in the four days since her arrest. When the guards kicked the backs of her knees, forcing her to kneel before the trio of judges, he started forward.
"Take it easy," Brekker cooed from where he stood next to Fenris. Unthinkingly he had grabbed the elf's arm to stop him. Though he succeeded in keeping Fenris from storming the stage, the look on the man's face made Brekker let go.
Fenris didn't speak, he didn't have to—his dead, emotionless eyes telling all there was to say.
Brekker didn't back down. "Relax. Let it play out. I've got a man on the inside, see?" he nodded at the stage. "If there's one thing I know about Orlesians, it's that they love a good show; that's why her trial's so public. My man will give them a performance that'll bring tears to their eyes. Purely out of pity, they'll give her a light sentence. Just watch."
Hrodwynn stared in confusion at the man beside her. She didn't know him, had never even seen him before, but he was addressing the judges on her behalf. He spoke and gestured with dramatic flare, his voice rising and falling with emotion, as he described her hard life growing up on the streets of Kirkwall. With a tear in his eye, he told the judges how she was an orphan, with no memory of her past or her family. He swept his arms as her story swept on, how she'd nearly been forced into a life of prostitution, yet chose thievery as a lesser—though necessary—evil. She wanted to laugh, thinking there was no way anyone could believe him, and wondered how he'd gotten so much information so quickly…
Anders. Anders knew all about her past. And of course, Hawke would know. Had this man been sent by Hawke, she wondered, to speak in her defense?
"Does the accused have anything she wishes to say to the court?"
Hrodwynn looked dully at the judges, then up at her defender, then back again.
"Beg," a whisper reached her ears. It came from her defender. She looked at him again just in time to see him speak from the corner of his mouth, "Beg for mercy. And make it good. The showier the better."
"Ah," she licked her lips, turning back to the trio of judges, trying desperately to think of something to say, "If it pleases you, your lordships," she weakly tried to gain her feet, but at a hiss from her defender, she thought better of it. She plopped back down to her knees and tried to act exhausted, defeated, too downtrodden to stand, as she lifted her face and cried, "Mercy!"
There was a moment of silence after her cry, a moment she seized with all her might. "I throw myself on the mercy of the court. Please, your lordships, please show me mercy. It's true, yes, that I have done some things I'm not proud of." Her eyes were still watering from the brightness of the sunlight, and she used that to blink tears down her cheeks. "I've picked pockets. I've stolen purses. I've even raided a few market stalls—but it's never been for profit! Every time I stole, it was only enough to survive.
"I know the hardships in my life are no excuse," she shook her head remorselessly, the next moment lifting her clasped hands upwards, chains and all, as she continued to plea, "But please, good sers, show mercy. Nothing was taken, nothing was stolen, so no harm has been done. Even the safe is intact. Please, your lordships, this is the first time I've attempted something so grand, so foolish, and I promise you it will be the last! Please, show mercy."
The middle judge stared at her with eyes of steel. "We will consider."
The judges bent their heads together, conversing, deciding her fate. "You stupid bitch," her defender whispered at her without moving his lips, "I had you in the clear! Now you're fucked."
"What?" she whispered back, bewildered, only daring to lift her head far enough to peek at him out of the corner of her eye. "What did I do wrong? You told me to beg for mercy."
"I never told you to mention the safe. Now everyone here has heard that a safe was involved, and everyone knows you can crack it!"
"They knew that before…"
"The Coterie, sure, they've known you can crack a Siggerdson, or I wouldn't be here." He finally looked down at her, his expression grim, "But not the general public. And definitely not the City Guard, who are going to be keeping a close eye on you from now on, no doubt, making you useless to us!" He looked back upwards to stare straight ahead at the judges' table. "Fuck. It's a matter of record, now. The Orlesians are going to have to make a public example of you."
Hrodwynn didn't think she'd have any more trouble from Aveline than before, but she wasn't going to tell him that. Something in what he had just said sending warning shivers down her spine, and she had to ask, "Who sent you?"
"Brekker."
Fuck, she agreed to herself.
"He doesn't believe what Jaxon told him you said."
"What?" she repeated, bewildered, the next moment remembering. "Oh, Jaxon! What did that mother fucker tell him I said?"
"Don't know, and it doesn't matter," the man shrugged. "Brekker told me to get you as light a sentence as possible. That's really all I know or care about. Oh, but I was supposed to tell you," he glanced down at her again, "Don't bother tattling on Jaxon, when you get out. He needs Jaxon more than he needs you, especially now that he has your friend."
Hrodwynn felt her heart drop to her feet, er, knees at least. "Fenris…" Oh, Maker, she prayed, he must have gone to Brekker for help, rather than Hawke. The stupid git!
"Accused," the middle judge proclaimed, apparently having reached a consensus with the other two. She looked up at him, but the eager expression on his face, and the pitying expressions on the other two, did little to ease her nerves. "By your own words and of your own free will, you have admitted to numerous past crimes. And you have convicted yourself of the charges against you, those of breaking and entering, and attempted robbery against the Orlesian government. Though the court recognizes the fact that you have had a difficult childhood," his face briefly flickered to something akin to cynicism, "That is still no excuse for you to turn to a life of crime. We feel it is our civic duty to discourage you from continuing down this path of evil. Therefore, it is our judgement that you are be tied to the post, stripped to the waist, and given the lash for your crimes—the sentence to be executed immediately." There was an increase in crowd noise at this, though she couldn't tell if it was protest or anticipation, her ears already ringing with the finality of her sentence. "It is also this court's decision, however," he lifted his voice to be heard over the uproar, "That you are to be shown mercy. You will be given only five lashes. Judgement has been delivered. May the Maker have mercy on your soul." He pounded a heavy mallet on the table three times.
Shit, Hrodwynn thought, feeling her heart race. Shit shit shit!
There was a group of City Guardsmen just beyond the gates. "Damn it!" Hawke cursed from their midst, trying to start forward, to push his way through the crowd, to reach Hrodwynn and fight off the Orlesian guards and escape…
"Hawke! Stop!" Aveline's gauntleted hand on his arm closed until it hurt. Several of her guardsmen physically blocked his path, though thankfully without having to draw their weapons. "We can't interfere!"
"They're going to flay her…"
"Five lashes isn't a death sentence," she told him. "She'll survive this. And Anders can heal her as soon as she's released."
Damn it, Hawke swallowed guiltily, thinking about Anders. He was safely tucked away, ignorant in his clinic, healing the people of Darktown, doing what he loved. Hawke had purposely misled him, telling him her trial was tomorrow, so he wouldn't have to witness this in case things went poorly—which they did.
Anders was going to pay him back tenfold for every mark on Hrodwynn's skin.
Shit… Hrodwynn was moaning inside her head. Her wrists were chained above her on the post, with enough slack that she could stand on her feet. A sympathetic guard moved in front of her for a moment, seeming to be checking her shackles. Instead she held a strap of reinforced leather, thick and inflexible like an old knife handle, up against her closed lips. "Bite on this," she whispered, "It'll help."
Hrodwynn hesitated. She wanted to be strong, to show them she wasn't afraid, to not scream or cry or give any sign of weakness… But she was weak. She was afraid. And she was practical. Shedding bitter tears, she opened her mouth and took the gag.
Shiiiiiiiiit, she thought to herself, this is really happening. She supposed she should feel thankful that they weren't making her wait, that they were carrying her sentence out quickly without making her sit and stew for days, burning up with anxious anticipation.
The guard behind her gave a practice flick, snapping the lash on empty air. She jumped anyway, the gag helping to stifle her startled shout. Almost immediately after that first crack, another followed, this time igniting a line of fire across her shoulders.
She hadn't the air in her lungs to scream, having expelled it earlier, but she did gasp loudly around the gag. Breathing in expanded her lungs, pulled the broken skin further apart, deepened the wound.
Shit shit shitshitshitshit…
Another lash, cracking loudly as if lightning had struck her, filling her ears, voiding all other noises. Her body jerked, her knees growing weak, and she dangled from her wrists for a moment, pulling the wounds in a new direction. She groaned, tried to get her feet beneath her, tried to ease the strain on her arms and shoulders, tried to lessen the feeling of molten lava melting down her back.
A third lash, and her body reacted of its own will, trying to get away, trying to pull herself free, trying to climb over or even through the post. Already she was too weak, in too much pain, to make any coordinated effort to escape, her body growing clumsy and limp. The thick wooden post filled her vision as her forehead fell against the stained and splintered wood, her breath blowing around the leather strap like a gale, her teeth clenched so tightly she may have cracked a tooth.
The fourth lash fell across her back, but it was already too late. Hrodwynn had had enough. Her consciousness was pulling away, pulling inside, withdrawing from her overloaded senses, blocking off every avenue of sensory input, denying her reality. The sight of the post and the guards milling about just beyond it darkened into night. The sounds from the crowd faded into a summer breeze. The taste of copper on her tongue turned to water. The smell of blood and piss and sweat washed away. The feel of the sun across her skin eroded into the abyss surrounding her.
She never knew the fifth and final lash.
"You said she would be given a warning and then released!" Fenris's forearm was across Brekker's throat, his markings alive despite the mass of witnesses. He wanted to kill the lying bastard. Yes, he remembered—belatedly—that Hawke needed Fenris to find out what Brekker was planning against him, but if Brekker was dead, his plan died with him, and Hawke and their friends would be just as safe.
"That was the plan!" Brekker choked. "But she slipped up and mentioned the safe, so the Orlesians had to make an example of her. Now let me go; you're already drawing too much attention."
Fenris shoved him harder against the building, using that force to propel himself back. His markings continued to glow, rippling up and down his limbs where they showed around his armor. "I should never have trusted you. Our deal is off!"
"Oh, no, no, no, my knife eared friend," Brekker rubbed his throat, "You're mine."
"The deal was," Fenris countered, remembering the strategy Hawke hatched as they left the Keep. Aveline hadn't been able to help Hrodwynn; neither could the Viscount—despite how much he owed Hawke. Hawke, however, had come up with the brilliant idea that Fenris should go and seek Brekker's help. "The deal was, you would get Hrodwynn acquitted, and I would come work for you."
"No, the deal is," Brekker was already shaking his head, and asserting the present tense, "You will come work for me as soon as Hrodwynn is released. Those were your own exact words. Truthfully, I was hoping she'd be left off with only a warning, but I expected they would have imprisoned her for a time, thirty days at the most. Which would have happened, if she hadn't mentioned the safe, mistakenly trying to impress the judges with that sharp tongue of hers. But look at it this way: she'll be out a lot sooner now."
"What do you mean?" Fenris asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Her sentence is over, right? The guards will take her down, bring her back inside, and as soon as she wakes up, they'll kick her out on the street through some back door and be done with her. I expect she'll be free, oh," he paused to squint up at the early afternoon sun, "Sometime after midnight, maybe early morning. Depends how long she stays passed out."
The leather of Fenris' gauntlet creaked, the overlapping metal plates clacked, but the otherworldly glow from his markings faded. Without another word he turned on his heel and started stalking towards the alley running alongside the Embassy.
"Where are you going?" Brekker called out. He hated to do it, but he started after him, not wanting the elf to get away.
"To find the back door!" he snarled back, turning his head just far enough to allow his voice to carry. "Soon as she's free and back home safe and sound, I'll meet you in Darktown. You have my word."
"Don't keep me waiting too long," Brekker eased his steps to a standstill. "I'll know it too, when she's released. If you try anything…" he left the sentence hanging.
Fenris left it hanging, as well.
Pain.
That was her first sensation, like an infant being born, taking that first breath, gushing like a hurricane into lungs that had never held air before. She inhaled, and her wounds screamed into life.
The only reason she didn't cry out as she exhaled was because she was too weak, only able to manage a whimpering sort of moan.
"Told you she'd wake up with a little encouragement," a faceless voice spoke somewhere beyond her vision.
The toe of a boot prodded her ribs again, a little on the harsh side, and Hrodwynn gasped. Instinctively she curled inwards on that side, trying to protect herself. The twisting movement opened up new levels of pain across her back, five of them to be precise, a few of them intersecting each other's paths.
"Knock it off," another voice sounded, feminine, and far more sympathetic in tone as well as words.
"The sooner she's awake, the sooner we can kick her outside. And as soon as we kick her outside, we're off duty. And I'm getting tired and grouchy, spending half the night waiting for her to wake the fuck up!"
"I know, but the poor girl's been through enough. So back off."
There was the sound of scuffling followed by a masculine grunt. Hrodwynn opened her eyes in time to see the offending boot and its partner removed from her vicinity. A moment later and a face came into view, and Hrodwynn recognized the guard who had given her the leather strap to chew. "Here, you are awake. Do you think you can you sit up? Take it easy, nice and slow, and try not to bend or twist your back."
Hrodwynn wanted to retort, that such a thing was easier said than done, but she couldn't risk opening her mouth. She clamped down on her breath, snapping her jaw shut and closing off her throat, anything to keep from letting the scream out. Her hands seized the guard's arms, either to help reach her feet or in an attempt to fight her off—Hrodwynn couldn't tell, nor could she be bothered to find out. But after an agonizing moment, she amazedly found herself standing, her backside braced against a wall, her forehead resting on the guard's shoulder.
"There, there, take a moment to catch your breath. It'll get easier, you'll see."
The other guard made a disgusted noise. "Fuck it! Coddle her if you want, but our job's done. She's up. The door's there. I'm out of here!"
Neither the other guard nor Hrodwynn cared to watch him leave.
"Got your legs under you yet?" she asked solicitously.
Hrodwynn nodded, not because she thought she could stand on her own, but because she was suffering an overwhelming desire to get out of there before they changed their minds…
She gulped down a lungful of air, trying to steady her heartbeat, trying to push away the panic. It was over. It was all over. She was alive. She was free. All she had to do now was get to Anders and he would make everything better. "…door…?"
"I suppose you would wish to leave here as soon as possible; and no, I don't blame you, not after what you've been through. The door's right here, Kitten."
"Button," Hrodwynn corrected, her mind slightly befuddled. It was easier, safer, to not think about things, not important or relevant things anyway. Silly little nicknames was a safe subject. "She called Merril Kitten, so he started calling me Button instead."
"Who did?" the guard asked, not really caring for the answer, just trying to keep the young woman talking and awake and moving. "Who called you Button?"
They paused while the guard opened the door. Hrodwynn blinked at her, trying to remember what they were talking about. "My friend, he calls me Button."
"Oh, well," the guard helped her over the threshold, "I hope your friend is waiting for you. And I hope he's someone who can keep you out of trouble from now on."
"He watches out for me, sure," she shrugged. Immediately her back, from her shoulders to just beneath her ribs, screeched in excruciating pain. She gasped and staggered a few steps before managing to find a wall. She leaned one hand against the unmoving stone, keeping herself as still as possible while waiting for the waves of fire to ebb. When she finally found her voice, when she was finally able to turn around to thank the guard for her kindness, she found herself alone in the alley, the door to the Embassy closed tight. "Thanks," she whispered anyway.
Hrodwynn turned around again, using the wall for support, and started for the end of the alley. She had to get her bearings first, then she'd make for Hawke's mansion. She didn't think she could make it all the way to Anders' clinic in Darktown, but at this time of night, he was probably with Hawke, anyway.
She paused and looked around her, suddenly wondering why no one was here for her. Surely the scene today had been noised about the town, the young would-be thief publicly flogged for breaking into the Orlesian Embassy. Surely her friends would have realized she was the thief, that she was in trouble, and come to either try to break her out, or be here to pick her up. Hawke should have been here at the very least. And with him, Anders. Even if Fenris—the bloody stupid git—had mistakenly gone to Brekker for help…
That thought stopped her completely. She had risked all this, just so Fenris could get away and find Hawke and somehow—some way—get her out of this mess. But he hadn't. He had failed her. He had gone to Brekker instead, who had probably coerced him into doing some Coterie business in payment for that help. That's why no one was here. No one knew she had gotten caught. No one knew she needed help.
Because Fenris had abandoned her.
There were footsteps coming up behind her, soft and nearly silent, like the padding of bare feet. Perfect, just fucking perfect, she thought to herself, turning around and preparing herself as best she could for a fight. She had been freed not a moment ago, and already she was going to get jumped on by thieves or cutthroats or slavers or rapists or…
"Fenris!" she cried, recognizing his unruly mop of white hair, shining in the moonlight. The next moment she nearly screamed as he reached out for her, trying to wrap his arms around her. "Maker-damn-it-Fenris-don't-touch-my-back!"
"Sorry," he quickly apologized, removing his hands and holding them, palms outwards, though ready to grab her if she looked like she would fall over. Which was exactly how she appeared. "Sorry, I'm only trying to help."
"Help?" she panted, having to try three times before she could make the word coherent. "I needed your help earlier, while I was still in jail, before I was publicly tried and flogged!"
She tensed; yelling at him was taking too much effort, too much strength, too much movement. She leaned—carefully—against the wall with one elbow and a hip making contact with the solid stone.
"I did what I could," he answered, not quite as heatedly, but just as assuredly. "After you forced me to phase through the wall without you," he saw her eyes narrow and thought maybe he shouldn't have reminded her of that part, "I went straight to Hawke. And Anders." She softened a little at the mention of her friend.
"They do know," she paused to swallow, "What happened to me?"
"They do," he affirmed, staring into her eyes, willing her to stay conscious. "Hawke immediately went to the Keep, but neither Aveline nor the Viscount could do anything. That's when I went to Brekker for help. I joined his gang. In return, he was to see about getting you released."
"I know that part," she waved her hand in a vague direction, "The man defending me told me, but it was still… stupid…."
"It was Hawke's idea."
"…no excuse…"
"It works out. Even though Brekker wanted the two of us working for him, this way he at least gets me, and with less suspicion regarding my motives or loyalties. Remember, we do need someone on the inside of his organization, to find out what he wants with Hawke."
"Fuck Hawke!" she all but shouted into the night's shadows, unthinkingly throwing one arm wide for emphasis.
Fenris saw her face drain of color, her chest stop moving with breath, her eyes widen and shine with moisture. "Hrodwynn?" he reached out hesitantly, wanting to touch her, not sure if she would let him. "Your face is turning gray. Perhaps you should sit down for a moment. Rest. Catch your breath."
"I…" she gasped, her back feeling like molten lava again, slowly oozing downwards, each breath reenergizing the agony. Someone had given her an old tunic to wear, but the fabric was coarse and scratchy, catching the edges of her wounds and tugging on the loose bits of skin and flesh. There was a spreading gooeyness, a clinging cloyingness that she knew was her blood, soaking through the tunic and down into the waistband of her leggings. She was hurt, she was tired, the only person here for her wasn't a friend but the one man who hated her…!
And now he was going to see her cry.
"I'm done," she said softly. Defeatedly. Finally.
"It's over," he agreed.
"No, I mean it, Fenris," she sniffed. "I'm done. With all of it. I'm done with Brekker. I'm done with the lies. I'm done with pretending. I'm done hating you. I'm just… done…"
Fenris couldn't stand there, dispassionately, and watch her break into tears. Hurt or no, loathing him or no, phantom dangers or no, he was going to touch her. He was going to offer her comfort. He was going to help carry her burdens. He took her upper arms and pulled her towards his chest, one hand moving to the back of her head to rest her against him. He could sense that her struggle within his grasp was more token than honest, and smiled a little when she gave in. He held her carefully, mindful of her injuries, mindful of the spikes on his armor, and whispered so gently into her ear it felt like a kiss, "So am I."
Silently she cried, her head beside his, her chin over his shoulder. Inaudibly the tears slipped down her cheeks. Mutely she let it all go, the suffering, the pain, the fear, the anger, the worry, the contingencies, the machinations, the subterfuges. It was all over, all said and done, all of it behind her—at least for this one moment.
He heard her breathing slow closer to normal, felt her hands slide down to his hips, saw her head bob as she began to pull away. He let her, having done what he needed to do—what she needed him to do. "We should get going. Do you think you can walk?"
She didn't speak, didn't nod or shake her head, but started down the alley, making it all of two steps before stumbling.
"This isn't going to work." Fenris jumped ahead of her, catching her as she swayed. She hissed slightly but allowed his touch, mostly because he was doing everything he could to leave her back alone. "Here, lean against the wall for a moment," he set her hand on the stone.
All the fight was out of her, all the energy, all the thought. She was finished, past the point of being able to care; someone else could come up with all the ideas from now on thank-you-very-much, and Fenris seemed more than willing. Disinterestedly she watched him take his greatsword off his back, sheath and all. He leaned it against the wall next to her, and she had the funny idea of her and the sword being one and the same, something he carried with him nearly everywhere, something he needed and used almost daily, something that caused him strain and effort. Her fingertips reached out and brushed where the sheath had been resting on his back, finding the leather housing still warm.
"Your turn."
She looked up at him, her emerald eyes dull. Fenris held her gaze a moment before he slowly presented her with his back, craning his neck to try to maintain eye contact. He squatted down, his hands over his shoulders, open and ready for her to take hold. She did so, not really understanding what was happening, what his intensions were, not until he brought her hands around in front of him and made her clasp her own forearms. Next he gripped her thighs, hoisting her up as he stood, wrapping her legs around his hips. He waited a moment, but when she seemed like she would be able to hold on, he picked his sword up in one hand, kept his other on her arms around his neck, and started on his way.
The plan was to bring her to Hawke's mansion, but his was closer, and the sooner he had them off the streets, the better. Besides, she was in no danger of dying, no danger of bleeding out; what she needed most right then was to rest.
Hrodwynn didn't remember the journey back to Fenris' mansion, not at the time. Later on she would be able to think back over that night, recall the sound of a City Guard patrol the next street over, the smell of roses blooming in a neighbor's garden, the softness of unruly white hair tickling her cheek. But at the time she simply hung there off of Fenris' back and absorbed it all, dispassionately, disinterestedly, disconnectedly.
It wasn't until she was met with eyes so intensely blue they rivaled the sky, that she was able to come out of her stupor.
"You could have told me!" Anders groused, stalking down the early morning streets of Kirkwall.
Hawke rolled his eyes, luckily overlooked by Anders, as he was hard pressed to keep up with the healer. Fenris, too, looked slightly winded, jogging to keep pace.
"I should have been there!"
Hawke had tried reasoning with the man, after Fenris showed up without Hrodwynn. They hadn't told Anders anything, not that Hrodwynn's trial had already occurred, or that she'd been sentenced to the lash, or even that Fenris was to bring her to the mansion after she'd been released. He knew Anders would be upset, and he had been counting on Hrodwynn's presence to keep him calmer.
Fenris fucked that up—again. He knew it was unfair, but it seemed to him that the elf went out of his way to piss Anders off.
"I could have stopped them! Justice… could have…"
"No!" Hawke hastened his steps and grabbed Anders' arm. "No, don't go there. That's the very reason we didn't tell you, in case…"
"In case I couldn't stay in control?" Anders finished for him. His mocha brown eyes studied Hawke's amber orbs. "You don't trust me, do you."
"That's not fair," Hawke denied, trying to turn the tables. "Bloody shite, even I nearly stormed the Embassy, after her sentence had been pronounced. Aveline practically broke my arm, keeping me in check. Would you have wanted that? To force me to do you harm?" He yanked the mansion door open for them all.
Anders didn't answer Hawke, he couldn't, instead seizing the one topic of conversation that was currently safe. "Where is she?"
"Upstairs," Fenris answered, trying not to sound like a bellows, "In her room. Sebastian is keeping her company."
"Sebastian?" Anders paused on the bottom step. "Who's Sebastian? Are you telling me, you left her alone with some strange man…?"
"He's a Brother in the Chantry," Fenris protested mildly, passing him on the stairs, "I doubt her virtue was in any danger."
Anders huffed but let the matter go, hearing Hrodwynn's voice from above. "Anders…?"
"I'm here, Wynnie," he lifted his face to answer.
The three men burst into the bedchamber almost as one. Hrodwynn was sitting stiffly on a low couch, facing a man who's back was to the door. He turned when they entered, and Hawke finally recognized where he had heard the name Sebastian before.
"Anders!" she cried, overriding any thought Hawke had of the stranger. She didn't stand, but Anders came to her, nearly pushing the man off the couch in an effort to take hold of her.
"Wynnie! I'm sorry, Wynnie, I didn't know. They didn't tell me. Or I would've been there. I would've stopped it."
"No. It's alright. I know you would've. It's over now."
Hawke felt uncomfortable, thinking about all Hrodwynn had been through, feeling responsible for at least part of it, and knowing Anders was going to have to take her tunic off before he could heal her. "We should, er, give her some privacy," he suggested, nodding towards the hallway.
"Just a moment," Anders commanded, having shifted around to look at her back, "I'm going to need a few things first."
"What do you need?" Sebastian asked, taking a step closer. He'd been enjoying his conversation with the young lady, and though she was a criminal—as if he could judge her for that—he didn't feel she had deserved such a brutal sentence. He wanted to help her in any way possible.
"Some hot water," Anders ticked off on his fingers, "A bit of soap, and towels. Lots of towels."
"How much hot water?" Fenris asked, wondering if he should bring a bucket into the room, or if it would be easier to bring Hrodwynn to the water closet.
"Enough to soak the towels. The blood on your back has soaked into your tunic, Wynnie," he said gently. "It's half dried already. The fabric's stuck to you like glue. I could cut the rest of the tunic away, but one part will still be adhering to your wounds…"
"Just rip it off," she grimaced, already bracing herself, "Quick and clean."
"You'll start bleeding again," he shook his head. "Let me do this my way. We'll soak the towels in the hot water, and put them over your back, loosening the blood. It'll take a little time, but it will be easier in the long run. Trust me, alright? This is what I do."
She glanced at him over her shoulder, but had to turn away again as the position was pulling on her wounds. "Of course I trust you."
Fenris came back into the room, no one had seen him leave, but he was carrying a bucket of water and several towels draped over one arm. Handing the towels off to Anders, he set the bucket next to the hearth, where earlier a fire had been stoked into life, probably by Sebastian. He picked up a couple of loose bricks with a pair of tongs and dropped them into the bucket. "That should heat the water," he stated, getting a face full of steam for his troubles.
"Thank you, Fenris," Hrodwynn said before Anders could find something to criticize.
"If there's nothing else," Hawke was already moving towards the door, "We'll be just outside."
"Er, yes, we should excuse ourselves," Sebastian agreed. He did step back to stand before Hrodwynn, however, and held his hand out for hers. She gave it, looking a little befuddled, and even managed a blush when he bent over their hands, brushing his lips lightly across her knuckles. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Lady Hrodwynn."
She felt the warmth across her cheeks, and the silly flip-flop in her chest, but stuttered, "I'm no, er, lady. Just, um, Hrodwynn."
"Are you sure? You look like…" he caught Anders' glare from behind her back as he accepted a bar of soap from Fenris, who was also glaring at him. "Ah, well, no matter. I hope you are feeling well soon. And I look forward to seeing you again sometime." He bowed once more before turning to follow Hawke out of the room, Fenris bringing up the rear, almost as if he was making sure Sebastian left.
"What a delightful young lady," Sebastian chatted in the hallway. "You should bring her to the Chantry one of these days…"
"I'll extend the offer," Fenris grumbled low, feeling uncomfortable over the mentioning of his visits to the Chantry.
"You… attend service? At the Chantry?" Hawke couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"I only go there on business," Fenris denied, lifting his chin and straitening his shoulders.
"Speaking of which," Sebastian snapped his fingers, "That's why I'm here. I wanted to hire you again, for another food hand-out."
"Where and when?" Fenris asked with a sigh, feeling like his calendar was overflowing these days.
"Halfway between the Hanged Man and the docks, there's an entrance into Darktown. We'll be handing out food two blocks south of there. Tomorrow morning at sunrise."
Fenris nodded, his expression grim. "I can't make any promises, but I will be there if I am able."
"The Sisters and I will appreciate it. And this time," he leaned a little too close into Fenris' personal space, "Please, accept your payment, with our gratitude."
He lifted his chin again. "I do not know what you are talking about."
"It happens every time," Sebastian said, more to Hawke than Fenris. "We hire Fenris for protection, pay him, and a few days later the same leather pouch we gave him is found inside the box where we collect donations for the poor."
"I don't see how you can think that comes from me," he continued, fruitlessly, to deny. "A leather pouch is a leather pouch, one looks very much the same as another…"
"Last time I left a note inside the pouch, thanking you for your services. The pouch, its coin, and the note, were all found together." He looked back at Hawke, "I won't insult him by handing the money over, again, but I don't see how he can afford to live here if he keeps giving away all his coin."
"You should probably get going," Fenris suggested, strongly. "If I can, I'll be there, tomorrow morning at sunrise."
"So will I," Hawke promised. Sebastian looked at him sharply, but he simply shrugged, "Not that I need the coin, certainly, but you and the Sisters do need protection in that part of town. And I am somewhat handy with a staff," he shrugged his shoulders, shifting the weapon in emphasis.
"Ah, now I remember you!" Sebastian's features eased. "You helped me out, a couple of years ago, with that mercenary group."
"What's this?" Anders asked, coming out of Hrodwynn's room and closing the door firmly behind him.
"It was before we met," Hawke answered in an aside. "How's Hrodwynn?"
"Resting," he replied, "But your voices are carrying through the door, so if you don't mind…?" he made a shooing motion down the hallway.
"I was just leaving, anyway," Sebastian nodded, acquiescing to Anders' suggestion. "Please, give the lady my regards. And I look forward to working with you again, Ser Hawke. Ser," he nodded at Anders. "Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow, Fenris."
"You know this man?" Anders asked, gesturing at the Brother.
"I'll explain later," Hawke answered, firmly taking his arm and marching him towards the stairs. "Come on, love, you said it, she needs rest, not an overprotective, self-appointed uncle hovering over her all day. Let's leave her be. We'll let ourselves out, Fenris. Goodbye."
Anders huffed, but he didn't try to pull out of his grasp. "Make sure she gets plenty of rest," he called out as Hawke dragged him down the stairs after Sebastian. "And don't aggravate her! And don't think I've let you—either of you—off the hook for keeping this from me!"
"I'm sure Fenris will take very good care of her," Sebastian unnecessarily defended him, and placed himself firmly in Anders' crosshairs. "The young lady told me herself that he acts the perfect gentleman around her…"
"Don't presume you know anything about…"
"We really should be going…"
Fenris listened to their voices crashing over each other, until the closing of the main door silenced them. He stood for a moment, listening to the quiet around him, the soft creak of settling timbers, the squeak of a rusty hinge as one of the cats pushed a door open. This was how he liked it, silent and still and dark. And alone.
Until the sound of someone crying penetrated through his senses. He knew he should get going, that Brekker would be expecting him soon, but he couldn't leave Hrodwynn like this, crying alone and abandoned in this sorry excuse for a home. He went up to her door and knocked his knuckles gently on the wood.
He heard a startled gasp from inside, followed a moment later by her timid response, "Who's there?"
"It's me, Fenris," he answered, wanting to open the door, but respecting her privacy. "I, er, I was wondering, I mean, I have to leave for a bit. I thought I'd check on you before I go."
He heard shuffling from within, the scrape as a piece of furniture was bumped into, followed by a soft curse and some stumbled steps. The next moment Hrodwynn pulled the door open and stood there. He could tell from the smell of soap and the dampness on the ends of her hair, that she had been cleaning up. She also wore a fresh pair of leggings, but was clutching a blanket around her bare shoulders. Her room was in disarray, her pack upended over her bed and the contents strewn and shoved this way and that. The chest in the room lay open and in a similar state as her pack. "Oh, um, I thought you'd left with the others. Anders said you needed to check in with Brekker."
"I didn't, I do, I mean," he paused and lifted a hand, wanting to touch her face where there was a stubborn lock of hair curled wetly against her cheek. But there was still that wary look in her eyes, that exhausted yet enduring guardedness, so he let his hand drop back to his side. "I just wanted to let you know, that I'm leaving now."
"Alright," she nodded, one thin arm snaking out from beneath the blanket to brush at the lock. "Do you need me to come with?"
He could tell by the tone of her voice, that she wanted anything but to go with him and see Brekker. "No," he answered honestly, feeling rewarded somehow when her expression relaxed, "I think it's better, if we keep you out of Brekker's clutches. This whole affair has taken its toll on you. Not that you couldn't spy on Brekker for Hawke," he quickly cursed his slip, fearing she might think he was slighting her, "But Hawke only needs one of us inside Brekker's gang. And Brekker wants me more than he wants you."
She didn't retort right away, which he took as a good sign. "And now he has you," she agreed.
"Or so he thinks."
They stood silently staring at each other for a moment.
"I, er, I should go."
She nodded again, "I guess I'll be here when you get back."
"Is there anything…"
"Just go," she all but moaned, her expression turning pained, "Please."
Fenris looked at her a moment longer, before nodding and turning away. He had seen the redness on her face, the moisture in her eyes, her possessions thrown about the room, and thought he knew what was causing her concern. The inkling of an idea began to form in his mind, an idea that would—possibly, hopefully—continue to erode the guardedness, ease the hatred, and show her he truly meant what he had said earlier that morning.
He was done, too.
