Chapter Thirty-Two: "Everyone is Looking at You…"
The ship rocked against a wave, and Hrodwynn had to grip the railing with her good hand.
Fenris was beside her, of course, ever present, ever in attendance. She could feel his arm behind her, barely touching the fabric of her blouse, but he had not yet taken hold of her to help her regain her balance. He was once more in his armor, full of sharp edges and hard corners, and was mindful of touching her thoughtlessly and scraping her by accident.
At least, that was what she told herself, that was what she wanted to believe. Fearfully, deep within her heart, she battled bravely, trying not to imagine that he had hesitated before grabbing hold, that he simply could not bare to touch her, not after what—Matthias! Andraste's bridal veil, she had to pause every time before saying it, but it was getting easier to use that name—not after what Matthias had done to her. Who would, she wondered, feeling bitter tears burn her eyes more than the saltwater spray. She was damaged, broken, warped and twisted like her useless right hand…
Then his hand was there, on her shoulder, not hesitant but firm, the talons of his gauntlet curving around her protectively, holding her fast within a gentle embrace. And banishing her demons of doubt. She sniffed, blinked the saltiness out of her eyes, and put a brave little smile on her lips as she turned towards him.
"Thanks."
"You're trembling," he answered. "Are you cold?"
The smile faded. "You know I'm not."
"I was only…"
"What?" she challenged, bracing her legs, shrugging off his hand, and lifting up her chin. Her emerald eyes flashing with fire, she went on the offensive, "What were you doing? Giving me an excuse? An easy out? So I can hide from what is really making me shake? What I'm really feeling?"
Fenris didn't allow himself to flinch away from the sudden mood swing. He'd endured several of these little tantrums already, and undoubtedly would weather several more, for however long it took until his love was whole again. But he also knew he shouldn't allow her to get away with it, to ignore her odd behavior, to excuse it as she had just accused him of doing. "I had meant we've just come from Tevinter, where it's quite a bit warmer than the Free Marches, so it would be understandable for you to feel chilled in this wind. But if you'd rather think so ill of me…"
The fire died as quickly as it had flared, put out in part by the tears returning to her eyes. "Oh, Fen," she moaned softly, "I'm such a mess. Why do you do it? Why do you stay with me?"
"Honestly," carefully and skillfully his hand moved to brush the moisture away from her cheeks, "Because I love you. That, and we're stuck with each other."
"Stuck?" she stubbornly ignored the first part and clung to the second with desperate determination. It was far easier, far less intimidating, to ignore anything emotional. "How are you stuck with me?"
"Look around," he swept his hand in a grand gesture, "We're onboard a ship, surrounded by water. There's no place for either of us to go that's not within so many feet of the other. Hence," he reached down to take her hand, her broken and twisted hand, and gave it an encouraging squeeze, "We are stuck. Together."
Hrodwynn blinked, "You made a joke."
"Yes," he admitted, "Though a small one."
"Very small," she agreed. Then that smile was back, timidly tugging and twisting up the corner of her mouth. She ducked her head, either to hide the smile or to lean in to him, or a little of both. "I'm sorry for shouting at you," she whispered. "I want to say… I want to promise it won't happen again, but…"
"Don't make promises you can't keep," he finished for her. "Besides, I understand. I do," he continued, when she looked up at him with disbelief on her features. "I remember having quite a few of my own moody moments, back when we first met. Even later, whenever my memories tried to return, and it would all but physically hurt to try to remember, I did my best to push you away. But you stayed. You did not—would not give up on me."
"That's because I love you…"
A tiny gasp, almost disguised as a hiccough of surprise, followed her words. They had simply come, those words, flowing as naturally out of her mouth as her breath, those words that she had been so afraid to say, tied to an emotion so deep and powerful that it frightened her. But there followed no tumultuous storm, no excited explosion, no earth shattering quake. Only a gentle breeze, a tickle of of a smile on his lips, as he answered.
"And I, you."
He didn't kiss her, though certainly the thought must have crossed his mind. Instead he leaned in to her, tilting his head to press against hers, eyes closed. She lifted her good hand up to his shoulder, fingers deftly avoiding both his armor and the lyrium brands that lay unseen beneath, and closed her eyes. They stood there, forehead to forehead, Fenris ignoring the three dots of lyrium on his brow that burned from the touch.
"Amatus."
"Fen."
And all was right with the world. Well… not really, Fenris corrected himself. He could not invoke his lyrium where she might see. Nor could he kiss her and touch her as his body longed to do. And her emotions ran rampantly, out of control, and as mercurial as lightning. But for now, in this one moment, this single and good and full-of-ease moment, all was right with the world.
And he knew he had to end it. "So, are you going to tell me?"
She tensed, a mere shifting of her shoulders and a slight lessening of pressure against his head, but at least she did not pull away. "Tell you what? We've been talking…"
"No, I mean yes," he broke the contact, not completely, only far enough to see her face, "But not about what is happening. With you. Right now, there is something bothering you, some little thing, making you antsy and, well, bitchy. A new thing I think, because your behavior has changed again these past two days, ever since we came within sight of land. What is it, Hrodwynn? Tell me. Share it with me. Say it out loud; I promise, there is no such thing as a deep and ancient magic that conjures the spoken word into demons. Whatever is troubling you, whatever is haunting your dreams at night, it won't seem so bad and scary once you give it voice, here, in the daylight, with me beside you."
Fenris held his breath. He had been talking with Isabela—quite a lot!—about how to best help Hrodwynn. How to get her to talk with him, to open up and share and not keep things locked inside her where they might fester and poison her. He knew he could handle the subject matter, that wasn't the problem; the problem was getting her started. Hrodwynn seemed overly frightened of her… well… her emotions, her thoughts, her experiences… of her self. Isabela told him, HE had to get her to talk, to reassure her, to listen. And for Andraste's sake!—whatever else he did he should NOT give her a solution. She had to find her own way out of her nightmare.
But he could guide her and encourage her.
Hrodwynn wanted nothing else right then but to run away and hide deep within the bowels of the ship. She could feel her feet, shifting, itching, ready to run, all she had to do was think the command and then… But Fenris' hand continued to hold hers, his fingers cupped protectively and supportively around her twisted and useless digits, a tender and loose touch, one easily broken and yet holding her fast. She glanced up at him, knowing he was right, hating how he was right and how easily he could read her body language. Yet loving him all the more because of it. "It's… I think… it has something to do with the ship… not this ship, I mean… but a ship… or some ship… or sailing… maybe…" Briefly she nipped at her lip before turning her face away, her eyes settling on the skyline of Kirkwall as it loomed ever closer.
"We'll be docking within the hour, if that helps."
"It does," she turned fully away from him, watching the shoreline slide past as the city grew and grew. "And it doesn't. Fenris," she could say his name, without hesitation, though occasionally she would pause after, as if she had to reassure herself that it was alright to speak it, that she had used it on the right Fenris and not the 'fake Fenris.' "There's something… I don't know what it is… but there's something… there… here…"
"Does it have anything to do with your dream?" he prodded, hoping he was steering her in the right direction. "I know you had it again last night. It woke you up."
"I… How did you know?" she queried, curious enough to look at him. "I didn't think I'd made a sound when I woke up."
"You didn't," he acknowledged, "But you did twitch. I'm a light sleeper and, well, I, erm, let's just say I'm overly sensitive to movement. I woke up when you did, when you twitched. You don't normally twitch in your sleep. Sometimes you'll moan, and I've known you to toss and turn, but this was an odd sort of jerk."
"Well, you glow," she accused, stalling.
"Glow?" he asked, bewildered, and a little wary that she was trying to steer the conversation off course, which undoubtedly she was.
"You glow. In your sleep. I guess when it happens, you must be dreaming or something, because your lyrium pulses. It's fairly soft, hard to see, but I see it." She sighed, a heavy breath, and dropped her voice low and soft. "I see it every time."
Fenris wasn't surprised at all that she would notice it if he did something as subtle as glowing in his sleep, something so faint that it could hardly wake most people from a deep sleep, but she would wake. And not because she was used to having to see the dark. No, she wasn't referring to the time she spent in her dank and windowless pit of a dungeon cell, because she'd been free for too long and her eyes were now readjusted to daylight. She was referring to the fact that Matthias liked to invoke his lyrium, that he did it to make himself look more like Fenris, every time he came to her. She'd been conditioned to be overly sensitive to the muted and unique glow of lyrium.
Damn Matthias!
"What of your dream last night?" If his voice was a little more gravely than normal, he ignored it. Right at that moment, they were supposed to be focused on Hrodwynn's dreams, not his. It was time he stopped her evasiveness and made her face this latest issue. "What do you remember of it?"
"Nothing."
He watched her turn away again, saw her throw up her defenses and try to shut him out. But he phased through her emotional barriers as easily as his lyrium phased through matter. He leaned over and touched her cheek, using only the tips of his taloned fingers, tucking away a strand of hair that had escaped her scarf. The wind threatened to loose it again, so he deftly secured the strand beneath the dark green fabric, barely touching her, harming neither her skin or her scarf. She looked at him in surprise, confusion, need, fear, anger… far too many emotions to categorize or define. So he ignored the ones that were irrelevant and focused on the one he needed—they needed—her to feel. He spoke gently, the sounds barely reaching her ears, as his one hand still holding her broken hand lifted it up between them and held it there, suspended, equidistant between their hearts. "I want you—I NEED you to know this, Amatus. Even though we cannot be… intimate right now, we are still together. This is me," he squeezed lightly, "Holding you," sliding his fingers between hers, "Kissing you," the pad of his thumb stroking the back of her hand, "Loving you deeply."
Tears sprang up quickly, and just as quickly were vanquished. She took a little breath, held it, staring at their fingers twisted and entwined, before she lifted her other hand to join in the embrace. "And this is me, loving you, too."
She couldn't look at him, couldn't raise her eyes higher than their hands, but she could at last speak. "It was a dream. That one dream, about my… past… maybe… I don't know. But it's always the same. I'm someplace dark. She's there, a woman, and no I don't remember who she is, but she… she's sad… she's crying." Hrodwynn paused to sniff, "She tells me to run. Everyone tells me to run. And I run. I run and run and run… and then I'm falling…!"
"And then you wake up?"
She nodded, ducking her head afterwards.
"Who is the woman? What I mean is," he had both of his hands in hers now, all four appendages locked tight, supporting her tactilely as he supported her mentally, "Can you see her face? Can you describe what she looks like?"
She was shaking her head almost before he had begun to ask. "No, no, no…" She took a staggering breath, feeling that nearly overwhelming impulse to RUN! Yet Fenris was not letting go of her, anchoring her to the present, to them and their shared love. Continuing to pant and feeling as if she had been running for hours, she pressed onward, trusting that he was pressing her for a good reason, trusting in his guidance. "I… I think I do know… what she looks like… while I'm dreaming… but I can never remember after I wake up. Her face fades! I only know that I know, or knew, what she looks like!"
"Alright," he said calmly, pulling her back from the edge of whatever antsy sensation she was feeling. "Alright. Let's forget about what you can or cannot remember seeing in this dream. Let's focus on something else, something you take with you after the dream is finished. What do you remember feeling? Are you scared? Are you mad? Do you feel lost? Why do you feel as if you have to run? Besides being told to."
"I…" she closed her eyes, trying to remember, trying to focus on this new area of her dream, her forehead tapping their hands. "No… I don't… I mean, I think… I think I should be scared, but I'm not scared. I'm… confused… hurt… I don't want to run… but I have to… Everyone tells me to run… So I run…"
"Who's everyone?" he asked, having only ever heard about the woman before, "Are there others in your dream? Do you know who? Are they strangers? Are you and this woman in the middle of a crowd, perhaps?"
She shook her head, her eyes squeezed tight, a furrow forming between her brow. "No, there's no crowd. It's too dark, too closed-in of a space. There's only the woman and… I don't know who he is. I don't know who SHE is. I only know I'm being told to run. I don't want to, I'm tired, I want to stay with her, but…" her eyes opened, yet if she could see Fenris she gave no sign, her focus on her dream, "Everyone tells me to run. Even after we leave her, he's there, behind me, pushing me, urging me to run, run, keep running, don't look back, just run…"
She came back to him then, at least in part, blinking and focusing her eyes onto his. "I didn't want to run. I had to run. I hated doing it, I was crying, but I had to run. He made me run. Why? Why did he do it? Was he my father? And she my mother? And if so, why would they tell me to run? Why would he make me leave her? And what happened to him? I don't understand."
"Neither do I," he shared—first in her confusion, second in her progress, "But let's think about this for a moment. Where were you, in your first memory? Your first real, remembered memory, as you are now, Hrodwynn, in this life—what is the first thing you can clearly remember?"
She shuddered, he could feel the trembling through their bound hands, and almost fearfully she turned her face to look out over the approaching pier. "There. Kirkwall's docks. Not the nice ones where I left from, where the merchant ships make port, or where the Harbor Master's office is located," briefly she referenced her first trip to the harbor, and her semi-disastrous adventure in cracking a Siggerdson. "The docks I remember were dark, smelling of… rotted wood, sewage, piss and vomit and blood… just like the docks we're approaching. The ships were all dark and menacing, the crewmen either brawling drunkards, or staring at me cold and quiet like." She looked over at another ship, already secured to its moorings, the crew that remained on deck embodying the hard and silent looks she had just been describing. "This is too… too much… too close to my dream… Fen, I'm scared… I don't want to be here." Her wide, emerald eyes roved all over wildly, like an untamed animal that's been cornered and is desperately searching for a way to escape.
"Unfortunately, we don't have much of a choice. Isabela said she couldn't dock with the more respectable ships, as this ship's holds are full of stolen property, and most of her trusted fences, who purchase said stolen property, are closer to these docks, naturally as they do business with pirates and those of that ilk. So we have to dock here, with the other pirate ships, as we are—technically—pirates. Or at the very least, on a pirate ship."
His words were not reassuring. Nor were they meant to be reassuring, or coddling, or hiding the truth and the danger beneath a lacquer of sugarcoated lies—they were meant to be straightforward and honest and brutal. With a little cry, like the soft mewl of a lost kitten, she all but fell into him, crushing their hands between them, her need to hide was so great. He allowed her to find what solace she could, tuck herself against him, burrow into his armor and protection and warmth and comfort, yet he still needed her to find her own strength, somewhere within herself. While her face pressed against his neck, he laid his cheek on her scarf-covered head and whispered, "But I am here. I am here with you, Hrodwynn. You are not alone. You do not have to run. You and I, we can stand here and let the ship dock and not have to go anywhere, not for hours if you don't want. It'll take that long for the crew to unload their booty. Or," he pulled back a little, hoping to catch a glimpse of her face, "Or we could walk down that gangplank, take a stroll, slow and easy, wherever you wish to go. It is entirely up to you."
Unbeknownst to them, they had been the center of attention for quite a while. Varric was watching, his wise old eyes sad yet hopeful, as he perched on top of a coil of rope. He had been keeping a discreet eye on the pair, mindful of her moods as well as his reactions, ready to step in should the situation call for it. He knew, he understood, dealing with Hrodwynn right then was a tricky business, full of pitfalls no one could be able to see until they were stumbled upon. Fenris seemed to have a fairly good handle on matters; however, Varric continued to feel somewhat responsible for the two. He was the one, after all, who managed to come up with a ruse that forced Fenris and Hrodwynn together—and eventually got the two of them to admit that they loved each other.
"Are we there yet?"
Varric didn't jump from the acerbic droll sounding behind and to the side of his ear. He smiled, his hands steady as he checked over his crossbow, and replied, "You can see as well as I, Hawke. The crew have secured the moorings and are setting the ramp in place now. We can leave in a minute or so, if you'd like."
"I'd like! Maker, how wonderful to be on dry land once more, " he sighed, cocking his hip as he stared at the pier, which just happened to be right behind the pair of lovers. "I can at long last get this film of salt out of my hair and off my skin."
"Not to mention," Varric snarked, "Get back into the warm and dry embrace of your lover."
Hawke huffed, opened his mouth to reply, paused, closed it, opened it again, only to answer abysmally with a pathetic sort of sniff. "Speaking of lovers," he gestured with his perfect-goatee-covered-chin towards Fenris and Hrodwynn, "They seem to be having less trouble than one would've thought, after all she's been through. They are fairly intimate standing there, staring into each other's eyes. Not mention," he leaned over to speak softer, his words for Varric only, "All the time they've spent doing you-know-what down in the hold. I heard them again last night. Kept me up for hours, their 'play.' I mean, honestly! Do they have to sneak off, down to the holds, just to be so… vigorous? And right beneath my cabin? Do they really think no one can hear them when they're down there?"
Varric chuckled, re-slinging his crossbow over his shoulder and hopping up onto his feet. "I thought you were more worldly than this, Hawke, but if I have to, I suppose I could explain matters to you, you know, about the birds and the bees." The dwarf could all but feel the hard stare and flat line of Hawke's lips, so he elaborated. "Oh, I know, they do appear to be very intimate with each other again, like they were before she was…" damn, even he couldn't say the word, "…held captive. There they are, standing next to each other, holding hands, and in broad daylight. For Fenris, that's practically exhibitionism."
Hawke gave a cough that did nothing to hide the laughter beneath.
"But that's as far as they've come," Varric continued, only a little sadly, "Holding hands. That's as much physical affection they've been able to share with each other. Trust me, I've been keeping an eye on them. Very closely."
Hawke could have commented on Varric's voyeurism, or him being a dirt old man, but he was more focused on those matters that related directly to himself. "Then… what have they been doing at night? All night. Directly beneath my cabin. Bumping into posts and knocking over crates, crashing and thumping and…"
"Sparring," Varric broke into his tirade, picking up his pack to sling it over his other shoulder, opposite his crossbow.
"Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?"
Varric gave him half a chuckle for his persistence. "Very funny. But seriously, Hawke, when Button's having trouble getting to sleep at night, the two of them sneak down into the hold and spend a couple of hours sparring. You know, wrestling and grappling and fisticuffs… anything that's hand-to-hand. And when she's tired enough, they find a quiet little corner and go to sleep. That's it."
"They…" he started, not sure what he was going to ask. "Not once have they…" Nope, he still wasn't quite sure he wanted to ask that. "He's been teaching her how to fight?"
"Yup, and she's been doing pretty good," Varric started forwards, and towards the pair, "It's also been helping build her self-confidence, which is something she needs more right now, anyway. Hey, you two!" he called out to them. "Broody and Button. Are you coming?"
They didn't move right away, Fenris waiting for her to get ahold of herself and allowing her to answer, when she was ready. "Where to?"
There was a slight tremble in her voice, but everyone politely ignored it and focused on the fact that she was interacting with them. "To the Hanged Man, of course. Where else?" Varric set one foot on top of the gangplank and paused, striking a pose that was only a little pirate-like. "Isabela is going to be a few hours, selling off the loot and divvying up with the crew. She said she'd meet up with us later on at the Hanged Man, to pass out our shares."
"We are actually going to get shares?" Merril popped up out of nowhere it seemed, her eyes bright with innocent anticipation, like a child about to open a long-anticipated present. "Oh, this is fun! We'll be just like honest pirates!"
Varric pinched the bridge of his nose while Hawke rolled his eyes. "I am. I shouldn't be, but I am. I am surprised and appalled that you used the words 'honest' and 'pirates' back-to-back."
Merril looked to Hrodwynn, "But aren't we? Real pirates? Like Isabela? I don't understand."
Hrodwynn let go of Fenris hands, but only with her left hand, and set it on Merril's shoulder. "Why don't you wait and ask Isabela later, when she meets us at the Hanged Man?"
"Yes, I suppose, she's usually the one who can explain matters the clearest." Outwardly Merril acquiesced, but inwardly she crowed; she had gotten Hrodwynn to smile, a little one, to be sure, and no where close to any sort of laughter, even a giggle, but it was open and spontaneous and an unhindered reaction to her environment. Hrodwynn was beginning to become less guarded, at least around her friends. That's all the reward Merril wanted.
"If Isabela is going to be a few hours," Hrodwynn continued, feeling a little more confident about speaking and wanting to get this part done and over with, "Do you think, maybe, we could make a quick stop at your place?" she asked Hawke. "Not all of us, of course, but maybe just me? And Fenris? I'd, um, like to see Anders, let him know I'm back in town."
And ask him to heal your hand, Hawke silently finished for her. Damn, either he was getting soft, or Anders' feelings for her were rubbing off on him, or she was beginning to grow on him—something! He cleared his throat and addressed them all. "Of course, I'm sure there's plenty of time for a detour or two. In fact, why don't we all head our separate ways, drop off our packs, get freshened up, those sorts of things, and agree to meet for supper at the Hanged Man? And, yes, Merril, we'll get our pirate shares then. Agreed?"
"Sounds good to me," Varric grinned, thinking he had the shortest distance to travel, seeing as he lived at the tavern. "Kitten, you in?"
"For the freshening up part, definitely! Don't know about the supper bit. Depends, I suppose, on what's on the menu."
"Knowing my luck, it'll be fish stew," Fenris gagged.
"Oh-ho-ho, Broody made a joke. Don't look now, everyone, but he's on the verge of becoming jovial."
"Perish the thought," Hawke took a turn in the lighthearted banter as they all disembarked from the ship, "The day Fenris becomes a jester, is the day Varric grows a beard."
Everyone laughed at that, except Hrodwynn, though she did manage a smile, and Merril, who very studiously considered her next verbal volley.
"Why don't you grow a beard? I thought all dwarves grew beards."
"I would, Kitten," he nodded agreeably, leading them away from the ship and through the docks towards Lowtown, "But my beard is so magnificent, it would compete with my chest hair. And let's face it: there's only so much grandeur a person can handle."
"Well, why don't you let them take turns. You know, let your beard grow and shave your chest instead."
"Shave my chest!" Varric nearly stumbled, his hand over his heart, his eyes wide with abhorrent disbelief. "And deprive my countless fans of this glorious sight that distracts their waking moments and overflows their dreams? Never!"
"Would you consider it? Just for a month," Fenris' turn was next, "If I wore a multicolored hat with bells attached?"
Varric was beginning to fear, thinking Fenris might just be serious, not having heard enough of his dry humor to discern when the elf might be pulling his leg.
"…Everyone is looking at you…"
Hrodwynn stopped. Abruptly. So abruptly, that her hand nearly slipped from Fenris' grasp. He took a step back, wondering what had made her stop as he hadn't heard the comment coming from outside their little group. He saw her turning her head, scanning back and forth, as if she had lost something or was looking for something—or someone. "Hrodwynn?"
"What?" she blinked, twitching her head to acknowledge his presence, but her eyes remained locked on the people around them.
"Hey!" Hawke called back to them, "Are you two coming or not?"
"We'll catch you up," Fenris answered, not sure what was happening, and wanting her to take her time if she needed to, as he had promised her they would. "At your mansion. In a bit."
"That'll be fine," Hawked sighed, "Gives me time to prepare Anders for the news, I suppose. So, which would it be, Varric. The beard, or the chest hair?"
"I've already made my choice," Varric answered, winking roguishly at a young elven woman whose eye had been caught by his impressive chest. "And it works for me just fine. Why change my mind if I don't need…"
The repartee continued on and faded from Fenris' hearing, though he was fairly sure Hrodwynn hadn't been hearing their friends for a moment or so already. Yet whatever she was listening for eluded him. "What was it? Why did you stop?"
"I… I thought… I heard something…" she started down the pier, away from the exit onto the streets of Kirkwall, Fenris in tow, leading them back into the more disreputable parts of the docks. "Or maybe someone. I don't know, Fen," she sighed, having come to a crossroads of a sort, where three docks intersected, and not knowing which way to go. "Maybe… maybe it's just this place, and the dream, and remembering, or not remembering, and it's all gotten me on edge, but I could have sworn…"
"What?"
"Pennies for the pauper."
"There!" she announced. "That man. That voice. 'Pennies for the pauper.' Did you hear it?" When he nodded, she pressed, "Find it. Find him. I've got to… find him. Something he said…"
"A beggar?" Fenris wondered aloud, but one look at the desperate need on her features convinced him they could discuss motives later. He started in the direction he had heard the voice. It was a little confusing, the water and the ships making the sounds echo and seem to come from different directions, but his sharp hearing soon adapted and began to differentiate between the echos and the original sound.
"Pennies for everyone."
They were getting closer. After the last plea, there was a round of rough laughter and a voice answering, "Pennies? For everyone? Even me? Then give them over, you blind old knife ear, so I can give everyone your pennies."
Another chorus of harsh humor, and the querulous voice pleaded once more, "They're everyone's pennies. Please! Don't take them." There was the sound of scuffling feet, of a fist hitting flesh, of something heavy landing on the wooden dock, of a whimpering moan. Then the old man's voice sounded again, harsh and bitter and yet filled with an ancient sort of determination, "Everyone is looking at you!"
"Everyone can't see, you old fool."
Fenris and Hrodwynn rounded yet another corner and at last came across the scene. There was an old elf on his hands and knees, his scant clothing tattered and soiled, his hair long and gray and beneath the muck, his nails caked black with dirt, and his skin discolored with old and fresh bruises, scraps, even a few welts. Above him loomed a human twice his width, all muscles and beard, with gold hanging from his ears and fingers. They were ringed with onlookers, mostly the larger man's lackeys, but all of them so fully entertained with the bullying that the approach of two newcomers went unnoticed. That is, until Fenris' hand wrapped around the man's wrist, preventing him from striking the old beggar again.
"I didn't think I would ever say this," Fenris growled low, almost subsonic, "But why don't you pick on someone your own size?"
The man, the very embodiment of a bloodthirsty pirate—at least in Hrodwynn's eyes—turned to look at Fenris. "Oh, and you think you are? Look here, everyone, another knife ear has come to help you." He tried to shake his hand free, but Fenris' grip was too tight. The pirate's eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared, but he knew he would not be able to break Fenris' grip, and failing to do so in front of his men would be too embarrassing. At an impasse, he resorted to glaring and puffing out his chest, trying to make himself even more intimidating.
Fenris silently tightened his grip, threatening to break the bones in the man's wrist.
Hrodwynn took advantage of the distraction to slip past the others and kneel down beside the beggar. What she couldn't see before through the mass of bodies, but could clearly see now, was the ragged strip of cloth around the old mans' eyes.
He was blind.
"Stay still," she whispered. "Let Fenris handle this." Without a care for the griminess of his state, but mindful of his bruises and welts, she laid a kind arm across his shoulders.
"You… it's… is it…" his voice croaked harshly as he lifted sightless features towards the sound of her voice. Trembling fingers reached for and found her cheek, continuing to shake as he whispered, "Everyone thanks you, little one."
"Not everyone," she answered. "And keep quiet, grandfather. My friend is distracting them."
He nodded, not knowing if she was looking at him or not, but he wanted her to know that he would do his best to keep quiet and small and remain unnoticed. He curled in on himself, forming a tight little ball, but kept that one hand on her cheek.
"Get your filthy, knife ear hand off of me," the pirate was growling, trying not to sound off balanced or flustered.
"Will you agree to leave the old man alone?" Fenris countered, calm and cool and easily ignoring the racial slur.
"Why? What's he to you?" the pirate protested. "Your grandfather or something? He's just another knife— ah-ow," he grimaced when Fenris' hand tightened even further, making the pirate reconsider his words. "An old beggar. A cur. One who likes to get in the way when we're unloading our goods, pleading and whining all over the docks. Him and his pennies. He's a nuisance."
"So are bullies."
If he understood Fenris' meaning, he gave no sign of it. "We were just having a bit of sport. Everyone likes it, don't you, everyone?"
The blind old man shifted, but Hrodwynn's arm kept him from responding.
"I don't care what you and your sycophants like to do in your spare time. I'm telling you, the fun is over." He dropped his voice even lower, stepping in so close that the pirate could feel his hot breath searing his cheek. "Leave," Fenris commanded softly, then he let go of the other's wrist.
The pirate, suddenly finding himself free, decided to make a show of it to regain some of his standing with the others. He yanked away, as if he had been the one to pull free, and he might have been considering following it up with a backhand across Fenris' face. But those dull green eyes stared at him, emotionlessly, lifelessly, and he backed down. "Bah, this is no fun any more. And I'm thirsty. Let's head to the Broken Keel for a round of swill. I'll buy!"
"Let's hear it for the captain," one of the lackeys started up, "What buys us ale!"
"Ale!" a chorus flooded the docks, and the pirate captain and his crew began to move off. Not wanting to be left behind, just in case there was a round or two of free beer involved, the rest of the mob began to follow, chanting and laughing and fawning over the pirates. Bodies pressed in and around Hrodwynn, crowding her, bumping into her in their haste. She tried not to panic at the sudden stampede, but when the old beggar was torn from her grasp, she cried out.
And just as suddenly, Fenris was there. He pulled her to her feet, held her fast against the tide of people, allowing it all to wash away to either side, until only the two of them remained.
"Amatus? Are you alright? Were you hurt? Stepped on?"
She was shaking her head, trying to hold back the tears, her shame burning in her heart. It was a terrible thing for her to admit to herself, and far too terrible to share with anyone, even with the man she loved, but she had been frightened. She had been frightened to death of something familiar and normal, something she knew how to deal with, something she'd even used to her advantage on countless occasions. She'd been running with the ebb and flow of crowded streets ever since she could remember, slipping in and out of the current, using it to throw pursuers off her scent. A crazed mob racing off down the street should not have left her so shaken.
But shaken she was, enough so that the beggar had slipped from her side. Grateful for the distraction from her emotional problems, she seized on the beggar's plight, looking around, hoping he hadn't gone far. But the old man had vanished. "No… where is he?"
"Who? The old man? He went off, that way," Fenris nodded behind him, over his left shoulder. "I think he was making for the entrance to Darktown."
She sniffed, shoving away the last of her anxieties—at least for the moment—and took his hand in hers. "Come on. We've got to find him."
"Why?" Fenris queried, curious and cautious but going along with her anyway. "He's no longer in trouble, for this moment, at any rate. He doesn't need our help any longer."
"But I… he…" she stuttered, not sure of what to say, or even of how to express her feelings. She pulled him behind her, head swiveling back and forth, as she tried to spy the old elf. "I just want to make sure."
It was lame, and they both knew it, but again they both chose to ignore it. There was something else going on, something as yet undefined, something as yet unacknowledged, but it was going to happen all the same. He tightened his grip on her, not willing to lose her in the maze of darks streets and blind alleys, as he feared he may have already lost her mentally.
The entrance to Darktown was, in a word, dark. Not that the docks had been overly bright and cheerful, but at least there was some daylight to be found. In Darktown, it was never daytime.
They stumbled onwards as best they could, but eventually they had to admit they could barely see where they were going, much less one small person in the vast grayness of Kirkwall's under city. It was making her feel frustrated, but Hrodwynn paused for a moment, giving her eyes time to adjust to the dimness and the dinginess. "Any sign?" she asked, half pretending she had stopped to confer with him, and half praying he had an answer. Which he did.
Fenris smiled, "Listen."
"…an innocent dove so pure and white, my little…"
"That's him!" she exclaimed, but Fenris' hand was over her mouth almost before the words were out, as if he knew she was going to speak.
"Quietly," he more mouthed than spoke. "I think he's easily spooked."
She nodded, both her understanding and her agreement, and he removed his hand.
"…she broke her crown. I wanted to follow, but…"
"What is he saying?" she spoke softly, knowing a whispered carried louder and further than a quietly spoken word in the streets of Darktown.
"No idea." Fenris pointed to their left, and she headed that way.
"…without eyes to see, everyone knows… everyone knows… everyone knows…"
His shape appeared out of the gloom, as if someone was slowly turning up a lamp. That, or her eyes were finally adjusting to the gloom. The beggar was curled up in his tight little ball once more, all knees and elbows, his limbs looking so thin and frail that a hard sneeze might shatter him to dust. Hrodwynn approached quietly, or tried to, but he could feel her footfalls of her heeled boots through the ground. Blindly he reached out with one hand, as if to push away whatever evil force was approach, and cried out, "Who's there! Pennies!" he suddenly changed, his fear dissipating before his need, his second hand joining his first to make the shape of a cup. "Please, good fellow, good lady, pennies. Pennies for the pauper. Pennies for everyone."
"I… I have no pennies," she admitted sadly, kneeling down next to him. "My friend and I, we were just with you, on the pier. Do you remember us? We got that pirate to leave you alone. Remember?"
"Remember…" he repeated, tilting his head. "Everyone remembers. Everyone remembers her, my little dove." He nodded his head vigorously. "Everyone knows that she'll know me."
"I… think I'm beginning to understand," Fenris knelt down on the other side, his hand settling gently on the man's shoulder. "Your name, is it 'Everyone?' Is that what you're called?"
The beggar smiled, turning his head towards Fenris' voice. "Everyone is looking at you," he said, lifting a hand to the other elf's face, fingers trembling as they had when they touched Hrodwynn's cheek, and he nodded. "She called me Everyone. Everyone is here. I look for her still without eyes to see. Everyone knows that she'll know me."
"What is he…" but Fenris silenced her question with a flick of his hand.
"Start at the beginning. Please, Everyone, my friend and I wish to help you find her."
"She'll know me," the old elf, calling himself the curious name of 'Everyone,' stated with such affirmation that Fenris almost believed him.
"Tell us. Please, we want to help, Everyone. Who is she?"
Everyone's features changed, his mouth smiling to reveal rotted teeth, his hands gripping them both in his eagerness. "I once had a pet," he began, sounding as if he was reciting a poem:
"I once had a pet
An innocent dove
So pure and white
My little love
Captured by evil
A prison of night
Our only escape
Was to take flight
She tried to fly
But she fell down
She bruised her wing
She broke her crown
I wanted to follow
But didn't know how
I had no wings
And was too slow
They caught up to me
And took my sight
Now I spend my days
In eternal night
I look for her still
Without eyes to see
Everyone knows
That she'll know me."
He nodded then, as if he had imparted onto them some age old wisdom of unequal value, and leaned back against the side of a building. Smiling to himself, happy and content, he cupped his hands and began once more, "Pennies. Pennies for the pauper. Pennies for Everyone."
"There you are!" a new voice reached them. "I've been looking everywhere for you, uncle."
Hrodwynn bounced to her feet half a heartbeat behind Fenris, her hand reaching for a knife tucked into her belt, forgetting that her right hand was useless. Trying to cover her slip, she slowly dropped that hand and moved her left hand towards her other knife.
An elven woman approached them, older than they but younger than the beggar. She smiled and came up to them without fear, despite Fenris' obvious and imposing greatsword strapped across his back. "Excuse me, Sers, but he isn't bothering you, is he?"
"No, not at all, we were just…" Fenris cast about for a reasonable explanation, "Having a conversation with him."
"Really?" she queried, her eyebrow raising in disbelief. "I've known Everyone for years; he's not much for conversation."
Hrodwynn gave a small laugh in agreement. "No, he isn't, is he? What happened to him, do you know? Can you tell us?"
"No offense, but why do you care?" she countered.
"He reminds me of someone," the words popped out of Hrodwynn's mouth so quickly, she didn't have time to wonder at them. "Please, you called him uncle. Are you his niece? Do you know his true name?"
"I'm not his niece; I only call him uncle out of respect." She didn't want to give any more information but, seeing as how the two had not harmed her friend, she gave in somewhat. "He's just a blind old man. No one at the Alienage seems to know who he is or where he came from. I try to look after him from time to time, see that he has shelter and food—when I can find him. But he likes to slip away every so often and come down to the docks, to beg for his pennies. And no, Sers, I don't know why he does this. Or why he calls himself 'Everyone.' Or anything about his little nonsense poem. I'm just glad I found him this time. I know, the day will come when I won't be able to find him anymore, and that will be the end of that. It's a harsh thing to say," she bent over to help Everyone to his feet, "But that's the reality we live with. If you'll excuse us, good day, Sers."
The beggar smiled at them over his shoulder one last time and proclaimed, "Everyone is looking at you." Then he complacently allowed himself to be led by the other woman back to the Alienage.
Hrodwynn did not want to give up so soon, her mouth opening and her body turning to follow, but Fenris' hand on her arm froze her to the spot. "Let them go," he added quietly, "For now. We know we can find him again, at the Alienage or down at the docks, but for today, we have other matters to attend to." As a reminder, he lifted his hand, bringing her right arm with it, and the twisted hand at the end.
She hated it, especially when he was right, but she nodded and gave in. "Right. Fine. This way." She yanked her hand free and started off, her steps quick and purposeful.
"Are you sure?" Fenris questioned, jogging a few steps before he regained his position at her side. "I think the docks were back that way…"
"The docks, right, sure," she agreed lamely. "But we want to go to Hightown, not the docks. And that's, ah," truthfully, she hadn't really gotten her bearings yet, and had chosen a direction at random. Pivoting on her heel, trying to recognized a landmark or something, she declared, "That's in this direction."
She raised her hand, the twisted fingers seeming to mock her, and felt the bitter tears returning.
She didn't know where she was in Darktown, a place where she'd spent almost all her known life.
She hadn't been able to fix her hand, or even keep it from being crippled.
She wasn't even allowed to question an old man about… about…
Maker's bullocks! but her life was a mess! The tears were blinding now, hot and angry at herself and her silly reaction as much as at her current state. With her good hand she scrubbed at her face, forcing everything back and down and out of her thoughts before marching off in yet another diretion.
Fenris shouted a warning and reached for her, trying to pull her out of the way, but just missed. She cried out, not having noticed the gang of porters bearing down the street, and was clipped in the shoulder by the corner of a box. She spun, away from Fenris, and into another porter who ended up dropping his sack.
"Off to the side, you sightless Darktowners," a voice shouted at them. "Stay out of the way!" A hand grabbed at Hrodwynn, intending to shove her out of the street, but at the last moment it pulled her back towards him, and she found herself yanked up against a man dressed in the garb of the Coterie.
Too late, she and Fenris recognized the man who was herding the people carrying the crates and sacks, the man who was grasping roughly at her right hand. Too late, because he recognized them, too.
"Hold!" he called to his workers before sneering down his nose at his freshly caught prize. "Well," the Coterie boss gloated, "Well, well, well. If it isn't little Wynnie and her pet knife ear lover."
"I'm beginning to dislike that term," Fenris hummed deeply so only she could hear.
Only just now, she wanted to snark and roll her eyes, but she had to keep them on her opponent. Not really wanting to, but knowing there was no avoiding it, she prepared herself as best she could to face an old nemesis. "'lo, Jaxon. How's business?"
Jaxon laughed, the sound without joy, and as dark as their surroundings. "Fine, fine, you know how Coterie business is, always growing, always expanding. Hear you've been living the life, enjoying your stolen mansion up in Hightown, lapping after that Ferelden snake, Hawke."
"Wow, you made, what, three different animal references in one sentence. Your vocabulary is growing, Jaxon. Have you been taking up reading?"
He took only half a step, a mere shifting of his weight from his back foot to his front foot, and everything changed. The guards protecting the small caravan stepped forward as well, their hands on the hilts of their weapons, halfway drawing them from their sheaths. Fenris moved, too, not bothering to draw his weapon—the greatsword was heavy and easier to leave on his back until he needed it—but he did lift a taloned hand and, hating it but seeing no other option, invoked the lyrium on that hand only. His fingers curved, as if already wrapping around Jaxon's heart, the tips of the talons poised as if about to puncture.
The newly appointed Coterie boss swallowed, still remembering the indescribable sensation of the elf's hand buried in his chest.
But he noticed something, something far too telling for her comfort—he saw how Hrodwynn flinched and turned away from the sight. He smiled in his usual leering manner and moved his face way too close into hers, all the while keeping his eyes on the elf. "Careful, elf, you're at least three steps away. My knife, and my men, are closer than that. A lot closer."
Fenris didn't back down, but he didn't attack, waiting and praying an opportunity would arise.
Having put the elf in check, Jaxon returned to tormenting the human in his grasp. "What's the matter, Wynnie?"
"Nothing," she responded, a little too quickly, and tried to cover it, "You calling me that name."
He shook his head, flicking his eyes to Fenris meaningfully. "I think not. More like, a little trouble in paradise, huh?" He leaned in even closer, his breath filling her ear and making her cringe. "Maybe he pissed you off? Maybe he did or didn't do something for you? Maybe you're ready for someone new?"
"Who, you?" she sneered back. "I thought you liked men. You were always lusting after your old boss, Brekker."
"Bitch!" he snarled, pulling back and brandishing his knife. "You always think you're so funny. That everyone laughs at your jokes. Well guess what, your jokes are stupid. No one's laughing. I should save us all from boredom and cut out your tongue."
"Do that," Fenris shifted his stance, "And your life is forfeit."
Hrodwynn heard him drawing his greatsword, ready for blood, and though she really would prefer Jaxon dead, she didn't want any fallout from the Coterie hanging over her head because of it. "Fine, Jaxon, you win," she conceded, though not entirely, "Your prick is bigger than mine. Happy?"
Keep him off balance, keep his men distracted—hopefully they did find her jokes funny despite what he said—keep biding her time until something or someone changed the mix.
"No," he decided, "Not the knife. Too quick. Men, keep an eye on the elf, handle him if he so much as flinches. You deserve this, Wynnie," he warned, "You've had this coming for a long time." He put away his knife and took out his clippers.
She gave a jerk, trying to get her hand away, all on pure instinct. Jaxon didn't relax his grip, however, tightening it and lifting her arm up so everyone could see her hand.
And stopped. Jaxon stopped, the clippers poised halfway between his belt and her hand. Jaxon stopped and stared at her hand, her curved and twisted right hand, the two smallest fingers tucked in tight against her palm, and the thumb sticking out at an angle making it useless for gripping.
Jaxon stopped, and laughed.
Surprisingly, for once, the hot and bitter tears didn't come. Nothing came, really—an eery and calm nothingness, a flat and emotionless lifelessness. She found herself seeing more clearly, hearing more sharply, thinking more quickly than she ever had before in her life. She watched Jaxon laughing, almost as if he had been caught in some sort of time-spell that was slowing him down, or speeding her up. And all too easily she found herself able to predict his movements, seeing them almost as soon as the impulses formed in his mind, watching the signals travel down his nerves to his muscles, and she was ready for every move he made.
"This is perfect! Oh, I've got to know what happened. Did he do it? Is that why you can't bear to look at him? Is he responsible for why your hand's so warped and useless?"
"It's not worthless, Jaxon," she countered, "Here, I'll show you."
She yanked, hard, not to pull her right hand out of his grasp, because she knew he couldn't be made to let go too easily, but to pull him with it and off balance. He was taken by surprise but retained his grip on her forearm, bending over just far enough to come into range. She didn't hesitate, knowing she couldn't allow him to regain his balance and straighten up, and brought her left fist around to connect quite solidly with his jaw. He oomfed, his head turning away and his feet finally having to stagger forwards lest he end up flat on his face. That's when he let go of her, more intent on keeping his balance than keeping his hands on her. Finding herself free she followed through her swing, pivoting her body completely around quickly and tightly, kicking out and upwards with the heel of her boot before bringing it down with all her might against Jaxon's temple.
The Coterie boss landed, face down, onto the filthy and grimy streets of Darktown.
His men started for her, but Fenris closed the gap far quicker than anticipated. Hrodwynn swung and punched at one of the guards while Fenris menaced another two with his greatsword. A fourth one hung back, bow in hand, and aimed an arrow at the elf. Fenris saw it coming, invoked his lyrium and phased himself, allowing the arrow to pass harmlessly through his body. He went back to the two guards but the fourth one, showing far too much intelligence for the average Coterie thug, turned his bow and arrow to Hrodwynn next.
Fenris saw and called out a warning, but Hrodwynn was too busy with her one guard to pay heed. So he gave off fighting his two men to throw himself at Hrodwynn, knocking into her and staggering them both against a wall.
He was the first to recover, turning back with a snarl, his sword held in one hand while the other glowed and curved like an unholy talon.
"Enough!" Jaxon called out. He had pushed himself to his feet, one hand pressed against his temple which was bleeding freely, his expensive clothing stained and torn. Yet his men obeyed him immediately, putting up their weapons and standing down. Jaxon was panting, either from the stench of the muck on his clothing, or the pain of his head wound. But he was smiling.
"Leave it," he commanded, and his thugs returned to guarding and bullying the porters into picking up their packages. "You're getting off easy, Wynnie. With a hand like that, you're worthless, to me, to the Coterie, to yourself even. There'll be no more cracking Siggerdsons in your future, will there. Nah, you're finished, through, no longer a rogue. Enjoy your life, what's left of it," he glanced over at Fenris, his lip curling as he remembered that flinch she had shown, "And your 'lover.' But if you ever stick your nose into Coterie business again, or Darktown for that matter," he brandished his clippers, snip-snip!
"Move out!" he commanded his men, and the caravan resumed its journey.
Hrodwynn didn't move, not for several heartbeats, several loud and pounding heartbeats. Now that the danger was over, now that Jaxon was gone, now that she and Fenris were free to get the fuck out of there…
Now she began to shake and cry.
Fenris didn't try to offer comfort—what could he say to negate Jaxon's parting barbs? They were having difficulty in their love life. He was, at least in part, responsible for her injury. And her life as a rogue would be over, if they didn't get her to Anders and heal her hand. Ignoring the pain in his side, he sheathed his sword and put his arm around her shoulders, steering her as she cried herself blind.
"Come. Let's go."
