Chapter Thirty-Eight: Aftermath
Somewhere… bells were ringing. Not the nice bells of sleighs. Nor the happy bells that announced a visitor or that dinner was served. No, these were mean bells, harsh bells, like the bells of chantries, ringing out warnings of…
"Aaaarrrrrgggghhhhhhhh!"
There was another explosion, felt more than heard—nothing was getting past that incessant ringing!—and it shook her so bad her head hurt even more, if that were possible. She fell down to the street, cradling her head, fearing that if she let go, her skull would fall apart. Her knees and an elbow were banged up in her fall, and her shirt got yet another tear on the sleeve, but these injuries were hardly noticeable compared to the others she'd already accrued.
Half bemusedly she tried to take stock of the area around her. It was dark, so dark, darker than daylight, but not as dark as night. Her hair felt wet and sticky beneath her fingers, and she pulled a hand down to look at it. Blood, dark and oozy, coated her hand, and more darkness threatened to creep in from the corners of her vision and spread across her view…
It was dark, cool and dank and smelling of the sea, with angry shouts and defiant screams echoing from the other side of a wall…
She jerked as if she had been dreaming and was suddenly awoken by a noise. Somewhere… a woman was crying? Or was that a child? Or maybe it was her? At any rate, the sobs sounded feminine to her. She took a breath, gasping and choking on the dust that was thicker than fog, but she was fairly certain now that it wasn't her screams she was hearing. In fact, she still wasn't hearing anything but those damned bells. She must be imaging it, or remembering it, the sobs sounding like they were being stifled behind a fist…
There was a woman, a face she knew as well as her own, a face full of concern and love and hope, stroking her cheek one last time before fading into the darkness…
No, that was a dream, wasn't it, she asked herself as she struggled up to her hands and knees. She blinked, trying to get her bearings, but couldn't see much through the dust and the pain and the ringing. But somewhere, deep down inside her, she knew she was in extreme danger—she knew she had to keep moving! Launching herself to her feet, crying out with an unheard scream when her skull yet again exploded with pain, she forced first one foot and then the other to lunge blindly onward. She had no idea of where she was headed, and frankly didn't care, but it hardly mattered. She had barely made it three paces before there was another earthquake, this time with enough force to sweep her feet out from beneath her. She landed on the unstable and treacherous ground that provided nothing to hold on to and, without any other option, curled up tight into a little ball and waited, her hands and arms trying to hold her head all in one piece. Rumble after rumble could be felt, vibrating through her body as they vibrated through the building beside her. The walls gave way beneath the force of the shaking, toppling over, collapsing in on itself and sending chunks of stone and debris outward. Several thuds struck her back, blow after blow after blow after blow, the pain so sudden and intense that it knocked the breath from her body, any sound still muffled and lost somewhere beyond the ringing…
Someone shouted, with surprise and alarm, followed by an explosion of some sort that shook the timbers beneath her feet, but there were hands on her, hands helping her up, hands pushing her onward and over a railing and out into empty air…
There were hands touching her now, an unknown number of them, groping and pinching and tearing her clothing. She tried to push them away, but they remained elusive to her weak punches and slaps. Voices were beginning to penetrate those angry bells, muffled though near, yet when she opened her eyes she could see nothing but shapes and shadows moving through the brownish-gray cloud. Fearing, not understanding why she was feeling fear, only knowing that she was in danger and had to keep moving, she pushed and shoved at the shadows and managed—somehow—to reach her feet. The hands were relentless, however, one on her shoulder and another wrapping around her waist, yet she would not give up. With a cry she tore herself away from the hands trying to hold on to her, not understanding if they were friend or foe, helping or hurtful, only knowing that primal urge to FLEE!
RUN…!
Onward she stumbled, three paces, four, five, fighting for every inch.
"Stop!"
The voice was loud, sounding right next to her ear and tearing through the ringing to reach her brain. She cried out, feeling those hands again, wrapping her up, holding her fast, keeping her from getting away.
"NO!"
It was her own voice that time, she was sure of it, for what good it did; her protest had no effect whatsoever on those damnable hands. They lifted her off her feet and swung her around, spiraling her vision and sending all of Thedas slanting sideways. Her head reacted violently to the rough handling, bursting with fresh pain that made her gasp and sputter and finally stop fighting. For a moment she had a vision of Hawke splitting open an overripe melon with that odd mace of his—that's what her skull felt like, juicy and pulpy melon rind broken apart in jagged junks, and the only thing holding it together was the tenuous tension of her scalp. Quickly her hands flew to her head, fingers burrowing through the sticky strands of her hair, trying to help keep the pieces together.
She threw up.
"Easy, girl, easy, you're safe now, we've got you…"
The voice was unknown, masculine, but something about it seemed trustworthy. There was a hardness behind her and, with her fingers still burrowed into her hair, her knuckles brushed against the cool metal of a breastplate. Blinking, trying to clear her vision through the menacing darkness and the nauseating dizziness, through the cloying dust cloud and the choking pain, through the broken memories and the nightmarish dreams and the disjointed reality, she at last locked eyes with a face.
"D… Don… Donnic?"
"You know me?" he sounded surprised, but quickly recovered. "Good, then you know I'm with the City Guard, and these are my men, so you're safe with us and you can STOP FIGHTING! Was there anyone else beneath that rubble…"
She saw him look over the top of her head, saying some words to whoever was holding her, but she didn't quite follow them. She was laughing, or whatever small amount of laughing she could manage in her present state. "You owe Fenris fifty-seven silvers."
That brought Donnic up short. He stopped whatever he had been telling his men and squinted down at the face of the girl they had just rescued from being crushed by a building. It was hard to discern any features, there was so much blood and dust and filth covering the face and hair of the young woman before him, but truthfully there could only be one person, other than himself and his wife Aveline and Fenris, who knew the amount of his gambling debt.
"Give her a healing potion. Now! And hand me that canteen."
"Ser, we only have so much clean water at the moment," a nearby soldier argued, but he handed over the canteen regardless.
Donnic didn't answer, didn't lend the insubordination enough credit to warrant an argument. He waited while one of the soldiers helped the girl to sit down and leaned her against a birdbath, forcing a potion down her throat for good measure. Then he stepped up and, as gently as he could with gauntlets and only a single canteen, dumped the water on her head to clear her face and hair.
"Hrodwynn!"
Large, somewhat glassy, though brilliantly bright green eyes blinked up at him, more vivid once they were no longer drowned beneath a sea of blackening red. Her skin was a soft white and her lips were a dark red that matched her hair now that most of the blood had been cleared away. A small smile twitched at the corner of her bruised mouth.
"'lo, Donnic."
She spoke so calmly, as if they were just passing on the street and not in the middle of a city crumbling into ruin and mayhem around them. "Maker's breath!" he swore, feeling like laughing, feeling like crying, "You're alive! We thought… the Chantry… Anders…"
Anders, she repeated to herself. Right, she remembered him, though she hadn't met him right away, but a bit later on. Such a kind man, a lonely man, a generous man. He taught her so much, about wounds and healing and potions. She could use his help right about now with her head. "Where is he…?"
"Anders? He's… Never mind that now. You're alive! That's what matters! Did anyone else…? No, again, not important right now. Can you stand? Can you walk?"
"Walk? Where to? I was supposed to be running away with Everyone, but I let go of my doll." She tried to get up, several pairs of hands assisting her and being rather helpful this time around, completely different from those hands that tried to keep her on the ship. As soon as she reached her feet, however, the world once more gave that funny little tilt and she felt as if she was falling off the railing all over again. Hadn't she already done that part?
"Nope," Donnic quickly decided, seeing as how her eyes tried to roll themselves back up inside her skull, "Not yet. Give her another healing potion."
"Ser, we only have so many, and…"
It was that one particular soldier making a protest again, but this time Donnic didn't let it slide. "This is Hrodwynn. She's a close personal friend of not only the Champion of Kirkwall, but of our Captain. Now, if you'd like to explain to either of them, especially my wife, why we allowed a friend of theirs to suffer…"
"Ser!" the soldier swallowed and saluted smartly, before quickly handing over another vial.
"Good man," Donnic growled. He turned to focus his attention on Hrodwynn. "Here, drink this, you're head's not quite healed yet."
"My head, yes, I… 'fell down and broke my crown,'" she recited imperfectly, taking the proffered potion in one hand while her other reached up to explore her scalp. With Anders still on her mind, she began recalling something he'd taught her, in between sips and swallows. "Head wounds always look serious. Sometimes they are with massive skull damage, but sometimes they're just a cut. Yum, Dawn Lotus. All your head has is a thin layer of skin and blood vessels and just a bit of muscle around the skull, hardly any protection at all. But a bit too much Elfroot. Check the bones first, feel them, make sure they're in the right shape. If they are, then you know you're only dealing with a cut. Messy, but manageable. And not too badly made."
"Ah, right, sure," Donnic humored her, not really believing she was in her right mind yet, the way she kept switching back and forth between explaining head wounds and critiquing the healing potion. "So, um, how's the shape of your bones?"
"What?" she blinked at him, not realizing she had spoken out loud. "Oh, just fine, everything where it should be. Just a couple of cuts here and there, already healing up, see?" She tipped her head forward, her fingers brushing through the strands, trying to show him her scalp.
"I'll take your word for it. Listen, Hrodwynn," he looked around them, at the chaos that had continued despite this small, unimaginably happy reunion. "Listen, I've got some questions for you—everyone probably has a lot of question for you."
"Oh!" she gasped, "I've got questions for Everyone, too!"
"I bet you do," he completely missed her meaning.
"No, um, I mean…"
Another shockwave struck, and Donnic pushed Hrodwynn to the ground, throwing himself on top of her, trying to protect as much of her as he could with his armored body. Thankfully the shaking didn't last as long as it had before; and as they were next to a small birdbath in the middle of a courtyard, there wasn't a whole lot of debris that could fall on them. After a minute or so, he leaned back and off of her, taking hold of her shoulder to roll her to her side and ask, "Alright, Hrodwynn?"
"Maeve," she answered.
"What was that? Never mind. You two!" he barked at the pair of guards who had been helping her earlier. "Stay with Hrodwynn. Keep her safe. Guard her with your lives if necessary." He reached his feet and tried to shake some of the dust out of his cloak. "I've got to continue checking on the other patrols, but I'll be back to collect her when…" he paused to wave at the destruction around them, "…everything has settled down."
"Ser!" they saluted smartly.
"Wait! Donnic, don't go." She clutched at his boot, falling forwards onto her face, but she did manage to get him to stop.
"Hrodwynn, listen," he knelt down to her, mostly to free himself, partly to reassure her, "You're safe now. Stay with my men; they'll protect you. Wait here, and I'll be back for you. Then I'll take you to Fenris." His gauntlet cupped the side of her face, "I can't tell you how much he needs you right now…"
"Fenris…" she repeated, but something more urgent was pressing against her thoughts, throbbing and humming like the ground with each shockwave, growing closer and louder and harder to deny. "No, Everyone. I need to see Everyone. Do you know where I can find him?"
"Find 'them,' you mean? They went to the Gallows."
"The Gallows," she repeated, confused.
"Yes, but it's not safe for you there. Stay here, Hrodwynn. Promise me you'll stay here where it's safe. I'll take you to them later, alright? But for now: Stay. Put!" He stood and addressed his men, "Not a hair on her head gets harmed, I mean it. I'll be back as soon as I can. The rest of you, follow me!"
Then Donnic and the rest of the patrol were gone.
She hardly noticed, dealing with enough other turmoil to fill her thoughts and consume her attention. Everyone, she needed to find Everyone. She needed to find her doll. She was supposed to stay with them, at all times, no matter what happened, no matter what she heard or saw. It was important. Mum said it was so important. She had to find them, find Everyone and her doll. Father needed her to be strong and brave right now…
"No," she moaned, trying to stand. There was one last small spin, a token effort really as the potions were working, but she clutched at her head just in case, only letting go when she felt fairly certain she wouldn't throw up. Steadying herself against the birdbath, she lifted her eyes and looked around at the buildings, trying to get her bearings.
"Ser, please," one of the guards spoke to her, touching her shoulder lightly, "Sit down again. You're not quite healed yet."
"No, I can't wait. It's been so many years already. I need to find Everyone. I need to find my doll. It's still important."
"What's important?" one of the men asked.
Their conversation was interrupted by a nearby scream. All three of them turned their heads to see what was happening. Three men had hold of a woman, one of them just now wrapping his hand over her mouth, as they dragged her into a narrow alley.
"Shit. Look, um, Ser Hrodwynn…"
She didn't smile, but she nodded, "Go. Help her. I'm fine, just a little confused is all. I'll sit down here and wait for you to come back. But you better hurry; she needs your help. Now!" Wearily she let herself drop back to the ground, leaning against the birdbath for support, acting as if she was too weak to walk.
The two guards looked at each other, hesitated for one moment longer, but when the woman screamed again they raced off.
Hrodwynn watched for a moment, waited until they disappeared into the alley, before she pushed herself to her feet again. "Sorry, gents," she mumbled after them, "But this is too important. Don't worry, I'll make sure Donnic doesn't demote you."
Not feeling at all guilty for lying to the soldiers about staying put, she turned her back and started off down the street, this time knowing exactly where she needed to go, and it wasn't towards the Gallows.
Fenris felt weak and tired, but not just physically. Yes, the battle had been long and hard, and it seemed as if he had killed every single mage and templar in residence at the Gallows, but truthfully there were plenty of survivors. Though what good it would do, he could not say, nor did he care. He was too tired, too sick of it all, of Kirkwall, of Hawke and his little jobs, of mages and templars…
…of life.
And yet, despite all the fighting, despite all the opponents he had faced, despite every time he'd flung himself in the way of spell or weapon to protect Hawke or Sebastian or Varric or any of the others… he was still alive.
"Fasta vass…"
He stumbled as he got into the boat that would take them back across the harbor to Kirkwall, nearly missing the bench where he had intended to sit. A hand was there to grip his arm and steady him, only long enough until he regained his balance, before letting go. "Here, drink this," the owner of the hand, Hawke, pushed a bottle in front of his face.
"I don't want a healing potion…" he half growled, half groaned, but was too tired and uncaring to lift a hand and shove it away. Instead he turned his face aside, his dead, lifeless green eyes staring down into the bottom of the skiff.
"It's wine," Hawke clarified, forcing the bottle into his hands, "Ran out of healing potions a while back. This won't cure you, but it'll make it so you don't care about the pain."
"I already don't care…" His voice was so low, so exhausted and wasted, it could barely be heard over the monstrous waves slapping the sides of the boat. But he took hold of the bottle and bent his head down to lessen the distance between it and his mouth. He uncorked it with his teeth, spit the stopper out into the water, then sniffed at the contents. "Agreggio Pavali," he moaned, his black brows curving with long-buried though freshly remembered torment, "…how…?"
The dark red wine, like the color of her lips, the color of her hair… The pain was sharp and deep, as if he had fallen on his own greatsword, slicing himself clean through his guts, through his heart, through his soul. He savored the pain, even as he brought the neck of the bottle to his lips and savored the wine. "Benefaris." Though he spoke a toast, there was no joy or triumph in his voice.
Hawke exchanged a look with Varric, but it was Sebastian who took a seat next to the overly broody and obviously suicidal elf. "Fenris, mind if I have a word?"
Fenris lowered the bottle and eyed him warily. "Would it matter if I did mind?" he asked half-heartedly before taking another long guzzle.
"It's about, well, about what comes next," the Brother pressed on as the boat began to pull away from the Gallows' docks. "I know it's too soon yet, there's a bit more to do to clear matters up, but…" he lifted his eyes up to Kirkwall. It was hard to see this late in the evening, the setting sun gave little enough light to penetrate the electric storm that had been circling the summit, but it was becoming possible to make out—the top of the city was devoid of the impressive and imposing Chantry. "The dust is beginning to settle—literally. Soon we'll be able to see where things stand. But I… I already know…" he swallowed and looked back to find Fenris had followed his gaze upwards. The elf, however, seemed either unwilling or unable to rip his eyes away from the void.
"I'm not staying in Kirkwall," Sebastian announced, not caring who heard or what they would think of his next words. "It's clear to me now, clearer than anything else in my life has ever been. I've tried to deny it for years, thinking myself chaste and pure and righteous in my choices, but perhaps I've been fooling myself. Perhaps I've blinded myself to the Maker's true intentions for me. Perhaps He led me to the Chantry to save me from the massacre that took the rest of my family, so I'd be able to return to Starkhaven and rule it. With the Chantry gone, with Grand Cleric Elthina…" his voice broke.
Fenris blinked slow.
"There's nothing keeping me here in Kirkwall," Sebastian managed to continue, "And so much calling me back home. So that's what I'm going to do, return to Starkhaven and rule. Fenris, I… I'd like you to come with me. I'd like to put you in charge of my army. Think on it," he leaned in a little closer, dropping his voice for Fenris' ears only, "With soldiers trained by you, benefiting from your knowledge and experience, why, nothing and no one could stand before us! And it would give you something to do, a fresh place where you could start anew. There's as little keeping you here in Kirkwall as there is me."
He leaned back and set a hand on the other's shoulder. "Think on it; that's all I ask."
At last Fenris dropped his gaze from the horrible vista and down to the bottle in his hands. Think on it, Sebastian had asked him to do. Well, thinking wouldn't hurt, would it, at least he wouldn't be thinking of HER. He raised the bottle to his lips and saw that Sebastian was either waiting for an answer or about to keep talking if he didn't get one. He gave the Brother a brief nod, "I shall consider your offer," if only to keep you quiet, he added to himself before guzzling down more of the wine.
Hawke had been following as much of that conversation as he could, mostly out of concern for the elf, but now partly wondering what it was Sebastian could be up to. He had to let it go for now, however, as another discussion was getting heated, drowning out everything else on the crowded and rocking boat.
"Aveline, my love…"
"I'm not going to forgive you for this, Donnic," she groused, crossing her arms over her chest. "Though I appreciate your coming and helping in the fight, I needed you over there in Kirkwall…"
"The Guard has everything well enough in hand," he argued. "You should trust that; you trained them yourself. And you have to admit, you needed every sword arm you could get at the Gallows. Besides," he dropped his voice, taking her hands in his, softening his expression, "I had to speak with you, you and Hawke and Fenris."
The elf stopped swallowing and pulled the bottle away from his lips, wiping his mouth on his forearm. "Then talk." Already he was feeling the warmth from the wine spreading through his insides, making his brain fuzzy, making the pain grow numb… "What do I care? Everyone else is talking…"
"You will care, a lot," Donnic countered, but he couldn't continue right away. Looking from his weary wife to the embattled Champion to the broken elf, he had no idea where to start. "Maker's breath, how do I say this?"
"Oh, you could try just spitting it out," Varric opined, leaning nonchalantly against the side of the boat, "We're a very friendly, open, rough-and-ready bunch; we won't take offense."
Donnic swallowed, nodded, squared his shoulders, and stated plainly, "Hrodwynn is alive."
Fenris barely registered the words, and not because he had half a bottle of wine swishing around in his otherwise empty stomach. He barely even noticed the ruckus that ensued, everyone standing and rocking the boat even more than the waves had, voices raised and trying to be heard, Donnic begging everyone to be still and he'd try to explain…
It was all drowned out by three little words, three little, short, simple, beautiful words:
Hrodwynn is alive.
"Where is she?" Fenris hadn't moved, hadn't even lifted his eyes up from the bottle. When he wasn't answered right away, he dropped the bottle and rose to his feet in one fluid motion, barking, "Where!"
Donnic's face fell. "Dammit, I don't know."
"What?" Hawke exclaimed. "What do you mean, you don't know? You can't lead off with news like that, and then leave us hanging!"
"It's… a bit awkward. After Anders… erm, the explosion," he quickly changed his choice of words, unsure really of how anyone was feeling about all that had happened, "And you all left for the Gallows, I was up in Hightown, near the worst of the destruction, trying to evacuate as many people as I could, get them to safety, deter looters and the like. I found her there, in Hightown, just wandering the streets. She had suffered a bad head wound, but she was ambulatory… barely. Yet there was so much blood all over her face and hair, I didn't recognize her at first, though she knew me. After a couple of healing potions and a quick douse from a canteen of water, she started looking better, but she was making less and less sense. I… I couldn't stay with her, I had to keep patrolling, and it would be too dangerous to take her along, so I left her with two of my men to guard her and keep her safe until I could return. By the time I did, however, she was gone. They said they'd seen some would-be rapists dragging a woman into an alley, and they had to leave Hrodwynn to go save the woman. By the time they'd returned," he shrugged, spreading his hands, "She'd wandered off somewhere. I thought, well, she said she wanted to find you," he added, looking at Fenris, "So I looked in at the Hanged Man first, but she wasn't there. Then I remembered I told her you all had gone to the Gallows, so I came to see if she'd managed somehow to find you, but…"
Aveline sighed, "But she wasn't with us. Damn, where could that girl had gone off to?"
"What did she say?" Fenris more demanded than asked. The expression on his face, the terribleness of his hope, the shock of his love, the faithfulness of his fear, was a sight to behold. "Exactly. Tell me her words."
Donnic swallowed, "Hrodwynn said, 'I need to see everyone, do you know where I can find them?'"
"Them?" Fenris pressed, shifting closer and facing Donnic squarely.
"Um, well, no, not exactly, I thought she said 'him,' but she must have meant 'them,' right? It wouldn't make sense otherwise."
"You did say she was having trouble making sense, maybe her head got a bit rattled by the explosion and her wounds?" Merril offered.
"No," Fenris wasn't looking at them any longer, or at anything for that matter. His eyes were locked with Hawke's knee, but his gaze was directed inward, or outward, as if he could somehow magically see where Hrodwynn was or what she was doing. Suddenly he blinked, feeling the boat roll on a wave. Though the aftershocks had ceased, the water in the harbor had not yet calmed down and had continued throwing out an occasional rogue wave. The movement woke him from his vision or stupor or hypnotic state, whatever he was experiencing, and brought him back to the here and now. Fenris looked up from the water, up to the city—or what was left of it—and knew exactly where he needed to be. "No, it makes perfect sense. I've got to go."
He started over the rail, one hand braced and a foot lifted up, ready to launch himself out into the water.
"Hold on there, Broody!" Varric was nearest and blocked him, Sebastian grasping from behind, as they dragged him back into the boat. "You're not going anywhere! Not until we dock, at least."
Fenris watched the docks going by, the more unsavory side of the docks, and knew if he waited until they were at the other side of the docks, even more time would slip past and he would be even further from her… "I can make it! Let me go!"
"I don't care if you can swim or not," Hawke stepped up next, trying his hand at reasoning with the mad elf, "Your greatsword alone is heavy enough to drown you. Wait, Fenris, just a little further, until we dock. Then we can all go to find her."
Fenris seemed to give in, he took his foot off the railing at least. Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief and let go of his belt, and Varric shifted slightly, though not completely out of the way. Hawke, too, seemed to fall for Fenris' sudden capitulation. He should have known better. "Then take it; I won't be needing it."
Swift as lightening he slipped the buckles of his straps, belt and sheath falling to the bottom of the boat. Sebastian cursed and made to catch the sword, Varric shouted a warning as he was shoved aside, and Hawke made a grab for Fenris as he dove over the side of the boat.
"Man overboard!" Aveline called out, but Hawke shook his head.
"Never mind, it's not worth trying to catch him," he partly moaned as he watched the mob of unruly white hair bobbing determinedly in the heavy seas, "Besides, we'd never be able to stop him. Better to let him go." He gave up watching—the git had already reached the pier and was climbing up out of the water—and turned back towards the others. Telling himself that keeping busy, that focusing on something promising and hopeful would help him grieve—or at least not think on it—he posed the challenge, "Though we probably also should be trying to find Hrodwynn. Any ideas?"
"Easier said than done," Varric hummed. "That young rogue is quite resourceful when she puts her mind to it."
"There was something in what she said to Donnic," Isabela supplied, crossing one arm beneath her bosom and tapping her chin, "About 'him' versus 'them.' Could there be someone specific she might be needing to see, someone other than Fenris, of course? Anyone else she's friends with?"
"I don't know about anyone," Merril piped up, feeling a bit giddy; Hawke had passed bottles of wine around to all of them in lieu of healing potions, "But I do know about 'Everyone.'"
Hawke blinked at her, "Come again?"
"Everyone," she repeated, as if it made perfect sense, at least to her. She took another sip from her bottle.
"Kitten, you might want to start at the beginning," Varric prompted, taking charge of the interrogation, and taking charge of her wine. "I take it this 'Everyone' is a single person?"
"Oh, yes, he is," she nodded, not at all upset over the dwarf's actions. "An odd sort of fellow, though harmless, and blind," she sighed, "Poor thing. He's an old man, no idea what his real age is, must be ancient. Even so, he gets around pretty well. He's known in the Alienage for reciting these little poems full of nonsense; that, and begging for pennies. It's a little silly, really, the way he says, 'Pennies for Everyone,' as if he's collecting them to share. Actually, I think he might be sharing…"
"Uh-huh, alright, Kitten, good job," Varric interrupted her inebriated prattle and turned back to the City Guard. "What were Hrodwynn's exact words again, Donnic?"
He nodded in agreement with the dwarf, also seeing where he was headed, "'I need to see everyone, do you know where I can find him.' That's what she meant, not everyone as in you lot, but this person who goes by the name of 'Everyone.'"
"That's what I was thinking. So, Merril, where can we find this 'Everyone?'"
"At the Alienage, I suppose," she shrugged at Varric's question. "There's a woman there who looks after him, sees that he eats now and then and has somewhere to sleep, but she's not family or anything like that. Don't think he has any sort of family. That part's a bit sad, too. But we all take turns looking out for him, if we happen to see him wandering about another part of Kirkwall, just to bring him back to where he's safe and sheltered."
"Then that's where we'll start," Hawke declared, before Merril could really get going again, "At the Alienage. And, hopefully, find both Fenris and Hrodwynn, even this 'Everyone,' safe and sound."
He turned to watch the docks as they approached, and for once in his life sincerely prayed that things would go as well—as easily—as they could be said.
Darktown.
It was surreal, a dry and detached part of her mind could admit, seeing what was around her as both familiar and strange, and both at the same time. Most of her her mind, however, was caught up in a mental tug-of-war so epic it stole her legs right out from under her. Pressed into a crevice that was painted black with shadow she felt relatively safe, at least for the moment, and struggled to make sense of what was happening.
In one way, to one part of her, this was all new, and all of it was frightening: the darkness, the lack of fresh air or sunlight, the dirty buildings and filth-filled streets, the strangers pressing in around her from every direction… the rats and the roaches. She wanted to start running again. She should start running again. After all, she had to find Everyone. He would help her. He would keep her safe. She only had to find him, and everything would be alright again. But this place was so BIG…!
She stuffed a fist in her mouth to keep from crying out as she bent her knees to her chest, her other arm wrapping around her legs, trying to make herself small. It was as if there were two people within her body, one a scared little girl who had just found herself lost, the other a competent young woman with years of experience and loads of talent. And though the girl had won out earlier, forcing her to hide in the corner like a frightened mouse, it was the woman now who began to emerge and take control, as all adults are wont to do.
She was Hrodwynn, she carefully and gently tried to reason with her self, this new/old self that had just awoken. This was her town, her element, her home. This was where she had been born and raised, in a manner of speaking. She knew every shortcut, every blind alley, every depression where chokedamp was likely to accumulate, every entry and egress, there was no part of this town she hadn't already explored and fully mapped within her head.
The people, too, she knew as well as she knew herself, which perhaps didn't mean as much that evening as it had before. But she still knew them, not personally, but their types, their trials, their concerns, their struggles to simply make it from one day to the next. She knew which ones were the poor, which ones the cutthroats, which ones the Coterie thugs, which ones the victims and which the villains.
Listen, she told herself—both selves, as the woman needed a bit of an emotional boost as well that evening—listen and watch, the ebb and flow of the people, the masses. It wasn't frightening. It wasn't chaotic. It wasn't without reason. It was like the sea, the water lifting with the tide, parting against the rocks, rolling up onto the shore, only to drift back on itself. The people were like that, too, ebbing and flowing, thicker in some places and thinner in others, faster and slower. They parted away from the villains, instinctively sensing evil and danger and trying to stay away. Though there weren't many dangers in Darktown tonight; most of them were probably trying to take advantage of the chaos in the streets above.
"All the better for us, erm, I mean, for me," she whispered, trying to embolden herself. "I KNOW this place. I KNOW these people. And I KNOW where I'm going. Calm down, little dove, and just watch me; I can get us through this." She pushed herself to her feet, dusting off her hands, and calculated her first move as she continued, "I am Hrodwynn of Kirkwall, and this is Darktown, MY town, and I was a fool to allow anyone to run me off!"
With a gentle slide, she inserted herself seamlessly into the flow of people. Normally, she might have wished for a change of clothing before she tried to blend in, as she did dress a bit fancier nowadays than she had when she used to live here, and a finely made silk tunic would normally stand out like a sore thumb. After the explosion and her injury, however, the blood and muck had stained her tunic from a bright emerald into a forest green and brown. Her hair, too, thanks to Donnic's improvised washing, was lank and stringy and unkempt. Her fingers automatically reached for her neck where she usually kept her handkerchief only to fumble with nothing but her collar. Damn, she didn't have anything to cover her face. Probably not a problem, she reconsidered, seeing as everyone else down there had skin as pale as hers beneath the grime, but she would have to adjust her route slightly. She couldn't risk coming across any pockets of chokedamp, not without a scarf, and there undoubtedly would be loads of chokedamp thanks to… whatever it was that had happened to Kirkwall. That part of her memory remained fuzzy and uncertain, but as it didn't matter at that moment, she quickly dismissed the omission.
She continued down several blocks, walked right past two Coterie thugs who didn't spare her a second glance, and then took a sharp turn into an alley. There was a small recess just a few feet in, far enough away from the end of the alley to be hidden in shadow, but close enough that she would be able to see if the thugs had taken an interest in her after all.
One heartbeat, two, three, four… she counted up to twenty, and all without any sign of the thugs. Feeling Maeve's impatience to find her friend—or was it really her impatience? This was all too confusing—she gave in and slipped from the recess towards the entrance of the alley. The thugs were still there, lounging against the side of the building, looking like they were waiting for someone or something, but most importantly they took no notice of her. She exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and took off down the alley.
It really wasn't too far, she told herself, mostly to keep that other part of her from freaking out, it wouldn't be much longer. Back in Hightown, when she had given the City Guards the slip, she had made straight for Hawke's mansion. It was intact, miraculously, and though Bodahn had barricaded the door, he did allow her entry once he recognized who she was. She even spent a bit of time helping him reset the barricade, just to show her gratitude. Then, as she walked through the mansion, she noted that Sandal and Orana were huddled together and hiding beneath Hawke's desk. She gave them a small wave and an encouraging smile before taking the secret passage to Anders' clinic.
Now, in Darktown, she had lost a little time in trying to calm herself, erm, herselves… Damn, attempting to figure out or put a name to what was going with her was only giving her a headache and she'd just gotten rid of one! Fine, so she'd had to spend a little more timing calming down, and that was yet another set back, but it wasn't like she needed to hurry. There was no timer ticking down, no danger approaching from behind, there was only her impatience to see Everyone and ask him what had happened to…
"Bloody shite," she whispered, pausing as she felt herself rocked to her very core, as if she was still concussed and all of Thedas had done that funny little slant to the side. She thrust out a hand to grasp a nearby wall for support, her eyes even wider in the dim light of Darktown, as it finally hit her. "I remember," she gasped. "I remember… mum… Averlawn… the doll… me… I remember… it all!"
She didn't know how long she stood there, one minute or one hour, but she did need to take a bit of time to process, to accept, the incredible realization. Her amnesia was gone, her memories were back, but more importantly—she knew what Brekker had really been up to at the Orlesian Embassy years ago. The irony struck her, giving her half a moment of hysterical giggles as she thought: If only Brekker had known who she was—if only SHE had known…
The building she had been leaning against trembled, shaking her from her reverie. She swallowed and looked up, at first fearing another aftershock was occurring. But the street beneath her feet wasn't rumbling, only the building. Or had that been her imagination, she wondered, as it wasn't shaking now.
Getting ahold of herself and pushing the irrelevant thoughts from her mind, she shoved off from the building with decision. Hrodwynn was feeling as much impatience now as Maeve had earlier. Her feet raced a little quicker, and she took a few more risks in slipping past people, and an even greater chance on a shortcut that might have held chokedamp; thank the Maker the streets stayed clear of that miasma! It paid off, however, as sooner rather than later she reached the unsavory part of the city's docks and the warehouses that faced them.
It took even longer, scouring though the piers and the streets nearby, trying to find one old blind beggar. People were hastening a little bit more in this part of Kirkwall, possibly due to the gigantic waves that kept lifting the ships, threatening to crash them on top of the docks. The crowd was chaotic, without flow or direction, spinning her around and pulling her off course. She was beginning to feel that all the time she'd saved with taking her risks was being wasted, but she couldn't give up, not now, not after everything else…
"Pennies? Pennies for Everyone?"
Her heart nearly stopped; at long last she heard him!
"Everyone?" she called out, hoping he would hear her and answer. "Everyone? It's me, it's…" she swallowed, and for some dumb reason had to fight back the sting of tears, "It's Maeve. Everyone?" She swung her head slowly back and forth, her ears straining for his reply.
"Maeve?" his voice echoed, and she heard the source was coming from partway down an alley between two seemingly abandoned warehouses, "Maeve? All around the spindle-y weed, Maeve-y chased the elf-man…" he added the last bit in a sing-song voice, laughing at the end.
"Elf-man," this time it was her voice that echoed his words. "Yes, I called you that, before I called you Everyone. Everyone! Wait, come… come back!" She heard his laughter again, further away, further into the black. One hand reached out for him even as her feet started moving, started her towards the alley. "Everyone!"
"All around the spindle-y weed…" he answered, singing. She heard a door open, old and rusty hinges screaming in protest, and his voice grew muffled, "Spindle-y, spindle, spinny-spin. I have no hairs upon my chin."
Hrodwynn blinked furiously, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness while her boots left sharp staccatos as she hastened after him, but it was too late. She heard the door close, screeching metal, grating rust, groaning wood, and a solid thud that made her heart want to stop. She wouldn't allow it, however, seeing as she was so close to the end, to reaching him, to finding her answers. "Averlawn!"
There was an answer of a sort. A couple of bricks from way up high on one of the buildings fell down to the alley, bringing with it a sudden downpour of pebbly debris. There was a small cloud of dust that burst up from where everything had struck the pavement, and she had to step back, coughing, until it settled. Once the dust had cleared, she pressed onward, ignoring the danger signs that were blaring at her. She had to find the elf!
She reached the area where she thought he had disappeared, but it was too dark to see the door. Stretching out both hands, she felt the walls to either side, searching, groping through the black, until she found what felt like the frame of a doorway to her right. It took a very long moment for her to find the latch, but after that it was just a quick turn, a right proper yank, and the door was open. Suddenly she found herself standing on the threshold of the old warehouse, yet for some reason she hesitated. Her eyes straining to pierce the shadows, her voice called out uncertainly, "Everyone?"
"Everyone's here," he answered, cackling again, sounding almost joyful and triumphant. It took another moment before she could see him, squatting on the floor off to the side, as there was a little light coming in from a skylight high above. It was obvious he came here often, despite the deterrent of the ancient creaking door, as he had built himself a sort of den. It was cozy, made mostly of discarded rags and bits of cloth, but gathered over the years and years it had grown into a sizable nest. He hummed to himself as he crawled onto it, wiggled and squiggled his body around until he made himself comfortable, and finally settled himself with a heavy sigh.
He was positively beaming.
She wanted to scold him, she wanted to hug him—instead she decided on going inside and approaching his makeshift bed. "Everyone," she started, unsure how to begin, or how to do any of it for that matter. Groping for words as well as groping through the dim interior, she nonetheless forged ahead. "Everyone, it's me. It's your little dove, Maeve. Remember me? I remember you. I… I honestly do." The last bit came out as a sort of half-laugh, half-declaration, almost unable herself to believe it was true.
But it was true.
She stumbled over an unseen bit of litter and lost her footing. With a heavy oaf, she all but fell to her knees beside his nest. He didn't seem upset by the suddenness of her nearness, however. He simply smiled at her, smacked his lips, and reached out towards her. His fingers found her cheek and gave her a couple of small pats as he answered, "Of course you do. Of course I do. I always knew—that you knew me."
"Yes," she answered, holding his hand fast, no longer seeing the beggar before her, but the man from her childhood. With a small giggle she continued, "Yes, you did, didn't you? Even when I didn't know you, you knew I would—that I could. That's why you first called out to me on the docks a few weeks back; you heard my voice and knew who I was. And that's why you shared with me your poem—the poem you wrote for me, to help me find my way, to help me remember you and find you. You knew I knew you."
"Now you see," he nodded, pulling his hand away, and abruptly his face turned sad. Fingers shaking, he gestured to the cloth covering his scarred and empty sockets as he tried to explain. "I used to see, but now I cannot. You couldn't see, either," his fingers reached for her face again, and she held herself still as he touched her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, "So I had to make you see. I had to. And now you do, don't you, little dove? You see? You see Everyone?"
"I do, Everyone," she affirmed. "I see you. And I remember now, thanks to you and your poem. I remember you… Averlawn."
She said his real name, his proper name, clearly and with conviction. And the change that came over him was so dramatic, it almost brought her to tears. "My dear," he whispered, "My dear, sweet child… my little dove… my Maeve. You've found me! You've come back and you've found me! I wish I could see you, but they blinded me, all because of what I did. They took my sight, the doll, my clothing… they took it all! And now… now you've come back… and they'll see… they still have their sight… when they find you they'll… oh, foolish girl…"
"I'm not so foolish," she argued, feeling a bit of heat over his reprimand. "And those men are long dead; they can't hurt you or me any more. It's been ages, Averlawn, years since we lost each other. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to find you, but I got hurt. I couldn't remember you. It happened, I think, when you were helping me over the side of the ship, I lost hold of my doll and I fell. I hurt my head. I couldn't remember you… or who I was… father… any of it… for ages!"
Saying it out loud like that, in front of such a close friend from her childhood—from the time the tragedy happened!—brought it all back with a force she could not deny. Maeve seemed to take over for a moment, the young woman Hrodwynn forgotten as the little girl Maeve felt the fear… the loss… trying to be brave for mum… holding so tightly to her doll and to Averlawn… sneaking past the scary men… losing her grip and falling away… It suddenly felt to her as if it had just happened within the past hour, and not over a decade ago. Unable to help herself, feeling the need for solace as she never had before, she crawled onto Everyone's nest and curled up next to him for a hug.
"There, there," he obligingly wrapped her up in his arms, kissing her filthy hair and stroking her back. "There, there, little dove, it's alright. We're together again. It's alright."
She let him rock her back and forth, perhaps for a moment or two longer than she should, but it felt too good to stop. After everything else she had lost, from her memory to her family to her doll, to have one thing back—just one small, tangible thing—even if it was a blind old beggar who wasn't quite all there upstairs, almost made it all seem right once more.
Almost, because it truly wasn't quite right. She was no longer Maeve. She was no longer a ten-year-old girl. She was no longer scared and running from kidnappers. She was Hrodwynn of Kirkwall. She was a snarky rogue and an expert at picking locks. She'd battled and defeated dragons, darkspawn, nightmares, wraiths… more creatures than she cared to categorize.
But Maeve still had a mission to finish.
"Averlawn," she began, sniffing and pulling back, trying to get her mind on business. He hummed at her, a bit absently, so she tried using his nickname, "Everyone?"
"Yes, my little dove? Your hair is messy; you should go comb it."
"I will," she played along, "I promise, but in a little bit. I need to ask you something, I need to know, where's my doll? Do you still have it?"
"Oh," and the pleasant smile his features had held while he had been comforting her, the little crinkle beneath his bandage that should have been merriment in his absent eyes, the easy and gentle posture—all of it faded. In half a heartbeat he had cringed, curling in on himself as if he was expecting blows, his mouth drawing downwards with sorrow, "Oh, Maeve, I… I'm so sorry… I tried… I tried so hard, but…" his voice dropped to a whisper, "They took it from me. When they caught me. They beat me… stripped me… of everything… even your doll… and then… then they… they took…"
Words failed him. Truthfully, Hrodwynn knew exactly what he would have said, if he could speak, but he didn't even try. Instead he reached up and ripped the bandage from his head.
Now Hrodwynn found herself at a loss for words. She knew he had been blinded, but the severity of the scarring spoke of the kidnappers' cruelty. Bile rose up in the back of her throat as she stared, unable to turn away, at the sight—an ironic choice of words. Jagged scars, caused by knives and burns, covered the space where his eyes had been.
They had done this…
He had suffered this…
…for what? Her? Her father? The stupid doll? Was it all worth this?
"Averlawn," she choked on her tears, trying to be strong for him; he'd had such gentle brown eyes. "Everyone, let's put this back, alright. Let's get you smartened up a bit."
"Smarten up," he repeated, holding still while she replaced the strip over where his eyes had been, "Yes, smarten up, I was to smarten you up, wasn't I?"
"That's right," she agreed, tying the knot securely without catching his scraggly hair, "You were my tutor, and you did, Everyone, you smartened me up proper."
"Remember the day we made puppets out of old hosiery?" he suddenly changed, all the sadness and fear and anxiety fled before the assault of a happy memory.
"Yes, I remember," she blinked, denying the tears.
"We used buttons for eyes. And bits of yarn for the hair…"
"Well," a voice droned from the open door, and Hrodwynn choked back a curse for her forgetfulness in leaving it open and allowing anyone to barge in on her and Everyone, "Well, well, isn't that touching? What is this, Wynnie? Some sort of lover's reunion? Family, maybe? Or a little of both? Is he your long-lost 'favorite' uncle? I thought that pervert healer in Darktown was your 'favorite'…"
"Shut it, Jaxon," she wearily sighed. Damn, but it had been such a long day; did she really have to deal with this stupid git tonight along with everything else? Sighing, she pushed herself to her feet, feeling Everyone do the same, though he clutched the back of her shirt as if he was afraid of losing her again.
"Shut it?" the Coterie boss repeated. He was flanked on either side by his thugs, six in total, an otherwise imposing sight if Hrodwynn didn't have enough to deal with already. Two of them held lanterns which they quickly un-shuttered, shining the light directly at Hrodwynn and Everyone. "Shut it, you say? Now, I don't think that's very nice, not coming from you, and definitely not here. In Darktown. Where I told you you weren't welcome anymore." He sent a signal to his men, and they began spreading out and approaching slowly, no doubt thinking to corral her.
Everyone was shuffling backwards, away from the intruders, but at an odd angle. Hrodwynn glanced over her shoulder, but if he was aiming for somewhere in particular, say another exit, she couldn't tell, not with her eyes still stinging from the sudden lantern light. "Listen, Jaxon, you don't want to do this…"
He laughed. He hadn't moved from his spot, preferring to have his men do the dirty work. Instead he took out a cigar, and those nasty clippers of his, and began toying with them. "Typical," he snipped one end of the cigar, pretending to be concerned with where the discarded tobacco landed on the floor. "Predictable," he snipped again, a little more, and again watched where it landed. "And pathetic." Snip. "Really, Wynnie, is that the best you can manage? I expected something a bit more original from you…"
One of the thugs swung out his staff and sent a spell towards her and Everyone. She spun and grabbed the elf, pulling them down into a crouch, trying to protect him with her body, but she didn't have to try. The spell had been aimed to just miss them, allowing them to feel the heat of its passage without the burn. It landed against the back wall, however, and exploded with enough force to shake the already unstable building. The timbers overhead groaned, ancient dust poured down as if from a sudden cloudburst, and everything became discolored in a grayish-brown fog made worse from the lantern light.
"I know what Brekker wanted!"
She hadn't meant for her voice to crack, but dammit that spell had come a bit too close! Panting, trying not to cough on the dust, she slowly un-crouched and turned around, standing in front of Everyone, her hands held up near her shoulders, palms facing forwards. "You were his right hand man, of course you were privy to his plans. And I'm willing to lay odds you would still give your left nut to get your hands on it, even after all this time. Well, I'm telling you, I can make that happen.
"I know," she continued, trying to keep her heart from hammering its way out of her chest, "I know why he needed to break into the Orlesian Embassy. I know what he was looking for. And," she swallowed, eyeing Jaxon's damnable clippers as well as his Coterie thugs who were getting way to close, "I know where it is. At least, I know we have to break into the Embassy to find out where it is. And once there," she took half a step forward, trying to appear appeasing, "I know EXACTLY WHAT to look for. You could do this on your own, Jaxon, but it would take time. With me along, you would get your hands on it almost immediately."
He brought the cigar up, examining it critically, as he lifted the snippers to the tip, gauging just how much he wanted to cut off. "And why, little Wynnie, should I believe you? That all of a sudden, you know everything? That you're not just bluffing, or stalling for time?" Snip!
Hrodwynn cleared her throat, "Because I'm Maeve Edmonte."
One heartbeat. Two. Then laughter. Jaxon almost dropped his clippers, he had to bend over so suddenly. Hands braced on his knees, he gave vent to his amusement. When he could finally catch his breath and speak again, he actually had to wipe a tear from his eye. "Go on, pull the other one."
"I am." She hadn't moved, hadn't reacted to his laughter, hadn't taken her eyes off of his men.
"Bull shit," he challenged.
"The story is that my father, the Earl, cheated an Orlesian Marquis in a trade deal, when the truth is…" she lifted her chin and took another step forward, "He stole a document. A… gentleman's agreement, of sorts. A little scroll of paper that could either topple an Empire or, say," she batted her eyes at him, "Be used as blackmail against the right man to extort a King's, or, erm, Emperor's ransom?"
That made Jaxon pause. "How did you…" he started, his brows narrowing as he studied her. "Brekker was the only mercenary who survived the battle in the harbor. He told me, sure, but he swore no one else knew. No one else could know, except those who were directly involved. Like the Marquis who had hired him, or the Earl who was dead, or…"
Hrodwynn gave a funny nod of her head. "Yup, someone else survived that ship, someone who escaped before it sailed out into the bay to fight the Earl's ship. Maeve. Me."
Jaxon nodded, possibly believing her. "Right, I'll acknowledge the resemblance. And you're about the right age, sure. So, what, you got off the ship and, let me guess, hit your head? You've actually been suffering amnesia for all these years? And not faking it?"
"If I had been faking it," she rolled her eyes, "Do you think I would've ever helped Brekker? Wouldn't I have tried instead to finish what my father had started?"
"You're willing to help me now," he pointed out, gesturing with his clippers.
She shrugged. "Situation's changed, innit? You've got me by the short hairs, now, me and Everyone."
"Oh, I get it. He was there, too, wasn't he? He's someone from your past, someone who'd been on the ship, too. Probably helped you escape," he brought the hand holding the cigar to his face and tapped his temple near his eye, "And paid the price for it."
"Let him go," she bargained, "He's just a blind old beggar with scrambled eggs for brains. He's harmless. But let him go, and I'll willingly help you…"
She never finished her offer.
The explosion that destroyed the Chantry, that shook all of Kirkwall, had also shaken all of Kirkwall's foundation—said foundation being Darktown. And the tsunami-sized waves in the harbor weren't helping matters, the weight of the water crashing against the ancient wood and cracked stone and eroded mortar were taking their toll. Buildings were leaning, tilting, and beginning to collapse, as was the building they were in. High overhead the skylight groaned, creaked, shifted away from its moorings, and slipped free. Hrodwynn looked up just in time to see it fall.
The crash was so loud she couldn't hear it. She did feel it, however, or rather didn't feel anything as the floor was taken out from beneath her and she started to fall. She screamed, registered in some corner of her brain that she wasn't the only one screaming and felt a small bit of satisfaction over it, and groped for anything to hold on to. Her fingers found the warmth of flesh rather than the hardness of wood or stone, however, and believing herself doomed, resigning herself to her fate, she took what comfort she could in the fact that she wasn't going to die alone.
There was a yank so hard it nearly tore her arm from its socket. She gasped breathlessly, choked on the dust that flooded her sight, but managed somehow to maintain her grip. It seemed to take hours, but eventually the movement and the noise and the debris all settled and she was amazed to discover she was still alive. "How…?"
"Hello, little dove."
She blinked and looked up. "Everyone!"
He was hanging on to her, one hand in hers while the other arm was wrapped around a timber stretching out over the hole that had opened beneath them. It was a precarious situation, one that she knew could not last long, not at his frail state and ancient age. "Everyone," she started, focused on the immediately danger, telling herself she'd worry about Jaxon and his men once she and Everyone were safe. "Everyone, I want you to hold on tight, alright? I'm going to climb up, climb over you, to reach the beam. Don't worry about me, just hold on to that beam, alright?"
He nodded, though she wasn't sure how much of that he may have understood. Bringing her other hand around to grab at his waist, praying he had on a belt or something, she began climbing over him, using him as a living ladder to reach the beam. It wasn't easy, and she was sure she had caused him some discomfort judging by the grunts and groans, but eventually she did reach the relative safety of the timber.
Wrapping her own arm around the beam, she turned to her companion. "Everyone, we have to climb out of here. Do you understand? We have to climb up and out. We can't stay here."
He stared at her blankly, in more ways than one.
She gave up trying to explain things to him and fought for a more secure purchase. She swung herself back and forth, trying to build momentum to swing a leg up and over the beam.
The beam, however, had other ideas. It shifted, probably not appreciating her swaying, and the end they were holding on to dropped them down a couple of inches.
Everyone didn't cry out when his fingers lost their grip. He simply fell.
Hrodwynn did cry, at an alarmingly loud level, and made a desperate grab for him. With her left hand she held on to the beam, nails digging into the wood, splinters plowing into tender flesh. But with her right hand, her weak and crippled hand, she caught the elf.
"Everyone!" she grunted, already her faithless fingers were weakening. "Averlawn! Climb up. Climb up on me, like I did to you. Come on, Averlawn, we can't stay like this."
"No, we can't," he shook his head, and smiled a little sadly. "Climb, my little dove, climb away to safety, and this time I'll fly."
"Averlawn!" she screamed, feeling him slipping, feeling tears of frustration and fear and injustice slip down her cheeks, "Everyone! No! Please, I… I just found you… I just got you back… don't… don't go…!"
"I've always been here, little Maeve," he continued to smile, serenely at peace amidst all the chaos, "And I will always be here. That is love, my little dove."
He brought his other hand up, as if to pat her cheek, but couldn't reach her. Instead, his shifting weight spelled his end, putting too much strain on her infirm hand, tearing his hand from her grip, to finally drop away. She watched, both unable and unwilling to look away, locking her gaze with his sightless sockets. He went quietly, without a cry and with barely a flutter from his ragged clothing.
The landing, however, was not so quiet. He hit head first, and she imagined she could feel as well as hear the brittle bones of his neck snap. The rest of his body crumped over itself, piling up in a small lump, in the end looking like little more than the rags he wore. Then all was still.
Averlawn was gone.
Hrodwynn wanted to cry. Hanging there by one hand, her other treacherous hand still dangling out over the emptiness, she couldn't move. She could only sway there and stare, selfishly taking time she didn't have to mourn her oldest friend.
"…Everyone…"
Then the beam shifted again, forcing her to focus on her own precarious situation, forcing her to bury her pain and lamentations—at least for the time being. She could mourn later; right now, she had her own arse to save. Her left hand still had a firm grip, but she wasn't going to be able to lift herself out of there on the strength of only one arm. She had to get her other hand up there, weak as it was, as every little bit would help. She made a grab for the beam, fingers catching for a moment, but as soon as she tried to lift herself up they slipped away. Grunting, she tried again, swinging and catching and slipping away.
Her left arm began to feel the strain, not only supporting her full weight while she dangled, but enduring every little bounce and sway as she tried over and over and over again to get her other hand up!
The beam shifted one final time, groaning and tearing as the wood ripped apart. Yet before she could fall, before she even had time to fully realize she was going to die, a body slammed into her. The body was long and lean, covered in dangerously spiked armor, and topped by a mop of unruly white hair that shone like the moon in the dim light. An arm wrapped around her, taking a firm hold, keeping her from falling even as the beam dropped and crashed and, disrespectfully, landed on top of what had once been Averlawn. She didn't watch it fall, however, choosing instead to wrap her arms around the torso in front of her. She lifted her face up out of a neck covered with bluish-white tattoos and gasped.
"Fenris!"
