Author's notes: So, I am terribly sorry I left you all waiting. With the release of DA:2, my urge to write this story has returned and the chapters should come quicker than this last incredibly long gap. Hope you enjoy reading and thank you for all the reviews!
Chapter 2: The Morning After
Freya awoke the next morning, reaching out for Sten only to find that he was not there. She felt saddened by this small fact, knowing that he must have left her in the middle of the night and made his way back downstairs to her other companions. But, the smile could not be removed from her face. She sat up, looking down to study her body, finding that her neck was not the only thing that was bruised. Her hips were colored a deep purple and ached quite horribly. She placed her hands upon the massive marks, knowing they had been made by his hands holding her down. Just thinking about the night before sent a warmth through her body. It had not been quite what she had imagined, but she wouldn't change it for anything. Because this was far better than any daydream or fantasy she had experienced in her short life. She had experienced a loving moment with the only person she had ever really loved. It was the most wonderful feeling. But, now was the time to move on and face her destiny. Normally, she would be terrified of the unknown and what was to come. But, she knew that no matter what happened, she would accomplish her mission and the world would be safe. Or she would die trying. And if the legends were true, she would do both.
A sharp knock drew her attention towards the door, hearing Isolde's voice passing through the door, "My lady Warden, are you awake?" Freya cried out, telling her that she was indeed. Isolde requested admittance into the room, and Freya granted it. The door swung open to reveal the Arl's wife and an elven servant. "My lady, I thought you might require some assistance this morning." Freya's brow furrowed at Isolde's question, knowing that that was the reason why the elven woman was following behind her. She took a deep breath, trying not to let her annoyance at the woman's ignorance anger her. "I am perfectly capable of dressing myself, Lady Isolde. I have been doing so for twenty-one years, and I will continue to do so until my last breath leaves my body."
Isolde's face turned a bright red, looking down at the floor. She looked up, nodding slowly in an attempt to apologize, "Forgive me, my lady, but I did not bring Raina to help dress you. There are rumors floating through the castle. And Raina is an accomplished herbalist specializing in...womanly health." Freya's face twisted in shock at first, and then into three shades of crimson as she looked down at the floor. They knew about her and Sten. Had someone heard her? How could they not? She had screamed and moaned so loud her voice had become hoarse, regardless of the constant chewing on her bottom lip. And Sten would not have told a soul what went on the night before. Embarrassment was the first feeling that ran through her body. And then there was the anger. She had never been one to participate in gossip, and it was even worse when it involved her. Her eyes did not meet the Arlessa's as she looked towards the ground , "Thank you for your concern, Arlessa, but I am fine. Really."
"Please, my lady, I would feel better if you allowed Raina to examine you," Freya's eyes narrowed, wondering why the Arlessa appeared this worried. Did they assume...? Anger shook through her body as she balled her fists tightly, looking at the woman dead in the eyes . "You think he forced himself on me, don't you?" That had to be the reason the Arlessa appeared so concerned. Why else would Lady Isolde insist on having someone check her over? They wanted proof for their suspensions. Whoever had started this would end up meeting the end of her bow. That she could promise.
Isolde tried to speak but Freya stopped her, pulling the wolf-skin blanket tighter around her body as she stood up. "I do not have time for this nonsense, My Lady. I have a battle to prepare for. Sten did NOT violate me in any way. It was an intimate and loving moment between two people on the eve of battle. Now, GET OUT!" The elf ran for the door, not attempting to question Freya. Isolde looked terrified, knowing that Freya's bow was just inches away from her hands. It would not be hard for her to reach over and put an arrow through the Arlessa's head or heart. And it was hard for her not to convince herself that it was not a good idea.
Isolde stood her ground, as Freya noticed the anger growing in her eyes. "Do you have any idea who you are talking to, elf? I will not stand for this. I was only concerned for your health. You have no right to speak to me this way." Freya leaned down, collecting Isolde's blue dress that was now in pieces upon the floor. She stared at it for a moment, before looking back at the woman, throwing it at her. "You know, I felt regret when Sten tore this from my body in the heat of passion. But, after this I feel no remorse for the tattered dress of a judgmental, racist bitch. You do not deserve my remorse or respect. Now, for a second time, GET OUT!" Freya shouted, her finger pointing towards the door. Isolde did not argue with her walking towards the door, before turning back to face Freya with her anger burning quite visibly, "You will not be welcome here again, Warden. That I can promise you." Freya rolled her eyes, watching the woman saunter out of the room with her head held high. It did not matter if Isolde forbid her from returning to Redcliffe. She would not even return from her battle with the Archdemon. It was a rather insignificant argument to make.
Freya moved towards the chest she had placed her emerald colored drake-skin leather armor that Wade the Master Armor-Smith had made her into the night before, opening it easily. Her anger had not ceased, but taking it out on Lady Isolde had not given her much comfort either. It had just been hard not to become angered by the assumptions that were made about Sten. He was not an animal. He had a heart and a soul. And more importantly, the idea that he would have came into her room in the middle of the night and raped her was absurd. Freya moved a piece of her blonde hair away from her eyes as she pulled her armor out of the trunk, placing it on the bed beside her. It was the first time that she had noticed that she was not alone in the room. She stood there baring it all, thankful that it was only Wynne. If it had been anyone else, she might have flung one of her daggers towards the door. "Child, are you well? I heard the screaming from down the hall. I was coming to check on you and saw Lady Isolde running towards Arl Eamon's room."
She narrowed her eyes, before turning back towards the bed, feeling her anger begin to cease for the first time since she had discovered the rumors floating around about her. Wynne truly was coming to check on her, not to spread idle gossip throughout the castle. Wynne was one of the few people in her party that she actually trusted completely. Besides Sten. And maybe Alistair. That still did not end the irritation she felt. Sten did not deserve this. "So you heard the rumors as well, Wynne? The evil Qunari bastard sneaked into my room in the dead of night and forced himself upon me. Tell me you are not blind enough to believe something like that was true." Wynne shook her head as she stepped towards Freya, placing a small hand on her shoulder. "I know that he would never do such a thing, Freya. Especially not to you."
Freya's eyes widened, looking up at the older woman who was now smiling at her. "Oh, don't act so surprised, child! I've watched you two play this game of cat and mouse all year. And if I am truly the only one who has noticed than I do not know what to tell you." Freya could not suppress the grin that spread across her face. As well as the crimson blush that was dancing it's way across her cheeks. Freya turned away from the woman, who had become much like a second mother to her. Her own mother had abandoned her when she was very young. She had no memory of her. The closet thing she had to a mother before Wynne was the elf Ashalle who helped look after her as a child. "What are you talking about?"
"Freya, he has cared for you for quite a while now. Since you returned his sword to him in fact. He has been fighting himself and his feelings. He does everything he can to be near you, even if he is subtle about it. He protects you from anything or anyone that could bring you harm. He defends you when the others are questioning your orders. And the way he watches you when you aren't looking is all the proof I needed of his underlying affections." She truly had not noticed before their night together anything like what Wynne was describing. She had always assumed that he stuck next to her and did his job because he was trying to prove his loyalty and to keep his promise in helping her to end the Blight. She had never once thought it might be because he wanted to keep her safe and close by.
As Freya leaned down to pick up her leather chest piece Wynne noticed for the first time the bruising on hips. It was hard not to notice, as the slender elves waist was almost covered completely. She reached out, a finger brushing against the bone. Freya winced, moving away from her. "I can heal that for you, if you like." Freya shook her head, finishing the last tie on her chest piece, "No, I don't need it. It's just a little sore. I've had worse bruises than these. Most of which you healed. But, thank you Wynne." She smiled at the older woman who could only nod her head as she turned to leave the room with a smirk on her face. The wounds made in pleasure were an entirely different story than those made from a Darkspawn. And with Freya's history for being stubborn, it did not surprise her that she refused to allow Wynne to heal her.
Wynne quietly left the room as Freya finished pulling up the skirt of her armor, wincing slightly as it brushed over her hips. But, it was a good pain. It made everything real. It meant that it had really happened. Besides, it was a prideful feeling that only she would know just how they had got there. Besides Sten, of course. She didn't think Wynne would spread around the injuries she saw, and Isolde had not seen anything. It was her dirty little secret, and she reveled in it. She pulled her gloves up over her hands, tying them at her elbows, hoping that there would not be any more interruptions while she was dressing. This would be the last few moments she had to herself, and she wanted to enjoy them in peace. She finished pulling her boots onto her feet, brushing a clod of dirt off of her left heel.
After she finished dressing, she sheathed her two daggers, Fang and The Rose's Thorn, along with her bow, Falcon'Din's Reach, making sure everything was tightly secured behind her back. She moved to tie her hair back up into it's elaborate half updo with a braided bun hairstyle and pin it up with the yellow pins her mother had left for her. However, Freya did not feel the need to stress herself with how long it would take to place her hair back up. So, she decided to just pull it back into a ponytail to keep out of her eyes. She did not feel the need to make anything more complicated than it had to be. She figured it must be from her impending departure from the world. Or she just didn't care that much about it.
She turned, making her way towards the door and out into the hall. She would have to find Alistair and Riordan and figure out how long it would be before they departed for Denerim. She didn't imagine she had very long at all, as she shuffled down the hallway in search of her companions.
Sten had had enough. The accusing glances he received from almost everyone he came across in Redcliffe Castle was enough to make him want to rip something to pieces. Preferably one of the tiny humans sauntering off in the opposite direction every time they passed him by. He was used to the people of Ferelden gawking at him, but this was different. They looked at him as though he had committed an immoral sin and he could never be redeemed from it. He did not really know what was going on, but he knew that it was directed at him. He found his way out into the courtyard, away from the prying eyes of the people in the castle. He came upon Dante, the Mabari, who wagged his stub tail as soon as he saw him. Sten patted the dog on the head and walked past him. The dog issued a small whimper as he followed behind. The Mabari was quite attached to the Qunari. Almost as much as he was to Freya. He knew that the dog would follow him, and he did not mind his company. He would not pester him as many of the others would. Like Freya would have.
Not that he minded her pestering. It was endearing when she did so, as he knew she was only trying to figure him out. And that's why he continued to be as non-conversational as he possibly could. Maybe it was so that she would keep coming back. He did not know, but he did not mind it from her. At least not as much as he suggested that he did. Dawn was slowly starting to spread over the castle and the small city that lay below it. He made his way to the windmill, a place the oddly gave him quite a bit of comfort. Perhaps it was the water that ran below it that reminded him of home; a home that he may never return to. He may very well die in the battle.
As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he remembered his conversation with Freya. He stopped cold as he neared the windmill, the waters of Lake Calenhad flowing many feet below him. The reality of the situation was suddenly hitting him harder than it had the night before. He was going to lose her. He had just discovered that she shared in his affections. And now, she would be gone within a matter of days. He knew he should have resisted her charms and refused her wishes. He knew it would come back to haunt him after she was gone. The memory of her kisses alone would torture him into an early grave. The gorgeous elf was nothing but a siren, beckoning him to his death against the shores while wrapped in her warm and loving arms. And he could not have resisted her even if he had wanted to. She was too beautiful, too strong-willed, and far too cleaver for her own good. And he had fallen into her arms and into her bed quicker than any other fool in love.
But, he knew he would never want take it all back. What they had done in the dark of the night in Redcliffe Castle would never be erased from his memory. He could always find her in the recesses of his mind. He would always find her waiting there for him. Even after she was gone from the world of men and demons. The thoughts that tortured his mind haunted him. When did he become this man? When did he let his emotions get the better of him? He was Qunari. They were fearless, proud creatures who lived to serve the Qun and spread it's message over the land. He was also a solider of the Beresaad, and that was what came first. At least it did until the enticing elf vixen and her swaying hips came into his life.
He wanted to hit something. He wanted to break something. Hell, he even contemplated ripping off the heads of a few of the onlookers who ran screaming away as his fist landed against the rock wall beside him. What was it about her? She was no Qunari. She was small, fragile, and pale. He had never thought he would fall for any woman; let alone a Bas. Most Qunari males never even picked mates. They would mate with a woman to reproduce, as was necessary. But they would not stay with one woman. And that was all he wanted to do. He had never felt so lost and out of control in his life. Even after he had lost Asala was no comparison to the confusion that was running through him.
And the most important thing was that he was thinking about stopping her from completing her duty in order to satisfy his own selfish needs. There was more than just his feelings at stake. The Archdemon had to be slain. There was absolutely no way around that. And yet, his mind had been tossing around all kinds of foolish notions since she had told him her plans to sacrifice herself. He wanted to save her. He wanted to keep her safe. And more than anything, he felt connected to her and wanted nothing more than to live out the remainder of his days with her. It no longer mattered if he returned home. He could return with her to her clan and live in the forests hunting for the rest of his days. He would become a Tal'Vashoth of all things if it meant that he could stay with her forever. That thought made him cringe, wishing there was something he could do to erase her from him completely.
He didn't have a whole lot of time to contemplate the possibilities before he felt a hand on his arm. He knew instantly who it was just by the touch of her skin against his. "You're bleeding." The small voice spoke from behind him, as he turned to see his heart's desire standing before him. She looked radiant in the morning sunshine as the sun danced in her hair. It did not take him long to notice that she had not tied her hair back up in it's design. It was instead tied at the nape of her neck, and left the curls to fall down her back. Her leather armor had never hugged her body more. Or maybe it was just that he was noticing her figure more. He could not tell, but he knew that he enjoyed the sight before him.
The affect of her stopped his gaze cold as she touched his hand, the blood from an open gash on his knuckles running down his hand tickling at his fingers. He had been too distracted to notice that he was injured from bashing his hand against the red rock cliff beside him. While her hands rubbed over the wound, his eyes focused on her neck. The bruising of his mark still colored her alabaster skin and he was drawn to the formation of a scar in the center of the discoloration. The fingers of his free hand brushed over the bruise lightly, watching as her eyes darted up to stare at him.
"And you are bruised. Both of which are my fault." He noticed the frown that spread over her face as her free hand hovered over his for moment before he released her neck. She then replaced her hand where his had been, her eyes focusing back down to the ground. Perhaps she had forgotten about the mark. Or perhaps she was embarrassed and she did not want to remember it. Perhaps she did not want to remember anything from their rendezvous. He watched as she pulled a bandage from her pack, wrapping it tightly around the wound to stop the bleeding. It would not do the job as quickly as magic would but she knew that his disdain for magic had not changed and the wound needed to be covered quickly.
"Thank you, Kadan, " he whispered, sending vivid chills down her spine. But it was not the warm feeling that he usually created in her loins. The word that fell from his lips sounded acidic and icy. She felt a small lump forming in her throat. She could only nod, watching as he turned to walk away from her. She had wanted to talk to him about the rumors floating around the castle, but he obviously didn't. He was angry and she did not blame him. He would not have wounded himself if he was not angry about something. And she could not shake the feeling that it had something to do with her and the events of the previous night. As he walked back up the pathway towards the castle, she was frozen in place watching him leave. She felt the urge to follow him, but she let the feeling die out on its own. He wanted to be alone, and she would allow him to be. No matter how much she wanted the exact opposite for herself.
She tried to stop the feeling of emptiness that suddenly enveloped her body. She did not want to let him walk away, and yet she knew she had to. Perhaps nothing really had changed between them. Perhaps she had been fooling herself into believing that he loved her. Perhaps he was regretting his decision to lie with her. There weren't any other reasons than she could think of why the Qunari would not want to be around her at the present. Whatever the reason was did not matter. All that mattered was that she felt like she was falling. It felt like her heart was collapsing under immense pressure and she did not know if she could withstand the pain.
She heard a small whimper at her feet and a nudge against her hand. In moments, she looked down to see Dante at her feet. She had not noticed him before, and she felt a smile creeping across her face. She dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around the beast. He whimpered again, trying to comfort his master as she held back the tears. Why did the Qunari envelope such emotions in her? She had never had someone shake her to the core as he did. She had never had anyone make her feel weak and defenseless just by a single glance. It was as thought when he looked at her, he saw all of her faults and shortcomings and knew them by heart. That feeling alone was enough to encourage her to produce more barriers around her breaking heart. She would not be so easily defeated.
She inhaled, trying to calm herself. It did not matter how he felt. She had told him how she felt. And, if he rejected her than she would not have to suffer through the pain of a broken heart for very long. She would not let him break her. No one had ever succeeded in that before, even though many had attempted it. She relaxed, forcing back her emotional outburst down into her chest. She had more pressing matters to attend to than whether or not Sten was regretting their night together. She stood, making her way slowly back up the red dirt path towards the castle with the Mabari slinking behind her. In an hours time they would leave for Denerim. Her fate was slinking closer and closer with every passing moment. She would fight and she would die like a warrior.