This chapter contains a rape scene, so please read with caution!
Fenris woke suddenly, his whole body tensing at the unfamiliar circumstances. Without opening his eyes, he tried to determine where he was. The bed beneath him was soft, a light blanket lying over his body, fuzzy against his bare chest. He was rather comfortable, and more than that, he did not hurt. He was used to pain, a constant companion, and it was almost unsettling to realize that no part of his body hurt.
He opened his eyes. The room was dark, the light of the rising sun illuminating it just enough that he could make out the apprentice. She was sleeping in a chair next to the unlit fireplace, her soft mouth slightly open, her breathing heavy and even. She looked gentle and vulnerable with her eyes closed, her body slumped, hands open on her lap. Her long brown hair spilled over her shoulders and fell across her chest.
He moved silently, not wanting to wake her. He regarded her sleeping for a long moment, wondering why she hadn't woken him so she could sleep in the bed.
He slid a hand along her back and another beneath her knees and lifted her easily to his chest. Her skin was warm, almost hot even through the thin nightdress she wore, and she was surprisingly light. She shifted in her sleep, pressing her cheek against his bare chest, the corner of her lips just grazing his skin and he froze for a moment, a strange heat coursing through him.
He set her on the bed and pulled the light blanket over her. She sighed and settled into the pillow, smiling just a little.
As he walked down the dark corridors to his own quarters, he thought of her, replaying the night in his head. He imagined the blue light of her healing magic and remembered the way it had flowed like cool water over his skin. He thought of her touch, of her fingertips running over his skin, and he shivered a little at the memory.
He washed and dressed quickly and went out to the training yard.
He lifted his sword, feeling stronger than he had in ages, his muscles loose and ready to spring to action. The training dummy didn't stand a chance. Half a dozen men wouldn't have stood a chance. He danced more quickly and gracefully than usually, whirling his sword in great arcs, slamming it into the dummy again and again, from every angle.
The sun was high in the sky when he finally stopped, his arms aching with exhaustion. A good kind of exhaustion, the kind that comes after hard, rewarding work.
"That was…amazing," a soft voice murmured. He whirled around to see Hawke, smiling at him, her eyes wide and sparkling.
He looked down at her feet, frowning. How long had she been there, watching him? She was no doubt impressed by the abilities Danarius had bestowed upon him, and like all mages she would attribute his prowess to magic—forgetting the work and dedication it took to become a living weapon.
"You are very graceful," she said. "My brother would love to spar with you sometime. He's a swordsman too."
Fenris nodded, still looking down at his feet. He heard a door opening, the pitter of timid feet crossing the courtyard.
"Breakfast is ready, mistress," said the slave. She was a sweet, timid girl he recognized as belonging to Hadriana.
"Thank you," said Hawke, smiling at the slave. "I'll be right there."
Hawke turned back to him and he forced his eyes to the ground again. "I guess I'd better go," she said. "I'll talk to you later."
Fenris was left alone in the training yard to ponder Hawke's odd behavior, her strange words.
He spent the day watching her. She spoke so differently, as haughty and cold as any magister, it was hard to believe her tenderness the night before. She was as sharp tongued as Hadriana, and the two sparred verbally all day, much to Danarius's amusement.
He tried to ignore her words and her voice in favor of watching the sun on her hair as they wandered through Danarius's magnificent gardens, the shadows of her face in the glow of the magical lamps that hung around the magister's study.
When Danarius finally dismissed him for the night, he hurried to the kitchens, nimbly scurrying down the dark hallways, hoping for a few scraps to eat.
But Hadriana had gotten there first. She stepped out of the shadows, smirking at him.
"Hungry?" she said. She was holding a plate of stale bread and cheese in one hand, the other resting on her hip.
He gazed at the floor, dismay settling in his chest.
"Come here," she said, sitting on the edge of the table. She spread her legs and raised her skirts. "Here is your supper."
Fenris suppressed a shudder as he moved towards her. Any hesitation or a show of disgust on his part would mean punishment—but Maker, he hated the taste of her, the sickening smell, the high, whining noises she made.
As he knelt before her, his mind separated from the well trained actions of his tongue, taking him away from her, from the dark room and the cold hard floor he was kneeling on. He thought of the new apprentice and how she had gasped and smiled at the abundant beauty of the gardens. He remembered how, when no one was looking, she bent down to a tiny, withered blossom and with a touch of magic make it bloom. He'd dared to meet her eyes, then, and she smiled at him, her eyes soft and happy.
Hadriana gasped and yanked at his hair, shuddering and pulling him back into the moment. He pulled away from her and she slumped on the table.
Fenris heard steps in the hallway, but did not turn.
"Too quick," Hadriana said, frowning at him. "Have I taught you nothing?"
Hawke stepped into the kitchens just in time to see Hadriana set Fenris's meager dinner ablaze, reducing it to ash.
"Next time, try harder," said Hadriana, glaring at both Fenris and Hawke. She stalked out of the room, robes swishing behind her.
Fenris turned to Hawke. She was wearing a soft gray tunic and leggings that clung to her skin as she moved. She looked at him for a long moment.
"Was that your dinner?" she said, her voice soft.
He nodded, unable to meet her eyes. He hoped she hadn't seen him servicing Hadriana, an act that always made him flush with shame and self-loathing.
Hawke moved about the kitchen, opening cupboards and pulling out food. He waited to be dismissed, but she did not say a word until she had a tray stacked with bread, meat, and fruits.
"Come with me," she said.
He followed her back to her quarters, which were pleasantly lit by a soft yellow orb that floated near the ceiling. She shut and locked the door behind him, and he couldn't help the tremor of fear that went through him at the sound.
But she just set the food on the table and smiled at him.
"Go ahead," she said. "Eat up."
He watched her as he ate, wary. His tired mind wondered at the kindness, trying to find the catch, the trick.
"You look exhausted," she said, when he had finished. "Get some sleep."
As he walked away, he realized he had not said a word to her the whole day. And yet it felt like they had spoken volumes to each other.