A lone woman wandered the deserted streets of the Hightown market district, the only source of sight and sound in the dead of night. The highborn lords and ladies who resided within mansions built with polished granite bricks heard not the drunken whisperings the woman muttered under her ale-stained breath, as the words she spoke were reserved for herself.
They heard not the pleading whispers, taking flight upon the night wind and drifting far to the north, where she prayed they would not fall to deaf ears;
They saw not the tattered steel armor she wore, worn with travel and stained with dried blood from the scars she bore underneath, both on her skin and on her heart;
They felt not the debilitating agony that permeated the very fiber of her being, suffusing her every sense and thriving upon the very rhythm that kept her alive, renewing itself with every beat of her heart.
They knew not why she had come, as well. Safe behind walls of stone and oblivious in the realm of dreams, they couldn't have known that Clarissa Hawke, last scion of the Hawke family and heir-in-waiting of the Amell name, had intended to pay a visit to the deserted estate. After dozens of rounds at the Hanged Man, each more potent than the last, the thought had occurred to the young warrior in the form of a fleeting fancy. It was then strengthened by the staggering amount of alcohol muddling her vision and clouding her better judgment. It was the dead of night, when unsavory characters usually prowled the streets of Kirkwall, in search of easy prey in the form of drunken women barely seeing straight. But a part of her, a split image of herself, clear and sober, ached to see the magnificent building with her own eyes after all this time. She needed to know that it was still there, flying the colours of her family.
She needed a home to go back to.
She had climbed flight after flight of stairs, dimly aware of the smell of accumulated sweat, grime and bitter alcohol part from her as cobbled streets and high stone arches filled her failing vision. She walked on and on, the moonlight her only guide as she looked upward, crying out with silent eyes and silent thoughts to the silvery crescent, hoping against hope that she would hear her, and come back to her once more. She had realized her mistakes. Was that not what she had wanted with this torture?
Cruel, you are... Cruel and cold. She exclaimed, the roiling emotions spurring her on. She did not recall the walk from the market to the estate to be this long, nor did she remember it to be surrounded by dozens of other tall buildings, but she had not the capacity to dwell on the notion.
Her body betrayed her then, as her legs gave way and she fell to the ground with the loud report of steel clashing against stone. Her head lolled limply as the impact jolted her fragile senses, amplifying the myriad sensations coursing through her from the liquor in her system. Numbing cold and burning heat assaulted her, blanketing her and smothering her and paralyzing her.
Get up! She berated herself, you've been through worse!
But her limbs refused to obey, leaving her sagged against the rough stone wall with neither the strength or the will to rouse herself. Her mind blanked for the briefest of moments, and she found herself wondering at her surroundings, at why she had come.
Home... She thought feebly, images of the Amell estate, grand and eminent in the bright Kirkwall sun, flashing past her eyes with surreal clarity. I'm looking for home...
She remembered something else, then, as she felt strange pinpricks alight upon her shoulders. The thought had broken through the haze of her alcohol-addled mind and formed words that filled her with despair, ringing all the more true because of it.
Home is where the heart is...
Clarissa Hawke squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the moisture that clawed their way out of her eyelids as the first of the raindrops landed on her armor.
Then I have no home.
And there she sat, paying no heed to the passage of time and the relentless taunting of the stormclouds above. And there she wept, no longer able to summon the strength to hold her tears back, letting them mix with the raindrops on her cheeks. A deathly chill crept into her limbs, and she welcomed it; A crippling inferno raged through her mind, and she had no strength to resist. And there she remained, until even the moon forsook her and left her in shadow, cold, broken and shivering uncontrollably.
Then, she felt something else... Something tugging at her, lifting her upright with ease, hooking under her arm and half-shouldering, half-carrying her out of the rain and into a dry, sheltered but largely unfurnished room. She stole a glance at her good samaritan, her befuddled senses registering the lanky but wiry arm that belied its strength, but failing to associate with the flowing, intricate lines etched upon it.
"Thank you..." Clarissa murmured, sinking into the chair he set her down in.
"I'd heard you were back in Kirkwall, Hawke, but I didn't expect... this." A deep, gruff voice said, sounding as if emptied of emotion. Clarissa thought she saw a halo of white encircle her rescuer's head and, for a brief moment, she thought he was an angel. She chuckled under her breath when her eyes finally cleared and she saw the lyrium, dormant but intimidating, tattooed on his skin.
"Fenris."
She felt his cold eyes search her, running along her skin, as a wolf would when cornering its prey. Then she felt a mug being pressed into her unsteady hands, radiating a palpable heat that warmed her through her thick leather gloves, sending warmth running through her system. She felt her shivering abate.
"Drink," Fenris said, not unkindly, "it'll take the liquor off your mind."
A part of her wanted to lash out at him, to let the not-unpleasant buzzing in her head to continue shielding her from the feelings she did not want to contemplate, but she did as she was told. The bitter liquid scalded the insides of her mouth as she drank, filling her nostrils with the overpowering scent of wild herbs and making her eyes go wide. With every ounce of her restraint, she fought back the urge to retch.
"What is this?" Clarissa asked while sputtering, blinking and heaving hard to clear the bitter taste out of her.
A conspiratorial tug lifted the corners of his lips. "There, you're that much sober already." He said, passive once more as he waited for Clarissa to finish the brew. He spread his hands and smiled openly when she looked at her suspiciously. "Never approach liquor without knowing how to counter it."
Clarissa shook herself mentally as her mind regained its clarity, bringing back thought that she immediately tried to conceal. Ever observant, Fenris read her like a book. She tried to smile back, but the emotion that would accompany the act was nowhere to be found. Instead, she just looked at him while Fenris cleared his throat somewhat theatrically.
"Normally I would be more than happy to shelter a damsel in distress," he said, "but I think you would agree that the time and place for this to be quite... odd."
Flattery... Clarissa thought. Was he flirting with her? Did he not know-
He doesn't.
Nor did he know of what transpired in Falconsreach Hold, and the part of her that she left behind there. She felt old sorrows, seemingly swept under the rug by the liquor she downed, return with a vengeance. She favoured him with a weak smile, but then lowered her head as the memories came rushing back.
Fenris's smile faltered. "I can leave, if you wish to have privacy." He started to get up from his chair, but Clarissa stopped him in his tracks by grabbing his arm. She felt him tense as her fingers closed around his skin, grazing over vivid, blue lines that had buried themselves painfully in his flesh.
"No." Clarissa said quickly and quietly, retracting her hand when she saw what she had touched upon. Although her voice was hushed to a whisper, Fenris recognized the pleading tone in it and a slight reluctance that she had tried to hide.
"Please, stay?" Clarissa asked, retreating within herself once again. "I could use someone to talk to." In truth, she was not sure what she would be capable of should she be left alone again.
Fenris's eyes flared as he contemplated her words. While he may not have shared her leniency for those born with magic in their veins, he respected her for her unwavering dedication to the ones she held dear. He remembered vividly a scene not six months ago when she, along with the talkative dwarf and her mage sister, Bethany, had aided him in his hunt for Danarius. He had been unappreciative of her unconditional assistance, and had directed no small amount of his frustration, from Danarius's escape, onto Bethany.
"You harbour a viper in your midst. It will turn on you when you least expect."
He had not been one to hide what he thought, especially if he deemed it to be justified. He had not, however, counted on Clarissa's swift and venomous retort.
"Bethany has more than proven herself."
"No mage, no matter how pure their intentions are or adamant their resistances may be, can defy that which preys upon them. Then, you shall realize your mistake, and be all the more regretful for it."
"Leave my sister out of this, Fenris." She had said, a resolute fire burning strong in her eyes, renouncing every word he spoke, "or you'll discover a few more things you can't phase out of."
He remembered the young, unassuming mage step closer to her elder sister, mirroring her resolute gaze and throwing a cocksure grin at him.
"You tell him, sis'."
He knew, at that moment, that despite the very real dangers they faced, they believed in each other: Clarissa in Bethany for her self-mastery, and Bethany in Clarissa for her unyielding trust. He disagreed with them, but he admired them for the strong relationship they've fostered despite the long odds of them being normal sisters.
He pledged his blade to them, for while he still had a debt to be repaid, he was more attracted to the immaterial bond the sister had between them than anything else. It was a peculiar sensation for him, both wanting and resenting the connection he observed. From what he could remember, his life was nothing but pain, abandonment and a lifelong struggle for survival. He had never had someone else watch out for him, care for him or offer all that he should have experienced as a normal person. Clarissa, being the only one offering him her assistance without asking for anything in return, became someone he wished to know better. The fact that Clarissa's auburn hair, violet eyes and slender but muscular frame appealed to him did nothing to deter his straying thoughts about the dashing swordmaiden. But as he looked upon Clarissa now, back in Kirkwall after a month chasing down the assassins that had almost claimed Bethany's life, he wondered if his affections meant anything to her. She had considered him to be a friend only.
Fenris berated himself. Right now, a friend would not abandon her when she needed him most.
"Of course, my friend." Fenris answered her, seeing her visibly wind down. He rolled the word around in his mind. Friend. Maker knows he wanted it to be more than that.
Then Clarissa spoke and, over the course of her retelling, Fenris felt the slim ray of hope that persisted in him vanish.
She had already fallen.
The revelation hit Fenris like a low blow to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and making him wince as the imaginary wound throbbed. Clarissa had seemingly taken notice of it, but he reckoned she had thought it was compassion on his part.
It wasn't.
Half-heartedly, he heard Clarissa pouring herself out to him, blaming herself for Bethany leaving her but then attempting to justify herself.
"It was what's best at the time." She had said.
That touched a nerve.
Fenris waited until Clarissa finished her confession and, drawing from the sense of loss that embraced him anew and from the frustration of someone else beating him to the punch, he told her the truth.
"You were a fool."
Clarissa's eyes flared and snapped onto his own, meeting ice-cold indifference. He saw that the blush from the alcohol had not yet receded from her cheeks.
"Excuse me?" She said, indignant.
"She was more than enough to choose the path her life takes. You had no right to decide for her, nor did you have the right to conceal from her a matter of such consequence." He stated, transmuting what jealousy and frustration he had into genuine, solid anger until he actually believed in what he was saying and doing, which, at the beginning, was merely a way to vent his pent-up emotions.
Blood flushed to her cheeks and down her neck as she ruffled her feathers at his accusation. But, while her actions may lend her denials credence, deep inside she hammered herself with doubt.
"It was for her own good! I-"
"And you would know that better than she herself did?" Fenris cut her off, voice low and ominous.
Clarissa exclaimed her affirmative and began to argue for her cause, but stopped when she met pulsating blue light that highlighted the furrows on Fenris's face.
"You said to me that for all of nineteen years, you've cherished your sister like no other. You told me that she was the one thing you couldn't live without, and I believed you," Fenris said, a small part of him wishing it had been him he was talking about. "but when you decided to keep the presence of the magister from her, you saw it as an older sister looking out for her sibling."
"I saw what Bethany saw." Fenris said, looking straight into Clarissa's conflicted eyes where guilt warred with pride and, under his unflinching, unrelenting glare, he saw fear flicker across them.
"I saw betrayal."
He saw her wince from the word, her retorts and excuses dying in her throat as she trembled uncontrollably, all the time spent convincing and consoling herself laid to waste.
But he was not one to stop, not until his anger was spent and his truths were made clear. To him, the ends justified the means.
"You call her your lover, your equal, the missing half of your heart that made you whole, but you never stopped treating her as you would your sister." Fenris spat, every word bitter, scornful and meant to wound.
"What of next time? What then? Would you again take it upon yourself to decide what's best for your baby sister and ignore the consequences you thought you could shoulder on your own? That is not love, Hawke. That isn't even family."
He stopped himself abruptly, debating whether the woman before him, heartbroken, guilt-ridden and beaten, deserved the word he was about to use. Who was he to say such things? Who was he, as a man robbed of his memory, his family and his ability to love, to lecture her? He looked at Clarissa, who returned his softening gaze with watery eyes that threatened to break the last of her restraints down and reduce her to little more than a husk of a person missing half her heart. At that moment, what mercy remained within his lyrium-imbued body made him relent. He'd done what he was supposed to do – to make Clarissa see that she was wrong.
Until he saw her eyes look back at him but not quite, staring into the distance as if the object of her desire stood less than a foot behind him.
Not me.
He gritted his teeth.
"That's slavery." He said with finality, enunciating every syllable with every ounce of his strength, so she would not, could not, doubt what she had heard.
Then, he turned his back on the only friend he'd made in the life he could remember, climbed the short flight of stairs that led to the study and, with a casual glance, saw that the stormclouds, dark and grim, still persisted in pummeling the earth.
The front door opened and slammed shut. He paid it no mind.
/It's taking you too long to decide
And I don't want to be the one, the one
Crying over wasted time
If you think you're strong enough to let me in
Then come on, stand up and be honest, be honest
I'm tired of feeling so alone
Cause you won't let me understand
I don't wanna pretend, I wanna feel, I want to love
Say you will or say you won't
Open your heart to me
Now or never, tell the truth
Is this real, is this real?
Whenever you're around, I can't fight it
You get under my skin the way that I like it
And I can't take anymore
Tell me what you want from me or leave me alone
'Cause I'm all caught up and I'm losing control
I'm tired of holding on so tight
When you won't let me understand
Now I'm falling apart
I never meant to lose myself
Say you will or say you won't
Open your heart to me
Now or never, tell the truth
Is this real, is this real
Say you will or say you won't
Open your heart to me
Now or never, tell the truth
Is this real, is this real?
Like drops of rain against my heart
Cut through like silver
And I want to make you feel that way
And I want to make you feel the way that I do
Say you will or say you won't
Open your heart to me
Now or never, tell the truth
Is this real?
Say you will or say you won't
Open your heart to me
Now or never, tell the truth
Is this real, is this real?
-
Say You Will - Evanescence
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