Hello! Raise your hand if you missed Grace. Sorry, but she is back.

Thank you for all the reviews, favs, alerts etc. A big thanks to those of you who prodded me to continue writing this insane story. I don't know about this chapter, but it was fun to write. Maybe not so fun to read o_O So I hope enjoy it. Thank you :D

Chapter 10: My Unmentionables

The afternoon tea table was covered in fine white linen, decked to the brim with silverware, and laden with dainty porcelain tableware. Grace had overseen everything from the color of the napkins to the flowers in her hair, which complimented the delicate roses on her teacup. It was a vision of perfection as far as she was concerned.

Do not fill it to the brim. Leave space for the cream, Grace thought of her mother's words as she poured the tea. And for Maker's sake do not dribble it onto the tablecloth.

Abigail Mercier watched Grace pour the tea with the sharpest scrutiny, and when the last drop rippled the tan liquid, she feigned disinterest; it had been a success. She took a sip, with pinky raised, and placed the cup back onto the saucer. Grace waited for Abigail to pat down her skirt and stop staring off in the distance like a philosopher observing the mundane before reinventing it with fancy words. In Orlesian society one did not rush to converse, they waited, allowing silence to linger before words were uttered. It was the pompous prayer of self-importance.

"Starkhaven is a prominent city in the Free Marches correct? I find its mimicry of Val Royeaux quaint." Abigail took a sip of her tea and turned to stare once again into the distance. The moment, she felt, had seized her presence.

Quaint? Grace curled her lip while Abigail practiced her pose for the painting her parents had commissioned. She was the daughter of a rich Orlesian merchant and lady from Starkhaven. She forgets her place. Lady Brighton was never as prominent as my grandmother. Her family could barely afford a proper debut. I may not have been born in Orlais but I certainly know when someone is posturing.

"I suppose there are those who would find Starkhaven quaint, but they would obviously be ignorant of the importance it plays in the Free Marches. That is usually a sign of poor breeding."

Abigail pursed her lips. Grace had won this argument. "I would not know. I only meant quaint in the picturesque sense. It reminds me of Robert de Bois's latest work entitled: The Scythes. Have you seen it?"

Grace straightened her back. She hated being put on the spot. No... But I am not going to admit it. "Of course."

Abigail leaned over. She whispered details of the painting's origins. "Did you know that Robert de Bois dedicated the painting to Catherine Girard?"

"I… did not know." Grace could tell by Abigail's tone that this dedication was somehow indecent. As a resident of Starkhaven gossip from Orlais was infrequent. "How was it received?"

The young Orlesian woman rolled her eyes. "Well my mother, who had attended Catherine Girard's salon in the spring, said that Anne de Bois, Robert's wife, was livid. I do not know why. It is common knowledge that Catherine is Robert's mistress. Why must Anne make such a fuss? If it were me, I would simply find a lover, probably an Elven lover. That would wound any man's pride."

"An Elven lover? But surely a man would be less… how should I say? Less repulsive? More acceptable?" Grace questioned. Now she fully understood why beautiful Elven servants were highly prized by Orlesian nobility. "If it is fashionable then I suppose one may consider it."

Abigail laughed. "Oh my poor Grace. You lead such a sheltered life here in Starkhaven. I thought after your first year at university you would surely understand the intricacies, both proper and improper, of Orlesian high society. I guess it will be my endeavor to raise you above your bourgeois mentality."

It was an insult. Any self-respecting noblewoman would see it at face value and counter it with an equally polite insult, but Grace's curiosity piqued. After reading about Marian Hawke and her budding relationship with the 'peculiar elf', she wanted to understand why a woman would want to bed an Elven man. Truth be known, Grace was not well versed when it came to matters of sex and men. Her mother almost fainted the day she asked how babies were created. On many occasions she had found the odd book in the library concerning the union between man and woman. Strangely, those books disappeared before she dared take them to her room and read. She suspected her grandmother had placed them on the bookshelf and her mother had removed them.

"Who is that elf near the woodpile?" Abigail pointed at a tall, muscular Elven man with an axe. "He is athletic and mature. You want one who is mature. They have experience with women and greater stamina than the young."

Paleness washed over Grace's face. "Stamina?" she managed to choke out. "But he is married and I am a noblewoman. Why would you even speak of such a thing?"

"You are truly ignorant, Grace," Abigail tutted into her teacup. "You marry first and then you take a lover. Of course, if your suitor is of an adventurous type then you would do well to be practiced in the art of lovemaking. Honestly, do you know nothing of men?"

The statement jolted Grace's inborn pride. She would not be demeaned further by a woman of lower status. If she wished to be educated in the ways of Orlesian private affairs, she would find a more reliable source. The Mercier family was not highly esteemed in Starkhaven and their status was less in Orlais. This was not a woman whom she needed to impress, but a woman who should be thankful she was invited to take afternoon tea with one of Starkhaven's finest families.

"Excuse me, but I think I shall retire to my room." Grace rose from her seat, patted down the wrinkles from her dress and walked inside brusquely inside leaving Abigail lost for words. Grace hoped a fly would find its way into her friend's open mouth. If she was lucky, Abigail would choke to death.

There is perhaps one person who can give me an insight into the attraction between a human woman and Elven man: Marian Hawke, Grace considered as she walked to her room. It may be a deplorable romance novel but at least it does not patronize me by trying to be more than it is.

Fresh flowers had been placed in Grace's favorite vase next to her side table, along with Starkhaven's finest chocolates and perfume. But Grace ignored it all. Instead, she grabbed the book lying next to the finery and planted her rump on the bed and began to read:

Day 3, Afternoon…

Marian admired her handiwork. She pointed to the letters under her childish drawing of a fish. I know he hates fish but his overreaction is adorable and it makes his ears turn red.

Fenris pointed to the ground. "That is your attempt at humor?" One thing he had discovered while being trapped in a cave with Marian was her playfulness. It threatened to drive him insane. "Must you?"

"Yes I must. It's funny, sourpuss."

"Sourpuss?" he huffed. Secretly Fenris enjoyed the teasing. It was a type of attention he had never received. "I thought it was your dwarven friend who thought up ridiculous names."

"Varric would approve of 'sourpuss'." Marian underlined the word 'fish' and her teaching persona came to life. "Now, I thought it might be best to start with a word that generates such wonderful emotion in you."

Fenris stomped on the picture until all that remained was his footprint. "The taste of bile in the back of my throat is not something I would ascribe to a wonderful emotion."

"But it's cute when you scowl and roll your eyes," Marian teased. Did I really just call him cute? It's a wonder he hasn't ripped my heart out. It would be understandable.

Fenris raised his infamous eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. "Cute? Ducklings are cute; an elf that kills slavers without remorse and leaves them to die in a pool of their own blood… is… uncute."

The statement was enough to convince Marian that she should continue with the lesson and stop aggravating him. "Do you remember the sound of each letter?"

"Of course," he scolded. "Do you take me for an idiot?"

Fenris is an unruly student. Maybe I should paddle him!

"No, but I do take you for a stubborn mule who is too proud to admit when he needs help," Marian stated as she prodded him in the thigh with the pointing stick.

"Maybe it is too late for me to learn," he said in an attempt to hide his fear of failure. He could see that Marian was not impressed by his excuse.

"I'm not letting you off that easy. You are an extremely intelligent man, capable of speaking two languages, familiar with many customs and you keep great company in caves," she suggested as she attempted to toss her hair behind her shoulder. However, the maneuver had been too vigorous and the hair whipped around and covered her face. Fenris chuckled as he watched her brush it away.

"Was that an attempt at flirting or a spasm in your neck?" If it were not for his lopsided grin Marian would never have forgiven Fenris. "Perhaps you should consider cutting it shorter for your own safety."

"Oh, aren't we the funny one." Marian took a seat on the ground. She slumped over and brought her knees to her chest. "You know, Fenris… before this disaster, we wanted the same thing."

I think I prefer the inept flirting. Why did she stop? "How do you mean?"

"I was trying to better my life just like you," she whispered and then sighed. "I guess it doesn't matter now."

Fenris watched the liveliness in Marian's face dehydrate into a brittle display of melancholy. He was sorry he had been obtuse; after all they needed a distraction.

"I am sorry," Marian whispered. A small rock flew across the cave and bounced off of the wall. She had thrown it in an attempt to relieve some of her frustration, but it only reminded her that Carver may be on the other side. "Some adventurer, eh? I can't even find a way out of this hole."

Fenris moved from his second favorite rock and was seated beside Marian. "There is no one who lives that would be able to escape this place. Maybe we should return to the reading lesson? I will try to be less of a stubborn mule."

I wish he would give me a hug. I could really do with a hug. Marian smirked, though she wanted to cry. "Impossible sourpuss."

Marian gathered up her writing stick and drew several words on the ground. She discovered that Fenris was quick to learn, and as they continued, she was pleased to see his confidence grow.

He is addicted now, Marian thought while she listened to him read a simple sentence.

This has to be one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. There is power and freedom in the ability to read and write. I hope he sees that too.

After reading his latest sentence, Fenris smiled. It wasn't meant for Marian, but an expression of his achievement. He was defying the mindset of a slave and rising above the life that Danarius had intended for him. He never wanted it to end.

I wish I could tell her how much this means to me. There is nothing I could offer this woman to repay the kindness she has shown me. I am not worthy of her friendship or her compassion. But I will find a way to express my gratitude.

Marian listened attentively as Fenris continued to read simple words and sentences. While he struggled with the word 'apple' she tried to think of a way to escape. They couldn't die like this, not after everything they had survived. It would be a waste and she refused to accept it.

"I could do with a drink. Shall we take a break, Fenris?" Marian asked.

He nodded in agreement and suggested that they leave the next lesson for tomorrow. The sun was beginning to set and they needed to see to dinner before it grew dark.

While Fenris stretched his back, Marian rummaged through her dirty clothing. This may not be one of my better ideas, but it is worth a try, Marian considered. Under normal circumstances I would die of embarrassment. I think we are past that now. Several days without a bath, sharing a hole in a ground for a toilet and listening to each other talk in our sleep tends to relieve people of their dignity, even broody people. Now… how does one secure their smallclothes around a rock?

The sight of Marian bent over drew Fenris's attention. I should deflect my eyes but… He admired the hourglass shape of her hips and the pertness of her rump. If she were not a virgin I would question whether her provocative stance was deliberate.

"Fenris!" Marian abruptly stood upright. Fenris averted his eyes and pretended the cave wall was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen in his life.

She held up a rock as if it was the discovery of a century. "Do you think you could throw this through the hole in the ceiling?"

"Of all the things I thought I might be asked today this has to be… I don't know," he answered. "Why?"

Marian stared at the rock and the smallclothes wrapped around it. Is this really a good idea? she questioned. He is going to expect an explanation. What do I say? I guess as long as I don't proclaim it to be a token of my love he may not think me completely insane.

She shoved the rock into his hand. "Just humor me."

Fenris studied the rock. "I'm no expert but I would say that lace does not usually grow on rocks. Marian…" he said in a deep tentative voice. "Why are your smallclothes wrapped around this rock? More importantly, please tell me they are clean."

Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.

"Definitely clean," she lied. It did not matter that his face was covered with a look of disgust, Marian blushed at the sight of Fenris eyeing her knickers. "Please, do this for me."

This is not exactly how I imagined our first intimate encounter, he thought. Why is this woman so odd, but so pretty?

Fenris dropped the rock and brushed his hand against his trousers. "There had better be a good reason for this."

She threw her hands up to the sky like a madman praying for a sign that the end of the world was nigh. It did nothing to help her cause. "If someone is searching for us they may bring my Mabari or they may have their own hound. He would pick up my scent and alert others to our presence."

Even the pretty is starting to lose its charm. "I have no doubt that your supposedly clean smallclothes would provide a… potent scent," Fenris's lip curled as he eyed the offensive object on the ground. "But why not a blouse or a sock? Why must it be of such an intimate nature?"

"It's probably the most… fragrant." Her face scrunched, horrified by what she had said. "Now, will you just throw it?"

Fenris picked the rock up from the ground by two fingers. He made certain that no part of his skin came in contact with the material. "The things you convince me to do, Marian." His lyrium lit and he used the energy to throw the rock through the hole. It landed above with a loud thump.

Handing a man my dirty unmentionables should not illicit thoughts of sexy time with him, but Maker… I should flirt. "You really do have good aim," Marian said and she winked.

Fenris's signature eyebrow rose. He crossed his arms over his chest and studied Marian. "Do you have something in your eye?" he asked.

"No," she said pointedly. "I winked at you." Her cheeks flushed when Fenris's expression did not change. "Which is flirting!"

I enjoy it when she is flustered. It is very distracting.

"I am aware of that. It is simply fun to torment you."

"Maker's breath," Marian laughed. "You are not funny." She drew a picture of a cat with a sad face on the ground and wrote sourpuss next to it. "That's you."

Fenris grabbed the stick and drew a close representation of Marian's face with hair standing on end. "And that is you in the morning."

"Leave my bed hair out of this," Marian poked his chest with her stick. "Hey… what is brown and sticky?"

"Not again," Fenris groaned.

"A stick!" Her giggling amused Fenris but he did not let it show. She slapped her knee, entertained by her own childishness. "That one never gets old."

Fenris snatched the stick from her hands. "For you, perhaps," he proclaimed. "There are some of us who enjoy adult conversation." He pointed to the pack sitting next to Marian's makeshift bed. "It is your turn to prepare the evening meal. I will see to the lantern. I do not trust your hair near anything flammable."

"Fine, but I'm having fish tonight," she said to irritate him. Fenris grunted in response. He was too busy readying the lantern to take much notice. She suspected that he considered playing with fire more of a man thing and when men are occupied with man things they ignore women. "Have fun with the lantern." He ignored her jibe.

Marian grabbed the pack and pulled the rations out. During her preparation of the food she snuck peeks at Fenris. He was knelt on the ground striking the flint against the lantern wick without success, which amused her. That's going to hurt his manly pride. There was the odd grumble, but she could not see his expression. He hides under that hair. He hides his feelings from the world. I wish he would cut it, if only a bit shorter so I could see his face more clearly. I would be able to see the angular jaw line, the curve of his cheeks, the small blush that always covers them and his big green eyes. She plopped a carrot onto Fenris's plate. Maybe some day soon, before we perish in this damn hole, I will be able to push his hair back and show him that he does not need to hide from me.