Once Hawke had left, Fenris pulled on his boots and began the trek downstairs, noting every twinge that shot up from his legs with each step. He gripped the bannister a little more tightly and took particular care as he moved. His right leg was more recovered than the left, it seemed, though he took care not to favor the left overmuch. As he made his way carefully downstairs, he took in the house. There were four bedrooms on the second floor, the narrow stairway he was currently maneuvering leading down to the ground floor. To one side, a sitting room with a large fireplace, and a kitchen on the other—a quick glance in the latter revealed it to be empty for the moment, but its absent occupant was clearly in the middle of a vast undertaking; ingredients of all kinds were laid out upon a long table set just in front of the windows overlooking a garden in the back. Other doors to other parts of the house were shut tight, but Fenris' only desire was to find his way out and to wherever the horses were kept.
He gave the screen door a push, its hinges protesting with a long creak as it opened, and he stepped out onto the spacious front porch. The day was bright enough already that the covered area offered little refuge from the sun creeping ever higher in the sky; it sent its glow across the wooden planks beneath his feet, casting long shadows that would grow shorter as the day wore on. Admittedly, he felt a bit strange walking about when he hadn't met a single soul beyond Hawke, and she wasn't even there. But, he reasoned, she wouldn't have encouraged him to get out of the house if she hadn't told any of its other inhabitants of his presence.
Then again, it was entirely possible she'd done precisely that and simply had a sadistic sense of humor into the bargain.
Lifting a hand to shade his eyes, Fenris stepped down off the porch, casting about a moment. He spied a large barn, a smaller building that was likely a chicken coop, and several other structures of varying size that could have served any number of purposes from feed shed to equipment storage. It was the barn he was interested in; as he drew closer, the snorts and nickers he heard from within were unmistakably horse-like, and he quickened his steps as much as he was able.
There was a young man in the shade the large building supplied, repairing a plow; inside, Fenris caught sight of a young woman—Merrill, he assumed—nimbly climbing the ladder up to the hayloft.
"Look out below!" her voice rang out after a moment. Shortly thereafter, a bale of hay was tossed down, landing with a crunch as dust and seeds and bits and pieces of hay flew out and upward, the golden sunlight catching each and every speck and mote.
Fenris stepped wide, with one eye trained on the loft for any more falling bales, and quickly found Agrippa. She was chewing placidly on a mouthful of hay, and the only indication she gave that she was happy to see him was a slight pricking-forward of her ears. Running one hand down her long snout, he took a closer look at his mare; she was more relaxed than he could ever remember having seen her. As he rubbed her nose, Agrippa's eyes slowly shut, and she pressed against his hand, turning her head to nuzzle his palm.
"I haven't any sugar for you," he murmured. Agrippa only snorted and continued nuzzling, her ministrations interspersed with the occasional nibble.
"Oh, that's the most she's perked up in days," said a voice from behind. "Amelle said she was likely missing you."
Fenris turned to find the elf he was ever more certain was Merrill. Her dark, braided hair still bore bits of hay and seed, which she appeared not to mind in the least.
"You must be Fenris," she chattered sunnily. Taking a hasty moment to wipe her palm against her legs, she extended one hand, which, after a moment, he took. Her clasp was strong, and her handshake… exuberant. "I'd hate to cut your visit short, but I was just about to turn the horses out. It's a bit later than they normally go, but the plow went this morning, and it's being rather stubborn about letting itself get fixed. Tomas is working on it now—he'll probably have better luck than I did, at any rate, it's such a heavy thing. I know it hardly makes any difference to the horses." A loud whinny cut through the barn. "Well," she amended. "Except for Falcon. But I think that's just because he's glad to be home. So he's a little impatient. Oh! But if you wanted to walk her down to the pasture while I get the other mares, you could do that. You know, if you wanted to visit a little longer."
In the end, he handled Agrippa and another mare, while Merrill followed with three more. It felt good to walk, to stretch his stiff muscles. For all that Hawke had warned him that he'd find his repaired joints weak, he was experiencing no such weakness now. After turning the mares out to pasture, he followed Merrill back without another word and silently assisted her with the geldings and stallions—the lot of them seemed to be incredibly well-tempered, and after a few shoves and other shows of dominance, the horses—Falcon included—scattered themselves across the pasture.
With that task complete, Merrill returned to the barn while Fenris strode back to the pasture where the mares were kept. Leaning against the fence, he watched as Agrippa broke into a gallop, her pale tail streaming out behind her as she stretched her legs, muscles working and flexing beneath her pale coat, hooves pounding the soft earth in a rhythm he knew as well as his own heartbeat. Several of the other mares chewed sedately at the grass, one shouldering the other out of the way at one point, but Agrippa ran along the far side of the pasture, heedless of the others.
He envied her that, for a moment—to be able to move freely, without wariness or suspicion dogging every step. Doubtless she would evade if someone she did not know attempted to capture or steal her, but his mare knew nothing of precaution and the necessity of it.
Her burst of speed expended, Agrippa gradually slowed, eventually stopping by a patch of clover, far from the other mares. Lowering her head, she tore away a mouthful of green and began to graze placidly, her tail swishing as it flicked away the occasional fly. He took in her equine contentment a moment longer before turning away and heading back to the house. His route took him past the males' pasture in time to catch sight of Falcon rolling about on his back, long legs in the air as he scratched himself. Then, as if sensing Fenris' gaze, the horse stopped, resting on his side and lifting his head, fixing dark eyes back on him. Then Falcon clambered to his feet and trotted away to the other side of the pasture, looking strangely as if his dignity had been wounded having been caught behaving so.
The sun was higher now, but the day was cool and the breeze had turned sweet and damp, carrying with it the hint of rain. No clouds yet, but Fenris had no doubt they would come. As he drew closer to the house, a woman came around the side, carrying a basket. She stopped short, startled at the sight of him, but upon looking at him something not quite recognition dawned in her eyes. No, not recognition, but understanding. Her smile was a warm one.
"Amelle said you'd likely be up and around today. It's Mr. Fenris, isn't it?"
He coughed. "Just… Fenris will suffice, ma'am."
She smiled again and gave him a brisk nod. "All right, Fenris. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Amelle's mother. Name's Leandra."
Though he hadn't seen any resemblance at the start, Fenris now saw… something around the older woman's eyes and the tilt of her smile that he'd seen on Hawke's face earlier. He inclined his head. "I… am grateful for your hospitality, Mrs. Hawke."
"Please, think nothing of it. It's good to know you're finally up and around—my daughter told me your injuries had been severe," she said, indicating his leg, "and I'm supposed to make sure to tell you not to—"
"Overtax myself," he said, dryly, holding a hand out and tacitly offering to take the basket she carried, which she gave to him without comment. "She gave me the very same warning before her departure this morning."
"Well," she replied on a laugh, "if nothing else, Amelle is thorough." The two of them climbed the steps to the porch and when Fenris looked down, he found the basket to be heavy with strawberries. "They're the first of the season," she supplied, catching his look. "And there are few things my Amelle likes better than early strawberry pie."
"She mentioned you'd intended to make one," he said, holding the door open as Mrs. Hawke swept into the house. Though it hadn't been his intention, he trailed after her into the kitchen where she stood by the long table, took the basket from him and dumped the contents onto a thin cloth. Then, pulling a paring knife from the pocket of her apron, she began briskly hulling and quartering the strawberries, dropping the pieces into a heavy white bowl.
"Did she now?" she asked, deft fingers never slowing as the silver of the knife flashed in the morning sunlight. "I don't suppose she mentioned all the wheedling she did first, convincing me to make one."
Clearing his throat, Fenris shook his head. "I admit, she… did not."
"Imagine my surprise," the older woman said on a chuckle. She worked her way through several more strawberries before sending him a sidelong glance. "Pull up a chair and sit if you'd like. I doubt you ought to be on your feet after all that."
He hesitated long enough to feel foolish for hesitating, then pulled a chair from the other end of the table and sat down, watching Mrs. Hawke work. "I am much better than I was," he admitted.
"Amelle's always had a knack for healing," her mother said, a note of pride evident in her voice. "Lucky thing she came across you. Bandits. I can't imagine."
Fenris opened his mouth to correct her, then leaned back slightly in his chair, pressing his lips together after a second. That was an odd omission, but seemed a… deliberate one. Instead of correcting Mrs. Hawke, he watched her hands for a second or two before asking, hesitantly, "Is there anything I may do to… help?"
Her hands stilled and she sent him a look. "Do you know how to make a pie, Fenris?"
"Ah. No," he admitted, after a pause.
"Well," she said brightly, pushing the bowl of quartered berries in front of him, "I can think of no time like the present for someone to learn."
"…Learn?"
"To make a pie. Handy skill, you know." She handed over the small knife, its handle slapping lightly against his palm. "Never know when it's going to come in useful."
His expression, he was sure, was incredulous, but Mrs. Hawke appeared not to notice—something that made she and her daughter resemble each other all the more. Even so, anything was better than more bedrest. Still skeptical, to say nothing of uncertain, Fenris abandoned his seat and stood, working slowly—the knife was small in his hand, its handle strangely delicate, and the strawberries were likewise small and too easily crushed—and as he went, Hawke's mother gently corrected both his grip on the knife's handle and his treatment of the berries.
"Careful, dear—cut them too small and they'll turn to mush while the pie's baking." He adjusted accordingly, hulling and quartering while Mrs. Hawke watched, a smile hovering at her lips. "We've always had berries in the garden, and there hasn't been a single year since she was old enough to find mischief on her own that Amelle didn't manage to gorge herself on them. Strawberry season is bad, but blackberry season's worse."
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then looked down again at the slowly growing pile of perfect red fruit. "Surely not now that she's older."
"Oh, you just watch her tonight with this pie. If she doesn't stuff herself sick on it, I'm Andraste herself."
Allowing himself a low chuckle, he asked, "She is your… only child, then?" Her smile faded quickly enough that he felt a burning rush of embarrassment for asking. "Forgive me, it's none of my—"
"You didn't know," she broke in. "No harm done—I… don't see how you could have known." Several beats of silence passed before she said, "Three. We had… two other children. Amelle was the oldest, and then we had the twins. Carver—it's his room you're staying in; he's up in Kirkwall now. We… lost Bethany some years back." Her voice went soft as she said, "Maker, it'll be five years this summer. Hardly seems possible."
The burning upon his cheeks doubled as the skin at the nape of his neck prickled with discomfiture at the sorrow in the older woman's voice. "I am… sorry for your loss," he managed, feeling entirely out of his depth, even as he kept his eyes on the silver blade as it sliced through tender red fruit.
"Thank you. I do appreciate it." She breathed a soft sigh, watching him work. "We all took it badly, but I'm not sure anyone took it harder than Carver. It wasn't long after that he left home to join up with the templars."
One halved berry slipped from his fingers and landed in among the quartered fruit. "Your son is a templar?" he blurted. "But…"
"But his sister's a mage?" she finished for him, lifting her brows.
He nodded, retrieving the strawberry and cutting it again as Leandra Hawke took up another paring knife and began hulling and quartering alongside him. "It's not as bad as it could be, I suppose. Carver understands the importance of family, and that's a blessing. But…" she trailed off and let out a long breath, "those two were always at loggerheads, I'm afraid. Even if Amelle wasn't a mage, Carver always got so frustrated with her. Can't say as Amelle ever made it easy on him, but that's… just her way. If she made a joke, Carver accused her of never taking things seriously enough. If she took them seriously, he thought she was just being bossy. Controlling. Amelle would try to make nice, and Carver would lose his temper, and then Mely would try again, never realizing she was just rubbing salt in the wound. She's not a bad girl, but she's… well. She's her own person, true enough. Sometimes so much so that she stubs her toe on it."
Hawke's words from the other day came floating back to him. If I say you stay off the leg, you stay off the leg. If I say it's time for a poultice, it's time for a poultice. Perhaps controlling wasn't quite the word he'd have chosen, but she definitely had the air of authority to her, at least insofar as medicinal matters were concerned. "And they've… not spoken in five years?"
"At least," she replied on a sigh. "She's been doing this for even longer. I think Carver resented being left behind, while Amelle got to leave, traveling all over Ferelden. I'm not sure he ever realized she never particularly wanted it. I imagine it's probably horribly lonely—thank the Maker she's got Varric and Isabela—but it's impossible not to notice how happy she is once she comes home."
They fell silent, working companionably for a while longer, until the bowl was nearly full of vibrant fruit.
"There, now. That should be more than enough," she said, moving to retrieve a heavy glass jar of sugar and a small copper cup from the other end of the table. "Shall we move on?"
#
Amelle was thankful Varric and Isabela preferred staying in Lothering proper whenever they stopped by this way. And even though she knew it had more to do with the early mornings they kept on the farm and Isabela's strong and exceptional dislike of mornings, early or otherwise, she still… valued the time it gave her on the farm, a place where she could be herself—where she could remember who she was in order to be her—where she could relish and drink in this quieter, simpler life, surrounded by the place where she'd grown up. It… resettled her, centered her, and Maker knew she needed to be centered and settled before she set out and started the madness all over again.
It was a pretty mess she'd gotten herself into, she thought, kicking a rock along the hard-packed dirt as she walked home. Selling potions all over Ferelden helped pay for the extra hands that kept the farm successful and solvent, it helped pay for repairs and new equipment—coin that would have otherwise had to come from the farm itself. Now, the money the farm earned… went back into the farm.
Maybe she could stop traveling for a spell. Maybe she could stay here and make herself useful.
Oh, that's a capital idea. Stay here and just wait for someone to notice something odd, like how your livestock never sickens. Merrill never catches anyone's curiosity because she's Merrill. You are not Merrill.
She couldn't stay, and she didn't want to go. And nothing at all stood a chance of changing so far as that was concerned.
Amelle chewed thoughtfully on another piece of ginger as she left the road, slowly tromping down a gently sloping hill, her steps cutting a path through the tall grass. A gust of wind rippled through the grass again and Amelle stopped and took a deep breath in, closing her eyes and tipping her face up toward the sun.
She wanted to stay. She was bored with travel, bored with the same patter in every town. She was bored with crafting the same potions, over and over again. And maybe it wasn't the obvious choice if one was looking to avoid boredom, but Amelle preferred life on the farm. She enjoyed watching the crops, all young and waxy and green, burst forth from the soil, or seeing a mare through her first foal, or a cow through her first calf. She enjoyed the dirt of it, the grit of it, the honesty of it all.
Perhaps, she thought as wind whipped through her her lawn dress, sending her skirts rippling out behind her, not unlike the way the grass moved all around, perhaps there was a compromise to be reached. Perhaps she could travel… less. Granted, this would mean Varric and Isabela would have to figure out how to make do without her for a time, but they'd been a team long before Amelle had made their acquaintance; she rather doubted they'd be entirely lost without her.
It was something to think about, at any rate.
You never know, she thought, swinging her purse as she continued down the hill towards the farm, maybe it'll take spending more time around this place to make me realize I'm not cut out for it at all.
Amelle poked her head briefly into the barn, calling out for Fenris, but only Merrill's head popped out over the hayloft, dark braids bouncing and swinging as she moved. "Oh! You're back early."
"A little," Amelle said, looking around, pulling her bonnet free. "Have you seen Fenris at all?"
"Only for a moment," Merrill said. "He came out for a bit to visit with Freckles—"
"Agrippa," Amelle corrected her gently, with an apologetic wince. "Her name's Agrippa."
Merrill blinked. "Creators, that's an odd name, isn't it? Freckles seems to be such a better fit for her, don't you think?"
Privately Amelle agreed, but she shrugged. "All the same, that's her name."
"Well. He came out and visited with Agrippa for a while, and he helped me turn the horses out to the pasture—it's a lovely day for it, isn't it? He was on his way back to the house when your mother came out of the garden with a basket. I don't know what she said to him—the plow handle's gone all splintery again and Tomas was so loud when he was trying to smooth it out, and I was mucking out the—"
"Don't worry about it, Merrill. I just wanted to make sure out guest didn't overtax himself."
Merrill tilted her head a moment, looking perplexed, even as the blood continued to rush to her head, turning her cheeks pink. "Your mother did give him the basket to carry, but I don't suppose that was terribly heavy."
Amelle waved up at her as she turned and started out of the barn. "Don't worry about it, I'll see what she's up to."
The path up from the barn approached the house on the side, and as she drew closer she heard the familiar timbre of her mother's voice and saw a flash blue as she walked by one of the kitchen windows. Tilting her head, Amelle moved even closer to the nearest kitchen window until she could make out what her mother was saying.
Amelle angled herself to get a better look into the kitchen. What she saw, though, made her stop and stare. Her mother and, Maker help her, Fenris, were standing side by side at the worktable overlooking the back garden. A pile of strawberries, all red and glistening and perfectly delicious looking, were in front of them, and Fenris held in his hand one of Mama's deadly-sharp paring knives. Mama held the other, and together they were hulling and cutting strawberries, dropping the pieces in the low, wide bowl Mama always used.
They were making a pie. It was, far and away, the damnedest thing she'd ever seen. Once the berries were hulled and quartered, Mama nudged the bowl in front of Fenris and swept to the other end of the table, gathering the sugar and a few other ingredients before handing over a spoon and measuring cup.
"There, now. That's more than enough," she said. "Shall we move on?"
Fenris' answer was in the affirmative, though he looked wary as hell about it. Amelle pressed fingers to her lips to stifle a chuckle.
They worked in silence a few minutes longer. "Be careful with the sugar, dear," she said, shaking her head. "The early berries are still a hair tart, but that's part of their charm. Don't want to bury that bite under too much sweet."
At her mother's gentle admonition, Fenris' brow furrowed in either concentration or frustration—she couldn't tell—but with a much lighter hand he scattered spoonfuls of sugar over the berries. Mama talked him through several more steps, all of which Fenris followed, his expression one of such intense concentration, she could scarcely believe he was making a pie. A pie.
Tamping down on her laughter, Amelle stomped her way up onto the porch, making even more noise than she might have done ordinarily, and pushed open the screen door.
"Maker's breath, Mama," she said genially, leaning in the doorway and watching them, her bonnet swinging lazily from its ribbons, "Fenris is supposed to be recovering. Not baking pies."
At the sound of her voice, Fenris' shoulders went strangely rigid and he turned, his expression patently neutral. "It was no trouble," he said, stiffly.
"You should consider yourself lucky," she told him with a grin. "Mama's strawberry pie is the best from here to Highever. She doesn't let just anyone in on the recipe."
"Now, Amelle," her mother began, somewhat reproachfully, "your guest looked a bit at loose ends—"
"So you thought you'd teach him to bake," interrupted Amelle with a playful grin.
"—And," Mama went on, blithely ignoring her, "very gallantly offered to help."
Fenris looked uncomfortable, and Amelle wondered if it was being called gallant that did it. Her own smile warmed to one far less teasing. "I'm not quite sure standing for so long is any better for your legs than a walk into town would have been. How are you feeling?"
"Much improved," he replied, inclining his head. "…Thank you."
Any surprise Amelle might've felt at the fact Fenris was thanking her was soon overshadowed when her mother said, "And don't be silly, Mely—I had Mister Fenris sit at first. He's not been on his feet terribly long now." Then she added, on a laugh, "Maker, what kind of slavedriver do you take me for?"
Amelle's smile froze as Fenris' expression went strangely blank.
"Well," Amelle said, her bright tone sounding forced to her ears as she crossed the room, resting a hand on Fenris' uninjured shoulder, "if you're feeling so much improved, perhaps you'll introduce me properly to Agrippa. She looked fit to bite me when I was calling her Freckles."
"I… yes," came his halting reply.
"I assume you can part with your assistant for a short while, Mama?" Amelle asked. At Mama's "Of course, darling," Amelle took Fenris' arm in hers and carefully, but quickly, steered him out of the kitchen and out of the house.
"She didn't know," Amelle finally explained in a low tone, once they were halfway out to the pasture. The clouds above were thickening and the wind had begun to pick up. Not enough to think about pulling the horses in just yet, but enough to know things could turn that way. "We told her you were overrun by bandits."
"You didn't want your mother knowing you aided a slave?" he asked, an edge to his voice.
Amelle's steps came to an abrupt stop as she spun on her heel to face Fenris. "Don't be an idiot," she said shortly. Fenris shot her a sharp glare and Amelle went on to explain. "My mother worries enough. And slavers are an entirely different kind of danger from what one typically meets up with on the road. Bandits are more… common, by comparison. It had nothing to do with you." His glower subsided, a little. "Besides," she went on, "bandits are just men looking to take what doesn't belong to them. Same could be said about slavers."
The glower subsided just a little more. "Neither did you tell her about—"
"About that little stunt after you woke up?" she asked, keeping her voice down. "No, I did not. I took you at your word and so far you haven't given me reason to regret doing that."
"And I will not."
"Then as far as I see it, the subject's closed."
Something about her words appeared to surprise Fenris, and for just a sliver of a second, he looked like he was of a mind to argue with her. But instead he simply shook his head and they began walking again. It wasn't long before they reached the pasture, where Agrippa still stood apart from the other mares, and looking none too bothered by the solitude.
"She's a lovely animal," Amelle said, resting her arms on the fencing.
"It was not always so," he replied quietly, echoing her stance. "She is mine only because I paid for her what her previous owner would have received from the glue factory." At Amelle's curious look, he shrugged. "I had just arrived in Ferelden and was acutely aware of the fact that I would need reliable transportation. Her owner was a merchant who claimed her to be intractable and unsafe—she kicked, or so he said. I offered what coin I could for her and he accepted."
"And?"
"And I suspect she simply didn't like him," he replied with a shrug and something close enough to a smile that Amelle found herself enjoying that particular expression. It did pleasant things to his face, even if it didn't last half as long as she might've liked.
"I suppose that's why they call it horse-sense."
They watched the horses in silence for a few minutes before Fenris sent Amelle a sidelong glance. "Did you find all you required in town?"
"All and a little bit more," she said. Her purse still hung from her wrist and she pulled out the small paper sack holding the candied ginger, offering him some. Though Fenris looked surprised, he took a piece of the candy. Amelle dug a piece out for herself and chewed contemplatively. "I expect I'll have to make a few more trips in the coming days," she told him, rolling the sweet around in her mouth.
"Is that an invitation?"
She smiled. "A tentative one. Let's see how my repairs hold up first."
