undwarfy | Open post

"They're getting away!" Fenris snarled, glaring at the blasted human who had dragged her out here. At him, at the abomination, and even at the dwarf who, out of all of them, was the most tolerable.

"One," Hawke fired back. "One, who can go back and warn them not to send more!"

"Or go back and tell them where to find more easy marks," she snapped. "Vishante kaffas, the lot of you--" The words bit off as Fenris hefted her sword, one that looked impossible for an elf her size to lift, and took off in the direction the escapee had chosen. The light was getting dimmer, but she didn't care. She had no patience for people who only did a job partway. The last bandit would see his end on her sword - or look at his heart in her hand. Either way would do.

The Wounded Coast was treacherous, which made following the man a pain. Her feet were tough from years of walking mostly bare, but the scree and tree roots were still painful if they caught wrong. She leaped where she could, making no secret of her passage, but she was about as versed in this country as the bandit she chased. No doubt she'd passed a thousand shortcuts.

Edited 2018-06-30 06:13 (UTC)

Varric, on the other hand, was more familiar with the Wounded Coast than any of them- even Hawke, and his solid year of mercenary work, couldn't come close to the familiarity of a born-and-raised Kirkwaller. He took off after Fenris like a shot, trusting Hawke to follow. Yes, Anders was in the middle of healing him, but surely the two mages would see the importance of staying with the angry murder elf.

With the shortcuts he didn't pass, it was easier than anything to come out ahead of Fenris and head her off in her path.

"Fucking hell, elf," he panted, "You're gonna draw the attention of every sodding bandit in the Free Marches!"

As if on cue, commanded by some divine force of dramatic timing, the skies opened with a dramatic lightning-flash, and it began to rain.

Reflex, trained to the point of muscle memory, had her raising her sword, ready to strike until she saw through the haze of anger and recognition caught.

Varric.

Lightning struck and the thunder was so loud it made her flinch. Between the interruption and the sudden rain, it was enough to shift Fenris' perspective. The light wasn't dimming because of sunset; it was because of an encroaching storm. (Maybe, she thought treacherously, if one of the others had been up in the middle of the fray with her, she would've had time to notice the change in circumstances, but that was neither here nor there.)

As it was, the storm was no longer encroaching.

Fenris cursed under her breath, bitter and Tevene, before relenting enough to sheathe her sword instead of just dropping it from her battle-ready stance. "This will wash away the trail anyway," she muttered, shoulders falling. Relenting, at least enough for that.

"Trail," he snorted derisively (after the oh-shit of Fenris almost attacking faded). "You gonna take 'em all on yourself? Without any trusty back-up mages to make sure we don't bleed everywhere?"

Important, that last bit. He hadn't known Fenris very long, but he knew enough to never mention mages without mentioning their specific usefulness in the same breath. Fenris liked not bleeding everywhere: it was the main reason she tolerated Anders, as far as he could tell. Hawke too, for that matter, also was pretty alright at helping them not bleed everywhere.

"Come on, follow me." He set off for a cave he knew was nearby. With any luck, they'd reach it before getting soaked all the way to their actual sodding bones.

"I did fine without mages until I came here," she bit, but she still followed him. This was topography he knew, unlike her, and though she glared in the direction of the escaping bandit (a part of her hoped the idiot would decide to take shelter nearby as well and she'd get another chance at him - a rather large part hoped that, in truth), she at least knew to try to get out of the rain.

At least until it occurred to her that, "This isn't the way back."

She was sure of that. Kirkwall was-- There, that way. She could see the city's outline far to their left, which meant it was east. And they seemed to be headed south. South meant sea. South meant, usually, more raiders and a few Tal-Vashoth, but she could disarm the Tal-Vashoth easily enough. Was he counting on that, her dwarven guide? She couldn't help a faint snort. No, they didn't yet know that particular detail, she didn't think.

"Your powers of observation continue to dazzle," came the deadpan reply.

It was only a few more minutes before they came upon it: a small cave, out of the way, that overlooked the sea. Varric had loved this spot, as a rebellious, horny teenager: off the beaten path, in a place too desolate and untrod for the paths that attracted bandits, overlooking a shore too rocky and unfriendly for raiders to land a boat. Hostile or unworthy to raiders and bandits, but perfect for a young man looking for a spot to have a picnic. The shrubs around the entrance had grown large and wild in the intervening years, completely hiding the already hard-to-spot cave mouth from view, even up close.

"Here we go. Help me out here, would you?" He started pulling back branches - deliberately without breaking them - to make their way into the cave.

An exhale and she stepped forward. Her armour was better suited to this, and she could see what he was doing - so she got between him and the branches, pushing them far enough back that the both of them could pass. They'd make good cover, and by now were too wet to work as firewood. Unfortunately. Already, she was starting to chill and, as she stepped into the little cave, she muttered something about, "Horrible Southern weather."

But then she was looking around, eyes adjusting to the darkness enough that she could see a few dry roots, some driftwood branches-- too many, and in too much the same place to be accidental.

"So you've brought the elf to your secret hideaway." Sarcasm laced her voice, low as it was, proving that her words were, in part, intended in humour. She knew better than to think he'd intended this.

He followed her into the cave and started snapping off branches- from the inside, so he could let in light without making their location obvious.

"You caught me." Drily. "Now comes the part where I rip off your clothes, attempt to have my way with you, and you remove all my internal organs. You know..."

A grunt as he put his back into snapping an especially thick branch. The dwarf was stronger than he let on.

"Romance."

Fenris snorted under her breath, already partway through taking off her gauntlets, her sword propped against the wall. If he was going to attend to the branches, she was going to attend to how soaking wet she was. Unlike Varric, she wasn't wearing a coat, a shirt, a sash, breeches... Her layers were limited.

What she did do was lay her gauntlets on a ledge and follow them with her pauldrons. "As if ripping would happen." Her breastplate joined the pauldrons, and then she was fighting with her wet, sticking tunic. Keeping it on would only make her colder, especially if they were going to have a fire.

"Hey, this is my fantasy world, Broody!" he snapped, tone utterly devoid of any actual venom. "It's all ripped bodices and rippling muscles in here, I promise."

The branches he'd broken off already were enough for a fire- but on closer inspection, the wood was wet. All of it. Far too wet to even have the hope of getting it alight, without any mages around.

"Bad news, we're not gonna have-" Varric turned to give Fenris the bad news- only to see her completely fucking naked, kicking off her smalls. He dropped the branch, eyes going wide at... at that. "-Tits."

Oops.

She knew he was surprised.

That much was painfully obvious. But when she looked at him, only one answer came to mind.

Utterly expressionless, she said, "I'm aware of how flat my chest is, Varric. It isn't bad news if I already knew it."

Apparently Southerners were less... cavalier about these things. Hm.

"Give yourself some credit," he said to her chest. "There's still enough."

He knew he should be looking up. This was a fact- a simple one, even. Eyes up there. But for the life of him, he couldn't do it. He was a red-blooded man whose eyes still very much worked and he could not stop looking at very small, very well-formed, very lyrium-etched breasts.

"I also don't wear bodices."

Dumat's clutching claws, this was...

To be honest, it was hilarious. He was staring at her as if he'd never seen a naked woman before. And that made her wonder - had he not?

Surely he had. He showed too much chest and flirted too fluently not to.

Surely.

But in the meantime, the air wasn't getting any warmer. Her nipples were hard from the chill, and she was starting to get goosebumps. She'd seen some driftwood in the back of the cave, but the amount she'd seen would only do for a short-lived fire, and this storm seemed anything but short-lived.

Fasta vass.

Fenris didn't even realise she'd given a shiver. Damned Southern weather.

He had seen plenty of naked women, but none so very unexpectedly, and none who were covered in white lyrium tattoos. His gaze followed the tattoos down her body, taking in the swirls and loops and little dots, before going back up to her breasts. Nipples- her hard nipples, motherfucker, the world was conspiring against him.

She shivered. He shrugged out of his coat immediately, knowing that the inside, at least, would (hopefully) be dry. He'd had it enchanted years ago- every other article of clothing he was wearing was soaked through, but the inside of his coat, at least, could keep her a bit warm.

"Here, take this. You're gonna freeze your- well, you'll freeze something off, anyway."

"I'll manage," she tried to protest, but already, her shivers had grown noticeable. Enough that she was starting to get concerned. She'd never been this cold before, and for all she'd protested, she ended up accepting his coat and pulling it on.

The change was immediate. It was still warm from his body heat, and just having that warmth against her was enough to have her exhale a heavy breath, her eyes closing. That was nothing if not delicious. Her breathing came easier, shoulders dropping as the tension ebbed.

And then, looking at him with a gaze both apologetic and grateful, she said, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he waved dismissively. "I can't have you freezing your glowing tits off, now can I?"

With that inappropriate comment done, he started shoving the entirely useless wood outside- getting nothing for his efforts but a couple scratches and an even sharper chill. By the time he finished, he was shivering noticeably, his wet clothes seeming to hold onto the cold.

She'd watched - and then she'd come to a conclusion. Even if all they had were smouldering embers, it would be warmer than nothing, so she had made a small pit and, using some flint from her belt pouch and the blade of her sword, she built a tiny, slow-burning fire. It wouldn't put out much heat, but it would be more than they had.

"Varric - you're going to freeze your chest hair off. Take off your wet things and come over here." There was no hesitation. It was sheer statement of fact. He was shivering, soaking wet, and neither of them would come out of this in good condition if they let each other stay that way. The fire would help. Proximity would help more.

"It's just cold, I'm fine," he grumbled, for once in his life actually passing up the chance to complain about something.

Of course, that wasn't entirely the truth. The temperature was dropping rapidly- in fact, now that he thought about it, it had been getting steadily colder for the past hour or two. He sat next to her, holding his hands over the tiny little fire, having leaned a couple of precious dry leaves and twigs over it. They caught, and he tried desperately to get some warmth into his fingers.

A few minutes into this effort, he saw his breath. A little cloud, apparently existing just to prove him wrong. He sighed and hoped Fenris wouldn't notice.

"My legs are turning into ice," she answered. "Your fingers will soon follow. Stop being a Southern prude."

She'd seen it. She was also running out of patience, which is why she added, "You're one of the few I like. Don't get ill and make me put up with the rest of them until you're better. I will strip you if I have to."

Of all the things she could have said, she had to go with the one thing guaranteed to make this even more awkward. He swallowed thickly and tried valiantly not to imagine her actually stripping him. Better to focus on the fact that apparently, she likes him- as a friend, you dirty old man, he reminded himself sternly. Then he sighed.

"Fine. You win, but next time, you better buy me dinner first."

Getting the tunic off proved harder than he expected. The material didn't seem to want to part from his wet skin, and it took a bit of undignified flailing to pull it all the way over his head. The pants came next, and socks and boots, but he kept his smalls on.

"Alright, how do you wanna do this? Are we sharing the coat, or spooning, or what?"

He seemed reluctant to come any closer without some kind of express permission. In fairness, Fenris was terrifying.

The flailing - how could she help but snort a laugh at that? But then, when he came back...

She couldn't avoid it anymore. It was going to hurt - it always hurt - and so she took a breath to steady herself before she pulled the coat off. "We'll put our backs to the wall of the cave and drape this over the both of us," she said. "I'm thin enough that it should reach."

She hoped.

All she had to do was get through the initial contact between them without wincing. They needed the warmth. That was more important.

He noticed the reluctance, and it just made the situation worse. The last thing he fucking wanted was to press himself against a naked woman who profoundly didn't want to be there. Maker.

"Don't worry, elf, the chest hair won't bite." Maybe a joke would help? Undermine the reality of him sliding into place behind her and holding the coat over them both. "I promise."

He was freezing. He was damp and freezing and--

Had surprisingly impressive arms and--

And she wasn't breathing, she realised. She wasn't breathing. Why?

As Fenris reminded herself to inhale, she found herself curling back toward him, but she couldn't figure out what it was that was different until it crashed into her like one of the thunderclaps outside.

Everywhere he touched - no. No, not quite everywhere. There was fabric between them there, and she could feel it now that she thought about it, but--

But everywhere their skin touched, the pain she'd been used to for so long was fading away. Oh, Maker, what was this? It couldn't be anything he'd planned; he'd not had a chance. So what... what was it?

Confused, Fenris still curled back against him, confusion vivid in her expression as she tried to puzzle out just what was going on.

"Do you... use some kind of skin balm?" It couldn't just be elfroot, whatever it was. That had never worked.

"Um... no?"

Okay, he had expected some awkwardness, but her freezing up for a good sixty seconds, then suddenly cuddling into him? With a look on her face like she was trying to do complicated math in her head?

"You alright?" Varric uncertainly let his arm, previously sort of hovering uncomfortably, settle on her shoulder.

"I'm..."

How could she explain other than bluntly? Other than confusedly? Her eyes closed and she sighed - but furthering her confusion, it was less a sigh of frustration and more one of comfort as his arm contacted a few more of the markings and nearly instantly soothed them. This couldn't be magic. It was too good for that.

"I'm confused," she managed at last.

"Since Danarius gave me these markings, my skin has... ached, for lack of a better word. Any type of contact, physical or magical, makes it worse. Or it did, until--"

Fenris broke off, glancing toward him, suddenly finding herself shy. It felt so good to lack that pain that the temptation was there to wrap herself around him and soak in the contact, which was something she'd never, in her memory, craved.

"I'm... trying to figure out why," she finished at last, gaze averted.

Doing something stupid + caught in a storm.

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