The Reluctant Inquisitor

Holiday Drabble Queue! Approx. 1300 words (some under cut)

Fenris jerked with agasp, eyes snapping open, wide and wild around the edges. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t see. He blinked into a sea ofblack, straining, searching erratically like prey snared mid-hunt. Dead. Waiting.

Then he could feel it.

He could feel it all.

The lines, as thoughthe tip of a red-hot blade was being dragged slowly through his skin. Peelingit aside in perfect, intricate lines, swirling over his legs, his stomach, hischest, his neck. Bright. Beautiful. Thechains that held him were hot from being pressed tight to his skin for so long.From being thrashed against in twisting, desperate movements that deep down heknew were futile. Pathetic.

Burning.

Everything burned.Fighting against his bindings, Fenris could feel his throat spasm as he triedto breathe, but only managed to choke a gasp through the pain. Through thetears. No. He wasn’t. He couldn’t. He can’t.

But he did.

He always did.

A hand. It was in hishair. Grabbing – twisting. Wrenching his head back as though he were nothingmore than a wretched beast, primed for slaughter. A brittle part of Fenriswished he would. Dared him to do it. Hetried to look defiant. To harden his sightless eyes and stare into the dark asthough they were equals. As though he was anything worth saving. As though hewas anything at all.

“You were nothing before me, Fenris. Remembermy kindness. Never forget what I have done for you.”

He couldn’t. It wastoo much. He closed his eyes. Turned his head and bit down, grinding his teethso hard his head felt like it would split. He pulled again, and to his surprise,his hand came free. Just one – his right - but it was enough. Lashing out,Fenris grabbed in the direction of the voice, stretching into the dark.Grasping. Strong fingers wanting to tear. Rip. Crush.

He met nothing. Hishand swept in a hopeless arc, and he met nothing.Low laughter filled his ears. No. It was inside his head. No. No… it wasn’tright. He could move. He could fight!

Then why?

Why couldn’t he…?

Something graspedFenris’ wrist, pinning his hand back down beside his head, but he didn’t resist.Didn’t twist and snarl and snap like the feral wolf he was, fighting againstthe hunter’s snare. His body went slack, like a sail that had suddenly lost thewind. Everything flooded out of him in a rush, as though falling through theburning cracks in his skin. His breath. His heartbeat. His fire. The darkness took it all, but left the pain. It wasn’t thesame as before. It wasn’t being done to him. It wasn’t something he couldstruggle away from, or flee. It was apart of him. The burn was constant. Crawling. Insidious. With every touch,no matter how kind or how tender, it simmered and seethed. It was worse. It reminded him.

“Remember my kindness…”

Fenris tensed again –a reflex to that voice. Muscles andtendons, trained to kill, pulled tight, and he rasped a word. Said somethingthrough the darkness. Though the haze of bitter hurt.

“No.”

It was something bad. The wrong thing. He knew it was. It wasa grave mistake – he should not have said it. But despite knowing that, he saidit again, louder this time, but still barely more than a grating whisper.

“No!”

Fenris jolted, eyesflying open only to slam shut again as bright light flooded his vision. Hecried out – a low sound, more a growl – as he tugged his wrist, demanding it tocome free. To move. To close around the nearest throat. But it didn’t.

“Fenris, listen to me.Listen to my voice.”

That voice. Soft.Edged with worry. It… it couldn’t be him…

“Fenris, please.”

He knew that voice.

“… Hawke?” His ownvoice sounded strange to him, and Fenris frowned slightly when it reached hisears. It was… not whole. Not broken - neverbroken - but not his either. Not entirely. A part of it was…

A soft sound – a sighof relief – drifted down from above him, and he felt the pressure on his rightwrist suddenly shift. It did not fall away. It simply changed. Gentle fingers soothed the skin, rubbing absently where ithad once been pinned. Slowly, Fenris opened his eyes, and met those of Hawke.Blue and bright and burning in all the ways he never could.

“The one and only.”She said, and gave him a smile. An attempt to mask some of her worry. “Are youall right?”

Swallowing to soothhis aching throat, Fenris managed a stiff nod. He had been sweating – he couldfeel his hair, matted against his burning skin. He was about to reach up and pushit aside but Hawke beat him to it, her fingers brushing the pale strands out ofhis eyes. Combing them back, her fingertips stroking against his scalp. As sherepeated the motion, his breathing began to slow in time with the gentle dragof his hair, and he closed his eyes. Inhaled long and deep. Held it in hischest. Released it in a careful stream, feeling the air drift past his lips.Her other hand moved; touched the side of his face. Leaning into it, Fenrisreached up and placed his hand over hers.

“I’m fine.” He said,and while a part of him knew she was not reassured by the assertion, it wasbetter than saying nothing. She hated lies, but silence was worse.

“You say that,” shesaid gently, only a touch of reproach in her voice, “but I can’t imagine it’sthe truth.”

Fenris met her eyes.“You have my word.” His gaze slipped down to her shoulder. “The worst of ithas… passed.”

She shifted, rollingoff him, but maintained contact, her fingertips gently caressing the side ofhis neck as she moved. A part of him mourned the loss of her, even though shewas right beside him. For a long moment, they simply lay there, breathingquietly, the oil lamp burning brightly. Candles, too. Some of them were…misshapen, the wax melted awkwardly. Caving in on itself. Lit by magic in toomuch of a hurry.

“I wouldn’t be.”

Fenris blinked, andturned his head to the side. “What?”

“Fine.” Hawkeclarified, her dark hair catching the red of the open flame. Her typicallybright, easy face had fallen into seriousness. “I know it must be… well, I don’tknow… but if you want to talk, I canlisten.”

For a second, Fenrisconsidered. Really, truly considered telling her everything. About the dark.The cold. The heat, but only from pain. About how it was etched into his skinwith the uncaring hatred of a child dragging an iron nail through the bark of atree. The words were in his throat – on his tongue.

But he swallowed them,and felt his lips curve into a smile. Saw them move, reflected in the worriedgaze of her eyes. That perfect, crystal blue. The only blue that brought himcomfort.

“I… appreciate theoffer, but…” he began, and immediately noticed a kind of easiness to his voice.One he had not expected. He reached up and brushed her fringe from her face,tucking it behind her ear. A thick section of it immediately fell back again,but rather than get annoyed, he let out a low chuckle. It was tired. Exhausted. But it was his.

Hawke reached up. Tookhis hand. There was a familiar curiosity in the tilt of her brow.

“… But?” she prompted.

Fenris leaned forward andpressed his lips to hers. Softly. Slowly.She kissed back, but it was restrained. Not her usual impassioned entreaty;rather a reply. A reassurance. Fenriseventually drew away, and his face softened into a half-amused smile.

“… You are a terrible listener.”