Chapter Text
Hey,
So this is my second attempt at a fanfic. This time it is about my second favourite elf, Fenris. (That voice....melts)
I know Dragon Age II got a lot of hate, but I truly love this game and its compact setting of a single city. I liked the concept of what happens when you are the town's hero and how much crap you have to deal with as the go-to person for everyone. I found the companions you got phenomenal, they had all their flaws, and even if the time jumps were a little awkward at times, I got really invested in their development and the many disagreements you can have as a group of friends.
This story will add another OC to the mix of friends in Kirkwall. I hope you will enjoy my take on Kirkwall through the eyes of one of Hawke's companions, rather than focusing on the main character himself.
Chapter 1
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A forest covered the jagged landscape, its deciduous trees slowly changing colour with the onset of autumn. A shallow river rushed over rocks and fallen trees through it, carving a winding path down the Vinmark Mountains. The sun was setting, casting long shadows between the trees and the moss-covered rock formations. A halla emerged from the brushwood, listening cautiously before lowering its horned head to drink from the river. Abruptly, it raised its head again when it heard the sound of naked feet drawing closer. On the opposite side of the river, a hooded figure appeared. They stared at each other; sensing no danger, the halla lowered its head again and resumed drinking from the river.
Yssil's piercing amber eyes looked carefully around before lowering her hood. Not wanting to startle the halla, she moved slowly and calmly. Her left ear twitched as the hood's fabric slipped over the sensitive tip. Kneeling down, she washed her hands before drinking from the river. Her dark brown wavy hair dropped from behind her ear, obscuring her view. Annoyed, she pushed it back, wondering if she should cut it to make life easier. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she remembered her mother combing her hair every morning and evening as a child. No, she wouldn't cut it now, not after finally being able to grow it again. With a sigh, she shook her head, shaking away the memories of the past. Now was not the time to dwell on them.
She observed her surroundings anew; the terrain had slowly changed in the last couple of days. Though the landscape was still rocky and uneven, she was clearly descending from the mountains. The pine trees had disappeared, giving way to oaks and other deciduous trees, and the underbrush was becoming thicker. It was also slowly getting warmer, though that wouldn't last. The nights would soon grow colder with the onset of autumn, and the weather would turn fouler, as it was evident today. She eyed the thick clouds gathering above her head. It wouldn't stay dry much longer. At least with the lower altitude, it became easier for her to breathe.
Yssil felt relieved that she finally managed to pass the high peaks of the Vinmark Mountains. The journey hadn't been easy, depleting her limited reserves. She looked at her thin wrist, cursing that she had lost some weight again. With a sigh, she looked down the river; at least in this forest, she could find more food. And maybe when she eventually reached the coast of the Waking Sea, she could find a place to stay for a while. She sure needed it after weeks of travelling.
As relieved as she was to be nearing the coast, it was also worrisome. It had been her goal for so long that now, with it in sight, her nerves started to kick in. She would need to decide on her next move. One option was to find a place in one of the smaller villages along the coast. Finding simple work and making a living would be easy, but villages were terrible places to hide. Gossip was ripe in those places, and she would need to be careful not to be sold out to the next slaver or Templar. Like it happened in the last place, she had tried to stay.
Her other option was to head east to Ostwick or west to Kirkwall and disappear in the anonymity of a big city. It would be more challenging to make a living, but no one in the city looked twice at a poor knife-ear. She may be lucky and find a family that needed a maid or a storekeeper looking for diligent hands. There was also the possibility of travelling even farther south to Ferelden. But that required funds to pay for a ship voyage—money she didn't have.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a deep rumble rolling through the sky. Above her, the trees swayed in the wind that had picked up. Yssil shook her head. Here she was worrying about money when she had other problems to deal with. Soon, it would start to rain, and by the sound of it, it would be an ugly night. Fortunately, she had already found shelter in an old abandoned hut. Though broken and decaying, it would keep her dry. The bummer was that she wouldn't have time to scout this area any further without getting wet.
“You should also find a place to stay,” Yssil murmured to the halla that had started grazing. Quickly, she refilled her waterskin when she noticed a stump from a cut-down tree. She cursed silently; this was already the third one she had spotted. She must be closer to a village or a road than she thought.
Suddenly, the halla raised its head, its ears twitching nervously, before it bolted, startling Yssil. She listened and heard weapons clashing in the distance. Quickly, she got to her feet, moving back into the forest, away from whoever was fighting.
“GET HIM!” someone yelled.
Yssil froze; someone was being pursued.
“Surround him!”
Shaking her head, she turned back and skipped over the rocks across the river. Berating herself that this was a terrible idea. Quietly, she slipped through the trees, moving carefully closer to the fight.
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“Venhedis.” Fenris cursed.
Despite avoiding the direct route to Kirkwall, the hunters had found him. He shouldn't have travelled the trade route through the mountains; now, the hunters had caught up with him again. In an attempt to lose them, he had abandoned the road and fled into the forest. But it hadn't helped. The hunters had moved quickly and efficiently and were now surrounding him. These were no ordinary slavers but a group of seasoned hunters. Danarius must have paid them well to come all the way out here.
Their leader, a broad warrior with a heavy war hammer, stepped forward. “Stand down, slave!”
The words cut Fenris deep, fuelling his anger.
How far did he need to run before they would leave him alone?
When would he finally be free?
In a smooth motion, he grabbed his greatsword.
“I am NOT a slave!” he yelled as his markings flared. Enraged, he stormed forward. His sword slashing one of the hunters, cutting him open across his chest, ending his despicable life. Without pausing, he turned towards his next target. Under Danarius, he had trained for these kinds of situations. He had fought droves of men for hours until his body gave out from exhaustion. Over and over again, he had been punished for not fighting longer. Now, he would make use of that training. He would make these slavers regret the day they decided to hunt him.
“GET HIM!” their leader yelled, and the hunters stormed towards him.
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Yssil climbed onto a rock formation and carefully glanced down onto the clearing. She couldn't believe her eyes when she saw an elven warrior fight against a large group of men. His markings flashed as he moved with grace and speed from foe to foe, wielding a sword as long as he was tall. It didn't seem to hinder him; as if it weighed nothing, he swung the blade around, felling the men that opposed him.
With an open mouth, she stared at the fight. Suddenly, the elf's markings flared, and he vanished for a split second only to reappear again behind another foe, cutting him down. Those markings, his abilities, she recognised them from the stories she had heard. It had to be Fenris, Danarius' fabled magical creation and bodyguard.
But what was he doing here?
She watched as he spun around, swinging his sword at another opponent, a big warrior handling a war hammer. It looked like he was the group leader, barking orders while fighting Fenris. Many of his men were already dead or lay wounded on the ground, but the leader managed to stand his ground against the lean elf.
Fear ran through Yssil when she noticed two men carrying mancatchers trying to close in on Fenris. Some of the men had shackles hanging from their belts.
They were slavers.
She needed to get away from here.
“This will get him,” she heard someone muttering below her.
Carefully, she looked down over the edge of the rocks she hid on and saw two archers below her, tipping their arrowheads into a sticky substance.
“He will never know what hit him,” one of them grinned.
His companion laughed dirtily. “He is getting tired; he can't keep this speed up much longer.”
“The boss will keep his attention.”
With care, they both aimed their bows at Fenris.
Startled, she realised they were going to try and poison him.
“Watch out! Behind you!” she yelled without thinking, but it was too late. The arrows flew already towards their mark.
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Fenris heard the unexpected yell. Instinctively, and after years of combat training, he turned his body slightly, dodging another sweep of the war hammer and letting his marking flare. He noticed an arrow flying past him, but at the same time, he was hit by another one. A piercing pain flared up from his right shoulder, but he had no time to deal with the archers as the slave leader increased his attacks.
There was a sudden flash behind him as parts of a huge overhanging rock exploded into pieces and crashed down. Judging by the screams, several people were buried under the rubble. Distracted by the explosion, the group leader looked past him. In the blink of an eye, Fenris took the opportunity and punched his fist inside the man's chest, crushing his heart.
Fenris blinked and shook his head as his vision started to blur. A cold numbness was slowly spreading through him. His right shoulder and arm were slowly becoming stiff and unresponsive.
Venhedis! He realised that they had used poison. Gritting his teeth, he rushed to the next hunter. He needed to finish this fight before the poison took its full effect. Only three hunters were left, but they tried to encircle him, attacking him from different sides. He parried one blow from the left, leaving his right side open. With poison in his system, he wasn't quick enough to turn away and dodge the attack from the right.
A sharp pain erupted from his side as one of the hunters took advantage of his weakened state. Fenris was hit in his waist, and he quickly jumped backwards. Panting heavily, he was facing his attackers, but the world looked blurrier by the minute. His movements felt sluggish. He was running out of time.
Suddenly, an arrow flew past him, hitting a hunter in his chest and killing him.
Another arrow was shot; it missed, but distracted the remaining two hunters. This was his chance.
Crying out, Fenris' markings flared as he leapt forward, his sword slashing through the air, hitting the remaining hunters in their chests. They flew back from his powerful attack. One hunter fell and didn't move anymore; the other managed to stay on his feet. But before he could take a step, he was hit by another arrow, ending the hunter's life.
Finally, it was over. Breathing heavily, Fenris staggered. Struggling to stay on his feet, he leaned on his sword. He blinked several times as the world started to spin. He squinted his eyes and could just make out a figure moving in the distance. But before he could focus, everything went dark, and he fell to the ground.
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After Fenris collapsed, Yssil slowly stepped into the clearing. Over a dozen hunters lay on the ground, some still moving and moaning. Drawing her dagger, she swiftly slit the throat of the first one before quickly moving to the next. She couldn't and wouldn't allow them to recover.
Having finished her bloody task, she carefully approached Fenris. She hesitated to touch him, fearing he would jump up at any moment. His tinted skin was marked with swirling white lines that crept up his arms and neck like vines. She could only imagine they covered his entire body. She felt the faint hum of the lyrium contained within them. Hesitantly, she brushed her fingers over them; they were slightly raised from his skin, like faint scars imbued with lyrium. She could instantly feel the hum of the lyrium under her fingertips. She also noticed how his skin was irritated around the lyrium edges. They must hurt him constantly, she realised.
She had heard stories of his wondrous markings, but always thought they were simply that—stories. Now, she saw that those stories were genuine, making this situation even more dangerous for her. Pushing her fears aside, she checked Fenris' vitals. He was still breathing, but he was seriously injured.
Yssil cursed silently. Why did she get herself involved? And what should she do now?
She looked around. What a mess she got herself into this time. Not only had she an unconscious, dangerous warrior to deal with, but she was also out in the open, surrounded by corpses. She half expected more hunters to appear at any second. Looking back at Fenris, she considered leaving him there and disappearing back into the forest, where she would be safe.
Why was he even here, she wondered? Had he been free since his escape? Or was he sent here to find her? She shook her head. No, that wasn't likely; no one knew she was here. She sighed, knowing she could hardly leave him behind.
Above her head, thunder rumbled, and the first drops fell from the sky. “Great! Just what I needed,” she grumbled. “Come on! You have started this,” she said to herself and walked towards the leader's corpse. The hole in his chest was clearly visible, and where his heart had once been was just pulp. She almost gagged at the sight, but managed to strip him of his cloak.
Now, how had her father explained the construction of a stretcher again?
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The downpour of rain was the first thing Fenris heard.
His head pounded, and his body ached, but that was nothing new. Still dazed, he felt someone touching his shoulder. His reaction was immediate. His eyes shot open, and ignoring his wounds, he twisted around. The person let out a startled yell as he grabbed and pinned whoever it was to the ground. To his surprise, it was a woman, another elf. Terrified, she stared at him.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice low and threatening. Having one hand at her throat, he squeezed, his grip like iron.
Shaken by his abrupt use of force, Yssil stared at him. The few moments of hesitation were enough for him to get the upper hand. He used his strength and heavier body to pin her down, slowly squeezing her throat shut. Panicked, she desperately clawed at his hand, trying to pry it away, but his grip was unyielding. With a deadly glare, he continued to strangle her. She couldn't breathe; she needed to get away.
A wave of force hit Fenris in the chest, hurling him back.
A mage!
Fenris shook his head as he tried to get up. Pain pierced through him from his wounds, agitated by his rough landing. Angry, he venomously glared at the woman, who scrambled backwards until her back hit the wall. She was coughing heavily and drew an old dagger.
Of course, she is a filthy blood mage, he thought. He was about to use his markings and leap towards her. But to his surprise, she just held the dagger in front of her, pointing it at him, her hands shaking.
“You lost consciousness,” she coughed. “I was treating your wounds.”
Not taking his eyes off of her, Fenris quickly scanned his surroundings. They were in what looked like an abandoned, broken hut. Outside, night had already fallen, and it was raining heavily. The forest was occasionally illuminated by lightning, followed by the rolling sound of thunder. The hut was in a sorry state; the wood had rotted away in several places, and the roof had holes where the rain leaked through. A small fire burned near him, with a small pot hanging over it. Next to the fire, on some broad leaves, lay a collection of herbs, a bowl with steaming water, a small knife and clean strips of linen. In another corner lay his sword and armor.
“Please, we need to get the arrowhead out.”
He focused back on her; she looked thin and exhausted like so many other elves. Her skin was olive in colour and slightly darker than his own. Her clothes were a strange, mismatched mix of leather and cloth, ill-fitting and mended in several places. His first thought was that she was Dalish, but she lacked their telltale vallaslin. She stared at him, and he could tell she was frightened. She was also missing the air of arrogance and confidence he expected from any mage. What was going on?
“Please, let me treat your wounds,” she said, lowering her dagger.
“Stay where you are, witch!”
“There is still poison in your wound. If more slavers come to search for their comrades, they will catch us. I can't fight them alone. Please let me help.”
From all the things this mage could have said to him, this was the last he expected. She pointed to the corner. “There are your things. You can hold your weapon if you want, but let me get that arrowhead out.”
Fenris couldn't deny that he still felt dizzy, and he could feel the warm wetness of blood seeping out from his waist. His abrupt movements must have reopened the wound. Also, his shoulder burned with pain, and he could feel the arrowhead pierce his flesh with each move he made. There was a numbness radiating down into his right arm. The witch was right; that arrowhead needed to come out.
Quickly, he went to his possessions and took his dagger from his belt. He needed a more practical weapon in these close quarters if he needed to take the witch out. Then he stalked over to her, grabbed her dagger and threw it to the other side of the cottage. She flinched from his action, and he could feel the fear in her. Good! She had every reason to be afraid. He sat back down next to the bandages, pointing at her with his dagger.
“Make it quick and no sudden movements. Also, no magic!”
She nodded her head. “I promise no magic.”
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Wary of him, Yssil moved closer. After washing her hands, she grabbed the small knife she had prepared.
Fenris readied himself to stab her if she made a wrong move.
“Here, chew these. It will help with the pain.” She offered him a few leaves of elfroot.
“No need,” he growled.
He needed to stay alert and watch her every move. Looking over his shoulder, he observed how she hesitantly touched him. Suppressing the revulsion he felt, from being touched by a mage again, he watched her work. With greater care than he expected, she carefully widened the wound. To her credit, her hands were steadier than he expected. He could practically feel her nervousness. Soon, the wound was wide enough for her to get hold of the arrowhead.
“This will hurt,” she took hold of the remaining shaft and pulled.
Fenris gritted his teeth and groaned as the barbed arrowhead pulled free from his flesh. Immediately, Yssil started to press the wound to encourage the bleeding. Then she used the elfroot tea she had prepared to flush the wound. Satisfied that the injury was clean and there were no traces of the poison left, she took her boiled needle and thread. Stitching evenly, she slowly closed the wound as best as she could. After that, she bandaged it with a compress of elfroot and healing moss.
“This will help close it faster and prevent an infection,” she explained.
Fenris noticed she was touching him as little as possible during the procedure, which he welcomed. It was already bad enough for him to accept an unknown mage's help.
When she was finished, she moved to wash his other wound, but he grabbed the cloth out of her hands.
“Don't!”
Yssil let go of the cloth and moved back. The more distance there was between them, the better, she thought. She kept a weary eye on him as Fenris cleaned and bandaged the wound himself. The wound at his side was luckily not deep, but the cut was in an inconvenient place and would easily reopen again if he wasn't careful. When he was finished, he put his armor back on.
During all of this, she noticed, he didn't let her out of his sight.
At least he hadn't killed her …... yet, she thought.
After cleaning up her meagre healing supplies, she turned her attention to her cooking pot. She carefully put half of the wild vegetables and some rabbit meat in a bowl. It wasn't much, and she hadn't expected she'd have to share her rations. She lifted the pot with a piece of cloth and brought it towards him.
“Here, you need to eat. I have only one bowl, so don't burn yourself.” She handed him the pot with her spoon.
Retreating towards the other side of the fire, she sat down and began to eat.
Fenris eyed her wearily, and he waited for her to eat first. Occasionally, she glanced at him while she ate. She was as wary of him as he was of her. Now, in the light of the fire, he took his time to observe her. He noticed that one of her ears was frayed; someone had crudely cut off the tip with what looked like a blunt knife.
“Aren't you hungry?” she asked him after having already finished half of her meal.
He watched her some more, but nothing happened to her, so he decided it was safe enough for him to eat. It was a simple but good meal. He noticed how hungry he was; he had little rest with the hunters on his tail, and his last meal was three days ago.
Seeing Fenris finally eat calmed Yssil down. Judging by his demeanour, he was wary of her, but it didn't look like he would attack her. She shouldn't have gotten herself involved. Now, she had to deal with the dangers of him and the slave hunters. Who knew if the group wasn't bigger or if there were more groups in the neighbourhood? No, this danger was too close for comfort. Who knew if those hunters weren't also looking for her?
She eyed Fenris again; he was still watching her. Could she take the risk and trust him? He looked tired but was in much better physical shape than she was. Not that it mattered; if he wanted to harm her, she knew she was in no condition to fight him off.
You made your choice when you yelled to warn him, she reminded herself.
Having finished her bowl, she grabbed her blanket and wrapped it around herself.
“It has been a long day. Good night,” she said to him.
Hoping she would still be alive the following day, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
Bewildered, Fenris watched her fall asleep. He couldn't believe she would simply go to sleep after he had attacked her. She acted like the total opposite of what he expected from a mage. Why had she even helped him? What was her motive, her agenda? Not trusting her, he kept his sword at hand and leaned back against the cottage wall. He wouldn't sleep tonight, but he needed a place to rest, and with the storm outside, this hut was at least dry.
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It was early morning when Fenris startled awake. He must have been more tired than he thought. Immediately, he searched for the mage, but she was still bundled up in her blanket. Sunlight filtered into the hut through the door opening and the holes in the roof. The storm outside had finally settled down. He wondered where in the forest he was; she couldn't have brought him far on her own. He could hear the rushing of a river nearby. The mage stirred, and he whipped his head back around to watch her.
Yssil stretched and yawned before a coughing fit seized her. Quickly, she took a piece of the dried embrium roots she kept in her pouch. There were only a few pieces left; she needed to find another plant soon. With her cough residing, she looked at Fenris, who was staring at her. Slowly, she began to pack her things.
“How is your wound?” she asked.
He moved his shoulder; it was a little stiff but not hurting as much.
“Better,” he grumbled.
“That is good to hear. If you want, I can try to heal your shoulder,” she offered.
“No!”
Taking out a few herbs, she packed them carefully in a strip of cloth. “Here. You need to change your bandage around midday. You can use these to help with the healing process.”
Saying nothing, he took them and watched as she finished packing. Shouldering her pack and bow, she walked outside. Not wanting to leave her out of sight, Fenris grabbed his sword and bag and followed her.
She pointed to the left. “Over there is where you were attacked,” she explained. I hope you will find your way back and won't encounter any more trouble.” She smiled nervously at him. “Goodbye, and stay safe.”
He stared after her as she walked away until she disappeared between the trees. It was strange; she had helped him and didn't demand anything from him in return. He had checked his few belongings while she slept and had found them undisturbed. It didn't matter anyway; she was a mage and couldn't be trusted.
Weary for any signs of trouble, he walked in the direction she had pointed out. After not five minutes, he came to the clearing where the slain hunters lay. Moving between the corpses, he noticed a few of them had their throats slit. She must have done it, preventing any hunters from recovering from their wounds. It dawned on him that he would have been captured had she not been there. It confused him; why had she risked her life to help him? What was her motive? He knew his own value, especially to a mage, but she hadn't touched his lyrium nor asked for any compensation.
Leaving the clearing, he moved back to the road when the sound of a distant scream pricked his ears. He whirled around; it had come from the direction she had disappeared to. He listened but heard nothing further. The sound had been very faint, and if he hadn't been an elf, he doubted he would have heard it. Hearing nothing more, he turned back and began to walk again. Whatever it had been, it had nothing to do with him. He froze when another distant scream reached his ears.
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It took Yssil only a short time to reach the river again. She felt anxious; she needed to get deeper into the forest. There were too many traces left by people here, and the possibility of slavers suddenly appearing made this place dangerous. If the map she had copied was correct, this forest stretched further to the south, and any roads would lead to the villages to the west. Hoping she wouldn't encounter anything else, she decided to keep following the river; it was, after all, a valuable source of water and food.
After a few minutes, she heard the bleating sound of a deer in distress. Quickening her step, she soon found a deer lying between the trees, two arrows protruding from its flank. It trashed around, trying to get back on its feet, but it was too weak from blood loss. Judging by the blood and the stirred-up ground, it had been here for a while, slowly succumbing to its wounds. It bleated again, panting heavily. Shocked by her find, Yssil froze and listened, but she couldn't hear anything except the deer and the rushing river.
She hesitated before approaching the deer; judging by its state, the hunter had lost track. Looking around, she tried to come closer, but the deer only trashed around more. It looked at her with wide, panicked eyes. The deer was too far gone for her to help; there was nothing she could do but end its suffering. With the deer thrashing around, she didn't dare to come close enough to use her knife; she charged her hand with magic.
“At least I can give you a quick death,” she muttered.
A twig snapped behind her.
“Told you the deer had to be somewhere. Never expected to find a mage with it, though.”
Two hunters, clad in heavy armor and carrying bows, emerged from the bushes. To her horror, they both bore the insignia of a flaming sword on their gear.
Templars!
They would catch her; she needed to get away. With adrenaline rushing through her veins from fear, she ran as fast as she could.
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Out of nowhere, a force hit Yssil. She screamed as she was knocked to the ground. She couldn't breathe, her mana, her connection to the Fade, her magic—everything was gone. Gasping for air, she saw a third Templar stepping out from the bushes in front of her. Roughly, he took her left arm and twisted it behind her back; with his other hand, he grabbed her by the neck. He knelt down, placing his armoured knee on her back, pinning her to the ground.
“What have we here?” he asked, his voice ice-cold. “A small, wild apostate and here I thought we were only hunting for our dinner tonight.”
With the Templar's weight pressing her down, Yssil struggled to breathe. She tried to push herself up, but the Templar only pushed his knee down further and twisted her arm more.
“Let me go!” she called out.
“And why would we do that?”
The other Templars had closed in on her; one had his sword drawn, the other grabbed her free arm and pushed up her sleeve, uncovering her scars. Disgusted, he let her arm fall.
“A filthy blood mage, that's what she is.”
“I am not!” she shivered in fear. She was caught again. They would lock her up; she would be locked up again.
The Templar, with his sword drawn, looked around. “Where there is one maleficar, there is usually more.”
The one holding her gave a hard jerk at her arm, making her scream in pain.
“Where is the rest knife-ear?”
“I am alone!” she cried out.
“You're lying!” he twisted her arm more. When she screamed out in pain, he grabbed her hair and pulled her head up, only to smack it back onto the ground. “Talk! Now!”
“There is no one,” she whimpered, feeling blood trickle down her face.
“We should just kill her and send a report. We can comb out these woods when the reinforcements arrive.”
“Good idea, but before that, let's have some fun.” The Templar holding her let go of her head and slipped his hand into her leggings, grabbing her ass.
“NO!” she screamed and struggled, but the Templar leaning on her had her trapped. Depleted from her magic, she had no way of escaping.
The sound of someone crashing through the bushes alerted them. The second Templar also drew his sword, and they readied themselves.
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Fenris jumped out from the woods and halted, surveying the scene before him.
Two Templars stood ready, their weapons drawn; a third had the mage pinned to the ground. Her forehead was bleeding, and she was struggling under the weight of the bigger and armoured man restraining her.
Fenris narrowed his eyes when he saw the Templar's hand inside her leggings. He had always thought the South was blessed with their Templars and Circles, keeping magic and mages under strict control. He couldn't agree more with the necessity of their existence, but seeing the person who had helped him in pain, wounded and violated, made him pause.
“Who are you!” One of the Templars demanded.
“I knew it, where there is one knife-ear, there is always more. They are like rats. Take him for questioning!” the one holding the mage commanded.
“NO! Leave him alone!” Yssil yelled.
The Templar holding her gave a jerk to her arm, making her whimper in pain. “Keep quiet, knife-ear!”
The other two Templars stepped towards Fenris. “By the Templar order, you are under arrest.”
Fenris took a step back, uncertain of his next move. But he knew one thing: there was no way he would let himself get arrested. A sickening crack sounded, accompanied by a piercing scream as the mage's arm broke under the Templar's cruel grip. This snapped Fenris into action. He charged at the Templars in a flash, cutting one down before they knew what hit them. The Templar holding the mage unleashed his power onto her again before jumping to his feet and storming towards Fenris.
Fighting the other Templar, Fenris watched with fascination at the effect the Templar had on the mage. She was gasping for air as if an invisible fist had hit her, rendering her powerless and weak. With both Templars attacking him, he shifted his attention back on his opponents. He needed to be careful, or he would open his wounds again. He jumped to the side as one of the Templars tried to rush him. With ease, he swung around and cut the Templar in his back. Though they were more seasoned than the simple bandits he often fought, he soon got the upper hand. After a few well-placed strikes, the second Templar fell. What remained was the third Templar, who tripped as he tried to retreat, making it easier for Fenris to kill him.
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As quickly as the combat had erupted, it was over. The forest turned back to its peaceful state with the singing of a few birds, the rustling of the trees, and the river's rushing waters. Yssil slowly struggled to sit up, dazed by another smite. She had the feeling she was going to be sick. Whimpering, she cradled her arm, which was twisted at an odd angle. She looked up at Fenris.
“Thank you,” she panted, wincing as another shot of pain went through her arm.
Fenris stood still, not knowing what he should do or feel. He wasn't expecting her thanks, nor was he expecting that he himself was helping a mage without an order nor command. He knew he didn't want the Templars to take him, but it was more unsettling that he had acted because they were hurting her.
It shouldn't be that way. She was a mage; therefore, the Templars had been within their right to hold her, and he had stopped them out of his own free will. Was it because he was conditioned to help a mage in need, or was it something else?
Angry and irritated, he watched as she staggered to her feet, her face twisted by pain. He readied himself when she bent down, taking a dagger from one of the Templars. Only to watch her cut and break several branches from a nearby bush. Having only one arm available, it was a little difficult for her, but she managed it. Then she went to the river and submerged her broken arm in it to cool it down.
She looked back at him; her cheeks were wet with tears, and her face was pale from the pain.
“Could you help me, please? I need to set my arm.”
For a moment, he didn't move. Then he stepped towards her. She had helped him when he was attacked and wounded; he owed her a favour in return. He promised himself he would leave once her arm was taken care of, so he knelt beside her.
He took her arm in his hands and looked at her. After taking a few deep breaths, she nodded, and he pulled. She took a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering. He could feel the bone slip back. Together, they bound several straight branches against her arm, securing the break in place.
“Thank you,” she exhaled.
“You should heal yourself,” he grumbled, not believing he suggested a mage to use her magic.
She looked as surprised at him before shaking her head. “I... I can't.”
She must still be drained by that Templar, he thought. Such a drain was a helpful ability, and he wondered how long it would last.
.
Yssil grabbed one of the elfroot leaves out of her pack and started chewing it vigorously to combat the pain. She was shaken, not wanting to know what may have happened if Fenris hadn't come to her aid. She could feel his eyes on her while she removed one of the fallen Templar's belts to make a sling for her arm. She stuffed the pouches hanging from it in her bag.
Slowly, she calmed down, and she started to think. 'This is a problem', she thought, looking at her arm. With it broken, she would have a hard time continuing her journey through the forest. She looked at the now bled-out deer not far from her. There was a good chance more Templars were nearby; she needed to move fast. Knowing she had to take another risk, she turned back to Fenris, who was still watching her.
“I...” she walked towards him. “Would you please hear me out?”
He stared at her, his eyes narrowed, but slightly nodded when she waited for him to react.
“I think that we need to get out of here. With both, slavers and Templars dead, there will be people coming to look for them, and I don't think those will be people you and I want to meet. I have a proposition. Judging by what I heard yesterday, those slavers were looking for you. These forests reach as far as the coast. I can guide you through them; we would be invisible from prying eyes. I won't lie to you; I will need help the next couple of days.” she gestured to her broken arm that rested in the sling. “Please, could you come with me? I can keep us invisible and fed until we reach the coast. Then we will part ways, and you don't have to see me ever again.”
Fenris stared at her in disbelief.
With him saying nothing, she bit her lip nervously. “I... I will give you some time to think.”
She looked around; with or without him coming with her, she needed to move. Turning to the dead Templars, she removed the remaining belts, stuffing them and their pouches into her bag. She would go through the pouches later. She also removed a scabbard with a shortsword and tied it around her waist. One of the Templars had dropped a sack, turning it over; it contained some cooking equipment, clothing, an extra blanket and a small healing kit. She took the healing kit, rolled a shirt and blanket up and bound it to her pack. All of it was done a little clumsy with only one arm, but she managed. At last, she went to the deer and roughly cut a piece of its hind legs off, putting it into her cooking pot. Afterwards, she cut into its guts, exposing them. She turned back to Fenris. “With luck, this will attract enough wildlife to cover our trail.”
.
Fenris had watched her quietly. He was stunned; she wasn't acting like any mage he had ever met. She said thank you and please like she meant it, and he couldn't detect any deception from her. He was also baffled by how she systematically stripped the corpses, not wasting too much time. But he was wondering why she needed that sword. Her actions were so far off from what he expected that they threw him for a loop.
Having collected everything she needed, Yssil returned to the river and washed her hands and face. Luckily, the wound on her forehead had closed; feeling it, it wasn't too deep. She was ready to move. Fenris hadn't moved at all and was watching her like a hawk. Well, here goes nothing, she thought.
“If you want to come, then we need to leave now. It should get us enough of a head start to shake off any people that will come to investigate.”
She crossed the river and began to walk along the water to the south. After a few minutes, she turned around and smiled, relieved to see him following her.
Mimicking her path, Fenris followed her. He didn't know exactly why, but the promise of a journey away from prying eyes was an offer he couldn't refuse. Also, he told himself it was better to keep an eye on this strange mage.
.
.