Ne Quaesieris, Non Dico Ch. 5 - SecretsIsabela's eyes light up as she saunters into the room. “Well, well, who do we have here?” she drawls with a grin.
“Isabela, this is the man I was telling you about – Fenris' friend? He's been helping Varric with his latest book. Anders, this is Isabela,” added Hawke as she turns to him, oblivious to the way Isabela is eyeing him almost as though he were some delectable morsel she's looking forward to devouring.
Much as a cat might look at a mouse, he reflects, even as he lets a faint, polite smile grace his lips. He feels sick and queasy.
“Blondie was kidnapped by slavers back in Ferelden; he was fortunate enough to stagger into Broody's tender care a couple months back,” explains Varric. “Can I get you a drink, Rivaini?”
“The usual please, Varric,” replies Isabela as she takes a seat directly opposite Anders. “Kidnapped by slavers, hey? Fascinating! Whereabouts in Ferelden? Denerim perchance? There's a lovely litt
Ne Quaesieris, Non Dico Ch. 1 - FugitiveHe flees into the darkness, heart pounding, back aflame, sick and wounded, half-starved and more terrified than he can ever remember being in his life. The rain drenches him to the skin in minutes, ice-cold as it plasters his hair to his head and his thin shirt to his skin. He doesn't know if it's blood or rainwater running down his back.
Shouts from behind; they've discovered him gone already, templars spilling out of the doors into the rain and the night. He doesn't have time. He knows he won't get far in this state.
He slips on the rain-slick steps of the Chantry, plummeting headlong down, unable to check his fall. He sprawls upon the cold, hard stones, dazed; he rolls to his feet, bleeding and unsteady. The sound of armoured men pounding down the steps high above spurs him into movement; staggering a little, he picks a direction at random and runs.
He's free, but he has no idea where he is. Town houses, some of them mansions, loom out of the darkness on either side of the street. T
Ne Quaesieris, Non Dico Ch. 3 - NightmaresIt is almost surprising how swiftly Fenris finds himself adjusting to a new normal. Anders sleeps until Fenris awakens him for his next dose of medicine, rearranges the pillows so that the blond man is a little more comfortable, and then Anders drifts to sleep again. Four hours later, he wakes him again for more medicine. He manages to coax a little of the broth Hawke had brought with her into the sick man; though Anders retches afterwards, still he seems to keep a little down, and Fenris takes heart from this.
Anders sleeps heavily between doses of medicine, though Fenris is startled awake when the blond man suddenly begins to scream in the middle of the night. His brands blazing into life, the elf surges up from his chair and casts around for the source of the sound until he realises that Anders is writhing in the throes of some nightmare. It is pain that finally wakes Anders from his dream, and his screams of fear become a cry of pain as his body spasms in agony. He grits his teeth,
Ne Quaesieris, Non Dico Ch. 2 - HawkeHe drifts slowly back towards consciousness. The bed is soft, warm; his body is tired, aching, heavy. He feels as though he has been ill a long time. He doesn’t move; he has the distinct feeling that he mustn’t move. He is aware of pain waiting, lurking, ready to flare into agony at an unwary moment. Someone is arguing, their voice angry; the voice is vaguely familiar, a low baritone rumble. He dreamed of that voice, he thinks.
Another voice answers - high, light, calm. A woman’s voice, he thinks. He doesn’t recognise it.
As full consciousness and awareness reasserts itself, he realises he has no idea where he is. Not that tiny stone cell beneath the Chantry where he had been incarcerated in the dark for far too long; the warmth of sunlight is playing across his closed eyelids, for a start. Wherever he is, he is in a warm, comfortable bed, no manacles about his wrists and ankles, no collar about his throat. His pain is quiescent, no more than a dull achin
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