Chapter Text
Isabela lead Fenris through the Hightown market, bounding from one stall to the next. He followed at a near distance, not quite touching her. "What about cheese?" she asked over her shoulder. "You like cheese, right?"
Fenris shrugged non-commitally. "It is edible."
Rolling her eyes, she motioned him closer to the cheese stall. "You must like something. Come on, you're not even trying."
The elf peered skeptically at the shelf of cheese wheels, in their sickly yellow colors. They did not look terribly appetizing. He fingered the coins in his tunic pocket. "I am not spending an entire sovereign on a block of cheese..." he protested mildly.
"You are spending that money on something," Isabela insisted, inspecting a stack of goats-cheese. "You agreed."
He hadn't precisely agreed to that, in so many words. But he had allowed her to drag him to the market, with that stated intention. Of course Isabela knew he was only humoring her. But that was all right, really. Fenris had limited good humor to go around, and she was happy to have it.
He looked amused by her insistence. "Isabela. Why are you so intent on wasting my money?"
She made a face. "It's not a waste if you enjoy it. Come on."
They left the stall and moved along to a fruit cart, Isabela elbowing her way through the slowly moving crowd to lead Fenris to an enormous multi-colored mound of fruit, piled somewhat haphazardly.
"There," she said. "Apples, oranges, pears... Hoy, I'll take one of those starfruits. Don't worry, I'm paying this time!" she reassured the merchant.
Cautiously he accepted her coin, examining it closely after the exchange. Not so long ago neither one of them would have been allowed anywhere near their wares. Being a Champion's friend had its benefits. Still, the vendors kept a close eye on them, particularly Isabela, who had been known to help herself to whatever caught her eye.
"Try this one," she said, turning to Fenris and breaking open the hard yellow fruit to reveal the red fleshy pulp within. "It's awfully good. Tangy."
He took it from her gamely, and brought it to his lips. Isabela watched with interest as the elf suckled at the juice of the sweet fruit.
"It's fine," he said, when she asked him what he thought, but made no move to purchase any. Isabela sighed, and they moved on.
She kept an eye on him, wandering through the crowds beside her. He seemed a little lost without his sword, which she had insisted he leave behind. His eyes flickered all around, watching every direction for danger. Fenris didn't like crowds very much, she knew. He had only come along to please her.
Impulsively she wrapped herself around the elf's arm, leaning in to speak into his ear. "You know, it wouldn't be the worst thing, getting caught liking something. I won't tell."
Fenris shifted uncomfortably and pulled away from her grasp. "Let's move on," he said.
This had started the night before. They had been drinking, of course. She'd kept him in the Hanged Man for most of the night. Isabela had her feet up on the table in the barroom, and Fenris had been tipped back in the chair next to her, as relaxed as she'd ever seen him. There had been a lot of laughter, though she couldn't recall what about. She just remembered him staring at her legs and forgetting to hide it, or maybe not caring anymore if she caught him.
She still hadn't gotten him into her bed. But he had long since stopped shutting down her advances - sometimes he even flirted back. Increasingly often. It was clear by now that all this teasing was becoming a Thing, and they both knew it. The shape of this Thing was still unclear to her, but the possibilities were tantalizing, and the anticipation had been its own fun.
Normally Isabela would not have invested nearly so much time in one single seduction, but this one had been worth it. It had been years of this, and somehow she had never once gotten bored of him. You get all that Mystery off a person, normally you find Mundane underneath. Not Fenris. He was full of surprises, even after all this time. A flash of wit, an adorable mannerism, an unexpected sentimental side, and a wicked sense of play - they could emerge from his aloof veneer without warning, and disappear just as fast. She had been delighted by every new discovery. It was like unwrapping a present to find something even better than you imagined inside.
Anyway. It had been grapes that made her think of it. She was tossing them in the air and catching them in her mouth, and nearly falling out of her chair in the process, and Fenris was laughing at her. He would not catch grapes in his own mouth, of course. "You only take them in bottle form?" she prodded.
"Alas," he said, and here put on a tremendously sad face, "all the wine is gone. The cellar is empty." He dropped the hangdog expression and grinned lopsidedly. "Even the Orlesian champaigne is no more, thanks to Hawke. She had a particular liking for that, though it was not kind to her in return."
"Tragic," she agreed, taking her feet down from the table and pouring herself some more ale. "Couldn't you buy more, though?"
"I suppose," he shrugged.
Perhaps it was because he was in such an agreeable mood, and because she had reached the point of the evening in which everything seemed like a wonderful idea, that Isabela had pursued the matter further. "You never do, though. There's never anything to eat in your house either. What do you spend your money on?"
He looked thoughtful. "Kept it, mostly. For emergencies."
"That greasy magister's been dead for ages, though. You don't need quite so much Run Away Money now. Why don't you spend some of it? Buy yourself something nice, just to have it."
Fenris looked truly perplexed. "I have everything I need."
"It's not about need. Get something you want. Be comfortable! How about something for that house of yours? I've seen prison cells with more amenities."
"I don't want amenities. Hawke's the one who spends her money on lace pillows and curtains. Is that what you mean?"
"Of course not." Normally she would have enjoyed that mental image, but not now. This whole topic was irritating Isabela for reasons she could not explain. "You know, you really need to indulge yourself more. Live a little! You're not a fugitive anymore. What's your favorite food?"
He shrugged. "Nothing. I eat what's there."
"Nonsense! Everyone has a favorite food."
"One thing's as good as another. If you have ever been starving," he said, a little bit darkly, "you will eat what you can and be glad of it."
Isabela knew a thing or two about starving, in point of fact, but she wasn't about to bring it up. "You're not starving now. Why not enjoy yourself? Food is one of the great pleasures of life. It's right up there with sex, good rum, and sailing with a strong wind. What good is it to be a free man if you never have any fun?"
He smiled at that, his eyes flickering to her long, muscular legs. "I have my fun, Isabela. From time to time."
"Charmer. Don't think you can distract me." She gulped her ale and plunked the mug down on the table in a declarative way. "Tomorrow I'm taking you shopping."
She took Fenris to sample a great many things that afternoon. Brightly colored fruits and vegetables from all over the Free Marches. Pinches of spice, smelled from her palm. Warm fresh bread. They lingered in front of the meat stall, watching the butcher strip pork from a fresh slaughter. They drank cider from a barrel that had ridden all the way from the Anderfels. Fenris had urged them past a fishmonger -- he still hated the smell of fish. (Not a positive sign, for a potential crewmate. One couldn't live for months at sea off stale bread crusts. But she would have to deal with that problem later.) Finally they came to rest at Isabela's favorite shop. Her trump card.
The candy stall.
She nudged him. "I know you like sweets, elf. I've seen you sneak an extra chocolate puff at Aveline's dinner parties. So pick something you like. Look, rock candy!" She squealed in delight, pointing to a row of hard sugar candies on sticks, in all the colors of the rainbow. "When I was a girl I wanted these so badly. They were my favorites. But I hardly ever got them. And now I can have them whenever I want, as many as I want. You see?"
"I see," he said. He was not looking at the candy. He was looking at Isabela.
"Here's the chocolates. And the cakes. Oh, look at the sugar frosting!" She bent down to inspect the neat spirals of icing layered around the centerpiece, an enormous strawberry cake. "Could we sample it?"
"Piss off," the merchant said, folding his arms. "Ruin my cakes for the likes of you? Pay or get lost."
Fenris watched her negotiate. He had enjoyed this afternoon with her. As the shadows lengthened he found himself sorry for the day to end. He wanted the merchants to take their time and occupy Isabela's attention so that he could just watch her leaning against the counter, tucking her chestnut hair behind her ears. Looking over at him periodically with her glittering golden eyes and grinning.
It was a risky business, this choosing favorites. If you allowed yourself to like a thing, there was always the chance that it could be taken away. The world was cruel, and his life had been full of people who would destroy what he wanted only because he wanted it, just to cause him pain. It was safer to want nothing, to stay apart, to not care.
But was that really living?
Isabela purchased a little cake, with chocolate frosting. Only a mouthful. She held it to him outside.
"Open wide," she purred.
Without hesitation he wrapped his long fingers around her wrist and pulled it closer, allowing her to pop the morsel into his mouth. It was sweet and moist, and he swallowed it in a moment, holding her wrist.
"You missed the best bit," she went on encouragingly. She wiggled a finger coated in frosting, teasingly.
To her surprise, he took the bait. He leaned in to brush her hand against his lips and her breath caught. Her index finger slid between his lips to the hot insides, and slowly, very deliberately, he licked the sugar from her. Then he drew back, releasing her finger, licking his lips. Swallowing the sweetness.
His eyes didn't leave hers the entire time.
Isabela shivered and bit her lip. The way his tongue had moved against her skin had promised that he would know exactly how to use it, when the time came.
Fenris walked beside her again, as they turned to head back. He looked faintly pleased with himself. As well he should - how was it whenever she tried to get a rise out of him, she ended up the one all hot and bothered?
"You can smoulder after all," she complimented him. "You've been practicing."
"Perhaps a bit."
"You should go back and get more," she laughed. "There are all kinds of places you could lick it off."
"Don't push your luck, wench," Fenris said. But there was no bite to his words, and a smile still on his lips. Instead he allowed her to snake her arm through his, and they walked that way together all the way home.