#orana

"I thought you might be hungry," she said softly, setting the tray on the low table beside them. "You've been in here all afternoon."

"Thank you, Orana," Lyria said warmly. "It looks wonderful."

The meal was simple but perfectly prepared, roasted chicken with crispy skin, fresh bread still warm from the oven, cheese, and winter vegetables glazed with honey. Orana had even included a small dish of the meat scraps that Barkspawn favored, though the mabari was still lost in dreams and hadn't noticed his treat yet.

"Will there be anything else?" Orana asked.

"No, this is perfect," Lyria assured her. "Thank you."

As the elf woman departed with another small smile, Lyria reached for one of the chicken drumsticks, her mouth already watering at the rich, herb-scented aroma. But before she could bring it to her lips, another hand intercepted hers, long fingers wrapping around her wrist with gentle but firm pressure.

She felt rather than saw Fenris lean forward, and in one smooth motion, he took a bite from the drumstick she held.

"Hey!" she protested, laughing despite herself as she twisted in his arms to look at him. "That's mine! Get your own!"

His green eyes sparkled with mischief as he chewed with deliberate satisfaction. "I did get my own. It was in your hand."

"That's not how food ownership works, and you know it." But she was grinning even as she complained, warmth spreading through her chest at the playful light in his expression. This side of him, teasing, almost boyish, was something she'd only begun to see since they'd found their way back to each other.

"Isn't it?" He released her wrist but didn't retreat, instead settling his chin on her shoulder so he could watch her face. "I seem to recall you sharing your food quite willingly in the past."

"That was different. That was me being generous and kind-hearted." She took a deliberately large bite of the chicken, making appreciative noises. "This is theft."

"Such harsh accusations." His voice was warm with laughter, breath tickling her ear. "Perhaps you should eat faster if you're concerned about such theft."

Before she could formulate a proper retort, she reached for a piece of bread, only to have him intercept that as well, his longer reach giving him an unfair advantage. This time he didn't even pretend innocence, simply taking a bite with a self-satisfied expression that made her want to kiss him and strangle him in equal measure.

"Fenris!" She elbowed him gently in the ribs, which only made him chuckle. "You're impossible."

"And you're too slow," he countered, already eyeing the cheese.

Every time Lyria reached for something, Fenris was there first, using his position behind her to his advantage. When she tried to twist around to better defend her meal, he simply wrapped his arms more securely around her waist, trapping her in place while he systematically dismantled the tray of food.

"Who's the Champion now?" he asked with mock seriousness as he claimed yet another piece of cheese, making her laugh despite her indignation.

Their laughter woke Barkspawn, who lifted his massive head with interest as crumbs began to rain down around the sofa. The mabari's tail started wagging as he realized food was involved, even if his owner seemed to be playing with it rather than eating it properly.

"This is war," Lyria declared breathlessly, managing to snag a piece of vegetable before Fenris could claim it. She held it triumphantly above her head. "Victory!"

"Is it?" His voice had dropped to that low, dangerous tone that never failed to send heat racing through her veins. Before she could react, his hand closed over her wrist again, bringing her arm down slowly until the vegetable was within reach. Instead of taking it, though, he bit into it while she still held it, his lips brushing her fingers in the process.

The simple contact sent a shiver down her spine. Even such innocent touches felt electric when they were still so new, so precious.

"I wanted a bite," he murmured against her palm, pressing a soft kiss there.

"I'll bite you," she shot back automatically, the sarcastic response slipping out before she could stop it.

The effect was immediate. She felt him go very still behind her, his breathing changing, and when she turned her head to meet his gaze, his eyes had gone dark with heat that had nothing to do with the fireplace.

"But what if I bite back?" he murmured, his voice rough velvet that made her stomach flip and her cheeks flush with sudden heat. The way he was looking at her, like she was something he wanted to devour, made her breath catch in her throat.

For a moment, the playful atmosphere shifted into something deeper, more intense. The air between them crackled with the same electricity that had always existed between them, that pull that had drawn them together from the very beginning. His hand was still on her wrist, thumb brushing over her pulse point, and she could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his touch.

Then Barkspawn, apparently deciding that enough food had been wasted on foolish games, padded over and began industriously cleaning up the crumbs that had fallen to the floor. The sound of his enthusiastic munching broke the spell, and they both dissolved into laughter again.

"I think someone approves of our table manners," Lyria managed between giggles, watching as the mabari systematically searched for every dropped morsel.

"At least he's efficient," Fenris agreed, his arms tightening around her waist as he settled back against the sofa cushions. The heat hadn't entirely faded from his eyes, but it had banked to a warm simmer that promised more for later.

They managed to finish the meal with only minimal additional theft, mostly because Lyria had learned to guard her food with both hands while Fenris seemed content to watch her eat, occasionally stealing kisses instead of bites.

When the tray was finally empty and Barkspawn had claimed his promised treat, Lyria found herself melting back against Fenris's chest with a contented sigh. His arms came around her immediately, holding her close as the fire crackled and the afternoon light slowly faded toward evening.

"This is nice," she murmured, tilting her head back to rest against his shoulder. "We should do this more often."

"What, theft and food fights?" His voice held gentle teasing.

"Peace," she corrected softly. "Just... this. Being together without the world falling apart around us."

His arms tightened around her, and she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. "I'd like that," he said quietly, and in those simple words she heard everything he couldn't quite say yet, how much these moments meant to him too, how precious this newfound happiness was after so many years of pain and separation.

Do visit my A03 =)

"Hawke is looking for you."

Orana flinched, pushing herself further into the alleyway as the voice broke through the silence.

She hadn’t heard him approach. She never did. But Fenris was there. Not close—he never got too close without reason—but his presence alone set her pulse racing, instinct warring with reason.

“I—” She bit her lip, ducking her head as though she could shrink from his notice. “I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t running,” he interrupted, tone matter-of-fact.

It wasn’t a question.

She risked a glance at him, finding no accusation in his expression. Just quiet observation.

Still, her muscles tensed “I—I just…. No one noticed I left. i'm easily missed. People don't pay attention to me.”

Fenris was silent at that. Then, after a pause, he took a step into the alley, just enough for the shadows to claim him.

“They did.”

She blinked.

He exhaled sharply, shifting awkwardly, “Hawke noticed. He is… concerned."

Orana hesitated, her fingers curling into the fabric of her top. Hawke noticed. He was concerned. It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t seem right. She had spent her life being unnoticed, unseen. That was the way of things. Slaves were not noticed. They worked from the shadows. To draw attention. To be seen. Invited punishment.

"I didn’t…" She faltered, unsure how to continue.

Fenris looked away. Shifting. Scanning. As though standing still for too long would leave him vulnerable. Orana forced her own hands to stop fiddling with her sleeve, pushed down to instinct to check the shadows behind her.

“Hawke is not a Magister," Fenris stated, "A slave is invisible, you are not a slave here.”

Orana swallowed hard. She wasn’t a slave. She knew that, rationally. Hawke had given her freedom, had told her so, had made it clear time and time again. And yet…

She still felt invisible.

“Hawke… noticed,” she repeated quietly, almost testing the words on her tongue.

“He did.” Fenris shifted slightly, his gaze flicking to hers, searching.

Orana still hesitated. The knowledge that someone had noticed her absence was unsettling in ways she couldn’t quite explain. The idea of being missed, of someone seeking her out rather than simply expecting her to be in place, was foreign. Even now, she found herself waiting for the catch—for the reprimand, the punishment, the demand for explanation that would remind her of her place.

But it didn’t come.

"Why?" she asked at last, "Why would he notice?"

Fenris exhaled sharply, as if the question frustrated him, though not in a way that suggested he was angry at her. If anything, he looked uncertain, as though struggling to put something into words.

"Because… he is Hawke," he said finally, and there was something almost pained in the way he said it, "He cares, more than he should. It… it is best not to dwell on his reasons," he looked away, "I am not certain he understands them himself."

He turned slightly, angling his body toward the alley’s entrance. “You do not have to go back yet,” he added.

She swallowed, glancing toward the alley entrance, then back at Fenris.

“You’re not… going to force me?” she asked hesitantly.

Fenris’s eyes locked to hers, his expression darkening, something cold flashing behind his eyes before he schooled his face into something more neutral.

“No,” he said simply. “But I will wait.”

She hesitated, then, slowly, she took a step forward.

He didn’t move. Didn’t react beyond the way his gaze flickered toward her, carefully controlled.

She took another step.

And then another.

And as she passed him, exiting the alleyway, he fell into step beside her.

Not leading.

Not following.