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Kirkwall’s wet season arrived suddenly and dramatically, by pouring with rain one night and not letting up for days. Winds howled across the Waking Sea and blew everyone indoors. It was a far cry from sun baked Tevinter, so Orana began to light the fires every morning. Miss Hawke never officially designated her this chore but Lady Leandra had always appreciated it. And now… well, Bodahn said it wasn’t the fire Miss Hawke needed but the consistency, the routine; else she would allow grief to condemn her to a freezing, lonely house forever.
Orana crept silently through the main hall, to the large fireplace, placing her basket on the floor. Wulfric, the juggernaut of a war dog, snored blissfully on the rug beside her. She swept out the ashes left from last night, arranged the kindling and struck the flint. This had been one of her chores in Hadriana’s household too; something she kept quiet about, not wanting to risk it being given to Bodahn instead. It wasn’t unpleasant: she got the house all to herself, filling it with warmth and light, and on quite a few occasions Miss Hawke assigned her nothing else, so Orana was paid a small fortune for little effort.
The main hall was done, and the kitchen, the library, the lamps and torches; at last she tip-toed towards Miss Hawke’s bedroom. The Champion of Kirkwall hailed from Ferelden and the Free Marches’ damp, dreary winters seldom left her chilled. But the lighting of the fires signaled morning, time to rise, something which Miss Hawke had trouble doing recently. Though by the sounds of rustling sheets and the creaking bed frame, she was ahead of Orana today.
With a well-practiced hand, Orana gently slid the bedroom door open but an inch and peered inside. She couldn’t help but let out a small gasp: the sheets were kicked away, and nestled in between Miss Hawke’s porcelain legs was a backside which - though she’d never actually set eyes upon it - Orana couldn’t fail to recognise. The white hair, tangled in Hawke’s fingers, and the flowing, iridescent tattoos gave Fenris away even in the barest morning light. And those tattoos went all over his body! Tracing every muscles, from firm shoulders all the way down his taut back to a pert bottom that was thrusting into -
Orana whipped her face away from the gap and closed the door again as quietly as possible. Not sticking around to find out if she’d been noticed, she flew down the stairs as fast as her bare feet could carry her. To be caught staring at her mistress in such a position! She was sure to be flogged, or sold, or something!
No.
Orana stopped at the kitchen door. She was not a slave and Miss Hawke was not Hadriana.
“Everything alright, dearie?” asked Bodahn, kneading bread dough at the table. “You look like you’ve had a fright.”
“Nothing!” Orana blurted out. “I’m fine!’
She ducked her head and hurried over to the stove, gathering up the biggest pot and plonking it down with a great clang that drew a disgruntled ‘boof’ from the mabari in the hall. Orana took a deep, steadying breath.
“Soup today, I think,” she said, in the brightest tone she could muster, refusing to look at Bodahn, sure that her face was crimson! The dwarf clearly knew when to leave well enough alone and asked her nothing more, merely passing Orana ingredients for a hearty soup to fight off the cold.
Chop, sear, boil, stir, simmer.
There came no summons from upstairs, no disapproving glare, no harsh words. The sun came up behind the clouds and the pelting rain, turning the sky light grey instead of dark.
Bodahn went off to do some sweeping and Orana was left to wring her hands with worry. Oh, how she hoped her intrusion had gone unnoticed, that her naive squeak was drowned out by the breathy moans. Or that it would be waved off as an innocent mistake. Though, by rights, she never had heard Fenris leave the night before. Should she have assumed? No, Miss Hawke never had… overnight visitors. How was Orana to know?
Every step and creak made her twitch, thinking Miss Hawke would be lurking in the shadows to chastise her. Or worse, that it’d be Fenris.
Orana was never sure if Fenris even liked her. He was always polite and had been pleased to hear she was in line to take up an apprenticeship with a hightown hairdresser but beyond that he seemed not to know what to make of a fellow former slave. Orana hadn’t even realised that Miss Hawke and Fenris were… involved. Fenris was the measure of propriety when others were looking. He showed up in the mornings, waited in the entrance hall, and escorted Miss Hawke around town. Sometimes he came back and stayed for dinner. But never overnight, until now. Perhaps it was a new development. Or maybe it was a secret, and Orana had stumbled upon it. She had heard of many a magister taking whatever pleasure they wanted from their elven slaves behind closed doors, but Fenris was a free man. Was that permitted in Kirkwall? A noblewoman and an elf?
The front door banged shut and Orana jumped out of her skin. Had she missed someone knocking? Where was Bodahn? Leaving one of Miss Hawke’s friends out getting soaked on the doorstep while she fretted would surely only compound her predicament. She darted out to the entrance hall and: no-one. No visitor waiting. Just the sound of rain beating against the windows.
Did that mean Fenris had left? Was he cross with her and stormed out?
When she headed back towards the kitchen, she found Miss Hawke standing in her dressing gown at the foot of the stairs, petting her mabari and cooing at him… and holding the basket of kindling and flint for the fireplaces! Orana had set it down and forgotten about it in her humiliated haste. Oh, she was sure to be sacked now.
“Miss Hawke, I…” she started, face burning and her eyes beginning to sting with tears. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to see, I swear! I didn’t know, I won’t tell a soul, oh, please don’t send me away!”
Both Miss Hawke and Wulfric looked at her with a startled expression. The dog took two steps and nuzzled his enormous head into Orana’s leg. She unclenched her tightly held fist and grabbed onto his fur.
“Nobody is sending you away, Orana. And there’s nothing to be sorry for.” Miss Hawke scratched her head, looking sheepish. “In fact, it’s me who owes you an apology. It’s my fault for not locking the door. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Orana felt awash with relief. Hawke wasn’t angry, wasn’t going to punish her. It was just a silly mistake. She let go of Wulfric and began scritching behind his ears, much to the dog’s delight. Glancing over her shoulder towards the front door, she made sure Fenris wasn’t about to jump out in surprise. “What about…?”
“Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s just embarrassed that you saw his arse, that’s all.” Hawke shrugged. “He’ll get over it.”
Orana smiled ever so slightly, glad that this would soon blow over without much fuss. She found little else to say than, “okay.”
Hawke leaned in to faux whisper, entirely redundant in the vast empty hall, “and let’s be honest, it’s not a bad arse to look at, is it?”
At that, Orana couldn’t help but giggle. Hawke joined her and it soon bubbled into full on laughter. Wulfric began wagging his tail at the easing tension, licking Orana’s hands.
“Is… is it…” Orana started. Hawke and Wulfric both tilted their heads slightly, curious and probably jumping to conclusions about what Orana was about to ask. “Is it allowed? Humans and elves, I mean? Or… is it a secret?”
“It’s allowed. Might raise a few eyebrows in hightown, but that’s not something Fenris and I worry about. It’s not a secret.” Hawke smirked. “Why? Is there someone you had your eye on?”
“No! I just - ” Orana flushed, racking her brain for something that would have given Hawke that idea. “- you’re teasing me.”
“Yup.” Hawke smiled, then looped her arm around Orana’s and led them back towards the kitchen. “C’mon, I heard you made soup.”
“Soup for breakfast?”
“Well, technically…” Hawke paused. “Never mind. You don’t want to know what I had for breakfast.”