Title: Underground

Rating: M

Summary: Set in the world of Paradise for Lesser Men. The years at war. MaleHawke/Fenris

A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.

Dead Men

The night was cool, and there was a refreshing bite to the wind as they sailed. Hawke leaned against the railing, his arms crossed and dangling as he peered out at the ocean. It really was endless. A very long time ago, he'd sat in the hold of a ship for weeks on end. He could still remember the smell of vomit and urine and unwashed bodies. It was cramped and nauseating, and he could never understand why Isabela longed for the ocean the way she did.

He understood now.

There was something entirely raw and violent about the waves crashing into each other. The boat creaked and groaned as the old wood was tested, cleaving the water in two as it journeyed on. In the sky, the moon floated like a sovereign, pale yellow and looming. Grey clouds blocked the stars and threatened rain. Land was nowhere in sight. Somehow, being stuck in such a desolate and empty place was invigorating. Hawke had missed the pure savagery of nature.

"Hey, Champion," Isabela appeared at his side, throwing herself against the railing carelessly. She held a deep green bottle in her gloved hand, the perfume of alcohol clinging to her inky black hair and sloping neck. "Standard protocol on my ship requires that everybody attend the parties. I could have you thrown overboard."

Hawke laughed, pushing the bottle she offered away. "I want to enjoy the sea with my senses intact, thanks. I can see why you missed it." With an unladylike snort and a toss of her voluminous hair, Isabela leaned over the railing to stare at down at the water.

"It is beautiful, isn't it? I had almost forgotten what it felt like, to be Captain of a ship. To feel the strength of the waves. There's nothing like it in the world," she sighed.

"Well, enjoy it," Hawke frowned, his thoughts turning dark. "I'm afraid this war just might take it from you." Despite the brave face he showed to Fenris, and despite how much he knew they could win this fight, he was petrified. Never had he fought on such a scale before. Never had he clung to the shadows and attacked with guerilla tactics. It felt cowardly and reminiscent of the days when he had to stay to the darkness to protect his family. He didn't want to go back to that.

A gloved hand smacked hard into his upper arm. "Knock it off," she snarled. "Between you and Fenris, I can't imagine what it must have been like on that farm all by yourselves. You could make a bloody Blight with your damned brooding." Her dark brows drew together, and she hunched in on herself to stare morosely into the water. The cool wind rose the hair on her arms. For a moment, she appeared so small.

"I'm sorry," Hawke sighed, rubbing at his face. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You better get it fixed," she sniffed, obsidian eyes glittering. "We'll be in Ferelden in a few days."

King Alistair awaited their arrival. Hawke fervently hoped their letter was in his hands, completely untouched by foreign interlopers. However much he prayed for the king's help, he didn't want to endanger the man's life or his family's anymore than they already were. Going to Ferelden to seek asylum was a risk in itself. The Circles had always been a bit more lenient, but they still viewed magic as a dangerous tool that couldn't be controlled. Hawke feared that the Divine might turn on Alistair if he sought to protect the Champion of Kirkwall, the man who helped begin the war.

Still, they had no choice. Kirkwall was protected by legions of Cullen's men and Starkhaven was lost. Without a person of power to protect them, Hawke and his friends would be killed on sight for aiding a revolution. The Divine would have Hawke's head and raze Kirkwall to the ground to defeat what was left of the sad rebellion. King Alistair was the only option, and rumors circulated that the Hero of Ferelden was also lingering about in Denerim. Travel had become dangerous for everyone. The mages were turning feral in their desperation, robbing caravans and plundering wealthy individuals without sufficient protection. After what happened in Kirkwall, even their families were turning them away on pain of death. That they had turned to crime was understandable but tragic.

Isabela sidled closer and hooked her arm into the crook of Hawke's elbow, laying her head on his shoulder. She smelled of the sea and a musky perfume that was so familiar. The warmth and press of her body was welcome in his loneliness. "I miss Bethany," she confessed.

"Yeah," he sighed, caressing her pretty hair, "me, too."

"Damn you," she crushed her cheek into the bone of his shoulder. "You and your blighted elf. Can't you just drink and be bloody merry for five seconds? This isn't a total death sentence, you know. It's not like you're Anders."

Hawke winced. He couldn't help it. Rumors indicated that the rogue mage had been caught seeking passage to Ferelden. Of course, they were just rumors, but Isabela's contacts generally delivered good information for the amount of pay they were given. It wasn't as if Anders didn't deserve death, but Hawke felt obligated somehow to help him. He was a friend once before the lines blurred, and everything became too real. The problem was, no one knew where the Seekers had taken him. Everyone seemed to know, though, that he was already dead.

"Just because I'm not so light-hearted about this doesn't mean you can't be," he shook her lightly. "Ignore me. I'm just thinking tactics, not brooding. There's so much to do."

"Yeah," she frowned, pushing away. "There's a lot to do." Without another word, she strolled toward the light at the front of the ship, where lanterns swayed with the rocking of the ocean and the smell of food wafted through the air. Alcohol existed in surplus on Isabela's boat, and the drunken laughter of several seamen reached his ears as she ducked around a corner. The cold returned as if she had never been at his side.

Weary of his own company, Hawke patted the railing and sauntered away toward the light. He took a turn and went down the stairs into the belly of the ship, running his gloved fingers along the fine finished walls. With a woman's touch, the mustard-colored satin was torn away and replaced with deep browns and rich reds. Isabela had impeccable taste in decoration given that she only ever wore the same type of clothing and hadn't changed her boots in over three years.

Bunks for the crewmen were lined along the walls in small alcoves off the main hall. Hawke followed it until he was at his own door—the first mate's room. The Captain's quarters were just above, and Fenris and Hawke could hear Isabela's exploits well into the night sometimes. Hawke never spent much time below deck anyway. The smell and feel reminded him too much of those days they sailed to Kirkwall, but he wasn't cramped in a small room with what was left of his bloodied family. He was as safe as he would get in the coming years, and maybe that was enough.

For some reason, he knocked before entering. Maybe it was just a formality. Maybe he was instinctively protecting Fenris's privacy. Still, whatever the reason, he rapped lightly on the door before easing it open and slipping inside.

The elf gave him a tired smile as he entered. He was positioned on the bed, great sword in his lap with a whetstone clenched loosely in his fist. A single lantern flickered idly on its hook, swaying slightly. Hawke shut the door and smiled back.

"Nervous?" Hawke asked, taking a seat opposite him on the straw mattress.

"No," Fenris answered honestly, laying his palm flat on the side of his blade. Sharpening his weapon had become a nervous habit years ago. The sword was one of the only things that he owned, and he took great care to maintain it. Hawke tilted his head in the direction of his own blades, laid out on a table a few feet away. His armor was carelessly thrown in a corner, along with Fenris's. They were short on space. They did what they could to accommodate their possessions, few as they were.

"I am."

Fenris glanced up sharply, eyes glittering curiously. "This king seemed to me to be fair, if a bit foolish. Do you think he won't grant us refuge?"

"I think that he will," Hawke admitted, running a hand through his hair and staring at the lantern. "Maybe even a bit too hastily. It's not him I'm concerned about. I'm afraid that there's little we can do."

A small, ironic smile came to Fenris's lips. "The Champion of Kirkwall is unsure of himself," he mused softly, shaking his head.

"What are you laughing at?" Hawke lightly kicked him, corner of his mouth twitching up.

"Just that you are the one who got us into this mess," Fenris gestured in the air with his elegant fingers, movements slow and graceful as he chuckled. "You are the reason we're all heading to Ferelden in the first place, and you don't know if we can even help the situation."

"Don't poke fun at me," the human captured his hand, twisting it so that their fingers were intertwined. "I'm a sensitive soul. You're going to hurt my feelings."

Just then, Fenris scowled, reaching out to grasp at the pendant around Hawke's neck. Somehow it had escaped his shirt. Small, slender fingers closed around it and inspected the amulet, familiar to a man who came from Tevinter. Dark green eyes so full of warmth a moment ago stared at him coldly. "Why are you wearing that man's jewelry?"

Hawke gently removed the clasped hand from the Tevinter chantry amulet, fearful that Fenris would crush it in his deadly grip. "He was my friend once. Would you deny me the chance to mourn him properly?"

"He doesn't deserve it," he snarled in reply, jumping up to pace the floor.

For years, Hawke put up with the startling jealousy that Fenris showed whenever Anders was brought into the conversation. He'd dealt with it when they were just friends, but it had come in small amounts then. Fenris would check himself and realize how foolish he was being. After they became lovers and Fenris left, Hawke dealt with it in increasing doses. Because of the awkward tension between them, he couldn't be around the elf. So he went to the mage, and more than one fight came from that. Once they were reunited as lovers, the jealousy became open hostility. Fenris felt the need to mark Hawke as his and bark insults whenever Anders was around.

He was jealous, whether he admitted it to himself or not, but how could one still be bitterly envious of a dead man?

"Don't be stupid," Hawke reached out and caught Fenris's belt, drawing him close. Surprisingly, Fenris allowed it. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have. "How can you hate him now?"

"He's dead, Hawke," Fenris said harshly, crossing his arms. The way the firelight played on his skin was interesting, catching the lyrium imbedded in his flesh in the most curious of ways. "You did what you could for him." Again his fingers closed over the amulet as if to tear it off.

"I know I did," Hawke murmured sadly. "We didn't always get along, and he used me more than once, but every man deserves some respect when he dies."

"If you don't earn respect in life, you don't deserve it in death," Fenris spat, grip tightening.

"He earned mine."

For a moment only the sound of the waves lapping gently against the hull filled the silence. Their relationship had always been strained, and it was easy for them to fall back into the old fighting. Hawke was too morose, too sullen to be angry, though, and the tense atmosphere drained quickly. Fenris glanced away, fingers falling until they were curled in a fist at his side. Was he picking a fight because he was nervous, or did he really mind the meaningless trinket so much? Could he be so bitterly jealous after all that had happened?

Without a word, Hawke wrestled the lithe man onto the bed and pinned him on his back. He didn't resist, but there never was much resistance anymore. Fenris relaxed his body, but his eyes stared back defiantly, almost daringly. They were so beautiful in the dark, nearly glowing with the added use of his own unique brand of magic. Each orb was a flame burning bright in his skull. The amulet hung loosely between them, almost touching Fenris's chest.

Their foreheads touched. "Don't kiss me with that thing on," Fenris breathed threateningly.

Hawke smiled and said, "Don't tell me what to do."

The kiss turned into a grappling match the moment it began. Fenris rarely put up resistance, but he wasn't a toy to be played with. The second Hawke dipped his head and sealed their mouths the elf's sharp, hard fingers dug into his upper arms and flipped them over the side of the bed. The uneven sway of the ship only added to the fall, the boards rising up to welcome Hawke as he crashed into the ground, smacking his head hard. Teeth sunk too hard into his teeth and drew blood, but it was such a welcome, familiar thing that Hawke hardly paid any attention to it at all.

He did groan, though, as the pain from his fall spread through his lower back. Fenris sat up, one hand splayed on the human's chest, the other holding the amulet. He stared silently at it. "A strange gift, all things considered, isn't it?" he commented softly.

"He was always ready to die," the human rubbed the back of his head. "I guess he finally got his wish."

"Which is worse, I wonder? To be remembered as the abomination that blew up a chantry, or not to be remembered at all?"

"To die in infamy or anonymity?" Hawke mused along with him. "I think both are terrible choices. He certainly won't be remembered as the martyr he wanted to be." The more he thought on it, the less it hurt. Anders had been dead for years with no life, no love, no emotion but hatred. Perhaps he finally found peace, and maybe Justice was finally free, no longer tainted by Vengeance.

"You did what you could for him," said Fenris firmly, finally yanking on the chain hard enough to break. Fragile as it was, it snapped apart easily. He tossed it aside, and it skidded across the floorboards. Hawke didn't even try to stop him. "The past is done, and he's dead."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "This from the man that spent almost a decade chasing his past?"

"We don't have time for you to mourn his loss," Fenris frowned, ignoring the comment.

"I wasn't going to pull the boat hard to port and cry myself to sleep on the moonlit shore," Hawke drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes a bit. "I just think that someone should care that he's dead. He may have been a monster, an abomination, but he was also a man. He had a family once, a mother and father, lovers. His commander…" he sat up a bit, their eyes level. "The hero of Ferelden vouched for him when no one else would. She thought he was someone worth saving."

"She was a fool," Fenris remarked cruelly, but without his usual bite. "She needed recruits. Don't turn it into some selfless act of kindness."

"I'm not," Hawke defended. "I'm just saying that she must have seen something inside of him that was worth it. Worth it to train him and help guard one of the most important people in Ferelden." Just as his tone was becoming heated, Fenris bent and kissed him.

"I don't want to argue," the elf said solemnly. "Not about him. Something important, perhaps, but not about him."

"Maker, I think you're losing your touch," Hawke teased, tugging on a strand of hair. "Fighting is what we do. It's the nature of our relationship."

"Not entirely," he disagreed. "You don't have to wear his jewelry to mourn his death. In fact, it would be wiser not to. The Divine is already hunting for your blood."

"No need to make myself more of a target?" he smiled.

Fenris nodded. "There is no need."

Hawke leaned up and kissed him, tangling his fingers in long silver hair. He hummed and kept his eyes open, biting at the elf's lower lip teasingly. On a ship with twenty or so sailors, there wasn't much time for physical intimacy. Isabela also insisted on bursting into their tiny cabin whenever she pleased, which was often. The mental toll of the war was nothing compared to the physical. Working on Isabela's ship as a deckhand exhausted Hawke on a daily basis. He wasn't accustomed to such manual labor.

After only a few moments, the kiss became sleepy and familiar. Fenris got to his feet and helped the human to stand, pushing him down on the bed. The waves rocked them to sleep, and the laughter on deck served as a comforting lullaby.

Between college planning, graduation, and my AP classes I'm swamped. So sorry. That doesn't mean I'm leaving, however. This will be a series of oneshots set in the same universe as Paradise for Lesser Men. I'll update when I can, but no promises about deadlines. Thanks for reading. Review please.