It started with a tickle in the back of his throat.
Fenris had just returned from a trek to the Wounded Coast with Hawke and company, and it had been an especially wet and miserable adventure. Hawke had been asked to clear out some Tal-Vashoth that had been causing trouble on the coast. She'd asked Fenris to come along with her, as well as the dwarf and the abomination. They had all been prepared for a difficult fight, but they had not been prepared for the downpour that began the moment they stepped foot onto sandy terrain. They were soaked to the bone before they knew what hit them.
Fighting giants in the rain is not a pleasant experience.
The battle was long and difficult, and the storm was cold and unforgiving. The mage had tried to shield them from the frigid rain with a barrier spell, and after the battle had summoned a fire to warm them, but Fenris had refused on both accounts. He would not be helped by magic, and did not trust the abomination.
It seemed he was suffering for that now.
The day after the battle and the rain, Fenris awoke with a strange sensation in the back of his throat, like a gentle tickle. He had tried clearing his throat and drinking water and wine, but the tickle wouldn't go away. He shrugged it off as nothing, and went about his business as usual.
By evening, his small tickle had progressed to a painful scratching, and he was having difficulty breathing out of his nose, but he was sure he would be better the following morning, after he got more than his usual amount of sleep. But when Hawke asked him to accompany her on a job in Lowtown the following evening, it didn't even cross his mind to refuse her.
The next day saw him feeling no better, but he shrugged it off as before. It was nothing to be concerned with, he was sure. He met Hawke at her mansion that evening, as planned, prepared to follow her where ever she wished.
"Are you feeling alright, Fenris?" she'd asked him before they set out.
He shrugged her concern away. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" she pressed. "You look a little clammy. You don't have to come with me if you aren't feeling well. I can ask Varric or -"
"No," he said a little too hastily. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No, I'm fine, there is no need to bother the others."
"If you say so." Hawke eyed him warily, but said no more on the subject on their way to Lowtown.
Not surprisingly, they were jumped by the newest street thugs in the area. The fight wasn't difficult for the two skilled warriors to handle, but by the end of it, Fenris felt exhausted. He was gasping for breath, and each one pained his throat. Hawke sent him concerned looks, but he glared back at her, and she shrugged and didn't say anything to him about his condition. She finished up her business quickly, and the pair walked back towards Hightown and their estates together.
As they approached the door of the Hanged Man, Hawke paused. She turned to Fenris, a mischievous grin Fenris was all too familiar with cracked along her face.
"Wanna drop in for a few drinks?" she asked, jerking a thumb towards the door. Behind it were the muffled sounds of laughter and drunken conversations, and the unmistakable voices of at least a few of their companions.
Fenris considered for a moment. He wasn't feeling entirely himself after that fight. But Hawke was inviting him, and this was an excuse to spend more time with her. Besides, he would probably get over this small illness quickly enough. He really didn't feel that bad. The fight had just knocked the wind out of him or something.
So he replied with a cheeky grin and followed Hawke into the tavern.
Varric, Isabela, and Merrill were gathered around a table near the back. The dwarf spotted Hawke and Fenris when they entered and waved them over with a smile. As they neared, they saw their friends had been playing Wicked Grace, and Merrill was losing miserably.
"Pull up some chairs and join in," Varric told them happily.
"Yes, we could use some fresh blood," Isabela smiled devilishly.
Merrill frowned at her cards. "How do you two keep winning?"
"They cheat, Merrill," Hawke sighed as she plopped down next to the distraught elf.
"I never see them do it," she pouted.
"That would defeat the purpose, kitten," Isabela purred over her cards.
"Well, Fenris and I are harder to fool. Deal us in. Let's see if your lucky streak can last." The rogues grinned at each other and Varric dealt Fenris and Hawke their cards.
"I saw that," Hawke snapped as Varric tried to slip a card up his sleeve.
"Maybe we shouldn't have asked them to join," Isabela mused.
"You have to work for your gold," Hawke said with a grin.
Fenris heard and saw all of this, but he couldn't focus on any of it. He heard the words but didn't understand their meaning. He tried to look at his hand of cards, but his head had started pounding. He looked up and realized everyone was staring at him.
"It's your move, Fenris," Merrill told him gently, concern in her voice. His lip curled unpleasantly. He didn't need concern from a maleficarum.
He looked back down at his cards, but it was becoming difficult to focus his vision. He pulled at the collar of his jerkin, suddenly feeling flushed. Had it been this hot a moment ago? He felt like he was melting in his armor.
"Broody, you're not looking so good," Varric remarked, voice a bit uneasy.
"I'm fine," was Fenris's short reply, and Varric shrugged.
"Whatever you say," the dwarf said quickly, palms raised in surrender. He wasn't about to argue with the moody, deadly elf tonight.
"Are you sure you're alright?" That was Hawke's voice. Fenris could bear this no longer.
"I said I'm fine," he told her sharply. He slapped his cards down on the table and stood roughly. He braced his hands on the table and tried to make it look like he wasn't about to fall over.
Hawke moved to stand as well and he waved her away from him. He pulled himself tall and tried to sound convincing when he said, "Enjoy your game."
Hawke frowned. "Do you want -"
"No. I am leaving." He turned and strode out of the Hanged Man as proudly as he could. He would not show any weakness.
When Fenris was outside in the dark and the door was safely shut behind him, he collapsed against the wall. His throat felt like it was on fire every time he took a breath. His head was pounding, and he could feel his heartbeat in his temples. His body felt weak and achy, and he felt like his insides were burning up.
He stumbled through the city streets, using the walls for support, and was amazed when he made it to his home. He burst through the door and nearly collapsed in the foyer, but forced his legs to carry him a little further, to his bed. He fell onto the mattress and hoped for sleep. He wanted any escape from this misery, and hopefully by the morning, his ordeal would be ended.