Running the claws of his gauntlet over his bookshelf, Fenris growled in frustration. He was out of reading material. Every single tome, no matter how dry or difficult, had been read through at least three times now. The Book of Shartan Hawke had given him, at least six or seven. He would have to leave the mansion for new reading material. Scooping up his coin pouch, he grumbled to himself. The Hightown market would only have the mindless driveling romances that were considered 'appropriate' for highborn ladies, so he'd have to go to Lowtown.
He paused outside Hawke's estate, then went and rang the bell. Bodhan answered the door, and was relentlessly cheerful as ever. "Messere Fenris! Always a pleasure to see you, ser! I'm afraid if you're looking for the Mistress, she's not in right now. Orana dragged her to the seamstress to get some new garments, and they don't expect to be back until close to dinner."
"Ah. I see. I will go, then." Fenris turned to leave.
"Shall I tell Mistress Hawke to expect you for dinner?"
Fenris considered for a moment. Things were… better between him and Hawke in the past year. The year after the Qunari invasion had been even worse than their first year of acquaintance in terms of awkwardness. The following year had been good. They were more comfortable, and his continuing reading lessons and subsequent writing lessons seemed to have helped them become close again. "Yes, please do."
Bodhan beamed. "Very well, Messere Fenris! I'll send a runner to the vintner and the baker for the wine and cheese you and the mistress prefer."
"Thank you, Bodhan."
His pace quick, but not hurried, he made his way from Hightown to Lowtown, the Chantry ringing two bells. Fenris believed his twice weekly visits to Sebastian were also helping. He had been dedicated to working through the tangle of his rage and hatred, and the complicated knot of his feelings for Marian. It wasn't just because she nearly died fighting the Arishok. It was also that night she, in a drunken moment, had revealed that Lady Leandra had called Marian a man with a woman's parts. He still resented Leandra's implication that he had left Hawke after their one night together because she wasn't feminine enough.
Fenris counted the days off on his fingers as he took the Lowtown steps two at a time. He would be seeing Sebastian again in two days. The Chantry prince had commented the last time that they had met that he seemed calmer than before since he was no longer drinking to excess, and his thoughts more organized and centered. Marian's help teaching him to read had a great hand in that.
The books she, Sebastian, and Varric leant to him on a regular basis gave him something to do to occupy his time when he was not gaming with them at the Hanged Man or out on a job. Sitting alone in the silence of the mansion was enough to drive one mad if they had nothing else to do. He wouldn't clean, since keeping the manse appearing abandoned allowed him to live there. There were no skills he could hone in his free time, like the witch with her knitting or Varric and his writing. Of course, he'd been practicing his own handwriting, and he no longer had the frustrating, shaky lettering of a young child. Marian's handwriting was scratchy and quick, like her hand was unable to keep up with her mind. She told him his was some of the most beautiful she'd ever seen.
Feeling the tips of his ears burn even at the memory, Fenris ducked into the small used book shop in Lowtown where Marian, Varric, Sebastian, Aveline, and Donnic spent most of their allotted 'literary' income. The dry, musty scent of parchment, book glue, and leather bindings filled the shop and welcomed him like an old friend.
The owner popped up from behind a stack of books, ready to shoo out the elf that dared enter his shop. A growl and the realization that Fenris was one of the Champion's elven companions had him drawing back with wide eyes and a quick bow.
Most of the books in the stacks were the histories and treatises to be found in any similar bookshop. In one stack, he found a treasure trove of Brother Genitivi's works that he hadn't read yet. The History of Kirkwall, The First Blight, The History of Soldier's Peak, In Pursuit of Knowledge, and a three volume collection on the highlights of Fifth Blight, meaning one about King Alistair, one on Gwyneth Surana, the Hero of Ferelden, and one on finding the Sacred Ashes of Andraste, were stacked at the front with the still wide-eyed owner.
As he searched the books in a shelf on the back wall, one book, the spine simply reading 'Catullus', caught his eye. It was a Tevinter name, but Fenris remembered hearing Danarius sneer it dismissively. If Danarius had hated this Catullus, he wanted to see what they had to say.
He pulled the slim book free, and thumbed through the pages. Of all the things he had expected, poetry was not one of them. On each page, in the trade alphabet instead of Arcanum runes, was a poem in the original Old Tevene, and the translation.
The page he read made him chuckle, as the poem was scolding a guest for stealing one of his napkins. Flipping the pages again, he stopped at one that had only four lines on it.
Odi et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?
nescio. sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
I hate and I love. Why do I, you may ask?
I don't know. But I feel it, and I am tormented.
He wanted to fling the book away, or tear out the page and rip it to pieces before burning it. But he couldn't. His feet carried him to the front, and his mouth haggled over the price of the books while in his mind, the poem repeated over and over again. All the books were tucked into the satchel he had brought along specifically for that purpose by hands acting of their own accord, and his feet turned back to Hightown.
I hate and I love. Why do I, you may ask? I don't know. But I feel it, and I am tormented.
I hate.
Hadriana at his feet, begging for her life before he tore her heart from her chest.
I love.
Marian, looking at him through her absurdly thick lashes with eyes that made him feel like it was spring no matter the season, before taking his hand and leading him into her bedchamber.
I am tormented.
Wanting to let go of his past even as it dogged him, seeing the painful hope in Marian's eyes as the damnable woman waited for him with the patience of a deity.
He stopped, gasping breaths as he stared at the shambles of a mansion he lived in.
I hate.
Turning back, he looked in the direction of the Amell estate. His clawed gauntlet picked at the red scrap of fabric around his wrist, and he felt the weight of her house crest on his belt.
I love.
A brief hole in the guard rotation allowed Fenris to get into the manse. He dumped the satchel of books as soon as the door shut and locked, and he raced to the wine cellar. Grabbing a bottle blindly, he charged up to rooms he had claimed as his own. The cork was out and the wine had just kissed his lips, and he stopped. The bottle lowered, and he stared at it. Drunken oblivion or sober awareness.
The bottle shattered against the wall as he let out a roar, spraying wine and glass shards.
I am tormented.
Author's note: The poet in this chapter is, of course, Gaius Valerius Catullus. I borrowed his name and his poetry for an ancient Tevinter poet.
From my first playthrough of Dragon Age II, Catullus 85, colloquially known as 'Odi et Amo', reminded me very much of the hate-filled, loving, tormented elf I romanced.
The other poem in the book is an actual poem of Catullus's, Catullus 12, if you wish to give it a read.