Obstacles

Author: gaarafreak

Summary: Various events from the life of Marian Hawke involving one former Tevinter slave, Fenris, as told by Varric Tethras. Lady Hawke x Fenris – takes place after Fenris' companion quest/romance scene in Act 2 and beyond.

A/N: Got the idea after my first play through. I played as a female mage and, being a lover of conflict and confusing relationships (because if it's too easy, it's no fun) I went for a friendship romance with Fenris. Now, as a mage it's generally easier to romance Fenris with a rivalry relationship. However, it actually wasn't that hard, if your character had some moral issues with blood magic, which mine did.

Chapter One

The interrogation room was dark and cramped, with barely enough room for Cassandra, the Seeker knight, to pace restlessly while Varric told Marian Hawke's story from the comfort of the bulky, wooden interrogation chair the other knights had thrown him into hours before. At the moment, he was enjoying a lull in his story-telling to explain a discrepancy to the Seeker. She seemed to have trouble believing a certain aspect of Hawke's legend.

"You would have me believe the Champion was in love with a former slave from the Tevinter Imperium—a mere elf branded with lyrium—a vicious killer hellbent on vengeance against his former master?"

"Well, he also had a hell of a face for cards, liked to drink wine straight from the bottle and brood by himself in his dark, empty mansion." The dwarf grinned as he leaned forward in the bulky chair. "But yes."

Cassandra turned away from him, glaring at a darkened corner of the room. "Preposterous. Our reports indicate she was involved with the rebel mage, Anders."

Varric snorted. "He wishes."

Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine. Assuming the Champion and this...Fenris...were romantically involved—what could she possibly want from someone like him?"

"Want?" He sighed and rubbed at his left temple. "Seeker. The Hawke I knew wanted nothing from anyone," He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word that came next. "She loved the glowing son-of-a-bitch."

When Cassandra pursed her lips at him, he continued, "It was obvious to everyone but the two of them. Kind of tough on her, considering the way he felt about magic...but we can't always choose who we fall for. And she had some pretty strict opinions about blood magic herself."

"Bull shit."

Varric shrugged. "May Andraste strike me dead if I'm lying about this. She took him everywhere. Every mission, every request, the first person she'd look for was Fenris. She trusted him and he kept her safe. I can remember the one and only time she left him behind. It was a mission requested by the Circle mages..."

The Hanged Man was buzzing that night. All the tables were full with customers, and as usual, Hawke and Varric were at their table near the back corner. Hawke had invited Aveline, Varric, Isabela (by default, really, since she was already hanging out at the bar and all she had to do was move about six feet to the left and sit down), Merrill and Anders to a night of cards and drinking before she left on an expedition the next day. The mission would keep her away for a week or more, and she didn't want her friends to miss her.

But someone was missing. In fact, the rather obvious lack of a certain white haired, lyrium-tattooed elf at Hawke's elbow coupled with the wistful glance Hawke cast at the door whenever she thought no one was looking was more than enough to peak Varric's interest. Something had happened between them. Had to be. The mage never went anywhere without her glowing bodyguard.

Surrounded by the laughter and shouting that filled the tavern, Varric leaned close to Hawke's shoulder and said, "You're making those kicked puppy eyes again."

Hawke, who had indeed been gazing at the exit, whirled around fast enough that she almost slammed her face into Varric's. He drew back just in time to avoid a collision. Aveline was the only other person watching, one elbow on the table and her chin propped on her palm, the other hand holding her cards. Hawke frowned and said, "I'm not making puppy eyes. I was just...trying to remember if I forgot to pack something."

Varric grinned. "Sure you were. And I bet you were so preoccupied with remembering to pack underwear that you didn't notice I could see your cards."

Hawke glanced at her hand. She was holding five playing cards fanned out and far away from her chest. All Varris would have to do was lean toward her and he'd see all of them. She pushed his face away, palm flat on his cheek as she said, "Varric, you cheating bastard!"

"Hey, you're making it easy!" Varric laughed as she shoved him away from her cards. Edwina, one of the waitresses, hurried over with another round of ale, carrying two big mugs in each hand by their handles. Hawke reached out and snatched one of the mugs before anyone had a chance to react. She drank for six whole seconds without breaking for breath, then slammed the mug back on the table as she exhaled loudly, wiping her mouth with her forearm.

Isabela grabbed another of the mugs and said to Edwina, "Keep 'em coming! I never get to see Hawke drink like this!"

"Are you sure it's wise?" Anders asked as Hawke brought her mug back to her lips for another gulp. "I mean, with your mission tomorrow. I thought you were leaving at sun up?"

Hawke closed her eyes and finished another six second drinking bout before setting the mug back on the table. She answered with a tone of amusement, whether at the question or at herself, "No, I'm not sure it's wise. But, you know, I'll just add it to the list of Unwise Things Hawke's Done Lately." She paused, thought about it, then laughed. "It's a long list."

Aveline said, "I'm worried about you, Hawke. Taking this mission on alone isn't wise..."

"Must I again remind you of The List?" Hawke said, gesturing with her mug in Aveline's direction. Golden ale sloshed from the rim, splattering across the guard-captain's tunic. Aveline wrestled the mug from Hawke's hand and set it back on the table, just out of Hawke's reach. "Hey, that's mine."

"You want to smell like Isabela, fine. But I don't," Aveline muttered as she dabbed at the drops of ale on her tunic with a napkin. "This was a new shirt."

"Does anyone know where Fenris is?" Merrill asked, leaning back in her chair to search the tavern with big eyes. "He's late."

"Late is such a relative term," Hawke said, still trying to sneak past Aveline's guard and rescue her confiscated ale. Luckily, Isabela used the opportunity to attack from behind, hauling the mug to safety. She hurried around the table and placed the mug back in Hawke's grasping hands, smiling at Aveline, who frowned her disapproval. "For one, it implies he's coming at all."

"You didn't invite him?" Merrill asked, surprised when Hawke merely shook her head. "Does he even know you're leaving tomorrow?"

"Why would I have to tell him that?" Hawke snapped, sarcasm heavy in her voice. "It's none of his business anyway. What am I to him? Just another weak-willed mage waiting for the slightest provocation to start throwing about blood magic. A constant reminder of those damned magisters he hates so much."

"Well, screw him, I always said," Isabela proclaimed, draping her arms around the front of Hawke's shoulders and resting her breasts against the back of Hawke's neck. Hawke snickered into her mug as Isabela continued, "Maybe it'll wipe the scowl off his face."

"Nope." Hawke finished off the last of her ale in one breath. She dropped the empty mug back on the table and raised her whole arm. "Another!"

Isabela repeated Hawke's battle cry.

The door swung open, almost sending a nearby patron crashing into the wall. Fenris strode inside. He cut a straight path from the door to their table across the tavern and the other customers scurried out of his way. Funny. When she entered a room, she always made way for others, worked her way around obstacles. Apparently, obstacles had to work their way around Fenris.

"I'm not drunk enough for this." Hawke rolled her eyes and brought her mug to her lips again hopefully, but it was still empty.

Fenris stopped at the table, close enough to her that if she reached out her hand she would touch his lyrium-scarred arm. She remembered what it felt like to have those arms around her. The slight tingle like static electricity of his skin on hers. She wondered if someone who wasn't a mage would be as attuned to the lyrium in his flesh, as attentive to his touch. She also wondered if he would like it better if they weren't.

Her tongue, so witty and useful in these situations, sat heavy as lead and just as useless, in her mouth. He was looking at her with those pale green eyes, the arch of his dark brows telling her he'd asked a question. She hadn't heard. He was waiting for an answer. She swallowed, again wishing she had more ale. "Sorry. Wasn't listening." She stood suddenly, making Isabela jump back. "I need another drink."

She could feel her friends' eyes follow her to the bar. Her face was red and she could feel the hot blood burning just under her skin. She leaned against the counter and waved to the bartender. Then jumped when she saw Fenris at her side. He'd followed her. "What?"

"I heard you're leaving on a mission tomorrow."

"Oh. That." Hawke forced a smile, wondering if she was as flushed as she felt. Maybe drinking more was a bad idea. "Yes, I was hired as an escort for an expedition to the summit of Sundermount."

"When do you leave?"

"In the morning."

He inclined his head, the almost glowing strands of his white hair falling in front of his eyes. "Then I must get ready."

He turned to leave. "Wait—" She reached for his arm on reflex, but stopped inches from his skin. He froze as if she'd grabbed him and stared down at her hand. They'd done this before. She remembered the flash of light, her back hitting the wall. A kiss. Sex.

Then he was gone. She doubted her heart could take it again.

She drew her hand back and let it fall to her side, another obstacle making way for him.

"Explain why you asked everyone else to accompany you on this mission except me."

She sighed and pressed her hand flat against the bar counter. Probably a bad idea. Who knew when it had last been cleaned. Where was that bartender? "I was being considerate."

He made a strangled noise that was probably his attempt at a laugh. "I don't need special treatment. Do not walk on eggshells with me."

Hawke shut her eyes tight and pressed her fingers to her left temple. She was getting a headache. The bastard was ruining her buzz. "Look. Fenris. You want to know why I didn't invite you? Okay. A few days ago, I was contacted by the Circle of Magi. They want to send a team of ten mages up to the top of Sundermount to excavate ruins that may be the site of an ancient battle between Teviniter magisters and Dalish mages. There will, no doubt, be residual magical energy and possibly demonic entities left over from the slaughter. If we're lucky, the Veil might even be torn open.

His eyes never left her face as she continued, "I am well aware of what you think of mages, magisters, demons and the Fade. This is not the mission for you. I don't want to hear you complain about magic is evil this, every mage succumbs to the temptation of blood magic that, for the whole trip. No one else could accompany me because they're all busy with their own lives. That's fine. I can handle myself. I'll be back before you know it."

"Yes. I do have a problem with mages."

"No. You? Surely not."

He stared at her with his hard, green eyes long enough for her to regret her reflexive sarcasm. He said, "But do you think any of that is more important than keeping you safe? You say you can handle yourself. How well can you handle yourself against ten warriors? You'll be run through before you can finish casting a spell. These are the threats Aveline and I normally distract long enough for you to wipe out with your precious magic."

Hawke raised her chin and stared down her nose at him, defiance pounding in blood, ringing in her ears. "Do you think I'm helpless without you?"

"I think you will have a much harder time without me, yes."

"I don't need you, Fenris. I don't need you or Aveline or Varric or anyone else taking hits so I can focus on casting my 'precious magic.' I accepted this job knowing full well what the risks were, knowing full well that I could handle them on my own if I had to—"

"And I am telling you that you do not have to, you daft mage!"

She froze. It was amazing how easily he could make her existence sound like an insult. Her hand itched to grab the bottle from the counter, smash it and use the pointy end to give him another marking on his pretty face.

Without warning, Isabela reached between them to grab the empty wine bottle and shove it out of the way. "Now, now, you two! Where I come from, there's a simple way to settle a disagreement like this."

"Sex is not a way to resolve disputes, Isabela," Fenris said. Hawke's jaw dropped open and all her thoughts scurried away into the dark corners of her mind.

Isabela laughed so hard she had to clutch at her stomach with one arm and the counter with the other to keep from toppling over. Hawke clenched her jaw tight, trying to will her expression into indifference without success. She glared at a spot on the wall, refusing to meet Fenris' gaze. She could feel his eyes on her, burning as hot as the blood in her cheeks. Fine, she thought. Let him look. Let him see the pain he's making me feel with all his little jabs.

But when she finally looked over at him, his usual mask of forced control was wrong. There were thin cracks in his mask: the downward slant of his eyebrows, the way his lips parted a fraction of an inch as if he were trying to speak words in a whisper she could not hear. Hints of vulnerability, of sadness, were visible through those cracks.

"A duel!" Isabela announced, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. "For once, I wasn't talking about sex. What you two need is a duel."

"What?" Fenris said as Hawke added, "Are you insane?"

Varric was now up from his seat, throwing fuel to the fire. "Two gold sovereigns on Hawke! Give the bastard something to brood about!"

"No, Varric—"

"I'll take that bet!" Isabela said, then leaned toward Fenris, who leaned away, "Don't let me down, elf, and don't hesitate to do that magical fisting thing—"

"Isabela!" Hawke exclaimed.

"Nothing personal, Hawke, but two sovereigns is a lot of bleedin' money. And besides, you're both two of the stubbornest shits I've ever known. Let Isabela help save you some time. If you win, he'll have to admit you can handle yourself against a warrior. And if you lose, well then, it's probably for the best that you take him along."

"But I can only fight using my magic and—"

Anders spoke up from the table, "What's the matter, Fenris? Don't tell me you're afraid to face a mage one-on-one."

Fenris' shoulders tensed, his upper lip drawing back in disgust. His mask was back, its surface as beautiful as ever, without any cracks of vulnerability or humanity. Hawke opened her mouth to tell Anders to shut his, only to be interrupted before she could speak. Fenris' voice was decisive and without compassion. "Very well. I accept."

Hawke raised her hands and shrugged. "I don't. Magic is not a toy to be played with like this."

"See how easy it is for others to resort to the sword when mages must exercise control?" Anders snapped in Fenris' direction.

"Then I am victor by default and I will accompany you to Sundermount," he said. "Because you are too weak on your own. The only mages able to protect themselves without a warrior are blood mages and only then because they are able to control others' thoughts. Will this be your reason for succumbing to blood magic? The mages we have met claim there was no choice, they needed to power to survive, out of desperation. But you? It seems your foolish pride is enough cause. Perhaps you are not so different from the Tevinter magisters—"

She clenched her hands into fists that twitched with anger. The blood rushing through her veins called to her when she was like this, promising power if only—if only she would. . . The lyrium marks swirling across his skin gave him power. Blood mages said that blood gave them the same power lyrium did. Why not just level the playing field?

She closed her eyes. Inhaled. Counted to five. Exhaled. Then she opened her eyes and looked up at the wooden rafters in the ceiling, the walls. There were people everywhere in the cramped tavern. She imagined electricity jumping from one body to the next, filling the room with the smell of burnt flesh, then death. She shook her head."I can't fight in here. I'll destroy the place. Let's go outside."

"You don't have to do this, Hawke," Aveline said. She and Hawke were on one end of an alleyway in Low Town, a few blocks away from the Hanged Man, that Isabela had designated as their makeshift arena.

Hawke smiled as she checked the straps on her thin, leather bracers. Last thing she needed was one of the gloves to come loose while she was trying to cast. The brown material was scorched and worn from all the electricity spells she'd cast. She'd have to buy some new ones when she got the chance. "Aveline, do you really think Fenris would hurt me?"

"Do you really think he wouldn't?"

Hawke glanced toward the other end of the alley. Fenris paced like a caged wolf between the two buildings that served as the alley's walls. He caught her staring at him. She could have have sworn she saw his hackles rise. She laughed once, a nervous sound, and let her gaze slide back to Aveline. "Good point. But don't worry anyway."

"I swear to the Maker, Hawke, if he doesn't back off as soon as Isabela gives the signal to end the duel, I will use my shield to crush him like a tick."

"Ew." Hawke patted Aveline's shoulder. "I love you too, Aveline."

Isabela stepped into the center of the alleyway between her and Fenris. She wore a wicked grin on her face. "Any good duel must have rules, and because we don't want Hawke to have to postpone her mission tomorrow due to any. . .unforeseen injuries, if I see any of these rules broken, I'll call an end to the duel. Don't aim for the face or any vital organs. The first duelist to incapacitate his or her opponent and strike the "final blow" wins. Try not to kill each other."

She reached her fingers between her breasts and tugged a white handkerchief out from the depths of her cleavage. Hawke laughed and Isabela winked at her, holding the handkerchief out at arm's length. "Wait until the handkerchief hits the ground before beginning the duel. Both of you, stand on the spots I marked."

Hawke walked a few steps closer to Isabela and stood on a black mark Isabela had scratched into the rock with a piece of charcoal. Fenris waited on the other side of Isabela on a similar mark, only five or six feet away from her. He'd be on her in a split second if she wasn't careful. His eyes flashed green fire in the dark alley. She'd need more distance.

"Alright, my lovelies. Are you both ready?"

"Guess so," Hawke said. Fenris nodded.

The handkerchief slipped from Isabela's fingers. The night breeze caught the slip of thin white silk, it flipped and spun in the air as it fluttered toward the ground. Hawke saw the change in Fenris' face, in the way he looked at her. She wasn't a friend. She wasn't Hawke, the one he looked to for temperance, for guidance or even the quick, stolen embrace in the dark when he let himself forget that she was a mage.

His were the eyes of an enemy. His lyrium markings glowed white as his hair.

The silk hit the floor. It made no noise, but it didn't have to. Hawke felt it connect like a physical blow to her stomach.

Oh, no, wait, that was the sword's pommel.

She staggered back, but managed to get her staff in her hands somehow. Fenris was already a ghost of white, wispy light, a blur of movement. She felt the magic in her well up in response to her fear and anger. She threw her arm straight, her own power whipping out to connect with him, to surround him.

His blade froze two feet from her knees in an upward slash. He was paralyzed. Petrified. A statue of a warrior locked in combat. She backed away from him, her next spell automatically shimmering in her hands. Stonefist always came after petrify, shattering the enemy. If she cast stonefist, the fight would be over. But would it hurt him? It usually killed the enemy.

She couldn't do it, couldn't temper her magic down to the point where she wouldn't hurt him. And in another breath, he would be free.

He threw his head back and shouted, his muscles lined with light, the last traces of her petrify spell shattering away from his body.

He charged at her, so fast on his feet she had no time to dodge or run. His feet left the ground, sword arcing over his head.

The lightning that shot from her hands branched through the air, striking the blade of his sword and streaming down to his hands on the hilt. He flew back in mid-air, knocked away from the huge sword as the lightning exploded through his body. He hit the ground at the other end of the alley, rolling from the force of the attack.

She could hear someone yelling his name. She was running toward him before before his body had even stopped rolling, a healing spell glowing green at her fingertips. She dropped to her knees at his side, pressing her hands to his chest, the healing spell working through his flesh.

Something cold and painful shot through her stomach.

She could see his wrist sticking out of her abdomen. His whole arm, glowing with energy, the lyrium marks burning cold fire through her gut. She couldn't see his hand.

"Oh," she gasped, jerking away from him only to somehow end up flat on her back with him standing over her, still glowing with lyrium. His face was all she could see, the look of shock wiping the last vestiges of the enemy glare from his eyes. Green eyes widened with fear. Intense pain flared in her stomach and she coughed, curled into herself, arms wrapped around her stomach.

There was shouting then, a rush of movement, and she someone pressed her shoulders to the ground, straightening her body. Anders loomed over her, tugging her tunic out of her belt, exposing her stomach to the cold night air. The intense pain in her stomach gone, replaced by a twisting ache. She swatted at his hands, trying to get him away, but someone else held her arms down. She glanced up to see Varric restraining her. "Shouldn't you at least buy me a pint first?"

He didn't even crack a smile. The ache in her stomach was fading fast, more a cramped muscle now than anything.

"Hawke, you'll be fine. I have to assess the wound." Anders touched her stomach. There was no mark. No cut, no blood or even a red mark suggesting a bruise. Still, his hands lit up with orbs of blue light that he pressed to her abdomen. The last of the pain was gone.

"I feel fine," Hawke said. "How's Fenris?"

Anders' face twisted into a scowl, eyes gleamed at the edges with blue. He closed his eyes, pressed his fingers to his temple. Varric cleared his throat and said, "Not to worry. Aveline has him under control."

"Shit. Aveline." Hawke struggled against their hold. "I'm fine, I'm fine, let me up. Aveline, don't hurt him, okay? I'm okay. We're all okay and everything's great!"

"This duel was a reckless idea, Hawke. No more listening to Isabela's suggestions. How would I explain being a witness to your murder and not stopping it to my fellow guardsmen?" Aveline said from a spot in the alleyway that Hawke couldn't see because she was still on the ground.

"She seems fine, considering. Lucky the bastard didn't rip out her intestines," Anders muttered. Varric let go of Hawke's arms and she eased up into a sitting position. She tugged her tunic back down over her leggings.

"If you wanted to see me naked, you should have just asked," she snapped at Anders, who frowned at her.

"Is that all you can say? No 'thank you, Anders' or 'I'm sorry I almost got myself killed by a vicious homicidal elf'? How disappointing," Anders said.

"It was a duel. He wasn't going to kill me." Hawke got to her feet, though her legs were a little wobbly.

"It looked to me like you were both going to kill each other," Isabela said. "Don't act stupid. I saw that little combo you always use. Make him a statue, then crush him to rubble with that stone spell. I almost called the duel right then."

Fenris stood motionless in place within arm's reach of Aveline, who hadn't looked away from him for a moment. Hawke threw her arms in the air and said, "That's why I didn't want to duel! I'm not made for duels. I had to find spells that wouldn't take his head off just by looking at him funny. All my spells are either outright slaughter or healing."

"That last spell you cast," Fenris finally spoke, his voice cold gravel. "What was it?"

"Chain lightning?"

"No," he growled, stepping toward her, but halting when Aveline stuck her arm in his way and shook her head. He said, "No. The one you cast when I was on the ground."

Hawke studied the palms of her hands, where the leather straps of her bracers smoldered from her magic. "A healing spell."

Rage flashed across his face before he could hide it. Then his face went hard, unreadable. "Are you so intent on leaving me behind?"

Had she heard right? His voice was so soft, she wondered if he'd spoken at all. Maybe she hit her head during the duel. Before she could reply, Fenris shoved Aveline's arm aside and was gone from the alley, leaving only the afterimage of glowing lyrium in his wake.

The next morning, Fenris was not outside her family's estate in High Town as he had threatened he would be the night before. She couldn't really blame him, and she needed time away from Kirkwall to clear her mind. She set off alone to the Circle, her pack and staff slung over her shoulders.