Dragon Age 2 is copyrighted intellectual property of BioWare and EA International (Studio and Publishing) Ltd. and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Dragon Age, or its derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.
Certain aspects of this story – primarily Hawke's gender and class, and the Act 3 outcomes – have been left deliberately vague.
Written for wook77. A thank you to gingergen for Fenris facts and to elanorofcastile for wook advice.
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The Blade
by silverr
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At first it seemed that Fenris would take the gift – he'd recognized it at once, mentioned that it was considered a sign of esteem, even shown Hawke its hidden golden glow – but as always the topic circled back to Danarius. "He collected these," Fenris said, handing back the sword. "I want nothing to do with it."
As always, Hawke felt as though interacting with Fenris was the equivalent of running blindfolded across a field of explosives.
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The quiet hours before dawn, when the rest of the household was still asleep, had always been Hawke's favorite time to go through the letters, petitions, and reports that constantly descended on the mansion. And now, with the storm almost upon them, Hawke felt more than ever the need to set everything in order, ensure that everyone was properly provided for.
Half-way through the stack, when the fire was mostly embers and the sky was beginning to grow lighter, Hawke was startled by Fenris' low voice.
"About that sword," he said. "I ... appreciate that you thought of me."
With some people – Varric, Isabela, Merril, Aveline – Hawke could take what they said and be certain it reflected most of what they were thinking at the time. But with Fenris… with Fenris very often it seemed as though there was a black chasm behind every word. "Is being offered a gift that surprising?" Hawke asked carefully.
Fenris turned away, apparently taking Hawke's words as reprimand.
"Wait," Hawke said. "You don't need to go. Whatever you need, it's yours. Unless it's ingredients for festival cakes, as Sandal used all the flour to — "
Hawke didn't get to finish the story.
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For once there was no uncertainty about what Fenris had on his mind, and Hawke welcomed it – until, in the midst of the frenzy that preceded climax, Fenris hissed, "Do you hate me so much?"
Hawke, incapable of speech, had bitten Fenris in frustration, bitten him on the lyrium-free curve between shoulder and neck, almost hard enough to draw blood. Afterward, once breath and speech had returned, Hawke nuzzled the already-darkening bruise. "So, this is hate? It's not what I expected."
"You have to force yourself to touch me." The self-loathing was painful to hear.
"Hardly," Hawke said. "I just wanted to make sure it was bare skin."
"Meaning?"
"I was trying not to touch your markings," Hawke said, "since you told me doing so hurts you."
Fenris pulled away. "I suppose I did." He sat up. "I thought we could …." He shook his head. "Knowing you're making such an effort to avoid them is even worse." He bowed his head. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come here."
It was rare that Fenris sounded lost rather than angry, so Hawke was determined to tread lightly. "No, I'm the one who made the mistake. Give me a chance to correct it." Hawke reached out and brushed the lyrium on Fenris' throat, thinking that what he wanted was a demonstration of acceptance. "They are part of who you are."
Fenris scrambled away. "You are just like all the others!" he accused. "Admiring the symbols of my enslavement!"
"I didn't think — "
"No," Fenris said, "You didn't think! Even this!" He snatched up the Blade of Mercy and pointed it at Hawke. "Do you know what I think of when I see this sword? How it feels, to be given a replica of the weapon that killed Andraste? Andraste, who was born a slave and freed my people? Waving this in my face — it feels like a mockery. As though you're reminding me of my proper place."
"Fenris," Hawke said gently, "the Blade of Mercy is what ended her suffering."
"Is that what you are trying to do?" Fenris asked. "End my suffering?"
"I didn't realize," Hawke shot back, "how determined you are to hold onto it!"
Fenris lowered the sword. "These ... markings on my body — they're the sign of my owner's wealth and status. Like decorative inlay on a sword-blade," he said quietly. "I am a weapon, Hawke. Command me to kill someone: that is my only use."
"Odd choice of words." At Fenris' surprised look Hawke continued, "Danarius is dead, Fenris. You're a free man, and it's time to stop thinking and acting like a slave."
Fenris looked away.
"I know that's been your identity for a very long time, but you have to find a new one," Hawke said. "I need you by my side in the coming weeks, but as a partner and friend. As an equal." To underscore the words Hawke reached up and took hold of the end of the blade with both hands. "And until you can be that, I'm going to keep reminding you that there is more than one way to hold a weapon."
"You're going to get hurt," Fenris said, scowling.
"Only if you pull away."
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Hawke started at Fenris' feet, tracing the swirls on the soles, the stirrups of silver across the instep, the sinuous twining around each ankle that climbed up shin and calf, knotting at the knee to spill to the outer thigh. As the kisses meandered across to his inner thighs a slightly breathless Fenris said, "There isn't any lyrium there."
Hawke smiled, continuing to tease.
And then a chilling thought came. It was true that there was no lyrium on Fenris' inner thighs, none at his groin, or his hips. Except for several silver dots along his spine, his back was clear from shoulders to knees. If Fenris' markings — the narrow mantle along his shoulders, the lattice webbing his arms and lower legs — had in fact been placed to transform him a deadly weapon in combat, what was the point of the lyrium on his chin and throat?
As if reading Hawke's mind Fenris said, "It's the same reason the lyrium for the palms of my hands was sewn into my gauntlets instead of being burned into my skin."
With a nauseated lurch Hawke pieced it together. Fenris had been transformed not only into a weapon, but into a living toy for Danarius' pleasure. Hawke understood all too clearly those odd placements and omissions were to ensure that the lyrium was close enough to the magister's body to add a frisson of danger and magic but not so close that it was a danger … Hawke's fingertips dug into Fenris' hips with the shock of it.
"So you've figured it out, I see," Fenris said bitterly. "Congratulations. Now every time you look at me — "
" — I will see what I have always seen," Hawke said firmly. "A fierce warrior. A loyal friend." Hawke slid up, stopping along the way to kiss the arabesques of lyrium on Fenris's belly and chest. "And my partner. I just hope I won't be too distracted," Hawke said, licking the stripes of lyrium on Fenris' chin, "by wondering if and when you will choose to visit me this way again."
"Yes, such distraction could indeed be dangerous," Fenris murmured just before Hawke kissed him.
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The Blade of Mercy was one of the few possessions Hawke took from Kirkwall, an action that raised a few eyebrows once all their lives had settled enough for such a small detail to be noticed.
When his friends asked, "So Fenris turned it down?" Hawke would shrug and reply, "Well, you know how he was," and then they'd roll their eyes and nod in sympathy and not mention it again.
Some months later Bodahn brought Hawke a small paper-wrapped parcel, tied with string and labeled with the single word Hawke.
"Who brought this?" Hawke asked.
"I don't know," Bodahn said. "Found it outside the door this morning, I did."
Inside, wrapped in a ragged scrap of worn red cloth, was a woodcut titled A Blade Inlaid with Gold and Silver Pierces Blessed Andraste's Heart.
That night, as the risen moon spilled its silvery light through the window and across the Blade, Hawke imagined it singing.
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The End ~
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Author's notes in my Dreamwidth and LiveJournal.
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first post 14 June 2012; rev 28 June 2015