Author's Note: There's a thing going around with alphabet fics for a favorite character, which gave me a brainworm. I can't commit to the full alphabet, but it gave me a kick in the pants to write some more Fenris, so I suppose it worked out.
It wasn't that Fenris had never been healed by magic before-he had, many times. He was no use to Danarius incapacitated and far too valuable to let die, and when injury threatened to overwhelm him, he'd find himself engulfed in a foul, greasy magic that forced his body to recover in as unnatural a method as possible. He'd never told Danarius his dislike of it, had never dared, too cowed, too ignorant to know that it could be anything else.
It was an arrow in his thigh that first showed him that Danarius's truth was not the truth shared by all mages. He'd been too busy listening to Hawke bitch about the trap he'd missed to realize that Anders was approaching him, was at his side, was reaching for the arrow. Sharp pain made Fenris hiss, but before he'd even had time to process it, a rushing cool followed in its wake, as sharp and fresh as the flow of mountain spring water. He'd torn his eyes from Hawke to glare at the mage, who looked mildly back at him, as though the lyrium tattooed into Fenris's skin wasn't burning bright with the residual magic still tingling in his wound.
"Thank you," Anders said, apparently completely unaffected by Fenris's angry stare. Then, because he must have recognized the question in Fenris's drawn brows, added, "That's usually what people say, you know. You won't, though, so I'll say it for you. And, you're welcome."
Fenris snarled, just enough to bare a hint of teeth. "Get away from me, mage. I don't need your filthy magic."
"Of course you don't." Anders rose, brushing his hands off on his equally-dirty coat. "It was completely for my own benefit; the sooner you're better, the sooner we can get out of this wretched cavern." He turned to join Hawke, just barely glancing at Fenris over his shoulder. "Do keep up, elf."
The hint of teeth made another appearance as Fenris rose. He tested his injured leg gingerly, surprised to find that it not only no longer hurt, but that it felt... good. Better than good. The faint tickle of magic under his skin was still there, soft as a light breeze, nothing like the burning Danarius had inevitably left behind, as though the magic itself was an infection. He couldn't help glancing at Anders, scowling at the mage's back, an expression the blond remained apparently blissfully unaware of as he joked with Hawke, though Hawke noticed and grinned at Fenris in recognition.
"Now that we're all taken care of, let's head out," Hawke called, tucking the last of his daggers back into place. He clapped Anders on the shoulder, grinned again at Fenris, and turned back to the path they'd been charting, stretching his long legs into a ground-eating pace.
Anders's mouth was opening when Fenris loped past him. Not wanting to hear whatever he had to say, Fenris quickly growled, "I won't slow you down, mage, but I'm not going to thank you." He moved on after Hawke before Anders could reply, and told himself that he was only imagining the soft laughter that followed him.