This is my very first Fanfic. I am very intrigued by Fenris and the way he handles his emotions. My hope is to build this through Act III, Forgiveness.
All characters are owned by Bioware and just borrowed for my attempt at interpretation.
Fenris Dreams
The lithe elf lay jumbled in a tangle with an old blanket next to a low fire. The blanket was fraying at the seams and seemed to be out of place when compared to the rich, silken coverings on the bed. His sword lay just to his right, in easy reach in case of the need of defending himself. He has quickly found that sleeping with his gauntlets on would often cause him to wake up with, sometimes, incredibly bad injuries, so they lay next to his sword. However, the rest of his armor remained strapped on his body. Uncomfortable perhaps, he has convinced himself, but necessary. He had fought too hard to get to this point to have his old master catch him unaware, and unprepared.
The tattooed markings that run up and down his skin pulsed slightly blue and quickly faded. His low moan that accompanied it was almost inaudible. His white hair framed his face gracefully even in his fitful sleep. Even his tattoos, while some would say made him simply stand out and makes it harder for him to hide, gave him a distinguished, almost regal appearance. The lyrium was applied under his skin in the most painful ritual. In fact it was so painful that he lost all memories of his life before, and now can only recall the many tormented years he served Danarius. Through countless acts of punishment, and degradation Danarius, a Tevinter magister, had created the perfect weapon, the perfect bodyguard, and now that bodyguard waited for Danarius to return to attempt to claim him, again.
He rolled over again and sat up with a start. Clenching his eyes shut, he shakes his head and tries to shake off the dream. However the memory of her is too fresh in his mind, and the confusion over all the emotions she brings out in him causes him to keep her close in his mind. He is determined to understand, to understand how the brief touch as she helped him to his feet has sent his pulse racing, his breathing labored, and the hollow feeling in his stomach. It is beyond his understanding.
It was his own fault it has happened, and he knew it. His need to know she was ok, while increasingly difficult to ignore, in every battle had caused it. He looked back, checking to make sure she was ok, a split second, but that was all it took. The bandit hit him hard with the pommel of his sword and Fenris flew backwards. Ironically it was her, Hawke, along with Varric that dealt with that bandit, while Fenris tried to shake the grogginess off. He heard her scream, "FENRIS". and followed it with a massive blast of magic that sent that bandit flying back through the air. Varric aimed Bianca, and Bianca put a bolt right between his eyes before he even knew what happened. And then she was there, offering her hand to help him come to his feet while Varric checked the bodies for valuables.
Her touch, simply her hand on his, as she pulled him to his feet, sent his senses reeling. The heat from her hand steamed its way up his arm, and warmed his inner core. His eyes met hers and all at once, everything in the world seemed right. It wasn't though, he knew it wasn't. Danarius was still out there, hunting for him. The quanari here in Kirkwall were restless. Also, lets face it, their companions, well, they each have their own problems too. Knowing that didn't change the way he reacted to her. He excused himself as soon as he felt he could talk, not trusting his voice for some time, knowing it would crack and they would all want to question him about it. He ran, nearly blindly back to his falling down, rundown mansion in Hightown and cracked open a bottle of Aggregio Pavali. Usually he would only drink a few sips before the bottle managed to find its way to the wall, splattering wine and glass, but tonight was different. He wanted to see if he could find that warmth again, explore it and understand it, but Fenris didn't understand that he wouldn't find that anywhere but with her.
Knowing he didn't find what he was looking for in that bottle, in fact all it gave him was a thick, pulsing headache, he ripped the blanket off and laid back down. He knew he wanted to explore what he felt, the desire to feel it again was almost unbearable. Deep down though he felt wrong. Wanting anything as a slave is not looked upon kindly. While he was no longer a slave, his emotions were often dealt with as if he was still serving. So he turned them off, turned off emotions, wanting, desire, for her, for understanding, for anything other then Danarius's heart, still beating and ripped from his chest. He turned off happiness and desire and convinced himself that until Danarius was dead, he wouldn't really be free to explore it anyway.
However, once the little elf finally drifted back into a light sleep, his markings once again started to glow and pulse. He wouldn't know it, but as he dreamed of her, and her touch his body would respond and the lyrium in his veins would sing in desire.
