Hi everyone! I know, this should be the next chapter of TGoY, but the idea bugged me for days, and I've banned myself from writing new, long chapters until I've got at least some of my university deadlines completed (don't know if I'll stick to that, though...). My last deadline is in early May, but chances are I'll have continued/finished the next TGoY chapter before then. As a compromise, I wrote this, which is a bit shorter than a TGoY chapter. Slightly. Sort of.
Originally, Fenris was here for a reading lesson, but I thought that a) it was boring, and b) I've done it before, in 'The Chase'. Then this idea for why he would turn up occurred to me, and it worked far better. And it was shorter. I think.
EDIT: Anyway, thanks to everyone for reading, in particular Stilographium, who has been kind enough to help me with my translations, so these should now be closer to what I meant. Thanks again Stilographium! The translations are still at the bottom of the fic .
Thanks again, I hope you enjoy, and Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything.
It was intolerable.
Every moment, every thought he had, all flowed back to her as though down a fast-flowing river, and she was the ocean.
He couldn't stand it anymore. Whether it was the wine, or he had finally been driven to action by this insanity, he had to speak with her. Either she would put him out of his misery, or...
Surely, she wouldn't feel the same? She'd implied she...was attracted to him, and he knew she cared – for all her companions, not just him – but how far did that attraction and caring go?
He'd found in the past week that, alongside her pursuing his thoughts like a particularly stubborn mabari, his feelings for her ran far deeper than he'd originally thought.
His strange laugh echoed oddly in his almost empty mansion. Just what Danarius would think of his pet, falling in love with a human noblewoman – a mage supporter, no less...
It was a good thing he was free, or as close to it as he could get with that snake alive, because the ridicule would be unbearable.
Stop delaying. Danarius was not about to stroll out of the woodwork and start delivering his snide comments – if he did, Fenris would get his biggest wish and tear the magister's heart out anyway – and evening was approaching. If he wanted to speak with her today, he would have to go now.
Move, Fenris. Now.
She was doing well, Hawke reflected as the newly freed slave bustled past her, carrying five dinner plates with the cutlery lying on top. Orana had been here only a week, and though she was still marvelling at being a fully paid servant as opposed to a slave, she seemed to be adapting quickly. Of course, she still had a habit of bowing or curtseying at everything Hawke said, despite the human woman's repeated requests for her not to, had nearly fainted when told she would eat at the dinner table with the rest of the household, not in the kitchen when she had the time, and flinched at loud noises, but other than that, things were going well.
The elf had even started to become accustomed to Dumat's loud barks and exuberant greetings, and now stepped smoothly around the huge hound as he whine-growled and squirmed out from his owner's grip, backing away into a canine bow before launching himself at Hawke.
The woman dodged, rolling to the side with a breath of a laugh. Sparring against her mabari was certainly a different experience, although this was more playful rough-housing than anything. All Hawke had to do was make sure the fire wasn't lit (or had a grate pulled across), anything at mabari-level that was even remotely breakable was put safely out of reach, and to give the servants prior warning that there would be a lot of barking and swearing for the next hour or two.
There was one oversight Hawke had made, however.
The carpet.
She'd skidded across it earlier, with over two hundred and fifty pounds of snarling mabari on her chest, and the crimson rug had furrowed up after Hawke had wormed away from the dog.
Of course, Orana didn't notice it as she dodged Dumat and caught her foot on the folds.
Both human and dog lunged, their play forgotten; Dumat dived under the elf to catch her as his human snagged the elf around the middle. The plates and silverware cascaded from her arms with a deafening, rushing clatter, the fine porcelain shattering spectacularly on the tiles.
There was a single beat of quiet in the aftermath, in which all Hawke could hear was Bodahn exclaiming from the upstairs library, his feet rushing on the stairs.
Hawke and Dumat slowly set Orana on her feet, Hawke carefully guiding the two around the mess to avoid cutting bare feet or paws on the splintered pottery before releasing Orana's arms.
The elf promptly crumpled to the ground in the corner, whimpering and sobbing, her eyes huge.
"I'm sorry, mistress, I'm so, so sorry."
"Calm yourself, Orana. It was an accident," Hawke said, smiling and quite prepared to brush the problem away.
Orana didn't stop.
"-I didn't mean to, I promise, I'll tidy it up and I won't eat dinner tonight, I swear-"
"Orana, Orana, it's fine. They're only plates-" Hawke tried again. She could have continued, but Orana was babbling over the bewildered woman, trembling and rocking slightly, apparently ignorant of the blood slowly trekking down her arm from a flying knife or plate shard.
"No, no, no, I'm sorry, mistress, please, don't give me the belt, I'll do better, I swear, please don't hurt me..."
The distressed whimpers went on; soon lapsing into Arcanum – the elf didn't even seem to hear Hawke's attempts to soothe her, nor even truly see her – she was staring at a spot to Hawke's right, eyes glassy.
Overall, it wasn't the best scene to have Fenris walk in on ten minutes later; Bodahn sweeping the floor, Sandal returning from opening the door to sit with Dumat on the opposite side of the room. The dwarf was under orders to keep the dog's paws safe, even as the hound whined, his ears drooping back against his skull in concern, while Hawke knelt in front of a frantic Orana, still trying to get through to her.
Hawke looked up when she heard the door open, an expression of both relief and helplessness somehow mingling on her face.
"Fenris," she sighed quietly, waving briefly to the area behind her. "Watch your feet – we had a small accident with a few plates." Her usually wry tone was absent, replaced by confused weariness as she turned back to Orana, a hand dragging through her hair for what looked like the umpteenth time.
Fenris looked around the room, carefully taking in each detail, his intention to speak with Hawke about this...persistent insanity wearing her face that pursued him slowly fading. Orana had fallen quiet several minutes ago, but she was still staring at nothing, and when Hawke mentioned 'plates', she began her quiet mumblings again, half-dried tear tracks on her face renewing themselves, her green eye make-up blurred down her face.
"What happened? Did – is she hurt?" He asked finally, slowly approaching the two women, pausing only to leave his sword against the nearest wall so he could comfortably crouch next to them.
Hawke sighed again.
"Only her arm, as far as I can tell, but when I tried to touch her to see to it, she started shaking even harder and just shrieked. I've been here for ten, maybe fifteen minutes now. She won't stop apologising, and seems to think I'm going to 'give her the belt' or something. Then there's the Arcanum, so I have no idea what else she thinks I'm going to do to her." There was an undercurrent of anger in her voice that Fenris had learned to attribute to the atrocities the magisters inflicted on their slaves.
She had always been a staunch supporter of helping free slaves, of killing slavers and of stopping slaves being taken in the first place. While Fenris had appreciated this vehement support, he hadn't really anticipated just how far Hawke would go for a slave. He'd had little idea of what to make of their decidedly odd relationship, and killing slavers was simply another job for Hawke – she killed just as many thugs, bandits, carta and coterie members.
It had only been during their hunt for Hadriana that he'd seen how much this unusual human cared about the struggle of a slave's life. She'd defended him on the Coast, during that first assault, had quickly scrapped their plans to go to searching for a missing Qunari patrol in favour of chasing the magister, and had gone pale with either shock or rage when they came across the blood sacrifice. Hawke was usually a flashy but practical fighter, but this time Fenris had seen emotion affect her – she'd been particularly vicious in her kills after that.
Then they'd found Orana.
Compassion, gentleness, a future – a safe future; all these she had given the young elf freely, and hadn't snapped when he'd wrongly accused her of wanting a slave. She'd been firm, yes – and he'd felt like quite the irrational fool afterwards – but she'd seemed to understand his illogical conclusion.
Then she hadn't even blinked when he went back on his word to spare Hadriana; hadn't interfered with his choice. He'd pushed her away, with her sympathy and offer of support, but he'd been grateful, when he'd had time to clear his head on the long, lonely trek back to Kirkwall.
He'd been unnerved by her concern, her...caring – it couldn't be anything more, surely – and had escaped again. In the week since, he'd been hard pressed to drive her out of his mind, and he had come across a quiet conviction that he was slowly going insane. He'd finally clawed the courage together to speak to her about it, marched himself out of his mansion and towards hers, determined not to run back to his decrepit home and hide, only to enter and see...this.
Yet finding this remarkable woman kneeling in front of a distraught slave, doggedly trying to help when many people would have thrown their hands in the air and left in frustration by now, he couldn't find any resentment of this encroaching insanity, even though her incredible patience with him was utterly maddening at times.
"What caused this? I believe you said something about plates...?" He prompted gently, his voice lowered to avoid distressing Orana further. Maker knew; he could be intimidating at the best of times; he didn't need to petrify the girl any more than she already was.
Hawke nodded, settling into a more comfortable position on the floor with a wince, her cramped muscles complaining.
"I was sparring with Dumat-yes, I spar with my dog. He's a warrior and needs training too, you know," she said, quickly picking up on Fenris' incredulously quirked eyebrow. He tried to rearrange his features into a more acceptable expression – one that didn't include the amused little smile he felt at the thought of Hawke charging around the large, near-empty manor, play-fighting with her dog.
"Of course. Perfectly understandable," he murmured to appease her when it was apparent his expression wasn't as neutral as he would like. Hawke cast him an arch look, ruined by a twitching corner of her mouth, before continuing, sobering quickly.
"I was sparring with Dumat, and we'd messed the rug up – it was all folded and what-have-you. Orana was walking past holding all our dinner plates and cutlery, and didn't see it. She caught her foot and nearly fell. We-" here she gestured at herself and the mabari, who whined and licked his nose in acknowledgement and concern, trying to worm closer on his belly only for Sandal to take firm hold of his collar and pull him back again. "-Managed to catch her, but the plates and everything fell and, obviously, broke. Orana cut her arm – on a knife or plate piece, I don't know – but just went still and quiet until I walked her away from the mess – I didn't want her to hurt her feet – and let go of her. Then she just collapsed where she stood and started this," she said, nodding gravely at Orana, who had fallen quiet again but was still staring blindly at empty space.
Hawke ran another distracted hand through her hair, looking almost as distressed as the shaking elf.
"I can't get through to her. Nothing I say – that I'm not angry, that they're only plates, that they can be replaced – nothing seems to register, and I don't know what else I can do. Her arm's stopped bleeding, but I still want to have a look at it. It's lucky it was a relatively shallow cut, otherwise I would have had to have Bodahn and Sandal pin her down so I could bandage it, and that would have only made things worse," she said, her breath shaking with weariness as she closed her eyes.
Fenris turned from her for a moment to study the other elf more closely. She was flushed, sweating, her breathing light and rapid. Her pupils were dilated, eyes wide, but she seemed more dazed that terrified now. She was still trembling slightly.
"I could try and speak with her," he said slowly, almost reluctantly. "If she is under the impression she is back in Tevinter, or at least in the service of a magister, then perhaps she will respond to Arcanum when she didn't to Common."
Hawke's eyes rounded and softened with hopeful relief.
"Oh, would you?" When he nodded, she visibly relaxed, her shoulders dropping and eyes closing with a soft breath. "Thank you, Fenris."
"You are welcome," he muttered, disconcerted at her gratitude and hiding it behind doubt. "I cannot guarantee this will work. If not, we may simply have to wait for her to recover. It may take a few hours, if that is the case," he explained, uncomfortable with revealing even this small bit of knowledge, concerned Hawke would read right into it in one of her irritatingly intuitive moments and start worrying about him having similar attacks.
She merely gave him a weighted look before nodding, muttering around the skin of her lower lip, trapped between her teeth with anxiety.
"I understand. I was considering getting Anders if she didn't improve – there's a shortcut to his clinic through the cellar – but I didn't want to risk bringing a mage to her in this state unless I absolutely had to." She glanced at him oddly when he gave a disapproving grunt at the shortcut – he wasn't comfortable with that abomination having a direct route into Hawke's home, even if she trusted him – but let it pass without comment when Fenris sighed, sat more comfortably on the floor, and tried to make eye contact with the quivering servant.
"Orana? Avanna, Orana," he said, his tone gentle but firm. For the first time she froze, her eyes still staring, but focusing this time.
"Me audi. Quomodo vales?" Fenris continued. Orana took a shuddering breath.
"Mihi ignosce," she whispered, falling silent at once when Fenris cut his hand through the air impatiently.
"Non excusa. Responde me," he said, his tone firm but not threatening or accusatory. Hawke found herself glancing between the two elves, completely lost but relieved that Fenris, at least, was getting a response out of the girl that wasn't simply screaming.
Orana hesitated, her jaw twitching on several terminated replies, before finally settling on one.
"Domina irata est," she mumbled.
"Ridiculus. Specta," Fenris snorted, waving at Hawke, who took the hint and tried to look supportive and gentle despite her confusion. Orana reluctantly obeyed, her eyes darting from Hawke's face to the floor and back again, as though scared of looking at the human for too long.
"Hawke de te sollicita est. Non magistra est," he continued, watching as Orana's eyes slowly stopped their erratic jerking and came to rest on Hawke.
"Mistress?" She ventured finally, her voice still thick with tears, but speaking in Common again. Hawke smiled in encouragement, her shoulders slumping with relief.
"Are you alright, Orana? I was worried," she said warmly, her eyes sympathetic. Orana sniffed, tears lining her eyes again.
"I'm so sorry about the plates, Mistress," she whispered, staring into her lap, refusing to make eye contact, and Hawke wouldn't order her to.
The woman sighed, shifting closer on her knees. Orana tensed immediately, but Hawke only reached out to take the young girl's hands, holding them gently.
"They're only plates, Orana. We have spares, and I can buy a dozen more just like them at the market tomorrow. I'm not angry with you, okay?" she asked, keeping her voice as soothing as possible. Orana nodded, her large eyes squeezing shut as her shoulders started to shake again.
Hawke pulled the quietly sobbing girl into a hug immediately, surprising both elves in the process. Orana soon relaxed, burying her face into Hawke's shoulder as the woman patted her back gently, but Fenris found himself...uncomfortable. Not at the display of compassion from Hawke to an ex-slave, exactly, but at witnessing it. He only confused himself further when he reflected that Hawke probably would extend the same gesture to him, if she thought he'd appreciate it. Varric had once said that she would mother the whole city if she could. Right now, Fenris could understand why the dwarf thought so.
Feeling like an intruder, and satisfied that he was no longer needed; Fenris rose to his feet to leave, only to feel a warm hand grasping his.
He nearly jumped, his head snapping to look at Hawke's long fingers trapping his. He followed her arm to her face, utterly bewildered until she gave him a tired smile.
"Thank you, Fenris," she said softly, giving his metal-clad fingers a light squeeze of gratitude. Fenris hesitated, before jerkily dipping his head to her.
"You are welcome. I'm glad she is..." a glance at the still-miserable body hugging Hawke stole the word 'better' from his throat, "somewhat recovered."
Hawke gave him a tiny grin to show she'd caught his hesitation, her hand starting to slip out of his.
He found a thread of confidence somewhere and applied a gentle pressure to her fingers before they escaped entirely, giving Hawke's look of surprise a small, awkward smile before turning towards the door, his heart taking up what he hoped would be a temporary residence in his throat.
"Fenris?" Even her blighted voice – saying his name, no less – made an odd thrill not so different to premonition work its way from the base of his spine to the top of his neck.
That woman was going to drive him insane without even knowing she did so.
He turned, hoping he was at least outwardly calm, a mildly questioning lift to an eyebrow.
"Yes, Hawke?"
"What was it you came here for again? Not just to translate, I assume," she said with her old grin.
Fenris shrugged, already reaching for the greatsword leaning against the wall, trying to mask the fear tumbling back now that he'd lost the few minutes of resolve that had allowed him to reach Hawke's mansion.
"I wanted to speak with you, but it...it can wait. I'll return another day," he said, the words sounding oddly like a promise, hoping he hadn't spoken too quickly or otherwise conveyed his nerves.
Damn the woman's perceptiveness. Concern had immediately washed onto her face, and of course she had to act on it.
"Is everything alright, Fenris? Is...is it about what happened last week?"
The vague reference baffled him for a moment, until memory caught up and he realised. The Holding Caves. Hadriana. This knowledge, this trap about a sister, of all the things guaranteed to snare him.
The contrast between what he had been thinking and Hawke's worry about the past troubling him – if he were to talk to Hawke about the events of last week, it would be to invite her to celebrate with him – made him laugh with surprise.
He quickly stifled the sound, wincing slightly when he heard the definite strain of nerves in his voice and saw Hawke's confused, still concerned expression.
"Ah, no. No, it's not. I...I will explain later, Hawke. Truly, it can wait. To put your mind at ease, I am in no way...troubled." Just on the verge of madness. "I thank you for your concern, however," he said, relaxing when he saw relief soothing her face.
She smiled, then, and Fenris thought he would have to flee the house before he blurted out his feelings like a fool.
"You know I'm here for you, Fenris, whatever you need."
"I..." Love you, even if you cannot possibly love me, "thank you, Hawke." Now please let me leave and drown myself in that vat of wine sitting in my cellar.
Another smile, far too warm for comfort, then she straightened and blinked, the soft intensity fading.
"I'll see you soon, then?" She asked. Fenris nodded, relieved.
"Soon. Good day, Hawke," he said, finally turning to leave.
"Goodbye, Fenris." Her voice was quiet, and he had to force himself not to look back at her, because he had a strange certainty that if he did, he wouldn't leave.
He spent the rest of the evening working his way through a shelf of wine, alternately berating himself for his cowardice and running away, and trying to find the courage that had fled at some point during his failed visit.
It was another three days before he returned to the Hawke estate, a further three days of her plaguing his mind. When he failed to have a single thought that didn't immediately link back to her all day, Fenris gave up on trying to think of something to say and simply walked out the door. He'd tell her that he had thought of nothing but her all this time, and damn the consequences.
Latin/Arcanum translations:
Orana? Avanna, Orana. = Orana? Hello, Orana.
Me audi. Quomodo vales? = Listen to me. Are you alright/How are you?
Mihi ignosce. = Forgive me.
Non excusa. Responde me. = Don't apologise. Answer me.
Domina irata est. = Mistress is angry.
Ridiculus. Specta. = Ridiculous. Look.
Hawke de te sollicita est. Non magistra est. = Hawke is worried about you. She is not a magister.