Salutations and welcome to Kindred Spirits. Kindred Spirits is an edited edition of a roleplay between Limonesnake and myself on a yaoi roleplay forum called Elysium. We started this roleplay and have since fallen in love with it. We decided that we would bring it here to for fans to read without necessarily having to pick between the posts on the forum to follow the progress.
Before you begin reading, there are a few pointers you should be aware of.
- The story is set within a limited timeframe of three years instead of seven. In order for the roleplay to progress healthily without drawing it out or skipping too often, we both agreed this was the best decision to take. Had we done everything that was written in the guide, it would have practically turned into a walkthrough. So for your viewing pleasure as well as ours, imagine the entirety of the Champion's journey solidified within a smaller time frame.
- Events linked to Acts are mixed and matched at random. Why is this you ask? Because we felt some events needed more time to process with a heavier effect, which events you will find out on your own. Nothing is skipped however and every aspect is explored, just that it isn't constructed to the canon's storyline or timeline.
- The story is told from both MHawke's and Fenris' POV (Point of view). Each character will have turns of action which will be separated by a line division.
Other than those two hints to help you understand the story better, we hope you enjoy reading this roleplay as much as we enjoyed constructing it. If you don't like guy on guy, you might as well stop reading here.
Custom Garrett Hawke played by: Limonesnake
Fenris played by: Aaerowyn
Other Characters were shared between the writers for this story.
Limonesnake's FF account - ~limonesnake
Elysium Yaoi Roleplay Forum (18+ only)
Cover Art done by Limonesnake
Disclaimer - Character(s) used within the story belong and are property of Bioware.
Kirkwall, The City of Chains, or at least it used to be. Once the forefront of quarries for the Tevinter Imperium, the city is now declared a 'free-state'. But even to vagabonds and fresh arrivals, once you step foot beyond those gates you quickly realise the city isn't as free as they make you believe. Bronze statues of slaves quivering in fear are the first thing you see upon arrival in Kirkwall from the sea, their faces hidden in shame behind brass cuffs. The Gallows, looming ahead in the distance like a gargoyle is enough to make anyone give second thought upon their choice of destination, the black and white tiers of the city staining the cliffs like a cancerous growth. Everything about the city smells of oppression from the decrepit alienage to the tallest balcony of Hightown, the buildings and architecture reminiscent to the days of old.
The people of the city are a presumptuous lot, the templars serving under Knight-Commander Meredith a force that even the city guard cannot hope to compete with. With a large stake in street crime, robberies and murders, one can quickly gather that the City of Chains isn't the safest place to live, nor the most respected. With a mixture of templars, apostate blood mages running loose and the slave trade still operating behind closed doors, many of its people have simply given up, the dark circles in their eyes evident in passing. Only the highest and most respected positions are given authority to live a healthy life, the nobles of Hightown all but immune to the struggles that lay at their feet. Kirkwall is in a state of constant disorder and with the influx of Fereldan refugees, many of its citizens have been left to squander and fight for their place in the lower reaches.
It was here among the masses of confused and fearful refugees that the former slave felt he could blend in. His journey to the south had been a tedious and strenuous path carved in blood, his sword and blind instinct the only thing the wolf could rely on. During daylight hours he stayed indoors. It was not because he was shy of crowds but because his stark white hair and lyrium markings made him a target for curious wandering eyes. It was dangerous territory he would not throw himself willingly into, not while he had a wolf at his back that had a pack that outnumbered him ten to one. Danarius had sent wave after wave of hunters at the elf, their bodies toppling at his feet with each clash in a blood bath. But for every one that was felled, two more would take their place until it left the elf with only one option; to run.
And so he retreat, his instinct guiding him to wander out only at late hours of the evening. There he had met Anso, a dwarf that seemed sympathetic to his cause. He too was new to Kirkwall, his nervous disposition making him easily chatty. Fenris knew the hunters had followed him to the city, the elf wondering just how they managed to find him every single time he found a moment of reprieve. No matter where he went they were right on his heels waiting to strike, like the pack of wolves they were. They were also cowardly, never willing to face the Tevinter slave in one on one combat; not that Fenris expected slavers to have any semblance of honor. It was a few days later that Fenris had learnt of a package in a Lowtown house guarded by Sharps thugs. After finding a few records of shipping details the fugitive had learnt that the parcel was tied to his past; insufferably convenient for his circumstances.
The hunters had wanted to lure him with the bait of an important package and having no one else to rely on, Fenris sought the help of the dwarven merchant. Anso agreed to help by hiring sellswords and smugglers to retrieve the package on Fenris's behalf, the dwarf acting as the contractor on the elf's behalf. Thankfully, Anso had chosen wisely and the deal was made three nights later. The slavers had ran ahead only to be confronted by an armed group, not a lone slave and in their confusion, their masses were culled.
Of all people to be hired, the Tevinter slave had not expected to find such a personality. Hawke, or so he called himself was a man who had spent little over a year in Kirkwall with the aid of his brother to help get his family back on their feet. At the time he did not know of the man's alignment with magic and had apologized for bringing him into his personal mess. Searching the bodies of the fallen slavers had proven Fenris' suspicions correct; Danarius was residing within Kirkwall and had orchestrated the attack. The elf requested for Hawke's help once again, pleading to the man that he could not do this alone. Hawke had agreed to come along after being convinced it was for the greater good and the party had made way for Hightown the very same evening to stop Danarius before he could leave the city.
After a bloody night filled with slaying abominations and demons, Fenris had felt betrayed. He had gone from running away from the clutches of a mage only to find himself in their company once more. However, despite his distaste, he had offered his services to Hawke who willingly accepted his aid. Fenris felt that he needed to honor Hawke in paying off the debt he owed. After all, the man had done more for him out of understanding more than hired thugs would do for coin. It was a rare thing to find; a person who would aid others willingly. Fenris knew that he would not pass it up, even if it meant keeping an eye on Hawke at all times. He was still suspicious even after vowing to keep his distance from him and his mage companions but it still unsettled the warrior to know that he was willingly letting himself be lead on by yet another mage, and one that was fairly skilled.
Weeks had passed and little had changed. The mansion was still in disarray; rotting corpses slumped in the corners, broken chairs and furniture scattered across the floor. The cellar provided the abundance of entertainment for the elf who helped himself to the expensive selection every night, drinking down his pain and resentment one gulp at a time. Tonight was like any other, the elf pacing back and forth in front of the fire in slow steps with bottle in hand. The metal claws of his gauntlets chinked against the glass every moment he went to retrieve it, the bitter sweet liquid one of the few pleasures he admitted in possessing.
He had almost finished the bottle before he heard the front door of the mansion opening. He kept it unlocked for good measure, knowing that Danarius or his faithful followers could waltz in at any moment. But if they did then the warrior would be ready to strike. The aura of magic was palpable; he could feel the energy resonating across his tattoos in itching flicks of light as the source drew nearer. Since his escape from the Imperium Fenris had learnt to control his tattoos more effectively, training their skills and abilities. One of which was to feel a mage's presence, allowing him to seek out magic users with ease and to detect foul energies that other beings would overlook. This one however wasn't the usual malicious aura he usually tasted in battle. Instead it was familiar, not exactly comfortable but enough for the elf to let his guard down. 'Hawke', Fenris thought as he turned to face away from the fireplace, tossing the bottle of wine against the wall in a loud shatter. What mission did he have planned for him this time?
The hollow jingle of too little gold and too many lint in his pockets provided him company as he dragged himself up the damnable stairs of Hightown. The day had been everything but mundane, what with Isabela dragging him off to another of her jaunty ventures. It'll be safe, she said. A simple pick-up job, she swore. It probably should have been; but with Hawke thrown into the equation; it'd been anything but. And all for another IOU. He had a whole chestful of them by now, and he could swear he had one from the blessed Andraste herself. How that came to happen eludes him.
It was enough to say that Hawke's adventures for the day ended when he ran out of mana... and patience. They trooped back to Varric's suite for a much needed respite but one of Darktown's urchins showed up with a note for Messere Hawke. Before the dark glower on the mage's face could turn into a spell Varric came to the rescue. The dwarf took the missive for himself and shooed Hawke away with a large bottle of the Hanged Man's swill.
So there he was, in his civvies, still a bit scorched from his most recent scuffle; trekking his way up to a certain elf's humble abode. Isabela's grin was all but innocent when Hawke said he was going to the Chantry to check on Sebastian. Yeah, right...Chantry, my ass.
"You're after some of that munchy elf bits, Hawke?" the pirate had asked in her 'innocent' voice. This was Isabela however, and innocence never did sit well with her.
"Elf bits? Do you eat elves Hawke? Please don't eat me, I'm much too thin and my blood magic makes me taste funny." Merrill piped up from her corner. The tiny mage had gone with them earlier and was now guzzling tankard after tankard of whatever Isabela was feeding her.
"You don't have to worry love. Hawke only eats dark and broody elves dipped in more broodiness." was Isabela's laughing quip as the elven mage stared at Hawke with large wary eyes.
"Ooh, is this another dirty joke then? Is Hawke flirting with Fenris?" the blood mage continued, much to Hawke's chagrin.
"I flirt with everyone Merrill," he answered shortly, with a smirk to rival Isabela's. And to prove his point he'd even gone as far as to plant a light kiss on the inebriated elf's cheek. "It's in my nature."
"But you don't flirt with me the way you flirt with Fenris," she continued, ignoring Hawke outright. "With Fenris, you look as though you'd rather die than flirt. But you do it anyway."
"That doesn't really make much sense Merrill. Are you sure you're okay to go home later?" Truly, he questioned the blood mage's sanity right about now.
"What Daisy means is that you're not yourself in front of Broody. The elf makes you feel out of place. And let's face it, though you'd probably be laughing as you face an ogre down, I doubt you'd be able to throw yourself in Broody's arms with as much gusto."
The moment Varric interrupted Merrill's drunken ramblings with his own wizened version Hawke knew he had to leave. Much as he'd like to argue about it, he knew he'd actually choose getting decimated by an ogre over throwing his lot in with Fenris. That was how much he was bothered by the escaped slave and he didn't need a Tethras to point that out.
And so he dawdled on top of the stairs, bottle in hand. He could actually really go to the Chantry and drag Sebastian down to the Hanged Man as he said he would. Or... he can just walk right into Danarius' abandoned mansion where he knew a certain elf was squatting. Too late, the wooden door creaked open at the slightest touch; and Hawke knew Fenris was on to him. The sound of breaking glass was his welcome as he climbed the last flight of stairs between him and the elf.
"Renovation not going as well as you planned? I can still see a few unpainted spots on your walls. Lovely color, by the way. It suits your eyes prettily." Right, should have borrowed his mabari's muzzle before he walked in. "I meant the walls, they look pretty."
Damn you Varric Tethras!
Fenris was giving him that look again, the one that always shows up whenever he thinks Hawke was acting crazy. And maybe the mage really was going crazy.
"Anywaaaayyy... You free tomorrow? We're going to a mine outside of Kirkwall, same old same old. Though, I could sure use your big sword."
'Why must you put your foot in your mouth, Garrett?! You're not Carver, so clean your shit up, ASAP!' It was a mystery how he managed to keep his feet rooted to the spot and his face pale as it always is. Hawke wouldn't be surprised if Fenris suddenly rushed at him with his sword, the mage had it coming. And had he been the type to carry a staff, he'd have probably stabbed himself with it. Anything to end his pain.
"So... wanna drink?"
The elf had ceased his somewhat restless pacing to come sit in one of the chairs he had pulled up to the fire, his gaze flicking to Hawke upon the mention of 'pretty eyes' and giving the mage a rather indifferent eyebrow raise. Maker knew that he had been drinking at the Hanged Man again; the stench of cheap ale and dirt a tell-tale sign. Varric had invited Fenris many times to accompany them on their drinking nights and sometimes the elf would agree to be pulled along. Gambling wasn't exactly his strong point though he did do noticeably better in diamond-back than wicked grace. He had hoped given enough time and patience he'd finally be able to beat the pirate, Isabela always reverting back to cheating when the game got too risky. The drink wasn't exactly something he indulged in either, but if he had had a rather hard day then he would pay. The wolf would simply need to buy more of it to get the job done.
Though, I could sure use your big sword. Fenris had to clear his throat at that one, his hips shifting side to side upon the cushion as he eyed Hawke with a distinct curiosity, one of the corners of the elf's mouth giving off just a tiny smirk of amusement. It seemed the human had consumed more alcohol than previously thought but it was rather a sight to see the usually quick-witted Hawke insert his feet into his own mouth. Fenris could hold his own alcohol well, the elf having consumed two bottles already this night and only having a slight case of the dizzies. The prospect of one more wouldn't hurt and so the elf turned in his chair to face the mage; a sign of invitation to come in and sit down.
"I heard about what happened with Isabela today. Did you manage to find those crates?" The elf questioned as he made notion towards Hawke's face; a way of saying 'what happened to you' without being formal or obvious. The man was covered in scratches, bruises and muck; the dark rings under his eyes a strong sign of energy and mana depletion. The mage looked like a wreck and so sharing a drink with him when he clearly needed one was something the Tevinter slave was more than willing to oblige.
"If you have need of me, then I will go." Fenris was behoved to accept Hawke's requests whether he liked them or not. After all, he was still in debt and would have to pay back what was due with blood, sweat or otherwise. He would go with Hawke anywhere, even to that damned fish guttery if he needed him. Maker knew how much he hated that place. Fenris had already travelled with Hawke and his company to many locations, some more questionable than others. Already they had taken out the Sharps gang, the thugs responsible for working with the Tevinter slavers. They had been disbanded after their leader was taken out in a hovel in Lowtown, the next target being the slavers in the lower reaches of the city. They were still fishing out the culprits, some having willingly attacked the group on sight once they had spotted the fugitive elf.
Hawke and his entourage were an assorted group of misfits, or merry band of misfits as Hawke himself would call them; accumulations of different people all working together for a common goal. Hawke had claimed himself not the leader but it was obvious everyone respected and listened to him. They worked fervently in battle, their assorted talents and skills able to match even the most organised ambush. More than often Fenris found himself at Hawke's side, keeping any would be attackers at bay so the mage could focus his magic without needing to worry about a dagger falling between his shoulders. It was an odd combination to say the least. His memories of Danarius had always proven him to work as an individual in the magister's company, preferring to showcase Fenris' skills as a means to impress and intimidate. To work in a group that wasn't all mercenaries and sellswords was refreshing but it also made him cautious. Working side by side with not just one but three apostates wasn't exactly how Fenris had planned his journey to the south.
The elf leaned forward to grasp a whetstone from off the floor near his feet, tossing the object back toward his bed which landed with a heavy thump upon the sheets. "One was a prying thief." Fenris commented with a light shrug of his shoulders in regard to one of the corpses Hawke had remarked about. He often left the mage's comments unanswered, not sure how to respond about the decaying corpses he left spread out through the manor's damaged interior. The warrior wasn't very good with jokes, not like the mage and so simply let the other male do the talking for him most of the time. He waited for Hawke to finish uncorking the bottle and taking his own swig before he grasped the bottle and swung it between his lips to let the foul liquid slip down his throat in a burning path. It did feel good to indulge in the small things, especially with Hawke as company.
He grabbed his usual seat in silence, though he continued to berate himself internally. Fenris looked as though he was in a good mood, most likely because of the newly added wet spot on the walls. The elf was a tiny bit less broody once he had alcohol inside him which might be why he said nothing about Hawke's awfully awkward greetings. Right, that's one of the reasons why Hawke enjoyed the escaped slave's company so much.
"Oh yes, Isabela's crates! She did mention those when she asked me to help her. I saw some crates, and ten times the amount of smugglers," Hawke couldn't quite keep the snap out of his voice, Fenris had no idea just how trying the day had been. If it hadn't been for that smuggled lyrium, he and his friends would have been dead on the wharf. "I'm sure Varric will talk your ears off tomorrow about it. Though I should probably let him rest... he did save me from another errand just now." His voice dropped to a mutter as he weighed his options. Both Varric and Isabela had gone with him earlier and he didn't want to overtax either. Merrill was off the list certainly, Hawke never did ask the Dalish elf along unless Varric prompted him. So that meant he'd have to bring Sebastian instead. But he felt something awful about the Bone Pit barring its name and reputation. He wouldn't be surprised if they ran into something deadly, and Hawke wanted Varric around for whatever it may be.
"We'll set out in the afternoon, keep the morning free to let Varric rest. I do have a few missives that needs to be checked out anyway," Which meant that as soon as he gets back to Gamlen's house, he'd be neck deep in notes and letters before he leaves to gather information in the morning. It will also mean that the most sleep he'll get is when he's dead, but a few sleepless nights was a tiny sacrifice compared to what he could do for Leandra. He took lyrium when he gets tired, the floor around Gamlen's desk would attest to that.
The bottle changed hands and he took another mouthful, grimacing at the taste; he could swear it smelled like piss, and would have believed it was made from piss had Varric not handed it to him personally. It was nothing in comparison to the wine Fenris had in the basement, but sometimes rough and cheap was better than rich and smooth. Who was he kidding? He'd pick Fenris' wine over this swill anytime.
Chuckling at his own thoughts, Hawke rolled his shoulders back and eased the tension out of them. He could feel the elf's eyes on him, wary most likely considering that Hawke was a mage despite his abhorrence for gowns and a staff. The Fereldan was dressed unlike any apostate; he looked nothing like a mage in pants and a shirt. The absence of a staff also hid him from the templars. The staff was a dead giveaway and though it throws his aim off; it wouldn't matter because he used area spells more often than not. It was something that made Anders roll his eyes every time Hawke incinerated a room with glee.
He enjoyed the silence for a few minutes, eyes roving around the sparse room. What rich furniture this place once had were probably kindling by now, Fenris did a thorough job with the place when he moved in and a rather large disturbance amongst the neighbours from what Aveline had told him. But the elf was good company, rarely intrusive and he had his own way of silently allowing Hawke to blow off some steam. It could also mean that warrior cared little for Hawke's grievances, but the mage wanted to believe he knew Fenris better than that. Fenris treat him better than his own brother, and that's with the elf swearing his hate for mages and magic. It was funny, in a sad way.
The bottle was near empty, and he had a nice buzz going. He knew he had a lot of stuff to do once he gets home and that he really should be leaving. But Fenris hadn't shooed him off just yet.
"I never did manage to give you your share for the job last week," and took out a small cloth purse from his pockets to hold out for Fenris to take: two gold and twenty silvers in total. His expression was set as he waited for Fenris to take the purse, prepared to face down any arguments his companion might have for him. Fenris did say he'll work off his debt, but Hawke considered it paid in full the first job the elf took with them. The ex-slave was a better swordhand than either Carver or Aveline, and had Hawke allowed himself; the elf would be on each and every job he went on. But though the mage considered Fenris as a friend, the elf was merely tolerant of his presence. Every time Fenris and Anders argued about mages and magic, he couldn't help but feel the barbs of the elf's words as well.
Fenris listened patiently as the licks of the fireplace lazily went about devouring a fresh set of tinder, the light hazily sweeping the room in random bursts. He knew that Isabela was one to dig herself into her own grave quite frequently and often tailed Hawke as a measure of 'better safe than sorry'. More often than not, the mage and his company had to pay for the rogue's bad judgement, either that or simply handled the situation presented to them because she knew she could count on them. Aveline protested openly about the pirate's selfish choices, their arguments rather disconcerting but also amusing. Despite how much the two bashed skulls neither one of them had taken the matter to the point of a duel or a fight.
"I'm not surprised." The warrior commented as he took another swig of the vile liquid before handing the bottle back over to Hawke, allowing the mage to clean the rest out. "You allow her to place herself in danger at your behest. Why you continue to let her drag you along I will never know." Fenris had taken a small liking to Isabela after learning of her dealings with freeing would-be slaves. The former captain had made it obvious about her interest in him, commenting about how Tevinter slaves were oiled and often bantering with the elf in small guessing games about the colour of his small clothes. It was flattering but it wasn't the type of attention he would willingly throw himself into, not without reason of course. He had overheard Anders speaking to the woman about salves he would give in order to clear whatever ungodly infection had spread. It was enough for his mind to wander to sordid places indeed.
The elf shifted once more in his chair, lanky legs fanning out in a light stretch. It always seemed he was unable to keep still for any certain amount of time. In public the warrior would constantly shift back and forth between his feet, his head spinning around to glance over his shoulder at every dark alleyway or corner they passed, fingers twitching with agitation. The sudden sound of coin brought him out of his thoughts, his brow darkening in an unimpressed manner. He should have known better than to think Hawke would allow him to work off his debt without interference. Despite his jester attitude and snarky remarks, the man undeniably had a charitable heart. Fenris also knew Hawke was a stubborn man, much like himself and wouldn't budge unless the elf accepted his offer.
"You do not have to feed me coin, Hawke." The elf said with a grimace, his eyes rolling at the offered coinpurse. Typical, he thought to himself as he begrudgingly reached out and palmed the sack into his fingers. The currency chinked as the elf didn't bother to even open the offering, preferring to toss it over his shoulder much like the whetstone for it to land onto his bed. "I only accepted it because I know I won't hear the end of it if I said otherwise. Does that make you happy, mage?" His tone had lowered enough to make the word mage seem dirty as it slipped out from between his lips. Hawke knew that the elf was not accustomed to gifts or even kindness at that. Taking coin from the man would only feel like he was digging himself further and further into debt but he did not want to cause any argument when he was aware both parties had endured a rather hard day. The alcohol would make him less conflicted with people, able to revert from snapping back when usually he would be more than willing to put up a fight over who owed who.
"I spoke to Anso recently." The elf perked as he turned his attention back to the flames, the sparks and smouldering ashes rather mesmerizing under a drunken gaze. "He said there was a mine outside of the city that was apparently cursed." Fenris left the comment hanging in the air as his gaze shifted back to Hawke, taking the man in. He was rather handsome for a human. A well shaped jaw, broad shoulders, thick hair and inviting grey eyes; enough for the elf to admire quietly. He never carried himself like the magisters did, preferring to walk with a strong gait, like the Fereldan didn't care what people thought about him, juxtaposed to the dress-wearing prudes of the Imperium who took too much care to such inane details.
"Unless it's proven that Tevinter elves can live on wine as well as sweat and bleed it, you'll receive your cut from each job you're on," the remark came out rather testily, Hawke's gaze pointedly daring Fenris. When the elf deigned him none, he released the breath he didn't know he was holding in. It always placed him on edge, whenever Fenris called him a mage. The elf had a way of making it sound like he was an abomination waiting to happen. He rarely rose to the bait, but his patience was on a short leash after the earlier fiasco.
He ran his fingers through his own raven hair, cringing when his hand came away with more soot and dirt than before. He probably should stop setting things on fire indoors; Maker knows whose charred remains were caught in his hair now. His hands left a smudge against his pants, only to be lost amongst the dirt already clinging to the material. He knew he looked as though he'd been crawling through the sewer, but he need not tell Fenris that much detail.
At the sound of Anso's name, a smile curled around Hawke's lips. He'd seen the dwarf once or twice after he met Fenris. The poor sod was still as jumpy as ever, eyes carefully trained on the ground as the sight of too much sky made him feel like falling. What he didn't know was that Fenris was still keeping contact and from the sound of it, the elf kept a correspondence.
"He probably meant the same one. I only know of one haunted mine and it's the one owned by that Orlesian, Hubris or Hubert; whichever." he answered. He'd met the man yesterday after receiving a letter from him. The Orlesian accent was hard enough to anyone who was paying attention, it was even harder to decipher if one was listening half-heartedly; as Hawke was. In the end, he had Hubert mark the mine on a map and had somehow understood that he'd been hired to clean out whatever boogieman was terrorizing the workers. Since they were dealing with caves, Hawke was more than ready to bet his gold on spiders, giant ones that spit and bite. But of course, there was no way such things can be as simple as they say it is. This is what made him turn to Fenris in the first place. 'Bring out the muscles', as they say.
"He mentioned monsters though he didn't specify which kind. I tried looking for the workers, gather information." He frowned at the memory and shrugged to convey how useless his efforts were. The workers were either too scared or too drunk to talk about the mine coherently, seems like the only ones who saw the thing proper were either dead or missing. One man said he saw the biggest spider, like thirty feet tall. Another saw darkspawn while one dwarf swore he saw schleets... whatever those may be.
"I might try again tomorrow since I do have a few things to do by the docks. Though, did Anso mention anything about the mine? The other dwarves may have said something to him that they've 'forgotten' to tell me," he added wistfully. The bottle was empty by then and he was doing the best he could to extend his time with the elf by using small talk. They both knew that whatever information Anso had would make no difference, they'd still be marching into that mine even if they'd be facing an Archdemon. Well, maybe not an Archdemon.
But Hawke had given his word and there was nothing anyone can do to dissuade him from completing the job. Varric knew as much, which is why Hawke suspected his mail goes through the dwarf first. It wouldn't surprise him to find out that the archer had been censoring his mail, removing certain death missives from the pile before delivering the rest to Gamlen's house. It would explain why all his mail came in piles.
A glance at the elf's profile brought to his attention the way Fenris' lyrium tattoos glimmered under firelight. He'd seen it before, usually when they were camping out on the Wounded Coast, but he'd never seen it this way, this close. The lines in the shadow were almost invisible but the rest were thrown in contrast against the elf's darker skin. And the way the fire lit through his hair, almost turning it gold.
Hawke quickly turned his head away, wary of being caught and chastised for staring. Usually, he'd stare unabashed; ready to defend himself with a well-placed compliment. But he'd be merely flattering, which would be lying; something he couldn't do properly in front of the fugitive. So he stared at the rotting bodies in the corner of the room, wondering how Fenris could stand the sight of it.
"Perhaps." The elf commented in regard to Hawke mentioning the mine. There were many mines littering Kirkwall's outskirts, some of which continued to work as base of operation for slavers, outcasts or the criminally insane. Monsters were always a promise when it came to travel and were delivered in all forms, not always as beasts as they were made out to be. Fenris had hoped that the mine contained some blood mages. It always thrilled the warrior to end any mage, demon or abomination's life, like he was enacting his own personal vengeance. But common sense told him he would only be facing the usual; spiders, thugs, perhaps the occasional restless spirit. Still, to be able to have the opportunity to flush out any apostate filth was gratifying.
He watched Hawke curiously as he noticed the man turn his head away, like he had been caught doing something wrong or staring too long. Fenris wasn't oblivious to the mage's strange behavior and simply passed it off on the alcohol. After all, downing the swill from the Hanging Man one way or another was bound to have a man shaken out of his senses. Still, it was flattering. The elf could appreciate being admired and not in a way that didn't make him feel violated or belittled. Despite Hawke being a mage, it was nice having his personal attention. He shifted again in his seat, his muscular legs and back rarely finding peace among the luxurious cushions when he was still used to sleeping on hard surfaces. Sometimes he would crawl to sleep on the floor near the bed rather than on it, the sense of familiarity overcoming discomfort.
"Anso didn't mention anything about the mine except that the people feared going there." Fenris turned one of his hands until his palm faced the light of the fire, his green eyes glancing at the markings sprawling under his gauntlets like ghostly trails. The elf had a unique way of communicating, often letting his hands doing the talking during conversation and more so during heated debates. His body language was rather intimidating, accentuating the venom he spat and his opinion on the matter at hand. "I will let you get your rest. We can continue to drink on another night perhaps." The elf pulled his attention away from himself to come and stand, a gesture that usually spoke 'get out' in a humble and quiet way. "I will meet you at the city gates tomorrow." Fenris did not need to escort Hawke out. The mage wasn't drunk enough and he usually avoided getting too close in fear his markings would spring to life. He wasn't averted to physical contact, moreso afraid of having someone touching the lyrium. They had only sparked anger, resentment and pain but Hawke seemed different. Perhaps with him it might not be so bad but for the now, the fugitive had only the slavers to focus and worry about.
His visit was obviously over as soon as Fenris got to his feet. He'd grown to recognize whenever the elf had had enough of Hawke's intrusion. He'd been tolerant this time, only because the mage actually had a valid reason for dropping by. But any reason such as drinking or 'just chatting' will guarantee his immediate expulsion from the mansion.
"Til tomorrow afternoon, then and I'll make sure to bring extra potions this time." Since you don't like magic healing you... left unsaid. All the mages in Hawke's company knew of the elf's aversion; and though Anders and Merrill often argued with the wolf, they knew to respect their boundaries. This means that Hawke had to bring more healing pots than usual. The one time they ran out, Fenris had nearly bitten Anders's hand off when the other tried to heal a wound on his leg. The apostate had been so affronted that he swore never to waste any mana on the warrior unless his guts were literally spilling out and Hawke being a purely offensive, had nothing close to Anders's repertoire of healing skills.
The streets were dark as he made his way to Gamlens. The sounds of laughter and glass filtered over the silence from the Rose as he took to the streets. Hightown was no safer than Lowtown, but they've done a good job mopping up the gangs that littered the place. Though he was alone, no-one would make the mistake of accosting the mage. A strolling guard recognized him and nodded at his passing.
The house was silent save for Gamlen and Carver's competing snores. His mabari, Siruis, raised his head in greeting and padded over to paw at Hawke's pants before curling back to sleep besides the desk. Hawke merely smiled as he sat himself down on Gamlen's rickety chair. It seems like a few letters more had made their way into the already existing file. Resigning himself to another sleepless night, Hawke started opening letter after letter.