Title: Lesson in Humility

Characters: Fenris, m!Hawke

Rating: M

Summary: Hawke rescues Fenris from slavers and teaches him a valuable lesson afterward. Takes place roughly a year after Fenris leaves Hawke, following their romantic night together.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age 2 or any of its characters.

Fenris sat on the hard iron bunk, elbows on knees and head bowed in thought. The small stone cell was cold and damp, small rivulets of slimy water trickling down the walls from cracks in the ceiling. It was one of several cells situated in a large room that served as a makeshift dungeon. He figured that he was in some kind of underground hideout, probably in Darktown where many such lairs existed. At least that meant that the Tevinter bounty hunters hadn't got him on a ship to the Imperium yet. There was still time to escape, although he had no idea how he was going to manage it this time. They were being extra careful with him; his weapon had been taken, and there were three mages sitting outside his cell watching him. If he even tried to move toward the door, they would make a simple gesture, and every line of lyrium on his body would flare in excruciating pain, completely incapacitating him. He knew this because in his rage, he had stupidly tried more than once. They hadn't even bothered to laugh; they simply watched him writhe on the floor with their flat, dispassionate stares.

How could he have been so foolish to let his guard down? They had been waiting for him in his own mansion, where he had spent four years waiting for Danarius. He should have been prepared; but no, he had been returning home lost in thought. It had been a long day at the docks, where he had found a temporary job loading ships for a meager salary. As he wearily strolled home, his mind had been lingering on Hawke again. He yearned for the quiet evenings spent together at The Hanged Man or at either of their homes. That had ended when he had fled from Hawke on that memorable night in Hawke's bed.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his forehead. Even now, in the despair of his captivity, he could still see those piercing blue eyes and feel the warmth of Hawke's skin against his own. A year later, he still could taste those soft lips melded to his and feel Hawke's fingers scratching against his scalp. That night had marked him in so many ways, and he had lived the regret of its end every day since. Now it was too late; they would be taking him back to Danarius soon, back to slavery. There would be no opportunity to share his feelings with Hawke. His hands clenched, and the tips of his gauntlets gouged deep, bloody streaks into his palms.

A shout sounded from the corridor leading to the dungeon. As Fenris looked up, the three mages quickly moved toward the door, looking alarmed. Screams came from close by, and Fenris saw blue flashes of lightning. The mages rushed out the door, already chanting spells as they went. Unheeded, Fenris leaped to the bars that formed the door of his cell, eyes riveted to the open doorway. A throaty familiar laugh echoed down the corridor, and a stray arrow flew in the room to land harmlessly nearby. Varric. Which meant...

More lightning flashed, and one of his mage captors fell dead to the floor, lying crumpled in the doorway. The shouts were dwindling now, and suddenly a leather boot appeared, kicking the mage's corpse aside. Its wearer followed the boot; a tall mage in dark gray robes, his black hair ruffled askew. Hawke. Fenris's heart jerked at the sight of his one-time lover. They still worked together on occasion, but after that momentous night, were never alone together. Hawke never spoke of it and seemed inclined to give Fenris the space he had requested. There were still moments like this however, moments where their eyes locked and volumes of unspoken words seemed to pass between them.

Muttering to himself, Varric followed Hawke into the room, kicking the dead mage with obvious pleasure. Faithful Bianca rested companionably on his shoulder, cradled lovingly in the dwarf's roughened hand. Aveline pushed in behind him, red hair falling around her face in loose strands.

"I really need to get more guards to patrol Darktown and flush out these Tevinter hideaways," grumbled Aveline. She smiled wearily at Fenris. "At least you're still here though."

Varric pulled his lock picks out and fumbled at the cell door. Hawke remained silent, but his eyes were carefully assessing Fenris. With a satisfied grunt, Varric jerked the door open and gestured grandly at Fenris while bowing.

"You are freed, Ser!" Fenris immediately headed to a chest in the corner of the dungeon, where they had stored his greatsword. Already he felt better as he slid it in its sheath on his back. There was nothing like a good weapon to make you feel safer.

"Are you hurt, Fenris?" Hawke's soft tenor sent a shiver down his spine. He glanced quickly at the mage, not quite meeting those blue eyes.

"I am quite fine. A few bruises never hurt me before." He looked toward the doorway apprehensively. "We should leave quickly before more arrive." He started for the door, then paused hesitantly without turning around. "Thank you... for coming for me. I don't know how you found me, but it is appreciated." He looked at the wall as he spoke; thanks and apologies were always difficult for him to express. They were yet another aspect of freedom that he was trying to become familiar with.

"Bodahn was outside in the square when they took you away," said Hawke from behind him. "One of them was carrying you over his shoulder, and you were clearly unconscious. He was alarmed and alerted me at once. Varric had contacts who knew where their lair was located. Aveline offered to help."

"I wanted to know where they were hiding out anyway," said Aveline. "I'll be sending the guard here later. But for now, let's get out of here." She stepped in front of Fenris and headed swiftly out the door, followed by Varric. Hawke stepped up and very carefully laid a gentle hand on Fenris's shoulder. Even that light touch caused him to flinch, and Hawke withdrew his hand.

"I was... worried. I'm glad you're okay." His eyes met Fenris's gaze briefly, searchingly. Before Fenris could reply however, he pushed past the elf and hurried after Varric. Another opportunity lost, another moment gone. With a weary sigh, Fenris followed his companions out of the dungeon.

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They made it back to Hightown with relatively little difficulty. It was very late, and the streets were empty except for a few guards on patrol, who nodded respectfully at Aveline. Varric headed to the Blooming Rose for a drink, and Aveline hurried off to the barracks to report the location of the slavers' hideout. Hawke and Fenris walked silently together toward their estates, which were located quite close to each other. They reached Fenris's mansion first, and Fenris paused to look cautiously at his friend.

"Would you... like to come in for a glass of wine?" It was the first invitation he had offered to Hawke in over a year, and the surprise in Hawke's eyes reflected this.

"Yes. I would like that." He smiled a little at Fenris, although his stance was clearly wary.

They entered the mansion and walked upstairs to the only room Fenris bothered to make livable. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawke frown at the dilapidated condition of the estate. There had already been one conversation between them regarding the sorry state of his home, and Fenris was pleased to see that Hawke had learned his lesson and was keeping his mouth shut. The mansion meant nothing to him; it was merely a place to sleep and wait for Danarius to arrive. Four years of waiting hadn't changed his view on the place.

Fenris retrieved a bottle of wine and popped the cork easily with the tip of his gauntlet. Handing the bottle to Hawke, he went to the hearth and started up a pleasant fire. He settled himself in the chair next to the mage and watched as Hawke tipped the bottle back, his lips pressed firmly to the opening as he gulped the sweet liquor. A flash of memory flared in his mind: Hawke's lips pressed in a similar fashion around his length, his throat working as Fenris released his seed in Hawke's eager mouth. Fenris closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He truly didn't know if the memory of that night was a blessing or a curse.

He opened his eyes to see Hawke holding out the bottle to him. Trembling only slightly, he took it and gulped almost frantically, relaxing as the liquid burned a path to his stomach. He had been so close to losing his freedom tonight; it could not be allowed to happen a second time. He would have to be more careful, take more precautions. Hawke could not always be his safety net, and after Fenris's rejection of him, how much longer would he even want to socialize with Fenris? He turned his head to look at his friend and noticed that Hawke was staring at his feet.

"What? Something wrong?" He looked down at his feet with some confusion. Even in the city, elves did not wear shoes. Their soles were tougher than those of humans, and most elves enjoyed the feel of the ground against their bare feet. Of course over time, elven feet became stained from the constant exposure to dirt, but this was considered typical. Most elves washed their feet at the end of each day; they enjoyed feeling clean just as much as humans. Fenris's feet were understandably dirty tonight from all the walking through the damp underground rooms. He had never noticed Hawke looking concerned about them before, but the mage was staring at them now with a furrowed brow that meant he was worried about something.

"Don't they ever hurt?" Hawke twitched his own booted feet in sympathy.

"Sometimes they do when I'm walking in rough terrain. Usually, I don't really notice it though." He lifted one foot to examine the stained, blackened sole. "Guess I'll have to clean them pretty thoroughly before I go to bed."

"May I?" Hawke's voice was tentative, almost tremulous. Fenris stared at him with consternation.

"You want to wash my feet? How strong is this wine anyway?" He frowned at the offending bottle, wondering if Hawke was truly such a lightweight drinker.

"Fenris... please. You've been through a lot tonight. I'm a healer... just let me do it." He stood abruptly and moved swiftly to the nearby washroom, Fenris gaping at him in astonishment. Sometimes, Hawke seemed like such a strange mage.

Hawke returned momentarily with a basin of water and a towel over his arm. While Fenris watched him warily, he settled on the floor at Fenris's feet and looked up at him with a shy grin.

"Um... you won't attack me when I touch your feet, will you?" It was intended as a joke, as Fenris well knew. They were both aware that Fenris would never purposely hurt Hawke. That had been established on that memorable night, when Fenris had slammed Hawke against the wall. That instant of violence had precipitated the entire sensual sequence that had followed.

"I promise to try... to be good." Fenris forced a half-smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. Seeing Hawke like this, sitting at his feet with those blue eyes burning so intently into his own, it made him shiver just a little. Too much had happened this night, and he was very... emotionally sensitive at the moment.

Hawke reached out and very gently took Fenris's left foot in his hands, and Fenris was secretly pleased that he flinched only a bit. Hawke lowered the dirty foot into the basin of warm water and began to massage it slowly, scrubbing off the dust first. Fenris closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax slowly into Hawke's soothing touch. No one in his short memory had ever washed his feet before. It seemed so... subservient, so submissive. And Hawke was so very tender as he raised the elf's foot out of the water and lathered soap into the calloused skin. The mage took his time, even caressing between each toe until Fenris wanted to curl them around those probing fingers. His soles were too thick to be ticklish like humans' feet were, but the muscles were still sensitive to the pressure of a sensual touch.

After rinsing the decidedly cleaner foot, Hawke set it aside on the towel and reached for the other foot, repeating the same cleansing massage. His fingers deliberately traced the gleaming lines of lyrium that extended across the top of Fenris's foot. As he did so, he released just a tiny amount of magic, causing the lines to glow as tingling warmth rushed along the path of the tattoo. Fenris suppressed a gasp but could not restrain his sudden obvious arousal. Hawke never looked up; his attention focused solely on the foot in his hands, but Fenris caught a glimpse of a quick smile beneath the tousled black hair. So he hadn't completely given up on the elf. Perhaps, just maybe, Fenris hadn't ruined everything after all.

Both feet clean, Hawke set aside the basin and gently rubbed the towel over each foot. Fenris just stared down at him, dazed and still half-hard with desire. How was it that this mage could stir such feelings in him? And why, after all that Fenris had said, was he treating the elf with such kindness? No former slave deserved such loving service... it seemed wrong somehow. Yet, it went a long way to breaching the stone wall he had built so carefully around his heart. He could feel the stones crumbling, his resolve to distance himself from Hawke failing. This man had just washed his feet; what could Fenris possibly say to that?

Hawke stood and set the basin and towel aside on the table. Again, that shy smile briefly transformed the worry lines of his handsome face.

"There. That's really a lot better, and you won't have to do anything now before going to bed. Sleep well, Fenris." He hesitated; then nervously pressed a quick kiss to Fenris's cheek, one hand gently caressing his other cheek. Then he was gone, the soft swish of his robes marking his swift exit.

Fenris sat there for a long time afterward, staring vacantly into the fire while it burned low. Pride was one of the first things he had sought to build in himself after his flight from Danarius. As a slave, pride had been nonexistent. It was something he felt that all free men aspired to achieve, while not letting it overcome them. But tonight, he had learned something different from Hawke. Humility was a greater trait than pride, and Hawke had shown him that by his willingness to serve Fenris this evening. It is certainly something to remember, he thought as he collapsed into his sagging bed and drifted almost immediately into sleep.