Fenris sighed as he propped his feet on the battered stool, settling in for another evening in front of the fireplace. It had been two days since his return from Hawke's disastrous trip into the Deep Roads, and he had officially decided that he was never going back for anyone, ever (even if they had pretty grey eyes and a laugh like bells and hands that were always gentle when they touched him). He was startled out of his revere by footsteps on the stairs.
Fenirs was instantly alert, no that he thought thieves or slavers would do such a poor job of sneaking, but paranoia was just another term for longevity, so he grabbed his sword and sank into a combat stance. It proved to be unnecessary; just outside the door, a familiar soft voice called to him.
"Fenris? Are you home?"
Sighing as he placed his sword back in its place beside his chair, Fenris walked wearily to the door, opening it to reveal Cameron Hawke standing there with a basket over her arm and a bottle of wine in her hand, faithful mabari in tow. She held up the bottle.
"Drinks?"
Fenris entertained the idea of refusing, but after a look at her face, pale and drawn with red-rimmed eyes, he stepped aside to let her enter.
"I'm sorry to bother you. If you're busy I can leave."
"No," he muttered, "I am not busy."
She sat down in her usual spot (and wasn't it strange for this woman to have a "usual spot"?) on the bench by the hearth, setting the basket down beside her. She pulled back the cloth covering the top to reveal a soft loaf of bread, hard cheese, and four small bottles of what Fenris recognized to be Varric's favorite brandy. Cameron handed him the bottle of wine, Orlesian he guessed, if the flowing script was anything to go by, and half of the loaf and cheese.
They ate in silence, as was their custom on the increasingly frequent occasions Cameron visited him like this, Fenris drinking his wine and her mabari sleeping in front of the fire while Cameron consumed what seemed to him an excessive amount of brandy. It was not his place to comment, however, and, he reasoned, the woman had just lost her brother. They remained mostly silent until all the food and half the alcohol was gone, after which they chatted and gossiped like two old biddies, Cameron giggling like a child and Fenris managing a chuckle or two.
Cameron didn't slow down on her drinking, and soon she was more than a little drunk. Fenris didn't mind; Cameron was a pleasant drunk and could still manage to hold a conversation. When she rose as if to leave, however, Fenris strongly objected, insisting that she was too drunk to make it home alone. She fought him, as per usual, vehemently denying her inability to walk a straight line, let alone make it back to Lowtown. Finally, she accepted his offer, and curled up beside her mabari in front of the fire. Fenris looked at her for a moment, stretched out by the hearth with her head cushioned on her dog's heavy flank and her staff within easy reach, and it suddenly occurred to Fenris that this was not the first time this mage had slept on the floor.
He debated with himself for a moment before fetching one of his least threadbare blankets off the bed and throwing it over her. As he settled himself back in his cushioned chair, covered in a blanket with his feet propped on the battered stool, his thoughts turned to the strange woman sleeping in front of his fire. Not for the first or last time, he fell asleep trying to figure out the puzzle that was Cameron Hawke.