Persistence of Memories
"Hawke?" Cecily Hawke opened her eyes to discover that Fenris was staring at her. He could always tell what she was thinking, but he was kind enough to not say that he could read her. "You're going to stab yourself with the dagger you're polishing."
"Right." She set the blade on the table. "I'll polish with my eyes open."
"Oh, leave her alone. She's brooding. You know something about brooding yourself." Isabela winked at him. Hawke forced a smile that came out looking more like a grimace of pain. "You know what you need?"
"I'm guessing a mug of ale and a good tumble. It's too bad I knifed my boyfriend in the back." Hawke squeezed her eyes shut. The image of Anders's body slumped on the ground, twitching as the life went out of him was permanently burned onto the backs of her eyelids. She hadn't even kissed him or said goodbye-any hesitation would have killed her resolve. Fenris gave Isabela a scowl of daggers.
"I was going to say a few shots of whiskey, but you got the gist. If you decide you want to quit moping, I've got plenty of sailors around. I could even get them greased up for you. If you prefer your sailors pre-greased." Isabela winked again before sauntering out of the galley. Hawke had never really liked the sea, and when Isabela offered a place on her ship, she had laughed. That was when she still had Anders to make her crazy and to make her smile. But it wasn't so bad being a passenger on Isabela's ship, not nearly as uncomfortable as the ship she rode to get to Kirkwall where she was more cargo than passenger. Still, being at sea made her miss Bethany and her mother. Sometimes she could hear her mother's voice, warm and calming, in the lap of the waves on the side of the ship.
And Bethany. Bethany and her father were the only mages she had completely trusted, and Bethany had never been to the circle, so Hawke surprised even herself by supporting the mages even though she wasn't exactly sure they deserved it. Perhaps it was out of relief to see Bethany again and to have a mage at her side filling the comfortable space that Anders had so recently filled. But after Meredith's defeat, Bethany had returned to the wardens, and now Hawke was on the run. She felt lost without a mage beside her for the first time in her life. But not having a mage companion didn't matter on the ocean where there was little fighting other than brawls between the sailors, so she was left polishing her already pristine daggers. When her mother died, at least she could fight. Then it seemed like every person she killed pulled her further from the pain. But maybe each murder pulled her further from herself.
The silence of the room was broken only by the sighing of the beams of the ship as it glided through the calm ocean spray. Hawke could always count on Fenris to let her have peace. He sat, fingering the pages of a book resting unread in his lap. Hawke tried not to look at him, the shape of his face in the lantern light, the luminous white of his tattoos against the tan skin of his chin. She tried not to think of Fenris's body and had managed not to for a long time because when her thoughts drifted to his body she would drown in a sea of lust and of what might have been. She had only managed to stop these thoughts because of Anders. Because he loved her so much that she could almost forget about that night with Fenris when she gave him the scarlet scarf he still wore around his wrist. Even though she hadn't touched it in years, she could still recall the weave of the fabric, soft and durable. Fenris hadn't mentioned Anders even once since the Battle of Kirkwall. That's what they were calling it all across Thedas. Hawke just called it "The Battle," but in her mind it was "The Moment"-the moment where Anders's body lurched forward off the crate. She half-expected Fenris to say something, maybe not in outright celebration, but no, he was too kind for that. If anyone should be happy that Anders was dead, it would be Fenris.
"I knew Anders was slipping." Hawke said, trying to break the heavy silence that weighed like fog on the room.
"You'd been around the Hanged Man a lot more often the last few months. I wondered." He said it slowly, like he was chewing an overcooked steak, and she could tell he was glad she said something, anything. This was strange because Fenris was never one to make polite conversation. Maybe these few words showed him that she was still alive across the desert of her memories-memories that were better forgotten.
"Yeah. He was kind of crazy. The intensity of his rage was almost too much sometimes."
"He didn't ever hurt you, did he?" Fenris asked through a closed throat. The pages of his book crumpled as his fists made an involuntary ball.
"Oh no, nothing like that. But it was stressful, that's all. I never knew when he was going to snap. But he never did. Not until the chantry, I guess."
"Once I found his manifesto pasted to the doors of the chantry," Fenris said with a half-smile. "I tore it down. The last thing you needed was templars at your door looking for the apostate who penned slander against the circle."
"Thanks." She looked at Fenris again, almost intoxicated with his smile for a moment until she blinked and the form of Anders bleeding on the stones of Lowtown returned to her.
Hawke's cabin had one small bed, a table the size of a small ledge and a door. It was empty and small but comfortable. The candle on her bedside table gave off a yellow glow, the color of melted butter in the summer. As she laid up against the wall, it warmed from the heat of her body, almost feeling like there was another body there with her, the one that she had spent so many nights with. In the months leading up to "The Moment," she had stayed out later and later, and slept at home fewer hours. She pulled away from the wall, laying flat, feeling her aloneness as her fingertips caressed the air. The waves washed up against the ship singing her a lullaby.
She wasn't sure she'd slept at all when she heard a soft knock at the door and she knew it would be Fenris. Isabela wouldn't bother to knock. She'd just barge in with a couple of beefy sailors on her arms and a slur in her speech. It was remarkable how Isabela could command such respect in the men who followed her without doing anything authoritative. Perhaps the knowledge that she could cut off their dicks before they could draw a blade gave them enough respect that she didn't need to act like a captain.
Cecily opened the door and Fenris hesitantly stepped in.
"I thought you might need company, but perhaps I should go. You were sleeping." It wasn't a question.
Well, at least he's still bad at comforting the grieving, Cecily thought. At least some things remained constant. After her mother died, he merely gave her a grim smile and helped her to her feet. But what should she have expected. She had already run to Anders like a frightened kitten leaving Fenris to pine-not that he was ever good at pining and not that she realized that was the case. If she had…."I was listening to the ocean. You are welcome to sit," she offered. "Sorry that I don't have a chair."
He sat beside her on the bed, and her mind returned to the last time she was grieving, after she pierced Quentin's kidneys with her daggers and said goodbye to her mother. The light ebbed out of her mother's eyes as the magic escaped into the fade, and she held her mother's leathery hands that weren't really even hers. That night, Anders comforted her, and she accused him and all mages of being responsible for Quentin's crimes. While typically Anders would have challenged anyone who blamed all mages for the crimes of one, he only said that she could blame him if she needed to. If it helped. It didn't help. It did help when they found the duplicitous DuPuis and Fenris tortured him until DuPuis begged for mercy, which she gave him on the end of her murder knife.
"Thank you for coming, Fenris. I did need company even if I'm not very good at being a host."
"No need. I am good at sitting in silence. Or listening if you'd prefer to talk."
They sat on the bed inches apart. Slowly, the rising and falling of the ocean moved them closer until their legs were only separated by leather of their armors. Neither of them moved to remedy this.
"I do enjoy being on the sea," Hawke said after a time. "I thought it would feel like being on the run. But it feels like being in stasis. It's been a long time since I've had no where to go and no one to kill." She tried to come up with something more to say, but she didn't like small talk any more than Fenris.
The candle on the table melted until it was just a stub and a pool of wax. The flame flickered. Fenris pulled another candle out of the pouch on his belt and lit it with the last of the flame. The cabin flashed brilliant white for a moment until Fenris set down the candle and the flame settled. Hawke could see a hundred candles in his eyes, reflected in the deep pools of green.
As Fenris sat back down, he took a deep breath and toyed with the fabric of the scarf around his wrist. "I know Anders and I didn't get along, but he was important to you. He…" Fenris choked on his words, took a deep breath and continued. "He loved you. Even if it was the only good thing he did in his life…" He trailed off again confining the room to silence once more.
"Did he love me? Sometimes I'm not sure. He talked about his love, almost as much as he talked about the troubles of the mages. Of course, I talked about love too, but I'm not sure that I ever felt it. Words are so much easier than feelings. Could I have killed him and loved him? It wouldn't hurt so much now if I could feel sorry for killing him. But I don't. He deserved it. He started a war, killed hundreds of people, to say nothing of the people his revolution will yet kill. He lied to me and blackmailed me to get help! Would it have been better to help the templars? No. The revolution had already begun. Why in the hell do we imprison our mages in the same place where the veil is already thin anyway? It makes everyone crazy. And I didn't want Anders dead, but I wanted to be free of him. I saw him on that crate and I knew that if I didn't end him, the rest of my life would be spent in some damn fool quest to free the mages of Thedas. When Varric said he was sick of mages and templars, I knew that I was too. I didn't kill Anders because he was an abomination or because he killed innocents. I killed him because I was tired of his plight and his crusade, and I couldn't spend the rest of my life watching for his next scheme to get innocent people killed. To get me killed. To get you killed. Because that's what would have really killed me. I've always been a leader. People just follow me, and I've never wanted it. It makes me responsible when people die." The silence dripped from the wooden beams thick as blood. She squeezed her fingernails deep into the flesh of her ungauntleted hands and released them slowly leaving half-moon slices in the palms of her hands.
"Then I suppose I should thank you." Fenris said after a time.
"Thank me? I'm a horrible person who murdered Anders because it was easier than dealing with my decision to be with him."
"You always do what you believe is right. That's why we follow you."
"Ah. So that's why it's just you and Isabela now."
"Well, we're following Isabela now. It tends to lessen the number of followers." Fenris smiled, and a dry chuckle escaped from Hawke's throat. "It's good to see you smile," he continued.
"It's good to smile." She paused and added, "Why are you still here, Fenris?" Almost immediately, she wished she could take it back. He looked as torn as he did the night he stood in front of her fireplace and said that his memories made it too painful to love her. His silhouette glowed in the candlelight in an almost unnatural way, but she was sure it wasn't from the lyrium. She ached to touch the tattoos that curled behind his ears and burned to trace them down his neck.
"If you want, I can leave," he said.
"Oh Fenris, no that's not what I meant. I'm sorry. I'm glad you are here. I'm always glad you are here." She looked at him again. Usually, when he noticed her stares she would look away in an attempt to maintain some sense that she had forgotten about her feelings. But this time she just couldn't. His eyes met hers. The ship buckled beneath them and Hawke inadvertently grabbed Fenris's arm in an attempt to steady herself. His skin glowed the same brilliant blue it glowed the night of their first kiss. He gasped but did not pull away. She pulled him closer until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. Her hand slid up his arm to his neck, and as she caressed his face their lips touched. His lips tasted saltier, but other than that, kissing him was the same as she remembered. He put his hand on her waist, pulled her close to him and the force of shifting on her small cot pressed him against the wall. She remembered this, remembered it all.
She noticed a dampness on her face and realized she was crying. Fenris felt it too and pulled away, smacking his head against the wall.
"Venhedis!" He yelped, and Hawke laughed through her tears.
"Are you okay?" She asked.
"I'm fine. I'm sorry for pushing you. You are—it's too soon."
"Fenris, I kissed you. You don't need to apologize. But I think I do."
"No, you don't. Hawke, I've..." he paused and looked away. She'd seen him do this many times as he searched for the right words. When he finally spoke again, his words were husky and raw. "I've wanted this for a long time, but it's not right. Not while you're...grieving."
"I've been grieving for years, Fenris. But it isn't losing Anders that affected me this way. It's losing you. I can't bear to lose you again."
"I'm here for you. Always. You know that."
"Do I?"
"Well, you should know that. I hate ships. They make me think of Danarius. What would I be doing here if I wasn't here for you?"
"You're not here for Isabela?" she said slyly, and he snorted. He took her face in his hands using his thumbs to wipe away the tears, then kissed her again more, slowly this time. The ragged end of the ruby scarf tied to his wrist brushed against her cheeks as he ran his fingers through her hair.
"Never doubt that I am here for you." They kissed again and not even her tears drove him away.
The candle had burned out again, but Cecily didn't mind because a beam of sunlight streamed through the porthole leaving a perfect semi-circle of sunlight on the floor. She snuggled up to Fenris's chest, delighting in waking up beside him. It was morning and he was still in her bed! Her lips found his and she discovered that he was already awake.
"Cecily, I'm sorry I left." he said with a rawness in his voice that said he meant it.
"Not as sorry as I am that I didn't wait for you to change your mind. But it doesn't matter if you will stay." Her mind's eye saw Anders's corpse again, left on the streets of Lowtown as rioters filled the city with smoke. She tried to blink it away and hugged Fenris tighter.