Note: Thank you everyone for all the reviews and alerts! You guys are awesome! This chapter is rewritten now thanks to feedback from Crystal Night, whose critiques are super helpful!
Also, this story contains references to rape, so please read with caution. I would hate to upset or trigger anyone!
Flurries of anticipation gathered in Fenris's stomach as he walked to the Hanged Man. He'd never had a job before, and it felt strangely liberating and exciting to stop running, to find a place he might belong, if only for a little while.
He looked around the dirty tavern, but did not see Hawke or her companions. The barkeep looked him over and then grunted.
"Hawke's in the back," he said. "Up the stairs and straight ahead."
"Thank you," said Fenris. He moved quietly and cautiously to the door and listened for a moment before entering. It could be a trap—it never hurt to be too careful, but he heard Hawke's voice, soft and carefree, and pushed the door open.
"Fenris!" she said, turning to him. There was something strange and intense in her gaze, but her smile was wide and sincere.
Fenris returned the smile with a small one of his own. He was rather unaccustomed to the gesture. He looked around the room. The dwarf, Varric, was present, sitting at a table with another man, a tall blonde man who was surrounded by a faint residue of magic, as though…
Fenris glanced around the room and there it was, a mage's staff, leaning against the wall behind the blonde man. He stiffened, immediately tense and on guard.
"I did not realize you counted a mage among your companions," he said to Hawke.
"Right," she said. "This is Anders. Anders, this is Fenris. We met him last night. He's going to be working with us."
The two men glared at each other from across the room.
"I will be watching you, mage," said Fenris, speaking the last word as though it were an insult.
"I will be watching you, creep," said Anders.
"Right," said Hawke. "It's a lovely day to go kill stuff. Don't ruin it with fighting."
Varric smiled up at her, indulgently. "Where are we going today, boss?" he said.
"The Wounded Coast," she replied. "We have mercenaries to kill, and I have a debt to repay."
"Hate to break it to you," replied the dwarf, "but we're broke."
"It's not that kind of debt."
The Dalish were suspicious. Fenris could feel their eyes on him. He was used to the effect his appearance had on people, but it still irked him to be stared at. The elves' hands all lingered on their weapons until the Keeper of the clan greeted Hawke.
The Keeper told Hawke her debt was not yet repaid. Hawke frowned, but looked as though she had been expecting this.
"Take the amulet to the top of the mountain and perform our Dalish ritual for the dead on it. Then your debt will be repaid."
"Will you teach me the ritual?" asked Hawke.
"I will send my First with you," said the Keeper. "She will perform the ritual. And I would ask that you take her with you when you go."
"She wants to go to Kirkwall? Whatever for?" said Hawke.
"She is taking a different path," said the Keeper. Fenris sighed. Always with the mystery. It seemed no one could ever be upfront with what they wanted.
"A different path?" asked Hawke.
"You can ask her yourself," said the Keeper. "She is waiting for you on the path."
The mountain path was lovely, soft green grass spongy beneath his feet. It was not difficult to walk softly here, and he let down his guard a bit. The sun was bright and beautiful, leafy trees casting dappled shadows on the ground. It had been a long time since he was able to simply enjoy the feeling of the sun on his shoulders. Hawke seemed calm and relaxed, and somehow that made him feel as though they were safe.
The First was waiting for them beneath a tall oak. She was a slender, lovely elf with wide eyes that regarded them curiously.
"I'm Merril," she said, speaking to Hawke as everyone seemed to do. It was strange how easily everyone they encountered realized Hawke was their unquestioned leader.
Fenris paid little attention to their conversation, something about an "asha'bellanar" and a Dalish ritual. It made no sense to him. He did catch Merrill's comment about "dark things" afoot in the mountain, and shifted his shoulders, feeling the familiar weight of his sword. The steel never failed to comfort him. His own strength and skill were the only things he had relied on for the past three years, and they had yet to fail him.
They started up the mountain, but the ground beneath them burst forth with half a dozen armed corpses. They were skeletal beings, scraps of armor hanging off of dirty bones, rusty blades in their bony hands. He ran forward, hefting his greatsword, and sliced through one of them, splitting the creature in two with a heavy blow.
Hawke slipped into the shadows beneath a tree, and almost entirely disappeared for a second, before driving her two daggers into the back of another skeleton. The creature turned on her, raising its blade, and Fenris ran towards it. But before he reached it, a bolt of lightning zapped it, dazing the creature. He turned and saw Merrill, hands outstretched, chanting a spell.
As suddenly as it had begun, the fight was over.
Two mages. He was in the company of two mages.
"The Keeper didn't say you were a mage," said Hawke, looking at Merrill.
Fenris scowled. "Difficult to give away something nobody wants," he said.
Merrill's eyes dropped to the ground, her mouth drooping at the corners as though she had been hit. Hawke glared at Fenris, and he was surprised to feel a hint of shame at her obvious disapproval, though he had only spoken the truth.
"All Keepers know magic," Merrill said, as though it should have been obvious.
"Thanks for pitching in back there," said Hawke, and the girl immediately brightened.
"Oh! I've never really fought before," said Merrill. "I didn't know if I'd be any good."
"Well, feel free to keep zapping monsters for us," said Hawke. "I have a feeling there will be more fighting before we're through."
She was right. They encountered many more skeletons on the path, and then they traveled through a cave full of spiders, only to find themselves in front of a glowing barrier.
"I can dispel that," said Merrill, stepping forward. Hawke nodded at her. The girl took out a knife and cut her hand, and Fenris could feel the fell rush of blood magic surround her.
No mage can be trusted, he thought. Not even the innocent, sweet looking elf girls.
"Foolish," he said to the girl. "Very foolish." But Merril ignored him, her wide eyes turned to Hawke as though none of the rest of them existed.
"Fenris is right," said Hawke. "There has to be a better way."
Merril turned her gaze down and trudged forward. Fenris caught Hawke's eye, and she shrugged, her gesture saying I don't like it any more than you do. There was a bit of anxiety in her gaze, and something else.
Why did she persist in looking at him like that? Was it pity in her eyes? Did he look so strange to her?
He had no time to dwell on it, as more skeletons and even an arcane horror rose from the ground to try and take them down.
In battle his doubts, his fears, even his hate was like a distant, misty background. All that mattered was the moment, the swing of his sword, the dance of his feet, the sound of metal clashing and the spectre of Hawke, dancing in and out of shadows across the field.
The meadow cleared of the undead for the time being, they walked to the altar, and Hawke handed an amulet to Merrill. The elf set it on the altar, and chanted a few lines in the Dalish tongue. The sky darkened and a great swirl of smoke rose from the altar. An old woman stepped forward, dressed in elegant maroon armor and crowned by white hair.
"A witch," he murmured, hands itching to draw his sword, but he held back. Hawke did not seem surprised, and her hands were nowhere near her daggers, so he remained still. How she had become his leader in so short a time was something he'd have to ponder, later.
Merrill bowed towards the witch, and Fenris frowned at her. Was there any sort of magical perversion the elf was not a part of?
"A bit of security, should the inevitable occur," said the witch. "And if I know my Morrigan, it already has."
Fenris did not try to make sense of any of the witch's words until Hawke turned to him with a question evident on her face.
"You are a witch, but you are more than that," he said. "I have seen many magicks in my time, and you are like none of them. What are you?"
The witch met his eyes and his challenge.
`"The chains are broken, wolf," she said. "But are you truly free?"
"You..see much," he admitted. Hawke watched him with those damned dark and inscrutable eyes.
"I am a fly in the ointment," said the witch. "I am a whisper in the shadows. I am an old, old woman."
She turned to Hawke.
"I see…so many things for you. So many futures rest in your hand, so many lives and deaths. When the abyss opens before you, I have only one word of advice: fly."
"What does that mean?" asked Hawke.
"Perhaps it is only the words of an old woman or perhaps it is the prophesy of a dragon. You decide, child."
With that the witch turned and became smoky, unfocused, and then somehow she grew and her essence reformed into a great dark dragon. She left them behind, the wind from the great flapping of her wings brushing their cheeks.
They did not talk on the way back to Kirkwall, Hawke and Fenris both pondering the witch's words.
Nighttime
That night, someone knocked on his door. He slipped out the window and stepped softly down the street, keeping close to the wall and out of the streetlight.
But it was only Hawke, in her dark leather armor, moving away from the door with disappointment on her face. She pulled her blades as he emerged from the shadows, but put them away again with a smile of recognition.
"It never hurts to be cautious," she said.
He nodded and went to the door. "Come in," he said, hoping it was the right thing to say. He had never been a host before.
Danarius had quite the wine cellar, and included in his collection were six bottles of the fine Aggregio he used to serve to prestigious guests. He poured a glass for Hawke, pushing away memories of pouring it for Danarius's guests.
He drank some himself, from the bottle, but it tasted bitter on his tongue. Another fine thing, ruined by Danarius, ruined by the past he could not put behind him.
He threw the bottle against the wall, where it shattered. Hawke did not flinch.
"It is nice to see I can still enjoy the small things," he said, his tone bitter, brittle.
"This must be difficult for you," she said, softly.
"I cannot leave it behind, no matter how much I might wish to," he replied. The words tumbled out of his mouth, a confession he had not meant to make.
She looked at him again, so strangely.
"Why do you look at me like that?" he said, suddenly angry.
She turned her face away, and he prepared himself for whatever she might say. He searched her face and was surprised to see her cheeks flushed. How odd.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice. It's just that…well…you are very attractive. "
Fenris was silent for a moment, taken aback. No one had ever called him attractive before, unless they were mocking him and his powerlessness to say no. No one had ever spoken to him in that tone, shy but sweet and a little ashamed.
"I'm not very good at flirting," she said.
"Neither am I."
She laughed a little. "I'm glad you decided to join me."
"I've never had a…colleague before. It's surprisingly nice not to fight alone."
"As long as you are in Kirkwall," she said, "you will not have to fight alone." Her tone was surprisingly fierce, protective.
"I…thank you," he said.
"I should have warned you about Anders," she said. "I forget people are uncomfortable with mages."
"I have seen the worst that magic can become," he said. "It always corrupts. It may take some time, but in the end, every mage will bend to it."
"Anders is a good man," she said, softly.
"For how long?" he said.
"Is this…will you work with a mage?" she said.
For a minute he wanted to say no, wanted to make her choose. But he was too afraid of what she might do.
"I will watch him," he said. "But we can work together…for now."
He could see relief in her eyes, and it softened the hard edge magic always brought out in him.
"Tell me more about this city," he said. "I would know more of my new home."
"So you are staying?" she said.
"I might. For the right reasons." He looked at her, and wondered to himself what the right reasons might be, and why it seemed they would all hang on her.
Fenris was in Danarius's bedchamber, cold and frightened. The magister stood before him, grinning, mocking.
"You are quite handsome, little wolf," he said. He ran a hand down Fenris's cheek, and as much as he wanted to pull away from the touch, he couldn't. Shame bloomed in his face, hot against his skin. He realized, as Danarius's hand traveled further, that he was naked, unarmed. The magister's fingers were cold, and he shuddered.
Danarius pulled him into a rough kiss, teeth grazing his lips, and Fenris did not move, could not move. In his head, he screamed, run, run, but his body, it seemed, was still a slave.
Danarius slapped him, hard, across the face. He tasted blood on his tongue.
"Kiss me back," he said.
Fenris did as he was told.
Danarius shoved him onto the bed, and he could feel the soft brocade quilt beneath his knees as his master grabbed him, fingers digging into his hips hard enough to leave bruises. He looked up and saw Hawke, standing in the corner, in the shadows that suited her so well. She watched, motionless, as Danarius thrust against his hips, and pain shot through him.
He woke, shaking and drenched in sweat. His body felt bruised, dirty.
It was the same dream, he'd had it many times. No matter how hard he fought, when he let his guard down, his shackles seemed to return, fiercer and harsher now that he'd had a taste of freedom. The witch was right. He would never be truly free. He would always be a slave.
Hawke…Hawke deserved better.
He climbed out the window of the second story bedroom and pulled himself up on the roof, where he sat , knees drawn to his chest, shivering from the cold and the lingering dread of his dream, until dawn broke over the city.
P.S. I figured out how to put transitions in! Huzzah!