Well, things have picked up, and I've gotten into it. Apologies to anyone who might have noticed that Fen's tone was a bit off in the last chapter; I've updated a bit and I'm hoping he'll be a bit more like himself here (although my himself, not really the one from the game.) Poor Fen, so flustered around girls, especially cute ones.


The Taming of the Wolf, part 2.

Usually, Fenris would go visit Hawke several times a week, if not daily. It got him out of his 'rat hole' as Varric called it – he knew that Hawke really hated that he'd never cleaned the place up after Danarius, but he felt more at home in its current state of disrepair. To be honest, the only reason Hawke's home – in the richest part of Kirkwall – didn't make him feel uneasy was simply because Hawke was there, and he was comfortable with her. The surroundings always felt too rich for him.

Unfortunately, he no longer felt so comfortable. The idea of going to visit made his back twitch, and on the fourth day since he'd seen Hawke - the third since Orana had come to see him – he was sitting at his table after scrounging for lunch when she walked through his front door.

He turned when the door opened, not sure who he was expecting; he relaxed, however, when he saw who it was. "Hello, Hawke. Got something planned?"

She shook her head, her eyebrow raised. "Not really – I was just coming to make sure you hadn't gotten sick or left town." When he blinked at her, she sighed. "Orana thinks she said something to upset you and wanted me to come tell you that if you'd like to come over, she can make sure to be elsewhere when you do."

Fenris had the grace to blush. "It's not-" He sighed, trailing off. As Hawke raised her eyebrow again, he frowned. "All right, so it is her. But she doesn't need to go away – she doesn't bother me. I just feel so awkward around her. But I'm an adult, and I can get past it. I suppose you'll be ready to start those reading lessons, soon?"

She'd tilted her head and was giving him a curious look, but then nodded as he finished. "I am, whenever you're ready. I've spent the time you were absent-" She's not going to let that go, is she? "-testing Orana to see where her level is; I know you at least know your letters, you told me as much when you used that note to track Danarius to this mansion in the first place. She didn't, but she's been studying, and I think you two are probably about at the same place now."

He nodded. "Sorry I haven't been by lately, Hawke." When he saw her cautious nod he winced inwardly, realizing with a pang that she'd probably been feeling neglected. As he turned his head, he saw the plate Orana had brought over. The pastries had been exquisite, and he'd washed the dish carefully – whatever Varric might insinuate about his environment he was a fanatic for cleanliness – but hadn't been able to bring himself to go back yet. He picked it up. "Well, I suppose there's no time like the present. If you don't have anything planned, do you want to start it this afternoon?"

Hawke grinned. "Absolutely."


A month later, Fenris found himself groaning as he walked home from one of their late-evening reading sessions. Granted, he and Orana were making good progress, but that was because Hawke was a sadist. There wasn't a time they were together that she wasn't pushing him to read any scrap of text they came across. It wasn't so bad when she was just out with Varric and Sebastian, or Aveline – but when Isabela was in the party she was a terrible tease, and he sometimes outright refused to do anything if Anders was around. He understood why Hawke did it, of course. But it was to the point where he was seeing signs for "Hightown" or "Ostwick", or advertisements for apothecaries in his sleep.

Although, I suppose it's better to be dreaming about remedies for ague or the pox than it is to have Tevinter slave hunters haunting my rest. He sighed. He couldn't complain too much. In the end, Orana had it worse - she had to read titles from every shelf in Hawke's library every time she dusted and he'd seen what kind of magical and metaphysical nonsense was in there. Not to mention the fact that the place was the size of Gamlen's whole house. Or hovel, take your pick.

He closed the door to his estate, having made sure to slip in through the shadows – though at that time of night people were more likely to ignore the occasional individual seen sneaking around, because it wouldn't do to be the one to discover 'Lord So-and-So's' secret assignations with 'Lady Such-and-Such.' It was always better to be able to preface your gossip with "I heard it from someone else" than it was to be the one mentioning it firsthand. I hate Hightown, sometimes.

He sighed again. And speaking of Orana… things were both better and worse around her. They'd talked a bit when he returned that day with Hawke, and he found himself assuring her that no, he didn't want her to go away, and he didn't dislike her company, and for some reason, she'd seemed quite pleased. It had reminded him that for all that she was so cheerful in her new life, her old one had still made its mark on her – for all that she'd do anything Hawke asked her to, she was still reluctant to go outside, or have much dealing with strangers. That made the difference between her attitude towards the past and his own that much more marked.

The worst part was that he had a sneaking suspicion that she was right, for all that she was so unworldly and naïve. It was exactly the same as the argument he'd had with Hawke – the only real argument they'd ever had – after he'd killed Hadriana; she'd taken him to task and he'd been forced to admit, eventually, that he hadn't wanted to kill the magister. He just hadn't been able to stop the hatred – and the problem with hatred was that once it faded, all you were usually left with was regret. Not that Hadriana deserved to live, but she shouldn't have been worth him breaking a sworn vow.


And so he caught himself watching the girl, bemusedly; apparently more than he realized because one day in late summer he and Hawke were sitting in his 'study' – as much as it could be called such – sharing a bottle of Aggregio Pavali, when she sat back and gave him a look. "So, when are you going to actually say something to Orana?"

He blinked at her, the bottle halfway to his mouth. "What are you talking about?" He finished his drink. "She and I talk all the time and I've even managed to stop frightening her every time I come over."

She scoffed. "You heard me, and that's not what I meant. While it's rather endearing to watch you stare after her like a mooncalf, it's also making you less attentive. Although with how much more progress she's making, perhaps I'll have her take over the lessons eventually. Maybe you'll pay attention then." She smirked as he flushed crimson.

"If you're implying that I have some special interest in Orana, you're mistaken, Hawke. I simply find it hard to understand her way of thinking." At her raised eyebrow, he added, reluctantly, "I find myself wondering if things might not actually be easier if I could learn to think as she does."

Hawke ran a hand over her hair as she took the proffered bottle. "It's not a bad thought, Fen. The more people I meet, the more I realize that almost everyone has something to teach, whether by explanation or example – or even reverse example, because Maker knows there was nothing about Magistrate Vanard's son that I'd want to exemplar." Fenris snorted in agreement, and she shook her head, but then gave a sly smile. "So what you're trying to say is that you don't find Orana attractive."

Fenris glared. "Of course not!"

"At all."

By this point he was blushing again and she laughed. "Oh, Fen, what am I going to do with you?"

"I don't know, Hawke, but if you don't stop the nonsense, you're going to regret it if Varric ever manages to find you a husband."

She scoffed again. "That's unlikely." They laughed and she handed him back the bottle, sobering a little. "Speaking of Varric – he tells me that Bartrand's in town."

Fenris sat up – this was news indeed. "When did he find out, and where is he?"

She shook her head. "I don't know when, but he stopped me when I was at the Hanged Man last night and told me. The weasel is somewhere in Hightown; once Varric's managed to track some of the supplies that he's been ordering, we'll go and… pay him a visit."

He nodded, then raised the bottle. With a grim smile, he toasted her. "To Bethany's vengeance, then."


Fenris limped through the door of Hawke's estate, wincing. They'd been in Bartrand's run-down estate all morning; from the elf's point of view the whole thing had been a fiasco. Not that they hadn't found the bastard – but he'd been so crazy, thanks to the influence of the lyrium idol they'd found in the deep roads, that there was no getting anything out of him. Hawke had brought Anders along; Fenris still couldn't understand how she could put up with the apostate, especially since anyone who wasn't blind – except Hawke, apparently – could see that he was in love with her, and badly so. But he'd proven useful today, and had been able to at least clear Bartrand's mind up enough that he was no longer endangering everyone and trying to kill them all. Too bad he hadn't managed it before the bastard stuck a dagger in my thigh. He sighed, grimacing a bit at the searing pain; it was just above his knee, and it made walking a little difficult.

The other three had dragged the now-peaceful – though still crazy – dwarf off to the Chantry, as Hawke was hoping they'd be able to put him in a sanitarium and perhaps eventually cure him. Fenris thought it was a ridiculous thing to do, and had said so. As he'd griped at the time, "He wasn't under the influence of the idol when he locked us in and tried to abandon us, so why are we even debating this?"

Hawke had just given him a Look – he knew it was hard for her, too, thanks to what had happened to Bethany – but she'd left it up to Varric, who'd reluctantly put Bianca away. "I wanted my revenge, sure, but this isn't how it should end. Poor bastard's crazy; I can't just kill him like this."

When they got out of the estate, Hawke had taken one look at his leg and sent him back to her manor to have Orana patch it up, since he refused to let Anders use magic on him. When he got inside, he looked for her, but Bodahn said she was out. So he'd rinsed the wound out a bit in the garden and wrapped a clean-but-old rag around it, then sat down on the divan in the study hoping that his head would soon stop swimming so badly.

One of the things they'd discovered was that in Bartrand's insanity, he'd been force-feeding lyrium to all his guards and servants – which was why the ones who weren't dead were absolutely crazy – and the stench and feel of the stuff was pervasive throughout the entire estate. There was a whole cauldron of molten lyrium boiling over the fireplace – if that wasn't madness, Fenris didn't know what was. Within half an hour he'd had a headache, thanks to his tattoos; by the time they'd found Bartrand he'd been dizzy and it was more than likely the reason the dwarf had been able to catch him to stick the dagger in his thigh in the first place.

Leaning his head back with a sigh, he thought again about Varric and Bartrand, and then Hawke's agony over what had happened to Bethany. If that's what having a family does for you, no thank you. It's probably better that I don't remember Varania, if the other option is to let it cloud my judgment and cause me to make such bad decisions. I know this deal with Bartrand is going to come back and bite us in the end.

He couldn't deny that a part of him clung to the idea of a sister wistfully, however, and his mind was unfocused enough that he started wondering what she was like. Closing his eyes, a vague image of a small, slight, blonde elf with brilliant blue eyes came to mind; she smiled at him and he was about to hug her when he heard a gasp and a cry of, "Fenris!" The touch of a cool hand on his face caused him to open his eyes unsteadily.

"Varania?" He blinked in confusion, then realized he'd dozed off. Orana was standing over him; her touch on his forehead was what had woken him. She winced when he spoke, and shook her head.

"I'm Orana, Fenris." She sighed. "You've got a fever, and your leg is bleeding. What happened?"

He flushed slightly at the concern in her voice. "We ran into more resistance at Varric's brother's estate than we thought we would, and the brother got a lucky – or unlucky – hit in." He looked up, meeting her eyes – I never realized they were so bright blue – and gave a wry smile. "Hawke said you'd be able to patch me up?"

She nodded. "I'll go get the medicine basket and some bandages." She flew to the door, looking anxious; within ten minutes she was back. "I've put the kettle on – you should drink some feverfew tea, too."

Fenris nodded, not speaking; she knelt next to the divan and carefully began to clean the wound. He hissed as the antiseptic touched the gash, and she looked up. "I'm so sorry!"

He shook his head, gritting his teeth a bit. "Don't be. It means it's working – please continue."

She nodded, but when she started to smoothe the ointment on, he hissed for a different reason; he hadn't realized how much of his tattoo was actually visible – she'd had to peel his leggings up past his knee – and her touch on his skin was making him acutely 'uncomfortable'. He bit his lip to keep from making any outward signs of distraction, all the while cursing Hawke for putting stupid ideas in his head in the first place. He was grateful when she finally finished binding it, and was almost relieved when she left to attend the whistle of the kettle.

He'd barely had time to reorganize his still-fuzzy thoughts when she came back, carrying a tray with a pot of tea, a cup, and some freshly-baked, buttered bread. It was one of the trays with a folding stand; she leaned down to set it across his lap and as her hair fell over her shoulder he caught a whiff of some flowery scent – he wasn't sure what, although he was knew Hawke would know, with her gardening obsession – and his head spun again. He choked out a "Thank you, Orana," and she gave him a small smile.

"Drink all of that, and rest. You probably shouldn't walk on your leg again today, and with that fever, you shouldn't be walking all over Hightown, anyhow. I'm sure Mistress Hawke will let you stay the night; I'll speak to her when she gets home." He looked up, alarmed; Orana had already turned to leave the study.

At the door, however, she paused, looking back. "I'm sorry I wasn't who you wanted me to be when you woke earlier," she said, in a small voice, then turned – it almost looked as if she were fleeing. He blinked, feeling completely confused.

Between the lyrium and whatever nonsense Hawke put into my head, I'm a wreck. He cursed quietly; he had an overwhelming urge to escape, but realized that, for the moment, he was trapped. Sighing, he picked up the teacup; at least Orana's tisanes were drinkable, unlike what Merrill usually came up with.


As always, the characters belong to Bioware, I just borrow them.