Warnings: Sexual situations, kidnapping, strong language, trauma
Summary: -Inspired by Starz's 'Spartacus'- Post-Game - In which Fenris and Hawke are separated by Danarius's disciple.
Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age II, and all of its characters are property of Bioware. I make no profit, nor will I ever, from this work of fiction.
LUCID DREAMING
MARIAN HAWKE AND FENRIS
PART 2
"Oh, Maker," The voice was as soft as the touch against his flaming skin, "Why must your children be so cruel? Take pity on this one. Allow him to live-"
"That's enough, Jessie!" A hiss, a cut through the fog, "The damn Maker has left us, if there ever was one! Stop calling him. He won't fucking answer!" There was a shift as the other voice drew closer, "If you want to help the poor bastard, get the cloth and potion like I told you."
There wasn't an immediate answer, but a sigh, "Yes, Finley."
A dream; Fenris must have been hovering on the edge of a dream. He couldn't move, and the world around him was black. The Fade gave him nothing but voices both confusing and disorienting.
"There we go," Finley, whoever he was, spoke close to him, "Hey, Elf? Can you hear me? This will probably hurt. Don't hit me or anything."
"He will not hit you."
"You never know. I've heard the Dalish'll kill you without a second thought."
"How can you be certain he's Dalish?"
"Look at him, Jessie. He's covered in those crazy tattoos, and he's as naked as a babe. You know they run around naked. Some sort of Old God worship."
Jessie sighed again, "Maker, show him the way."
"He wouldn't give a fuck about the Maker."
"I was referring to you."
Fenris didn't hear Finley's retort, if there was any. He was much too distracted with the sudden sting of medicine on his open wounds. The sensation brought him further from the Dream Plane and toward reality, but in so doing, he keenly felt a nagging ache. He knew the soreness; he knew the pain, but he couldn't place it to any memory. He groaned.
"I am sorry, my friend," Jessie murmured, "I know you must be in terrible pain."
"Almost makes me wish there was a mage about," Finley snorted, "Good luck asking them for anything though."
Mage.
Where was Hawke?
Everything came back to him in a rush: Varric and Anders leaving, Marian's misery, their intimacy, Iason, Marian being kidnapped. Marian being kidnapped. Fenris snapped up and startled the two humans hovering over him. Jessie, a petite slip of a girl fresh into womanhood, scrambled away from him and clung to Finley, a scrawny boy barely able to muster up enough scruff to call a beard. He gripped her tightly and glared at Fenris, who ignored them both.
"Hawke!" He shrieked as he rolled over to be on all fours. Fenris managed to crawl to a tree stump and stumbled as he struggled to get to his feet, only to fail miserably, "Hawke!" He shouted again.
She wouldn't answer. He knew somewhere in the rational part of his mind that she wouldn't, but Fenris thought that maybe, just maybe, Hawke slipped away and was close enough to hear him. The chance was slim, but certainly there.
"Marian!"
He stood, took two steps, and fell with all the grace of a newborn calf. Jessie pulled out of Finley's tight grasp and slowly tiptoed toward the fallen elf, much to Finley's displeasure.
"You mustn't-" The woman tried to tell him as she reached down to help him back up.
He swatted at her as he forced himself up to his knees, "Stay back! You cannot help me!"
"If you would only let me-"
"No! I need-" Fenris wobbled and sat back to catch his balance. Slowly, the adrenaline fueling him failed and was replaced with a dark misery Fenris hadn't felt in years. His glittering emerald eyes were sealed away with the closing of his lids, the last line of defense against the sadness prickling in the ducts, "Hawke. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Mister Elf?" Fenris dared to open his eyes and turn his blurry gaze toward her. Jessie draped her shawl over his shoulders and knelt next to him, offering him a smile.
"Jessie! Get away from him!" Finley hissed.
"Do not worry," She whispered, ignoring Finley entirely and giving Fenris's shoulder a squeeze, "You're safe with us."
Fenris wanted to laugh. He hadn't the heart to tell her just how wrong she was. He wasn't safe. Hawke wasn't safe. He had no choice but to worry.
"Please, let us help you. You're very hurt, and you've lost a lot of blood," She reached up to smooth back the crusty locks of now red and brown hair. Jessie winced, obviously getting a good view of the deep gash in Fenris's head, "You do not want the rot to set in on this wound."
Rot. Fenris knew illness and infection very well. His memories didn't go back so far as to shine a light on his own experience, but he had seen it. Danarius was a ruthless owner; the weak deserved to die under their own filth in his eyes. Many a slave perished under the ravages a simple cut could inflict.
No, Fenris certainly did not want to test his odds against a pus-glutted promise of pain and fever, but neither could be afford to wait a single moment longer. He hadn't any idea just how long he had been unconscious. Hawke could be on a Tevinter auction platform at that exact moment, waiting for his distraction to create an opening for escape. He was letting her down by just sitting about feeling sorry for himself.
And feeling more than a little dizzy and cold.
"The Hitched Horse," He rasped, "I need to go. The Hitched Horse."
"The tavern? Hmm. Can't say I'd wouldn't be craving a pint too if I were you."
If looks could kill, Jessie's glare would have skinned and tanned him. Grumbling, Finley turned just enough to blunt the sharp expression and began to collect all he could. From what Fenris could see, it wasn't much. His clothing had been spared, as had most of his armor, but nothing else remained. Scavengers had picked clean the campsite's bones. He couldn't say he was surprised.
Using what little strength he had, he pushed himself to his feet and staggered toward the nearest of his effects. Reaching down, he faltered and nearly fell. Instead of the leggings he wanted, his fingers brushed against the dark, shimmering fabric of Marian's robes. He filled his hands with the soft folds and brought it to his body. This had been her favorite of all the casual wear she owned. Whether roughing it in the woods or stalking through sewers, Marian always gravitated toward the well-loved robe. She had worn it when they first met; it was what he always imagined her in when speaking of her.
She'd been hauled away naked. She was forced to leave everything she loved behind. Hawke's story seemed to be repetitive with that event.
Fenris didn't get to savor the last lingering scents of her on her robes. He lost his balance, was blissfully caught by Finley and Jessie, and was lowered to the ground. He again swatted at them uselessly. Even he knew that in his condition, he hadn't any way to support himself. The black fuzzy edges of his gaze were all the proof he needed of that. Still, he had to try to hold onto some of dignity as a warrior.
However, he did allow Jessie and Finley to dress him. He even let them try again to clean the wound, but the moment they turned to find something suitable for him to bed down on, he rose. Clumsily, he forced one foot in front of the other as he made his way toward the treeline. They had walked through it from the road, if he recalled right. Just beyond would be the main path. From there, he could follow it south to the small town they had left Anders and Varric. If he knew the dwarf like he thought he did, Varric would still be at The Hitched Horse telling tales and buying drinks, checking contacts and making money in a way only Varric knew how.
The shouts in surprise and horror didn't stall him. He couldn't run and he couldn't stop them from stopping him, but Hawke was waiting. He would get to her.
Her name became his mantra to spur him. He hardly began to notice the two following him just a few paces behind, talking to him, trying to get him to stop. He hardly even noticed that his wound had reopened and began to bleed down his neck at some point in his journey. He hardly noticed the burn of dehydration and the ache in his stomach as his body cried for nutrients.
If there were any others on the trail, they never stopped. If any enemies popped from nowhere, they must have already thought him dead. He was very nearly there, but even the dead could walk, and he would until his mission was completed.
By the time he stepped foot into town, he was shut off from the world completely. It was black and white and shifted like the Fade. The people around him, avoiding him, were mere spirits dancing on the fringes of his final threads of life. The buildings were only solid obstacles; not one caught his eye and only served as a barrier in maze he thought he would never have to navigate again. Had he been of sounder mind, he might have laughed and asked someone if they had a ball of twine he could borrow.
The scent led him to the tavern more so than his flagging sight. Vomit, fire, alcohol, and sweat were pungent in the air about it. It smelt just as The Hanged Man had, and it almost made Fenris gain the energy to rush in. As it was, he fell in more than walked. The open door would not hold his weight as he leaned against it for support, but the floor was more than happy to accommodate.
Jessie and Finley rushed forward to collect him.
"Hey! You two! This is a place for people trying to get drunk! Not for the already drunk! Take his ass home!"
"He isn't drunk! He's-" Jessie tried.
"Maker's breath. Shut yer shit-spewing mouth and let him in! If he got money, he got ale!"
"Even if he don't, I'll buy him a lil sumthin just to piss you off."
"Don't be a jackass!"
"You're being the jackass. I'm being friendly."
The rumblings of voices and footfalls made Fenris queasy. The suddenly colorful room spinning in his blurry vision didn't alleviate the urge to heave. Somehow, with a little help from Jessie, he sat up.
"Varric!" He shouted, "Varric!"
"Now, it speaks."
"'It' is a 'he' and an elf, pus-stain!"
"If you're going act like that, you can take your leave. Maybe head toward Tevinter where they allow such discrimination. I won't have any of it in my tavern, thank you very much."
"Or just go outside. There's enough of it everywhere nowadays."
Fenris growled in frustration and tried to call for Varric again, but words failed him. The stimulation of a far too-crowded room on his spiritless, over-exhausted body was beginning to be too much. His forehead rested against the cold wood flooring, and he shut his eyes.
"Finley, help me get him off the floor. We need to find a healer-"
"And pay them with what, Jessie? He didn't have anything on him and neither do we."
"Broody?"
The tavern seemed to quiet all at once as Varric spoke. Fenris couldn't lift his head, he could barely flex his fingers, but he responded to him all the same. Just as he was about to fall under, Fenris forced his eyes to open. He didn't see much; he couldn't, but he at least could make out his friend's frame.
"Varric," He rasped, his voice no more than a coo, "Hawke."
"What about Hawke? Where is she? Maker's breath, Broody, just what have you done to yourself?" Fenris's eyes closed again in a languid, drained blink. Varric shook his head and looked to Jessie, "Where did you find him? What happened?"
"A ways north. He was off the path. When we found him, we thought he was dead."
"Might as well be," Finley included.
"Was there a woman with him? Did he say what happened?"
Jessie couldn't meet Varric's eye as she shook her head, "No, I'm sorry."
Varric sighed, "Don't be. Wasn't your fault. Hey!" The tavern's attentions were focused solely on Varric, "A man's bleeding to death here, and no one thinks to help? Get him up to my room!" There was a shuffle in response. The cool ground fell away from him as Fenris was lifted and moved. Again, distantly, he heard Varric's sigh, "Where's Blondie when you need him? Always wanderin' off."
"The mage said he'd be back soon. Stated something to the effect of herb hunting," The barkeep stated.
"Means he could be back in the next five minutes or the next five days," Varric rubbed his forehead, "Or not at all. Blondie's been getting antsy. Should send someone to look for him. As for Broody," Varric shook his head, "Can't do much without a healer."
"I have some Warrior's Bandage leaves. You can have them," The barkeep sighed, "Just promise not to let any of these inbreeders donate their spit for the poultice. I can only imagine the amount of putridity in their teeth. Poor soul's already disabled. No need to befoul him too," His voice grew quieter, his exasperation fading with it as he abandoned his post to root about in the storeroom.
"I'm sure we'll need it. Thanks, Rowan," muttered Varric.
"Umm, Mister Dwarf?" Jessie meekly called. Varric had nearly forgotten she was there, "Will he be alright? I have a few elfroot potions and some things I think are his. I'm not sure it'll help, but you can have it all."
"Mister Dwarf," Varric chuckled, "Varric is my name," He gave a slight bow, "I think I speak for the both of us when I say thanks. Broody wouldn't have gotten here by himself I'm sure."
"Broody," Finley spat, "Running out of really hard to pronounce names in the Dalish clans now?"
"Finley!" Jessie hissed, "Please!" Jessie bowed her head in apology, "I'm sorry for him. He's not been himself since," She went quiet, "Well, he's justifiably emotional. Maker guide him."
"Maker guide him," Finley growled, "Just tell everyone our life's story, Jessie."
"Can't believe I'm saying this, but stories will just have to wait. Look, there's an empty room here. Why don't I put you two up there for a couple nights while we sort this whole thing out? I need to find Blondie and make sure Broody doesn't die on us."
"Serah, that's very kind, but we couldn't accept-"
"We'll take it!" Finley announced.
"Finley-"
He drew her a little ways away from Varric and whispered, "Are you crazy? He's puttin' us up for free for helping his friend!"
"We were only following the Maker's path. It was the right thing to do. We don't need any more reward than that. I feel as though we're stealing from him."
"The Maker isn't going to put food in your belly or a roof over your head. This is as good as it gets. Let's take it, sleep here tonight, and leave all of this behind in the morning. If we're lucky, we'll get a hot meal or two out of this too."
"I don't know-"
"Jessie. Come on. Would you rather go sleep on the side of the road again? You really wanna sleep out in the cold, waiting for bandits to come rob us of all the nothing we have? Don't be stubborn!"
Finally, after a moment, she nodded, "Alright, but only to make sure he's in good hands."
"He'll be fine. You saw him. Any other person would have dropped dead halfway here, if they ever got up at all."
Varric had already left them when they finally made their decision. However, Rowan, the bartender, hovered in wait. When he caught their eye, he crooked two fingers in motion for them to follow. They were led past many rooms; all doors were shut save for one. Jessie caught a glimpse inside and saw the elf she helped save surrounded by many men and women trying to help as she had. She wanted to peek in; maybe even sneak her way into the middle of the calamity for a better look. Before she could make a move, she was pushed gently as a man, clothed in feather and stern of face, brushed past her and upset the crowd in the room.
"What happened?"
His alto soothed her with its layers of volume and tones, despite the anger coursing through. An eerie, blue glow was left in his wake, and she instantly knew him to be a mage.
"We don't know."
"Is he awake? Ask him!"
"Settle down, Blondie-"
"I won't! Wake him! Why is Hawke not with him?!"
The argument grew quieter as Finley directed her away and to their room.
"We don't know. No one does," Varric gently admitted, "Look, Broody needs attention. You're a great healer. The faster we get him up and about, the faster we'll know what happened."
"They left us not but a few hours ago!" Anders raged, "And look what's already happened!"
"Uhh, Blondie, you might want to calm it down. You're Justice is showing."
"Leave!" The command was made all the more intimidating with a flare of mana. The other tenants scattered, slamming the door in their wake.
"As if we weren't already conspicuous," Varric shook his head, "This might be a problem."
"They won't speak. Rowan will take care of everything."
"Yes, let's owe Rowan more favors. Good idea."
"Last I heard, he owed you favors," Anders was in no mood. He scoffed and grabbed Fenris's chin, inadvertently waking both the elf and his markings, "I know you can hear me. Tell us what happened, Fenris. Where is Hawke?"
"Marian," Fenris breathed her name, unable to do anything else.
"Yes. Marian. Very good. Where is she?" Anders hissed. Fenris was defeated. A heavy sigh left him as his eyes rolled back and he fell under, "Damn it!"
"He'll be up and about faster if he was healed," Varric reminded.
There was a knock at the door, and the guest didn't wait for someone to answer. Rowan walked in with bundles in hand, "My bar was full, and now even the so-drunk-they're-dumb have fled. I haven't any qualms with mages, but I will with one should he decide to lose his temper again. I'll charge double. Maybe even triple," Rowan tenderly gave a package of tightly-bound leaves to Varric, "And by 'he' I meant 'you.'"
Rowan glared at Anders, who responded with a sharp look of his own thrown over his shoulder.
"Yes, I gathered as much," Anders growled as he examined Fenris's head wound.
"Oh, good," Rowan sniffed, "I thought an explanation was needed as you were stupid enough to cause a ruckus in the first place. 'Please, Master Rogue-Templar, decapitate me in the middle of Rowan's tavern. He does so love cleaning up a good, bloody mess off his already disgusting floor.' Pah! Be ashamed, Runaway. Causing your benefactor this much trouble. Honestly."
"Not quite as much trouble as you make it seem, I suspect," Anders had lost most of his anger. He barely registered Rowan's jabs, "You've hushed it all up."
Rowan turned up his nose and crossed his arms. Of course he had. The Hitched Horse was not the finest tavern this side of the Waking Sea, but no one would (could) speak a horrid word about its goings-on. Rowan would not tolerate a bad review; an okay one occasionally, but certainly nothing that would scuff his boots.
Anders disrupted the silence again, but only to let out a noise of frustration, "I can't heal this."
"Sure you can, Blondie-"
"No, I mean, I shouldn't heal this. If I close this now, the infection will be trapped inside. We'll have to treat that first," Anders began to root around in his various trunks and tiny packs for herbs and catalysts, "Damn elf. Always getting into trouble."
"Perhaps you should choose your words more carefully," Rowan mused, earning yet another nasty look, "And the little miss had this," Again, Rowan passed a bundle to Varric, "She said it was all his. He also dropped something at the door. It's there as well. Now, as much as I'm sure you enjoyed my company, I must leave. More disasters to avert, you know."
Rowan left just as he had come in, uncaring of the response he received. Just as the door clicked shut behind him, Varric curiously opened the pack that had been handed to him. He had expected to see all the sharp bits of Fenris's armor glinting up at him, maybe even a flask or two; what he didn't expect to see was Hawke's robe. It tumbled out onto Varric's arms in a cascade of shimmering curls, as if still dusted and alive with its owner's magic. Varric dropped the rest of the pouch with a clatter and clung tight to the fabric. It had whiffs of her still.
"Blondie," He called, gaining the mage's attention.
Anders nearly followed Varric's lead in dropping everything he held in his hands. Thankfully, his grip didn't falter that badly.
"Hawke," Anders rasped, unable to look away from the robes.
"Broody, just what happened out there?"
.::||~||::.
Fenris bolted straight up from his reclined position, "Marian!"
"Maker! Fenris!" A cry of surprise, "Don't just pop up like that!"
He snapped his gaze sharply up to the voice's owner. She squatted at his side, hands on her knees and dressed in her light armor. She looked ready to spring up and fight, just as she always had. Hawke, his Hawke, was looking down at him with all the confusion and concern her expressive face could muster. The feelings were mutual, but Fenris didn't get to express them. Instead, awe pushed and shoved its way to the front, glinting and flashing for attention.
Suddenly, she smiled, a wicked twist that showed itself whether she was truly being impish, well-behaved, or suggestive.
"Are you alright then? You were looking a little worse for wear for a moment. Face all scrunched and grumpy, but, then again, what else is new?" She tittered, "I've been waiting forever, you know. You sleep like the dead," She suddenly frowned, very unsatisfied with the idiom, "Well, like most dead people. Or maybe just some dead people," She tapped her chin in thought, "Like dead people should. There we go."
"Hawke," Fenris breathed, not able to do much more than that.
He cupped her face in his hands and devoured her. She allowed it and lowered herself to sit on her knees, comfortably responding to every movement of his tongue and lips. She held onto his shoulders; though, he wasn't sure if it was to hold him at a steady distance or an attempt to slowly bring him closer. He wouldn't settle for slow. Not now, not after that horrible dream.
She ended up toppled, pushed down onto her back from his insistence. Try as Marian might, she couldn't keep down the wild bubble of laughter that popped on their lips, but it quickly faded into the haze of their fevered kissing. It wasn't gentle or even kind; neither was it harsh and selfish. It wanted and was lead along the currents flowing through the pair. Fenris could have stayed like this forever, the two of them hopelessly tangled and wound together too tightly to ever be completely separated.
His hands abandoned her face to run down her slender neck and over the generous curve of her breast to settle at the flare of her hips. His fingers turned slightly downward, a promise, a tease, to her thighs. She released his shoulders to follow his lead. How Fenris wanted so desperately to feel the soft palms of her hands against his bare chest, provoking both the flames ignited by them and the lyrium so pleasantly addicted to her. Even without a direct touch, they flared just from being so very close, as if blushing and antsy.
But she stopped there and pulled out of their intense kiss. She giggled, breathless, content, and tickled the loveliest shade of pink, "Is this how you're going to greet me from now on?"
"I might," Fenris felt clogged and overwhelmed, "Hawke, I," He abandoned her waist and cupped her face again, "I dreamt I had lost you. That you were taken. That I failed."
"You couldn't fail me, Firefly," She spoke softly as she traced the lines of lyrium on his neck and chin, "Whatever happened couldn't have been your fault. I'm sure you had no way of knowing anything."
"It was," He hoped the statement came off as firm as he wanted, "Danarius continues to hound me even from his grave. I fear I'll never be rid of him."
"I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but you aren't wrong, Fenris," Hawke shifted uncomfortably under him and gently pushed against his chest. He lifted himself to sit, bringing her up with him, "Whether you like it or not, Danarius has shaped your life. He's a large part of it. You shouldn't forget about it, but neither should you stay angry about it forever. Makes nightmares worse,"
Hawke frowned, "I'm really, really bad at this. It's not the same, but I was angry about Bethany's death for a very long time. It was only when I set that anger aside and stopped beating myself up over it that I could sleep. Sure, sometimes I swear I see her out of the corner of my eye. I go to say something to her, turn even to look her in the face when I say it, but she's not there. Danarius isn't there anymore either. He can't get you."
"It wasn't Danarius himself," Fenris admitted, "It was Iason, his would-be apprentice. He lost to Hadriana, but it didn't stop him from worshiping him," Fenris bared his teeth in disgust, "I had thought Hadriana horrid, but Iason would have undoubtedly been much worse. The dream only confirmed that for me."
He was done speaking of it all, he decided. He'd much rather go back to losing himself in her and putting Danarius far away in a rusted cage to be tortured. She didn't seem to want the same. Something dark and mournful flickered on her expression briefly. Fenris caught it before it could slip away unnoticed, and he felt the dread drop into his stomach. She wouldn't meet his eye, despite his best efforts in gaining back her attention.
"I'm sorry," The apology sent a quivering chill through him, "I can't say you were dreaming, Fenris."
"What?"
"The Templars, Iason, the blood magic, me being taken, your wound," As Marian's hand passed through his hair, a splitting ache flared, setting his teeth aflame and his eyes drowning with the sting, "All of it."
Fenris took a moment to collect himself, "No. That's a lie. It was a terrible nightmare."
"Please, let me explain-"
"It's not true," Fenris muttered, but even as he did, even as he shook his head in denial, the throb of his wound smacked with objection and truth. No, if it had all been real, those humans Finley and Jessie would be fussing over him still, "You wouldn't be here."
Finley and Jessie. Had they ever been real? Humans had never been so kind to him. Only if they were connected with Hawke did they give him the slightest bit of affection and care. They must have been something his traumatized brain had conjured. But how had he really hurt himself then? Had he smacked his head on the ground? Fallen off a precarious rock-ledge? Whipped around too fast to answer the call of his name and ran directly into Marian's damnable staff again?
"Fenris-"
"No! It was a dream! You would not be here if I had failed!"
"You didn't fail! You couldn't have known! We were taken by surprise! It happens, Fenris. We just-just made a mistake," She shook her head angrily, "No. We didn't make any mistakes. Iason did."
Fenris seized her by her shoulders, startling her thoroughly with both his suddenness and fierceness, "How are you here then, Hawke? If I was hurt, if you were... taken, how are you here?"
She didn't answer him right away. Instead, she searched his face to find some inkling of calm, something she could latch onto and not insure a full eruption of hatred, denial, rage, and, worst of all, silence. She couldn't afford to have Fenris shut her off from him, but she knew, even after all the years of slowly being welcomed gently into the goodness magic could provide, he still loathed what it could do, the potential for destruction and devastation.
"Will you listen to me? Will you listen to me without getting upset? Hear me out completely? I don't have a lot of time, Fenris, and I don't know what I'm going to do if you don't believe me."
"Why wouldn't I believe you?"
His tone would have frightened her if she wasn't prepared for it. To the untrained ear, it would simply Fenris speaking in that chocolatey gravel so very unique to him. To Hawke, she heard the unmistakable dip, the slightest deepening of his tenor, that signaled darkness and promise; it was the very same voice he had used with Hadriana before he plunged through her ribs and crushed her beating heart.
"Because you're afraid of me," Hawke stated firmly, holding his gaze for an eternity.
He softened like clay under methodic, deep kneading. He wouldn't deny her accusation; he knew it to be true. Somewhere in the depths of himself, Fenris was afraid of what Hawke could possibly do.
But he was not, nor would he ever be, afraid of her. She was wrong only there. Hawke, unlike so many, was in complete control of herself, and he trusted her to walk the hazardous beam of temptation without falling or faltering. She was what every mage should aspire to be.
If only he could put that into words unbiased and gentle. Somehow, he knew she knew how he felt. She always did.
"I'll listen," He finally said, feeling his voice quiver in the air between them and mingle with the sigh of relief she released.
"We're sleeping right now," She began, immediately cursing at her stupidity. It wasn't the best place to begin, but it would have to do, "This is the Fade. I've been waiting and searching. It's not as easy as he made it out to be."
"He?"
"An elven mage," Hawke shook her head, tossing the coal-black tresses of her hair about, "I don't really remember his name. Sol? Solstice?**" She scoffed, "It doesn't matter. I found you. I just need to tell you where we're going. I've only been awake enough to grab snippets."
"Hawke, don't rush."
"I have to rush! You or I could wake up any minute! Time doesn't work the same here, Fenris-!" She stopped and worried her bottom lip, a telltale sign of Hawke trying to rein herself in. She did it often since defeating the Arishok, since fleeing Kirkwall, "We passed this tavern called The Witch's Brew, and I heard one of the Templars say something about Perivantium and Val Dorma?"
"Vol Dorma," Fenris corrected, "Those are Imperium cities."
"I had made that guess myself."
"Imperial Highway cities at that. Taking a direct route," Fenris sneered, "Idiot."
"Don't you even dare comment on how stupid he is for going the direct way. Now isn't the time."
Something about the landscape flickered around them. Fenris couldn't quite catch the change, but found himself concentrating on his surroundings more than Hawke.
She was losing him, and what was worse was, in the state he was showing he was in, she feared he wouldn't remember anything she had said. Dreams were the worst. How Dreamers ever managed to accomplish anything was a marvel.
"I never imagined you would back down from an easy jest, Hawke," He said offhandedly.
"Fenris, please, stay focused. Stay with me. I know it's hard to do. It's disorienting here, and you are very tired."
"I am tired," Fenris said, as if just realizing his fatigue.
He just wanted to sit by the fire, listen to Varric spin yet another tale for Merrill; watch as Carver desperately tried to gain her back her attentions; swat Isabela away whenever she got bored of sharpening her blades; catch Aveline and Donnic slip from the group out of the corner of his eye; and even enjoy the smells of freshly crushed herbs Anders meddled with. As he imagined it, it all sprung up around him. His friends filled the vast silence with their noise, familiarity, and warmth. Only he and Hawke stood, and his resolve was quickly fading, his body beckoned by the call of the spots left open just for them.
Hawke grabbed his arm before he could sink down and fall into the fantasy, "Fenris, I don't know what to say or do to keep you with me."
"Where did this come from? I'll always be with you."
The scene changed to something quiet and private as his right hand came up to rest against her cheek. It lacked nothing; not the cold touch of his gauntlets against the stark hot contrast of his fingers nor the flood of memory and emotion that came streaming through him to her. He touched her like this after she had declared nearly the same in the aftermath of Danarius's death; he wasn't alone. He had her, and she him. She remembered following the action, placing her hand on top of his, and burying her pinky into a fold of the red favor on his wrist.
It hit her hard. That damn bit of cloth.
"Fenris," She whispered, hardly able to breath around the bubble of air caught in her chest.
Marian followed along the path set out for her. Again, she found herself placing her hand over his, but instead of cuddling closer to the warm palm presented, she made him follow a path of her own. It was a trail he was familiar with and loved to travel. Her neck, her chest, her stomach, her hip, her thigh, and she stopped there. With a deftness that enraptured him, she pushed his fingers achingly slowly through the slit in her robes and let him grip the hard muscle there. Trapped under his excited, firm grasp was his red ribbon of cloth.
Calmness and loving interest were quickly replaced by confusion. The favor never left his wrist. He would never lose it. He hardly let it out of his sight when it needed to be removed.
Recognition pricked at his brain like thousands of pins. He nearly crushed her thigh in his fist as the memory replayed itself. Marian had took it from him. Marian tied it around her thigh. Marian had seductively pushed open her robes and said-
"You want it?" He could only nod dumbly. There was no lust or play in her voice, only a giddy urgency, "Come get it. Perivantium. Vol Dorma. The Imperial Highway. Let's find each other."
.::||~||::.
For the third time, he awoke with a jolt. He hovered between certainties. Hawke was nowhere near this time, waiting for him to stir, but neither were those two humans.
If they ever existed at all, he thought somberly.
A hiss whistled through his teeth at the sharp sting splitting his head in two. Involuntarily, he jerked his head and tried to roll onto his side to scramble away. As it was, he couldn't gracefully control anything he did and only managed to fall off the raised bed he found himself in. An arm shot out alongside a cry and caught him around the middle before he could find himself as a heap on the floor.
Of course, he immediately tried to wiggle out of the hold.
"Bah! Elf! Don't move!" The voice made his teeth ache and a hot rage boil his stomach acid, "I was almost finished too," The man growled.
"Release me, abomination!" Fenris snapped, markings alight, "I don't need help from your ilk!"
"But you'll take it from strangers?" Anders retorted with a snort, "I'd almost gotten all the pus from your wound and nearly broken your fever, and all you have to say to me is get the fuck off? No, 'thank you, Anders. You saved my lanky ass from a slow, terrible death.' Or, better yet, a simple 'I appreciate you not letting me die' would suffice. Or- Ow!"
Anders jerked away, abandoning Fenris and allowing him to hit the hard floor with a harder thud and a groan. The mage slapped a hand over his now bleeding forearm and encased it in a green, healing glow.
"You bit me! You ACTUALLY bit me!" Anders yelped, "You broke the skin too! Animal!"
"I told you to let me go," Fenris growled as he forced himself to his feet.
Using the shelves and wall as a support, he shakily made his way from the bed toward the door, knocking about all manner of things out of his way; however, the tremors in all his limbs, the aches in the muscles of his legs, and the unrelenting throbbing in his head forced him to his knees halfway to his destination. He had no choice but to stop and pant back some usable stamina.
"Serves you right, you stubborn bastard," The mage quipped, looking over the now sealed skin of his arm and making his way to the fallen elf, "I'll be as simple as possible. You are sick. You are hurt. You are no help. You need rest. Easy enough?"
"Do not antagonize me, filth!" Fenris roared, "I need to-"
He couldn't finish his ireful rant. His shouting had knocked something loose in his wound, prodded it with an insistent stick against its sleeping bear. Black flecks danced like fire sparks across his vision in warning of his soon-to-be-lost consciousnesses. He couldn't fall back to sleep now. As much as he wanted to, as much as he would rather bite the hook that was Hawke (who, for all he knew, was waiting for him just beyond the veil), he couldn't. He had to find the real Hawke, the one he could really ravage and pick on and sleep beside and comfort and quarrel with. Anders couldn't stand in his way.
Fenris would not allow him to. He'd been enough trouble, and he had been rid of him once.
"Yes, I know, Fenris," Anders answered, suddenly and without anger or vengeance. Had Fenris been speaking? Had his thoughts been voiced aloud? "What good are you like this, though? We need to know everything that happened, so we can help-"
"I did not come here to speak to you, Mage," Fenris spoke through clenched teeth. His own heartbeat was aggravating his wound, "I came to speak to Varric! I'll call on you if I need to blow up a Chantry or an orphanage or wherever else people need sanctuary! Maybe we should start with the bar!"
Anders said nothing. He could not. The only thing he could do was tense every one of his muscles and hold Justice at bay. As much as he hated Fenris in this moment, as much as he hated Fenris in times past, he could not strike him down; he was still a patient, a morally-skewed, irritating, Hawke-stealing, judgmental, unstable patient. Hawke would have wanted Fenris healed, if nothing else.
So he knelt, pushed back Fenris's hair, and set back to work, or at least tried. Fenris would not be quiet or still. Anders had expected as much.
"You are lucky," Anders spoke in a soft whisper. He heard Fenris growl about luck and stupidity and releasing him again, "I'm guessing a blade hit you. Any sharper, and it would have sliced clean through your skull, killing you. Any duller, and it would have made your brain swell, also killing you. The cut it made was enough to relieve the pressure your brain would have otherwise caused. It saved your life."
"Do not choose what you hear!" Fenris raged, slamming a glowing hand against Anders's chest above his heart, threatening to push through his skin at any moment, "I said release me, damn you! I will talk to Varric even if it means I smear your heart across the walls first!"
"Go ahead, Beast. Crush my heart. You've been asleep for two days, and this wound has tried its hardest to fester. I would love to see what one day without treatment would do," Fenris's light dimmed, and something close to recognition sparkled like dew in his green depths. Anders smacked his hand down and continued his work, "Varric is not here at present. Though, I'm sure he'll be back shortly. He doesn't go far or stay gone long. He worries for you," Anders snorted, "Can't imagine why. Doesn't seem to think you can care for yourself."
"Good to see you two getting along as swimmingly as always."
Both men looked to Varric as he quietly shut the door behind him. The tizzy Fenris had worked himself into returned almost immediately. Forgetting his past failures, and using Anders as a support, Fenris stood. Anders quickly grabbed his wrist, to which Fenris tried to shake him off.
"Varric, I need your help! Hawke is- Release me, Mage!" Fenris yanked away and threw himself slightly off-balance, enough to throw him against the nearest shelf, break it, and go crashing back down.
"He never learns," Anders muttered, refusing to come to his rescue again.
Luckily, Varric was there to do the job Anders would not, "Gone. I know, Fenris."
"Then why aren't you-! Why are we not-" Fenris ground his teeth. His anger was not doing wonders on his head. He needed to find a middle ground unless he wanted his skull to split in half like two pieces of a hastily fixed vase, "Iason. That's the name of the son of a bitch that took her," He rumbled, feeling a throb in warning, "He's heading to Perivantium and Vol Dorma. Probably on his way to Minrathous."
Varric shook his head, "Out of all the places."
"Knowing what you do, I'm surprised you came back here at all instead of heading out on your own and dying on the path."
"Anders," Varric groaned.
"I-I only just," Fenris put the heel of his hand against his temple. Blood, so dark it left black paths, dyed his skin and hair as it lazily crawled from its den, "I only just learned."
"Andraste's ass, there it goes again. It was only a matter of time before it opened with all that thrashing," Anders huffed, "It took forever to get all that blood out of your hair the first time."
"That's what you're worried about?" Varric would have laughed had there been room for it, "Listen, Broody, I have my best people looking into it. Now that we know a couple places, it'll only be a matter of time. Take it easy. Get better. I promise I'll wake you up the moment I hear something, and you can be sure I'll let you handle this Iason character. Hawke will be back with us in no time."
Fenris wasn't so sure.
Author's Note: Currently, Rowan is the only romanceable character and is attracted to both genders and all races; he is the hardest romance in the game. You may, however, flirt with Jessie for cute and bashful dialogue. Finley is just there and is frequently a butt.
** Thanks to a friend who suggested this. If you didn't catch onto who Hawke was referring to, then go play Inquisition. Though, if you haven't already at least started to play Inquisition, then you're life is incomplete, and I wish you the best.