Fenris hated watching Hawke fighting side by side with Anders.
As the only two mages in the usual merry band of misfits Hawke dragged around everywhere with him, they often stood back from the battle, supporting one another as Fenris fought to keep attention off of them and Varric. From time to time though, when there was a momentary lull in the frantic pace of battle, he'd glance over and see things that made his stomach twist.
Hawke protected Anders with the ferocity of a mabari, driving the blade end of his staff into the skulls of those who approached the healer with more force than the staff should really have been able to endure. He often told Fenris he didn't enjoy using his staff as a weapon in that manner, that he preferred to attack from a distance. Yet despite his knowledge of many spells that could easily push back those who approached, Hawke almost always resorted to physical attacks when Anders was threatened. Fenris would swear it was instinctual.
When Hawke was injured in his defense of Anders, as he often was, Anders would heal him. His hands would ghost across Hawke's frame, the inch or so between them alight with crisp blue arcs that danced across Hawke's body. For just a moment they would almost seem to be seperated from the rest of the battle in their own little peaceful world - before Hawke snapped out of it with a blaze of fire and Anders remembered he had a duty to Varric and Fenris as much as to Hawke.
Out-numbered as they often were, Anders would sometimes join Hawke on the offensive. Backed into a corner, the barage of spells they'd unleash was often painful to look at, and always dazzling. After six years, Fenris had grown used to the brightness of it and often used it to his advantage, attacking when their enemies were too stunned by the flashes of ice and fire to see him coming. But after six years, Fenris still wasn't used to how perfectly united Hawke and Anders were.
They moved perfectly together, their magic complimenting one another like they'd been born to be allies. Merrill said it was beautiful.
It made Fenris bitterly sick.
He'd long since come to terms with Hawke's use of magic, yes, but Anders... Anders was something else entirely. He was an abomination. That alone ruined any beauty that could be found in their synchronisity. Anders was the embodiment of everything Fenris hated - the man had already proven himself too weak - too trusting to deserve the freedom he sought for himself and the other mages. The mage would see the creation of a new Imperium, even if he wouldn't admit that his success would lead to such a thing.
Hawke was different. He was stronger than Anders and although he shared the same desires as the other mage, Fenris couldn't bring himself to believe he took it to the same extremes that Anders did. Hawke was controlled and sensible and not blinded by a demon's drive. Hawke was beautiful. In Fenris' eyes, Anders tainted him.
The bitterness never lasted though. At the end of every battle, when bodies lay strewn around them, as Varric petted Bianca lovingly and Fenris tiredly sheathed his blade, Hawke would leave Anders's side. He'd hurry to Fenris, checking him for wounds and asking him if he was alright. He mostly did it because he knew it irritated Fenris, but the concern was always genuine. "I'm fine, stop fussing," Fenris would say, making a half-hearted show of swatting Hawke away from him.
And at the end of every battle, Fenris always looked to Anders, would catch his gaze if he could and he would smile - an unpleasant little twist of his mouth. Anders never failed to understand the meaning behind it, and it never failed to anger him.
Hawke is mine, the smile said. Just try and challenge my claim.
