Convergence
Chapter 3: Fenris
Trying to numb the ache in his chest, Fenris opened another bottle. He'd lost count of how many he'd emptied since returning from the Pearl, yet the pain would not abate. All his careful manoeuvring around Anders' needs and still it had come to this - he was alone again, and it was unbearably worse than when he'd lost Hawke. Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you, he'd said, but he hadn't known then what loving Anders - what losing Anders - would feel like.
Hawke. His thoughts were once again jolted back to that fateful night. Kneel, the warrior had commanded, if nothing is worse than living without me then prove it and kneel. But he hadn't, belying his own words, because losing his pride and his status as a free man felt even worse a fate. And yet in many of the nights that followed, alone in bed and with an aching heart, Fenris had wondered if having knelt wouldn't have been the better option. His single night with Hawke had been the one good thing up to that point in a life that had been spent either enslaved or on the run, and the Champion's touch had been so different from Danarius', despite the harshness of both, that even after three years he could not forget it.
Hawke hadn't been bothered at all by his refusal to kneel, and Fenris knew the other man had simply been making a point, shedding light upon Fenris' self delusion.
Then, despite all sanity, he'd fallen in love with a man who was supposed to be all he hated, a possessed apostate with a determination to free mages and an unwillingness to believe they'd become magisters before long. Someone who by all accounts hated him fiercely. Someone who would surely mock his feelings should he ever find out about them.
Someone who, quite unexpectedly, desired him, he'd discovered the night he'd been reckless enough to kiss the mage. And that hadn't even been the biggest surprise of the night. No, the biggest surprise had been Anders' touch, gentle and caring where Fenris had known only harsh and demanding. He'd never even dreamt it could feel that way, and had almost wept at the way the mage had held him, as if he were precious. The elf had hidden the depth of his feelings as well as he could after that, afraid his lover would turn him away if he knew it was so much more than physical release he craved, and he'd learned from his experience with Hawke never to say no. He'd bedded Anders whenever the other man had wanted him to, always displaying the same amount of enthusiasm no matter the time or day. Anders was nearly insatiable, but he was also a very generous lover and Fenris felt incredibly fortunate to be the object of his desire, not only because he usually desired him back just as much. And, if there was the occasional day when the pain from his markings was so agonising that all he wanted to do was curl up into a shivering ball, hiding it and pleasuring his lover all the same was a small price to pay for the privilege of being with him.
He'd been terrified Anders had found someone else when the mage had turned distant and, in an odd way, had been almost relieved that it had turned out to be plans for the bombing of the Chantry that had kept the other man from him.
He'd have done anything to protect Anders, but found he didn't have to reveal the extent of his feelings - Hawke had a soft spot for Anders, and would never side with the Templars with Bethany in the circle anyway. Anders need never know that, in the midst of the chaos that was Kirkwall that fateful day, a lone elf had silently stalked his erstwhile friend, the Prince of Starkhaven and crushed his still beating heart inside his chest before he could begin amassing an army to hunt down the apostate.
Defeating Meredith and Orsino, making a grab for Bethany, fleeing to Ferelden, it was all a blur in his mind. All he had been concerned with had been assessing if it was still mostly Anders in his body. After weeks cooped up in Isabela's ship with nary a word he had been as ready as he could be for Anders to break it off with him, but the heavy silence had continued even after they landed in the port of Amaranthine. It was only when leaving the city gates that Anders had spoken, remarking quietly he'd helped save the city what seemed like a lifetime ago.
And then that night at camp the apostate had come to his tent, eyes red and voice raw, and whispered how sorry he was, and how he'd become everything Fenris had once accused him of being. Begging the elf to simply reach inside his chest and crush his heart once and for all.
And Fenris had known with chilling certainty that, if he could not convince his (former?) lover that living was a better alternative, then he'd acquiesce... and follow him shortly after.
They'd talked until dawn, Fenris speaking harshly of cowardice and reparations, hoping against hope that his familiar scathing tone would be what Anders needed to regain a sense of normalcy. Fenris had not dared hope he'd still be wanted in the aftermath of the mage's guilt and was unprepared for the suddenness with which the other man lunged at him and kissed him in the early hours of morning. He'd had to bite his tongue until he drew blood to stop himself from blurting out his feelings while Anders took him that time, but the apostate had seemed to wake up from his stupor after that, throwing himself wholly into healing those in need, researching ways to finally separate himself from Justice, and more importantly for Fenris, rekindling their relationship.
They were searching tirelessly for the one person who might help sort out the mess the mage had created: Hawke's cousin and Anders' former commander, fellow mage and friend, Warden Amell, and if that meant living out of a tent all over Ferelden then so be it.
Despite the chaos encompassing Thedas, it had been the happiest time of Fenris' life. Their band of misfits was down to the two of them, Hawke, Bethany and Isabela; Merrill had joined a Dalish community who knew nothing of her misfortunes with the Eluvian, Aveline had stayed with Donnic in Amaranthine as part of the city guard and Varric was off establishing contacts in Antiva, hoping that finding the former crow they had once met meant finding his lover, the Warden, as well.
Anders came to his tent almost every night, and would sometimes fall asleep there afterwards, encompassing the former slave in the warmth of his embrace. Fenris would not have traded those nights for anything in the world.
Then after nearly two years it had all come crashing down.
Having come across Nathaniel Howe, who was as unaware of the Warden's whereabouts as everyone else in Thedas, it seemed, they had gained access to the Wardens' Keep and, amidst the musty old tomes of the blood mage Avernus, they'd found a surprisingly blood magic-free way to keep Justice dormant indefinitely until they could research a more permanent solution.
Anders' thoughts could now once more be attributed simply to himself, and the apostate was in a rare joyous mood at the Gnawed Noble, drinking with them and chatting animatedly with Nathaniel. Fenris' heart had churned with jealousy and bile had risen in his throat at the unbidden thought that he had no claim over the mage, no true right to be jealous since no promises had ever been made.
He'd excused himself from the table to go get some air at the same time Bethany had retired to her room, only to come back and find his (former?) lover had left with the archer. A very drunken Hawke had taken a perverse pleasure in informing him of that as soon as he came back in.
"If you're looking for Anders he left with Nathaniel," he'd said flippantly, "and, for his sake, I hope he's getting his cock properly sucked right this moment, now that Justice isn't holding him back. Maker knows it's enough punishment for anyone to go for two years with only your questionable skills in that area." Isabela, even drunker than the Champion, had giggled and slapped her lover's arm in mock reprimand before launching into a detailed description of what Anders had been like sexually before Justice, and what the mage, Fenris and Nathaniel could do together now, and no one seemed to notice how much Hawke's careless words had cut Fenris.
He knew it was true, Danarius had never used his mouth in any way that required creativity on his part, usually a lot more interested in taking him from behind, on all fours as befitted a "Little Wolf", and in the time he'd been with Anders he'd picked up some tricks but nothing that could hold a candle to Isabela's description. Would that be all it took for him to lose Anders, then? His lack of prowess, even if he was always willing? He'd gone to his own room shortly after that, hoping against hope Anders would pay him a visit at any point during his first Justice free night in years, but his door remained heartbreakingly undisturbed throughout the entire night.
Still drunk and running on no sleep he had pieced together a few silvers and gone to the Pearl to pay for a lesson; maybe if he learned new tricks he could keep the apostate interested just a little while longer, maybe he didn't have to lose him just yet. It had seemed like a good idea at the time; two hours later, when the door had opened and in had walked none other than Anders himself, his arms laden with healing potions and discussing with Sanga prices for weekly deliveries of potions and healing services, only to find Fenris with another man's cock down his throat, it had seemed like a decidedly less stellar idea.
Frantic, Fenris had tried to explain but the mage would have none of it and had simply left, leaving the elf talking to himself.
And now, hours later, holed up in his bedroom, wine was doing nothing to keep Fenris drunk through the sobering pain in his heart. Anders despised him and he had nothing. He had attempted to keep his lover in the stupidest of ways and he'd lost him forever.
Kneel, Hawke had said, but he hadn't. Would Anders listen if he knelt, would he give him a chance? He hadn't knelt before Hawke because it had turned out that some things had been worse that the thought of living without him, but Anders? Anders who touched him so tenderly, who made it seem as if Fenris was the most important person in Thedas when he held him? What was his freedom compared to that? What happiness had his freedom ever brought him, after all? Varania's words came back to him. Freedom was no boon. No, freedom was no boon without Anders. All he'd ever wanted was to be happy, and he'd found that happiness with the mage, there was nothing he wouldn't give to win even a fraction of it back. Even if... the thought squeezed his heart but he forced himself to dwell on it through the tears he hadn't known he was shedding. Even if Anders was no longer interested in returning to their previous relationship after the elf's betrayal, even if he was definitely with Nathaniel now, if kneeling would get his (yes, former) lover to listen, he would kneel. And if the mage still wanted any part of Fenris after that, it would be worth it to lose both freedom and pride.
There was a strange sort of peace that followed his decision, even through the pain, a sense of inevitability not unlike the one he'd felt when Danarius had told him to slay the Fog Warriors. He'd been a fool, playing at being a free man, and the hope and want had been more crushing than the doubts. At least if he were to kneel before Anders he'd know his place and stay in it, no longer yearning for impossible things he wasn't meant to have. Hawke had been right in the end, if nothing was truly worse than the thought of living without him he'd have knelt. He'd kneel now and hope Anders still had any use for him in his life.