Thank you to Kira Tamarion for the lovely reviews! This is a short chapter, but I have more on the way. =) Enjoy!
In the dim corner where they sat, Fenris wrestled with his options in his mind. Would he leave Hawke's side to find his son whom he had never met? Hawke was recently making choices he didn't agree with, and hewasn't sure if he'd be able to follow Hawke down that particular road in helping the mages.
He tried telling himself he owed no allegiance to this woman, but he had uncomfortable thoughts rooted in his mind that hadn't been there before. He believed the letters, certificates and drawings to be true. But it was difficult to make that belief connect with his thoughts on what to do next. He knew what he should do, what the smart and responsible thing to do would be. He knew what he would do if he had his memories. But it made it no easier.
Astoria sipped from her mug as Fenris ran a hand through his hair, wondering where to start. But she beat him to it.
"So... do you remember who Danarius kept in his circle?"
Fenris glanced around The Hanged Man uneasily. "Uh... yes." He listed off the other magisters that he remembered Danarius having dealings with while Astoria wrote them down on a blank piece of vellum, asking if he knew where they lived or anything else about them. She explained to him that Danarius had been alone but with guards, when he had shown up at her home in search of Fenris. Danarius had been shocked to see the little boy, Lysander, a spitting image of his father at three years old. Astoria believed that Danarius had spoken to another magister about the boy. When Varania left with Danarius, another magister kidnapped Lysander. She explained that the magister was a middle-aged man with short brown hair and dark eyes – but Fenris said that there were many magisters of that appearance.
When that was over, Astoria looked over her list carefully.
"Alright." She said, as if she were about wrap up the conversation. Fenris turned to her, startled. "Thank you for everything. I... I'm sorry for what I've done." She pushed back in her seat, but Fenris grabbed her arm tightly but gently.
"Wait," he said, and she turned to him with wide eyes. "Wait," he repeated, "please."
Astoria sat back down slowly and Fenris let go of her.
"What is it?" She asked when he said nothing.
Fenris inwardly scolded himself. "I, uh, have a lot of questions. Please."
She nodded silently and folded her hands in her lap.
"Was that my mother in that drawing, where you were braiding someone's hair?" It was only one of the thousands of questions he had.
Astoria studied his jade eyes carefully, and then a small smile played on her face for a brief moment. "You've looked at them, then? Yes. Sharna. That was her."
They were both quiet, Astoria did not seem like she wanted to leave as much as she just had. Fenris liked the way she said the name, the way it sounded. He opened his mouth to say something but Astoria was already talking.
"Would you like to know about her?" She asked softly, reading into his interest. No judgment, no prodding in her tone.
Fenris swallowed hard and nodded slowly. This was his weakness. He longed so badly to know about them – these women who he had given everything up for.
Astoria smiled, a small and polite movement. "She was a wonderful woman. Loved you and your sister to death. She was always scolding you, you were constantly getting into trouble and pulling pranks. You were so mischievous. But whenever she would get angry with you, you two would end up in a laughing fit because she would be trying to keep a straight face and you would just smirk at her, because you would always just go do it again. Always. And you both knew it. There was no taming you, as your mother called it."
Fenris felt something welling up in his throat, like he was missing something that may have been very dear to him. He felt Astoria watching him, waiting for his reaction and to see if she should go on. When she seemed to be finished, he nodded eagerly for her to continue.
"She would sing you this song, when you were little. Before I knew you, of course, but she would sing it for me when her and I spent time together. She wanted me to know it. It was an elven song about war. It was beautiful, actually, not what you would normally think of when you think of war. You loved it, she said, when you were little. You loved elven things, you loved your heritage and culture.
"Sharna loved teaching you about elven culture. That's why I'm so surprised that she liked me so much." Fenris looked at her as she traced circles along the lip of her mug. "She liked me enough to let you marry me, which is just crazy, really. Your kind hates that. But she was wonderful. She always looked for the good in people."
Astoria's eyes were tearing up. Fenris' heart felt heavy suddenly, that this stranger was grieving more over his own mother than he was. It was loud and clear now. He knew what he had to do.
"I'm sorry," Astoria said, rubbing at her eyes. Then she blinked at him and sniffled, looking as if she was about to burst further into tears. "You have her eyes. And her mouth. Not her hair, though. Your father had dark hair, like yours. Well... you did, when it was dark."
Fenris subconsciously lifted a hand and touched his hair. "I remember it falling out, when it was dark. I had just gotten these markings. They seemed to... kill it."
Astoria nodded, her eyes solemn and her lips hinting at a frown, through struggling to remain neutral. "It's odd to see you with white hair... but it... it suits you."
Suddenly she looked away, her blue eyes drifting to her hands which shook. Fenris turned towards the sound of laughter. Varric was back in The Hanged Man, moving to the bar with Hawke. The two were deep in some conversation, Varric waving his arms about while Hawke would rub at his facial hair and consider the dwarf's words.
"You always surrounded yourself with good people," she said so quietly that he wasn't sure if she had really spoken.
"What?"
"Your friends... they're good people. They're there for you. You were always a good judge of character."
Fenris felt his finger twitch in his hair as he contemplated this. He was still unsure about calling them "friends," but he knew that by all stretches of the word that's what they were after six years. And he knew they had made their stand on this issue.
He knew what he should do at this point, that he should listen to Hawke and accompany Astoria to Tevinter. But his need for survival was rearing its head, telling him that it was a terrible idea, that he should run in the opposite direction.
Even still, he needed to help her some way. And if he wouldn't help her, he needed to not feel guilty about it.
"Spar with me."
Astoria snapped her head towards him, a look of surprise raising her eyebrows. "What?" She asked.
"Spar with me. I want to see that you can take care of yourself."
She nodded, her expression unreadable as she pushed back in her chair and looked at him carefully.
"Where?"
"Your room should do."