A/N - Another wait... though no so long as before. :-S Sorry if this feels a bit like a bridging chapter. I'd been in two minds as to whether to post it, but it offers some back story for following chapters.
Thank you again to all of you who have expressed your enjoyment of this by alerting, favouriting and taking the time to write a review. I love to hear what you think, and equally feel guilty that I can't get it updated quicker for you at the moment.
Moments in Time – Brief Encounters
Long way home
Hawke looked up from tending a deep cut across Varric's brow to see Fenris pacing relentlessly. He kept to the very edge of the ruined structure she'd forced them to pause by, determined to take some amount of shelter from the constant drizzle as she assessed the group's injuries.
His dark focus remained intent on the ancient elven burial grounds they had finally escaped. Hawke was grateful for that at least. She knew she would have to deal with his undeniable contempt of the situation eventually, but she had no idea where to begin making things right with him - not that anything was right before today.
Isabela had no such qualms.
Boots kicked off, she lounged alluringly to one end of the new path Fenris was carving into the mountainside with his strides, her long bare legs stretched out in the damp grass as she made idle chat and set about cleaning her well-loved daggers. For all the response Fenris gave she'd have done better communing with a stone, but she seemed undeterred none-the-less.
"Subtle, that one," Varric offered sarcastically, following Hawke's line of sight.
"As a brick to the head," she added with chagrin, looking back to the task of dabbing the poultice over Varric's face. He winced in pain. "I'm not sure 'subtlety' features in Isabela's vocabulary."
Varric chuckled wanly. "She's not forgiven then?" he asked, taking the poultice from Hawke's hand and holding it to his head.
"I'm plotting elaborate revenge as we speak," she promised, her words light for Varric's sake though her frustration with Isabela's foray into her personal life was far from over.
Varric adjusted how he was sitting, struggling to get comfortable as he winced again. "Honestly," he grimaced, "I think she thought to do you a favour, in her way." Hawke huffed in disbelief. "Give her credit for trying," he suggested.
"Oh, I do. I give her credit for being extremely trying," Hawke griped, attempting to lighten the mood again and hide her concern for Varric's injured state behind the jibe. She failed miserably.
"Don't look at me like that, I'm alright," he assured, lifting the poultice away to reveal the blood stained swabbing. He shrugged at the sight. "Or, I will be… in a bit."
With a disparaging shake of the head Hawke reached forward summoning what healing magic she could to help him. "That a good idea?" Varric asked, realising what she intended. He pulled away glancing over at Fenris. "He looks pissed enough."
"He has good reason," Hawke replied, feeling it was only by some small miracle Fenris had remained given everything. She still had no idea how Varric had convinced him to come along today in the first place.
"And I hate to say it, but have you seen you?" Varric continued, concernedly. "I've seen more colour in a ghost, Hawke, seriously."
Considering how drained she felt that was hardly surprising. "If I had a mirror I'd show you pale," she retorted, eyes narrowing. "I'm not going to neglect my duty to you as a healer regardless of Fenris, or my pallor, Varric. I wouldn't be surprised if you've cracked your skull. Besides," she added with half a shrug, "I'm always this colour, what's your excuse?"
Resigned, he slumped in place cursing under his breath, "Sodding shadow assassins."
Hawke laughed. "Would you hate me very much if I said that sounded like Bartrand?"
The look he gave her suggested it was likely. "Careful, there's only so much a guy can take."
Smiling empathetically Hawke rested her fingers to Varric's forehead and allowed the waves of healing to wash over him. "I'm sorry I can't let you have longer to recover," she whispered through her efforts, "we just can't stay here."
"On a mountain full of restless dead," Varric groaned, his relief clear as her magic took effect. "Seems like a perfect spot to me."
Hawke poured all her remaining reserves into the spell, feeling a sickly emptiness fill her being in place of her mana. Better this than anything else, she thought, taking comfort in the sight of the bleeding gash being reduced to a puckered scar across Varric's forehead.
"It's not perfect," she said a short time later, tiredly checking over her work. "I'm no expert like Anders, but it will get you home."
Varric smiled at her, "Who needs perfection? I prefer your bedside manner."
"It certainly wouldn't hurt to keep that poultice there a little while longer," she advised, sitting back on her heels. With a faint nod Varric lifted it to his head again.
A thoughtful silence overtook them and Hawke closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle pattering of rain on her skin and the fresh breeze. She rolled her neck hoping to relieve the tension knotted there and succeeded in reminding herself of how she hadn't gotten off scot-free in last night's violence.
She'd actually indulged in a healing potion after - a terrible thing to do given their now short supplies, but in the end she'd had little will to care. It had done its job at the time, giving her the strength to begin sorting through the broken chaos of Martin's store and check that the contents of the upper floor remained mercifully untouched - another small miracle to add to the growing collection, but now? Her insides were shaking, her head ached, and it was an effort just to move her eyes. If she were to compare the symptoms to anything recognisable it was like mild influenza. An affliction she did not want to get used to given this was the third time in as many days that her mana had been spent and she was left suffering.
If such depletions were a glimpse of things to come she might have to resort to lyrium potions – a very unappealing prospect for many reasons – or source some recipes to at least counteract the less than wholesome side-effects. Some distant, playful part of her mind thought 'chicken soup' sounded nice, whilst another more serious part thought it odd that such remedies hadn't been necessary before. Perhaps it was her lack of experience using destructive spells so extensively. They were a greater strain on her will after all.
Her eyes strayed back to Fenris then wondering if that really was all it was.
Could it be possible she'd been trying to prove something by pushing herself to such extremes?
"They were going to meet eventually, right?" Varric asked suddenly, eyeing her from beneath the poultice; clearly wondering at her apparent interest in the elf.
"Who?" she asked, feigning ignorance. She knew he was referring to Fenris and Anders.
"Who else?" he remarked, slightly exasperated.
Who else indeed? "It hadn't been something I'd intended, no," Hawke sighed, soothing the tension of her furrowed brow with her thumb and finger.
"Care to indulge me?"
She arched an eyebrow at him. "It's complicated."
"What isn't these days?" said Varric, closing his eyes with a knowing smile. "It certainly seems that Blondie has become a more prominent feature in your personal life lately. You've had quite a major role to play down at the Clinic for the past fortnight."
"How do you know that?" she asked shocked, knowing she'd gone to some effort to keep her movements quiet. After they'd failed to rescue Karl and left a company of Templar Knights dead in the Chantry it seemed a sensible precaution.
"Please, Hawke, give me some credit. I have to keep an eye on things, wouldn't want my business partner tumbling down a nug-hole never to be heard from again. So, what goes on, you and Blondie a 'thing' now?" Varric sounded casual enough, but he couldn't quite shake the disquiet edge to his expression.
"No," she answered, quickly looking away as she blushed. There was definitely something between her and Anders, but to say it was more than a sense of 'kindred spirit' given the circumstance would be ridiculous, dangerous… truthful? She shook her head confounded.
"Then why are you keeping your visits to Darktown a secret from Junior?"
Hawke folded her arms across her chest. "I wasn't aware that I was keeping secrets," she answered irritably. "Would it be enough to say, 'it's none of Carver's business what I do.'?"
"No, not really," Varric replied, removing the poultice from his face to look at her fully. "But only because I knew that already. Plus, if it were true there'd be no reason for him to be in the dark. He'd bitch about it, you'd burn him with a look, I'd say something witty, we'd go get pissed; everyone's happy. What's changed?"
Hawke looked skyward. This wasn't the time to be talking about all this, especially as she was having difficulty forming coherent thoughts in her current state, but Varric's prodding was presenting an irresistible avenue to vent upon. He was the only one she could really talk to.
"Carver wouldn't understand," she said at length. "I'm not sure I understand myself." A long silence followed as she searched her mess of thoughts for the words to explain. "Since Beth died I've been alone, even surrounded by family. They blame me as much as I blame myself for what happened to her. I know what Anders is, Varric, or at least what he has the potential to be. I understand the risk of being near him, but I can't get away from the fact that it feels good, and for no reason other than it's nice to have that 'mage' connection again. I've missed it. I hadn't told anyone where I was going because…"
"You didn't want to risk losing it," Varric realised and Hawke slowly nodded.
"Carver wouldn't understand," she repeated, her eyes welling with moisture as other buried feelings began to surface with the words. "He's so… caught up in himself."
"In hiding in your shadow you mean," Varric corrected gently. Hawke couldn't help but stare back at him for a moment, his astute reply hitting the mark exactly. "Just an observation," he shrugged.
"A keen one," Hawke sniffed, desperate to steer her mind back to the original point. "As far as Fenris not knowing about Anders, I couldn't see that it was necessary. He hadn't asked and I was apparently 'concern enough'. If Anders was a part of the group it would have been different, but he isn't really. I guess I was just trying to keep two very jumbled and potentially opposing parts of my life as separate as possible."
"Maker, Hawke, 'opposing parts of your life'?" Varric laughed, rolling his eyes, "Possibly the understatement of the Age." He fell quiet for a moment, contemplating what he learned. "You're normally so straight laced, but these are some pretty fancy knots you're tying yourself up in, you realise."
She smiled bitterly. "Turns out I was just being naïve. Maybe Isabela did do me a favour."
"She thought that's how you'd see it, eventually."
"If they had to meet, last night wasn't exactly when or how I would have chosen it to happen."
"Me neither, Hawke, believe me," agreed Varric, the disquiet edge returning to his expression. She understood his concern. The whole thing could have gone a lot worse given the parties involved. They'd been lucky, dumbly so.
"I certainly could have done without the resulting drama or the clean-up," she added, looking to see Fenris acknowledging Isabela's existence. She was hard to ignore for long - Hawke knew, she'd tried, but now was left idly wondering what could have been said to have garnered a response finally. It had been enough to stop Fenris's pacing at any rate. "I really hadn't expected to see him again," she said quietly, thinking on how he'd forced his way passed her and stormed out of the Hanged Man.
"For all Elf's hang ups, he's alone; has been for years by the sounds," Varric explained. "He needs the coin and he'd rather earn it than steal it - seems pretty honourable on that score." Hawke agreed with that. "Maybe if there was other work to be had he'd take it, but I reckon a part of him feels better off with the demon he knows for now. No offense."
"Is that what he said when you somehow managed to get him to come along today?"
"Not in so many words," Varric smiled.
Wonderful, thought Hawke, laughing mirthlessly to herself.
"But you still haven't told me," he prompted further.
"Told you what?" she asked.
"Why he's so necessary in the first place? It was a decent sum of coin he paid us that you just gave back."
"For a job we didn't do, Varric," Hawke answered, though she knew the words were redundant, if they confronted Danarius tomorrow she wouldn't accept payment.
"You can tell that to everyone else, but I was there remember, you nearly died… twice!"
Hawke rolled her eyes, "I did not nearly die," she hissed reproachfully.
"To suggest we didn't earn the coin is ridiculous," said Varric, lifting his chin in Fenris's direction. "I know he's got that whole dark, broody thing going for him."
"Please," Hawke objected, she'd been completely honest in her indifference to the looks that Isabela raved about.
"Then what is it?"
"I need him," she answered simply.
Varric chuckled with disbelief, "Why?"
"Because… I'm not taking Carver into the Deep Roads."
Varric sat up straighter, the full gravity of such a decision becoming clear. "Shit, does he know?" He whistled through his teeth, swearing again as Hawke shook her head in answer. "Did I say fancy knots before? Check that, these are full on half hitches."
"I know," she muttered in agreement, rubbing at her temples, staving off the flood of emotion that was threatening just beneath the surface.
"It's one way to get him from underfoot, I guess. Let him start living his own life."
"Maker, Varric, he won't see it like that. It'll be a betrayal in his eyes. Perhaps it is, but after Beth how can I…" Her voice faltered as guilt stabbed her heart.
"You said it yourself that Junior has the experience when it comes to Darkspawn," Varric reminded.
"He does," Hawke agreed, turning her attention to the dusky skies and frowning at the lateness of the hour. Carver's experience was irrelevant. Though she couldn't imagine anyone more capable of facing Darkspawn than Fenris, the cold, harsh truth of the matter remained that she would sooner see him die down in the Deep Roads than risk losing her brother. Beth's loss had already been too much.
"It'll be full dark before we reach the camp at this rate," she said, hoping to drop the troubling subject before she succumbed to it. Varric, ever aware, acquiesced and didn't prod further. "I don't expect a welcome when we get there either," she added, her gaze briefly resting on her newest charge.
Merrill was sat only a short distance away privy to their on-going conversation, but appearing totally oblivious as she stared with eerie intensity at a flower she cupped in her palm. Hawke suspected she was simply trying to keep her distance from Fenris and couldn't blame her for that.
"Not unless by 'welcome' you mean a pincushion for an ass," Varric agreed under his breath.
Colourful but true, thought Hawke, the entire Dalish clan bar their Keeper, Marathari, had been more than willing to express their fierce resentment of 'shemlens'. Merrill was no stranger to their disregard either, yet for no reason Hawke could fathom beyond the elf wanting to leave the clan. The way they spoke of her, to her, it was hard to bear even without any personal interest in the case.
Merrill was certainly the most bizarre mix of determination and nerves Hawke had ever come across, shyly rambling through a simple 'hello' one second to casting devastating spells the next. There was an ancient feel to her magic, an untameable ferocity that didn't sit well with the timid façade. It was an unnerving combination. One only compounded further by her "demons are only spirits, too" philosophy. She also appeared completely remiss of the discomfort she'd caused with her flagrant use of blood magic, despite the sudden violence of certain objections. Hawke wondered if she should truly be surprised. From what she had seen Merrill was used to opposition and stubborn in the face of it. She was what she was, doing what she felt she had to; for that she offered no apology and sought no forgiveness, claiming it was other's short sighted prejudices that were at fault.
Blood magic, such inclinations did not sit well with Hawke though she doubted Fenris would believe it - especially after she had prevented him from 'physically' responding to that particular unpleasant development. It seemed barring his way in defence of other mages was becoming somewhat of a dangerous habit for her.
He'd have killed Merrill, Hawke was certain, but somehow regardless of their current outlook on her she doubted the Dalish would have taken kindly to the strange little blood mage having her heart ripped out - not that Merrill wouldn't have done some serious damage beforehand.
The brief altercation between the two elves had actually been the first time Fenris had spoken more than two words to Hawke since the previous night. She laughed inwardly, wondering if "get out of the way, mage!" could really qualify, though it was undoubtedly direct.
What had followed, however, was less than helpful.
More undead, more magic and the revelation that she'd been harbouring 'a piece' of the legendary Flemmeth in an amulet for over a year. That Hawke had been innocently unaware the entire time was unlikely to fly as an excuse in Fenris's eyes, particularly after the Witch had succeeded in getting under his skin so efficiently.
Maker! How was I to know a simple delivery was going to turn into deliver an amulet, and? Without doubt, unleashing the Witch of the Wilds on the northern hemisphere, and guiding a Dalish blood mage back to Kirkwall 'safely' had not been on my to-do list today.
Silly Marian, have you learnt nothing over the past few weeks? If ever 'simple' is used to describe anything you should know to expect anything but.
"We should move on."
Hawke jumped, realising only then how lost she'd been in her own head. She looked up to see Fenris looming over her, his glowering expression beautifully reciprocated by the thunderous clouds gathering above Sundermount's peak behind him.
"Agreed," she said, finding her feet and drawing up her hood. The incessant drizzle was about to get a lot worse.
Hawke opened her eyes, squinting into the surrounding darkness to find the ashy remains of the camp fire and her dozing companions still huddled around the memory of its warmth. She'd been restless before sleep had claimed her, stiff and aching from the long dissent and soaked to the bone in spite of her cloak's best efforts.
Gingerly she lifted her head looking toward the mouth of the small cave they'd rushed to take shelter in. She saw Fenris partly silhouetted against the early morning sky staring out into the distance. He'd been the only one to resist the draw of the fire despite being worse off than any of them with no extra layers to protect him from the torrential weather. He'd set himself apart, remaining at the entrance under the guise of taking the first watch and with a pang of guilt Hawke now realised he'd been there all night. He must have been frozen.
Knowing the decision to stay awake had been his and his reasons should be respected, she rolled onto her side and tried to settle again – doubting concern for his well-being would be welcome given she was the most likely cause of any distress.
Several minutes past, however, and Hawke found she was still watching him. Her healer- leader instincts bravely demanding she get up and force him to rest, whilst her survival instincts cowered in a corner hoping they hadn't really noticed anything amiss. It was ridiculous, but tired as she was and without the added bonus of adrenaline, Fenris became a far more threatening prospect.
He doesn't look over tired, she mused, hoping to content both sides of her conscience and noting how the quiet and solitude seemed to bring him some amount of peace. She could sympathise. Time to sit and let a tangled state of mind blissfully unravel was rare treat; one she was loathed to take from him.
For all his surliness Fenris was quite beautiful really, though Hawke would never say so aloud. To do so would likely cause offence and encourage Isabela's already incorrigible manner - something to be seriously avoided. Besides, there was nothing wanting in her appraisal. His exotic appearance only made her wonder what he had looked like before Danarius, but it was no secret that Hawke found the Elven race a fair one. They were always so lithe and elegant, their features angular and defined with those wide expressive eyes. Yet, most she had ever come across seemed fragile too, a consequence of decades of oppression eating away at them like rust. Even the Dalish for all their fortitude appeared delicate somehow.
Fenris was different.
From the moment she first saw him marching down the steps into the Alienage, exuding an air of confidence in himself that few could boast, Hawke knew there was nothing fragile about him. Of course it's easy to be so self-assured when someone else has done your dirty work for you, she smiled to herself, remembering how annoyed Varric had been about that. Chuntering right up to the point of witnessing Fenris punch through a man's chest without pause, after which his objections had fallen strangely flat.
Hawke couldn't imagine Fenris being enslaved. The very idea of 'collaring' such a force of nature beggared belief, especially to see him now. The fresh morning breeze was lifting his white fringe from his face revealing his proud elven profile as he sat poised and vigilant, one long leg drawn up and his arm resting casually over his knee, his equally beautiful great sword unsheathed and faintly gleaming beside him. Awestruck, Hawke realised he could have been an image straight from some fairy tale legend based in the Pre-Ages she would have loved as a child - then he looked at her.
Maker, she'd never wished for the earth to swallow her up so fast, but even if a hole had appeared beneath her at that very moment she doubted his hard glare - something she could feel rather than see in the dark - would have let her fall to a timely demise. She'd already gathered that his eyesight was far superior and doubted whether being shrouded in darkness could have hidden how intently she was staring at him, or how much she was now blushing as a result.
He shook his head muttering something she was glad she couldn't understand and reached for the water skin beside him. Instantly she noticed how strained the action was though he fought hard to hide it. He was favouring his sword arm more than someone with his level of expertise would normally do even after such an arduous day. Something was wrong.
That damn wound he took in the mansion, Hawke realised, guilt gripping her again with the knowledge Fenris had been nursing it through all recent difficulties and she'd never made sure he was alright. In her defence he hadn't felt particularly approachable and her previously offered assistance had only caused him more grief, but it was a poor excuse. One she would have to get over and quickly if she really wanted him to come on the expedition.
With a deep breath she sat up, her resolve faltering the instant his head turned toward her again. He watched her slow progress as she stiffly got to her feet and started toward him, but by the time she was stood next to him he was scowling out at the dawn.
How do you reach out to someone you know would sooner cast you adrift with a smile on their face?
You don't, she answered, biting her bottom lip nervously. Though the smile would be a first from Fenris. I wonder if it would be worth it.
"The idea of taking watch is that it's done in turns you realise," she said, making a point of keeping her voice quiet, keen not to rouse the others.
It took a while for him to respond, though he still didn't look at her when he did. "Did you mean to accomplish something coming over here?" Something in the way he asked made Hawke believe there was more to the question, but she didn't challenge it.
"Besides offer you the chance at a couple of hours sleep, you mean?" she asked, tucking wayward strands of hair behind her ears. She looked down at her attire. "Well how about my cloak too, it should be dry by now." A quick feel proved it to be so and Hawke began untying the laces under her chin.
"Keep it," Fenris said abruptly, realising what she was doing.
With a sigh Hawke sat down opposite him and folded her arms across her chest mirroring his defensive posture. "The concern was genuine. You must be frozen; you've been sat here exposed all night."
He gave no response.
"You could try to get some sleep. We still have a long way to travel today."
Again - no response.
Hawke shrugged in a manner she hoped appeared uncaring, holding back the 'Void with you then' on the tip of her tongue, and stared out into the early morning mists.
She quickly lost track of how long they sat in silence, it could have been minutes or hours, but the world was a little brighter when she ventured several curious glances Fenris's way. He was still very much awake, staring intently at the cave wall somewhere above her head. A few moments considering this and Hawke felt slightly nervous. She had to look – if only to be sure he wasn't bitter enough to watch some large spider descend on her without warning.
"Was it worth it?" he asked suddenly.
Hawke blinked, pulling her gaze away from checking the empty expanse of rock above her. "I'm sorry?"
"Your… bargain," he reiterated with a growl, turning away to look into the distance the instant their eyes met.
"My bargain?" Hawke questioned, struggling to catch up with his sudden terseness. His dark brows knotted together irritably. "You mean with Flemmeth? It saved my family, Fenris. How could I say it wasn't worth it?" My only regret is not being able to do it sooner.
"That doesn't inspire confidence."
"I'd imagine not," Hawke replied, doubting if anything she did, could, in his eyes. "Tell me though, what would you have done in my place?" Something about the question drew him to look at her sharply. "Delivering an amulet didn't feel like too higher price to pay. I didn't know -"
"Spare me," Fenris scoffed, cutting off her.
"Fine," Hawke seethed, fighting back a wordier retort. She didn't owe him an explanation, yet given he'd asked she would have preferred the chance to respond. "I'm not trying to earn your favour, Fenris. Andraste's Mercy, I'd be off to a terrible start if I were."
"Yet, you would claim your innocence."
"I never said I was innocent. What I started to say was 'I didn't know' which is the unfortunate truth. If I'd thought about it I probably could have guessed the nature of the amulet, but I confess my mind has been otherwise engaged."
"Yes, petting abominations."
Hawke's eyes widened, "Excuse me?"
Fenris shook his head angrily. "You knew what she –Flemmeth- was when you agreed to her terms, you willingly followed a blood mage allowing her to perform a ritual unleashing whatever powers the amulet held and you still speak as if the price of your bargain has been paid? Do you have no regard for the lives endangered by your actions?"
It was a damning assessment. "I knew Flemmeth was a powerful apostate, but I had no idea the power she was describing was even possible."
"So you would claim to be a victim?"
"No, I would claim to be fallible. The burden of my choices is not a weight for you to bear, however. By the Maker - I'm not so naïve as to be unaware of the consequences myself."
"Which only proves how dangerous you are," he reproved. "I have seen all manner of spirits, demons, witches and abominations, but I still have no idea what you have had me help you unleash, venhedis mage."
"This is getting us nowhere," Hawke fumed, getting to her feet, all hope of finding an amicable way to look at his injury lost. "I think you forget yourself or perhaps Varric wasn't clear when he convinced you to come out here with us. Let me make it clear now: You fight; I pay you; that's it. If ever that becomes too greater task for you to cope with then you're free to leave."
Given the harshness of her reply Hawke hadn't expected the slight softening of his rigid demeanour, his shoulders visibly relaxing... a bit. She tried to consider what she had actually said to cause such a reaction, but her words escaped her, the heat of the moment disappearing as she took a breath to calm down.
"I need to look at your arm," she demanded, no longer willing to beat around the bush.
"What?" he snarled, instantly defensive again.
"Your arm," she repeated, looking to the bloodied bandage wrapped around it.
"No."
"No? Fenris, if you can't fight I can't pay you. Quite the conundrum, I know, but I can help if you'll let me," Hawke explained, fighting and failing to contain her sarcasm completely.
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "You've done enough."
"Apparently not," said Hawke, her eyes still fixed on his arm. "I can see from here that your bandage needs changing at the very least. I have several salves and a fresh poultice. You can do it all yourself if you must, but I need to check it over your blood could be poisoned." Considering he'd had no time to recover and no proper medical care in the first place it seemed possible.
"No," he said flatly.
"A wound like that not properly treated could kill you," she continued, keen to make him understand how serious his condition was. "Please," she reiterated, moving closer to him. "Let me help you."
He moved so fast Hawke barely had enough time to register the light glint off his great sword before she felt the point at her throat. She froze. "Don't push me, mage!" he snarled.
She could feel her whole body trembling with fear and adrenaline as she gritted her teeth and said, "My name is Hawke, Fenris, and I don't start fights, but you already know I can finish them."
His retort was lost as he reeled in sudden agony, his massive sword falling from his grasp and clattering heavily on the ground. Swearing under his breath he clutched at his injured arm looking up at Hawke accusingly.
She lifted her palms. "I didn't do anything," she whispered adamantly glancing over to see Varric and Merril awakened. Only Isabela remained fast asleep, snoring faintly.
"What is it?" Varric asked, rousing himself further.
"It's nothing," Hawke lied swiftly, wanting Varric to rest as much as he could and not wanting to put Fenris on the spot. "Just taking watch, go back to sleep. We didn't mean to wake you."
It didn't take long for the others to settle again, but it felt like a life time to be held in Fenris's black glare.
"Please," she asked, looking to his arm; hoping he could see her sincere concern. He swore again, anxiously checking over the state of the bandage for himself till Hawke bravely inched closer. His dark eyes shot back to her freezing her in place.
"No magic," he growled.
"Truthfully, I can't promise that it's not necessary. Not without looking, but if it's not needed I won't use it."
He considered her words for a moment, studying her sceptically as he had before. "Fetch your supplies then," he said, and turned his attention to the removal of his armour. Hawke was left briefly stunned by the sudden consent, but spun on her heal to retrieve her satchel from by the fire ring.
On her return Fenris had completely removed the armour from his right arm and turned so his right side was more accessible. He waited for Hawke to set herself down beside him before removing the bandaging. She could feel her scowl deepening with every twist of the fabric, the dark red colour of blood deepening the further it unravelled till his injury was revealed.
It was clear the demon had done a thorough job, it was an ugly tear; one that was bleeding freely again. The light of the morning alone wasn't good enough for her to see the surrounding tissue and assess any infections, however.
"I need more light," she said, breaking the idea to him gently. "Would you mind if I…" she let the question hang as she gestured.
He obviously knew what she meant. "Is this not enough?" he asked, looking to the dawn light.
"My eyes aren't as good as yours," Hawke answered truthfully.
He looked puzzled, clearly over thinking her words before turning away again shaking his head. Without further discussion she ignited an orb of light and set it hovering just above her left shoulder. What it revealed was not pleasant. The wound was clearly infected, swollen and discoloured, dark tendrils of poison snaking away from the site over his skin leaving it bruised.
"Maker, Fenris," she uttered in horror, unable to conceive how he'd been able to lift his sword, let alone fight. "This is possibly more than salves and a poultice can deal with."
"Just do what you must," he ground out with a hiss, his body tensing as he leaned away from her; beads of sweat glistening over his exposed skin. Hawke was certain if it had been possible for him to remove his arm for her to treat it he would have done. It was as if her very presence caused him more pain than the injury.
Like lightning the epiphany struck.
It wasn't the pain - though he was clearly afflicted. Fenris was afraid. He was afraid of magic; he was afraid of her. The notion altered her perspective dramatically and he was no longer recoiling from her in contempt - well, not completely. He was recoiling as if she were about to hurt him. Was she? Hawke didn't know how her magic would effect the lyrium beneath his skin. He was right she was a fool. She'd been so caught up in her own fear of his hate that she hadn't truly thought through the obviousness of why he felt the way he did.
"I don't want to hurt you," she soothed. His eyes found hers again, confused and cautious. "Let me see what I can do with the salves. It needs cleaning," she explained looking to the wound, "and I'll most likely need magic to seal you up as I've got no means of stitching you together; the pressure of a bandage alone isn't enough."
He didn't respond so Hawke simply set about doing 'what she must' - rubbing her cold hands together to warm them before touching him. Her methods were always clean and systematic her deft hands moving gently to the task. The wound was clean and treated in a matter of minutes, now all that was left was the magic. "May I?" she asked, drawing his attention again. For the first time his trepidation was clear, though maybe it was because she was looking for it this time. He didn't answer. "Will my doing this hurt you?" she urged.
"Why do you ask so many questions? I've already said, 'do what you must.'"
"It's because I was honest when I said, 'I don't want to hurt you.'"
He shook his head furiously, "You will," he snapped.
"For that I'm sorry, Fenris. I'll be quick."
Hawke closed her eyes taking a moment to find her centre. Her reserves were still low despite the extra sleep she'd been allowed and she knew the summoning of her power would require more concentration than normal. Slowly, but surely, the magic swirled into existence in her palm and she began to manipulate the flow of energy, reining it in, condensing it to a size no wider than the point of her fore finger. Focused, she opened her eyes, distantly aware of Fenris's tense stare as she reached forward barely skimming the surface of his wounded flesh with her finger.
Out of nowhere Fenris's arm erupted in a blinding flash of white-blue light that made Hawke fall back in shock. Panic stricken, she squinted through the blast to see him curled in on himself, such a reaction to her magic clearly catching him of guard as he attempted to conceal the brightness bodily.
"Fenris?" Hawke whispered, unnerved as he bit back a cry, the fingers of his good hand gripping into the rock beside him.
Finally the brightness began to fade and he fell back, breathless. "What did you do?" he muttered angrily.
Hawke moved carefully back to his side unable to answer straight away, her eyes locked on where his wound had been. Not a trace of it remained, not even a scar. Uncomprehending, she looked up into his face. "I... healed you," she said faintly.
