Title: Paradise for Lesser Men

Rating: M

Summary: The chantry is destroyed. Hawke and Fenris find solace on an abandoned farm. MaleHawke/Fenris

A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.


Chapter 4

They are sitting inside the barn while the stars twinkle outside. The light of the fire burns brilliant and casts the interior in a ghostly, orange hue. Hawke is leaning against one of the posts connected to a stall, lazily tossing a stick for the mabari to chase and bring back. Fenris sits on the opposite side of the blaze, using a whetstone to sharpen his blade. The sparks fly off the pressed steal and onto the moist ground with each and every singing strike.

"He needs a name," Hawke announces suddenly, tossing the slobbery stick another few feet. With all the energy of an explosive, the dog takes off after the twig like lightning, securing it between puppy teeth and running back.

"So name him," Fenris answers, sawing at the tip of his broadsword where the edge is becoming just a little too dull. He is sitting cross-legged with the weapon across his lap. The fire is warm against his toes and the front of his legs.

"You bought him. What would you like to name him?" Hawke inquires curiously, tilting his head to the side. The pup belts into his lap with the plaything in his mouth. Plucking it from the dog, he holds it just out of reach, keeping his eyes trained on Fenris.

Perhaps it's that he's never had to name anything before that makes him stop. He lets the whetstone lie on his sword and matches Hawke's gaze. "I'm not sure," he confesses with a shrug.

"Well, consider for a moment," Hawke gestures with one hand, the other throwing the stick far enough that it skids to the entrance of the barn, well away from the safety of the fire. Of course, the mabari follows without hesitation. The black texture of Hawke's leather gloves shines in the dim light. Fenris leans back against the stall door he's propped up against and stares at the ceiling. It's not that he isn't trying, but that he has no idea what to name it.

Instead of providing a name, he asks a question. "Why did you name Quill quill?"

Hawke laughs. "Because he liked to sit on my lap and chew on my quill when he was a puppy. I never got much writing done until I got up and ran a few miles with him. Only then would he sit down and behave." There's a nostalgic twinkle in his eyes. "Carver wanted to name him Rabbit. Maker knows why."

"But you named him, instead?"

"Well, he imprinted on me," Hawke explains. "You see, Father brought him home for Carver, but the buyer can't predict who the mabari will take on as master. He took a liking to me rather than my brother. I got quite a few nasty glares for that." The dog came whipping back through, tiny paws kicking up dust as he flew right into Hawke's lap. "I called him Quill. Carver called him Rabbit. He answered his master." The human shrugged as if to say, 'that's all there is to it'.

"You might try naming him after one of his traits," Hawke suggests, lying the stick down with his hand on top of it. The pup tries to bite through his glove to get to the toy. "You can think on it a bit. There's no rush as far as I can see. Mabari are clever. He'll come when he's called, regardless of what we call him." The dog begins to bark and claw.

Perhaps it's a Ferelden concept or just a dog breeder one, but Fenris can't note much about the animal at all. He's tan, energetic, noisy, and playful. None of those traits seem very good potential names. As Hawke continues to play with the dog, Fenris crosses his arms and watches. Whatever argument they had earlier seems to have melted from his mind. The human is focused on the animal and smiling more than Fenris has seen him do since the destruction of the Chantry. If there was any doubt in his mind as to whether or not purchasing the dog was a good decision, it is gone now.

Eventually, after snuffling around Hawke's fingers for a good few minutes, the dog sits back and waits. "Smart dog," the human admonishes, cuffing the animal gently under the chin with one finger. Tenderness shines in his eyes. It's the same look he used to have when playing with Quill. Pointing at Fenris, Hawke says, "Go play."

The mabari trots over to Fenris with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Instead of trying to play, the animal flops down near his thigh. With a great huff of breath that stirs dust, he lays his head down on his paws. Fenris can't help but smile as he lays his hand on the soft fur, relishing in the strange texture. Boots squeak almost too low for a person to hear as Hawke stands and stretches. He's not wearing armor tonight, and Fenris supposes that there is no reason for him to. Still, their blades are close.

Shuffling wood as Hawke grabs a few of the rotten planks and tosses them on the fire. Sparks fly up, stark against the darkness. The smell of burning wood, smoke, and soot fills the air. The dog shifts under his fingers and rolls over onto its back so that he's touching the tender stomach. Outside the crickets chirp rhythmically while the grass is stirred by the gentle wind that blows through the barn and makes it creak. Fenris is staring at the dog's fur, mostly a light tan but with dark tips. This pup's fur is much less coarse than Quill's. He supposes that it's because of the mabari's age.

He doesn't even hear Hawke approach. A gloved hand curls around the hilt of his sword while another snatches the whetstone away. Hawke moves both things away from him and sets them with the rest of the battle equipment. Each movement is precise, all graceful movements. There's something erotic about the way he does it, not paying attention at all to what he's doing. Instead, he keeps his eyes leveled at Fenris so that the elf is forced to avoid the heated gaze. The dog snuffles under Fenris's fingers, a large yellow eye slowly closing with exhaustion.

Cool leather against his face. The pads of Hawke's fingers are covered, and he doesn't like that. They gently turn him so that he must look at the human. What he sees makes him shiver. Desire, lust, want: every last symptom of their coupling is present. The most important perhaps stays in the forefront. Love shines through as sapphire eyes flicker down towards his mouth. It's the sweetest kiss they've ever shared, by far. There's no urgency, no harsh teeth or tongue. Hawke is slow and precise, and he shockingly keeps his eyes open. Blurred oceans stare at him while they kiss.

It's as if they never fought. Fenris can't distrust this man now, not when he's so very sincere. And he knows Hawke's power. The man could charm a dragon into singing a lullaby. Yet as much as he's seen it, Fenris is not immune. On the contrary, he's maybe the most susceptible to this intoxicating presence. Hawke overwhelms him.

The dog wriggles away from his grasp, and Hawke's hot breath is on his lips. His mouth is scalded, still burning as they pull away. The hand on his cheek trails downward, over the slender slope of his neck to rest at the juncture of his collarbone. Hawke comes closer and embraces him, pulling the slim elf against his chest. Heat and pliant muscle. A kiss at the tip of his ear that makes him shiver.

He almost expects Hawke to speak, but the human doesn't. Instead, he pulls back and kisses him again. Gone is the tenderness and innocence of just a few seconds ago. Now it's all teeth and hot demand as a tongue slides past his sharp teeth and into his mouth. He reaches up and buries his hands into satin hair and slowly drags Hawke to the floor with him. The ground is cool against his back, and it's a rather nice contrast.

There's a bruising force on his hips and teeth in his throat as Hawke bites down. Their clothing his being torn away, shirts thrown overhead and pants kicked off at rapid speed. He feels exhilarated, his heart thudding so hard that he can barely hear Hawke whispering in his ear or the fire or the shuffle of dirt as each moves back to yank off boots.

Fenris has dried mud on his fingers as he cups Hawke's face and crushes their lips together. The metallic tang of blood stings his tongue as he runs it over the human's dull teeth, exploring and tasting. A whisper of speech from a faraway land in Tevinter rushes through his mind. Lightning snaps in his ear and over his skin, but it's just ghosts. Just ghosts and this is real. And he wants it so badly that he digs his fingernails into Hawke's back. Neither of them mind, though, because Fenris is accustomed to having blood under his nails. Hawke knows what it is to be injured during sex.

Pulsating hardness inside of him, driving pleasure to the forefront of his brain. He's arching his back and groaning in a flat-tipped ear. Hawke is hoisting him up, his thighs on either side of Hawke's hips, and they're sitting. It's atypical, but he doesn't mind because Hawke is thrusting inside of him and making him see stars. He wraps his arms around Hawke's neck and breaths harshly into his ear. Sweat-slicked hair brushes against his shoulder. He bites deeply into his lip and lets the blood dribble down over his chin.

The way they're sitting allows him full view of the barn entrance. He can see outside, the green grass blowing in the wind and the dark sky twinkling with a thousand diamonds. Even as Hawke bends him back and kisses at his throat and chest, he still catches glimpses of a world less heated than this one. What seems like too short a time later, they are winding down. The pleasure becomes too great, and the chord snaps. Fenris cries out, and just as he does, he sees the wolf.

The animal is sitting calmly outside the entryway with serious eyes that are glowing with something preternatural. Hawke's back is to it, and he can't see. In that moment, though, Fenris is not afraid. Suddenly he knows who the animal is, and it makes him positively furious that the person would watch such an intimate exchange between the two of them. Of course, who else has such mud brown eyes mixed with an indescribable blue? The wolf matches his gaze as Hawke pants into his shoulder and then kisses him with all the love and adoration he can muster. Fenris kisses back, angry and strangely possessive.

"What is it?" Hawke breathes heavily as he pulls away. "What are you looking at?" As he turns to glance at the entryway, the wolf suddenly leaps into the trees and is gone. Fenris's eyes snap back to Hawke and catch his chin before he can turn away. The elf envelopes him in another kiss, more focused than before. There's no reason for Hawke to know yet.

"Nothing," Fenris tells him in a heated whisper. "It's absolutely nothing important." He hopes the mage hears and takes it as an insult.

Hawke smiles a sad smile, muscled biceps encircling even closer around his body. "I love you," he whispers into etched markings. "Maker, Fenris, how I love you."

The elf's heart skips a beat at the pure sincerity ringing in the tone. Hawke's not expecting anything back. Does he know already? Are words a necessity? The human kisses at his throat and rubs soothing circles with his thumb into Fenris's lower back. They separate within in the next few minutes, but Hawke keeps him close. Fenris returns the kisses and loving touches until Hawke falls into his usual light sleep. Only then does the elf extract himself from the enclosing embrace and tangle of limbs to yank on some clothes. He dares to put a blanket over Hawke, risking waking him up.

The jangle of his armor nearly puts him into a state of panic as he straps on his gauntlets and carapace with impatience. Sooner or later he's dressed and slings his sword over his shoulder, the weight of it reassuring in the leather case on his back. He tiptoes around Hawke and the dog that—scared away earlier by their coupling—has curled up beside him on the blanket.

Outside in the loneliness of the night, he feels that old anger rising again. Embarrassment follows. He hates that the mage was there to witness that part of his life, and he's furious that someone else saw Hawke that way. That face was meant only for him, those words for his pointed, elven ears only. The human's naked flesh was for his eyes and his body, not a voyeur from the past that should have been murdered weeks ago.

Finally he's standing near the river, and he's brimming with rage. It's so complete that he's glowing with it, the hum of lyrium in his markings audible to a select few. Running water splashes over rocks. He doesn't yell but speaks with cold steel in his voice, "Did you enjoy the show? I know you're there. Come out and show yourself, coward."

Nothing happens, and the anger grows. He cuts the air with a sharp gesture, fingers twitching for his blade. "Stop hiding. Hawke told you to run, but here you are. You must need something. All your kind does is take. Hasn't Hawke done enough for you?" Something moves in the shadows. It's all it takes for Fenris to seize his chance.

The mage is slammed up against a tree, and he grunts. Fenris is clenching his teeth, his fist bunched in the lapel of Ander's jacket. They're so close they could be lovers save for the violent tremble in the elf's muscles and the dangerous glow in his skin. Anders's hands are spread, and there's fire licking up the length of his arms. "What are you doing here?" Fenris demands heatedly, hauling Anders even closer. The fire singes the cloth of his armor, but he doesn't care.

"I'm not here to see you," the mage spits in return. "I'm here to see Hawke."

Fenris tightens his hold. "So you what? Use blood magic to transform into an animal and linger in the shadows like a ghost?"

"It's not blood magic, you idiot," Anders explains exasperatedly. "It's an old magic I learned from my commander. But why am I telling you this? You're not level-headed enough to listen. Now let me go."

"Don't tell me whether or not I'm level-headed. How long have you been lurking around in the dark?"

Anders narrows his eyes, and the heat intensifies. "I just found you. Hawke already knows it's me. If you're so close to him, you'd be able to tell. I told him about this magic years ago."

Fenris wants to hurt him, to tell him that he already caught the so obvious lie. It's childish, though, to argue like that. Instead, he increases the pressure on Anders's throat. "You don't know a thing about our relationship, and you wouldn't have come if you knew Hawke at all. He doesn't need you here. We've just got back a semblance of peace, and now you've come to tear that apart again?"

"I've said it before. Hawke doesn't need you to protect him. Now let me go before I burn you alive," Anders growls, pushing at him. The fire increases in size.

The elf hisses, "You're not going anywhere near Hawke. He's already hunted like the rest of you filthy mages for keeping you alive when he should have murdered you the second he learned you were an abomination." Despite his desperate urge to keep a hold on the mage, to make sure that he can't go anywhere near Hawke, Fenris lets go with a shove that slams Anders even further against the unforgiving bark. "Now take your lies and pleas and desperation somewhere else to a new ally. Hawke is done being yours."

"When did you become his spokesperson?" Anders grimaces as he touches the back of his head. "Hawke's a grown man, smart enough to make his own decisions. That's why he helped the mages. Because it was right. And I need his help again."

He can't help it. Maybe it's proving Anders's claims right, that he is a wild animal. He draws his sword and swings it around so quickly that he scarcely sees it at all. Anders is just as blindingly fast, though, and sparks fly from his staff as the two connect. "I'll see you dead first," he spits.

"You're testing my patience, elf. I know Hawke cares for you, and that's why I'll give you another chance," Anders explains slowly. There's already a leak in mana from him. His voice is deeper, and his eyes are tinged with blue. "Put your sword away."

Fenris takes a deep breath. The mage is talented. He won't win if he lets his emotions go haywire. "I won't let you endanger Hawke again," he says calmly. "Not again. Orsino almost killed him. He's hunted as we speak. All because of you."

Guilt flashes in Anders's eyes, but it hardens again. "Hawke chose his side, and he has the right to choose it again."

"He chose wrong," Fenris argues. "This time the choice affects us both. We're a team."

"So you eliminate his decision all together? Some team," Ander snorts, but his hands tighten on the handle of his staff. "I need to speak to him. I don't care if you're having sex with him or not. Hawke is the only one that can help the mages now. I don't need you, and Hawke doesn't need you. You're just a psychotic ex-slave with no one else to turn to, and he's taking pity on you. That's it."

Fenris lunges at Anders, swinging his blade around in a wide arch. It never connects with the mage, though, because a shadow shoves him out of the way. Steel meets steel with a massive clang, and Hawke is standing there in the dark with his blades crossed under the weight of the Fenris's sword. The elf yanks away from the fight with a snarl, and Hawke has the expression of an angry dragon as he whirls toward Anders.

He sheathes one dagger and stalks over to the fallen mage, hauling him up by the collar of his jacket. Icy blue eyes regard Anders, running over his face. The other knife rests at the tender flesh of his throat. "Anders..."

Fenris's muscles are trembling with pent up rage. Only reluctantly does he sheathe his blade because it looks like there will be no fight. Hawke can handle a single mage. For a man who grew up with them, he's remarkably efficient at ending their lives.

Despite his situation, the mage has the nerve to look relieved. "Hawke," he swallows. "I thought you were sleeping."

Hawke snorts and sends a savage glance back at Fenris. "He's never been able to leave without waking me up. I can't believe he tried." Fenris feels guilt settle hard and cold in his stomach. "I also can't believe he thought he could meet with you secretly and keep his temper in check. If there's anything you two can't do, it's be civil around each other." With a grunt, Hawke shoves Anders to the ground and backs up until he's right at Fenris's shoulder. United. A team. The dagger is twirling between his fingers.

"I'm sorry about all this," Anders says as he gets to his feet. Hawke points the tip of the blade at him, narrowing his eyes.

"You know that Fenris means more to me than that," the human snarls. "A lot more. I don't appreciate you insulting our relationship, especially since you and I are not on the best of terms right now. If you're here to ask for help, you're off to an awfully rocky start."

The mage sighs and dusts off his robes. "You're right. I'm sorry. That was less than gracious of me."

Hawke turns on Fenris. "I know that you want to protect me. I understand that, and I'm accepting of that. With all the trouble I get into, Maker knows I need help. But don't try to take my decisions away from me." There's less heat in his eyes, and his voice is kind. Fenris glares but doesn't reply. He doesn't like that he's been caught.

Anders interrupts. "You don't know how much I didn't want to ask for your help. I wanted to stay out of your way. You've done a lot for us, Hawke. More than enough. But I need you again."

Fenris watches Hawke sigh and turn away. Gloved hands clench on the hilt of the blade, and he tenses as if to throw it. The sleepy wind blows through and tousles his hair. Fenris feels a drop of rain plop against his gauntlet and glances at it in astonishment. It hasn't rained in days. Anders shifts nervously on his feet while the crickets sing around them. Suddenly Hawke glances at the mage.

"Tell me why," he says. "Tell me why and what. Then I'll decide. This time no lies. I don't care how twisted or deviant or outright wrong your plan is. You tell me everything because I won't walk into this blind." The conviction in his voice seems to rock the trees. It's been a while since Fenris has seen this commanding side of him. Brilliant blue eyes flicker towards the elf. "Not again. Do you understand?"

"I only did that to protect you," the mage argues futilely. When Fenris glares at him, he shakes his head. "But I understand. I'll tell you everything and answer all your questions. But we must hurry."

Back at the barn, Fenris is standing next to the entrance with his arms crossed. The flat part of his left foot is resting against the wooden siding. He watches while Hawke and Anders speak. Hawke is totally relaxed in the mage's presence, but Anders is finicky. He twitches and jerks when he moves. Obviously, he doesn't trust Hawke's good intentions. But the rogue promised not to hurt Anders. That means he won't.

"Ghosts," Hawke chuckles. "We've heard awful stories about this old place. It was starting to get to our heads."

Anders glances around. "I can…sense something here. I wouldn't dismiss the rumors so quickly."

Hawke sobers up. "Tell us about this problem of yours. We can discuss ghost stories later."

The mabari kicks idly in his sleep next to Hawke who is leaning against a wooden beam tossing breadcrumbs into the fire. Fenris wonders as he stares at their sleeping pallet if Hawke is aware that Anders was watching them. If anyone can sense even the smallest flex of mana, it is Hawke. Anders paces as he explains. Fenris tries to pay attention, but the timbre of the mage's voice grates on his nerves. He hasn't forgiven him for the intrusion earlier.

"—heading toward Orlais when they caught up to us. They took Marni and Lavisse. Kindel and I managed to get away, but he was wounded. I had to leave him behind in a clinic about two days back." Anders stops and looks pleadingly at Hawke. "Whatever the templars kidnapped them for isn't good, Hawke. There are no circles anymore. They've all rebelled. So why capture mages?"

"I would think," Hawke sits up, "that they would use blood magic to defeat the Templars."

"No, not those two," Anders shakes his head. "It was why I was traveling with them. They were some of the only mages not to turn to demons when all this started. We were trying to do some good, to recruit others and heal some of the damage. Maybe start peace talks with the Templars, or to those that would listen. Now they've been captured, and it's all my fault."

"So what do you want me to do about it?" demands Hawke. He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I don't owe you anything, Anders. In fact, you owe me your life and this entire rebellion. If not for me, Meredith would have locked you away a long time ago and executed you. Now that I've lost just about everything important to me, my sister's halfway around the world, and I'm on the run, you want me to give up whatever peace I've found here to help you rescue a bunch of rebel mages that you have a soft spot for?"

Put that way, Anders can't come up with a counterargument. He sits down on the ground and runs a hand through his hair. It's greasy, like he hasn't had a decent bath in days. Heavy bags ring his eyes, and there's more than a few weeks of stubble growing on his chin. His clothing is filthy, speckled with blood and mud. Even his staff seems weak and weary, chipped in several places. Despite all this, Fenris can't feel pity for him. He knew his choice and what it entailed. Perhaps he expected more glory.

"Look, Hawke," Anders sigh, "I know I have no right to ask you anything, but you've always done the right thing. Or at least what you thought was right. We were friends once. The Seekers will torture those girls and then make them Tranquil. Marni's only fifteen. Lavisse is only a few years older than that, and they're both Fereldens with families. Can't you do it for them?"

"I don't even know where to start," Hawke snaps. "Innocent people die all the time. What in the name of the Maker do you expect me to do to help them? You don't even know where they are." Anders stands up, seizing his moment of hope.

"No, I do," he says. "They're in an abandoned Circle about four days north. I've already inspected it. The girls are alive, but it's swarmed by Templar guards. I can't defeat them all by myself or I would have tried."

"Four days?" exclaims Hawke incredulously. "They could be dead already or Tranquil. You must be crazier than I thought, Anders. There's no way we could get there in—"

Anders kicks a flaming stick in a fit of anger, and Fenris starts toward them with his hand on his sword. The mabari starts into life, growling menacingly. The mage's eyes flicker towards Fenris briefly before settling back on Hawke, and his voice is deeper than it should be. "What if it were Bethany?"

"You know the answer to that," Hawke snarls, getting to his feet. "I'd swim the nearest ocean for her, and I'd get her back at all costs. Tranquil or no. Don't try to play on my emotions. You won't guilt me into another suicide mission."

"You're right, I'm sorry," Anders holds up his hands, and his voice is back to normal. "It was my mistake. They shouldn't have to pay for that. Please. I got there too late to save Karl. Don't let me fail again." His eyes are shining, and he's begging now.

"Virus," Fenris hisses from the shadows. "You infect everything you come into contact with, don't you? Do you want to know the best way to keep the people around you safe? Stay away from them."

"Fenris," Hawke admonishes him softly.

Fenris doesn't listen. "Haven't you caused enough damage? You ruin everything you touch, mage. You and that demon in your head. We don't need more trouble. Everyone we knew is running from the Templars because of you! And you want us to run right towards them?"

"Fenris!" Hawke says more sharply. "Enough."

Feeling rather betrayed, the elf backs up a step. "You're actually considering this!" he accuses hatefully. It's the same tone of voice he used to snap at Varania a lifetime ago. "Why? What do you owe him that makes you want to help him every time he asks?" Their arguments over the past few days come to a head, and Fenris wants to explode in that moment. Anders is driving them apart, and loathes the mage even more than he did before.

"It's Hawke's decision," Anders snaps, and Hawke thrusts out a hand to silence him.

"I didn't say I was considering anything, but you're out of line," Hawke tells him. Fenris curses in his Tevinter language and throws up his arms.

"Fine," he glares at Anders. "Convince him to join your cause again. Maybe, though, before you do, you could just grab a dagger and plunge it into his heart yourself. Because your lies and futile dreams of a world where demonic children run free without restraint will kill him anyway!" Fenris storms out of the barn and into the fields to cool off.

It's raining now, and he stomps straight towards the river and slams his fist into the trunk of a tree. His strength combined with the glowing power of his lyrium tattoos bloodies his knuckles as they are buried deep within the wood. The tree groans in complaint, and a few green leaves fall from the branches to land on his head. Bracing his foot against the torso, he yanks his hand out.

Standing in the cold water, he closes his eyes and wills the power away. Lately his emotions have become more unstable. He blames it on the mage's presence. Anders had always vied for Hawke's attention, as desperate as a mabari for even the slightest word of encouragement or a pat on the head. It isn't jealousy that makes Fenris hate the mage. He trusts Hawke enough in that regard. In fact, Hawke has never even glanced at another man or woman that way. No, it's the fact that Anders is so absolutely set on putting Hawke in mortal danger at every chance he gets.

There's blood bubbling out of his scraped knuckles, and Fenris glances at the burning abrasion with distaste. It's beginning to swell, and he wonders idly if he's broken something. Sighing once, he heads toward the river and slips his hand into the dark depths. The water washes away the blood in a stream of coalescing color he can barely see by the light of the moon. Dangling his fingers a few time before pulling them out, he inspects the wound. The tiny scrapes are inflamed, but he can't feel any misplaced bone.

Soon he goes to one of the trees and slides to the ground against it with his arm slung over his blade. He can see the glow of the fire from the barn here. It's distant but present. Even if he closes his eyes, he can't hear them speak. The rush of water is too loud. The rustle of leaves is deafening. Even the subtle movement of his bones and muscle and thumping heart is louder than what they are saying. He doesn't care anymore, anyway. Hawke will make his decision, and Fenris has a gut feeling that he knows what it is already. Would he let two mages molder away when he could save them? Definitely not. Would he overcome his distrust of Anders to save two innocent girls? In a heartbeat.

For all Hawke's wonderful qualities, he does have at least two fatal flaws that Fenris has been able to identify.

He can't let well enough alone, and he constantly overestimates his abilities.


Faster update and more plot! Find any typos? Feel free to point them out. Thanks for reading. Review please.