AN: GAGH! I just realized that this story was missing this chapter! I can't believe I missed this! I can't belive no one mentioned that it seemed odd! I JUST DON'T BELIEVE ANYMORE!
*ehem* A real update hopefully next weekend.
He wasn't sure what was going on, but against his will, Fenris started to slowly become more aware as his senses started to register one by one: it was warm, his mouth was dry, he heard a crackling sound, it smelled like damp earth, something was tickling his skin, and when he at long last opened his eyes, it was a little too bright to suit him, but he weathered through it until he could slowly blink at the ceiling above him without his eyes tearing up.
Fenris was…alive, it would seem. The elf mentally scowled. Honestly, you would think an animal as exotic as Tigris would have done a decent job of killing him; in his current state, it would be laughably easy. And it wasn't really a bad death to boot either; a large, fearsome beast that was both feared and respected around all of Thedas? He could think of much worse or embarrassing ways to go.
He gingerly tilted his head to look beside him, blinking stupidly at what he realized was a bedmate.
The same animal that had dragged him into the jungle was now curled up next to him, fur glossy in the flickering candle light. Despite the bed being of decent size, with that monster of an animal in it with him, it was curled right up against him, heating him even through the blanket that was currently covering him.
If he had been back in Kirkwall when this had taken place, he probably would have leapt out of bed, grabbed something for an impromptu weapon to keep the beast at bay, and start bellowing for assistance on the off chance Hawke was nearby or Aveline was on patrol outside.
As it stood, he was not in Kirkwall, and he found he didn't give a damn about anything.
"Tigris," he grumbled. "You're either the dumbest predator I've met, or you have me mistaken for something else. Which is it?"
The animal made a low rumbling sound, picking its' head up to look back at him. Golden eyes met his, and Fenris stilled, waiting. Would the beast finish him off now? It wasn't a bad place to die, nice big bed-
Wait.
Fenris slowly looked away from those golden eyes, taking in his new surroundings. A simple hut by all appearances; the bed he was in was easily the most opulent object in the room. The rest of the space was taken up by shelves full of what looked like various plant and fungi, and there were two straight-backed chairs, one of which was pulled up to his bedside while the other was at a small table laden with various books and papers. There was a fireplace, with a fire crackling inside it and a small pot bubbling over it.
Tigris huffed, and eased himself from the bed. He glanced back at Fenris, looking rather like he was sizing him up, before he snorted, and after nosing the front door open, strutted outside into the darkness.
Fenris tugged the blanket down, taking in the extent of the damage; where once white brands sprawled over his skin, now bore open wounds that had a dark red tint to them. The cuts on his thighs had been healed completely, and if he had to hazard a guess, it was a mage's work. No remaining cuts or swellings were a dead giveaway of magic having been used.
Unless he had hallucinated the whole thing, but Tigris being there was reassurance that he hadn't.
The elf sighed, drawing the blanket back up to cover his form, and settled back in, eyes closing as he began to drift off…
"You're a sore sight for these eyes."
Fenris cracked one eye open, not even bothering to raise a surprised eyebrow at the man who now stood at his bedside. He licked his lips, voice croaking.
"I thought the expression was 'a sight for sore eyes'?"
"Normally it is," Anders said. "You, however, are an exception. You look like you hurt more than my eyes at any rate."
Oddly enough, Fenris did ache, but compared to what he had felt during…the extraction procedure, it was downright pleasant.
"Is there a reason you saved me?"
The mage frowned down at him, brown eyes flashing angrily. "I save your sorry arse and you ask why?"
"Yes."
Fenris watched the other man closely as the anger faded, replaced by ill-concealed worry. Amusing, for the Abomination to be concerned about him of all people, the elf thought.
"Why would you ask such a thing? You thought I would just…just let you die? I'm a healer Fenris. It would go against my nature to leave you to die when I could prevent it. No one deserves to die like that, no matter what they did to earn it. I'm assuming that was punishment for an escape attempt?"
"No."
Again, the other man was staring at him. "Fenris," Anders said slowly, almost cautiously. "Did Danarius do that to you?"
"Probably."
"What did he do to you?" the mage murmured. "The Fenris I knew despised his former master and did anything and everything to torment the man and mock him. The Fenris I knew would be biting at the bit already to get vengeance on that man."
"The Fenris you knew, Anders," the elf replied wearily, "Is gone. The Fenris you knew had freedom, hope, and what he thought was a woman he would spend the rest of his life with once Danarius was taken care of." He looked up at the mage, ears down and eyes empty.
"Your Fenris is completely dead; Hawke's betrayal crushed my spirit and broke my heart. Danarius just made my outside look like my insides; I am sickened, and will not heal. Even in the Imperium now, I am dead. Such punishments are reserved for slaves who have outlived their usefulness. No doubt I've already been stricken from any records."
"But that's excellent!" Anders said. "If you're dead to the Imperium and Danarius, that means you can have a fresh start, without him chasing after you."
Fenris blinked lethargically up at the apostate before turning over on his side, facing away from the other, and pulling the blanket back over his form. "There is no point anymore. Leave me, mage, so I can die in peace."
And that was that. Anders tried to pester the elf with more questions, but Fenris ignored him. Eventually, Anders left the hut before he could lose his temper, and stalked out into the night.
"This is stupid, this is stupid," Anders muttered a few days later, pacing back and forth just outside his hut. He had come outside so Fenris wouldn't see him lose his temper…again.
For some reason, Anders could (and had) dealt with angry, chip-in-his-shoulder Fenris with few problems; yes the angry elf bastard annoyed and angered him at times with his rhetoric and stories of Teventer Magisters and their regular bouts of cruelty, and yes they HAD thrown drinks at each other that one time after he had lost soundly to Fenris in Wicked Grace, but this new Fenris…
He would take angry, glowing, hopping mad Fenris over this broken shell of an elf any day.
His fever had broken, and generally that meant two things: the appetite would usually return, and Anders could let out a little sigh of relief that his patient was out of one predicament. Yet due to Fenris' steadfast new…blankness, neither of these things happened, and it was worrying.
Everything was worrying, Anders thought tiredly as he paused, glancing back through the open doorway, to the elf that lay on the bed.
Fenris was, in the truest meaning of the word, broken. His body could, and eventually would, heal, but he wouldn't live long with that new attitude of his. He only awoke because Anders would shake him awake. He only ate because Anders would stop pestering him if he did as was needed. He only spoke when Anders forced him to, and then it was only about how he was feeling with his wounds, and if he was hungry (he never was).
Anders remembered, bitterly, just how independent Fenris had been before Danarius had gotten his hands back on the elf. Fenris lived alone, and he never accepted outright charity. It wasn't that he was too proud; he just wanted to get what he needed on his own, because he had the choice to do it. He would not take any talk from anyone who thought he was a servant or a pet, and he refused to bow to many social norms, including acting 'elfish'.
Now he barely had enough of himself left in him to look Anders square in the eye when they interacted.
Hawke always had done the amazing and impossible; and now she had had a hand in breaking the spirit of one of the most willful people Anders had ever known. And to think he still missed her sometimes, he thought darkly.
Frustrated, Anders headed back inside as the sun went down, stomping over to the bed and glaring down at his patient, who opened one eye to stare balefully back.
"You are pathetic," Anders finally said. "If this had been back in Kirkwall, you would have already been up and about, stomping around disturbing my other patients with your glowing broodiness, and demanding to know when you could leave the clinic and my presence."
Fenris blinked slowly up at him, but didn't otherwise respond.
"Look, I know you're probably heartbroken about-about Hawke," Anders tried. He kept speaking even though Fenris seemed unmoving. "But you need to pick up the pieces and move on. There are other fish in the sea."
Again, Fenris didn't reply, and Anders finally let loose days of worry, helpless anger, and frustration.
"Damn it Fenris," he snarled, starting to pace in front of the bed, hands motioning wildly. "So you got sold out by a pretty woman in a skirt, big deal. It's not like you can find someone else to fuck when you-"
"Shut up."
The interruption had been weak, and quiet, but Anders still picked up on it. He whirled back towards Fenris, the cat in him sensing weakness and urging him to antagonize their prey further before moving in for the kill.
"What? Did I touch a nerve?" he taunted. "That's all she was to you, wasn't she? Just a warm hole to-"
"Shut. Up," Fenris whispered both eyes open now, and flickering with…with something.
Anders, being Anders, ignored the elf and continued forward.
"Aw, isn't that adorable? The little dog thought he loved the little bird," he cooed, watching with grim satisfaction as his patient grew more and more agitated. "Trying to protect her honor? Sweet, very sweet. You do know she loved to visit the Blooming Rose at least once a week? Yes, and she was always following Isabella into her back room, and the screaming you would hear from there would curl your toes, if you know what I mean. Oh, and this one time, she asked to see my staff-"
The elf let out a strangled noise, and Anders paused for a moment to watch him struggle towards him on the bed. His anger was giving him strength, he noted, but not enough to actually keep him moving forward once he got to the edge of the bed. He did however manage to reach out and grab Anders' hand, and squeeze.
If the elf had been at his full capacities, the mage's hand probably would have been crushed. As it was, even when the elf was this weak, Anders could feel the tension in his joints that told him in no uncertain terms that Fenris could break them if he truly wished, and all he had to do was twist them in just the right way-
"You will silence your wagging tongue, Abomination," Fenris said, not going above a raspy whisper. "I will not have you besmirching her name in my presence."
"'Besmirching her name'?" Anders repeated, quickly tugging his hand from the elf and taking a step back. "You make it sound as if she was Andraste returned. She sold you back to your master, and you won't even let me bad mouth her? I claim the right to, seeing as how she's the reason you're in this sorry state and I have to patch you up."
"No one asked you to do…to do this," Fenris hissed, motioning vaguely at his form. "Slander and abuse my courage all you want, mage, but I will not suffer to hear you bring Hawke into this again."
Anders had experienced having patients who had given up hope before, even if giving it all up was premature. He knew how the mind could affect the body's progress to heal fully, and that sometimes, the mind could actually twist, or even kill, a body that was otherwise perfectly healthy. Hopeless patients were dangerous not only to themselves, but to the other patients around them, and to their own healer. Usually family members or loved ones were called in if it got bad, and Anders had never had to worry beyond that, since almost all his patients would bounce back after a few days and with enough tender loving care.
It was at this point that Anders realized he might have stumbled on something vital in regards to Fenris, and it was with eagerness that he ignored what should have been a sizable boundary, one that a decent healer would not cross for fear of the patient's delicate situation. Seeing as how Fenris didn't really have anyone else, Anders bid his common sense goodbye and leapt over the edge.
"Make me. Oh, wait, you can't."
"So help me," Fenris whispered, eyes literally blazing now, "Just take one step closer to this bed, and I'll show you exactly what I'm capable of, even in this state."
"I've had better offers," Anders replied. "Besides, we can't do anything, you're really hurt. Although I didknow a healer who claimed to have 'healing cock' but I never did quite understand how that worked exactly."
Oops, he seemed to have shocked the anger right out of the elf, if the confused blinking were any indication.
"Tell you what," he offered quickly, hoping to seize the moment and make it work. "I'll make you a deal. You actually tryto live through this-and I mean really try, not just going through the motions-and you and I will have a duel over Hawke's honor, or whatever it is you want, when you're fully healed. If you win, I won't stain Hawke's honor anymore."
"And if you win?"
"Haven't thought about it yet," Anders drawled, glancing down at his fingernails. "No abomination tendencies or blood magic though, promise."
The spark in the elf's eye dimmed somewhat, but, as Anders gleefully noted, it did not fully disappear.
"Very well, mage. I will enjoy seeing you on your knees, begging for mercy."
"Won't we both," Anders muttered, heading over to the pot to check on supper.
The trick with dragging Fenris out of his depression, it seemed, was to give him a goal to work towards, and to bug the ever living hell out of him, which was harder than it normally was, but Anders was sure he could somehow manage.
The first obstacle was to steadily help Fenris strengthen his muscles; between the malnourishment he had suffered and his catatonic recovery in bed, his muscles had suffered, and needed to be built up again.
Problem with this predicament was that one of the ways Anders could help would be to touch the elf, who had been prickly enough before leaving Kirkwall, and was now downright, well, rude.
"Touch me there again, mage, and you'll lose the hand."
Granted, his comment was better than his initial reaction when Anders went to touch him the first time Fenris was fully conscious and aware. Watching a once proud warrior flinch away from healing hands, and then actually let out a whimper when they touched his skin was disheartening, even for their sort of relationship. Despite their past animosity, Anders had no real quarrel with Fenris. He had been saved by the elf multiple times, and had returned the favor. And yes, he was irritated at Fenris' constant refusal to stand for mage rights, but Anders had recently come to the conclusion that the only way to show anyone that mages were put on Thedas for good things was to shut up and show them.
It was nice, to be able to think a little clearer nowadays. Anders had a few gaps here and there- he'd expect another feeling to pop up to argue or agree with his thoughts, but otherwise, it was nice to have his head to himself again.
Anders sighed, ignoring Fenris' comment and continuing with the massage. He couldn't help it if doing this encouraged blood flow to the recovering muscles; it was what it was. Granted, some of the areas he was touching were a bit intimate, but seeing as how the elf had been naked for weeks in his presence and he hadn't yet taken advantage of him, Anders thought that deserved some recognition.
"Fenris, this is completely professional, and despite what you might think, this does work. You'll thank me later when I'm begging at your feet for mercy because you had the stamina to keep fighting me."
They had a steady routine for the moment as well. In the morning, Anders would awaken first, and get breakfast started. Fenris had been upgraded to plain solids, and if he kept up his recovery rate, more complex and tasty meals were definitely in the near future. The elf would usually wake up in time to watch Anders dole out their portions, and they would eat. Then Anders would help the elf with his morning routine, and would gently sponge the elf clean, checking his wounds as he went. After that, they would exercise. Eventually dinner would be served, and once Fenris had fallen asleep, Anders would stay up to note the elf's progress in his ever-present journal until he too retired, always in tiger form. Fenris never questioned the presence of a strange, powerful animal in bed with him, and Anders didn't offer an explanation. It was better this way, he mused.
At first, the exercising constituted Anders literally dragging the elf around the hut; Fenris would take a few shaky steps, then his legs would give out, and Anders would drag him to sit to catch his breath, and then they would go right back at it. Thankfully, Fenris didn't complain about having to hang onto the healer like a leech.
Eventually, it led to Fenris being able to stand, and stiffly walk around on his own, with Anders trailing close behind in case he fell.
All in all, Fenris was doing a damn good job at recovering.
And then it all nearly fell apart.
Fenris had been doing quite well that day; he had walked around the hut a few times without help, albeit slowly. After a small lunch, Fenris crawled back into bed for a much deserved nap. Deciding that the other man would be just fine without him for a few hours, Anders headed to the nearest village; a small outpost really, but it did have a market to buy food, and a tavern to buy and listen for news.
And after spending weeks caring nonstop for the elf, Anders was in desperate need of knowing the goings-on in the world outside his little hut in his little corner of his enchanted little forest with his happy little elf.
Maker, he was already going mad. Next he would be on the lookout for friendly forest animals that would sing along with him while he cleaned house.
He also picked up some clothes for Fenris. Anders certainly didn't mind the elf prancing around naked all the time, but he supposed that eventually Fenris would like to restore some of his dignity.
As he entered back into his hut, he glanced up, nearly dropping his things in shock.
Fenris was sitting. At his desk. With his journal. In. Hand.
But that was fine, right? Anders thought desperately, ignoring the produce rolling over the floorboards. Slaves in the Imperium weren't permitted to read. He was probably entranced by the little doodles in the margins of Ser Pounce-a-lot, or the dirty ones Isabella had been fond of leaving in all the worst places.
"Good read?"
Fenris ignored him, staring resolutely at the book in his lap. Anders relaxed a little more; this famous Fenris Stare was only ever pulled out and used when the elf was extremely frustrated, and sought to stare down anyone or anything that was bothering him. And the mage was pleased to know that his journal would not submit.
"Healer," Fenris said quietly.
"That's me," Anders replied.
"You made a deal with me, after knowing, after writing down what happened to Hawke?"
Oh. Shit.
Fenris had been slowly recovering under the mage's care. It was strange, feeling once more, wanting once more. The anger Anders had poked and prodded at mercilessly had turned into determination, and Fenris was eager to use it. He would show that upstart Abomination.
Fenris had never been one for overt gestures; he was, as Isabella had once pointed out, much like a soldier in that regard- straight, blunt, and to the point. He also did not like to show off his knowledge of things; to show what he did and did not know would expose him, make him vulnerable to attacks, verbal or otherwise. Know-it-all elves were never appreciated, and he did not care much for being ridiculed over things he did not know.
And then Hawke had strode into his life, covered head to toe in blood and entrails, and wearing a big friendly smile.
He fell, hard, and it had shown.
Only around Hawke did he let his guard down, and because of this, she eventually found out he couldn't read.
"Well then," she had said with a smile. "This is certainly a shackle I can help you remove…if that is to your liking."
Despite his continued frustration, it was very much to Fenris' liking. He enjoyed spending time alone with Hawke; they did not worry about traps or bandits they might encounter. There was no Abomination there to lead them both astray with his antics, and no strangers pleading for Hawke's help. Just him and Hawke, alone in either his mansion or in the library at the Hawke Estate, poring over foreign pen scratching that slowly began to hold meaning for the former slave, instead of continuing to silently mock him.
One of the first words he learned to write was Hawke's name. The second was his own. The third was 'freedom'. He had been happy, content even, and it was thanks to this beautiful, kind woman.
She had known and understood him better than he himself had, which was why no one else except Varric (of course) had found out the change in his educational status.
Fenris had awoken from his nap refreshed, and upon seeing the hut empty, promptly proceeded to gingerly pull himself up and out of bed, and started poking and prodding around.
After all, it's not like the mage would come out and tell him everything that had happened since they had last seen each other. Perhaps the Abomination would have a few clues laying around as to where Hawke was…
At first he found nothing of interest; herbs, poultices, books with magical runes he refused to touch. He found an old faded pillow, embroidered and sewn with obvious care. Curious, he sniffed it; it held a light, earthy smell that wasn't unpleasant. He left it once he laid eyes on a familiar looking book.
Hawke had kept a book similar to this, he remembered. She would take time out during her days to write down her adventures, big or small, in them.
Eagerly, Fenris snatched up the well-worn book, opened it to a random page, and read:
Left behind. I am relieved that I won't have to deal with darkspawn, but I still feel uneasy. The leader, Hawke, is intriguing. Her views are opposite my own, but I feel that despite this, I will at least know where I stand with her. A blessing, perhaps. I am a bit miffed that both her and the elf are leaving together. When his mouth isn't open and spewing vile things about mages, I quite like Fenris. He's pleasing to look at. And shiny. Shiny is good.
At this point, the elf in question took a seat at the desk, eyebrow raised. Anders 'liked' him? And he was shiny?
Mulling over what he knew about the mage, Fenris came to the conclusion that, like any other magister, Anders appreciated silent, compliant beauty.
No more,he thought with grim satisfaction, eyeing the network of scars on his hands before turning his attention back to the journal.
-owe the bloody elf three sovereigns over last night's Wicked Grace. Which is rather sad since I don't HAVE three sovereigns. And he kept smirking at me the rest of the night. Not conducive to a good night's rest. The Maker is laughing at me.
Fenris smirked at that. He remembered now, that night. Anders was lucky that was all he owed Fenris; if they had followed Isabella's suggestion, clothing would have been removed. And knowing her, she would have probably wrested a kiss from the Abomination as well.
Chuckling at the mental images that conjured, the elf continued reading.
-Justice wishes to investigate Fenris more closely. Must be all that lyrium in the elf's skin. Luckily, as Fenris' bestest friend in the whole of Thedas, it is my sworn duty to protect him from overly curious spirits. Fenris need never know how close he came to being elf-shaped lyrium catnip for Justice. Thank the Maker for small mercies.
Fenris wasn't sure WHAT to make of that, so he flipped a few more pages, noticing the increasingly messy, cramped and hurried handwriting.
-cannot continue. Justice tied too tightly to my emotions. He is Vengeance personified, and Vengeance is never Justice. Must stop him, free him from this earthly coil. Hawke will help!
Frowning, Fenris moved forward another page.
-dead. I can't believe it came to that. Hawke hurt badly. I need to go check on her again very soon. Will strangle Fenris later for suggesting such a thing.
Fenris rolled his eyes, turning a few more pages, pausing when he came across a page that was blank, save for two simple lines.
Fenris is gone. The world is much crueler than I had realized.
The former slave snorted, unimpressed. Near a decade of working together on various missions and quests, and it took his final leave to really hammer home to the mage that the world was cruel. Figured.
He shuffled the pages back and forth for a moment, then dived back in, towards the end of the journal.
Hawke is dead. The Chantry lies in ruins. Meredith was dispatched by Orsino, who was then dispatched by Knight Captain Cullen. It had to be done. But that doesn't make it hurt any less.
Fenris stilled, frowning at the words before him. He went back, and read again.
Hawke is dead.
Obviously this was a lie, a trick by the mage. Hawke wasn't dead, Fenris reasoned. Hawke couldn't die…
Except she could. She nearly had after that duel with the Arishok. Even though she had meant the world to him, had done many improbable and impossible things…she bled, like any other.
And Maker take him, but he also knew that she cried, and could be wounded like any other.
Hawke is dead.
He stared at that sentence, reading it over and over again, willing the words to make sense, to morph into a sentence that didn't go against everything he knew to be right in his world.
He was still staring at it when Anders walked back in.
"Good read?"
Fenris slowly looked up, staring at the man before him as if truly seeing him for the first time.
This man, this bedraggled mage that had stubbornly kept Fenris alive for the past few weeks, had written the impossible in his journal.
He…he was…
"Healer," Fenris said quietly.
"That's me," Anders replied.
"You made a deal with me, after knowing, after writing down what happened to Hawke?"
The mage froze, eyes widening in surprise. No doubt he had thought that Fenris, like any other slave, had not acquired the skills needed to read. Any other day, any other place, Fenris would have rejoiced at stunning his rival.
This though…this was a bitter victory for the elf.
Anders shifted, still in the doorway. Fenris took note of the produce and packages that had fallen from the healer's arms, and then returned his gaze to the man's guilty looking face.
"I had no choice-"
"Liar," Fenris whispered, cutting through the other man's excuse as easily as with a sword.
"I didn't," Anders shot back, standing up straighter. "You were depressed, and it wasn't doing you any favors-"
"So you thought hiding the fact that my former lover is dead was a good idea?"
"Well-"
"Perhaps you thought to dangle it over me, waiting until our duel to pull it out, distracting me long enough to end me?" Fenris said, still quiet but venom quickly creeping into his tone. The anger was building, choking him-
"Why would I-"
"Because you are a mage, and a liar," Fenris hissed, throwing the journal at Anders' feet. "You will do what you feel you must to reach your goals, the feelings and needs of others be damned!"
"I didn't mean to-"
"Why do you insist on lying?" Fenris roared, losing his temper completely and lurching out of the chair. He would strangle the mage, slowly, and he would enjoy watching the man's face turn blue…
The elf stumbled, snarling and batting away the mage's helping hands. "Why do you think you can get away with lying to me?" he continued, dropping to the floor and glaring up defiantly at the other man. "I may have been a slave, but I am no simpleton! I know what mages are, and what they want. You are no different from my former master. You will not be content until you have every other free living being bowing to your superiority, your magic," he spat. "And you will try to expand the Imperium. And I won't be there to stop you."
"What was that?" Anders asked, a little sharply.
Fenris snorted, lowering his gaze to the floor, feeling suddenly very old, and very, very tired. "Mage, I have no reason for living. I have outlived my purpose. Hawke is gone…unless you lied about that as well."
"No," Anders said quietly. "Hawke truly is gone. She…I, I am so sorry Fenris."
"My my, an actual apology," Fenris said, lacking any bite now. "I owe Merrill one sovereign and a frolic through the woods."
"She can't frolic where she is right now."
Fenris glanced up, curious despite himself. "What happened to the naïve little blood mage?"
Anders shrugged. "After Hawke…she followed Isabella and the others to the sea. I wouldn't be surprised if those two stuck together."
"No," Fenris murmured. "I wouldn't either."
Silence fell for a long time; Fenris stayed on the floor, and Anders did not move from the doorway.
Eventually, Anders stepped forward, kneeling down to gather Fenris up and lead him back to the bed. "C'mon," he muttered. "I'll explain more when you're not in your I-Hate-All-Mages-And-You-Can-All-Just-Piss-Off mood."