Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Life always gets busier for me in the winter. Not sure when I'll get the next chapter uploaded, but I will finish this tale. Thanks for all the follows and the few comments, I really appreciate it!
The room was eerily silent to her ears now, after the thundering roar of her own blood, her own breath, and the wild crescendo of demons whispering a litany of promises if only she would give in. Her last word, 'thanks' hung awkwardly in the air, almost deafening to ears that had been bombarded with sensations only a moment before.
It was probably only a few moments, but it felt like an eternity before Varric seized her in a bear hug, sobbing unashamedly all over her neck and hair. "I thought you were a goner, Hawke. I really did," he whispered fiercely, his grip driving all the air out of her lungs.
His reaction unnerved her a bit. Lost in her own internal battle against demons, Hawke hadn't realized how close things had come. She must have been in pretty bad shape if Varric was this shaken. She hugged him back, "I'm okay," she replied, her voice shaking slightly.
"Broody," Varric said, releasing Hawke and hauling the elf to a seated position, "thank you." Then he was hugging Fenris too, and from the slight bugging of the elf's eyes, Hawke gathered the hug was just a tight.
"No thanks are required," Fenris managed to gasp out before Varric's embrace rendered him speechless.
"Nonsense, you saved our fearless leader," Varric responded, already adopting what Hawke thought of as his 'storyteller voice'.
"Varric, no" she said softly, before she'd even realized that she'd spoken.
The dwarf turned to her, one eyebrow cocked. "You don't think your rescuer deserves gratitude. Come on, Hawke, Broody really played the hero at the end there." Varric wiped lingering tears out of his eyes, which were already sparkling with creative excitement. "This is the stuff that legends are made of. I mean, now that we know everyone lived through it, this is one hell of a tale. Admittedly, the whole thing would be much more impressive if the two of you were still involved. . ." his mouth curled into a smug grin at that.
Thick, murderous silence followed that comment. Hawke glared at Varric in part out fury and in part because she dared not look away and catch Fenris's eye. She watched Varric's eyes dart back and forth between herself and Fenris, his smile slowly fading. Whatever he saw there, it wasn't what he had anticipated.
He coughed awkwardly and was probably on the verge of another bad joke when Anders rushed into the pub, Aveline on his heels.
"Does anyone need heeling," Anders called out as he skidded to a halt in the middle of the room, his eyes darting over the three of them on the floor, and Danarius's corpse a little way off.
Hawke reminded herself, just in time, not to roll her eyes. Anders' habit of asking who needed healing always struck her as odd. If someone really was in rough shape, they probably aren't in any condition to ask for help, now are they? She thought, but she simply shook her head, smiling and replied "right as rain. Though you could check me over at the clinic, if you don't mind. I probably did a botched job healing myself. I'm out of practice." It would never do to voice her snarky thoughts to Anders. He was simply too gentle a soul to take it. He could be hurt too easily, and she'd hurt him once before, long ago. Never again she had vowed, and she meant to keep that promise. Better to save the sarcasm for Varric and Isabella.
Anders returned her smile with one full of genuine warmth and compassion. He offered her a hand, and helped her rise to her feet. "Thank the Maker you are well," he said, giving her a quick embrace and soft, unexpected, kiss on the cheek. "Come by my clinic later, and I'll make sure there is no lasting damage."
"I thought I'd lost you, Hawke," Aveline breathed, before embracing her gently, but no less fiercely than Varric had. She released her friend, then turned to haul Fenris to his feet as well, hugging him in turn. "I'm glad your old master is dead, Fenris. What will you do now?" she said, upon releasing him.
Hawke turned, curious to hear what Fenris would say. Would he leave Kirkwall now that he was truly free of Danarius? And why should I care if he does? She whispered to herself, angry at the small birdlike fluttering of panic she felt at the thought.
Fenris was silent for a few moments. He rubbed a hand through his hair, as though he didn't quite know how to begin. Finally, he said "I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong. Magic has tainted that too. There is nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone."
Pity and anger twisted inside her. How could he think himself alone when she had risked her life, when they had all risked their lives, to help him meet his sister and free him from Danarius?! And though she still vividly remembered the way he had looked at her, only moments ago, she couldn't stop herself from blurting out "You have friends, Fenris."
"Oh, and who would that be?" he snarled back, his green eyes flashing with disgust and rage, "You?"
She couldn't respond. She remembered telling him only that morning that they weren't friends. Hadn't been friends since that night. . .
"It certainly isn't me" Anders cut in, his own rage palpable.
Andraste's Ass, Hawke thought, next thing they'll be having a pissing contest. "Enough," she said gently, but forcefully, laying a hand on Anders' arm. She reached for Fenris too, but he flinched away, his features twisting in revulsion, still refusing to meet her gaze. She felt rage rising in her like a tidal storm in response to his reaction. Electricity built in her finger tips. And a dark voice whispered at the edge of her hearing. She ignored them all, even the last, though it sent a wary shiver down her spine. With an effort, she strove for levity and quipped "I've seen enough bloodshed for one day. Now, all I want is a bath and a good beer. Fenris, I'm sorry that this didn't turn out the way you wanted. But I don't think things are as bleak as you do. Maybe after a decent sleep, you'll see things differently."
"You think a bath and sleep can wash this taint away?" Fenris snarled like the wolf he was named for and Hawke wasn't sure whether the taint he wanted to scrub away was hers, or his own. "You heard Varenia. I wanted these," he gestured angrily at the lyrium marking. "I competed for them. I feel unclean. Magic is not only etched into my skin, it has also stained my soul. What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?" He raised his eyes to meet hers, in a steady hard gaze. And there could be no mistaking the double meaning of those words.
Hawke stood frozen, stunned, by the venom in those words, in that face. No one moved. No one even seemed to breathe. Hawke searched his face, feeling a sense of dread creeping up on her. He doesn't mean it, she thought fiercely, he couldn't mean it.
Perhaps they had never been what one would call friends. Perhaps they had inadvertently hurt each other deeply by tumbling into bed too fast and too soon. Perhaps they would never agree when it came to magic, but he had never directly insulted her. She'd always thought he cared for her enough—however minimally—that he wouldn't think she was like them. Just another mage. Just another heartbeat away from becoming an abomination. He didn't mean it. He knows me, she thought.
There was a time, long ago, when no one had known her better.
Fenris broke his gaze, turned, and stormed out of the Hanged Man.
He does know you another voice whispered in Hawke's ear. He knows what you are. . . now. She shook her head, fighting a cold shiver that settled between her shoulder blades.
She knew that last thought had not been her own.