With the news of Carver's fate, Hawke returned to Gamlen's house only to find himself buried against Leandra's shoulder as she cried. The Amell Estate repairs continued in a quicker pace now that the owner had decided to hire workers for it instead of doing things himself. For some time, there was peace and Hawke and his mother moved into the old family residence.
Hawke also regained his lost common sense, the one he forgot in the Deep Roads and rarely, if never, walked into any ambushes on his own. Which meant that business was also picking up. Pretty soon they were steep in jobs, and some of the city's higher powers had turned their eye on the mage and his crew. They were receiving more and more well-paying work now and without an expedition to save for, Hawke was able to pay everyone off properly. That didn't mean that he stopped receiving IOU's. He could swear his collections increased by the day, and even more unbelievable personages sent him the notes. He had one from King Alistair with a large flourishing believable signature; the mage had nearly framed that one.
The raven also took his house move as his cue to constantly drop by on the elf unannounced. They were nearly neighbours, he said. Something that Anders liked to top by saying that Hawke's cellar 'practically' led right to his doorstep. So not only were Anders and Hawke nearby residents, they were also secret neighbours. Varric had nearly drowned in ale laughing when the healer finally stopped.
As such, the mage's hand-to-hand combat training had also started, the elf being a Spartan teacher as well as a deadly opponent. So often, despite their lack of dangerous jobs, Hawke had been seen sporting a shiny bruise or nursing a strained limb. The mage had to admit though, it was a good way to build his muscles and improve his reflexes. He'd had fewer injuries in their recent battles.
One night, after a belated visit to Merrill's house in the alienage; Hawke had spotted a book. His eyes lit up when he thumbed through the pages, recognizing instantly the book's worth. Varric merely groaned that insufferable groan of his and allowed the mage to leave early.
Nowadays he never spent much time announcing his presence the way he did before. The mage simply marched down into the elf's basement, grabbed a bottle of wine and made his way to where Fenris had a fire going.
Firelight flickered and threw a multitude of shadows all over the room. It deepened the elf's skin to gold and gave his snow white hair a halo. The way he inclined his head meant that he knew Hawke was about, and the mage gave him the book with a smile. The pop of the wine bottle opening was just as familiar as the sound of the elf's brooding silence.
"It's a copy of the Book of Shartan. You are familiar with him, yes? Sebastian must have mentioned him to you in one of his sermons about Andraste. I thought you'd might like to read it."
The weeks since Carver's recovery had done well for the Hawke who was now back in full taking missions and beatings all in the name of Kirkwall's name. The mage's unexpected support had the elf supporting the man in turn and the wolf felt relieved to know he was done with sulking and being toxic to his own existence.
The Hawke estate was set under heavy renovations with the introduction of new workers; the mansion buffering faster than ever before. Each time the elf had tailed Hawke back to his mansion, he noticed a vast amount of improvement. The ceiling and floors had been fully cleaned with new tiles placed down in the suites. New paint now shined against the interior of the walls. And soon enough the mansion was back in full succession. Jars filled with plants guarded the corners of every room; the suite to the left of the main room that had once held all the cages was now turned into a functioning library. The entire place from head to toe was lathered in bookcases, the upper tier being filled with a huge barrel of wine that looked like it would last for the next ten years.
Hawke's bedroom looked decadent than ever with his own fireplace and a large mattress to boot. The entire place was luxurious and warm and more often than not the mabari was caught scampering into the mage's wardrobes to ward out would-be thieves who let the curiosity of the new renovations be their undoing. It was functioning as if the horrible events of oppression and suffering never took place here and to see Hawke's mother happy being back in her childhood home had made the mage pleased in turn.
Fenris and Hawke were now reconciling eachother on a frequent basis. Usually the mage would just willingly let himself indoors and though the elf was still guarded, he eventually became accustomed to the man's aura until it was all but a dull tickle. The fighting techniques he had taught Hawke during training had also paid off; the mage coming to terms with his new found skills with a scholar's enthusiasm.
Even Anders had taken advantage of Hawke's new mood and had more often than not used the passageway from Darktown to the Hawke Estate as a shortcut. The clinic was literally under Hawke's manor the entire time and the both had shared private jokes about how both apostates were secretly living in eachother's pockets.
Everything seemed to be returning back to normal and with Hawke finally out of his depression, the elf was willing to aid his friend more than ever.
That was what he considered Hawke now; a friend. And probably the first proper one he had accumulated. Anso too was considered and gradually Aveline, Varric and Sebastian were all making their progress on the elf as well. It was odd, to have such connections but overall it was a pleasant feeling. He was still considered a ghost by Varric's standards; the elf rarely being seen outside his manor, the Hanged Man or on a mission. He wasn't a social butterfly and unlike the rest of them, he preferred the company of a few trusted individuals than a swarm of imposers and liars.
Once more the elf found himself relaxing under the guise of content, his feet lazily kicking the chair below him as the fire kept him warm. Winter had arrived and with each night it drew colder in the mansion. He had made progress and had stopped sleeping on the floor, the bed now sporting a new wolf-skin as a blanket that he used to huddle himself under at night. His nightmares were still frequent and with the absence of Danarius, the elf was beginning to wonder if the mage was ever going to show his ugly face again. Fenris had lost track of how much time he spent in Kirkwall but it felt longer than his stay with the Fog Warriors. He simply knew that time was passing by at a quickened rate and with no magister at his tail, the wolf was becoming increasingly suspicious.
The night was still young when he felt the familiar presence of the raven make his way through the manor to pick out a selection from the cellar. His sword rest against his fingers newly sharpened and for once it felt good to truly appreciate the fine craftsmanship of the weapon. He found the mage in his doorway and the elf gave him a warm smirk as greeting. Gifts were rare, especially ones where the elf actually considered the gift to be likeable. Hawke had got lucky and managed to give him a sword of great value but now here he was with something else; one that made the elf's stomach churn with both frustration and hope.
"I have heard of him, yes. He was the leader of the elven slaves who joined Andraste's rebellion against the Tevinter Imperium..." He moved over to grasp the book with care, his fingers tracing over its cover. He knew by the way Hawke had approached and instigated the conversation that the book was intended to him, but it was one whose knowledge and value he couldn't appreciate. "In the Imperium, slaves like were never taught to read or write. The magisters couldn't afford to have their private letters and valuable tomes fall into slave hands...I never had the time to learn and if I did, no one was willing to teach. I only know but of a few symbols but their meaning...is lost on me."
Hawke could see the longing in the elf's expressions despite his poker face. After all the time he'd spent with Fenris, the mage had grown to recognize certain cues to the elf's mood. He'd studied, actually; sometimes riling the elf up just to note how Fenris' temper rose.
This time, all he needed to see was the almost reverent way that the elf had taken the book from him. Fenris obviously wished he could read it, but his explanation made much sense. The magisters obviously held no trust, especially for the ones catering to their needs.
But Hawke was no magister, and Fenris was a friend; and maybe someone a bit more if the Maker permits it. So he found no excuse why the elf should limit himself. Age was no reason not to learn, and Hawke himself would say that age made men better learners.
"So all you need is time and a teacher, then?" the mage asked. Then, isn't now perfect? "You're not doing much while you're waiting to ambush Danarius, there's your time. As for a teacher, you're already looking at the best there is in Thedas. Bethany and Carver's literary skills were all on me, you know," the mage said fondly, coming round the lounge to sit at arm distance from the elf. He reached out and gently plucked the book from the elf's hands and flipped through the pages to smell the musty book scent that he always loved.
"Perhaps that is why they could curse better than some sailors, but I digress. Think about it Fenris. You know more words than most of the group do. Speak more languages than any of us. Isabela doesn't count because all she knows are the dirty words," the mage continued when it seemed that Fenris was going to interrupt. "You obviously have a talented tongue..." the mage seemed to realize what he just said because he quickly retracted his words. "Scratch that out, you never heard me say that and Varric will never hear you say I said that." Hawke quickly downed more wine, hoping that Fenris would once again tag the slip to the mage being drunk.
"What I mean to say is, you have a better grasp at language and reading actually takes less skill than speaking. I can teach you how to recognize the letters and pretty soon you'll be reading Shartan to me," he handed the book back to the elf, letting the wolf mull the idea over as Hawke took another swig of wine.
"Well? I've got a rather comfortable library back home, with more than enough books to suit our need."
Fenris turned his chair around as they faced eachother on the cushions, the elf's ears prickling to the mage's invitation. He wasn't one to make hasty decisions or promises but the way Hawke had backed up his sources was indeed impressive. So apparently he taught his other siblings the rounds, did he? That meant he was used to dealing with children, Carver having being several years younger than his brother. And though Carver wasn't a shining example of being literate, it was still more than Fenris had gained. He might have known more languages but without ever learning to write those into a physical form or to recognise how they may appear had set him two paces behind; like all that Hawke complimented him on felt half finished.
"A tempting offer...You would really do that, Hawke?" He let the book pass back to the mage, his brow stirring at the mention of his tongue. It made the usually skittish elf chuckle, the flirtatious innuendos welcome. "I always wanted to learn about Shartan. Perhaps this is my chance." He leaned out to steal the wine from the mage's grasp, the wolf eyeing the other down as he took a few gulps of the liquid. Bitter; this one was not too old and the faint tang of what seemed to be orange continued to kick long after the drink was gone.
The warrior pushed a log of wood into the fire, flames leaping in delight as they hungrily engulfed the offering. "I would like to start with perhaps something simple first, if that is alright. Not that I doubt your abilities...I simply wish to be able to cherish and honor Shartan as I read it. Do you have any books that would be more suitable for beginners?"
He reached over to offer the mage back his stolen wine. "Thank you, Hawke. It means more than I could ever say." To be able to finally read and write would make him feel less of a monster and more of a civilized man. Too many years on the run had cost him valuable time; his skills and lessons furthering him in the art of war and death. Very little of those skills actually encompassed normal traits, such as learning how to cook a meal or able to craft your own wine. Fenris had always yearned to find a sense of normality to ground himself with given enough time to invest.
But usually that too was ripped away from him, leaving the elf with very little talent to show for it. He got up from his chair to walk over toward the windows, his eyes seeking the streets below for movement. "It has been so long that I'm beginning to wonder if Danarius will ever show up." The elf muttered, more to himself than to the mage, his hands grasping onto the whetstone near the table to throw it against his bed. The wolf then pulled the table, wood scraping across the floor until it was positioned between the two chairs.
"Perhaps we could start now? Making small talk when we could be doing other things might be better spent." And so for the night Hawke had stayed behind giving Fenris his first lesson. It was a simple one; learning the alphabet. And as the mage had expected the wolf was quick to catch on, his skilled tongue only stumbling over a few of the pronunciations as Hawke had written them out on an old bit of parchment. It was unusual to see the symbols come alive, the wolf becoming curious and requesting Hawke to write out the names of themselves and their companions so he could see for himself what he would appear on paper. The word Hawke inscribed over the paper in beautiful yet skilled writing, the elf admiring the font and trying to copy writing the word for himself.
He was a bit butter-fingery and had dropped the quill several times, others times holding the feather a little too hard. Hawke's fingers glided over his own, the gauntlets having been disposed so he could position his hand correctly. It had cramped the muscles and felt like he was trying to grab at a pinch of dust, the elf's palm shaking as he wobbly attempted to recreate the fine handwork of the mage.
The next morning, Hawke had been awoken by Bodahn back in his newly furnished mansion with startling news; the Viscount having requested for Hawke's personal attendance in his office in the keep. The dwarf had noted just how important the mission was since the mage wanted to know of any major news occurring in the area that could potentially harvest his interest. The Qunari had been known to stalk in and around Kirkwall for some time now, a few weeks ago the party having undertaken reclaiming Saemus from The Winters who had downright abused the boy for a choice that was of his own. It was one of the jobs they had taken with Hawke's new-found inspiration so it came of no surprise the mage had somehow rubbed off on the Viscount.
He'd woken up surly, blaming the viscount for the untimely message. It was much too early; as though Dumar had nothing better to do than disturb Hawke's coveted sleep. The mage had been with Fenris all night and well into early morning. The elf was learning his letters faster than imagined and all he really needed now was to remember and connect the sounds to the image. There've been some problems with the various phonetics but that was to be their next lesson, one that Hawke looked forward to more than the fighting ones. At least he didn't go home as bruised with the reading lessons.
He made his way to the keep, mindful of the gangs hidden about. Some of the thugs had grown wiser, hunting during the wee hours when people were still making their way home from whorehouses and the gambling pubs. New ones kept rising despite the mage's best efforts to subdue their numbers.
A guard opened the door for him, informed about the mage's arrival no doubt. Hawke shrugged his warm woolly cloak tighter around him as he stepped into the empty halls of the Viscount's Keep. It was an odd sight for sure; he'd grown used to watching the unending lines of citizens milling about as they waited for their chance to speak with the Viscount or sometimes with one of the guards. Now void of complaining visitors, the keep was more silent, more somber than the Chantry. The silence lent itself to make Hawke's every step echo on the marble.
The Seneschal wasn't there to usher him in, instead a younger guard, one Hawke did not recognize; opened the door for the mage. Dumar lifted his head from the papers he'd been reading and gestured the mage in. It was obvious that the Viscount had not left the keep to sleep. There were shadows under his eyes and his age was even more pronounced by the way his face drooped in weariness.
"Messere Hawke, so good of you to come. Please, sit down. I'm afraid I have to be quite frank with you, but we have need of your aid. Well, actually; the Qunari have called for you." Dumar said as he continued to sign the parchments as he talked. A frown was on the older man's brows, one that Hawke was quick to mirror.
"Did they say why?" the mage asked perplexed by the oddness of the summons. A letter to his house would have been enough to hail his attention, yet the Arishok had gone through the Viscount instead. There was no reason for the Arishok to inform the Viscount about his dealings with Hawke, and the fact that he did so this time meant that there was trouble afoot; one that had little effect on the Qunari but would somehow have an effect on the whole of Kirkwall.
"When had the Qunari ever explained their actions? The note said, 'Send Serah Hawke to the Qunari.' so I will. Do try to understand, Hawke. The situation with the Qunari is shaky at best. The Arishok identifying you by name could mean that they are willing to cooperate with us. Please, go and see what he has for you. Goodbye, Messere Hawke."
The conversation was obviously over, one-sided it may be; so Hawke tarried not and left the keep to make his way back home. He sent Bodahn off with missives for Fenris, Varric and Aveline. He almost always brought Fenris along with him whenever he was dealing with the Arishok, looking to the elf for his insight with the Qun. Aveline looked like she can bring a Qunari down and will do so if they proved themselves a threat to Kirkwall, a trait of hers that Hawke looked forward to. And Varric? The dwarf was a rumour-monger, a good one, and he'd most likely kill Hawke had he been spared a job that involved intrigue, drama, and danger. The dwarf lived on it.
The time he spent waiting he made use of, by bathing himself of sleep. Leandra, woken also by the early summons had thankfully made breakfast, and when she heard that they would be joined by several more; she made a feast instead.
So when the doorbell rang and Bodahn let in the first to arrive, Hawke was already seated, gorging himself quite happily on muffins and eggs. Aveline had raised her brow at the sight and accepted a muffin and orange juice for herself.
Surprisingly, Fenris showed up second; though he usually prolonged his entry during parties and social occasions. Leandra herself started fussing over the elf and how thin he was, filling the wolf's plate with nearly everything on the table. Trust his mother to pick out the least fed of his friends and coddle him.
As the three ate, Hawke explained what had happened this morning and where they were going now. He was in the middle of his elaborated story when Varric arrived and immediately sat down without invitation. The dwarf had been over so often that Leandra was not surprised when she saw the additional mouth to feed. She did seem dismayed however when Hawke said they'll be leaving as soon as they were finished eating.
The warrior moved sidelong to glide himself into a chair, longsword resting at his hip as Leandra emptied a couple of eggs, a muffin and a sliced apple onto his plate. Hawke had summoned him rather quickly; the elf not expecting such an early mission and so was already cluing on that whatever job awaited them was important. He let Hawke fill him in on the details as he cut away at the eggs before stuffing them into his mouth, his eyes glancing up to catch Aveline's when his cheeks were full, meeting her steely gaze. She seemed to share the same feeling of apprehension as the warrior, the Captain picking at the muffin on her plate in small bites.
"You better be careful my boy. Those Qunari have only arrived to stir trouble, I'm afraid." Leandra had chipped in as she cleared the table of empty muffin plates. The party had finished their breakfasts at a healthy pace, ready to face the inevitable. The Qunari had lingered in the docks barely having anything to do within the city other than to send glares at its patrons. With their ship wrecked, they had claimed to be waiting for another but as the months turned by it was becoming clearer they were staying for another reason; one they refused to disclose.
It had sent rumours flowing through the city like a flood. Many proclaimed the Qunari were here to conquer Kirkwall and convert everyone to the Qun. Indeed they were conquerors and warmongers but so far they had done no open hostilities. They were keen on hunting their rebels; the Tal-Vashoth who were boarding out on the Wounded Coast in abandoned caves and pits. The Viscount's son had his run in with Qunari and had made it openly declared they were of no threat lest you got in their way. But the Qun was a demand that needed to be sated and Fenris suspected the Arishok of carrying out his role in the future, to deliver Kirkwall the purge it deserved. It was a festering city where abominations and slavers run rampant. He wouldn't speak of it openly but if he knew the Qun, then it was only a matter of time before this city would go up in flames.
They arrived at the Qunari compound with the Ariskhok appropriately seated upon his 'throne' to greet them. He had informed Hawke and his company of a danger, the poison for the gaatlok having been apprehended by a third party. The concoction was extremely toxic and contagious and since it was a gas, it had the potential to move anywhere. And so the company moved out on what little information the Arishok provided, the prime suspect being the dwarf merchant Javarius that had led them on a wild goose-chase a few good months back.
Sand once again crunched beneath their feet but unlike summer, the winter had caused the grass and air to brittle. Chills of icy wind swept along their skin, the elf shivering as his feet numbed under the touch of the crushing sand. They had wandered the dunes for hours and had finally found the dwarf and his hired men squatting on the edge of a cave, their position revealing their intent to flee. Fenris had dispatched the mercenaries with precise arcs of his sword, sometimes two at a time. Their armour and shields made them easy targets for the much quicker elf. Bianca had sung merrily, her bolts landing in painful punctures through the warrior's helmets. Aveline had tossed those closest to her about like ragdolls, the Captain sweeping them off their feet with bashes of her shield or with the pommel of her blade.
Eventually they were all felled save for the merchant who had all but now given up, his weary expression and the loss of the last of his men crushing his remaining will. He had told of how he had been set up and that they had pursuing the wrong target all along. The party having realised they had been in the wrong direction this entire time made way back to Kirkwall in double time.
But by the time they arrived it was a scene of chaos. The hovels of Lowtown had been boarded up, patrons in the streets mangling eachother with their bare hands. Blood rained freely as they attacked eachother like ravaging serpents, some even biting into their own flesh. Guards were scattered in all directions to contain the eruption of panic, citizens all but being dragged out of the streets as the green smudge snaked its way through the districts.
Fenris refused to walk into the deathtrap, his hand poised to fly out and cuff Hawke by the neck if the mage was foolish enough to think he would just blindly walk in there. It was extremely dense, the sun almost being blotched out by the green screen of death that was now crawling its way into the housing district. The sound of the eruption of coughs coming from the inside of locked abodes warned them that they didn't have much time before the whole of Lowtown succumbed to its deadly spell.
It was more serious than he previously thought. Poisoned ozone seeped through the cracks of the jerry-built houses of Lowtown, turning the inhabitants into mindless zombies. The mage could only wonder which bodies had been killed by another, and which ones had died to the gas. It was no wonder that even his toughened companions were not ecstatic. Aveline insisted it was the responsibility of the guards and that Hawke had no need to endanger himself. Varric more readily agreed and added that it'd only bring more chaos if any of their numbers fell. Imagine the current destruction multiplied by tens, even hundreds. Fenris remained his stoic self, though by the way he peered down at the poison; he didn't have Hawke's back this time.
The scene itself was reminiscent of the Blackmarsh, a haunted place where Anders met Justice. Roiling fog, green and putrescent; zombies and ghosts all gathered to tell tales of death and darkness. The fog, heavier than the warm air stayed close to ground. But the mage knew that once evening comes around and the cooler air descends, there was no stopping the gas from spreading all throughout Lowtown, even parts of Hightown.
"There's nothing we can do..." he finally said. Aveline sighed in relief and even Varric looked a little bit tense; thinking that the mage would leave the situation to the authorities to resolve. "I'll have to close those barrels." The conclusion had Varric swearing in dwarven tongue, one that Hawke had rarely heard; before the dwarf hefted Bianca off her straps.
"Right, visit Lowtown and enjoy a relaxed stroll through poisoned mist. You may have not noticed, but I'm a dwarf and I'm about a couple heads closer to the stuff than you taller folks," Varric muttered sarcastically though he nudged Hawke to lead the march.
"Stop right there, I didn't say anything about you people. Aveline, get your men to manage the upper streets, relocate everyone you can still save. Fenris, Varric; don't follow me and go do something useful. Guard the stairs if possible, I've a hunch whoever's behind this won't be happy with me." Hardness pervaded the mage's tone as he literally gave out orders to the three. It was simple really, he wasn't about to risk anyone's life save his own and that's only because there was no other choice. He swept a pointed glare over their dumbstruck faces, daring them to go against his words. When none spoke up, he nodded in satisfaction and started down the stairs.
"Is he serious?" Varric finally managed to speak. They've never seen Hawke like that, the mage would have joked about people writing stories and singing songs about their sacrifice. He wouldn't have pushed them away like that. "Okay, he's serious and I don't know about you two but I'm not letting him die on his own. I don't want Leandra after my head.
The gas got thicker the lower Hawke went. It made breathing hard, its acrid taste seeping into his mouth. The mage made his way to the first barrel and held his breath. The gas was thicker here, almost obscuring his sight though his eyes were already watering in pain. The lid wouldn't stay close no matter how hard he pushed down on the barrel, and he was deciding on freezing the barrels close when suddenly Varric appeared.
"Hawke, here. I found a latch," the dwarf said coughing before thrusting the metal lock into the mage's hands. Hawke would have given him a good scolding were they not surrounded by poison gas. As it is, the latch secured the barrel top tightly and the mage had to wonder just how stupid these people were for leaving the latches behind.
He grabbed Varric and headed for the next barrel, keeping his eye out for another of those discarded latches. The two ran into a rabid woman, one that Varric effectively pinned to the wall by her dress. The woman was raving still as both human and dwarf edged sideways around her. They'd nearly reached the second of four saar-qamek barrels, but as Hawke said; it never was meant to be easy.
Mercenaries appeared from every corner, rushing to stop anyone who wanted to save Kirkwall. The cheaters had masks on, but they were no match for the mage's enraged fireball. Bianca did not fail either, her songs piercing each and every man's heart with dwarven precision. But these men were merely waylaying them, distracting them from their jobs. With four hunters at his flank, Hawke rushed to the second barrel, diving around it just in time to avoid the arrows targeting his ass. The gas was much thicker now, and Hawke was starting to feel its side effects. He groped around for the latch and found it close by. The barrel was just there but he couldn't get to it, he was surrounded and so was Varric. He drew on his magic and casted wildly. His spell must have hit because most of the men were thrown back giving him enough time to work on closing the second barrel. He finished just in time to turn and receive an arrow in his arm.
Horror was the only word to describe the situation. Bodies lined the streets by the dozens, some still convulsing as their natural defences attempted to fight back to the best of their ability. But the poisonous gas had no remorse, its victim count climbing as people hurdled themselves willingly out of windows, their maddening laughter all but ceasing as they fell to the ground in a heavy crunch. That fool mage had gone on ahead once more to risk his neck for the sake of this city except this time he had ordered his companions to stay without following him into the infectious fog.
The three had looked at eachother dumbfounded, the elf only scowling as he glared daggers into the back of the mage's neck as he vanished into the streets. Varric had taken the first step in disobeying Hawke's orders, picking up a quick pace as he followed after Hawke's shadow and leaving Aveline and Fenris behind. The Captain simply frowned at the scene before them, her expression seeming to reflect that of Fenris'. "He really is an idiot, you know that, right?" Aveline had observed as she untied the orange scarf from around her neck, using it as a mask as it crossed her nose to hang the material over her mouth. "And I'm not letting him die out there alone. Come on."
Fenris simply nodded in agreement, the two coming to a mutual understanding as they quickly followed after the dwarf as they drew their weapons to life.
The whittling of arrows caught their attention as they searched the streets; the path of saar-qumek barrels leading them to their destination. Ambushers had lunged out of the shadow of the toxic fog to spring an ambush upon Hawke and anyone else who was foolish enough to aid Kirkwall in its plight. A group of archers had come up behind the two warriors, their feet quickly scuffing into the earth once they had realised they had run into the wrong company. They only had a moment's breath to draw their arrows as both Aveline and Fenris laid their swords into them, guts and entrails spewing across the ground. A few arrows had launched, one narrowly missing the elf's head as he quickly turned to elbow the back of the archer's head, allowing his sword to pull out of the ground and decapitate the man with a single swipe.
However the arrow's path had embedded itself into the mage's arm, Hawke's cry of pain causing Fenris to instantaneously glance out for the mage's position. He found him curled around the side of the barrel fumbling for the latch, his eyes watering and barely open as he moved all but on blind instinct. The warrior's own breath felt like acid with each inhale, his elven eyes stinging as he quickly turned and made toward where Hawke had attempted to take cover.
One of the assassins suddenly lunged down behind Fenris as he was distracted, the blade of the rogue plunging through the elf's back in a violent jab. The wolf growled in anger, his teeth gritting in pain as his skin instantly set aflame in lyrium, the spectral fire growing around him in an inferno before whisking out across the ground in an explosion of energy, knocking the rogue clean off his feet. He swung around as the man came to fall, his longsword carving straight through the man's neck in a clean cut. He winced and hobbled as he felt the blade still poking out from between his shoulder blades but had no time to remove the blasted prod.
He turned around to parry a blow from a rival swordsman, their blades clashing in a series of quick swipes. The elf had strained, each moment spent in the blasted gas drawing his breath shorter and his body weaker. His mind began to fizz as he parried yet another blow, the dagger lodged in his back hindering his movements. He began to hallucinate, his adversary beginning to twist and form before him as he continued to bash away at the elf's defences; eagerly seeking an opening in the wall of whirling steel. Fenris however quickly learnt his enemy's tactics and side stepped, his sword uncharacteristically lowering as if he planned to drop it. The swordsman faltered at the move and gave the narrow margin for the Tevinter to counterattack, his leg kicking out behind the man's knee to buckle him in on his own weight. The momentum drew the sword in a low cut, the steel embedding itself into the male's side.
However, as he pulled the weapon out as his foe cry out in pain, the elf quickly jumping back and out of range as the man attempted to slice at the elf in retaliation. Once more he was left open and the elf hurled his sword over and down, the man's arm being completely severed and falling to the ground along with his weapon. He screeched in pain as he tried to hold the bleeding limb, his cries all but turning silent as his head rolled from off his shoulders with one last cut.
The elf let out a feral cry of victory as he once more turned, the burning in his back cutting deeper with each passing second as his vision wavering. "Get the rest of those barrels. I'll hold them off!" He called out to Hawke in the short moment used to calibrate his next target. He heaved a hand over his shoulder to grab at the blasted knife, pulling the instrument out with a grunt and flinging it to the ground in haste. He was bleeding under his armour, his leg becoming slippery as he left bloody footprints with his advance; his next victim being that of another archer who had wandered too close to the fray for his own good.
Blasted! Not only Varric, but now Fenris and Aveline were deep in the fray and gas. The two warriors were cutting through the mercenaries like butter, their attacks quickly clearing a path to the third barrel. There were two left, and Varric had somehow stumbled upon the third latch, literally. The dwarf was at Hawke's six; shooting at anyone who managed to slip through Fenris and Aveline's defence. The fog cloyed at his lungs, the mage nearly toppling as he coughed his way to the watery outline of the third barrel.
He quickly latched the lock on, snapping the lid closed and locked it for good measure. Who knows when these mercs would grow some brains and try to unlock the ones he'd closed.
One more to go and this one was just a few paces away from the third. He had no latch though and as his three friends held the mercenaries at bay, Hawke searched for it. It wasn't as hard as the first three, the poison gas abating enough to give Hawke glimpses of the floor. There! He found the latch quick enough just as Varric gave a ringing shout, Bianca's whistle answering just above Hawke's head. The mage stumbled back in surprise and saw an assassin with a bolt buried deep in his throat. The rogue had stealthily gone round the warriors' backs and veered straight for Hawke. Only Varric's keen eye saw him just before the man was about to stick a shiv into Hawke's neck.
The mage hurried to the last barrel, sweat clinging to his skin. The poison was too far in, and he could see how it has affected everyone else. Varric was actually better off than they were, the dwarf's natural resistance working in his favour. The last latch went down and Hawke called everyone back up the stairs. They stumbled their way up the stairs just as a woman's voice called to them.
The mage wouldn't go down to her level though, and had stayed his group on top of the stairs, free from the remnants of the poison. He instead instigated a shouting match with the elf, one that identified herself as the third party who stole the formula. And yet another idiot had shown her face right when everything was just about over.
She gave up some very interesting information and after learning she'd stolen the wrong gaatlok recipe, she somehow started to blame Hawke for it. She called out another wave of her mercenaries and all veered for the mage's neck at her signal.
Fresh air had somehow cleared the mage's head, the poison quickly wearing off the longer they were out of it. The stairs provided a great advantage for him and his party as the enemies were bottlenecked on the narrow stairway. Aveline and Fenris led the fight, their swords making quick work of everyone in their way. Varric was sitting on top of the stairs, with Bianca on his knee letting out bolt after bolt of precise kills. The ones that were too far from the warriors, the ones pressing from the bottom of the stairs were the ones to taste the mage's fury. An onslaught of fire, force and ice rendered their bodies to frozen charred sludge. And for the elven bitch herself, a new spell he had learned.
The woman stayed in the sidelines, eyes keen for an opening. As her men thinned out, she rushed in, her swords out and swinging. A nudge from the mage's foot turned Varric's attention on her, the rogue releasing a bolt that went through her eye and into her skull. For a moment, the remaining eye had swivelled to Hawke, before her body exploded in a ball of gore and blood taking most of her men down with her.
"A bit exaggerated, but it gets the job done," was Hawke's answer to Varric's wordless stare. The last of the terrorists died with a sword cutting through them. And finally the party took a much needed breather just as the guards came rushing in. Aveline's face could not be painted as she went off and started assigning the men their duties. She was obviously planning on staying behind and organize the clean-up; work that Hawke would not beget her.
Since Aveline was obviously better than the rest, Hawke turned his attention on the other two. Varric was on his back, Bianca on his chest as he most likely reflected on his near death experience. He gave Hawke a thumbs-up to show his well-being before going back to creepily fondling Bianca's cocking ring.
The elf on the other hand must have had a bad hand dealt him. There was blood oozing out of his back from an open knife wound. He was playing it cool as always, though Hawke could see how the wound was bothering him. Time to play another of his special cards then. He just hoped that Fenris would excuse his blatant pride in his magic.
"Let me take a look at that," the mage murmured and went round to kneel behind the elf before he could refuse. His fingers rested on the vest's lacings, quietly seeking permission that the elf granted in silence. The knife had cut clean through the leather vest, a deep wound that was only about an inch and a half wide. He should be able to heal this much, the mage thought and got to work gathering his magic at his fingertips.
"It's not gonna be as pretty as Anders' work, but it should do the job. You'll just have another scar to show off to anyone who's lucky enough to see it. And you best mention how we saved the whole of Lowtown while you explain it. I'd hate to see my first attempt at healing described as, 'just an old wound, tis nothing'."
His healing magic wasn't blue like Anders. It was more of a silvery grey that glided over the elf's skin slowly. Fenris was not Hawke's only teacher, the mage had gone to Anders at least once a week to pore over the books on healing. The best he could manage recently were shallow wounds; this was his first try healing anything that went further than an inch from the skin.
But it looked as though he was doing fine, the muscle re-knitting as the skin above joined and scarred. He pressed against it a few times, just to check if anything was bleeding still. But he'd done a great job this time, and gave the elf's shoulder a pat before attending to his own arrow wound. A small one since the archers were such poor shots. The projectile hadn't even stuck around; its mark, a small hole that Hawke cleared up with a wave.
"I reckon I should thank you for charging in against my words. So, yeah... unless your guts and bones are spilling out, you have your own dedicated healer. Don't get too wounded though, I can only do so much." Hawke said with a smile. Varric's snort of amusement ruined the mood however.
He should have known that some of the elves from the alienage had joined forces with the underground to throw Kirkwall off its feet. It was obvious the woman was mad, constantly berating about how she needed "a few bodies more". Regarding how they were treated, it wasn't a wonder they hadn't rebelled sooner. The two warriors worked as a great team, the woman standing as a solid wall that continued to puncture and slash at anything that strayed too close while the wolf cut those down those that her short-sword couldn't reach. He had admired her ferocity in battle, inspiring those around her like a rally. It was good to see that Kirkwall finally had someone decent looking after her.
Eventually the ambush was culled until all that was left were bloody remains, the Tevinter placing the sword next of his feet to ease the tension in his muscles. With the gas now evaporating, every breath felt like drinking cool water after a long trek through the desert. They were all covered in sweat, muck and residue but each had come out alive from a situation one would think only death would answer. Aveline had given them all a reassuring glance before going off to address her guards, their ranks being scattered to clean up the remains and to check on the hovel's to make sure no maddening hostiles remained.
Varric and Fenris had sat down to recollect their breaths, the elf choosing to sit on the stairs as he fought off the clutches of pain. Unfortunately he had not brought with him any potions, his supply back at the mansion running on an all-time low and without Anders around to be persuaded to heal, he could only assume that he would have to get Hawke to bandage it for him. However his mind froze on the topic as he felt the mage's presence shift, a warmth pressing against his spine. He felt Hawke's fingers graze down his back to unclip the leather straps, the elf silently allowing him to fix the impact as he pulled forward so his knees met his elbows.
"What do you mean?" He had asked in curiosity to Hawke's odd comments, his inquiry being met with the sudden breath of unnatural healing. The lyrium on his back lightly flared, the white streaks roving over the revealed area of the warrior's muscular build pulsating. The elf held his breath as he felt the unpleasant sting of the puncture wound begin to abate, the magic swirling into his body with a pleasure he had not known. Anders had never felt like this, more of an intrusion; forceful. But with Hawke...it was welcome, like the magic itself despite prickling him, felt amicable. It was almost disturbing how pleasant it felt, the first time in his entire life that magic had truly done no wrong to him in any way.
And to think that Hawke had learnt this under his nose without him knowing. "And you call me being sneaky." The warrior retorted as he threw a glance over his shoulder, one that almost seemed to reflect affection. Fenris let out a sigh of respite as he felt the knots of muscle clench back together, the sensation elevating as the grayish ball of mist faded away with a whisk. Hawke moved back to access his work before moving onto his own wound, the warrior rolling his shoulders to test the patch of renewed flesh. It felt a bit tight but other than that he truly did not care if a scar would be all that remained there. He already had far too many to count, what was one more worth to him?
He pulled his vest back into place, the straps rolling and tugging until it was locked securely. He truly needed to invest in better armour, the blows to his back from both the dragon and the rogue having made him realise just how big of a blind spot he carried. A good offence was a good defence and his sword played both weapon and shield. But in moments when he is caught off guard, that was when it caused trouble. He slowly came to stand so he could turn and inspect Hawke, watching with admiration as he healed the mark with but a flick.
"Better to not keep the Arishok waiting. He would want to know of this." The elf said as he gestured to the carnage being cleaned behind them. It wasn't as if he wanted to disturb the moment but rather keep Hawke on track and focused of his goal. Qunari were patient people but when they had asked questions, they expected answers and quickly.
Needless to say, the discussion with the Arishok had been truly enlightening. At least now the reason for the Qunari's extended vacation in Kirkwall was explained. The mage had a nagging feeling that the Arishok wanted something from him when he finally deigned to reveal why they haven't sailed for Par Vollen yet. He kept thinking he'd hear another 'request' coming but the man did not say as much, merely expressing his distaste for his current situation with one of his trademark farewells.
Their feet took them to the Viscount's keep next, Dumar would certainly like to have his questions answered as well. The man was certainly troubled when he heard why the Qunari had stayed in his city for so long. Hawke had long thought that the man had fooled himself by thinking the Arishok was there in admiration. At least they got a few coins for their near death heroism, but of course, it didn't end there.
It seemed as though a delegate of the Arishok's had just gone and disappeared from the keep itself. How anyone managed to kidnap a large Qunari in the middle of such traffic was mystifying enough to pique Hawke's interest. They were directed to Seneschal Bran, the Viscount's glorified secretary. Already talking to the man however was Aveline, already back from Lowtown. After hearing about the problem, the woman had chosen the mage's party over processing the rest of the gas barrels.
Their search brought them back to the Hanged Man, the seediest place anyone can find. Where a certain couth was bragging to his friends how he had subdued, by himself, a whole group of Qunari warriors. The mage almost had to laugh at how easy this particular search had been but Aveline was not amused. The Guard Captain had marched to the man's table and had pulled him to his feet by his shirt. No small feat considering the man's beer belly. There were a few choice swear-words, a lot of threats, and more than one actual wound from the woman's sword before the man broke down and confessed everything. Hawke was almost impressed at how it all played out. He, Varric and Fenris had gone to get a drink from Corf during the time Aveline was terrorizing the man.
"The Chantry authorized the kidnappings, or at least a templar with the grand cleric's seal did," was the gist the information that Aveline got from Orwald. The mage had almost thrown a fit at the thought; imagine all the stairs they had to climb all over again, a lesser man would have snapped by now.
So there they were, on their way to accuse the Grand Cleric of funding Qunari-hate. It would surely be an interesting conversation, one that was sure to land them in the Gallows if Fenris was to be believed. Even Varric was hard at work, muttering soliloquies of how Hawke's eventful life had ended at a tragedy. Aveline was the only one silent among them, the woman most likely going over how traitorous one of her men had been. The mage could only imagine the torture the guards would soon go through, almost as soon as the woman steps in through the keep's doors.
The Arishok had been less than pleased about who had set him up and had almost seemed like he was to slaughter them all because of just how stressed he had become. 'Filth stole from us' was all Fenris needed to gather to understand their reasoning and could only conclude something of great value within Kirkwall evaded them. Perhaps it was a religious relic of some kind? He mulled over the possibility as they ascended the flights of stairs and districts to Hightown. By the time they arrived it was late, the air having all but turned chilly and dry. The doors to the Chantry were opened upon their arrival, the party making way to inform the Grand Cleric of the allegations.
However, a familiar face had turned up to greet them in the divine's place; Mother Petrice. The Tevinter had only had bad vibes come from her the first time their company met, a snivelling woman who acted out sacrilege all in the name of her faith and eternity. She was a delusional brat who obviously thirsted for Qunari blood, all activities within the city who involved the underground working against the Qun all conveniently leading to her.
She had pointed them off to Darktown to a rally that one of her associates had lead, the party grunting as they realized yet just how far again they had to walk. But the sooner this mess was sorted out the better; the saar-qumek had obviously been a ploy to distract the guards while the kidnappers had pilfered the Qunari entourage from the Viscount's door. Soon enough they had made way down into the belly of the undercity, Ander's conveniently being off duty so he allowed himself to join Hawke's party at the news of a potential riot. Even if the gathering wasn't for the plight of mages, the healer was still drawn to debates and so he had trailed behind as they climbed down the mineshafts leading to the maze of passages beneath Darktown.
Varric had disbanded many traps on their journey through the dank dark tunnels, the floor literally riddled in the old remains of past thug groups that had once taken housing here. The sound of voices could be clearly heard somewhere off in the distance but with so many stairs, doorways and passageways, it was easy to get lost. Aveline had decided that she was to go off on her lonesome, letting Hawke, Varric, Fenris and Anders to handle their own search party. The captain went through the adjacent tunnels to look for clues while the rest followed Hawke's lead through a set of mined out corridors dank with the stench of excrement.
Time felt frozen as they passed over disabled traps and corpses; the tunnels being an exceptionally dangerous place at night. Sure enough, their search was rewarded when they spotted the flicker of fire against a brass metal pipe, the glow leading them to where a massive crowd stood in an open section of the mine. They were riling, their hands clenched in fists as they shouted insults and spat. Ahead on the wall were a bunch of Qunari, the entourage from the Viscount's keep no less. Many hung dead, their bodies showing signs of horrendous torture. Some were only but chained torsos, their limbs strung over the ground like spaghetti.
Sir Varnell paraded before the mass of angry gatherers to hold up what seemed to be a severed tongue, the crowd cheering in violent cries as he preached. However, Hawke's party arrival had set the templar to gain their attention, the man's beady eyes roving over the four in distaste. Anders felt his fingers clench; if there was anything he hated more than blood mages it were templars so the healer was more than relieved when Hawke decided to leap into the fray. The templar had commanded his people to attack the unfaithful, the crowd leering out like a pack of hungry wolves as they charged toward the group of comrades. Most of the gathered were civilian; some having been plucked from the poison gas attack in the hours previously passed and probably still maddened under its effect. They were all relatively not equipped to fight, their bodies all but holding simple armaments such as a bows, shivs, and the occasional dagger and sword.
They were weak but the fact they swarmed like rats made the fight a tiring one, the elf giving not a moments of rest as he launched toward those that threatened them, his sword cutting in a low arc that left a row of bodies split from the hips across. Anders had made the templar his own personal target, the healer all but throwing frosty balls of fury in the man's face in malice as he attempted to silence him from muttering his anti-magic spells. With two mages in the group, Varnell was obviously the biggest threat, Varric choosing to single out those that were armed to plant a bolt within their hearts. Those that were unarmed attempted to grab any of the party they could, fists flying and stretched fingers trying to overwhelm them as they attempted to pull them off their feet.
They found the emissaries but the Qunari weren't as healthy as Hawke had hoped. Some of them were pretty dead, hanging by their bindings like large lumps of flesh, the others... well, the Arishok would probably need to look for different jobs for these men. Something that's not quite hands-on, perhaps the Qun already had something outlined for this kind of situation. The mage was tempted to ask Fenris, but the rabid mood of the gathering clued him that this really wasn't the right time for a lesson on Qunari culture.
The fight was almost anti-climactic; everyone in Hawke's crew had expected a battle. Which was why before Varnell had finished giving the order, a fireball had already been unleashed upon him. A good thing too since the templar was the worst enemy a mage could ask for. The damn brutes were skilled with anti-magic talents, dispelling most of Anders' buffs and ignoring the worst of Hawke's attack skills. Worse still were the civilians. Dozens of them driven mad by a combination of gas, depravity and lies. At first the mage had tried knocking them out with a simple mind blast. It fell them for a few minutes but soon they were on their feet, angrier than before. The others weren't quite as merciful, Fenris sweeping through them and cutting a swath of bleeding bodies. Varric was letting loose headshots after headshots, granting at least a quick death to the rally. Anders, well the mage was doing the best he could, even with the templar's natural suppressing abilities. He kept well in the back supporting the group, hasting everyone to keep up with the unending wave of incited citizens.
Finally, a lull in the battle and Hawke was on Varnell's ass. The mage had managed to freeze him, momentarily subduing his damnable healing powers. Varric had caught on and was on standby with a miasma flask, breaking one over the templar's head whenever he seemed to be recovering. With the templar lolling all over the place, Hawke was able to throw him about like putty, delivering fatal spells all over the crazed man. Heck, even Fenris was hacking away like mad whenever he didn't have any crazies after his head.
Two intense battles in one day were too much, even with potions. Coupled with the lack of rest and the fatigue from traveling all over Kirkwall non-stop; it was no surprise that everyone was running on fumes. Thus, when the last of the enemies had fallen, Hawke had succumbed to his wishes; his body falling to drape itself across an upturned crate.
"No more," the mage said, his tone rebellious, his glare daring anyone to unpeel him from his makeshift bed. "If I get one more summon from either the Viscount or the Arishok, I'll burn the city down myself!" was his raving declaration.
"It's a good thing I came down myself then, Messere Hawke," the Viscount's voice rang. The mage turned his head to the side, observing the man's arrival as he was flanked by the guards who rushed to investigate the battlefield. He gave a half-hearted wave as he rose to sit on the crate, the only form of respect he could spare right now. "I take it that these were the men who were supposed to meet me then?" the older man asked. He had a somber expression on his face as he watched his men let the dead Qunari down. "I can only imagine what the Arishok will do for revenge."
"Level Kirkwall and build a Qunari park most likely."
"An amusing thought but I hope the Arishok will have more patience than you. What should we do with the bodies, you think? Burn them? Their... wounds are a rather unsightly sight, something I'd rather not put on display for our foreign guests." Oh, that's a first; the Viscount was actually asking for the mage's opinion.
"He will know anyway, many fled when Varnell started attacking. Mouths will talk, and even walls have ears, pointy ones. The Arishok will prefer the truth over whatever story you spin," Fenris had seemed satisfied with the answer, his frown hadn't deepened anyway, so the mage thought it might have been a good idea. Only time would tell.
"I suppose you are right. Very well, Messere Hawke, I'll have my men finish up here, you have been very helpful." Taking that as his cue, the mage got to his feet wearily, his bandy troop tailing behind him in varying signs of imminent coma. Only Anders looked chirpy, his voice merely trying Hawke's nerves as he stuck to his side asking about everything he's missed. Even Hawke's half-suppressed yawn did not dissuade the healer, the blonde almost hanging off him with the way he kept running into Hawke as they walked. Maker, did he really have to be that close.
"Anders, we're tired, sick and hungry. I'll tell you all about it as soon as I've got a whole roasted nug in me, and a barrel of ale to drown myself in." At least that got the healer off his case, though Anders still had a tendency of asking if he wanted healing every step or so.
Aveline had arrived with the Viscount and her men, another night of yard duty spent cleaning up corpses no less. She too, like Anders, was curious about what she had missed out on, but gathering by the massacre, it was obvious that none of them were stable enough to give a clean answer. It had been a tiring day and night; the trekking along the Wounded Coast, the mercenary battle, then coming back to Kirkwall to hold off an entire hoard of deranged killers while walking through a cloud of death only to find their sources lead them to Hightown and back to be met with a final assault.
It was early morning as they clambered back through the passageways, the dwarf's boots skidding through the dust as he made comments about he needed more alone time with Bianca and that he was getting 'too old for this shit'. Fenris, despite his warrior's endurance was feeling every single cut, scraped bit of skin and ache in his body as they drift back toward Lowtown. It was obvious they all needed a long well deserved rest but the healer was more than willing to make the journey home a sore reminder of their current condition.
It was amusing to see the apostates banter, the warrior and the dwarf giving eachother side glances as Anders tried to intervene on Hawke's behalf to make him feel better. It was almost painful, the healer obviously fussing over the man in a manner that practically screamed 'let me love you' and yet Hawke refused to give him even the slightest bit of recognition. Despite Hawke's charming attitude, he had noticed the mage slide particular looks when he thought he wasn't aware. Varric had always pointed out to Fenris that the mage had a soft spot for the former slave but over the weeks they spent bonding together reading and sparring, it only made the affection that more obvious.
Did Hawke love him? He didn't know as he had never asked. Love was a term that people used loosely. It usually didn't harbor any deeper feelings, just something to put the other at ease or to lead someone on with false hope and promises. It was a game many played in order to earn something but never really meant it. He doubted the mage loved him as Anders did; perhaps he wasn't truly interested in him in any other way than to sleep with him. And why was it he always reflected on such issues when he was at his limits?
They made their way to the elevator, the morning sun beaming into their eyes in greeting. Lowtown was still quiet, the mayhem in the docks having more guards on patrol than normal. Upon seeing Hawke and his company the guards had thanked him but had ordered them nicely to move on as the gas was still being cleaned up. That meant no loitering or going anywhere other than the main streets which meant that the Hanged Man was out of bounds. The dwarf sighed as they caught eye of the patrols roving in and around the streets. "I gotta go, Hawke. You know how Bianca is when she gets snappy. Catch you at the Hanged Man later tonight?" He left the question unanswered as he turned into the alleyways to sneak into the secret back entrance of the tavern.
It left Hawke with only Fenris and Anders now, the other mage having quietened down after receiving a rather chilling gaze. The elf wasn't going to waste time and so he simply turned and moved on, hoping Hawke would catch his hint and follow behind him before Anders could pull him into another lecture about his involvement with the Viscount. It seemed that the mage not only had begun to detest templars but was beginning to show displeasure toward other figures of authority; his remarks and barbed comments being aimed at Aveline as well. It was as if Justice was twisting him, turning the once cheerful and flirtatious mage into a bitter and jealous man.
He watched the two figures walking away, his gaze lasting longer over the taller man. Hawke had refused healing and a cuppa, preferring instead the elf's silent company over the healer's. Hightown dwellers such as they were, the warrior and the mage had headed for the stairs, their weary stances reflecting just how badly off their coffers were. For a moment, Anders had entertained the idea of suggesting he walk Hawke back to his home and use the secret passage to return to his clinic. But there was an elevator just a few paces from where he stood, one that lead just around the corner to his home.
"I ought to get Anders a muzzle, as you've said over and over again. I never realized just how badly he needs one until now," his voice held traces of lost sleep as he matched Fenris' gait step by step. Oh, and look; more stairs.
"He'd been rather clingy lately, always going off on and on about how I should emphasize with mages more. And how I should be leading their breakout from the Gallows, entice them with freedom and whatnot." He fell silent then, wordlessly comfortable just meeting the elf's amused glance. Just listening to the elf breathe was comfortable enough, an odd trait that even Hawke found more than a tiny bit creepy. They'd certainly grown closer over the time, to the point that Fenris allowed Hawke to touch him without confrontation. Just simple pats and brushes, but the mage would smile as though he'd won a lottery every time the elf did not tense to attack.
Time was indeed an odd worker, merely fuelling the mage's want and need of the elf. The fact that the wolf had a delectable figure was merely a bonus. It was his strength of heart and mind that drew Hawke to him, the mage would never find anyone so pained yet so alive anywhere. There were many more points that Hawke had discovered over the months they've been together, yet so many more facets were hidden from him. And even if he did find them all, the mage knew it'd only make him like Fenris more.
And anyway, these emotions he had would never see the light of day. Barring the fact that he was one of the elf's sworn enemies, he was also a man. Hawke had yet to see Fenris express interest in the same sex but he'd certainly established his reputation as a lady-killer in his brief reprieve at the Hanged Man. No-one got more invitations from the ladies, even Hawke who had more flattering graces than the elf did only caught one or two of the courtesan's eyes. Isabela did say that it must make him jealous, of both Fenris and the girls.
Subtlety hadn't been his primary trait, and Hawke knew that the elf had some idea about the mage's attractions. Varric had hinted at it more than enough whenever he caught Hawke. Anders, who had never downplayed his distress, had pointed out Hawke's constant attention on the elf. Even Isabela, gossip that she was, had approached both mage and warrior for any changes in their status; fodder for her 'friend-fics' she said.
But maybe the elf saw it all as a mere joke, another of Hawke's way of needling him. Whatever the reason, the mage could only maintain the status quo. It was up to Fenris if he wanted to pursue something, all Hawke could do was hold up a sign and wait for the elf to push him against a wall or something.
In his musings, they'd all but reached the Amell estate; a lantern still glowing beside the doorway to light Hawke's path. Words of invitation were on Hawke's lips, anything to further his time with the fugitive. But they were both tired and the thought of collapsing on his feather bed was much too tempting to resist. He might be able to accommodate another body but he doubt Fenris would be open to the idea of sharing.
"Thanks for going with me today Fenris. Looks like we won't be able to move on with our lessons for today, so go get some rest. I'll see you at the Hanged Man this evening?" an invitation that the elf usually refused unless pressured. Hawke kept his tone level, but he couldn't help but hope even as he watched the elf walk back to his mansion before he himself went into his estate.
