Some Lovers
A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet
009: Precious
Hawke's eyes opened to a view of the floor and the warmth of a blanket. It was still the dark of night; the candles flickering in the ruined mansion's shadowy corners attested to that. And there was Fenris, sitting beside her, the dim lighting reflecting off of his silvery markings. She allowed her eyes to trace the curve of his back, the line of his shoulders and then, sleepily, dreamily, she asked, "Why are we on the floor?"
His voice, when he spoke, was rough. "The bed wasn't close enough."
She sat up and glanced over her shoulder, noting with an amused smile that the bed in question was not ten feet away. She didn't mind much. "Can we relocate?" she asked with a yawn. "Something about that deep roads expedition put me off sleeping on the floor for a long while."
"Of course," Fenris replied. "Whatever makes you comfortable."
There was nothing in the words; there was something in them. Hawke did not call him out on it, not yet; she merely gathered the wool blanket about her shoulders and shuffled her bare feet across the cold tiles toward the bed. She did not lie down but instead leaned back against the wall, saying, "You've been awake for a while."
His eyes shifted away from her open gaze. "I could not sleep. I… had a bad dream."
"Tell me about it." She shifted over to make room for him to sit beside her. He hesitated, considering, and then decided to sit down on the edge of the bed instead. Hawke made no comment, only said, "What was your dream about? Did you… remember something from your past?"
"I almost wish that was the case." Fenris's mouth twisted into a grim smile, his voice full of dark humor.
Hawke took a moment to study him, the blank expression on his face, the artless and inscrutable grace of his posture, and wondered how best to go about this. "Maybe… I can tell you what I dreamed of. Maybe that might make things easier."
"If you think it will," he shrugged, apparently uncaring though the tension in his shoulders said otherwise.
She leaned back, drawing her knees up to her chest. The truth was that she hadn't dreamt of anything in particular. The dreams of mages were always full of either clarity or confusion; this night had been a case of the latter. Not for the first time, she envied Varric's talent for spinning stories.
"I dreamed I was… wherever we were before Lothering," she said abruptly and then checked herself. She had not intended to speak of that but what she started, she should finish. "We had a couple of close calls with the templars, especially after the twins were born. But sometimes the templars were never called in. Sometimes the villagers decided to take matters into their own hands. Someone had seen Bethany freezing the stream over; someone else's baby had been born dead. It didn't take long for them to 'put two and two together.'"
She pushed her hair back and away from her face, paused for a moment in her tale when she saw that Fenris had turned and his eyes were intent on her face. "They came with fire. They were going burn down our house. We ran out the back, into the woods. They never found any bodies, or so a friend told us later. The funny thing is that they called my mother the witch. They didn't go after my father. They didn't go after my father at all."
"You dreamt of that night," said Fenris slowly.
"I dreamt of running and the forest and fire and smoke." She looked down at her clasped hands. "There was so much smoke. It had rained the night before; everything burned slowly. Do you think those villagers knew that they were burning down an entire life? Everything of value to us was in that house and all of it burned: my father's staff, my mother's jewelry, Bethany's dolls…" She shook her head. "But, yes, that is what I dreamt of. What about you?"
He took a deep breath. "Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better," he admitted. "But I will tell you, if you so wish it."
Hawke did her best to ignore the apprehension welling in her chest. "I do."
"I dreamed that I killed you."
The story of the Fog Warriors came instantly to mind. But Danarius was dead now. Surely… "When? How?"
"Three years ago," Fenris recalled it to mind with the swiftness of someone who had been thinking of little else. "We were in the Fade. There was that demon again. I reached into your chest and I killed you."
She flinched; he noticed but did not say anything, only looked at her, his eyes pleading. "We killed the demon, Fenris," Hawke said carefully, trying to sound reassuring even though she was chilled at heart. "It has no foothold in the mortal world, not anymore."
"But the Fade is not the mortal world," he replied stubbornly, "and it is to the Fade that we go when we dream. And it is in the Fade that the demons reside."
"I don't understand," Hawke said, shaking her head. "Are you trying to ask if you are possessed?"
"I would not know it if I were, unless I were as foolish as some mages we know and had invited a demon into my soul."
"But you haven't."
"But I very nearly did, if you recall," he countered curtly. "'What must I do?' I said to the demon. And then I attacked you. And in this dream I did the same… only this time I killed you. I reached into your chest and I pulled out your heart." He leaned forward, cradled his forehead in one hand. "The look on your face… You looked so surprised. It was as though you didn't understand, as though you had thought we were sparring or something. You barely fought me. I don't understand."
"It was only a dream, Fenris." She reached out to him but was uncertain of where to place her hand. She did not know how to comfort him and that revelation made her hesitate. "It doesn't mean anything."
"But what if it does?" He got up from the bed, crossed the room toward the fire. "There is so much about magic and demons and spirits that I don't understand and that you don't understand either, Hawke."
"It doesn't mean anything," she repeated firmly. "I dreamt of the cottage burning because it's a painful memory. Do you mean to say that you don't ever have dreams about Danarius, about being a slave?"
"That was different," Fenris growled, half-turning to look back at her as she sat in his bed. "All of that happened in the real world; there were no tricks or illusions involved. But having a dream about a something that happened in the Fade –which is where you go when you dream –is…" His shoulders slumped. "It is confusing. And I am ashamed of what happened with that demon those years ago."
"If it makes you feel any better," said Hawke with a slightly forced laugh, "Isabela did basically the same thing and that was after seeing what happened to you."
"That doesn't make me feel better, Hawke," he sighed, still staring into the fire. "You… mean a great deal to me, more than I could have predicted. The thought of turning on you like that…"
"Then don't think about it." Quickly, she gathered the blanket around her again and followed him across the room, her bare feet padding lightly against the floor. "Come back to bed."
"Ignoring a problem will not make it go away."
"We're not ignoring it." Tentatively, she reached for his hand. He let her take it. "You mean a lot to me too," Hawke told him, her gray eyes steady on his face. "You were a different person three years ago. So was I. I trust that you won't make that same mistake again."
He did not pull away, even though his green eyes seemed sad. "You trust too easily."
"Don't prove me wrong," Hawke replied before slowly leading him back to the bed.
