Hawke's fingers trail up toned arms, following the twisting tattoos upward to caress strong, stiff shoulders. She kneads, the rigid muscles relaxing. The brooding elf becomes pliable, growing languid under her ministrations. His eyes slip closed, head lolling back, exposing his long, elegant neck. Hawke dips her head and, with the tip of her tongue, lightly traces the sinuous markings that lead from his collarbone up his chin. When she reaches his lips, she pressed hers against them in a soft, warm kiss.
"Marian," he whispers, voice hoarse.
Hawke murmurs, "Fenris…" She clutches at him, and he feels so light and soft in her arms.
"Marian," he says again, voice louder, higher. She moves her hand up to the tip of his ear, tracing along its soft edges.
"Mmmm, Fenris…" she murmurs again.
"Sister, wake up. Anders is here. It's time to go to The Hanged Man."
Hawke's eyes fluttered open. The pillow she clutched to her face obscured the view of Bethany standing on tiptoe peering into her bunk. She groaned, realizing she had been dreaming, and chucked the pillow aside as she turned onto her back.
"Balls," she said with a sleepy sigh before swinging her legs over the side of the bunk and lowering herself to the floor.
"Were you talking in your sleep?" Bethany asked as Hawke moved to the dented washbasin and splashed cold water on her face.
Hawke didn't reply as she performed her ablutions. Her head hung over the basin, water dripping from the tip of her nose and her long eyelashes. She could barely make out her wavering reflection in the water. She shivered as flashes from her dream rippled through her thoughts.
"I hope it wasn't anything bad," Bethany said quietly. "You know Mother and I both sometimes dream about Carver's dea… of when we left Lothering," she finished hesitantly.
Hawke shook her head and began to pat her face dry with a scratchy, tattered cloth. She turned to face Bethany, brow furrowed. "No. It was nothing like that." Then she laughed, adding, "It was actually a very good one." She couldn't suppress a roguish grin.
Bethany giggled, "Well, I'm sorry if I interrupted anything. Uncle Gamlen tried to come in here three times this morning, but Mother told him that you'd had a late night, and shooed him away."
Hawke shuddered at the thought of waking from her pleasant dream to the sight and smell of Gamlen. She began pulling on clothes and armor. "You should go keep Anders company," she told Bethany. "Before Gamlen starts hitting him up for money."
"Oh Maker, you are right." Bethany blanched and hurried out of the room.
"I don't see why we even need him," Anders said bitterly as he skewered a sausage, which he then pointed at Hawke emphatically. "You are amazing in battle, and with Isabela or Aveline by your side, and me healing…" He trailed off as he bit into the sausage and chewed, still waving the sausage around mimicking the motion of casting healing spells.
Hawke waved off his comment with her teaspoon. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Anders," she said tiredly, "but just because your healing fades the cuts and bruises doesn't mean I enjoy receiving them." She took a sip of the strong, hot tea that she had been surprised to find was served at the oft-belittled Hanged Man. Apparently Corff used it to reinvigorate hungover guests who stayed the night in the handful of rooms in the back. It was surprisingly good.
"He is a skilled warrior, then?" Bethany asked from where she sat near Anders's elbow. She had eaten already, so contented herself with a cup of goat's milk which she toyed with idly.
Hawke vaguely wondered if Corff kept a goat around the tavern somewhere, or if the milk was delivered fresh daily — at least she hoped it was fresh. "He's got quite a blade, and he knows how to use it," she said, turning her mind back to the subject of Fenris.
Her ears went hot as Isabela snickered from the other end of the table and said, "You know what they say about men with big swords…"
Hawke tried to ignore her jibe. "He has some very unique talents," she continued, then groaned when she realized that had not sounded much better.
Isabela laughed again, and leaned over looking conspiratorial. In a stage-whisper, she told Bethany, "He sticks his hand into people and does this magical… fisting thing." The pirate captain made a fist and thrust it in a crude manner, then crinkled her nose in delight and wiggled lasciviously.
Bethany's jaw dropped open and she hurriedly placed her hands over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Anders scowled at his plate.
"I wish I could un-see that," Varric said uncomfortably, and turned to face the fire, his head shaking.
"What I meant was," Hawke said loudly, shooting a glare at Isabela, "is that he seems very capable and quite useful to take with us, now that Aveline is busy with the Guard."
"Very capable of taking his 'big sword' and stabbing me or Bethany or Merrill in the back, you mean," Anders said angrily. "I can't believe you of all people would invite him to join us, Marian. That elf is almost worse than a templar!" Anders gripped his knife and fork in white-knuckled hands.
Bethany looked from Anders to Hawke, confused. "He's an elf? And he is wary of mages, I take it? Though from what you explained of his master in Tevinter, I can guess as to why," she said quietly. She lowered her eyes and fidgeted with her milk cup, looking ashamed.
"He told me he would work with all of you. Well, I didn't really have time to explain about you specifically, or Merrill… but yes, he is a little..." Hawke searched a moment for the right word, "… skittish about magic after his experiences under the Tevinter magisters."
"Skittish? You make him sound like a scared pup, not the rabid wolf he is!" Anders threw his utensils down with disgust and stood. His sudden explosive movements nearly caused Bethany to tip onto the floor. He began to pace around Varric's room furiously.
Bethany looked at Hawke, her face alarmed. Isabela ignored the ruckus, but Varric watched Anders out of the corner of his eye.
Hawke's own expression hardened. "Calm down, Anders. Fenris just doesn't know any of you yet. He is no threat to you, no threat to any of you." Anders continued pacing, his hands flexing into tight fists. He didn't seem to hear her; Hawke thought she heard him muttering to himself. "Anders. Anders? Anders!" Hawke said his name sharply, punctuating it at last with a fist slammed into the tabletop.
Plates, cups and utensils rattled. Everyone froze.
Anders stopped and slowly turned his head to stare at her. His eyes seemed… different. They almost glowed with a dark, seething power. The sight of it took Hawke's breath away, and she recoiled. Anders blinked and then it was gone, his expression still angry and hurt, but no longer menacing.
Hawke stared at him, her own expression moving from stern to surprised to concerned. "Anders?" she asked carefully. He looked away. "Justice," she said softly as she realized what had just passed between them.
His head fell forward in a half-nod of confirmation, his chin tucked into his chest. He suddenly looked much smaller, and so sad. Anders stood like that for a moment before he turned and left. He did not meet her eyes again.
Bethany was staring silently into her goat's milk. Isabela gave a small snort and returned her attention to sharpening a dagger. Varric sighed.
Hawke watched Anders's back retreat until the door of The Hanged Man banged shut behind him. She reached over and patted Bethany's hand absentmindedly as she watched him leave. "He'll come around... eventually," she said without much conviction.
The room was silent for a moment, the only noises the soft rasp of Isabela's whetstone and the crackle of the fire.
Hawke piped up after a few moments. "And don't let him scare you about Fenris. He'll love you just like everyone does." She smiled encouragingly as Bethany looked up at her. "A sweet mage with a big heart will be a good start to convincing him not all mages are terrible."
Varric chimed in. "Yeah, Sunshine. You'll lift the dark little raincloud that's hanging over the elf's head. Blondie's too, when he comes back." Bethany smiled weakly at Varric.
"We'll go visit Fenris tomorrow, Bethany, I'll introduce you. We can take him a housewarming gift," Hawke mused as the idea occurred to her. "I like him. He's interesting, you'll see." She shrugged nonchalantly.
Bethany's smile faded as she studied Hawke as if puzzled. Then she gave Hawke a slow, knowing look.
Hawke schooled her expression to one of innocence, but she could feel the flush spreading across her cheeks.
"Ah, I see," was all Bethany said, though her eyes danced with amusement.
10 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon
I've never found myself attracted to an elf before. In Ferelden, the few elves that lived near us were always wretched and down-trodden, and they kept entirely to themselves. There were also many elves in Athenril's smuggling gang, but they were bitter and even more insular than the poor Fereldan elves. They despised Bethany and me for rising quickly through the ranks of the smuggling ring. Needless to say, we received somewhere between zero and no invitations to dance, drink or dine with any of them.
We were all rather surprised to find that the lyrium smuggling job we took on last night was actually a job assisting an escaped Tevinter slave... a deadly, elven one at that. His name is Fenris, and apparently his master is one of the powerful and corrupt magisters that rule the Tevinter Imperium. He imbued Fenris with all kinds of strange lyrium markings to give him powers. Unfortunately for the magister, it seems it gave Fenris enough power to escape and evade recapture.
Fenris is a warrior unlike anything I've ever heard of or ever seen. He swings a greatsword with ease and moves like the wind. I saw him rip out the heart a Tevinter bounty hunter with his bare hand… through the man's steel breastplate. I should have been horrified, but I admit the sheer power of him gave me a raw sort of thrill. Plus that bastard slave-hunter deserved it.
We tried to help him find and confront his former master, Danarius, whom Fenris suspected was actually in Kirkwall, but alas Danarius escaped. Fenris offered to join us while he waits for Danarius to return, and I accepted his offer. We could use someone like him on the Deep Roads expedition, since I would never ask Aveline to take a hiatus from the Guard for such a trip.
Fenris was rather dismayed to discover Anders was a mage. That went over poorly with Anders, who seemed to take a disliking to Fenris from the start. Fenris seems to think all mages will be corrupted by their power sooner or later. From the little he related to us of what he suffered at the hands of Danarius… well, I do not share his prejudice against mages, but I can see how he came by it. The mansion where Danarius was staying didn't fill up with shades and demons on accident. Still, I am satisfied that he will work alongside Anders, Merrill and Bethany… I just hope that I can keep him from discovering Justice, and Merrill's ill-advised blood magic. I would prefer to hear less of Anders's pro-mage tirades… Do you know, he's threatened to write a manifesto?
Fenris will adore Bethany; everyone does. I might take her to meet him tomorrow. What does one get for a housewarming gift for someone who's started squatting in a mansion? The place was in utter disarray, so perhaps a broom or a mop… and fruit? Candles? Wine?
I definitely look forward to seeing more of Fenris. He has a quiet, almost brooding demeanor that makes him… I don't know, mysterious? Alluring? Irresistible?
He's clearly had a hard life and it has taken its toll on him, but I know what it is to live on the run, to hide, to never be able to trust anyone. Without a family, without love, what would I have become? How much worse to be a slave, to be leashed and forced to do Maker-knows-what by the magisters? I do not know the whole of his story, but maybe, in time, we can get to know each other.
He is quite handsome and his lyrium markings, though they may sound strange, are quite beautiful. He seems tall for an elf and his hair is white. He is uncommonly strong for an elf too, though he remains lean and lithe, much like the Dalish. Maybe the lyrium in his skin has changed him in some ways?
Last night, I was struck by how uncommonly well-spoken and polite he is, even when he was being argumentative. I suspect that, as a favorite slave of a powerful magister, these were essential traits Danarius… instilled in him.
I could swear he was flirting with me. Maker knows I tried flirting with him, though it felt like I was standing on my tongue most of the time. Next time I will be ready.
I dreamt of him last night. It has been a long time since I had dreams that were pleasant. I wouldn't mind if they continued… Who knows, maybe with some pointers from Isabela, I could even stand a decent chance of making them come true?