Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! My muse is as broody as Fenris himself.
It was late evening when Fenris sat at his desk, a candle providing frustrating and flickering light. He stared down at the book Hawke had given him, trying to practice the reading skills she'd been kind enough to show him.
The sound of someone frantically banging on his door made him freeze in place. He got up, cautiously, extinguishing the candle and moving as quietly as he could towards the front door.
The banging on his door came again, louder and erratic. He slipped towards one of the large windows at the front of the mansion.
Hawke was standing before his door, her hands shaking as she tried to pick the lock. Her eyes were wide and panicked.
He opened the door and she nearly fell into his house.
"Fenris," she said, breathless as though she had run all the way to his house. "My mother is missing."
He gestured for her to come in and she stood, awkward in his foyer while he strapped his sword to his back.
"I'm sure she's just out shopping or with some friends," he said, trying to be reassuring.
"Someone sent her white lilies," said Hawke.
White lilies? Where had he heard that before?
"That blood mage!" he said, remembering the last time they'd tracked down a missing woman.
Hawke nodded, eyes large and wet.
"She was last seen in Lowtown," she said, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath and he could see her forcing herself to be still, to be strong.
"Let's go," he said, and the two of them hurried towards Lowtown.
They did not speak, the only sound in the cool, crisp air was their breathing, heavy and rapid as they ran together.
They came around a corner to find the man Fenris recognized as Hawke's uncle, speaking to a young boy.
"Yeah, I saw her," said the boy. "What's it worth to you?"
Fenris touched Hawke's arm, briefly, trying to comfort. "I'll go get Varric," he whispered to her. She nodded. If anyone knew Lowtown's nooks and crannies, it was Varric.
Fenris hurried off towards the tavern, hearing Hawke's soft voice in the background as she began to speak to the child.
He burst into Varric's suite, where the dwarf and Merrill were sitting and playing cards.
"Hawke's mother is missing," he said, not bothering with any pleasantries.
They both stood immediately. "Lead the way," was all Varric needed to say. As they hurried back to the street, Fenris filled them in on the situation.
Hawke was crouching on the ground, Gamlen and the urchin had disappeared. As they approached, she lifted her head to greet them.
"Blood," she said, gesturing to the ground. "If we follow this trail, we might find her."
Merrill sank to the ground next to Hawke and inspected the red stain.
"There's something strange here," she said, staring intently at the ground. "I think this was used for blood magic."
Hawke was already on her feet, heading south. Fenris followed her as she sprinted through darkened alleys, stopping occasionally to seek out the trail of red.
The blood stains ended in front of the same foundry where they'd found the last woman's corpse. The building was large and rundown, the walls stained with smoke and soot. Hawke wrenched open the door and ran inside, Fenris hot on her heels.
The blood stains here were harder to follow, as the floor bore thousands of stains and smears from years of use. But Hawke was a good tracker and led them to a trapdoor.
Beneath the foundry was a cave, well lit and obviously inhabited. Shades and a rage demon attacked them as soon as they made their way down, an obvious trap.
Deeper in the cave there was a living area, and a nice one at that. A grand bed sat in the middle, next to a blazing fireplace. Above the fire was a large painting of a woman who looked uncannily like Hawke's mother. Scattered around the room were notes and diagrams, and Fenris scowled at them, as though they were mocking him with their indecipherable signs.
"Blood magic," said Hawke, flipping through one of the books.
"And necromancy," said Merrill, looking at another set of notes.
"We've got to find Mother," said Hawke, and without another word she strode deeper into the cave.
A mage awaited them at the end of the hallway, and a woman sitting in a chair facing away from them. A peculiar smell hung in the air, like curdled blood and death.
"There you are," said the mage. "Sarah Hawke, I presume? Leandra was so certain you'd come for her."
"Where is she?" hissed Hawke.
The mage began to babble, about beauty and love and touching the face of the Maker himself, while Hawke edged herself closer and closer to him.
And then the woman stood, and turned.
Fenris gaped at her. It was…It was Leandra's head, but stitched to a corpse, a corpse sewn together from many different parts…from many different women.
He wanted to grab Hawke, to cover her eyes, but it was too late. She launched herself at the mage, silent, deadly. He cast a shield at the last minute and Hawke stared at him through the clear barrier, dagger in hand.
Behind Fenris several shades appeared, and he turned away from Hawke to cut them down. When he turned back, she hadn't moved, hadn't joined the battle. She was still staring at the mage, waiting for his barrier to fall.
More demons rose from the ground, and Varric unleashed a volley of arrows, slowing and trapping them. And then Fenris heard a shriek from behind him. He turned to see Hawke's daggers buried in the mage's chest, blood spraying from the man.
He watched, transfixed, as Leandra struggled towards Hawke and fell into her daughter's waiting arms, watched as they whispered to each other and the horror that had been Hawke's mother finally closed her eyes.
Hawke did not cry. Her eyes were dry and hard when she stood and looked at them. She was covered in blood and she looked every inch a killer.
"I'll get someone to come get the corpse and take her to the cemetery," said Varric.
"Thank you," said Hawke. Her voice was flat, dead. "I…I'm going home."
She walked out without another word, her movements mechanical, forced.
"The poor dear," said Merrill, her voice soft.
"Damn," said Varric. "I thought the mess with Bartrand was bad, but this…"
The three of them walked back to the Hanged Man together, where they gathered in Varric's quarter with strong drinks.
"Someone needs to look out for her," said Varric. "We'll take shifts."
Fenris nodded and sipped his drink. It burned, but the warmth was fleeting, hollow.
"You first, Broody," said Varric. "Keep an eye on her tonight. Merrill will come by tomorrow morning and take over."
Fenris nodded again. He walked slowly up to Hightown, heart churning in his chest. The sight of Hawke in pain was…strange. It hurt to see her hurt, so much so he almost wished the pain were solely his. He wished he could take her pain from her, carry it himself.
What a bizarre desire, he thought.
It was too soon that he found himself at the entrance to the Hawke estate. He knocked on the door, timidly, and the dwarf manservant let him in.
"Hawke's in her bedroom," said Bohdan. His face was grim, and even Sandal seemed subdued, saying nothing of enchantments as Fenris walked by.
Hawke was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring into nothing.
"I do not know what to say," he said, "but I am here."
Hawke looked up at him.
"Tell me it's not my fault," she said, softly, a whimper.
Did Hawke really believe it was her fault?
Fenris wanted to take her in his arms, whisper into her curved human ear that it was not her fault, that she was a wonderful woman, that Leandra had been lucky to have such a daughter.
He did not dare.
Instead he sat next to her on the bed, close enough to touch if she wished that comfort.
"You are looking for forgiveness," he said, choosing his words carefully, "but I am not the one who can give it to you."
She laughed, a strangled sound that became a sob.
Cautiously, he let one arm encircle her, placing an unsteady hand on her waist.
"Thank you for coming, Fenris," she said. Her voice trembled and a tear made its way down her cheek.
She turned away from him. "I don't want you to see me this way," she murmured.
"You have nothing to be ashamed of," he said. The arm that encircled her moved of its own volition upwards to stroke her hair.
Her shoulders shook but she made no sound, still turned so he couldn't see her face.
It awoke a yearning in him, so powerful it ached, the desire to hold her, to protect her, to comfort her and banish every hurt she'd ever acquired.
The yearning tormented him, as did her sighs, her sobs, the softness of her skin and the way she wouldn't look at him.
He had never lost anything, had never had anything to lose.
The thought that now he might have something he couldn't bear losing, that he might become as vulnerable himself as Hawke was this night…it was unsettling.
"You need rest," he said, his voice more gruff than he'd intended.
Hawke turned back to him, her eyes and nose red, wet trails tracing the curve of her cheeks.
"Every time I close my eyes I see…her," she said. "I see what that bastard did to her."
"I am sorry," he said. He wanted to raise a hand to caress her face, to wipe away the wetness there, but he didn't dare.
They sat together in silence for a long time, staring into the flickering fire. Fenris got up and fed it another log. He did not want Hawke to be in darkness, not this night. He would keep the fire going until the sun rose.
"I'll be okay," she said, her voice soft, almost limp. "You don't have to stay with me."
"I want to," he said, returning to her side. "It's what friends do, isn't it?"
Hawke gave him a small, tearful smile, and he wrapped his arm around her again, less hesitantly this time. She leaned against him, her body as soft and warm as he'd remembered.
They sat in silence for a long time, until Hawke's breathing evened out and her eyes closed. Carefully, slowly, Fenris lowered her onto the bed, pulling blankets over her.
As he turned, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. The suddenness of her gesture made him jump, markings glowing, and pull away.
"Sorry," she murmured, withdrawing her hand as quickly as she'd extended it. She looked so pitiful, like a dog that had been kicked, and guilt welled up in his chest.
"I should be the one apologizing," he said. "Old habits die hard, I suppose."
"I just…I don't want you to go," she said.
That shouldn't have warmed his heart, but it did, a little, to hear that she wanted him by her side.
"Then I will stay," he said. He sat down next to her on the bed, leaning against the headboard. She turned away from him, burying her face in the pillow, and he could see her shoulders shaking again, though she made no sounds. He let one hand caress her hair, hoping it was a comforting gesture.
After a while her body stopped shaking, and her breathing became soft and regular. Fenris watched her sleep for what seemed like only a few minutes before he too slipped off into the Fade.
When dawn fell in his eyes and woke him, he found he was holding Hawke's hand, their fingers intertwined in what felt like an incredibly intimate embrace. Hawke was still asleep, as still as a dead woman, only the gentle whisper of her breathing giving any hint she was alive.
He pulled away slowly and went to the window, watching the sun take its place above Kirkwall. The square below the window was empty save for the occasional servant, heading to market to buy breakfast.
He heard the rustle of blankets behind him and turned to see Hawke sitting up, rubbing her eyes.
She looked at him with a strange, intense longing that flickered across her face so quickly he wondered if he'd imagined it.
"Thank you, for staying," she said.
"It was my pleasure," he replied. He walked towards her. He wanted to take her hand, or touch her cheek, or bridge the distance between them somehow, recapture the intimacy of the night before. But in daylight it seemed foolish and presumptuous, so he did not touch her.
"When I woke up this morning, it seemed so beautiful, the light falling in through the window," she said, "and then I remembered. And now it seems so wrong that I even noticed how beautiful it was."
You are more beautiful, he thought.
A tentative knock sounded from outside the door. Hawke opened it to see Orana and Merrill standing in the doorway.
"Oh, Hawke," said Merrill, wrapping her friend in a hug. "I'm so sorry."
"Thank you, Merrill," said Hawke, leaning into the embrace.
"I brought some breakfast," said the elf, her green eyes solemn as she looked over Hawke. She wrapped an arm around the rogue and guided her downstairs, Orana and Fenris following.
The easy intimacy between Merrill and Hawke made Fenris want to growl or throw the slender mage out the window. Merrill seemed to know what to say and what to do for Hawke, and her grace made Fenris feel all the more awkward.
"I should go," he murmured as they headed towards the dining room. Hawke turned away from Merrill and looked at him.
"Okay," she said. "I'll walk you to the door. Merrill, I'll be right back."
She walked with him through the foyer. She let her hand brush his arm, gently, almost timidly.
"Thank you for staying with me, Fenris," she said. Her eyes were wide and wet but her voice was firm.
I would do anything for you, he thought.
"Will…will you come back? Later?" she said, her voice timid, hesitant, as though she were afraid to ask him.
"Of course," he said. "I am here whenever you need me, Hawke."