Flybite Fever

Age 5

…

Fenris was not used to seeing Hawke so distraught. She was the woman who had clawed her way out of the Deep Roads, who had faced down the Arishok, and who had stood through the wreckage of the Kirkwall Rebellion with nothing but two blades and her determination. She was his wife, the person he respected most in all of Thedas, a person he knew to be almost incapable of yielding to fear. Yet, there she stood, leaning back against the wall outside Malcolm and El's bedroom, eyes cast to the floor, trembling.

It unsettled him.

"They each ate a few bites of porridge, but El was irritable and Malcolm just wanted to sleep," Fenris told her as he closed the door behind him. "Their fevers are no worse."

It wasn't as if the children had never been ill before. From stomach bugs that made it hard for them to keep food down, to sleepless nights spent coughing, to runny noses, fevers, and rashes. Hawke had handled all of those with soothing optimism. Children got sick, but their children had strong constitutions, and those ailments were nothing to fear with proper nutrition and care.

This ailment, however, left Hawke a fearful wreck.

Fenris stood in front of her and slid a hand under her hair, feeling her forehead.

"I don't have a fever," Hawke muttered, brushing his hand away and refusing to look at him.

Fenris stepped back with a sigh. "Do you feel otherwise poorly?" He scratched absentmindedly at an insect bite on his arm.

Hawke shook her head.

"Then tell me what has you so anxious," Fenris demanded, trying to keep his voice soft.

She looked at him then, eyes brimming with tears.

"Do you remember our trip to Denerim?"

"Yes," Fenris replied.

"Do you remember the mud flies, and how you fell ill?"

"In a way…" He remembered the rain, the mud, the clouds of flies, their itchy bites, and coming down with something. He remembered nothing of the illness itself, only the assertions that he had, in fact, been quite ill.

"Well, here we sit, covered in the same bites…" She held an arm out as if he required proof.

Fenris sighed. "Hawke, I am not ill."

"I know, but our children are. They have fevers."

"Mild fevers," he insisted. "They are irritable and drowsy, but otherwise conscious and coherent."

Hawke folded her arms tightly across her chest. "And how long were you irritable and drowsy before you tumbled right off your horse?"

Fenris couldn't answer that.

"It means nothing that you and I feel fine," Hawke contended. "I wasn't sick back then, either. Neither were any of the Kirkwall guardsmen who traveled with us."

Fenris found the whole thing frustrating. "What is the logic in that? If the flies bring disease, why are only the children afflicted?"

Hawke shook her head. "I don't know."

"Perhaps," Fenris offered gently, "there is nothing for us to worry about…"

"You almost died, Fenris!"

"Hawke…"

She lost that last shred of calm. "No… I… I was there, Fenris. For two days your fever just kept getting worse, and no amount of spindleweed tea would bring it down. That last night you could scarcely breathe and I thought…" She trailed off, slumping back against the wall and burying her face in her hands.

Fenris took her by the shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Go and sit with El. She might sleep if you sing to her. I am going to go see that old woman."

"Her? Why?"

"She has more grandchildren than I have teeth, Hawke. If anyone knows what to do, it's her." He kissed her once more. "I won't be gone long."

…

Fenris rushed through the rain to reach the old woman's small house, panting and soaked by the time he stood on her front porch. The moments that passed between his knock and the sound of her shuffling towards the door were agonizing, but soon the door was flung open before him.

"Well, Blessed Andraste, I didn't expect you at my door. Come inside, boy. The Maker's droppin' an ocean on us tonight." She hurried him in and demanded his cloak, muttering about puddles on her chairs as she hung it by the door. Offering him a seat by the fire, she slowly took the opposite chair with a gratified sigh. "Now what brings you here? Did your wife run off to save Thedas again?"

"No, but I do need your help. The children are ill with fevers and their mother is afraid it is flybite fever."

She leaned back in her chair. "Hmmm. With all these rains, the flies have been bad. Have they been bit in the last few days?"

"Yes…"

"Probably is flybite fever then," she said with a shrug.

You almost died, Fenris.

"That…" Fenris swallowed hard. "Tell me what I need to do for them."

"Spindleweed tea for the fever, elfroot paste helps if the bites itch… hmmm… I have some spare spindleweed if you need any."

"No, we have plenty," Fenris replied. He realized, then, why Hawke had always kept extra spindleweed on hand.

"Well, then you have everythin'," the old woman explained.

Fenris felt his chest tighten. "Please… is there nothing else we can do for them?"

"Just wait it out, boy."

His despair must have been plain on his face, because she patted him on the arm. "Come now, it's always hard to watch babes sick with fever, but there's no avoidin' it now. Go home, tell them a few stories, and hope the tea helps them sleep."

"No," he growled. "There must be something else. I can't just sit idle while my children might die."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Die? I have never, in my whole life, seen a child die of flybite fever."

"My wife tells me that I almost did." Was Hawke mistaken? Were her fears exaggerated?

"And when was that?"

"Before we had the children… Six years ago perhaps?"

She looked him up and down. "You're young, boy, but not that young. Of course you had a rough time. Your accent too… somethin' northern…"

"Tevinter," Fenris supplied.

"That's your answer right there. Flybite fever is gentle with children, and if they have it once, they likely won't get it again. It's the travelers that need to worry. The fever isn't kind to grown folk who've never seen it."

"Gentle…" Fenris mumbled.

"Yes, yes. A day or two of sweets and stories in bed and they'll be right as rain."

"You're certain?" Fenris asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm certain! Boy, I have more grandchildren than you have teeth, you know."

Fenris smirked. "I know." He stood with a relieved sigh. "I'll take no more of your time, then. You have my thanks, and Hawke's, and I will be sure to bring you a share of my next hunt."

She balked at that. "Boy, you have those two babes to feed."

"Old Woman, I also have a fine sword and a wife who's as capable a hunter as I am. The children are fed, I promise you."

"Fine, fine." She waved him off. "I won't turn down a nice ram shank or boar belly."

Fenris nodded, going to the door to get his cloak. "I'll see it done, but now I have to get home before Hawke worries herself to death."

The old woman smiled. "She's a lucky woman, that one."

"I am a lucky man," Fenris countered, slipping out the door.

…

When Fenris got home he found Hawke and both children bundled together in El's bed, fast asleep. The children felt warm, but not too feverish. He left the room as quietly as he could and set to stoking the fire and warming some apple cider. The rain had him soaked through, and a warm drink sounded like a brilliant idea. He also wagered that when the children woke, they wouldn't mind something sweet to drink, either. Just as he set the kettle over the fire, he turned to see Hawke.

"What did she say?" Hawke asked tentatively.

"The children will be fine."

"Fenris…"

"She explained, quite adamantly, that flybite fever is mild in children. It is only to be feared in adults who never experienced it as a child, typically foreigners." He spread his arms to indicate himself.

"Like you…"

Fenris hummed in agreement. "It seems the very mud of Ferelden seeks to protect its own."

He could hear the relief in Hawke's sigh. "I don't recall having it myself, but I do vaguely remember Carver and Bethany coming down with something itchy when they were young. No one really talked about it in Lothering, but perhaps it was so widely known that no one bothered to discuss it. Well, that explains why I didn't get sick, but what about the guardsmen?"

"Donnic did mention, all those years ago, that the guardsmen joining us were sure to be helpful, being former Fereldans themselves," Fenris explained.

Hawke slid into a chair beside the fire and nodded. "At that inn, the man who died of flybite fever was an Antivan merchant. It all makes sense in hindsight." Hawke ran a hand through her hair. "The children will be fine," she sighed to herself.

Fenris bent down to kiss her. "Yes, the children will be fine."

…

…

…

AN: This chapter references my FenrisXHawke post-DAII fic, The Right Time for Happiness. You could also call that fic "Fenris loves Hawke but every time he tries to tell her things go wrong." Getting bitten up by flies and then coming down with a terrible fever is one of the things that go wrong.

This chapter also marks my last small plot bunny. I am ready to tackle the big plot bunny, a multi-chapter adventure, similar to the Hawke Family Road Trip to Tevinter. I intend to finish writing it before I start posting because I can see real life getting in the way (all good things!), and I don't want to leave readers hanging in the middle of a plot like that.

Again, thank you for reading, and all comments are welcome :)