Part 2: Defiance
Though his travels with Danarius had taken him to many a place, from the jungles of Seheron to the desolation of the Silent Plains, Fenris had counted himself lucky that he had never stepped foot underground. Now, breathing in the stale musk of the Deep Roads, he questioned why he had let Hawke talk him into breaking that streak.
The subject of his complaint was setting up her and the dwarf's tent, using a hammer to drive stakes through some ropes into the cracked, bronzy ground, and jovially conversing with Varric, who was tending to the fire. The Warden, apparently as lazy as he was reckless, lounged on his bedroll, tent poles unassembled next to him, scratching his blond head as he pored over some tome.
"Are you going to help?" Fenris growled at him as he walked over and picked up a pole.
Anders glanced at him idly and grimaced, closing his book. Fenris doubted that the two of them would have as cheerful of a chat as Hawke and Varric. They assembled the tent quickly and silently, Fenris unhappily anticipating another sleepless night listening to Anders snore. The man was insufferable, a danger to himself and others, but against all odds, his stupid jokes made Hawke laugh every time. Fenris tried to dampen his anger at Anders' presence by considering the number of broken bones he'd mended for the party, but in truth, he'd much rather heal naturally than feel the prick of magic on his skin. There was nothing for it, however – the darkspawn were tricky and stronger than most men, and a broken arm required time between fights to heal, a luxury they did not have on this expedition.
They had left behind Bartrand and his men four days ago to find a way around the cave-in closer to the Deep Roads entrance, and Fenris was beginning to feel restless. He had grown accustomed to his freedom over the past few months, and the soil over his head reminded him too much of the cage he had fled. Tossing his rucksack of belongings into the tent, he unrolled the mat he slept on and laid it on the ground, followed by the golden halla fur he had pilfered from Danarius' valuables. It was much too hot underground to sleep with it, but Fenris continued to do so out of spite, relishing the fact that a slave was using what would have been one of Danarius' treasured belongings.
Since Anders had not deigned to set up his bedroll in the tent yet, Fenris had the privacy to remove his armour, which he did with satisfaction. Rifling through his bag, he changed into a set of relatively clean linen clothes. He emerged from the tent to the sight of Hawke stirring something in a copper cup set on the grate over the fire, cursing softly every time she got too close to the flames. She remained in her traveling boots but had changed into some soft linen trousers that ended above the knee and a billowing white cotton blouse tucked into her waistband. Somehow, despite the days of grime, sweat, and fighting, she looked marvellous. She waved him over once she saw him.
"Here, smell this," Hawke said, grabbing the cup out of the fire using a thick piece of cloth and bringing it to his nose. An unfamiliar, rich, nutty aroma filled his nostrils, tinged with some earthiness that was not quite unlike the smell of their environs, but more pleasant. He looked down and saw a thick, dark brown liquid, not like the colour of Hawke's hair.
"What is it?" he asked, furrowing his brow.
"An Antivan merchant was selling it in the Hightown marketplace last week. They call it 'chocolate'. Only grows in the north, I think. He said to melt it with some condensed milk," she informed him, gesturing to a jar of a thick white liquid, "and let it cool. I've been saving it as a treat."
Chocolate. The word sounded familiar, but he couldn't recall where he'd heard it. "It smells good," he conceded.
Her golden eyes brightened with his praise, and he watched her saunter off in the Grey Warden's direction. "Anders," she called out, "can you freeze this for me?"
Fenris heard him grumble and a crackle of ice magic later, Hawke was prodding her fingers into the cup. She walked back over to her tent and emerged with a spoon in hand, which she polished off with her shirt. Sitting down fluidly into a cross-legged position in front of the fire, she dug the spoon into the now-hardened chocolate.
"Here, try it," she commanded triumphantly, extending the spoon, heaped with the mysterious 'chocolate' mixture. He gingerly took it from her hand and carefully tried a bite, joining her to sit on the ground. It was sweet and malty, the unfamiliar nutty scent translating into a rich flavour.
"I like it," he said in response to Hawke's expectant gaze, adding sardonically, "and I am glad to be your taste tester."
She laughed, a blissful sound, and playfully snatched the spoon from him, digging into her creation. Fenris admired her as she happily indulged in the sweet.
"My mother can tell you," Hawke said, in between bites of the chocolate, "I have a terrible sweet tooth."
He suddenly recalled where he'd heard the name before. Hadriana had once had it brought in for a Wintersend celebration. The slaves had not been allowed to have any, of course, but the cruel apprentice had taunted all of them with it. Now, he was being offered it freely, by a woman that not only highly outranked him, according to Tevinter custom, but had cooked it herself. The irony was undeniable.
"What are you smiling about?" To her credit, Hawke had set the dessert aside, and was now watching him curiously. He was in a divulgatory mood. She seemed to evoke that in him.
"I'm thinking… about how I wasn't supposed to be here," he replied.
Undaunted by his cryptic reply, she pressed, "What do you mean?"
"You know, here. I was a slave. All I knew was how to serve my," he hesitated before uttering the word, "master. Before I escaped, I'd never been anywhere because I wanted to be there."
She looked around at the reddish-brownish emptiness of the Deep Roads, the stone pillars, the gaping maws of dark passageways leading to unknown depths, likely full of darkspawn. "I'm not sure if here is the best place to be, if I'm honest."
He snorted. "No, but I choose to be here. If I was tired of the underground, I could turn back. If I wanted to, we could part ways, and I could seek my fortune elsewhere."
To his surprise, her face fell slightly. He quickly added, "Not that I want to," and she brightened again. "But it is my choice, and mine alone. My very presence here defies all that was ever imagined for me."
He suddenly became aware of their closeness, sitting shoulder to shoulder, looking into the fire. Their knees were touching, and for the first time in his memory, he felt no pain, no reaction of the lyrium markings to it. He felt an urge to grasp her waist and pull her close but quickly dismissed it, disconcerted by his own impulse. She deserved better than to be unwelcomely pawed at like some tavern wench.
"I understand," she murmured, apparently unperturbed by their contact. "No one wanted me to be here either. Fereldan refugees weren't the most welcome in Kirkwall, and everything I have now, I've fought for." She grew serious for a moment and turned to look at him. "And you have accomplished all that I have and more, with the odds ever more against you, Fenris. I am happy to have you…" she hesitated, appearing to change her choice of words, "fighting beside me." Hawke seemed to want to say more but decided against it before looking away.
Fenris simply nodded, unsure of what to say. He glanced up to see Varric pointedly staring at them. When he noticed Fenris' gaze, he winked and walked away. Fenris blushed and rapidly got up.
"I should… I have some jerky in my bag, everyone must be hungry."
She also leaped up and muttered something about asking Anders for some ice before walking away, avoiding eye contact with him. Still red, Fenris went back to his tent and laid down on his mat with a deep breath, forgetting about the jerky. Unexpectedly, Varric strode inside and sat on the ground where Anders' bed roll would go.
"She's rather smitten with you, Broody," he drawled. "She'll never admit it but it's all 'Fenris said this', 'did you know Fenris has been there?', 'Fenris showed me how to do that' when we're playing cards at the Hanged Man."
Sitting up, Fenris snorted derisively but couldn't help but turn red again. The dwarf was surely mocking him.
"I sincerely doubt that, Tethras. Hawke has better things to worry about than an escaped slave," he replied flippantly, perhaps more so than he intended.
"Hey, I'm just trying to look out for her, and I happen to care about her. All I'm saying is, don't break my friend's heart, alright?" The dwarf strolled off, rolling his eyes.
Fenris didn't want to think about what the dwarf had claimed, nor the way it had made his heartrate spike, or the colour it had brought to his cheeks. With a sigh, he tried to fend off the inevitable to no avail. The way she had said his name echoed through his mind, in step with his heartbeat, which eventually turned to hers: Felissa, Felissa, Felissa…