Summary: Even in domestic bliss, there remain battles to fight. Phaedra/Fenris family fluff, post-Kirkwall.

Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form do any of the recognizably canon characters or places belong to Yours Truly.

Queen's Quornor: I'm probably going to come back and re-edit this later. This chapter was inspired by an idea: what would happen the first time one of Fenris' children saw him without a shirt on? Obviously not what he expected, since he hates his markings so much...

A Child's Aesthetics

Butchery was not among his favorite things.

When he took the time to think about it, his aversion to blood-spatter was something of an oddity. As a warrior, it was extremely unusual to emerge from a fight clean. Being splashed in the blood of his enemies did not bother him most of the time, but receiving a fine coating of crimson from dead animals made him itch.

The difference in his reaction, Fenris supposed, must come from the fact that he did not enjoy harming that which did not fight back. Phaedra knew nothing of butchery, or he would let her clean and prepare his catches. That aside, she had little time to help him on most occasions. With a pair of active, intensely curious twin daughters who were just past their second birthday, his wife's days were primarily spent chasing after them.

Still, he could really have used her help today. He had managed to stalk a stag and crush its heart, and cleaning the meat from the carcass had been a tedious, messy ordeal. The elf was certain there was even a fair amount of blood in his hair. It had taken hours to remove every useful cut of flesh and prepare it for their smokehouse, so the deer's blood mingled freely with his sweat. Unable to scent himself, Fenris could only assume that he must smell just wonderful.

It was times such as this, he reflected, when he was grateful his wife had used her magic to mold a small dam across the stream near their home. The dam had forced the creek to swell into a pond of sorts, roughly hip-deep at its center. The family used it for cleansing their clothes and themselves. It was not as comfortable as the bathing chamber he and Phaedra had enjoyed at her estate in Kirkwall, and certainly not as warm, but it served its purpose.

Such as now, when all Fenris wanted was to sluice the blood from his skin and wash his hair.

He was sitting on one of the smooth, flat ledges molded into the side of the dam, leisurely scrubbing an old scrap of cloth up and down his arms, when somebody cleared their throat. Startled, he looked up to see Phaedra standing at the edge of the pond with a little smile crooking her lips. Balanced on her hip was Leda, their eldest daughter, and she was filthy. Her bright green eyes peered at him from behind a thick mask of drying mud, and her long white hair was matted into dirty brown dreadlocks. Little brown handprints decorated the front of Phaedra's dress and collarbone.

"What happened this time?" Fenris could not stop the question.

"Your daughter decided it was prudent to try and prevent another sunburn by coating herself with mud." Phaedra's eyes sparkled with humor.

The elf bit back his grin; funny though it was, their daughter did need to learn that her decision had been a poor one. A good father was not supposed to encourage such judgement, even if the sight of her made him want to laugh loud and long. "I assume you wish to bathe her?"

"You would be correct. I need a bath too, courtesy of the hug she gave me before I saw how dirty she was." Phaedra turned a little, displaying the Leda-shaped mudprint that decorated her back and hair. Now that she was at a different angle, Fenris could see the thin impressions of his daughter's arms just beneath her mother's, where she had initially embraced her.

"Well, the water's pleasant enough. Come in." He ducked his head into the pool to wet his hair, then began rubbing soap into it while his wife set Leda down and began stripping her clothes off. Phaedra's own garments quickly followed, and she carried their quiet daughter to the bench nearest his. They bathed in silence, enjoying the cool water and the warm sunshine on their skin. Fenris luxuriated in the presence of his family, although he did wonder where the youngest member was. Massaging the hair at the base of his skull into a thick lather, he glanced at Phaedra.

"Where is Rai'eena?"

"Napping." His wife ran the scrubbing cloth up and down Leda's back, scraping off the mud that had run down the neck of her dress. "I had just put her down when Leda ambushed me."

"Hm." He continued working his fingers through his soapy hair, enjoying the press and rub of the motions against his scalp. Beside him, Phaedra coaxed the mud from their daughter's limbs. Leda just sat quietly, her eyes glued to her father.

At last, Fenris rose from the bench and waded to a deeper area of the pool. He dropped beneath the water and scrubbed his hair quickly, rinsing the foam from the snowy locks. He surfaced, then repeated the manuever. Once certain that the soap was gone, he began wading back to the dam. Phaedra glanced at him before returning her attention to their silent child. Leda continued to stare at him, her eyes steady in spite of the wobbling motions caused by her mother lathering her hair. A bit disconcerted by her constant attention, the elf took his seat and leaned back against the dam, intending to relax in the water a bit longer.

"Pwetty."

The soft voice startled him, drawing his shocked gaze to the child sitting near him. "What did you say?"

Leda squirmed away from her mother, closer to the edge of her bench. Her little hands stretched towards him in a mute expression of desire. "Fathaw pwetty."

Phaedra laughed at the look on her husband's face. She gathered their firstborn into her arms and sat on the stone ledge, regarding him with affectionate mischief. "Yes, Father is pretty, isn't he? He's a very pretty man."

Fenris sat thunderstruck. Pretty? He was pretty? That was not a word he would ever have used to describe himself. Attractive, perhaps, or strange. His wife called him a handsome man. But "pretty" was one of those terms he thought better suited to a woman, and certainly not himself. He stared at the white-haired ladies that he loved, too surprised to voice any dissent as Leda's fingers brushed against his arm, lightly pressing into the lyrium beneath his skin. He inwardly braced himself for the pain that inevitably accompanied any touch other than that of his wife.

But nothing happened.

"What in the...?" He looked down at the little digits clamped atop his forearm, shocked anew by the absence of the familiar pain. Phaedra had always been the only person who could touch him and not cause him any discomfort. Why wasn't Leda's touch hurting him?

Phaedra's mirth vanished upon seeing his expression. She stared at Leda's fingers, watched her trace the curling silver lines she herself loved to follow, then her eyes flew to meet those of her husband. "You're not in pain?"

Fenris slowly shook his head. She knew the signs; with anybody else, even the slightest touch would cause him to draw back with a quiet hiss of discomfort. He could ignore the pain, but only if he knew it was coming and prepared himself.

She bit her lip, lowering her gaze briefly before locking gazes with him again. "You don't think... Could she be a...?"

Phaedra hesitated to say the word, he knew, because of his opinion of her kind. He had long since come to terms with the fact that his wife was a mage, and an extremely powerful one at that. But his distrust of spellcasters continued to dog him, even after the Battle of the Gallows. He had always assumed that Phaedra's soothing touch was due to something unique about her, and the idea had found greater merit when he realized that the touch of his children caused him the same pain as that of any other person.

But if Leda had inherited her mother's abilities, and they were beginning to stir...

He clenched his fists against his thighs, keenly feeling the soft caress of his daughter's fingers. "Is there a way you can... test her? See if she is or not?"

His wife hesitated. "There is a game Father used to play with me and Bethany when we were children, to teach us finer control of our magic. He would toss us a little ball of magelight and tell us not to let it die. It would stay lit for us, but whenever one of us tried throwing it to Carver, it would wink out."

"Because he was not like you?"

"That's right. Leda?" The little girl twisted to meet her mother's gaze, her hands falling to rest atop her knees. "I have a game for us to play. Are you interested?"

"Yes, Mothaw."

Fenris watched as his wife lifted one hand from the water. Cool violet fire coalesced atop her palm, licking between her fingers as it gathered into a fist-sized ball. He didn't need to see Leda's face to know that she was enthralled; he too was fascinated by Phaedra's control of such a minor cantrip, in spite of having seen it many times before. She lightly tossed the ball a few times, then let it hover above her hand as she regarded Leda with a smile.

"I am going to give this to you. Don't let it go out, all right? Concentrate as hard as you can on keeping the fire alive."

Leda cupped her hands, bouncing lightly on her mother's knee. "Gimme, Mothaw! It won't go out!"

Phaedra looked at Fenris, then nodded slightly. His mind a swirl of apprehension and anticipation, the elf watched his wife roll the magelight off her fingers, into their daughter's hands.

The light wavered a bit, but it did not extinguish. Leda giggled and tipped her head back to regard her father with proud, shining eyes. His eyes. "See, Fathaw? I didn't let it go out!"

Fenris couldn't breathe for the lump in his throat, the clench of his heart. Leda - his precious firstborn daughter - was a mage. She would walk in the Fade, and demons would tempt her, try to turn her into an abomination. Worse, she could become one of those, a damned blood mage, if she fell prey to their lies.

Leda squeaked and the light sputtered out as he grabbed her tight in his arms, holding her against his chest. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her scent so deep into his lungs that it seemed to touch his soul, steeling his resolve. He wouldn't let them have her. Demons would not touch his daughter. He would die before he let them take her.

"Fathaw, you'w skeezing me!" She wiggled in his embrace, trying to loosen his hold a little. Fenris did not let her go, afraid that the instant he did, she would be lost to him. Perhaps it was an irrational fear, but it was a very powerful one. Rai'eena was the daughter that tended to follow him about like a mabari pup, but Leda was his favorite. Her calm demeanor and astute, often unintentionally humorous, observations and questions reminded him greatly of her mother. Leda was the helper around the house, while her twin created most of the messes. For her to be at risk of possession was akin to the worst of nightmares in Fenris' mind.

"Fenris, if you hold her much tighter she won't be able to breathe." He became conscious of Phaedra's hands upon his upper arms, gently stroking the flesh in an attempt to calm him. "She isn't going anywhere, love. I promise she won't slip though your fingers if you ease your grip."

He raised his head, meeting his wife's brilliant green eyes. They gazed calmly into his own, silently conveying her own determination to protect their daughter. He relaxed then, and Leda scooted forward on his knee before twisting around to look at him.

"Did'n you like the light, Fathaw?" she asked, her eyes wide.

Fenris felt Phaedra's gaze as keenly as her touch, She was waiting for him to decide how he wanted to proceed. He recognized the test for what it was, unplanned though it may be. What would rule him, the past or the present? Fear...or trust?

He drew the cool spring air into his lungs, held it deep in an attempt to slow his spinning thoughts. The gazes of two of the most cherished people in his life burned into his skin, one patient and expectant, the other inquisitive and growing more nervous with each passing second. At last he opened his eyes and found those of his daughter, who was fighting the urge to fidget.

"Of course I liked it, Leda. I'm proud of you, for not letting it go out."

Leda's face split as she beamed at him, her little chest puffing with joy. Her father liked the light; that was all she dwelt upon. Phaedra's hands slid down his arms to rest atop his fingers, silently assuring him that she supported his decision. For his part, Fenris fought to slow his racing heart. Few mages were more powerful than his wife, once the Champion of Kirkwall. There was no better teacher for Leda in all of Thedas than the woman who had conceived, carried, and birthed her and her twin sister.

A sudden thought shattered what little progress he had made in calming himself down. Fenris shot a panicked look at Phaedra. "What about Rai'eena?"

Phaedra paled slightly and her brilliant eyes widened as she caught her husband's meaning. "Leda, I think we should go show the light to your sister. She will probably like to see you hold it, too."

The white-haired girl agreed with an exuberant giggle, and allowed her mother to pick her up and take her over to the old blanket the family used to dry themselves. Phaedra shot her husband a questioning look, but he shook his head. His legs lacked the strength to carry him from the pond right now.

Maker help him, if both of his daughters had inherited their mother's magic.