Some Lovers

A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet

020: New

He was… less than accustomed to these circumstances. That much had been made clear to Hawke as she guided her companions to a more sheltered area of the Wounded Coast. Not the bleeding part; though Fenris had been less than forthcoming about his past as a slave, some scars were more visible than others. It was the helping part: the fact that he had Aveline's shoulder to lean on and that Hawke had already offered to heal him. He was gritting his teeth as he sat himself down upon the sand not because of the pain but because he was being stubborn. And obstinate. And a dozen other adjectives that Ariadne Hawke could think up to describe her most reclusive comrade yet, strikingbeing the least likely she would ever admit aloud. Not within Varric's earshot anyway, she thought wryly as the dwarf took a seat near the clearing's mouth.

"I am fine," said Fenris when Hawke knelt beside him, her hand reaching for the bandages she kept in her pack.

"You're bleeding," replied Aveline, standing above them both like a protective parent. "Stop being a baby."

Hawke shot a look at her friend. This wasn't one of her fellow guardsmen she spoke to; Fenris had a temper and offending the elf ran the risk of more than simply being shouted at. The soon-to-be captain seemed to take this into account, her green eyes meeting Hawke's gray, and she turned away from the mismatched pair of former slave and apostate.

"I am fine," Fenris repeated but the way the skin around the wound had paled to a white due to the constant pressure of his hand upon the gash said otherwise. "I have a very high pain tolerance."

"I don't care if your pain tolerance reaches from here back to Minrathous," replied Hawke tartly, twisting a length of linen in her hands. "And unless you want me to heal your palm to your arm, I suggest you move your hand."

"You'd better not be one of those women who faint at the sight of a bloody wound," he growled in return.

"I'm offering to heal you," said Hawke, trying to be patient. "That means I have practice and that means that I've seen worse. Move the hand."

"I don't need your healing." He whacked her fingers away with his free hand. "Stop trying to touch it."

"It's either my healing or Anders's."

"You will not allow that abomination to touch me. I will not allow it."

"Then you've made your choice." But when she reached for him again, he jerked his arm out of reach despite the obvious pain it caused him to do so. Then it dawned on her. "Do you not want me to heal you," Hawke asked quietly, "because I would use magic to do so? What if we bandaged you up the old fashioned way?"

"Magic existed long before bandages did," said Fenris by way of reply. Her answering smile seemed to crush his resolve as he added with a sigh, "But I would rather you than the abomination."

"I am so pleased to hear that I am the favorite," she said sardonically but her earlier words seemed to have had the intended effect. With a great effort that she was sure was exaggerated, Fenris removed his hand, exposing the gaping wound in his upper arm. He winced at the salty air as she unbuckled the arm of his lightweight armor with great care.

"Well, I suppose its official now," he suddenly said –presumably to Hawke as she mopped up the blood before reaching into her pack for something. "I have traveled from the northern ocean to the southern."

"Is it much different?" she asked, careful to keep her tone casual as she uncorked the bottle of Varric's favorite brandy.

"Water is water–" He cut himself off, hissing at the sting of the amber liquid spilled over the gash. Hawke grinned; Fenris looked back at her with annoyance. "Ow," he said long after the pain must have subsided. "Why do you always come out of these fights without a scratch?"

"Because I stay back, I'm female, and I don't glow and call attention to myself." She wiped away the excess alcohol before sitting back on her heels. Gray eyes looked up at him intently. "Will you let me use magic?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"If you want to wait a while for the muscle to recover…" she shrugged.

"Can't have that. It's only a matter of time before Danarius learns of his latest hunters' deaths." An almost imperceptible nod told Hawke to move forward.

She did, gathering up that pale gold light inside of her that frightened and thrilled her in equal measure. A long exhale followed and the slight glimmer of magic traveled down her arm to wrap around Fenris's. Hawke opened one eye; looked for his reaction. Fenris was staring determinedly at the pale gray horizon.

"Will he ever stop?" she asked.

"No," was his firm answer.

Hawke tried again: "Are you worried?"

"About what?" he tensed as the wound began to close over. "I cannot fear the inevitable."

"But what about… who you left behind?"

"Other slaves?" Fenris said but something told Hawke that that was not the entire truth. "The circumstances of my escape did not involve others. Danarius would have nothing to gain by torturing any of them for information. But I suppose that he might, to vent his frustration."

"I'm sorry."

"What for? It is hardly your fault."

"I… sympathize."

"Sympathizing requires similar circumstances." His voice was hard but his arm began to shake. "You do not seem one who was ever kept on a leash."

"Keep still!" She closed her hand around his wrist, jerked his arm back into place. Grabbing his wrist had the opposite effect; he tensed even more, pulled out of reach. "I'm not finished."

"I am." Fenris got to his feet and there was nothing Hawke could do to stop him.

So she got up too. "What's wrong?" she asked to his retreating back. "What did I say?"

"There was nothing you could have said," he threw back at her. "That is what you did not understand."

Hawke would have gone after him, followed Fenris away from the clearing, but Varric's hand on her arm stopped her. She looked back at sympathetic brown eyes. "You'd better not, Hawke," he told her with a quirk of a smile.

"And why not?" she demanded.

"This sort of thing is usually the beginning of a bad romance," the dwarf answered with a nonchalant shrug. "And I'm not sure you want that. You've got too much on your plate, what with this expedition we've got to plan."

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure that analysis is entirely objective, Varric. But why a bad romance?"

"Whatever those magisters did to him back in Tevinter, Broody's pretty messed up. He might be too far gone for even you to fix." He shrugged again. "Some people are like that. They're just broken and in the end nobody wants to be the idiot trying to thread a string through a broken nut, let alone if you have to buy a whole new trigger to begin with."

"Fenris isn't a crossbow, Varric."

"Yeah?" he didn't sound convinced. "Well then you'd better watch that flirting-tension-thingy you two have going on. Otherwise, you might just end up naming one of your knives after him. Probably the pointier one with the red hilt that you like to throw around."

"But I always go and find it again," Hawke pointed out.

"After ten minutes of searching, you do." He studied her face and then lowered his voice to something gentler. "You know, sometimes the wait to fix something turns out to be worth it."

She turned a crooked smile on her friend. "But what's the price to begin with?"

…

A/N: It's been a while but I'm still working on this! I hope you enjoyed. :)