Promises: Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all assorted characters/places/etc belong to Bioware, not me.

Considering how much both Hawke and Zevran liked to monopolize a conversation, it was a surprise to Fenris that the two of them got along so well. He would have expected the two of them to see each other as competition but instead they chattered on non-stop like a pair of birds. Which in a way they were.

Needless to say, there was nary a moment of silence to be had with those two about. Fenris originally dealt with the pair by trying to tune them out, with some success, but ended that tactic after one particularly alarming conversation.

Fenris was scanning the horizon, keeping an eye out for enemies and ignoring his companions' exchanges. Suddenly Hawke stumbled as she had far too often today as she was too busy talking to watch where she was going. His reverie broken, he reached out a hand to steady her before quickly withdrawing it. That was when he heard her say, "Excuse me for saying this but if the merchant's wife was as much as an eyesore as you make her out to be, I find it hard to believe that you were able to …well you know." Hawke made a vague gesture with her hand, blushing furiously.

"Ah, you find it hard to believe that I was able to adequately entertain her, no? That is where you are wrong, little one," Zevran replied. "Have you not heard of the saying that in the dark all cats are grey? There is something to be said about making love in the dark and having to rely on touch and taste and—"

"It's getting dark soon. We had best start looking for a place to make camp," Fenris put in, not allowing the assassin to complete that thought. He was mildly alarmed to discover that the other elf was trying to corrupt his mageling when he wasn't paying attention. As much as it pained him, he would have to start keeping track of the topics Hawke and Zevran talked about, not wanting her to be taken in by the untrustworthy assassin any more than she already was.

Fenris assigned himself the task of preparing their dinner mainly because he was the only safe choice. If Hawke cooked, there would be nothing edible to eat while he didn't trust what Zevran might choose to use as spices. "Why don't you try mending your spare robes?" he suggested to Hawke after the mageling started their nightly fire. "You can use the fire to see what you're doing," he added. Having her sit near him meant that it would be easier to keep an eye on her.

"Have I ever told you how much I hate sewing?" she grumbled.

"I believe you've mentioned it on occasion. But you've been unable to wear those robes because they're so worn that they're practically indecent." Out of the corner of his eye, Fenris saw the other elf light up with interest. He winced. He really shouldn't have put it that way.

"True," said Hawke. "But I have these and they're not that bad."

"Yet. Besides you're beginning to reek. Standing upwind of you only does so much good," he added with a small smile.

There wasn't much that she could say to that. But Hawke being Hawke, she still tried to get her way. "I'd rather cook," she told him.

"I'll cook," replied Fenris. He shuddered at the thought of trying to consume something she had made.

"I…uh…could help you cook?"

"No." His tone brooked no dissent. The mageling crinkled her nose but ultimately decided that further protest was useless. Muttering complaints under her breath, she retrieved her spare robes along with the mending kit from their packs before settling down a few feet away from him.

The assassin, meanwhile, had watched their exchange with interest. He sidled forward and took a seat next to Hawke. "So," he said, "I know that your friend over there is from Tevinter. However, I do not know where you are from, dear lady."

Hawke looked up from her mending and focused on the other elf. "Ferelden," she answered.

"You are a long way from home, my friend," the assassin noted.

"Isn't that the truth?" Hawke sounded so melancholy that it made Fenris think that maybe she missed her home more than she was willing to admit.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you wind up here? With him?" Zevran jerked his head towards Fenris.

"Fenris saved me," Hawke replied. She smiled wistfully. "I had been captured by slavers back in Ferelden, you see. I had really just given up all hope of being rescued when Fenris swooped in, killed all the slavers, and set me free. We've been together ever since."

"Ah," said the assassin. Fenris could see the wheels turning in the other elf's head. He didn't know who he wanted to curse the most—the assassin for being so manipulative and secretive, Hawke for being so naïve and trusting, or himself for not watching out for the mageling more. Fenris didn't even want to think about what other nuggets of information Hawke must have let slip out during the day when he wasn't paying attention.

"I have another question if you do not mind," the assassin was saying. Fenris perked up his ears, ready to intervene if needed. "I have only been to Ferelden a few times so my knowledge of their customs is limited. Do Fereldans usually mend things by putting more holes in them first?" He gestured towards the robes Hawke had been working on, which looked worse than when she first started to sew.

"Andraste's ass," Hawke swore. "No, it's not. I'm just pants at sewing…well I'm bad at anything to do with a needle to be honest."

"Really? I couldn't tell," said Zevran.

Hawke gave him a look she could have stolen from Fenris. "Don't. Just don't," she said firmly. "This is why Mother always had Bethany or even Carver do the mending. You don't want to know what happened the last time I tried to darn a pair of socks."

"That bad?"

"No. Worse." Hawke frowned. "My task was usually cooking. Trust me, I'm a much better cook than I am a seamstress."

That gave Fenris pause. He began to wonder if it was really a great idea to have Hawke work on her robes. If she was really that bad, then her spare robes were likely to be reduced into a set of rags by the time she was finished.

"I am sure you are," Zevran said grandly, humoring the mageling. "Some people are just picky eaters, no? So tell me. What is your specialty?"

"Oh! My family likes my turnip soup the best."

"Turnip…soup? It has turnips and…?"

"And turnips and…well it's mostly turnips and whatever else is lying around," Hawke told the blond elf. "My cabbage soup and potato soup isn't bad either, but my mother insists that I leave rutabagas alone. Which is just as well as I haven't the slightest clue about what to do with them."

"I see." Zevran was silent for a moment and then ventured, "So you usually cooked for your family then?"

"No, not really. Only when Mother was sick."

"Was your mother often sick?"

"Actually no. She's almost never sick. She's the healthiest person I know."

Fenris could understand why.

"Bah!" the assassin suddenly exclaimed. "I cannot stand this anymore. I have lost count of the number of times I've seen you stab yourself with the needle. Here, let me help you with that." He scooted closer to Hawke.

"No, I'm good," Hawke insisted. She pulled the robes she had been working up on her lap. "I'll never get better if I don't practice. If you're looking for something to do, however, you could collect more wood for the fire. I think we'll need it tonight."

Zevran leered at her. "Ha! I do not think that we are in any danger of running out of wood any time soon, my friend."

"I would rather play it safe. Now off with you." Hawke made a shooing motion with her hands. "You're not getting into my robes that easy," she informed him. The assassin chuckled as he stood up and left. Once he was out of sight, Hawke's attention turned to Fenris.

"I know what you're doing," she said. "You don't have to protect me. I can take care of myself."

Fenris blinked. He hadn't seen this coming. "Of course you can," he replied.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "And I also know when someone is patronizing me. You worry too much, Fenris. I've seen his type before. He's only after one thing. I feel sorry for Zevran actually. He seems very lonely, like he's always been alone, and flirting is his way to make up for that."

Fenris gave her a noncommittal grunt. There was no point in trying to convince her that the assassin was likely to use her feelings of pity for him against her. Fenris knew a master manipulator when he saw one, from his experiences as a slave in Tevinter. Hawke might think that Zevran was a mostly harmless flirt, but Fenris knew better.

"Besides," Hawke went on, "I rather thought you would be grateful about my taking his attention off of you. I noticed how you didn't appreciate all his lines…well honestly I think a blind man would see that. I don't think you could have been any more obvious about wanting to be far away from Zev after you started hiding behind me."

"I never hid behind you," Fenris growled at her.

She merely raised an eyebrow at him and then sighed. "Fine, Fenris. Whatever helps you sleep at night." There was a twinkle in her eye, which did not bode well for him.

Fenris finished cooking their nightly meal around the same time the assassin returned. "There." Zevran dumped the wood he had collected near the fire with a flourish. "I trust you think this is enough to last us through the evening," he said turning towards Hawke.

"It should be," she replied. "Thanks for getting that for us."

"It was my pleasure, my dear." A lecherous smirk appeared on his face. "Tell me, do you get very cold at night?"

"Me? Get cold? Never. I'm from Ferelden. It gets much colder there," Hawke asserted. "Fenris, on the other hand, is from Tevinter, and I gather that it is a warmer country. The fire's more for him than for me really. It's the best way I know of to keep warm…although if you can think of any other ways, I'm sure he'll appreciate you sharing that with him."

Hawke directed a wicked grin at Fenris with those last words. Fenris gulped nervously. He got her message loud and clear.

"So do you have any particular destination in mind?" Hawke asked Zevran as they packed up the next morning after a cold breakfast.

"I have a network of contacts throughout Antiva. I've already checked with most of them and came up empty-handed, but there are a couple more out there that I would like to see," replied the assassin.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Hawke chirped cheerfully. "Where to then?"

"There's a small town a couple days from here. One of my contacts is there," Zevran stated. "If he doesn't have anything for us…well an old friend of mine has made port in Antiva City. She's very good at keeping her ear to the ground so perhaps she has heard something."

"Well hopefully your first contact knows something. I'd rather not spend too much time in large cities," said Hawke. A shadow crossed her face. "That's a bit dangerous for one such as me."

"You are referring to templars, are you not?" the assassin said. "Yes, one is more likely to run into them in a large city, but do not worry. I do have some skills in avoiding people, and I can hide you if the need occurs. That being said, little one, I think you are entirely too young to live in such fear. It is not good for you."

That was the first smart thing that Fenris had heard the other elf say.

As they set out that day, Fenris took his usual place out in front. Hawke had made it very clear to him last night that she could take care of herself. Or at least she thought she could. He remained resolved to pay greater attention to her conversations with Zevran just in case. However the pair spoke on subjects that had no consequence, such as whether the Fereldan witch of the wilds was somehow connected to the Antivan witch of the wilds. Fenris wondered if his companions knew that he was listening in and so were selecting topics with more care. He wouldn't put that past the assassin, and Hawke had shown she knew how to be sneaky as well.

When they stopped for dinner that evening, Hawke got out her mending without any prompting from Fenris leaving him to deal with dinner. However before she could thread her needle, Zevran stepped in. "Please no more of this," he said, snatching her robes away. "I am sure you suspected this, but you are the worst seamstress I have ever met."

"You really do know how to charm a girl, don't you?" Hawke mumbled through gritted teeth.

"And here I thought you would not appreciate false compliments," the elf returned. "I shall see what I can do with these robes of yours. Perhaps they are not a lost cause. Go help your friend with our dinner." He waved Hawke off.

Hawke pouted a bit but otherwise didn't put up much of a fight. She wandered over to where Fenris was going through the packs. Having overheard Zevran's order for Hawke to help him with dinner, Fenris came to a quick decision—they would have cold rations tonight. If nothing was cooked, then there was no way Hawke could ruin the food. Or so he hoped.

"Find the apples," he told her when she came to a stop beside him. "I'll cut some bread, and we'll have that tonight along with some jerky."

"Good idea," Hawke said. "We can pick up more supplies tomorrow." Fenris was pleasantly surprised to hear that the mageling wasn't going to argue with him for once. Perhaps her debates with the assassin serve some purpose after all.

"Did you know," Zevran said conversationally from his seat, "that you managed to sew the sleeves together?"

Fenris felt rather than saw Hawke roll her eyes. "You don't say." There was an edge to her voice.

"You also managed to sew the collar shut. Your stitches are thankfully easy to undo. In fact, I think they'll come apart on their own," the assassin continued, chuckling all the while. Fenris spared a glance for his mageling and saw that telltale twitch of her fingers. He hid a grin. Evidently the other elf liked flirting with danger. For his part, if Hawke lobbed a fireball at the assassin, Fenris would hold his tongue and not lecture her about needing to have better control because quite frankly Zevran was asking for it.

"The patches you sewed on the skirt of the robes leave something to be desired too, seeing how on most of them your stitches have sewed the two sides together. And your attempt to fix the hem—a disaster, a complete and total disaster. The kindest thing I can say about it is—"

Whatever Zevran was going to say was lost for at that moment Hawke located the apples and promptly tossed a pair at the blond elf's head. Though her aim was true, the assassin was quicker. Moving with fluid grace, he easily caught both apples and then took a bite out of one.

"Thank you," he told her, grinning like a fool. "I was getting hungry."

"Glad to be of service. Perhaps if you're eating then you won't have time to be harping on and on about my mending job. I know that it's bad. I don't need you to rub it in." Hawke huffed angrily and glared at the still smiling elf.

"My apologies, little one. I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings. I merely was trying to lead everyone to the same conclusion that I reached—that these robes are simply unsalvageable. We will simply have to buy you another set," Zevran told her.

"But that's too—"

Zevran waved her concerns aside. "Do not worry about the cost. I will cover it as your employer. I do have a bit of advice for you, little one."

"What is it?" Hawke looked at him suspiciously.

"Marry well. Your domestic skills are sadly lacking as you cannot sew, and you cannot cook. You need to find a man who can take care of you, who can properly provide for all your needs."

Fenris choked at those words. Meanwhile Hawke screeched in protest, "I can too cook!"

"Perhaps in Ferelden they think you can cook because maybe their standards are lower. As in if you don't burn the house down, then you can cook. It's rather different in the rest of the world, however."

"How can you say that? You haven't even tasted anything I've cooked yet!"

"Ha! I do not have to risk my stomach like that. I saw the fear on our grumpy friend's face when I suggested you help him with dinner tonight. Why do you think that you're not actually cooking anything?"

Hawke shot an angry look at Fenris that demanded a suitable response from him. "It is as you said," Fenris told her. "I thought it best we eat the fruit and bread tonight so we'll have room in our packs to replace them with fresh items tomorrow."

Hawke continued to glare at him, not convinced by his words. Fenris mentally cursed the other elf for putting him in this position. Well if he was going to suffer, he wasn't going to suffer alone. "If you like," he said, thinking he must be crazy for even making such a suggestion, "the next night we're out on the road, you can cook."

Hawke beamed at him, and he couldn't help but think that sight was well worth any later agony. The mumbled curses stringing out of the assassin's mouth only furthered lifted his spirits. Fenris found himself returning Hawke's smile with one of his own.

Author's note: My thanks to everyone who left a review. :D