A good night's sleep did not temper Fenris' patience the next morning, and he spent most of the time snapping and snarling at Anders to hurry up with the packing, while the mage seemed content to go about it at a sedate pace.
"Mage, we do not have time to waste," Fenris groaned. "Please, hurry up."
"I need to make sure we have everything we need," Anders replied, calmly stowing potions into his bag. "Got everything except my pillow and the note," he muttered to himself. "Right. So I'll be along in a moment Fenris. Get yourself dressed."
"Note?" the elf queried as he pulled on his trousers.
"For a friend who is supposed to check up on me soon," the mage said lightly as he began to scribble out a quick message.
"You're bringing a pillow along?" Fenris asked as he tugged his shirt into place. "Do you think our accommodations on whatever ship we book passage with will not be lavish enough?"
"I'm rather attached to this pillow," Anders said, setting the letter aside and gathering his pack. He offered the elf a small, sad smile. "It's all I have that belonged to my mother before I was taken to the Circle."
Fenris cocked his head, frowning slightly, but he nodded. "I…can understand wanting to hold onto something that links you to your past."
Anders gave him a quick nod, and with that, the pair left the hut, shutting the door behind them.
Several hours later found them on a ship leaving Minranthous, bound for Kirkwall. It was the start of the longest month of Fenris' life.
He had been on ships before, but never for such a length of time. Two weeks was the longest he had endured at sea, and even then he was all too happy to hobble back onto dry land. At the current time, he would be weeping and kissing the ground when he saw it again. Between the first few days of sea-sickness, Anders, the rat infested quarters, Anders, the horrible hard tack, and Anders, Fenris was seriously considering swimming the rest of the way to Kirkwall by the third week.
It wasn't that Anders was being insufferable on purpose; he was there to make sure Fenris made it to Kirkwall without hurting himself. He watched over the elf, and continued their sessions in the privacy of their shared room. That was still embarrassing, but the mage still had not teased or ridiculed him on his reactions, so Fenris allowed the sessions to continue…he just never took care of himself, even when the mage left him to his privacy. It was still a kindness, albeit unneeded, that the elf appreciated. Anders had even managed to make a special tea to settle the elf's stomach, to which Fenris was infinitely grateful for, since he was no longer spewing the contents of his stomach over the side of the ship.
But sometimes…the mage was a bit much.
"What are you doing?"
Anders glanced up from the small bowl of milk he was placing on the floor of the cargo hold. "I'm putting out a little milk. I miss having a cat."
"I doubt there is a cat on this boat," Fenris sighed, ears easily picking up the small tell-tale scratching of rats in the walls. "You'll just attract the rats." In fact, he doubted if this particular vessel had ever seen a feline; the rats were brazen and huge.
Anders grinned. "That would make you happy."
Fenris had, in desperation, started a game to combat his boredom; whack-a-rat, as Anders called it. If boredom struck (which it did quite often) the elf would grab one of the mage's boots, and lay in wait after dousing the lantern. When a bold vermin skittered too close or even ran over his foot, the boot would come down. Sometimes the mage would join in, never really saying anything other than exclaiming happily when he managed to bludgeon one.
It was one of the few things that he and Anders enjoyed doing together.
"Old habits die hard I suppose," the mage said, drawing Fenris from his thoughts on the rodent problem. "Oh, and stay away from Niles, the bloke with the one eye. I don't like the way he's been looking at you."
That was a decidedly random change in the topic.
"Since when do you care?" Fenris snapped, irritated that the mage did not seem to think he could handle a randy sailor. "You have no claim over me. Maybe I'm encouraging his advances."
"Are you?"
"Er…No."
"Good. He'd be bad for you. I know the type; randy for anyone with a pretty face, willing or not."
Fenris didn't really care what Anders thought at that point and soon left the mage behind in the cargo hold, intent on grabbing some fresh air and some quiet. No one would bother him; he wasn't part of the crew who had duties to attend to, and he would make sure to stay out of the way of any sailors on deck. No one would bother him, he thought assuredly.
Of course, it turned out the mage was right, and said one eyed sailor was currently breathing down the back of Fenris' neck. "I love you elves," Niles chuckled, his breath foul. "I can always make you scream so nicely."
In another time and place, as a different person, Fenris would have been flattered. Niles wasn't bad looking, if one liked hardened, scruffy sailor men. The man had a strong jaw line, sandy brown hair and a single blue eye that gleamed with what some would call wicked mirth.
But, alas, this was the wrong time, place and the wrong elf.
"I'll make you scream if you don't back off of me," Fenris stated calmly.
"Oh, come now sweetheart. I just want a little bit of fun, put a smile on your face-"
"I am not your sweetheart," Fenris growled, bristling.
"Oh, you got some bite, I like that," Niles chuckled, and Fenris nearly jumped out of his skin when the sailor reached down and squeezed his ass.
Fenris wasn't exactly sure what happened, but one minute, Niles was behind him, then there was a loud snapping sound… and the next-
Fenris turned, and blinked at where Niles once stood.
"…a toad?"
"Well, the Templars were always joking about mages turning everyone into toads," Anders said, emerging from the shadows. "I didn't think it'd actually work."
"What were you hoping it would do?" Fenris asked, picking up the toad and gazing at the shocked creature curiously. It was Niles alright; it had his square jaw and only one eye, which was gazing at the mage in what Fenris could only describe as pure toady fright.
"Oh, I think part of me was hoping I'd set his hair on fire, but I was also hoping for a little indigestion."
Fenris sighed, shoved the toad into the mage's hands, and went back downstairs. Whether or not Anders changed Niles back or not, Fenris stayed below deck for the rest of the journey. However, he did manage to overhear the mage asking another sailor quite cheerfully if he knew whether or not toads could swim.
When at long last the distinct shapes of the weeping slaves of Kirkwall's Gallows appeared on the horizon, Fenris appeared like a ghost from the hold and would not leave the deck of the ship. Anders stood with him with their bag of supplies, lips pursed tightly at the sight. He had changed his hair color, going over each strand carefully with charcoal, and he had shaved. He carried no staff that would identify him as a mage, and he had traded in his normal feathery attire for simple trousers and a shirt. Fenris was grateful for this; the less trouble they caused, the quicker they could move.
Memories flashed before Fenris' eyes as they carefully walked the city streets, slowly making their way from the docks to Hightown. There was the Alienage, where he had first met Hawke. There was the Hanged Man, where he played a weekly game with Varric and Donnic. There, there, there…
"We're here," Anders whispered.
Fenris looked up, stilling as he took in the scene before him.
Where once the Chantry of Kirkwall stood, now there was a wide expanse of empty ground, dotted with memorial candles and flowers. Silence was observed, reverence for the dead, he noted as he watched a small group of people shuffle through, heads bowed respectfully as they said quick prayers for the departed.
He took a shaky step forward, shoving away Anders' helpful hand. He walked forward until he reached the center of the memorial, where someone had placed a simple, plain plaque:
We will never forget the injustice done here. Champion of Kirkwall, this city will never forget you.
That was it, he realized hollowly. This was all Hawke got for dedicating nearly ten years of her tears, sweat, and blood to this wretched city. The city had first tormented and degraded her and her family for being refugees, then it had proceeded to place of all its' problems at her feet. She had laughed and cried over this pit, had battled an Arishok, had spent weeks bedridden after the battle, had fought tooth and nail to keep it from falling apart…and this was all the Maker-damned city did to honor her?
He started to shake, whether from rage or indignation, he wasn't sure. Ridiculous. It had to be a joke, a large prank-
"C'mon," a voice whispered. "C'mon, let's go-"
Fenris shuffled along, not really listening or paying attention to whoever was leading him onward. It…why was she gone? She couldn't be. The mage, the city, everyone was lying to him. He wanted to see her with his own eyes, ask her why she did what she did, and ask her why everyone was lying about her. He wanted to see her to ask for forgiveness for failing her, for leaving her, for fantasizing about another person, another man-
"Well, this looks vaguely familiar," the voice said, breaking through the fog of the elf's mind. He glanced up, blinking slowly as he recognized his former place of residence. Anders was beside him, watching him closely. As always, he thought.
He didn't fight Anders when the man led him upstairs to his room, or when he started helping him out of his clothes. Fenris moved mechanically, and when Anders quietly ordered him to sit, he did without hesitation.
He watched blankly as Anders bustled around the room, dusting out the bed sheets and blankets, and getting a fire going. He did not argue when the mage then shooed him to bed, telling him that he'd wake up the warrior once dinner was ready.
Fenris crawled into his old bed, curled up under the covers, and fell asleep.
It was days before he awoke once more.
"Fenris," Anders called softly. "Fenris."
The elf did not, would not, stir. He had been dead to the world for three days now, and it was getting worrisome.
One full day in bed after a long journey was normal; two is you added grief and stress to that equation. But three days of uninterrupted sleep was never a good sign, and Anders was going to find out why the elf was unresponsive.
"Forgive me," he whispered, crawling into bed beside the elf, curling around him, and promptly falling asleep.
The Fade popped up almost immediately, and Anders was relieved to see Fenris beside him. He felt distinctly uncomfortable, however, when he realized that this was Fenris' dream, and it was a rather private one.
It was Hawke's old bedroom; a fire was crackling merrily in the hearth, her journal was open on her desk, the lute was next to the bed... And there she was, lying naked and spread out on her bed; looking up at a completely enchanted Fenris with one of the sweetest expressions he had ever seen on her face.
"Fenris," she said quietly.
"Hawke," he breathed, stepping closer. "I…I am sorry…"
"Shh," she said, motioning him closer. He crawled into bed, stopping short of actually touching her.
"Fenris, you need to wake up," she said gently, eyes flicking and capturing Anders' gaze. "You're worrying your friend."
"I have no friend besides you," the elf whispered. Anders turned away, swallowing hard. That…actually hurt more than it should have. He looked back up when the lady tsked.
"You are blind Fenris," Hawke chided gently. "But you have been here for too long already. Go back, and live."
"But," Fenris said. "I…I do not know, do not know what…"
"I am sure you will find something," the Champion said. "And if not, stick with your friend."
"Who?"
Hawke made a disapproving noise, shaking her head. "Idiot boys," she snorted. She sighed, and leaned over, kissing the elf gently on the mouth. Again, Anders ducked his head and looked away. He looked up when the Fade started shifting, signaling that the dreamer was about to awaken.
"Hawke!" Fenris cried out, reaching for her fading form. "Please, I'm sorry, come back, I won't upset you again, I promise, I-"
"I can't," the ghost whispered. "Forgive yourself, and stay with your friend. That's all I ask of you."
The dream cut out, and Anders awoke in the real world, curled around a now sobbing Fenris. Unsure of what to do, Anders just pulled the elf against him tighter, rocking him gently and quietly trying to soothe him with gentle words.
"You!"
In the blink of an eye, Fenris had rolled on top of the mage, eyes wet and blazing with fury. "You did this," he hissed, hands reaching for Anders' neck.
Anders merely lay there, staring up at the elf sadly. "Yes."
"You killed her."
"Yes."
"I trusted you," Fenris roared. "I thought we could…" he broke off, snarling in Tevene and starting to curse everything and everyone from the bed they were currently on to the Bride of the Maker herself. Anders merely lay there, unspeaking and unmoving.
"You took away the one person who, who believed in me, who thought I was worth something," Fenris said, hands clasping around Anders' throat and starting to squeeze. He wanted the other man to struggle, to beg, to fight and flail for his life…and he wanted to see the light leave his eyes.
He had taken everything from him.
"I think you are worth something," Anders whispered, still making no move to fight off the angry elf. At that, Fenris' fingers stilled.
"What did you say?"
"I said I think you are worth something," Anders repeated, soulful brown eyes unwavering from hard green ones. "You think you aren't, but you are. How many men could have survived what you've gone through? How many could have traveled as far as you did, with a man like Danarius after your hide? How many could capture the attention of such a remarkable woman?"
"How many men would have left her once they had her?" Fenris asked, looking pained now.
"You had your reasons, I'm sure," Anders said gently. "I'm not asking about that. Fenris, Hawke is gone…but I'm not."
The elf stared down at the mage, face crumbling into sorrow once more, his shoulders trembling. His hands fell from the other man's neck, and he didn't fight Anders when the mage gingerly rolled them back over onto their sides, pulling Fenris flush against him and whispering softly to the elf.
Fenris struggled for a moment, but when the mage didn't let go, he stopped trying to escape, buried his face into the sheets and howled his grief into their dusty confines. Anders let him, falling silent once he realized that Fenris could not hear him. Instead, he focused on touch, running a hand comfortingly down the warrior's back.
Eventually, Fenris' sobs quieted, and then he stilled, occasionally sniffing and shuddering. Anders, carefully, leaned over, lips against the other man's ear.
"You may not believe or want this, but I am a friend, Fenris. Let me help you if I can."
Fenris didn't answer for a moment, and Anders used that time to start running a hand gently through the elf's hair. He had always wondered about the feel of it, he mused idly. It was softer than he had imagined, and felt pleasant to run through his fingers. The motion seemed to draw Fenris out of his thoughts, because he coughed and shifted a little.
"I…suppose food would…be acceptable," he croaked.
"Then I shall bring you food," Anders said.