After a very slow journey back to Kirkwall, during which Fenris had to stop several times, Hawke and his little gang finally reached Lowtown. Anders quickly departed for Darktown, which mildly irritated Hawke. He knew that Anders and Fenris weren't friends, but nevertheless, Fenris was ill and Hawke had expected Anders to at least stick around for a while.
Varric had escorted Bethany home, and Hawke had seen Fenris to the mansion, where he'd instructed the elf to rest, promising to return later with the ingredients for Fenris's medicine. Hawke had also told Fenris that he intended to stay at the mansion for the rest of the night to keep an eye on him. Naturally, Fenris had protested, but Hawke refused to take no for an answer, and by this time Fenris was too exhausted to argue.
Pausing outside the front door of the mansion, Hawke took several deep breaths. He had good reason to be nervous. After he'd gone home for his ingredients and to let his mother know he wouldn't be home that night, she'd given him something for Fenris, which he carried under his arm, wrapped in paper. At the time, he'd thought it a wonderful idea of his mother's, but, with each step he'd taken toward Hightown, that belief had rapidly dwindled, leaving him with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
For a moment he considered tucking the small package behind one of the bushes in the courtyard, but, as the door opened, he realised that he'd already knocked it, and it was too late.
"Fenris! You heard my knock."
Fenris, still pale but looking a little brighter after having a rest, stood in the doorway and cocked his head slightly. "Of course I did…come in, Hawke."
"Yes, of course you heard my knock," he mumbled as he entered. Maker, why was he so bloody nervous? The worst that would happen was that Fenris would dislike Leandra's gift, and Hawke knew, in that eventuality, that Fenris would be polite. It would be fine.
Actually, no. That wasn't the worst thing that could happen. The worst thing would be that Fenris would resent that Hawke had discussed Fenris's problems with his family, and, feeling pity for the poor, helpless slave, Hawke's mother had decided to throw him a few scraps. Fenris would be angry and humiliated, Hawke would be furious that his mother had gone to so much trouble and that Fenris was so ungrateful. They'd argue and Fenris would throw Hawke out. Everything would be ruined.
"Stop it," Hawke muttered under his breath as Fenris closed the door.
"Stop what?" asked Fenris.
"Oh…nothing."
Fenris tilted his head again, frowning. "Is…everything all right?"
Hawke nodded quickly and laughed. "It's, um…my mana. It hasn't fully regenerated, yet; I'm a little unfocused."
"Perhaps you ought to sit down?" suggested Fenris.
"No…I'm fine, really. I need to make this medicine for you. I know how much you're looking forward to it."
Fenris snorted, and his eyes moved to the two small bags that Hawke held in his hand, and then to the paper package under his arm. Hawke gulped.
"What have you there?" asked the elf.
"Just stuff for the medicine, and a change of clothing," replied Hawke, pressing the package firmly against his side. "I'm going to need some hot water."
"In the kitchen." Fenris pointed the way. "I had some ready, for tea."
"Oh, thank you. I won't need much; there should still be enough for the tea."
"I will go with you," Fenris told him. "I will make the tea, while you make this…medicine," he added with a look of disgust, and Hawke laughed at his reaction.
"You never know," Hawke joked, "you may actually like the taste. You'd probably be the first person in medical history to do so, mind you, but stranger things have happened."
"You are a healer," Fenris stated as they walked to the kitchen. "Should you not be putting me at ease, telling me that 'everything is going to be all right'? Is that not what healers do?"
"I'll lie, if you prefer. Fenris, you're going to love this medicine! It's absolutely delicious!" chirped Hawke.
Fenris halted and folded his arms. "You are not making me feel any better about this," he said morosely.
Hawke also stopped, turned to face Fenris and leaned towards him a little. "That'll teach you not to call me a 'quack'," he whispered, before scampering off, sniggering, to the kitchen, leaving Fenris to shake his head, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips.
By the time Fenris entered the kitchen, Hawke was emptying the contents of one of his bags onto the counter. Fenris stood next to him and watched, fascinated, as Hawke sorted through the ingredients, placing some of them into a mortar, ready to be crushed.
"Aren't you supposed to be making the tea?" Hawke asked him with a cheeky smile.
"I want to see exactly what I will be expected to drink," Fenris said with a grimace.
"All right, then; if you insist." Hawke placed an onion, a head of garlic, a lemon, some peppercorns, several small phials and a few bunches of leaves onto the counter. Taking a large knife from the knife rack, he sliced the onion in half, diced it, and then proceeded to crush half of the garlic cloves with the back of the knife.
"How many portions are you making?" asked Fenris.
"One."
"One? You are putting half a head of garlic into one portion?" Fenris exclaimed in horror.
"I told you there was a lot of garlic." Hawke picked up a bundle of leaves and waved them at Fenris. "Nettles," he said in a solemn tone, and began to chop them. Noticing Fenris's appalled expression, Hawke clamped his lips together to stop himself from laughing. "Look," he said firmly with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, "you can either drink this, or you can go to the Wise Woman in Darktown. She'll stick leeches all over your foot."
"Those are my choices?"
"Those are your choices. You could also see Anders in Darktown, but he'll make you drink exactly the same thing, and you'll miss out on my charming company."
His shoulders sagging, Fenris sighed and walked over to the fireplace. "I will make the tea."
Hawke glanced back at the elf, feeling a little guilty for teasing him, but not quite guilty enough to stop. The concoction he was making tasted truly foul, but it did work. "Save me a bit of water, Fenris; enough for half a cup."
"As you wish," uttered the elf, bringing the kettle over to the counter. "What is that you have under your arm?" asked Fenris.
"Hm? Oh…nothing."
"I am imagining things, then?"
"That's right."
A puckish smile appeared on Fenris's face and he craned his neck, trying to get a better look. "What is it, Hawke?"
Hawke turned away from Fenris a little and cringed. "Nothing you'd be interested in."
"On the contrary, Hawke," said Fenris, and Hawke heard mirth in his voice. "Your suspicious behaviour is only serving to pique my interest."
"Bloody elf. Always with the big words," Hawke whispered, just loud enough for Fenris to hear, and, hearing a quiet snigger from behind him, Hawke also started to laugh. He turned around and sighed. "It's…well, I'll give it to you when you've had your medicine."
"It's for me?" asked Fenris, and Hawke nodded sheepishly. "Is this medicine so terrible that you must bribe me to drink it?"
"No…" Hawke hung his head bashfully. "It's-it's a gift. Sort of."
"Well, now I really am intrigued," said Fenris, highly amused that Hawke seemed to have been struck by sudden shyness. "Show me."
"Not until you've had your medicine," insisted Hawke. "Now, make the tea. I have garlic to crush. Lots of it."
As Fenris poured the tea, and Hawke steeped his ingredients in hot water, they occasionally glanced at each other and chuckled quietly. "You won't be laughing once you've tasted this, Elf," Hawke teased.
"And you will not be laughing when I spit it all over your fancy robe," retorted Fenris.
"Ha! I won't be standing anywhere near you!"
Hawke was on cloud nine. He and Fenris seemed to share the same sense of humour and he loved the back-and-forth between them. He also had to admit that he relished the prospect of looking after Fenris, that he needed to be looked after. The only problem was, now that Fenris had seen the gift, Hawke would have to give it to him. Deciding that he may as well make the most of the levity before everything was ruined, Hawke strained the medicine into a cup and pushed it along the counter towards Fenris.
"Drink up while it's hot, Fenris," he said with a wicked grin.
Fenris picked up the cup and eyed the contents with disdain. "It looks like the bottom of a swamp."
Hawke shook his head. "Looks can be deceiving; it tastes much worse than that."
Fenris sniffed at the cup, immediately recoiling as a wall of garlic hit his nose.
"Come on, Fenris; your sludge is getting cold."
"This had better work, Hawke," Fenris menaced, raising the cup to his mouth.
"Best to drink it in one go," Hawke advised him, grimacing in sympathy and backing away a little just in case Fenris did spit it out.
Taking a deep breath, Fenris threw his head back and tipped the foul liquid into his mouth, and, for a moment, he appeared unruffled. After a few seconds, however, the edges of his mouth turned downwards and his eyes widened with an almost pleading look, before his face became contorted beyond recognition.
"Swallow it! Swallow it! Don't spit it out!" cried Hawke, desperately trying not to laugh.
Fenris slammed the cup down on the counter and squeezed his eyes closed, gulping noisily, and immediately started retching.
"I'm sorry, Fenris," Hawke said with a nervous laugh. "Here, drink some of your tea."
Fenris grabbed his cup of tea, downed it in one, and then reached for Hawke's tea. "May I?" he croaked, his eyes streaming.
"Of course!" laughed Hawke.
Fenris gulped the tea down and wiped his mouth and eyes, shaking his head. "That was…truly ghastly. For how long must I take this?"
Hawke's face fell and he gritted his teeth. "Maybe a week. At the most," he added quickly.
"A week? You are the most sadistic 'healer' I have ever encountered," remarked Fenris gruffly, arching a stern eyebrow.
"Quack," was all that Hawke could get out before he started to laugh uncontrollably. "Don't worry, Fenris," he gasped. "By tomorrow, you won't even care about the taste of the medicine!"
"And why is that?" demanded Fenris, his eyebrow rising even higher.
"Because you'll smell so strongly of garlic, it'll completely obliterate the taste!"
Fenris folded his arms and nodded, an impish look in his eyes. "You said you have a gift for me? I believe I've earned it."
As Fenris suspected he would, Hawke stopped laughing and once again looked edgy, and Fenris wondered what he was so nervous about. "Erm, in a minute. I need to look at your foot…"
Fenris shook his head. "Now."
With a defeated groan, Hawke removed the small packet from under his arm and stared at it. Fenris unfolded his arms and took a step forward, strangely excited at the thought of being given a gift.
"I…need to explain, first, Fenris, before I give this to you. Explain how it came about, I mean." Fenris nodded and waited patiently for Hawke to begin. Hawke cleared his throat. "Well, while I was walking you back here, Bethany went home and must have got talking to Mother…" He cleared his throat again, and shifted from foot to foot, and Fenris firmly subdued his urge to smile. "…Well, they must have been talking about your feet, you know? Or something. Anyway, I was gone for a while, and-and, when I got home…"
He closed his eyes and offered the packet to Fenris, opening them again as the elf took it from him.
"What is it?" asked Fenris.
"Just…open it."
One edge of Fenris's mouth curved upward, but Hawke was unable to smile as Fenris unwrapped the gift, dreading his reaction.
"They found some black material," Hawke blabbered. "They, um, they made them. You know, sewed them, I mean." His last words came out in almost a whisper as he stared at the floor.
Fenris carefully folded the paper and set it upon the counter, carefully scrutinising the two soft, black objects in his hands. "These are…"
"Slippers," Hawke finished, venturing a hesitant glance upward. "They-they slip over your feet. You could wear them outside as well, if-if you wanted to, that is."
Fenris stared silently at the home-made slippers, and Hawke braced himself for the worst. "They're a bit stretchy, so they should fit." Hawke took a hesitant step forward. "Mother sewed some thicker material into the soles to protect your feet." Met with continuing silence from Fenris, he stepped back, and neither man spoke for a few moments.
"Please, Fenris, say something," Hawke finally blurted out, his nerves on a knife-edge. "At least tell me if you hate them; I-it's all right, really. I won't be offended or anything," he lied.
"Your mother and sister…made these?" Fenris asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the slippers.
"Yes. Mother, mainly, but Beth helped."
"For me?"
"Of course for you."
Fenris put on first one slipper and then the other; they fit snugly, but were not tight. He then walked forward a few steps, turned, and walked back to his original spot.
"What do you think?" Hawke asked, trying to sound casual.
"They are comfortable," said Fenris, and Hawke almost cried with relief. "I will not wear them outside, however."
"Oh, well, that-that's fine; it's up to you."
"I do not wish to wear them down. If I were to wear them outside, they would quickly become damaged. I…" He glanced up at Hawke, giving him a smile that made the mage's heart ache. "I…like them, Hawke. Very much."
Although Hawke felt like jumping up and down on the spot, he managed to remain reasonably poised. "You don't have to worry about wearing them out, Fenris; Bethany said there's plenty of material left, and they only took about an hour to make. Mother's a demon with a needle and cotton. Well, she's not a real demon. You know what I mean."
"I know what you mean, Hawke."
"What I'm trying to say is, if you wear out one pair, they'll make you another."
"But I…why would they do that for me?"
"They like you," Hawke told him. "Mother thinks you're the politest person she's ever met, and Beth likes you, as well. And…so do I. I mean…we all do. They wouldn't have done this for just anyone, you know." Hawke shrugged, feigning nonchalance.
"Your family is very kind, Hawke. I am…grateful." Without saying another word, Fenris turned and left the kitchen, still wearing his slippers. Hawke stared after him, suddenly feeling anxious again. Was Fenris just being polite? Was Hawke going to walk into an argument when he went through to the next room? Or was he just being an idiot with an over-active imagination?
Using the last of the hot water, Hawke made another two cups of tea and took them through to the main reception hall, where Fenris was sat upon the settee which would be Hawke's bed for the night. Fenris had already placed a pillow and some blankets upon it, and had put fresh wood on the fire. He had removed the slippers from his feet and held them in his hands, looking at them. He didn't look up until Hawke waved the cup of tea under his nose.
Fenris placed the slippers to his side almost with reverence, as though they were precious and would break if he handled them roughly. He then took the cup from Hawke and gestured for the mage to sit down.
"You wished to examine my foot?" Fenris asked after a moment, taking a sip of tea.
Hawke glanced around the room. "Actually, the light isn't really good enough, now. I could use magic to make light, but it can wait. I'll do it in the morning, if that's all right with you?"
Fenris nodded and stared at the fire as he continued to drink his tea. Hawke could feel anxiety once again creeping up on him: Fenris seemed to have gone into 'quiet and polite' mode.
Having finished his tea, Fenris picked up his slippers, stood, and then hesitated, as though he was considering his next words. His shoulders appeared to slump a little before he announced quietly, "I am going to retire, now."
"Oh…I'll see you in the morning, then," Hawke said, his brows knitting together. He'd expected Fenris to say something else; what, exactly, he had no idea.
"Yes. Goodnight, Hawke." Fenris turned and headed for the stairs.
Hawke slowly got to his feet and waited until Fenris had almost reached his room. "Fenris…you… didn't mind me giving you the slippers…did you?"
Fenris turned to face Hawke and then glanced at the slippers in his hand. "Mind? No," he replied with a faint smile. "No, I'm…no, I didn't mind at all."
Hawke smiled back at him. "That's good, then. Well, goodnight, Fenris. Sleep well."
"Thank you. You, as well, Hawke." With a brief nod, Fenris turned away and entered his room, closing the door.
Hawke watched the door for a moment or two, and then quickly slipped his robe over his head, pulling on the nightshirt he'd brought with him. He folded his robe and placed it on a nearby chair, and made up his bed on the settee. As he made himself comfortable, he again glanced up at Fenris's bedroom door and, as realisation slowly dawned on him, he felt his anxiety finally melt away.
Fenris hadn't been offended at the offer of the slippers; he'd been touched.
~o~O~o~
Fenris sat on the edge of his bed and placed his new slippers on the floor, carefully lining them up beside the bed. Allowing himself a small smile, he swung his legs up onto the bed and laid back. He'd removed his armour after Hawke had seen him home and he'd made his nightly check of the mansion, and he now wore a sleeveless shirt and leggings. He briefly considered changing for bed, but he was so exhausted he wasn't sure whether he could get back up. He'd done a good job of hiding his weariness from Hawke, but it had finally caught up with him.
He let his eyes wander over to the window. It was a clear night and the moon was out. Occasionally, he heard shuffling and clanking from outside, and knew that the newly-appointed guards were conducting their patrol of Hightown Estates. He also heard Hawke moving around on the slightly-creaky settee, as well as an occasional light cough. He closed his eyes, those faint sounds of company, of security, lulling him to sleep.
As was usual, Fenris woke a short time later, and, keeping his eyes closed, he shifted onto his side as the markings on his back were aching. As he snuggled his head into the pillow, his eyes snapped open and he held his breath.
The noises had stopped. There was nothing but silence. It was too quiet. Fenris's heart rate and breathing quickened and his stomach knotted.
Something was wrong.
He froze and once again held his breath as he felt movement on the bed behind him, and he rolled slightly onto his back as a heavy weight pressed against the mattress. Fenris immediately turned back onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut.
Someone was getting into bed with him.
An arm snaked around his waist and a large hand ran up and down his hip; soft, quiet laughter could be heard from behind him. Fenris's mind screamed at him to get up, run, to just do something, but he couldn't move; his arms and legs refused to obey him.
"Always so tense, Fenris. It never used to be this way; at one time, you came to me willingly, and now I must always come to you."
Fenris's body became limp; he knew there was no point resisting. A soft shudder ran through him as he felt warm breath against his ear, and the hand moved down to his groin.
"You're not even ready for me, Fenris; you always used to be ready for me. I don't understand why you are being like this. I give you a roof over your head, I feed and clothe you. You are the envy of your fellow slaves, and my fellow Magisters envy me because of you. I made you what you are, Fenris, and you owe me. Don't you?"
His eyes still closed, because if he kept them closed he almost managed to convince himself that this wasn't happening, he nodded, turned onto his back and looked up into his master's cloudy blue eyes.
"What would you have me do, Danarius?"
The magister's hand moved up to Fenris's face and softly caressed his cheek. "Oh, Fenris, my pet," he whispered seductively. "You don't need to do anything, tonight."
Fenris's blood ran cold. He knew what that meant. "Master, I…please…"
"I have been patient enough, my little wolf. I think you need a reminder of exactly who is in charge, here." Danarius grabbed Fenris's shoulders and roughly pushed the elf over onto his belly.
"Master…I know who is in charge…I will do anything you ask; anything. Just, please…"
"Shhh." Fenris's mouth was covered by a large hand and he felt his leggings being tugged down. "Don't make me use magic on you, Fenris. I do hate it when you scream like that. Are you going to be good?"
Fenris again closed his eyes tightly and nodded, a tremor running through him as a tear slipped down his cheek.
"Now relax, my pet. This can be enjoyable for both of us, if you'll only allow it to be."
~o~O~o~
Hawke sat up straight and pushed his blankets aside, an unpleasant fluttering in his stomach. Something had woken him…hadn't it? A noise? He closed his eyes and tried to chase after the sound, only for it to retreat to the darkest recesses of his mind. It was gone, and yet, still there, maddeningly out of reach.
He listened, holding his breath for a moment. Standing up, he walked over to one of the windows and pulled back the drapes. Hightown was quiet and still. The moon was at its zenith in the ink-blue sky; the time of night when it was both early and late. He let the drapes fall back into place and leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on the door at the top of the stairs.
A shout? Someone calling his name? Fenris's voice? Is that what he'd heard? But why would Fenris call out for him? Nobody could have entered the mansion without Hawke's knowledge. Could they?
Striding over to the left set of stairs, he ran up them and stopped outside the door. What if he was wrong? He couldn't just go charging into Fenris's bedroom, could he? But he couldn't ignore what he'd heard…or thought he'd heard. Still not sure of what he was going to do, he took two steps closer to the door and listened carefully for a few minutes.
Nothing. Not a sound. Hawke exhaled and shook his head. As he turned away, his heart seized up as Fenris's bedroom door was opened with a creak.
"Fenris!" Hawke exclaimed, backpedalling. "I-I wasn't going to come in; I just…I thought…"
Fenris stood like a statue in the doorway; his eyes were flat and dull and seemed to stare right through Hawke, and he wore an odd expression that sent a chill through the mage.
"…Fenris?"
"I cannot sleep," Fenris said sluggishly. "Is something wrong?"
"No, I just thought…" Hawke didn't finish the sentence. For some reason, he stopped himself. "Um…I can't sleep, either. I was thinking of making some tea. Would you like some?"
Fenris watched Hawke's face closely for a sign of deceit, trickery; there was none. There was something in Hawke's eyes, though, and Fenris knew it: knowledge, a mutual knowledge that neither man cared to give voice to.
Fenris, still in the doorway, nodded.
Hawke nodded in return. "I'd welcome some company, if you're up to it," he said to the elf, waving his hand toward the fireplace. Getting no answer from Fenris, Hawke made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen.
When Hawke returned with the tea, Fenris was sitting on the settee with one of the blankets wrapped around his shoulders, staring at the fire. Hawke offered a cup to Fenris, and, when the elf didn't respond, Hawke placed it on the floor next to Fenris's feet.
Hawke sat down on the settee, and, taking the other blanket, he wrapped it around his own shoulders. Having no real interest in his tea, he set his own cup down on the floor, sat back and also stared at the fire. And he waited.