Thank you to Mary, for everything, and to everyone who sent me supportive PMs and reviews. I'm back :-)
~o~O~o~
When Fletcher and Fenris emerged from their hiding place, the drunken celebration of Reijyr's life was in full swing. A curious mood settled over Fletcher as they joined the others: he was elated that he and Fenris were, at least for now, together again, but part of him also felt deflated. He'd never attended a dwarven funeral before and watched in astonishment as the dwarves sang, laughed and bantered while they remembered their fallen friend. Something he found particularly distasteful was that Bartrand, who Fletcher felt was ultimately responsible for Reijyr's death, was drinking harder and singing louder than almost anyone else.
All the human funerals Fletcher had ever attended had been sombre, mournful affairs and it was strange for him to see such merriment. It did make him wonder if the dwarves had the right idea, but he found he was unable to share the dwarves' mirth, and, understanding this, Fenris found a relatively quiet corner for them to sit in while they watched the proceedings.
Fletcher also suspected that one kiss would not immediately solve everything between him and Fenris, but for the time being, he let it replay in his mind, not knowing when the next would be forthcoming.
Sensing that Fletcher was distracted, Fenris tapped the book Fletcher held and smiled at the mage. "Will you read to me?" he asked. "I would be interested to hear what holds such fascination for you within this book."
"Oh…really? You'd be interested in this?" Fletcher asked, surprised, and the elf nodded. Fletcher sat up and opened the book. "Well, do you remember when I was treating your foot and I told you that, in my grandparents' day, the standard treatment would have been for your foot to be cut off?"
"I do," Fenris replied, chuckling quietly at the memory.
"Well, this book is full of things like that: old-fashioned 'remedies' that, most of the time, did more harm than good. Many of them were practised by charlatans who preyed on the gullible and the desperate, and most of them charged a small fortune for their services. I'm amazed that some of them got away with it for so long."
"It sounds fascinating. Please proceed," said the elf, pleased at Fletcher's enthusiasm.
Grinning, Fletcher flicked through several pages before his eyes lit up. "Ah! I was hoping this would be in here. Wait 'til you hear this; you'll probably think I'm making it up. Only a couple of ages ago, it was believed that headaches were caused by evil spirits that resided in a person's head. There were few options available, most of which were herbal remedies that were meant to poison the spirit. Looking at some of the ingredients, I'm amazed they didn't poison the patient, instead. When – unsurprisingly – the herbal remedies didn't work, there was only one treatment left." Fletcher paused and laughed, shaking his head. "A hole was drilled into the patient's skull, thereby providing a means of escape for the 'spirit'."
"What?" Fenris leaned closer and frowned at the book. "You are having me on."
"I'm not! Look." Fletcher pointed at some of the illustrations, showing a human skull with several small holes on the crown. Fenris gaped at the picture and looked at Fletcher in disbelief.
"That seems rather a final cure for a headache," opined the elf. "I would imagine the patient would no longer be in a position to complain of discomfort, as they would be quite dead."
Fletcher shook his head and pointed at the illustration again. "Believe it or not, some survived the procedure, which was known as trepanning. This drawing is of a skull that was found with eleven holes in it. This person underwent the procedure eleven times before they died. It doesn't say whether or not the eleventh time actually killed them."
Fenris couldn't help but laugh derisively at this. "Let me guess. After the first procedure, the patient complained of even more intense headaches – presumably because they had a hole in their head – and the physician recommended they undergo the procedure again?"
"Precisely," Fletcher agreed.
"But what if the patient did not survive the first, or subsequent procedures?" asked the elf. "How would the physician explain that?"
"Easy," Fletcher answered. "Don't forget the 'evil spirit'. If a patient died, the physician would declare that the spirit in question was a particularly evil one that overpowered the patient. If the patient survived, and, as you guessed, continued to suffer from headaches…"
"Then another spirit had taken residence?" Fenris guessed.
"You're getting the hang of this," chortled Fletcher, leafing through the book. "You'd make a fine quack doctor with a mind like that. Ah, here's another one: a cure for toothache. It was believed that toothache was caused by worms that lived inside the tooth, and the only way to lure them out was to hold a burning candle next to the mouth, where they would fall into a waiting glass of water, and drown."
"But would the patient not see these 'worms' when they left the mouth?" Fenris queried.
Fletcher rolled his eyes, feigning impatience. "No, of course not! The worms were invisible."
Fenris dipped his head reverentially. "But of course. I am naught but a naïf in the face of your learned dictum."
"Thank you," replied Fletcher, dipping his head in return. "And I totally know what you're going on about. Honestly, I do."
They laughed together, and Fletcher felt his spirits lift when Fenris asked for another story.
"Let's see…back in the Steel Age, every disease or affliction one could name was attributed to an imbalance of the humours of the body."
"Humours?"
"Blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile," Fletcher explained as Fenris wrinkled his nose. "Anything, from arthritis to insanity, could be explained by an excess or dearth of the four humours. For example, epileptic fits were supposedly caused by an excess of phlegm, which blocked the airways. The body would struggle to rid itself of the phlegm, hence the convulsions. There was a problem with this, however. The physicians of the day argued over what constituted a humour. Some believed that the four humours were blood, sweat, urine and vomit. Other insisted they were blood, urine, faeces and tears. All agreed that blood was a humour, though, and so the treatment of choice was bloodletting."
"And did that involve leeches, by any chance?" asked Fenris.
"Those that could afford it were bled by leeches, yes," Fletcher answered. "Anyone lower than minor nobility had to make do with a knife. Nobody realised the importance of sterilisation in those days, so, if they were lucky, they'd get a new or at least a clean knife. Peasants probably had to settle for a rusty or dirty blade. As you can imagine, many of the poor sods contracted nasty infections, which were treated by…?" He looked at the elf expectantly.
"More bloodletting?"
"That's right. The infection and resulting fever were blamed on an overheating of the blood, and so more of it had to be removed from the body. If the patient's money had run out, they'd be chucked in an icy lake to cool down the blood."
"I cannot imagine many of the patients survived these…procedures," Fenris noted with a shake of his head.
"I know. I'm amazed that anyone lived long enough to actually write this," replied Fletcher, closing the book. "I'll read you some more, later, if you like. It looks like the food's nearly ready," he said with a glance over at Sheldon and Thirin, who had taken over the cooking in Fletcher's absence.
Sure enough, Thirin loudly announced that the meal of nug and sauce was ready. The workers brought their plates and a line quickly formed next to the spit. Varric, Torbal, Sebastian and Anders, who had been playing cards, joined the queue, standing next to their partners: Anders had teamed up with Varric, and Torbal with Sebastian. After fetching their own plates, Fenris and Fletcher stood at the end of the queue.
"That book's one of the best presents I've ever had," Fletcher whispered to the elf, discreetly holding his hand. "Thank you." Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, Fletcher placed a quick kiss on the elf's temple. Fenris fidgeted a little, also glancing around, but could not hide his smile, or the blush in his cheeks.
"Whaddya call this?" the jarring voice of Bartrand bellowed from the head of the line.
"Nug sauce, human style," Thirin answered with a rasping laugh.
"What, full of fucking lumps?" barked Bartrand.
Irritated, Fletcher stepped out of line and shouted, "It's full of lumps because you didn't give Thirin enough time to show me how to make it. Now, get a move on. We're all hungry back here."
"Yeah, hurry it up, Bartrand!" Torbal piped up. "And I happen to like it lumpy."
"So do I," growled Rasel, one of the dwarves injured in the collapse, though he seemed to say it mainly for the sake of disagreeing with Bartrand.
"Me too," Vonim, the dwarf Anders had saved, shouted up the line. "So pull your finger out of your ass, Expedition Leader. I wanna have another drink to my partner, the one who died because of you!"
"If you lazy sods hadn't gotten drunk and fallen asleep, that tunnel would have been safe!" Bartrand bit back, pointing an accusing finger, and several humans jumped out of line as the shink of unsheathed weapons was heard.
"You fell asleep as well, you bastard!" Vonim accused and charged forward, twirling his glinting battle-axe in his hands.
With speed that belied his advancing years, Thirin leapt in between Bartrand and Vonim, brandishing his daggers. "Sauce is gettin' cold," he snarled. "Knock it off!"
"Outta my way, Thirin!" shouted Vonim as Torbal also inserted himself between the protagonists. "That nug-fucker insulted my house by insinuating that I'm a feckless drunkard!"
"We're all feckless drunkards!" Torbal exclaimed with a laugh.
"I don't need you two defending me," Bartrand grunted, unsheathing his own axe.
"Defending you?" Thirin scoffed. "I couldn't give a crap what he does to you. But I came here to earn coin, and, at the moment, you're the best one to lead us to it. What he does to you when we get out of here is his own business."
"I gotta have order," barked Bartrand, pushing past Thirin and Torbal. "Make way while I teach this upstart a lesson. Varric, Vonim just dishonoured House Tethras. Come and stand at your brother's side."
"Get outta here," drawled Varric, helping himself to some roast nug. "He didn't dishonour anyone's house. Now, I'm sure ol' Reijyr and the paragons have had a good laugh at us all. Like Thirin said, the sauce is getting cold, and lumpier by the minute."
Several of the other dwarves started to become agitated as their bellies rumbled, while the humans looked on, bewildered. "This ain't over, Bartrand!" threatened Vonim, reluctantly stepping back into line.
"Here!" Thirin shoved a plate of nug into Bartrand's hands. "Take this and sod off. Looks like your brother's not gonna help you today."
"Figures," growled Bartrand with a filthy look at Varric, before he snatched the plate and stalked away, muttering to himself.
"Well, this expedition isn't going to be dangerous at all, is it?" Anders remarked aridly, while Fletcher sighed.
Once everyone had filled their plates, most sat around in small groups, while a few – mostly the Orzammar dwarves and Bartrand – sat alone. Fenris and Fletcher joined Varric, Sebastian, Anders and Torbal. Fletcher carefully watched for reactions when the dwarves sampled his nug sauce.
A few grimaces were observed, but, to Fletcher's relief, no one threw the sauce back at him as Thirin had warned might happen.
"Hey, Human! Good job with the sauce!" shouted Gaar, one of the surface dwarves. "Lotsa nice chewy clots in it, just like my momma used to make!"
"Yeah, they make it too sodding smooth nowadays," said his partner, Durdat.
"Clots?" exclaimed Aston, one of the human workers, eyeing his spoonful in horror. "As in blood clots? There's blood in this?"
"It's actually quite nice," Fletcher commented, smacking his lips as sauce dribbled down his chin. "Just leave the clots on the side if you don't like them."
"I thought they were bloody raisins or something!" Anders spluttered, spitting out his mouthful.
"Hey, Blondie, don't let your clots go to waste!" Varric joked, holding out his plate. "Send 'em over here!"
"You may have mine as well, Varric," offered Sebastian, before Torbal thrust his plate under the archer's chin.
"Hands off, Tethras! Partners, remember?" teased the dwarf.
"My humble apologies, partner," Sebastian said with a laugh, and spooned the dark red lumps onto Torbal's plate, before clearing his throat and pushing himself to his feet. "Um, if I might have everyone's attention?" Sebastian called out in a clear voice, and the expedition workers glanced up. "Now that we're all a little more relaxed, I thought I'd take the opportunity to introduce myself. My name is Sebastian Vael, and I hail from the principality of Starkhaven." He bowed to the group.
"The Chantry boy, huh?" snorted Rasel, and some jeers sounded, but Sebastian was undaunted.
"That is correct, Ser Dwarf," he replied with a smile. "Our beliefs may differ, but I am certain we can all coexist peacefully, and I look forward to becoming better acquainted with you all." He bowed again and sat down, amid a few jibes.
"That was very brave of you," Fletcher whispered, his eyes moving to Fenris as the elf stood up in support of his friend.
"I am Fenris. As you can see, I am an elf, but do not let your perceptions of other elves you may have encountered fool you." Mocking laughter sounded around the group, mainly from the dwarves, but Fenris waited, his expression unchanged, until near-quiet descended. "I carry a sword and be in no doubt that I know how to use it. I also have…other abilities," he added enigmatically and, for a split second, his markings flickered. Noticing that most of the workers' mouths had gaped open, and that the laughter had stopped, he continued. "Treat my friends with respect, and you will never discover what those abilities are. Treat them with scorn, however, and I will be pleased to educate you. Enjoy your food." He bowed, and sat upon the ground, where Fletcher and Varric's sniggers rose above the absolute silence that followed Fenris's introduction.
"Retaliation is not always necessary," Fenris said to Fletcher, and the mage grinned widely at him.
Torbal shuffled closer to the elf and extended his hand. "Glad to know you, Fenris," he said, pronouncing the elf's name correctly. "I can assure you that I will treat you and your friends with nothing but respect," he joked as Fenris clasped his hand. The corpulent dwarf then puffed as he pushed himself to his feet.
"The name's Torbal, of House Barakar," he announced, slightly out of breath.
"Yeah, we all know who you are!" shouted Thirin.
"Shut the hell up," Torbal retorted with a grin. "It takes a lot of effort to haul an ass like mine up, so you're gonna bloody well listen. Any interruptions, and I start from the top. I'm here all night."
Torbal proceeded to tell the group most of his life story, and, following Sebastian's example, many others did the same. Bartrand didn't stand up, nor did some of the dwarves, but all of the humans did except one, who Fletcher had been told was mute and kept to himself, but was a good worker nonetheless. After making their introductions, some of the humans drifted over to Fletcher's group and dined with them. Fletcher and Anders knew a few of them, as they'd previously resided in Darktown. By the time the meal was finished, the mood among the entire group was more relaxed and jovial.
That didn't last for long, however. After a few more drinks were had for Reijyr, the plates and mugs were cleared away and washed up by Fletcher and a few of the other humans – who were quite happy to do domestic chores provided they were paid their fair share – and work on the collapsed tunnel was re-started. This time, though, some of the dwarves questioned Bartrand, and a few others openly defied his orders. It wasn't until Thirin, the oldest dwarf who seemed to command respect from most of his brothers, stepped in, that the dwarves settled down and resumed work. Thirin then berated Bartrand for losing the respect of his workers and a blazing row followed, which was eventually broken up by Varric.
"You told me you knew a dwarf once, Anders," Fletcher said to his fellow mage as they placed wards at the entry points of the chamber in readiness for the night ahead. "What was he like?"
"Just like this lot," Anders replied with a shrug. "His name was Oghren. The first day I met him, he told me he was a fighter, a farter and a fucker. He wasn't lying. Except for the fucking bit; I can't say I was witness to that, which is a blessing. He did manage to produce a son, though…somehow," he added with an exaggerated shudder.
"Any tips for getting along with dwarves?" asked Fletcher, noticing that Anders seemed a little distracted.
"They're a pretty resilient bunch. You can call them every name under the sun, but whatever you do, don't insult their ancestors, the paragons, and Maker, don't badmouth their family or their house. Funny thing with dwarves. They'll take all kinds of insults from other races, but between dwarves, the most innocuous comment can be taken as a slight against their house. As you saw earlier, that never goes down well." Anders turned towards Fletcher, but focused on the wall. "Dwarves aren't a bad bunch, though. They're not pretty, and they don't smell too sweet, but, once you befriend one, they'll fight your corner to the bitter end. One can't have too many dwarven friends, I say. They're all right."
Fletcher nodded, and they completed their casting. "How are you feeling about being down here, Anders?" he asked as they took a slow walk back to the main group.
"I'm fine at the moment; we're not very far in. I can't sense any darkspawn, so everything's peachy. Once I do, though – and I will at some point – well, I did warn you. There may be some nightmares. Thanks for warning them about that, by the way."
"Anders, I said this to Fenris and I'll say the same to you. If anyone has any smart comments to make, then I'll put them straight. I'm sure most of the dwarves are aware that Grey Wardens have nightmares, anyway."
Anders frowned slightly and then gave Fletcher a peculiar look. "Right, thanks," he mumbled before moving away from Fletcher.
"Now what's the matter?" Fletcher demanded, his irritation at Anders's erratic responses clear in his voice.
Anders halted. "What do you mean?"
Fletcher caught up and stood in front of him. "This is getting tiresome, Anders. You've been off with me for a while, now. Earlier, when we were in the tunnel, it was…I felt like we were working together, you know? I really appreciated the support you gave me and how you kept your head. But now…you're like a different person. Why are you being so distant? What have I done?"
Anders's breath caught and Fletcher glimpsed a fleeting sadness in his eyes. "Nothing. You-you haven't done anything wrong. I'm sorry. Just…take no notice of me."
As Anders turned away, Fletcher touched his arm, aware that Fenris was watching them from a short distance away. "Anders…tell me what's wrong, please. I feel like I've done something to upset you. If it's not that, what is it?"
"I'm just being stupid," Anders answered lightly, but Fletcher shook his head, not fooled at all. Anders sighed and tightened his ponytail, looking at the ground. "I've been behaving like an idiot," he admitted. "It's not your fault…I just worry about you. I'm going to back off a bit, give you some space. I can see that things between you and Fenris are getting better. I…you're a grown man and you have your own mind; you don't need me telling you that you're making a mistake." Seeing Fletcher's frown, he held his hand up. "It's none of my business. I just want you to know that I'll always be here for you if you need me."
Fletcher groaned in exasperation, both annoyed and saddened. "I know you are, Anders. I just wish you could be happy for me. Things are going well between Fenris and I, and it would be nice to know that we're not going to be kicking each other's arses over it."
"Like I said, Hawke, I'm not saying anything else," Anders replied with a shrug.
"You still managed to mention the fact I was making a mistake while you were busy telling me you're not going say anything else, though, didn't you?" accused Fletcher.
The look of sadness came into Anders's eyes again, temporarily rendering Fletcher speechless, as he was at a complete loss. "You're right, Hawke. I don't want us to fight. I'm…I'm going to check the wards."
"They don't need checking, Anders; we've only just set them!"
"I just like to make sure," Anders mumbled, his shoulders slumped as he walked over to the nearest tunnel entrance.
Fletcher watched him for a moment, and then shook his head, turning away. "I give up," he muttered under his breath before walking over to join Fenris.
"Everything all right?" asked the elf, looking up from Fletcher's farmyard animal book, his eyes flitting over to Anders for a second.
Fletcher sat heavily on the ground and started to rifle through his pack. "Fine. How are you getting on with your book?"
When Fenris didn't answer immediately, Fletcher glanced up to see that Fenris was now staring at Anders, who stood at the far end of the chamber, alone. "Is he…talking to himself?" Fenris asked, not trusting his own eyes.
Fletcher sighed softly and returned his attention to his pack, removing several small phials, bottles and wrapped items. "Mm. I think he's talking to Justice. He does that, sometimes. You didn't answer my question; how's the book?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.
"Well, um…see for yourself," Fenris said, inching a little closer. As Fletcher looked through the book, his smile grew wider and wider with every page. Fenris had copied the names of each animal in a spidery hand, using a small stick of charcoal. "I hope you do not mind me writing in the book," the elf said, slightly nervously. "I wanted to surprise you."
"Mind?" Fletcher's eyes moved to Fenris's, and the delighted look on the mage's face set Fenris's mind at ease. "This is just…I'm so proud of you, Fen. What did I tell you? I knew you'd find this easy. You've taken to it like a duck to water."
Fenris returned Fletcher's smile, his expression a combination of embarrassment and pride. Both men's stomachs tightened as their eyes lingered on the other, but, aware that they were surrounded by many others, they settled for discreetly holding hands.
"Ducks quack, by the way," Fletcher informed him.
"Forget it," Fenris laughed, snatching his hand away. "For the last time, I am not going to make animal noises!"
"One day you will," mumbled Fletcher.
"I will not."
Fletcher nodded silently, and Fenris's smile changed to a mock-scowl. Fletcher sniggered and removed the last few items from his pack.
"What have you there?" Fenris enquired.
"Oh, just something I'm working on; something new. I've been meaning to work on it for a while, now, but I haven't had time. I have done a lot of research on it, though, and I think I might be onto something."
Intrigued, Fenris craned his neck for a better look at the array of ingredients. "What is it? A potion? A weapon coating?"
"More a lotion than a potion, really," said Fletcher. "I have the base already made." He passed Fenris a small jar and invited him to inspect the contents. Fenris opened it and smoothed a little of the ointment onto his hand, massaging it in, and he nodded approvingly. "I just need to work on the active ingredients," Fletcher finished.
"What will it be used for?" Fenris asked.
"It's a secret."
Pretending to ignore the fact Fenris had moved even closer, Fletcher busied himself with his creation, and had to quell his laughter, knowing very well that Fenris would eventually wrest the information out of him.
"You can tell me, can't you?" Fenris coaxed in a sultry whisper that made Fletcher's insides quiver. "I am your confidante, after all…not to mention, your partner."
"Don't think you can beguile me, Elf, with your sexy voice," teased Fletcher, and Fenris snorted as laughter rushed out of him.
"Just an intimation?" asked the elf.
Fletcher firmly shook his head, and began to crush a small, orange, precious stone in his pestle and mortar.
"What is that?"
"Secret."
Fenris huffed and pushed to his feet. "Keep your secrets, then, Mage," he joked. "I am going to train." He picked up his sword and moved a few feet away from Fletcher, where he began some basic defensive stances. Fletcher did his best to concentrate on his work, but, after a while, he was unable to take his eyes off the fluid, graceful movements of the elf as he switched from stance to stance with consummate ease.
"Stop that," Fletcher remonstrated. "You're putting me off."
"That is hardly my fault," said the elf, raising his sword above his head and holding it, with one hand, in a perfect horizontal line, his other arm held out to his side for balance. "Most mages, in my experience, pride themselves on their powers of concentration."
"Yes, but most mages don't have a scandalously handsome elf contorting and stretching his body in front of them while swishing a massive sword through the air! I'm only a man, Fenris, just like you said."
This time, Fenris's concentration broke as he bent slightly at the waist, his slender body shaking with quiet laughter, and he lowered his sword. "Tell me your secret, then, and I will desist."
Fletcher gave a dramatic sigh, and considered asking Fenris to continue with his training, but didn't want to appear too lecherous. "Oh, all right, then."
Fenris immediately ceased his movements and placed his sword on the ground. He then went and sat next to Fletcher, where he watched the mage with a triumphant smile.
Fletcher tutted but was unable to stop his grin from breaking through. "I'll tell you, but don't get your hopes up; I don't even know if this will work." Seeing that he had the elf's full attention, he went on. "Well, I'm going to try to make something that will help you when Anders and I are casting."
"Help me? How?" asked Fenris, fascinated.
"Anders and I can make all kinds of creams, ointments and so on. Some of them are barrier creams, which protect the skin from moisture, for example, or heat or cold. You know what I mean, Fen; you used to make your own ointment for your foot." Fenris nodded, his brow wrinkling a little. "Well, I want to make a barrier cream that will repel magic, or at least its effects."
"Is that even possible?" Fenris asked.
"I don't know, but I'm going to try," Fletcher replied. "On paper, it should be easy, but it's a very complicated formula, with dozens of ingredients. And the more ingredients, the more chance of one of those ingredients reacting badly with another. It won't be made overnight, I can tell you; it could take months, even years, but if it is possible, I'll get it eventually."
"You could make an absolute fortune," Fenris exclaimed in a whisper. "You could write a paper, become famous."
Fletcher looked confused for a moment. "But I'm not making it for anyone else. I'm making it for you. If it happens to benefit anyone else, then they can have the recipe."
Fenris lowered his head, warmth spreading through his belly. "I…should have expected that answer," he murmured, raising his head, a gentle smile lighting up his face.
Fletcher briefly smiled back at him, but then turned his attention back to his task, because Fenris's smile had a very distracting effect on him, and Fletcher's desire to grab Fenris's face and devour his mouth would have to be delayed. He glanced up at the other workers as they pottered about, and sighed inwardly, wondering if he and Fenris would ever have any privacy.
"I'm working on something else, as well, which should hopefully be easier than the Mystical Magic Repelling Cream," he grinned, producing a small pot of pale blue balm. "This is a variation on a cooling balm, which is used to soothe burns," he explained. "I'm working on a version that is resistant to water. Hopefully that will be of use to you, as well."
Fenris shuffled closer to Fletcher so that their legs were touching, and cocked his head, examining the pot. "In what way?"
"Well, it would mean you could bathe in warm water. It'll get bloody cold in here the further in we go, and you can't be bathing in cold water; you'll catch your death. The only problem I have is in deciding whether to craft a water-resistant version, or one that will leave a lasting effect on your skin…" Fletcher paused as a small hand snaked along his arm and up to his shoulder, coming to rest against his face, where Fenris spread his fingers and caressed Fletcher's cheek.
"You are the kindest man I have ever known," Fenris whispered softly. "I…cannot find the words." He lowered his eyes and smiled broadly.
"Oh, don't thank me, Fen," Fletcher whispered back, his heart swelling at Fenris's smile. "I love a little project. Perhaps you'd care to assist me?"
The elf nodded and slowly withdrew his hand, clasping both of them in his lap. "Of course. What should I do?"
"Nothing, really; I'd just need to borrow your arm now and again to try out my concoctions. I won't use anything that would hurt you, and I'll always ask; I would never do anything without your permission. You know that, don't you?"
"I know that, Fletcher," he reassured softly, and both men looked up as yet another squabble between two of the dwarves broke out. They watched until the disagreement had been resolved. "You cannot concentrate here," said the elf, and he picked up Fletcher's pack, holding it open. "Place your ingredients in here. We will find you somewhere more peaceful."
Fletcher complied and re-filled his pack, and the two men stood up. "Where did you have in mind?" Fletcher asked.
"Where I gave you the book," Fenris decided, walking ahead. "It is large enough for you to work in, and you should not be disturbed."
"You just want to get me on my own again, don't you?" asked Fletcher from behind.
"Well, that goes without saying," was the elf's quiet reply as he continued on, leaving Fletcher slack-jawed and speechless, before he giggled like a naughty child and scampered after the elf, and they reached the mouth of the small recess together.
"After you," Fletcher invited the elf.
"No. After you. I insist."
Fletcher slowly entered the tiny chamber, watching Fenris suspiciously. "Don't get ogling my bottom, Elf."
"Don't flatter yourself, Mage," smiled Fenris, and Fletcher laughed as he sat upon the ground and Fenris joined him. Fletcher placed his arm around Fenris's shoulder and they sat back against the wall, just looking around for a while.
"We could sleep in here, you know," Fletcher suggested casually.
"Could we?"
"Oh, I didn't mean-" Fletcher hastily removed his arm from around Fenris's shoulder. "I meant…I wasn't suggesting anything…you know…"
"Weren't you?" Fenris asked without accusation.
"No, really…I just thought…well, things have been a bit rough between us lately, and it would be nice for me to be able to put my arm around you or kiss you without worrying about how many people are watching us."
Fenris took Fletcher's arm and placed it over his shoulder again. "I do not want you to think that I am ashamed of being seen with you. It's not that; I just…"
"I know. You don't like drawing attention to yourself. I understand." He kissed the elf's cheek and smiled at him.
"You are the first person in my life who has understood me," said the elf quietly. "The first who has even tried. It could not have been easy for you."
"It was worth every second," whispered Fletcher, nuzzling his nose into Fenris's hair. "I…love you, you know."
Fletcher saw the elf's eyes close and felt his body tighten against him as Fenris held his breath. He also felt Fenris's hand fold around his and hold onto to it for dear life, but the elf didn't speak. For several minutes, they sat in silence, and Fletcher wondered if anyone had ever told Fenris that he was loved, and how his confession would make him feel.
"Why don't you go and finish your training, I'll get cracking on my crafting, and, when we're finished, we'll bring the bedrolls up here and make ourselves cosy?" Fletcher suggested.
Fenris released his hand, nodded and slowly stood up, facing Fletcher but not quite looking at him. "Yes, I would like that. And, when we do, I would like us to…talk. About our future. If…you are willing?"
"Of course, Fen," Fletcher nodded quickly, and his voice was light, but his stomach lurched, wondering what Fenris meant by that.
The elf also nodded, and went over to the entrance. "I will return later." His eyes moved to Fletcher's, and a hint of a smile appeared, before he turned and left.
Fletcher began to unpack his ingredients again, and considered Fenris's words. Not so long ago, he would have worried that he'd shown his feelings too soon, but he didn't believe that was the case now. Fenris must know how he felt about him. It seemed more likely that Fenris didn't quite know how to respond, and Fletcher told himself he mustn't pressure the elf to reciprocate his feelings, particularly as Fletcher was almost certain Fenris did reciprocate them.
A little later, after saying goodnight to Varric and Co., Fletcher and Fenris took their bedrolls and blankets down to their sleeping place. Fletcher had created a small fire outside for warmth, and they made themselves comfortable; when lying down, they would both fit quite snugly into the small recess.
For now, though, they sat against the wall with their legs stretched out, and, after a little banter and discussion of the day's events, Fenris grew quiet and his expression turned serious.
"Do you want to talk?" Fletcher asked.
Fenris sighed and clasped his hands together in a gesture that Fletcher was starting to recognise; Fenris did it when feeling awkward or nervous. Although apprehensive of what the elf was going to say, Fletcher relaxed his own posture, wanting Fenris to feel at ease.
"I would never presume to demand anything of you," the elf began uncertainly, and Fletcher nodded. "However, there is something I must ask. I…appreciate that with your status as a blood mage," he gave Fletcher an almost apologetic look, "well, you are unlike others of your kind, in that you do not embrace or take pride in that status." Fenris paused, then, and Fletcher waited for him to continue. The elf took a deep breath and looked directly into Fletcher's eyes. "I must ask that you never use blood magic again."
"Fenris, I have no intention-"
"Please forgive me, but I must say this, make myself clear," the elf interrupted tautly, and Fletcher could tell by his hand-wringing that he was very nervous indeed. "I could not bear it…if I were to witness such a thing from you…it would be too much. I apologise. I know that you have already assured me of this, but this is of utmost importance to me. I hope you understand." Fenris hung his head, bracing himself for an angry reaction. Instead, Fletcher sighed and touched Fenris's face, gently pushing his head up.
"Fen…if I needed another reason not to use it again – which I don't – then that would be it. I would never subject you to that. And now, you have made it clear to me what I stand to lose should I break my promise to you. You and I have been through too much to be together, and I am not going to lose you." Fletcher brought his face closer to Fenris's and waited until the elf looked into his eyes. "Fenris, I will never use blood magic again. I give you my word."
Fenris closed his eyes and exhaled, slowly nodding his head. "I'm sorry-"
"Shh. You needed to ask, and you've asked. This is a partnership, Fen, which both of us will have to work at, and that means talking. The bad news is, although it's been a rough ride getting here, it doesn't get any easier."
Fenris glanced up, and, seeing that Fletcher was smiling, he snorted quietly and leaned against the mage, resting his hand on Fletcher's stomach. "It was worth every second," he said, echoing Fletcher's words from earlier.
"It was, wasn't it?" Fletcher pulled Fenris close and kissed the tip of his nose as he stroked his hair. "This is just the beginning for us, Fen. All of the crap is out of the way, now, and this is where we start being happy."
He felt Fenris slump a little, and held his breath, waiting for the elf's next question.
"Is there nothing that can be done? About your…contract?"
"Nothing," Fletcher answered quietly.
"Then we must make the most of every moment we have together," said the elf breathlessly, wrapping his arms around Fletcher and pressing his body against the mage's, passionately kissing Fletcher's neck.
Shocked and slightly uncomfortable at Fenris's sudden and uncharacteristic fervour, Fletcher gently pushed the elf away, stroking his arms, suspecting that Fenris was not ready for what he was offering. "We will, Fen, but let's take things slowly. We'll know when the time is right, okay?"
He felt Fenris's tight grip on him loosen, and they sat quietly for a while.
"No doubt you are right," the elf said, uncertainty in his voice. "You usually are."
"Now that doesn't sound like stubborn old Fenris," Fletcher said lightly, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach.
"I am working on our partnership," Fenris replied, smiling awkwardly.
"I'm not always right," Fletcher admitted, "but when I get things right, I get things right. You're just about the best thing that's ever happened to me, Fen."
"As are you, Fletcher."
"What, I'm the best thing that's ever happened to me?"
"Fletcher?"
"Yes?" he sniggered.
"Shut up and kiss me."
"All right. For the sake of working on our partnership, I'm willing to ignore your bossiness and-" Fletcher closed his eyes and surrendered himself as Fenris captured his lips, and they gently pulled apart, noses still touching, and they leaned back a little, finding comfortable positions.
"Now, go to sleep. You need your rest," directed Fenris.
"Ah, I see how this partnership is going to work. You tell me what to do, and I do it," laughed Fletcher, resting his head on the elf's shoulder.
"That's about it, yes."
Fletcher yawned and closed his eyes, nuzzling Fenris's neck. "I think I can live with that. Goodnight, love."
Fenris laughed softly and kissed the top of the mage's head. "Goodnight, Fletcher."
Fletcher stayed awake for a while after Fenris had fallen asleep, considering that when Fenris was a slave, he would have had to cater to Danarius's every whim, which would explain why the otherwise-shy elf sometimes displayed flirtatious or sexual behaviour. Fletcher wanted Fenris more than anything, but, when the time came, it would be because Fenris also wanted it, not because he felt it was expected of him.
"I love you, Fen. Things are going to be different for you from now on, I promise." Fletcher vowed as he pulled the blankets up around their shoulders and held Fenris tightly until he, too, fell asleep.