Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Four People and One Dog
Year 1
From his perch atop the wall, Fenris could survey the entirety of Kirkwall’s elven alienage. The sacred tree, the vhenadahl, stood sentinel in the center of the grounds, one of the few trees found inside of the city. The people had decorated the tree in celebration of their heritage, painting elven images upon it, and creating shrines to their gods around its perimeter. Day and night, candles burned, alighting their modest home in a warm glow.
Fenris had never lived amongst the people, never seen an alienage The conditions were squalid, quarters cramped. Hidden behind the poorest corner of Lowtown, the location of Kirwall’s alienage was barely a step above the polluted basement streets of Darktown.
A year ago he had escaped Danarius, a Tevinter Magister of immeasurable power, by a stroke of pure luck. Ever since, his former master had hunted him across Thedas. Returning to a life of slavery, his greatest fear, was ever present.
The name Hawke, the Fereldan refugee who had taken up residence in Kirkwall, had spread all the way to the far northwest reaches of the Tevinter Imperium. Tales of Hawke’s recent penchant for breaking up the human trafficking rings of slavers had made headlines all across Tevinter, the only country in Thedas in which slavery was still legal. Fenris tired of merely living under the guise of freedom. After he caught wind of Danarius following him to the Free Marches, he lured Hawke to the alienage in hopes of ending this life of evasion.
The first to descend the stairs was a ginger haired woman who looked as if she could handle herself in a fight. She stood taller than most human men, her body revealing the shape of a woman underneath her heavy plate armor.
Is this Hawke? he wondered. No, she’s guarding the others .
A dog advanced down the steps, nose in the air. Its coat was short and light colored, contrasting sharply against the dark muzzle, and the stripes over its shoulders. The Fereldans were well known for their war hounds, the Mabari. Certainly the one to command the dog would be Hawke.
A short human woman silently ordered the dog to step back with a wave of her hand. Dark hair flowed to her waist. With only the light of the waning moon, and the candles on the altar, her hair shimmered, a rich mahogany kissed with highlights of violet and crimson. She was of a similar height to the woman beside her, whose hair was cropped short above her pointed elven ears. Both were mages.
Mages made him nervous. Tevinter was also the only country in Thedas to be ruled by mages. He didn’t trust them.
A blonde beardless male dwarf brought up the rear. Multiple gold hoops pierced his ears. A large golden chain, also bearing a thick golden ring adorned his neck. The deep “V” of his crimson and gold tunic revealed a wealth of flaxen chest hair beneath a bronto hide jacket. The dwarf held a repeating crossbow nearly as big as him, the likes of which Fenris had never seen before.
Impressive, he thought .
Four people and one dog to take on Danarius. He didn’t like those odds. But, Kirkwall’s back alleys and slums were infamous for shady characters. Surely this rag-tag crew would prove their mettle.
Hawke pointed her staff toward a door in the corner. The tall woman went first, followed by the elf, the dwarf, the dog, and Hawke at the rear.
She’s making sure she knows where everyone is.
Listening at the door, the tall woman waved to Hawke. Hawke and the dog came forward.
Fenris watched the dog sniff the door, then sit and look at Hawke. She carefully turned the doorknob and entered first, letting the dwarf bring up the rear again. His opinion of her, recently lowered when he discovered that she was a mage, rose slightly.
Her team is her first priority. Commendable .
Thanks to the abilities granted him via the lyrium tattoos forced up on him by Danarius, Fenris listened too. His acute senses allowed him to gather a great deal of information from a far distance. He closed his eyes for a moment, breating in through his nose, and out through his mouth in deep, controlled breaths. He heard only the soft chatter of voices inside. There was no fight. Danarius still played him.
He leapt over the edge of the wall, landing silently on his bare feet fifteen feet below, and approached the door where Hawke’s team had entered. Fenris heard them approach the inside of the door, and vanished into the blue vapor of torment. Making his escape, he reappeared at the base of the stairs just in time to see a familiar face, but not the one he sought.
Hadley, one of Danarius’ apprentice mages, ordered the men behind him to take Fenris by any means necessary.
“What’s going on here?” Hawke demanded to know.
A glowing ball of white light appeared in Hadley’s hand. “It is not of your concern.”
Hawke lowered her staff at him. “As long as you’re pointing that in my direction, I say it is.”
“Kill the others! The master wants his pet alive,” Hadley yelled.
Hawke and her companions took cover and returned fire. The tall woman advanced, the sword and shield of Kirkwall’s city guard brandished. Fenris drew his great sword and went straight for Hadley. The dog ran past him, to grab the man by the leg, taking him to the ground.
Fenris turned and shouted to Hawke. “Don’t let your dog kill him! I need him alive!”
Hawke called the Mabari off. Fenris placed a foot at the throat of the man. He rested the tip of his sword, a sword longer than he was tall, over the man’s heart.
Hawke’s team finished off the rest of the men. The stench of blood filled his nostrils. He was no stranger to death, but took no joy in killing. There was only one man he wanted dead. And that man was not here.
“Where is he?” Fenris snarled at Hadley.
The Mabari’s jaws dripped slather only inches away from the man’s trembling head.
Hawke came to stand between her dog and Fenris, staring down at the man being held at swordpoint. “I’d answer him if I were you.”
“Danarius sent us after you . He heard word that you were here. He already left for Tevinter,” Hadley said, through chattering teeth.
“You know he sent you to your death,” Fenris stated.
“I do now,” Hadley replied.
Fenris let his sword clatter to the ground. He hoisted Hadley, by his throat, into the air. The mage’s feet dangled; the toes of his fine silken shoes drug the ground.
Hawke took a step back. The man flailing before her easily outweighed Fenris by several stones.
“He’ll find you,” the man choked out.
“I’m counting on it,” Fenris said quietly, before his other hand disappeared into the man’s chest. His tattoos limned with blue as pain rushed through his body.
Hawke took another step back. The dog growled, low in his throat.
“Maker’s breath,” exclaimed the dwarf in a whisper.
“Put down the body, and step away from your weapon, elf,” the tall woman ordered.
He had no desire to fight these people. Fenris dropped Hadley’s lifeless body, and his sword before turning to face the red head. His tattoos still glowed, while his face remained passive.
“Identify yourself,” she commanded him.
“I am Fenris,” he answered, adroitly keeping an eye on how far he was from his sword, just in case.
Hawke came to stand next to her friend. “Aveline, I’m sure he means us no harm.”
“You’re too trusting, Hawke,” Aveline reminded her.
“I’m just trusting Spike on this one,” she said, gesturing to the Mabari, sitting next to Fenris’ hand that dripped with blood.
“The dog is always right,” the elf mage added.
“Merrill, stay out of this,” Aveline snapped.
The dwarf stepped forward, his crossbow at his side. He laid a finger on Aveline’s sword hand, encouraging her to lower it. She did.
Hawke stepped forward. Her eyes met his. They were green, like his own, but closer to olive, where his were closer to spring grass. A smile spread across her lips momentarily. She extended a hand to him. “Scarlet Hawke.”
He held his blood soaked hand straight up in the air and wiggled his fingers at her. It looked like a wave, but he was reminding her that his hand was covered in fresh, wet blood.
She extended her other hand to him. They clasped their hands around each others’ forearms, their eyes once again locked.
“Fenris. A pleasure to meet you, Hawke,” he said politely. “I thank you for your help in this matter. And I apologize for not coming forth before this encounter. But, as you just learned, I am a hunted elf.”
“Hunted by whom” she asked.
“Danarius, my former master.” He was not shy in admitting that he used to be a slave.
“Oh.” Her eyes left his for a moment, running down the length of his body and back up to his eyes again.
A corner of his mouth raised, as did one eyebrow.
She smiled and laughed a small, quick laugh. “And you want my help?”
“I’ve heard a lot about you. Even Tevinter is talking about your deeds. I thought you’d be as good a place to start as any. Please, take that as the compliment it’s meant to be, if you will.”
She still held his gaze. He expected it to make him uncomfortable at any moment. But, he found it intriguing.
Their eyes searched each others’ faces. He let his travel down her body, the way hers had done to his moments ago. She had strong wide hips and shoulders, and a narrow waist. He could probably fit both of his hands nearly around it, he surmised. She wore dark tan leather pants and matching knee high boots. Her jacket fell to her hips and was slightly lighter colored.
Nug skin, perhaps? One didn’t see much of it in Tevinter.
She blended into the color of the walls here in the Alienage and Lowtown, he noticed. Her long hair helped hide her face amongst the shadows of Kirkwall’s reprobates. Clever .
She inclined her head toward his weapon. “Get your sword, Fenris. Then, tell me how I can help free you from him permanently. I will not abide slavers in Kirkwall.”
“Hawke, a word?” Aveline asked.
Fenris picked up his sword, followed closely by the Mabari. He found that dogs tended to be comfortable around him, but this one seemed quite at ease for being a war hound. He had always heard that Mabari were fiercely loyal to their person, and wary and distrustful of strangers.
“Spike, leave him be?” Hawke asked.
The dog looked affronted and sat next to Fenris.
Fenris looked at Hawke, shrugging. “He’s fine.”
Hawke nodded, and returned to her conversation with her companions.
Fenris walked over to the hydrant in the corner of the Alienage and washed the blood from his arm. The dog followed. He let the water run, and Spike drank from the tap. Fenris put his mouth underneath, when Spike had had his fill, and took several long draws.
He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his wet hand, as the dry one held his sword.
Hawke approached as her companions filed up the steps together.
“Come to the Hanged Man with us . . . please,” she added when she realized that it sounded like a request instead of the offer it was meant to be. “We can talk there, in private. Let me help you.”
Fenris kept his face still and nodded once.
As she walked away he watched her staff as she used it like a walking stick, moving it as if it were part of her body. She was a mage. Mages were the reason he was in this whole mess to begin with. He could not forget that.
The Hanged Man was a boisterous pub. The dwarf waved to the barkeep, who acknowledged him with a tip of his chin. Fenris followed the dwarf, the two mages to the back of the pub, up some stairs, and into a well lit room. Aveline had excused her self earlier, stating that she had “. . . an early shift.”
A large wooden table stood in the center of the room, obviously dwarven in nature, surrounded by over-sized wooden armchairs. Spike curled up in front of the fire.
The dwarf turned to him, extending a hand. “Varric Tethras, welcome to my pub. Well, it’s going to be my pub one day. Make yourself at home. What can I get you? You look famished. But, elves always look famished to me.”
“I’m fine,” Fenris said.
Varric placed both hands on the table and looked Fenris in the eye. “When was the last time you ate?”
Fenris glared at him, stone-faced.
“That’s what I thought,” Varric said, as a tavern wench entered with a tray of steins in hand.
She set the ornate one in front of Varric at the head of the table, his back to the stairs. Hawke and Merrill sat across from where Fenris stood, and had drinks placed in front of them as well.
The tavern wench, who Fenris noticed was an elf, smiled shyly at him, handing the stein to him. “What can I get for you, serah?”
He reached out and took the drink from her. “Just this,” he answered. He certainly had no idea as to what kind of food was served in taverns in Kirkwall, and wasn’t going to make a fool of himself. Besides, he had little coin, and he was hanging onto that in case of emergency.
Varric spoke up. “He’ll have the special, Skipper. In fact we’ll all have the special. Don’t forget one for the dog.”
Spike gave a soft “woof” from his seat of honor, without opening an eye.
“Oh, no, Varric. I’m not hungry,” Merrill insisted.
“Daisy, you especially always look starving. You’re eating.” His eyes met each set of eyes at the table. “Everyone is eating. It’s on the house. Now, drink up and let’s see how we can help out our new friend.”
Later, after eating a hot, brown, rib-sticking stew, about which Varric said, “Never ask what’s in it,” and drinking four mugs of cool, amber ale, Fenris was relaxed for the first time in memory. They had agreed to case an abandoned mansion in Hightown tomorrow. Fenris knew if Danarius was in Kirkwall he wouldn’t have been slumming it in Lowtown; he’d be schmoozing the aristocrats. And, Hawke had heard reports of questionable activity coming from inside the home.
Fenris was warm, and reclined in his chair, propping up his feet on the seat next to him. Merrill rose to take her leave. He had seen her having trouble keeping her eyes open. When she too realized it, she excused herself to return to her home in the Alienage.
Varric stood. “Wait, as a gentleman, I can’t let you walk back there alone.”
“Varric, that’s silly,” Merrill said, putting her hand up. “It’s just around the corner.”
“Nonetheless, I’m going to accompany you. Stop arguing.” Varric turned to Fenris. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight, Fenris. You too, Hawke.”
“Thanks, Varric. But, you know how Mother worries. I like to keep my nights away to a minimum. I should head home too.” Hawke stood and gathered her staff. Spike raised his head.
“I’ll see you home, then,” Fenris said, taking his feet from the chair, and setting them upon the ground. He wasn’t sure why he offered so quickly. But, after Varric offered it to Merrill, he felt it was appropriate behavior at this point.
“Thanks, Fenris. But, Spike is more than enough protection for me at this hour,” Hawke refused gently.
“Let the elf walk you home, Hawke. There’s people trying to kill you. You’ve had a few drinks. It’s safer,” Varric pointed out.
“So-has-he!” Hawke exclaimed, slightly slurring her words together.
“Ha! Then, you two together will make one sober person and one drunk person. You can debate who is who on the way,” Varric insisted.
“Fine,” Hawke surrendered. “Fenris, you can sleep in Carver’s bed then. He doesn’t use it anymore.”
“And Carver is?”
“My brother. He’s not around much ever since I told him that I don’t want him to come into the Deep Roads with us.”
“It’s settled then. See you two tomorrow sometime. Get some rest. Be safe,” said Varric as he turned and ushered Merrill down the steps.
Hawke stood slowly and walked over to Spike. She bent down to him, nudging him with her hand. The dog stood and stretched, lackadaisically.
Fenris watched before getting up and sheathing his sword on his back. These people were so comfortable with each other.
This must be what a family is like , he thought. Then, he wondered why that occurred to him in the first place. Surely, it must be the ale.
They walked a few minutes in silence. Their steps slow and deliberate, both of them trying not to show the effects of the four, or was it five, mugs of strong dwarven ale they had imbibed in the last hour or so. The pub served Kirkwall swill to the public. Varric kept casks of the good stuff for himself.
Hawke waited until they were in the shadow of a dark corner, and abruptly turned to Fenris, stopping him in his tracks. Surprised by her nimble movement he retreated backwards, slamming into a wall. He reached out, gripping her by her arms tightly, exchanging places with her. He shoved her back to the wall with such force that the breath audibly left her lungs in a rush of air.
Spike growled.
Fenris released his grip and backed up a step. “I’m sorry. You startled me.”
“Spike, go home and wait for me,” Hawke pointed the direction in which they had been walking as she doubled over catching her breath. The dog walked down one building and sat on the steps. “Fenris, why did you seek me out?”
“They say that ‘Hawke puts an end to things.’ I need an end.” His determined gaze met hers.
“Why did you come this far? Tantervale and Starkhaven are much closer to Tevinter” she wondered.
“You weren’t in Tantervale or Starkhaven,” he answered.
“Surely you could have found someone else to help you there, though” she insisted.
He bowed his head. “Hawke, I don’t know anyone else. I don’t have a friend in this world.”
“I know what that’s like,” she told him.
Raising his head again, he caught her eyes with his. “I was a slave my entire life. I have no memories until the moment I had these markings forcibly tattooed on my body. I suppose that was five or so years ago. But, as a slave I had no concept of time, nor friends. Danarius hunts me; I’m a game to him, a trophy, something to be won and used. I can’t fight his army by myself. You were the only thing I could think of. I may have thought twice about it if I had known you were a mage though, I admit.”
“Oh, you disapprove of apostates?” She was aghast. With one hand on her hip, she poked the tip of her staff into the center of his chest. “You relied on this mage to save your ass tonight.”
“You’re lucky I know what an apostate is. There’s no such thing in Tevinter.” He removed her staff from his chest with the palm of his hand. “I disapprove of mages, especially mages with power. All my life I have suffered at the hands of mages. I don’t trust them, and never will.” His face remained neutral through it all. Surely, she would not still help him after this.
She took a step forward, standing toe-to-toe with him, pressing her chest against his.
His tattoos flared to life briefly.
“I have some news for you, Elf. You’ve made friends with two mages tonight. You should watch your mouth before you undo that and end up enslaved again. If you have no friends, who will save you when that happens?” She pressed her lips together tightly with her chin tipped up to his face.
“No one. I will take my own life before I let Danarius take me back into his custody again,” he spat out, heaving deep heavy breaths.
Her face softened. “I’m not going to let that happen, Fenris. I just . . . need you to trust me a little. Can you try to do that?” she asked.
He didn’t understand. There was so much he didn’t understand. He had to ask. “Why would you still help me?”
“What? After you admitted to me that you’ve been enslaved by a magister, had these markings forced upon you, and that all you can even remember is the last few years of your life as a slave? How could I let you go back to any of that? I’m a mage, not a monster, Fenris.” She looked offended.
Mages were all monsters where he came from. “I’m sorry. That was . . . unkind of me. My manners are nearly non-existent. My apologies.”
Why was she so close still?
She laid a hand on his arm, setting his skin afire where it made contact with his bicep. He jumped at her touch. For the first time in memory someone touched him without malice, without hate, without harm in their eyes. His heart raced. His breath deepened. His eyes narrowed betraying his stoic facade.
She smiled. “Well that’s almost a smile, I guess.” She let her hand slid down his arm and took him by the hand.
His eyes followed her hand, the way it floated across his skin, the way it made the hairs of his arm stand on end, the way it barely touched him yet he felt nothing else in that moment. Her touch left a trail of light across his tattoos, from his shoulder to his fingertips. He noticed that his skin didn’t burn the way it did when he was touched by others. His body hummed with vibration as the rest of his tattoos began to glow softly. It didn’t hurt. He had never felt the touch of a friend, for that’s what she called herself. It felt good: the touch of her hand, having her close, being alone with her.
“They’re so beautiful.” Stepping into him, so that their chests touched again, ever so slightly, she asked, “Fenris, can I kiss you?”
No one had ever asked him for permission before. He had been used in every way imaginable by Danarius and his guests, sometimes in the middle of the room with onlookers, sometimes in private. He never had a choice in it. He never took pleasure, but was forced to give it, and forced to fake his own enjoyment. Now, this woman, this mage, asked for his permission to put her lips to his. He didn’t know what to say. His first instinct was to say no. He would have said no to every single person who had ever touched him before, but not one of them had ever asked.
Now, he was asked, and he was afraid to even try it. He had seen others kiss, with love and affection, where permission didn’t need to be asked, it was understood. That seemed to be the way to try it were he to ever again kiss another.
“I’m supposed to be seeing you home safely, not letting you get mauled by some stranger in a dark corner,” he said to her. “Besides, I’m sure it’s just the dwarf’s ale talking.”
She dropped his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. That was rude. I’m a horrible hostess. Come on. I’ll give you a warm bed to sleep in, as long as you don’t mind Spike’s snoring.”
Inside of the door he saw a grey haired woman, who he surmised was her mother, sitting in front of the fire with a ball of thick, fluffy yarn strung between two large wooden needles.
“Oh, you brought a man home, at this late hour, Scarlet? That’s new!” The woman said without looking up from her work.
“Mother, this is Fenris. He—well he was attacked tonight. We saved him. And he needed a place to stay since it’s so late. Varric was going to let him stay at the Hanged Man. But, he had to walk Merrill home, so Fenris offered to walk me home. And it’s just too dangerous for him to go back there by himself. So, I told him he could stay in Carver’s bed tonight. I knew he wouldn’t be here. I’m sorry I made you wait up for me, Mother.”
“Well, we can’t have him wandering the streets at night. Lowtown isn’t safe. Hightown is hardly safe enough for that.” She extended a hand to him. He reached his to hers. “Fenris, darling of course you’re welcome to stay here tonight. Please, call me Leandra.” She patted his hand gently.
Scarlet saw him genuinely smile for the first time then.
“Thank you, Leandra. It was my pleasure to see your daughter home safely. I appreciate your hospitality.” His cheeks turned ever so slightly pink.
Spike padded into the room on the other side of the fireplace and curled up upon a sheepskin thrown over a pillow on the floor.
“Get to bed, you two. It’s late and you look tired, and a little drunk,” Leandra laughed.
“This way,” Scarlet gestured to him.
Despite the cool night air outside, the room was warm, nestled behind the fireplace. There were two beds in it, one stacked atop the other, against the wall opposite the dog. Scarlet closed the door behind them, then sat on the edge of the mattress of the bottom bunk and began to remove her boots. Her fingers fumbled with the buckle. Her mother was right. It was late and they were a little drunk. He removed the bandolier from over his shoulder that held his sword, and hung it on a nail on the wall. Then, he knelt upon one knee, and took her foot in his hand. He had removed the shoes of countless people in Tevinter. Sometimes he did it before he was even asked because he knew it was coming.
But, now he watched a new found friend fumble to get to bed. A friend who had stuck her neck out for him today, who was willing to help him stop Danarius, to keep him out of that life. He did this deed out of the kindness of his heart, a heart he was only just discovering, because he wanted to, because it was the right thing to do. That feeling made his newfound heart swell. His tattoos began to glow again. He gritted his teeth expecting pain. Instead it was that strange tingling sensation from earlier. Still it was uncomfortable.
He pulled off one boot and set to unbuckling the other.
Her hand stayed his. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Let me,” he assured her.
Her eyes traveled his body once again. “Why do your tattoos glow?”
“Because of the lyrium,” he answered.
“Lyrium? How could they? I’ve never heard of it used that way before?”
“They make an ink out of lyrium dust. It’s uncommon in Tevinter, and causes unpredictable side effects, so it’s not done often, from what I hear. I’ve never heard of anyone else surviving the process.” He set her boot next to it’s mate by the bed post.
“It must have been very painful for you.”
“Excruciating.”
“They hurt when they glow, don’t they?” she asked, her voice full of concern.
“Yes, they do.” He still held her foot in his hand, rubbing it absently.
She let her head fall back and let out a sigh. “Oh, that feels good.”
His hands stilled a moment. Taking her foot with him, he sat at the other end of the bed, spinning her as he went.
Her hands went to her jacket, undoing the buttons at the front, spreading it wide open. Afterwards, she began undoing the lace of the corset beneath. When the lace was unthreaded from all but one bottom hole, she secured it to the garment, so as not to lose it.
He watched her hands go about their nightly routine of soothing the skin that covered her ribs, her stomach, her back, and her breasts. The nipples puckered beneath the fabric. She rubbed at them with her palms.
He averted his eyes, back to the foot in his hand. He put it down and picked up the other one.
“Fenris?”
When he looked up at her, she was watching him.
“I won’t let him hurt you again.”
His throat tightened. His chest felt heavy. His tattoos glowed again. He squeezed her foot in his hand. “Thank you, Hawke.”
Her head fell back to the pillow. “Call me Scarlet. Varric used to be the only one to call me Hawke. Then, Carver started doing it to mock me. Now, everyone calls me Hawke.”
“Scarlet it is.”
“You can take the top bunk, unless you’d be more comfortable on the bottom, that is. It doesn’t matter to me.” She raised herself up on her elbows to see him again.
He set her foot on the bed and patted it. “The top is fine. Thank you, Scarlet.”
He stood, taking off his belt, hanging it on the nail too. When he turned back around, she was curled up on her side watching him through heavily lidded eyes, smiling. He placed his hands upon the mattress and vaulted into the top bunk effortlessly.
He listened to her breathe for what seemed like a long while. It wasn’t the slow, deep breath of sleep.
“Goodnight, Fenris,” she said much later.
“Scarlet . . .” He waited for her reply.
“Mmmhmm.”
“Next time you want to kiss me, you needn’t ask.”