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abstractconceptTitle: Fluffy
Pairings: M!Hawke/Fenris
Word Count: Probably a bit more than 5,000
Content: FLUFF, humor, romance, derring-do and silliness.
Prompt: Please give me some Fenris fluff, somebody.
Summary: In which Fenris discovers something his companions already know, to wit; just because something is pretty and has fluffy white hair and big green eyes does not mean it is not an ill-tempered, malevolent beast capable of ripping you to shreds.
Fluffy
“So . . . shall we visit the Hanged Man for some truly horrible drinks?” Hawke suggested.
Fenris gave him a look. “If that’s your idea of a romantic outing, perhaps I should pass,” he teased.
Hawke grinned. “Hey, at least I didn’t drag you on a wyvern hunt this time.”
“Yes . . .” Fenris said dryly. “That was moderately less romantic than the Hanged Man, I suppose.” Still, he didn’t actually blame Hawke. They rarely had a low key day, and though they’d decided to spend this one together, it did seem a little strange. With the way life was in Kirkwall, there wasn’t a lot of time for romance. But a day out together seemed like a nice idea—right up until they tried to think up something to fill it.
Hawke wasn’t much of a gambler. Fenris found the Viscount’s gardens too precious. Fenris liked a good bottle of wine, but Hawke preferred something stronger. Finally they’d settled on a stroll around the city. They were currently ambling through the docks, just enjoying each other’s company.
It wasn’t a bad idea, but Kirkwall was malodorous, messy and loud—not exactly a wildly romantic setting. And it had other problems as well.
“Oh, Champion!” Hawke winced as a well-dressed woman spotted him and rushed over, all aflutter. She had two small children with her—a boy and a girl—but they hung back shyly. The girl was wearing a ruffled pink dress and the boy, poor child, was wearing a shirt with puffy sleeves. “I just saw you passing and I had to thank you for all you’ve done!” the woman said in a thick Orlesian accent.
Hawke’s ears reddened, but he tried to be courteous. “That’s kind of you,” he said. He had learned to keep his encounters brief, lest someone ask him for money.
He tried to move past the woman, but she clung to him as tenaciously as a barnacle. “I even named one of my children after you!” she exclaimed, waving the boy over.
“Oh . . . er, so your name is Garrett?” Hawke inquired, bending down to shake the boy’s hand. The child mutely shook his head. “Hawke?” Hawke guessed.
“Don’t be silly. His name is Champion,” the woman told them. “But I spell it with a ‘y.’ To make it special.”
Hawke boggled at her.
Fenris coughed, trying to cover a laugh.
“I see,” Hawke managed to croak. “Well. Isn’t that nice?” he said desperately. “I . . . we really have to go . . .” He grabbed Fenris by the hand and dragged him away. It was a mark of how far they’d come that Fenris didn’t even blink at this. “Have a nice day,” Hawke said over his shoulder as they ran off.
“Say goodbye, Champion!” they heard the woman instruct her son.
“It’s not funny,” Hawke complained when they were out of earshot. Fenris was still chuckling.
“No?” the elf asked, arching a brow.
“No. It’s exasperating.”
“Oh, yes. People adore you and heap praise on you wherever you go. What a terrible burden,” Fenris said sarcastically.
Hawke stopped and looked at him. “Well, I admit it’s not as bad as facing a dragon or a darkspawn, but it gets tiresome. And weird. Once,” Hawke added, dropping his voice, “I was told that there was a nobleman in terrible danger, so I got to his mansion as quickly as I could, and there he was, waiting for me at the door, stark naked. I asked him what the trouble was, and he said—”
“I can guess,” Fenris interrupted. He shook his head, still smiling.
“Yes. Well.” Hawke huffed, looking just a little haughty. “I told him I was the Champion of Kirwall, not a prostitute. He insisted he was in need. I suggested he order food and maybe the guy delivering it would be interested in assisting him.”
Fenris smiled crookedly. “I sometimes envy it. Not that encounter, certainly, but others. The way people treat you—cheering you on, thanking you, admiring you. No one admires me, and I’ve yet to get a parade in my honor. No one ever runs up to clap me on the back and tell me how wonderful I am.”
“Well, no,” Hawke agreed. “I can’t imagine anyone doing that.”
Fenris looked offended. “Indeed?” he replied.
“If they tried, you’d glare at them murderously and then they’d go away. You give off vibes that if anyone invades your personal space—meaning gets within approximately twelve feet of you—you will chop off their ears and possibly stab them in the buttocks, just as a friendly warning. I can’t imagine what you’d do if someone had the audacity to actually try touching you.”
“Well . . . that’s true,” Fenris admitted slowly. Even he had to acknowledge that he wasn’t very approachable.
“If you want people to slap you on the back and buy you drinks, you have to make an effort. And wear clothing that wouldn’t injure someone trying to do that,” Hawke pointed out with a grin.
“I don’t like people touching me,” Fenris replied with a sniff.
Hawke raised his eyebrows.
Fenris looked down and noticed their hands were still joined, and blushed hotly. Still, he didn’t pull his hand away. “Well, I don’t like most people touching me,” he mumbled.
Hawke laughed and risked a quick kiss to the elf’s temple. “Good enough for me,” he said.
“Champion! Champion!” Hawke and Fenris turned to find a man bearing down on them, out of breath. “I was . . . sent to . . . give you a message,” he panted. He had a thick mustache and tattered clothes. Fenris had seen him about the city before; he probably worked in the mines.
“Take a moment to recover,” Hawke advised him. He patted the wheezing man’s back. “Do you need some water?”
Fenris shot him a look of exasperated fondness. No wonder everyone loved Hawke. He always had to be the hero, whether that meant rescuing damsels in distress or giving orphans money. And he did it with unflagging good cheer and a kind word for just about everyone. It was rather sickening, actually.
“Better?” Hawke said once the man’s face was less red and sweaty. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I was sent with a message,” the man repeated urgently. “There’s a Blood Mage, serrah. They say he’s holed up in the Viscount’s office. I don’t rightly know what’s going on, serrah. But they say it’s bad. They say he has hostages. They say he’s powerful. They say he’s eating a donkey.”
“He—wait, what?”
The man looked apologetic. “I may have misheard that last bit,” he admitted. “But still, it sounds bad, serrah. Very bad.”
Hawke heaved a sigh. “I suppose I should get Varric. He’d kill me if I went after a donkey-eating-Blood Mage without him.”
Fenris was pained. “You don’t really need me for this, do you?” He’d looked forward to having a day off.
Hawke rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It did come in handy when I discovered you spoke Quinari. You don’t happen to speak Jackass, do you?” he asked.
Fenris scowled, but it was a playful scowl. “No,” he replied
“Are you sure? Let me hear you bray,” Hawke proposed, eyes twinkling.
Fenris promptly unsheathed his weapon and used the flat of the sword to smack Hawke on the bum. “You’re not funny,” he said. “Go take care of that Blood Mage,” he added when he noticed the messenger gawking at them. “I’ll be getting a drink at the Hanged Man. Meet me when you’re done catering to your admirers and your Blood Mages and your donkeys.”
“Sure, sure,” Hawke said. “I’ll meet you back here tonight. And we could . . . go out to a nice dinner?” he suggested. "Or something? Together?"
Fenris softened. He loved when Hawke looked at him like that, uncertain and hopeful. “Yes,” Fenris said. “That would be nice.”
Hawke smiled. “Good. Yes. Tonight, then,” he said, pleased as a pup wagging its tail. “Try not to bite anyone’s head off while I’m gone!” Hawke called over his shoulder.
Fenris wrinkled his nose. It was unfair. He wasn’t any less a hero than Hawke, really. He just didn’t smile for the crowd after he’d cut a dragon’s head off. He turned and headed into the Hanged Man, but stopped short when something grabbed him from behind.
“Serrah!”
Fenris winced and reached for his sword before realizing it was no threat—just a small child. “What—what do you want?” he spluttered.
“Serrah . . . you . . . you’re friends with the Champion, right?”
Fenris peered closer. All small children in Kirkwall generally looked alike—filthy and thin—but he thought he’d seen this one before. She was wearing a very pink dress and was mostly clean, and her dark hair was braided with ribbon. She also had a little bit of an accent. “I saw you earlier,” Fenris said. “Your little brother was named after the Champion, was he not?”
She nodded and sniffled. She had been crying. “Please, will you tell him to come?” she said. “We need him!”
Fenris rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m . . . sorry, but he’s otherwise engaged.”
“But he must come! He has to save our Duchess!” she exclaimed. The little girl was starting to cry in earnest now, great wet teardrops slipping down her cheeks. “Please. Oh, please,” she begged.
Fenris, discomfited, glanced around. An elf could get in a great deal of trouble if someone thought he had made a human child cry. “There, there,” he said vaguely. “I’m sure the Duchess will be all right.”
The girl sniffled, looking up at him with huge blue eyes. “Will you help us, then?” she said. “You’re a friend of the Champion, aren’t you? Do you go on adventures with him? You could save her—I am just sure you could!” She grabbed his hand and bounced up and down. “Oh please, please say you will!”
Despite himself, Fenris felt something stir—long dormant compassion, perhaps. He did have a soft spot for children. Perhaps he ought to help her. She was obviously in great distress, and it might be nice to be the hero for once. And she was a duchess, after all, probably Orlesian. Fenris had never met one. It might be nice to have one owe him a favor. “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “Where is this duchess?”
“I’ll show you!” the girl said. The grabbed his hand and pulled hard. “This way!”
Heaving a great sigh, Fenris followed.
oOoOoOo
Fenris shaded his eyes. “The Duchess is in the Vhendahl tree,” he said in a flat voice.
“Right up near the top,” the little girl said tearfully. “We can’t reach her! Oh, Maker, please don’t let her fall.”
Fenris couldn’t see anything. He was getting a bad feeling about this. “How did this happen?” he asked.
The girl wiped her face. “There were some men chasing her. They meant to do her harm. She was trying to get away so she ran and climbed up the tree and they couldn’t follow her, so they went away.”
Well, that made a sort of sense. Kirkwall was rife with ruffians, and if you couldn’t fight, he supposed it was wise to find higher ground. Still, a tree? And why did the Duchess travel without guard? “Hello?” he called. There was no answer.
“Please get her down, oh, please,” the little girl pleaded.
“Oh, very well,” Fenris said with a huff. He circled the tree. It was very broad at the bottom, its thick base decorated in red and white for some reason Fenris did not know. Moments like this reminded him how ill he fit into this city; he was no human, but he had no real connection with the elves. He stood apart.
Fenris shook himself and dismissed his self-indulgent musings. He had work to do—as long as he could figure out where to start.
It took a while to figure out how to get up the tree; there weren’t any branches low enough to grab. First he dragged several crates over to climb on. Their owners didn’t stop him. This must be one of those times my appearance is working in my favor, he thought. No one wants to be the first to tell me to leave their box of rags alone. But I’ll put everything back when I’ve finished, and I’m sure they’ll come to see I meant no harm. Fenris made it past the gigantic roots, then strained to reach the lowest fork. With a bit of scrabbling, he pulled himself up. From there it was even more difficult; the branches were so high! He had to wrap his body around the tree, dig his fingers and toes into the bark and sort of shimmy his way up a branch.
“Hello?” he called up, but no one answered. Maker, how was he going to get the Duchess down? And why wasn't she answering? Every nerve in his body twanged with misgivings.
A number of elves gathered around and watched him suspiciously, but at least they weren’t laughing. He had the feeling he hadn’t been run off was in part because of his frightening appearance, all spikes and strange white markings, but also because he was an elf as well—he was pretty certain that if Hawke had tried this, the Alienage would have been in an uproar. Fenris gritted his teeth. His fingers ached and his muscles strained. He was sure he’d have a fine set of calluses after this, if not actual bleeding.
“Bloody tree,” Fenris growled. He could tell his face was getting red. Why was everyone staring? He understood he was violating their sacred tree, but did they have to gawk at him while he did it? He must look so foolish. It would almost be better if the elves just attacked him.
Finally he reached one of the higher branches and paused to get his bearings. His hands and feet were all scraped up from digging into the rough bark. “Duchess?” he called. “Are you all right?”
“She’s up at the very top!” the little girl called up to him. “Above you!”
The leaves above Fenris fluttered. “Madam? Duchess? Your . . . Grace?” he said. He reached up carefully and parted the branches. A pair of glowing green eyes met his. “A cat? A . . . cat.” Fenris cursed himself for being so stupid. Of course it was a cat! What sort of duchess got stuck in a tree? “Sodding idiot,” he swore. He had been so eager to play the hero that he hadn't taken the time to think things through.
“Can you see her? Oh, please tell me she is all right!” the little girl yelled.
“She’s fine,” Fenris replied curtly.
“Can you reach her?”
Fenris stared at the cat, who in turn stared at him. It was lank and a bit scruffy for having been climbing trees, and its expression was one of mistrust and aloofness. He felt a certain kinship with this cat. Life was always trying to make you come down out of your tree.
But then there was the girl, and Fenris didn’t want this to end in tears. And the cat was quite fluffy; it looked like a domestic feline that had escaped the confines of luxury. Its fur was long and white. It was probably scared to find itself up a tree. Fenris could tell from looking at it that it was used to being pampered and petted—it probably wouldn't survive on its own in Kirkwall. Besides, it would be ridiculous to make all this effort and have nothing to show for it. If he was going to do a good deed, he might as well finish the job.
Fenris sighed. “Yes, I can reach her,” he answered.
oOoOoOo
Pairings: M!Hawke/Fenris
Word Count: Probably a bit more than 5,000
Content: FLUFF, humor, romance, derring-do and silliness.
Prompt: Please give me some Fenris fluff, somebody.
Summary: In which Fenris discovers something his companions already know, to wit; just because something is pretty and has fluffy white hair and big green eyes does not mean it is not an ill-tempered, malevolent beast capable of ripping you to shreds.
“So . . . shall we visit the Hanged Man for some truly horrible drinks?” Hawke suggested.
Fenris gave him a look. “If that’s your idea of a romantic outing, perhaps I should pass,” he teased.
Hawke grinned. “Hey, at least I didn’t drag you on a wyvern hunt this time.”
“Yes . . .” Fenris said dryly. “That was moderately less romantic than the Hanged Man, I suppose.” Still, he didn’t actually blame Hawke. They rarely had a low key day, and though they’d decided to spend this one together, it did seem a little strange. With the way life was in Kirkwall, there wasn’t a lot of time for romance. But a day out together seemed like a nice idea—right up until they tried to think up something to fill it.
Hawke wasn’t much of a gambler. Fenris found the Viscount’s gardens too precious. Fenris liked a good bottle of wine, but Hawke preferred something stronger. Finally they’d settled on a stroll around the city. They were currently ambling through the docks, just enjoying each other’s company.
It wasn’t a bad idea, but Kirkwall was malodorous, messy and loud—not exactly a wildly romantic setting. And it had other problems as well.
“Oh, Champion!” Hawke winced as a well-dressed woman spotted him and rushed over, all aflutter. She had two small children with her—a boy and a girl—but they hung back shyly. The girl was wearing a ruffled pink dress and the boy, poor child, was wearing a shirt with puffy sleeves. “I just saw you passing and I had to thank you for all you’ve done!” the woman said in a thick Orlesian accent.
Hawke’s ears reddened, but he tried to be courteous. “That’s kind of you,” he said. He had learned to keep his encounters brief, lest someone ask him for money.
He tried to move past the woman, but she clung to him as tenaciously as a barnacle. “I even named one of my children after you!” she exclaimed, waving the boy over.
“Oh . . . er, so your name is Garrett?” Hawke inquired, bending down to shake the boy’s hand. The child mutely shook his head. “Hawke?” Hawke guessed.
“Don’t be silly. His name is Champion,” the woman told them. “But I spell it with a ‘y.’ To make it special.”
Hawke boggled at her.
Fenris coughed, trying to cover a laugh.
“I see,” Hawke managed to croak. “Well. Isn’t that nice?” he said desperately. “I . . . we really have to go . . .” He grabbed Fenris by the hand and dragged him away. It was a mark of how far they’d come that Fenris didn’t even blink at this. “Have a nice day,” Hawke said over his shoulder as they ran off.
“Say goodbye, Champion!” they heard the woman instruct her son.
“It’s not funny,” Hawke complained when they were out of earshot. Fenris was still chuckling.
“No?” the elf asked, arching a brow.
“No. It’s exasperating.”
“Oh, yes. People adore you and heap praise on you wherever you go. What a terrible burden,” Fenris said sarcastically.
Hawke stopped and looked at him. “Well, I admit it’s not as bad as facing a dragon or a darkspawn, but it gets tiresome. And weird. Once,” Hawke added, dropping his voice, “I was told that there was a nobleman in terrible danger, so I got to his mansion as quickly as I could, and there he was, waiting for me at the door, stark naked. I asked him what the trouble was, and he said—”
“I can guess,” Fenris interrupted. He shook his head, still smiling.
“Yes. Well.” Hawke huffed, looking just a little haughty. “I told him I was the Champion of Kirwall, not a prostitute. He insisted he was in need. I suggested he order food and maybe the guy delivering it would be interested in assisting him.”
Fenris smiled crookedly. “I sometimes envy it. Not that encounter, certainly, but others. The way people treat you—cheering you on, thanking you, admiring you. No one admires me, and I’ve yet to get a parade in my honor. No one ever runs up to clap me on the back and tell me how wonderful I am.”
“Well, no,” Hawke agreed. “I can’t imagine anyone doing that.”
Fenris looked offended. “Indeed?” he replied.
“If they tried, you’d glare at them murderously and then they’d go away. You give off vibes that if anyone invades your personal space—meaning gets within approximately twelve feet of you—you will chop off their ears and possibly stab them in the buttocks, just as a friendly warning. I can’t imagine what you’d do if someone had the audacity to actually try touching you.”
“Well . . . that’s true,” Fenris admitted slowly. Even he had to acknowledge that he wasn’t very approachable.
“If you want people to slap you on the back and buy you drinks, you have to make an effort. And wear clothing that wouldn’t injure someone trying to do that,” Hawke pointed out with a grin.
“I don’t like people touching me,” Fenris replied with a sniff.
Hawke raised his eyebrows.
Fenris looked down and noticed their hands were still joined, and blushed hotly. Still, he didn’t pull his hand away. “Well, I don’t like most people touching me,” he mumbled.
Hawke laughed and risked a quick kiss to the elf’s temple. “Good enough for me,” he said.
“Champion! Champion!” Hawke and Fenris turned to find a man bearing down on them, out of breath. “I was . . . sent to . . . give you a message,” he panted. He had a thick mustache and tattered clothes. Fenris had seen him about the city before; he probably worked in the mines.
“Take a moment to recover,” Hawke advised him. He patted the wheezing man’s back. “Do you need some water?”
Fenris shot him a look of exasperated fondness. No wonder everyone loved Hawke. He always had to be the hero, whether that meant rescuing damsels in distress or giving orphans money. And he did it with unflagging good cheer and a kind word for just about everyone. It was rather sickening, actually.
“Better?” Hawke said once the man’s face was less red and sweaty. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I was sent with a message,” the man repeated urgently. “There’s a Blood Mage, serrah. They say he’s holed up in the Viscount’s office. I don’t rightly know what’s going on, serrah. But they say it’s bad. They say he has hostages. They say he’s powerful. They say he’s eating a donkey.”
“He—wait, what?”
The man looked apologetic. “I may have misheard that last bit,” he admitted. “But still, it sounds bad, serrah. Very bad.”
Hawke heaved a sigh. “I suppose I should get Varric. He’d kill me if I went after a donkey-eating-Blood Mage without him.”
Fenris was pained. “You don’t really need me for this, do you?” He’d looked forward to having a day off.
Hawke rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It did come in handy when I discovered you spoke Quinari. You don’t happen to speak Jackass, do you?” he asked.
Fenris scowled, but it was a playful scowl. “No,” he replied
“Are you sure? Let me hear you bray,” Hawke proposed, eyes twinkling.
Fenris promptly unsheathed his weapon and used the flat of the sword to smack Hawke on the bum. “You’re not funny,” he said. “Go take care of that Blood Mage,” he added when he noticed the messenger gawking at them. “I’ll be getting a drink at the Hanged Man. Meet me when you’re done catering to your admirers and your Blood Mages and your donkeys.”
“Sure, sure,” Hawke said. “I’ll meet you back here tonight. And we could . . . go out to a nice dinner?” he suggested. "Or something? Together?"
Fenris softened. He loved when Hawke looked at him like that, uncertain and hopeful. “Yes,” Fenris said. “That would be nice.”
Hawke smiled. “Good. Yes. Tonight, then,” he said, pleased as a pup wagging its tail. “Try not to bite anyone’s head off while I’m gone!” Hawke called over his shoulder.
Fenris wrinkled his nose. It was unfair. He wasn’t any less a hero than Hawke, really. He just didn’t smile for the crowd after he’d cut a dragon’s head off. He turned and headed into the Hanged Man, but stopped short when something grabbed him from behind.
“Serrah!”
Fenris winced and reached for his sword before realizing it was no threat—just a small child. “What—what do you want?” he spluttered.
“Serrah . . . you . . . you’re friends with the Champion, right?”
Fenris peered closer. All small children in Kirkwall generally looked alike—filthy and thin—but he thought he’d seen this one before. She was wearing a very pink dress and was mostly clean, and her dark hair was braided with ribbon. She also had a little bit of an accent. “I saw you earlier,” Fenris said. “Your little brother was named after the Champion, was he not?”
She nodded and sniffled. She had been crying. “Please, will you tell him to come?” she said. “We need him!”
Fenris rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m . . . sorry, but he’s otherwise engaged.”
“But he must come! He has to save our Duchess!” she exclaimed. The little girl was starting to cry in earnest now, great wet teardrops slipping down her cheeks. “Please. Oh, please,” she begged.
Fenris, discomfited, glanced around. An elf could get in a great deal of trouble if someone thought he had made a human child cry. “There, there,” he said vaguely. “I’m sure the Duchess will be all right.”
The girl sniffled, looking up at him with huge blue eyes. “Will you help us, then?” she said. “You’re a friend of the Champion, aren’t you? Do you go on adventures with him? You could save her—I am just sure you could!” She grabbed his hand and bounced up and down. “Oh please, please say you will!”
Despite himself, Fenris felt something stir—long dormant compassion, perhaps. He did have a soft spot for children. Perhaps he ought to help her. She was obviously in great distress, and it might be nice to be the hero for once. And she was a duchess, after all, probably Orlesian. Fenris had never met one. It might be nice to have one owe him a favor. “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “Where is this duchess?”
“I’ll show you!” the girl said. The grabbed his hand and pulled hard. “This way!”
Heaving a great sigh, Fenris followed.
Fenris shaded his eyes. “The Duchess is in the Vhendahl tree,” he said in a flat voice.
“Right up near the top,” the little girl said tearfully. “We can’t reach her! Oh, Maker, please don’t let her fall.”
Fenris couldn’t see anything. He was getting a bad feeling about this. “How did this happen?” he asked.
The girl wiped her face. “There were some men chasing her. They meant to do her harm. She was trying to get away so she ran and climbed up the tree and they couldn’t follow her, so they went away.”
Well, that made a sort of sense. Kirkwall was rife with ruffians, and if you couldn’t fight, he supposed it was wise to find higher ground. Still, a tree? And why did the Duchess travel without guard? “Hello?” he called. There was no answer.
“Please get her down, oh, please,” the little girl pleaded.
“Oh, very well,” Fenris said with a huff. He circled the tree. It was very broad at the bottom, its thick base decorated in red and white for some reason Fenris did not know. Moments like this reminded him how ill he fit into this city; he was no human, but he had no real connection with the elves. He stood apart.
Fenris shook himself and dismissed his self-indulgent musings. He had work to do—as long as he could figure out where to start.
It took a while to figure out how to get up the tree; there weren’t any branches low enough to grab. First he dragged several crates over to climb on. Their owners didn’t stop him. This must be one of those times my appearance is working in my favor, he thought. No one wants to be the first to tell me to leave their box of rags alone. But I’ll put everything back when I’ve finished, and I’m sure they’ll come to see I meant no harm. Fenris made it past the gigantic roots, then strained to reach the lowest fork. With a bit of scrabbling, he pulled himself up. From there it was even more difficult; the branches were so high! He had to wrap his body around the tree, dig his fingers and toes into the bark and sort of shimmy his way up a branch.
“Hello?” he called up, but no one answered. Maker, how was he going to get the Duchess down? And why wasn't she answering? Every nerve in his body twanged with misgivings.
A number of elves gathered around and watched him suspiciously, but at least they weren’t laughing. He had the feeling he hadn’t been run off was in part because of his frightening appearance, all spikes and strange white markings, but also because he was an elf as well—he was pretty certain that if Hawke had tried this, the Alienage would have been in an uproar. Fenris gritted his teeth. His fingers ached and his muscles strained. He was sure he’d have a fine set of calluses after this, if not actual bleeding.
“Bloody tree,” Fenris growled. He could tell his face was getting red. Why was everyone staring? He understood he was violating their sacred tree, but did they have to gawk at him while he did it? He must look so foolish. It would almost be better if the elves just attacked him.
Finally he reached one of the higher branches and paused to get his bearings. His hands and feet were all scraped up from digging into the rough bark. “Duchess?” he called. “Are you all right?”
“She’s up at the very top!” the little girl called up to him. “Above you!”
The leaves above Fenris fluttered. “Madam? Duchess? Your . . . Grace?” he said. He reached up carefully and parted the branches. A pair of glowing green eyes met his. “A cat? A . . . cat.” Fenris cursed himself for being so stupid. Of course it was a cat! What sort of duchess got stuck in a tree? “Sodding idiot,” he swore. He had been so eager to play the hero that he hadn't taken the time to think things through.
“Can you see her? Oh, please tell me she is all right!” the little girl yelled.
“She’s fine,” Fenris replied curtly.
“Can you reach her?”
Fenris stared at the cat, who in turn stared at him. It was lank and a bit scruffy for having been climbing trees, and its expression was one of mistrust and aloofness. He felt a certain kinship with this cat. Life was always trying to make you come down out of your tree.
But then there was the girl, and Fenris didn’t want this to end in tears. And the cat was quite fluffy; it looked like a domestic feline that had escaped the confines of luxury. Its fur was long and white. It was probably scared to find itself up a tree. Fenris could tell from looking at it that it was used to being pampered and petted—it probably wouldn't survive on its own in Kirkwall. Besides, it would be ridiculous to make all this effort and have nothing to show for it. If he was going to do a good deed, he might as well finish the job.
Fenris sighed. “Yes, I can reach her,” he answered.
Fifteen minutes he was back on the ground, cursing and covered in thin, painful scratches. “That cat is a darkspawn,” he snarled.
“Did you get her? Is she hurt?” the little girl asked, wringing her hands.
“Is she hurt? Are you joking?” Every little cut stung, and Fenris had a considerable number of them. There were scratches on his face, hands and forearms, and a particularly bloody one on his neck.
The girl started to whimper again.
Fenris, his back to the Vhendahl, heard a couple of thumps. He turned to find the cat descending the tree with ease. It sauntered past him, deigning to brush against his shin as it made its way to the little girl and jumped right into her arms.
“Vishante Kaffas,” Fenris spat. “Why didn’t you tell me it was a cat?”
The girl gave him a puzzled look. “Didn’t you know? Of course she is a cat.” The thing curled up and snuggled the little girl, allowing her to scritch her fuzzy chin.
How could anything so fluffy and cute be so vicious at heart? Fenris squeezed the bridge of his nose but let go quickly when he realized how much it hurt his cuts. He sighed. “It isn’t a cat. It’s a blighted demon in cat form.”
“No, she’s not,” the girl cooed. “She’s a good girl.” The little girl carried the cat out of the Alienage and Fenris followed, if only to make sure she returned safe to her mother. And to make certain he didn’t turn his back on the cursed feline. The girl fussed over Duchess, who lolled against her shoulder and gave Fenris a smug look.
Fenris glowered back. No wonder Anders got on with cats so well. They were clearly evil.
“Mama!” the little girl suddenly yelled. “The Champion’s friend saved Duchess from a tree!”
“Oh, Marie, I have been worried about you,” the woman scolded. She scooped the girl up, and the cat leapt down and wandered off without a care in the world. “Now, tell me what happened.”
“There were mean boys and they wanted to do Duchess harm. She ran away and got stuck in the Alienage tree. But this man saved her.”
The woman looked at Fenris dubiously. “Thank you, that was very kind . . .”
“Fenris,” Fenris supplied.
“I see. Well, we are very grateful. Duchess is so dear to us, and she is a rare breed, too!” Fenris didn’t doubt that. Housecats probably didn’t mate with demons and spawn such cats very often. “She should not have been outside,” the woman continued. “Marie, you go and make sure to take her indoors. And serrah,” she added, turning back to Fenris, “Please, take this for your troubles.” She handed him a gold coin, which made the incident a little more bearable.
“Thank you,” he said gravely.
As he turned to leave a man passing by asked, “What was that about?”
“He saved our precious Duchess!” the woman said merrily. “He is truly a worthy companion to our Champion.”
“You saved a duchess?” the man asked with interest as the woman ushered her family indoors.
“It was more like fighting a darkspawn,” Fenris grumbled.
“You saved a duchess from a darkspawn?”
“What? No.”
But the man didn’t seem to be listening. He also seemed to be a bit drunk, despite the fact that the shine hadn't even worn off the morning. “Davy, come over here! Listen to this! This elf here, he’s a hero! Fought off a darkspawn and saved a duchess! And he knows the Champion!”
Fenris turned bright red. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—” he protested helplessly.
“And he’s humble, too! I heard that woman. The Champion had better watch his back. We have a new hero in town.” The man had straw-blond hair and a red nose. “Come on, mate. Name’s Willy. I’m gonna buy you a drink.”
The man slung an arm around him and wouldn’t take no for an answer, frog-marching him in the direction of the Hanged Man. “Oh, if you must,” Fenris said with a sigh. “But only one,” he added.
oOoOoOo
By the time they entered the Hanged Man, Fenris had somehow acquired an entourage. Willy called out to every friend he passed, and in every telling the tale grew. Fenris was both mortified and fascinated by this development, but no one listened when he tried to interrupt and explain about the cat. Willy kept insisting he was just humble. Eventually Fenris gave up.
Luckily, when they reached the tavern, Varric was in attendance. He was sitting at a table, holding court and telling tall tales. That meant he and Hawke were finished with their adventure, whatever it was. “Is Hawke with you?” Fenris asked anxiously.
“No, he had to go change. By the time we were done, he had donkey all over him,” Varric said with a laugh. “You wanna hear about it?”
Fenris was not in the mood for one of Varric’s fanciful tales. “Not really.”
Varric eyed the elf’s scratches. “What happened to you?”
“I’ll tell you what happened to him,” Willy interrupted with a broad grin. “Fancy yourself a storyteller, right? You want to hear a tale, mate? I’ll tell you a tale! A tale of how this elf here saved royalty straight from the jaws of death itself!”
Fenris turned red and scowled, but the man now slung an arm around his neck as if they were old friends. “Wasn’t any royalty, and I didn’t,” Fenris said, but as this was directed into the man’s armpit, this had no effect. He tried to push the man away.
“Really?” Varric said with interest. “And who are you?”
“My name’s Willy. I work in the mines. But that’s not important! What’s important is that this. Man. Here. Is a hero,” Willy said, emphasizing this by giving Fenris a hearty squeeze at certain words.
Fenris tried to pull away. Willy smelled like a drunk billy goat. “I wasn’t . . .” Fenris said.
“He did!” someone else in the pub exclaimed. “I was there!”
“He fought off ten darkspawn!”
“And a dragon!”
“Two dragons!”
“With one hand!”
“I didn’t,” Fenris insisted. He met Varric’s eyes. He shook his head helplessly.
The dwarf grinned. “Just go with it,” he advised. “You think Hawke never has days like this? Besides, I love a good story.”
“But I never—”
“A round of drinks for my good mate!” Willy shouted.
Fenris sighed. “Oh, all right.”
In twenty minutes, the entire pub was enveloped in a miasma of drunken revelry. There were toasts, hooting and hollering, round after round, and even a song about Fenris’ mighty deed.
“There was an elf riding along
On his mighty white steed!
A sobbing child he came upon
Asked him to do a deed!”
“There wasn’t any horse,” Fenris grumbled, but Varric elbowed him.
“Quiet, elf,” he advised. “This is good stuff.” In fact, he was writing it down, much to Fenris’ displeasure.
“He faced his foes and drew his sword
From its bejeweled sheath,
Tossed it aside, turned to the hoard,
And punched it in the teeth!”
Fenris groaned. “I did not punch a darkspawn in the teeth,” he said. Everyone ignored him. "Let alone a hoard of darkspawn. Maker, why will no one pay attention to me?"
One of the waitresses came by and tried to sit in his lap. “If you want to get a room . . .”
“I don’t,” Fenris said as firmly as he could, pushing her away. This was an unmitigated disaster. People were coming up to shake his hand, pushing drinks at him, slapping him on the back and getting in his face, breathing beer-drenched compliments at him . . . he hated every moment. His whole body was tense, and the fury was building. Why did no one listen? And how dare they touch him without his permission?
Willy clapped him on the back. “Give him another!” he roared at the bartender. “He’s earned it!”
Fenris steamed. It was all he could do to restrain himself from picking Willy up and chucking him at the rest of the drunks. Maybe then they’d let him alone.
Just then, Hawke swept in the door, looking handsome and poised, and completely free of donkey. He glanced around and took in the carousing, then spotted Fenris at the bar. He raised his eyebrows and waded through a group of singing drunks to make his way over to Fenris and Varric. “What happened?” he asked.
Varric opened his mouth, but Fenris cut him off. “Hawke, is intolerable. I’m going to gouge the eyes out of the next person with the temerity to touch me!”
“All right, all right. Everybody back up!” Hawke instructed. “Give the elf some room to breathe!” His commanding presence had the effect Fenris just couldn’t achieve; everybody backed off a couple of steps.
But Willy was too drunk to be intimidated. “You’re just jealous that he killed a hoard of darkspawn and you didn’t,” he told Hawke, going so far as to poke him in the chest belligerently.
Hawke blinked in surprise. “You killed a hoard of darkspawn?” he asked Fenris. “Without me?” he added, looking hurt.
“NO! I DID NOT KILL ANY DARKSPAWN!” Fenris shouted. “I RESCUED A CAT FROM A TREE, AND THAT IS ALL I DID! SO STOP SLAPPING ME ON THE BACK AND LEAVE ME THE BLOODY HELL ALONE!”
The tavern went silent for a moment.
“You told me you saved a duchess!” Willy said.
“It was a cat named Duchess! And if I’d known it was going to cause all this trouble, I would have drowned the sodding thing instead.”
“You told me he was a hero!” someone yelled.
“I knew it was just another one of Willy’s tall tales!”
“I bought him two glasses of whisky! He owes me!”
“That elf swindled us!”
The drunken revelers had gone from cheery to destructive, and there was a definite feel of trouble in the air. Fenris drew his sword. He’d show them his talents, if they wanted a demonstration. Hawke inserted himself between Fenris and the crowd. Fenris wasn’t entirely certain whether Hawke was trying to protect him, or if he just didn’t want Fenris chopping off anybody’s legs.
“That’s enough.”
Before anyone could get to work at doing anyone else serious bodily harm, Varric stepped up. “All right, all right, so he saved a cat! It was still a damn good story. We all had a good time tonight, and that’s what really counts. And now that the Champion is here, we’ll all have another round—on him!”
This lightened the atmosphere considerably. “Now that’s a hero for you!” Willy noted. The revelers got back to the important business of getting drunker as Hawke sighed and took out his purse.
Varric held up his mind. “Actually, you know what? Never mind,” he said. “This one’s on me.” Hawke’s eyebrows rose. “Well, it was a good story.” Varric grinned at Fenris. “After all, comedy is just as important as adventure.”
Fenris glowered.
Hawke tentatively reached out and touched the elf’s cheek. “What happened to your face?”
“I rescued a cat. The cat did not like being rescued,” Fenris said tersely.
Hawke laughed. “Some people can be so ungrateful,” he said, eyes twinkling. He rubbed Fenris’ back. Funny how it felt good when Hawke did it. “Oh, well,” Hawke said. “Think of it as a learning experience.”
Fenris thought about it for a moment, then grudgingly gave a half smile. “I did learn some valuable things. I found that being a hero is not as fulfilling as I expected, and I discovered that I really do not like people clapping me on the back. In the future, I shall have a new policy; I will still save cats from trees, should they actually need it, but it’s up to you to shake hands and kiss babies afterward.”
Hawke grinned widely. “It’s a deal. Would you allow me to fix you up a bit?” At Fenris’ nod, Hawke gently cupped the elf’s face and healed his numerous cuts.
Fenris shut his eyes. He enjoyed Hawke’s warm hands on his skin, moreso now that he wasn’t in pain. “Better,” he sighed as Hawke drew away. Fenris leant forward and rested his chin on the man’s shoulder, hiding a smile there when Hawke put his arms around him.
“I missed you, too,” Hawke murmured against the shell of his ear.
Fenris chuckled. It had not been the relaxing day he’d anticipated, but he was with Hawke in his favorite tavern, and for the moment, everything was right with the world.
Hawke cleared his throat. “So, um . . . could I buy my brave hero a nice dinner?”
Fenris pulled back and gave him a languid smile. “You know, unlike a certain stuck up hero, I make house calls for men in need.”
Hawke’s eyes widened in delight at the huskiness of Fenris’ voice. “In that case, we could skip dinner and go right home,” he suggested.
Fenris chuckled and kissed him hard. It was nice to know he’d get his just reward for doing the right thing; he’d rather have one vigorous lovemaking session with Hawke than a thousand silly songs and slaps on the back.
“Whoa—what—” he stuttered as Hawke suddenly picked him up. “What are you doing?” Fenris’ face burned as Hawke turned, carrying him bridal-style toward the door.
“What, did you want to do the sweeping this time?” Hawke teased. Of course, Hawke didn’t care who was looking or whether he looked silly. Hawke just did what he wanted, and to the blight with everyone else.
Just this once, Fenris would follow his example. “You can buy me a bottle of wine on the way home,” he said.
“Whatever you want,” Hawke replied agreeably. Reaching the door, he frowned. “I don’t seem to have any hands free to turn the doorknob,” he noted.
“I’ll get that for you,” Varric said. But as they tromped outside, Fenris noticed Varric was still following, and worse, he was scribbling away in his little leather-bound journal.
“What are you doing?” the elf demanded.
Varric looked up in surprise. “The story needs a denouement,” he explained. “Or a climax, at the very least,” he added with a roguish wink. Hawke gave the dwarf a look. “What? The world needs smut more than adventure or comedy. Possibly more than both combined.”
Fenris rolled his eyes. Hawke said pointedly, “Good night, Varric.” He carried Fenris away. “Just wait till I get you home,” he murmured in Fenris’ ear.
Fenris smirked. “I might not be able to wait that long,” Fenris growled. He had rescued a Duchess, received his just reward, and got the girl, so to speak. He’d had enough of being a hero for awhile.
Varric sighed and watched Hawke carry Fenris away. After a few moments, he smiled. “Fine. That gives more leeway for creative liberties, anyway. I think tonight I’ll write Groping in the Gardens; A Smoldering Encounter Outside Falcon Manor. That ought to sell well.”
He returned to the Hanged Man and ordered another pint. He was making good progress. He bet he reached his climax before Hawke and Fenris reached theirs.
“What are you writing?”
Varric looked up to find Isabela standing next to him. “Something dirty,” he promised.
“Oooo, do I get to see it first?”
Varric grinned. “Are you kidding? You know you’re my favorite editor.”
Suddenly the door burst open and a little girl ran in, crying.
Isabela caught her just before she bounced off a large man’s beer belly. “What’s wrong?” the pirate asked. “Come now, don’t cry. I bet you’ve got wonderful dimples. There, see? I was right. What’s your name?”
The girl managed a smile through her tears. “I’m Elizabeth. Will you help me find the Champion? My dad . . . he’s in terrible trouble.”
“Yeah?” Varric said. “What happened?”
“He got his head stuck in the banister.” Isabela patted her on the back and, making sure the girl couldn’t see, rolled her eyes. “He just can’t get out, because he’s just too big,” Elizabeth continued. “He sent me to get help.”
“It’s probably just his ears that are too big,” Varric said. “They tend to stick.”
“Nooooo,” Elizabeth replied. “It’s not just his ears. He’s big and tall and has muscles all over.”
Isabela’s eyes lit up. “And your mum?”
“I haven’t got a mum anymore. The darkspawn got her.” Elizabeth looked up at them sadly.
Isabela patted the girl’s head. “I’ll be happy to help the poor man out,” she said sweetly
Varric flipped to a new page in his journal and started scribbling. “Great,” he said. He followed Isabela and the girl out the door. “Happy endings for everyone.”
“Did you get her? Is she hurt?” the little girl asked, wringing her hands.
“Is she hurt? Are you joking?” Every little cut stung, and Fenris had a considerable number of them. There were scratches on his face, hands and forearms, and a particularly bloody one on his neck.
The girl started to whimper again.
Fenris, his back to the Vhendahl, heard a couple of thumps. He turned to find the cat descending the tree with ease. It sauntered past him, deigning to brush against his shin as it made its way to the little girl and jumped right into her arms.
“Vishante Kaffas,” Fenris spat. “Why didn’t you tell me it was a cat?”
The girl gave him a puzzled look. “Didn’t you know? Of course she is a cat.” The thing curled up and snuggled the little girl, allowing her to scritch her fuzzy chin.
How could anything so fluffy and cute be so vicious at heart? Fenris squeezed the bridge of his nose but let go quickly when he realized how much it hurt his cuts. He sighed. “It isn’t a cat. It’s a blighted demon in cat form.”
“No, she’s not,” the girl cooed. “She’s a good girl.” The little girl carried the cat out of the Alienage and Fenris followed, if only to make sure she returned safe to her mother. And to make certain he didn’t turn his back on the cursed feline. The girl fussed over Duchess, who lolled against her shoulder and gave Fenris a smug look.
Fenris glowered back. No wonder Anders got on with cats so well. They were clearly evil.
“Mama!” the little girl suddenly yelled. “The Champion’s friend saved Duchess from a tree!”
“Oh, Marie, I have been worried about you,” the woman scolded. She scooped the girl up, and the cat leapt down and wandered off without a care in the world. “Now, tell me what happened.”
“There were mean boys and they wanted to do Duchess harm. She ran away and got stuck in the Alienage tree. But this man saved her.”
The woman looked at Fenris dubiously. “Thank you, that was very kind . . .”
“Fenris,” Fenris supplied.
“I see. Well, we are very grateful. Duchess is so dear to us, and she is a rare breed, too!” Fenris didn’t doubt that. Housecats probably didn’t mate with demons and spawn such cats very often. “She should not have been outside,” the woman continued. “Marie, you go and make sure to take her indoors. And serrah,” she added, turning back to Fenris, “Please, take this for your troubles.” She handed him a gold coin, which made the incident a little more bearable.
“Thank you,” he said gravely.
As he turned to leave a man passing by asked, “What was that about?”
“He saved our precious Duchess!” the woman said merrily. “He is truly a worthy companion to our Champion.”
“You saved a duchess?” the man asked with interest as the woman ushered her family indoors.
“It was more like fighting a darkspawn,” Fenris grumbled.
“You saved a duchess from a darkspawn?”
“What? No.”
But the man didn’t seem to be listening. He also seemed to be a bit drunk, despite the fact that the shine hadn't even worn off the morning. “Davy, come over here! Listen to this! This elf here, he’s a hero! Fought off a darkspawn and saved a duchess! And he knows the Champion!”
Fenris turned bright red. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—” he protested helplessly.
“And he’s humble, too! I heard that woman. The Champion had better watch his back. We have a new hero in town.” The man had straw-blond hair and a red nose. “Come on, mate. Name’s Willy. I’m gonna buy you a drink.”
The man slung an arm around him and wouldn’t take no for an answer, frog-marching him in the direction of the Hanged Man. “Oh, if you must,” Fenris said with a sigh. “But only one,” he added.
By the time they entered the Hanged Man, Fenris had somehow acquired an entourage. Willy called out to every friend he passed, and in every telling the tale grew. Fenris was both mortified and fascinated by this development, but no one listened when he tried to interrupt and explain about the cat. Willy kept insisting he was just humble. Eventually Fenris gave up.
Luckily, when they reached the tavern, Varric was in attendance. He was sitting at a table, holding court and telling tall tales. That meant he and Hawke were finished with their adventure, whatever it was. “Is Hawke with you?” Fenris asked anxiously.
“No, he had to go change. By the time we were done, he had donkey all over him,” Varric said with a laugh. “You wanna hear about it?”
Fenris was not in the mood for one of Varric’s fanciful tales. “Not really.”
Varric eyed the elf’s scratches. “What happened to you?”
“I’ll tell you what happened to him,” Willy interrupted with a broad grin. “Fancy yourself a storyteller, right? You want to hear a tale, mate? I’ll tell you a tale! A tale of how this elf here saved royalty straight from the jaws of death itself!”
Fenris turned red and scowled, but the man now slung an arm around his neck as if they were old friends. “Wasn’t any royalty, and I didn’t,” Fenris said, but as this was directed into the man’s armpit, this had no effect. He tried to push the man away.
“Really?” Varric said with interest. “And who are you?”
“My name’s Willy. I work in the mines. But that’s not important! What’s important is that this. Man. Here. Is a hero,” Willy said, emphasizing this by giving Fenris a hearty squeeze at certain words.
Fenris tried to pull away. Willy smelled like a drunk billy goat. “I wasn’t . . .” Fenris said.
“He did!” someone else in the pub exclaimed. “I was there!”
“He fought off ten darkspawn!”
“And a dragon!”
“Two dragons!”
“With one hand!”
“I didn’t,” Fenris insisted. He met Varric’s eyes. He shook his head helplessly.
The dwarf grinned. “Just go with it,” he advised. “You think Hawke never has days like this? Besides, I love a good story.”
“But I never—”
“A round of drinks for my good mate!” Willy shouted.
Fenris sighed. “Oh, all right.”
In twenty minutes, the entire pub was enveloped in a miasma of drunken revelry. There were toasts, hooting and hollering, round after round, and even a song about Fenris’ mighty deed.
“There was an elf riding along
On his mighty white steed!
A sobbing child he came upon
Asked him to do a deed!”
“There wasn’t any horse,” Fenris grumbled, but Varric elbowed him.
“Quiet, elf,” he advised. “This is good stuff.” In fact, he was writing it down, much to Fenris’ displeasure.
“He faced his foes and drew his sword
From its bejeweled sheath,
Tossed it aside, turned to the hoard,
And punched it in the teeth!”
Fenris groaned. “I did not punch a darkspawn in the teeth,” he said. Everyone ignored him. "Let alone a hoard of darkspawn. Maker, why will no one pay attention to me?"
One of the waitresses came by and tried to sit in his lap. “If you want to get a room . . .”
“I don’t,” Fenris said as firmly as he could, pushing her away. This was an unmitigated disaster. People were coming up to shake his hand, pushing drinks at him, slapping him on the back and getting in his face, breathing beer-drenched compliments at him . . . he hated every moment. His whole body was tense, and the fury was building. Why did no one listen? And how dare they touch him without his permission?
Willy clapped him on the back. “Give him another!” he roared at the bartender. “He’s earned it!”
Fenris steamed. It was all he could do to restrain himself from picking Willy up and chucking him at the rest of the drunks. Maybe then they’d let him alone.
Just then, Hawke swept in the door, looking handsome and poised, and completely free of donkey. He glanced around and took in the carousing, then spotted Fenris at the bar. He raised his eyebrows and waded through a group of singing drunks to make his way over to Fenris and Varric. “What happened?” he asked.
Varric opened his mouth, but Fenris cut him off. “Hawke, is intolerable. I’m going to gouge the eyes out of the next person with the temerity to touch me!”
“All right, all right. Everybody back up!” Hawke instructed. “Give the elf some room to breathe!” His commanding presence had the effect Fenris just couldn’t achieve; everybody backed off a couple of steps.
But Willy was too drunk to be intimidated. “You’re just jealous that he killed a hoard of darkspawn and you didn’t,” he told Hawke, going so far as to poke him in the chest belligerently.
Hawke blinked in surprise. “You killed a hoard of darkspawn?” he asked Fenris. “Without me?” he added, looking hurt.
“NO! I DID NOT KILL ANY DARKSPAWN!” Fenris shouted. “I RESCUED A CAT FROM A TREE, AND THAT IS ALL I DID! SO STOP SLAPPING ME ON THE BACK AND LEAVE ME THE BLOODY HELL ALONE!”
The tavern went silent for a moment.
“You told me you saved a duchess!” Willy said.
“It was a cat named Duchess! And if I’d known it was going to cause all this trouble, I would have drowned the sodding thing instead.”
“You told me he was a hero!” someone yelled.
“I knew it was just another one of Willy’s tall tales!”
“I bought him two glasses of whisky! He owes me!”
“That elf swindled us!”
The drunken revelers had gone from cheery to destructive, and there was a definite feel of trouble in the air. Fenris drew his sword. He’d show them his talents, if they wanted a demonstration. Hawke inserted himself between Fenris and the crowd. Fenris wasn’t entirely certain whether Hawke was trying to protect him, or if he just didn’t want Fenris chopping off anybody’s legs.
“That’s enough.”
Before anyone could get to work at doing anyone else serious bodily harm, Varric stepped up. “All right, all right, so he saved a cat! It was still a damn good story. We all had a good time tonight, and that’s what really counts. And now that the Champion is here, we’ll all have another round—on him!”
This lightened the atmosphere considerably. “Now that’s a hero for you!” Willy noted. The revelers got back to the important business of getting drunker as Hawke sighed and took out his purse.
Varric held up his mind. “Actually, you know what? Never mind,” he said. “This one’s on me.” Hawke’s eyebrows rose. “Well, it was a good story.” Varric grinned at Fenris. “After all, comedy is just as important as adventure.”
Fenris glowered.
Hawke tentatively reached out and touched the elf’s cheek. “What happened to your face?”
“I rescued a cat. The cat did not like being rescued,” Fenris said tersely.
Hawke laughed. “Some people can be so ungrateful,” he said, eyes twinkling. He rubbed Fenris’ back. Funny how it felt good when Hawke did it. “Oh, well,” Hawke said. “Think of it as a learning experience.”
Fenris thought about it for a moment, then grudgingly gave a half smile. “I did learn some valuable things. I found that being a hero is not as fulfilling as I expected, and I discovered that I really do not like people clapping me on the back. In the future, I shall have a new policy; I will still save cats from trees, should they actually need it, but it’s up to you to shake hands and kiss babies afterward.”
Hawke grinned widely. “It’s a deal. Would you allow me to fix you up a bit?” At Fenris’ nod, Hawke gently cupped the elf’s face and healed his numerous cuts.
Fenris shut his eyes. He enjoyed Hawke’s warm hands on his skin, moreso now that he wasn’t in pain. “Better,” he sighed as Hawke drew away. Fenris leant forward and rested his chin on the man’s shoulder, hiding a smile there when Hawke put his arms around him.
“I missed you, too,” Hawke murmured against the shell of his ear.
Fenris chuckled. It had not been the relaxing day he’d anticipated, but he was with Hawke in his favorite tavern, and for the moment, everything was right with the world.
Hawke cleared his throat. “So, um . . . could I buy my brave hero a nice dinner?”
Fenris pulled back and gave him a languid smile. “You know, unlike a certain stuck up hero, I make house calls for men in need.”
Hawke’s eyes widened in delight at the huskiness of Fenris’ voice. “In that case, we could skip dinner and go right home,” he suggested.
Fenris chuckled and kissed him hard. It was nice to know he’d get his just reward for doing the right thing; he’d rather have one vigorous lovemaking session with Hawke than a thousand silly songs and slaps on the back.
“Whoa—what—” he stuttered as Hawke suddenly picked him up. “What are you doing?” Fenris’ face burned as Hawke turned, carrying him bridal-style toward the door.
“What, did you want to do the sweeping this time?” Hawke teased. Of course, Hawke didn’t care who was looking or whether he looked silly. Hawke just did what he wanted, and to the blight with everyone else.
Just this once, Fenris would follow his example. “You can buy me a bottle of wine on the way home,” he said.
“Whatever you want,” Hawke replied agreeably. Reaching the door, he frowned. “I don’t seem to have any hands free to turn the doorknob,” he noted.
“I’ll get that for you,” Varric said. But as they tromped outside, Fenris noticed Varric was still following, and worse, he was scribbling away in his little leather-bound journal.
“What are you doing?” the elf demanded.
Varric looked up in surprise. “The story needs a denouement,” he explained. “Or a climax, at the very least,” he added with a roguish wink. Hawke gave the dwarf a look. “What? The world needs smut more than adventure or comedy. Possibly more than both combined.”
Fenris rolled his eyes. Hawke said pointedly, “Good night, Varric.” He carried Fenris away. “Just wait till I get you home,” he murmured in Fenris’ ear.
Fenris smirked. “I might not be able to wait that long,” Fenris growled. He had rescued a Duchess, received his just reward, and got the girl, so to speak. He’d had enough of being a hero for awhile.
Varric sighed and watched Hawke carry Fenris away. After a few moments, he smiled. “Fine. That gives more leeway for creative liberties, anyway. I think tonight I’ll write Groping in the Gardens; A Smoldering Encounter Outside Falcon Manor. That ought to sell well.”
He returned to the Hanged Man and ordered another pint. He was making good progress. He bet he reached his climax before Hawke and Fenris reached theirs.
“What are you writing?”
Varric looked up to find Isabela standing next to him. “Something dirty,” he promised.
“Oooo, do I get to see it first?”
Varric grinned. “Are you kidding? You know you’re my favorite editor.”
Suddenly the door burst open and a little girl ran in, crying.
Isabela caught her just before she bounced off a large man’s beer belly. “What’s wrong?” the pirate asked. “Come now, don’t cry. I bet you’ve got wonderful dimples. There, see? I was right. What’s your name?”
The girl managed a smile through her tears. “I’m Elizabeth. Will you help me find the Champion? My dad . . . he’s in terrible trouble.”
“Yeah?” Varric said. “What happened?”
“He got his head stuck in the banister.” Isabela patted her on the back and, making sure the girl couldn’t see, rolled her eyes. “He just can’t get out, because he’s just too big,” Elizabeth continued. “He sent me to get help.”
“It’s probably just his ears that are too big,” Varric said. “They tend to stick.”
“Nooooo,” Elizabeth replied. “It’s not just his ears. He’s big and tall and has muscles all over.”
Isabela’s eyes lit up. “And your mum?”
“I haven’t got a mum anymore. The darkspawn got her.” Elizabeth looked up at them sadly.
Isabela patted the girl’s head. “I’ll be happy to help the poor man out,” she said sweetly
Varric flipped to a new page in his journal and started scribbling. “Great,” he said. He followed Isabela and the girl out the door. “Happy endings for everyone.”
