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Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Elfy

Chapter 37 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! Read on AO3 instead.

In which @schoute‘s wonderful Piper Lavellan makes a cheeky appearance! Also, conversations galore with Solas and Sera.

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Hawke dragged her feet dramatically as she and Fenris made their way along the battlements to Cullen’s office.

“I told you, you don’t need to come,” Fenris reminded her. “Go to bed. I will fill you in tomorrow.” Cullen and a small group of soldiers had just returned from Samson’s headquarters yesterday morning, and Cullen had personally tracked Fenris down requesting a meeting tonight to discuss what they had found. Since Fenris, Hawke and their companions had only just returned from the Storm Coast this afternoon, Fenris knew the matter must be urgent. Hence why he’d agreed to come to Cullen’s office so late.

Naturally – and perhaps against Fenris’s better judgment – Hawke had volunteered to tag along.

She sighed. “No no, I’ll come,” she said. “I won’t let you suffer Cullen’s report alone.”

“So I will suffer your complaints instead?” he drawled.

She gave him a wounded look. “I’m not complaining!”

He shot a pointed look at her noisily shuffling feet, and a cheeky grin crept over her face. “Well,” she said slowly, “if you don’t like the way I walk, then you can always–”

“I am not carrying you,” he said flatly.

She laughed brightly, then skipped around in front of him and draped her arms around his neck. “Spoilsport,” she purred.

He smirked at her, then kissed her lightly on the lips before disentangling himself from her arms and ushering her along the battlements. “I am surprised you’re tired. It’s barely an hour past midnight.”

She tutted. “Being tired isn’t the point. If I’m doing anything other than lying in my bed at this hour, I want it to be something fun. Drinking or darts or gambling or gossip, take your pick. But not working.” She wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the word working. “What sort of madman enjoys working this late?”

Fenris shot her a knowing look. “This is Cullen we’re speaking of. It is hardly a matter of enjoyment. You know that.”

She sighed. “I know, I know. I’m just being cranky. But this report had better be good,” she added threateningly. “In fact, it had better be the most exciting report I’ve ever heard. If it’s not delivered as an epic three-part soliloquy, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

Fenris chuckled and pinched her waist. “You are an idiot.”

She squeaked and twisted away from him. “Only for you, Fenris,” she giggled. “Only for you.” She hurried over to Cullen’s office door and gestured at it in an exaggeratedly chivalrous manner.

Fenris rolled his eyes. “You should spend less time with Dorian. His flair for the dramatic is rubbing off on you.” He knocked on Cullen’s door.

“Enter,” Cullen called out.

Fenris pushed open the door and allowed Hawke to pass before stepping inside. Based on Cullen’s manner when he’d spoken to Fenris earlier today, Fenris was fairly sure the news was good.

Even so, he didn’t expect to find Cullen smiling when he opened the door.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. He’d never seen Cullen looking this pleased before. The news from Samson’s headquarters must be truly excellent.

Hawke sauntered over to Cullen’s desk. “Ooh, someone’s in a lovely mood,” she crooned. She sat on the corner of his desk as she usually did. “You must really have struck gold in the information department at Samson’s headquarters.”

“He sure did,” a woman’s voice replied.

A voice that was emanating from Cullen’s bedroom in the attic.

Fenris and Hawke stared at the attic, then whipped around to look at Cullen. His face was flaming red.

Fenris blinked, and Hawke’s jaw dropped. “Oh Maker,” she said in delight. “Is that who I think it is?”

“It certainly is!” the owner of the voice said. She slid jauntily down the ladder and shoved back her cloud of silver hair before giving Hawke a mocking bow. “Piper Lavellan at your service, m’lady.”

Hawke burst out laughing, and Piper joined her. Fenris, meanwhile, turned to Cullen in genuine surprise. “You and Piper are together?” he asked. He knew Piper had accompanied Cullen on the foray to track Samson down, but he hadn’t known they were romantically involved.

Cullen rubbed the back of his tomato-red neck. “Er, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Forgive our, um, informality. With the lateness of the hour, I didn’t think…”

“He didn’t think to eject me from his bedroom,” Piper cheerfully put in. She took a seat on the other corner of Cullen’s desk, then reached out and tugged Cullen’s mantle affectionately. “Go on, Cullen, give your report.”

“Yes, please do,” Hawke said. “This report just became far more interesting.”

She was grinning wickedly at Cullen. Fenris sidled over to her and squeezed her arm warningly. “What did you find?” he said to Cullen.

Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly, then rested his palms on the desk in a businesslike manner. “Samson was not at his headquarters, unfortunately. Maddox killed himself to facilitate Samson’s escape.”

Hawke’s grin melted into a look of sympathy. “Damn,” she lamented. “I was hoping we could have saved him. Minaeve would have made him feel right at home.”

Cullen bowed his head to her. “We brought his body back to be laid to rest. If even Samson did his best for Maddox, we can do no less.” He looked at Fenris once more. “The Shrine of Dumat was destroyed by fire, but not completely. We salvaged a few significant items, which Dagna is working with as we speak.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “What sort of items?”

“Strange equipment stained with traces of red lyrium,” Cullen said. “Likely of Maddox’s own design. If Maddox used the equipment to make Samson’s armour, then Dagna should be able to use the equipment to un-make it.”

“We found a note from Samson, too,” Piper said. “Right, Cullen?”

He nodded. “Yes. It was all nonsense, however.” He picked up a singed piece of parchment from his desk and regarded it with distaste. “‘Drink enough lyrium, and its song reveals the truth. The Chantry lied to us. You’re fighting the wrong battle. Corypheus chose me as his general and his vessel of power’...” He shook his head in disgust and dropped the parchment back to his desk. “Does he think I’ll understand this nonsense? What does he know?”

His tone was snide. Piper reached out and ran a soothing hand over his forearm, and Fenris noted the immediate softening of Cullen’s expression.

Cullen took a deep breath and looked at Fenris and Hawke once more. “In any case, the mission was a success. The red lyrium deposits at the shrine are being destroyed, and we’ve cut the red Templars down to the core. This leaves Samson with a severely curtailed army and enchanted armour he can’t maintain.”

Fenris nodded. “Excellent work. Both of you,” he added to Piper.

She bowed playfully to him from her seat on the desk, and Cullen gave him a more serious half-bow. “Thank you, but my work is not done yet. We’re getting new recruits by the hour, and there are more than a few ex-Templars among them. They will need to be oriented to Skyhold and to commence training with the mages, and–”

“–and all of that can wait until tomorrow, after you get some sleep,” Piper said gently.

He ducked his head bashfully and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, of course.”

Hawke shot Fenris a private little smile and slid off of Cullen’s desk. “Well, that’s fantastic. So I guess we’re just waiting for–”

The eastern door to Cullen’s office banged open, and Dagna rushed inside. “Commander, I finished– Inquisitor!” she exclaimed. Her excited smile widened further as she caught sight of Fenris.

She thrust a rune at him. “Here, have this.”

He stared at the rune apprehensively. It glowed a livid, untrustworthy red. And yet, if Dagna was holding it in her bare hand…

He gingerly took the rune, and Hawke sidled over to him and peered at it. “Ooh, now this is a shiny trinket.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Dagna said happily. “I made it with red lyrium and what’s left of poor Maddox’s tools. The rune acts on the median fissures of lyrium to…” She trailed off at Cullen’s frown, then perked up again. “It will destroy Samson’s armour. He’ll be powerless.”

Hawke looked at Dagna with interest. “Wait, what were you saying about median fissures of lyrium? What does that mean?”

Dagna lit up. “Oh! Well, you see, lyrium and other minerals are mined from what we call veins, right? I’ve been thinking about it, and–”

“Thank you, Dagna, Hawke,” Cullen said. “Perhaps you can continue this discussion another time?”

Hawke pouted playfully at Cullen. “Oh, Commander. Too tired to listen, are you? Is someone lacking his beauty sleep? Your hair does look more dishevelled than usual.” She shot Piper a grin.

Piper grinned wickedly in turn, then turned to Cullen. “She’s right, you know. I think someone could stand to catch up on his sleep.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Hawke snickered, and Cullen’s cheeks and ears turned pink. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he muttered, and he abruptly turned to Fenris. “Maddox’s ploy effectively covered Samson’s retreat, but we will likely find him in the Arbour Wilds.” He straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “Your army stands ready, Fenris. For Samson, for Corypheus, for whatever you command.”

A jolt of apprehension tugged at Fenris’s belly. When he’d met with Leliana and Josephine this afternoon, Leliana had reported increasing movement of the enemy forces toward the edges of the Emerald Graves. It seemed that Corypheus and his army were on the move to the Arbour Wilds, exactly as Morrigan had predicted.

He looked down at the rune in his hands. All the pieces were falling into place for an organized assault on the Arbour Wilds. Corypheus’s army had lost their sources of red lyrium, Samson had lost his loyal Tranquil, and this rune would destroy his precious armour. The Inquisition’s army were refreshed and restored, having spent the last couple of months training and recuperating since the attack on Adamant Fortress.

There were no reasons that they shouldn’t assemble their forces for the next battle.

Fenris took a fortifying breath, then looked at Cullen once more. “We should prepare to march on the Arbour Wilds, then,” he said.

Piper and Hawke sobered, and Cullen’s face creased into a stern frown. “I agree,” he said. “Let’s meet at the war table in the morning. I will advise Leliana and Josephine.”

“And Morrigan,” Hawke put in. “She’s the one who knows all about this eluvian that Corypheus is chasing.”

“Thank you, Hawke, that’s true,” Cullen said with a nod. He stepped away from his desk. “Well, I suppose anything else can wait until the morning, then.”

“Yes,” Fenris agreed. He met Hawke’s eyes and tilted his head at the door.

She nodded, then smiled at Dagna. “Can we pick this up tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Of course,” Dagna chirped. “You know where to find me.” She waved a cheerful goodnight to everyone else, then hurried away.

Hawke pecked Piper on the cheek. “We need to catch up, too,” she said. “Drinks tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” Piper said in a meaningful tone. The two women snickered dirtily, prompting Cullen’s cheeks to redden once more.

Hawke smiled at Cullen. “Goodnight, Cullen. And congratulations, by the way. On your impeccable desk, I mean,” she added with a cheeky smile. “It’s tidy for once!”

Cullen’s face and neck turned beetroot-red, and Piper’s smile grew more cheeky than ever. Fenris took Hawke’s hand and pulled her toward him. “Goodnight,” he said to Cullen and Piper.

“Er, yes. Goodnight,” Cullen stammered, and Piper gave him a jaunty salute.

Fenris led Hawke back out onto the battlements. Once Piper had closed the office door behind them, Hawke let out a bright laugh. “Maker’s balls, I’m so proud of her,” she crowed. “She absolutely had sex with Cullen on that desk.”

Fenris gave her a distracted smile, and her grin faded. She squeezed his hand. “Hey, you. What’s the matter?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Another grand battle,” he said ruefully. “It feels as though the last was not so long ago.”

Hawke smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re tired of killing people. It’s practically our number-one responsibility.”

He looked at her frankly. “I am tired of the constant danger,” he said. But this wasn’t the entire truth. What truly wore him down was the constant danger to Hawke. One would think that ten years’ worth of scraps and skirmishes would render him immune to seeing her in harm’s way. But his fear for her safety had only seemed to heighten with time, and particularly since joining the Inquisition.

He didn’t say this, though. Hawke already knew it, and he knew she felt the same way about him, to his dismay. It wouldn’t help either of them to remind her of the fragility of their lives.

“It’s different this time,” Hawke assured him. “Corytits is on the defensive, not us. He doesn’t have a big fancy fortress this time. We took away his poor Wardens and his Templars and his red lyrium.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Honestly, Fenris, it’s going to be a cakewalk when we get to the Arbour Wilds.”

But something unexpected could happen, he thought. With his and Hawke’s luck, it was almost a certainty that some problem they’d not accounted for would arise. And the last time something unexpected had happened, Hawke had lost her brother.

He was silent as they walked along the battlements. Then Hawke stepped in front of him.

She rested her palms on his chest. “Hey,” she said softly. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening in that gorgeous head of yours.”

He shook his head slightly. “It is nothing you haven’t heard before.”

“Then tell me again,” she said. “I never get tired of hearing that lovely growly voice of yours.”

He smiled faintly at her, then leaned his elbows on the parapet. “It’s just… the planning and strategizing. It makes it feel all the more like walking into a mortal trap.”

She grimaced. “Well, at least we’re doing it together.”

“I would rather we were not doing it at all,” he said. Then he pressed his lips together and looked away. Truly, she didn’t need to hear these complaints again; he should be trying to reassure her, not bring her down into his anxious morass.

He stared blankly down at Skyhold’s garden. Then Hawke’s arms slid around him from behind.

She pressed her cheek to his spine. “Hey. It’s going to be all right,” she murmured.

He took a deep breath. Did she really believe that, after what had happened to Carver at Adamant Fortress? Even with all the Inquisition’s advantages and all the planning and strategizing and strength, a single bad decision could set everything awry. One single poor choice could have disastrous consequences, and they wouldn’t know until it was too late.

Her arms tightened around his waist, and he loosened his clenched jaw. “You’re right,” he finally said. “There’s no point worrying. Not for some time, at least.”

“Exactly,” she said softly. “Na via lerno victoria.”

Only the living know victory. He huffed in amusement, then turned in her embrace and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “And so we will,” he murmured, and he pressed his lips to her chestnut hair.

But that night as they lay in bed, Fenris couldn’t quite get to sleep.

And from the shallow cadence of Hawke’s breathing, he didn’t think she could, either.

********************

Two days later, Fenris and Hawke set out to the Emerald Graves with their companions in tow. It would take two weeks for the full strength of the Inquisition’s army and allies to make it to the Arbour Wilds; in the meantime, Fenris and the others were joining Leliana’s scouts and spies in the task of slowing Corypheus’s army down and clearing the way for the Inquisition’s forces.

They split into groups on arriving, with Solas and Sera joining Fenris and Hawke as they headed for the nearest rift. Within hours of their arrival, the ethereal and oddly haunted-feeling forest provided more than enough distractions to drive Fenris’s mortality-related ruminations out of his mind.

Sera shuddered as they stepped out of Chateau d’Onterre, then spun on Fenris and poked him in the chest. “Never. Again,” she said threateningly. “Don’t like spooks, all right? It’s too weird. All that stuff’s just wrong.”

Hawke slung an arm around her shoulders. “Oh come on, Sera, you don’t enjoy a good haunted house to liven things up?”

“No!” Sera exclaimed. “I like my dead things dead, all right? When you put someone down, they should stay down.”

Fenris huffed as he led them through the ornate courtyard and back to the forest. “That is a fair point.”

“I know it is. I’ve got lots of them,” Sera said. She marched alongside Fenris and started counting on her fingers. “Dead things stay dead. No magic weird stuff–”

“Ouch. My feelings,” Hawke said in a mock-hurt tone.

“–aside from your pretty bird,” she added with a quick grin at Hawke. “And no demons. Seems simple, right? Wrong.” She turned around and scowled at Solas, who was walking alongside Hawke. “We come here, with all these stupid trees and all the stupid leaves, and suddenly it’s ‘demons! Magic! Ghosts in your face!’”

“May I ask why you feel the peculiar qualities of this location are my responsibility?” Solas said in a long-suffering tone.

Sera glared at him. “Elfy, that’s what.”

Solas sighed. “Much as you may wish to deny it, you and I are not so far apart as you think.”

Sera blew a raspberry. “Pthhb. Tell it to spiky here.” She elbowed Fenris and gave him a knowing look. “You know. Don’t need that old ancient elfy stuff from a thousand years ago. Here’s what we’ve got, yeh?” She looked around at the surrounding trees in disdain. “Well, maybe not here. But this, now. Right?” She widened her eyes at him expectantly.

Fenris shrugged. “I’ve never placed much value in the tales of ancient elves, no. They have little bearing on how poorly our people are treated now, either in Tevinter or here in the south.”

Sera wilted. “Ah, now you’re going on about ‘our people’? Look, people are just people. Pointy ears don’t matter in it. Right, Hawke?”

Hawke grimaced. “You know, as the only human in this lovely little group, I don’t feel like I can really, er, participate in this discussion.”

Solas gave her a chiding look. “And yet you are the only one among our company who has been asking about the elvhen legends that are rooted here.”

Fenris frowned at Solas’s implication. Just because he hadn’t been asking the questions didn’t mean he wasn’t listening to the answers. Information was still information, even if it wasn’t particularly relevant.

Hawke chuckled and linked her arm with Solas’s. “Oh, Solas. You know how much I love hearing a good story from you.”

Sera snorted loudly. “Stories. Wind out your ass, more like.”

Solas pursed his lips, then raised his eyes to the lush treeline. “The passing of time twists history into story and story into myth. Under such circumstances, it can be difficult to discern tales from the truth.” He looked at Sera once more. “It makes all stories worth hearing, whether or not some wish to listen.”

Sera shrugged, then hopped onto a nearby fallen log and tiptoed gracefully along its length. “Or maybe, what about this: we find some baddies, kick their butts, and have something to eat. You know, living stuff,” she said pointedly to Solas. “Stuff people do. Not like your dreamy-walking thing.” She hopped off the log and directly into a nearby mudpuddle.

“Ah yes, dreamwalking,” Solas said calmly. “Would you care to learn the craft?”

Sera whipped around and stared at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He shrugged easily. “It would give you the chance to explore the Fade. I could introduce you to spirits.”

Sera’s face twisted in disgust. “Spirits like Creepy? You're messing with me on purpose!”

“Why would I do that?” Solas said. “It is not as though I know who filled my bedroll with lizards.”

Sera’s horrified face instantly transformed into a grin, and she broke out laughing. “Never gonna forget that one, are you? That was pretty good!”

Hawke coughed out a laugh, then shrugged when Solas gave her an arch look. “What?” she said innocently. “The look on your face was rather priceless. It’s a prank I would definitely have pulled when I was clever and young.”

Fenris glanced at her reprovingly. “You are not old, Hawke.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You’re sweet. But my imagination for pranks is getting old. That’s why I need Sera on my side.” She gestured for Sera to come near, then released Solas’s arm to link up with the gamine archer instead. “Now listen, while it’s just the four of us, I think you and I need to come up with something really clever…”

She and Sera pulled ahead while whispering together in a suspicious manner. Fenris wryly shook his head, and he and Solas walked side-by-side quietly for some time.

Eventually Solas spoke quietly into the leaf-scented air. “In all my travels, I have never met an elf quite like Sera before.”

“I wasn’t aware there were so many elves meandering through the Fade,” Fenris said blithely.

Solas shot him a frank look. “You jest, but yes. There are. Memories of countless elvhen lives are impressed upon the world that you walk – that we walk. They melt through the Veil every night, laid bare for the discovery of those who seek them.”

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away. He wasn’t particularly keen to hear how wonderful the Fade was, not after what had happened there at Adamant Fortress.

Thankfully – or perhaps not – Solas changed the subject. “Fenris, you too were raised in a city, and in circumstances even more disempowering than the alienages of the south.”

Fenris grunted. “And your point is?”

“Do you ever wish you were anything other than you are?”

Fenris glanced at Sera, then at Solas. “You mean, do I wish I were a human and not an elf.”

Solas tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Unless you wished you were something else entirely.”

Fenris raised one quizzical eyebrow. That was an odd thing to say. Then he shrugged and returned his gaze to the path ahead, and to Hawke’s slender back. “No,” he said. “I never wanted to be human. I am who I am.”

“You never wished that you were different from what you are?” Solas asked.

Fenris frowned at him. “If you’re asking if I wish to be like the ancient elves of old, then no,” he said bluntly. “That is an empty wish. A wish premised on no proof. There is no point seeking to recreate times long past. Especially since we can’t confirm what those times were like.”

“That is not what precisely what I meant,” Solas said. “But it is informative all the same.”

Informative? Fenris thought. What he’d said was hardly informative. It was just his opinion. But if Solas really wanted his opinion, he supposed he could share it. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do at the moment.

“I am satisfied with being a ‘city elf’, as they call it,” he said. “I don’t wish to be other than what I am. There is something… hardening about being the underdog.”

Solas looked at him. “Do you mean ‘heartening’?”

“That as well,” Fenris said.

The corners of Solas’s mouth curved in a small smile. Fenris shrugged. ”When I first escaped Danarius, I didn’t wish I was different. I wished everything else was different.”

Solas’s smile broadened slightly and he nodded in understanding, but Fenris frowned in thought. Now that Solas had him thinking about this, it was strange to compare his thoughts in the past to the way he felt about this topic now.

“Despite that, I… I am different than I was before,” he said slowly. “When I was first freed, I was… enraged. The change I desired was little more than a Tevinter landscape rendered in blood.”

Solas’s expression grew somber. “You can hardly be blamed. No great change has ever been wrought without the spilling of blood.”

“I am well aware,” Fenris said flatly. “But…” He paused pensively before speaking again. “I no longer thirst for the blood of my enemies. The snuffing of lives is a necessary cost, but… it’s one I no longer relish.” He glanced at Solas. “That was not always the case.”

Solas bowed his head briefly. “You are wise beyond your years, then.”

Fenris raised a wry eyebrow. “And you are not?”

Solas smiled. “Ah. No. You should have seen me when I was younger. Hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight.”

Without quite meaning to, Fenris let out a small laugh. “I cannot imagine.”

Solas’s smile grew. “I would ask you not to try. It was a very different time.”

Fenris smirked at him, and they both chuckled. They walked together in an unusually comfortable silence for a time before Fenris spoke again. “And you?” he asked. “You have the bearing of a man who knows himself. Have you ever wished you were someone else?”

Solas smiled, but it was one of his oddly melancholy smiles, like he wore the weary sadness of a much older man on his face. He sighed and gazed up at the sun-speckled canopy. “Sometimes you find you are forced to change. To become other than what you were, whether or not you wish to.”

Fenris frowned. “You were forced to be someone else?” he asked.

“I was thinking of my spirit friend,” Solas explained. “The one you and Hawke took mercy on. There must be a strangeness to that: to being forced to act against your very nature…” He trailed off, and his gaze fell to Fenris’s tattooed and flickering left palm.

His expression softened. “I apologize, Fenris. That was thoughtless of me. This is not a pain that is foreign to you.”

Fenris closed his fist and looked away. Solas was right about that. In many ways, Fenris’s life was a sequence of changes forced upon him against his will. First he was a mage forced to become a lyrium-lined and mindless weapon. Then he was a weapon forced to turn against those who healed and sheltered him. Now he was an introverted man who wanted to be left in peace, forced to become the famous – or infamous, depending on your perspective – leader of an enormous semi-political and paramilitary force.

He shrugged and tried to pretend he wasn’t bitter. “Such changes are rarely chosen so much as forced,” he said. “And yet…” His eyes fell once more on Hawke’s jauntily swaying hips, and he remembered the conversation they’d had on the Storm Coast: the conversation where he’d told her, truthfully, that he wouldn’t trade an unmarked past if it meant never having met her.

He looked frankly at Solas. “I would not undo what I’ve suffered. Without those fickle twists of fate, I would not have the things I cherish now.”

“Yes,” Solas said softly. “You have said that before.”

Fenris nodded, then rubbed fruitlessly at the glimmering mark on his palm. “I can only hope this cursed anchor will turn out to be similarly serendipitous in the end.”

Solas bowed his head once more. “I hope that for you, as well.”

Fenris nodded his thanks, and they continued their walk in a rather friendly silence.

Later that night, after closing four rifts of varying sizes and almost being squashed by an angry giant, their little group made camp in the shelter of a rocky overhang by the river’s edge. Solas taught Hawke the basics of ancient elvhen glyphs while Fenris supervised the roasting of a leg of ram and Sera played some sort of complex hand game with a piece of string.

Fenris watched Sera as he turned the meat on the spit. Her fingers moved swiftly through a series of complex patterns with the string, and her tongue was poking out of her mouth in concentration.

He jerked his chin at her hands. “What do you call that?”

She shot him a brief incredulous look. “String,” she said.

Fenris gazed at her chidingly. “I mean what you are doing with it. The… patterns.”

Her eyes widened. “You daft? Cat’s cradle, of course!”

Fenris shrugged cluelessly, and Sera’s eyes grew even wider. “You don’t know cat’s cradle? Shite. Let’s learn you up. Come on then.” She waved her string-bound hands at him.

He raised one eyebrow at her. She sighed loudly, then rose to her feet and plopped down cross-legged on the ground in front of him.

She unravelled the string from her hands. “Come on, Ser Lordybloomers. I’ll teach you.” She held her hands up so they were about a foot apart. “Like this, yeah? Put ‘em up.”

Nonplussed, Fenris lifted his hands, and Sera draped the string around his fingers. Then she pointed at his middle fingers and at the string. “Talking fingers through there, and pull… Nice,” she said in satisfaction as he followed her instructions.

She leaned forward and pinched the X’s of string, then pulled them under another loop of string around his little fingers. A second later, the pattern of string was on Sera’s hands instead of Fenris’s, and the pattern was different than before.

“Right,” she said officiously. “Now pinch here and here and go under there.” She gestured at the string with her chin as she spoke, and Fenris had no idea what she meant.

He stared at the string on her hands in growing puzzlement. “...What? I don’t–”

She sighed impatiently. “All right, look, I’ll do it with my toes. But don’t go thinking I’ll start prancing around all no-shoes like you two elfy nutters.” She kicked off her flats and started playing cat’s cradle using her own hands and feet.

Fenris watched her apprehensively. “What is the goal of this game?”

“Keeps the fingers nimble,” Sera replied. “You know, for… things.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

And here we go, Fenris thought wryly. He gave her a mockingly innocent look. “Things such as shooting arrows, you mean.”

Sera wilted slightly. “Well, yeah, them too. And also, you know, things?” She widened her eyes comically.

“Fletching arrows?” Fenris said in the same innocent tone.

Sera stared at him, and he stared blithely back at her. Then she burst into raucous cackling. “Right, you’re having me on,” she crowed. “Cheek and salt, that’s you.”

Fenris smirked and turned the meat once more, and Sera chuckled to herself as she twisted and plucked the string into a series of complex patterns with her fingers and toes.

A minute later, Sera nodded her head at the ram leg. “When’s that gonna be ready then? Ribs are sticking to my spine over here.”

“Soon,” Fenris said. “And yes, you can have the fattiest piece.”

She smiled at him. “You’ve been hungry too, eh? Proper in-your-bones hungry.”

“I have, yes,” he said. He reached into his travel pack and pulled out a waxcloth of dried apricots, then handed them to her.

She eagerly opened the waxcloth and stuffed five apricots in her mouth, then smiled at Fenris again. “You’re all right, you know,” she mumbled through her full mouth.

Fenris shot her another smirk. “And now I know how to lure you into a trap. Food.”

She swallowed the apricots and elbowed him. “I mean it. At first I thought, ‘he’ll be no fun. Elfy sort, no smiling, so serious’. And that scary fist-y thing you do…” She shuddered. “Well, that’s just wrong. But still. You’re a little wrong, but mostly right.”

He huffed in amusement. “I shall continue to try and meet your high standards.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then popped another two apricots into her mouth. “Good on you, Inquisything. Oh, and I like your pretty bird, too.”

Fenris glanced across the fire at Hawke. She was lounging on her belly on a bedroll beside a cross-legged Solas, and they were animatedly discussing some charcoal rubbings that they’d taken from a crumbling bridge that afternoon.

She caught Fenris’s eye and winked without interrupting her conversation with Solas. Fenris smiled to himself, then turned the meat again. “I am fond of her, as well.”

Sera elbowed him again. “Then you should really play this cat’s cradle with me. So you can get proper good at, you know. Things–”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “All right, enough,” he admonished, and Sera cackled.

A few minutes later, the ram meat was cooked and shared out, with the fattiest piece going to Sera as promised. By the time Hawke had pulled some oatmeal biscuits from her bag and handed them around, Sera had already devoured her meat.

She happily took the biscuit that Hawke offered her and crammed it in her mouth, then held out her hand for another. “I’ll take Solas’s seconds. Getting a little big for his breeches, he is.”

Solas tutted. “That is unnecessarily rude, whether you meant it metaphorically or literally.”

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Meta-whatsit? You’re making no sense. Or less sense than the usual no-sense.”

“You mean nonsense?” Hawke asked.

Sera gave Hawke a look like she was mad. “No, I mean things. He doesn’t. Look, can I have another biscuit or not?”

Hawke chuckled, then offered her the entire packet. “Of course you can. Go nuts.”

Sera grabbed the biscuits with a grin. “No nuts in these, but thanks!” She darted over to the other side of the fire and sat on a boulder, then promptly started gobbling the biscuits.

Solas pursed his lips in disdain, then turned back to Hawke. “As I was saying, the universal nature of the ancient glyphs is that they transcend the spoken tongue,” he said. “Ancient elves across Thedas would have spoken a multitude of dialects. But written Elvhen was common across the land. It tied them together in a way that spoken language could not.”

Hawke thoughtfully nibbled her biscuit. “So technically the Dalish could learn to read ancient Elvhen without needing to speak it.”

“They could, yes,” Solas said slowly. “Whether they would is another matter.”

Hawke gave him a chiding look. “Solas, I just can’t believe that not a single Dalish person would listen to what you have to say about your wandering in the Fade. Seriously, if you ever met Merrill…” She shook her head and smiled. “You would be her new best friend. She would never stop asking you questions.”

Solas smiled faintly – another of those sad little smiles. “Perhaps I will meet her someday,” he said.

“I hope you do,” Hawke said brightly. “It would be a match made by destiny.” She smiled at Fenris, then awkwardly dropped her gaze.

As usual, Fenris felt a pang of guilt at the mention of Merrill. But for the first time in years, he didn’t remain silent.

“You’re right,” he said to Hawke. “Merrill would enjoy Solas’s company.”

Hawke looked up at him in surprise, and Fenris gave her a small rueful smile.

She beamed at him in return, then turned back to Solas. “All right, explain this to me again. A single glyph can mean an entire word, or it can be a sound?”

“A syllable, not a sound,” Solas corrected. “But yes; those are the basic principles of this orthography, from what I’ve gleaned in my studies.” He brushed the crumbs from his hands and pointed at the charcoal rubbing, which was laid out on the bedroll in front of himself and Hawke. “I am not… entirely fluent in the ancient glyphs, but I believe–”

“You’re not?” Hawke said. She gave him a mock-disappointed look. “Solas. How dare you be less than fluent? I rely on you to be my lovely shaven-headed resource for all things elven.”

“Ptthb,” Sera interjected. “Head’s bald, not shaved. Big difference.”

Solas completely ignored Sera and gave Hawke an arch look. “I cannot decide if that’s meant to be insulting or flattering. Shall I go on?”

Hawke chuckled and bumped his shoulder with hers. “Please do. You know I could listen to you getting academic all night.”

Fenris pointedly cleared his throat, and Hawke beamed at him. “Unless, of course, a more dreamy baritone wants my attention instead.”

Fenris rose from his spot by the fire, then came to sit beside her instead. “Your flattery comes too late, Hawke.”

“Oh Fenris, don’t kid yourself,” she simpered. “It’s never too late to flatter you.”

He pinched her waist, and she squeaked and slapped his hand away. Solas subtly cleared his throat and gestured at the charcoal rubbings. “If I may…?”

Hawke nodded. “Please, please! Go on, Solas.” She shot Fenris a mock-reproving look, and he shrugged unapologetically.

Solas pointed at the parchment. “This symbol here: it is meant to represent a bow. Likely a mark of the goddess Andruil – the goddess of the hunt. Or of sacrifice, according to some.” He pointed to another. “And this here is a wolf. Likely to represent–”

“Fen’Harel,” Fenris said. “The Dread Wolf.”

Solas lifted his eyes to Fenris’s face. “You do know some of the elvhen tales, then.”

“Merrill told us,” Hawke said. “She called him the trickster god. Apparently he tricked both the Creators and the, er… not the Old Gods…” She looked askance at Fenris.

“The Forgotten Ones,” he supplied. He shrugged dismissively. “Whoever they were.”

Hawke snapped her fingers. “Yes! That’s it. Fen’Harel tricked the Creators and the Forgotten Ones into locking themselves away in their respective realms so he could walk in this world all by himself.”

Solas looked down at the parchment again. “That is the story, yes.”

Hawke stretched her legs out and idly scratched her chin. “It always seemed like an odd story to me.”

Solas looked up at her. “How so?”

“It seems lonely,” Hawke said. “If I was a fancy immortal god, I wouldn’t want to be alone forever.”

Fenris shrugged and stretched his legs out as well. “Perhaps being alone was a preferable alternative to suffering the eternal company of fools.”

Solas and Hawke both looked at him in surprise. “Why would you think the rest of the elves’ gods were fools?” Hawke asked.

“They permitted themselves to get locked away,” Fenris said. “That hardly strikes me as godly wisdom.” He waved his bare toes idly at the fire.

Hawke grinned and playfully punched his shoulder. “Now you’re just being heretical on purpose.”

He shrugged again. “You cannot be heretical if you don’t practice the religion in question.”

On the other side of the fire, Sera scoffed loudly. “You know what I think?” she said to Solas. “Your stupid stories are just that: stupid stories.” She hopped to her feet. “Enough tosh. I’m going to catch lightning bugs.” Then she cackled. “I’m going to bugger off! Ha! How d’you like that, then?” She ran off without waiting for a response.

Hawke snickered, but Solas curled his lip. “Fenedhis lasa,” he muttered.

Hawke whipped around and grinned at him. “Ooh, I love foreign swearing. What does that mean?”

“It means…” Solas trailed off, then sighed and rubbed his bare scalp. “It means something rude that indicates I have sunk to Sera’s level.” He gazed at the parchment for a moment more, then looked at Hawke with a wry smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I will turn in for the night.”

“All right,” Hawke said affably. “Goodnight, Solas. And thank you for the lovely lesson. It was titillating as always.” She winked at him.

He gave her a tiny smile and bowed his head. “You are welcome, Hawke.” He met Fenris’s eye and nodded, then rose to his feet and slipped into his tent.

Hawke smiled at Fenris, then sidled closer to him on the bedroll until she was tucked into his shoulder. “And then there were two,” she murmured.

He smiled back at her. “And so there were.”

She gently butted his chin with her forehead. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

He raised his eyebrows and glanced around. “Now?” he asked. It was full dark by now, and they’d been in the Emerald Graves for long enough to know it was crawling with dangerous creatures, many of which were even more active during the night than during the day.

“Yes, now,” Hawke said. She gave him a teasing grin. “Why, are you afraid of monsters in the night?”

Fenris arched one eyebrow. “Frankly, yes. You might be able to heal with magic, but I doubt you can replace an entire rib cage that’s been trampled by a bronto.”

Hawke pouted. “Are you doubting my healing skills?”

“No,” Fenris said. “Simply your ill-timed sense of adventure.”

“Oh, that’s all right then,” she said cheerfully. She rose to her feet and pulled on Fenris’s hand, then looked over at Sera, who was sitting on a boulder about thirty paces away and staring at an empty jar with an unusual degree of stillness.

“Hey Sera,” she called. “We’re going for a walk. We’ll be back soon.”

“Have fun doing things,” Sera called back, and she let out a mad giggle.

Hawke raised an eyebrow as she took Fenris’s hand. “What’s she on about?”

“Nothing of consequence,” he assured her.

They meandered hand-in-hand along the riverbank chatting quietly. But as they strolled beneath the speckled darkness of the starlight-sprinkled leaves, he couldn’t help but think about the history of the Emerald Graves: this territory that had been guarded against humans by the legendary Emerald Knights, and the human-owned mansions that now occupied the lushest parts of it. Proof that once again, humans had taken something that wasn’t theirs.

Fenris would steadfastly maintain that the myths of the elvhen gods had no bearing on him. The bloody history of the Dales, on the other hand, was concretely true.

As he and Hawke wandered along, the faint rushing of the river grew louder until they reached its source: a silvery fall of water set into a tree-and-moss covered ridge.

“Perfect,” Hawke said. “Let’s go see if there really is some treasure hidden behind that waterfall.” She released Fenris’s hand and pulled her staff from her back, and with a wave of her hand, a faint green light rose in a wide circle around their general vicinity.

Fenris studied the glow with appreciation. “Wards. A wise idea.”

“Thank Solas for the idea,” she said. “To keep off the giant spiders, you know.” She chuckled and placed her staff on the ground, then started pulling off her boots.

He watched her with fond exasperation. “Just because Sera thought the waterfall would be a good place to hide treasure doesn’t mean there is any.”

Hawke grinned at him. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” She stepped into the river so the water was licking at her toes, then looked back at Fenris in surprise. “It’s quite warm, actually. I might be tempted to go for a swim. Wash off any remaining demon ichor, or whatever you call that metaphysical goo they make when they die.” She shucked her long leather vest, then shot Fenris a challenging little look and started unbuckling her belt.

He smirked. “No, Hawke.”

“Oh come on,” she wheedled. “Come swim naked with me.” She unbuttoned her trousers and started untucking her linen shirt, then paused and gave Fenris a stricken look. “Unless you think it would be rude for a human to swim naked in the Emerald Graves?”

“Why are you asking me?” Fenris retorted. Then he bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so confrontational.

Hawke’s expression grew slightly cautious. “Well, I don’t see anyone else around to ask, do you?” Then her eyes went wide and round. “Oh Maker, please tell me you don’t see anyone else around. If I have to deal with one more restless spirit today…”

He managed a faint smile. “No, it’s not, um…” He ran a hand through his hair. “You should go ahead and swim.”

She watched him for a moment, then stepped away from the water and stroked his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He nibbled the inside of his cheek for a moment, then gave her a frank look. “Do you think I am more like Solas or Sera?”

Her eyebrows jumped up on her forehead. “I think you’re different from both of them,” she said. Then she smiled. “If this is a contest for who’s the finest and most dreamy companion, then you know where my vote lies.”

He snorted and looked away from her. “I should know better than to ask such a biased opinion.”

She chuckled softly. Then she reached up and gently turned his chin so he was facing her once more. “Really, Fenris. Why would you ask that?” She tilted her head playfully. “You’re not having an identity crisis, are you?”

He gave her a resigned look. “It’s not a laughing matter, Hawke. Not truly.”

She sobered, then sat on the grass and pulled him down beside her. “Tell me what you’re thinking, then,” she urged.

He rested his arms loosely on his knees and idly watched the flowing water while he gathered his thoughts. “Every other elf we’ve travelled with: they fit… something,” he said with difficulty. “Sera is the epitome of a city elf. Merrill is a prime example of a Dalish elf. Solas is…” He trailed off. What was Solas’s defining trait, exactly?

“Odd,” Hawke supplied.

Fenris snorted. “You’re not wrong.” He thought for another moment. “Solas is an elven apostate,” he said finally. He studied the river for a moment longer before speaking again. “They are… exemplary representations of elves. And I… I am not sure what I represent.”

Hawke was quiet. A moment later, Fenris glanced askance at her.

She was smiling at him – one of those soft, understanding, adoring smiles that instinctively made his heart flip. He ducked his head shyly and rubbed his hair. “You humans needn’t represent any particular aspect of… human-ness. Humanity, that is,” he mumbled. “You don’t need to be any particular type of human. You just are, and no one questions whether you are human enough.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes. “Did Solas or Sera question whether you’re elfy enough?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s not that.”

Her expression cleared, and she shuffled a little closer to him and rested her shoulder against his. “Fenris, I don’t think you need to represent any specific elf qualities in particular. You are an elf. You fight back when people mistreat you for being an elf. You talk back when people say shitty things about elves in general. That’s good enough for any elf.”

“Is it?” he said. Was it good enough that he defended himself? Should he not be doing more for… for elves in general?

Hawke, however, frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He eyed her solemnly for a moment. Her copper eyes were clear and earnest, and he loved her so very dearly.

And she was so very human sometimes.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her rounded ear. “When this is all over… Perhaps I will ask Leliana to reach out to Briala. Perhaps the Inquisition can help her achieve her goals.”

Hawke smiled. “Briala really made an impression on you at the Winter Palace, didn’t she?”

He nodded slowly. Then he took a deep, bracing breath before saying his next words. “Perhaps we… perhaps you might try to contact Merrill again. To see if she would care to assist Briala as well.”

He watched as Hawke’s expression shifted from shock to unadulterated joy. “Really?” she asked.

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. A moment later, Hawke was hugging him tightly.

She kissed his cheekbone, then pressed her lips to his ear. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you more than any fucking thing in this world.”

His heart did another happy little flip, and he turned his head to face her. She pressed her forehead to his and stroked his cheek. “And as far as elves go – as far as anyone goes, really…” She smiled. “Well, I think you’re perfect exactly the way you are.”

He huffed in amusement. “No one is perfect, Hawke.”

She pulled away slightly and batted her eyelashes. “Not even me?”

He smirked, then cradled her slender neck in his tattooed palm. “Not even you,” he murmured. “You are, however, the perfect woman for me.”

She beamed at him, then shifted close and pressed her lips to his ear again. “You smooth talker, you.”

Her heated breath sent a pleasant little shiver down his spine. She pressed one more kiss to his cheek, then rose to her feet. “Now come on. Come skinny-dipping with me. Let’s scandalize some of the spirits that are pressing through the Veil here.” She grinned cheekily at him, and without waiting for his response, she pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it beside him on the grass.

He watched with a swelling of fondness – and a delicious swelling between his legs – as Hawke divested herself of the rest of her clothing. Once she was nude, she sashayed over to the edge of the river and stepped into the water.

She smiled coquettishly over her tattooed shoulder. “Come on, handsome. Are you joining me?”

He smiled. He’d meant what he said before; nobody was perfect, not even Hawke. But in this moment, with her bare golden body that he knew as well as his own and the heated affection in her smile – not to mention the years of squabbles and support and arguments and understanding that bound them together…

In this moment, lit with moonlight and the faint glow of her magic on the ground, Hawke was perfect. And Fenris loved her more than any damned thing in this world.

#elvhen glory

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#elvhen glory