Chapter Text
“Wolves.” Hawke swirls the syllables of the word around his mouth as though he can’t quite grasp it. “In Hightown?”
“Not ‘wolves’. Wolf. Just one.” Aveline pushes the report towards Hawke that he had let drop with a scoff.
Hawke folds his arms and refuses to take the paper, leaning to one side like he can do this all day, but it is well known he can’t. Aveline always won when they bickered. “Well to know that it sounds like someone has seen it, so why isn’t there a description, hm?”
Her hands on her desk as Aveline leans forward, the firm unbending will to Hawke’s easy adaptability. Hawke had never had an older sibling, but he thinks the Maker saw fit to give him one whether he likes it or not. “Hawke, this is serious! I don’t have a description of the wolf but I have a damning pile of reports pointing me to where I can find it!”
“Oh? And where might that be?”
“Do not play coy with me, Hawke, I haven’t the time for it.” If there is one thing to be said for Aveline’s putting up with Hawke it is that she had mastered what even Leandra could not- how to cut through the bullshit. “I didn’t spend months restructuring patrol routes just so Fenris could ruin it with… with whatever this is!”
“Fenris isn’t a real wolf!” Hawke hisses.
The paper slams into his chest with one open palmed but very armoured hand. “I don’t care what we’re calling it; deal with it.”
The finger pointing him to the door is unnecessary but it makes Hawke feel the need to stomp as he leaves, not quite daring to slam the door but he thinks about it. He thinks about it and then he shivers to contemplate how Aveline would react to that. He doesn’t look at the report again until he is outside the Viscount’s keep.
“‘Howling’, huh?” Hawke tsks under his breath and scrunches the report. He’s angry on Fenris’ behalf at the very idea that Fenris would be doing something so ridiculous.
Hawke knows it’s bullshit, but he also knows he’s going to have to look into it anyway otherwise Aveline will only be more pissed. There has to be a way to do it discretely without making Fenris a mockery of their rag-tag group- as though he hasn’t been for a while, but it had started to die down. As much as Hawke loves and cherishes his friends, it does sometimes mean navigating them around each other.
Luckily, Hawke knows one person he can count on who has been surprisingly discreet and supportive throughout this whole thing. Someone Hawke knows will also find this whole thing ridiculous and they can have it wrapped up by lunchtime.
---
Anders did not find the whole thing ridiculous.
“Howling is pretty common across all canines, Hawke.” Anders has his sleeves rolled up and is wrist deep in stewed elfroot, the potency such that Hawke had to turn away. Anders seems immune. The healer crushes the leaves between his fingers, wringing out the water the leaves had stewed in before depositing them into another pot. Hawke has no patience for making salves.
Hawke groans, a little hurt that even Anders seems to suspect Fenris. “Fenris is very much not a canine, Anders! Not really!” Anders raises an eyebrow, turning to look over his shoulder and it only serves to incense Hawke more. “Oh, come on! Yes, sure, let’s agree he’s a bit more feral than most but it’s largely benign! Dog drags his arse across the rug in the hall and I know that’s a pretty widespread habit for canines, I don’t see Fenris doing that either!”
A strangled choking sound escapes Anders as he laughs at the image of Fenris doing such a thing. He also had a rather up close and personal memory of Fenris’ arse to make it a truly special image. “No, I don’t think so either, but then Fenris has a mobile and dexterous hand to itch his arse if he feels so inclined. Not sure needing a good itch is why wolves and dogs howl.” Anders awkwardly wipes his sweat streaked face on his arm, leaning over the pot and still working away. Hawke would help but how Anders stands the smell of stewed elfroot is beyond him. “Not that I would know, I’m still a cat person.”
Now there is a thought, Hawke ponders as he settles onto an empty cot. Why do dogs, or in this case wolves, howl? His first person to ask would be Dog but Dog isn’t the best at communicating in depth responses.
An apron lands in his lap. “Come on, if you’re just gonna clutter up my clinic then you’re gonna at least help.” Anders is already scowling before Hawke even forms the first whining note of his protest. “You use these as much as my patients do, unless you want me to mistakenly slip some rashvine into yours?”
“No, messere.” The whine is still colouring Hawke’s tone but Anders lets it slide with a pointed look to the pot he’s filling.
“Get mashing.”
Anyone under the illusion that Hawke is the leader of their merry little group isn’t paying enough attention, at least it doesn’t feel like it with Aveline and Anders bossing him around.
---
Hawke is grumpy and stinks of elfroot poultices when he makes it home. He's unwilling to intrude on Fenris with something insulting so instead Hawke seeks a warm meal and a warmer bath. Anders follows him to the estate because if there is one thing Anders could be persuaded to leave his clinic for, it is Orana’s cooking.
Hawke will deal with Aveline’s disturbance reports after a bath and one fed healer.
Anders neatly sidesteps as Dog barrels into Hawke, knocking the man clear onto his back in the foyer as Bodahn chuckles helplessly at the sight.
“Pardon messere, he's done nothing but await your return.”
Hawke wraps his thick arms around Dog, wrestling and petting him as Dog slobbers over his face. The mage coos and laughs at his beloved mabari as Bodahn ushers Anders into the reception room. The mage and the dwarf share a look but they have long since become adjusted to the special bond between a Fereldan and a mabari.
“You'd think Hawke had been gone months.” Anders gives Bodahn a wry smile and the dwarf returns it, nodding to Orana as Anders sits at the table.
Bodahn pulls out a chair at the table for Sandal to sit in as the young boy hurries eagerly into the room. “Oh, this happens no matter how long messere Hawke is gone! He whines and cries, howling something fierce unless someone sits with him! Sandal knows how to give him a bit of comfort, right my boy?”
“Enchantment!”
Anders pauses as he politely takes a bowl of stew from Orana, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Howling?” He repeats.
“All the time, messere, isn't that right Orana?” Bodahn effortlessly navigates the conversation to include all of the people in the room, and it is heartwarming to see how Orana has eased into the household.
The elf girl’s head bobs dutifully in agreement. “Such lonely howling, it is so sad.”
Anders gulps down a mouthful of stew, thick in his throat as he forgets to chew properly. “L-lonely?”
“Until the messere returns, of course. Then he's just as he always is!” Bodahn shakes his head good naturedly as Hawke enters the room. “Dinner, messere?”
Before Hawke can speak, Anders is standing from his chair. “I have to go.”
“Anders?” Hawke protests.
Anders snatches up two bread rolls from the table. “Orana? Can I have some of this to take with me?” Orana only moves after a nod from Hawke.
Still, Hawke pouts like a moping child. “Aw, what did I say? You don't have to go!”
“Sorry, Hawke.” Anders casts a look around the table, a place set for Gamlen when he returns, Bodahn and Sandal already sitting, Orana back with a basket and ready to take her place- Hawke is not wanting for company.
Fenris is.
---
Fenris clenches his hands fitfully at his sides, the weight of his gauntlets an unsettling absence as his agitation increases. The sun has long set over Kirkwall and with it Fenris knows what is coming.
It doesn't happen every night. Wicked Grace night, he sleeps easy, the nights spent on errands with Hawke, he utters not one untoward sound. He even went so far to set up his own card night and he enjoys those evenings as well. But the nights he has to himself?
He enjoys them to a point, but the length of them is intolerable. The noise of voices and camaraderie, the warmth of the companions- the friends- he has made is painfully lacking. Fenris aches from loneliness and he's unsure how to fix it, all excuses ringing empty to his ears for anything he can conjure to intrude on any of them. Even just to sit quietly in the same room and not be entombed in the mansion he couldn't bring himself to call home. Surely a home would not feel so empty?
A thin, strained sound escapes Fenris’ mouth before he can stifle it. It is pitiful and pathetic and Fenris curses himself for being unable to stifle it. No matter his freedom, Danarius still pulls his strings and Fenris is debased for all to laugh at. A frightened little wolf with no master, he thinks bitterly. Too proud to seek out the pack he is welcome in, too strange to admit he needs them…
The thin whine has become a guttural keen, building and building as his breathing quickens, harder, deeper, then-
A howl.
His ears flatten to his skull as his chin tips up, his posture straining to the milky face of the moon visible through the gaps in his ceiling. His knuckles turn white as he strains to stop, please Maker, afford him this one dignity, please.
A knock startles him into silence. The knock is not on his front door, but at the door to his room.
There is no way whoever is at his door has not heard his embarrassing racket. Fenris’ ears stay low as shame colours his face and much as he is lonely he debates answering the door at all, but the knock comes again. Softer this time.
Fenris cannot hide his surprise when he finds Anders there.
“Uh… hi.” Anders swallows hard, lifting a basket Fenris hadn't noticed between them as offering. “So, Orana made stew.”
Fenris fidgets. “You… you were at Hawke's?” It shouldn't sting. Hawke and Anders are friends as much as Fenris is with Hawke, he shouldn't feel the need to be included all the time.
“I… I made him help me at the clinic. He came to ask my help with, well… a wolf. In hightown.” Fenris tips his face down and peeks at Anders through his hair. Anders seems to sense he has struck a nerve and shuffles a half step back, the basket still outstretched. Like an offering. “Ah, I should have sent Hawke. I didn't think.” He pushes the basket into Fenris’ hands. “I could… go and get Hawke if you like? Or Varric? Isabela?” Anders looks so nervous and uncertain, and after everything they've been through and how keenly Fenris had been wanting the company it is an unwelcome expression.
Fenris looks from the basket, still warm in his hands, to the mage sheepishly fidgeting as Fenris had been doing. There has been no mention of the howling Anders must have heard, despite him apparently having heard from Hawke about the regular disturbances in Hightown.
“I would appreciate your company, mage.” Fenris cringes at how relieved he sounds, fingers tensing around the basket as he shuffles his feet. He steps back to cover his nervousness. “Come in?”
Anders tension dissolves at the welcome and he offers Fenris a lopsided grin. “Sure, Fenris. I'd like that.” Fenris’ ears perk up and Anders can't help chuckling.
---
Aveline raises an eyebrow at Hawke. “Wait, you didn't look into it at all?!”
Hawke pales. “Well I tried! I did some research… ish? It wasn't exactly like I was going to go straight to Fenris and accuse him of something so silly.” Hawke refuses to be cowed by the towering figure Aveline cuts behind that desk. It is a refusal in progress as he squirms under her gaze nonetheless.
Then suddenly she leans back, a smirk curling her mouth. “Hm.”
“What?”
“The reports have stopped.” At Hawke's surprised face she shrugs. “If you aren't responsible then I don't know who is, or what was causing it in the first place. But the howling has stopped.”
Aveline sits down at her desk, the matter closed as far as she is concerned, but Hawke frowns. Rarely are things so easy for them, and yet he can't escape the ludicrousy of a wolf in Hightown. He's halfway out the door when he remembers the question that he had thought of when he had been looking into the incidences.
“Hey, Aveline? Why do wolves howl?”
Aveline pauses in her work, but instead of being annoyed she actually seems to know. “If I remember my father’s correctly, to find family or a mate, mostly.”
“So… we think the wolf found a mate then?” Hawke grins at Aveline as she rolls her eyes.
“Or was killed by someone more competent than you.”
Hawke stuck his tongue out at her. “Spoilsport.” He doesn't like that ending, he much prefers the wolf having found a mate.