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Fenris moved to Kirkwall in the dead of winter. The dirt was a dull grey brown color, the sky was the color of steel, and the damp from the ocean and cold of the easterly wind made him shiver and bury his face into his scarf and peacoat. Yet despite the miserable weather and sights, Fenris smiled broadly, his heart full of pride. The dirt before him was his dirt, the sky he stood under was a sky full of freedom, and the ocean and wind reminded him that he wasn’t shut up as a rich man’s ornamental plaything- he was free. Plain brown dirt was beautiful when it was his to do with as he pleased. Fenris breathed in deeply and stepped into the tiny front lawn of his new home.
Fenris was unloading his cacti collection in his bedroom when he saw his neighbor for the first time. It would be more accurate to say that he heard his neighbor, because his windows were open to catch the faint sea breeze. It might be winter, but Fenris liked the freedom fresh air brought.
“Pounce, did you bring me your stick?” A man’s voice exclaimed, sounding utterly delighted. “You did! You got your sticky-wick! Such a good boy! Such a darling!” The nonsense crooning continued with even more ridiculous, outrageous sweet talk. The sappy words grew so absurd that Fenris would have called it baby talk, but who called a baby a “ferocious man eater with the cutest little paws?” Fenris poked his head out the open window to look down at his neighbor’s front lawn and oh. Oh.
Well this was certainly interesting. There were two ferocious man eaters in the garden.
The first was an orange cat of enormous size, whose fluffy coat looked like the winter robes of an ancient Tevinter magister. The cat was sprawled out in the dirt, rolling on his back with his paws stretched out to face his opponent- a man with a thin, long stick in his hand. The man’s hand twitched and the stick wiggled, and the cat batted at the end of the stick with a blur of motion. While the cat was certainly interesting, it was not what captured Fenris’s attention. His gaze fixed on the man.
He wore the most ragged of clothing, a long sleeved white shirt and jeans with giant holes in them. His boots were so scuffed and encrusted in dirt that it was hard to determine what color they originally were. He wore gardening gloves that were falling apart at the seams, and his hair- like gold, like honey, like the outer edges of candlelight- was caught up in a stubby ponytail. The man was narrow of frame, thin of face, and his nose was long and pointed like a bird’s beak. He was a mess, a ragged scarecrow of a man with most of his stuffing thrown out of his form. But when he threw his head back and laughed as his cat grabbed the end of the thin branch and gnawed ferociously at it, Fenris saw beauty.
That’s how it all started, really. Fenris moved to Kirkwall and learned that his neighbor was the most beautiful man to walk Thedas and perhaps the world. Fenris was a private man, and not gifted at making friends. He couldn’t bring himself to speak to his neighbor. His tongue grew heavy in his mouth the moment he caught a glimpse of golden hair or heard a brief snatch of laughter on the breeze. So Fenris lingered out of doors when his neighbor was out, and he basked in the laughter and conversation that floated over the wall. And because Fenris was a restless soul, he threw himself into turning his patch of grey brown dirt into something more. As he mooned over his neighbor and his musical laughter and golden smiles, Fenris dedicated himself to making his patch of dirt his own.
Perhaps the mooning influenced his gardening, for Fenris’s plant selection changed over time. He started with plants from his homeland of Tevinter- fig trees and yucca. He selected plants like guava and papaya as tribute to Seheron, where he retreated to when he left- well, when he escaped and tasted freedom. He planted what he knew, learning as he went along. He had never had a garden before, only his collection of cacti. Cacti did not a gardener make. The cactus was prickly and hard to kill, which was why his sister got him one as a gag gift when he was young.
“Look, Leto! It’s you!” She declared when she handed him the tiny, domed cactus in its little terra-cotta pot. Fenris begrudgingly took the plant, knowing a joke when he saw one, but that cactus soon gained friends as Fenris expanded his collection. His cacti were his only true companions in Minrathous when he was under Danarius’s thumb.
Fenris nearly shuddered when he thought of his… former boss? Former lover? The magister who nearly made him a slave? Fenris didn’t know what to call Danarius even when he was nearly a year out from under his thumb and several countries away. Danarius was in prison, Fenris reminded himself, and unable to hurt him or anyone ever again. He would rot away, his money and power given over to Tevinter’s Magisterium to do with what they would. Attempted assassination was never taken lightly in a country built on bloodshed. For his information and assistance, the Archon and a few sympathetic magisters compensated Fenris accordingly. He was given safe passage and a new life in another country far away from Danarius’s influence. He was given a chance to rebuild. Fenris left Tevinter behind, and through several strange connections found himself in Kirkwall, working as a translator and living next to a man as naturally vibrant and flashy as a Seheron parrot.
He was also as loud as a parrot, Fenris thought fondly as his neighbor sang along to a song on the radio. It was horribly out of key, yet it was endearing. His neighbor wasn’t self conscious. He didn’t look over his shoulder, fearful of failure. He simply lived his life, gardening and singing and cooing to his monstrous orange cat. Fenris would give anything for that brash confidence and certainty. Fenris cautiously approached the wall dividing his yard from his neighbor’s. Today, he told himself. He would say hello today. He would remark on his neighbor’s tomato plants, or he would ask for advice about the soil here. He read an article on Kirkwall’s acidic soil recently, so he would sound informed. He could do this, it was just a simple conversation! Fenris went up to the tall wall and used a short ladder to hoist himself up and peer over the wall. And he froze.
His neighbor was piling wood in a metal fire pit. They were scraps from trees and bushes, stray branches and dead plants and dry weeds all piled together as his neighbor pushed things down and shoved more on top. Perhaps he should wait until later. His neighbor was busy, after all, and Fenris didn’t want to be a bother- and there was a little flash of light, a spark, and the wood pile burst into flame. Fenris dropped down to the ground on his side of the wall. His legs felt fragile, his knees trembled, and he slid down to the earth, his back pressed against the cool stone of the wall. Fenris cradled his head in his hands.
His neighbor was a Mage, and Fenris had fallen into the same trap he always fell into. He was lulled by appearances and desire, and he nearly made himself vulnerable to magic again. But no more, Fenris decided as he sat by the wall. Magic and Mages nearly destroyed his life once, and he would never let it happen again. He would ignore his handsome neighbor. He would smother the seedlings of tender feelings in his heart. Nothing would come of his strange attachment. Nothing!
But saying and doing were two completely different things, and Fenris had trouble forgetting laughter and sunshine gold when it lived right next door. He could hide in his home and never go out in his garden again, but Fenris was not the type of man who stopped what he started. He continued to garden, and he continued to long for a man he shouldn’t want or have. So when he wasn’t translating something for work or toiling in his garden, Fenris tried to find other people to be around to distract himself from the feelings taking root inside his heart.
He joined a gym. He went to Chantry services. He went out for drinks with his employer. He met some of his neighbors (not the Mage neighbor, obviously). Fenris even went to community meetings at the local Alienage, though he never felt a pressing need to explore his elvish cultural background before. Fenris did everything he could to avoid his feelings. It didn’t always work, but it lessened the hurt and shame that warred in his gut whenever he heard his neighbor across the wall or saw his lanky form pottering around in the dirt.
He met Aveline at the gym. She was a no nonsense woman who worked for the Kirkwall Guard and taught kickboxing on the side. She was a merciless training partner, but she had a good heart and was more than willing to help Fenris settle comfortably into Kirkwall. If we can’t make refugees and newcomers welcome we are a poor city, Aveline declared before she spotted him on the bench press.
Then there was his priest at the Chantry, Sebastian Vael. Normally sanctimonious preaching irritated Fenris, but Brother Sebastian was so earnest and seemed to care so much that Fenris was happy to sit back and let Sebastian ply him with tea and Chantry bake sale cookies and talk. Simply talk. He never demanded what Fenris would not give, and they enjoyed many a debate over translations of the Chant of Light.
Merrill was the resident Alienage cultural leader, an interior designer by trade and a passionate Dalish culture advocate all the time. Fenris should have been irritated by her cheeriness and pestering, but… well, he found he could never bring himself to be cruel towards the woman. Gruff, perhaps, but not cruel. She meant well, even when she rambled on and on about Dalish Mage training and Shem hang ups about magic. Fenris mostly ignored those conversations. If he got too wound up over the tangle of complex feelings thinking about magic brought him, Fenris would go out for a drink.
Drinking with his boss was never something Fenris would have considered before Kirkwall, but Varric Tethras was so smooth and charming that he found himself at various bars with a drink in hand before he could even think of all the reasons why he shouldn’t be there. Varric was nosy and sly, but he also knew when to step back and let Fenris’s past remain in the past. Everyone’s got their secrets, he’d say. You can tell me them whenever you feel like it. Then he’d order another glass of wine for Fenris and ask about a word or phrase in Tevene or Qunari.
Another drinking partner was Fenris’s bartender, Isabela. She didn’t drink on the clock, obviously, but she would take a bit of time and chat with him as he drank. Isabela’s travels around Thedas were as extensive as Fenris’s, and her conversation loud and colorful. She was a treasure horde of information and dirty tales, and she seemed to take inordinate amounts of joy in trying to make Fenris blush.
Isabela was the reason Fenris met the Hawkes. Hawkes as in plural, because there were three of them (four if you counted their mother), and the three were a constant headache. Perhaps that was unfair, Fenris thought as Hawke gestured dramatically while she spoke about her day. Bethany Hawke was very polite. Carver, her twin, was a little rough around the edges but still a decent sort. Marian was the Hawke who gave him a headache, even though he was charmed by her boisterous nature and easy acceptance of his oddities. Hawke just grinned and talked, and Fenris was content to listen, much like what he was doing now in his garden.
Fenris sorted through his collection of gladiolus bulbs that he took out of the ground earlier that week and nodded at Hawke’s monologue and murmured the appropriate mumble sound when necessary. Should he plant gladiolus this year? The bright spears of floral color were a welcome sight in gloomy Kirkwall, but he was growing dahlias as well and perhaps it would be too much color for his garden. Fenris wasn’t like his neighbor- his neighbor, with that golden hair and the terrible pop songs and the garden the exploded with color and life…
“Oh! And Anders loves your weird flowers, the Gladio-something or others, thinks they’re really pretty- not that he said that of course but he couldn’t stop staring at you when you were ripping them out earlier this week-“ Hawke rambled on.
“Gladiolus.” Fenris answered automatically. “Who likes them?” Considering the massive amount of bulbs he harvested, he would gladly part with a few if someone wanted them. At least they would make someone happy.
“Anders!” Hawke said, and when Fenris stared blankly at her she started rambling and gesturing, as if the frantic movements would somehow restore Fenris’s non-existent memory of Anders..
“Tall guy, blond, works in Darktown in that free Warden clinic, skinny as a flag pole-“ Hawke sighed loudly when Fenris shook his head. “Your neighbor, Fenris! Andraste’s Dimpled Ass you don’t even know your neighbor’s name?!”
Anders. His beautiful neighbor was Anders. He had a name. Fenris almost wanted to say it aloud, savor the name on his tongue, learn how to say it in a million different ways so it had a million different emotions and meanings- but then he recalled where he was and who he was with. He glanced over to Hawke, who was lounging against his olive tree (cost him two paychecks to have it imported from Antiva but it was worth it). Her lips were stretched into a wide smirk, a slash of red against her pale face.
“Ohhhh, I know that look.” Hawke teased, and Fenris felt the flush at the back of his neck spread up and over his cheeks. He tried to ignore Hawke, but her sheer joy at finding something to tease him over could not be ignored. Hawke would never allow herself to be ignored.
“You do know Anders!” Hawke said impishly. “You know him and like him!”
“You can’t like a man you’ve never met.” Fenris muttered. There was truth to it. He couldn’t truly like Anders when he had never spoken with him. Fenris had never had a conversation with Anders, never dissected his words and thoughts and distilled them into a heightened understanding of who Anders was. He couldn’t say he liked Anders because he didn’t know him. Yet somehow Fenris knew Anders, knew him intimately in a deep and profound way. Fenris knew Anders from his garden.
Anders loved change. He seemed to thrive on it. Each season brought new things to his garden, new experiences, new sights and smells to surprise everyone who entered it. Not that Fenris ever entered Anders’s garden, but he knew what chamomile and catmint and rosemary smelled like. He knew what it felt like to run your fingers over the silky petals of a sunflower, or to rub a wooly lamb’s ear between thumb and forefinger. Anders’s garden was a mess of contradictions- practical, yet frivolous. Solemn at some points, and joyous at others. Yet his garden was always a product of deep love. Every corner was lavished with Anders’s care, and that told Fenris all he truly needed to know about Anders’s character, didn’t it? He cared.
Anders wasn’t just a Mage, or his beautiful neighbor with a charming laugh. Anders was a man who cared, and Fenris- Fenris liked that about Anders. He wouldn’t mind learning more about the man, and learning it from Anders himself. Yet how was Fenris to establish a connection?
Fenris returned his attention to his gladiolus bulbs, all cleaned and put away in their separate paper bags, labeled and stored in alphabetical order like rows of brown paper soldiers. And as he stared at the bags, an idea took form, a little seedling pushing through soil to reach sunlight. Before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, Fenris selected three bags of bulbs and handed them to Hawke.
“For Anders. For his garden.” Fenris said shortly. “Since he admires them so much.” Hawke, for her part, grinned and took the paper bags.
“Aww, you big romantic softy, getting a man flowers that last forever!” She cooed. Fenris felt the blush rise to his face again, but he forced himself to shrug in a casual manner and return to his gardening tasks.
“They will only last for as long as he cares for them.” Fenris murmured, but he couldn’t help but be curious about what his neighbor would do with his abrupt and rather odd gift.
Later that day as the sun set over Kirkwall someone rang the bell at his front gate. Fenris stirred out of his armchair, the latest novel he was reading dangling from his fingertips. It was at a particularly delicious moment where the heroine and her paramour fell out of a niche in the wall in the middle of the grand Orlesian ball, and Fenris wanted to know what came next but- the front gate. Fenris set his book on the arm of his armchair and trudged to his front door and hurried down the cold stone pavers to his gate. Who was there? Who would call?
No one, it seemed. Fenris opened the gate and stared into the open air, and would have dismissed it as a trick of the wind or some child’s minor mischief until his big toe brushed against something that felt like thick paper. He looked down and beheld an enormous cardboard box filled with an odd assortment of… seeds? Fenris bent down and took the box into his arms. Yes, Fenris was certain that the box had a collection of seeds in paper and plastic bags, all labeled in a slanted scrawl. Fenris read some of the labels as he walked slowly back to his house. Sunflowers. Chamomile. Catmint. He knew where those plants came from, and he had a sneaking suspicion of who left this box at his doorstep. Without thinking Fenris looked up to the house next door, to the upper story of the house that he could see from his garden.
Someone was looking at him from the upper window, but they quickly ducked out of view when they saw that Fenris was looking at them. But Fenris saw enough to know that his neighbor was watching him. He couldn’t mistake that golden head of hair for anyone else. It was his neighbor, Anders. Fenris raised his hand up slowly and waved. And Anders, his neighbor, Mage and beauty and cat owner and gardener who loved his garden as much as anyone could love anything, waved back.
The rest was, as they say, history. Fenris, feeling like he should repay his neighbor’s gift in kind, left a pair of gloves in his mail basket (and if said gloves were top of the line, padded, and reinforced, well, Fenris wasn’t one to skimp on gifts). In return, Fenris found a brand new straw hat fluttering on a fence post. Fenris sent a dahlia tuber (a beautiful specimen called “Snowbound” with large, full white blossoms), and Anders sent hollyhock seed heads in return. Fenris clipped out an article on fanning fruit trees against walls to save space and increase the growing season, and Anders sent an article on constructing small water features. Each exchange gave Fenris more insight into the type of man Anders was, and Fenris liked what he saw.
Anders had an animal friendly garden. His plants and articles tended to promote local flora and fauna, and he even wrote a few notes waxing about the importance of bolstering the local bee population. Anders also liked when his garden ran a little wild, judging on the sheer amount of collected seed packets he sent to Fenris. And then there were the random articles on vegetable gardens, herb gardens, edible flowers, and community gardens. There was even a small note at the bottom of a passionate op-ed piece on a community garden in Denerim.
“Wish I could do this.” Anders wrote in his messy scrawl. “But no one else seems interested in gardens here, save for you.” Perhaps Fenris was reading too far into it, but Anders sounded lonely. Fenris longed to scrub that loneliness away. It didn’t matter that Anders was a Mage- Fenris hadn’t cared or worried about that for some time now. Magic might have hurt him in the past, but was he going to let Danarius and his abusive, manipulative nature reach out and take something from him again?
No, Fenris decided. He pushed through that dark part of his life and he was determined to push forward into the light. That seed of affection sowed so many months ago stubbornly pushed through the frost of his fear and was breaking ground. Fenris wanted to talk to Anders, wanted to learn everything about him. Some of the lessons Fenris wished to learn were how Anders’s hand would feel in his, what it would feel like to have Anders’s bright smile directed towards him, if Anders would laugh at Fenris’s dry humor and idiotic puns. Fenris wanted to know, and he was learning that wanting, thirsting, for knowledge wasn’t wrong. Wanting to love and be loved wasn’t a crime.
Fenris was going to try. He tried to think of what he could do to draw Anders’s attention from their shared passion of gardening to him as a person. Perhaps he could wear sleeveless shirts, or leggings instead of jeans, or practice yoga in the garden when the sun was out. There had to be a way to draw Anders’s eye, Fenris simply had to find it. While he stewed over the possibilities he hit upon an idea. If he wanted Anders to open up to him, Fenris should make the first move.
He sent Sebastian with his latest gift to ensure it arrived promptly and safely. Cacti were his first plants. They reflected his personality- he was prickly and hardy and not everyone wanted a cactus. But they were still good, useful plants. But would Anders think so? Would he understand what Fenris meant by giving him three of his cacti from his collection? Fenris pondered and worried and fretted until Sebastian returned with a cardboard box full of orchids.
That night Fenris stroked the petals of one orchid and wondered what they meant to Anders. He wondered about orchids- a difficult plant to care for (most gardeners killed their first orchid by accident). It was a plant meant to cling to trees in the rainforest, but was so often torn from its natural habitat. Yet they stubbornly survived under the proper conditions and care. Orchids required specialized knowledge and patience, but if given the chance, well. A gardener would be richly rewarded with delicate blossoms in a variety of shapes and hues (and even scents). Perhaps Anders was sending him a message, Fenris thought whimsically. Perhaps Anders was telling him that, no matter the hardship and challenges, knowing each other (loving each other?) would be worth it. Fenris fell asleep staring at his new orchids and letting himself feel a little bit of hope.
Fenris waited for Anders to remark on their exchange and the incredibly personal turn their gifts were taking. Fenris waited for Anders to speak to him from over the garden wall. Fenris waited for Anders to say hello. Fenris waited, and Anders did nothing. But Fenris heard everyone else’s sly remarks and observations, from Hawke’s innuendos and Aveline’s exasperated exclamations to Merrill’s sweet comments. Fenris heard everything, and he finally had enough. If Anders would not speak, then it was up to him to break the tension. He had to say hello.
Fenris took his time dressing that day, casual but not too casual, wearing colors that he had been told looked attractive with his coloring. He breathed deeply, leaned against a fence post next to Anders’s gate, and opened his mouth. Hello, he said, and the rest of the conversation was a blur because Anders’s golden hair gleamed in the sun, his smile was bright and bold, and his voice was music. Fenris let himself drown in the experience of having all of Anders’s attention focused on him, and only came up for air when he found himself at a table with Anders ordering lunch and holding his hand. That’s where it all started, Fenris thought. Months of exchanging gifts, one lunch, and holding hands for one day, and now the feelings he tried to smother blossomed into something far greater than he could have anticipated. Anders was no longer his beautiful neighbor, he was Anders- infuriatingly stubborn, argumentative, obstinate, glorious Anders- and Fenris loved him, all of him. He loved every last angry tirade and passionate outburst, he loved the freckles that dotted Anders's body, he loved that Anders cared about everything and wanted to make the world better. Fenris loved Anders, and Anders-
“Fenris! Fenris, help me explain to Bethany why planting wisteria is a very, VERY bad idea!” Anders called out from across the Hawke’s enormous lawn. Fenris rolled his eyes and sauntered over to where Anders and Bethany were arguing. Anders held up their gardening plan while Bethany held up her phone and pointed to a picture of beautiful wisterias bursting with pale lilac colored blossoms hanging down over a covered walkway. It was stunning. Fenris wrapped his arm around Ander’s skinny waist and critically looked at the picture Bethany pulled out and at the garden plans. He knew what Anders wanted him to say and how he wanted him to say it ("No." With one of his fearsome scowls), but Fenris knew he had to be diplomatic. Otherwise Hawke would get up their asses for not doing whatever Bethany wanted, even though they hired Fenris and Anders to redo their garden because they were the gardening experts.
“Any particular reason why you need to add wisteria, Bethany?” Fenris asked politely.
“Well, it’s so pretty, and it’s just one plant.” Bethany said. “We can add a covered pergola or something, can’t we? The garden’s huge!” Anders shook his head.
“Wisteria’s an invasive species in these parts, and they destroy everything. Everything! You have to maintain all of this if you want it to look like it does in the picture. It will eat up your garden and crush your pergola!” Anders exclaimed. Bethany looked skeptical, and Anders almost apoplectic. Fenris sighed and rubbed small circles into Anders’s side to try and soothe him.
“The plant also takes several years to bloom. You won’t have this effect for nearly a decade. However, I can recommend some native plants that will give you a similar effect without destroying your garden. We’ll rework the plans to include a pergola for a shaded sitting area.” Fenris said soothingly, and when Bethany grinned and hurried back inside Anders leaned over and pressed a kiss on Fenris’s head.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” Anders murmured. “I was about to pull my hair out. Wisteria! Ughhh.” Anders nuzzled his nose into Fenris’s hair, and Fenris sighed.
“We couldn’t have that, could we? I like your hair.” Fenris retorted, but he couldn’t help but smile when Anders turned to him and kissed downwards, kissing his forehead, the furrow between his brows, the tip of his nose, everywhere Anders could reach he kissed. Fenris tilted his face up to Anders like a flower turns towards the spring sun, and let himself enjoy the moment.