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It was a lazy evening for Hawke.The wine Fenris brought with him made him sleepy and he could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness. It was a nice feeling. Both he and Fenris were sitting in an over-sized, overstuffed chair with wooden dragons carved into the arms. Hawke had bought it on a whim years ago from an Orlesian merchant who was running from a bad deal made with some “blighted horned barbarians”. Hawke been told on several occasions, and by nearly all of his friends, that it was the tackiest chair they had ever had the misfortune to see. This of course was a point of pride for Hawke and he resolved never to sell the ugly thing. It was also large enough to fit both himself and Fenris comfortably.
At the moment, Fenris was curled up in his lap, back against his chest and reading a book. Hawke had no idea what it was about, he wasn’t one for reading, but after learning the basics, Fenris had developed quite the appetite for it. They would often sit like this and occasionally Fenris would read aloud. Hawke was just happy to have Fenris so close. He liked the heaviness of him and the way the words felt as Fenris spoke. It felt safe and warm, like he was a child again wrapped around his father after a nightmare. He pulled Fenris tighter remembering the way his father rocked him back and forth, “The demons can’t touch you in your dreams love, not while I’m here. Shhh.”
“I can’t breath Hawke,” laughed Fenris. The deep chuckle reverberating in his arms brought him back to the present. Dwelling on all he’d lost did not do him any favors. It just distracted him from what he had right now. He’d waited so long for Fenris and now he was finally here. Focus on the present, Hawke. There was a patch of skin behind Fenris's ear, just visible through his hair. Hawke kissed him there and then worked his way down his neck. Fenris purred, content. Just at the base of Fenris’s neck, where his left shoulder met his back, Hawke found a bumpy bit of flesh. At first he thought he’d found a lyrium laced tattoo, but it didn’t have the sting or tingling he had come to expect. Hawke stopped, puzzled. The mark was small and thin. If his mouth hadn’t been on it, Hawke would have missed it entirely. He’d certainly never noticed it before.
“Fenris?” asked Hawke, he was squinting in the dim firelight to get a better look at it.
“Hmmm?” said Fenris quietly. He had given up reading aloud.
“What’s this mark here?”
“What?”
“Here. On your neck? I’ve never noticed it before.”
Fenris sighed, “Bruises tend to happen when you bite, Hawke.”
“That’s not what it is,” Hawke’s voice was more serious than he’d intended. He had a strange feeling about that mark. It was old and just ever so slightly raised. The thin mark curved gently, he couldn’t tell how far.
“What’s wrong?” Fenris dropped the book and pulled his tunic tighter trying to cover his exposed skin. He tried to turn look at his face, but Hawke’s arms were locked like a vicegrip. For a mage he was surprisingly strong.
“This mark here, how did you get it?” Hawke hadn’t meant for it to sound like an accusation, but it did.
“Let go Hawke.”
“I need to know-”
“Let go!” There was a flash of blue light. Hawke let go comprehending the danger. He hadn’t realized how tightly he was holding Fenris or that his hands were clenched into fists. Fenris stood quickly and turned to face him. His arms were crossed and his hands pulled at the fabric of his tunic. The very tips of his fingers were blue but they were fading. With the firelight behind him, it was impossible for Hawke to clearly read his face.
“Don’t do that again,” said Fenris, “I don’t...I don’t like being held down...”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“It’s alright,” said Fenris. It clearly wasn’t alright, “Just don’t do that again.”
“Never,” said Hawke and he meant it. He didn’t want Fenris to run again. He couldn’t bare to be alone, not anymore.
Fenris relaxed his arms and took a step forward. Hawke reached out, apprehensively, inviting him back. Fenris paused for a fraction of a second, but then proceeded to retake his seat in Hawke’s lap. Hawke did his best not to move and let Fenris initiate any contact. He kept his hands still, firmly clasped around the arms of the chair, but his eyes furiously traced the mark on Fenris’s neck. He saw it curve all the way around like a necklace. An image of his mother with a row of bloody stitches round her throat flashed through his mind. His anger flared. Fenris reached down from his seat and picked the book from the floor. He flipped through the pages examining them. Only one of the them was damaged. He ran his finger along the torn edge.
“You want to know what made the scar?” asked Fenris. Hawke didn’t trust himself to speak so he nodded. Fenris looked into the fire and took a deep breath.
“It’s from a metal collar,” Fenris spoke slow and even. He was making an effort not to sound bitter or angry, but to speak plainly, “It is quite common to have slaves wear them to denote ownership or... handle them. Brands are also common, but for house slaves, pets, bed slaves...Such markings are not desirable.”
Hawke’s blood began to boil. No. Danarius is dead. He’s supposed to be safe now. He clenched his jaw and dug his nails into the elegantly carved wooden dragons under his fingertips. He felt the burning of fire in his palms and the magic swell inside of him begging to lash out. The worst part was that he knew there was more Fenris wasn’t telling him. Maybe there were things Fenris couldn’t tell him. House slave, pet, or bed slave, which one were you? All three? It was not as if he did not know Fenris had been a slave. They had talked about it, more than once, but it had never felt so real before. Hawke was amazed at himself. Shouldn’t he know better? You can’t run away from the things that happen to you.
He imagined the metal band around Fenris’s throat, cutting into his skin. It was tight, constricting and unyielding. He saw the blood drip from reopened sores and blisters, Danarius pulling Fenris around on a chain. He almost wished Denarius was still alive so he could beat him to a bloody pulp. Hawke’s nostrils flared. He looked down at Fenris expecting to see his rage mirrored there, but all he saw was sadness and fear.
“Don’t let him hurt you too Hawke,” said Fenris, “Not you too.” Hawke felt all his fury extinguish. There was no room for it anymore. Only Fenris had space there. Fenris reached up to kiss him then. Hawke did not push back, but let the kiss take him. The tension released from his clenched hands. There were splinters under his nails. He felt Fenris wrap his fingers through his. Hawke’s arms moved of their own accord, Fenris lifting them round his waist. The lyrium tattoos burned faintly into Hawke's skin.
“I wish there was someway I could take it all way. Every scar. I would take them for you.” said Hawke. Danarius is a ghost we will never be rid of.
“I would not wish my past on anyone, least of all you. It is enough that you are here,” said Fenris, “Besides you have enough to carry on your own.” A log on the fire burned through the middle and finally split in half sending up sparks. An idea struck him. He could feel a grin transform his face.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” said Hawke, “But I have very large muscles. I think I can handle a bit more weight.” Fenris laughed. Hawke was back in that safe place and he didn’t want to leave.
“You don’t have spare me anything if you don’t want to."
“Good," said Fenris, "Because I intend to finish reading you this book tonight and according to Isabella it has some very lurid scenes in it. They’re terrible.”
“Maker where does she get these books?”
“Varric I suppose,” said Fenris turning to the proper page, "Now where were we?”