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His life with Danarius had been painful and soul-crushing in too many ways to count, but there had also been a sort of routine to the torments. While his former master and Hadriana were cruel and depraved, they were also complacent and kept to variations on the same handful of horrors, iterated ad infinitum. Fenris came to know what to expect.
With Hawke in his life, he had come to learn to expect anything. The mage was completely unpredictable and his actions seldom held reason to anyone but himself. Case in point, this was how Fenris found himself sitting on a sun-warmed cliff by one of the beaches on the Wounded Coast. Hawke had come by the mansion with his brother and the bloodmage, asking Fenris to join them for an excursion to the Wounded Coast. The first heatwave of the summer had arrived and Hawke wanted to make sure a beach or two were clear and safe for Kirkwall's citizens to visit. Why Hawke would even choose to bother, much less care, Fenris couldn't fathom, but he'd heard whispers of slavers so he had agreed.
All which somehow deteriorated into Fenris watching two shirtless Hawke brothers spar in the hopes of teaching the bloodmage better self-defense. It might have come about due to the near-beheading Merrill had received earlier, courtesy of a stray slaver, before Carver pushed her out of harm's way. It was the only reason Fenris could think of for this display.
A display that was incredibly distracting, due to Hawke's... everything, but especially his freckles.
It wasn't that he had never noticed them before. They were the third thing Fenris had noted about Hawke when he first met the mage, after the shock of auburn hair and piercing hazel-grey eyes. But that had been in Umbralis, with winter waiting just around the corner.
Now it was Molioris and what had once been a generous smattering of freckles had become an all-out onslaught, marching down his arms and torso like an invading army. They drew attention to his wide shoulders and unusually sturdy build, the thick hair on his front and arms. Even with the light tan from working outdoors so much, Hawke was still very fair compared to Tevinter standards and Fenris had never met anyone with that kind of complexion before.
Fenris imagined that he found Hawke as exotic as Hawke found him.
"—and when you're about to be cut in half, you just do this," Hawke called out, grabbing his staff with both hands placed wide apart and raised it sideway in front of himself. Carver's greatsword hit it edgewise with a great clash but then bounced off the staff.
"Creators!" Merrill gasped and clasped her hand in front of her mouth, her eyes wide as saucers. "That was incredible! But..." A small frown appeared between her brows. "Shouldn't it have broken?"
"It should have," Hawke agreed with an impish smile, "If it didn't have a core of enchanted iron."
"Enchanted iron?" Carver asked. "You said it was a spell!"
Hawke winced. "Oops."
"How much gold did you put into that?"
"You would put a price on your brother's life? You wound me, Carver." Hawke theatrically placed his hand over his heart, but then shrugged in the face of Carver's unimpressed glare. "Don't worry, I took it out as payment from that last job from Worthy."
"But you came home with a teyrn's ransom from that job." Narrowing his eyes, Carver thrust his sword into the sand. "Garrett, what did you do?"
Hawke winced. "I suppose one of the Seneschal's candelabra might have been misplaced around that time?"
"You are unbelievable!" Carver scowled and charged at his brother. However, Hawke had already thrown his staff towards Merrill and set off into a run. Merrill caught the staff, mindful of the sharp blades on both ends, and watched in delight as the brothers chased each other across the beach.
"I don't see what the big deal is!" Hawke shouted over his shoulder, voice lilting with mirth, "I get to stay alive, we dined like kings for a week, mother got that fine new dress and everyone got to laugh at the Seneschal's fit! Everyone won!"
Carver made a noise of utmost exasperation as he tried to get a grip on his brother's bushy hair. "Andraste's flaming sword, Garrett, you are a menace!"
"Fenris!" Hawke called, barely intelligible through his laughter, as he neared the cliff Fenris was occupying, "Save me!"
Fenris never even hesitated in grabbing Hawke's out-stretched hand and pulling him up beside him, lyrium glowing painfully as he used it to take most of the mage's weight. The pain was so brief it barely registered, and whatever lingered was forgotten in the face of Hawke's brilliant smile. Fenris noted that the thin slanting scar between Hawke's eyes had become even more prominent, situated in the sea of freckles as it was.
Hawke raised his arm as if to sling it around Fenris' neck, then stopped himself and squeezed his clothed shoulder instead, still beaming. "You are a wonderful friend."
Carver almost ran into the rockface but caught himself with his hands before his face got intimately acquainted with the stone. The cliff was tall enough that he had no way of getting up on his own, so he took a step back and barked, "Garrett!"
"Nuh-uh," Hawke said and shook his head, still breathless with laughter. "You'll have to catch me first." Then he actually stuck his tongue out.
"How are you the oldest?"
Watching the two brothers bicker, with Merrill was giggling hard enough to be clutching her stomach in the background, Fenris thought that maybe — just maybe — there were different kinds of mages after all.
At the very least, some made him want to kiss every inch of their exotic, freckled skin.