Chapter Text
“Hawke… this is a bad idea.” The shift of Anders’ staff from one hand to the other is scraping against the wood of the ferry boat deck and it is setting Fenris’ teeth on edge.
Hawke gives Anders his best smile, that roguish curl of his mouth that used to make Anders’ stomach flutter with interest. He sees right through it now, however, with his stomach already tied in nauseous knots. Every heave of the boat; the gallows gets closer. “Nonsense. I come here all the time!”
“You’re the Champion, Hawke. Meredith has been after me for years. You think the templars aren’t going to get suspicious when they have enough of a description of me to almost get my clinic a few times?” Anders snaps in a barely restrained whisper. “You realise Cullen was in the Fereldan Circle, right? What if he recognises me?” Anders pushes Hawke’s arm and then clutches tightly at the man to steady himself, jerking a little as his stomach heaves. Fenris’ gaze snaps fixedly to the grip Anders has on Hawke.
Hawke clasps Anders warmly, chuckling as the taller man wriggles and pushes at his chest to get free. “I doubt Cullen will remember you; he’s a templar right? Addled on lyrium is hardly gonna give him the best memory. Besides, you can get more ideas for your manifesto, Fenris gets to be reassured the city’s mages are still crushed under Meredith’s iron grip, and Varric gets to watch me be sarcastic about the magic they know I have and can do nothing about. It’s a win for everyone, right?”
Keeping his voice low, distanced as they are from the other passengers, Fenris growls, “Hawke, put the mage down,” before effortlessly tugging Anders from Hawke’s grasp and setting him upright with a firm, assessing once over. “It does not do your intelligence credit to tempt the templars and their patience by bringing a wanted apostate to their door.”
Varric shrugs at Fenris’ stern manner. “Come on, broody, way I see it either the Gallows is still standing or it isn’t when we’re done here. Either they leave us be and we carry on our merry way, or someone lays a finger on blondie and you start ripping hearts and Hawke blows the place sky high.”
Hawke turns wide eyes to Varric. “You think I could do it? You think I could blow the whole place?”
“Sure thing, Hawke.”
Their chatter and fawning itches at Fenris’ limited patience as he rolls his eyes and turns to Anders who is once again fidgeting his infernal staff against the floor of the ferry. Fenris reaches out a hand and clasps it over Anders’ flexing ones to still him. “The templars will not have you.” Anders looks at him in surprise and it rankles Fenris that even surrounded by allies he can see Anders is worrying and planning as though he is alone. As though they will stand idly by as the templars take him. “I swear it.”
“I thought you weren’t gonna stop them if they finally caught me?” Anders reminds him with such an accepting lack of accusation Fenris scowls.
“I changed my mind.” Somewhere between talking with Anders, then falling asleep with a lighter heart and the mage’s scent in his nose, Fenris had adjusted his previously immovable ideals. Just a little. “You are free and shall remain so.”
The wry, bitter smile that Anders gives him is not pretty and speaks of things Fenris had long told himself Anders could have no knowledge of. “No, Fenris. You are free. I have simply escaped. I can be taken back at any moment, as I have been many times.” Anders moves to grip the railing as a faintly green expression passes over his face, and Fenris wonders if it is just the heave of the waves that did that as he joins him. “Maker curse boats. And the sea. You know, I escaped the Fereldan Circle twice to come here.”
Fenris thinks for a moment he has misheard. “To… come to Kirkwall?”
“To the Gallows. They moved Karl here to punish us both for getting too close. You’d think we’d at least have done something to deserve it but I think they just found it funny. I had no one to defend me and Karl had made himself a target by getting attached to me.” Anders heaves but manages to keep his food down. He shoots Fenris a weary, apologetic look. “I don’t know why I am telling you of all people this. You probably find this all very foolish.”
“I don’t.” Fenris didn’t need the rest of the story repeated. He remembers it; Anders’ tear streaked face and blood stained dagger as Karl collapsed dead in his arms and Justice ripped free. Fenris had been afraid then. Until then he had thought the mage capable and pretty, if still a mage and thereby not welcome in his company. But then he had felt the fade scream into reality inside the pretty mage and, well… that fear had framed Fenris’ opinion of Anders. He was an abomination and nothing but a liability. Fenris wonders at his current situation of standing next to the mage with no complaint. That first assessment - mage, abomination, danger - can not be erased but… altered. Mage, abomination, danger, but not to us.
“Look at us, being all civil.” Anders shakes his head.
“It has been known to happen.”
“More and more of late,” Anders points out gently, a fact Fenris cannot dispute but one he does not know what to do with. “Come on, I’m just gonna hide behind Varric and hope nothing bad happens.”
Fenris scoffs at the idea of the mage fitting his lanky body behind Varric. He follows after Hawke as they dock at the Gallows and Fenris finds himself counting each templar they pass. His concern mounts for the two mages he is with. Their staffs are hardly discreet, though Anders’ at least could pass for a walking stick whereas Hawke’s couldn’t have more pulsing runes along his staff if he- or Sandal- tried. There was tempting fate and then there was pulling down one’s trousers and offering arse to the beast.
Fenris finds his gaze lingering on Anders’ rear at the thought and trips over his feet at the notion. Varric grabs his elbow and keeps him upright as Fenris splutters and chokes. “You alright there, broody?”
“Fine. Yes.” He grunts, shaking off the intolerable notion he is never certain is his or the wolf’s any more.
The dwarf peers at him curiously but Fenris ducks the gaze and hurries after Hawke. He can see the exact moment the Knight-Captain notices Hawke approaching, how the man hunches his shoulders as though there is a chance the Champion sashaying towards him is not there to see him, then going ramrod straight as Hawke cries out jubilantly; “Cullen! How lovely to see you this day!”
Varric is already snorting with laughter as Hawke lives up to his promised display of ludicrousy. Anders is hanging back but even he is hiding a laugh at the cocksure way Hawke grips Cullen’s shoulder and shakes it hard. Harder than necessary. Cullen looks as though he would rather be anywhere than where he is.
“C-Champion,” Cullen grits out through his teeth.
Fenris loses interest in Hawke’s blatant attempt to get information on Carver. The younger Hawke had stopped answering letters a few weeks back, but the Hawke brother’s complex relationship is not on his list of things to puzzle over for the day. Instead, Fenris looks at the templars. And the tranquil. He really looks, as though he were not already of an opinion. He tries to see it as Anders does, as an injustice and not protection.
There is a tranquil at a stall Anders is looking over. Her vacant eyes watch him leaning on his staff as though he needs it to aid him. Fenris thinks Anders is making a rather convincing show of simply being a slightly lame man. Anders is not so far away that Fenris cannot hear Anders ask her prices, and then gently asking after her wellbeing. He hears her reply, that same empty yet calm tone that never fails to make Anders agitated and upset. Anders gives her a soft, sad smile and nods. Fenris can hear Hawke to the right of him, arguing with Cullen about a job the templar had asked him to complete, though the idea of killing more blood mages is soothing to Fenris in a sick way he isn’t sure normal people feel. It is to Fenris a way of reclaiming what he has lost, a leftover sense of vengeance that Anders would no doubt disapprove of.
He sees Anders reach out to pick up a salve from the table, his fingers barely reaching it before the Tranquil woman speaks up sharply. Fenris wonders had she the capability then maybe she might have been panicked.
“Please do not touch my wares or I will be beaten by the templars again.” The mild manner of her tone makes it so much sharper to hear and Fenris watches Anders freeze, sees the moment Anders’ hatred and sorrow grips him and Fenris can feel… sympathy. Anders inclines his head apologetically and shuffles back towards Hawke, looking ill and hopeless.
The need to reach out to Anders is perplexing but Hawke and Cullen’s arguing is getting heated. As Fenris turns to see what Hawke has done now Cullen looks to him as though he might offer some support.
“Mages cannot be treated like people- they are not like you and me!” It is a warning; to get away from Hawke. To divide them, to try and scare Fenris away from the evil monster mage Cullen insists they all are- even as the ‘mage’ Champion of Kirkwall is in front of him. But it isn’t Hawke Fenris’ gut twists in concern for.
“How c-can you… how can you say that?” Anders voice cracks with barely contained rage- barely contained Justice.
Fenris feels the prickle of the fade across his skin as he reaches for Anders instinctively. He clasps one hand over Anders’ hands as they grip his staff for dear life, the other arm going around Anders’ shoulder to keep his head bowed and hide any blue cracks that might appear. Fenris’ teeth pull back in a snarl and he glares at Cullen, the need to lash out at him itching at his more logical thoughts which are far more difficult to grasp with Anders shaking in his arms.
“Not people, huh?” Hawke prods Cullen’s chestplate, no hint of amusement in his voice now as he eyes the young and broken looking man. “Suddenly I don’t feel so confident about the safety of the mages in your care. I guess I’ll take my not-people self and my people-people friends and handle that not-people problem you have that you can’t handle with your people-people.” He whirls around and storms back towards the ferry, Varric tugging Fenris to get him moving as he huddles Anders along with them.
The ferry is silent, no passengers but them on deck. Fenris stands with Anders still, snarling at the gallows. The ferry makes ready to unmoor and leave.
“You can let go of me now. I promise I won’t go all Justice-y,” Anders says softly. Fenris jumps to obey as he realises how tightly he had been holding Anders, shuffling back a step as Anders draws himself up and takes a slow breath.
Varric let out a long sigh through his nose before squinting up at a still furious Hawke. “You mind if I rewrite that speech in my book? The whole not-people, people-people tirade was… not your best.”
Hawke shrugs. “I was angry. Apparently I don’t think straight when I am angry.” He slumps onto a bench and runs his hands through his hair, the joyful character Hawke made himself into that they all eagerly followed just… slipping free. Instead they saw the tired man with far more crushing weight on his shoulders than he deserved. “I guess I know why Carver stopped replying; I’m not… I’m not people.” He lets out a bitter laugh as Varric tsked at him.
“Now, Hawke… Junior is a big boy and he’s probably just busy.” Hawke scoffs again and Varric sits beside him with a grunt. “You’re people to me.”
“Yeah?”
“Technically you could be two people to me, Hawke, you’re so damn big.” Varric grins as Hawke laughs, this time a little more genuinely. “You too, blondie.” Anders gives him a wan smile.
“It would be difficult…” Fenris says slowly, “to have the company of not-people.”
“Well shit, broody, are you trying to say what I think you’re failing miserably at saying?”
Fenris’ scowls at him a little for the jab. “I am simply saying I do not keep the company of not-people. Which is a fact.”
Hawke stands from his seat to sweep Fenris into a warm embrace, ignoring the elf’s indignant flailing as he wriggled to be free. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Now let me go.”
“Five more seconds, please, this is so nice.” Hawke squeezes Fenris and hears the armour the elf wears creak in protest before Fenris is pushing Hawke back at arm's length.
Hawke grins unrepentantly but obligingly returns to his seat as Anders coughs awkwardly. “You’re blushing.” The mage is smiling, though, and it does not help Fenris’ blush.
“I was just accosted by a beast of a man.”
“Right here, Fenris. I’m right here,” Hawke cries.
Anders is smiling still and it eases Fenris to not have to look at that grief stricken, hurting expression he had worn when Cullen had spoken. “Thank you. For not… agreeing with Cullen.”
Fenris fidgets under the weight of that, feeling it as an accusation as his ingrained beliefs rebel at the idea of simply washing away everything he has always known as fact, and yet… he stands in the company of two mages, without whom he would not be standing there at all. He owes much to Anders and Hawke in turn, and he would hesitantly call Anders a friend, Hawke definitely so. In light of that, how can he agree with Cullen? “I am… trying.”
Anders’ hand brushes his and, blessedly, neither Hawke nor Varric point it out. “Thank you.”
There is silence for a moment before Varric offers; “Maybe we don’t bring Anders here again, hm?”
They answer as one, “Agreed.”