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Hawke had been at Skyhold for a week or so when Varric came to the room she’d been given and knocked on her open door.
‘We need you downstairs.’
So ominously informed, she took the time to unbury her staff from amongst her mess of things and hurry after him.
Fenris stood in the gate, leaning on the wall and idly picking at his fingers. There was a mabari sprawled on the dirt at his side chewing rather enthusiastically on her own foot.
The guards, rather less idly, were holding their weapons and watching the pair.
‘Hawke!’ Fenris pushed himself off the wall with a smile. ‘You are here.’ He greeted her by touching one spiky gauntlet to her shoulder. ‘I’ve been a lot of places where you were not.’ This, softly chiding.
Hawke, unable to offer a hug over his armour instead ruffled his hair, to which he cringed away and glared. ‘I saw you three weeks ago.’
‘And left without word of what path you would travel.’ He looked at Varric. ‘Dwarf.’
‘Elf.’ To the guards he said, ‘This one is mine. Let him through.’
‘What’s with the staff?’ Fenris asked, flicking it as he prowled beside her, long legs and steady steps, light on his toes as always, though he wore boots in deference to the cold. And a scarf. He was not familiar with snow, and had not yet decided if he liked it. Though he had seen children skiing in a town further down the mountain and rather wanted to try his hand at the sport. It looked frivolous, and he’d found he liked frivolous things; he’d been allowed so little, and then denied himself so much.
‘Thought we might have a mess,’ Varric said. ‘I never know, with you.’
He frowned in feigned hurt. ‘I hardly kill anyone anymore.’
‘It’s true,’ Hawke said. ‘For the both of us. I bought an island, see, up north. Planned a proper good summer away from the winter, until you called me. Did you go there?’
‘First place I always look for you,’ Fenris answered. He’d also been tempted to stay. There was a lovely township away from the estate that Hawke had not bought, but rather wheedled out of someone or other. Merrill was there, now, and probably Isabela. And Anders, too, but no one needed to know that.
Fenris stopped, and looked about himself. ‘This is what you call home, now?’
‘For the present,’ said Varric. ‘Welcome to Skyhold. I’ll show you around.’
Fenris grimaced, and picked at a stain on the thigh of his leggings. ‘After a wash, I think.’ He looked down to his side. ‘For me and the dog.’
So chattering happily they showed Fenris to the bathing hall, where he made them turn around so he could strip in peace, and later again to dry and dress in cleaner clothes, armour bundled up and put aside. Varric led him as far as a room he could stay in, and then gestured at the doorway that led out to the gardens when the wonderful smell of dinner wafted through and Fenris’ belly gave an embarrassingly loud rumble.
‘Alright, alright, I’ll take a hint,’ Varric said, cutting himself off mid-speech. ‘I’ll show you where we eat.’
The dog had missed Hawke immensely, and insisted on a seat on the bench beside her. The kitchen boy blushed in delight to see the dog and brought along her own plate all covered in food scraps and offcuts of meat.
They had the table to themselves, mostly, just Vivienne down the end reading a book and eating with great delicacy, when Dorian came and sat down.
‘Varric, there you are, finally. I’ve been all over - oh, hello Hawke, and company - I need to talk to you about that report you did about the red lyrium. You’re not really clear about some of your descriptions, and I’m very interested in how warm you said it was. If I could just have your ear later on -’
‘Tomorrow. I’ve a guest,’ Varric said tersely. He looked nervously at Fenris.
‘You do,’ Dorian said, finally looking away from Varric and meeting Fenris’ eye. ‘And I understand wanting to pay attention to him,’ Dorian fair on purred. He held his hand out over the table. ‘My name is Dorian, and you are?’
Fenris had been trying to figure the bell that rang in his head, but then he saw Dorian’s rings. ‘Pavus,’ he spat.
Dorian quickly withdrew his hand. ‘We’ve met?’
‘No. You’re of Tevinter.’
He knew it was probably fine, Varric knew him and Varric kept company with some unsavory figures but he did not keep company with actual evil. He knew it was only the familiarity of the accent, the memories, but he felt trapped with his back to the wall and he struggled to find a hold of himself.
Dorian looked between Fenris and Hawke, understanding blooming in his face.
‘I promise I’m not half as dangerous as I’m rumoured to be. Varric, I’ll talk with you later.’ He gave Fenris a sort of grimacing smile of apology and near on fled the hall.
Varric let out a loud, dramatic breath. ‘I honestly thought we’d see blood if the two of you ever met.’
‘I told you,’ Fenris huffed, trying to steady his nerves, ‘I don’t murder every Tevinter I meet. In any case, I don’t have the energy.’ Varric raised an eyebrow in question. ‘I did climb a mountain today.’
*
Mountain or not, Fenris never went long without exercise of some kind and noon the next day saw him in the training yard. He’d left his sword lying down to the side, and was instead using one of the practice mauls.
‘You’ll want a wider stance,’ said someone, and he swung wildly, bare feet nearly slipping on the mud.
‘See?’ the speaker asked. ‘Shoes would be better, but you elves insist on cold toes.’
He’d put his boots to the side, not liking them enough to bother with them when he didn’t have to clamber through knee-deep snow. He wiggled his toes in the mud and frowned at the man, who only grinned in response.
‘You know much about the maul?’ Fenris asked. He didn’t want to be taking advice from an amateur.
‘It’s my preferred weapon.’
‘It’s not mine,’ Fenris said. He considered the man in front of him - Vint, obviously, but friendly, and Fenris was not so strong-willed to ignore such a charming smile. And he was long years gone from hating every Vint on principle. ‘Do you have the time to teach me?’
The person looked behind himself, waved his hand and shook his head at someone else, and turned back. ‘Only if you’re willing to have my whole unit here. Usually we start training this time of day. Time enough to sleep off the hangover, see?’ He held out a hand. ‘Name’s Krem.’
This hand had scars in place of rings, and Fenris took it willingly. ‘Fenris.’
Krem stepped back out of his space immediately the handshake was over, and gave him a considering once-over. ‘There’s a book about you.’
Fenris sighed, and shifted his grip on the maul. ‘I know.’
‘This a new recruit?’ bellowed a voice.
‘No,’ said Fenris and Krem together.
‘I’m just passing through,’ Fenris said.
‘You’re gonna need a wider stance,’ said the qunari. ‘Little thing like you, you sure you can manage it?’
Fenris scowled, and stepped back so he had space enough to swing the maul. The balance was different to what he was used to and he did need the wider stance to keep standing, but the swing was still easy.
‘Huh,’ said the qunari. He nodded with some admiration. ‘Never cease to surprise me what you shorties can do. You two have at. I’m gonna be over here.’
‘Shorties,’ Krem spat in the mud, but he grinned ruefully at Fenris. ‘Like I couldn’t beat him with one hand tied behind my back.’
Fenris didn’t know quite what to say, and settled on, ‘He’s a long way from home.’
‘Aren’t we all,’ said Krem. ‘Let me go hunt down my giant hammer, then we’ll start.’
*
Pleasantly exhausted Fenris washed and dressed, and found that Hawke was locked in council with the Inquisitor. Disliking those implications rather intensely, Fenris took the dog and walked the battlements. He’d not seen mountains like these, not properly, and he found himself stopped and staring at the white peaks disappearing into the horizon.
He wondered how anyone could have built such a formidable fortress in such a place, and idly considered the prospect of training dragons to carry stone up, rather than subject druffalo to the steep slopes.
‘Oh,’ said a voice behind him. ‘You. Sorry. I’ll leave you be.’
Fenris turned in time to see a quarter profile of Dorian’s fine face as he hurried to leave.
‘You don’t have to go,’ said Fenris. ‘This isn’t my fortress.’
‘Or mine, to lay claim to a view or a spot.’ But he did turn back, and Fenris looked at him, studied him probably a little longer than was entirely polite, and when Dorian shifted nervously Fenris coughed low in his throat and looked hurriedly away.
‘Who kicked who out?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Dorian asked.
‘You’re of Tevinter, but willingly in Ferelden: who kicked who out?’
‘Ah,’ Dorian gave a small chuckle. ‘I kicked myself out.’
‘And came to the Inquisition?’ It was a very long way from home, and so far out of line with the usual interests of Tevinter that Fenris was burning with curiosity.
Dorian huffed. ‘Well, they’re doing an awful lot of good, which is more I can say of my home country. The Inquisitor is a good man, you know. Have you met him? He likes me. Rather a lot, I think, especially in one piece. Hm, yes, he’d be very unhappy to find me in, say, half, or quarters.’
Fenris laughed, which only made Dorian stare at him. ‘My time murdering without asking questions first is long over. I think they call it “growing up”. Unless there is reason I should hate you? You aren’t secretly a slaver, by any chance?’
‘Maker, no!’ Dorian cried. ‘I don’t even agree with the practice anymore. “Growing up”, and all that.’
He cringed as if Fenris would take offence at his having ever agreed with slavery, but Fenris only leaned a hip on the battlements. ‘It is difficult, throwing off those chains.’
And, unexpectedly, Dorian sagged and joined him in the leaning, though he looked out over the mountains rather than meet Fenris’ gaze. ‘It is, and every time I think I’m done some new thing crops up. People here are kinder than I thought, but they’re still not very kind.’ He shook his head slightly. ‘It does not help that I’m a necromancer.’
Fenris automatically flinched. ‘You’re a mage.’
‘Ah,’ Dorian said. ‘You didn’t know.’
‘No. Forgive me,’ Fenris said. He wanted to hide his face but could not bare to turn his back to the man. As if he would attack, with guards mere metres away and the whole of Skyhold there. As if he could beat Fenris. ‘Like you said. New things crop up. I have some poor memories of Tevinter mages.’
‘Rather unfortunately famous for those poor memories.’
‘Varric’s tale -’
Dorian interrupted him. ‘I meant that your killing Danarius was the talk of Minrathous. Prompted a small rebellion, and a few sympathisers worked at freeing their slaves.’
Unable to fathom that his actions had any effect beyond what he could see Fenris blinked stupidly at him. ‘Pardon?’
‘There’s more than a few elves wandering about who have you to thank for their citizenship.’
‘Oh,’ Fenris said dumbly.
They were silent until it almost turned awkward, and Dorian was the one to find a safe topic.
‘Is that Hawke’s dog?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fereldens,’ Dorian scoffed, and they smiled at each other. ‘You’re here to save her from the clutches of the Inquisition?’
‘No, but she often runs herself into trouble. I thought I might see if this one would be interesting. And, of course, anything to see a mage fuck up so spectacularly to tear up the sky.’ He winked, though, and Dorian’s shocked blink turned into a sudden laugh.
‘You’re not like what I thought you’d be.’
‘Good,’ said Fenris. ‘Varric’s novel was appalling as a character reference.’
They smiled at each other, until Dorian blushed and looked away. ‘I should get back to work, while I can. Warning from the wise, whenever they call one of those war councils they’re liable to pull plug on whatever you’re doing and demand you follow them to the most abominable of outlandish places. I’ll never get any research done at this rate, and my library will miss me.’
‘You’re the librarian?’
‘Hardly the librarian. I only have my corner.’
‘But you have books.’
‘I do, all sorts of books. Recipe books, poetry books, magic books -’
‘Tevinter books?’
Concerned it was a trick question, Dorian said carefully, ‘Some.’
‘There is one I remember, one of the boys in my room stole it from a visiting family. There’s a picture of a red flower on the second page, and I think the main character is a bear.’
‘Yes!’ Dorian cried. ‘ The Adventures Of Mrs Wallum! I loved that book. I don’t have a copy, but I know where you might get one. Whyever that book, unless you have a child at home?’
‘It’s a silly, selfish thing. I have few enough memories of my childhood, but that one is a good one,’ Fenris admitted.
‘Are you staying long? I have a friend I can write, to ask. It would be in Tevene-’ The words stumbled out with uncustomary inelegance, and Dorian blushed again, just faintly.
Fenris laughed at his eagerness, and was glad that his little question had been met with such delight. ‘I know the letters,’ said Fenris, ‘but I very rarely ever get to read the language itself.’
‘It’s very simple,’ Dorian assured him. ‘The letters make the same sounds like they do in Orlesian, except they make up our words. Do you know how letters? I know you were in Kirkwall, and they use some abomination of an alphabet. I can offer a translation, if that would help. It hasn’t ever been officially translated-’
‘I’m amazed,’ Fenris said dryly, and Dorian blinked before laughing in agreement.
‘Fucking ‘Vints,’ he drawled, in clear imitation of someone else. ‘We do not like sharing. Well, do you want me to?
‘If it is no trouble, though I cannot imagine I would require the translation,’ Fenris said. ‘The last thing I read in your language was Offerings and Returns .’
‘The epic poem that goes on for nearly five hundred pages and everyone dies in the end?’ Dorian asked with an incredulous expression. ‘Shit, what did you say your name was? Fenris? Doing anything after this? I want to take you out for a drink.’
Fenris laughed properly at that, all open-mouthed and easy. ‘That would give everyone a heart-attack.’
‘You nearly gave me one, being who you are and me being me, I thought for certain I would put my foot in it and you’d rip my heart out.’
‘The afternoon is yet young,’ Fenris said, and he didn’t know if he was flirting or not. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be flirting. He was so used to the company of people disinterested in that kind of thing that he didn't know exactly what he was doing at all. Still, he said, ‘Is there a place with proper wine here, or must I reduce myself to wheat-based muck?’
‘Ale is preferred by Fereldens,’ Dorian said, making the appropriate face. ‘If it’s not too forward, I have some wine in my room. Otherwise, there’s is a bar, just there.’ He pointed.
‘And your room?’
Dorian fumbled for an answer, and said much less smoothly than he probably would have liked, ‘My room is closer.’
Fenris gestured along the battlements. ‘Then lead the way.’