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It would be perfect, Fenris thought to himself as he tugged out another weed out of a flowerbed that was mostly weeds. He had taken the mansion, Danarius's friend's mansion, with little struggle, all thanks to the help of Hawke and her questionable companions. The place was a ruin, strewn with wreckage and decimated by demons. Fenris did not care. Fenris had lived through, and in, worse. He made himself a bed out of what he could salvage, cleaned the grime off the essentials, and made great use of Danarius's friend's wine cellar.
But when he saw the wreckage that was once a garden, Fenris despaired.
He should tear it down, he thought bitterly. Burn every tree to the root and stomp on every plant. Rejoice over the destruction of everything connected to the man who created and chained him. What should he care, if this symbol of Tevinter decadence and greed was destroyed? He would gladly dance on its ashes. That was the only fitting end to a magister's plot of blood soaked soil.
But, Fenris thought, it no longer had to be a Tevinter magister's garden.
It could be his garden.
It proved to be a great temptation. Unlike the mansion, rotting and dead and always, always someone else's, a garden could be what he desired. He could shape it in his vision, create something permanent and wonderful just for him. Even his own lack of knowledge and fear of failure could not deter him. The garden was already in shambles, as far as he could tell. There was nothing left to destroy. The weeds were already choking out all other plants. Slime and rotting leaves and algae cluttered the fountain in the center of the garden, and the paved areas were swallowed up by the weeds poking through the cracks and spaces between bricks. It looked as if there was nothing left. And when there was nothing left to be destroyed, Fenris reasoned, he could build from the ground up. It wouldn't matter what his mistakes were. They would be an improvement at this point. So armed with little more than his determination, Fenris set off to create something for himself.
-
The first thing he did was clean. Underneath the dirt and leaf litter, Fenris discovered twisting paved paths leading all throughout the garden like little veins. One led to the back left corner with a circular paved patio under a giant tree of some kind. It would be nice to sit there when the sun was high in the summer, Fenris thought. It was right across a large open area filled with marble statuary, and was shady and quite comfortable. It would be a good place to take meals, or rest from battle, or to even sleep. Fenris liked it, so he let it remain. Another path led to a rotting wooden building near the house that, much to Fenris's pleasant surprise, housed gardening tools. He discovered a massive collection of small paper bags filled with seeds and bulbs of all kinds, but he left them alone. He could not parse out the meaning of the scribbled symbols on the bags, and he flushed with shame. Even in this his illiteracy taunted him.
But he did not need to read to make a garden. There were gardens all around him in Hightown. And more importantly, there were gardeners, elves like himself who had the knowledge and skills to make life grow from a patch of bare soil. Fenris watched them as they went about their work, watched the seasonal tasks they performed as he slowly uncovered his garden. Moving dirt and trash and rotting things required no skill, and watching helped Fenris discover the proper way to turn over earth and clear out flower beds. Observation was a skill that had always served him well, from his time under Danarius to his life as a fugitive to his gardening.
Fenris pulled all the statues of magisters and Tevinter legends off their pedestals, watching them fall to the ground with a satisfying crash. He scrubbed out the long dried and crusted center fountain bed until the pale marble gleamed. He tore the rotting shed to its foundations and beyond, and moved the tools and seeds and everything else into the mudroom in the back. These rooms could be fixed, Fenris thought reluctantly. His tools should be protected, just as much and if not more than his wine.
Fenris found a crumbling book on plants in the ruins of library in the mansion, and took it to study the shapes of the leaves and match some of the letters to other letters and discover what the seeds and bulbs could become, but it was a frustrating task. The words wriggled and swam across the pages without revealing their mysteries to him. He put the book on a shelf in the mudroom for later use. Someday he would be able to read and would decipher the secrets of this tome, but for now Fenris had a garden to create.
The other gardeners in Hightown were not to blind or deaf to Fenris's exploits, and many poked their heads over the wall to watch what Fenris was pulling out of the ruin. An elderly reed of an elf suggested Fenris plant roses against the house, so that the vines could clamber up and fill the rooms above with their heady scent.
“I'll give you cuttings when you need them. Nice to see the youth give gardening a go.” The elf rasped with a merry twinkle in his eyes. “Come see me if you're interested.”
The gardener next door, another elf with arms like thick tree limbs and an Orlesian accent, hopped over the wall one day to berate Fenris for burning a pile of rotting leaves.
“Compost!” The elf shouted, his eyes blazing blue in his cherry-red face. “Compost! Compost! Compost! Your garden starves and you burn her food! Abuse! Abuse!” Amid the shouting and Orlesian curses, Fenris's neighbor showed him how to create a compost heap, told him when to turn over the soil, and (albeit reluctantly) promised to show Fenris what good compost looked like.
“It will do.” He eventually snorted after hours of sweat and labor over Fenris's new compost heap, his lips pursed. “You are not completely hopeless.”
Fenris took it as a compliment.
-
On the days that he was not adventuring with Hawke, Fenris toiled in the garden. Toil was the proper word for it as he moved rocks, removed rubble, pulled out weeds, tore out a tree stump, and slowly fiddled with the plumbing for the small center fountain. In evenings over a simple meal in his new shed, Fenris took out the now much looked over gardening book and flipped through illustrations, wondering what could grow in his patch of earth, and what he was interested in growing.
He also consulted Collin, the elderly elf who first approached him, about gardening. Fenris traded small physical tasks for information. He moved rocks, pulled weeds, and made sure Collin got back to his home in the Alienage safely. In return, Collin patiently listened to Fenris's many questions about gardens. Fenris felt like he made a friend- a friend completely unrelated to Hawke and her exploits. This was a friend of his own, and they shared an interest completely unrelated to fighting or killing. Fenris never knew how soothing a simple friendship could be for his soul until he shared those simple conversations with Collin.
One day, after Fenris asked his many questions, he hesitantly invited Collin to look over the barren wasteland that was the garden. He anxiously shifted his weight from one foot to the other as Collin looked over the dirt beds with a critical eye. Occasionally Collin would hum, or purse his lips, as he made a full circuit around the garden.
“The soil is good. It will drain nicely. There is plenty of sunlight, and I see that you have a fountain for water.” Collin nodded his grizzled head, a smile on his lined, worn face. “You have good bones here, Fenris.”
“The fountain is a work in progress.” Fenris admitted. “It is clean, but the water...”
“Ask Basile for assistance. He is from Orlais, they are known for water features.” Collin said. “Now, you have said you found a collection of seeds? Do you know what kind?”
“No.” Fenris admitted. “There are bulbs as well. I know nothing of them.”
“That means we start from the beginning.” Collin said calmly. “No matter. I suggest you wait to plant. See if anything sprouts in the spring. Take time this winter to fix the fountain. Carmen can help you...” Collin's lips twisted into a wry little smirk. “Help you clean up the bits of broken statuary. She's been chattering on about a potential project of hers, and she needs marble.”
“Carmen?” Fenris prompted. He did not anyone named Carmen. But if Carmen wanted to get rid of these statues, well... Fenris would be happy to comply. He did not want the images of magisters polluting his space. His garden.
“Carmen's a gardener from Antiva. She works for the Arundells.” Collin smiled slightly. “Sharp tongued little chit. Basile is madly in love with her.”
“I see.” Fenris remarked after a slight pause. He did not see, not really. Basile was so devoted to his garden that an interest in anything else seemed impossible. But the personal businesses of these gardeners meant nothing to him.
“Thank you for inviting me today, Fenris.” Collin said with a smile. “Come see me at my home sometime. You are always welcome.”
“Thank you, Collin.” Fenris replied. “For your invitation and your advice.” Fenris was grateful that someone like Collin, someone with years of experience and a willingness to teach, was there to help Fenris build something for himself. Fenris wondered what Collin's story was, what took him to Kirkwall when he was so very clearly from Ferelden, but Fenris never had the nosiness (perhaps the courage) to ask.
-
Fenris spent his days with Hawke and her companions, from the loquacious dwarf Varric to the tiny blood mage Merrill to the busty pirate Isabela. There was Aveline, the stern red-haired guardswoman who occasionally patrolled outside the front of the mansion, and Hawke once dragged Fenris along on business with a prince turned priest named Sebastian. Hawke herself was a stern woman with fierce eyes and a grim mouth, the opposite of her pretty smiling sister Bethany. Then there was the blond apostate abomination Anders, ridden with his demon named Justice. Fenris gave him a wide berth when he could, and ignored him when he could not be avoided. He spent the past years of his life running from magisters, and he had no plans to throw his lot in with aspiring mages.
In the evenings Fenris spent his time in the garden. Soon it was clean, a blank slate. He took Collin's advice and refrained from planting anything in the flower beds. He also met with Carmen, a little elvhen woman with dark skin and a tongue sharper than steel. She tossed her many tiny braids over her shoulder and snorted at the mass of broken statuary and pedestals and rolled her eyes.
“Looks like someone had fun.” She remarked before snapping her fingers. “C'mon, the statues ain't movin' any faster and the sun ain't setting any slower.” Under her direction, Fenris moved broken statues through his back gate and loaded them on a cart. Basile, who was next door trimming a hedge, once again hopped over the wall and assisted with the work. Later, after the work was done and Carmen left with her marble, Basile sighed deeply, gazing down the road wistfully.
“She is rather remarkable, is she not?” Basile said to no one in particular. Fenris shrugged. He found Carmen to be bossy, argumentative, and a little bit frightening, but the confrontational Basile clearly adored the little woman.
“You should tell her how you feel.” Fenris replied. Basile spluttered and declared that Fenris mistook admiration for romance, but Fenris saw the considering look Basile gave the road Carmen took.
-
When Fenris learned that Hawke was planning to take him on the Deep Roads along with Anders and Varric, Fenris scrambled to find someone to look after his garden. Collin assured him that the garden would be safe for the few weeks he would be gone, but promised to look after it. Collin even roped Carmen into assisting him, reminding the woman of the marble Fenris freely gifted her. And when Carmen reluctantly offered to maintain bits of the garden, Basile eagerly offered his own expertise. Fenris could rest easily in the Deep Roads, knowing that his sanctuary was in good hands.
The Deep Roads were filled with hardship, betrayal, and Darkspawn. Hawke struggled with the thought that she led her companions into danger. Varric was angry that he trusted his brother and led his companions to certain death. Even the mage, Anders, was suffering through the Deep Roads. Fenris heard his muffled cries and nightmares every time they made camp and tried to sleep. Fenris bore it all by reminding himself that he had lived through worse, and that he had a garden that needed him.
When they finally emerged from the underground as wealthy as lords, much had changed. Hawke had earned back her mother's estate, but had lost Bethany to the Templars and the Circle. Fenris could only hope that Bethany would be safe there. He liked the friendly girl and her unstinting kindness, and did not like to see Hawke or her mother suffering. But he was unable to do more than commiserate with them, and the mage was already doing that. Instead, Fenris worked out his frustrations in his garden.
Spring had finally come, and with it came dozens of small sprouts, little pale green shoots growing in the brown dirt. At Collin's recommendation, Fenris let them grow. He had grown skilled enough to recognize common weeds, and had instead moved onto doing battle with the overgrown ivy on the walls of the mansion. He had not intended to repair the building and the garden, but the ivy was taking up room that Fenris wanted to use for the rose cuttings Collin provided him. They had interesting names, like Maker's Flames, a red orange bloom with large flowers, to Siren's Song, a rose with tiny lavender blossoms and a rich myrrh scent. Fenris's favorite cutting, however, was the one that humans called “Andraste's Peace.”
“We elves, though, we call it Shartan's Pride.” Collin said as he handed the cutting over. “Careful, the thorns are sharp.” Fenris handled the thorny cutting with care.
“The names are quite different.” Fenris remarked. “What will this one be like?”
“Big flower, lots of petals.” Collin said. “Very pale pink, with a nice scent. Fruity.” Collin grinned at Fenris, as if he was sharing some great secret between them both. “It's also the toughest rose in any garden. It will survive anything and come out the stronger. Why not name the strongest flower after our strongest champion? Why not Shartan?”
“I see.” Fenris remarked as he looked at the little thorny stick in his hands with a new appreciation. “I will gladly plant this flower in my garden.”
Some of the plants were weeds, as Fenris had thought, but he discovered a large collection of lilies growing in one corner of the garden near the house. While he had not planned for the flowers to be there, Fenris could not help but take some pride in their resilience. He let them remain where they were and took joy in the fact that something was growing in his garden. Even the large tree in the corner had pale leaf buds on it, furled so tightly it was impossible to see what the tree would be. It was a mystery he was eager to solve.
One morning he woke up from a nightmare of Danarius and his hands clawing at him, dragging him back to Tevinter as the magister crooned and petted, the little pats and strokes turning into pinches and slaps and then beatings with whip and rod. Fenris woke in a cold sweat, gasping for air as he struggled out of the confining blankets. He had to escape, had to leave the confined walls closing in and choking him- Fenris stumbled down the stairs and burst out into the garden, clutching his blanket around him as he ran. The spring breeze tickled his bare legs and ruffled his long nightshirt. As he walked he found he could breathe again, and there was something sweet in the air. Fenris looked up and nearly gasped.
The tree was covered in blossoms, pale, sweet-smelling blossoms. They were unfurling in the dawn light, so beautiful and calming that Fenris's heart was immediately put at ease. Fenris slowly made his way to the paved patio the tree towered over and settled down underneath the tree. He could rest here, Fenris thought. Here underneath blossoms and in sunshine, Danarius's clutching, groping hands would never find him. Men like Danarius lived in dark places. They did not thrive in sunlight and nature. Fenris was safe here. He wrapped his blanket more firmly around him and fell asleep.
Later, when he woke again, Fenris dragged his mattress down a flight of stairs to set it in an empty room nearest to the mud-room turned gardening room. It smelled like the outdoors here. Fenris took a few more hours of undisturbed sleep before waking again and dragging all of his possessions downstairs. He did not need the upstairs anymore, Fenris realized suddenly as he set up his armor stand in the corner of the room. The kitchen was next to him on his right, and there was a small washroom for servants across from it. He felt completely at peace here in his little corner of the mansion. He had everything he could possibly need.
Basile popped his head over the wall that afternoon, his blue eyes taking in the sight of the blossoming tree as Fenris pulled out a new bunch of weeds from his flower beds.
“Your tree is happy.” Basile remarked. “You have cared well for her, Fenris. She will give you many apples, come fall.”
“Apples?” Fenris was surprised that it was an apple tree. What were the chances that this gnarled old shady tree would bear his favorite fruit? It seemed like a sign, proof that he was destined to garden. The garden was suited so perfectly to him it could belong to no one else.
“More than you can eat.” Basile replied, tugging out a large pair of sheers to trim a hedge. “Perhaps you will share them, when the time comes to harvest.”
“I will consider it.” Fenris said, giving the tree a tiny smile as if it were a person. Apples. He was very pleased.
-
Fenris struggled to contain his new rose, Shartan's Pride, against the wall. The stems grew quickly, thorny and strong, and Fenris learned to build trellises to help the rose grow properly. There were a few tight rosebuds at the junctures of the plant. Collin's claim that this particular variety of rose was hardy had evidently proved true. Fenris found infinite pleasure in his garden. The garden made him happy and kept him sane as he worked with Hawke.
He liked Hawke. She was tough and no-nonsense, but had a wicked, irreverent sense of humor. But her adventures tended to put bruises on top of bruises. Fenris was dragged on constant outings to the Bone Pit, to the Wounded Coast, up to Sundermount, and they always, always, always had to kill things. Hawke unfortunately had a grudge against Templars, and Fenris had been dragged several times on quests to rescue mages with Hawke and the mage, Anders. Fenris bore it with minimal complaints, reminding himself that Hawke lost her sister to the Circle and could not even see her. Hawke also bore the same dislike towards slavers that Fenris did, and he could forgive her for her blindness towards mage powers. Bethany was also an exemplary mage- powerful, yet kind, and capable of restraint. Fenris liked her very much. It was harder for him to get along with the other mages in Hawke's acquaintance.
Merrill was a fool, Fenris thought. As intelligent as she was (and Fenris could not, would not, deny Merrill's intelligence) she was also proud. Proud and arrogant. She thought she could control demons, that she could bend them to her will with her blood magic and Dalish teachings. That was why she was a fool. Then there was Anders, a complete loudmouth who was also foolish. He did more than Merrill, not only speaking with a demon but letting one into his body- not just a mage but an abomination. They agreed about blood magic and little else.
But then, Fenris could not utterly dismiss either one of them. Merrill cared about her history, her past, and her people. Fenris believed that the present was more important than the past, but he also knew Merrill's beliefs came from her Dalish roots, where they fought tooth and nail to keep their heritage. Then there was Anders and his tireless work in Darktown, where he refused to turn anyone away. He used his magic for good.
Hawke's other companions were easier to tolerate. He liked Aveline, even if she was a bit nosy and kept telling him to fix the mansion through legal means. He neglected to tell her that he already had, just in rooms that most people did not venture into. Varric was an interesting companion who told stories and played cards and told ridiculous jokes. Fenris did not even mind that Varric wrote him into one of his stories as a a sullen bartender. Rather, he found it amusing. Isabela kept flirting with him, calling him lanky and gorgeous and guessing the colors of his small clothes. Fenris found he enjoyed the banter as well. Then there was Sebastian, who was serious and kind and terribly earnest. Fenris liked talking to him and debating the merits of faith.
But even though he had grown fond of most of Hawke's companions, Fenris found he could not share himself with them. He was hesitant to discuss his past, and even more hesitant to share his garden. It was easier to share what he was building with his fellow gardeners. He liked that he could share things with them, that they did not press for information on his past but seemed to know what he suffered regardless.
“You ain't from here.” Carmen once remarked as she stopped by to chat. “Heard you from Tevinter.”
“Yes.” Fenris said shortly. He had planted several of the seeds and bulbs, and they were sprouting tiny sprouts of green that he was nursing to maturity.
“Good on you, getting out of that shit hole.” Carmen congratulated him. “Got some of them magister statues of yours set up in my garden. Come over and chop off some of the arms sometime. The people want a “distressed, Old World” look.” She smirked. “Basile's all for it- did you know he's a Red Jenny?”
“Red Jenny?” What in Thedas was a Red Jenny? Fenris had no idea.
“Friends working for friends.” Carmen waved her hand dismissively. “Sticking it to the big folk in their fine houses. Basile only seems lofty and foppish. He's all about subtle sabotage.” That Fenris could believe. Basile had been by a few days before, smirking as he described the latest disaster in the house he worked for- apparently the mistress of the house had taken a tumble in poison ivy after docking the maid's pay. While Basile's fastidiousness and grumpiness was the opposite of Carmen's sloppy dress and sloppier manners, Fenris sensed a sort of camaraderie between them. He was surprised at how much he hoped they could get along. He normally did not care for the affairs of others, but he liked Carmen and Basile. They balanced each other out nicely.
“So who do you work for, Fenris?” Basile had asked once. Spring had turned to summer, and Fenris had long fixed his fountain. It bubbled happily and lessened the noise of the outside world. They were dipping their feet in the cool water and talking about the day. The rose was blooming, filling the air with a heady perfume.
“No one.” Fenris said shortly. “I take assignments with the guard. Mercenary work sometimes.”
“So you are your own master.” Basile nodded. “Good. Carmen says you're from Tevinter. Worked for a magister?”
“I was a slave, yes.” Fenris bit out. Slavery had no place in his garden, and he had no desire to speak of his past.
“And now you are a free man.” Basile said with a proud smile. “Good work.”
-
Fenris discovered that some of the thorny hedges in the back corner of the garden were, in fact, raspberry bushes. They enclosed what had to have once been a kitchen garden. Fenris saw the remains of vegetable rows hoed in the dirt. He asked Collin for advice on what to grow, and the old elf gave him plenty of suggestions, rooting through Fenris's seed collection and letting him know what each bag contained. Radishes. Carrots. Tomatoes. Runner beans. Eggplants. Pumpkin. Squash. Fenris planted them under Collin's watchful eye and cared for them. Fenris did not know how to cook, and entering the kitchen filled him with a strange sort of dread (it was too confining), but the idea of being able to feed himself with what he had grown appealed to him. He worked through the thorny mass of raspberry brambles that threatened to choke out the paved paths of the garden and the vegetable patch. Fenris cut back some branches and tied others to sturdy trellises he constructed. The thorns tore at his arms and hands and face, and when the task was finally done Fenris traveled to Lowtown for a drink and a game of cards.
“Nug shit, Broody. You look like death warmed over.” Varric remarked as he shuffled the cards for Wicked Grace.
“I am fine.” Fenris sipped his wine. “Isabela is hiding her cards in her thigh boot this time.”
Isabela cursed and removed the offending few cards. “Never fun to cheat with you, Fenris, you see too much with those big, pretty eyes of yours.”
“Are you sure you're alright, Fenris?” Hawke fussed. “You do look pretty bad.”
“You look like you got in a battle with an alley cat.” The mage, Anders, said smugly. “And it looks like the alley cat won.” Fenris ignored the mage and continued to drink. His garden was far better than any mangy cat, though he appreciated the stray that was hanging around near a patch of what Fenris had just learned was catnip. The little black and white cat kept the mice away, and was surprisingly friendly, in her own cat-like way. He liked to sit with the cat and scratch under her chin as she lazed away under the noon sun.
-
It was a fine summer, despite the heat and hard work. He felt closer to his garden, closer to the gardeners that were his friends, closer to Hawke and her companions. Fenris was building a home here in Kirkwall, extending roots into the soil as he planted more and more and created a place for himself. All was well.
And then Hadriana showed up.
She spread her poisonous bile and mocking words, whispering lies and broken promises as she begged for her life. So Fenris lied right back and tore out her heart. But the damage was done, and Hadriana's own bitterness had become his own. He lashed out at Hawke, at Varric, at the mage Anders. He sulked in his mansion and scrubbed his hands and arms until they hurt. He still felt filthy. Then he slunk to Hawke's mansion and apologized for his behavior, for insulting her and hurting her and their friends. He would apologize to them later, but Hawke came first. He hurt her the most.
Hawke forgave him, and her forgiveness spurred him to apologize to the others. Varric accepted it with a broad smile and a few questions about Hadriana before once again congratulating Fenris for killing the “stone-cold bitch.” Anders was harder to apologize to. He sneered and once again argued that not all mages were evil. But he also handed Fenris a few healing potions and muttered a “Fucking Tevinter” before informing him that Hadriana had done him a great wrong and that justice had been served. When Fenris returned to his home his heart felt lighter. He entered his garden and weeded around the walls so some of the climbing vines, like the moonflowers and night-blooming jasmine, could breathe happily. Bats flew about overhead, catching bugs and chittering to each other. Forgiveness and the garden cleansed Fenris of Hadriana's filth.
-
There were more outings with Hawke, more chaos, more events that cemented them all together. Fenris's lilies bloomed a second time, rare for the season but not surprising because of the rain. Then at the height of summer, where the heat and stickiness and humidity reached its peak, a blood mage murdered Hawke's mother and turned her into a walking, sickening corpse. Everyone stayed at Hawke's mansion that evening until Isabela emerged from Hawke's bedroom and quietly told everyone that she had it under control. Fenris went to his garden and systematically pulled out every lily. The next day he mutely handed over all the lily bulbs and plants to Basile, who took them without a word. Fenris swore lilies would never grow in his garden again.
-
Fenris found himself talking to Collin about everything. Not just his garden, or his current problems with Hawke's companions. Fenris opened up to the old elf about his past, from his illiteracy to his life in Tevinter to the ritual that gave him his markings and took away his memories. Collin listened patiently, without judgement or pity. As Collin taught him how to tie the runner beans to poles and the most humane way to protect his vegetables, Fenris quietly told Collin of the Fog Warriors and how Fenris had been running for so long he didn't know how to live in one place.
“You've suffered enough.” Collin declared long after Fenris finished speaking. “It is time for you to live again.”
It was as if Collin's words were a benediction, and Fenris felt more free than he ever had before. He opened up to Hawke about his illiteracy after her well-meaning but terrible gift of a book on Shartan. In her embarrassment, or perhaps because of her big heart, Hawke offered to teach Fenris how to read. Fenris picked it up quickly, and sneakily borrowed a few books from Hawke to continue practicing. He started borrowing other reading materials from his companions, from Varric's manuscripts to Isabela's friend-fiction, Merrill's writings on Dalish traditions to Sebastian's Chantry hymns to Aveline's many wanted posters and job offerings. Fenris even struggled through Anders's manifestos, combing through each page and noting each poor argument and false proclamation before returning it to Anders. Fenris thought his corrections would put Anders off, but Anders seemed enthused by the fact that Fenris bothered to read it at all. Fenris rolled his eyes and poured through the first book he owned, the book on plants he rescued from the rotting library. As he dissected the book's contents, Fenris found that he could read some of the words. Words turned to sentences to paragraphs, and even when he struggled he was pleased because finally, finally Fenris felt like he had achieved something and made progress. He took the book with him wherever he could, slowly sounded matching the letters on the bags to the pictures in the books. Lavender. Tulips. Crocuses. Fenris felt more prepared than ever to garden, armed with practical and academic knowledge.
-
He harvested his crops in the fall, more food than he could ever eat. He saved what he could, and gave what he could not finish himself to Collin and Basile and Carmen to distribute to the Alienage elves. He trusted them to be discrete. So when Merrill babbled excitedly about a mysterious benefactor who fed the elves during their weekly game of Wicked Grace, Fenris merely nodded and smiled. When Anders remarked that the elves he treated were much healthier with their new diet, Fenris felt proud. He did this. His garden was changing lives for the better.
That winter, Fenris covered up rose bushes with burlap and twine, made sure the fountain pipes and their heat runes still functioned, and continued to weed and spread mulch. He also quietly ordered fertilizer and ignored the smell. Nug shit, it turned out, was an excellent fertilizer as well as a curse. After the last frost, (Fenris made sure it was the last one by consulting one of the elderly women in the Alienage, who claimed she could feel the weather in her very bones) Fenris planted the many bulbs in the patterns he desired. Tulips and irises, crocuses and daffodils. He liked the way the irises looked in his book, and he planted them in his corner around the stone paved pavilion. It was his favorite part of his garden. The book described lavender as a soothing smell, and so Fenris planted some seeds there as well, in a place he knew got enough sun to nourish the plant.
Fenris made his mistakes with his garden. His over-enthusiastic weeding unearthed several desirable plants, which now resided in the house in little clay pots, where he was trying to revive them from near death. Ivy overran the back wall, and he was struggling to contain the monster. But with every mistake, Fenris learned a little more. And with every drop of knowledge gained, Fenris fell a little more in love with his garden. His garden.
Fenris had never been more pleased.
“Are all gardeners in Kirkwall elves?” Fenris asked Basile one day as they ate lunch. It was summer again, and the garden was filled with the scent of flowers and the buzzing of fat, fuzzy bees. The cat who arrived last year had remained, growing sleek and fat on her diet of mice. Fenris named her Boots after the white markings on her feet. She snoozed in the sunlit patch of catnip as he and Basile talked.
Basile snorted at the question. “Humans hire elves because they think we are more suitable for physical labor. They think we are attuned to nature or some other foolishness.” Basile rolled his eyes. “I garden because I enjoy it. Their rich gardens are my gardens. The rich folk are my guests. They may own the land, but I created the garden and care for her. She is mine and I know her secrets. Not them.”
Carmen grew more and more attached to Basile as the time went by. Fenris saw how she flirted and found excuses to touch the other elf, her slim, rough fingers playing with Basile's curly hair, her long dark eyelashes fluttering as she awkwardly invited him to “Have a drink at the Hanged Man.” Basile was thrilled, and Fenris was pleased for both of them. He gladly attended their wedding in the fall, and gifted the couple with several tulip bulbs that he knew they had been eyeing enviously for some time. When Merrill expressed her surprise at his presence, Fenris merely said that Carmen and Basile were neighbors and friends.
-
Fenris planted flowers that reminded him of his friends in his garden. Bright bluebells for Sebastian were interspersed with white star-like Andraste's Grace for Bethany. He planted dark green ferns for Varric, the perfect plant that brought the others into sharp relief. Fenris transplanted a showy orange-pink hibiscus against the sunniest garden wall to represent Isabela, and scattered bright asters for Hawke. There were white daises for Merrill and, Fenris thought with a mischievous grin, Orlesian marigolds for Aveline. Fenris reluctantly planted sunflowers for Anders. The tall, slim golden plants were showy yet practical, and Anders had become a friend. He deserved a place in the garden as much as anyone else.
There were flowers for his gardening friends as well. One jasmine plant had long twined itself around a small pear sapling he had fanned out against a wall to save space, and Fenris felt it was the perfect representation of Carmen and Basile (though who most personified what plant, Fenris could not say). Collin was the climbing rose he had gifted Fenris, hardy and strong. Even Boots had a spot in the garden, with her patch of catnip. When Fenris slept in his back room or took naps in his garden, he was surrounded by his friends. It was a private world all his own, one he could control. One where he could invite whomever he wanted, or expel them in turn. His garden was a place of peace, and the only blood he spilled was his own as he worked to bring something good into the world.
But like all good things, Fenris's privacy was not to last.
“Oh, aren't you a darling cat? Such a sweet cat!” Came a cooing voice from somewhere in the garden. Fenris was inside, checking on his struggling potted lemon sapling. Collin told him that lemons could be cultivated in ornamental pots, but the sapling was suffering. He planned to speak with Basile and ask for his advice, but he put it on hold. There was a stranger in the garden. In his garden, and that would not do. Fenris stepped outside to make this intruder go away.
“What a lovely garden, kitty!” The voice, a woman's voice, continued happily. “Such beautiful flowers! And oh! Look at these vegetables! And these daisies!” Fenris approached and rounded the path just as Merrill plucked a daisy flower from its bush with a crisp snap. Fenris's blood turned to ice.
“What are you doing here?” Fenris growled out. An intruder in his garden, in his sanctuary, plucking flowers and doing whatever they pleased. Of course a Dalish blood mage witch would think it fine to intrude and take what she wanted. Merrill seemed confused to see Fenris here.
“Fenris! Did you come to visit the garden too?” She asked with a smile. “Isn't it lovely? It's so bright and cheery! All the other gardens are so formal, but this one is such a lovely place to rest!”
“It is my garden, witch!” Fenris shouted. Merrill seemed surprised, but her small smile turned into a excited grin.
“You planted this? Fenris, it's lovely! Oh, look at this tree! And those roses!” Merrill rushed past him, and Fenris's hand shot out to grab Merrill's arm in his iron grip.
“No.” Fenris ground out. “You will leave.”
“But, Fenris-” Merrill began, but Fenris interrupted her
“You enter my home uninvited, you steal from me, you trample my garden, and you will now leave this place!” Fenris said loudly, his voice rising in volume as he continued to speak. Merrill shrunk away, attempting to tug her arm out of Fenris's hand, but she could not move. Fenris tossed her out into Hightown and inspected the chaos Merrill inflicted on his garden. There was little damage, but Fenris still felt like his sanctuary had been violated. This was his place, and the witch invaded it. He fussed over the daisies and the other plants Merrill touched. Boots twined around his ankles and meowed loudly, and Fenris picked her up and cuddled her to his chest to find some comfort.
Fenris avoided Merrill for a week. He wondered if he had been too harsh with the witch, and tried to convince himself that he was in the right. She invaded his space, so she deserved his scolding. Fenris tried to not think of it until he exited his home one morning and almost tripped over something on his doorstep. It was a potted plant, a flower. Its purple petals were curly, the plant short. It smelled like lilacs. Fenris took it inside and flipped through his book until he landed on an illustration that matched the flower. Hyacinths. He brought the flower to Collin down the street.
“Did you leave this at my home?” He asked the old man as he pruned a large bush. Collin often shared plants with the other elvhen gardeners, it was no great stretch of the imagination to think that he might have given Fenris yet another plant. But Collin shook his head in the negative before he climbed down the ladder, bent and worn legs surprisingly spry as he clambered down.
“Purple hyacinths?” Collin took the little pot from Fenris and turned it around in his own wrinkled hands. “Hmmm. Not me. Anyone upset you recently?”
“Why?” Fenris asked, confused by the sudden and strange question.
“A purple hyacinth is how you say sorry, if you know the language of flowers.” Collin replied, handing the little clay pot back to him. “If you accept their apology, give them a white tulip, for forgiveness.”
-
Fenris put the plant on his windowsill and considered it thoughtfully. It had to be from Merrill. No one else knew flowers as she did, knew of his passion for gardening, and needed to apologize to him. The only person it could be was the witch. Now that she apologized, Fenris wondered if he should accept it.
Perhaps he had overreacted. Merrill was Merrill, and though she was foolish she never meant to harm anyone. And she seemed so enthused by his garden that Fenris was a bit touched. He just... he did not wish to share the garden yet. His garden was his own, and the thought of people entering it without his express permission struck him as wrong. It was his garden, and he had the right to know who was allowed in and out of it.
But Merrill had not known that. Fenris sighed and stood up. He knew what he had to do.
-
Fenris knocked on Merrill's door three times and waited, a small clay pot filled with dirt and green sprouts in hand. If he must make an apology, he would make it in person. Merrill slowly opened the door and stepped back in surprise.
“Oh! Fenris! I had not... that is, I did not expect- will you come in?” Merrill eventually stammered out. Fenris entered without a word. Merrill gestured for him to sit down, and Fenris took a seat on a wooden stool at Merrill's table. He refused the glass of water she offered and set his gift on her table.
“I apologize for losing my temper.” Fenris said stiffly. “This is a white tulip.” Merrill reached out and stroked one tulip leaf with a slender pale finger.
“Ir abelas, Fenris.” Merrill replied. “I... I didn't mean to intrude. It was just such a nice garden, I just wanted to see it, I didn't realize it was your home.”
“You were not supposed to know. No one was, yet.” Fenris admitted reluctantly. “It is private. But that was no excuse for my behavior.”
“It's... you have a gift for gardening, Fenris.” Merrill said shyly. “It was very peaceful.”
“Thank you.” Fenris said. It was silent between them for some time, as if they could not figure out what to discuss. Finally Fenris stood up from the table.
“I... there are many things to do.” He had to turn over the compost heap, his climbing rose needed pruning, there were vegetable seeds to plant... Merrill stood awkwardly next to the door.
“I... I really am sorry, Fenris.” She apologized again.
“As am I.” Fenris replied, and he really meant it. She looked rather sad and drab here in her dark Alienage home. The grime and dank stale air robbed her of color and life. Fenris frowned, turning to fully face her. It felt... it felt wrong to leave her and his tulip gift in this gloomy place.
“If you wish to visit my garden again, Merrill, please use the front entrance.” Fenris finally declared. Merrill's large green eyes widened in surprise.
“You mean it? Really?” She gasped, and Fenris knew he had done something right. His garden would not be a place to keep to himself, as a magister would keep their possessions. It was a place to share with others.
Fenris's garden saved him, and it could save others too.