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The evening had grown late. Hawke and his companions had spent the whole day wandering around in Kirkwall. They had been helping the city’s folk with their countless needs and collecting coin to fund their expedition into the Deep Roads. They had seen more than their share of fighting and by the day’s end, they were all worse for wear.
Most followed Anders to his clinic, drawn by habit as much as by necessity. Fenris’ jaw tightened when the mage offered his aid. Never again should he place his body–his life–in a mage’s hands. He would rather suffer his injuries.
He turned away from the group before anyone had time to protest. Hawke, who had been laughing along Varric, noticed.
“Don’t be a fool, Fenris,” Hawke argued, catching up with him.
Fenris ignored him, not slowing down his pace, not even looking back. Nonetheless, Hawke remained by his side.
Hawke had no idea why he was so concerned about Fenris. His wounds were not so severe.
The walk to Fenris’ mansion passed in near silence. There was no one in the streets, not even a cat or a rat. Only the wind stirred, blowing softly around them.
If Hawke had no idea why he followed Fenris, Fenris had no idea why he allowed him in. As they reached his door, he did not object to Hawke’s intrusion.
They settled in the living room. Fenris prepared everything he had at home to tend his wounds. His time as a slave, the years spent on the run–his very way of life–had forced him to learn how to tend his own wounds.
Old habits guided Fenris’ hands. Cleaning. Sanitizing. The old-fashioned way, without the need for magic.
For awhile, Hawke observed. Then, without a word, he grabbed a cloth. Fenris stopped moving as Hawke leaned closer. Hawke pressed the cloth on the wound over his temple.
Their eyes met. It seemed to fluster Fenris. He had never been this intimate with anyone before. It was a strange feeling. To Fenris’ surprise, it was comforting.
Fenris let Hawke tend the wounds over his face. Hawke was delicate, careful not to hurt him. Which was stupid. Fenris could endure pain to such a degree, Hawke would be surprised.
Why was he so gentle? It made no sense. He knew too little about Hawke. He was a mage and a mercenary. He was paid to kill.
Looking away, Fenris’ gaze fell on a cloth he used to wipe his wounds. It was stained. Bloodstained.
No matter how gentle Hawke was, Fenris should not put his guard down so easily. And yet…
“How do you feel about blood magic?” He asked, abruptly.
Hawke softly laughed. The question. In truth, he did not mind blood magic in itself. On the other hand, the blood mages… Most could not control themselves and turned to forever crave for more power. Hawke knew how dangerous it was to mess with demons, he never deemed it worth the peril and never bothered to even try.
“It’s like any other kind of magic,” Hawke replied, standing up.
“Do go on,” Fenris said, watching him closely.
Hawke began to play with his hands, making light dancing between his fingers.
“It’s a tool. A tool isn’t wicked per se. It’s the use we make of it. I don’t mind mages like Merrill, she uses her own blood,” Hawke explained.
“She’s putting her friends in danger,” Fenris cut him. “She’s exposing us to demons.”
“All mages are exposed to demons,” Hawke replied.
“That is why we should keep you in Circles.”
Hawke had no idea yet what Fenris went through apart from being enslaved by a powerful mage for years–it was reason enough to be wary of any mage. Hawke understood as much. Still, he wished he could show him another side of magic.
“My powers are elemental, wild,” Hawke said shutting down every fire of the room in a snap. “I did not have to learn any spell, it was innate.”
Then, Hawke lit the room with small fireworks coming out his fingertips.
“It is like a whisper, like a brush at the back of my mind,” Hawke explained.
A rare gift, his father said. Few mages were capable of casting spells without learning them.
“My emotions used to control my power. Maker knows how many times I’ve set my father’s beard on fire,” Hawke laughed.
Hawke effortlessly lit up the room again. Magic was so natural for him. It was like breathing.
“I’m more than aware of the danger if I happen to lose control or to give in the demons’ temptation,” Hawke said, grabbing Fenris' hand.
Fenris stiffened, yet, he let Hawke do his work. Hawke covered up Fenris’s hand with his own and a warm light emanated from them. When Hawke took his hand off, a small stem had come into being in Fenris’ palm.
“I don’t think mages should be locked down in towers. Magic is a gift; a gift that should be handled with care,” Hawke whispered, playing with his finger upon the stem, accelerating its growth.
First appeared the leaves; firm yet soft. Then, came the flower; asymmetrical. Its sepals had that famous helmet-like structure. Fenris immediately recognized which plant it was. Wolfsbane.
“I cannot tell whether you are courting me or threatening me,” he mumbled before staring into Hawke’s eyes.
“Both, my dear,” Hawke teased him, picking up the flower. “Did you know it could be used as medicine? With the right dosage, it holds powerful abilities.”
“But with the wrong dosage…”
“You die,” Hawke finished his sentence. “Magic is like wolfsbane. Thin is the line between salvation and damnation.”
Hawke dropped the flower on the table.
“A present,” he smiled.
Fenris stood still, unable to figure how he should react. Perhaps, Hawke had a point. Nonetheless, no man should hold so much power, not even Hawke. Mages had to be restrained. Fenris shivered, thinking about how life was when mages were on the control side.
“I should go home,” Hawke murmured.
Hawke suddenly seemed eager to leave, like he sensed Fenris’ unbreakable mistrust. Fenris did nothing to hold him back.
As Hawke walked away, Fenris looked down at the flower. It was the first time someone gave him a present, of any sort. Fenris could not lie; he was flattered.
“Good night, Hawke,” he softly said.
Hawke turned back as he opened the door. With that charming smile of his, he wished him a good night. Then, he disappeared into the dark streets of the Hightown. Fenris was now alone again, his torn thoughts for sole company.