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Fenris returned to the mortal world with all the gentleness of a charging bronto. Breaths coming fast, he sat up and looked around to see all of his other companions still unconscious, except for Merrill who sat across the room crying.
The last thing he remembered was Hawke’s devastated face as she dug her dagger into his chest, an image that was now forever imprinted on his soul.
He buried his face in his hands and tried to remember how to breathe.
They have left their marks on your body and your mind. With my aid, you could be free forever.
The claws of his gauntlets dug into his palm as he recalled the demon’s words.
How transparent can you get?
Hawke had laughed at the demon’s obvious temptation, but her face had fallen when she looked at Fenris.
And he had turned on her.
It hadn’t even taken much convincing, the promise of some power, and he’d turned his sword on the woman he loved.
He felt sick.
The sounds around him began to coalesce into something he could make sense of, and he recognized the sound of Merrill’s sobs.
Only a few minutes before Fenris’s failure, Merrill had also turned on their friend.
“Oh Fenris, do you think Hawke will ever forgive me?” Merrill cried.
He ignored the blood mage, still reliving the way his sword had grazed Hawke’s shoulder before she’d had the chance to fade step out of his reach.
A gasp sounded next to him as Varric woke from his sleep. The dwarf shot up and Fenris could tell from his broken expression that Varric had also turned on Hawke.
Next to him lay Hawke’s unconscious form, her furrowed brows and tight lips caused a pang in Fenris’s chest.
The only one of her companions that remained was Anders, who had been fully taken over by his demon in the fade.
Glancing across the room, Fenris noted that the healer remained in a deep sleep, still at Hawke's side.
It was too much. Distantly, he was aware of Varric trying to talk to him.
He shook his head at the dwarf, not hearing whatever the man was saying, not caring.
Fenris! It’s lying to you, please, let me help you!
The painful memory of Hawke’s pleading voice was worse than the dagger to his heart.
Unable to take a moment more, Fenris scrambled to his feet and left before he could watch another of Hawke’s allies betray her.
He hardly remembered anything of his trip from the Alienage to Hightown, all he knew was that he had to get as far away from the scene of his betrayal as possible.
When he’d reached his mansion, he’d gone immediately for the wind cellar.
Once the bottle was in his hand, however, all he could do was throw it against the nearest wall and crumble to the ground with a furious sob.
“Hawke,” he cried to the empty room.
The worst part was that she would forgive them all, easily. He could picture her kind smile as she absolved him of his sins.
He threw another bottle.
In the Fade, Hawke had fought him through evasion as she tried to talk him out of the strange trance.
She didn’t cast a single hostile spell at him and, when the moment came and she was forced to fight back, she’d apologized.
Burying his head in his arms, Fenris cried for what felt like hours until he finally forced himself to his feet.
He took an unbroken bottle on his way back to his room and spent some time reliving their time in the Fade, trying to understand what had come over him.
The demon had picked out the exact thing that Fenris would want, freedom from the hatred and fear his captors had placed in him.
If he had the power to defeat Danarius, to defeat all the Magisters, he could truly be free.
The anxiety, powerlessness, and loathing left no room for anything else, if they were gone, he could have a life, he could be with Hawke.
Scoffing, he drank deeply from the wine.
The demon only offered more chains; he would never truly be free.
Hawke’s favor mocked him from his wrist, an unspoken promise, to both of them, that he belonged to her.
His intention with it had been to prove his loyalty; despite leaving her bed, he would not leave her side.
Hastily, he began to undo the knot, slid the scarf off, and stared at it. He wasn’t sure he was deserving of wearing it any longer, so he set it aside.
Wallowing, he thought perhaps her affections would move to someone more deserving. She and Isabela had taken up for a time, maybe she would return to the pirate's arms.
Or, the thought irritated him, perhaps she would finally give the doting abomination a chance.
He groaned at the thought, unable to stomach the thought of Hawke with someone else, even if it would save her heartbreak.
Despite it all, he hoped she would wait for him.
Resigned to his selfish wishes, he drank.
Rumination and wine sucked up the rest of the night as he replayed the scene in the Fade in his mind over and over again.
The sky was showing the first signs of light by the time he laid down but even drunk and exhausted he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the moment Hawke was forced to kill him in the Fade.
Around late morning unconsciousness finally reached him, but he got no rest.
Demons and their poisonous promises filled his dreams, images of Hawke skewered on his sword, and her lovely blue eyes filled with hatred over his betrayal.
Knocking on his bedroom door woke him.
The sky was beginning to grow dark; he’d slept the whole day but felt worse than ever.
A blinding headache took hold as soon as he opened his eyes and he swore.
“What?” he yelled, irritably as he tried to get his bearings.
“It’s Hawke,” said the melodic voice on the other side of the door.
He sat up too quickly and immediately crumpled in on himself with nausea.
“Fenris?” Hawke asked.
“A- one moment,” he replied, breathing deeply.
After he finally gathered himself, he tried to decide how to handle her presence.
Unable to think of a way around it, he simply said, “Come in.”
She strolled in as if it were any other day, before stopping short at his appearance.
“Maker, are you ill?”
Eyes wide, she took a step toward him.
He quickly stepped back and she withdrew, a self-conscious look crossing her face that made him feel even worse.
“I… am fine, Hawke-”
“I wanted to apologize,” Hawke started before he could get out his own apology.
Dumbfounded, he simply stared at her.
“I dragged you into another bad situation, you wouldn’t have been there if not for me and I-”
“Stop!” he demanded, holding up his hand.
At her crestfallen expression he continued more gently.
“Just stop, please, Hawke.”
She waited while he rubbed his aching forehead, trying to find the words to express his regret.
“You have nothing to apologize for, I asked to accompany you, it was foolish,” he took a breath, trying to find the words he’d rehearsed the night before, “I have not stopped thinking about what happened in the Fade, that a demon could have played so easily on my fears… disturbs me. I am even more disturbed that I could be enticed to turn on you with so little provocation. I- I failed you.”
Hawke began to shake her head, and he held up his hand again to silence her.
“I am sorry, Marian, you deserve a better companion.”
The only other time he’d called her by her first name had been in her bed, he’d moaned it against her skin between heated kisses.
Her eyebrows raised at the moniker.
“May I speak?” she asked after a few seconds of silence.
Fenris nodded and sat down heavily, instantly wishing he’d moved more slowly when another wave of nausea hit him.
Hawke watching him, pity evident in her face.
“Could you at least let me heal you?”
Shaking his head, immediately regretting that as well.
He sighed; he would not be able to have a proper discussion with her until he was less frail.
“Fine.”
Tentatively, Hawke moved forward till she was standing between his legs.
He felt her closeness buzzing across his skin pleasantly, partly her mana interacting with his markings, but mostly his incredible desire to have her even closer.
She laid her cool fingers on his temple and a dim glow emanated from her hands, seconds later the pain in his head was gone and hunger replaced the nausea.
He mourned her closeness when she stepped away and sat in a chair opposite from him.
“Better?” she asked and the knowing grin on her lips might have annoyed him if he wasn’t feeling so refreshed.
He nodded.
“I’m a bit of an expert on hangover cures.”
Her eyes sparkled and he felt terrible all over again.
“Why are you not furious with me?” he demanded, suddenly irritated, “I tried to kill you Hawke!”
“Everyone gets one free demonic possession before I hold it against them,” she joked and Fenris shot up from his chair.
He turned away from her, needing to gather himself.
“Fenris,” she said gently, “you weren’t the only one who tried to make a bargain with a demon yesterday, everyone but Justice gave into the demons. I understand why you did it, we can move on.”
Venhedis, of course the abomination had not turned on Hawke, it just kept getting better and better.
Pained, he brought up the other fact that had bothered him.
“But you did not give into temptation.”
“Well, the sloth demon's offer wasn’t as flashy as the rest of yours.”
“Kaffas, Hawke,” he groaned, running a hand down his face, “why do you always have to make things so difficult?”
“It’s a talent I suppose,” she replied flippantly.
The irony was not lost on him, his fear and hatred of mages and yet he’d let a demon possess him while the mage that sat before him had resisted.
“I have been resisting demons since I was a child, Fenris, I know how to deal with them. You’ve never had a demon whisper these kinds of promises before, it’s not a fair comparison. They peer inside you and find the perfect words to make you believe them. Besides, you’re smart, handsome, and strong. You had to have some kind of weakness.”
He shook his head at her flirting. Her explanations made some sense, but he was more convinced than ever that Hawke was simply better than everyone else.
“I am sorry though,” she said, “I hate that you had to go through that, I promise, no more trips to the Fade.”
Exhaustion filled him.
“Why do you so readily forgive those around you?” he pleaded.
Her eyes stared into the distance, considering his question.
“I like to think that we’re all more than our worst day and, I suppose, I hope that people would offer me grace as well,” she said, and then her eyes tracked to her scarf laying on the table next to him.
Biting her lip, she looked down at her hands.
“I do not deserve to wear it any longer,” he said quietly.
Her eyebrows furrowed and she grabbed the scarf before reaching for his wrist and tying the red fabric back in place.
“Please Fenris,” she urged, “don’t give up so easily,” pausing, she took hold of his hand, rubbing her thumb over his skin soothingly, “you deserve the world.”
There were no words that could capture how much he adored her, so he simply held her hand, happy to just be in her presence.