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Fenris sat propped up in bed, reclining against a mass of pillows as he studied the pages of the book resting in his lap. Hawke stirred next to him in her sleep, reminding him that he should also consider actually laying down to rest.
He marked his page with a scrap of paper and set it aside, sitting up to stretch, and the realization of just how long he'd been bowed over his reading turned to sudden regret at the almost painful tension in his neck and shoulders. He tipped his head back and let the weight pull at the muscles beneath his jaw.
He was just about to get himself settled under the covers when Hawke began mumbling. She'd been an uneasy sleeper for the entire time he'd known her, but her dreams had become especially troubled after returning from the Fade.
Back then, Fenris had thought that she was lost forever, another casualty felled by the abuse of magic. Varric's initial letter delivering the news of her demise had practically destroyed him. The entire order of Grey Wardens was on notice as far as he was concerned, and even now he still hadn't totally forgiven Varric for letting Hawke sacrifice herself (not that any force in Thedas could have stopped Hawke from doing exactly what Hawke thought was right). The only reason Fenris was on speaking terms with his old friend was because the dwarf had been the one to tell him Hawke was alive.
She'd reportedly awoken leagues away from Orlais, somewhere deep within Arlathan Forest, sprawled in front of a shattered Eluvian. She was battered, bloody, and exhausted from her encounter with the Nightmare demon, but hale enough to drag herself through the trees and find shelter in the ruins of Arlathan. She had recuperated as well as she could (which was, as might be expected, not very well) for a number of days, until a research party stumbled upon her while seeking ancient Elvhen artifacts in the area. Naturally, Varric had connections that led back to this group (because the man had connections everywhere), and had gotten the news to Fenris immediately after receiving it.
He didn't even recall the journey to Arlathan - it was just a muddy blur of landscapes and towns that stood between him and the most important person in his life. He ate little, slept less, and showed up looking like a vengeful wraith, scaring the daylights out of the perimeter scouts of the camp where Hawke had been convalescing.
It had been nearly three years since then, but traces of Nightmare still lingered in Hawke's mind, and there was little to be done aside from providing comfort. She had no magical ability and was ridiculously strong of will, so the risk of becoming an abomination was practically zero. Still, the horrors that she had endured over the course of her life gave the demon ample material with which to torment her through dreams. Every so often, it would find her spirit as she wandered the Fade, and use its power to assault her with visions of terror.
Tonight was looking like one of those nights, as Hawke began to toss and turn. A sheen of sweat now coated her brow, and her murmurs were becoming longer strings of words, unintelligible to anyone who wasn't intimately familiar with her history.
Fenris listened and ascertained quickly that tonight Nightmare had chosen to use Hawke's memories of Leandra against her.
He'd learned early on not to wake her outright unless he wanted a bruised jaw; Hawke's subconscious understandably tended toward defensive maneuvers. It's not that he really minded getting socked by a sleeping Hawke, but she'd feel guilty about it for weeks afterward and be overbearingly contrite about it.
The best way to lead her out of a night terror was by slowly and gently calling her back to this side of the Veil. This was a constant exercise in restraint for Fenris, as "slow" and "gentle" were not concepts to which he was accustomed. For Hawke, though, he would be patient and he would be delicate.
Hawke had rolled onto her side, facing away from him, so Fenris gingerly turned to curl around her so that his body pressed flush against her back, and felt the tension in her muscles ease almost immediately. He ran his hand up her arm, her skin clammy under his palm. Craning his neck, he breathed softly into her ear and spoke to her in a low voice.
"Marian, I am here. You are with me. Come home."
The tip of his nose brushed her earlobe, and he pressed a kiss to the soft patch of skin just below it, then two more further down her neck. He repeated these words and motions until she began to wake, finally mumbling his name with a groggy voice.
"Fenris." Not a question, but a confirmation.
"I am here."
Hawke turned in his embrace and buried her face against his collarbone, drawing a few deep breaths and wrapping an arm around his waist. Fenris kissed the top of her head and wedged an arm beneath her shoulders to pull her closer.
"I always know to follow the sound of your voice," Hawke mumbled against his chest. "It's how I find my way back here."
Fenris smiled into her hair, breathing in the scent of her warmth and the faint trace of rosemary from her shampoo.
"I swore to remain by your side," he said, "and I have every intention of keeping that oath, whether you are on this side of the Veil or the other."
"You are very good to me."
"Mm, I only act like this because I am in love with you."
Hawke snorted and small, tired laugh and squeezed his waist more tightly. "Ah, I think just hearing that will help me sleep more soundly."
"Then shall I say it again?"
"Please."
"I love you, Marian."
"And I love you, Fenris."
"Sleep well, I will be here when you wake again."
"I will sleep well precisely because I know that to be true."