Archive of Our Own ^beta

His hearing returns first. A voice, someone familiar, he’s heard that voice. It’s curled next time, keeping him warm. It’s spoken words of comfort and belonging, when all he could give was cold vitriol that slashed and hurt. Hawke.

What happened?

Words torn from the mage’s throat, right before he crushed her heart. A sister.

What happened?

A magister. Not a slave. A letter. A ship. She was coming to visit. But something went wrong.

What happened?

Slim figure. Red hair. Wide eyes. Sister. Leto? Then frail figure. Huge presence. Heat beats louder, skin thrums. Master. NO.

What happened?

He roars something. Hawke shoots off the first spell. Fireball. And he runs through it, her careful control of magic keeping it from burning him. 

What happened?

A spell. They were overwhelmed. Shades. Abominations. He was thrown, the wall crumbled and he cried out.

What happened?

His sight returns next. DANARIUS- and Hawke? 

Fuck. What happened?

He feels Hawke’s eyes meet his, and whispered words laced with healing flow over him, and he’s back up, injured but conscious.

“HAWKE?!” He yells, scared. Danarius has her trapped, held up by a spell, a shimmering gold circle encasing her, a shade’s claws ripping through armor and cloth, tearing into her back, and yet her eyes are on him, tears leaking from her eyes.

He tries to dash forward, but shades quickly block his view. He cuts them down one after the other, barest glimpses of Hawke rewarded to him as more shades take their fallen companion’s places.

He can see her mouth open in a silent scream now, blood dripping - no, pouring - from her wounds on her back. Can see Danarius whisper something into her ear, can feel her revulsion as if it was his own when she tries to yank away.

Danarius laughs, the sound cruel, and Hawke flinches, flinches , Hawke has never flinched- and Fenris sees RED.

Suddenly, his markings that help him in battle, are now an extension of him in more ways than one. They lash out, wisps of lyrium power killing all who get close with fatal burns, each fallen enemy, each flare of his markings producing another crack of blue fire on his face and body, almost like a shattered vase. He stalks to the filth that made him, throwing him away from Hawke. The spell keeping Hawke up lets go, and he catches her as she falls, a soft noise leaving him when she lets out a pained whimper. He lets her go to a now-up Varric, who presses an elfroot potion to her lips, turning his eyes to Danarius, who is staring at them wide-eyed, before recollecting himself.

“You might have saved her, but you’ll-” His monologue is interrupted when Fenris seemingly materializes in front of him, and he stumbles back, falling on his robes.

“Look at you, rat.” Fenris sneers, barely controlled fury in his voice, his eyes glowing blue, even brighter than Justice’s, finding the irony that now Danarius is the one scrambling away in filth. He presses a foot to Danarius’ left calf, and before he can so much as snarl, the lyrium pulls down as if Hawke had cast Maker’s Fist. The screech that tears through Danrius’ throat penetrating through Hawke’s fog, the sound scrapes against the mind of everyone nearby, those who had stayed now running away from the agony in the magister’s voice.

Fenris picks back up his foot, not minding the bone that had bowed up and through Danarius’ robes as he places the foot on the other calf, crushing it just the same, in spite of Danarius’ sobs. He pulls back, a voice calling out to him, but it’s as if he’s under water. His master’s blood pools on the floor, a bone shard in Fenris’ foot, but all he does is kneels on his master’s chest, pushing him back with a snarl, not saying anything but wanting him TO BURN, TO HURT, to feel AGONY such hundred times worse as what he gave Hawke.

He can feel more blue fire spread across him, bright blinding blue spreading over his skin from his markings, the lines growing and growing, wounds opening with more of his lyrium’s abilities he uses, but he’s drunk on the pain he’s inflicting. 

He feels something pull on his arm, and lashes out, something, someone groaning, a man. Unimportant. Another yank. This time it’s a woman’s voice, this voice pulling him back, and he steps off Danarius, eyes pulling away when gentle hands pull his face. 

Deep red hair. Striking green eyes. Pain and worry etched on familiar features. Hawke. Morrigan. 

“Fenris. You’re hurting yourself.” Her voice finally reaches him, and he gasps, awareness coming back, his markings still thrumming, but no longer do wisps of lyrium lash out. He realizes with a start that her own arms, her now marked arms, have burns, like his markings had lashed out, but not to kill, just to warn. Burns like the type you get when you touch the pot or the oven. They must hurt.

“You’re hurt.” He whispers, the sound gruff and pained, as he realizes his own blood drips from new scars on his skin. His lyrium lines have extended, taking over more of his body. They are no longer the lines Danarius gave him, no chaotic and spidery, they extend everywhere, from every marking.

“As are you.” She says, so close, too close, not close enough, when she takes another step into his space, inches separating them. They both ignore, or perhaps don’t hear, the sobbing magister at their feet.

She presses her forehead to his, her healing magic flowing over them both, his lyrium glowing brighter and dimmer as their hearts synch, as she exhales, and he closes his eyes with hers, hands resting on her face as well, his lyrium making her power stronger, healing them both. 

Their eyes flash open when a loud boom sounds, a shield that had appeared in front of them absorbing no small amount of lightning, shot from the magister at their feet, something that surely would have knocked them out of the fight, if the shield wasn’t there. “Die, slave!”

He snarls, and letting Hawke go, he ghosts forward, his hand shooting through his chest, wrapping around Danarius’ heart. “You are no longer my Master.” He bites out, then crushes the organ, ripping it out of Danrius’ chest for good measure as he spits out onto the floor, dropping the still-beating heart to the ground.

Still furious, he turns to Varania, the girl cowering under her brother's fury. “I had no choice, Leto.” She shakes her head, hands still in front of her. He marches forward, and growls out, “Stop calling me that!”

“He was going to make me his apprentice. I would have been a magister!”

He scoffs, hurt and anger warring. “You sold out your own brother to become a magister?”

She sits up straight, righteous anger now blazing in her own eyes as Hawke steps closer. “You have no idea what we went through! What I've had to do since Mother died. This was my only chance.”

“And now you have no chance at all.” He bites, stepping closer, lyrium markings, which had settled, glowing again.

“Please… don't do this. Tell him to stop!” Varania cries out, eyes on Hawke, pleading, as she cowers once more.

“Fenris, you don't want to kill her.” Hawke says, stepping forward, pain evident in every motion, and she stumbles a bit, Fenris turning on instinct to steady her, still pissed. 

“Why not? She was ready to see me killed. What is she to me other than just one more tool of the magisters?” He snarls.

“That’s not the point I'm making. She did wrong, but you don’t want to lose the last family you have. I killed my brother. Trust me.” Hawke says, no humor anywhere to be found. “And she saved us. That force shield wasn’t me.” 

“Elf… Fenris. I know this is hard to believe but this is the last thing you want to do.” Varric says, uncharacteristically somber.

Fenris’ eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, and he turns back to Varania. He stares for a moment, then snaps. “Just- just get out. Now.”

She runs between Hawke and Fenris, but pauses before she leaves. “You said you didn’t ask for this. But that’s not true. You wanted it, you competed for it. When you won, you used the boon to have Mother and I freed.” She says, and Fenris turns around from the hip, anguish in every line of his face. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Freedom was no boon. I look on you now, and I think you received the better end of the bargain.” She finishes, then leaves, Fenris turning back to face the wall.

He sighs and turns back to Hawke, head hanging as he speaks. “I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong. Magic has tainted that too.” He says, meeting her eyes for just a moment, before looking away. “There is nothing for me to reclaim. I… am alone.”

“I’m here, Fenris.” Hawke says, and Fenris steps closer, caressing her cheek, eyes full of pain and adoration.

“You heard what Varania said. I wanted these, I fought for them. I feel unclean, like this magic is not only etched into my skin but has also stained my soul.” He sighs and shakes his head, starting to walk back to Hawke. “Let’s go. I need to get out of here.”