Another Fictober prompt fill for @cutieink! The prompt: “But I will never forget.” This little snapshot takes place during Act I and revolves around the sidequest Act of Mercy. 

Fandom: Dragon Age II
Pairing: Fenris x FemHawke
Rating: Gen

Read on AO3 instead.

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Fenris watched as Grace and her ragtag group of mages ran away down one of the side passages, then spun toward Hawke.

“Did you not witness the same display that I just saw?” he hissed. He waved an angry hand toward Decimus’s mutilated corpse. “This mage becomes an abomination right before your eyes, and you allow the rest of his followers to simply flee?”

Hawke shot him a comical little grimace. “You know I can never get enough of your sweet talking, but can you hold it for just a few minutes? We should hurry back to Thrask.” She tapped Varric’s shoulder as they jogged back toward the passageway. “Prepare that silver tongue. I think we’re going to need it.”

“You got it,” Varric said, and then they ran into a group of undead.

Fenris snarled. A quick clenching of his fist followed by a flare of pain rippling across his body, and all at once his skin was alight with the cursed blue light of lyrium. He flung himself into the fray, his greatsword swinging and slamming into foe after foe. With every reanimated corpse that fell, Fenris hoped his rage would cool, but each strike only seemed to make his anger burn hotter.

Finally their foes were destroyed. Fenris panted heavily, sword dangling from one hand as he allowed his tattoos to fade back to a dull white. Then he realized his skin was lit by a second magical glow.

He raised his chin and met Hawke’s eyes. She waved her hand and lowered the barrier she’d raised around him, then offered him a tentative smile, but he pursed his lips and turned away.

They made their way out of the cavern in silence. True to form, Hawke and Varric tricked the Templars into thinking the blood mages were dead, and Fenris glared at Thrask as the Templar thanked Hawke for her compassion and her help.

He has one job, and he’s failing to do it, Fenris thought angrily. As Hawke led them to the road back to Kirkwall, Fenris fell back to the rear of the group in a clear attempt to avoid her.

Not clear enough, it seemed. A minute later, Hawke slipped to the back of the group to join him.

He clenched his jaw and avoided her bright copper eyes as she gazed at him. “Do you want to continue yelling at me now?” she offered. “I’m all ears.”

“No,” he snapped. “I want to be left in peace.”

“Peace and quiet. All right. I can do that,” she said, then fell silent.

Fenris scowled and waited.

Sure enough, ten seconds later, Hawke spoke again. “I had to make a decision quickly. Grace was scared, Thrask was waiting, those other Templars were on their way… We couldn’t twiddle our thumbs forever. Well, we probably could, but it would get quite boring-”

He cut her off with a glare. “You don’t know what calamity your decision will have wrought,” he said. “You think too highly of them, Hawke. Other mages are not like you. They could be cutting their wrists to prepare their revenge as we speak!”

“Or they could be, you know, running away to make a new life like they said they would,” Hawke replied. “Come on, Fenris, I’m not going to condemn people for something they might do. That’s hardly fair, is it?”

Her voice was light and breezy as usual, but her pretty face was twisted in distress, and Fenris was seized by a strange desire to stroke the anxious crease from her brow.

The urge was gone as quickly as it had come, overridden by his anger. “Do not come to me for help if the work of these blighted blood mages backfires in your face,” he told her, then sped up his pace to evade her.

She caught up to him. “Fine,” she said pertly. “I don’t need your muscles anyway. I’ll bring Aveline for that. And I’ll bring Anders along so I can stare at his fine ass instead of yours.”

Fenris growled at her and continued his rapid stride. Then suddenly Hawke stepped in front of him.

“Fenris, please,” she said. “What’s done is done. Life’s too short to stay pissed at me forever, right?” She tilted her head and gave him a pleading half-smile. “Let’s just get back to Kirkwall and have a drink or something. I’ll have forgotten all of this by tomorrow, honestly.”

That was her problem. Nothing was a big deal for her. As far as Hawke was concerned, their days were just a sequence of humorous capers with no real long-term consequences. This incident of blood magic might mean nothing to her, but to Fenris it was a clear sign of a sickness that was spreading through this blasted place more insidiously than the Blight.

He took one slow step closer to her. “But I will never forget,” he growled, then stepped around her and strode away along the path.

Hawke finally seemed to get the message: she didn’t try to speak to him again that day. Once they were back in Kirkwall, Fenris left the group with a terse word of goodbye, then shut himself in his mansion for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Fenris awoke at his usual time. Hawke usually arrived within an hour of his rising to chivvy him out of the mansion, and Fenris mulled over what to say to her while he pulled on his armour. He was still angry about yesterday, and he didn’t want to talk about it any further; their ‘talks’ always seemed to devolve into him yelling at her while she made stupid jokes, so there was no point.

As it turned out, he needn’t have bothered thinking about it, for Hawke didn’t show up.

Fenris was relieved. He didn’t want to see her, after all. He spent the day peacefully cleaning his weapons and oiling his armour.

The next day, Fenris woke early again, and was mildly surprised when Hawke again didn’t show. He spent the morning staring resentfully at the collection of abandoned books in the mansion library and wondering about the contents of their indecipherable pages. He spent the afternoon testing his weapons on the furniture in one of the spare bedrooms. Isabela arrived for a visit that evening, and the two hours they spent mindlessly flirting was a welcome break from the monotony of his day.

On the third day that Hawke didn’t show, Fenris wandered around the mansion poking at the dusty vases and the dilapidated furniture. He spent the morning thinking about cleaning the place, then spent the afternoon shattering almost all of the dishware in the house doing target practice with some throwing knives that Isabela had left behind. Varric showed up that night with a copy of Hard In Hightown: Siege Harder, and the dwarf’s oration was entertaining – and awful – enough to distract him from the agitation that had begun to churn in his belly over the past three days.

On the fourth day, Fenris awoke earlier than usual. He pulled on his armour and racked his greatsword on his back, then made his way Gamlen’s hovel in Lowtown.

Hawke’s eyebrows jumped high on her forehead when she answered the door. “Fenris!” she exclaimed, then opened the door wider to let him in. “What are you doing here?”

He cautiously stepped into their tiny home and looked around – none of her family were awake – then folded his arms and met her bright amber gaze. “I had an early start. What foolish shenanigans are on the agenda today?”

She stared up at him, her bright amber eyes wide. “I thought you didn’t want… er, you know, our argument and whatnot. Isabela and Varric said you were fine on your own…”

He interrupted her quietly but firmly. “I am not happy about what happened. But…” He trailed off, then sighed. “I understand your point about not punishing crimes that are not yet committed. I don’t agree with you, not when it comes to blood magic,” he clarified sternly, “but… I understand.”

She eyed him cautiously, her fingers toying nervously the slim red scarf around her neck. “So that means…?”

He shifted restlessly, then unfolded his arms. “It means I am at your disposal,” he said. “If you have need of my sword.”

She gazed at him for another second. Then a slow, mischievous smile began to creep across her face, and Fenris wilted slightly as he realized what he’d said. He knew precisely where this was going.

As expected, Hawke bit her lip flirtatiously. “Oh Fenris,” she purred. “I would be a fool to turn down your sword. It’s so… long and hard and steely.” She ran her salacious gaze over his body from head to toe.

Fenris rolled his eyes and reached for the doorknob. “I rescind my offer. Farewell and good luck.”

She laughed and held up her hands in surrender. “All right, all right! Maker’s balls, you’re so broody. Give me five minutes to change, and we’ll head out to get the others. Hang out with Toby while you’re waiting. He really missed your company.”

Her shit-eating grin was gentler now, and Fenris smirked faintly as he crouched to scratch her mabari behind the ears. “It’s good to see you too,” he grunted.  

She chuckled and squeezed his shoulder, then disappeared into the room she shared with her mother. Fenris settled onto the threadbare carpet to wait, his fingers idly running through Toby’s fur.

Hawke was infuriating. Fenris disliked half the things she chose to do. But at least her logic and her reasoning were sound, even if her final choices weren’t. And she listened, unlike Anders or Merrill.

Fenris sighed. Aggravating though it was to admit, it seemed that he preferred to spend his days arguing with Hawke than to spend them alone.

Only time would tell if that was a good thing or a bad one.