Chapter Seven

You should have noticed sooner!

That had been the very first thought that crossed his mind after Fenris realized what was happening. He had been too flustered from Hawke's examination though, his entire body wound so tight with tension and nerves that he thought he might shatter under the tiniest touch. He'd also still been in the process of tugging his tunic back into place, so completely missed it when the servant pulled a dagger from her sleeve and then stabbed the mage.

Fenris had jerked at the sound of Hawke's pained cry, though, then watched somewhat dumbly as the mage fell back against the bookcase and slithered to the ground. For a moment—a costly moment—he had been too shocked and confused to do much more than stare at the blood oozing between fingers that clutched at his side, as well as slowly seeping through the cloth of his blue robes. Staring at the blade of the weapon that had caused the blood to flow, which glinted coldly in the light of the near-by brazier with a sickly purplish green hue; magebane. The assassin advanced on his master then, either having dismissed his presence entirely or believing that he wouldn't bother to interfere. A deadly miscalculation on her part, as it turned out.

Though just why that was, Fenris wasn't entirely sure. He was still mentally wrestling with the possible answer to that question, in fact. Was it just muscle memory? A knee-jerk reaction to all the training he'd endured over the years? His master had been in danger and so he had reacted, as simple as that?

Fenris wanted that to be true. It was far simpler, much more easy to deal with. And yet that easy explanation couldn't account for the feeling of . . . well, rage he'd felt at the sight of Hawke wounded. He protected Danarius because it was his duty, he'd be beaten or worse if he didn't comply. He'd protected Hawke because—as odd as it seemed—the thought of the strange Laetan hurt just did not sit well with him at all. But why would he care so much about a virtual stranger, a mage no less? His owner, his keeper, his master. Fenris should hate him on principle, his pride demanded no less.

But . . . he didn't. He didn't hate Hawke, not even a little. Why didn't he hate him?

There were no immediate answers forthcoming and not likely to appear any time soon. For the moment Fenris hovered silently along the edge of the room, out of the way of the three guards remaining and forgotten for the most part. By all except Carver that is, who threw him the occasional distrustful glare but made no move other than that. For now, at least. Fenris doubted the mainstay would last, if Hawke didn't pull through. And why did the thought of that possibility suddenly seem so frightening? Was it just the uncertainty of having to face yet another unknown owner in such a short amount of time? Somehow he doubted it was quite that simple.

In moments Bethany was running headlong into the room, shoving aside anyone who was unlucky enough to be caught in her path, a worn leather satchel hanging from one white-knuckled fist.

"Garrett!" she cried out upon seeing her elder brother on the floor, still propped up against the bookcase but his head lolled bonelessly to one side, skin a stark white pallor. Carver knelt at his side, having taken over the task of keeping pressure on the wound when the older mage passed out moments before.

"He's alive," Carver assured his twin as she hit her knees beside him, "just passed out. I think the knife was poisoned though."

Bethany nodded to that, tossing open her satchel and yanking out several different potion bottles. "Probably magebane," she agreed. "Alright, help me get these off so I can see the wound more clearly."

Bethany started to reach for the fastenings of Hawke's robes but Carver yanked his own dagger from his boot instead. He quickly sliced through the material, ripping and yanking when needed, until Garrett was bare from the waist up. Despite the anxiety of the situation, Fenris couldn't help but take note of the fact that the human was as surprisingly well-built under his clothes as he'd suspected. Thick muscle readily apparent if not sharply defined; wide chest covered in a fine dusting of dark hair. It disappeared over his flat stomach and then started again just below his navel before disappearing to parts unknown below the waist of his robes.

Part of Fenris was more than a little annoyed with himself for bothering to notice such things right now, while the other part of him stubbornly insisted that turnabout was fair play. The human had seen him completely naked, after all.

Meanwhile Bethany handed Carver a bottle of green liquid before placing both of her hands over the still-sluggishly bleeding knife wound. "Here, see if you can get him to swallow this, it should counteract the poison." Her hands started to glow as she began channeling a healing spell and Fenris grimaced a little, feeling the flare of mana and the immediate pull from his lyrium from across the room. Meanwhile Carver force-fed most of the potion down his brother's throat, fingers coaxing the muscles in his neck to swallow.

The minutes dragged by, each one seeming to take a tiny lifetime, before Hawke's color began to improve and he finally stirred.

"Ugh," he groaned hoarsely before his eyes managed to crack open, the normally sharp amber orbs hazy with faint confusion and lingering pain.

"Welcome back, brother," Carver huffed, sitting back on his heels. Hawke reached up to scrub at his face a little before looking down at where Bethany was still channeling magic into his flank.

"Well, I'm not gonna lie," he suddenly forced out, tone wry despite the severity of the situation, "that hurt more than a little bit." Bethany stopped casting at that, then Hawke let out a wounded yelp when she immediately smacked him in the shoulder.

"How about you try to go one week without nearly dying on me?" she demanded curtly. "Is that so much to ask for, Big Brother? Just one week!"

"What, you think I wanted to get stabbed?!" he demanded incredulously. "That's not really on my list of favorite things to do, you know."

"Right now I have no idea what's going on," she shot back. "Just what in the Maker's name happened in here?"

Hawke lifted his gaze from his siblings' worried faces and immediately centered on Fenris. The elf stood on the other side of the room, silently watching the proceedings with a hooded expression. Hawke felt the tension he hadn't even known was there ebb away at the sight of the elf whole and hale, glad to see that Carver hadn't done anything rash after he'd blacked out. Rather than answer Bethany right away, Hawke sat up from the bookcase and then motioned for Carver to help him stand.

Both of the twins ended up lending their support to the effort, and in the end he wound up leaning most of his weight against the desk on one hip rather than sway woozily. The hole in his gut was healed over, the physical damage repaired, but it would take a little while for his body to replenish the blood he'd lost. Hawke grimaced, tearing away what little remained of the top of his robes with a few sharp tugs. He used the ruined fabric to mop up most of the sticky blood still coating his abdomen before balling it up and tossing it into a corner. At least the elfroot and embrium potion someone had poured into him was neutralizing the magebane in his system. Hawke could feel his mana starting to naturally recharge, though it would be a slow process if left on its own.

Almost as if reading his thoughts, Bethany suddenly reached into her satchel of healing supplies and produced a lyrium potion. Hawke took it from her with a thankful nod, uncorking the top and taking a healthy swig of the silvery-blue liquid. Then he turned to the three guards still standing at attention.

"Get that out of here," he ordered, eyes flicking toward the dead woman on the floor that everyone had completely ignored up until now, "and leave us." And before Fenris had a chance to follow them out, Hawke turned to the elf and shook his head. "You stay." The slave didn't move or protest the order, merely remained where he stood.

Hawke waited until the guards had dragged the body out and shut the door behind them, finishing off the lyrium in a few swallows, before he finally answered his sister. "I was examining Fenris' markings when the servant came in with my lunch," he began, motioning ruefully to the tray of food still sitting on the desk, also having been largely forgotten in all the fuss. "I was . . . distracted," he hedged. "I turned my back on her and she stabbed me with this." Hawk bent a little stiffly and plucked the dagger from the ground, brandishing it for the others to see once he straightened. Then he handed it to Carver, who immediately wrapped the tainted blade in another piece of what had been Hawke's robes. "She probably would have killed me if it hadn't been for him." Hawke turned to Fenris again but the elf wouldn't meet his eyes now, staring at his own feet instead. "Fenris killed her so quickly I almost missed it," Hawke continued, quietly impressed, "and I was sitting right here when it happened."

"But why?" Carver demanded, immediately suspicious, as was his nature. Hawke couldn't deny that a part of him—and not an insignificant part—was wondering the very same thing. Bethany scowled, however.

"Oh leave him be, Carver!" she hissed, then turned and approached the slave. "Thank you so much for protecting him, Fenris," his sister gushed, voice ringing with honest conviction. Hawke almost smiled at the look of uncomfortable confusion that flickered across the elf's face. It was obvious the poor man had absolutely no idea what to do with the full force of Bethany's effusive gratitude. She suddenly reached out, no doubt intending to clasp Fenris on the shoulder or something like it, as Bethany was a physically affectionate person. Hawke tensed but before he could warn against it, Fenris jerked back and out of her reach. Both of them immediately froze afterward, Bethany in confusion and Fenris in discomfort.

"Oh I—," she suddenly cut herself off and winced, her still-lifted hand curling a little self-consciously before it fell back to her side. "Forgive me, you probably don't like to be touched."

Fenris looked as flummoxed at Bethany's apology as he had been by Hawke's own, weeks ago. As if no one had ever bothered saying the actual words to him before, and wasn't that just fucking depressing?

"I really meant it though," Bethany continued earnestly after a brief pause. "Thank you."

"I-it . . . is fine," Fenris finally managed somewhat awkwardly, before going back to staring at the floor.

"So what do we do about this now?" Carver cut in then, bringing the conversation back to the immediate problem. "Was it Hadriana, do you think?"

"Probably," Hawke agreed with a sigh, "or one of Danarius' other former allies. Unfortunately we can't really retaliate without knowing exactly who is behind it." He pondered in silence a moment before continuing, "for now, we keep this as quiet as possible. Don't let them know how close they came to succeeding, and let the silence of their agent reveal their failure. In the meantime I'll speak to Varric and Maevaris about what can be done to try and ferret out the mastermind."

A moment later Hawke saw Carver and Bethany out of the study; his sister off to go clean up while Carver went to make certain that those who knew about the attack knew to keep silent on the matter. Hawke closed the door behind them both, then turned back to Fenris now that they were alone yet again.

"Well," he heaved, "that was certainly far more eventful than I had planned." The elf let out a faint snort and even an eye-roll before he could school the reaction, and Hawke almost smiled. He let a moment or two pass in silence, choosing his next words carefully. "I've never asked you outright what your exact feelings were about your former master. I assumed that it was fairly apparent when you refused to aid him during the duel." Fenris' face had gone hard with anger long before he finished, and for the first time Hawke noticed—really noticed—the pure hate that dwelled in those large eyes. "You have no regret that Danarius is dead?" Hawke heard himself question then.

Fenris sneered. "The only regret I feel is that I didn't get the chance to rip the bastard apart with my own hands," he snarled, "and should Hadriana ever put herself within my reach again, I will not hesitate to do the same to her."

It was the most he'd ever heard Fenris speak in one single go, and Hawke found he quite liked the sound of it; his voice a deep and growling purr of a tenor. He knew he should probably be a little disturbed or, at the very least, wary of the hot fury practically vibrating off of the elf in waves. Especially in light of the vicious display he'd just witnessed. Unfortunately the only thing Hawke was feeling at the moment was a completely inappropriate stab of pure want.

"Well," he sighed, trying to divert both of their attention, "in light of recent events it seems I might have been a bit hasty before. Seems I might be in need of a bodyguard after all." Fenris' gaze immediately sharpened on him, eyebrow lifting a little in question. Hawke smiled ruefully. "And you're obviously very well-suited to the role."

Fenris was back to hiding much of what he was really feeling, that impassive mask having dropped down over his face. Hawke thought he detected just a hint of relief in his eyes though. Perhaps glad to have the return of something he would consider familiar. His only actual response was to bow slightly at the waist, eyes dropping to his toes. "If it is the Master's will," he murmured in assent.

Hawke just nodded to that. While inwardly telling his traitorous cock and wandering thoughts to stop trying to put that statement into other, far less innocuous scenarios. With varying levels of success.