At Your Side (A Dragon Age fanfiction)

I Am Yours

If Fenris had ever been the fidgeting type, the habit had been knocked out of him by Danarius long ago. But leaning against the wall in Darktown, he felt an intense desire to uncross and recross his arms, tap his foot impatiently, and sigh in exasperation. The fact that this waiting was his own fault, because he had flatly refused to accompany Hawke inside that abomination's clinic, did nothing to slow the steady rise of his temper. What was Hawke thinking, trusting that ... thing?

The door opened on its squeaking hinges, and Hawke came out, looking sad and contemplative. Her face lightened when she saw Fenris, and his heart did a backflip at the sight. Until recently, he hadn't known his heart was capable of complex acrobatics, but the last month had been filled with moments that made his heart leap and dance. He caught himself just on the brink of grinning foolishly at her, and cleared his throat as he walked down the rickety wooden steps next to her.

"What did he say?"

"He said it's all true, what Nathaniel said, that he agreed to the merger with Justice only after he'd left the Grey Wardens. Apparently he had—has—feelings for the Hero of Ferelden. And he lost the cat somewhere along the way. He didn't say, but I suspect Justice had a hand in that. He's never liked Anders having other interests."

"Did the demon make its appearance while you were there?"

"No. I haven't seen Justice in a long time. I think Anders is too tired and too defeated to be much use to Justice. The spirit fed off of his outrage, and Anders doesn't seem to have the energy to be outraged. I haven't seen him work on the manifesto in months." Hawke glanced back over her shoulder at the flickering lantern outside the clinic. "Anders said it was almost too late for him to do any good, that he wasn't sure he had it in him to fight anymore."

"What is that supposed to mean? Too late for what?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm worried about him."

"Bah!" Fenris said. "He would say anything he thought might tug at your heartstrings."

"Do you really think I'm such a poor judge of people as that?" Hawke snapped. "I would know if he was putting me on with a sob story."

Fenris wasn't certain that she would, but he let it go. This was what he was here for, after all, to keep a sharp eye on the people Hawke's tender heart wouldn't allow her to see as dangerous.

They came up the lift from Darktown, the rusty chains squealing, and emerged into the sunlight and heat that pervaded Hightown at this hour of a summer day. Hawke turned her face up to the sun with a sigh of contentment.

As they strolled through a courtyard, they passed two men, both youngest sons of minor nobles, lounging at a table outside an overpriced café that was surprisingly popular despite its overbrewed coffee.

"Say, isn't that the Champion of Kirkwall?" drawled one of the young men.

"Yes," said the other, in an Orlesian accent that was entirely too affected to be real, "and her knife-ear lover, too. But what can you expect from a dog lord?"

"At least she didn't take up with a mabari," said the first.

"Is there a difference?" the second asked, and both men tittered.

Hawke's eyes flashed and her fists clenched, but Fenris shook his head at her. He kept walking, and after a moment, she did, too.

"That troubles you," he said quietly. "The use of the racial pejorative."