Unschooled Hands 10

Varric and Isabela had gone back up the hill with a coil of rope to find the shaft where Fenris had left the backpack; when they came back with Anders' backpack, they both eyed Fenris with new respect.

"That hole had to be at least thirty feet by my reckoning," Varric was exclaiming.

"No, I make it thirty-five by the rope I paid out," Isabela disagreed.

"The elf's taller than me," dismissed Varric.

"Not by a whole five feet he isn't!" protested the Rivaini.

"Be silent or you'll wake the mage," growled Fenris from across the fire. Anders was curled up in his blanket, sleeping the rest of the utterly exhausted. Fenris sat by one side of him, one protective hand resting lightly upon the sleeping mage's shoulder, whilst Hawke sat upon the other, glowering at him.

"If the wind changes you'll be stuck like that," observed Merrill as she handed a bowl of stew to him.

"What?" exclaimed Hawke, nonplussed as she handed another bowl to Fenris.

"Your face," she said, gesturing. "It's something my Keeper used to tell me."

Isabela glanced from Hawke to Fenris and raised an eyebrow. "So, who's the lucky boy then?"

"My money's on the mage," Varric snorted as he sat down and accepted a bowl of stew. Hawke and Fenris both bristled in unison.

"This is no laughing matter," stated the elf coldly.

"Oh, I disagree," Isabela chuckled quietly to herself as Hawke and Fenris glared at each other, the elf's hand tightening possessively upon Anders' shoulder. Drowsily, without opening his eyes, Anders slapped clumsily at the hand. "Not the claws, Pounce," he slurred, turning his face into the pillow and hunching deeper into his blanket. Abashed, Fenris lifted his hand away. Hawke snickered, and Fenris narrowed his eyes.

"This is not over, Hawke," he hissed quietly. "Not until he makes his choice."

"He doesn't even know he has a choice," retorted Hawke, rising to his feet. "You're presuming-" Fenris likewise rose to his feet, squaring up to the larger man, baring his teeth in a feral snarl.

"Shut up the pair of you," muttered Merrill as she thrust her small lithe body between them and pushed them apart. "Look at the pair of you! You should be ashamed of yourselves. Like a pair of dogs-"

"I think you should stop right there, don't you, Merrill?" suggested Isabela, deftly slipping a hand over the Dalish elf's mouth. "Ooh, look over there, a pretty flower!"

"Where?" asked Merrill, glancing over to where the pirate was pointing then following her away from the campfire and the two men.

Hawke and Fenris glowered at each other then turned away to sit on either side of the sleeping man once more. Varric sighed and shook his head.

"Give it a break you two," he warned. "Blondie's had enough excitement for a month without you two protesting your undying love for him at each other."

"What? No, I-" began Hawke as Fenris snarled, "I am not in-"

"Of course you aren't, and my grandmother was a hurlock," Varric waved his hand dismissively. "I don't care how you deal with it between yourselves, but I'm suggesting you keep a lid on it until after we get Blondie back safely home and tucked up in that little shack he calls a clinic back in Darktown. Can you both at least agree on that much?"

The two warriors glared at each other.

"I can if he does," muttered Hawke.

"For the sake of Anders, I can," replied Fenris quietly.

"Fine. Glad that's settled. Now shut up and eat your stew," ordered Varric.

The elf and the man eyed each other warily over the rims of their bowls. This was not over.

Between them, Anders began to gently snore.



~ FIN ~

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Epilogue:

"What are you doing?" asked Hawke.

"Putting out milk. I miss having a cat around," Anders replied wistfully. "But I think the refugees have scared them all off. Or maybe eaten them." He straightened up and turned to smile at Hawke.

In the shadows of the clinic, Fenris paused, one foot in the doorway as he heard the sound of voices. He had hoped to find the mage alone. He drew back silently, watching from the shadows.

Anders stepped closer to the warrior, taking courage from the man's teasing, flirting tone. Fenris shook his head slowly. No. Maker, no. Don't do it. Not him....

"I'm still a man," said Anders softly. "Don't expect me to resist forever." There was a world of longing in his voice; Fenris gritted his teeth, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. It should be him. Those words should be for his ears.... Too late. Oh Maker, Too late.

"I don't want you to resist," replied Hawke, smiling. Anders' eyes widened even as Fenris closed his eyes, tears springing unbidden, hot and shameful. He turned away as the mage flung himself into the ready arms of the warrior; blindly, the elf stumbled away from the pair, back through the empty clinic. He paused by the door, leaning his forehead against the cool wooden frame as he wrestled his grief back under control.

Behind him, he heard footsteps as Anders walked back inside. The mage halted as he spotted Fenris leaning against the doorframe, head bowed with his back to the room.

"Fenris!" Anders exclaimed, surprised. "What brings you here? Can I help you?"

Slowly the elf straightened and shook his head, not turning.

"No," he said gently.

Then he slowly walked away.