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Broken glass, overturned bookcases, the sweet scent of Tevinter wine. Shaking hands, heavy breath, ragged and angry. Blood, dark skin, lyrium branded into his flesh, burning and screaming at him. A loud scream between sobs, shaking, glass shattered on the floor, shards that had flown up and injured him. Blood mixed with wine on the floor. A glass that had been shattered in his hand, a hate that burned behind his skull, overcoming everything that once was him. A haunting memory that remains, even now, years later, a fire that will not be doused, that continues to threaten to burn him whole. The countless bottles downed, the foggy warmth that makes him forget, white hair falls to his face coated in sweat and salty tears. Another drink and another bottle smashed against the wall. The memory of pain that refused to vanish no matter how hard he drowned himself in liquor. Bobbing and choking but refusing to be killed.
He had be ordered to kill so he did. Blood and screams, the stench of burning bodies, sickening, sour and scarred. Shaking hands reaching for another drink, sobs and violent shaking, breathing ragged and rough. The loud rumble of another cry that threatens to escape his throat. He stares down at his bloodied hands again, the sound of his old masters voice echoes in his head, “Fenris, my little wolf, kill them.”
A cold sweat pours down his face, he throws the chair he had been seated in earlier, tremouring hands turned into a strong fist, punching the cold wall, another hoarse scream as flesh collides with hard stone. Fenris falls to the ground, hunched like a scared animal. Tremors, cold sweat, rough sobs, a hate burning in his chest, tears well up in his eyes again, threatening to overflow. Sobs overtake his body, no screams, voice too hoarse to speak. Shuddering silence overtakes him, hunched on the ground, wine, tears and dried blood. He doesn’t hear the hurried steps or his name yelled in haste, over and over.
Hawke lazily enters the abandoned mansion, now belonging to Fenris, books, parchment and quills held under his arm. A lesson scheduled for tonight. He hears a loud crash followed by a harsh scream, a voice he instantly recognizes as Fenris. All his belongings dropped to the ground as he hears it, crashing to the ground, the ink pot he had packed smashes, black seeping into the cracks of the stone on the floor of the familiar mansion. Fenris. Instantly Hawke is brought back to his senses, he removes his staff strapped to his back and begins to run towards where he heard the scream. Sobs and more smashing glass, he runs as fast as his legs will take him.
“Fenris!” pushing through the door and up the stairs, nearly tripping twice. Yelling Fenris’ name as if the repetition would save him, somehow. Violently pushing open the door to Fenris’ room. And suddenly time stops. Three smashed wine bottles, wine spilled on the floor mixed with shards of glass and what Hawke can only guess is a small amount blood. His eyes scan the room, frantically looking for signs of Fenris, he stops when he catches sight of white hair. Fenris, curled up in the corner facing the wall, his body shaking violently. Sweat visible on his skin, dried blood on his hands. Hunched, scared and unaware, shaking, sobbing. Hawke drops his staff, the clattering on the ground shocking Fenris out of his huddled state.
Green eyes, foggy and reddened from crying and drink stare up at him, shock, fear and pain clear in his face. “Fenris…” Hawke’s voice a whisper, worried and fearful. Fenris turns away again, body shaking visibly less. Hawke breathes out, closes his eyes two fingers pressed against his temple as his breathing steadies. Calmer now.
“Fenris” again, a steady voice, quiet and controlled. Careful hands reached forward, weary, worried, strong, then fall back to his sides. Breathing halted then slow and cautious. Concern, care and hints of something warmer. “Fenris I…” a pause, thoughtfulness, recollection of words, “are you…how….what?” Hawke’s words tripped over them-self. Amber eyes, glancing down to his huddled form, cautious, caring, his eyes made only more golden by the dimly lit fireplace. Slow steps towards Fenris, careful and watching, pacing echoing off the cold walls, only competed by the deafening crackle of fire and ash.
“Fenris..” his name again, quieter, a warm voice filled with anguish and fear and still something sweet and hot. Fenris turns around to face him, refusing to look up to Hawkes caring eyes. Hawkes frame, slowly kneeling down, warm hands gently touching his face, gentle and slow as if expecting Fenris to flinch away. A thumb wipes away a tear, comfort. “Fenris” his voice, quieter still, just a breath on his face, felt like home. The sound washed over him, more intoxicating than the sweetest and richest wines throughout Thedas.
Fenris tries to speak but only sobs and rough noises escape his throat. Hawke, a man who would sacrifice himself to save those he loved. Whose jokes slipped out of his mouth even when inappropriate. Hawke, whose warm eyes were staring at him now with concern, careful and soft. Hawke, whose quiet voice spoke the next words very carefully, “Fenris, I’m here.” Warm arms captured him into an embrace, Hawke’s scent. Musky mixed with a fragrant smell of spices. Strong hands on the back of his head, gently caressing him, comfort that felt like calm. The words home bounced around the mess that was Fenris’ head. Weak sobs overtook Fenris’ body again, shaking in Hawkes strong arms.
“I’m here Fenris.”