Are You Game?

Title: The Art of Avoidance
Author: boywonder
Rating: R
Warnings: Uh, masturbation?
Word Count: ~2600
Prompt: Fenris/Garrett Hawke: missed opportunities - If I'd stayed, if you'd tried, if we could only turn back time
Summary: Fenris thinks Hawke is better off without him. Fenris is good at lying to himself.
A / N: I may have fudged up the timeline a little bit here, because it's been a bit since I played the game, but hopefully everyone will forgive me for that.



Every day for a week, Garrett Hawke showed up at Fenris's house. And every day, the elf was nowhere to be found. It didn't matter if Hawke showed up at dawn or midnight or somewhere in between; Fenris was just not there.

In fact, Fenris was purposefully hiding from the man. The lyrium infused in his skin made it easy to escape. He hardly slept, so he did not worry about being in bed when the man in question arrived at his door. He knew that Hawke was not one to be kept out easily, so he simply chose to run away. He knew it was cowardly, and he knew he could neither run nor hide from the man for any great length of time. He just could not yet bear the idea of facing Hawke alone.

The elf had allowed himself to fall victim to his passions, and as a result, was in quite a fine mess. He thought he'd been hiding his affection for Hawke well enough. Often, the man was as aggravating as he was charming. Plus, he had a damnable soft spot for the so-called misfortunes of mages. It was easy to be angry at him. But it was easy to like him, too. Fenris hadn't realized he showed any signs at all, outwardly, that he had anything but contempt for the man who would become Champion of Kirkwall. Varric had made a couple of digs at him, but he'd made similar to Anders, so Fenris didn't take him too seriously. It was Merrill who had seen through him thoroughly, however, and made some remark within earshot of Hawke himself.

At the time, Hawke had done nothing, but something between them had changed. Hawke had found reason to touch the elf, though at first it had seemed quite innocuous; a hand would brush his passing drinks round the table. Around a fire in the wild mountains, their legs might touch. Hawke would press close to him for a moment as they climbed the stair to visit Aveline, under pretense of allowing another to pass.

That had all culminated in a kiss Fenris hadn't seem coming, and an invitation to stay for a night that he hadn't been strong enough to refuse. Hawke's touch set him on fire in a way no one else's had. And though the lyrium that shone against his skin had veritably burned under Hawke's hands and mouth, it hadn't been terrible or painful like it seemed to be when most people touched him. He had lost himself in those heated moments. It wouldn't have been such a problem, but he had found himself afterward. Memories came back, memories of slavery and magic and the Tevinter tongue. He was even now unable to face them fully, and he had run before the night was over.

It was not regret that made him refuse to see Hawke, however; it was shame at the life he had once had. Facing Hawke would mean facing himself. And as much as he longed for the man's touch, he knew he could never give in to that again. He had so much else to focus on. Hawke was a good person to have on your side in a battle. But Fenris wasn't convinced that he himself was good to have as a companion. How could anyone, even Hawke, who was more accepting than he ought to have been, accept him? He was an escaped slave, yes, but he was also a monster. He couldn't accept himself. There was no way he could as another for anything like that.

After a week passed, Hawke stopped trying. Days crept by. Fenris kept to himself, staying in the house he now claimed as his own, pacing through its empty halls, trying to ignore the memories that refused to be buried again. He ate little and slept less. He had known that one day he must take revenge on Danarius or he would never know peace. But it was so much more than that, especially now.

In the small hours of the morning, he would try to sleep, finally. There were nights he would find himself thinking of Hawke, trailing rough fingers along his skin, following them with hot kisses the elf hadn't realized he wanted. But in his own bed, alone, when he thought of using his own hands to repeat those touches, his mind became his enemy. Even as his fingers wrapped around his erection, it was not Hawke's face he saw in his mind's eye; it was Danarius's. He would come hard and angry and hate himself for all of it. No matter how hot he made the water when he bated, he could not burn away the memory of his onetime master, andy more that he could burn out the lines of lyrium that ran across his body.

Several weeks later, Fenris received a summons, sent by actual messenger, stating that the Captain of the Guard requested his presence. He thought of refusing unless he could get some assurance that Hawke had nothing to do with it, but that would mean revealing part of his anguish to Aveline. He could not do that, and so he went, half-convinced he would regret it.

Hawke, as he feared, was in attendance. But he acted the same as ever, with his flippant remarks and easy, sardonic smile. Fenris fared less well than that, and found himself unable to hold back all but the most scathing remarks. The fact that Anders was also there did nothing to improve his attitude. Despite all that, he agreed to go on whatever crazy escapade was being planned. Maybe losing himself in the madness of battle would help. Maybe he could forget again, if only for a few minutes. Maybe he could find an opportunity to knock Anders's stupid head off, too. One never knew.

Aveline acted as if she knew something was the matter. She was a fool about her own romantic affairs, perhaps, but she was a shrewd woman, and she had known Hawke longer than most in Kirkwall. She had also spent hours drinking with Varric and Fenris, so she knew the elf pretty well also. She looked at Fenris now with something between curiosity and accusation, but held her peace on the matter.

Anders left, figuring it best to leave the arrangements to Hawke and Aveline. Fenris lingered only so he wouldn't have to deal with the mage alone. He couldn't trust himself not to start a real fight in his current mental state. He waited longer than he needed to, though, and stood listening to the other two speak. He did not contribute, and they did not ask him to. He had no idea why he stayed, but stay he did, until their talk was clearly over. Then, he finally turned to leave, realizing that he ought to go before Hawke did. He made it outside the building, but it was there that the man caught up with him.

Fenris jerked violently away from the hand that landed on his shoulder. Hawke didn't seem terribly surprised by that, and crossed his arms.

"I've been hoping for a chance to talk to you, Fenris," he said.

"I've nothing to say to you, Hawke," Fenris spat, with more venom in his tone than he intended.

Hawke frowned at him. "Really? Then perhaps you wouldn't mind listening instead?"

Fenris frowned back. "Perhaps I would mind."

Hawke ignored that. "I realize that I was…a bit forward with you. But I didn't see you protesting such until afterward. Don't regret me, Fenris. I never wanted that."

"I don't care what you wanted, Hawke, and I'm not filled with regret. But you and I are…nothing. There is nothing, and will ever be nothing." Fenris had to look away as he spoke to avoid letting Hawke see that the hurt on his face was mirrored in Fenris's own eyes. Before he could come back at all, Fenris turned and veritably took off through the crowd. It had hurt him to be so cruel, but he was sure Hawke would recover.

It was better, this way.

The mission went well, though any interaction between Fenris and Hawke was strained at best. Hawke was more or less civil, and Fenris was broody and played aloof. It wasn't all that different from how they'd been at the start of all this, though it was different from how they'd been before their late night encounter. Anders and Aveline both remarked on it, but both were hushed quickly, and not just by Fenris's acid tongue.

The group parted ways when they returned to Kirkwall, instead of getting drinks. No one was in a particularly good mood by that point. Fenris almost felt bad for the whole thing, but he rationalized it to himself by figuring they'd all leave him alone after that. All of them were better off that way, after all. He was an escaped slave on a murder mission. Surely even Hawke's usual good luck could not protect them all against the possible repercussions of Fenris's planned revenge. And so he slunk off home, alone and weary in many ways, and began to search once more for Danarius, to put an end to memories he did not want, once and for all.

Time passed. Despite Fenris's thoughts, Hawke and Aveline did still request his assistance, particularly in dealing with the Qunari. The whole affair was bloody, and they ended it all bleeding, but they at least ended it alive. Fenris felt no love lost for the Arishok, all things considered, though he felt the whole thing could have been avoided.

Outside the excursions they shared, Fenris saw Hawke little. Kirkwall was smaller than it seemed, however, and the elf did have more than a couple chance encounters with the man. Usually, he was accompanied by Anders, much to Fenris's disapproval. But even Fenris had never turned the mage over to the Templars. Anders was Hawke's friend, and perhaps more than that, though it might gall Fenris to think it. Fenris could be nothing to Hawke himself, but he did not seek enmity, either. He gritted his teeth each time he had to deal with the mage, though it could not be said that much of their discourse was civil.

Hawke was there when Fenris met with his sister. Fenris had not planned it that way, but Hawke was Hawke, and he had something of a habit of sticking his scarred nose into anything and everything. He was also there when Fenris's revenge was finally taken. Though the elf felt as if a great weight has been lifted, he did not allow Hawke's arms to comfort him. It would have been so easy to do it, and yet he could not. He ran from the Champion, as he had for several years, and refused to see him, yet again. He could not bring himself to be cruel again, but he could almost always run away.

Hawke did not come to Fenris's house after that, though Fenris half-expected it. Weeks slipped by with no word, and then one night, past midnight, Fenris heard the side door being forced open. He took up his sword and crept toward the sound. He wasn't really expecting a fight, but old habits died hard.

It was not Hawke, however, that stood waiting in the corridor. It was the last person Fenris would have ever expected to see in his house.

"Anders?" he asked, too surprised to even throw an insult.

"I've a bone to pick with you," the mage replied, as if he hadn't just broken into the house of someone who hated him.

Fenris had not yet lowered his sword. "Who do you think you are? I could call the Templars-"

"You won't, or you'd have done ages ago. I don't want an argument. I want you to listen."

"I'm through listening to your kind," the elf spat, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, save your bigotry for someone who cares about it," Anders said, dismissively. "Why are you avoiding Hawke, after all this time?"

Fenris was taken aback by the abruptness of the subject change. "Excuse me?"

"You would think, after three years, that one of you would either chase after the other or really let it all go. But I've never met a man stubborn as Hawke. And I've never met anyone stubborn as you," Anders continued, ignoring Fenris's surprise.

"What is the point of this, mage? Get to it."

Anders looked at Fenris, then; really looked at him.

"I tried to make him see reason, but I'd have better luck pulling the sun from the sky. He loves you, Fenris. Maker knows why."

Fenris actually dropped his sword. It clattered to the ground, echoing in the empty corridor. He stared at the mage, looking like he'd been physically struck.

"What do you know about it?" Fenris asked. His words sounded faraway in his own ears.

"He told me, finally. This past year, I thought it was just me, that he was refusing me because of what I am. But it's you. He'll not consider another because of you."

Fenris was surprised at the hurt in the mage's voice. He had seen Anders with Hawke, and he had seen the way the mage looked at the other man. He had been so busy avoiding Hawke, however, that he never bothered to see if the Champion returned those looks. He had just assumed he had, and that things were better for that, at least for Hawke.

"I can forgive your ridiculous hatred of mages, because of what you've been through. But I can't, and I won't, forgive the anguish you cause, daily, for a man I care deeply about!" Anders declared, standing up straighter almost as if he expected the elf to attack him…or as if he planned to attack the elf.

"I…don't understand," Fenris said, though he was afraid he did.

"Go to him, Fenris! If you really won't return his affection, tell him true. Don't leave him with some idea that you'll come back to him. Be with him or let him go. His heart is a slave to you, surely as you were a slave to-"

"Stop it," Fenris said, taking a step toward the mage at last. "Get out of my house." His words were heated, but his throat felt dry as a desert. The venom that usually dripped from every word he spoke to Anders was nowhere to be found.

Anders frowned darkly at the elf and opened his mouth to argue. Something he saw on Fenris's face changed his mind, however, and he shut it again. He held up his hands. "All right, I'm leaving. But heed my words, Fenris, for I'll grant you no peace until you grant such to Hawke."

"Just go," the elf warned, with narrowed eyes.

Anders rolled his own eyes and shook his head in response, but he went anyway.

Fenris stared after the mage for a very long time, casting his unfocused gaze down the dark hallway, thinking of Hawke's face and Anders's words.

An hour or so later, he crawled into his bed, feeling empty and uncertain. Danarius was dead, but his memory was not, yet. And neither were Fenris's feelings for Garrett Hawke, though he had tried to convince himself that they were. For the first time in over a year, Fenris allowed himself to remember Hawke's touch. When he could stand it no longer, he gave in to his desire and touched himself, desperately, flinging his free arm over his eyes and saying Hawke's name silently into the air. When he came, this time, there was no pain in it, no remembrance of slavery and shackles. There was no Danarius. There was only Hawke.

Fenris pulled his arm away from his face and opened his eyes again. He lay there, panting, for a few long minutes. Then, he swung himself back out of the bed and went to clean up and don his armor again.

It was long past time to pay a visit to the Champion of Kirkwall.