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The first day was easy.
“Breakfast in bed?” Fenris teased, a coy smile playing at his lips as Hawke set the tray down on his lap. He spared a glance up at the man who grinned at him and offered him the fork in his hands. Fenris took it without hesitation. He stabbed into the scrambled eggs, feeling the heat off the cooked food. “Not burned this time I hope,”
“Only the best for you,” Hawke said, sitting down on the bed next to him. He watched his husband carefully as he took a bite of the hot food.
He knew he didn’t have much talent in the area of cooking but the two of them got by with joint efforts. Hawke’s portion would end up burned and Fenris was too busy laughing about his incompetency to focus on his own share. Regardless, he would try his hardest. Trivialities of burnt food seemed insignificant compared to the days they had spent risking their lives in Kirkwall.
Kirkwall seemed so distant now. The two of them had parted from the rest of the group, Isabela sharing their company for a brief time as she took them away on her ship. For a while, it had been difficult to break out of the habit of putting themselves in danger. Hawke had gotten used to it over the seven years in Kirkwall and Fenris had dealt with it most of his life. A quiet, domestic life had seemed out of their reach for such a long time. Yet, eventually they had found themselves in a small house out in the countryside.
Things had been rough when Hawke left for the Inquisition, to Skyhold. Fenris had nearly killed him by the time he returned from Weisshaupt. How dare he leave him like that? After all they’d been through? He’d gone out looking for him, the pair had met somewhere in between and returned home together.
Fenris took his time eating breakfast. Hawke ignored his shaking hands on the fork and leaned over to push his hair back and press a kiss on his forehead. Fenris sighed, leaning ever so slightly into the gentle contact and taking the last few bites of his meal. He smiled at Hawke, putting his fork down on the tray and letting the man whisk the tray away. Once it was put aside, he pulled his legs up onto the bed to sit properly next to him.
“No critique this time?” he taunted. Fenris snorted with laughter.
“You sound like you want me to tell your food is bad,” he replied. Hawke hummed, leaning his head over the top of Fenris’s. “Fine, it was awful,”
Hawke laughed softly.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he shuffled down to press a chaste kiss to Fenris’s lips. Fenris smiled into it.
He could tell Fenris was already starting to get restless. Not that he could blame him, he himself never liked being bed-bound much. It reminded him much of when he had caught the flu as an adolescent and his mother has insisted he stayed in bed until he recovered. He smiled at the thought, idly missing his mother’s attentions. He was glad he could look back on it and remember the good parts, the things he missed without getting too upset over it.
Ever since he taught Fenris to read, the elf had insisted of catching up with all he had missed. Occasionally he would ask for help with a word he hadn’t seen before and together they would make it out.
Since getting too weak to move about on their travels properly, Fenris had been doing a lot of reading.
“The ending doesn’t make any sense,” he’d complain as he finished a book. He closed it and ran his hands along the spine as if savouring the feeling of the rough leather. Hawke found himself enraptured by the movement, the slow glide of his fingertips. “Why did he save her? She did not even care for him,”
“Love is a powerful thing I suppose,” Hawke replied, carefully moving his hand to encircles Fenris’s. He looked at him but didn’t say anything. After a moment, Hawke laced their fingers together and brought his knuckles up to his lips. He kissed them gently, smiling at Fenris’s soft sigh. He seemed unsatisfied with the answer, but if he was he didn’t voice it.
The book was put to one side. Hawke clambered properly onto the bed and lavished him in kisses. When he elicited a small chuckle, he considered it a job well done.
“I’d do anything for you,” Hawke mumbled against his jaw. The stubble must’ve rubbed uncomfortably against his soft skin, but he didn’t complain. He kept kissing along his jaw, to the corner of his lips where they met. Fenris’s hand shakily reached out to run through his hair. He wanted to tell him not to overwork himself but he knew it would only frustrate him. He’d let him push himself for a little bit longer.
“You have been getting sentimental lately,” Fenris commented.
Hawke tried not to let a frown tug at his lips. It was true that they both had been avoiding the reality of their situation. Neither one of them wanted to accept it. After all, it was easier to pretend that this was normal. Soon, it would be. Hawke’s thumb reached up to run lightly over the lines of lyrium on Fenris’s chin and followed them down his neck until they slithered under his shirt collar. How long would they stay white? He almost didn’t want to look at his chest, to see the tinges of red that had started to bleed through the white lines.
He hadn’t meant to get emotional, but it was hard not to. Using the remaining time, Hawke wanted to surround him with kisses and words of praise. Perhaps it was too much for Fenris, perhaps pretending like nothing was wrong was his way of coping. Who was he to deny him that?
“Sorry, you just pull such cute faces when I compliment you,” he said, looking at the way Fenris’s cheeks darkened at the words. Usually, he’d grin at the flush of red, the heat rising, and make some off-hand taunt about his embarrassment.
He never thought he’d hate the colour red so much.
It only got harder as time went on. The less Fenris wanted to move and talk, the more he wanted to sleep. Deep down, Hawke knew the pain had yet to come. He feared it, more than death itself. Any good doctor would’ve told him to move on, to spare Fenris the misery and to save himself from catching it.
Fenris’s body was putting up some strong resistance, he thought. Perhaps it had something to do with the lyrium, the blighted lyrium. He had seen people die of the Taint within hours. This slow, progressive sickness was taking a long time and Hawke couldn’t tell if he was grateful for that or not. On one hand, he was savouring every second. He ignored the inevitable fate of what was to come in favour of spending his time lying next to him in their bed. On the other hand, a quick death might’ve spared the pain. For now, he was just delaying it.
Each day he would cook him something he liked. He used fresh fruit and vegetables that he had gathered. Fenris particularly liked the little apple slices. It was simple enough, something he couldn’t burn horrifically. However, that didn’t stop him from cutting his fingers from time to time on the blade. Hawke arranged them often into faces, sometimes a pitiful attempt at an animal. Fenris had begun to get used to it, attempting to figure out the creation.
“What is this supposed to be?” he would ask. He picked up an apple slice between his fingers to look at it and put it back down.
“A mabari,” Hawke told him like it was obvious. He pointed to each carefully arranged apple slice and listed the different body parts. Fenris furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to understand how it all fit together. Eventually he gave up, picking up the “head” and popping it into his mouth. Hawke gasped loudly. “Fenris you savage! You decapitated him. What would Biscuit say?”
The mention of the war dog that slept at the end of the bed, had the dog in question stirring. His ears perked up at the sound of his name. Fenris watched, chewing on the slice as Biscuit sauntered over to Hawke and rubbed his head against his leg. Hawke reached down to pet him, cooing as he rubbed his ears.
“Don’t look, Biscuit. Fenris just ate your apple-y brother,” he said to the dog in a hushed voice. Fenris rolled his eyes, a smile pulling at his lips before he reached for another apple slice.
“You’re ridiculous,” Fenris remarked, tongue poking out to lick the juices from the apple off his fingers.
“You love it,” Hawke gave a toothy grin.
The first time he was sick, it had been at night. Hawke had become sensitive to the sound of Fenris’s tossing and turning. The elf was usually such a quiet, calm sleeper. He was a blanket hoarder, gathering up the sheets between his legs and neglecting Hawke of them. Being Ferelden, Hawke was used to the cold. It didn’t bother him much, he was covered in a thick layer of body hair as it were. He couldn’t deny that Fenris looked adorable buried in the blankets either, ears poking out from the side.
He awoke to the sound of vomit. His eyes were blurry, they fluttered open gradually and he turned to the side to see Fenris half-hanging from the side of the bed. The stench was hard to miss. He wiped at his eyes, sitting up to rub Fenris’s back. His arms quaked, struggling to hold himself up.
“’m sorry…” he muttered, voice scratchy from the vomit. He hadn’t been able to move from the bed. He’d made a mess, a gross sticky mess. His lips trembled and he sniffled as he made a pitiful attempt at wiping his mouth with the back of his palm.
“Hey Fenris, it’s alright okay? It’s alright. Everyone has accidents,” Hawke tried to reassure him, pulling him carefully back to lay down on the bed. Fenris stared up at him, eyes glossy with tears. “I’ll run a bath for you, if you’re not too tired? Get you a glass of water. I can get this cleaned up don’t worry about it,”
Fenris’s head lolled to the side to look towards the window. It was dark, pitch black, indicating that it was still early hours of the morning. A swirling spiral of guilt made his stomach churn and for a moment, he wondered if he was going to be sick again.
“It’s late…” is what he managed to choke out. Hawke shook his head and bundled Fenris up in his arms. Fenris wanted to protest and tell him that he didn’t have to do any of this, certainly not carry him to the bathroom. He couldn’t find the strength in himself to do so. Instead, he uselessly clung to Hawke’s shoulders and buried his face in his collar. His legs wrapped loosely around him. He didn’t want to be a burden but he was finding it hard not to be. He could feel the tears well up again at the thought.
Hawke set him down on the side of the tub. He filled it up with water and used a heat spell to warm it. He flashed Fenris a sleepy smile, helping him undress and into the hot water. He groaned as he sunk in it, the heat was a little painful on the markings but he didn’t want Hawke to worry.
He left him there as he went to fetch him a glass of water. He handed it to him and Fenris took it reluctantly. It was even harder than usual to hold it with his wet hands, but he managed. He took shaky sips and let the cool liquid soothe his sore throat.
“I’m just going to clean up the bedroom, put on some fresh sheets. I’ll give you a shirt of mine to wear if that’s okay?” he offered. When he spoke, he was finding it increasingly difficult not to look at the reddening lines all over his skin. It was spreading, much faster than he remembered it doing. Time was running out, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. Fenris nodded slowly at his words and took another long gulp of water.
After doing his part raising Bethany and Carver, cleaning up vomit was no big chore for Hawke. It wasn’t high up on his list of favourite things to do but it had to be done. An ache in his back suggested that he was getting a little old to be doing it. He shrugged it off, changing the sheets and letting the laundry be something he’d deal with in the morning.
Being left to soak in the bath gave Fenris plenty of time to think. He worried about how tired he was becoming. The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep in the bath. The tub was vast, far too large for him alone. He and Hawke could fit in there together after all. It surely wouldn’t end well were he to fall asleep. So, he waited for Hawke to return and take the empty glass from his hands.
“Come on then, let’s get you out of here,” Hawke said when he returned. He took the empty glass as he’d predicted and helped him out of the bath. Drying was a joint effort and Fenris had brushed off Hawke’s hands when he reached to button up his shirt. Hawke watched him as he tried to take matters into his own hands.
Since when did buttons get so damn difficult? His fingers trembled as he tried to button up the shirt. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get it through that stupid hole. It was simple! He’d done much more complicated things than this. He could feel his teeth grinding against each other, eyebrows furrowed. In front of Hawke too, how humiliating! He could do it, he knew he could. He wasn’t so pathetic as to not be able to button up a shirt.
He had to give in and let Hawke do it in the end. Hawke guided his fingers, giving the illusion that he was able to do it himself. Fenris didn’t buy it.
“Back to bed?” Hawke offered, doing the last button. Fenris nodded and reluctantly allowed Hawke to carry him back to the bedroom, onto the fresh sheets. The smell of vomit was still faintly lingering in the air. He hadn’t noticed how tired he was until Hawke wrapped him in his arms and he fell swiftly asleep.
Hawke was beginning to worry about how much Fenris was sleeping. It felt like he was sleeping for most of the day. If he knew what was to come, perhaps he would’ve realised that the sleeping was the easy part. He looked at peace when he was asleep at least. Hawke brushed a lock of white hair behind his ear. He had come to bring him more apple slices, the time approaching noon. Yet, he had found him still fast asleep in the bed.
He shook in his sleep, visibly quivering from underneath the blankets. A hand on him suggested that he was neither hot nor cold. He shuffled slightly in his sleep and that’s when Hawke caught sit of the red creeping up the lyrium on his chin. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. It was staring him in the face. He’d be able to see it whenever he looked at Fenris.
Drip.
Curiously, Hawke wiped at his cheek to find it wet. Once he acknowledged that he was crying, he found it hard to stop. He was glad that Fenris hadn’t been awake to see him break down like this. Everything was so overwhelming. He almost wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
With a shaky breath, he sniffled and wiped at his eyes.
They had come to no uncertain terms about their future the first time they had discovered the sickness in his lyrium. There had been cases of the Taint being cured. Rare, but not impossible. Hawke had seen the fate of the Red Templars during his days with the Inquisition. The idea of something so horrible happening to Fenris was enough to make him feel sick. He had tried to find a way to help him, to cure him. Hawke had suggested the Wardens, but he refused. He’d rather die in the comfort of his home than in the Deep Roads.
Fenris grew weaker by the day. They couldn’t go on long voyages to find a cure, Hawke had wanted to go alone but Fenris stopped him. He tugged at his arm and insisted that Hawke stay with him. Looking back on it, Hawke wondered if Fenris feared dying alone. At the time, he’d grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles. He’d told him what he wanted to hear.
There was nothing they could do. Fenris decided he wanted to spend his days in the comfort of their home, with Hawke and Biscuit. If anything, Hawke could give him that.
Quietly, he thought about how there was no way any of their companions from Kirkwall knew about this. He supposed he’d have to tell them at some point, they’d like to know. He took a deep breath and erased the remnants of his tears with his palm. Fenris was beginning to stir and he didn’t want him to see him like this. When Fenris’s eyes flickered open and he stared at him, he gave him his best smile.
In the back of his mind, he wondered if he knew.
“I’d like to go outside,” Fenris said.
The request caught him off-guard. Hawke stared at him and the way he held his body. The red had seeped into most of his lyrium now. Fenris hadn’t properly been outdoors since he’d been bed-bound. He didn’t know how they could achieve such a thing, Fenris couldn’t walk very far. Winter was fast approaching and there was a chill in the air.
“It’s cold out there,” Hawke answered. Fenris frowned.
“I don’t care,” he replied. “I…carry me. To the top of the hill,”
Not far from their home was a large hill. There was definitely no way Fenris could get up there alone and carrying him up there would even be a bit of a stretch. Fenris knew this. Hawke knew that the view from the top was beautiful, especially at sunset. He couldn’t blame Fenris for wanting to go up there. He supposed he could prepare a picnic, something for them to snack on. They could bring a blanket and cuddle. It would be romantic.
“Alright,” he eventually agreed. Fenris’s eyes seemed to brighten a little.
He sat on the end of the bed, face pale and eyes slightly sunken. Hawke helped him into a fluffy coat, one that smothered him in heat. He watched Hawke as he put the gloves on his hands and then wiggled his fingers experimentally. Hawke smiled as he wound the scarf around his neck and pulled it up so it would cover the red lyrium on his chin. He’d look cute all wrapped up if it wasn’t for the sickly look on his face.
Fenris didn’t look thrilled at the idea of putting boots on. The elf never wore shoes but Hawke had insisted and he was in no place to argue. It was cold out and he didn’t need frostbite on his toes as an added problem.
In a basket, Hawke had thrown in some snacks. Two blankets lay on top and on his back lay Fenris. He had his body wrapped around him, leaning his face against the back of his neck as he hiked up the hill. It was draining but once he reached the top, the view was worth every second. He took a deep breath and set Fenris down, laying out the first blanket and sitting beside him upon it.
Once they were seated, he took the other and wrapped it around their shoulders. Fenris leaned on him, taking slow steady breaths of the fresh air. It can’t have been nice being cooped up indoors for so long. He shivered beside him and Hawke told himself it was from the cold. Hawke leaned down to press a light kiss on his lips.
“It’s pretty,” Fenris mumbled, looking up as the sun began to fall. A warm orange and pink blend of colour filled the sky and almost made it seem like everything was glowing. Hawke didn’t take his eyes off Fenris for a second. The sunset he could see a thousand times from this spot. But Fenris? Who knew.
“Yeah,” he agreed, watching Fenris’s eyes glimmer slightly at the beautiful sky. Did he ever get the chance to see things like this back in Tevinter?
He worried when Fenris said he wasn’t hungry. He insisted, just one apple slice. Fenris drew the blanket closer to his chest and sighed. He turned to look up at Hawke then at the apple slice that was being waved in front of him. He smiled shakily and said: “Okay.”
Hawke wasn’t surprised when Fenris fell asleep against his shoulder. He was always so tired as of late. He pondered what he would’ve thought back in their Kirkwall days, what would become of them. In the midst of battle, he could never have imagined such a domestic life again. Not that he minded missing out on the thrill of a fight. When he returned home from Weisshaupt with a few extra scars, he was glad to be done with it. The years were starting to catch up with him after all.
Without complaint, Hawke carried Fenris back down the hill once it’d gotten dark. It’d be the last night things were easy.
If he knew for certain at the beginning what would happen next, he might’ve planned things differently. No, he knew. He always knew it’d come to this. He just didn’t want to believe it, nor see it. He counted himself lucky for the days he had managed to grasp.
Red crystals were beginning to push through the cracks in Fenris’s skin, where the lyrium had been. By the sounds of things, it was painful. Fenris was always so resistant to pain, not allowing it to get to him. Hawke let him squeeze his hand as he cried out. Widened eyes and parted lips. Hawke wiped the sweat from his forehead and fed him health potions despite knowing it likely wouldn’t help much. He could only hope it dulled some of the pain.
He whimpered pathetically in his arms, clawing at Hawke with a frightened look in his eyes.
“I-I am losing my mind, Hawke,” he mumbled before letting out another sharp hiss of pain. He could feel the fog clouding his mind. Hawke swallowed roughly and caressed his face. Fenris couldn’t hold his gaze. “I fear I…I don’t want to turn on you,”
It was a very real possibility. The Red Templars had been unshakeable, shells of their former selves. There was likely no way this wasn’t going to end up messy. He wasn’t sure if he could fight back if Fenris tried to kill him. He wasn’t sure if he’d want to. Though, if he didn’t then there was nothing stopping Fenris from going out and causing harm to the nearby villagers. Fenris wouldn’t want that.
“I won’t let that happen Fen, I won’t,” he assured him, pressing a kiss to his knuckles like he had many times before.
Fenris let out another sharp cry of pain. He was curling in on himself, a useless attempt at protecting himself from the pain coming from within. Hawke cradled him, as if soothing words and hands could ease the suffering.
“You have to stop it, please,” he begged pitifully. Hawke felt heavy pang in his chest. He wanted to ask him if he was scared of dying. Here he was, begging for death like it was nothing. When he looked into his eyes, he knew the answer.
Of course, he was scared. Who wouldn’t be?
He was babbling and Hawke was stalling. He had been so strong for him, for Fenris’s sake. He’d smiled and walked him through this. They both knew there was nothing they could do. They had come to accept it. Now its finale was staring them in the face and they drew pause. He knew what he had to do. It was the kindest thing he could possibly do for him but it hurt. Fenris needed him to do it.
“Garrett,” his first name caught Hawke off-guard. “Please. I’m losing you,”
His breath trembled.
Hawke laid Fenris down on the sheets. He stared up at him like a frightened animal.
Red flicks in his green eyes.
“I love you,” Hawke told him, eyes wet. Fenris choked on a sob, gritting his teeth so hard the spittle was dribbling down his chin. His fingers tightened on Hawke’s shirt. He had been so strong throughout, in these final moments he could allow Fenris to see him cry. He was sobbing, recalling what the Fear demon had said to him in the Fade.
Fenris is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about.
“I love you too,” Fenris rasped. Hawke descended to kiss him. A pitiful final kiss. Fenris inhaled sharply.
On the bloodied sheets, Hawke put him out of his misery.
He buried him beside the apple tree a few paces from their house. A piece of rock in the middle of nowhere to commemorate his body seemed unworthy of everything he was and all he had accomplished. However, he knew he wouldn’t have wanted anything more. He never liked the fame.
The red favour was left tied around it. He hated the colour red. Hawke knew he had to part with it. He was far too old to be moving on, but he couldn’t cling on to it.
What was he going to do now?
Varric was still in Kirkwall most likely. His old companions were all he had left. That seemed like the best place to go, he had no inkling as to where the others were. The dwarf would no doubt ask about Fenris and he was going to have to talk about it. It would be hard, but not impossible. The lump in his throat was ever present, despite the fact that the tears had dried.
He had to leave it all behind.
Hawke picked up his bag full of his things. He left the bloodied sheets in the house. With him, he carried a couple of Fenris’s possessions. His favourite books and a bottle of his favourite wine. He looked up at the tree and reached up to pluck one of the fresh apples from it. He studied for a moment, distantly remembering the apple slice faces, before putting it in his bag.
“Thank you, Fenris,” he said softly. For everything.
It was a long way to Kirkwall.