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For the first year Fenris resided in Kirkwall, he was reluctant to leave the estate he squatted in, the estate that had belonged to his former owner. Danarius was due to collect both his residence and his prized bodyguard at any moment, and Fenris meant to see an end to it as quickly as possible by getting the jump on him first.
As days turned into weeks, he'd found some occupation with Hawke bringing him along on odd jobs she did around Kirkwall. She was even kind enough to split the earnings with him. That income was only enough to cover his basic necessities, but that was all Fenris needed. When he killed Danarius, he planned to leave Kirkwall.
As weeks turned into months, some of Hawke's friends started coming around to visit him. Aveline kept the local guard from looking too closely at his activities or the estate. She insisted she couldn't keep doing it indefinitely, and if he meant to stay in the city, she'd help him go through the proper channels to claim the estate for himself. Fenris wasn't sure how to respond to that.
Isabela, however, visited him the most frequently; sometimes she came with the dwarf, Varric; other times, she came by herself. Every time, she brought ale and cards with her. His time serving Danarius had given him the opportunity to learn the rules of several games, but she gave him the opportunity to learn how to actually play. He found the games a welcome reprieve from trying to figure out how to carry a conversation without an explicit purpose. Another thing Isabela was good at.
At some point during the course of a visit, she'd casually flirt with him like she did everyone. "I enjoy a man with markings like that."
"You've enjoyed many, I suspect." It was a typical response he'd heard others in Hawke's circle use with her.
With only a slight smirk as acknowledgement, she continued, "Where I come from, they're called 'tattoos.' Sailors get them all the time."
As with Hawke's little brother, Fenris wasn't interested in bonding over shared body modifications. Particularly since he hadn’t asked for his. "Not made of lyrium, I'd imagine."
"Not a one," she acknowledged before staring at him for a long beat. "...And the pictures are different–breasts, usually."
He had to fight to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching upwards as he thought about his own markings in the shape of the art sailors usually had on their bodies. "I suppose a pair of lyrium breasts tattooed onto my chest would make things better."
Isabela laughed. "That's me. I'm a helper."
Even though Fenris lost that hand, he couldn't help but feel like he'd won the evening.
Isabela had known that she was going to be grounded in Kirkwall for awhile. She had not anticipated she'd be here for over three years. The sea still called to her; she had her ear to the ground listening for the key that would get her back to her old life. Yet, she found she wasn't as restless as she had been between jobs before Hawke.
There was little doubt in her mind that this had everything to do with the little crew she and Hawke had built. During her downtime in the Hanged Man, she could swap stories with Varric or teach Merrill the intricacies of city life. If she grew bored of the seedy tavern, she could visit Anders in his free clinic or play card games with Fenris at his commandeered estate. She particularly liked doing the latter since the Tevinter elf was a refreshing drink of dark, broody, and handsome.
In a change of norms, one night, Fenris came to the Hanged Man. He seemed more restless than usual, so Isabela was quick to wave him over to her game of Wicked Grace. If there was going to be trouble, she wanted to be there to contribute (either to the problem or the solution–depending on the trouble).
She felt a sort of smug satisfaction as they teamed up to take out the rest of the players in the game. For that night, for that game, it really felt like she had a partner in crime, instead of an accessory.
Shortly after they became the only players left, Isabela decided to call the game. Like her, Fenris didn't have any consistent employment, so his winnings would have to cover his living expenses until they didn't. Unlike him, she could easily find marks to swindle or odd jobs to get more money; it just made sense to let him keep what he had earned that night.
Yet, he still had that same restless energy. Isabela got them another round and pulled out her pipe, filling the bowl with elfroot. After she started the relaxing substance, she offered some to Fenris; he accepted.
If she was reading him correctly, he was trying to psych himself into talking about something. It'd been a couple of days since he'd killed that woman who had worked for his old master. She wondered if Hawke had gotten to him with some moral about how revenge was ultimately unsatisfactory. Still, there was nothing to do until he actually talked about it.
After what felt like a lifetime, he finally broke the silence. "You keep staring at me. Is it my eyes again?"
Put on the spot, Isabela went with her typical route for distracting people: flirting. "You're very lanky, for an elf. I like lanky."
He let out a single chuckle. "From what I gather, you like a lot of things."
She shook her head. "Nonsense. But when I see something I like, I go after it."
He finally met her gaze with his own. "Do you intend to go after me, then?"
"Will you take off all that spiky armor you're wearing?" Isabela teased.
"It's been known to happen."
Isabela panicked. He wasn't supposed to flirt back; he had never flirted back before. Besides, he was probably in a state of mind where he'd want to make love, not fuck, and she couldn't risk that. "Then forget it."
Fenris didn't need long to be grateful Isabela had rejected him that night. Perhaps she had seen he wasn't ready for everything that would come with a sexual relationship; perhaps he had just caught her on one of the nights she didn't want that kind of company; he couldn't rightly say. Her visits to the estate did become more infrequent, but she also didn't avoid him when he visited the Hanged Man.
After a few weeks, she started greeting him with the name of a color. "Black but with pink hearts."
"Pardon?" Fenris asked.
"The color of the small clothes you wear under your armor. Are they black with pink hearts?"
"I thought you didn't want me to take off my armor?" he asked confusedly.
"Doesn't mean I don't want to guess what's under it. The mystery is what's most enticing, after all."
"So I shouldn't tell you the answer?"
"You should answer, but keep it to yes or no."
"Then... no, my underclothes are not black with pink hearts."
"Darn," she said in her typical joking manner. "Guess I'll have to try again next time I see you."
Fenris hadn't known that underclothes could be any color other than white. When Fenris had been a slave, Danarius had seen no point in investing in more than the cheapest of attire unless it was to show off his excess of wealth. So, the only clothes of real value had been outer clothes for slaves that interacted with esteemed guests, and Maker help the slave who damaged those. After breaking free of Danarius, Fenris had been too busy watching his back to fuss over getting anything except what was absolutely necessary to survive. This meant that he couldn't invest in such whimsical things as underclothes of varied colors.
Still, this game that Isabela played with him was fun. He didn't want it to end when she finally guessed his underclothes were white. So, Fenris decided he would invest in underclothes of different colors. Certainly,he wanted to see the surprise on Isabela's face if she guessed correctly.
Isabela sometimes wondered why she was still in Kirkwall. She'd fixed the mess with the Tome of Koslun. Boats were expensive but it wouldn't be hard to steal Castillon's with him dead now. Yet, she dragged her feet.
She refused to consider that Hawke had turned her onto a path of moral goodness. Instead, she told herself that she was just looking for the right crew. Though she had to admit that the right crew was the one that she'd found here in Kirkwall.
In Kirkwall, shewatched her friends grow more into the kinds of people they wanted to be. Merrill grew more assertive and sure of herself, fixing her mirror and marrying Hawke. Anders grew more resolute in his fight for mages' rights. Sebastian was getting closer to reclaiming his throne every day. Varric seemed to grown more at peace with his brother, stepping into the role Bartrand had left behind. And Aveline... well, Aveline managed to remarry.
But the growth she saw in Fenris stood out the most. He'd gone from trusting no one and hiding behind his spiky armor to joking and hosting a weekly game of diamondback. Isabela preferred Wicked Grace herself, but she supposed that diamondback took a lot more strategy while Wicked Grace was more about outcheating your opponents.
Fenris always made a point to invite Isabela, and recently, she had started attending. As the game wound to an end, she also found herself lingering after everyone else left. Her host never seemed to mind; certainly, he never made any effort to usher her out the door.
One of the nights where she tarried, reluctant to return to the Hanged Man, she decided to guess the color of Fenris's smallclothes. She knew they were most likely white, but she enjoyed the slow way he said no when she guessed wild colors. "Orlesian blue."
Fenris paused. "Actually, they're lavender tonight."
"You're shitting me."
"You're welcome to check," he answered calmly, holding his arms out to give her better access to the straps holding his armor in place.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to seduce me."
He dropped his arms and shrugged. "You're also welcome not to check. You've stated that you prefer the armor on."
"No, I'm going to check because there's no way that Mr Denies Brooding wears lavender smallclothes."
Isabela made quick work to remove his armor, letting it fall to the ground. Just as he'd stated, he stood there in lavender smallclothes. They contrasted nicely with his olive skin.
"Well, I'll be damned," Isabela mused, beholding the sight of him.
A small smirk played across his lips as he pressed her up against a wall. "I'm told that if you call out to Andraste, she'll forgive you."
She looked up at him, breath catching in her throat "Do you promise to make me call out to her?"
"No, but I certainly intend to try."