Lions and Wolves: 2. Love

"I brought another book." Aslan smiled at him as he opened the door to let the mage come inside the former magistrate mansion.

Fenris couldn't understand how he could smile like that, not after what had happened to Leandra. But still he wore that smile tirelessly every day, pretending everything was still the same.

"Aren't you going to let me in?"

"The door is open, what more do you need?" He turned around, started walking into the house, not waiting for Hawke to follow, knowing that he would do it none the less. And sure enough, he did. The door closed behind the both of them and he could hear footsteps following behind him. What surprised him though was that Aslan wasn't the chattering man he used to be, he didn't talk half as much as he used to - but he knew the reason. Even if the man tried so very hard to hide how he really felt behind smiles and jokes, he wasn't fooling anyone.

The elf walked back into his bedroom, sat down in the big chair in front of the fire, bringing a glass of wine to his lips, pretending gaze into the flames while he really was watching Hawke carefully in the corner of his eye.

The mage stopped in front of his chair, looking down on him. Fenris frowned.

"What?"

"I want to sit in the chair."

Several replies flashed though his mind, none of them particularly nice, but in the end he just stood and sighed, allowing Aslan to claim the chair as he sat in it instead. When he was about to sit down on the floor in front of the fire, Fenris felt himself being pulled down, falling back into the embrace of the other man. He gave up the attempt to get up again when he felt Hawke bury his face in his neck.

"Sit with me..." he whispered.

He wasn't so sure that it would be a good idea to stay in this embrace, but the way he was acting right now... he seemed to small, so weak right now, like even the smallest thing would shatter him. Fenris couldn't bear it, and he wouldn't - he couldn't - deny anything Aslan asked of him. Not when he was like this.

"Fine" he growled under his breath, grabbing the book that Hawke had brought with him, shifting to sit more comfortably. "But this won't become a habit."

Aslan chuckled. "Understood. You're doing what I wish because you pity me, not because you love me."

"I don't-"

"Yes you do," he interrupted, chuckling again, "And I'm fine with that. Now start reading."

And yet again, Fenris complied. He wouldn't argue with him when he was like this. He opened the book to start reading, when the other one took it from his hands and began searching through the pages for a certain part of the book.

"Read this." He pointed to the text, a verse Fenris saw now, from the Chant of Light.

"At Shar...Shartan's word," he began, gazing back only to see nothing but a face hidden in shadows, "the s...sky grew black with... ar...arrows."

He paused, feeling Aslan nuzzling his neck, stirring feelings inside him he'd rather pretend not existed.

"Continue."

"At O...Our Lady's... ten thou...thou..."

"Thousand."

Fenris growled, annoyed, "Ten thousand swords rang... from their she...aths."

"Sheaths" Hawke breathed into his ear, sending shivers down his spine, making his blood boil. It took every last bit of his willpower to act like his action didn't affect Fenris, not even a bit, though he didn't doubt that Aslan knew already, without him showing anything.

"Sheaths," his voice was hoarse, "A great hy...hymn rose over Vala...rian Fi..." he paused, taking a deep breath as he felt hot lips touching his skin, setting it ablaze, distracting him for a moment before he was able to focus again, "Fields gladly pro...cla...im, proclaiming: Those who had been slaves were now..."

Teeth scraping against his neck.

"Free."