Title: Naked Words
Fandom: Dragon Age
Rating: T
Length: 585 words
Relationship: Implied Fenris/Hawke and Fenris/Hawke/Anders.
Content notes: No content warnings apply.
Author notes: Written for the ‘clear’ challenge in fan_flashworks and the ‘heart on sleeve’ prompt in genprompt_bingo. I am ignoring the fact that Tevene is apparently little-spoken in modern Tevinter, because other languages are cool and I like the idea of Fenris as a polyglot.
Summary: Anders reveals that he can understand Tevene. Fenris feels exposed.

***

Anders’ Tevene was terrible.

He had a thick Fereldan accent. His consonants were soft where they should be sharp, and sharp where they should be soft. He put the emphasis on the wrong syllables. It took Fenris a long few seconds to work out what he was trying to say.

But Anders spoke Tevene.

Fenris felt like he had been doused with iced water. His chest was tight when he tried to draw in breath.

“You speak Tevene?” Fenris ground out in his native language.

Anders was smiling, like he was pleased with Fenris’s reaction. “The language of arcane scholarship,” Anders said, reverting to Trade. He was far from fluent. “I wasn’t sure I had the pronunciation right. I can read it more than I can speak.”

“Why did you not share this earlier?” Fenris’s hands curled into fists by his side as he fought the impulse to set his brands alight.

“I wasn’t sure that I would be able to understand the spoken form. And then, well,” he looked away but made a gesture as if it was something of little account, “It was a bit awkward.”

Fenris’s cheeks were hot in contrast to the ice of his insides. There went any hope that Anders had not heard his whispered confessions to Hawke. Maker help him, he hoped that Hawke hadn’t picked up any of the language from her mage father. He hadn’t thought of that before.

“Then why now?” he asked.

“I feel like we’ve reached something of an understanding of late. That I might not be risking the exteriorisation of my internal organs by telling you.”

Anders, it seemed, was in a jocular mood. Perhaps it was something of little account to him. Meaningless words spoken in the passion of the night. But to Fenris, it felt like suddenly being stripped of his armour. Or, no, more like a dream where you find out that you were never wearing armour at all.

“Don’t tell Hawke,” he said, his voice low and soft, a hair away from pleading.

Anders only quirked an eyebrow, his teasing smile remained. “You don’t want her to know that you think of her as-”

“Don’t say it!” Fenris hissed. He closed his eyes, his fingernails digging into his palms. He felt his tattoos flicker with energy before it harmlessly dissipated. He opened his eyes. “Please,” he said.

He was at Anders’ mercy. There was nothing that he could do to prevent the mage from using this against him, whenever he chose. Anders seemed to realise something of Fenris’s distress. His face softened, lost its humorous edge.

“I won’t tell her,” he said.

Fenris felt his shoulders sag in relief. “Thank you.”

Fenris thought that would be the end of it, but when he turned away, Anders spoke again.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, you know.”

Fenris felt his shoulders stiffen. He looked over his shoulder at the mage, still standing by the fire. He hoped his expression would be enough to silence him, but the mage continued.

“I know you have a… traumatic... past. But there’s nothing wrong with finding some pleasure in it.”

“I do not want to have this conversation, mage.”

“I’m just trying to say that you don’t need to be ashamed.”

“This conversation is over,” Fenris said, and made sure of it by leaving not only the room but also the estate.