Title: Constellations in your skin
Fandom: Dragon Age
Rating: T
Length: 2402 words
Content notes: No warnings apply.
Author notes: Written for the ‘show off’ challenge in fan_flashworks. This one got a little bit away from me.
Summary: When the party decides to spend the night on the Wounded Coast, Sara witnesses Fenris wash off the grime of battle.

***

The cave’s entrance faced leeward, the reprieve it offered from the coastal wind no doubt one of the reasons it had been used by a succession of bandits, raiders and smugglers. Sara advanced forward carefully, her steps silent on the sandy floor. She took a deep breath in through her nose, searching for any trace of smoke or food, body odour or blood. Her eyes darted to the darker corners, alert to any sign of movement, her ears cocked for the slightest sound, but there was none.

Nevertheless, it took a full reconnaissance of the cave before she was satisfied that the cave had not been reinhabited since they last cleared it out.

“It’s clear,” she said, as she returned to the entrance and swung her pack down onto a dry sandy spot.

“Thank the Maker,” Bethany said, emerging from the shadows near the cave entrance. The trails that ran along the jagged shores of the Wounded Coast were treacherous in full daylight. In the swiftly descending darkness, they would be lethal.

Fenris and Varric followed Bethany in and dropped their packs down next to Sara’s.

“What’s for dinner then?” Varric asked.

Sara glanced outside the cave. There was still some light left. With her bow, and a bit of luck, she might be able to bring down a rabbit or two. If not, they had rations.

“I’ll see if I can scare up some game,” she said. “Fenris, Varric, could you get some water and firewood?”
Without a word, Fenris picked up a wooden bucket that was sitting near the cave wall and left the cave. Varric, grumbling, did the same.

“And what about me?” Bethany said, arms crossed, toe tapping on the sandy floor. “What am I going to do?”

“Guard the cave and our packs, light the fire once they bring the wood,” Sara said, stringing her bow and checking the arrows in her quiver. She left the cave before Bethany could say anything more.

Rabbits liked to hide in the saltbushes that clung to the thin, rocky soil of the Wounded Coast. In the dim twilight, Sara followed the faint impressions of their feet to a large, low spreading bush on the leeward side of a small rocky rise. It was the perfect location – with the rabbits likely to be silhouetted against the moonlit sky as they left their warren. Knocking one of her broadhead arrows, Sara settled down to watch and wait.

It was well and truly dark when Sara picked her way back towards the cave under the light of the moon. A large fire, burning red and blue, marked the entrance, friendly silhouettes around it.

“Could only get one,” she said to announce her presence when she made it back. “We’ll have to-”

Sara broke off, distracted. Fenris was half-naked, kneeling next to the wooden bucket, and wiping his chest and arms with a cloth. His wet skin glistened in the firelight.

“- supplement with rations,” she finished weakly.

“This is why I don’t like leaving the city,” Varric grumbled, but nevertheless walked over to take the rabbit off her. “Sunshine and I’ll clean this up.”

Without taking her eyes off Fenris, Sara slipped the bow from her shoulder and propped it up against her pack. She settled down next to the cave wall to watch him.

By Andraste, he was beautiful. She had never seen the extent of his markings before. They continued down his front and onto his sternum before branching out into elaborate whorls across his ribs, the white of the lyrium burns contrasting with the brown of his skin. Tantalisingly, the markings started again below his belly button, leading down beneath his tight breeches.

As she watched, Fenris reached into the bucket with the hand holding the cloth before wringing it out and applying it to his upper body. He tilted his head to the side and washed from his neck down the front of his chest. Reversing his sweep, he brought the cloth up beneath one armpit, and then over his shoulder. His muscles were flat and lean, belying the strength with which she had seen him wield his greatsword. She followed the trail of water as it slowly made its way down his belly until it dampened the top of his breeches.

He looked up and caught her eyes. She didn’t look away. His cheeks flushed darker as he turned his head to the side, his white hair falling over his eyes like a curtain.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Varric nudge Bethany where they were working together to gut and spit the rabbit. Bethany looked over in their direction and made a face, but thankfully no comment.
Sara wondered if she had spooked him, if Fenris would abandon his impromptu bath now that her scrutiny of him was obvious. But as she remained watching, he reached into the bucket again. With an almost exaggerated slowness, he wrung out the cloth once more and swapped hands as he tilted his head to the other side before trailing the cloth down his neck and the other side of his chest.

She wished she had the courage to do something more than watch. Perhaps she could walk over to him, kneel down beside him, and silently offer to take the cloth from him. She imagined that he handed it to her, and she began running it over his chest, arms, and back. But it wouldn’t be long before she abandoned the cloth so she could lean close to him, breathe in the dirt and sweat and blood that he was trying to cleanse himself of, kiss her way up his shoulders, his neck, his jaw…

He looked up again, and this time it was Sara who flushed and looked away. Were her thoughts too transparent? She busied herself with the buckles of her cuirass, as though they had come loose, before clearing her throat and standing up. She walked over to where Varric and Bethany had prepared the rabbit and positioned it over the fire.

“Anything I can help with?” she said brightly, rubbing her hands together.

Varric looked up with a knowing look in his eye. “I think we have it covered, Hawke. Maybe you can keep Fenris company.”

“I, uh, no, he’s.. busy,” she said, feeling herself flush again. She hoped the heat from the fire would cover it.

“Mmmm,” Varric said, watching the rabbit as he slowly rotated it above the coals. “Busy washing the same parts of himself he already washed before you arrived.”

Sara’s eyebrows shot up and she glanced over at him, where he – seemingly perfectly innocently – was running the cloth over the back of his neck, the muscles in his arm flexing appealingly as he did so.

“You mean-” she said.

“That this show is for your benefit?” Varric chuckled. “May as well enjoy it.”

“Gross,” Bethany said. “Don’t encourage her.”

Sara shot a withering glance at Bethany.

“Well, I’m clearly not needed here,” she said. But instead of taking Varric’s suggestion, she walked over to her pack and began pulling out the rations that had been wrapped in oiled cloth.

Fenris chose that moment to finish up, dropping the cloth into the bucket, and pulling his shirt back over his head. He did not, however, replace his breastplate. He walked over to where Sara was.

“I have some as well,” he said, and started to dig through his own pack. Sara was transfixed by the way the hair at the back of his neck was wet and clinging to his skin.

He turned, and it took Sara a moment to realise he was offering her packets of rations.

“That’ll be more than enough,” she said with a forced laugh to try to cover the fact that she had been caught staring yet again. “You don’t happen to have a bedroll tucked away in there, do you?”

Fenris shook his head, flinging droplets of water through the air.

“Shame,” she said. “At least the floor is sandy.”

They had a simple repast of roasted rabbit and travel rations, accompanied by water Fenris and Varric had gathered from a nearby stream that ran straight off the Vimmark Mountains. It was simple, nourishing fare, eaten with laughter and without the expectation that seemed to hover over the dinner table at Gamlen’s, though she wished she had brought wine.

She glanced over at Fenris from time to time, and occasionally caught him looking at her. Had he really been showing off to her? Or had Varric just been teasing, given her all-too-obvious interest? She flushed and looked down at the coals. Bethany would no doubt have words with her later.

“Well, I’m going to hit the sand,” Varric said, with a large, exaggerated yawn. “You and Fenris are on guard duty, right Hawke?”

Sara glared at Varric. “I thought Beth and I might take first watch,” she said.

That prompted Bethany to yawn too. “Sorry, I’m too tired after all that dangerous cave and pack guarding,” she said with a sweet smile. “I think I’m going to have to hit the hay too.”

Sara took in a deep breath through her nostrils to calm the frustration that rose up in her, then tightly nodded.

It took Varric and Bethany a little while to bed down. Beth, of course, had to find the flattest space in the cave, and then there was a lot of readjusting the pack she was using as a pillow. But before long, Beth and Varric’s snores filled the cave, and Sara and Fenris were functionally alone.

They sat with their backs towards the fire, watching the cave entrance. Although Fenris had replaced his breastplate, Sara couldn’t help but remember the pattern of markings that lay beneath his armour. She pulled out her oil and whetstone as a distraction and worked on sharpening her twin blades. Fenris soon joined her, making long strokes of his sword with his own sharpening stone. It was peaceful, reminiscent of nights spent at home with Carver, and she found herself relaxing to the familiar sounds.

“It’s nice to get out of Kirkwall sometimes,” she said as she lifted one of her blades for a closer examination of the edge.

“You can see the stars better out here,” Fenris said unexpectedly. Sara leaned forward to peer out the cave entrance. She hadn’t really paid attention to the stars, she had been so focused on the immediate needs of dinner and shelter.

“I’m not familiar with the constellations in the south,” Fenris continued.

Sara frowned as she tried to remember the names her father had taught her so long ago. She pointed to one that was low down on the horizon.

“That one there is Belenas,” she said. “It’s said to be the mountain where Korth, the god of the Avvar, lives. And that one,” she pointed to one higher up, “is the Watchful Eye.”

“The Watchful Eye?” Fenris repeated.

“The Alamarri believe it is the eye of the Lady of the Skies, which led them safely through the Frostback Mountains.”

Fenris made a small noise of confirmation. “I am familiar with that one,” he said. “But we called it Iudicium, the Judgement.”

Sara raised her eyebrows. “Sounds less benevolent than the Alamrri version,” she said.

Fenris laughed. “Tevinter has never really been about benevolence.”

His laugh was warm, and unexpected. Sara turned towards him, meeting his smile with her own, and found herself remembering again what he looked like beneath his armour. The way his lyrium almost looked like it was tracing constellations across his skin. She caught her breath, licked her lips, and looked away.

“There’s one we can’t see right now,” she said, “Called Fenrir, the White Wolf.” Was it too obvious that she had been linking his markings to the invisible trails between the stars?

“We have that one in Tevinter too,” he said. Was his voice even deeper than normal?

She turned back towards him. “Were you named for it?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, though he was not looking at her. Instead, his gaze was out the entrance of the cave. “I imagine it amused Danarius in some way.”

“You are named after stars,” Sara said. It was beautiful, in a way.

“What are you named after?” he asked, and she had the sense that he was trying to change the topic.

“Me?” she said. “My mother’s wishes, mostly.” But that sounded too bitter, and didn’t actually answer his question. She sighed and added, “Sara means noblewoman.”

“Perhaps it is a prophecy,” Fenris said.

“If my mother gets her way with Seneschal Bran, it will be,” she said.

“Lady Hawke,” Fenris said, a smile creasing the skin next to his eyes.

“Lady Amell, technically,” Sara said. “It would be my mother’s title. My father was a mage.”

“It is still strange to me that mages have no claim to titles here,” Fenris said. “In Tevinter, you can only be nobility if you are a mage. Every noble family tries to ensure their offspring will have the talent.”

“Meanwhile, our line was thought to be cursed with magic,” Sara said. “Mother says that’s why her father was not made Viscount.”

“Do you wish you had been born here, into your rightful place as the heir of the Amells?” Fenris asked.

It made Sara pause in her ministrations to her blade. “Bethany asked me the same thing,” she said. “It’s hard to know. Who I am has been shaped by the life we lived in Fereldan. If I had been born here, would I even be the same person?” She shook her head. It was better not to think about what-ifs, and could-have-beens. “I’m happy with who I am now,” she said, and resumed her polishing.

Fenris made a small noise that Sara couldn’t interpret. She held up her blade to inspect the edge again, then took out the oil and began to polish it.

“What about you?” she said, to keep the conversation going. “What if you had been born in Kirkwall rather than Tevinter?”

“I would definitely not be the same person,” Fenris said. “If there had been no Danarius to make me as I am, I don’t know who I would be.”

“I am at least glad that our paths crossed here,” Sara said.

“As am I,” Fenris said.

And they spent the rest of their watch in companionable silence.