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Rhonwen gurgles, pushing herself up from the quilt. It's a sunny day, with birds chirping and people talking quietly - and for the first time in a very long time, Fenris lets himself smile.
Well, he lets himself smile where other people can see. He gently pats the tip of her nose, chuckling as her bright, bright blue eyes cross themselves trying to keep track of it.
Skyhold is nothing like what he thought it would be. A renegade Qunari Inquisitor who doesn't seem to care about the Chantry in the least heads up a castle so high in the Frostbacks that everything should be iced over, but instead feels like a pleasant spring day.
Maybe it's a good omen.
Rhonwen certainly seems to like it, even as she flops back down to drool on her borrowed blanket. Fenris runs tickling fingers over the dark dusting of hair, which earns him a burble from his beautiful baby girl. She rolls over, staring up at the cloudless sky. He tugs her little tunic back down over her tummy as she stretches up, reaching for the sun.
He misses Hawke, yes, but Varric's with her. And Adaar knows precisely what's waiting for her - Inquisitor or not - if Hawke comes back injured. He doesn't even let the thought of her not coming home cross his mind.
"So, it's a reduction of... how much elfroot?" He shoots a glance over at Anders and the other mage. They're sitting under a nearby tree, pouring over a battered book and making notes about potions or something equally boring.
"Ten bushels, initially." The other mage is a red-head, with almost as many freckles as Hawke. He deliberately turns his attention to Rhonwen, scooping her up and holding her close to his chest. She laughs, clapping her hands as he nuzzles her head, breathing in her smell.
There's something so incredibly uncomplicated about children, and that makes them refreshing. A shriek grabs his attention - but it's only one of Martia's children, playing seek and find on the other side of the garden. Two of them are darting in and out of the bushes
She smiles at him, bouncing her own little one on her knee. He gives an awkward smile, and ducks his head. Rhonwen baps his nose and he huffs a little breath into her face - she blinks, and he does it again, just for the hell of it.
"Am I reading this right? You steep one Dawn Lotus in... what is that, four gallons?" Carefully, he sits little Rhonnie up on the quilt, hands hovering just close enough. She wobbles back and forward, before planting her hands on the ground.
"Yeah, four gallons. Dunno how you add twenty-nine bushels of elfroot to it though." He sits her upright again, watching her wobble, before starting to tip backwards. He lets her tip all the way back down, fingers braced against the back of her head and neck.
"Maybe you peel the roots and let them soak...?" Rhonwen flaps vigourously, tiny face twisting into a little frown. Hastily, Fenris sets her upright, and breathes out steadily when she smiles again. No need to draw anyone's attention, not for something so trivial.
So he keeps sitting there, barefoot and unarmoured, playing with his child in a garden in a hold that's miles away from Kirkwall, surrounded by strangers.
And Anders.
Anders isn't... who Fenris once thought he was. No mere abomination would help to birth and protect and rear another's child as their own. Not just anyone could resist that Calling that even Carver had heard, thick-headed idiot brother of Hawke. When he'd shown up at Skyhold, Varric may have met him at the gate, but it was Anders who had been rocking Rhonwen to sleep, safe inside Varric's chambers.
Sure, he'd been surprised to see a Qunari leaning against the wall, but the appearance of the Seeker had explained that. A monster, she'd called him. What monster would be happy sitting in a locked room, covered in milky spit with a soft smile on their face, staring at a half-elf infant?
So the Valo-kas kept a watch on Anders, kept him from getting a knife in the back. That's good. Because as much as he didn't want to admit it, Hawke loves Anders. Like she loves Varric, and Merrill, and Aveline, and Isabela. We're family, she'd said the night before they split up. All of us. I don't fucking care where we came from, we're here, and you're my family, and I'd fight the Maker for any of you.
And if those Qunari are keeping an eye on Anders, then they're keeping Rhonwen safe too.
She babbles, patting at his wrist. He can almost feel her heartbeat through his lyrium veins. Twelve months ago, he'd said goodbye to Ruth, pressing kisses to her belly. Twelve months of chasing slavers, of fighting and bloodshed and missing his love something fierce.
Now there's a chance to breathe, and finally get to know his beautiful, tiny, perfect daughter. Fenris can't help but marvel at how small she is, how helpless - and he'd helped to make this.
Now, he just has to wait until Ruth comes home to them.