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fanfoolishness · 2 years

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Optimism (Dragon Age)

(Written for @calysto1395 for the @hightown-funk Hawke/Varric gift exchange! They had requested seeing what Hawke as the Herald might look like. Gifts have been revealed so I can post now!)

Marian Hawke's bad luck gets even worse when a mysterious green mark appears on her hand while the Breach roils the sky. Luckily a trusty dwarf is by her side to see her through it. 4700 words.

This? Was a disaster. And based on the massive green tear in the sky above, it was unfolding to be a disaster of utterly epic proportions.

Varric swore under his breath and patted down the front of his jacket, hoping he’d packed enough ink and vellum to get it all down. He felt the familiar weight of his writing kit and let out a sigh. At least one thing had gone right today; he’d packed his ink. The world would have to get slightly closer to ending before he’d forget that.

He glared up at the throbbing, searing wound in the sky, spilling ominous green light over everything. Including the wailing spirit-thing that had just materialized in front of him, moaning piteously as it floated over the snowy ground.

He hefted Bianca in his arms, nocking another bolt. He cast a glance at the elven mage beside him, hoping that together they’d be enough to take care of these things. But there was some kind of smaller tear in front of them, a tiny version of the monstrous wound in the sky, and it seemed as if it had other ideas.

“Beware the shades!” the elf shouted. “They’re coming from the rift!” Solas, Varric thought was his name, though to be fair Varric had scarcely been paying attention at their hasty introduction. His mind was elsewhere.

Where’s Hawke? Where the hell is Hawke? That explosion took out the Divine and half the Chantry. What if Hawke was at the wrong place at the wrong time?

But he couldn’t afford to think about that for long. There were demons to be slain and his own ass to save; for a moment the worry about Hawke disappeared, pushed deep into the background. Bianca sang, and the elf’s staff crackled with magics, and they fought desperately. Yet another shade joined the first, wailing just as loudly, and Varric swore again.

Until a burst of mage-fire twined with lightning sailed past him, and his heart leapt. That looked just like one of Hawke’s favorite spells --

He loosed a bolt into the burning shade, and the spirit vanished into nothingness. Varric whirled, laughing with delight.

“Brightside!” The familiar nickname spilled out before he could help himself. “I’d recognize that fancy fire anywhere. There you are! You know I was looking everywhere for you after the explosion?”

Marian Hawke grinned from the ledge above him, leaning heavily on a staff he didn’t recognize. She looked exhausted, but otherwise steady on her feet. Beside her was the Seeker, the one who’d had them both hauled here to Haven, and Varric’s relief suddenly shrank. Shit. What’s she doing here?

“More will come if we cannot close the rift,” Solas warned. He gazed up at Hawke, and there was something odd in his eyes, something cunning. “You. Quickly, before more come!” He beckoned, and Hawke’s smile vanished. She leapt down from the ledge, landing unsteadily on her feet, and joined the elf in front of the pulsing green tear.

“What do I --” she started, but Solas grabbed her by the wrist and thrust her hand into the air.

Her hand was -- wrong.

Green light, the same as the small rift before them and the vast chasm above them, rippled from her palm, even through the leather glove she wore. It reminded Varric of how Anders looked when Justice took him over, except he knew damn well Hawke had sworn to never have anything to do with spirits. The light in her hand, maybe a tear itself, flared and flashed -- the rift closed --

Solas dropped her hand and Hawke stared at him, clearly baffled. “What did you do?”

Solas looked both gratified and resigned. “I did nothing. The credit is yours.”

Hawke rubbed both hands together, but the green light remained. Not a spell, then, Varric thought. His stomach dropped somewhere into the vicinity of his boots.

“You mean this,” Hawke said ruefully, holding her left hand out in front of her.

Solas nodded, wearing a grave expression. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.”

The Seeker frowned at Hawke. “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”

Solas turned to Cassandra. “Possibly.”

Hawke stared at her hand, turning it over. Green shone faintly even from the back of her hand, though at least it wasn’t as blindingly strange as the light that emanated from the palm of her glove.

Solas spoke, and she visibly startled at his words. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Varric pushed forward into their conversation. Maybe he could rescue Hawke from their clutches if he could just figure out the right angle. He settled on sarcasm to start. “Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

Hawke laughed, laying her hand on his shoulder. He stiffened at her touch, his thoughts scattering at the sound of her familiar voice.

“Oh, Varric. I think we’re ass-deep in a lot of things right now. Trouble, mainly.”

“I no longer believe that it was you who opened the great rift in the sky,” said the Seeker begrudgingly. “You are not a prisoner.”

“For now, you mean,” said Hawke. “That wasn’t the case an hour ago.” She grimaced, rubbing her wrist.

“She did not do this,” Solas declared. “I cannot conceive of a mage possessing such power. If she had truly controlled whatever power caused this breach in our world, it would not have left her near death.”

Varric froze. Of course, after the Conclave explosion, he’d heard the rumors. Someone pulled from the Fade. Someone the mages had all done their best to save, until a nobody named Solas stepped in and got them stable. But he’d dismissed the rumors -- he’d been looking for Hawke in the camp, in the pub, anywhere but in the Fade.

“Near death? That was you?” Varric murmured, looking up at Hawke. She flushed, doing her best not to look back at him. Her hand trembled on his shoulder. “Maker’s breath, Hawke, I didn’t know.”

She gave him a forced grin. “Neither did I. First thing I remember after I saw you at camp that morning is waking up in shackles. Whatever happened, it gave me an absolutely wicked hangover.”

Cassandra and Solas began talking about the rift above them, and Varric used the opportunity to pull Hawke aside. He lifted her hand from his shoulder, cradling it in his own despite the green light dancing across her open palm. “Are you okay? What is this thing, Hawke?”

She flexed her hand stubbornly into a fist, her face brave, her eyes a little too bright. “Dunno what you mean,” she said with false, hearty cheer.

“Uh. That creepy green light glowing through your glove? You don’t think that’s a little unusual?”

“It’s a new fashion choice I’m trying out! Do you like it?” she attempted. He just looked at her. Her face fell, and she admitted, “I… don’t know what it is, Varric. But they think it made that. The Breach.” She lifted her face to the sky, and her hair shone with faint splashes of reflected Fade-light.

“We must press forward,” interrupted Cassandra. “Come. We are needed elsewhere, particularly if your mark can truly aid us against the Breach.” She raised one eyebrow at Hawke and Varric, and Varric hastily let go of Hawke’s hand. Wouldn’t do to start rumors. Baseless ones, anyway, he was pretty sure.

But Hawke’s gaze lingered on him a little longer than he’d expected, and he took a deep breath, wondering.

It was even more of a disaster than he’d thought, which was saying something.

They’d made it through the mountain pass to the ruins of the Haven temple, saving a group of spies along the way, pressing on as Cassandra had wanted. Solas had a plan, an idea to deal with the first rift that had opened, and it sounded like it might work.

Varric couldn’t argue. Neither did Hawke, even though they were both usually excellent at it. The Breach boiled the skies above them, wrong and horrible and everything Varric had ever hated about magical shit. They had to do what they could, he knew that. Even if there was a chance it wouldn’t work.

He’d managed to come to terms with that pretty quickly, all things considered. He’d even started to allow himself a tiny measure of hope, especially since Hawke had been able to close another rift successfully. They crept into the ruins of the temple, getting ever closer to the rift Solas said had started the explosion. How he could tell, Varric couldn’t guess, and he wasn’t about to ask.

They passed skeletons of ash, flames still flickering at the edges of what had been hands or eyes. The stench was like the ruins of Kirkwall’s chantry, a scent like drakestone, the char of flesh. Varric tried not to look at the remains of the poor bastards who’d been caught in the blast. He wondered again, how had Hawke survived?

But the question was driven out of his mind when he realized that things had, somehow, gone from bad to worse.

Red lyrium jutted out of the temple ruins, softly glowing with its own foul light. He stared at the clusters, pulsing in vermilion and scarlet as his stomach turned. Fuck, he could even hear it, a faint shrill whine he could sense in his ears and chest. Fuck. Fuck.

“Fuck,” said Hawke.

Varric almost laughed. Good old Brightside. “This isn’t the first time you’ve read my mind, you know.”

“And it shan’t be the last, if this all goes well,” said Hawke. She peered closely at the lyrium, then coughed. “Eurgh, awful. It makes me ill. I don’t understand how it could be here. I thought we’d seen the last of this dreadful stuff!”

“You and me both,” said Varric heavily. “I never wanted to see this again.”

“Perhaps it is but a sign of the blast,” Cassandra theorized. “Perhaps magic strong enough to tear the Veil could also do this.”

Solas shook his head. “This is like nothing I have seen before, even in the deepest reaches of the Fade. We must do what we can to close this rift.”

“Working on it,” said Hawke, but the green light in her hand blazed suddenly, and she doubled over with a gasp.

“Hawke!” Varric cried.

“It’s nothing,” she hissed, holding onto her staff for support. Her face was pale. “Let’s just -- let’s get through it. Buy me a pint after?” She closed her eyes, letting out a groan under her breath, and forced herself to straighten up. She wavered slightly on her feet.

Varric stared at her helplessly. Cassandra’s mouth thinned into a look of faint concern. Solas seemed as stoic as ever. Was he the only one who could see how bad this was?

“I’ll buy you six,” he managed, and Hawke smiled, looking wan and pale. That was something, at least. It wasn’t enough, but he’d take it. Maybe he’d try optimism for a change.

Anything for Hawke.

Optimism had been a terrible idea.

The demon that had leapt out of the rift hadn’t been a measly shade or a wispy bit of spirit. No, it had been a pride demon the size of a battle-tower, roaring a challenge across the field, brandishing a whip of pure lightning. But Hawke, his brilliant, headstrong, utterly insane Hawke had leapt forward with her magic flaring and her hand flashing, leading the charge.

The fighting was brutal. Bianca loosed bolt after bolt, and he crisscrossed the battlefield, laying down caltrops and scrambling out of the way whenever the thing got too close. Magic buzzed and flamed and cracked around them. Cassandra danced around the demon’s feet, drawing its ire.

But the demon was powerful, and the lightning whip lashed against them, knocking Varric to the ground. Lightning coursed through him and he writhed, muscles spasming against their will. Bianca clattered against the stones, and he struggled against the sparking whip, gasping for air, unable to call for help --

Cassandra let out a bellow of a battlecry, and the sound of steel rang clear across the field. The demon shrieked and fell to the ground with a terrible, shuddering blow. The lightning sparking in Varric’s chest vanished, and he sucked in precious air, his heart stuttering.

It had been defeated, finally. And from where he lay Varric could just make out Hawke, dragging herself upright, flinging her hand into the sky. She closed her fist --

There was a deafening sound like a clap of thunder, a shock wave that rolled through him. He blinked, gazing up at the stormy skies, trying to catch his breath.

The rift here at the epicenter had closed. He could see a faint greenish seam rippling in the very air where it had hung, a scar left behind. But the great rift, the Breach, still spooled threateningly across the distant sky. His eyes stung.

It wasn’t enough.

Struggling, he rolled over onto his chest and started to cough. He tasted blood. He reached for Bianca and pulled her close. Blearily he raised his head, searching for Hawke.

“Hawke!” he called, his voice faint.

Fifteen feet away Cassandra stood huddled over someone on the ground, someone who wasn’t moving. No. Varric staggered to his feet, lightning echoes still searing in his arm and chest, and limped to them. Maybe it was Solas, wounded --

His vision blurred. Hawke lay collapsed on the ground, still as death.

“Is she -- is she --”

Cassandra turned to him. Blood matted her hair, marred her mouth. “She is not responding.” She looked him up and down, squinting one blackened eye. “Varric, you’re hurt.”

He coughed again. “It’s a flesh wound. I’m fine,” he croaked. “Besides, like you’re one to talk.”

He sank to his knees beside Hawke, and reached out a trembling hand, cupping her cheek. “Damn it, Brightside. Wake up!”

But Hawke lay there crumpled, the green sparks in her hand faint at last, her face gray and slack. Panic seized him and he pressed his ear to her chest, only daring to breathe again once he’d realized she still drew air herself. He fell back, panting, and heard soft footsteps drawing near.

“We must get aid,” said Solas. His voice was tinny and small, sounding as if it was coming from very far away.

“They are badly wounded. We need a healer --”

Varric opened his mouth to argue, but a racking cough seized him. Black speckles crowded around the edges of his vision. Oh, shit, he thought, and then he hit the ground.

Varric groaned, rolling over in bed. He felt sore all over, especially in the chest and arm, but he had a vague sense that he was better off than he was before. He blinked, realizing that he was in an unfamiliar wooden cabin, in an oversized bed that wasn’t his.

“What the…” he mumbled. He glanced out the window, and realized the morning light was tinged in green.

The Breach.

Red lyrium.

Hawke.

He cast around the room, looking for any clues. A bedside table was cluttered with potions and bandaging supplies. A low fire crackled in the hearth across the room. And there, against the far wall —

There was a second bed across the room with a chair pulled up beside it. The person in the bed was rolled away from him, but he’d recognize that shock of dark hair anywhere -- not to mention the faint green light from the hand curled up on their side.

“Hawke,” he sighed. He gingerly scooted to the edge of the bed and slid down to the floor, cursing the height of human beds.

He pulled his blanket off to wrap around his shoulders. He’d been stripped down to his smallclothes — good thing modesty had never been one of his concerns — and in Haven’s mountain air he was freezing, even with the small fire in the hearth. He pulled the blanket closer to himself like a robe, and shuffled to the bed across the way, climbing stiffly into the tall chair at the bedside. His feet didn’t reach the ground, so he kicked them back and forth aimlessly.

He gazed at the back of Hawke’s head, his chest aching in a way that had nothing to do with lightning-burns.

“How do you manage to get yourself into these messes, Brightside?” he murmured. “And why am I always the damn fool tagging along?”

This was too much. They’d come here to try and put an end to the madness of the past few years, tell the Divine their piece once and for all, explain they hadn’t known what Anders was planning, point out all the ways they’d both tried to help Kirkwall through the years. The Seeker had promised that the Divine could clear their names if they were truly speaking the truth. After that, they were supposed to be able to go back home, sort things out, see their friends again. It was supposed to be a fresh start.

They weren’t supposed to be trapped here, with a mess far greater than anything Anders had ever done.

Varric hunkered deeper into his blanket, sighing. “I don’t know how I’m going to write this into my next book.” His words rang out into the quiet of the crackling fire and Hawke’s steady breathing. “It’s just not believable.”

“Mmm…” Hawke yawned. “What’s not believable?” She rolled over, gazing back at him through bleary eyes and mussed hair. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and a blue bruise shadowed her cheek. But there was color in her face again, and he thought she had never looked more beautiful.

“That this shit keeps happening to you,” Varric said, his face creasing into a broad smile. “Dammit, Hawke, it’s good to see you.” He reached out to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, and she closed her eyes for a moment, leaning slightly against his hand. He drew back.

She yawned again, rubbing her eyes. Then she spotted the green mark still faintly flickering from her hand, and she jerked it back as if she’d been burned. “Do you know,” she said drily, “I’d truly hoped this had all been a nasty dream?”

“Sorry, Brightside. I think it’s really real,” said Varric. “Weird shit and all. How are you feeling?”

“Mostly fine,” Hawke said, pulling herself up to a sitting position. Her blanket slipped, revealing the smallclothes she was wearing. She flushed, pulling her blanket back up over her chest. “Somewhat scantily clad. And I’ve got a splitting awful headache.”

“You and me both, on the scantily clad,” said Varric, lowering his blanket a little to show his bare chest. Glancing down, he realized there were still red burn marks lashing his torso. Magical healing only worked so well on dwarves. He grimaced and pulled the blanket back up hastily. “I guess that demon gave as good as it got.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she muttered. “Like I said, I’d been hoping very much it was all a dream.” She frowned, brows knitting together in concern. “Are you all right? Those burns look nasty.”

He waved a hand. “They’re a lot better than they were.” He winced. “Someone’s done some healing magic, I think.”

“It never works as well for you,” she said quietly. “Don’t put on a brave face for my account, Varric.”

“Well, I could say the same for you,” he pointed out. “What about that? How’s it feeling?”

She glared at her marked hand, then poked her tongue out at it. “This doesn’t seem to hurt as much, at least, but I can’t figure out how I got the damn thing at all.”

“You still don’t remember?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. It’s all still such a void. I can’t imagine any spell, any power I possess, turning into… this.” She took a deep breath, blinking back tears. “D’you think we’ll get a good story out of it, at any rate?”

“Not everything has to be a story, you know,” Varric said. “I know I’m one to talk, but this is almost too big for my kind of story.” He paused. “How are you doing? Really?”

“Really?” She hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “Oh come on, wouldn’t you rather I crack a joke and we can laugh like old times’ sake? No need to go all maudlin on you.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe he should let her put on her armor, the same sort he always wore when things got too tough, too much, too real; the armor he’d worn any time Bartrand came up, the armor he wore any time that he thought he ought to tell her how he felt. Maybe she was afraid to go without it. But if she never stopped wearing it — he’d seen what those last years in Kirkwall looked like, how it all weighed on her, and he knew she deserved better.

Maybe it’d be good for both of them to drop the armor.

Which was a far grander sentiment than what he actually said. The curse of being an author was that his interior monologue was often so much richer than what made it out of his mouth. Instead of anything poetic, all he came up with was, “Hey, it’s me, Hawke.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “You don’t have to bullshit.”

Hawke let out a long, tremulous breath. “Well, to be honest… I suppose I’m afraid.”

“I think you’d have to be crazy not to be,” Varric said. He moved a little closer to the edge of his chair, closing some of the distance between them. He shrugged. “We’re in way over our heads.”

She glanced at him, her eyes too bright. “I’m sorry, Varric.”

“You’re sorry?” Varric asked in surprise. “For what? For saving the day? Or at least, saving it enough for us to have another one? I’m not following, Brightside.”

“For getting us mixed up in all this!” she snapped. She grimaced, clenching her hand into a fist and biting her lip. “I thought if I came willingly to Haven with you and Cassandra that we’d be able to talk our way out of the Kirkwall business together, and we’d be able to clear my name and go back to Kirkwall in peace. I mean, as much peace as one could find with a war going on.” Her shoulders sagged. “But instead I’ve got myself all tangled up in whatever the Inquisition thinks it’s doing, I fear.” She shook her head miserably. “You at least ought to get out while you can.”

“Are you kidding me?” Varric snorted. “You don’t think I could have given Cassandra the slip in a hundred different ways on the way here? I could have left any time, Hawke. But I never would. Not if --” Oh, shit. This was getting close to the truth, wasn’t it? He stopped himself.

“Not if what, Varric?” Hawke asked. Her blue eyes were keen and luminous. She leaned toward him, tilting her head slightly to one side.

Words failed him. Maybe it was the fact that he was still lightheaded from his injury. Maybe he was just tired of skirting the issue, now that he’d nearly lost her. Maybe it was just that it was time to finally put aside the armor. The words tumbled out of his mouth, wholly unedited.

“Not if you needed me.”

“If I needed --” she began. She stopped, then said under her breath, “‘Always the damn fool tagging along.’ Oh.”

He waited for her to put the pieces together, and looked out the window, at the rising dawn, at the Breach, at anything but her.

“Varric…” Her voice rose in a giggly, slightly disbelieving accusation. “Look at me.”

He turned sheepishly back to her. His face felt as seared as if he’d been struck by lightning again. “Ahh, Hawke, don’t worry about it. Chalk it up to post-demon-fight delirium, if you will. No reason to mess up a good thing with a foolish dwarf’s infatuation.”

Hawke quirked an eyebrow at him. “Varric, I’ve never seen you blush so much. You’re a good liar, but even you trip up now and then.” She reached out and laid her hand over his, and his heart raced. A thought struck him, wild and incredibly unlikely.

“Weird thing is, Hawke, you don’t exactly seem surprised….”

She blinked, eyes bright again. “You daft fool, why do you think I really came along? They were going to court-martial you too. I came as much to clear your name as to clear mine. I could never have forgiven myself if something happened to you because of me, and it very nearly did with this demon, and well, just so you know, I’d tag along with you any day.” She grinned furtively. “It’s just, I’ve never quite figured out how to tell you.”

“Don’t pull my leg on this, Hawke. I mean it,” he warned, his stomach swooping. Shit. If she really means it -- shit!

“Have I ever lied to you before?” she asked, all trace of joking suddenly vanishing from her face. She looked nearly as nervous as he felt.

He opened his mouth to say yes, of course you have! But he realized that while he’d seen Hawke spin a thousand lies and half-truths through the years, that while she’d lied her ass off beside him to get out of more than one tight jam, she had never lied to him.

“Huh,” he stammered.

“I thought -- well, I don’t know, Varric, I assumed you’d only ever thought of me as a friend,” Hawke explained. “Or that you only had eyes for Bianca, wherever she might be.”

“Bianca’s more a memory than anything else now,” he said haltingly. “We closed that book a long time ago. But I thought — well, I thought you only saw me as a friend. I mean, you’re Hawke. You’re not exactly shy. If you felt otherwise, I figured you’d have said so.”

“Shy might not be the right word,” she mused. “Inept might be better. Or even just preoccupied, what with everything going on in Kirkwall.”

Varric nodded to himself, quietly astounded. Suddenly years of flirting and inside jokes and little touches here and there were clicking into place in a way they never had before. Damn. For a moment, they were both at a loss for words.

Varric finally broke the silence. “Uh, Hawke?” he asked softly.

“Yes?” She leaned in close to him. He could feel her breath on his cheeks, could count her dark eyelashes.

“We’re bad at this, aren’t we?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she whispered. “This part’s going all right.” And she pressed her lips to his in a soft, searching, clumsy kiss.

He closed his eyes, reached out, drew her close. She sank into his arms, her mouth warm against his, her skin softer than he could have ever guessed. For a moment, there was no broken world outside, no Breach in the sky; there was just Hawke, and that was everything.

Time passed; he wasn’t sure how long. At last she pulled back slightly, leaning her forehead against his and chuckling quietly to herself. “I suppose that’s one way to render Varric Tethras speechless.”

He snorted, reaching up and brushing her soft cheek with his fingertips. “I mean, it could have been a fluke. Maybe we should test this theory of yours. I’ll volunteer.”

“A shameless ploy for another kiss, I see. It’s a good thing I like you,” Hawke declared. She let out a long, sweet sigh. “Varric, do you know, I almost feel like I could face anything right now.”

“You’re telling me,” said Varric. “Hey, if we can finally figure this out --” He gestured between the two of them. “-- then the Breach doesn’t stand a chance.”

“How optimistic of you,” she said cheerily. There was that Brightside smile, beaming, bold, beautiful, and just for him. How the hell had he gotten so lucky? Maybe he’d have to rethink the whole optimism thing. “All right then, Varric. You and me against the Fade. Are you in?”

He kissed her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

#hawke x varric #varric x hawke #varric tethras #f!hawke #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #dai #hawke #hightown funk

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fenharel-babe · 2 years

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My Fenhawke Headcannon (for my Jane):

Fenris is broody and seems to be against touch because of his marks, but I like to imagine that once he gets closer to Hawke and says he loves her, he sort of likes it when she touches him. If she runs her hands down his arms or over his chest or touch his neck, he doesn’t react badly anymore and actually leans into it.

I just wanted to say that bc I’m craving Fenhawke content in this day.

#Fenhawke #dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age 2 Fenris #hawke x fenris #fenris x hawke #f!hawke x fenris #fenris x f!hawke #PLEASE F!HAWKE AND FENRIS!!!#I LOVE him OKAY? he’s so sweet and broody ahdbhnnng #yes Varric I’d have broody babies with him lol #love him and his dry tone when he makes a joke (Fenris I mean).#Jane finds it funny but always teases him for it.

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gayhawkelatehomicide · 2 years

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Alike In Sorrow pt. 2

Here's the next section of this! This one's a bit chonky but yanno. We're doing our best.

***

Words: 1646

Rating: T for alcohol and swearing

Additional Tags: some Isabela lovin' in here, also Varric being the world's best bestie, more questionable coping mechanisms though this time there's less murder, Kiera be nice to Cole or I will turn this Inquisition around, brief cameo from my Trevelyan tho he's got his own problems

***

"Liquor and laughing, sea salt spray and spices. She dances through the dark, daggers darting, dangerous and daring. Glint of teeth when she grins, leather boots and spilled ale, gold gleaming and her voice soft in the early morning. She misses you."

Kiera scowls at the kid. This time, he's materialized sitting on the other end of the table, feet on the bench. She's had about four drinks too many and was getting close to comfortably wasted, listening to the Chargers' raucous laughter and slowly relaxing into her corner chair. The noise and the smells are almost right, just missing the faint fishy tang you can never escape in Lowtown, and the sound of Norah complaining about the customers. Hawke was beginning to feel vaguely at home; any minute now someone would burst through the door with a problem only the Champion can solve.

Trust Varric's little mind reader to show up and ruin a decent drinking session. She's really going to have to have words with him about the kind of people he decides to adopt. First it was her—probably the best thing to ever happen to him—and his judgment has gone downhill from there. Merrill was kind of a mutual mistake, but Cole is a different issue entirely.

"Do you ever ask before you go rooting around in people's heads, or is that too much effort?" She asks, finishing her drink because if she's going to have a conversation with the spirit kid, she'd like to be drunker than this.

"I can only hear people who need me," he explains. She's not sure how she knows, because the hat still obscures most of his face, but he's watching the drinking with concerned disapproval. It's uncomfortably similar to how Varric used to watch her, in the months after the fight with the Arishok and Isabella's disappearance.

Hawke quirks a sardonic eyebrow at him, not feeling quite up to her usual witty repartee. "And I need you?"

"You're... sad. Hurt and hurting. Waiting, weighed down with wars you didn't win, too heavy to fly. People who need protecting. A hall with a hundred doors, each one locked by loss. A tower deep in the ground with barriers built by blood. Father's voice in the shadows. Some doors should stay shut. You think you let the darkness out, but it isn't your fault. None of it was your fault."

Kiera looks at him for a long moment, trying to summon up the energy to get mad. Her analogy about the closed doors in her heart isn't one she's ever spoken out loud, not even to Varric, and they haven't told anyone the details of her father's work with the Gray Wardens to bind Corryphyus. If she had any doubts that the kid was reading minds, they're gone now. She wants to be pissed that he's sticking his nose in her head and looking for the really painful stuff she locked away, but her own Maker-damned sense of fairness intrudes. He's only trying to help. And hell, maybe she needed to hear some of this shit. She sighs.

"So Isabela misses me, huh?"

"A swagger in her step like the swell of the sea, eyes distant as the horizon and just as beautiful, freedom feels like my ship under my soles and her sword-rough hand in my hand, Maker bring her back to me." His voice is rhythmic, like he's reciting something he memorized, but Hawke recognizes her lover's sentiments all the same. Isabela rarely says such things aloud, of course. The two of them don't need romantic words to understand how much they mean to each other. She knows Isabela worries when they're apart, because Hawke's conscience drives her into danger wherever she goes, but worrying has never been a good enough reason for either of them to change how they act. Still, she appreciates hearing it.

"I miss her too," Kiera hears herself mumble into her drink, which has been refilled by a passing barmaid. She didn't mean to say it. Something about this kid inspires her to uncharacteristic honesty. Better figure out how to quit that before someone notices.

"I know."

"She's not even here," Hawke rallies, sitting up straighter to squint curiously at Cole. "How can you read her mind from all the way in Llomeryn?"

He shrugs, a gesture which looks a little too stiff to be natural for him. "Her hurt touches yours."

"Huh."

Before she can come up with something else to ask—anything so they don't have to talk about Corryphyus and all the people she made it possible for him to hurt—a commotion at the door draws both of their attention. Inquisitor Trevelyan, Varric, and Warden Blackwall come trooping in looking like they've been dragged ass-first through Darktown, which means they were probably out looking for Maker-knows-what in that awful swamp to the southeast. She has a distant memory of listening to Varric gripe about the trip before leaving, and the vague impression that his lengthy absence might have something to do with her decision to get absolutely wasted. Regardless of her motivations, he's here now, so Hawke lifts a hand to wave him over, favoring the Inquisitor with a halfhearted salute.

Trevelyan returns it, bemused, then follows Blackwall to the bar. Varric changes course to join Hawke and Cole. Except now there's no Cole, and it's just Hawke sitting by herself at her corner table, looking drunk and a little pathetic. Varric coasts to a stop as soon as he gets close enough to be heard, staying well out of range of any potential retribution for his obligatory quip about the number of empty mugs she hasn't let the waitresses take away. (You learn to hang onto them, in the Hanged Man, if only as a way to keep track of how many you've had. Corrf likes to charge you for at least three extras if you don't count them yourself. Hawke usually lets him—it's not like she doesn't have the coin—but it's a hard habit to break.)

"We've got to talk about the company you keep, Varric," she beats him to the punch. Her words come out a little blurry, but she's sure he gets the gist.

"Oh, this I've gotta hear." Varric's worried expression slides easily into a practiced grin as he pulls up a chair. "You getting on my case for hanging out with crazies. Somebody alert the Empress."

She sticks out her tongue at him, with great dignity. "Your little..." Hawke waves a hand vaguely attic-ward, too drunk to come up with anything more polite than 'shit' and pretty certain that she'd get in trouble for saying it. "He keeps fuckin' around in my head."

An eyebrow goes up. "And you remember it? The kid slips through most people's memory like water."

"Prolonged exposure to Merrill and Anders," she suggests by way of explanation, though most of the syllables get lost on the way from her brain to her mouth.

Varric is, by now, an expert at translating her drunken slurring into coherent speech. "That might make sense if you squint. Good enough for me, but don't let Sparkler hear it. He'll haul you off for tests." He starts consolidating the empty cups into rows to make them easier to collect. "Maybe you can help me talk to Cole sometime. I can't keep most of our conversations straight unless he's trying real hard to be present."

"Nah, that's part of the problem," she squints over the rim of her most recent mug as she takes another hearty swig. "Can't really keep hold of what he said, just know I'm mad about it."

"Yeah, that sounds like you," Varric agrees in a tone somewhere between resigned and exasperated. "You know, Hawke, he's a spirit of compassion. He helps people work out whatever's eating them, and you've got more baggage than most people. A lot more."

"What, are you trying to imply I'm not a well-adjusted member of society?" Hawke grins, settling her chin on her arms to be closer to eye level with her best friend. It's harder to see him through the mugs from this angle, but her neck doesn't ache as much.

"No, no. I'd never spread such obvious slander," Varric assures her. "Just saying, maybe let the kid help. If he messes up too badly, you won't remember it anyways."

This seems like a sensible approach, so she nods without sitting up again. Hawke is awfully comfortable all of a sudden—since she stopped wearing her breastplate to the tavern it's much easier to slouch against the table without the gorget getting in the way. Her eyes slide shut. She's tired and drunk and warm, and she's just going to close them for a minute. Besides, Varric is here now and she can relax for the first time in days. Varric won't let anything happen while she rests. He'll wake her up if anything comes to burn down their city. It's safe.

She wakes up in her room, bleary and momentarily panicked, sitting bolt upright before the familiar smell of ink, leather, and Bianca's distinctive rail lubricant sinks in. Varric has his back to her—though Hawke doesn't for a moment make the mistake of thinking he doesn't know she's awake—and is humming softly to himself as he lovingly works oil into the wheels and wires of his crossbow. The windows are closed, the door is bolted, there's a fire in the grate, her boots are by the door, her armor is on its stand, and Hawke is tucked into her bed. The muscles in her shoulders relax. She lies back down, feeling the tension go out of her neck and forehead, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly a few times to force herself to calm down. Bethany taught her that, when they were very young. She's not alone.

It is safe.

#dragon age #dai #da2 #my writing #Kiera Hawke #f!hawke #f!warrior hawke #sad bastard warrior hawke #hawke x isabela #some Isabela lovin' in here #also Varric being the world's best bestie #more questionable coping mechanisms though this time there's less murder #Kiera be nice to Cole or I will turn this Inquisition around #brief cameo from my Trevelyan tho he's got his own problems

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dawnsumhrs · 7 months

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kirkwall dashboard simulator

⚔️ hawke-defence-squad Follow

the champion of kirkwall was only 28 when they battled the arishok??

⚔️ hawke-defence-squad Follow

they should’ve been at the club

🌃 kirkwallsballs Follow

they were lol. my brother works at the hanged man in lowtown they’re a regular customer

⚔️ hawke-defence-squad Follow

???? @varric-tethras-official CONFIRM

📖 varric-tethras-official ✔️✔️✔️ Follow

😉

(13,437 notes)

🌸 wlw-elfroot follow

How you can help Fereldan refugees:

Sign this petition that asks the Viscount to reopen Kirkwall to refugees.

Donate to Lirene’s Fereldan Imports.

Join the mutual aid groups that visit the Gallows Courtyard in handing out food and supplies.

Keep reading

#activism #politics #fereldan #current events

(6,254 notes)

☠️ dragonfucker08 Follow

who up getting boned in they pit

(2 notes)

🌒 bigdickmaker Follow

#destiel news #breaking news #chantry #mage rights

(1,082 notes)

⚰️ anarcho_elf Follow

unfollow me right now if you still fucking support hawke. they’re just another class traitor now and their brother is a KNOWN templar

🌿 daisymerrill Follow

216.31.157.125

(78 notes)

💋 meredithsimp Follow

Red Lyrium!Meredith Stannard x F!Reader

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Meredith fucks you on lyrium imagines

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Warnings: insanity, NSFW, lyrium abuse, 18+

Keep reading

#x reader #x reader smut #imagines #meredith stannard

(1,164 notes)

🎨 sabrae-creates Follow

new item added to my etsy! i just finished these wooden halla carvings and i’m really proud of how they turned out, support dalish artists :)

link to my store

#wood carving #halla #artistsontumblr #sculpture #my art

(105 notes)

🪦 bloodl0tus Follow

why is the arishok kinda…

🪦 bloodl0tus Follow

omg who said that

🍄 friend-of-the-nugs Follow

YOU’RE INSANE

(46 notes)

#dragon age 2 #dragon age #dashboard simulator #kirkwall #da2 #fake dashboard #unreality #varric tethras #hawke #merrill #anders #arishok #meredith stannard

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psalacanthea · 3 months

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A Sky of Shattered Stars- 11: Blood for Blood

what? Yeah. Another chapter of the Hawke x Varric fic (it was almost done, lol). Kirkwall welcomes her Champion home from the Fade with another assassination attempt. Well, assassination attempt against Varric, which is the same exact thing as attacking Hawke.

Fic Found Here!

(there's a short prequel and some DA2 bits too in the series)

...

Hawke was starting to feel the poison.

Knowing she probably had less than an hour to make an antidote, she surged forward, pushing her way into the assassin moving for her from across the hall. They’d gone in Varric’s room. Rage and adrenaline driving her forward, she ran straight into their knife before it could aim at anything more deadly. It sank into her shoulder with a pain that only drove her on; it just fed the fire inside her.

The most important thing was to take the assassin down fast. Using her body weight and her momentum, she surged across the hall without stopping, dragging the charging assassin with her. Viciously, Hawke slammed them into the wall next to the door across the hall, the stiletto in her shoulder scraping bone, piercing through to the other side. She trapped it with her body.

The blade was inside her– it was hers now.

Eyes met hers, recognition in them; too bad she had no idea who this man was.

“You’re dead.”

“No, you are,” she hissed, tasting blood as it dripped down her sliced lip. And then she smiled, all bloody teeth. The cut in her lip split, but that was just more pain to add to the adrenaline. “Your only chance. Who?!” Her voice scaled up, a snarl, feral and protective and ready to rip out throats. “Who wants to kill Varric?! Who hired you?”

The assassin started to struggle, but there was no way in hell she was letting them get their blade out of her. It hurt like the void when they grabbed the hilt and jerked it, but Hawke just gritted her teeth and slammed her shoulder back into them again, knife scraping bone as it drove back into her. The assassin got a leg wrapped around hers, a disabling strike aimed for her eyes. Fancy moves. She avoided the gouging fingers going for her eyes by the simple expedient of biting the shit out of them. She clamped down and g round her teeth until they managed to pull free, leaving a chunk of skin between her teeth. While they were reeling she slammed her forehead into their nose, and something broke. They choked.

People never listened to her warnings.

Hawke spit the skin stripped from his fingers into the assassin’s face. “Welcome to fucking Kirkwall. I will rip your ear off with my fucking teeth so you either tell me or we start the torture,” she snarled, spitting blood into their face. It dripped down her chin, pooled in her mouth, but she didn’t care. “It won’t be fancy fucking torture. I just start tearing things off! WHO?!”

She saw the dart of their eyes, the calculation. “If you let me go-”

“Name first,” she growled, baring her teeth.

“O-orlanda Valisti.”

“Hawke, step back!”

Out of instinct, she did exactly that, slamming her forehead into the assassin’s jaw and then staggering back and out of the way, the knife ripping free of her shoulder. A crackling bolt of lightning slammed into the man’s chest, sparks of energy coursing through Hawke’s skin, making her teeth crawl. Ugh. Lightning magic. As the guy was being electrocuted, she drew her other blade and threw it into his throat for good measure.

Shit.

The arm that had gotten a knife through the shoulder was numb, fingers having difficulty curling in. Something had gotten damaged when they’d jerked the blade around. Impossible to tell, everything hurt. She was going to have to make the antidote one-handed. As Feynriel rushed up to her, she shook her head at him and snapped out an order.

“Check both the rooms. And the one they entered from, third on the left opposite up the hall from yours. Make sure there’s no more. Then come to my distillery. I’m poisoned.”

He glanced down at the bodies, looking unsettled, but nodded his head. “Y-yes. I’ll…” Falling silent, he turned and started walking.

She watched him go, using her good hand to rip off the damaged sleeve of her shirt. Binding it around her shoulder hurt like fuck and she’d pay for covering an uncleaned wound later, but she couldn’t risk bleeding to death. Streaks of it dripped down the length of her arm, and every breath hurt like fuck from the knife still in her back. A deep, dull throb pounded through her entire body from the blade, distracting and dulling her senses.

Both were less important than the poison.

Breathing, gathering her strength, Naomi stood in the middle of the carnage-strewn corridor, blood dripping off her limp fingertips.

Well what do you know, this place finally felt like home.

“Welcome fucking back, Kirkwall says!” She shouted hoarsely, voice echoing up and down the corridor. “You were complaining about the lack of crime?! Surprise! There’s still plenty of other nugshit in store!”

She spat blood.

#da fanfic #Hawke x Varric #f!Hawke x Varric #a sky of shattered stars #now time to get back to my projekt #for the month #hi thats her emotional support dwarf could u not

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havvkes · 3 months

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looking for moots/people to follow

veilguard hype got me again so I'm looking for more people to follow, i always aim to romance every character so that's probably what you're going to find here, however my main squeezes are cousland x alistair, f!hawke x everyone including seb and varric and my own oc x oc pairing for inquisition and (soon) a solavellan playthrough for the drama in veilguard

i follow from @jacknought 🖤

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #alistair theirin #varric tethras #im really desperate for more blogs to follow i wanna get away from twitter again

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littlelostmabari · 1 month

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Chapter 17: The End Begins (Part I)

In which Saoirse learns, once more, that her dreams have consequences.

Tagging @skinwalkingxana :)

Fandom: Dragon Age 2 / Dragon Age Inquisition

Current Pairings: Cullen Rutherford x OC. Background F!Hawke x Anders

Rating: M (Canon-typical violence & behavior, check tags & CW on chapters)

Links: Whole Work | Chapter 17 | Saoirse Character Sheet

(Dividers by cafekitsune)

"Have any of you actually cared for a child?" Saoirse looked around the room at Varric, then Choir Boy, then Anders, then Fenris. "Look at you, you can barely take care of yourselves." Choir Boy murmured something about the Maker, but Varric shushed him. The storyteller knew the beginnings of a speech when he heard it.

"None of you have ever made that kind of decision. Have you? Have any of you gone to bed hungry because there was only food enough for one, and damn your pain, the kid has to eat? Have you ever had to hold them while they cry, telling them that their nightmare wasn't real?" She stood now, although it was partly thanks to Donny's shoulder under her hand that she didn't collapse again, her knees shaking from exhaustion. "Have any of you ever sat on a street corner begging day in and day out, debating whether or not to use the kid for pity, because it feels really fucking shitty but maybe her three-year-old face might get you enough coin to sleep somewhere with a roof that doesn't leak and beds that don't bite?" The weight of the day was taking it's toll. Her voice softened as she met Anders' eyes.

"Have you ever loved someone so much" — her voice hitched, and Donny's hand was on her hip, keeping her upright — "that you know you have to give them to someone else because you know you can't give them the care, the attention... the love they deserve?" Her gaze drifted into the middle distance, where the hazy face of Jhessem lingered in her periphery.

"Because I have."

#we did some time skips in the previous chapters #but life still goes on even if Saoirse doesn't see it #she still has big “but i'm the protagonist” energy #this author thinks anders was right #but you can be right and still be a bad person #dragon age #da2 #dragon age 2 #dragon age fanfic #dragon age 2 fanfiction #da2 fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #work in progress #one of the good ones #5e girl in Thedas #oc:saoirse the druid #cullen rutherford #cullen x oc #cullen x oc slow burn

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unreadpoppy · 1 month

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Festis bei umo canavarum (part 1)

Fenris x F!Hawke

Read on AO3

Summary: Hawke and Fenris' relationship, from the moment they met, to them irritating one another, to feelings growing and more.

A/N: This is too long and it's only the first part but I got stuck and decided to post it anyways. Basically, there's many scenes from the game but with some added stuff. These two have been consuming my brain and I needed to write it down to distract myself from real life. Also, there's some sexual harrasment in this chapter, so be warned. Maybe it's a bit OOC but idc.

Word count: 7,774

When Meeran had contacted Hawke about a job, she did not think it would lead her to meeting a handsome elf, but she wasn’t complaining.

Before being attacked by yet another bounty hunter, a white haired man, covered in white tattoos, killed them in a rather unusual way - his hand phasing through their chests while he said “I am not a slave.”

He introduced himself as Fenris. He explained that those hunters had been sent after him by his old master, a Tevinter magister named Danarius. He needed protection and asked Hawke and her companions to help him end Danarius’s life.

They failed, as the magister had already fled his mansion, leaving only shades and rage demons behind. Fenris went outside, to catch some air, and when Hawke and the others appeared, he was leaning against a wall.

“I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul. ” He said, turning to look at Hawke. “And now I find myself in the presence of yet another mage.”

She raised a brow. It seemed that he was yet one more person that did not like mages. Though, considering his story, she wasn’t surprised.

“Oh? Am I?” She asked, although she knew the answer, Hawke hoped she could try to play dumb as to not reveal her identity, just as she did with the templars from time to time.

He did not buy it. “I saw you casting spells inside. I should have realized sooner what you really were.”

She did not like the tone he used. “When you speak like that, you make it seem like I’m sort of a terrible, hidden abomination.”

Fenris squinted his eyes and said “You are a mage.” As if the two things were one and the same. He then shook his head and asked “What manner a mage are you? What is it that you seek?”

Hawke crossed her arms. “Do you have a problem with mages?”

“I have an issue with magic and those who are careless with it.”

It was then that Carver said “If you have a problem with my sister, you have a problem with me.”

“I imagine I appear ungrateful. If so, I apologize, for nothing could be further from the truth. Idid not find Danarius, but I owe you a debt.” He proceeded to give Hawke all the coin he had. “Should you find yourself in need of assistance, I should gladly render it.”

Once again, she raised a brow, suspicious. “I’m surprised. You did not seem all that thrilled with me a moment ago.”

Fenris sighed. “You are not Danarius. Whether you are anything like him remains to be seen.”

After that, he proceeded to explain what led him to Kirkwall. His previous master had experimented on him, injecting lyrium into his skin, the reason as to how he had killed that man earlier, and why now Danarius was after him.

“He wishes his precious investment back, even if he must rip it from my corpse.”

It was then that Hawke found the perfect opportunity to tease the elf. “Seems like a waste of a perfectly handsome elf.”

Fenris chuckled nervously, clearing his throat and changing the subject. He spoke a bit more of Danarius, his markings and Tevinter, telling Hawke that he would reclaim the mansion as his own and should she need him, he’d be there.

With that, they said their goodbyes and left, Hawke saying she would talk to him later.

“Interesting fellow.” Hawke said to Varric and Carver, once they were heading back to the Hanged Man.

“An escaped ex-slave who hates mages.” Varric said. “This sure will be fun.”

True to her word, Hawke met with Fenris at his mansion the following night.

“Aggregio Pavalli. There are six bottles in the cellar.” He said, holding a wine bottle in his hand. “Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them.”

Hawke smirked. “I can’t imagine why they would be put off.”

“You say what’s on your mind, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m a very opinionated woman. Might as well share it with the world.”

Fenris huffed, taking a swing from the bottle before throwing it at the wall. “Good to know I can still take pleasure in the small things.”

Hawke raised a brow and looked at him. She worried for a second, questions raising in her mind about his behavior, and in part she wanted to comfort him.

Instead, however, Hawke decided to go with her usual sassiness. “You could at least offer me a glass first, you know.”

“There’s more, if you’re really interested.”

She waved a hand. “Perish the thought. How else would you redecorate the walls?” She leaned back in her chair, getting more comfortable.

Fenris laughed and then eyed her for a moment before sitting down. “You never answered my question.” She raised a brow and he clarified. “About what you are seeking.”

Hawke sighed. “Not more than what everyone else seeks. A good life for me and my family.”

He squinted his eyes. “A noble purpose. But I’ve seen many crimes committed in the name of that.”

“That’s rich coming from the man who carved his path to freedom in blood. By his own admission.”

Fenris clenched his jaw. “You saw that as if we were anything alike.”

“Are we not?”

“No.” He said harshly. “We are nothing alike. You mages will always hold more power than those of us who don’t use magic.”

She frowned. “If we were so powerful, we would have already ended the chantry and the templars.”

“It’s practically what they have done in Tevinter.”

“Good thing we are not in Tevinter then.” Hawke said.

“No, we are not.”

The conversation was growing tiring for the both of them. Before it became worse, Fenris decided to change the subject. He turned to look at the flames. “I’ve wanted to leave my past behind. But it won’t stay there.” Then he looked at Hawke again. “Tell me, have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?”

‘When he asks that after that little argument, it’s almost as if he wants me to leave’ Hawke thought. Instead, she said “I’ve no home to return to.”

“The Blight is over. You could rebuild what you lost. Do you truly not want to?”

She looked at him, studying his face, and something told her this question meant more to him than just mere curiosity. What it was, however, she could not tell.

Hawke sighed. “I must admit, I have thought about it. But if we were to return, we would face the same challenges we did when we arrived in Kirkwall a year ago. Better to stay here and tend what we have, then to start over again.”

“So you just moved on?”

“I had to.” She said. “My home was destroyed, my father and sister were dead, and while I’ll always carry them and Ferelden in my heart, I can’t cling on to the past forever if I mean to live my life.” Hawke looked at him. “Change is good.”

His lips formed a line. “I see.” He turned his face away, a frown appearing on his face and she wondered about what he was thinking.

“Do you intend on staying here?” Hawke asked.

“I haven’t decided.” He shrugged. “For now, it’s as good as any other place. I would return to Seheron if I could but…there is no life for me there.”

“You’re from Seheron?”

“It’s what I’ve been told.”

She frowned. “You were very young when you left, then?”

“Perhaps.”

Hawke blinked and decided to drop that line of questioning. “Speaking of plans for the future…You could track your former master down, I assume. Strike him when he least expects it.”

“I imagine he has returned to Minrathous, though I would not dare go near the city while he still lives.” He paused for a moment. “No, it is better to wait for him to leave his fortress. Fight from a fortified position.” Fenris looked at Hawke. “I do not expect your help when that day comes, but I would not turn it aside.”

“What, you think because I’m a mage I wouldn’t help you?” She said, smirking. Before he could reply, she added “I’m teasing you, don’t worry. But tell me, how long have you been running from Danarius?”

“Three years, now. He has a way of finding me - perhaps it is the markings?” He questioned to himself. “Whatever the means, it never takes him long for him to follow. This is the first time I’ve given him reason to pause. I suppose there’s an advantage in numbers.”

“Oh? So you’ve been alone this whole time, then?”

“Sort of. I had hirelings from time to time, when I had the coin. Never anyone of substance - until you.” He shook his head. “Danarius will not give up, however. I await his return.”

“And what if he gives up? What then.”

“Then I go to him. I will not live with a wolf at my back.”

“You won’t let sleeping dogs lie?”

“No. I am no fool.”

“I understand.” She said. Although they had only just met, Hawke noticed that Fenris seemed the type to never let go of the past. If that would be good or bad was yet to be seen. “Although, if you want to begin a new life, you could stay here.”

“I could see myself staying. For the right reasons.” He said, looking at her.

She raised a brow, a half smirk on her face. “Maybe it’s just me, but it sounds like you want to stick around.”

He smiled briefly and then shook his head. “I should thank you again for helping with the hunters. Had I known Anso would find me a woman so capable, I’d ask sooner.”

Hawke smiled. “It sounds like you’re about to ask for a loan.”

“Well, this mansion does require some upkeep.” He then stood up. “Perhaps I’ll practice my flattery for your next visit? With any luck I’ll become better at it.”

“Hopefully.” Hawke stood up, making her way towards the door. “It was quite a nice visit. I shall see you soon. Good night, Fenris.” She said as she left, and he only nodded

The week after they had met, Fenris followed Hawke and Varric to the Gallows for the first time. He had heard the stories about the place, of its past and present, and that now it was where the Circle of Magi resided.

Fenris had never been in a Circle before, though he had heard of them in Tevinter. He always wondered what they were like, if they truly could contain the mages and stop them from their wickedness.

At first, he had been somewhat excited about the idea. A place where mages couldn’t hurt anyone. But this one felt more like a prison, and for a moment, Fenris did not know if that was better or worse.

And although he usually did not mind the presence of templars, there were too many here and for a moment, he worried about Hawke’s presence there.

“Are you certain it is wise for you to be here?” He asked her.

She turned around and raised a brow at this question, but then smirked. “Oh, I’m sure nobody will notice little old me.”

“Very reassuring.”

“What? You mean to say that Hawke’s not your everyday, regular, citizen?” Varric chimed in sarcastically.

“Exactly. There’s nothing special about me for them to question.” Hawked then leaned. “Besides, these templars are so stupid, they could not tell someone was a mage even if they saw them practicing magic.”

Fenris scoffed. “If the templars are truly that bad at their jobs, why are you and Anders and Merrill so careful all the time?” He took a step forward as Hawke clenched her jaw. “I mean, by your own words, you should be able to easily parade magic around here and no one would notice.” He crossed his arms. “But the templars are good at what they do. Maybe a little too good, or else Anders wouldn’t complain about his little apostate friends being recaptured all the time.”

Hawke’s nostrils flared. “You are infuriating.”

He raised a brow. “Now you know how I feel.”

Before she could reply, Varric stepped in between the two. “Sorry to interrupt your lovely argument, but people are starting to look.” He said, pointing to the others around them.

Hawke took a deep breath and stepped behind. “Don’t worry, Varric, I’m sure Fenris and I can act like responsible adults.” She gave him a tight, fake smile.

“I know I can.” He said. “I’m not so sure if you mages can.”

Fenris did not understand Hawke’s interest in him. He never thought the woman to be so curious but after walking out of the Qunari compound, she began questioning.

“I didn’t know you knew the Qun.” She said. “Or that you spoke Qunlat.”

He huffed “There is much you don’t know about me.”

“And what if I wanted to know?”

“I would say you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

“Why? Because I want to know more about you?”

“Precisely.” Fenris walked ahead, trying to end the conversation.

But apparently, Hawke wasn’t done yet, as she soon catched up to him.

“You’re an interesting guy. What’s the harm in wanting to know more?”

“I’m not interesting.” He said, looking ahead and trying to ignore her.

“Oh, but you are.” She smirked. “I’m sure underneath that facade you put-”

Fenris stopped and turned to Hawke, irritated “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but I suggest you stop.”

“Or what?”

Fenris frowned, confused.

“If I don’t stop, what are you going to do?” She said.

“I-” Fenris hesitated, not knowing what to say, when Hawke began to laugh.

“You should see your face when you get mad.” She sighed. “Don’t worry, I just like pulling on your leg. I’ll leave you to your brooding.”

“I don’t-” Fenris began to say but Hawke had walked away, Varric showing up besides him.

“Yes, you do, Broody. Yes you do.” The dwarf said chuckling, and followed behind Hawke, leaving the elf to shake his head and wonder what exactly had he gotten himself into.

Fenris was an enigma that deeply confounded Hawke.

By all accounts, she should hate him. At every possible turn, Fenris would voice his distaste for mages. He’d speak on how they could not be trusted, give them too much power, freedom and you’ll have another Tevinter. The circle, the templars and the chantry’s actions were all justified in his eyes - after all, to him, mages were not strong enough to not give in to the temptation of demons and blood magic.

Hawke did not blame him for having that opinion, not after all he had endured. She believed anyone in his shoes would think the same. Maker, even she would hate mages if she had been stripped of her memory, her personhood and been experimented on, fated to carry those marks forever.

So no, Hawke did not blame Fenris for hating mages.

But it still hurt whenever he spoke so ill of them - in a way, he was speaking of her.

In Lothering, Hawke never thought much about her fellow mages or their plight. Of course she knew how bad things could be in the Circle, her father having escaped one, but besides herself and her family, she didn’t think of others.

Perhaps it had been selfish of her to not care about those beyond her family but it was not like there was much she could do. She didn’t know other mages besides her father and Bethany, why should she care about them?

It was only after Kirkwall that she began caring.

Although she was accustomed to hiding her identity in Lothering, the dynamic in Kirkwall was more oppressive. Knight-Commander Meredith seemed intent on squashing every mage under her thumb, the number of Tranquils rising everyday.

At first, she thought Anders was a little too radical in his views about the Circle and the Chantry. But then they met Karl and reality came crashing down on her.

She didn’t know how to explain what she felt. The idea of having her emotions, her personality stripped from her because she commited the sin of being born was too much to bear. Surely, there must be some other way, she thought, some other way to ensure mages wouldn’t turn to demons without doing…this.

“All color, all music in the world, gone.” Karl had said.

Hawke’s heart beat loudly in her ears, she felt like vomiting and she wanted to cry. She wanted to not be born a mage, to live in peaceful oblivion where she did not have to think of this, did not have to hear every templar she met say how dangerous her people were.

For days, that had been the only thing on her mind and maybe that was why she snapped at Fenris that night.

She did not remember what he had even said. It was probably another one of this comments on how all mages were terrible. Usually, she’d ignore them, but that night, she didn’t.

“Did you know” Hawke said, turning back to face him ”that mages do not choose to be born with magic?”

He frowned, getting by surprise with the question. “Yes, I do know. Why do you ask?”

“Well, because it certainly doesn’t look like it when you say those things about mages.”

“Am I supposed to turn a blind eye to all that mages have done simply because they were born that way?” He said angrily.

“That is not what I said.” Hawke tried to argue but he didn’t listen as he continued his rant.

“Is what Danarius and every other Tevinter magister done justified because they didn’t have a choice? You mages are all alike” he scoffed “You think your perceived oppression allows you to do whatever.”

“Perceived? Have you not seen how the templars treat us?”

“That’s because you give them all the reason to! If anything, the templars are not enough. Look at all the blood mages running around in this city.”

“They only do so because they have nothing else to turn to!” She shouted. “They take us from our homes, they give us no freedom and if we step just one hair out of line, we get ripped of our very essence. What else is there to do? There’s so many blood mages because of the templars and the chantry’s actions.”

“So you think blood magic is good?”

“No!” She groaned, frustrated. “I don’t agree with blood magic but I can understand why so many turn to it.”

Fenris shook his head. “Then you are just as bad as them.”

Hawke closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before looking at him defiantly. “Then why don’t you go tell the Knight-Commander about me?”

“What?”

She took a step forward. “If you think all mages should be locked up, then by all means, go tell the next templar you see about me, Anders and Merrill. We are apostates, after all.”

“Hawke.” He said in a low tone, almost as a warning. She continued to move towards him.

“No, because if you truly, truly think all mages are this awful and cannot be trusted, you’d already found the nearest templar and pointed them towards our houses.” She stopped at an arm’s length from him. “So tell me, Fenris, why do you keep us around if you hate all mages?”

It was his turn to take a deep breath. “I don’t…hate all mages.”

It was Hawke’s turn to be surprised. She frowned, waiting for him to continue.

“I am not blind. I know magic has its uses, and there are undoubtedly mages with good intentions. But even the best-intentioned mage can fall prey to temptation and their power is a curse to inflict upon others.”

“Do you think that of me?”

He looked at her. “You’re strong, Hawke.” He stepped closer to her. “Strong, capable… “ He stopped himself from saying something else, clearing his throat and then continuing. “You might be the only mage I trust to not listen to demons or turn to blood magic. Not all mages are like you, however.” After he said that, Fenris stepped back, walking away and leaving here alone.

Those sentences kept echoing in Hawke’s mind as she made her way back to Gamlen’s house. It hadn’t been the first time he had said that - after invading Danarius’ mansion, Fenris told her something similar.

“Had I known Anso would send a woman so capable, I might have asked him to look sooner.”

She remembered that first night when they met. She flirted with him then, finding it amusing how flustered he got when she called him handsome, his nervous chuckle endearing to her.

“Perhaps I’ll practice my flattery for the next visit? With any luck I’ll become better at it.”

Hawke shook her head. If what happened between the two of them that night served as indication, he had only gotten worse at it.

By all means, she should be angry at him, and part of her was. But the other part couldn’t help but latch on to one single thought: Fenris doesn’t hate me.

Fenris confounded her profusely because at the same time he hated mages, that he disagreed with her, he’d still trust Hawke.

And for some reason, that made Hawke feel something like warmth.

It was the middle of the night when Fenris was awoken by a knock on his door. He tried to ignore it but whoever it was, they wouldn’t go away until he opened the door.

“Varric.” He said, once he saw who was bothering him.

“Finally. For a second, I thought I was going to have to lockpick your door.”

“It’s late. What are you doing here?”

“It’s about Hawke.”

Fenris straightened his back. “Did something happen to her?”

“Yes. No. It’s complicated.” Varric scratched the back of his head. “Remember how we just got the first payment for all that treasure in the Deep Roads?” Fenris nodded. “Hawke was in a bit of a low mood because of her brother and I convinced her to go drink in the Hanged Man and one thing led to another, and well, I guess you have to see it for yourself.” Varric explained. “Look, I just need someone to drag Hawke back to her home, since I tried and failed.”

“And why call me? Wouldn’t Aveline be better for this? They’re friends and all.”

He shook his head. “Aveline’s gonna give her a scolding, and the others…you how they’re like. Rivianit would encourage her more, Daisy would end up joining in, and Blondie will talk about mages again. It has to be you.”

Fenris huffed. “Fine. But you’ll be owning me a favour.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you wish, elf.”

The two made their way to the Hanged Man, and from the outside, music could be heard.

“A group of traveling bards arrived a few hours ago.” Varric explained, before opening the door.

The moment Fenris stepped in, he understood why the dwarf was so worried.

There was Hawke, hopping from table to table, sitting in strange men’s lap and kissing them before standing up, throwing her arms in the air and dancing. Amusing as that was, it wouldn’t be much of a problem if it wasn’t for the fact that, that night, the Hanged Man was filled with templar recruits, many of whom eyed Hawke hungrily.

For a moment, Fenris just watched as she threw her head around, her brown hair splashing on her face, as she danced with her eyes closed without a care in the world. He had never seen her so…free. So relaxed, even if it was alcohol induced.

And he only smirked when, for a brief second, her green eyes met his, a blush spread across her round cheeks.

But the moment was short lived as a templar roughly grabbed her waist, his hands roaming her body, as he whispered something in her ear. Whatever it was that he had said, it was followed by Hawke elbowing him in the stomach.

“Get…off of me.” She said, speech a bit blurred.

“Feisty.” The man grabbed her wrist, bringing her close as he tried to kiss her. “I like it when they put up a fight.”

She struggled against him. “I said get off!” At the sudden shouting, the musicians stopped, and for a moment, all the in the tavern seemed to stop and look at the commotion, all on edge due to the templar presence.

In an instant, Fenris separated the two, putting himself in front of Hawke. “You heard her.”

“And who do you think you are?” The man put his hands on his chest and pushed Fenris. “I’m a fucking templar!”

Fenris growled, his lyrium markings beginning to glow blue. But before he could even think about striking the templar, Hawke decided to chime in.

“You…templars think you can…” she hiccuped “do what you…want. That you-you rule this city.”

“Hawke.” Fenris said, in that same warning tone he used before, turning his head to look at her.

“Don’t…don’t ‘Hawke’ me.” She said to Fenris and then turned to look at the templar. “You templar don’t scare me.” She took a swing from the cup in her hand, one that Varric immediately pried away from her. “If any- if anything, you should be scared of me.”

The templar’s expression went from angry to amused as he chuckled “That’s cute, but I don’t see why I should be scared of a drunk girl.”

Hawke stepped forward “You don’t-you don’t know what I’m capable of.” She said and from the corner of his eye, Fenris saw a spark of electricity run in between her fingers.

“Hawke” He whispered this time, his fingers lightly touching her wrist. She looked down, only now noticing that she was almost casting a spell.

The man didn’t seem to notice as he said “Don’t I? You couldn’t even fight me off by yourself. So, unless you’re one of those dirty mages…” he stopped mid sentence, noticing how Hawke shifted nervously.

The other templars seemed to have picked up on that as well, as some of them suddenly stood up. “You’re not a mage, are you?” The oldest of the group said.

Hawke looked at Fenris, nervous. He thought it weird, as in another time, she would have easily lied to them. But then he realized: she was so drunk, even lying seemed impossible to her now, and the templars had already caught her slipping.

Fenris evaluated the scene. Killing templars would not go well but he also wouldn’t just let them take Hawke. His jaw clenched, as he moved his hand towards his sword.

But, before he could act, Varric moved to his side, addressing the templars. “This is Enchanter Hawke from the Circle of Magi in Ferelden, she was sent here by order of King Alistair himself to help with the apostates and this is how you treat her?” He lied and then scoffed. “I remember a time in which your order was more respectable than that.”

It was the templars turn to gulp. “But she-she-”

“She what?” Varric interrupted him. “Had a little too much to drink? Aren’t you doing the same?” He threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “Maker forbid anyone try to have some fun around here.”

The templars all looked at each other, panicking. “Madam, I-”

“Oh sod it off. You harassed her enough.” The dwarf stepped in front of the templar. “If I were you, I’d run from here before she decides to tell the Knight-Commander how awful you’ve been treating such an honorable guest of the king.”

The man nodded, picked up his things and all the templars silently exited the tavern.

For a moment, everything stilled as no one moved, unsure of what to do.

Varric motioned to the bards. “Why’d you stop the music?” He said, and they began playing again. He then turned to the barkeeper. “And you - one round of drinks for everyone here, on my tab.” The people cheered and went back to their usual drinking and talking.

“Thank y-you, Varric.” Hawke said, through hiccups.

“Couldn’t let the templars mess with my favorite human, could I?” He said, and then turned to Fenris. “You make sure she gets home in one piece, ok.”

The elf nodded, leading Hawke outside the Hanged Man. It was only then that he realized he was still holding onto her wrist, though she seem to mind - or maybe, she hadn’t noticed yet. Either way, he let go and the two began making their way to Gamlen's house.

Usually, they wouldn’t have taken long, but due to Hawke tripping every five seconds and getting the way wrong, they had barely walked anything. After the tenth time she stumbled upon nothing, Fenris had enough.

Without a word, he picked up Hawke, one hand underneath her knees and the other supporting her back.

“Woah” She said before holding onto him for support. “You’re tall.”

“I’m not that tall.” He said and then huffed. “You’re heavier than you look.”

Hawke hiccuped. “Ar-are you calling me fat?”

“No.”

“Good.” She said, and put her head on his chest. For a moment, he thought of how close they were, how he’d never been that physically close to someone before. When he first got his markings, the pain was so unbearable, he refrained from others. But now, it was just a dull ache, one he could avoid if he didn’t think too much about it. Maybe it had been so long that he never realized they didn’t hurt as much.

Or maybe it was-

“Great, we’re killing templars now.” His thoughts were interrupted by Hawke saying that in a funny voice, followed by a chuckle.

“What?”

“Isn’t that what you…you said once? That one time, in the place with the people.” She explained. “You sound so…exasperated at the thought of killing templars.”

“Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because” she paused to take a deep breath “you looked like you were going to do your….your ripping out heart thing. You were…glowing.”

Fenris said nothing.

“Would you?” She asked.

“Would I what?”

“Would you have killed him? The templar?”

Fenris thought of his answer for a moment, before saying “Yes.”

“What?” Hawke said, flabbergasted. “Stop, stop, put me down.” She struggled until he did so. She wobbled at first, but then looked at him. “You would have?”

He crossed his arms. “Yes, Hawke, I would have.”

“Why?”

“You’d rather I rat you out to them?” Fenris said, deflecting.

“No…but you could have.” She said. Then, Hawke groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “You’re so confusing to me.”

He raised a brow. “How so?”

Hawke inhaled deeply, walking around as she spoke.“Every time we encounter some mage and templar, you always take their side, and then you pester me about it when I let the mages go scot-free and I don’t know, you’re always complaining about us and this and that, and I just…” she sighed, frowning and shaking her head “I didn’t…I didn’t think you’d kill a templar for a mage.”

“Not a mage.” He said. “You.”

She looked at him, her expression softening. “Fenris-” She whispered.

“We should get to your home soon.” He cut her off and continued walking. “Before any thugs decide to rob us and you’re in condition to be fighting.”

Hawke gasped offended, walking next to him. “I can handle myself.”

“When you’re sober. You can’t even walk a straight line.” Fenris commented on how wobbly her walk was.

She only huffed and walked ahead of him, saying “I’ll show you who can’t walk straight, you ass.”

Fenris chuckled at her antics, the rest of the walk silent as the two finally reached Gamlen’s house.

“You know, with luck, I’ll be buying the estate back soon.” Hawke said, walking the steps to the front door. “We should celebrate when it happens.”

“Only if you promise not to get this drunk again.” Fenris smirked.

Hawke gave him a smile. “You know I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

He chuckled and nodded. “Take care, Hawke.” Fenris said before walking away.

“I’ll try.” She whispered but he was already too far gone.

Three years had passed since her expedition to the Deep Roads.

Three years since Carver became a Grey Warden.

And three years of constantly thinking about him.

Fenris.

The more time she spent with him, the more Hawke developed feelings for Fenris, and she did not know what to do with that. It seemed to her that the more they bickered and disagreed, the more she liked him.

It didn’t make sense.

They’d argue about the right of mages, and he’d stare her down, looking at her with rage, and yet, Hawke would feel a heat spreading in her cheeks. She’d shake her head and turn away, hoping he didn’t notice it.

She shouldn’t feel like this, not when Fenris spoke of how ‘evil’ all mages were. It was wrong, and yet, she couldn’t help but blush when he looked at her that intensely.

Hawke didn’t remember who said it, but she once heard how the line between love and hate was thin. But Fenris didn’t hate her, which meant that…

No. He didn’t love her and she didn’t love him.

Right?

She didn’t love him, Hawke would tell herself whenever she began thinking about him. They were just friends. That was why she wanted to take all his worries away, to show him that there was so much more to his life than just revenge.

It was because of friendship that she always seemed to look out for him in battle, even if she knew he was capable of handling himself. And that was why she worried about him, checking on him more than the others to be sure he was doing well. Why she cared about him and what he thought of her, why she wanted to prove him wrong about mages.

Why she looked at him and wondered what his skin would feel like against hers, his breath on her neck, his whispers on her ear.

But Hawke could only sigh. They weren’t friends. Fenris disagreed with almost everything she did. They were rivals, too different from each other to ever reach some sort of common ground.

She didn’t love him because she couldn’t love him. They were too different to ever work together.

Fenris thought he was getting sick. Or better yet, Hawke must have cast some spell on him because why couldn’t he get her off his head?

Of course she would put something on him to control his thoughts, make him more agreeable and compliant. She was a mage after all, and he knew they were all the same, never to be trusted.

Fenris sighed. Hawke would never do that and he knew. Yes, they disagreed on almost everything and got into more arguments than he had the patience for, and Hawke was a bloody mage but still, he knew she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t mess with his thoughts or deny him his independence.

He hated that in the time they’d known each other, she proved herself trustworthy to him. He knew that she was the one casting healing spells on him during combat (Maker knows Anders would die before doing that). She’d go to his house and listen to him, even though he rarely had anything to say. Even when they played Wicked Grace, she didn’t cheat as much as the others.

Hawke was a woman that spoke her mind, even if it got her in trouble. Whether it was to flirt and tease or to sass someone, she wasn’t afraid to say it. And even though it made him a bit embarrassed, Fenris liked it when she called him handsome.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She was a mage. It was mages that made as miserable as he was right now, who took everything from him. Fenris had seen first hand what mages could do if they were allowed too much freedom and yet, there was Hawke.

Sighing, Fenris opened another of the Aggregio bottles, taking a swing from it. He wanted to hate her, needed to hate her…then why did his mind kept wandering to thoughts of her. Her and her smile, her laughter, her smirk, her eyes, her hair-

“By the Maker,” he thought “she’ll be the death of me.”

When Hawke arrived at Fenris' house, Isabela was leaving. The pirate winked at her but didn’t say anything as Hawke entered the room.

“Three years.” Fenris said, looking elsewhere as she sat on the empty chair. “There’s still no sign of Danarius. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s finally given up.”

She frowned. “But isn’t this his mansion? Surely, he must know you’re here.”

Fenris turned to her. “Would you be surprised to know that this isn’t, in fact, his mansion?”

“Oh?”

“It belongs to a Tevinter merchant, one who has evidently given up on the place. Perhaps he is dead. Perhaps Danarius killed him.”

She chuckled. “He was probably killed.

“Why do you think so?”

“Tevinters. Never seen them give up on something that they claim belongs to them.” She said. “Besides, isn’t that what they do? Kill each other to get their possessions?”

Fenris smirked. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like me.”

She shrugged. “What can I say, you’re rubbing off on me.”

He shook his head. “Either way, if Danarius is aware of my presence, he has done nothing.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to miss the attention.” Hawke said with a raised brow.

He said nothing, as he looked away, and for a moment, she wondered if she said something wrong. A small moment of silence passed until he spoke again.

“Tell me: what do you do when you stop running?” Fenris asked, looking at Hawke.

She looked at him quizzically, then took a deep breath, thinking on the answer.

“I guess it depends on what you want to do. Some people would go back to what they did before.”

“But I am asking you.”

Hawke sighed. “My opinion is that you should start anew.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll look back and realize you spent your whole life hunting ghosts of the past instead of actually living.” She shook her head, looking down. “Our past will always be a part of us. It doesn’t mean it has to shape our future too.

”

“But what if you can’t forget what happened to you? What if it keeps catching up to you.”

“Then you keep moving forward.” She looked up at him, knowing he was talking about himself. “You don’t have to forget, Fenris. But you can let go.”

“I don’t know how.” He frowned slightly. “My first memory is receiving these markings, the lyrium branded into my flesh. The agony wiped away everything. Whatever life I had before I became a slave…it’s lost.” He stood up abruptly. “I shouldn’t trouble you with this. My problems are not yours.”

For a second, she didn’t know what to say. But as a smirk began forming in her face, she found the perfect opportunity to tease him. “I might be able to help with your problems…” she raised a brow “or give you a few more.”

He crossed his arms. “More problems than you probably do, I assume.”

She gasped dramatically, a hand on her chest. “Me? Causing problems? Never.”

Fenris chuckled, amused as she laughed at herself. “You’re a beautiful woman, Hawke. Is there no one else who has your…attention?” He asked.

That caught Hawke by surprise, as a blush spread on her face.

Fenris thought she was beautiful?

Moreover, he wouldn’t ask if there was anyone else if he wasn’t interested in her…would he?

In other circumstances, she’d probably say something witty. Now, however, she chose to say “Do you see anyone else here?”

Fenris uncrossed his arms. “I’m an escaped slave, and an elf, living on a borrowed mansion. None of those things bother you?” He asked.

“And I’m an apostate refugee.” She replied. “Does that bother you?”

“You have me there.” He took in a breath. “You raise an interesting point. I’ll have to…consider it.”

Hawke stood up from her seat. “I’ll leave you to your thinking then. It is getting late.” She said and left.

On her walk home - which was not too far from Fenris’ home - she pondered on what he had said. Did he think that his status as an ex-slave, as an elf, would make her want him less?

Hawke allowed herself to hope that her feelings were reciprocated. That Fenris was starting to change his mind on mages.

That comment… ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Hawke.’ She kept replaying that sentence in her head again and again as she lay in bed. It wasn’t the first time someone had said that, but somehow, it coming from him felt…different. Special.

‘Witch’ he called Merrill. ‘Abomination’ he called Anders. ‘Dangerous’ he called every other mage.

But Hawke, he had called ‘beautiful’. She shouldn’t be blushing lie a girl as she was, especially with how he treated the others but she couldn’t help it. And so, that night, Hawke went to sleep with a smile on her face.

Not too long after their last conversation, Fenris called Hawke to his mansion again. When she arrived, he was already drinking.

She shook her head at the sight.

“Last bottle of the Aggreio. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.” He offered the bottle to her.

“And what’s that?” She asked and drank from the wine.

“The anniversary of my escape. Astia valla femundis.” Fenris said as she gave him the bottle back, his voice showing the first signs of drunkenness. “Care to hear the story?”

She leaned back on her chair. “Of course.” She said “I do enjoy listening to you talk.”

Hawke saw a corner of his mouth turn upwards in a half smirk. “There are few pleasures greater than speaking with a beautiful woman.”

Once again, she blushed, seeing his smirk widen at it.

She shook her head. “Flatterer.”

“What can I say? I told you I’d practice it.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s see. You’ve heard of Seheron? The Imperium and the Qunari have fought over the island for centuries now.” Hawke nodded and he continued.

“I was there with Danarius during a Qunari attack. I managed to get him to a ship - but there was no room for a slave. I was left behind. I barely got out of the city alive.”

Hawke raised both eyebrows. “Well, nothing like a war to cover one’s escape.”

“I had no intention of escaping.” He clarified. “That time.”

Fenris explained how a group of rebels - the Fog Warriors - found him and helped him. How they were free and didn’t want to give him back to Danarius.

“He ordered me to kill them. So I did. I killed them all.”

“Once a slave always a slave?” She said

He looked down. “It felt inevitable. My master had returned and this, this fantasy life was over. But once it was over, I looked down at their bodies. I felt…I couldn’t…” He didn’t finished the sentence, looking away. “I ran. And never looked back.”

The two of them were silent for a moment.

“You have questions.” Fenris said, looking at Hawke. “Ask them.”

“How well did you know these Fog Warriors?”

“I only knew them a few months, but in that time, I felt as if I truly lived.” He said. “They were bold. Strong. Free with their affections. I was in awe of them, and owed them everything. And I turned on them even so.”

“But then, why didn’t you escape Danarius earlier?”

“You were not a slave. A slave does not dream of freedom, or wonder at possibilities. You think only of your master’s desires, and what the next hour will bring. It did not occur to me that I could be anything else until I had a taste of it.” He spoke in a soft tone.

Although Hawke had other questions, she decided to stop there. She looked at him and said “Thank you for sharing this with me. It can’t be easy to talk about it.”

He took a swing from the bottle. “I have never spoken about what happened to anyone. I’ve never wanted to. You and I don’t always agree but…”

Fenris stopped, as if measuring his next words and he looked at her…pained? ashamed? There was an emotion in his eyes that she couldn’t quite figure out.

“You were saying?”

“I…have never allowed anyone too close.” He said. “When my markings were created, the pain was…extraordinary. And the memory lingers.” Hawke frowned at that, but her face quickly softened as he said the next words “But you are unlike any women I’ve ever met. With you it might be different.”

“We could find out.” She said.

“On another evening, perhaps.”

Hawke’s heart hammered in her chest as she felt the heat rising once again to her cheeks at the prospect that her feelings for him were not one-sided. As she noticed the half smirk on his face, due to her reaction, she decided to deflect for a moment.

“Does that mean that you’ve never…”

He shrugged. “If there was someone before, I have no memory of it.”

She inhaled. “And after you escaped?”

“I stayed nowhere for long. Who would I even trust?”

“And you trust me?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, I just…you’re always wary around mages. I wouldn’t put it past you to never trust me.”

A small smile began to form on his face. “At first, I didn’t. I thought you mages to be all the same. I kept waiting for the moment you’d prove my suspicions. But it never came.” Fenris took a deep breath. “I didn’t think I needed anyone. Or wanted anyone.” He looked at her through half lidded eyes “Until now.”

Hawke felt hot. She leaned forwards and grabbed the bottle from his hand. “I’ll be the one needing this now.” She said before taking a swing from it and returning it to him.

Fenris raised the bottle high “A last toast, then: to the fallen.”

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