#throws almost 1k of soft fenhawke at y'all

[lvllns]

23 for Fenris and Penelope? 💖

in relief

After everything, he is not sure if it’s his place to call her foolish, not anymore, but Fenris does not think that will stop him when this fight is over and she is out of danger.

The Arishok circles her, eyes narrow and chest heaving for breath. Penelope nocks another arrow, storm grey eyes wide and wild. Fenris can see her bow shaking, the arrow twitching against the string and her hand. Next to him, Sebastian swears under his breath. Out of them all he would know best what unsteady hands would do to the flight of an arrow.

With a bellow, the Arishok charges.

Without a sound, Penelope looses her arrow.

It flies true, somehow. Embeds itself deep in the throat of the Qunari, and he slams to his knees. Hands clutch at his throat, clawing and grasping at the wooden shaft, but he collapses. Eyes rolling back as he dies choking on his own blood.

There is a moment, one second, of absolute silence before noise floods the room. Nobles yelling. Qunari heading for the door. Varric is saying something but Fenris is not sure what because he is gone.

He means to walk to her. He does. Instead, he phases across the hall. A blur of shining blue and flickering lyrium and then he is in front of her. Penelope is leaning against a pillar gasping for air. Her hair clings to her face, matted with sweat and blood and gore. Her gaze lifts from the ground to his face and she smiles wide enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes.

There is no thinking about what he does next.

Fenris kisses her.

Well, he presses his nose to the top of her head and kisses her hair.

He clutches her shoulders. Pulls and tugs until her bow clatters to the ground and her nose brushes the side of his neck. Her arms wrap around his waist, fingers grasping at his armor. Unsteady breaths against his skin. Warm gusts of air.

She is alive.

She is alive.

He drops his mouth. Kisses her temple before resting his cheek against her own. It is slick with sweat and blood. He holds her tighter.

“You are foolish,” he says. “Foolish, stubborn, and self-sacrificing.”

She smiles. He can feel the muscles in her face shift. “I feel as though we’ve had this conversation before.”

“We will no doubt have it again at some point, of that I am certain.”

He exhales slowly. Heavy, thick. Weighted. And then he knocks their foreheads together. Pushes against her as hard as he dares. It must not be close enough because she leans into him until the pressure hurts but neither of them move. The line they walk is thin, fine, something ever changing as Fenris figures out what he is comfortable with. Penelope told him, when they talked right after...everything, that she was here for him. Willing to wait and go at his speed. He had dismissed it at the time, written it off. But months later...Hawke is tactile with all of them and it has been so easy to slip right back to where they were before.

Careful of his sharp gauntlets, he cups her face. She sighs. Something delicate and tender in the scant space between them.

“How badly are you hurt?” His voice breaks over the last few words. He clears his throat.

She makes a soft sound at the back of her throat. “Not terribly. A quick heal from Anders and I should be okay.” She lifts her head. Their noses bump together. Fenris blinks, and Penelope takes a tiny step back, just enough so she can look down at her battered body. His hands do not leave her face. “I don’t think much of this blood is mine anyway.”

“You would be a terrible assassin if it was.”

Hawke snorts, head lifting so their eyes meet, and then she begins to laugh in earnest. Fenris smiles. It has been quite some time since she last laughed like that, and while he doubts it’s all because of what he said, something warms deep in his chest knowing he played a part.

He drops his hands to his side. Looks behind him and finds their entire gaggle of friends watching with various levels of interest. He scratches at his jaw. “We should—”

“Fenris,” Penelope says, voice soft. He looks at her, head tilting. “Thank you.”

The ground beneath his feet tilts a little. “For what?”

She shrugs. “Being here. Having faith in me. Everything.” A soft snort, her eyes roll. “Take your pick really.” He opens his mouth but clicks it shut when she raises her hand. “Are you okay?”

The tips of his gauntlets prick into his palms as his fists curl. “Nellie, you have just fought the Arishok in single combat, you are bleeding, and I saw you take at least one hit to the head, yet you are asking me if I’m okay?”

“Well when you put it like that,” she mumbles, cheeks flushing.

He wants to tell her he’s fine, more than fine because she is alive and breathing and somehow does not hate him. But he doesn’t get the chance. She rocks up on her toes and brushes her lips against his cheek. His body leans into the feeling. Chases the sweet press of her mouth against his skin as she steps out of his reach.

“Healing and then home?”

Fenris chuckles. “Knowing you Hawke?” One dark brow lifts. “It will be healing and then bandits.”

Penelope laughs again. Shoves his shoulder playfully before scooping up her bow and nudging him back toward their friends. He follows like he always does. A moth drawn to the brightest flame he has ever seen.