Hawke was not in good shape at all. It had been almost a week, but the pain in his chest had yet to subside. It was strange to think that one night could shake up his world so much, but his bed felt cold and empty without his partner's warmth cuddled against his body.
Well… not his partner anymore.
That would be the problem, as it were.
Fenris was gone, and William knew that full well. That, of course, did little to help the pain. He had cared for Fenris; did care for Fenris. But it seemed that the elf did not feel the same. Or… perhaps he did. He had not been very clear the night he walked out.
Hawke turned over, staring blankly at the canopy above him. He felt sick. Hawke was rather flirtatious, yes, but he was not one to take sex lightly. Fenris had not been his first… but he had been his first man. And only his second overall. Hawke knew this self-pity was pointless. Fenris leaving had nothing to do with his appearance or… performance. Yet he could not shake this bout of insecurity.
Will's fingers instinctively reached up to rest on his left eye. Or rather, where his left eye used to be before his accident in the Deep Roads. Yet another thing the darkspawn took from him.
Hawke turned ever so slightly to gaze into the glass of water on his bed side table, floating in which was his glass eye. He hated the thing. Hated it greatly. The eye colors didn't quite match, and it gave him a rather odd, uneven gaze. This was only made worse by the muscle damage: The darkspawn were not gentle when they gouged his eye out (obviously), and even with all the treatment available, the damaged tissue just didn't contract the way it used to. His glass eye simply couldn't keep up with his good one, meaning the two never quite looked the same way. He had a lazy eye. A lazy, glass eye. He felt pathetic.
In the back of his mind Hawke realized laying here thinking about Fenris wasn't good for him. Perhaps it was this subconscious thought that sent him into his dresser looking for his eye patch.
If there was anything Hawke hated more than his glass eye, it was his eye patch. It made him feel like a bandit, and by the looks people gave him, it made him look like one as well. But previous crying left the socket irritated, and his glass eye far too uncomfortable an option. (Wasn't he fortunate that bloody genlock left his tear ducts intact?) Walking around with a hole in his face was the last thing William wanted though. If an eye patch got him fearful looks, he could only imagine what people would do if he walked about with a jagged hole in his face.
Will slipped the accursed thing over his head and into place before walking from his room. He had no plan and no location in mind; it was purely habit which bid him strap his daggers to his waist. He simply knew he could no longer stay here and wallow in self-pity. He had to move.
"William?"
A voice broke through his melancholy and brought him back to the world. It was his mother, sat by the fire with a book in hand and a worried look upon her features.
She knew of course. She had seen Fenris leave the mansion that morning, and (to Hawke's great embarrassment) had heard their rather rambunctious love making as well. She had certainly been shocked by her son's choice of partners, but had not pressed the issue once she realized how poorly it had ended. He had not needed to tell her. She simply knew. She read him well. And Hawke was grateful.
But now, she was worried, and he could not stand to see her worry.
"Hello mother." Hawke greeted, giving her a rather fake smile. She saw through it of course. She always did.
She frowned slightly. "It's getting rather late, dear, where are you headed?"
He had no destination. He simply needed to feel the cool of night on his face. Needed to get away. But he could not tell her that.
"The Hanged Man." It was not a lie, Hawke was sure he would end up there at some point that night. "I'll probably be out late, so don't worry about me."
She merely gave him a sad smile. "I always worry, dear."
He felt a pang of guilt, but knew there was nothing he could say to make this better. So he simply turned and walked out into the crisp night air.
The memory was sharp in his mind.
He woke late that faithful night to see Fenris, fully dressed and staring into the fire with that same angry expression on his face. Part of Will had hoped the intimacy they had shared would help the elf open up to him. It hurt slightly to see him here, as broody and guarded as ever.
When Hawke spoke his voice was small. "Was…Was it that bad?"
Fenris turned to him, sounding rather pained as well. "I'm sorry, it's not… It was fine."
Hawke averted his gaze. Fine..?
"No, that is insufficient. It was better than anything I could have dreamed."
Hawke smiled slightly at this. He was not a very skilled lover, and was becoming rather bashful under the praise.
Than a thought crossed his mind, and he furrowed his brow in worry.
"Your markings… They hurt, don't they?"
Fenris shook his head forcefully, avoiding his lover's gaze. "It's not that… I've… Began to remember. Just flashes. Of my life before. It's too much. It's too fast, I cannot… do this."
Hawke sat up a bit, now deeply troubled. "Your life before? What do you mean?"
"I've never remembered anything from before the ritual." Fenris explained, "There were faces… words… For just a moment I could recall all of it. Than it slips away."
William raised his eyebrows in surprise. "If it brings your memory back, maybe we should do it more often."
Hawke could tell this was not what he should have said when the other man scowled.
"Perhaps you do not understand how upsetting this is." The elf rumbled, "I've never remembered anything! And to have it all come back in a rush only to lose it… I can't."
Will sat up straighter, reaching out for his lover, "We can work through this."
He almost felt his heart shatter when Fenris turned away.
"I'm sorry. I feel like such a fool." he started towards the door, head down, voice nothing more than a whisper.
"Forgive me."
In hindsight, Hawke should have known it would end badly. He and Fenris did not see eye to eye, and likely never would. Their night together had not been slow, soft, love making. It was anger and frustration and the heat of the moment… The elf had not been gentle with him. (To such a degree that Hawke couldn't sit comfortably the next day.) It had been rough and furious, and things like that didn't tend to last. He should have known.
'Forgive me' he had said.
But could he really? Could he really forgive him for taking him and then dropping him so quickly? For toying with his emotions like that?
Deep down Hawke knew Fenris hadn't meant to hurt him. But having an object of hatred helped deflect the pain, no matter how unfair it was to dump the blame on the elf. He knew Fenris, he knew he wouldn't break his heart just for the hell of it. And he knew it had hurt him just as badly to leave as it had hurt Hawke to watch him go. Hawke wanted to be angry with him, but deep down, he just couldn't be. He cared too much.
Hawke had been smitten with the elf the moment they met, and had fought tooth and nail to protect his friend from the slavers. He wanted to hold him, care for him, give him a place where he could feel safe and finally let his guard down. A place to go when he no longer had to run. Maker, he cared for Fenris. Given enough time… he may have even fallen in love with him.
But this isn't what Fenris would have wanted, he realized.
Fenris didn't want to be coddled or cared for: it was clear that being tied down scared him after years of being chained up. Fenris wanted to be free and independent and to need no one and nothing. The idea of attachment seemed to scare him, keep him tethered to one person. Hawke couldn't fault him for not wanting to be tied down.
When all was said and done, Fenris needed to feel free. And Hawke would not be the man to tame him.
The walk from Hightown to Lowtown had been soothing, at least somewhat. The slight chill of winter helped clear Will's head, and now his thoughts almost made sense. But he knew it would be a while yet before he could put it together coherently. But if he had anything, it was time.
As Hawke walked through the door to the Hanged Man, he couldn't help but smile. Despite being dirty and full of criminal scum, the tavern was warm and inviting, and Hawke couldn't help but relax. Seeing Varric nearby captivating a group of patrons with what was surely a wildly exaggerated story, he grinned and decided to join the crowd.
"…And then Hawke tore the door clean off its hinges walked into the room and-"
Yep. He called it. He totally called it.
Varric stopped mid-sentence when he locked eyes with Hawke. He grinned. "I guess we'll finish this later." He said to the group of onlookers, and they began to break up.
Will stepped forward, giving the dwarf a slight smile. "Have you got a minute Varric?"
"Of course Hawke!" he replied heartily, "Actually I've been meaning to talk to you."
The two friends settled down at a table and ordered their drinks before the dwarf continued.
"So… People say you and the elf… you know the angsty, Tevinter one- are becoming quite the item."
Hawke felt his stomach plummet, and he was unable to meet his friend's eye.
"Your information is out of date, Varric… That's already ancient history…"
Concern flashed across the other man's features. "Shit. Now I'm sorry I brought it up. Everything alright?"
Hawke sighed, and when he finally met Varric's gaze, his eyes were swimming with pain. "A drink might help. Or several."
Varric shook his head, brow knitted in worry. "It's not like you to brood. Let's go find a fight we can get into."
Will couldn't help but smile at this. "If Bella's still sober I'm sure she'd love to join us in beating some Lowtown thugs into submission."
Varric grinned widely at that. "Now that's the Hawke I know!"
