The Hanged Man was busy tonight. Well, it was busy every night, but tonight it seemed everyone in Lowtown had turned up for a pint, or a fight. This was exactly what Kira Hawke needed. She could have stayed at home, staring into the fire, listening to her Uncle scream about how it was all her fault. But she already knew that, didn't she? No, she didn't need to be reminded of what a failure she was. How she had failed her father, her brother, her sister in the Deep Roads, and now her mother. What she needed now was to forget. And for that, she thought, I need another drink.
"Oy! Corff! Get me another will you?" She called, waving the bartender over and gesturing to her empty mug.
He cast a disapproving glare in her direction, but filled her mug anyway. Her money was good, even if her mood currently wasn't.
She drained half of it at a gulp, wondering vaguely if the ale was better in Hightown. It really didn't matter much, she decided. One drink was roughly as good as another when it came to killing brain cells, the only real difference was price and quantity. Tonight she needed the wild and rough crowd, so, Lowtown it was.
A frown creased her brow as she glimpsed a shock of gray/white hair out of the corner of her eye, but it had disappeared when she turned to look. Shrugging to herself she went back to her ale. Suddenly, he was perched on the bar stool next to hers.
"Fenris, have a drink, on me." she said. It was an acknowledgment of his presence, and not much more. She wasn't even daring to look him in the eye. His eyes had a way of boring straight through her, as if he could see into her soul, and she wasn't sure she wanted to open herself up to that again. What was he doing here anyway? Shouldn't he be up in Hightown? Moping in his stolen mansion? But isn't that what you're doing? an inner voice chided. Well, yes, but this is different, I'm in a pub! she told herself.
She waved the bartender over again and ordered another pint, ignoring the look on the bartenders face and the significant glance he shared with Fenris.
"I'm not here to drink, Hawke."
"No?" she said with feigned puzzlement. "Well, I am! This is a pub. This is where people LIKE ME, come to drink," she laughed mirthlessly then her voice went cold and flat once more. "If you aren't here to drink then what exactly are you here for?" Her tone had gone slightly accusatory, and she turned an icy gaze toward him. Who did he think he was anyway? She was well on her way to a really good bender and she would be damned before she'd let him ruin it for her.
"Aveline asked me to come find you. One of the guardsmen told her you were down here drinking the town dry."
"Ahh, good old Aveline. Still spying on me, is she? And she's gotten you to run errands for her. How nice it must be up there on her high horse." Hawke laughed bitterly and emptied her mug, reaching for Fenris' untouched glass as soon as she set down the empty one.
"She's worried about you, Hawke. She heard what happened with your mother and..." Fenris paused. What could he say? Was there anything to say? Why could he never find the right words? Especially with her. He looked at her now, and wondered if he had ever really seen her before. Of course he had seen the rogue fighter, killing dozens before they even knew she was there. He had seen the skill, the courage, the ferocity and the determination. But had he ever really seen her? Beyond the pale skin, tight firm body, raven black hair and ice gray eyes. Icy eyes that melted in the heat of passion...
"And what?" she said coldly.
Fenris realized that he had been staring, lost in the memory, lost in the sight of her, the feel of her. "And... And she's worried." It sounded weak, even to him. "Kira..." He moved closer to her and spoke her name quietly, as if sharing a secret. "I was worried about you," he said at last.
Hawkes eyes flashed pure fury. Every muscle in her body tensed. Every sinew screaming at him. You left me, remember? What right do you have to say that to me? Who do you think you are that you can come in here now? Now, when its too late. Much, much too late. But she didn't say it, choosing instead to simply glare at him. As if her very gaze could freeze him to his chair.
"Is this guy botherin' you?" The interloper was obviously drunk, and leaning up against the bar more as a means of support than in any attempt to look dashing. She turned to face him, an evil smile playing at her lips. "I been *hic* watching you since you came in, little lady, and I gotta say, you got the nicest set of *hic* eyes I ever did see. Why do you come sit on my lap and give me a little kiss, huh? Whadya s-" His head snapped back as Hawke's fist hit him square in the teeth. She grabbed the stricken man before he could fall and twisted around behind him, watching the two men he had been drinking with as they rose from their table moving towards her with the speed of men who were a lot less drunk than their comrade.
She pulling his head back revealing his throat where a dagger appeared clenched in her hand. "This one dies first." she said, grinning at the approaching men.
The Hanged Man had suddenly gone silent. The sound of Fenris' greatsword being unsheathed seemed impossibly loud as he stood beside her in the middle of an ever widening circle. She's gone mad, Fenris thought, this isn't even going to be a fight, its going to be a massacre. Perhaps OUR massacre.
The entire bar held its breath, waiting. There was a very fine line between a night of lively (usually drunken) entertainment, and complete and utter bloody chaos. The patrons of the Hanged Man were the type to wait and see which it was going to be before deciding whether or not to join in.
Then came the unmistakeable sound of a crossbow being shouldered. Hawke knew the sound well. She glanced over her shoulder to see Corff the bartender aiming the weapon at her head.
"Get her out of here, mister." He said to Fenris, his eyes never leaving Hawkes.
Hawke let the semi-conscious man drop and turned to face the bartender. The dagger had disappeared back into its hiding place within her clothing.
"My money not good enough for you all of a sudden?" she accused, as if completely forgetting the prior thirty seconds.
"You're coin's always welcome here, Hawke. But your temper and those knives, ain't!" The two glowered at each other, each one daring the other to move. But drunk and stubborn has never beaten a crossbow at close range. Even still she probably wouldn't have left. She probably would have taken on Corff and the whole damn pub if Fenris hadn't, at that moment, grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the bar and out the door accompanied by the sounds of both cheering and a few disappointed sighs.
In the dark of the alley just off the main road he spun her around to face him. "What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded.
Hawke came up with a dagger but he had been expecting it and he caught her wrist, shoving her up against the stone wall and slamming her hand against the wall repeatedly till she dropped the blade. She tried to break away but now he had both her arms pinned above her head. Their faces inches apart they glared at one another. He could feel her heavy breathing, hot against his skin. Her body next to his, and it was all he could do not to kiss her, to take her right there. In that instant he couldn't remember why he had left her. It was all too complicated, too strange, and he wasn't ready for it. The simple truth was he had needed her, just as he needed her now. And he hated himself for it.
After a moment that seemed to stretch on to eternity, he shook his head, and pushed himself away from her.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he said again, his voice low and hoarse.
"I was trying not to. That is the point of getting drunk, is it not?" she spat bitterly.
"So what, your just going to spend the rest of your life drunk and damn the rest of us?" She said nothing. She wanted to scream. Tears of rage and anguish were threatening to overwhelm her but she couldn't let them, wouldn't let them. Not in front of him.
"I'm sorry... About your mother..." he said finally. "You should take solace in the time you had with your family. You have your memories. I remember nothing of my family..."
Her expression changed; hardened. "That's right you don't remember. I do! You didn't have to watch them die because of your failure. You don't remember the feel of the dagger as you drove it into your sisters heart. Bethany wouldn't have even been in the damned Deep Roads if it wasn't for me!" Hot, angry tears were streaming down her cheeks now and she wiped at them, hopelessly trying to stem the tide to no avail. "You don't have to remember holding your mother in your arms as she died, knowing there was nothing you could do for her." Hawke slumped against the stone wall, landing heavily on the cobblestones. "If I had gotten there sooner..." her voice trailed off and she buried her head in her arms, her shoulders shaking as silent sobs racked her body.
In all the years he had known her, Fenris could not remember ever seeing her so vulnerable. She was always so sure of herself, using wit and sarcasm in defiance of whatever terrors had been before them. But now, she looked so small. He wondered again if he had ever really seen her before. Or if he simply saw what everyone else saw, the brave hero. The mask she wore like a second skin, hiding the ragged remnants of a soul torn apart.
He wanted to go to her. Whether to comfort her, hold her, or simply to tell her it would be all right, he didn't know. But before he could she had picked herself up. There wasn't a trace of the tears except a slight redness around her ice gray eyes. The mask was back on, like it had never fallen. He stood in front of her and searched her eyes for any trace of the woman she had been only moments before. There was none.
"Hawke, I.."
"Forget it, Fenris," she said abruptly, dusting herself off. She met his gaze and scowled at him. "Now then. If you aren't going to fight me or fuck me, kindly get out of my way."
Without a word he stepped aside, and Hawke stalked past him and continued into the night. Fenris watched her until she was swallowed up by the shadows. She had never looked back.