Scars.
Hawke walked down to the tidal pools outside of Kirkwall, a wisp of a spell lighting her way across the wind and wave worn rocks.
Her back burned. It had been days since she had been able to seek relief for it; being Champion of Kirkwall had more downsides than perks she was finding.
But tonight, it was early spring and still cold, and the hour was late – no sane person would be here at this time and she could relax. Bethany and Carver would make her excuses to their companions and keep them from following.
She moved to one pool of salt water; deep enough to fully submerge herself in and circled with ledges that she could sit on. It would do.
Buckles and buttons were undone as she slipped out of her mage robes, smallclothes following. Hawke shivered in the cold night air, and then steeled herself to step into the water – it would be much colder. She stepped into the pool, quickly sinking until only her shoulders remained dry.
Most of her skin froze at the contact, but for her back.
Cold, cooling, soothing, chasing away skin-memories of fire and pain.
It was bliss and relief from pain that felt like it had gone on for years...HAD gone on for years, a parting gift from a Darkspawn emissary as her family had fled Lothering.
Only in these moments could she try and forget, away from the daily agony that she hid. It was important that no one knew, she remembered too well other reactions. She closed her eyes, listening to the far-off noise of the waves and remembered.
'Maker! What is that?'
'Just scars, they hardly even hurt anymore...'
'Eugh...They...I'm leaving'
'But...'
Then the rumours had started to circulate, a grey-eyed demon in the shape of a beautiful woman who led men to her bed and then turned into a monster.
The first time she heard it she had cried herself to sleep in Bethany's arms, something she had not done since their father had died. Hawke had never known shame, not for being a mage, not for her interest in taking men and women to her bed, not for her related disinterest in the race of her bed-mates, not for anything.
But for the pocked, burnt and scarred flesh that led from the back of her left thigh to her right shoulder that magic could not heal Hawke knew shame. And she hated it. She hated her weakness in feeling ashamed.
The softest rustle of fabric over leather had her eyes slamming open.
'No, no, no, nononono...'
His reflection mirrored in the still tidal pool perfectly, lit by her spell wisp. Weather-browned skin, sharp, prefect features, moss-green eyes, hair silver-white as the Lyrium that banded his skin.
Fenris.
'Andraste's tits, WHY?'
Fenris, former slave but now a cherished member of their little band, who was as beautifully lethal in battle as the wolf-god he was named for, possessed of a courage and conviction that left her in awe. Calm and patient as stone.
Gorgeous Fenris, whom she had wanted in so many ways since their first meeting, and whose own scars could be considered more a work of art than a flaw, unlike her own...disfigurement.
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Fenris had only wanted a walk; he had had no intention of running into anyone. He had simply been restless. And he preferred to walk during dark moons, when the Lyrium in his flesh didn't reflect moonlight and he could forget.
He had gone to the tidal pools because he had been sure he would be alone. It was cold, late and dark – who in their right mind would come here?
He had seen the far-off wisp of magic and had crept closer to investigate. Trouble could be anywhere.
He had not meant to inadvertently spy on the Champion, his companion. Then when he had realised it was Hawke he had thought the human mage was in trouble, and moved to help. Why else would she be sitting, bare to her skin, in a tidal pool in the dead of night?
Then, as he had come closer he had seen the skin of her back clearer.
Scars. The makings left by fire that had burnt hot and fierce, and old, jagged wounds. They covered all the skin across her shoulders that he could see, and continued down her back into the water.
And he had remembered, when they had first met, the look in those fog-grey eyes. The look he had mistaken for pity, and had despised.
But Hawke had never acted as if she pitied him, had treated him no differently than Isabella or Varric or the rest of their party. And had respected his aversion to being touched...
Hawke had not pitied him, she had understood him. That had been what was in her eyes.
The understanding of what it was to be scarred.
Fenris had moved closer to her then, unthinkingly and the woman's eyes had flown open, startled, and stared at the water; looking at his face reflected in the water as he looked at hers.
And what he saw in her eyes now was fear. And shame. And he could not bear it. He knelt slowly behind her, and reached out to trail gentle fingertips across the scarring on her shoulder. He felt her shudder at the touch, but she did not pull away.
"What happened?"
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She had been so sure he would walk away, leave her to her shame...But he had not. Leather creaked as he knelt behind her and the feather light touch of his fingers was such a shock that she trembled.
'What is going on?'
"What happened?"
That calm, patient voice, one she could listen to forever and could deny nothing.
"When the Darkspawn attacked Lothering my family fled, at first they sacked the town but soon they came after those fleeing."
She remembered it so clearly, even though she didn't want to; the screaming of men, women and children as they died and the clash of weapons from those who tried to fight. She shook harder with the horror of the memories.
The fingers on her shoulders became hands, sword-worn but still gentle, moving over her skin.
"We were almost out of sight of them, but Carver injured his leg, and I stayed back to help him."
"So very like you." The voice behind her was warm, the hands on her shoulders still tender.
"I heard the spell coming, knew it was a fireball and that we were just on the edge of it. But I only had enough Mana left to shield one of us. I shielded Carver."
She was crying now, tears trailing silently across her cheeks, why did the memory of it hurt so much? Fenris made no comment, just kept on stroking the ruined skin beneath his hands.
"It wasn't just the fire, the spell...It shattered a stone as it hit the ground, sent sharp, flaming pieces flying...If Carver had not been with me, had not gotten me to Bethany...I would have died..."
"I owe your brother my thanks then."
"And that's what happened..."
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His listened to Hawke's story and it broke his heart when she began to cry - Hawke didn't cry, not her, not their brave, charismatic leader.
But this wasn't their leader; this was the woman beneath, mortal, vulnerable and fallible. And he was awed and honoured that she was allowing him to see her this way.
He could see it in his mind's eye as she spoke – the fireball, the shield she threw around her brother as fire and flaming rock rained down upon her. He could feel the scars beneath his hands, he could see them as if new – bleeding and burnt.
But as much as the memories pained her this was not the problem. This was only how she had gotten the scars, not why she hid them.
"Hawke, that cannot be the whole story." He whispered.
"It only explains how the scars on your body came to be, it does not explain why you would come out here in the cold and dead of night, why you would hide the pain they cause you, why you would hide their very existence from us all."
He kept his tone even and unemotional, if she felt he was angry Hawke would turn away.
"Before the attack I was, well, I would have been a match for Isabela. I'd never seen what was so important about 'purity'. Not that I'd take just anyone to bed, I just wasn't uptight about my affections or who received them. Men, women, human or not – as long as it was between consenting adults I had no qualms."
Well, that was...interesting.
'And it seems that she would not be adverse to an elven lover.'
"But after Lothering...The first lover I took, he was disgusted by the scars – He ran right out. And then...You've heard the rumour about 'The Grey-eyed Demoness?'"
Fenris felt rage hit him like an Ogres fist. That someone would be so callous as to humiliate Hawke that way and then to further debase her by spreading such idiotic tripe...
"If you wished it I would hunt down that miserable creature and bring to him a slow and painful end. I promise you Hawke, just give me his name."
Hawke sniffled, bringing up an arm to scrub across her tear-stained cheeks.
"That's not necessary Fenris...Sometimes...sometimes I think that he may have been right..."
He had not though he could get any angrier than he already was...He pulled his hands away from Hawke's shoulders.
"Why? That because you are scarred that makes you less of a person? Less deserving of respect? Less deserving of friendship? Less deserving of love? If that is what you think of yourself then I can only imagine what you think of me Hawke."
He stood, turned and was about walk away, unbelievably angry and hurt at Hawke's words. He heard frenzied splashing and an ice-cold hand gripped his arm.
"I don't think of you that way Fenris! You...You're practically a work of art...Your scars make you even more beautiful, mine don't. I'm sorry, please don't leave."
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"...sometimes I think that he may have been right..."
The warmth of his hands was suddenly gone, leaving her even colder. And when he spoke again she could hear the suppressed rage in his voice.
"Why? That because you are scarred that makes you less of a person? Less deserving of respect? Less deserving of friendship? Less deserving of love? If that is what you think of yourself then I can only imagine what you think of me Hawke."
And he was standing up, turning away. And something in her heart screamed at her not to let him go like this. She scrambled out the pool, her cold-numbed limbs making her clumsy, and grabbed his arm to stop him.
"I don't think of you that way Fenris! You...You're practically a work of art...Your scars...they make you even more beautiful, mine don't. I'm sorry, please don't leave."
He turned back and she locked her gaze with his, hoping he would see the truth.
'You are the most amazing man I have ever met; you are everything I've ever wanted. I love you, please don't leave me.'
Fenris sighed.
"After all you have done Hawke, after all you have endured, after all you have saved through your strength and passion...How can you still think so little of yourself?"
His hands moved to her shoulders, gently turning her so that her back was bared to him. He leant his head against her own, his lips against her ear.
"These don't make you worthless; they make you who you are – courageous, strong, passionate...and beautiful."
He lips moved from her ear and she felt them press against the blade of her left shoulder, tracing the long scar that ran across it. She would have fallen to the ground if he hadn't wrapped his arms around her waist. He eased them both down to the ground and continued to explore her skin. His lip's felt better than anything and for the first time in years she felt no pain.
"Asiryn..." He whispered against her skin.
He had never before called her anything but 'Hawke'.
His lips continued to ghost over her back, leaving a blessed coolness in their wake. Her eyelids slid closed in bliss.
She turned in the circle of his arms and sought his mouth with her own. His lips welcomed her, soft and warm. Her hands moved to slide through his hair. They didn't pull away until the need to breathe forced them. She leaned her head on his shoulder, relishing his closeness.
She had never before felt so content.
"Asiryn..."
"Fenris..."
"You are aware that it is cold, and you are still wet and naked?"
Actually she had forgotten...
"Oh."
His smile was practically wicked.
"Not that I mind, but I would hate for you to catch a cold. Shall we find somewhere a little warmer to continue...Love?"
Her answering grin was no less salacious.