Author's notes:
And now I will break away from short stories and finally make an attempt to write something longer! Maker willing, this thing will actually get updated despite work and school and the like. The main idea for this is some of the issues I imagine my rogue would face leading up to the Dark Roads expedition - which of course includes a certain sexy male elf - and I'll try to keep things within the first act of Dragon Age 2.
I might take a lot of liberties here, so bear with me.
Rated "M" for the smut - always the smut - and language, dark content, potential gore, lewd humour, etc. Just covering my bases here.
Cheers and enjoy!
CHAPTER 1 - it's the wrong side of the bed, all right.
Siobhan Hawke breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped over the mansion's threshold into the night. Swirling tendrils of her breath rose to meet the stars above, which burned much brighter than Hightown's streetlights ought to have allowed. She stopped and took a moment to reorient herself, letting the stillness of the night slow her heart rate. The ordeal in Tevinter Magister's supposed lair had been fruitless – and far more horrific than she'd imagined. She certainly didn't have a problem with fighting or even the type of scheme that had landed her there in the first place, but being that close to magic tended to make her uncomfortable. The more spells she dodged and demons she slayed, the more Hawke felt like she was becoming a part of it, enmeshed in something larger than her. Much larger, and much more dangerous. She shivered.
Hawke had been careful to keep those sentiments to herself and hoped that her nerves hadn't shown – the last thing she wanted was a crestfallen Bethany on her hands, and with Varric she had a reputation to protect – not to mention what the stranger they were aiding might have thought. Hawke had made a token effort to poke around a few of the rooms closer to the doors for loot before steeling away, and was relieved when her dwarven companion and sister finally stepped through the ornate doors to join her.
"It never ends." Hawke started at the voice, whirling to face Fenris, the mysterious elf leaning against the carved stone wall. She knew she should be more wary of the stranger with the ridiculous, fake-sounding name, but it was hard not to be sympathetic of his disappointment – and besides, her own Dalish-esque name was no better. She drank in the elf's silvery features, fascinated by his queer markings that seemed to glow even from the shadows. His expression was sour and his posture violently guarded, but even so Hawke couldn't help but think he was one of the more attractive people who she'd found herself cajoled into helping. Against all propriety she found it impossible not to stare.
"I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me at every turn." Fenris continued, his words dripping with resentment as he straightened. "It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul… And now I find myself in the company of even more mages."
Hawke felt Bethany's indignant response before she heard it, and turned to stop her sister's retort. Of course Bethany paid her no mind, and snorted angrily. "You can speak to me directly."
Hawke crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, turning away from her sister in annoyance. Bethany may be playing sarcastic now, but Hawke was sure once they were home she wouldn't hear the end of it. She didn't want to have to defend a stranger to her sister, no matter how interesting and attractive he may be – but she wasn't entirely sure she disagreed with him. Fenris ignored them both and continued.
"I should have realized sooner what you really were." He said to Bethany before turning to Hawke, his emerald eyes glinting coldly. She met them boldly as a delicious flush crept up her neck. "You harbour a viper in your midst; it will turn on you and strike when you least expect. That is in its' nature."
The world seemed to shift and realign itself, a brief flash of grey and rush of vertigo that only she seemed to notice. Hawke's ears rang, but the scene remained the same and her companions stared, awaiting her response. She felt a familiar hunger rise to her belly and let her instincts take control.
Hawke slowly made her way toward Fenris, exaggerating the sway of her hips as she stepped across the slick cobblestones. "Bethany's not a viper… she's a Hawke." She let loose a throaty chuckle as she reached him and languorously ran a hand across his chest, ignoring the outraged noises coming from her sister. She was aware that her actions would probably end up in one of Varric's more embarrassing stories, but no matter. Fenris looked confused but didn't back away from her touch, which made her grin.
Hawke let her hand drift slowly downward and grasped Fenris' belt, moving him so that their bodies just barely touched. She brought her face close to the elf's, luxuriating in his scent and the way his pupils dilated. "And that's not the only thing in a Hawke's nature."
"She's right!" Carver exclaimed from their left. Still clutching Fenris, Hawke turned to face her brother. How could she have forgotten he was there? Carver wore a crazed expression and held a massive sword at his side, which seemed to glint and burn with ethereal flame that hurt her eyes. A similar flaming sword was picked out across his breastplate, and the red and grey robes that fell to his feet rustled in the breeze. Was that… Templar garb? Surely she'd have remembered her brother becoming a Templar, wouldn't she?
Carver turned to Hawke, the ghost of a smile they so often shared creeping into his features fleetingly before addressing Fenris. "A Hawke without magic is righteous and just!"
"But can the little brave bird fly with nothing but air to protect it?" A mournful voice to their right caused Hawke's breath to catch. She turned to stare incredulously at the man dressed in simple leathers, unseen sunlight glinting from his grey-streaked hair. This time she did let go of Fenris and took a step toward her father, who was appraising her with a look of deep concern. What was he doing here? Surely he should be at home with mother – Hawke stopped in her tracks as her father raised his hand to halt her, smiling sadly. Confusion tugged at the corners of her mind as she met his stormy grey eyes, and she was transfixed by how strongly it felt as if she were staring into her own. The spell was broken when Hawke felt Fenris's hand on her arm, warm despite the callouses coating his fingers. Her father turned to the elf and nodded before backing away, and Hawke would have gone after him had Fenris not embraced her.
Everything else melted away as Fenris brought his lips to hers, and Hawke felt as if she were burning under his touch. She held him tightly while they kissed as another wave of vertigo washed over her. When their passionate embrace broke Hawke opened her eyes and found that they were inside a cavernous master bedroom, the type found in Kirkwall's sprawling estates. It was strangely familiar and seemed too clean and lived in to be inside the Magister's mansion, though where else it could have been Hawke had no clue. Her musings were cut short as Fenris pressed his lithe body on top of hers and she gasped as he ripped her bodice open with one swift movement, pausing to meet her eyes devilishly before lowering his mouth to her chest, and she wrapped her legs around his body as she ran her hands across the muscles of his back, tiny sparks flying from the places her fingertips met the tattooed lyrium laced across his deliciously bare skin –
Hawke gasped and shot up in bed, clutching the rough-spun wool blanket to her chest. Sweat dripped down her face as she struggled to catch her breath, the cheerful morning light shining through the window and sour smell of Qunari cheese that permeated the house bringing her back to reality.
This was the third time in a week Siobhan had dreamed about her first encounter with Fenris, although it was the first time her mind had gotten so – ahem – creative with the circumstances. As she stepped out of bed she urged herself away from the steamier parts of the night and struggled to remember what her late brother and father had said. Carver had been adamant that their lack of magic was to their advantage, which certainly was not out of character for him… but her father… what had he said? Hawke rubbed her temples as she thought back, but all she could be sure of was that he had called her his "brave bird", his nickname for her as a child. She thought he'd also been speaking about magic… but then Fenris…
"To the void with it!" Hawke shouted as she kicked the chest at the foot of her bed. It was only a blighted dream, after all. Thankfully Bethany had vacated the bedroom they shared in Gamlen's house earlier; else she surely would have had to field a bevy of questions she was not in the mood to answer. Hawke lunged at the floor into a push-up position and fell into her daily workout routine with a vigor that surprised even her.
Her relationship with sleep was a tumultuous one at best; while half the battle was getting to sleep in the first place what vexed Hawke the most were her dreams. Mages were supposed to be the ones that spent all of their sleeping hours in the void, but Bethany said she rarely remembered her dreams and instead badgered Siobhan mercilessly about her own. Siobhan dreamed nearly every night, or at least every night she had enough sleep to get there. More often than not they were warped memories that tortured her or strange scenarios infused with adventure, but sometimes they were snippets of events that would come to pass after she dreamed them… and sometimes they were something altogether different, disturbingly realistic. Hawke remembered how the night air had felt cool against her skin and Fenris's lips had tasted astonishingly sweet, feeling unsettled that her mind could conjure something that felt so real.
Since leaving Ferelden over three years ago she'd had countless dreams about her brother; each time Hawke awoke from one she felt as if the scab had been ripped off an invisible wound, the pain fresh as the day he'd passed away. Though he'd been Bethany's twin people had often joked that he was really hers born two years late. Impetuous, stubborn and rambunctious as children the two had become especially close, often sneaking away to get into trouble that Bethany rarely wanted anything to do with. Carver had been Hawke's closest friend, and though companionship certainly hadn't come hard for her in Kirkwall she still felt the void from losing him.
Dreams about Fenris however were quite another story. Hawke didn't know why he'd haunted her sleep so frequently as of late – or at least she didn't want to admit to the most likely reason. She grunted as she finished her push-ups and stepped onto her sturdy wooden chest, hopping to grab an exposed ceiling rafter and beginning a set of chin-ups furiously. It was relatively common for her to dream about sex – Hawke just figured that if you did something enough while awake it only made sense to do it while asleep as well – and dreams about having sex with her friends weren't even that new, but Fenris? Something about it gave her a giddy feeling in her stomach and set a blush across her cheeks that made her want to retch. She was not some schoolgirl maiden yearning for storybook romance, and damned if she would act as such. She had no shortage of other suitors looking for everything from a night of fun to marriage; Fenris just wasn't one of them. They might get along well and even flirt from time to time but that was where it ended.
Hawke stopped her chin-ups and hung from the ceiling, luxuriating in the way it stretched her muscles before swinging to the floor to change from the smallclothes she slept in. She slipped into simple black leathers, the usual light armour she wore when she did her work. Flexible, breathable and sturdy, it suited her needs perfectly, allowing her to sneak amongst the shadows and step lightly around traps. As she struggled into her top however she couldn't help but think that practicality be damned, if it would result in something that intense she really should invest in a bodice.
Maker be damned Hawke thought as she mentally slapped herself and stepped into her uncle's common room. She had to stop thinking about it. Gamlen was passed out at the table, still reeking of wine from the night before, a half-eaten plate of ever-present Qunari cheese and – ugh – fish at his elbow. Two notes were propped on the desk by the door, one from her mother saying she'd gone to see about petitioning the viscount to regain the rights to the Amell estate and another saying Bethany had gone to meet Anders and Siobhan had to join them as soon as possible. As she mentally prepared herself to venture to Darktown and parley with the two mages Gamlen shouted something about whores in his sleep, gesturing wildly and flinging the day-old plate of food to the floor. His gentle snoring then resumed, but Hawke's boots were covered in food and she now stank like an unwashed dock-worker.
It was going to be a long day.