My first shot at writing FemMage!Hawke and Fenris. When playing DA2 I was struck with how much misery happens to Hawke and yet you never really get to see the full extent of the emotional impact. This was my short delve into that mess. Here, have some fluff to wash the angst down with.
This takes place probably around late act two. After the quest with Leandra, but before the Qunari flip a table.
It was not uncommon for him to prowl Kirkwall at night. Indeed, he almost preferred it. While most thought his markings simply a sign of a former life with the Dalish, there were others that were closer to the truth. The curious eyes of the mages were the worst. They could sense the lyrium and honed in on him. The night offered him much needed seclusion.
There was of course the added benefit of removing the unscrupulous from the streets. It was with a grim satisfaction that he spent the nights hunting bandits, murderers, and slavers. The last in particular made his blood sing.
It was, with blood humming, that he returned home to find something, or someone, sitting on his door step. His eyes narrowed. This was the last place he had expected to find someone. Unless… Fenris' eyes narrowed sharply.
"Danarius," he hissed.
Blade drawn, he stepped swift and light towards the darkened lump. As he approached, it was apparent the person was unaware. If it was Danarius' work, then this person was a distraction for the others to catch him off guard. Eyes and ears straining, however, he noted no others.
This particular lump was curled limply. It was difficult to tell from a distance, but as he moved in, he could see the slow rise and fall of their shoulders with each breath. Their head leaned against the side wall, their back against his door. Asleep then. Either this was the worst ambush ever planned, or he had a squatter. Regardless, he would take no chances. The tip of his sword brushed the collar of their cloak, pressing the sharp tip up under their chin, the edge just short of pricking the skin.
Golden hazel eyes snapped open and shoulders jumped. Hazel and green met, and Fenris felt his tension ease. A moment longer and he huffed, lowering his blade.
"Hawke… A bit late for a visit, don't you think?"
"Ah, yeah." Hands rose to slip her hood down even as her head dipped. Marian brushed long black strands of hair that had slipped from their tie behind her ear fitfully. "It is a bit late, huh? I did not realize you weren't in. I didn't want to disturb you so I just… stayed here."
"… You were out here… thinking that I was still inside? You did not even check?"
Hawke was a bit of an odd one, in his opinion, but this was new. The hesitation on her face was not something he was used to seeing. While she would deliberate over some of the difficult choices their group faced, she rarely did so with such a deep expression of confliction. His eyes narrowed quizzically as she slowly shook her head. Her shrug had an air of forced dispassion.
"Like I said, I had no intention of disturbing you. I just… I didn't feel like being at home right now. Couldn't think of anywhere else to go. The trip to Merril's is not exactly the safest. Isabella probably has 'guests'. Aveline's in the guard's quarters; I'd never be able to get in there and the last thing Varric needs is me showing up in the middle of the night and starting rumors. He has enough trouble on his plate after Bartrand and that house."
"… So you squatted on my doorstep…?"
Her face crinkled in a wince. "Basically."
Pale hazel locked with green. The two held their stares, but Fenris could detect the faint waver of her eyes as she resisted the urge to look away. It was enough for him. A heavy sigh escaped him with the shake of his head. Elvish was muttered beneath his breath as he hooked his sword onto his back once more.
.:*:.
Still on the cold stone flag stones, Hawke fully expected him to oust her. Despite her habit for magic, Fenris was never truly rude to her, but that did not mean he always had the patience for her either; past love affair or no. However, to her surprise as she moved aside at his approach, he nudged the door open, gesturing for her to enter.
"Well, come in then."
Lashes fluttered in her surprise before she gained enough sense to hurry inside. She was sure her excitement was visible, but the Elf made no comment as he followed. The door shut behind them, plummeting them into darkness. The faint glow of his lyrium markings was just enough for Fenris to get by with.
In the doorway to the main hall, Hawke lingered as Fenris lit a handful of lamps. Subconsciously, she shifted with anxiety, unsure of what to do with herself. Well, she was inside now, further out of the cold and less likely to get her throat slit, but now what?
In the dim light that still left the high ceilings and distance corners dark, Hawke traced the details of the room. Not much had changed since they had ousted Danarius' men from the mansion three years and some odd months prior. There were a fair number of patches where the tiles had been torn up, the broken ceramic still littering the floor in some places. A number of furniture pieces were still overturned and broken chair legs or cabinet shelves were pushed off to the side of the room and the one beyond. What little had been righted or straightened were the few items Fenris ever bothered with.
"Is there a reason you remain in the doorway? I thought you wanted to come in."
Heat flushed her tanned cheeks. Now she was being ridiculous. "Sorry," she uttered as she pressed further into the room, still hovering to the edge. Her cloak was removed and she held it draped over her arms that crossed her chest. "Not good with the whole house guest thing. Did not have friends when I was young and, uh, as a family of apostates you can imagine we were not exactly invited over for dinner."
His expression was blank as he blinked back at her. Right… Mentioning her status as an apostate was probably not the wisest choice. Good going… she berated herself.
Her eyes darted to an unbroken chair that lay on its side against the wall. She grabbed it, righting it. "I'll just… sit. I guess."
Hands in her lap she fidgeted as he continued to stare.
Well, that's about it then. Any moment it'll be, "Out Hawke."
As his stare lingered, the blank expression slipped into a frown that deepened with each moment. Then, he turned and left the room.
Hawke sat in the near dark. Quietly, she muttered, "Well, this is awkward… Good going, me." With an air of sarcasm she patted her back.
Time stretched long in the darkened quiet. She had taken to fiddling with the hem of her cloak when at last, Fenris returned. Her lip twitched at the sight of the two wine bottles in his hand. They seemed to have a penchant for drinking when she visited. One was thrust into her face. With some reluctance on the wisdom of the choice, she slowly accepted the bottle.
"Figured if you are sleeping on my doorstep and not in your bed, you could probably use this."
The bottle was already open. Staring down at it, a bitter laugh escaped her. He made no comment when she lifted the bottle to clink it against his in a mock toast before she took a long swig. The last of it burned down her throat as she muttered, "Tell me about it."
Overhead she caught a soft snort from the Elven man. Turning, he rested his back against the wall and eased down to sit on the floor, legs loosely folded.
Neither spoke for a time, the only sound in the room the crackle of flames and the slosh of wine. With a clink, the mouth of the bottle tapped her teeth and she hissed. "Ow." It was enough to break the quiet that settled between them. She could feel the weight of his gaze.
"So, are you?"
Her eyes slid from the bottle to meet his. "Am I what?"
"Going to, 'tell me about it'?"
Bottle pressed to her lips, Hawke uttered a quiet 'ah' of understanding. Tossing her head back, she took a long swig as means to stall. The thought of not answering crossed her mind. Did she really want to discuss it? She came here to be distracted, not to relive. But then, she was invading his home, she owed him at least something in the way of answers.
The heavy weight of the wine hung from her hand, bottle gripped loosely in her fingers as she slowly swirled the remaining contents about by the bottle neck. "Suppose I just… wanted to get away from the reminders."
An expectant silence followed. She should have known she would not get away with so little.
Rising from the chair, she nudged it aside with her ankle and slid down the wall to join Fenris on the floor. The catch of an amused snort before the two swigged at the same moment.
"This is good."
A hum of agreement.
A moment longer, then, "It's a lot of things… The hunts, father, Lothering, Bethany, my falling out with Carver." Her words caught, hung before, "…mother, and Gamlen's … Still Gamlen."
It was the word hunt that had drawn Fenris' head up. It did not come expected when he asked, "Hunts?"
Bitterness cracked her expression into a smile. "You don't think the Templars would let an apostate and his children run free, do you?"
His bottle swished. "How long did they hunt you?"
It was a weighty question, one that came attached with a lot of memories. They stung bitterly and burned harsher than the wine to swallow. She was unable to stop herself as she drew her knees up to her chest. Arms loosely banded around her legs, her chin came to rest on her knee.
"Years. Close to two decades. Mother and father fled Kirkwall when she was pregnant with me. Any Mage born children are separated from their parents, if the parents aren't already mages, when their magic manifests. They're sent to a separate Circle than their mother and/or father. Siblings, too, tend to be separated. If their parent is already a mage then they're separated at birth. All my earliest memories are of us on the run. We never settled more than a few months at most in any one place. There was no chance to make friends when I was little. When I was five the twins were born.
"I still recall… The twins must have only been three or so at the time. I snuck out from the house. Mother and father never let me out, at least not without them. Even then mother always kept me close, never let me stray from our tiny property, and never in front of the house, always the back. I was sick of it… so I disobeyed. I heard other children playing and I wanted to join them. I never got to talk to them before."
Another long draught. With so little food in her belly she could feel the wine burn. Her head felt lighter than it should. She was contemplating stopping now. It was unwise for her to get drunk. But the bottle was so light, near empty, it would be a shame to waste what was left.
"So I approached them, asked to play. They were a little wary, I was a new face to them, but they let me. It did not take overly long for there to be a disagreement. I was unfamiliar with the rules. The little girl that lived only a few homes away was… quite vocal of her displeasure with me. I'm not sure how it got there, but somehow the subject of my mother was drawn into the argument. I can no longer remember exactly what that girl said, but I remember feeling so hurt… I was just so angry. My family was the only thing I had. They were the only people I knew. I was not allowed to talk to anyone, adult or child."
Her amusement rumbled low and dark. "For all the good it did me… Either way… I just remember trying not to cry and wanted to hit her to make her stop talking about my mother and then my hands were burning." One hand drew up, the tips of her fingers tingling with the beginning of numbness as the alcohol began to seep deeper into her veins.
"No one was hurt. I did not even mean to. The other children… they ran. The little girl screamed and immediately went home to tell her parents. I could not stop from crying then. Staring at the fire on my fingertips I knew we'd be forced to move again… That the bad men would come for me. The twins were so little… Running from the Templars was difficult."
"Twins? I was not aware Carver was a twin. I assume he's who you mean." Fenris' own bottle rang hollow as he set it upon the stone.
It was so long ago now, it felt, but the memory burned deep. "Yes. His twin, my sister, was named Bethany. We… lost her on the way here from Lothering. An Ogre. I think I told you about her before… She was a Mage as well. Father spent so much time with us, teaching us to control our magic, how to hide, and Carver was… well, resentful. Mother tried to make it up to him, but she was rather smitten with Bethany. With us on the road, there was always the danger of bandits and other things. Often times mother would need to cut our hair short. I had a set of boy's clothes and Bethany would wear Carver's… The unsavory are a little less interested in boys."
Gazing into the middle distance, Hawke did not notice the sharp frown cast her way. It was something she could suspect though. There were not too many things that riled Fenris outside of Mages or Tevinters, but danger to children was one. It was something that had surprised her at first, but warmed her to the distant Elf.
"And your parents couldn't settle or travel somewhere safer for their children?" he rumbled.
Hawke scoffed. "And where would that be? It is not as if there is some special 'safe zone'. A town might be safe, but we could only stay there for so long before we had to move on. We could head for another safe village or city, but that doesn't guarantee that the land between will be safe. When you're being hunted you can't be picky. We were only able to settle once father was able to get his phylactery."
It was only a matter of time before the inevitable when it came to any discussion of Mages with Fenris. "Or you could've turned yourselves in, not had to run, and not posed a danger."
Rage blistered beneath her skin.
"Danger!? What danger? Father, Bethany, and myself have hurt no one of innocence. We're not all Maleficar or Abominations. I was eight years old."
But Fenris was unmoved. "Your father and Bethany both died young and you still have your life to live. Things change."
Her molars ground together as she flashed a false smile. Hawke clunk her empty bottle down and rose to her feet, unsteady. "Thank you for the wine." Ice suffused her tone.
A little too sharp on her turn to storm away, she wobbled unstably. A growl behind her was the only warning before a hand grabbed the hem of her long over tunic, nearly to her knees, and jerked her back down.
"Damn it. Stay."
This far into her inebriation, there was no way Hawke was remaining on her feet. With a slur of swears she went down in an ungainly sprawl.
"Fuck! Warn a woman!"
It took a while for the room to even stop spinning. She clutched at her head as though that would somehow bring everything to a halt. When some semblance of orientation returned, she came to the horrifying realization that she was sprawled back onto Fenris' lap. The Elf had gone rigid beneath her. She took some dark vengeful amusement in that. At least he had not expected this result either.
Still, it was a dismaying situation. They had never exactly discussed their parting three years ago. Drunkenly, her limbs flailed in a pathetic effort to right herself. When she could not throw enough weight forward to rock up off his lap, she resorted to pushing.
Only, she realized, her hand was now on his upper thigh and dangerously close to his hips. Instantly she jerked away.
"SORRY! Sorry! Oh Maker…" The apologies spewed out. Fenris still sat frozen, either unwilling or too stunned to help. In the end, she resorted to throwing her weight sideways, tumbling out of his lap in a roll. She game to rest face down on the floor, her hair strewed in a messy halo around her.
"Please… Just murder me now," she moaned.
Wonderful. Crash his house, spew to him some mage sob story then molest him. Best. Friend. Ever.
It was a long while before she heard any sign of movement. That was it. He was pissed. A lovely end to a miserable day; her skull stomped into the floor.
"It's a consideration."
Curiously light. Bemused, one golden hazel eye peeked out from a part in her tangled hair. His face was oddly relaxed, now that he no longer had a flailing mage in his lap. She huffed, blowing flutter of hair out of her face. "It's always so hard to tell when you're joking."
"I don't joke," deadpan.
She barked a laugh. "Bullshit. I heard you trading jokes with Varric the other day while we were passing through the Market in High Town."
Nothing was said in return. One black brow crept up and she let it go.
It was not long before the silence slipped back into the heavy weight that had been plaguing her for most of the day. Perhaps Fenris was right. She rolled onto her back with a sigh. Sprawled out, she stared into the dark that shadowed the high ceiling. "I don't know, maybe it would've been better."
.:*:.
It was quiet, but he just caught the words. Hawke must have noticed the curious tilt of his head, because she went on not much later. "If father had just stayed and I'd been taken to the Circle as a child," she explained.
"Your brother and sister would probably not have been born."
The words that followed were even softer now. He had to strain his ears to catch them. "Probably, and that's what I wonder. If never knowing them would've been worth not spending years running, hiding… dying…"
He could see the exhaustion in her as she scrubbed her hands roughly over her face; some useless attempt to wash her thoughts away.
"And now Carver risks being drawn into whatever disaster that seems to be taking the Templars down their vicious path of destruction."
Carver had been a sore subject of late. While he had never minded the younger man, there was a change in him since joining. Dispassion radiated from him. The normal fire in him when he had interacted with Hawke had twisted into a cold edge. He could see the nervous tension that hummed through Hawke whenever the two crossed paths. More than once the younger man had let cruel words slip, just short of threatening.
Heat crept into his voice. "You cannot make his choices for him. Is he not the one to always proclaim himself as an adult capable of his own decisions?"
The scoff Hawke gave was weak. The crack that entered her voice did not go unmissed. "He does. …Did. Does not mean I could not have been a better sister."
A preposterous notion in his mind. That was not to say that perhaps there were not things that Hawke could have changed, he never bothered to focus that hard on the conversations between her and Carver until he had taken the mantle of Templar, but so far as he was concerned, one was responsible for themselves after a certain age.
"And just what, exactly, would you have changed? Half of his issue appeared to be simply the fact that you had to hide that you were, are; an apostate."
"I don't know." The words rolled in a low murmur. "Let him take the lead more… encouraged him to take more risk in finding a master for a trade. Mother was always discouraging him, fearful that we'd be noticed… That Bethany would be noticed."
"That sounds like it was a failing of your mother, not you."
The wrong thing to say. He could visibly detect when the words registered to her. Her expression crumpled before she could catch it. There was a struggle as she tried to force her face to relax, to appear as though the mention of her mother had not dragged up recent agonizing memories.
"I guess… But what happened to her… I… I should've…"
This was doing no good. She was breaking further, not healing, not like she needed. Abruptly, he rose to his feet. "You should rest," he announced.
Her head turned to watch with a frown as he strode over with more balance than he felt. He stepped over her to the other side and held out his hand. Puzzled, unsure, she squinted up at it. It was a while before she finally took his hand. The sudden near dead weight of her almost took him down with her. He had not expected her to be so far gone that she could hardly hold her own weight. Braced, he hauled her up and she stumbled as she got her feet beneath her.
It was apparent that she was not going to be going anywhere on her own. He twisted around, drawing her arm over his shoulder. Unbalanced, the pair made for the stairs. "Remind me not to give you wine in the future."
"Not a lightweight," she muttered.
"You are definitely not light."
Heated eyes darted his way. "… Did you just make a fat joke?" He met her gaze evenly and she gave a drunken snort. "Whatever, Mr. I Don't Make Jokes. Wait… Does that mean you're actually calling me fat?"
Effort was made to keep his voice flat, but he felt the strain in his throat as his amusement attempted to slip out. "The word fat never left my mouth."
"Technicality," she grouched. The word hardly left her before she tripped on one of the steps. A yelp echoed through the room. Banister too far to reach, her other arm snapped around his torso to catch her balance.
Under the near hug, Fenris stiffened, but deeper into her drunken state, Hawke did not recoil like she had earlier when she had touched his thigh. Worse, she eased into the embrace, her cheek planting itself on his shoulder. Her voice slurred. "You're really warm."
The rigidness in his spine eased as she fairly purred against him. He could not be mad truly, seeing as he was the one who had given her the wine in the first place, particularly to get her drunk and distracted. This, though, had not been what he had had in mind. "And you," he drawled, "are cold."
A sharp sound of laughter escaped her and rose into giggles punctuated with a snort. The sound of it only made her snicker out an apology and fall further into giggles.
It was impossible not to smile. At the least, she could not see it, bent over as she was stuck in a seemingly endless loop of giggle snorts. The arms banded around his torso tightened as she struggled to stay up. The arm around the back of her shoulders slipped down to curl about her waist. He told himself it was to better hold her up as they staggered up the last remaining steps, not a renewal of buried feelings. The last thing they needed was for her to tumble back down the stairs.
There was at least one guest room that he knew that had remained mostly untouched in his years here. He firmly shoved down phantom sensations of a warm body draped over him. With some finagling he managed to get the door open without dropping his companion, though Hawke did not make it easy. Her giggling had finally tapered away with a woozy groan.
The dark interior of the room was lit with a gentle glow from his markings. It was enough to navigate the debris in the room; loose tiles, a splintered chair, and a toppled nightstand. He frowned. He would need to right that and replace the candle so she could actually see when he left. Sadly, he reflected, this was probably the cleanest room in the mansion. It had been years, but he had never really gotten around to going through the rooms and fixing the various problems, or even righting the furniture. There was some dark pleasure in so seeing a former Tevinter's home lying in shambles.
Standing beside the bed, he drew short. "Hawke… Sit."
"Wha?"
"The bed. Sit."
She laughed, swaying so her hip bumped him in a playful shove. "You don't sit on beds, Broody. You sleep on them!"
That damnable nickname the blasted Dwarf had saddled him with. He frowned down at her. "Fine, then sleep."
"I can't do that. I'm standing. I'd fall over."
A disgusted sound of frustration escaped him. He was peppered with sounds of confusion and disgruntlement as he twisted her around to try and settle her on the bed. It failed spectacularly.
Her foot must have caught on the hanging bed cloths. As she went to lie down, the world had swirled dizzyingly. The sudden drop of her weight back dragged him with her. He went down with a hiss of surprise. Landing found the two of them two thirds of the way on the bed, sprawled in a tangle of limbs.
Apparently having hit the drowsy phase of drinking, Hawke lay there uncaring. She blinked up at the ceiling, dazed. "Well, that's one way to do it…"
Scowl directed her way, Fenris started to rise when she snapped her arms back around him, fingers curling tight into his clothes. "Waaaaait. You're warm and it's cold in here."
It was ridiculous. He felt his face heat. "Then light a damn fire," he growled, attempting to rise again and failing. "There's a fire place in this room."
Incredulous hazel eyes watched him. "Do you really want a drunk mage trying to light a fire? By magic or hand? Really?"
He froze. Images of his mansion going down in flames rose in his mind. "…Valid point…" Still, there was more than one way for a person to gather warmth. "That's why blankets were invented. Let go."
Struggle to escape renewed, Fenris heard Hawke hum with disagreement, her hair tickling his neck as she shook her head. Mouth open, he was ready to berate her again when he felt the press of the bridge of her nose against his clavicle where it approached his shoulder joint. Even in the quiet dark of the mansion, her words were nearly lost in the softness of her whisper.
"Please don't leave. I don't want to be alone."
There was desperation, a sadness there that left him uncomfortable. His jaw shifted, clenched tight, as his mind raced. Did he stay? Was it right to stay? His hesitation stretched into the silence and then he felt the shake of her hands as her grip tightened just a little more.
He could not say no.
With a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to an awkward night. Adjusting, he drew himself fully onto the bed. Black clothed legs nudged hers over until she too was laid out on the bed, though a bit ungainly. She was staring down at their legs quizzically, seemingly at a loss for what he was doing.
Slow with hesitation, her eyes strayed back to his face; silent question in her eyes. His lips pursed and then he nodded.
Rewarded with a small smile, he watched as she proceeded to struggle out of her boots. The moment was used to forcibly wiggle the blankets out from under the pair of them. When she flopped back, boots now tossed into the dark, he drew the blankets up.
With a contented hum, Hawke settled quickly enough. Beside him, she curled tight in a ball. On his back, stiff and uncomfortable, Fenris stared up at the ceiling. The pair of them did not touch except for the small hand that gripped at his sleeve, as though in fear he would try to sneak away if she let down her guard in slumber.
Not much time passed before her breathing slowed. He felt the minute loosening of her grip. It was enough to draw his attention. Despite himself, he found himself staring, watching her sleeping expression. Whatever contentment she had found curling up in the bed had passed. A furrow formed in her brow.
Not entirely sure when it had happened, he found he had reached up to smooth his thumb along the crease in her brow. His hand stopped, hesitating in realization. Then, slowly, he went on. Over and over he gently rubbed at her skin until her expression eased into peace. He had missed this, that fateful night so long ago. He had not lingered to watch her, instead rising to pace anxiously by the fire as his mind was consumed with turmoil.
Warmth drew her in. She shifted in her sleep, head adjusting on the pillow until her forehead and nose pressed against his upper arm. Even through the fabric he could feel the chill of her nose. He reached down to pull the blankets higher on her.
Happiness tugged at her lips and he heard the softest hum. "Mmm, warm." Chilled, her nose nuzzled against his arm.
Subconsciously, he smiled.
Perhaps… perhaps there are a rare few mages that are not so awful. Perhaps what we had could work… The thought crept traitorously into his mind. Immediately he crushed it. There could be no doubt in him when he fought the magically gifted.
And yet the seed of doubt had been planted.
Thoughts churning in circles, he at last succumbed to sleep.
.:*:.
With the slow passage of time the light of dawn slipped between the curtains and crept across his skin. Blearily, Fenris groaned as his eyes fluttered open to find it shining directly in his eyes. Groggy still from the previous night, it was far too early to be awake, in his opinion.
He twisted to turn from the light, but a weight stopped him. Warmth suffused his body, more than any blanket could bring. Tentative, he reached up, touching the arm that had draped across his chest during the night. The soft brush of breath puffed against the skin of his neck and he became very aware of the woman pressed against his side.
When had she moved? Or had he? He distantly registered that he was further from the edge than he recalled. If he turned his head, his cheek brushed the hair that swept across her forehead. The bridge of her nose was nuzzled up against his jaw, her other arm squished between them. It was with surprise that he realized this felt good. His sluggish mind mulled over the feeling.
There was no doubt to him that he found Hawke attractive, and certainly he had a great fondness for her, even if he was sometimes reluctant to admit it (and certainly never in front of Varric). But the calm he felt at this moment, a strange flutter of his pulse, and the tingling warmth that spread with every one of her breaths or the faint twitch of her fingers in sleep was new. Hawke never took more than he was willing to give. Her loving affection was hesitant, afraid of drawing offense, but it was honest and not born simply of lust.
When he had all but run from her mansion the night they had lain together, she had never pushed him. He had seen hurt, betrayal, frustration, but never regret; never hate. Even then, after all of that, she had let him set the boundaries, let him guide.
To have another beside him in such a way was foreign. He began to realize that perhaps what he was feeling might have been joy or love, but sleep kept the feeling muted; away from an intensity that would have frightened him.
The rustle of leaves made the dawn's light dance irritatingly across his eyes and he grumbled tiredly. Turning, he maneuvered the pair so they were facing one another. Gazing at her face, he gave into the traitorously affectionate thoughts. His arm drew over her, pulling her a little closer as he pressed his face against the crown of her head.
Half curled against her, sleep dragged him back under.
Perhaps he no longer wished to be alone either.