What Came After

By: FightfortheLost

She'd been staring at the horizon for a long time, Fenris noticed. She stood at the front of the ship, not coming below decks. She'd isolated herself from them, except the dog who was sitting with his large head beside her on a crate, looking at her in concern. Everyone had noticed at this point. Now, however, they were dropping not especially subtle hints that he should go see what his lover's problem was.

As if they didn't already know.

They'd left the Gallows almost an hour prior. No one really knew where they were going, save that they were running. The templars would be after them, because she had made a decision that he knew she was regretting. A decision that had been ugly and she had hated to have to make.

Always, she'd tried to ride the middle ground. She did not take sides. When she felt it was the right decision to send someone to the circle, she did. When she felt it was right to let them free, she did. She followed her moral compass down a road that had led her brother to becoming a Grey Warden. She'd freed slaves, done her best to protect those who could not protect themselves. She had stood by her friends, helped them if they needed it, gave them a firm thrashing when they needed that.

She'd loved him, a man who had walked out on her. A man who had spent three years regretting that action and watching from a distance as others tried to insert themselves into her life. She had forgiven him.

He approached her silently, staring off at the same horizon she was looking towards while he searched for words. As he reached her side, the dog looked up, then lumbered away, as if understanding something unspoken.

Fenris still hadn't thought of what to say to her. "I am sorry," he finally managed.

"Don't apologize," she said softly. "You were right. You were right from the start." She sighed, and it sounded like it was wrung from her body. Her head hung and he reached out to touch her, but he couldn't bring himself to.

Finally, he rested his hands on the rail that circled the ship and leaned on it heavily. "Not about everything," he said quietly. "I believed all mages could be corrupted. You...have proven otherwise."

"Did I?" Her voice sounded hollow, empty.

He looked up at her and saw the pain on her face that her voice did nothing to echo. "Hawke?" he inquired, straightening.

Her eyes squeezed shut. "He was my friend, Fenris. I could have let him walk away. I could have told him to go. But instead I killed him." She lifted her face. "I murdered him."

The reason for her pain surprised him, then he realized that it shouldn't. She'd known that mage for several weeks more than him. By the time he'd met her, they were already rather close friends. He'd been briefly concerned that she would take the mage in her bed after he walked away. She hadn't, but there was affection between the two. "Hawke," he said, gently touching her black hair.

She turned her face into his chest and he saw, before her face was hidden, the rage and pain and frustration. "I supported the mages because I thought Meredith was too extreme. But was she really wrong? As soon as he was trapped, Orsino turned to blood magic and nearly killed us. He was working with..." She was starting to cry, but all he could do was hold her gently and stroke her hair, letting her lance the emotional wound.

He felt her arms come up around his back, holding him as though he were a lifeline. She let out an enraged and pained cry and it was muffled by his shoulder. It reminded him of another time, after her mother died when another pained cry had driven him nearly mad. Back then he'd held her, but he refused to help her otherwise. He'd spoken, but he couldn't offer to take her mind off of the pain.

This time, he could do more. He lifted his hand, cupping the side of her face, using it to angle her face up to where he could see it. Then, he leaned down, caressing her lips with his. It was a gentle touch, and she sobbed from the contact, her hands gripping him tighter. Her lips tasted of blood, of tears and he closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. When her lips parted, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, caressing hers.

She pressed closer, hands slipping down his back, grabbing his belt. He withdrew, surprised as she started fumbling with the buckle. There were still tears in her eyes and he knew she was looking to escape the pain and the fear, so he didn't stop her. The belt hit the ground with a loud thunk and he hoped their companions would take the hint and make themselves scarce.

He pulled her close once again, sweeping kisses along her jaw and down her neck, listening to her whimpered mewls. Her hand speared into his hair and he felt her leg go around one of his. He bit her lightly when he felt her hips press against his own. "Marian," he hissed against her skin, his own hands finding the clasp of her belt. He had hers off as quickly as she'd had his own.

She'd kept her promise. She'd survived, as had he. He could remember every moment of battle, fearing that she would fall, rushing towards her when an enemy got too close. He wasn't going to let her die if he could help it. She had obviously felt the same way, because often, when he was feeling weak and tired, the scent of magic surrounded him and he felt rejuvenated. He knew she'd spent the majority of that battle healing him and the others, knew that just because she wasn't swinging a huge sword didn't mean she didn't work just as hard.

He could hear the sound of the others hurrying below decks, heard Varric and Isabella say something about a new card game. Mentally, he thanked them as his hands found the small buttons that went down her armor. It was with little patience that he pushed the underwear out of his way. His mouth went to her breasts, lavishing them with attention. At some point, she'd managed to get the chest plate off of him, and her fingers were slipping down the back of his tunic.

He hissed softly as her delicate touch caressed a burn on his back. She whimpered as he bit down on her flesh as a reaction to the pain. As his hands swept down her ribs, he found a few wounds of her own and she reacted by wincing and clutching him tighter. Finally, he gripped the hem of her pants, pushing them and her underwear down. He unlaced his just enough to free himself and he turned her about, gripping her tightly as he pushed into her. She let out a cry of pleasure, and he swore softly, gripping her breast in his hand.

It was hard, rough, and over quickly, but he managed to hold back until she crested. He breathed heavily, sitting back on a crate, kissing her neck gently as she leaned back against him. After a few minutes, she turned, drawing a strangled gasp from him. Her legs were now thrown over his lap and she burrowed her head into his shoulder. He slipped his arms around her, resting his head against her own.

They simply stared at the slowly brightening horizon for a long time. Finally, Hawke sighed heavily and he suspected that her emotional storm had finally passed. "Are you ready to listen?" he asked softly.

She nodded against him. She didn't say anything. That might have worried him, if not for how relaxed she seemed to be now.

He sighed softly. "There was no 'good side' in that fight, Hawke. It wasn't a simple choice, and I don't think you could have chosen any differently. The leading power in two groups were tainted, Orsino by Quentin's ideas, Meredith by that idol. Even..." he refused to say the bastards name. "He was tainted, too. He'd been overwhelmed, Hawke, you have to know that."

She sniffled softly. "I know. It still hurts."

He stroked her hair, his lips caressing her forehead. "You say you murdered him. Maybe to you it looks like that. However, you didn't see his face as he died." Her head lifted and Fenris looked her in the eyes. "I did. A man who always looked like he was being tortured looked...at peace for the first time since I've known him."

She lifted her face, looking up at him and he saw tears in her eyes. "Thank you."

He smiled faintly, pulling her close and kissing her tenderly.