Fenris had spent too long sitting in the corner of the Blooming Rose, trying to decide what to do. At some point he had lost his nerve. So he sat at the table, drinking wine, and trying to not be completely disgusted with what he watched. It was worse than being alone in his mansion and brooding. There he wasn't interrupted by foul smelling whores, the wine was better, and he wasn't watched by the elderly woman by the bar.
She hadn't stopped staring at him since he'd arrived. Or, she did, but she always came back to watch him. He ignored her after spending a good long moment glaring back. She hadn't backed down, and she ran a brothel so Fenris hadn't expected her to be easily cowed, and so he returned to his brooding and wine. Varric was the reason he was sitting in the corner, probably already high off of the spindleweed floating around the air, and getting drunker as the night dragged on. While Fenris wanted to be mad about that, in the end Varric was probably right.
They had been sitting in the Hanged Man, Varric cleaning Bianca after the day of ripping through slavers over the Wounded Coast. Varric had asked to talk to him, and so he followed him up to his own room, Isabela calling out and asking if they needed some boobs for company as well. Varric had a flirty retort back, not nearly as lewd, and then closed the door behind him.
Varric glanced up from Bianca, turning his gaze towards the scarf he had tied on his wrist. Fenris forced himself not to run his fingers over it, or hide it.
Varric cleared his throat. "So," he said, carefully choosing his words. "Besides, today, and every other day you are taken out to go kill lots of people, when have you left the mansion?"
Fenris glared at him, making a deep noise in the back of his throat. He could tell where this was going.
Varric nodded. "I thought so, elf." Varric carefully set Bianca down, cooing to her as Norah came through and handed them their whiskey, closing the door behind her. "You know that's not healthy. Hawke barely just got all the corpses and blood cleaned out of your mansion. It still looks like shit."
That was a gross exaggeration. The mansion had been cleaned of the corpses months ago. But Fenris remained quiet, glaring over his mug at the dwarf.
"Now, I'm not going to pretend to know what exactly happened in Hawke's mansion- and unless you're going to fill me in more than nobody swept anybody off their feet and that you left her-" he paused here to let Fenris fill in the blanks if he wished, and sighed when Fenris simply took a deep drink of the whiskey. "Well, I'm going to have to guess. You can cut in at any time of course, and correct me.
"Way I see it, you left her for a multitude of reasons all surrounding your... issues and lack of emotional... maturity."
Fenris growled, slamming the mug down.
"Hey." Varric held his hands up. "I don't blame you for having problems. How you're dealing with them would not be my method, but that's another story."
"And what would you have me do?" he bit out, mug cracking in his grip.
Varric smiled. "My plan would involve wooing and apologizing profusely for breaking a certain heart belonging to a certain amazing woman and probably some groveling. A few promises sprinkled in too. However" he stopped the oncoming growl and snarl with another raised hand, "I understand that is not going to happen. So instead I propose you start worrying about your own health and find something else to do then get drunk and destroy the mansion. More so than it already is."
"What? No." Fenris wasn't sure what Varric wanted at this point, but denied anyway.
Varric continued easily. "You need to take care of yourself elf- Fenris. People do care about you. Hawke still cares about you, even after... well no need to continue your guilt trip. But the point is that continue like this is not going to make her feel better, and isn't exactly putting you on the road to figuring it all out so you can have a relationship. If, you know, you still want one, Fenris."
"I want," Fenris stopped, staring at the mug. Not really. His eyes were on his wrist. He took a shaky breath. Varric looked at him with sympathy, and Fenris wondered about about the name Bianca. Varric never seemed to talk about his past. At least, in no real detail. Still, Fenris would not pry. He didn't care enough to actually pry.
Varric finished his mug and leaned forward. "Maybe you should visit the Blooming Rose, my friend."
Fenris's eyes must have gotten too wide, like a deer's ready to bolt perhaps, because Varric was quick to explain. "Go in, and find a girl. She'll make you feel better. You're obsessing now, and you're beating yourself up over what you did. I don't like what you did, and if you had any other reason to do what you did than you do, I would fill you with bolts." Varric paused for effect. "It's been a year and half Fenris. All you're doing in running yourself in a circle. Hawke is worth fixing yourself over. But you need to do something more then throw wine bottles at different walls."
Varric kept nodding, and Fenris found himself nodding as well. Without much thought to it, just mimicking the dwarf. Varric continued. "Maybe if you get yourself another girl- no emotions attached just comfort and sex things will work for you a little better. I think, anyway."
Fenris pushed the mug away, forcing himself to stop nodding along with the dwarf, and pulled at his hair. "I don't..."
"Go, Fenris. Go and ask for Delilah the Southern Star." Varric folded his fingers together, smiling like the cat that caught the canary. "There is of course Caitra the Big Show, or Mistress Gretel the Butcher if your want. But I'd go with Delilah."
Fenris tried not to think about what the women must look like. "What?"
Varric shrugged. "Their clean, good girls." A moment of thought. "Gretel might be for a special sort of client, and admittedly good is a loose term for these girls of course, but I recommend them. Depending on tastes."
Fenris rose sharply from his chair, flinching when it screeched and toppled over. He didn't wait around to fix it, stomping out of the Hanged Man and spent a fortnight a complete mess before sitting in the Blooming Rose. He didn't wear his armor, a hint from Isabela, and instead wore black trousers with a simple loose shirt. He gained the attention of the whores mingling around, but really nobody of interest. Except the old lady at the bar, wearing an expensive outfit for a courtesan, one that accentuated her curves. Expensive even for a noble. Her silver hair pulled back in loops and nets with enough jewelry to cost a small fortune.
He raised his glass again and she suddenly huffed, throwing an obscene gesture his way. Fenris froze in mild shock. The older lady pushed herself away from the bar and sauntered away to the back. Fenris went back to slouching and brooding. The proprietor came back later. She was talking to somebody over her shoulder, and Fenris mildly hoped it would keep her busy long enough that she would leave him alone. He went to take a drink and realized it was empty. He was going to toss it, throw it at the nearest wall. The satisfaction of watching the elegant glass shatter against the pretty painted wall would have been perfect.
But he wasn't at his mansion and he forced his hand back down. He looked up and nearly fell out of his chair in a panic. She couldn't be here. Why would she be here? Was she... did she bring... And then he realized it wasn't her. Just somebody that looked a lot like her. He fell back in his chair, closing his green eyes and sliding far enough down he almost disappeared under the table. His hands went to the scarf still tied to his wrist, beneath the long sleeves of his shirt. His breathing was shaky as the panic subsided. He dared not think about what scared him about her being her. Jealousy, fear of being caught, he didn't know. Both maybe. Probably.
There was a hum and then a little titter of laughter. "Do you need a refill, ser?" His eyes snapped open and he stared up at her. The girl that looked like Hawke. Yes, Hawke. He wouldn't call her anything else, he reminded himself. He didn't deserve to use any other name. He swallowed. Her eyes weren't the same. Up close, she was different in little ways. Her eyes more blue, where Hawke's were a stark hazel green. Hawke was covered in freckles, almost more than her actual pale skin color. This girl was more like Aveline. Light freckles. But their hair was the same. A vibrant red. Redder than Aveline's, darker. And her accent sounded Starkhaven. It made him wonder about Hawke's roots and where Malcom was from. "Ser?" she blinked prettily at him, motioning to his glass.
"Yes," he said, and she poured the wine she had brought over with her. His eyes traveled up her arms to her long neck. All laid bare. She wore a purple gown, a slip of a dress that hugged her body. Hiding just enough to leave a man's mouth dry, but showed her long legs in those stockings and her large breasts. He remembered Varric's words, and suddenly cursed the dwarf. "Who are you?"
She gave him a curious look, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "Delilah, ser." She then chewed on her lips, red with makeup. Fenris cursed the dwarf verbally this time. She frowned suddenly, holding the wine tighter. "Have I offended, ser?" She glanced back at Madam Lusine. He caught sight of the old shrew scowling even harder at him. He snarled back at her this time.
But the woman stepped back, feet shuffling, and he calmed himself, turning back to her. "No," he said, finally answering her question. He reached for the wine. "No. You've done nothing wrong." He always seemed to lash out at anybody, hurting so many he didn't want to. She stepped forward again, bending over and slowly- ever so slowly cupped his cheek. She was scared of him. He glanced back at her, eyes traveling from her breasts that threatened to fall from her dress up to her eyes.
"The Madam," she said, licking her lips, "she is curious if you are going to sample anything besides the wine, ser."
For the shrew to send Delilah at him, to leave and specifically return with her told Fenris a lot. Mostly revolving Varric. He needed to know the dwarf's involvement before going any further with Delilah. "How much do you know?"
She gasped and went to pull away at his tone. He grabbed her arm, holding her where she was. Quietly, drawing no attention from anybody except Madam Lusine, who straightened at the bar, arms crossed as she watched. "Ser?" she said, glancing all around. He jostled her. Not hurting her, just demanding. "Master Varric came and spoke to Madam Lusine. When she spotted you, I assume at least, she had me waiting for you to ask. As a favor to Master Varric."
"A favor?"
"He helps keep us safe," she said quietly, not even fighting him as he still clung to her.
"Of course he would," Fenris muttered, glancing down as he took another breath. Varric had his nose in everything. He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of the dwarf involving himself in this cesspool. That said, he'd been sitting there for close to half the night. If she had been waiting the whole time he probably cost her a bit of gold. He probably should have felt guilty over that.
"Ser?" Delilah glanced from his face to his hand on her arm. He stood, licking his lips and letting her go. She was taller than he expected, looking at her now at his own full height and not slouched in a chair. She cocked her head to the side, like a bird, and watched him down his entire glass again.
Then he turned to her and said, "I would like a night. With you."
She smiled. No blush of a maiden at his words, just a practiced, guarded smile. He knew that sort of smile. Plenty of slaves wore it in Tevinter. "Of course, ser." She led him to the front, where he paid as she handed off the bottle of wine. Madam Lusine was not quiet in her snide remarks, but Fenris found it easy to ignore the shrew. Surprising all things considered. He blamed the alcohol. Delilah led him up to the room, her saunter practiced and sexy. She was taller than Hawke. Hawke was small, a little shorter than him.
She opened the door, stepping in and turning. Like a small dance. He shut the door behind him. She slid onto the bed, eyeing him as he inspected the room. A habit. One of the few good habits he developed from serving Danarius. He quickly inspected the window, the desk, the bed, and then finally her. She was watching him, trying to figure him out before they started probably. He wondered what Varric told them. She scooted back onto the bed, keeping eye contact with him.
He walked over, pulling the shirt over his head and dropping it at the foot of the bed, kicking off his boots. Her jaw dropped, eyes trying to follow his tattoos. The bed shifted as he crawled on, crawling over her. She smiled up at him and he descended for a kiss. Her hands slowly came up and threaded through his hair, pulling him closer. He used his elbows to hold himself over her, shifting his weight to one so he could run a hand down her body to her hips. He pulled back for air, reaching to push up her small dress.
When she was bare before him Fenris could only look. She continued to touch, trailing finely manicured fingers across his biceps and chest. Her hands were so soft, especially with her gently tentative touches. Nothing like Hawke's he thought as he closed his eyes, bringing his hands back down from tossing her dress. Hawkes hands were calloused with years of fighting and hard labor. Delilah's were manicured, her nails shaped to perfection, her skin lotion up and scented with oils.
Fenris pushed her hair back, pulling it from the up do and running his hands through it. She smiled and hummed, nails scraping almost when he tugged her up for another kiss. When he pulled away she traced his ears, breathing heavy. He trailed his kisses down her jaw to the crook of her neck. He could feel her body pressed entirely against him. She was chubby, bigger than Hawke. Hawke was toned for a mage, and had especially shapely legs that Fenris very much appreciated. But she was still soft, full. It made Fenris smile as he dragged his hands down, grasping her breast and rolling it. It meant she was healthy.
She gave a throaty moan, pressing into his hand as he continued to kiss down, finding her other breast to suckle and nibble on. She was panting and moaning when he pulled away, continuing his trail downward. He probably should have felt some remorse, using a woman like this. Most woman didn't choose to become whores. But he couldn't find it in him as his hands found her hips, slowly running his calloused hands over the silky skin and finding the dip down to her center. She thrashed, hips bucking as he teased. Never touching. His pushed his hands down her legs, enjoying the way body begged.
His mouth reached her hips, finding her left side and he kissed, twirling his tongue there as he slowly brought his hands back up. Her freckles stopped where she had no sun. Hawke had thick freckles everywhere it seemed, he thought, continuing to suckle her skin. Hawke also had a scar, right there where he kissed. A deep one. She hadn't told him where she got it, no matter how much attention he had bathed it with that night. She had probably wanted him to ask. He nipped at the skin irritably. She gave a throaty yip, bucking against him. "Please!" she said, breaking his reverence with one, thickly accented, word.
Fenris stopped, moving to rest his head against her stomach, forehead pressed against her and he just breathed. He needed to stop, he knew. He couldn't compare this woman to Hawke. What was there to compare? And he was here to get away from Hawke, wasn't he? He kept his eyes clenched shut, clinging to her hips desperately. She seemed to instantly settle, sensing something was wrong. Her hands came down slowly, petting his hair. It must have been a girl thing to do, since Hawke did it as well. He swallowed, hard. "Ser?"
"What is your name?" he asked, not looking up.
She laughed again. "Delilah."
Much like his name was Fenris probably. A pretty persona that would draw attention. "No, your name."
Everything was silent for a long moment before she simply just rested her hand on his head. He glanced up, and she looked older. "Not many ask for it." She cupped his cheek. "Mirabelle, ser. May I ask yours?"
The name struck a cord. He thought maybe he should know it. But he couldn't think where. He kissed her skin again though, and smiled a bit anyway. "Varric did not tell you?"
"He did. But I would like you to tell me."
Silly woman. "Fenris." She smiled again, lighting up her face and she pulled him up for another kiss. One of his hands went threaded through her hair, the other found the small nubbin between her wet folds, making her moan into his mouth, bucking against his hand. He fought out of his trousers, and quickly thrust forward. She threw her head back, easily keeping pace with him. She moaned and begged for more, nails digging into his back and arms as her hips rose to meet his. He kept his hand between them, pushing her farther, rubbing and tweaking the bundle of nerves right above where they joined, refusing to let her go.
When he came there was none of that drumming in the back of his head. Deep, dark, louder than the blood pumping through his ears. When Hawke touched him, and she reached his heart through his chest in ways even he couldn't ever accomplish. This Mirabelle- Delilah, whoever she was beneath him at that moment simply pulled at his body. Strummed at his nerves and pushed at carnal desires. She couldn't even make him howl as he finished inside her.
And so when Fenris collapsed he let himself simply exists for a moment with that revelation that he always knew but denied. He knew there was more to what had happened that night than simply sex. If it had just been sex there would have been no problems watching her flirt idly with others. His chest wouldn't feel like his lungs were collapsing when she batted her eyelashes prettily at high nobles that stopped her when they walked through High Town, vying for her affections. But to know now how much of their sex that night had been tied to lo- emotions was near terrifying for the elf. And at the same time seemed to solidify everything.
He opened his eyes to see the woman stretching with a content smile. She turned to face him, and he rolled to sit at the edge of the bed. Elbows on his knees he worked at Hawke's favor, pulling to wrap it around his knuckles and pressed it to his lips. It probably said something that he hadn't taken it off during sex. He closed his eyes and tried to find the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine. After the year it was no longer there, and he had grown so angry when he had first realized it.
The bed shifted and he glanced over to see her moving to sit beside him. "So I guess it is true. I do look like the Champion," she said idly, pushing her hair back as she glanced side long at him. "You are one of her two elfs, correct? Or are there two white haired elfs with fantastical tattoos in our humble city?" She looked older again. Tired, weary. She stood and stretched, and he spotted the scaring above her buttocks. A branding of a star. Her namesake apparently. And a story that Varric probably knew. Perhaps a testament to why she worked in the Blooming Rose. Most were running from something exceedingly worse. He didn't stare, returning his attention to her question.
"You are similar to her."
She tittered again, a musical sound as she fell back onto the bed. He imagined Mirabelle was a happy, honest girl in her youth. Probably enchanted men with singing and smiles. Now Delilah spread her legs for whoever could pay. Life was sad, he thought. He rose from the bed, turning to redress. She found her clips, twisting her hair back up and watched him. "Whatever is wrong, I hope this helped, ser," she said when he moved to the door. Fenris stopped to look at her for a long moment, and then nodded. He was gone then, the door shutting quietly behind him.
She sat back, trying to pick up her dress with her feet because she was lazy like that. He was sweet, she thought, scowling when the silk refused to be caught between her toes and she had to stretch farther. Caitra had told her she should pick up a new persona to match the uprising Champion. She couldn't bring herself to do it though. That sort of persona often brought in nasty grudges, perverted stalkers, and sick fans. Besides, she was finally beginning to like Delilah.
Her door opened after a quick knock, and she glanced up to see Varric making his way inside. He shut the door, glancing at her lack of attire- and probably humorous sitting position considering she still hadn't snagged her dress- and coughed politely as he turned around. "Varric," she said, frowning. She never knew how much she wished if he would just stay away. Most of the time she was sure he belonged with the rest of her past, forgotten. "You know, you don't have to pay to talk to me. I do have days off. Unless you've finally changed your mind?"
"No serah," Varric said, a smile in his voice. "But I heard it took the elf forever to finally get in bed with you. Thought I'd make up for all the lost coin."
"You don't have to take care of me anymore, Varric. I'm a big girl now."
"Mirabelle," he said, and it brought back a lot of old memories about love long lost. She finished with her dress and moved to sit at the edge of the bed. The dwarf smiled at her, finding a chair. "So, how did the elf take it?" he asked, trying to smile as he looked at her.
Fenris made his way around Hightown through the shadows. His shirt was still open and the alcohol mixed with spindleweed still made everything seem almost more pleasant then it really was. Thankfully he had a high tolerance for such substances, since the nights in Hightown weren't any less dangerous than anywhere else in Kirkwall. And, while he had no problems believing he could survive any of the gangs that still roamed the streets, for once the thought of fighting was less pleasant than not.
As he rounded a corner he knew far too well he heard the tell tale laughter of Hawke. It was too loud to ever be polite, too long to be dainty, and full of real joy. He stopped where he was to watch her. She was walking slowly beside Aveline, Duke sniffing at the rosebushes of one of her neighbors. Gardens were rare in Hightown, or Kirkwall in general, making the Hawke estate another anomaly with the long vines that grew over their walls from their wild garden in the back. Hawke didn't seem capable of blending in.
"So, I hope you know Mama is living through you," Hawke said. "She never got her big fancy wedding like she wanted. I'm pretty sure her and Papa just signed some papers, ran out of the Chantry and kept running until Mama popped six months later."
"Six?" Aveline said, eyebrow raised.
"Mama didn't exactly practice what she preached," Hawke said with a chuckle. Her hair was loose, curled with tangles. "Which is probably why she doesn't preach at me anymore."
"You are horrible, Hawke," Aveline said, shaking her head.
"Anyway, make sure you bring Donnic next time. While I doubt he really cares if the dishes match the napkins that really need to pair up with the flowers that are going to compliment your dress, I'm betting he does want to have some sort of say about his wedding."
"Of course Hawke." Aveline smiled, uncrossing her arms. She was smaller without her armor. "Thank you, again, Hawke."
"Don't thank me yet Aveline. After the embarrassment I went through to get you to this wedding, I will repay you. Don't thank me until that's done." A moment of thoughtful silence, and then, "So, since this is your second wedding, would you mind overly much if I-"
"I would mind Hawke."
She laughed again, and Fenris found himself smiling as well. He didn't try to hide it. "Alright, alright. I still get to plan the bachelorette party though, right?"
"I will regret this, but yes." Aveline shook her head with a rueful smile. "Good night, Hawke."
Hawke, in the middle of her small happy dance, waved. "Night Aveline." She waved, and then glanced around for Duke, giving a shrill whistle with her fingers in her mouth. Fenris, watching her, hadn't seen the mabari making his way over to him. Duke barked, butt and tail wagging. Fenris froze when she spotted him- and Duke- and lost her smile. "Fenris, hey." She walked over, rubbing her arms together. While her homely dress wasn't overly warm, he was sure she wasn't cold. After living in Fereldan, she said, Kirkwall was going to have to work to make her anything short of slightly uncomfortable.
"Hawke," he said, pushing Duke away when the dog continued to sniff at him. He needed a bath, Fenris knew. He did not need the dog telling him that. He didn't need her to notice either. Shoulders hunched defensively, he leaned away when she got close.
"What are you doing out so late?" she asked, taking in his odd attire and probably able to smell everything.
"I... nothing. I need to go. I need to be alone," he said, again fighting with himself. His hand went to his wrist when he turned away.
But her hand wrapped around it first, pulling him back. "Have you eaten tonight?" He just stared at her. "I thought so. Come on. Of course, be forewarned. I cooked tonight, with Aveline if that helps any." She gave him a lopsided grin as she pulled him along.
"Hawke," he said, trying to stop her.
"Come on, Fenris. You can be alone with me tonight, for dinner. I'll be quiet, I promise." She glanced at him through her hair. "But you don't need to be lonely." She slowly let go of his wrist, opening the door as an invitation. "You don't ever have to be lonely, Fenris."
Duke ruined the moment by barking and prancing into the house. She smiled, biting back a laughter at her dog, watching him trot to the fireplace. She looked back, and Fenris slowly nodded, carefully walking after the dog. He needed to get better, and like Varric said. Being alone in a mansion that haunted him, throwing expensive wine around hadn't helped. Maybe, sitting in a family dinner would.
Response to lj kinkmeme: In the three years that Fenris and Hawke don't talk about what happened between them, Fenris goes to the Blooming Rose at Varric's pushing. Fenris hires someone, and finds it less satisfying than being with Hawke. OP would prefer F!Hawke and F!Prostitute but whatever anon feels comfortable with writing is up to them. :)
Mirabelle is from Varric. In game, Fenris is all "Why the name Bianca?" and Varric goes "Because the name Mirabelle was already taken" and that struck a cord in me (along with what he tells Daisy). So, as a warning, if I ever get the idea going beyond the slight glimmer I got now, you might see a pre game Varric story coming from me.