A/N: This is also available on AO3, under the same title.

Alternate title for this was "Claddagh."

Short and belated St. Patrick's Day FenHawke piece.

Love, Loyalty, and a Ring

It was another late night at the Hanged Man; Hawke and Anders had long since retired; Isabela had disappeared with a wink and a nudge and a pointed look at a young guardsman; left at the table were Merrill, Varric, Aveline, and Fenris. The last round of diamondback was coming to a close, and they halfheartedly nursed the last rounds of the night.

"So, Broody," Varric said, and Fenris could tell that Varric was feeling rather drunk, and more than a little bit nosey, and the dwarf wore that shit-eating grin…

"What is it?" Fenris asked, tone dulled by the alcohol. He couldn't be angry, not really: it had been a good day, all things considered; he was learning to relish the good days, when they came.

Varric gestured to the red slip of cloth that Fenris wore on his wrist. "That's Hawke's, isn't it, Broody?"

Fenris, in all his drunken glory, glowered.

Merrill hiccupped. "You need to – to give her something!"

"It is done," Fenris said, once he found the words. Everyone was looking at him expectantly; even after several years, he was unused to such attention.

Varric gestured to the barmaid. "Another round! Double for Broody."

Next to him, Aveline asked, "What did happen between you and Hawke, Fenris?"

"Hawke and Fenris," Isabela said, suddenly reappearing from whatever debauchery her sinning ass had committed, "Now that's a story. Sexual tension could cut you like a knife."

What happened next was entirely out of character and utterly unexpected: Fenris looked around the table, from the concerned face of Aveline to Varric's knowing smirk to Merril's wide eyes, thought to himself "fuck it," and downed the last of his pint.

And he spoke.

.

.

.

Several Days Later

"Oh," Merril said, clasping her hands. "I'm so excited! Hawke's going to love this!"

She, Varric, and Fenris were in her house in the alienage; upon her table sat a silver ring in a red velvet box. Fenris looked from the ring to the gleaming eyes of the mage girl, and heaved a sigh. "Are you certain?"

The ring – a Dalish creation called a Claddagh – had been Merrill's idea.

"The hands are friendship, the heart is love, and the crown is loyalty," she explained. "Oh, it's perfect for Hawke! I knew you were in love –"

"Ah, Daisy," Varric said, before Fenris could retort, "Could you get me some water?"

Merrill left with an "Oh, of course!" and completely oblivious to how close she'd been to a verbal lashing.

"Go easy on her," Varric said to Fenris. "She means well."

Fenris frowned, but didn't argue. He had never, not in the two and a half years since he'd slept with Hawke, told another soul about the encounter – he hadn't even spoken of it with Hawke.

And he was beginning to go crazy.

He could admit to himself – he'd made a mistake, that morning. He'd felt like a trapped animal as Hawke had slept peacefully beside him.

He was ten sorts of fool for leaving a woman such as Hawke.

"Hawke will like it," Varric said, pulling Fenris out of his thoughts. "Five sovereigns says so."

"And if she rejects it?"

Varric clasped Fenris' arm. "Then at least you'll have some closure."

Fenris barely suppressed a snort at that. Closure might be too much to expect – he was certain he didn't deserve it. Varric's advice was admittedly sounder than Isabela's; her words of wisdom had been, "break into her bedroom and be waiting naked for her when she gets home." Aveline had immediately argued against it, on the grounds that it was liable to get Fenris hexed to the Deep Roads and back.

Merrill returned, hands on her hips. "You don't want Anders to woo Hawke, do you?"

Varric whistled under his breathe. "That'll do it, Daisy."

"Hawke can choose to be happy with whomever she pleases." Fenris placed the ring into his pocket and forced himself to stay composed. "You have – mentioned the concept to Hawke? Of the ring?"

Merrill nodded. "Yes, yes, I told her. Now go! She's waiting."

Varric winked, and ushered Fenris out the door.

.

.

.

Fenris had prepared an entire speech on the walk to Hightown, but upon taking a seat in Hawke's library and facing the woman, he was at lost for words. Perhaps it was the lighting; perhaps it was his rose-tinted spectacles…but in that moment, Marian Hawke seemed the most beautiful woman in the world.

"How are you, Fenris?" Hawke asked, taking a seat. Fenris watched her eyes dart to the red cloth at his wrist, but her face remained neutral.

"I am…well," he said. "I have something for you."

Her eyebrows rose. "Oh? Well – thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he said, a corner of his mouth tugging up. "It could be a scorpion."

"You wouldn't," Hawke teased. He handed her the velvet box, eagerly waiting for her reaction.

She smiled. Good. That's…good. "It's a Dalish ring," he told her. She slipped it on – thank Andraste, it fit – and smiled at him. "It's lovely. Thank you, Fenris."

He took a breath; there was no turning back now. "We never discussed what happened between us. Three years ago."

That threw Hawke off guard; she looked up at him, as if she were looking at him for the first time. "You…didn't want to talk about it. I assumed…"

"I felt like a fool. I thought it'd be best if you hated me."

"We were friends Fenris – we still are. When you left, it hurt, but I – I don't hate you. I never did. And you don't need to give me a friendship ring to prove it." She stood; he followed suit.

"I – Hawke," he said, "That's not what I meant."

"What…did you mean, Fenris?" She was looking at him expectantly, confusion written clean across her face.

"You were always an open book," he found himself saying. "Easy to read. But you can be daft."

If anything, this confused Hawke even more. "Fenris…"

He went on quickly, spurred by her defensive tone. "The Dalish ring," he said. "Is not typically given in friendship." He felt his heartbeat quicken and was suddenly very, very aware of the sweat trickling down his neck.

"Well," Hawke said, smile curling at her mouth. "What would be the other occasion?"

"The ring represents companionship, loyalty, and…love. I have been ten sorts of fool, Hawke. I shouldn't have left. I – the memories were too much. But I shouldn't have left. I am asking your forgiveness." It had taken him three years to get to this point, to admit aloud what had transpired, what memories had resurfaced. Hawke was no Danarius, was no slaver – her touch was far more gentle, her eyes far less cold.

"Why did you?" she asked, voice soft.

"I was a coward. If I could go back, I would stay. Tell you how I felt. But I cannot; this is my penance."

"You don't need to make penance, Fenris," Hawke said, uncharacteristically shy.

Somehow, the distance between them had become less than one pace. Fenris reached out and caught Hawke's hand within his own. He brushed a thumb over the Claddagh. "You will always have me as a friend, Hawke; you have my loyalty, to whatever cause you pursue. And, if you will have me…my love is yours."

Hawke kissed him as he looked up, all lips and teeth and tongue. Her arms went around his neck, her beasts flush against his chest. He hoisted her up onto the table, her knees on either side of his waist. It was a rare moment where they were both gloriously devoid of all armor; her house robes fell from her shoulders easily; his trousers were around his ankles soon after. Her mouth was on his neck, hands tugging at the fabric of his shirt.

Fenris had not planned on lying with Hawke on her study table, but that's just what he did.

.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, after.

In response, Hawke flipped the ring, so the heart was facing towards her. "It's done," she told him, matter-of-factly. "The ring says so. You're stuck with me."

"If there is a future to be had," Fenris said, "I will walk into it gladly at your side."