(Story is slightly AU in the sense that Fenris did not immediately leave Hawke after sleeping with her. That's all there is to note.)


Year 5

The Hanged Man

On a Sunday

"Maker."

The glaring sun was punishment on her sore eyes as Hawke shuffled through the Lowtown streets. The city was barely moving at the hour, morning only just breaking over Kirkwall. The brownstone walls of the stretching buildings were illuminated on the warm glow of the sunrise, but that only meant one thing to Hawke; it would only get brighter. The one thing she needed now was to scuttle into a dark corner away from the light to ease her aching head. She cursed the nights for being too short to provide the darkness this feeling needed. So there she was at daybreak, crawling into the darkest hole she knew she could get to.

The Hanged Man - the worst bar in Kirkwall. Also sometimes the best.

Hawke wasn't even sure how she ended up at home, since she never remembered getting there. She had woken up in her bed, limbs akimbo and tangled up in the blankets. She had even managed to get under them, which normally would have puzzled her, but it required too much critical thought to even question it at that point. Soon she was pushing on the heavy door into her sanctuary. The smell of shitty ale welcomed her with a homey warmth, as did the dim light. Her eyes opened more fully as she made her way towards the bar counter, the bartender standing behind it cleaning mugs as if he never moved. He noticed her right away, giving her a kurt nod in his friendliest greeting.

"Serah Hawke," he grunted.

She gave him a grumble that might as well have ben his name, and he was already pouring out her hangover cure. He handed it over just as Hawke put down three coppers, her hand moving from her coin purse to the counter in a flash. She wanted to pound it back, but she found herself sipping it neat as she wandered towards an empty table at the far end of the bar. The bartender knew to just keep them coming. Hawke stared into the cup, amber liquid sitting still at the bottom. She drank down the rest in one swift motion, squeezing her eyes shut in preparation for the burning in her throat, but it was underwhelming. She was just that used to it, or perhaps too numb from the night before.

Hawke continued to stare at the cup while she felt the alcohol already bringing her back into a more conscious state (although it would take much more to actually get there). What happened last night? It was the million sovereign question, and a question she asked herself so many times and a question she never had an answer for. Not even one her associates could answer, either, as they would most likely be stumbling into her company any time that morning. She considered crossing into the inn side of the bar, rousing Varric and getting him to tell her. He never got as drunk as she did, or was at least able to hold his alcohol better, but he always ended up exaggerating the story, so she had stopped asking. At least, she hoped he was exaggerating all the time. It was hard to tell with him.

It seemed Hawke didn't have to wait long for company, seeing someone sitting in front of her, slumped over the same way she was. Hawke's eyes trailed up from the table, first at a pair of breasts, and then quickly up to Isabela's grim face. Her blue bandana was tied messily to hide her tangled hair, golden eyes looking dull against her jewelry.

"You look like shit, Hawke," she mumbled. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't bothered to even glance at a looking glass that morning. The confused look she gave Isabela caused her to laugh, the smile already bringing some life to her face. Hawke simply sighed, looking back into her cup, willing it to refill itself.

"No need." Isabela produced a bottle from her side, topping the glass up. "I knew we'd be needing this after last night." She poured some for herself, clinked her glass against Hawke's and they both threw back the whiskey. The pirate began to repeat the process.

"Speaking of which," Hawke said right after gulping down her third drink that morning, "what happened last night?" It was worth a shot.

"You're asking the wrong person. Maker, that got out of hand." Isabela frowned, trying to recall any detail. "I don't usually let it get that bad, for myself, at least." She smiled slowly, a memory coming back to her as she poured out another two shots. "Let's see, then. There was the round of Wicked Grace before anybody got really drunk. Didn't last as long as it usually did because I think you and I were both loaded. I remember not even being able to-" she cut herself off with a laugh before spilling any cheating secrets she was about to spill. "Right after that was the chugging contest, which you instated."

"Right," Hawke nodded. "Who won that?"

"Oh, you did. You made a big deal out of it, I do recall." The pirate leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest, giving Hawke a satisfied smirk. She was afraid to know any more.

"Who lost?" she asked anyway.

"Fenris, of course, I don't think Tevinter slaves really get the chance to practice. But I was surprised you got him to partake anyway, repressed as he is. He was pretty pissed off at you."

Hawke just rolled her eyes. "When is he not? In general."

Isabela shrugged. "He adores you, though. It's not easy to tell when he's," she waved her hands in front of her, gesturing something, "all glarey and broody, but when you aren't looking…" She smiled, seeming to drift off in thought for a moment. "Those sad eyes are just so pretty." Quickly she scrunched her nose up, snapping out of her thoughts. "Anyway, past that I was too far gone to tell you anything more. Varric might know, or even Fenris, next time you see him."

Hawke was reaching over to the bottle, pouring out another portion of whiskey for them, intending to sip her own rather than knock it back again. "I just want to know how I got home last night. I don't remember at all."

"There are worse things you could not remember."

"And be glad you don't." Varric had arrived in the bar now, seeming to appear out of nowhere. Hawke's face lit up when she saw him take a seat between herself and Isabela. He wasn't drinking first thing, evidence he didn't have a hangover like the other two.

"Actually, I'm not glad," Hawke smiled. "I really do want to know what I got up to last night."

The dwarf stared at her like he hadn't been heard the first time. A sweet smile at him and he sighed, rubbing his temples. Perhaps he was, too, hungover, just not to the extent as her. "Okay, I guess I can divulge a little bit. At what point did you black out?"

"Chugging contest. I don't remember that I apparently won."

He laughed sharply. "Alright, you gotta hear this one." He cleared his throat, pausing for a moment to see the scene:

"Alright, we have our contestants lined up right here."

Hawke was swaying in her spot standing at the end of the long table in the back of the bar. The noise around her did nothing but egg her on as she wobbled in her spot, heading a table of half-aware drunks like she was their queen. Isabela laughed loudly as she offered an arm for support, which Hawke gripped onto.

"Okay, so," she began to slur, looking out over her blurry subjects. "First one t-, First one to drink six pints, which're all laid out in fronna ya… Wins the competition. We have, me, myself, Hawke. Contender number one. Nummer two," she gestured beside her, "Isabela. An we also have my good dwarf friend, Varric, and Fenris, the attractive and handsome elf."

Fenris was glaring at her, unable to believe he had been talked into this. Sure he had a bit to drink himself, and that had likely lowered his inhibitions enough to partake, but as he was surrounded by slurring drunks Hawke started to name off as other participants. It was likely she was just making their names up as she went.

"Alright, on three. One… two…" Hawke held for effect as the others waited on her word with baited breath. "Three!"

The other players who were watching Hawke out of the corners of their eyes quickly noticed it was a spectacle to behold. Never had Isabela seen someone so cleanly gulp back, uninterrupted, cheap beer at the speed she did. Several patrons not participating even ceased their conversations to watch Hawke, one by one, demolish the six pints in front of her. By the time she had slammed down the final mug, the rest of the bar had erupted in cheer and applause as she threw her arms in the air, spinning around in one giant wobble to greet the shouting. She took a bow, only to fail to come up after it, landing right on her backside as she attempted it. Varric and Isabela picked her up off the floor, but she quickly escaped their grasp, leaping up onto the table with a newfound agility. She paraded across the tabletop, waving her arms around, joining in with the shouting as the losing contestants picked up their beers to prevent them from spilling.

"Bow down, ya sons of bitches!" she bellowed in a deep, commanding voice, soaking up the admiration. She hopped off the end of the table ungracefully, catching herself just short of spraining an ankle. Everyone else who had lost the competition was already drinking their remaining beers.

Some time later, but not much later, the others had lost sight of Hawke, like she had just slipped right out of the room. Fenris was the first to notice it, his large eyes growing larger and his head quickly whipped around trying to locate her. "Where's Hawke?"

"Hmm?" Varric answered, almost in a state of dosing off. He lazily looked around the bar. "Shit."

"She's at the bar, some guy there," Isabela answered without looking up, her head resting against her arm on the table. Sure enough, she was right, Hawke sitting alone at a table with one other shady looking man. Fenris stood up, surprised at just how much of his balance he had lost already. When he walked over to the table, he tried to stay in a straight line, failing, as he approached the other man she was sitting with from behind. On the table in front of them sat an array of six tumblers. Before he said anything, Hawke took one, put it to her lips and took the shot.

"Hawke, what are you doing?" Fenris growled not without a hiccup, and her eyes met his, finally noticing him. Just looking into her eyes, he could tell she really wasn't there.

"Oh, Fenris! Just partaking in a bit of gambling."

"What kind of gambling?" He glared at the shady figure in front of him who had remained silent.

She held up one finger, about to explain. "It's really simple. There's six shots of whiskey here, and in one of them there is some poison, and whoever gets out of this alive-"

"That's enough." Fenris shook his head and walked around behind Hawke, grabbing one of her arms and dragging her up out of her seat. She protested weakly as he began to walk her towards the other table. He simply waved to Varric and Isabela who just barely acknowledge him as he walked out the door into Lowtown.

Hawke glared grimly at Varric as he concluded his story, beaming away. "And that's the story, Hawke. You should be glad you have someone like Fenris who cares about you."

She rolled her eyes. "Bullshit, Varric, I know how much you lie."

"It's the truth! Or at least the truth the way I heard it."

Sighing, Hawke pressed her fingers to her temples. "I should probably go apologize."

Isabela laughed. "I'm sure he understands. If he was willing to take you home after that display, through Lowtown at night, no less, I don't think saying sorry is going to do much.

"No, I really should." Hawke looked at the bottle of whiskey but decided against having any more, feeling her headache had gone away. She had acheived the perfect spot between hungover and drunk, still feeling stable, with just a touch of heat on her face, but all the pain gone. She stood up, confident that her limbs were not turning to jelly, and Isabela cocked an eyebrow.

"Right now? Well…" She poured more whiskey for herself as Varric left them to approach the bartender. "Sex can cure a hangover, supposedly."

"Not really what I'm after," Hawke said. It was probably a lie.