Rain
Rain washed across the windows of the house.
It had been five years since he had escaped from the magister and joined a mercenary group led by a crazy human refugee. And four years to the day since that night they had been stranded together in a tiny cave on Sundermount...
Four years since he had admitted he loved her and had realised that she might love him. Four years since he had made a promise, to her and himself.
So much had happened he mused. At first they had been just another group for hire, now they were making a name for themselves, thanks in part to Varric's vast network and storytelling.
And since that day he had actually come to like his other companions. Varric could spin a tale like no other, and Fenris had to admit that watching how the Dwarf interacted with others had been an education he had badly needed.
Merrill had come to be almost family to him. The only other elf in their party understood things that the others could not. And she been more than willing to share her knowledge of the Dalish, the Dales and Arlathan with him – she had even begun teaching him what she knew of the Old Language. But she was also the most caring person he had met, always there with a kind word for anyone.
Aveline he had learnt carried her own sadness, having lost her husband Wesley to the Darkspawn. He admired her strength in continuing her life with purpose instead of giving in to grief. Fenris also agreed with her realistic views on concepts like honour and they would often discuss such topics, as well as debate about the various merits of differing weaponry, armour and combat strategies.
Bethany's eyes had nearly bugged out of their sockets when Fenris had started to respond to her questions about his Lyrium brands. But her shock had soon faded and Fenris had come to realise that Hawke's sister was a powerful and intelligent mage, but also that her interest in the Lyrium was purely academic. Never once had she made him feel less than a person, and through her Fenris began to accept that not all mages were lunatic sadists as his old master had been.
Sebastian's dedication to avenging his family was something Fenris could well understand, but strangely enough it was he who helped the noble.
"It will consume you, you know, unless you control it."
"And what would you know of it elf? Was your family murdered? Were you exiled from your own home?"
"I was never given the chance to know my family, and my people have been exiled from two homes. I was treated worse than an animal, tortured and experimented on. I know what it is to burn with the need for vengeance and I also know that letting it control you will bring you no closer to your goal."
"Perhaps...you have a point."
Anders was actually quite likeable, at first Fenris had dismissed him as whiny and indolent and yes, the mage did like to complain, but he knew when to stop jesting and get the job done. Fenris had been interested by the mages tales about the Grey Warden whom he had met in Amaranthine – it was clear he held her in high regard, and perhaps had even loved her. There he and Fenris had found common ground, discussing their own strong, remarkable women.
And that left Isabela. When he and Hawke had returned from Sundermount the former ship's captain had cornered him whilst the others had questioned Hawke.
"So, finally admitted it to yourself, have you?"
"I don't..."
"Yeah, you do. You care for her, might even love her, and it's just possible she might not be adverse to it. But you flinch if someone gets too close; lash out if they actually touch and who wants a lover like that eh?"
He had been shocked by her insight – was he really so transparent? Isabela had sighed.
"You're only obvious if you know the signs. I've seen a lot of bad things Fenris, seen the damage left behind. You aren't the first I've met with your difficulties – only the way in which it happened is different. And I can help you, I want to help."
"Why?"
"Afraid I'll keep that to myself, a woman's gotta have some secrets..."
With her guidance Fenris had found his aversion to touch lessening little by little and including himself in their group had helped as well.
And now, four years later he thought perhaps he was ready. It was a dreary winter's day, the rain falling in sheets. Varric was meeting with his brother about house Tethras matters; Isabela had dragged Aveline to a tavern and Anders had gone of his own accord. Bethany and Merrill were in their Mage workshop doing...something. Sebastian was visiting a friend of his from the Chantry.
Hawke was in her room.
Fenris paced in front of her door, finding himself unaccountably nervous. How was he supposed to go about this? He had to calm down; Isabela had talked him through this.
"Knock on her door; ask her if you can talk. Then tell her, tell her that you think she's wonderful, that you haven't felt like this for anyone in a long time, that you feel close to her and if she reacts favourably then you kiss her."
"And if she doesn't react favourably?"
"Seeing as its Hawke...run and pray."
"Fenris?"
He very nearly yelped. Hawke was standing in her open doorway, dressed in the light linen trousers and cotton tunic she wore when at home. Her russet hair was down, framing her face, the faded blue tunic brought out her dark eyes.
She was beautiful, and he was robbed of speech and coherent thought.
"Is something the matter Fenris?"
He finally managed to find his voice.
"I...ah, might we speak Hawke?"
"Of course." She gestured for him to follow her into her room. When she turned his mouth went dry, he was used to seeing her in leather and chainmail – not the most attractive of outfits. But the brown trousers she now wore, though plain, were very well tailored.
'Focus... No not there.'
She sat on her bed and he took the chair at her desk, using those precious moments to collect his scattered thoughts.
"We have been together for a numbers of years now, and there is something I wished to discuss with you..." He trailed off, unsure again.
And Hawke wasn't helping. She was sitting, one slender leg slung across her lap, her lips relaxed into that sweet half-smile that left him somewhere between melting and blazing and, oh Maker she was absently playing with her hair, twisting those soft strands around her fingers...
'This is impossible!'
"Uhhh, Fenris? Is something wrong?"
"Yes! Well, really no but...Argh...Vishante kaffar!"
Fenris was a warrior, not a damned bard! Hawke was looking at him with an adorably confused expression, her soft, pink lips slightly parted. It was too much; he stalked toward the seated woman, grabbed her face in both his hands and crushed his mouth to hers.
Her lips were just as soft as he had imagined, and she tasted almost sweet. He slid his tongue across her lips and they parted for him, allowing him to explore her mouth. He slid one hand into her hair and tilted her head to deepen the kiss.
He finally pulled away, looking into Hawke's eyes. They were soft and held a tenderness he could not remember having seen directed at him. She reached a hand toward him and caressed his cheek and he leant in to the contact. The hand slid down his neck and paused at the ties on his tunic. Hawke looked at him questioning and he nodded.
Deft fingers undid the knots, teasingly stroking the flesh revealed. He wanted more of that touch, he pulled the tunic off completely and Hawke's eyes glittered appreciatively. She laid her hands on his hips and pulled him gently to sit on the bed. She moved forward and, Maker! Her lips caressed along his neck as her hands slid up and down his belly. Heat pooled under her hands and he shuddered at the feeling. He felt her smile against his skin. One hand skimmed up to his chest and he had to bite back a moan as a finger circled his nipple.
This was too much! He caught her hands and pulled her into another kiss. She gripped his hands in reply and guided them to the hem of her tunic and helped him slide it off. He pulled back to gaze at the pale, perfect skin bared for him and nearly swallowed his tongue when she reached back and undid her breast band.
Fenris was suddenly hesitant. Hawke was so...delicate, slim and smooth and pale and soft. And it had been...a long time since he had lain with another – what if he hurt her? She looked so fragile...
A hand caressed over his ear. "Fenris..." Her voice was husky "I'm not made of glass, and I am not easily broken – you know I'm not." She smiled at him "Let's just let this go as it will, yes?" Her thumb traced over the point of his ear. She leaned forward and replaced it with her tongue. He felt as much as heard her whisper.
"I trust you, I love you."
"And I you."
"Then come here and show me Fenris."
################################
Later he lay drowsy and content, his arms wrapped around Hawke, who was asleep with her head resting on his chest, her soft breaths almost tickling his skin.
He loved and was loved, trusted and was trusted. In five years so much had changed and he owed much of it to the woman in his arms.
Rain washed across the windows of the house.