Shorter than the last two, but I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Though it did take me several sittings because it kept making be feel tired!
I like slightly-drunk sleepy!Hawke. Actually, I like sleepy characters in general, but my head!canon Hawke tends to get all mushy when she's had enough drink. And you know when she's had too much because she gets maudlin. She's drunk just enough here to make her feel warm and fuzzy and slightly loose. And tired.
Thanks again for all the feedback - be it review, favourite or alert! It delights me greatly to see messages in my inbox :3
And also thank you, yes you, dear reader, for putting up with my poor spelling, grammatical problems and wandering head. Even if you're a silent reader, I am very grateful that you haven't yet pressed the 'back' button.
The door clicked shut, blocking out the darkness of Hightown and removing the chill draught that whistled in whenever it was opened. Fenris watched as Hawke sighed heavily, rested her forehead against the door…and started to laugh. It was small at first and he saw it before he heard it, a faint tinkle that caused her shoulders to shake. Then it grew louder as Hawke opened her mouth and giggled, balling up her fists before shoving one into her mouth and biting her knuckles. This movement stifled the noise, but not by much as it grew in intensity and volume until Hawke was almost doubled over with mirth. Fenris was utterly bemused by the sight and merely stood, dumbstruck, as she gasped for air between bouts of laughter.
Eventually, Hawke had composed herself enough to straighten even when small attacks of giggling punctuated what she had hoped was a serious face. And she couldn't help but cackle when she saw the blank look on Fenris's face. He blinked at her, perplexed and too stunned to even ask what she was laughing at. Instead, he merely arched an eyebrow in questioning.
"Aveline in a dress!" Hawke exclaimed, exploding with laughter again; Fenris's other eyebrow raised to meet it's companion. "I honestly never expected that, though perhaps I should have, and then it wouldn't have been half as surprising."
She was rambling but her voice was slow and ponderous, as if she wasn't speaking to him, but the world in general. Or maybe to herself. Fenris noticed the way she slightly over-pronounced her words and slurred so slightly that less keen ears wouldn't notice. The wine was slowly taking hold. Or rather, it had taken hold a few minutes ago but now was getting into full swing. Hawke was a philosophical drunk, though most of her philosophies didn't make sense to anyone but her. He smiled in recognition and guided Hawke gently back into the main hall as she lost herself in the warm haze of wine-induced thought.
Her left her to wander over to her Mabari and plop down cross-legged on the soft rug beside him so that he could finally close the inner door for the night, turning the heavy brass key in the lock and leaving it there so that it made it harder to pick. He heard Hawke sigh dreamily as he turned back in time to see her wrap her arms around the dog's thick neck and pull him close so she could bury her head into his fur. On his part, the dog looked at Fenris with what could only be described as a silent plea for help. Fenris merely shrugged, unable to help even if he wanted to.
"Aveline looked so pretty, didn't she puppy?" She cooed in a babying voice to her dog, who she had now released from her death-grip. He tilted his head in thought for a moment before agreeing with a gruff 'woof' and thumping his stumpy tail hard on the rug. With another wistful sigh, Hawke leaned back on her hands and stared into the fire with a serene smile on her face. Fenris merely leaned back against the door and enjoyed the contrast between the cold seeping through the wood to the warm glow coming from the roaring hearth with his eyes closed.
"Red," finally, Hawke broke the silence, "or blue?" She was leaning further back now, her palms pressed into the cool tiles and her legs stretched out as far as she could before the heat of the flames stopped her. She was staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.
"Fenris," she crooned his name, pulling him out of his idle dream and scattering it before he could figure out what it was. He cracked an eye open and arched a brow, noting that she wasn't looking at him and that her hair masked any chance of her seeing from the corner of her eye.
"What about them, Hawke?" Proving that he had been listening, somewhere in the back of his mind.
"Dresses. What colour should I wear? Aveline was insistent on blue but I much prefer red. A nice deep scarlet, preferably with something gold and filigree. Or maybe black lace."
Hawke in a dress. The very thought of her in something as figure-enhancing as Aveline was wearing that evening made his pulse spike. He had never seen her in a dress before. A skirt, yes, leggings, yes - and her custom-made, imported Ferelden armour was very flattering. But a dress. Suddenly, the dread he felt about escorting her to this ball dimmed considerably. And though he longed to push her down the 'red with black lace' path, he chose to answer more diplomatically. Though he had to wonder how he managed to keep his composure, what with the thoughts that were running through his head. "I'm sure that, whatever you choose, the nobles will either be clambering to copy it, or mocking it. Possibly both."
Hawke recognised the teasing and snorted in a very ignoble way. "Quite true. Still, I think it's time that I reminded the Orliesian nobility that I'm both female and do not smell of dog." She giggled again, and eyed Fenris slyly when he chuckled.
"Of course, I'll have to have something custom made for you. You're far too…" she wrinkled her nose and scrunched up her mouth in thought as she considered his lanky frame but muscular build. Too tall, too broad…and too damn handsome. Perhaps I should make him go in nothing but his leggings. The thought made her blush slightly and she looked back into the dancing flames to focus her thoughts. "Too unique in stature to buy from a stall."
What does that mean? Puzzled Fenris, a sardonic brow arching as he folded his arms. "Hawke?" It was a drawn-out, exasperated sigh, one he tended to use when she was being far too cryptic - even for his sharp mind.
"We have to match, Fenris." She insisted, looking back at him, eyes twinkling in the firelight. She giggled when she saw his expression turn long-suffering and slightly grim. "How else would any puffed up prat know that we're together? They don't go by words alone, they have to be shown. At least being a matching pair will keep some of the more skittish ones at bay." She suddenly sounded tired, an unspoken sigh in her voice as her head lolled backwards as she gazed at the ceiling but didn't really see it. "The more persistent ones will keep on coming, however. So very tempted to have a dress made with a place for a hidden knife."
"Do they bother you?" Fenris had relaxed again, drawing a leg up and leaning on the door. His gaze was half-lidded and remained on Hawke, watching every small move she made and every minute expression that crossed her face. She was easy for him to read most times, but when she had been drinking it was a lot easier. Every thought she had showed on her face. He watched the micro-expressions as they passed over her face; from annoyed, to passive, to angry, to sly, before they finally rested on mild irritation. She shrugged as best she could while still maintaining her position on the floor.
"They're…like flies around a dog's nose. You can ignore them for so long, occasionally snorting or swatting them away, but sooner or later you have to snap at them just to get them to bugger off."
It was an interesting analogy and Fenris found himself considering it for a while. It didn't quite work when deconstructed, but he forgave her for that, she wasn't exactly completely sober. And neither was he, if he was completely honest - though he was more sober than Hawke.
He watched her with a crooked, amused smile as she yawned loudly and swayed slightly, her eyes bleary and obviously tired. For a moment, her eyes fluttered closed and she appeared to drift off, her palms slowly sliding backwards until Fenris was sure she would fall. Then she jerked herself awake and yawned again, though it seemed she wasn't completely aware she was doing it.
Beside her, Hawke's Mabari had already fallen asleep and from the lack of light coming under the door that lead to the kitchens, the servants had retired as well. For a moment, he paused and enjoyed the silence again, just him, Hawke and the crackle of the fire as it began to dwindle. Then he himself had to stifle a yawn and he pushed himself away from the door. Grabbing the candle snuffer from the mantle, he extinguished most of the candles in the main hall, checking around the doors to both the dining room and study to find them already in darkness. He left only the essential lanterns lit before returning the snuffer to it's place and kneeling before Hawke, who was beginning to drift again.
She felt a soft touch on her arm and opened her half-lidded eyes to gaze into Fenris's mossy green ones. She gave him a sleepy smile. "Hello Fenris," she said, slightly breathily from the haze of wine and weariness. She leaned to one side and lifted a hand off the cool tiles, letting her fingers trail over his cheek and down his jaw with a dreamy smile on her face. She wasn't entirely certain if she was dreaming or not.
"Come Hawke, it's late." Fenris took hold of her hand before it fell away and stood, pulling her arm gently to encourage her to follow. She grumbled slightly but she was far too tired to resist, and she let him pull her up with little effort.
She leaned heavily into him as they climbed the staircase and angled towards the bedroom, a dreamy smile still tugging at her lips though Fenris wasn't sure she was completely awake. She didn't seem to notice when he pushed her away and made sure she was standing upright (even if she was leaning to and fro like an ear of wheat in a faint breeze). She seemed, however, to hear the lock on the bedroom door click as she frowned and turned to look at Fenris with a faintly confused expression. She blinked slowly as he turned to face her before she padded over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him close.
He heard her hum into his shoulder, felt the soft vibration of it against his chest as she pressed into him and he found himself leaning his head to her own. He inhaled the sweet smell of her hair, a hint of soap, a hint of wine - and her. Just her. Suddenly, he didn't want to let go for fear of never getting her back. Foolish notions, little fears that ran away with him and ended up terrifying him. He could not bear to lose her, not after everything. It was irrational, but it flared every now and then and he was defenceless to it. He just had to go along with it, until Hawke broke him out of it.
And break him out of it she did, as he noticed her grip getting gradually weaker.
Then she snored against his shoulder.
Snapping him out of his unfounded anxiety in an instant, Fenris chuckled and peeled Hawke away from him, rousing her in the process. With a grunt, she frowned at him and shuffled gracelessly towards the bed, where she promptly collapsed in an inelegant heap and promptly fell back asleep.
A few hours later, Hawke awoke with a start. For a split second, she didn't know who she was, where she was or to whom the strangely marked arm that draped over her waist belonged to. Then she did a mental check. Marian Hawke; home; bed; Fenris. That last thought put a bashful smile on her face, though there was no one to see it. She didn't completely know why the thought of waking up with Fenris beside her was strange, perhaps it was because she still half expected him to run again. Perhaps it was because he used to disappear back to his mansion in the middle of the night to sleep alone. Or perhaps she still didn't believe she had found someone like him amidst the chaos and confusion in her life - that this was all a Fade-dream and she would wake up back in Lothering left wanting.
She could feel his steady breathing behind her, the gentle breaths on her neck, the way his arm folded over her side and the way his hand clutched at her possessively. Only then did she realise that she wasn't naked. She paused, wiggling her toes against the warm blanket and confirming that she had no shoes on. She also just had her simple shirt and skirt on, no jumper or belt - though she couldn't remember taking them off. The last thing she remembered was hugging Fenris.
Too much wine, she figured, letting out a sleepy but silent sigh through her nose. Frowning, she twisted in place, moving gently and slightly so she could look over her shoulder without disturbing Fenris's sleep. With a bit of careful peering, she caught a glimpse of the window through the curtains of the bed and saw nothing but darkness outside. The faint hint of moonlight, a few dotted stars, and the growing tendrils of frost on the outside of the window pane suggested it was early morning still - though Hawke didn't dare guess at the hour.
She shifted again, slipping back into the same position as she had been when she woke up. Her hand gently grazed down Fenris's forearm until she found his hand, then she entwined her fingers with his and smiled to herself when he caged his own fingers around hers in his sleep. There was what she recognised as a contented grunt from the elf behind her and she was happy that she hadn't woken him at all. It was a difficult feat, what with him being a light sleeper - but he was slipping deeper and deeper into restful sleep as of late, pleasing Hawke immensely. His insomnia was somewhat tiresome at times.
But as much as she disliked Fenris's insomnia, she herself tended to suffer from it in random bouts. She was tired. Her body told her to sleep. She wanted to sleep, content in the knowledge that Fenris wasn't going anywhere. But somehow, a few moments after closing her eyes, they would flutter open again. She stared tiredly at the dwindling fire and pulled the blanket further over them both, trying to smother the chill.
Behind her, Fenris stirred. She felt his fingers flex against hers, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he brushed the tip of his nose against the back of her neck. There was a low rumble and a light snort before he muttered something faint that Hawke didn't catch. She had noticed that Fenris had a tendency to talk in his sleep, but she was normally such a heavy sleeper they didn't bother her. Now, she merely listened with her eyes closed in the hope she might be able to understand what he was breathing into the back of her neck.
It wasn't in the common tongue. Damn. He was muttering in Arcanum, though even if she could understand the language, he was unintelligible. Hawke merely smiled to herself and tried to go back to sleep. Then she heard her name, though it was mixed in with a sentence, she definitely heard a 'Hawke' in there. She frowned and listened more closely, ignoring the garbled words and focussing on his tone.
He didn't sound angry, passionate (but, she noted, not in the bedroom sort of way, pity) and determined, yes. But there was no anger there. But she still couldn't understand, she had asked him on numerous occasions to teach her but he would always deflect and dance away from it. That fact irritated her when he was now muttering something she wanted to understand.
"Mine." She understood that. Her still-closed eyes flew open at the word, which had come out as a barely imperceptible whisper and she blinked, unseeing at the wall. What was his? She thought, numbly. He was the first to admit he didn't have many possessions, and those that he did were mostly either given to him by Hawke, or paid for by his cut of the profits.
As if reading her mind, she felt his grip tighten around her hand as he moved to pull her closer in a possessive embrace. "Mine," he growled, like a wolf standing over a kill. The sound of it both set her on edge and gave her a raw thrill that came from neither her head or her heart. He sounded dangerous, and a small, primal part enjoyed it (partly because she knew he was dangerous).
But soon, the pressure of his grip was turning from pleasure to pain. She started to feel the bones creak in her hand; feel the air being squeezed from her lungs as he failed to relent. At first, she merely whimpered, trying to prize her fingers from his with her free hand - when that failed, a faint panic quickened her heartbeat. She needed to wake him. Now.
"Fenris," it was quiet, at first, hoping to rouse him just enough to pull him from the dream without completely pulling him from slumber. It didn't work. "Owww, Fenris," louder, sharper and she jerked her hand sharply as she began to lose the feeling in her fingers.
"Hmm?" He woke almost immediately, his grip not just loosening, but removing altogether. He seemed dazed, confused, and blinked as if someone had shone a bright light into his eyes. "Hawke?"
"Hey, are you ok?" She was massaging some life back into her hand as she shifted on the bed so she could look at him. He frowned at her before rolling over onto his back to stare at the drape covering the top of the bed in thought. "Were you having a bad dream?"
Her concern made him pause and he desperately raked his brain for evidence to either confirm or deny her question. Nothing, just a fog he couldn't see through; any dream was scattered into the Fade when he had awoke. His frown deepened. "I…don't know."
"Well, you were mumbling something in Arcanum and then you tried to break my hand." She laughed, shaking the hand in question and making light of the situation. Her face fell back into worry, however, as she saw the drawn and distressed expression that was forming on his face. So easy to read when tired, she noted as she placed her still-aching hand onto his chest to placate him. "Not intentionally, I don't think. No harm done, see?" As if to emphasis her point, she flexed her hand and let the pads of her fingers weave small circles over the planes of his chest.
"I'm sorry, Hawke." He didn't meet her eyes, so propped herself up on her elbow facing him. Despite her fingers protesting, she slid her hand up his chest to cup his chin gently and tilt his face towards her.
"Oh shush." She pouted teasingly as her hand trailed from his jaw down the main trunk of his throat markings to rest on his collarbone. "We cannot control our sleeping minds, Fenris. If we could, we'd all be mages. And I for one am glad of that." She knew he agreed, even if he merely studied her face with a slightly wary expression.
"Go back to sleep, Fenris," she purred softly, folding down onto his side and resting her head on his shoulder while her fingers started to work in small circles over his breastbone. She felt him relax lean his head against hers, the steady sound of his heartbeat beginning to lull her to sleep. She found the rhythm of his breathing and matched it, letting herself fall into sync with him as he fell back to sleep. Blissfully, she smiled to herself, and let sleep claim her with one thought echoing through her head. His.
The Mabari needs a name. Suggestions?