This chapter is full of funny comments, snarkiness and arguing, while still dwelling on my favourite crazy characters' psyche!
I've been asked if I made this as a tribute for that Fiddle on the Roof song Sunrise, Sunset, but honestly no, I didn't even know about it, I actually just named it so as a "tribute" to the Day / Night Kirkwall map animation, deeper meanings aside of course (apart from naming every moment of the day before narrating the action). I hope you enjoy!
Note: Sorry for the fragments of a poem you'll read soon (not mine, it's an adaptation to "To Think of Time" by Walt Whitman, you can skip it if you want, it's in italics within a short dream she has, but I wanted to relate it to the fate of Hawke and Kirkwall and ultimately the purpose of Dragon Age. Skip the dream, no problem!
Afternoon, Outside Kirkwall
"Well, fancy meeting you here, Anders," came Hawke's joyful voice from behind him.
"Hawke? What are you doing here?" he asked in confusion. He had to look left and right again as if it was suddenly imperative to check his whereabouts and be perfectly sure they were on a mountain path, lonely and dangerous. Well, what? Was he better? He was literally alone. What excuse did he have?
"Traveling on business. Just as you, I see," she gestured calmly.
Anders looked down as if they caught him dragging a corpse to an improvised secret burial ground. "Ah, well, if I could grow a greenhouse in my clinic, I wouldn't be wondering out here waiting to be eaten by wolves"
You could try a little harder. The wolves are certainly on their way, Fenris thought.
"I see how Darktown wouldn't be all fine and jolly with more living things in it than dead," Hawke mused with a shrug.
"Are you heading north?" Anders asked.
She nodded and gestured. "We are. Up Sundermount."
"Really? But you won't reach it in daylight," he said and finished with a frown.
"Well, someone woke up with their ass on the pillow instead of the other way around and we had to wait for charming Ser Mopealot to clear his head," she said, not quite aware - or perhaps indeed aware and intended as such - that her thorough description of recent events predicted Fenris to be the central character. She was however, pertaining to Varric.
"Hey, I'm allowed a day per month to be cranky and irritable, which is more than I could ask for considering the mocking and barking I have to bear every day the first chance you and Broody over here share a glance," Varric muttered grumpily.
"Touché," Hawke said flatly, trying to abstain from making fun of Varric's mention of "one day per month" that made her think of at least thirty man-on-the-period jokes.
"Rightfully served, Madam," Varric answered with proud narrowed eyes.
"You know, I am free for the day - no patients. I have time to spare and coin to chip in with at an inn for the night." Anders turned and pointed behind him uphill. "There's one just a few miles to the east with a very funny name." Fenris picked up the suspicion he had an agenda.
"You know me, I disavow any other way of naming your inn. No one would stay overnight in inn named in a sudden fit of horrid grump. Like House of Flies. Or The Inn Of Half-Eaten Moth Scarfs." She looked at Fenris who caught her eye. She shrugged sardonically, "Well. I wouldn't."
"So you wish me to tag along?" Anders asked with a smile.
"Ah, and why not? The more the merrier. " She stretched her arms and looked at the others. "And since the reality certainly doesn't live up to the expression, yes, please come and bring us some some sunshine" she said, gesturing a sphere.
"Ahah, I'm glad you think I bring sunshine" Anders said, raising an eyebrow and grinning.
"She's mocking your hair, Blondie, don't read more into it," Varric said charmingly.
"Varric?"
"Yes, Hawke?"
"Shhhht. He doesn't need to know that," she whispered half-intentionally half-not-so-intentionally louder.
Before Sunset, The Sunken Orlesian's Inn
"Well, this is going to be fun…" Hawke said sarcastically, looking at the only room they could get with two enormous but poorly maintained beds.
"I admire your optimism, Hawke, but, this is not going to be fun," Varric said while touching a lamp and it falling apart in the next second. "Hmph, look at this shack. This is worse than Orzammar's Dust Town."
"Being locked up with mages in here for a night does make me feel claustrophobic," Fenris uttered grumpily, maintaining an aura of nonchalance.
"Are you ever going to stop harping on the mages here?" Anders asked Fenris, catching up with him as if to tackle him with his all-powerful muscular speeches.
"No," came his placid tone, without turning to face Anders.
Anders narrowed his eyes. "They aren't what you saw in Tevinter."
"The moment they are free, mages will make themselves magisters," Fenris retorted with discomfort.
"They're slaves – you should want to help them," Anders said in tones of some questionably convincing amazement.
"I dont," Fenris uttered flatly, clear disgust all alight in his tone.
Anders rubbed his forehead in disbelief. "Maker only understands how you could be so blind." With the same palm he raised as if his Palm of Everlasting Victimization now took the more assertive Sweat Of Holy Flaming Argumentatives. "You're hating on people who are just as imprisoned and malnourished as you were, without doing anything to deserve it."
Fenris abstained from sighing in annoyance. "They are able to deserve it, if they are free. That's enough ground for me to be cautious."
Of course, Anders didn't understand what he meant. He meant exactly what he meant. Perhaps that seemed as just too much a simple element for this mage to grasp. Or the other voices inside his head. Yes, complex in the spirit, simple in the brain.
Anders lifted his eyebrows, unimpressed. "And what have you done since you were free? I recall certain acts of vicious fist-killing."
"I did that at the behest of no demon," Fenris defended himself firmly.
"So you're agreeing you don't need to be possessed to be a murderer? Good," said Anders, arms crossed, as in crossed between the desire to punch him in the face and the sheer, unrighteous injustice of him doing so, no matter how aflame he was with inconvenience.
"I did not murder anybody. What deeds I have done, I have only done in self-defense," Fenris stated firmly.
"And you think mages don't do that as well?" Anders snorted.
"Why must you go on about this?" Fenris asked with obvious edge to his voice. "The moment a mage is free, they become thirsty for the power that they have never had, from inferiority to superiority complex all in a reach of a heartbeat. They take on the role of the aggressor, having been aggressed themselves." He gestured dismissively. "It's as simple as that." Indeed, too simple for this mage to grasp. Perhaps he just had too many things to be simple about and couldn't add another to the pile.
"You're generalizing just because mages made it personal for you," Anders said angrily.
Fenris was unimpressed, nonchalance in his tone as he spoke, "You were a Circle mage, were you not? Doesn't that make your senseless and ultimately inane rant also personal?"
"And rightfully justified," Anders said with quick anger. "The ordeal I lived through does the trick."
Again, Fenris was unimpressed. "I've lived through worse, mage, I assure you."
"Then we should settle this by a third party's opinion. One who isn't for or against the imprisonment of mages by being a victim of the Circle or of the magisters" Anders said, everyone eyeing a certain perfect candidate for their ridiculous debate.
…
...
"Why is everyone looking at me?" Hawke asked awkwardly while scratching her head.
"I'm surprised they didn't scream Hawke, be on my team, I have tea and cakes! and No, Hawke! Be on my team, I've got the incredible touch of a broody tiger in heat!"Varric said, butting in grumpily.
"Hawke, you were a free mage from the start and you had to run all your life from Templars. You've lived a relatively normal life, aside from that, and you've known the privileges of having a family and being loved. Moreover, you have not succumbed to the charms of any demon, either," Anders finished disdainfully as he turned his clearly-ticking-and-boiling-time-bomb gaze onto Fenris. He pointed at him with an ever more pretentious boiling pointy finger. "You open up his eyes!"
"Having lived the everyday man's life, being imprisoned for all your life or having enormous political and economic power do not make a difference," Fenris explained rather calmly. "A mage could be either of those and still be susceptible to the one thing everyone wants."
"Sex?" Hawke asked awkwardly, trying to ease off the tension. No, tension was an understatement in that scenario.
"Power. And more power after that," Fenris said, frowning at Hawke's ridiculous joke.
"Those that do only want it because their humanity makes it so, not their magic," Anders redirected in a high tone.
"That doesn't excuse what they do. They wield abilities that make power much easier to be obtained. To kill, to torture, to inspire fear, usually in that order" Fenris said keeping his aura of nonchalance.
"Just as some mages use blood magic, so many non-mages use swords, armies, a crown and other just as vicious methods that inarguably have the same result, though," Hawke intervened at last.
"Exactly," Anders agreed with passion.
"You kill a man with a sword, he's dead and he can't get more dead than that. But with blood magic-" Fenris started tenebrously.
" - He can't die dead enough" Hawke finished, seeming to agree with him now.
"Excellently said," Fenris replied, nodding rather chivalrously towards her.
"And then we team up and kill the undead as well, what's so fancy about that?" Anders asked, becoming enraged.
"That there are estimably millions of corpses in the ground that with the right kind of magic could all be animated into a gargantuan massive army. Add shades, demons and other summoned monstrosities…" Hawke replied strategically.
"That would require a sheer equal army of mages to achieve. It will never happen!" Anders retaliated angrily.
"It hasn't yet happened because in Tevinter they hold enough power and land to sit on their asses and drink cocktails from the eyes of slaves all day, and the rest of most mages have been imprisoned and scattered all over the continent, so it's impossible for them to unite against the whole world," Fenris said, heightening his tone as well.
"You're mad! Even if that were possible, it wouldn't happen if mages would be granted the same rights as everybody else. They wouldn't be a nation, but a group of people scattered all over Thedas, as you said. They wouldn't have the reason to do it," Anders replied.
"Well, they could have the reason, seeing as how history has treated them. Driven by a force of vengeance, they could form quite the battalion," Hawke added, realizing she was letting herself be tossed from one mad freak of nature to another.
"You can't be serious. You'd treat a whole group of people like objects just because one day they could form a vast conspiracy to overthrow all the nations in the world and imprison them instead? Maybe you should keep Hawke on a leash, then, to begin with. Doesn't what you say imply that you should, seeing how you haven't yet turned her in to the Templars?" Anders shouted.
"Whoah whoah, no one's holding Hawke on any leash. Not here, not in bed, not ever, capisce?" she said angrily, feeling awkward and penetrated.
"Jest all you want, Hawke, but if you're not of the same mind, you're no less than a hypocrite," Anders said, turning to her.
Alright, dispute about the fate of Thedas and mages all you want, but don't turn to me and attack, you prick.
"I'm sorry, did I say anything?" Hawke asked, narrowing her eyes and taking a step forward to mark her territory. "Don't attack me just because I'm not jumping and cheering for you like a princess all loud and sassy," she muttered, annoyed.
"Attacking you because of that does not excuse the objective statement, Hawke" Anders said quickly.
"Just like the objective statement that one should not merge with creatures beyond our physical world because it is unnatural and dangerous?" Hawke retaliated.
"I saved a benevolent spirit from being lost in our world and haunting every corpse he could get-"
"But he does corrupt your thoughts, does he not?" Hawke pressed.
The vein was quickly popping. "That's such a far-fetched term. He's one with me, yes, but he doesn't corrupt me. It's not like he's urging me to be evil and massacre everyone just because"
"Not just because," Hawke contradicted him in a low tone.
"He's a being that knows only what's good and what's right," Anders said plainly.
"As if we could trust the mere words that he's throwing at us," Fenris said with disgust.
"We can trust his deeds until they prove him to be otherwise," Hawke responded, becoming tired.
"The presumption of innocence and the trusting of it will be the death of you, Hawke," Fenris pressed firmly, only slightly heightening his tone as opposed to Anders who was quickly achieving the astounding results a female soprano would have only showed after years of thorough and persistent training.
"I'm not presuming his innocence, nor his guilt. I am still sizing him up, just as you are, but with more tact and objectivity instead of marching headstrong into beating him with a bat," Hawke replied, becoming more annoyed.
"And during that merciful process he has all the time in the world to betray you," Fenris said calmly, shaking his head.
"Do you think I have nothing better to do than work on evil plots against the world? Especially against a fellow mage?" Anders shouted, narrowing his eyes at Fenris and strangling him in his thoughts.
"Oh, I deserve special treatment just because of our probably one shared similarity? I feel so lucky," Hawke said sarcastically.
"I happen to be treating people for next to nothing, if you haven't noticed," Anders said angrily.
"I was never good at math, but, next to nothing is higher than nothing, right?" Hawke said, stepping in again. "You're doing it for something more than Justice's obsessive, well, desire for justice. You're also doing it out of guilt," she said perceptively, striking a nerve as she did so.
"I- last time I checked excessive altruism wasn't a despicable or evil trait in a man," Anders replied, eyeing Hawke with disdain.
"Excessive need or desire for anything is inevitably dangerous," Fenris said calmly, shaking his head.
"So that's your strategy? Everything in moderation? I'd hardly call freedom excessive for an innocent," Anders replied, boiling in desperation.
"Your kind of innocence is given retroactively, but that could easily change at any moment," Fenris strove to explain with a slightly heightened tone, because he was honestly trying to bring them back to his original point.
"Now wait just a second, there's a line – ", Hawke started angrily, but-
"IF ANYONE NEEDS ME, I'LL BE OUTSIDE GETTING AWAY FROM THIS FLAMING PITHOLE YOU MADE EVEN SHITTIER NOW," Varric's voice came charming as ever, monstrous even so, from somewhere and they all grew silent and looked down at him. He then proceeded to go straight out the door and slam it shut, leaving the three of them in a circle, speechless, realizing all the while they strived to make their points, no one was taking anybody's side.
"Then let's make it simple and straight to the point, shall we Hawke?" Anders demanded firmly. "Who do you agree with? What are you for? Senseless imprisonment or well-deserved freedom?"
Hawke stood there amazed at herself that she even agreed to take part in such a stupid conversation. Both her eyebrows were reaching out to Heaven. She froze for a second, then let the flames in her veins be felt, as she realized that Anders and Fenris drew the perfect living picture of the two extremes that brought no real answers, in all its splendor.
"Andraste's flaming buttcheeks, I don't agree with any of you!" she screamed and frowned. "Ugh, I need a drink" she said, reaching for the door.
"You can't just not agree with either of us, I'm a yes, he's a no. If you're not agreeing with anyone then you're simply an I don't want to know, which makes you a hypocrite," Anders pressed angrily.
"The dogs bark but the caravan passes on," Hawke said nonchalantly, going for the doorknob.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Anders demanded, narrowing his eyes.
"Everybody's got opinions, but no one's got the answers," Hawke simply said and got out of the room.
Touché Hawke. Well put, Fenris thought.
They both looked at each other with disgust clearer than spring water.
"Oh, you're loving this, aren't you?" Anders said to Fenris.
"I'll assume an I don't know and spare you the urge to explode, as much as I'd like to witness such a wonderful gift from nature," Fenris stung calmly,going on one of the beds as he was sleep-deprived. Anders got out a simple hmph since he was out of insults and left the room to wander the inn.
Sunset, Outside The Sunken Orlesian
"Sooo… Sundermount seems very… mountainous today. Lots of … rock and... hillside," Hawke said to Varric as she got out of the inn and saw him sitting on a wooden chair from the porch.
"Madam, that's such an understatement even the wolves are howling in agreement," Varric muttered quietly.
"Wanna howl with me?" Hawke smiled warmly to Varric, sitting on another chair.
"Not until I'm drunk," Varric muttered rather sweetly.
"Well, we can solve that stinging problem," she said laughing and sighed heavily, watching the last bits of the autumn sun crumble beneath the rocky horizon.
"Seriously, Hawke, what's your deal?" Varric demanded with quiet discomfort in his tone. "Was Broody not enough to bitch at; now you're set off to inaugurate the Holy Trinity of the Insufferable and the Utterly Annoying?" He almost sounded fatherly for a second.
"I know you know I'm mentally deranged, but I'm not stupid. This is going to be the royal pain in my ass, if I allow it to continue," Hawke said, putting her legs under her while sitting on the chair next to the other side of the main entrance.
"I don't know how we're gonna survive this night all shacked up in one room. Forget Lowtown or Darktown, this is the real Void," Varric said grumpily and sighed.
"No one knows where the shoe pinches, except he who wears it," Hawke said rather serenely, watching the sky darken in all its might.
"That's why at court they have jobs like the king's nose picker or the king's toe scratcher. Much more practical," Varric mused sardonically.
"What I meant was, nobody can fully understand another person's hardship or suffering," Hawke said, as she kept watching nature paint the sky black.
"You mean more you than you mean them, am I right?" Varric asked, turning his gaze towards her.
"You think I'm going to tell you and spoil all the fun?" Hawke smiled, being grateful to have a friend like Varric. She had never had a real friend before, not one she could ever have the nerve to call as such, at least.
Varric knew there was something going out with Hawke, but it was too soon for him to sneak in and steal emotional confessions. Be that as it may, both Fenris and Anders triggered metaphorical demons in her soul that she might not have been at peace with yet, but in spite of that, he was suspecting she enjoyed barking childishly with Fenris, at least. It was her way of replacing her disdainful jerk of a brother with an asshole former slave elf who at least knew what he was talking about. Anders on the other hand, was just plain annoying and playing victim too much and he noticed she noticed, too.
"Say, bet you 30 silvers Bianca can shoot right into that beech hollow?" Varric said, easing things off with a friendly voice.
"I'll bet you 50 I can throw my sword into it on the first try," Hawke said confidently, smiling at him without so much as a grain of effort. Strange, but good feeling.
They both sighed in relief within, because it was clear for them, in silence, that their friendship was already in bloom and worthy of keeping, an honour most people would never have the privilege of feeling.
Nighttime, Inside The Sunken Orlesian
Hawke and Varric stood in the doorway stunned and feeling more awkward than ever, as they saw Anders fallen down in deep sleep in one bed and Fenris probably sleeping in the other bed. I think it's safe to assume there have been no glowing eyes or magical fisting here, surprisingly, Varric thought. They looked at each other and shrugged, for this was a dire choice to be made in seconds. Who's the lesser of both evils? They both rushed towards Fenris' bed but Hawke got there first and she pushed him away, holding her tongue out in victory.
Fine, Pantaloons, he's gonna magic-fist your heart out in his sleep, but who am I to argue? I'm just the funny dwarf that's sleeping next to a moody rebel drooling mage that might just be an abomination. Oh Mother, if you could see me now…
Sunrise, Inside the Sunken Orlesian
The gentle rays of sunlight were darting through the cracked window of the room, swaying diagonally on their faces. One great branch with many other ramifications were trying to poke their way through the crack as the wind blew stronger, but without much success. A purple-throated cuckooshrike* was eyeing the branch as it flapped its wings rapidly through the morning air around the inn, crowning the sun.
(It's a very small subtropical climate bird that has no relation either to cuckoos or shrikes, apparently, but they resemble in their usual coloration of white, grey and black and sometimes they have crests like cuckoos, and respectively, cuckatoos do - yes it is important to the story!)
The Fade
"Stop that! I've had enough of your prodding, Father. No wait… I think… I thi- ahhhhh," Hawke shouted and smirked, pretending to become an abomination.
"Stick to swords, dear, you're a terrible actor," Malcom Hawke said calmly, laughing at his daughter.
"Oh? Did I just hear my father give me his blessing to pursue my," she gestured quotation marks, "useless and inappropriate dream of playing knight in shining armour?"
"I've never said that, dear. That was all your Mother," Malcolm corrected with a smile that could ease an army of hungry jaguars.
"I haven't seen you disagreeing, yet, either," she pressed with an edge to her voice.
"Hahah. Do you want me to tell you whose side I am on and spoil all the fun?" Malcolm asked with a grin.
"No. I'd rather you keep me in suspense my whole life, wondering if I disappointed you. That's always fun," she said sarcastically, proceeding to play with an iron longsword.
"The child is father of the man," Malcolm began to recite in an evermore wiser and melodic voice.
"Oh, spare me your Chant of Light crap," she quickly stopped him.
"It's not from the Chant of Light. It's from a poem by an anonymous," he explained with a smile.
"So I'm to lecture you then? You're just as uneducated in the eyes of the Maker when it comes to life and only through me will you understand? Or what? By that logic, I should go become a knight right now."
"You're not quite far."
She cupped her chin and gestured. "Then what? It's about time isn't it? The more you live the less you see what a child sees, so the more you fail to understand life because you're blinded by so many things? It's about that isn't it? Because you said there's a fine line between wit and wisdom. A grown man is wise only when he allows himself to regress!"
He inhaled and gave her a warm smile. "The closer you think you are, the less you actually see."
"Is that just rephrasing what I said or one of your subtle courtesies of telling me I'm overthinking it and I'm wrong?"
Malcom looked at her grinning.
"… Why tell me and spoil all the fun. Right," she said, sticking her sword in the ground. Bad thing. Never damage the edges of your sword just because it was that only one poor defenceless object you had to come across and express your rage at, instead of with.
"Let me tell you another poem, then."
"I'll try to pretend to listen, I promise," she utterly lied, as Malcom cleared his throat and started reciting.
"Slow-moving and black lines creep over the whole earth-they never
cease-they are the burial lines,
He that was King was buried, and he that is now King shall
surely be buried"
"Right," she said sarcastically, pretending … to pretend to listen, as always.
"The vulgar and the refined-what you call sin, and what you call
goodness-to think how wide a difference!
To think the difference will still continue to others, yet we lie
beyond the difference"
"True," she said, thinking about it.
"What will be, will be well-for what is, is well,
To take interest is well, and not to take interest shall be well"
"But it isn't well! Look at every unfair murder, at every man taken slave for nothing. Look at us… Or, wait, you mean… even if I fight or not, everything will always work out for the better?"
Malcom grinned and continued.
"The great masters and kosmos are well as they go-the heroes and
good-doers are well" he recited, accentuating the last part referring to his daughter, no doubt. "The known leaders and inventors, and the rich owners and pious and
distinguish'd, may be well,
But there is more account than that-there is strict account of all"
She frowned and pondered on it. "So it still matters… what I do. The purpose and the means through which…"
"Pleasantly and well-suited I walk,
Whither I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good,
The whole universe indicates that it is good,
The past and the present indicate that it is good"
"So if this choice has presented itself… and it comes from me, too, then I should be a swordsman. Just as you meeting Mother was an indication that it was good to flee the Circle and have a normal life, like we do."
"The law of the past cannot be eluded,
The law of the present and future cannot be eluded,
The law of the living cannot be eluded-it is eternal,
The law of promotion and transformation cannot be eluded,
The law of heroes and good-doers cannot be eluded,
The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons-not one iota thereof
can be eluded"
"Wait… I don't get it. You're saying there's no rule for who's going to suffer or know joy? That it doesn't ultimately matter what you… no, wait… It matters, doesn't it? Every good deed, ever so small, is not simply insignificant, is it? Life will always continue, but it matters what you do, good or bad, they sum up somehow and have an effect on the world even if it seems insignificant… only in time-"
"Maybe you should become a philosopher, instead of a swordsman. I haven't seen anyone go so purple thinking on something," Malcom said while laughing. His daughter looked at him confused then drew a colossal frown.
"You did it on purpose!" she said in a perfectly accusatory tone.
"You're the only one of my children who listens," he said with a simple shrug and a smile. "But it wasn't without meaning, was it?" He bent in his chair to look at her. "Did you find your answer?"
"I find that you are a frustrating old man who cries for an audience."
"Well, there you have it!" he said, laughing.
"I also find that, you're wasting time telling me in riddles that you simply don't give a crap what I become as long as I don't get possessed or caught by Templars."
"That last bit I can agree with flatly, no riddles!" he said joyfully, waving.
"Charming. Any other lectures for today?"
"No, not for today" he laughed, messing her red hair up in a loving way "Although there was one fascinating manifesto from – "
He couldn't finish, as she rushed out the door. Sunlight burst through it … the warmth of the Fade untouchable as everything dissipated through the cracks and she felt her chest pulsating with fear.
The wind blew through the window gently, moving Fenris' bangs upon his nose. He felt the overgrown hairs make his face itch and frowned, halfway through waking up. The poor old bed was much better than the usual places he had to sleep on, so the warmth and comfort of the old mattress led him to sleep like the dead, making it harder for him to open his eyes. He moved his body slowly from the side proceeding to stretch and moved a lazy right arm on the width of the bed only to feel a soft bump that annoyingly blocked the path. His eyes opened instinctively and through the blur of the sweet weariness, a mountainous shape and a crimson red wave started to clear…
His eyes opened widely in a brutal second and he took his hand from a heavy-sleeping Hawke's chest. Tension filled up in his throat as he started to feel cornered in the bed between the wall and the other so-not-male body sleeping next to him. His head flooded with ways for him to flee as he felt his cheeks grow redder than Hawke's unnaturally-looking hair.
She started to stretch in her sleep and her left leg landed over his right one. He instinctively tried to get it from under hers, but it took him by surprise and it was too late. She may have looked like a fragile little woman with a poor ghost of a muscle growing out of her arms, but there was more than met the eye, it seemed, as the strength of her leg was enough to render him immobile. He felt tension boiling up even more, as there was no chance of getting up unnoticed now and flee for the inn bar or something. As her bare foot met his, the purple-throated cuckooshrike landed on the branch resting on the crack in the window and started singing. She opened her weary eyes in a split second and yawned heavily, still not realising the lengths of their positions and turning her head towards her merry clearly not uncomfortable at all bed-partner.
"If this is not a dream, I clearly must have done something terrible in a past life" Fenris muttered, having no other line that he could think of that didn't involve him screaming (in a rephrased manner by yours truly *the author*) : For the love of all the existing and invented gods, get your womanly shaped body away from my confused little brain, I beg of you.
"You have no idea how heavily I had to fight for this spot last night," she said in a sleepy voice, trying to break the tension she still had not felt, but predicted.
"I am certain I was quite the exhilarating prize for you that you had to fight so courageously," he said sarcastically, frowning to no end.
"Not you, Whitehead McBroodypants, the prize was the spot on a bed that didn't reek of spindleweed and deep mushroom from Manskirts over there," she said, pointing with her head at Anders, who was deep in sleep and hugging the wall with his face, while Varric was fondling Bianca and snoring like a ferocious bear in hibernation and almost falling from bed from how close he was hanging on the edge.
"Hm. Fair enough," he said flatly, looking at Anders, but feeling inadequate that he had to agree with the mage. "Should I give you credit for the additional second it took your little brain to come up with that charming pet name?" he stung sarcastically.
She ignored him, got up just a bit without removing her leg from atop his and looked at the crested little bird singing in the cracked window. "Hello you! Now where's your brother, I wonder. Oh there he is" she said sarcastically, turning her gaze to Fenris now. "Care to join in the trill? He seems so lonely over there."
"I imagine your sister, the red painted tree-shrew, was too busy to join in this morning," Fenris retaliated with sarcasm, adjoining her to another resembling bird species.
She would have laughed it off, but the sister part was confusing and was too close to an open wound, so she paused.
"Oh, just go crawl into a dark pit and die," Hawke muttered while getting her upper body up and realizing how the sister part made her unable to think of a witty line and instead made her say something stupid and unoriginal.
"I can't," Fenris said, accentuating every consonant and frowning. "Your man leg is keeping me from venturing in that endeavor" he said mockingly while trying to sit up himself.
She looked at how they were sitting on their bottoms with his right and her left arm crossing and her leg tangled on top of his. She almost blushed and tried not to tense up.
"Well, well, well, Fenris," she said cockily. "It seems you have lost," she said with a sudden air of triumph, grinning and turning her gaze from their legs to his bewildered face.
"I'm… sorry?" Fenris asked in confusion.
"It seems you have taken me to your bed," she grinned. "Well, to a bed, but still."
He was cornered, angry, on the way of blushing, his head was empty, rushing with boiling unfelt blood. He would have used the "I've taken you to a bed, not mine" argument, but she outraced him with that part, too, still standing with her statement, so he had nothing to retaliate with. He had nothing to say… and he had nothing to say. The critical seconds he couldn't spare to come up with something were saved, as he quickly realized he could use her vicious kink weapon against her.
"I haven't seen the bed breaking, so I haven't lost yet," Fenris said confidently in a deep tone, almost grinning but not succeeding, as he realized the great well-thought line he threw to unsettle her was almost failed by the open to interpretation yet.
"Yet?" She lifted her eyebrows. "My, so there is more to that argument."
"There is. I could simply grab you by the throat which will make you flinch and use that heavy force-wave magic on me," he gestured below chivalrously, "ultimately breaking the bed." He almost gave out a ghost of a smile for redirecting the conversation meaning so quickly.
He felt a different sort of tension, maybe because the harsh blood boiling distance they kept from each other with arguments was ceasing, yet not from the excruciating physical proximity between them. His sudden mention of her magic made him recall how the first and last time he had ever seen her use it was in his mansion when they first met. The unexpected absence of her magic use was probably deceiving him into feeling at ease with her, even respect her, making him forget almost every time the danger word mage was not present that Hawke was ultimately such a one.
She, also, felt a bit too at ease in their conversations of late, even while arguing. The last few times they fought, including the Tri-Contestant For or Against The Dangerous of Magic Championship debate from the night before, it seemed more that they came to agree in spite of their counterarguments, rather than the other way around. She didn't love magic, more than that, she kind of despised it, but ultimately was a bearer of the "curse" and that meant there was no way not to feel for the other mages. However, the universal truths that Fenris took no break in overly stating to no end were, in some respects, principles she harboured with determination. To sum up, they were more restlessly disagreeing to agree, than the opposite.
"Dear Sir, I don't need magic when I can just outrun your effort by grabbing your arm, kick my elbow into your chin and punch you in the stomach, all before I rest my foot on your grizzled head in victory," she said confidently, grinning to no end.
"So far I don't see you having three arms to manage such a strategy. I could easily get out of that," Fenris retorted, a small contained smirk up about his face in his turn for victory.
"Oh no, you can't," she said and grinned, looking toward his immobilized leg.
Hm. Good point, was all he could have said, as he had been clearly and viciously outwitted, but she saved him the "embarrassment" of admitting defeat and continued, "But let's not rush and make such hasty movements the first time we're in bed. Not before you take me out to, well, breakfast, at least." She removed her leg from atop his and quickly hopped out of bed on her feet.
Fenris watched her sway towards Varric and Anders' bed, then turned to look at the cuckooshrike bird which was chirruping still, as if it was making fun of him and his defeat.
Varric was now lying face up with his crossbow free of his hands on top of his belly. Hawke stepped barefoot, slowly and roguishly taking Bianca off him and placing it carefully away near the dying fireplace. Then she took one of Anders' therapeutic spindleweed leaves, which secreted a disgusting burgundy substance when someone, well, spindled it. She stretched the elastic leaves and started to tickle his nose with them and left them on top of it as she saw his hand move quickly to suckerpunch himself. He slapped himself heavily and the gross spindleweed syrup splashed all over his face, starting to reek of old cow.
"Hawke?"
"Yes, Varric?"
"You can kiss my effort to stick true in telling your story goodbye," came Varric's decisive voice.
"You're going to make me sound fat, aren't you?" Hawke asked with a sigh.
Varric raised a palm."Oho, Madam, that's amateur work. Just you wait. When I'm done bullshitting freestyle you'll wish I'd made you sound like the thing this weed stinks like."
For any metalheads out there, however, I did make the The Sunken Orlesian as a funny pun for Alestorm's The Sunken Norwegian.