An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
-from "To his Coy Mistress", Andrew Marvell
Something about the town of Lonicera left Fenris feeling uneasy. It was rather cleaner than Athraim and had a good deal less mud than the unpaved road on which they had been traveling, but, in spite of the welcome absence of moist soil squelching between his toes, there was something decidedly unnerving about being in such close proximity to so many people. Lonicera's population was not nearly so large as Kirkwall's had been, but, on that pleasant, sunny day in spring, it seemed as if all of its people had flooded into the central plaza. Fenris had never cared for milling around in crowds and bumping shoulders with strangers, but it didn't seem to be troubling Hawke in the least. She was smiling brightly, commenting about how beautiful the weather was after the last night's rain. There was something almost infectious about her buoyancy and Fenris found that he was bothered less by the churning crowd when he glanced over at Hawke as her eyes roved over the rows of street vendors.
She'd found something on the street, it seemed—a long scrap of red fabric—and was absently attempting to braid it into her hair as they made their way through the streets. Fenris watched the quick flurries of her fingers as they played through her hair; she performed such menial, everyday tasks well in spite of the damage that she had suffered. He rather liked watching as she worked, weaving that shock of crimson through her sun-bleached hair.
She abandoned the effort suddenly, however, tugging the cloth free and letting her hair fall loose. Her eyes were still turned towards the street vendors and, as her smile turned into a slight frown, she came to a halt. When she looked over at Fenris, he saw that her brow was furrowed slightly. "I think… I think I recognize her," Hawke murmured, shaking her head. She glanced back over her shoulder. "I'm just going to… check." She was gone then, making her way swiftly through the crowd as that bright fabric, still clutched in her hand, fluttered behind her like a banner.
Fenris stared after her, shifting uneasily as a careless pedestrian brushed past him. Something about her sudden departure had left him feeling somewhat uncertain as to whether or not she wanted him to follow after her as she investigated her potential acquaintance. Faced with this uncertainty, he remained behind, only taking a few paces towards the market stall where Hawke now stood, speaking with a dark-haired woman who appeared to be more than a few years Hawke's senior. As Fenris watched them, he saw the recognition dawning on the woman's face as she and Hawke moved nearer together, both beginning to smile and converse animatedly.
It was pleasant to see Hawke smiling, even when he was only watching from a distance. She had been smiling easily that day, he had noticed. Since that morning, when they had left their tent together, she had seemed almost happy—laughing warmly and speaking with an energy and exuberance that she had been struggling to recover for some time. He knew well enough that her good humor was the result of the fact that they had spent the night in close proximity to one another and had arisen together. He had to admit that it hadn't been a disagreeable way to pass the night. With the rain falling against their shelter and the air cooling outside, it had been comforting to feel the warmth of her body against his. Her skin was always so warm and she was so soft and gentle when she kept her arm draped over his chest and her head resting against his shoulder. Lying with her in this manner, he had slept more peacefully than he had in a long while.
That morning, for the first time in ages, she was still asleep when he awoke. That had been pleasant also—feeling her in his arms when he came into consciousness and peering over at her while she was still unaware of him. As the night had worn on, the blankets had fallen off her shoulders, leaving her nearly exposed down to her waist. He could feel her breasts pressing against his arm through the fabric of her slip. When he looked at her, he saw that the cloth was so thin that it was nearly transparent. He had wished passingly that the blankets had slid still further down so that he could make out more of the vague outlines of her body. In her sleep, she had sighed and drawn his gaze back to her face. Her hair was in disarray, loose strands of it clinging to her lips as she slept.
Hawke's eyes had fluttered open when he had brushed her hair away from her face. She had sighed contentedly again, smiling faintly as she blinked sleepily up at him. It had taken her a moment, it seemed, to process just how close they were to one another and, when she had realized, she had blushed so prettily. She'd pulled away from him then, muttering incoherent apologies and hastily redressing herself in the robes she had cast off the night before. Altogether, it had not been a bad way to begin the day, though he had had to excuse himself for a while while he mulled over the way her body had felt against his.
Clearly, she had not been dissatisfied either. Her demeanor since that morning attested to her contentment. As Fenris watched her speaking with the woman he didn't know, he thought about just how simple it was to please Hawke. She expected so very little of his affections that the slightest display of anything more than great contempt was enough to leave her elated. Something in that caused him to feel a pang of sadness. It was an odd sort of power to have—to be able to so profoundly effect the emotional state of another. Sometimes, he found himself wishing that he took fuller advantage of his ability to make her happy. Hawke was always so lovely when she smiled. When she looked at him, her face flooded with light, there was always a warmth to her expression that was absent whenever she looked at anyone else. It was a warmth that she reserved for him. It was almost a shame that he did not allow himself to see it more often.
As Fenris reflected on this, Hawke glanced over her shoulder at him. From the way she smiled and nodded towards him, Fenris got the impression that he had, in fact, been supposed to follow after her when she had left his side. She had been speaking with the other woman for a while now, however, and he could hardly go sidling over to them now without making an awkward mess of the whole business. Hunching his shoulders forward a bit, Fenris stared down at his feet and wished that Hawke would hurry up and come back to him. He was feeling immensely conspicuous at the moment, standing in the middle of the marketplace with no one beside him. Without Hawke to divert him, Fenris became aware of the eyes that flickered towards him, surveying his lyrium markings curiously. Yet another reason why he wasn't fond of crowds.
Thankfully, she came back to him without much further delay. Though his discomfort began to abate once Hawke stood before him once more, Fenris still shifted his weight, continuing to look down at his own feet as he said, "A friend of yours, then?" There was something unsettling about the fact that, even this far from Kirkwall, there were names and faces that she would recognize that he would know nothing about. It would always be like that, he supposed. Her life was more complete than his.
Hawke nodded, brushing her hair back behind her ear as she smiled at him. His smile. "Not a friend, really," she explained, shaking her head. "She's a girl I met once or twice in Lothering. I used to live there, you know, before the Blight." She shrugged her shoulders and added, "Really, I only know Allison at all because she and Carver messed around for a while. I was surprised to see her though; I didn't think that any of the others escaped the darkspawn hoard." Her smile faded then and, before she lowered her eyes, he caught a glimpse of sadness entering into them. She toyed with the fabric she still held in her hands, wrapping it tightly around one of her fingers until the small appendage turned purple.
Fenris furrowed his brow. "You can speak to her for longer, if you'd like. I would go with you." He glanced towards where the woman stood.
Hawke shook her head once more, looking back up towards Fenris. "No. There's nothing to say, really. She would just ask about Carver and I wouldn't know what to say." Hawke cleared her throat and looked off past Fenris. Brutus butted her with his head and she reached down, stroking his ears, and made herself smile again. When she glanced back up at Fenris, however, he saw that her eyes had cooled.
"We can… what would you like?" he heard himself say awkwardly. It should have been so easy to say something that would make her smile real, but he couldn't make himself form the right words. Even with his ineloquence, Hawke still laughed, brightening slightly.
"Let's just stay here a bit longer," she suggested, sounding somehow tired. "You don't mind making so little progress today, do you?" He shook his head and remained with her as they lingered in the plaza, perusing goods that they couldn't afford. They did, however, squander a small amount of their coin on a thick, well-worn anthology of stories and a slightly torn novella. Hawke claimed that these were necessities.
He was grateful when she led him away from the marketplace. She led him deeper into the town, winding through unfamiliar streets that neither of them knew, and somehow guided him to a quaint residential district that reminded him somewhat of where he had lived during his time in Kirkwall. The courtyard where they had found themselves, located at the center of a square of comfortable-looking manors, was free of jabbering pedestrians and prying eyes. The only sound was the relentless peeping of a songbird and the muted babbling of an ornate fountain. Hawke's eyes roved over the fine homes that surrounded them and, when he observed her doing so, Fenris wondered if she might miss living in someplace like this and being surrounded by her fine things. But when she glanced of her shoulder at him, Fenris saw clearly enough that her smile was genuine again. "We didn't have places like this in Lothering," she commented, sitting down cross-legged on the edge of the fountain. "This place looks more like Orlais than Ferelden." She looked away from Fenris, dipping her hand into the water. Brutus energetically followed her example and, placing his front paws on the edge of the fountain, began to drink loudly from it. Hawke laughed lightly, turning back to Fenris. "Do you want to sit for a while?" she asked. "We could read from one of those books; it won't get dark for a few more hours, I don't think."
Fenris obliged her without argument, settling down close enough beside her that his leg brushed against her knee. Hawke glanced over at him, but couldn't tell from his expression whether or not he was aware of the contact. She worried that the same could not be said of her; she was beginning to display embarrassingly evident signs of her awareness of him. All day, she knew that she had been behaving ludicrously. Her face had been coloring so frequently and so brightly that she was beginning to fear that fainting was a very real danger and her cheeks were beginning to physically ache from smiling. And now, with even the lightest touch, she was shaking with embarrassing, giddy excitement. It was humiliating, but that did nothing to dampen her spirits.
Hawke was familiar with most of the stories in the anthology they had purchased, as the majority of them were no more than elaborated version of Fereldan folktales, but she left the choice of what to read up to Fenris. He didn't waste long with deliberation and simply opened the volume up to a random page and then turned back to the start of the chapter. Hawke stifled a smile; it was story that she and Bethany had read often in their adolescence but which Fenris would obviously hate. The first several pages started off well enough, but after that the story largely consisted of a poor peasant boy pining desperately after his high-born Orlesian love. Admittedly, the plot was extremely thin, but Bethany had always said that it was very romantic and, though she never would have admitted to it then, Hawke had thought so too. Fenris would die of boredom within the first ten pages.
"I don't think you'll like that one," Hawke told him. "It's all star-crossed lovers and other sentimental clichés."
He glanced over at her, raising one of his eyebrows. "Why would you purchase a volume filled with stories that you have already read?"
She shrugged sheepishly. "Because I like the stories." She gestured at the open page and added, "I like that story too, but believe me when I say that you won't like it."
"I'm sure it will be fine, Hawke," he said flatly, looking back towards the book that lay across his lap and beginning to read aloud.
Almost immediately, he regretted not heeding her warning. He had never read more unbearable nonsense in all of his life, and Hawke had forced him to read through a good deal of foolishness in the past. Worse still, he could not simply move onto something else and admit that she had been right after he had ignored her advice. Still, the intonation in his voice must have given his boredom away because he could her fighting back laughter as he slogged through a particularly lengthy and over-written monologue about the hero's deep emotional turmoil. Fenris found himself praying for darkness so that he would have an excuse to stop reading.
He complained of the darkness well before it actually made reading impossible.
Hawke nodded her head, not questioning his claims that he could no longer make out the letters. "Well, you did very well while it lasted," she said, rising from where she sat and stretching her stiff limbs. Smiling, she added, "You made it through much more of that story than I thought you were going to."
He sighed, his shoulders slouching forward slightly. "How you have read through that drivel on more than one occasion is entirely beyond my comprehension."
She laughed, accepting the book as he held it out to her. "Well, it's not as good as I remember. Though it sounded better with you reading it."
"I very much doubt that," he said flatly. As he stood, he groaned slightly as some feeling surged back into his legs. They had indeed been sitting for quite some time; Brutus had long since drifted off to sleep and had to be roused before they could leave to courtyard.
"Well, since it's gotten so very dark," began Hawke, glancing around the sun-drenched streets, "perhaps we should decide where we're going to stay tonight."
They'd be unable to pass the night anywhere very nice, given the limitation on their funds and the fact that Hawke felt uncomfortable forcing her mabari sleep out in the streets as he had in Athraim. Even in Ferelden, where dogs were part a long cultural tradition, there were few innkeepers willing to house a large, hairy beast in one of their rooms. It was only after inquiring at several places that they were able to find a tavern which rented rooms where the owner didn't immediately reject the idea of Brutus spending the night under his roof. Still, the prospect did not seem to thrill the grizzled man who stood behind the bar, jangling the keys that he seemed hesitant to hand over .
"You can keep him quiet, can't you?" the man said slowly, looking between Hawke and her mabari with evident trepidation.
She smiled, nodding her head reassuringly. "There won't be any trouble, I assure. He's very well-behaved."
As if he intended to offer positive affirmation of his mistress' words, Brutus let out a loud, happy bark. While the man narrowed his eyes at Hawke, she laughed awkwardly and smiled in a way that she hoped was winning. "He's just excited," she said. "He won't make another sound." Turning her head, she shot a stern look towards her dog, who hung his head abashedly and pawed the floor.
"Um hmm," grumbled the man skeptically. "Just try to keep him under control."
"I promise," said Hawke demurely.
Grudgingly, the man held out the keys and dropped them into her hand. "It's up the stairs. First door to your right."
It was fairly evident, the moment they saw their room, why they had not been immediately dismissed for having an unkempt dog in their midst. There was clearly not a great deal of care put into the upkeep of their room, though that was not much of surprise considering how very little they had been charged for a night's stay. The room was relatively cramped, boasting only a narrow bed, a nightstand, and an unstable-looking vanity.
The light was dim as they entered the room, with threadbare curtains hanging over the room's single window. Hawke went forward, drawing the curtains to the side and letting in the faint, glowing light of advancing evening. Finding it insufficient, she moved about the room, lighting the sconces which were mounted on the walls. "There," she murmured as the room filled with flickering light.
When she turned back towards Fenris, she found that he was staring with dismay at Brutus, who had leapt up onto the bed and was now sniffing around the pillows and leaving a fine snow of his fur across the bedding.
"Brutus!" Hawke scolded, advancing on him and attempting to convey an air of authority. "You can't just go running around, doing whatever you like. Didn't you consider that Fenris wouldn't want your drool all over his pillow?"
Looking vaguely concerned by this reprimand, Brutus raised his head and looked inquisitively at Fenris.
It was a strange thing to respond to a dog's tacit inquiry, but Fenris found that he was compelled to respond to the mabari's questioning look. "It's fine," he muttered. This satisfied Brutus, who flopped down onto the bed and began to roll about happily.
Hawke sighed with exasperation. "I really am sorry that he's not better behaved," she said, glancing over at Fenris. "Aveline really was the only one who could ever control him. He just doesn't respect my authority; I think he thinks of me more as a sister than as a master."
Fenris shrugged his shoulders noncommittally and told Hawke that he really didn't mind a little dog hair on his pillow. The bed was likely not the pinnacle of cleanliness even without Brutus' interference. Hawke nodded, sitting down on the bed beside Brutus and scratching at his belly as he rolled onto his back, tongue lolling to the side. Her irritation with the dog never seemed to last long, Fenris noticed, and any annoyance that she did feel always seemed to be bordering on amusement. He watched her fondly scratching her unruly beast of pet and thought to himself that perhaps it wasn't an altogether bad thing that Hawke felt some discomfort in demanding obedience from another living creature.
It was only once Brutus had flung himself off the bed and begun nosing about the room that Hawke stopped her petting. Freed from heaping attentions on her mabari, she lifted her eyes back to Fenris while she sat back against the headboard. "We're not far from the Circle at Lake Calenhad," she told him suddenly, shifting as she searched for a comfortable position on the hard, lumpy mattress. "I'm told that the lake is really very pretty, but we should probably avoid the docks, just to make sure we don't run into any Templars. They might not realize immediately that I'm an apostate, but it's probably safer to avoid them altogether." As she spoke, she was surreptitiously opening the anthology of stories and thumbing through the pages for where they had left off. Though she was clearly trying to distract him with conversation, Fenris noticed nonetheless.
"You're not going to keep reading that, are you?"
She laughed, though she did blush slightly with evident embarrassment. "Well, it's almost over anyway. And we left off right before my favorite part," she admitted.
Fenris surveyed her with mild bemusement. "It is entirely baffling to me that you have a favorite part."
She narrowed her eyes slightly, her lips pursing as she suppressed a smile and attempted to look stern. "I don't mock the stories you like, Fenris," she said tartly. "Nor are you required to read along with me. It's only a few more pages and we do have a second book specifically purchased for your reading pleasure."
Grumbling all the while, he positioned himself on the bed beside her and took the book into his own hands. She was smiling as he began to read to her, even though he did everything in his power to inflect his tone with as much disapproval as was possible. She seemed contented enough, however, settling comfortably back against the headboard and brushing slightly against Fenris' arm as she drew close enough to the see the page.
Somehow, she managed to be distracting without either speaking or moving. The longer they sat, with her elbow barely making contact with his arm, the more he became aware of the fact that they were currently seated on the bed that they would share that night. Neither of them had thought to inquire after a room with two beds and he wasn't entirely sure that he would have wanted a separate bed even if one had been offered. There wasn't really anything disagreeable about the prospect of spending the night beside her once more. He was comfortable with that much at least. Still, considering it, and what she might expect of him, did cause his mind to wander from the vacuous narrative that he was mindlessly reading over. His mind wandered far enough that, at one point, it escaped his attention that he had stopped reading.
She looked at him, her smile becoming quizzical. "What's wrong? Do you really want to read something else that badly?" With a short, breathy laugh, she shook her head. "Alright, I'll get the other book."
She began to draw away from him to go in search of something else, but he stopped her, saying quickly, "No, this is fine." He saw her mild confusion and realized that he had spoken a shade too abruptly. Clearing his throat, he added, "It's almost over, anyway."
"Alright then," she said, leaning slightly against his shoulder once more. "Keep reading. They kiss soon."
Fenris rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Oh, joy," he said dryly, turning away from her and glaring down at the open book. "I'm sure that moment of fleeting physical contact will merit the last thirty pages of agonizingly drawn-out suspense."
She laughed, nudging his shoulder. "Come on," she prompted, pointing to the sentence where he had drifted off.
He sighed. "'The moonlight caught dazzlingly against the fair waves of Claudette's hair as she turned to face Sceolan, her sapphire eyes flooded with emotion. He might well have drowned in the deep, limpid pools of those wondrous eyes had he not been buoyed by her love. Through all the peril that lay before them and through all that had passed before, it was her beauty and her love which gave him the strength to carry on through all measure of suffering. Claudette held out her delicate hand to him, brushing her soft fingertips against his cheek. It mattered not that the battle raged on in the valley below or that her father's men were hot in pursuit; all that mattered in that moment was the warmth of her touch as she stood, at last, within his reach. Even if they had only that brief, fleeting moment to share, it would be enough to satisfy him for an eternity.'" Fenris wondered how long it would take before these characters, suddenly becoming aware of their own stupidity, would just kill themselves. It couldn't be much longer.
Fenris didn't reach the end of the story just then, though he did suffer through an excruciatingly detailed description of the young lovers embracing for what must have been a quarter of an hour. Before he reached the end, however, Brutus rescued him from proceeding. As the mabari let out a whine and pawed pointedly at the door, Hawke let out a sigh. "Well, we might as well stop there," sighed Hawke. "They just end up killing themselves to keep from being divided."
"I'm sorry I'll miss it," muttered Fenris, snapping the book shut and laying it aside.
Hawke laughed, shaking her head slightly as she crawled off the bed. Standing before the mirror that hung above the vanity and combing her fingers through her hair, Hawke smiled. "Thank you for indulging me," she said as their eyes met in the mirror. "It might just be a silly story, but… I don't know." She shrugged her shoulders and turned away from the mirror. "I think it just reminds me of my sister. It's the sort of thing she and I read together."
He nodded his head once. "You were younger then; I suppose some errors in judgment can be forgiven."
Hawke smiled crookedly. "Well, I do appreciate your tolerance, in any case." She crossed to the door and placed her hand on the knob, glancing over her shoulder at Fenris before turning it. "After I get back, can you force me to eat something? I'm starving."
Fenris almost smiled. "I'll see what can be done about that."
She smirked. "Thanks." She turned from him then, letting the eager Brutus out of the room and following after him.
It was too quiet without her. He found himself wishing that he had just gone with her. He knew well enough that he would be entirely superfluous to the mission of accompanying her while she waited for the dog to defecate, but it felt strange to be sitting in that bed without her. The void she had left beside him was almost palpable. Sighing restlessly, he reopened the book and scanned over the last of the story. In truth, he found himself a little saddened when the lovers hurled themselves off a cliff together, drowning beneath the freezing waves of the sea. Fenris wondered if Hawke had cried when she was young, reading over these pages with the sister he'd never known. He glanced off towards the window, hoping that it wouldn't be much longer before she returned.
He sighed, rising from the bed, and tried to look as if he was occupied; he didn't want her come back and find him precisely where she had left him, as if he were incapable to passing the time while she was away. As it turned out, however, it was quite difficult to find something to do. All there was to do, aside from beginning to read something else, was to pace around the room. He found his way to window before long and peered down into the streets below.
Evening had passed into night and lanes were lit by the smoky flames of streetlights. In the dim light, Fenris could see Brutus' massive form tearing wildly around in circles, only pausing for brief moments while he lifted his leg on carefully selected cobblestones. Hawke stood nearby, leaning back against the wall of a shop across the way. She was smiling up at him and Fenris realized the she must have been watching the illuminated window of their room. There was something vaguely embarrassing in being caught looking out at her, but then, she had been looking for him also. Hawke lifted her hand and waved slowly at him. Fenris returned the gesture before drawing away from the window, lying back across the bed. Their bed. He closed his eyes and blocked out the remainder of the room's light by draping his forearm across his face.
When she returned, her cheeks were slightly flushed from the chill of the evening. "Brutus really lacks any concept of an appropriate timeframe for relieving himself," she sighed, chafing warmth into her own arms. Reacting to this criticism, the mabari let out a low whine. "Well, I did tell you to hurry," she said in response to his objection. Grumbling, Brutus curled up on the floor beside the bed. As the dog let out a yawn, Hawke turned her gaze to Fenris. "I asked the innkeeper if he'd let me take plates upstairs, but, believe it or not, he's concerned about people spilling food on the sheets. So, if we want to eat, I suppose we'll have to go downstairs."
He groaned, rising from the bed. He would have preferred to avoid spending time in a barroom with rowdy drunkards, but he was, admittedly, willing to suffer through the stink of stale ale and sweat if it meant eating a warm meal. "Very well," he said, moving to the door and holding it open as he waited for her exit the room. "Let's see what fascinating new odors this establishment has to offer."
The patrons seemed to have a less fragrant stench than those of the Hanged Man, which was something at least. And the food, though it lacked any particular culinary flair, was hot and not unpleasant. With Hawke beside him, it was almost possible to overlook the raucous bantering of drunkards and the faint stink of ale which unrelentingly flooded his nostrils.
"That dwarf sort of looks like Varric," she said, leaning a bit closer so that he could hear her over the noise of the room.
Fenris glanced off towards where she was pointing and tilted his head to side as he surveyed the dwarf in question. "Similar chest hair, in any case" he commented, taking a swig from the mug that was before him.
Hawke smiled. "Or maybe being in a place like this just reminds me of him," she shrugged.
"He would have come along, I'm sure, if you had asked it off him."
She shook her head. "I know, but it didn't seem like a good idea when I wasn't sure that…." She trailed off, taking a sip of the tepid water she had been drinking.
"Surely you know that I'll demand an end to that sentence," he prompted.
Sighing, she turned her head to look at him. "I just wasn't quite sure that you wouldn't change your mind the moment we got away from Kirkwall. I didn't want anyone to make you feel badly about it if you… well, if you decided to kill me."
Fenris bowed his head, staring fixedly at his mug. "I wouldn't have needed someone make me feel badly about that, Hawke," he murmured.
She watched his expression carefully, her brow furrowing. "I know that now," she said softly. "But I still can't quite believe it."
He reached out, rotating his plate so that he would have something to do with his hands. "You're finished, aren't you?" he said, gesturing to her empty plate.
The abrupt change in conversation didn't seem to faze her much, though it did take her a moment answer. "I'm finished," she said.
"Good," he said, standing as he spoke.
She followed suit, nodding her head and wishing that she hadn't been so unbelievably stupid as to mention the past. Things had seemed almost simple for a briefest moment of time and now, once again, she had ruined everything by bringing up the fact that he had every cause to want her dead. "Alright, let's go back to the room then," she sighed, beginning to shuffle off towards the staircase with Fenris trailing wordlessly after her.
"You're not leaving already, are you?" Hawke might not have known that the words were meant for her if the speaker hadn't extended his foot in front of her, causing her to stumble before she caught herself.
As she stood upright, Hawke glowered at the owner of the foot that had nearly tripped her. Grinning broadly at her was man with dark hair and an air of self-satisfaction that made her want to punch his teeth in. "And what business is that of yours?" she spat bitterly, folding her arms over her chest.
The man laughed. "Well, I did spend all afternoon asking at every inn in town to find out where you were staying. And then, I spent all evening drinking some truly piss-poor ale while I waited for you to come downstairs. The least you can do is give me a brief interlude with the great Champion of Kirkwall."
Hawke felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. There was no reason for this man to know who she was. No good reason, in any case. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said dismissively. She was aware that Fenris had moved defensively closer to her, joining her in glowering at the stranger.
"Of course you do," the man said, rising from his seat as he took a deep swill of his malodorous beverage. When his mug was drained, he set it down heavily on the table. "I got a description of you off of a pirate friend of mine- little slip of a thing, yellow-eyes, ball-shriveling glower. Though Isabela really didn't come close to doing you justice. She glossed over some of your more alluring attributes." His gray eyes passed over her appreciatively. Hawke was glad that she had folded her arms over her chest.
"You know Isabela?" she said cautiously. "That's really not much of a personal recommendation, you know."
He laughed loudly, surprising Hawke enough that she started. "Well, that's probably true, isn't it? I heard you two lovely ladies ended on bad terms." He shrugged his shoulders carelessly as he added, "But I think I can claim a closer connection—you and I are cousins, after all. Well, second-cousins, but that's all semantics, isn't it?"
Hawke's eyes widened slightly with dawning comprehension. "Diarmuid Amell," she said. "Though I must ask why the Hero of Ferelden doesn't have anything better to do with himself than asking around after a distant relative."
"Relax, sweetheart, I haven't been stalking you… much. I was only passing through on my way to the Circle to deal with some disturbances we've been having there. I came across a mutual acquaintance of ours, heard my little cousin was in town, and decided that I might as well have some familial bonding while I had the chance."
"I didn't tell anyone I was in town," she said suspiciously.
Diarmuid's lips twisted to the side as he lifted one of his dark eyebrows quizzically. "That's not how the little shopkeep from Lothering tells it. What's her name? Alice? Andrea?" He shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. I'd forgotten her ages ago. She had to remind me three times that I'd saved her life. I'd be embarrassed, but that sort of thing happens to me so often that I barely notice it anymore. Must happen to you too, given the name you've made for yourself."
"I generally manage to remember the names of the people I've saved," she replied coolly. Hawke found herself wishing that she had just electrocuted him the moment he had stuck his foot out in front of her. If she had just done that, then she would already be back in her room trying to find a comfortable way to strip down for bed in front of Fenris.
"Well, that's more than I can say for myself," Diarmuid acknowledged, bowing his head slightly. "Perhaps the taint is rotting my mind away already." Turning his gaze to Fenris, he added, "Though I do remember hearing about you. The Tevinter fugitive, right?" As he spoke, his eyes traced over Fenris' body, lingering too long and making Hawke wish violently that she possessed the physical strength to rip her fellow mage's heart out of his chest. "They really are lovely markings. I don't suppose you'd let me examine them more… thoroughly?"
Hawke pressed closer to Fenris, biting down on her own tongue to keep from spitting out a string of profanities. "No," said Fenris coldly, her green eyes narrowing to slits. "I don't suppose I would."
Glancing between Hawke and Fenris' unashamedly hostile expressions, Diarmuid relented, laughing lightly. "And I have clearly transgressed some boundary here. My apologies. Are you two involved, then?"
The air caught in Hawke's throat as she opened her mouth to answer. She had been about to reply violently in the affirmative, but it occurred to her before she spoke that such an answer might appear to be overly presumptuous. Of course, she wanted to be able say that she and Fenris were involved, but he hadn't said anything to that effect. Unsure of what exactly to say, Hawke stuttered, and looked over to Fenris. She found, to her great horror, that he was staring at her expectantly, as if he was irritated that she had not already given an answer. "We… we're together." Fenris continued staring at her and so, hastily, she stammered, "Well, travelling together. We're travelling together." Fenris looked away from her.
"I'm going back to the room," said Fenris gruffly, already making his way towards the stairs.
"Wait, Fenris, I'll come—"
"No," he said flatly, looking back at Hawke. "You stay and make your acquaintance with the mage."
She blinked. "Fenris, I'm going with you."
He turned away. "Don't trouble yourself."
As Hawke stared speechlessly after Fenris, Diarmuid let out a low whistle. "Well, that was tense. You should go after someone a little less high-maintenance. Have yourself some fun while you've got youth and notoriety on your side."
"You may be my cousin, but I swear to the Maker that I will rip off your testicles and shove them up your ass until you break," she hissed with such vehemence that he took a step backwards, lifting his hands in surrender.
"Alright, I get it; you and the elf are exclusive." Sighing, he sat back in the chair he had vacated and gestured for one of the barmaids to come forward to refill his mug. Hawke remained standing, her fists clenched tightly as she stared after Fenris. "I'll behave myself if you have a drink with me," wheedled Diarmuid, prodding her with the tip of his boot. She glared at him, her upper lip curling. "Come on. One drink."
"I'm going back to my room," she said acerbically.
"We both know you're not," he replied, smiling in a way that almost looked sympathetic. "The elf is angry with you."
Hawke glowered. "If you hadn't flirted with him, then—"
"Then he'd still be pissed that you took a fucking hour to tell me that you were together." He raised his refilled mug to his lips. There was foam on his lips when he lowered it. "Come on, little sis. I can be good company if you let me. It might not be so bad, really, to have some family in your life." He gestured once more to the chair that was across the table from him. "One drink. Then you go back to your room and tell the elf that you're eternally his and that you're sorry."
After a moment's hesitation, she sat down. "I don't drink."
He lifted one of his eyebrows again, his eyes flitting down towards her navel. "Congratulations. Does the elf know?"
Hawke shifted uncomfortably. "It's not like that. I can't… I haven't been well." She cleared her throat. "And that would be impossible for a thousand other reasons, anyway."
Across the table from her, he nodded slowly. "But you don't drink?" She didn't answer, her eyes drawn once more back towards the staircase. Diarmuid shook his head, laughing under his breath. "You know, I was expecting a little more depravity from you, sweets. I heard you were quite the minx back in Kirkwall."
She didn't look at him. "I was never a minx. I just acted like one," she murmured.
"Oh, is that so?" He clucked his tongue loudly. "Well, you do have it bad for the elf, don't you? I must admit, I'm jealous. It's been ages since I was infatuated with someone. It's such a thrill isn't it?"
"I don't know if 'thrill' is the right word," she replied, turning her eyes back towards him.
He smirked, taking another sip of his ale. "Well, if it's not thrilling, I have to say that you're probably doing something wrong." Hawke opened her mouth to reply, but he held up a hand. "I get it," he added quietly. "Love hurts. Especially when it's real."
Hawke said nothing, choosing instead to bow her head and stub her toe repeatedly against the leg of the table.
"So what happened with you two?" she heard Diarmuid ask. "I know all that tension wasn't just my doing."
Hawke glowered down at her own clasped hands. "I'm not going to discuss this with you."
He laughed again—that loud, infuriating laugh. "Oh, come now! Can't I express concern about my favorite cousin's love-life? Is it so wrong for me to go prodding around, trying to trick you into divulging the size of the elf's... attributes?"
"Is everything always about sex with you, or are you just particularly unhinged this evening?" she said icily, lifting her eyes just enough to glare at him.
He leaned back in his chair, smiling in spite of her bitterness. "A bit of both, I suppose," he shrugged. "It's not easy, you know—sitting across the table from my former lover's paramour." His eyes danced over her once more. "You're prettier than I thought you'd be." He sighed and took another drink from his mug. "I'd have liked you to be uglier."
Hawke furrowed her brow for a moment before it dawned on her. "Anders?"
Diarmuid's smile spread, something like bitterness entering into it. "Anders." His smile fading, he added soberly, "Nate—Nathanial Howe—he told me that you two were together. Isabela fleshed it out with a few far too graphic descriptions that are now indelibly impressed on my memory." Tilting his head towards the staircase, he added, "So how did that happen? You and the elf? I must admit, I was surprised to see you with someone else. Especially since…. Well, never mind."
"It's… complicated," Hawke managed to say, feeling her muscles tightening uncomfortably. She'd start shaking soon, she knew. It was taking nearly all of her effort to remain steady in that moment. She had known, of course, that Diarmuid and Anders had been involved. It had been one of the reasons she'd hated even the mention of the Hero of Ferelden for so many years. It hadn't occurred to her, however, that her cousin might not be very fond of her for much the same reason.
"It's always complicated, isn't it?" laughed Diarmuid, looking down into his mug and finding it nearly empty again. The bitter smile spread across his face once more and he shook his head, eyes closing for a moment. "Maker's ass—Anders." He laughed again, softly this time and almost to himself. "That fucker got me. Saw down to my soul and just… knew exactly who I was." He shook his head, looking back up at Hawke and shrugging carelessly. "It wasn't enough, I guess. He saw me, understood me, and I just wasn't enough to hold his interest. Never thought I could love someone that much… and he left me so that he could get some sanctimonious spirit stuffed inside of him." Hawke was quiet, unsure of what she should say. She really had never considered that, while she was failing to love Anders, someone else had wanted him. She bowed her head, swallowing hard.
"It's fine, you know," Diarmuid went on softly. "I'm glad that he wasn't alone. I glad he had someone he loved. I wouldn't want him to miss out on that just because it wasn't me."
She felt nauseated, her stomach turning and horrible knot rising in her throat. "You heard that…." She stopped halfway through her sentence, coughing and needing to wait for several long moments before she could speak again. "Anders died. Back in Kirkwall… he died."
Diamuid nodded, eyeing her without any alteration to his expression. "Yeah, I heard what happened." He drained his mug. "I heard you did it."
She looked down. "I didn't want to."
"I know," he laughed mirthlessly. "We've all done things we didn't want to do. It's what heroes do, little sis."
She shook her head, feeling herself begin to tremble. "I'm not a hero," she whispered.
"Semantics, lover," he said dismissively. "You're a champion—same damn thing. Different words for the person who makes the tough calls. It's not all saving puppies, is it? Sometimes you have to make a choice that kills you. Sometimes you have to do things you can't live with. Believe me… I know."
She raised her eyes, her hands twisted in her lap. He'd stopped smiling, his expression flat and almost hollow, as he looked at her with eyes that looked much older than they were. "You're not really how I thought you'd be," she murmured, trying to make herself smile at him.
"Yeah," he sighed, searching the room with his eyes for the barmaid and waving her over once more. "I'm not really how I thought I'd be either, but here I am… being like this." He glanced back at Hawke, shrugging his shoulders. "And there you are…being like that. Life has a way of working people over." He thanked the barmaid for the third pint that Hawke had seen him with that night.
"I—I said I'd stay for one drink," she said softly. "I have to get back to Fenris."
Diarmuid nodded deeply, his lips compressing into a line. "Right. The elf. So, what's so special about him? What exactly is it about the new man that makes your heart go pitter-pat?"
She looked off back towards the staircase while Diarmuid drank. "I'm not sure you want to hear me talk about that."
"No, please. I might not seem like the sentimental type, but I always enjoy watching people in love. So come on—why him? Out of all the people in the world, why is it him?"
Hawke knew well enough that he was baiting her—trying to lure her into some romantic confession that he would mock or sexualize or simply dismiss. And, if she was honest, it hadn't really been something she'd given much thought to before he had asked her. She had never really considered that there might be someone for her aside from Fenris. Even now, such a thing seemed preposterous. It was just impossible. She wouldn't know how to begin loving someone else. "I can't really explain any of it," sighed Hawke, relenting. "It's hard to describe something so... all-encompassing. Sometimes I wish I could change things—make his life easier or something—but there's nothing about him that I'd want to change. And I could list all the little things I love, but I wouldn't be able to come close to explaining anything at all. There are a million things that I love about him, but ultimately I just… love him. Each one of those things, apart from him, would mean nothing to me. It's the way those pieces come together that…." She shook her head. "I've never been good at this sort of thing. I'm not very good at any of this, really… but he still came back for me. And that…." She cleared her throat. "The fact that he sees anything in me at all will never stop amazing me." She cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly. "Is that enough of a reason?"
He stared back at her blankly. "That was truly nauseating," he said. When she only shrugged, he laughed and added lightly, "But I know how you feel. Or, I vaguely remember feeling something like that once. All those years ago, but it's the sort of thing you ever get over. I'm happy for you. Or I hate you. I'm not quite sure which it is, but I'll get back to you on that."
There was silence then, stretching between them as he drank and she bowed her head, wishing she was better at diffusing awkwardness. "I'm sorry," she said suddenly. "About Anders."
He shook his head, waving a hand at her dismissively. "Don't be sorry. You did what you had to do... and it's not your fault that he loved you and not me."
"So, there's not... anyone else, then?" she asked, shifting in her chair.
His eyes widened. "For me?" With a breath of a laugh, Diarmuid shook his head. "No. Like I said… you can't help who you love. And you can't help who you stay in love with." Shrugging again, he added, almost jocularly, "But it really is fine; sometimes it's enough just to fuck someone for a while. Sometimes it's not… but that's another story." He stood suddenly, slamming his stein down on the table and allowing his gaze to wander around the room. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find someone to get my cock wet, since you're clearly not up for it." She made a small, derisive noise in her throat and Diarmuid looked back at her, smiling in a way that somehow didn't make her want to break all his teeth. "It'll be okay, you know," he told her. "With you and the elf. Granted, I'm not sure what's going on there… but I can tell that he loves you. And if that's how it is—both of you loving each other—then it'll work out eventually. One of these days, you'll figure it out." He clapped her on the shoulder as he began to walk past her. "It was nice to meet you, sugar-tits." By the time she looked over her shoulder, he was already engaged in conversation with the barmaid and bringing a brilliant blush to her cheeks. Hawke sighed, shaking her head, and finally made her way towards the staircase.
She was glad to see that Fenris was still awake, though it was immediately apparent that he was upset with her. She couldn't really blame him for that. "You were downstairs for a while," he observed coolly.
Hawke nodded, walking forward slowly and taking a tentative seat beside Fenris at the foot of the bed. "I guess so," she acknowledged softly. "He wasn't so bad, really, after the initial bouts of nausea-inducing unpleasantness."
"I'm sure he was very pleasant indeed," sneered Fenris. "I'm sure he went to every length to charm you, seeing as how you and I are merely traveling together."
Hawke swallowed, looking down at Fenris' chest instead of meeting his eyes. "I shouldn't have said that, Fenris. I just… I wasn't sure how you wanted me to answer." He said nothing, continuing instead to glower down at the floor where Brutus was sleeping. "Fenris, would you look at me?" sighed Hawke. Grudgingly, he lifted his eyes to hers, muttering something in Tevene that she couldn't understand.
"I love you, you know," she said gently, moving a bit nearer to him and trying to ignore the ferocity of his glower. "And I didn't mean to make you doubt that." Lightly, she placed her hand on top of his. When he didn't pull away, she let her fingers interweave with his. Though he didn't move in response, she saw that his expression was softening. "I love you," she repeated, smiling timidly. "I will always love you… until the day I die. And well after that, if there's any way I can manage it." She inclined her head slightly, her lips brushing against his shoulder. Even through the fabric of his shirt, he was acutely aware of her. She pulled away from him slowly, releasing her light hold on his hand and moving further onto the bed. "I'm going to sleep," she said as his eyes trailed after her. Uncertainly, she glanced over her shoulder and added, "Or would you rather I…?" She cleared her throat, shaking her head. "I'm sure there's other rooms."
"There's no need for that," he murmured, positioning himself on right side of the bed. He fell back on the pillows quite near to her, which was, admittedly, not entirely by chance.
"Do you want…?" she began softly before trailing off and needing to begin again. "We could… like last night…." She shook her head and added lamely, "If you wanted to, anyway." Already anticipating being rejected, she began to move away from him.
"That would be fine, Hawke," he muttered roughly, staring resolutely up at the ceiling. It grew impossible to keep his eyes fixed there, however, as she lay down beside him. With deliberate care, she seemed to have positioned herself so that their bodies were touching as little as possible. Rolling his eyes, Fenris extended his arm to the side and dragged her nearer to him, allowing her to pillow her head on his chest. It wasn't so different, really, than it had been the night before; they were lying in much the same manner as they had been then. And yet the difference came, he felt, from the amount of consideration put into their positioning. The impulsivity was gone this time; she was beside him because he wished her to be. Because he had deliberately pulled her closer. But he wondered if she expected him to pull her closer still. It had been gnawing at him throughout the night—the thought that she had hesitated in answering the mage's question because, in her mind, she didn't really consider herself as being with him. Because he didn't do the things with her that a man was supposed to do.
"You don't wish that I were more like that mage, do you?" he muttered abruptly, his voice low. "That I would just… act?"
After a moment of her silence, he began to hope that she hadn't heard him. It was evident, however, from the way she was looking at him with a slightly furrowed brow and surprised eyes, that she had indeed heard. "No," she breathed softly. "I don't need anything more than what you want to give. That's all I'll ever need from you." He felt her hand shift slightly against his chest. He raised his hand to hers and let their fingers weave together once more. She pressed her head against his shoulder, smiling.
"That's all?" His fingers tightened around hers.
She nodded, though she kept her head resting against him. "You've already given me more than I ever hoped for," she said quietly, her body shaking a little as he pulled her a bit tighter to his side. He could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest as he wrapped his arm around her.
The peace of the moment was effectively shattered when, immediately beside Fenris' ear, there was a loud whine. Apparently jealous of Fenris' proximity to Hawke, Brutus had planted himself beside the bed with his large, square head resting on mattress.
Hawke groaned with exasperation. "Brutus, hush." Sighing against Fenris' shoulder, she added, with a weary yawn, "I really am sorry about him."
"It's fine," grumbled Fenris, glaring bitterly at the ceiling. Someone was really going to have to teach that dog some manners.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
A) Ah, Diarmuid—your life was going to be so nice when I first thought of you. Way back when I was writing Felix Culpa and had visions of you and Anders riding off into the sunset and doing unspeakable things to each other back at Vigil's Keep. It was going to be so sweet and you were going to be so happy and I was finally going to be able to write the slash I have been yearning for. And then I decided to go and kill Anders and leave you all alone in the world. Alas, poor Diarmuid.
B) Don't worry—if you hate Diarmuid, he's not sticking around for long.
C) Ugh, stupid, cockblocking mabari. Jesus, Brutus—look at your life. Look at your choices. (I like how I blame characters for things as if I don't have complete, godlike control over them.) But I like to think that he's protective of Hawke. No doubt he remembers what happened the last time Fenris came sniffing around. I don't think that the mabari would have a very nuanced perspective about the whole strangulation issue.
D) The story Hawke is reading is similar in style, to my imagining, to certain works of fan fiction (okay… mine). Fenris is not a fan.