* Thanks to Kias, Medusa Davenport, and LunarMeridia for their reviews! Thanks for all your support and encouraging words! Helps keep me going!
The stars were twinkling outside of Hawke's open window. A light breeze tousled her brunette locks about her face. A low sigh escaped the mage's lips; once more sleep evaded her grasp. It didn't matter though. The lady had slept most of the day anyway. Catching a cold could do that to a girl.
Now, fully conscious, Hawke sat upright in her bed allowing her mind to wander. One thought that remained prevalent was how unfortunate it was that her medicine did not cause drowsiness. Sure, the potion Anders had dropped off had helped abate the ferocity of Hawke's fever. It had also dulled the aches, pains, and minor chills she'd been experiencing; in fact, it even allowed her to breathe clearer. What was lacking was its inability to knock her flat on her arse. The darkness of oblivion which could be found in sleep seemed irresistible to the irritated mage.
Shuddering, Hawke decided to conjure up a small ball of flames. She let the heat tickle her palms before she threw her fireball into the grate of her fireplace. Just because I suffer from a cold doesn't mean I have to be cold, mused the mage. Taking delight in the rhythmic dancing of the fire before her, Hawke began to feel safer. Almost like she did all those nights ago in his arms. . . .
Shaking herself out of her reverie, the bleary eyed apostate reached for a leather bound journal. Too tired to write about her day Hawke decided to compose her thoughts into a poem instead. So many were dedicated to him nowadays. . .and, knowing her heart, this bit of verse would be no different. Finding her strength she wrote,
To say I hate him would be lying,
Even if he stole my glimmer of hope
Bringing winter frost in his wake-
Forever contorting thoughts of happiness.
No, I do not despise him.
The simple fact is I love to love him;
I need to need him lingering on my bones.
Suddenly becoming weary, Hawke dropped her feather quill onto her lap. Ink blots littered the newly used pages of her journal, yet her simple ballad remained untouched. Her penmanship elegant and refined, her lettering swooped across its canvas in alluring swirls. This (like all the rest) would be a small token of her affections for one who would never read it; a burst of inspiration amidst all the heartache.
Once more abed, the lady lay in deep contemplation. No longer was she mulling over her terrible luck at falling ill or bemoaning the fact that should could not sleep, instead Hawke felt herself dwelling on her lost lover. She wished he wasn't so far away from her; she felt so alone without him beside her. In the end, it was her poem that said it best, in one short stanza it illustrated her desire for him. The lady simply loved to love him, she needs to need him lingering on her bones. If she didn't then Hawke feared that the last bit of ardor inside of her would rot away, leaving nothing but anguish in its wake. Such a prospect did little to ease Hawke's deflated spirit. If anything, it only made her feel that much more sickly.
She guessed it was how matters of the heart worked. She crinkled her brow, musing, If it doesn't shatter your physical core then it wreaks havoc on your emotional state, which is why I'm awake while everyone else slumbers. It was also this distress which harkened another fever to appear on her brow, cold sweats to soak her sheets, and her infuriating inability to rest to continue.
As dawns light began to creep up on Hawke, the lady (in due time) became listless and still. Her blue orbs remaining opened, Hawke had them glued to her chamber door; it was as if she were waiting for something or someone to visit her. No one came though.
Despite how much she willed Fenris to enter her bedroom, the elf managed to evade her silent pleas. All she wanted was for him to comfort her or at least see her while she was ill. Weren't they at least friends? Or perhaps he didn't think that any sort of connection (platonic or otherwise) could be salvageable between them?
Releasing one last frusterated sneeze, the young woman finally shut her eyes. She would not sleep, but perhaps she could find peace in her cognizant state? It was simple really, she would focus on their better moments; she'd wrap herself in a blanket of cherised memories including herself and him. She couldn't help it honestly. Lady Hawke loved to love him and it was as clear as the sun light which now illuminated her face, and signalled the beginnings of a new day.