Promises: Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine but Bioware's.

After Zevran had left with the raider, Fenris made a command decision and took a table in a dark corner with his mageling. He rather agreed with the pirate's estimation of just how long it would take for Zevran to conclude his business with her. As such, Fenris saw no need to get a room for the night just yet.

He scowled as he took another glance at the rundown tavern. No, he would prefer to avoid spending the night in such a dingy looking place if at all possible.

"What's wrong?" Hawke asked.

"Nothing," he replied.

Hawke raised an eyebrow at him but didn't prod any further. Instead she flagged over a waitress with a wave of her arm. She ordered dinner for both of them and also asked for a couple of ales.

"Do you have any wine?" Fenris asked, interrupting Hawke as she ordered. He was sick of always getting the cheap slop these places seemed to serve. If he had to cool his heels waiting while the assassin got frisky with his lady pirate, then at least he could drink some decent wine at the assassin's expense.

Both Hawke and the waitress looked at him as though he had lost his mind. "No," the waitress said flatly. "We've got ale, and we've got beer. Take your pick."

Fenris blinked. "I wasn't aware there was a difference," he noted.

"There isn't. Well not really," Hawke said with a sigh. "That was the point." She smiled wearily up at the waitress. "But as I was saying, an ale for me and another for my grumpy friend here," she told the waitress, ignoring Fenris' grimace.

"I hope for your sake your friend's a happy drunk," the waitress said as she walked away.

The ale came out quickly enough. Fenris was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't as weak as he had feared it would be. While it wasn't strong, it wasn't just glorified water either. Dinner followed shortly after, and their tankards were still full when it arrived.

Fenris poked at the dish before him. Whatever Hawke had ordered for them appeared to be stew that was later baked. He cautiously took a bite of the concoction, and once again was happy to discover that the food was somewhat tasty, in an odd and foreign way. It was crispy on the outside while the soft center provided a delectable contrast. He took a second bite, deciding that he actually liked the dish and wouldn't mind eating it again.

"So is it safe to assume that you like the food seeing how you didn't immediately spit it out?" Hawke asked him, her nose twitching with mischief.

"I would never spit out food," he told her firmly. "If I don't like a dish, I simply refrain from taking a second bite."

Whatever smart reply that was on its way out of Hawke's mouth was lost when a woman's breathy moan echoed from above them followed by a man's chuckle. Fenris looked at the roof above them in sheer horror. He recognized those voices. He couldn't have possibly—

Another moan followed by a series of shrieks confirmed Fenris' worst fears. Of course he had the bad luck to pick the table that was right under the pirate's room. He cursed under his breath as he realized that the tavern had filled up and there were no empty tables that they could switch to. Sparing a glance for his mageling, Fenris saw that Hawke was now blushing furiously. She frantically waved down the waitress and ordered another round of ale as the blasted noises continued from above them. More ale did seem like the best way to cope if another table wasn't available.

One round of beer quickly became another and then another as the pair desperately tried to ignore the sounds from above. Hawke tried a few times to start up a conversation but each attempt was inevitably derailed by a shriek of pleasure or a satisfied groan. The men at the tables nearest to them seemed to take great delight in being accidental acoustic voyeurs, taking bets on how long the amorous pair would be able to keep things up. However, Fenris and Hawke didn't share their enjoyment. Frankly the audio show they were being treated to couldn't end too soon.

Then there was a series of increasingly loud thuds accompanied by cries from both participants. The pair's climax was highlighted audibly first by the raider with the assassin adding his voice a moment later, and then finally—finally!—there was blessed silence.

Fenris heaved a sigh of relief, happy that the assassin had finally concluded his business with his pirate friend. He looked over at Hawke's side of the table to see how she was doing. Fenris frowned as he counted the tankards of ale that were by her. There were four empty mugs, and Hawke was polishing off a fifth.

Considering that Hawke rarely finished one tankard, this couldn't be good. It was time to cut her off before things went downhill. However the mageling had other ideas. Fenris' eyebrows shot up as Hawke lifted her arm in the air to call the waitress to their table again.

"I think you have had enough for the evening," he told her firmly.

"Well thankfully you don't do my thinking for me," she told him, her head held high. Then Hawke stuck out her tongue at him, completely ruining the snotty effect she was going for, and he blinked in surprise. "I'll have another ale, please," she asked the waitress.

"No, she won't," Fenris interceded with the waitress. "I'm afraid my friend here has had her fill."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "No, I haven't."

Fenris sighed. "Yes you have. You're acting exceedingly childish at the moment, Hawke."

"Yes, well, you're being exceedingly patronizing. See! I can use big words too! Could I do that if I were drunk?" she challenged him.

"Somehow I think that the last faculty you would lose would be your ability to speak," he noted.

She grinned up at him. "Is that a compliment I hear from you?" she asked, all girlish excitement.

"You may take it as one if it pleases you."

"Good. Because Maker knows that compliments from you are rare." She turned her beaming face back to the waitress. "Anyway could you please get me another ale?"

"Have you been listening to a word I've said?" The mageling was really testing his patience. Here he was, trying to look after her and all, but she was steadfastly insisting on making things difficult. As usual.

"I have and I've decided to ignore your advice. Besides I know I can get more ale, no matter what you say. Do you want to know why?"

Fenris waved his hand in a circle. Somehow he doubted the mageling's logic would be easy to follow. "Go ahead. Enlighten me"

Hawke leaned forwarded and whispered loudly, "I'll be getting all the ale I want because our waitress likes me better than she likes you. Because I'm friendly, you see." She smiled over at the waitress, who was watching the duo's argument with something resembling bemusement. "Isn't that right? You attract more ale with honey than vinegar and all?"

"Or something like that," the waitress said amiably. "I'll be right back with your drink, my dear. Although I'll be cutting off your friend now. He doesn't seem to be the friendly kind of drunk. We don't want any sort of trouble here."

Fenris' mouth dropped open in shock. "She thinks I'm drunk?" he repeated. His mind boggled at how anyone could make that mistake. It was obvious that Hawke with her loopy grin and girlish giggling was the one who was drunk. It should also be obvious from his precise diction and straightforward glare that he was not drunk.

The waitress arrived with Hawke's order, giving Fenris a wide berth, and deposited it in front of the mageling. Fenris glared at the offending beverage, torn between being upset that Hawke had so easily circumvented his order and confused as to how anyone could mistake him for being in his cups.

"There, there, Fenris," Hawke said consolingly. "Don't worry. I'll share." She gingerly got to her feet, tottering ever so slightly as she picked up her ale, and crossed over to his side of the table. "Budge up," she said. She hip checked him before clambering on to the bench beside him.

After she had settled in, she set down the tankard on the table between them, spilling more than a little in the process. "There," she said. She tilted her head until she was almost leaning on his shoulders and then looked up at him, her bright blue eyes framed by her dark lashes. "See. Easier to share this way if we're sitting together."

Fenris gulped nervously. Having Hawke so close to him… his heart rate had just skyrocketed and his palms were sweaty. He wasn't used to being this close to anyone, and he desperately needed to put some distance between the two of them. "We were sitting together when you were on the other side of the table," he pointed out.

Hawke's face fell suddenly. "Oh," she said sadly. She blinked back tears, and Fenris felt like a brute for distressing his mageling so. "You don't like me much do you?" Her head drooped down as she posed that question.

"I—" Fenris struggled to answer his mageling truthfully. He had grown fond of Hawke during their time together—indeed more fond of her than anyone else he had ever met—but he wasn't sure that translated into liking her. Finally he told her, "I do not fear you." That was true. While he feared for Hawke and for her safety, he was confident enough in her abilities and her integrity that he feared her no longer.

"Oh!" Her cheeks were bright with emotion. "I bet that's the nicest thing you've ever said to a mage," she said breathlessly. "You do like me! In your very own grumpy, tough guy, let's keep everyone at arm's length way."

Yet again Fenris had trouble following his mageling's logic. She must be more drunk than he had previously believed. He surreptitiously eyed the mug of ale and then as quick as a snake, he hooked it over to him and downed it in a single go.

"Hey!" Hawke protested. "We were supposed to share that. It's not sharing if you finish it all."

"My apologies," he told her.

"S'alright. I can get us another."

Fenris frowned. More ale seemed like a bad idea. "No," he told her.

She smiled lazily up at him. "Haven't we've been through this before? I can order as much as I like, and you can't stop me."

"You can't. We've spent enough of Zevran's coin as it is." He crossed his fingers underneath the table, hoping that a different tack would work on the stubborn mageling.

"Ha! As if you care about that. I know that you're more than willing to spend Zevran's money. Isn't that why you started off asking for wine?"

Fenris stiffened. "I prefer wine to ale," he said.

"Maybe. But you never tried ordering wine before tonight. Besides we haven't spent all that much. The ale's cheap here, only five bits a mug."

"And how do you know that?"

Hawke rolled her pretty eyes at him. "Because it's written right there on their sign. The cheap ale is probably one of the prime attractions of this place." She pointed over to a large white sign near the bar. There were markings on it, but they held no meaning to Fenris.

"Oh. I didn't see that before," he said haltingly.

"Obviously not. Otherwise you wouldn't be complaining about spending too much on ale. Now if that's all you have to say on the subject, I'll order another."

"No." The last thing his mageling needed was another drink.

"Oh? And how do you plan to stop me? The wait staff here like me better than you. If I ask for another, I'll get it."

"And then I'll drink it before you get a chance," was his reply.

"Hey! That's not playing fair!" Hawke wrinkled her nose up at him. She was without a doubt the cutest mage Fenris had ever met by far, but he wasn't going to tell her that. He didn't want to insult his mageling, and he knew that if he told her she was cute then she would find some way to twist his words around so that she could take umbrage. So he would keep his mouth shut and concentrate on keeping Hawke from drinking another drop even if that meant drinking every single mug of ale she ordered himself.

His mageling gave a little half growl that she must have picked up from him before ignoring his warnings and ordering more ale. Fenris had to give Hawke credit for trying. As soon as the tankard was set down, her hand immediately went for it. Unfortunately the mageling was no match for his battle-honed instincts. He reached the mug before her and grinned. Hawke could only watch as Fenris slowly lifted the tankard to his lips and finished it off, placing it back down on the table with a satisfied smirk.

She gaped at him for a long minute. Then she said, "You really meant it when you said you'd drink everything before I get a chance."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I generally mean what I say. Besides it's not my fault that you're slow."

This time Hawke didn't settle for glowering and growling at him. No, she viciously kicked at him, striking at the one part of him that was left unprotected—his feet. Her aim was true, and Fenris winced as she made contact. It didn't really hurt though, and he had to point that out to her. "Good choice of target," he praised her, "but the next time we have lessons, I need to show you how to put some force behind your kicks. I hardly felt that."

"You're impossible," she told him. "But what's worse is that you're rude. It's not polite to hog all the ale."

"If you're tired of dealing with rude elves, little lady, you can join us over here." A large, bearded man from the table nearest to them leered at Hawke, his eyes lingering over her figure. "You'll find us a great deal…friendlier than the knife-ear you're associating with."

There were several things Fenris did not like in that moment. He didn't like how the human was staring at Hawke, salivating over her as though she was a piece of prime meat. He did not like the vulgar comments the brute's companions were making or the way they were acting towards Hawke in general. Hawke was a person, not an object to be coveted, but he doubted these men knew the difference. Fenris also did not like the man or any of his companions. They were a bunch of bullies and cowards, who sought strength in groups rather than standing on their own. The fact that he couldn't tell when was the last time any of them had taken a bath or if they were even acquainted with the concept only heightened his disdain.

But the thing that Fenris did not like the most was the fact that Hawke was between him and those men rather than the other way around. How could he adequately protect her if she was in front of him? He mentally chastised himself for letting Hawke take the outer position. He should have got up and offered her his seat like a gentleman when she came over to share his bench.

He would do better next time. For now, he settled for leaning over Hawke's person and snarling at the men, "She's not interested. Go away." He rested his left hand on the table in front of his mageling so he could vault over it to protect her if the need arose.

"See this is exactly what I mean about you knife-ears not having any manners. It's not polite to answer for the little lady. She can speak for herself," the man said. He wagged his finger at the elf. Fenris gritted his teeth. If he leaned forward just a little more, he could take that man's finger and snap it in half. He decided to put that thought into action.

However, the mageling's hand covered his gauntleted one and pushed it down. "Thanks but no thanks," she told the man brightly. "Fenris and I were about to leave anyway as we've got to get an early start tomorrow." She gave the man an apologetic grin to defuse the situation. Hawke hanged on to Fenris' hand as she got up, not giving him a chance to strike at any of the men still leering at her. He noticed that she was unsteady on her feet, more evidence that the mageling had more to drink that she should.

"Here. Lean against me," he commanded her.

She frowned at him but did as he said for once. "You're not very suave," she noted as they walked over to the inn portion of the tavern.

"If you wanted suave, you should have gone with the assassin."

She snorted at that suggestion. "Zev's hardly suave, just persistent."

"Agreed," he told her. He continued to hold her up as they asked and paid for a room. Fenris insisted that their room be as far away from the pirate's as possible just in case the lovebirds got a second wind. Key in hand, he helped Hawke up the stairs and to their room.

Once they reached the room, Fenris discovered he had a problem. It was difficult to hold on to Hawke while trying to fit the key into the lock.

"You did drink too much. Normally you'd have no problem opening the door," Hawke mumbled from the vicinity of his shoulder.

"Normally I wouldn't have to be propping you up," he replied.

"True that. Here. I can just rest against the wall while you try to figure out how to open the door," she said.

He wasn't sure if letting go of Hawke was the best idea—who knew what sort of trouble the mageling could get herself in if he didn't hold on to her—but he wound up having to go with her suggestion because the lock was just that blasted difficult. Both hands free, he continued to wrestle with the door. Fenris was on the verge of breaking the blighted thing when he realized his mistake. He had been inserting the key upside down.

A muttered oath later, the door was open. He turned to help Hawke when the mageling groaned. "Great," she said. "It looks like some people can't take no for an answer."

Fenris followed her line of vision and saw the man from downstairs was coming towards them, with a couple of his friends close behind him. "Thanks for getting us the room, elf," he said. "We can take it from here. Don't worry. We'll make sure the little lady enjoys herself."

"I don't think so," Fenris said flatly.

"And what are you going to do about it? A skinny elf like you against the likes of us?" The man laughed coarsely with his friends. "Even if that sword wasn't just for show, you wouldn't stand a chance."

"My sword is not for show, but for lowlifes like you, I do not need to bother drawing it." Fenris punctuated his statement by drawing back his arm and aiming a right hook right at the lead man's head.

Several bruised and battered ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a pair of broken noses later, the louts were in full retreat. With what little grace he had left, Fenris pulled Hawke inside the room and locked the door firmly behind him. He deposited the mageling safely on the bed before taking up a spot on the floor next to it.

"Fenris," the mageling whined. She twisted and turned in the bed until she was facing him. "What are you doing? You're supposed to get the bed this time around while I take the floor."

"It's fine. I'm used to sleeping on the floor," he told her.

"No, it's not fine. I promised that I would sleep on the floor next time. You're going to make a liar out of me," she grumbled. Fenris decided the easiest course of action was to roll over on his side and ignore the mageling. If he tried to argue with her, she would go on and on and they would get little sleep. There wasn't anything she could really do to change his mind because it wasn't as though she had a way of forcing him to take the bed. While he could pick her up with ease, the same couldn't be said of her.

There was a crash, and suddenly there was a warm body beside him. "Ha! I can be stubborn too," the mageling crowed victoriously from her spot on the floor.

Fenris closed his eyes. Why did he think that ignoring her would work? With Hawke, things were never easy. "Take the bed, Hawke. There is no reason that both of us should sleep on the floor," he told her.

"Which is why you should sleep on the bed. Cause I got it last time. We're supposed to take turns," she replied. Though he wasn't looking at her, Fenris knew that Hawke had that glint in her eye, which meant that she was feeling especially stubborn.

He gritted his teeth. The mageling was too close. All he had to do was flip over, and he would be face to face with her. He could feel her hot breath in his ear. She was barely a hands width away from him. If she moved in her sleep—and he knew she did—she would be pressed up against him and—no. That thought was too much to bear.

"Take the bed, Hawke," he said in a trembling voice, his hands curled into fists as he desperately tried not to think—not about she was close enough to touch, not about how alluring she had looked when they were drinking, not about how soft her curves must be—not about anything at all. "Please," he all but begged, struggling to keep his mind blank. "For me."

Silence stretched between them and filled the room. It was broken by a soft sigh emitting from the mageling's lips. He let out the breath he had been holding as he heard Hawke get up off the floor. "All right, Fenris. I'll break my word but only for you."

Author's note: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed this fic.