The dresser was as she left it. Ribbons placed gently on the left side, different colors and lengths. Her brush lay next to them, random strands of hair still sticking out in several directions. Small glass containers of assorted scents lay in the middle, some full, her favorites near empty. The mirror that hung above the dresser showed the face of sadness, despair, torment, and grief. She opened one of the glass containers and breathed in slowly, remembering the smell as it filled the house every morning.
The door next to the dresser was open. She entered the small room and looked at each side, full of beautiful colors and designs of dresses worn and new. On the back wall of the closet was her old, torn, ratty dress that she had worn from Lothering to Kirkwall. She said she kept it there as a reminder of where she came from, of all that she'd lost to get here. She refused to wash it, her daughters blood still noticeable on the hem where she'd wiped her face clean. The floor of the closet was lined with shoes of various types, and a few handbags that were never full of anything, just used for show.
The nigh table still held an unfinished glass of water. Lipstick stained the rim, a soft red she preferred. A book by Brother Genitivi lay face down, saving her place. She picked it up and read the last page she had read, imagining her sitting up in bed reading and drifting off to sleep as she so often did when reading.
She sat on the disheveled bed, still unmade from the night before. The scent of her still lingered in the blankets. She laid down and curled up with one of the pillows that smelled so much like her. She closed her eyes, imagining she was a child again resting next to her mother. She almost felt the hand rubbing her back, lulling her to sleep.
Her friends had decided to take turns watching the estate, afraid that in her vulnerable condition Danarius would choose this time to come after Hawke. They knew she'd never let them in to check on her, so they did what they could and kept an eye on her from afar. Varric sat first watch, uneventful as day turned to night, and was thankful when Zevran came to relieve him. Instead of going back to the Hanged Man for some much needed sleep, he decided to make a stop to check in on the other person who could possibly be in danger.
He walked into the mansion as usual, awaiting the broody elf to come at him from some shadow with his sword. Instead the elf remained seated in the foyer, not even budging or looking up to see who had entered. "I could be some big bad murderer broody, you should really pay attention."
He said nothing at first, looking up at Varric after a few minutes. "What do you want dwarf?"
"Now is that any way to greet someone who is concerned for your well being?" Varric walked towards Fenris and sat on the chair opposite him. "You need to snap out of it and pay attention."
"To what," Fenris snarled, "you've come to no doubt ridicule me for my behavior? Get out while you still have your head."
Varric shook his head. "I'm not leaving broody. Not until you listen to what I have to say."
Fenris snuffed and looked away from Varric. "Make it quick, I have little patience today."
"You need to go see Hawke," he said simply.
Fenris snapped his head back towards Varric. "I almost killed her. She does not need me or want me. Let it go."
Varric shook his head. "I think you're wrong elf. You should go talk to her."
"Apparently she'd rather talk to that assassin," Fenris stated full of anger and jealousy. "Go bother him."
"Oh that's right, you never bothered to ask her for an explanation," Varric said standing up. "No one is perfect elf, least of all you. I'm surprised you're so quick to judge her, someone you claimed to have cared for."
"You know nothing of what I am feeling dwarf, now go away," Fenris said as he started to walk up the stairs.
Suddenly it occurred to Varric that Fenris may not know what happened after he left the caves. "Leandra's dead," Varric informed him.
Fenris stopped in his tracks.
"After Carver died you were the only one to get through to her," Varric said softly. "She's going to need you now whether she knows it or not." Varric walked out of the estate, leaving the speechless Fenris still standing on the stairs.
Three days later a memorial was being held in the Chantry for the deceased nobles. It was the first time Hawke had left the estate, venturing out by herself to the services. Her friends had all shown up to pay their respects, and while Hawke didn't engage in much conversation, she did thank them for coming and promised to visit them soon. She lingered for a bit as the service let out, listening to the families of the other deceased go on about how brave the templars were for eradicating this threat on Kirkwall. She wasn't aware that was the tale that was spun, but realized it made more sense then them all knowing she was responsible.
Everyone had left the Chantry except Sebastian, who joined Hawke in the front row. "How are you holding up Hawke," he asked quietly.
She shrugged, not looking up from the string she was playing with in her lap. "I'm tired," she finally said after a few minutes.
Sebastian put his arm around her. "No one is expecting anything from you, you know. If you want to cry, or be angry, or be alone, everyone wants you to know they are there for you no matter what you need."
Hawke sighed. "I need her back," she said softly. "I need to stop losing the ones I love."
"I wonder," Sebastian asked, "if your experiences sour your faith?"
"I wonder how yours don't," Hawke said honestly looking at him. "You've lost your family as I have. And yet here you are, still loyal to the Maker."
"It wasn't the Maker that took my family from me. You mustn't blame Him for your loss."
"I don't," Hawke said standing up. "I blame myself."
Hawke returned to the sanctuary of her home. She kicked her shoes off by the front door and walked into the living room. Bodahn and Sandal were out for the day, having attended the services as well and then had to attend to some trading in the square. She welcomed the silence of the estate, lacking the energy to do anything but crawl into her bed and sleep. She wearily went up the stairs, pausing to look at the bedroom door to the left that was her mothers. She avoided going in there today, knowing she'd have to stop obsessing before it consumed her. She opened the door to her bedroom, and was greeted by an all too familiar scent.
"Fenris?"
He came out of the shadows from near her window. "I didn't want to startle you, but I knew if I knocked you wouldn't have let me in."
Hawke sighed. "I don't know what I would've done, so I don't know how you'd know," she said harshly as she removed the ribbon from her hair and let it lose around her shoulders. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see if you were alright," he said softly.
She refused to face him, now sitting on her bed fighting the tears and feeling a lump in her throat. "I'm fine," she whispered.
He walked towards the bed. "I don't know what to say, but I am here." She remained quiet, turning to look at him. He sat next to her on the bed, taking one of her hands in his. His other hand he brought up to her face, wiping a tear with his thumb as he'd done so many times before. His eyes filled with sadness and tears of his own as he noticed the bruises on her neck. He traced them with his finger lightly, voice trembling as he apologized.
She took his hand and removed it from her neck, holding it now on the bed with the other. "It's alright," she said to him. "I certainly deserved it."
"No," he said sharply and roughly. "I never should have hurt you. What you deserve is someone who can control their anger, and that is not me."
Hawke released his hands and moved on the bed to face him. "Can we not blame ourselves or each other for everything right now? I'm exhausted from it and honestly can't handle anymore."
Fenris nodded in agreement. "Tell me what you need, and it is done."
Hawke looked into his eyes, the same eyes she had gazed into so many times before. His guilt and sorrow overwhelmed her, having seen that expression on herself each day she looked in the mirror. She leaned forward and kissed him.
He was surprised at first, his mind telling him to pull away but his heart and body had other plans. He brought his hand to her hair and brought her in closer, their lips meeting for the first time in months. He had missed her, the feel of her, the taste of her, and the passion ignited between them once again.
She moved on top of him sitting in his lap, arms over his shoulders as her tongue moved with his. She felt his erection through their clothes as she pressed harder into his mouth. He responded with a need she never knew, and she felt his hands on her back lifting her shirt.
They parted only for a moment as he lifted her shirt over her head and discarded it somewhere unknown. She returned to kissing him, his warm lips on hers as he held her close. Each kiss deepened, roughened, became more demanding than the last.
Her scent, her soft skin, the heat of her mouth, the taste of her drove him wild; Fenris had dreamed of this time with her again. She offered herself to him and he wasn't strong enough to resist. As his hands touched her soft skin on her back, he had to have more.
"Fenris," she whispered his name, fear and need rising equally. She wanted his hands on her, wanted his body in hers, yet she didn't know what to expect. She wanted to stop, to think, but feeling him pressed against her, she equally just wanted him.
He trailed kisses from her temple to her cheek, down to the corner of her mouth. His hands moved over her skin, tracing her ribs, her small waist, gliding up to cup the soft weight of her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples into hard peaks.
A soft sound escaped her throat, a breathy, urgent plea that made him nearly crazy with wanting to strip the remaining clothes from her body. He needed to savor the feel of her skin, the sound of her soft, breathy moan, the dark richness of desire building in her eyes for him. Her body fit his, every curve, the flare of her hips and soft swelling breasts.
Fenris too wanted to stop, to think, to confront her about the months he was away. But he was losing himself in her now. He felt like he belonged with her, and she with him, and he had never felt that way before. She didn't look at him the way the rest of the world did. She saw past his markings, past his tortured history, and still wanted to be with him.
He leaned to kiss her again, hands tunneling deep in her thick, silky hair. Her mouth opened for him, responding with hot passion. He took his time this time, refusing to be rough, savoring her taste, the feel of her. He slowed his wandering hands, dwelling on her curves and soft valleys, mapping her body in his mind.
Hawke couldn't believe the gentleness of him, the tenderness. After so much anger and hostility towards her only a few days ago, he was controlled and loving. Instead of stripping the clothes from her body, he unwrapped her as if she were priceless and fragile, with a tender care bordering on reverence. He gently lifted her off of him and removed his clothes. He lay her down on the bed and kissed her again, long slow drugging kisses until her eyes were glazed and her body trembled beneath his touch. He trailed kisses down her neck, over the curve of her breasts to her nipples. He felt ravaged with hunger for her, his teeth teasing and tugging and wanting. He removed the rest of her clothes as he continued to torment her nipples, and she arched her back with pleasure.
He then moved his hand between her legs, gently pressing a finger into her tight channel. She made a soft sound of need, her wetness and obvious desire for him making it easy to stretch her when he inserted two fingers. Her scent was teasing him, his body swelling to painful proportions. She was hot and wet and so tempting, all the while looking at him with innocence and love.
Fenris got on top of her and pressed into her slick, welcoming entrance. She was still very tight, and very hot, the feeling so intense his body shook with the need to slam into her and bury himself. She grabbed on to his back as he pushed further and further inside her. He moved within her, past the tight folds. He leaned over her, his fingers tight now around hers, and thrust through any remaining barriers between them, burying his rock hard flesh deep into her. She released a soft cry as her body adjusted to his size, and he felt his pulse pound and his cock jerk.
She lifted her hips to meet his thrust, holding him close to her as he thrust deeper and deeper. She was so tight it was nearly painful to him, but as he moved within her, her body accepted all of him, and he wanted to bury himself deeper and deeper, harder and harder. He felt like his body was starved for her, this perfect body, their perfect fit. He pressed down to kiss her again, her breasts against his chest exciting him even more than he thought possible.
Piercing pleasure washed over Hawke, rushing through her body with far more force than she'd ever imagined. Every stroke sent streaks of lightning racing over her skin, sizzling through her veins, and contracting her womb. Her muscles tightened and tightened, an unrelenting pressure that continued to build past any expectation she'd ever had. As Fenris held her arms down above her head to devour her, she was somewhat frightened. To be held down, to look up at his face, the savage lines cut deep and the intensity burned in his turbulent eyes. Yet at the same time it heightened her sexual pleasure, pushing her beyond any limits she might have had.
He surged into her again and again, stretching her impossibly, filling her so full she wanted to scream with pleasure, yet it was almost too much. The scent of him nearly drove her crazy, the building inferno she couldn't stop. She needed to catch breath, to pause, just for a second. Her muscles shuddered, clamped down as he slammed the full length of his shaft deep into her, driving into her over and over like a man possessed.
There was pleasure and pain, fear and joy. Sweat broke out on his body as he surged deeper, harder, the friction from her velvet tight sheath nearly spiraling him out of control. She struggled a bit under the weight of him, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I am yours."
His voice was too caressing, too needy, and she was suddenly lost in him again. She lifted her hips to meet his invasion, rising with every stroke, tightening her muscles around him to heighten their pleasure, feeling it crash over her, through her, building to such an intensity she could barely keep from screaming. Her inner muscles spasmed, and Fenris' body jerked as she clamped down. His voice, a hoarse whisper, sounded sexy, even erotic, as he emptied himself deep inside her. She felt the thick hot jets filling her, his juices mixing with her own, and their combined release triggered another wild spasm.
His hands slowly slid away form her wrists, down her arms to tunnel in her hair. He closed his eyes, just feeling her, savoring her hot body tight around his, her skin unbelievably soft, her hair thick and beautiful through the pads of his fingers. He kissed her again, needing the taste of her in his mouth. Pain began to creep over his body, having not prepared himself for this intimacy, but he held it at bay just a few moments longer, giving him enough time to trail kisses down her throat to her breast, just to feel her skin. He opened his eyes to take in the sight of her stretched out like a sacrifice, a gift.
Hawke reached up to touch his face, her touch so gentle it nearly was his undoing. "I am yours as well," she said, eyes still closed lost in the moment. He pulled away from her, feeling the burn of tears. This woman was slowly killing him. "Fenris," she said to him as he removed himself from her, leaving her suddenly feeling empty. "Talk to me, please," she begged.
He retrieved his pants from the floor and put them on hastily. "I apologize," he said finally. "I should not have taken advantage of you."
She stood up to be near him, still naked with beads of sweat on her body. "You didn't," Hawke said as she stroked his back. "I needed this just as much as you did, and I started it. Please, don't go."
He turned to look at her, those big beautiful eyes begging him again to stay. He'd seen it before; when he found her months ago, lost in the grief of her brothers death, then again in their dreams the night he left her. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Instead of leaving he embraced her, the scent of her hair filling him as he rested his head on hers. They stood in her bedroom for a while, holding each other, finally finding each other again after so much time apart.
For now, all was forgiven.