To Cheers: Glad I planted the idea in your head XD I actually had it the same evening at my mother's wedding anniversary. I was accused of being pretentious for using the original name every time, but oh well, haters gonna hate. Duck l'Orange sounds better than "Ratza in sos de portocale".
"I don't recognize this part of the underground passage," Fenris said as they were walking down a very cold and eerie corridor. This part was not maintained at all, cobwebs adorned the walls and the collapsed stone everywhere painted a very grotesque picture. This was certainly a separate passageway perhaps even further down beneath the earth than the one leading to Darktown.
"Could you make some light?" Hawke asked, calmly ignoring him.
"Could you not create a flame too?" Fenris asked with an edge to his voice. Dust was falling out from the ceiling and they could hardly see anything.
"I could, but I'd rather not," she replied. "And I asked first."
"Yours doesn't make you be in pain," Fenris fired back in irritation.
She remained silent, admitting defeat perhaps in shame for not remembering. Then with a swift motion, a roaring flame came out of her hand. Only after a minute walking did her face begin to twitch and give a subtle design of pain. After another silent minute he asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Hawke answered placidly.
He fixed his eyes on the flame sustained above her palm. Perhaps fireballs were only meant to be thrown and not held in place in someone's hand. "Does it hurt?"
"No," she said flatly.
Fenris didn't believe her. He rolled his eyes and quickly became alight with the blue incandescence of his markings refracting from his outfit.
"Turn it off you lunatic," she hissed angrily.
"No," he said.
She suddenly stopped. "Seriously? You don't want to be in pain, but I twitch one time and you light up in a second? And literally too?"
He didn't answer, his eyes remained cold and a bit annoyed, and he started walking again. She pressed from behind, "I'm not in pain. It burns a little just like any other time when one puts a hand slightly above a flame."
"It's better this way. You don't have to use magic," Fenris said flatly. He lifted the sleeves from the coat and the shirt up so that at least a part of him could glow brighter since the black coat was a bit more opaque.
She caught up with him and said, "You didn't seem to have a problem with me wielding magic just a minute ago."
"Enough, Hawke," he pressed in annoyance as they walked. "I'm not turning them off and you cannot stop me."
She would have become stubborn and grabbed him forcefully by the bare part of his arm just to show him there was in fact a way for her to stop him, but considering what he was about to see whence they got out of the passages, well… death with a bit of delay seemed like a much better idea. She took the lead and remained silent.
Once they arrived in a cavern filled with the smell of incense as well as a burning infection of death in the air, Fenris stopped and scowled. "This is the route to the Chantry."
"No, we're still about a hundred yards away from their underground spooky tunnels," Hawke said.
He frowned at her. "You seem to know a great deal about these passages. I take it this is not your first scavenger hunt."
"Well if it were then why would I install a trap door in my own room?" Hawke asked in amusement. "Gotta be prepared for any kind of danger. Earthquakes, hurricanes, Templars, Qunari, the Viscount… my Mother."
His eyes remained fixed on her with no emotion or amusement at her joke. Then his voice came low and disapproving, "We're under my house, aren't we?"
"We're about to be," Hawke said with a little smile and started walking again.
Fenris was still scowling, but remained calm and cold in voice, "This how you enter my home without me hearing you until you're in the hallway."
"You know my idea of picking locks is bashing the door down entirely," Hawke said with an innocent tone. "This is a win-win situation."
"You're terrible," Fenris said angrily.
"Now why do you go so accusatory on me?" she asked. "You could have figured this out in what? Three years almost since you've been living in that mansion?"
"Somehow I think that you found whatever hidden trap door there was in the mansion and thoroughly hid it even more so I would never ever figure it out."
"If it makes you feel any better, I – "
"Venhedis," came Fenris's growling voice. He walked into a trap that almost crushed his foot and the greenery on the wall suddenly entrapped him against it.
" – heavily trapped the place to prevent the insane case of some enemy forces swooping on you in the middle of the night."
She waved a spell to release him from the mysteriously strong greenery, then got down on one knee and disarmed the trap. "Well, at least you had the advantage of wearing shoes. This could have been a close call."
"Marvellous," Fenris muttered as he got his foot out of the trap. "Now they're slightly ruined."
Hawke smiled and shrugged. "Eh, Father won't mind."
"Who now?" Fenris asked urgently, his eyes growing wider, his eyebrows lifting and his expression all the more frozen.
She got up on her feet and remained all smiles. "Didn't Mother tell you? Everything you're wearing right now belonged to him."
"She told me not to ask," he drawled, frowning and seeming ashamed. "I resolved it was simply a gift."
"It was a gift. It's not like he'll need them back anytime soon," Hawke said nonchalantly.
"But why do they fit?" Fenris asked in confusion, his mind refusing to question anything else that was more evident to the tale. "Your brother is certainly not as…" he paused, "… angular as me."
Hawke broke into chuckles. "Angular, he says. I do need to give you some credit for trying not to accidentally insult a dead man that might have resembled you by calling him skeletal."
He didn't answer, perhaps because he thought there was nothing to answer. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Have you looked into a mirror by any chance over the last year or two?"
"Is there a point to that ridiculous question?" he asked coldly.
She chuckled again and pointed at him as she said, "When I met you, you were indeed skin and bones and withering muscles. But settling down and working with me did bring food on the table like never before, didn't it?"
"You mean to say I'd grown into it," Fenris said while pondering on it. "I haven't really noticed."
"I bet there are a lot of things that changed about you that you haven't noticed," Hawke said with a smile. "Come on, we're close to the opening."
"I can't… keep the clothes," Fenris interrupted her and he looked down. "I am not worthy."
"It's not like he's going to jump out of his grave and fly to Kirkwall on his skeletal wings just to strike you down for stealing his clothes," Hawke mused. He frowned and remained silent, perhaps because he didn't understand why she would make such a joke about the dead. She beckoned it was nothing. "He would really roll in his grave laughing if he heard my joke. He was like that."
"I… see," Fenris drawled, looking down again. When he lifted his eyes onto her, he asked in a low voice, "Do I really remind you of him?"
At that, Hawke frowned and hesitated, seeming to ponder on it. "Not really. Some things. But like I said, I'm the spitting image of him. And you're not like me."
"That is fairly arguable," Fenris retorted. "Apart from my distinct abundance of whining and plaintiveness and your reckless impulsive behaviour and disrespect for boundaries, we are not in fact very different."
"You forgot the part where I'm a human mage and you're an arguably Templar-resembling elf." She snorted and shook her head. "That almost sounds poetic."
"Yes, that is certainly a variable that forms character," Fenris said sarcastically. "Even if it was, it seems to me that it came to the same result."
"You may be right," Hawke said, her eyes becoming dark. "But you still don't know me." Then her voice became bitter as she looked down, "Not at my worst anyway."
"You don't know that part of me either," Fenris replied coldly. "Which is a relief."
"Hold that thought," Hawke said and stopped. "Seriously hold on to that thought. We're here."
She kept her mouth shut as they came up through the trap door she had magically sealed with an easy Arcane spell. It led to the room where they found the key to the main study and fought a butt-ugly rampant rage demon all those years ago. Moving the barrels away, they came out and she could hardly form any words, her soul puncturing and her heart pumping blood faster in her chest. She tried to lessen her heightening fear and conceal all emotion. Unchanged, she kept her mouth shut as they came out and went down the corridor to the main hallway.
"Why are you so silent?" his voice came and almost startled her. His eyes remained fixed and insistent on her and her pace grew slower.
"Just picturing you naked," Hawke lied. Of course it was only now a lie.
Fenris broke into laughter all of a sudden. "You've seen me before."
"No, I haven't," Hawke said with a frown.
"In the Deep Roads?" Fenris reminded.
"I'm sorry to say but I was just as unfortunate as you claimed to be, what with my eyes busy on battling the demon and all," she replied and pressed her lips.
He chuckled softly. "Then I am content with preserving the mystery."
"But it's not fair," she said. "You've also walked in on me."
"Oh, and all those times you've walked in on me don't count, Miss 'You should wear a red girdle around your night pants to slap off the ugly'?" Fenris asked with a taunting smirk. He resumed his look forward and said in a manly confident tone, "We are even, Princess."
"Princess?" Hawke asked in outrage. "Did you just call me Princess?"
"Do I need to repeat myself, Princess?" Fenris said mockingly.
"You never cease to astound me after you've had a few," she replied and shook her head, looking forward as they walked.
He didn't look at her, but a genuine smile drew upon his face in the flicker of the torchlights. Perhaps he was joyful to know he could still impress her in a good way, compared to all the other historical episodes of losing his temper or infecting her with his bitterness. It had never affected her however, not even in that one little episode in Antiva. He was a man who delved into extremes, but that flexibility while rampant and dangerous, was still better than a constant, repugnant aura of moderation that she saw in most people ignorant, comfortable and unwilling to grow under a despicable mask of nonchalance. His mask of coldness was but an inbuilt defence against those inevitable extremes in which his soul tended to go, but never cleave. He focused all his energy only in one point instead of splitting his soul and forming an incoherent behaviour and an all the more divided psyche.
Speaking of infection, that smile truly died whence they came into the hallway. She lost herself in those thoughts and forgot about the impending shock that her doing would harrow upon him now that her plan was ruined by outside forces.
He stopped, petrified, his face losing almost all expression. His eyes remained fixed on the abominable spark of insanity that he was beholding in front of him.
The main hallway was changed.
It suddenly looked much smaller, to say the least. The floor used to have hexagonal tiles and a great deal of them missing. They were all missing now and a good part of the floor was covered by a massive rich carpet of a flashy but deep and dark green with some thin and white embroideries. The high stone walls seemed much cleaner, brighter, the red heraldry flags hanging high above were gone. The ancient heathen statues were all gone, the high vases, the boxes, everything. The high narrow windows were adorned with crisscross curtains of the same dark green that didn't really cover them. And below, the two lonely wall lamps had transformed into four bigger golden ones. The little table he installed remained in place on the left side, but it had new parchments on it, an inkwell and some pallet with a lot of colors, and next to them were some little flashy glass figurines in the image of exotic animals, a tiger, a giraffe, an elephant, a lion and a lioness, and an ibis bird.
On the right side, beside the stairs was a midnight violet armchair with an ottoman of the same nuance, a nightstand next to it with a bunch of red candles on it, a tea cup, a glass and small round bottle of cider. Only the distinct beeswax candles, he noticed. That was the only type of candle Hawke ever fancied and purchased; something about their endurance she said. On the other side of the armchair was a small bookcase full of them, and judging by their colors they were not his own or the ones that belonged to the previous owner of the house.
And indeed it looked like a place full of subtle and luxurious mortal consolation, where one might simply sink in an armchair of velvet, rest one foot down on the ottoman in front of it and read some ancient book by the silent flicker of the red candles on the nightstand.
He was perplexed, this didn't make any sense. But even so, it was stupefying to think that she brought and adorned the place only with the exact things and colors he liked.
Then something else rather beautiful, highly arresting and eye-catching bore in his vision. There were paintings on the walls. Paintings he had never seen before, except for one. The one he recognized was a canvas Hawke had kept in her room leaning with its front against the wall, forgotten by time along with other smaller canvases much the same. Of course she kept a veil over them, but once in his visits, infected by his curiosity, he moved the greater canvas to see what it was. She had never mentioned she was a painter and he'd never asked.
The painting was of ruined buildings, broken columns, rampant greenery and distant mountains. There was nothing extremely distinct to give it away except for the mountains and the high fir trees that surely made the beautiful image of some place in Ferelden. She had told him about her mother country once or twice, about the proud countryside people, the enchanting greenery and fragrance in the air wherever you go no matter if you're by the sea or in the mountains, the great flocks of migratory birds leaving Ferelden every autumn just when the trees all became rampant with leaves of red and golden. She had told him that every sunset was rosy and violet in the warm season. But every sunset and sunrise thereafter seemed so warm and secured by the wild green of the forests that it left no room in one's mind to doubt or think or sink into miserable brooding of past or future recollections. Only the present. And all of these things were rendered with such exactitude in the painting right beneath the stairs, that it almost felt as if she had never left the country. But all that there was to it were her skills in forming great images keenly from memory. He'd seen that in Antiva. He could have easily just stood up from the couch when she painted him and went to have tea, a good nap, then dinner and another tea before coming back and she would have still finished painting a perfect picture. And it unnerved and confused him to find himself impressed not only with her realistic technique, but with the figure itself, that he liked what he saw, even if perhaps it was a lie.
But now that he glanced upon the other smaller paintings on the walls, they were all full of emotion and naturalness. There was of a high tree and behind it the sun was either setting or rising, because the upper half was midnight violet and the lower one above the horizon was golden and rosy. Another was of Hightown during the night with all colorful lanterns, wreaths and festoons, legacy of the Kirkwall type of Satinalia. Another one depicted a sea in times of a storm, the raindrops curiously well depicted, and a distant coast on the right which he suspected was wounded. Another one surely was of Antiva City with its high domes and white buildings, the violet sky and the streets lit with red lanterns, the long green canals full of black gondolas and the endless stream of busy people on the quays with flushed faces, luxuriant hair and gorgeous clothing always rumpled and curling in the wind.
And the last one was of a green and red apple held in two metal ordinary gauntlets.
Then, to close the horrific and beautiful scenery, ten darkwood chairs closed a long oak table right in the middle of the hallway with ten silver plates, two small and round bottles of cider, two vintage bottles of champagne and a larger plate in the center where Fenris's apple pie stood big and proud, screaming to be eaten.
He did not utter one word. His eyes were scrutinizing the scenery with so much seeming lack of emotion her shoulders sank and her legs began to tremble. She gulped and started rubbing her arms at the imminent disaster she felt was coming. Only being used to him helped her recognize it was anger that his perplexed and cold expression was growing into.
Finally, his voice came low and edgy, almost remorseful, "Hawke, what have you done…"
"I… wanted to make the progressive dinner… progressive," she drawled nervously, scratching her head, then clutching with one hand at the other elbow.
He frowned shortly, but didn't look at her at all. His voice came just as cold and low, "You mean people are coming?"
"Bodhan smuggled the pie in here and was supposed to come back and pretend there was smoke coming from your roof and –" she said, containing her emotions as much as possible. "And then well…" she paused and drew a crooked smile and waved both hands in the air as her voice became weaker, "… surprise."
She froze when Fenris fixed his tense green eyes on her and demanded ruthlessly, "What else did you change?"
"Nothing," Hawke almost shouted immediately. "I didn't touch anything in your room. Everything else except this hallway I left unchanged." She raised her palms as a sign of peace. "I resolved that if you're not alright with this I take everything down at once."
"Oh, you resolved?" Fenris asked with an edge to his voice, sending shivers of fear down her spine as he locked his angered gaze at her. "You don't waste any time, do you?"
"Well your voice says you mean I did waste a great deal of my time with this gesture," Hawke said in a mask of calmness.
"You don't say," Fenris muttered sarcastically and walked forward, looking at the walls.
She was lost for words and felt like hitting herself over and over again, because she was sure he would react negatively and she still stubbornly went along with it anyway. She wanted to say something, but nothing came and she didn't approach him from behind. His head lowered and his arms parted away from his sides as if preparing to do something. "Fenris – "
He turned around quickly and flung an arm out as he almost shouted cruelly, "Just because I changed my sheets and bought some candles does not mean I want this, this," he paused and gestured disgustfully with his hand and his expression, "fantasy life."
Oh, but going after her was nothing like a fantasy life, right? How longer before he dismissed her too? She wasn't still beheld as fantasy because indeed, she didn't live in the house and her visits were a temporary happy get-away, just like every intimate encounter they had. She became angry and couldn't contain her scowl any longer.
"Idiot," Hawke shouted crossly. "Just because I threw some ugly statues away and put up some curtains and hung some paintings doesn't mean I've built some fantasy life for you by force."
"Then what do you call this? A… happy little makeover?" Fenris asked irately, his scorn visible from Ferelden. "A thoughtful little restoration?"
"Call it whatever you want, I don't care," Hawke retorted in annoyance. "I'm taking everything down if are really so offended by what I did."
"Yes, you care not," Fenris muttered furiously. "Not for boundaries nor for leaving things be."
"I care not?" Hawke asked in outrage. She sighed angrily. "You think I barged over to Anders or Merrill or anyone else to give them 'happy little makeovers'?"
"No, clearly I'm the only one to be the laughing stock for you," Fenris said flatly.
"Doesn't that make me the laughing stock too? You were the one who kept staring at my curtains and my candles and it was you who scrutinized the animal figurines in the market." She sighed again. "And it was also you who didn't have 'respect for boundaries' and searched my canvases while I wasn't looking."
"That's what you call disrespect for boundaries? Compared to you, that was an innocent little act of curiosity," Fenris said as he flung his arms out. He took another step forward and pointed at her with all the rancour of an accusation. "You turned this place into a carnival."
They fought as they'd never fought before. It was hell that stopped her, the thought of hell, of them being two souls in hell that grappled in hatred.
"Fine," Hawke articulated with narrowed eyes. "If that's what you see, I apologize for my impertinence."
She watched him shake his head bitterly and gazing down as if he was unworthy of being in the room or more obviously, felt infected by everything in it. The he seemed to frown as if he had a sudden realization. He lifted his angry gaze up and said, "This is why you didn't want me to leave your room and tackled me with kisses. You heard me say I was going to bring dessert, but there was no dessert at your home then, was it?"
"I… didn't know how to react," Hawke drawled while looking down. "It was instinct."
"Your instinct is to smash me against a door and distract me with all your," he paused angrily and gesture towards her, but he seemed to give up on whatever he was going to say. Perhaps something stopped him from truly offending her. "After we had already resolved not to go there anymore."
"Hey, you were the one who told me to cease with my stupid concern for you and kissed me anyway after all that big speech I uttered," Hawke shouted in annoyance.
"All you do is to confuse and shock me," Fenris said, his voice infuriated. He pressed his eyes tightly shut and kept shaking his head.
"That's not a very good accusation," Hawke protested, fixing her eyes on him bravely. "What you do to me is horribly similar."
He raised his hand towards her and appeared so very determined with whatever he was next to say. "I never crossed any line with you when it came to," he paused and shook his head bitterly and in exasperation, "whatever this is. All I've ever said and done were to the limit of your permissions."
"Yes, you've made it horribly clear that I'm your oppressor and you're the chivalrous victim of my aggressions and trespasses," Hawke said with a contained scowl. "Way to go, Fenris, implying you're my slave."
He remained silent. He seemed not to have any answer to that. He took a few steps in the direction of the stairs, then he turned his head sideways and his voice came calm and softer, "I am not implying that." He turned around and seemed bitter. "You are not doing this to aggress me. But you are not doing this out of kind-hearted care either."
"Let me guess," Hawke said and crossed her arms. "I'm doing this because I feel guilty."
"No," Fenris said flatly. He took his coat off and put it on a chair at the table. Then he rested his arm on it and continued, "Or perhaps it is out of guilt, but I sure am not the one to conceive as to why. But this is something I noticed you've been doing."
"And what is that?" Hawke demanded.
"I'm your little project," Fenris said with a firm, but empty look. "Just like your sudden active hand against politics, the humanitarian acts, why you came to my house during the night the other day. You can't stand to sit by and do nothing while the world crumbles apart and destroys itself from the inside out."
"Oh, is that what you do?" Hawke asked in amusement.
"As if your keen little mind hasn't thought about it before," Fenris replied calmly.
"Yes, you know me so well," Hawke said in articulate sarcasm.
"About the same time the year we met, you did the same thing with the abandoned estate," Fenris said. "You ran away from the world and hid there, but you didn't just sit and brood in your secretive misery. You sought to restore what little was left of the mansion."
"Actually no, that would be two months from now," Hawke said calmly, arms still crossed and clutching at each other in contained distress. "You have two guesses left."
"This is awfully familiar," Fenris said, appearing to have remembered something. "Your Father also had little respect for any sort of boundary when it came to your Mother. He barged into her home in the middle of the night, crashed noble parties, he –"
"I don't know what my Mother told you," Hawke cut him with a decisive voice. "But he was not a bad person."
"He wasn't, he was a good person and a strong mage with a distinct hatred towards his powers," Fenris said and shrugged. "You are keeping his legacy alive."
"What does this have to do with anything?" Hawke asked in outrage. "Is it suddenly a crime to be myself, while I happen to resemble someone I spent a lifetime with?"
"He made a mistake," Fenris said. "And he had to flee. Then your mother had to sacrifice her noble roots and run away with him."
"And what? You think I'll do the same?" Hawke asked. "Because I meddle in politics? You're welcome to stay here, Fenris, I'm not shouting for you to run away with me."
"That is quite correct. You would never dare string me or anyone else along," Fenris said as if that should have been some calm statement with a little accusation lurking in it. "You wished you could get lost on the road or become a Grey Warden when you ran away and you wished you would never come back to Kirkwall. You've felt bitter here what with being in the heartland of Templars. The only thing that kept you in place was that you could never dare to abandon your Mother who'd never done anything wrong by you except try to give you a better life here, even with all the dangers lurking about." He remained silent for a second and searches his thoughts. "And you could also not dare to barge into your brother's new and rewarding life where you would bring him torment again by stealing his thunder. After all, you've always thought it was your fault that he almost died in the Deep Roads."
"Are you done psychoanalysing me, Fenris?" Hawke asked in annoyance. "I don't see how this has any connection with what I did, let alone to the subject itself."
The next statement threw her off.
"I am you," Fenris said bluntly, even if his voice calm and flat. "Except I have no one and there is no apparent reason I would stay here forever except for the fact that I have an advantage in numbers if any danger should come. But the dangers that are lurking in your midst are here, concrete and imminent. The Templars here are a nightmare. The only thing you can do is face your fears by taking an active hand. It annuls the fear if you treat it as if it were nothing, because if you are taken away, your family is destroyed."
"Yes, Templars and social human politics, they are surely connected," Hawke protested sarcastically.
His voice low and determined, "You know you would run in a heartbeat if you had no one." He took another step forward and fixed his eyes on her, "And that scares you."
"What scares me? That I would one day abandon everyone or that you would?" Hawke asked, her voice becoming weak.
Fenris looked away, but took another step forward and pierced her with his clear eyes. "I think both these things scare you."
"So the thing to bring me comfort is to tidy up a hallway and throw some animal figurines," Hawke said sarcastically. "Way to go, Mr Perceptive."
"Well, if I don't run away, if I come to really put down roots here," he said and scrutinized the room, "you wouldn't be tormented by these thoughts. It would bring you comfort that if the one who has no ties here didn't end up fleeing this place, you most certainly wouldn't be able to either." He approached her yet again and his eyes fell halfway. "You, the one who has reasons to stay."
"You say my wish is to leave," Hawke said a bit angrily. "In that, doesn't it seem logical that I wouldn't in fact make you see you've put down roots here, but rather the contrary – I would convince you your misery and whining are justified and there is no place for you here."
"No," Fenris said. "Because you care for your family. Therefore, you feel guilty that you even allowed the thought of leaving to cross your mind and linger in its midst."
Hawke seemed to smile widely and uncrossed her arms. "Are you done? I want my turn too."
"What do you mean?" Fenris asked in confusion.
"To accusatorily psychoanalyse you with such complex explanations for a stupid little gesture," she said. He hesitated with an answer, so she pressed with narrowed eyes and a smile, "Oh, believe me. Mine is just as good."
"Fine," he said. "Proceed, if that makes you happy."
Hawke broke into soft chuckles. "See –one minute you resent me, the other it appears your only concern is for my happiness. The same thing you did in the passages. You couldn't stand even a speck of pain in my face if it was because of you. So your refusal to turn your markings alight was quickly forgotten and you sacrificed yourself."
"I know you don't like using magic if it's not necessary," Fenris said. "Even when it is necessary, I see the pronounced discomfort in your eyes."
"And what?" she asked a bit angrily. "You feel guilty that you're the one who forcefully dragged me to Anders's clinic?"
He frowned heavily. "I am not repeating mysel–"
"That you did it because otherwise I'd stubbornly live as a crazy abstinent mage and you stand your ground that it was the right thing you do," Hawke said, enumerating quickly. She nodded in his direction and added, "And my yielding at your firm hand means I also know it is the right thing for me to do, yes."
"Good," Fenris said flatly, concealing a smile.
She lifted her palms and smiled. "Isn't what I did the same forceful little thing?"
Fenris didn't answer and his face remained inarticulate. But he quickly became angry again. "This is not the same thing. There is no right and wrong here."
"I think there is," Hawke said assertively. "Just like my magic however much I hate it and do not wish to face it, still could cause me harm if I keep ignoring it… you keep trying not to face your misery, not to accept you're free, not to LIVE. And that will kill you."
"You know nothing," Fenris shouted in an overpowering voice.
"And there are a lot of reasons why you chose to become so angry now," Hawke continued. "One of them is that much like me, you wish to leave, but you also found reasons to stay. Those things scare you to death, and you hate things that manage to bring you fear. Thus, you get hot-headed angry and stubborn and unreasonable."
He remained silent, without protest. His eyes moved from left to right on the ground as she continued her explanation. "And even so, I've thought about it and I understand your choice to remain unadapted and a lowly misfit in a wreck of a mansion. You're not a slob. You shine your chest plate and your gauntlets on a regular basis, you sharpen your sword, you always buy tea, you apparently make pie and your room is now tidy and neat."
Then she pointed at the ground and said, "So this part of the mansion, the hallway and the other dark rooms, they have to remain a wreck and the Tevinter statues and vases in it also have to stay. It's a symbolic revolt against the Imperium. Being a slave meant you had to keep a perfect figure of composure and you had to do all the things you were told. Everything there was also luxurious, fancy, ostentatious. Perfect. Everything was organized, everything was certain, just like your destiny, your duties, your life." She paused and started pacing around. "Here, everything that bears the touch of Tevinter is crumbling apart and an awful mess. This way you get to keep your new identity as a former slave and you also get to express your fury against what they did to you."
To that, Fenris inhaled, looking down and appeared to become sad. He lifted his gaze and his voice came bitter and soft, "I haven't thought about it that way."
"Yet it doesn't make it less true," Hawke said assertively. "You also remain apathetic, not because you're a negativist at heart, but because it's a great way to defend yourself. When you're not calm and aloof, you grow angry and violent to annul whatever is the object of your fear. But when you're apathetic, it shields you from disappointment, that you might lose yourself, or that you might lose others and you will be forced to part with this city before some insane news that slavers are coming will ever arrive to your ears. It also protects you from the urge to spill out too much information about yourself, even if whatever happened in your past is eating you inside."
She sighed and looked away. "What you do half the time is act upon a true feeling. But just as quickly you shrink and ordain flight because you're afraid that anything good that you feel is going to wake up or create a conflict with everything you've done so far, as if it is tying you down just to torment you. Same thing goes with me. You enjoy the chase in part because it makes you not think about your past. But the chase also gives you the thought that there is a distinct possibility that you might not actually catch me. And you secretly hope I would refuse you for my own good."
His eyes became darker now, but he didn't say anything. His face though, said he was growing incredibly angry.
"More so, this way you get to avoid the chance of becoming conscious that you want to be the sole person that controls your destiny and never be in turn controlled again… like I only apparently did now, but you could always simply take all this stuff down. The concrete gesture is easier to become angry at than to enjoy that someone actually gave a damn… And you hate what I did because you actually like it! You're afraid that you like it," she said and met him all the way. His eyes remained locked on her and sorrowful, arrested. She finished softly, "And this way you also avoid the thought that you need to be taken care of sometimes."
To that, Fenris slowly closed his eyes in a bitter, tormented expression. Perhaps she dug and touched something too deeply. "I stand corrected," he finally said, looking into empty space.
"Why?" she asked.
He fixed his dark eyes on her. "Your explanations are far worse."
"Well, if that's it, I'm alright with that," Hawke said calmly and crossed her arms.
He scowled horrifically and said, "No that is not all." He pointed at the main entrance. "Now I understand why you didn't have the guts to show me what you've done alone, instead needing to bring the crowd here along with me to shield yourself from the reaction you already knew I would have if the others were not around. You thought it would be easier if I had to boil inside for a night and then eventually I would understand that it was out of care that you did this." He shook his head disapprovingly. "And you used my weakness for you to distract me from noticing your plan back at home."
"Yep, I'm a horrible person," Hawke pretended sarcastically.
"No, you're not and you know that…wait…" Then his eyes became wider, his mouth parted and he appeared stricken by a realization that concluded the looming disaster. "You want me to believe you are horrible. You… knew I would react like this. You did this because you knew I would grow mad and resent you."
"That's not true," Hawke protested immediately.
But Fenris cut her mercilessly, "You don't want this." She looked at him in disbelief and arched an eyebrow to the heavens. He continued angrily, "But you don't have the courage to walk away." He pressed his eyes and shook his head, then he fixed his terrible look on her. "So you did this to drive me into walking away from you. Then you're free from any future guilt. "
Then he turned around and started pacing towards the stairs. "You are worse."
He was wrong. He felt penetrated so he resorted to become angry and resent her again, find any little reason why she was flawed and she was no different than any other mage who wanted to deceive and control him.
She didn't tell him because yes, she knew he would react like this, but if they all went in at the same time, Leandra, Varric, everyone, would have looked around, see that he was the one who made dessert (something that he did voluntarily, just like the clothes) and they would praise him for it. They would have offered him recognition that he was taking delight in being free. That he was living. But she was too impulsive and rash with this decision. She shouldn't have done it this way. She should have proposed it one day to him, convince him to do it together and he would refuse, then later he would have probably still did it because he knew she was right.
Her shoulders sank. She didn't know what to do. Go after him, leave him. People were surely coming in any minute now. She pressed her eyes shut and started running after him. But as soon as she caught up with him, her usual humorous defences came up and she started crying out, "Fenris, Fenris, Fen, Rys, Fenris, Fen-Fen, Fenris –darling Fenris, adored Fenris, sweet prefect grumpy Fenris, tell me I still have a chance to correct my blunder!" And with that, she did the most eloquent of gestures that seemed perfect at the time. She took a long bow and then lifted her gaze.
He closed the door in her face.
"There was actually a fire," Hawke said to everyone as they were seated down at the table eating the pie and drinking away cheerfully. "… just not the same one I planned."
"They appeared genuinely convinced by my stunt, suffice it to say," Bodhan said proudly, but a modest smile was what his face bore. "The pie is excellent by the way. I'm glad I didn't drop it when I stumbled into Knight-Commander Meredith on the street. She's a very scary woman, she is."
"What's she doing patrolling the streets at night all of a sudden?" Hawke asked urgently. "Was she accompanied by other Templars? Did it seem like a raid?"
"No, in fact she was quite alone," Bodhan said. "She was coming from High Estate District. Maybe she paid a visit to the DeLauncets? Perhaps their boy caused some trouble."
"I doubt it," Hawke said nonchalantly. "But still strange. She wouldn't go there personally. She'd send one of her loons to do it."
"You thinking what my incredibly paranoid mind is thinking?" Varric asked, eating his slice of pie with perfect delight.
"That she's up to something?" Hawke asked. "Hells to the yes."
"I'll ask around," Varric said confidently. "Don't worry. I'll find out in no time." His tone became sweet, "Just bear in mind that I'd still like tonight to be about joy and fun and even if it's a lie, I'd still take it."
"Speaking of joy and fun, where is our honourable host?" Anders asked.
"Like I said, looking for a lost ring from his crossguard," Hawke lied. "He's lost it before and went crazy over it until he found it stuffed in with the laundry." She narrowed her eyes and shot a glance to her mother. "And we all know how that feels."
"I haven't done that in a long time, love," Leandra said innocently with a smile. "You should give me some credit for that."
"Wait… is that Antiva City on the wall?" Isabela asked and pointed behind Hawke's head.
"Yep," Hawke said without turning around. "Rather nice memento right?"
"Zevran would have killed for that painting," Isabela said with a grin. "Wait… he's in there. The figure on the roof of the dome with the dark cloak. That's him, isn't it?"
"Perhaps," Hawke said cheerfully and continued eating.
"Why are you smiling so much, Blondie?" Varric asked in confusion. Anders had been very silent and all smiles since they got there.
"I am seriously enjoying this pie," Anders said, still smiling.
"Even if Broody made it?" Varric asked with raised eyebrow. "I thought you would have politely refused all with thinking your slice is poisoned or something."
"I enjoy it especially because he made it," Anders said. "After all, who would have thought?"
"Oh, he's a private and modest person," Leandra protested with a smile.
"Of course he is," Anders replied calmly with a smile and half-lidded eyes.
"Speaking of private, maybe I should disturb him and help him look for that sword ring-guard-thing," Leadra said to Hawke. "After all, you said I'm an expert in misplacing weapons and armory."
"Exactly so. You specialize in misplacing them," Hawke said accusatorily. "I'm the expert in finding them."
"Then why don't you go, love?" Leandra asked warmly.
"No, I'm fine," Hawke refused quickly.
"Come on, you will save time this way," Leandra pressed.
She couldn't hate this more now. If she refused again, it would draw attention. Damn myself, she thought, then she sighed and got up.
But before she turned around, she heard a door opening. Fenris came out with a perfectly content, impenetrable expression and went down the stairs with the sleeves of his shirt still up, really like the host of a dinner party, the one who could afford to become more casual with their attire. She sat back down and banished all thoughts.
"He-he-hey, the man of the hour!" Varric shouted happily. "Did you find that crossguard ring?"
Fenris took the seat where he left his coat, which sadly happened to be next to Hawke's chair, but his face remained calm and peaceful. "No. I don't need it anymore."
"Then kind of a waste of time looking for it for ten minutes," Varric said with a raised eyebrow.
"Indeed, it was a waste of time," Fenris said flatly and cut out his own slice of apple pie.
"This pie however truly wasn't, needless to say," Leandra said warmly and raised the glass.
"Thank you," Fenris replied calmly.
"Maybe next year you can make me a bigass-tonishing chocolate cake," Varric said happily. "I've always had a sweet tooth."
Fenris chuckled under his breath and told him, "For you Varric, I will make a ten story cake with you and Bianca on top of it."
"Aw, that's sweet," Varric said with an amused smile. "Maybe you can put a dragon too and make it look like I'm shooting a gigantic arrow right through its head."
"Or maybe we stick to reality," Fenris said coldly.
"At least a little Varric figurine on a cake is not far from your actual size, so you've got that going for you," Hawke said stingingly. People laughed. Fenris didn't. His glance was colder than Lothering during the winter. Apart from that, he didn't look at her at all.
"Well that concludes the mystery of who's going to get a big piece of cake right in their face," Varric fired back with a smirk.
"I do love cake," Hawke replied happily.
This was the perfect time for Fenris to muse with "Oh yes, you really do" and "How are your pants doing, Hawke? They seem rather tight" or "Too bad the cake will grow sour as soon as it sees you", but he didn't say a word. Hawke never mocked him about brooding, Varric taking over that domain and everyone else following, but now more than ever he proved just how much he could overthink and stretch a meaning out of cosmic proportions.
And now she couldn't hate Isabela more.
Ah, whatever. The night was still young. Tomorrow was another day. At present, she resolved to eat and drink in peace all with boiling inside at much of an idiot Fenris could be and that she was probably a bigger idiot even so.
"So tell me," Varric started all-grinning. "Did you voluntarily get those beeswax candles or did Hawke totally corrupt you with her insane obsession?"
Fenris poured himself a full glass of cider and muttered, "Well, she is an expert at corrupting people."
Hawke didn't retort with some cheerful witty line. Everyone else thought Fenris was calmly musing. Varric noticed it all and didn't let himself convinced. He frowned in his chair and remained silent himself. Something was up. Hawke seemed awfully quiet and Fenris wasn't smirking at all. The only time he joked was with him, and she in turn didn't seem to exist.
"Oh, Hawke the incredible mastermind," Isabela said cheerfully. "She did convince me to run into people and ask them to marry me."
"Was a particular dragon and kind of blood roaming in the equation when that happened?" Varric asked in amusement.
"Yes… in fact," Isabela said and pondered on it. "Oh you little b-eeswax honeycandle, you."
"Don't sweat it," Hawke said. "You're no honeybee yourself."
"I'm more of a wasp, it's true," Isabela said subtly.
"Stay out of my flowers," Hawke retorted with a smile.
"But how can I when your choice of flowers have the best pollen to meddle into," Isabela retaliated all-grinningly.
"Beware of the bear when you're not looking," Varric intervened just as subtly and winked.
"I'm quicker than the bee and the bear, so I don't mind a little danger," Isabela said happily.
"As long as the man won't simply drown you," Fenris suddenly intervened.
"I'm… so confused," Merrill said sadly.
"Yeah, can we cut it with the incoherent metaphors?" Anders asked cheerfully.
"Oh, you learn to block out the yackety-yak after a while," Aveline said calmly and raised the glass. "Have another drink, it won't kill you."
"I'll pass," Anders said flatly.
"Good choice," Fenris said sharply and drank away, but fixed his eyes on him. "After all you can't afford to spill all of your darkest secrets."
"That's the least of my concerns," Anders said. "More so because I don't have some deep dark secret."
"Isn't that exactly what a man with a deep dark secret would say?" Fenris pressed, leaning back in the chair a bit harshly. Hawke looked at his small bottle. It was almost empty and nobody else had a drop. When did he have time to drink so much?
"I think what you're doing is called projection," Anders retorted with a smile. "Am I right, Hawke? That was the term."
"Uhm…" Hawke drawled, clutching at her glass. "The … term is correct."
"So that follows you're the one that has skeletons in the closet," Anders continued.
"I certainly used to," Fenris said confidently, pertaining to the literal case. He took another large sip. "Would you like to have a tour?"
"I'll pass," Anders said with a smile. "I think I've seen enough."
"Good choice," Fenris replied coldly. He noticed Hawke clutching at the chair, but ignored it completely. He poured the last remains of the bottle and drank away in peace.
"Well, this was a wonderful night," Leandra said cheerfully. Too bad not everybody agreed. "I hope you had a good time with what we prepared for you, Varric."
"Oh-ho, it was better than anything I could have ever imagined," Varric said and nodded with a smile. "Dinner was absolutely exquisite, and Fenris making dessert…" He raised his glass beckoning for everyone to toast. "I will sleep with happily with a full belly tonight all thanks to you."
After they bumped glasses, and after Hawke and Fenris's almost shattered from the tension when they did, Leandra said, "Don't ruin that belly of yours with too much alcohol afterwards though. You've had plenty already."
"Don't worry, I do everything in moderation," Varric said confidently. "And with that I'll make sure Hawke doesn't overdo it either. Am I right, Pan- Peaches?"
Hawke frowned heavily and Leandra broke into laughter. "Don't call her that. That name is burdened with a lot of historical hatred."
"Oh?" Varric asked sweetly. "I'm sensing a great story there."
"Yeah, not gonna happen," Hawke cut him joyfully. "At least not if you ever so kindly make sure I don't overdo it."
"Oh, now you're making this hard for me," Varric mused and remembered her mother was there. "Which of course means there's no chance in hell I'll bite that weak bait."
"I'm surprised you would turn down a chance for a good story," Fenris suddenly said to him. Hawke could guess that was code for, "Good for you that you're the only one who hasn't let himself be deceived."
"There's always time," Varric said. "And better stories."
"Aw, now I'm wounded," Hawke said sarcastically. "Now I really need something to sink my sorrows in."
"Well, it's your choice," Leandra said nonchalantly. "I'm good as long as you don't start a fire."
"That has been known to happen," Fenris said. Varric now was the one to cough subtly for him to not continue that sentence. Fenris saw that and pressed his lips in annoyance, then looked at her mother. "Do not worry, I will make sure she stays away from the poison."
Seriously? Now you talk? Hawke thought in annoyance. She rapidly scowled and said, "Might wanna check yourself for poison first."
"No, I'm good," Fenris said flatly, without looking at her.
"Well, this as far as I go," Leandra said and got up. "Happy name day again Varric. I hope you all have fun."
After Varric schmoozed Leandra again with compliments and gratitude and what not and everyone headed out of the mansion, she stopped Hawke in the doorway. "What did you do?"
"Huh?" Hawke asked while frowning.
"He doesn't seem alright," Leandra whispered in concern.
She scowled even more. "Oh, and you automatically assume I have something to do with it?"
"Not unless there's a good reason for me to think that," Leandra said firmly and pointed at the door.
Hawke rolled her eyes and her shoulders sank. "Fine, I did that."
"He wasn't pleased," Leandra said perceptively.
"Not pleased is seriously sugar-coating it," Hawke replied grouchily.
"Well, I know you probably won't listen to me –"
"Yeah, I probably won't," Hawke cut her grumpily.
Leandra pressed her lips in annoyance and continued, " – but you shouldn't let yourself be angry. He'll calm down tomorrow."
"Tyea, tomorrow," Hawke said sarcastically. "There aren't enough tomorrows for this one."
"I don't believe that," Leandra said. "And I think you already knew the consequences when you took up this duty."
"I know what I was getting into," Hawke said flatly, her face tense but impenetrable.
"Alright," Leandra said softly and she looked down. She understood she meant with everything. "You know best. Be careful."
"Good night, Mother," Hawke said unemotionally and started to walk. She turn her head sideways and tried to say, "Thanks for –"
"Anytime, love," Leandra said with a smile. "Do have fun."
"I'll… try," Hawke said.
"Oh, I know you'll both be alright," Leandra said reassuringly with a warm smile. Then she took off and shouted proudly, "Serah Bodhan, Serah Sandal, let us go home!"
Yep, this is going to suck, Hawke thought and took off to Lowtown and caught up with the others.