This is the longest one yet. Get a cuppa!
Morning, The Fog Dream
Fenris walked through a… suspiciously sunny forest for the fog that still remained. There was no more semantron. No more pan flutes. No more bells. The unsettling, readied growl remained, but it was competing with the sounds of myriad of birds.
Inside, the audience looked at him. As always, 'stringless' puppet Hawke was on stage wearing a ridiculous magician's frock and a top hat and tipping it off to the new show. "Ladies, users and abusers, we've come so, so far, it's incredible! Determination is strong! Resistance is endless! The proof is outside in that warm sunny breeze!"
The audience wooed and cheered.
"We're gonna make it! We're gonna take it! We're gonna take it real, real easy," Hawke said, lunging slowly. "Except for right now, 'cause it's our longest one yet! By the way, a quick thank you to our new partners, The Order of the Blushing Lizard!" she said, pointing above as the curtains opened. Puppet versions of the band were standing tall in bushy trees adorned by fairy lights. There was a very well-painted background of a theatre park in Minrathous at sunset. "Much better production value, don't you think?" Hawke said, clapping.
"You did it!" a puppet in the audience cheered. "You brought the Sun!"
"I didn't bring anything!" Hawke said innocently. She scratched her head. "Okay, maybe I played a teensy part," she said, shrugging. "If we're being pedantic about it, you could say I merely made the world move towards the inevitable."
"Oh, it was very, very evitable," another puppet commented.
Hawke bowed a little. "No matter how dark or long the night," she said, grinning up at the audience and tipping her hat, "Sunrise is inevitable."
"I can't feel it here," dreaming Fenris said without thought. All non-eyes came on him.
"Well, are you a real boy?" Hawke said, hand on her hip.
Fenris's shoulders sank. "No."
"No. You're not even on stage," Hawke said. "It's like you're not even the protagonist of this story."
"Am I?" he said.
"Let's find out," she said, holding out a hand.
"Make him a real boy!" a puppet said. She helped him up on stage.
"Ooh, just like a real boy! Gonna make you feel, boy, just like a real boy!" puppet Merlin sang a little mockingly as he hugged himself. It almost looked like he was mocking her. Dark-haired Fenris was somewhere in another tree spinning sarcastically.
"Settle down, kissy boy, or the Gloaming will come for you before the end of this act!" Hawke shouted up at him. In another tree, puppet Neha hit a dry drum.
"Can you make me real?" Fenris said with hope in his voice.
"Of course she can! She's magic!" an audience member said.
"Of course I'm magic!" Hawke said, taking her hat off. A spoon, a little husky, a bird of paradise came out of it.
"Show us some real magic!" someone in the audience said.
"Ah, come on now, mister, where's your sense of whimsy?" Hawke said, putting the items back in her hat. The bird flew into a tree. "This is magic!"
"It's just tricks!" someone said. "You're the mage! Do your magic!"
"We're all magic, mister," Hawke said. "I'll prove it to you right now!" she said, looking at him. "Are you magic?"
"No," Fenris said.
"Oh, come on now," Hawke said, almost patronisingly, inviting the audience to agree with her. She tipped off her hat and there came out a… 'wand'. "Have a little faith, mister."
"I'm not magic," Fenris insisted, frowning at the wand.
"Believe in magic, mister! Believe in yourself!" Hawke said, giving it to him. "Go on, give it a wiggle."
Fenris made a casting motion towards her and sarcastically said, "Hocus pocus."
In a blinding light, Hawke transformed before his eyes. She did not just lack strings. She was real now. Her hair was long and loose. She had cat eyes, plum lips, a dark cone shaped hat. She wore a long navy cape and a black top cleaving in a delightful V with plum on the torso. She had a black tutu skirt, full dark grey stockings and her combat boots. Around her neck was a choker with a circle pendant that had a pink heart in it.
"Jee whiz!" Hawke exclaimed, turning to the audience with mock surprise. "I'm a real witch now!"
Fenris swallowed. He was starting to become more and more paranoid that Hawke wasn't just real now as in not a puppet, but real-real, as in not just a figment of the Fade.
"By the way," Hawke said, looking down at her outfit and laughing at him. "Why am I so femme? Are you a closeted femme enthusiast?" she asked very mockingly, tapping her cheek in an invitation to feel shame.
The audience laughed derisively, while he questioned the consequences of having a subconscious. "She can wear whatever she wants. I enjoy her leaving things to the imagination. But this is my imagination," Fenris insisted, crossing his arms. "And what's the problem with femme? It's very pretty."
Hawke listened to him with raised eyebrows. She looked at her nails and said, "Alright, you make some cogent points. Consider me shut up."
Fenris guffawed. "Agreeing with me and shutting up? Now I know you're just a Fade figment."
"Oh, come on now," Hawke said with a flirtatious eyebrow. "I agree with you a lot."
It was true, never mind the sexy subtext. They had started to agree more and more, come together in something like a balanced union. Yes. Balanced was the word. At times he even felt cradled.
"Cradled?" Hawke said, reading his thoughts. "Aww, are you a mama's boy?"
The audience oo'ed him to shame while he further questioned the consequences of having a subconscious. "I don't know," Fenris said, deciding honesty was his biggest flex.
She walked in close circles around him. "Well, mama's boy or not a mama's boy, I suppose the more important question is… do you want to be a real boy?"
"Yes," Fenris said softly, looking at his puppet hands.
"That's some tough strings," Hawke said with pity, pulling on them.
"How come you don't have any strings?" Fenris asked her.
"Well, I'm not you, am I?" Hawke said, chuckling. "Or… am I?" she said evilly to the audience, who laughed.
"Can't you make this nightmare go away?" Fenris said.
Hawke continued making circles around him. "It's not up to me to decide. We all have our parts to play." He could swear she winked at him. "The show must go on—" Suddenly, the growl came from outside. "—to its inevitable end!" she shouted farther. It made the creature angry.
"What is that?" Fenris said. His chest started to hurt.
"An old, old friend," Hawke said tiredly.
"He sounds like an enemy," Fenris said, holding onto his chest.
"Two sides of the same coin," she said, tapping her head with her index finger.
"What does he want?" he said. The pain in his heart was ugly, like a thousand rusty needles.
"He wants you to be safe," Hawke said, towering above him and pulling on his strings. He forgot about the creature. His chest calmed down. "All safe and puppet-like…" she said with weirdly erotic mock-pity. "He thinks you can't handle being real. Well..." she said, tilting her head, so he could see the audience, "...we disagree."
"Yeah!" the audience shouted. The Fog Warriors were in the first row, Marius and Aura cheering him on.
"A play in the three acts, ladies, gents and all manner of malcontents!" Hawke said, turning to the audience and raising her arms. "She's Magic!"
Fenris went down the stage, and heard her from behind saying, "Caught a little stage fright?"
"I don't know," Fenris said.
"Well, if you're not playing your part, then I will take the part I need from you now," Hawke said and came down on the aisle.
Her devilish grin was somehow more heart-stopping at audience level. Her arm extended toward him and he could feel her soft hand inside his chest. She pulled and pulled, and a likeness of him came out of himself. A likeness in the old armour, with an imposing cape made out of darkness and a long, tall scythe. He was shocked and confused, and he looked at his reflection in a window. He was wearing the long black jumper, the red wristband, his new onyx-tinted breastplate and spiky gauntlets, the Amell shield on his pocket belt and black leggings (because some things never changed). He had a big pink heart on his breastplate. It was still a little cracked, but it was intact.
Act 1, Scene 1
The grim reaper followed Hawke on stage and with a wave of her 'wand', the fairies came alight and the blushing lizards started their song. The guy had a heart-shaped hole with pink little shard teeth on the edges. Pink little fangs. A rapid violin dominated the melody. He remembered this song.
He didn't know what to call this third Fenris. Or was that the second, and he was now the third? He had no capacity to do those kinds of psychic mathematics, so he decided to call that guy the Grim Reaper, the dark-haired guy, the Dancer, and himself… Fenris. Or what remained of him.
Danarius walked with the Grim Reaper by the leash to the theatre while a crowd watched. Witchy Hawke waved her wand and myriad of newspapers fell through the stage and the audience. There was a magical moving picture of the scene he'd witnessed in the Minrathous Times. The article was titled, Magister Danarius takes Death out for a stroll…
"My baby's got a, fang, my baby's got a fang, my baby's got a, fang, you better run—"
He remembered that day. Danarius was so elated he found it hysterical. But for him, it wasn't a happy memory. It was the moment he'd realised how everyone saw him. How he looked from the outside. A freak. A freak on a leash. A frightening reaper. And ultimately, someone's pet.
"My baby's got a, fang, my baby's got a fang, my baby's got a, fang, ga-ga-ga-ga—"
What they didn't catch in the moving picture was that after they came out of the theatre, the Dancer followed them around from tree to tree. He kept watching over him as they walked through town, and seemed to bide his time. He tried touching him a few times from a tree, but the Grim Reaper would inattentively and randomly move out of the way.
He had no idea why this song was playing. The chorus may have been poetic, but the rest of the lyrics were irrelevant to the story. It was about two young lovers meeting in secret and her father catching them and killing the boy. His subconscious may have been broken, but it wasn't random. He was disappointed. The chorus felt mocking too.
Act 1, Scene 2
Hawke did her magic and thousands of suns and moons rotated on the sky. The scenery changed to Seheron. She beckoned to the first row of the audience to come up on stage. The Grim Reaper fell off the top of the world from Danarius's side into a fog. The Fog Warriors from the audience helped him up and, as the old story went, put a few pink shards in that black heart with little fangs. He followed them around, in a leash with no owner. Another, and another, and another shard went inside until Marius and Aura asked for a hug, and the Grim Reaper obliged. The Dancer flew down from the tree and wanted to hug them all.
Danarius and his goons disturbed the scene, and the Dancer stopped mid-flight. He seemed to change his soft demeanour and flew into a rage, flying above the Fog Warriors to tackle Danarius to the ground.
"My baby's got a, fang, my baby's got a fang, my baby's got a, fang, you better run—"
A scythe came around the Dancer's neck, and the Reaper finished everyone off. He held onto his newly hollowed chest, and fell down on his knees in tears. He threw the leash away, desperately picking up the shards that fell apart and made a new scythe out of it. Then he tore off the Dancer's wings and stole them, flying away.
Act 1, Scene 3
Charlatan magician Hawke, Varric and Carver followed the Grim Reaper into a dark old mansion. The Reaper shouted like a maniac and went ahead of the squad, butchering demons and making terrible combat mistakes.
"My baby's got a, fang, my baby's got a fang, my baby's got a, fang, ga-ga-ga-ga—"
They fought countless demons and got overwhelmed, when Hawke made real magic happen. Charlatan Hawke metamorphosed into Witch Hawke. At the end, the Reaper stormed out.
When she came out of the mansion, the Grim Reaper threatened her with his heart scythe. "I should have known sooner what you really were," he said disdainfully.
"Here we go…" she said, crossing her arms.
"What lies under your pointy hat, hmm? What manner of plans?" the Reaper said.
Hawke metamorphosed back into the charlatan magician. "Dinner plans," she said, moving past him.
"Be honest," the Reaper said after her.
In the meantime, the Dancer came down from the building and slid down a tree in the courtyard.
"Fine. I have no plans. I was drunk and sad and I wanted to smell a tree," she said. "Anso pointed me to the Alienage, and it was like a sign!"
"You walked into an ambush to smell a tree?" he said irately.
Unbeknownst to him, the Dancer around the tree behind him flipped him off.
"Yes, yes I did. I regret nothing! Almost nothing…" the Charlatan grumbled. "Are we done here?" she said, turning to leave.
"You look preposterous and you're fooling no one," the Reaper said after her.
The Charlatan turned around and crossed her arms. "Your cape is sad and your scythe is ridiculous."
Act 2, Scene 1
Suns and moons rotated rapidly on the sky above Kirkwall. The Grim Reaper followed Charlatan Hawke everywhere she went, locking horns and questioning decisions. The Dancer followed him from tree to building to another tree and yet another building.
"You need to reconcile the violence in your heart," the Charlatan said.
"I don't initiate violence," the Reaper said. "Turns out you can hurt people just as easily with words."
"But why must you hurt people?" the Charlatan said, looking over his shoulder.
"Hurt is all I know," the Reaper said. "It reminds me I'm alive."
"You do look a bit dead," the Charlatan said, scanning him. "Maybe you should work on that."
"I shall endeavour to appear more alive, then," the Reaper said a little sarcastically.
"No, no. Endeavour to be yourself. There's more to you than hurt," the Charlatan said. She looked over his shoulder. "Who's that?"
The Grim Reaper looked behind him, but there was no one there. "What are you talking about?"
The Charlatan Magician sighed. "Follow me. I'll teach you how to have fun and be happy."
The Grim Reaper followed her, scoffing.
Act 2, Scene 2
Many suns and moons rotated over the dark, dilapidated mansion. When the Reaper entered, he hung his scythe and coat of darkness at the door. Charlatan Hawke transformed into a witch. He laughed at her jokes and made one or two of his own, until they got to the main hall, where a tall and ominous iron maiden stood.
"Jeepers, creepers! What is that?" the Witch asked.
"Oh, nothing… That's just my doom. Ignore it," the Reaper said.
The Witch looked like she was doing some serious mental equations. "I'm sorry, but who introduces their doom to the world and then expects others to ignore it?"
"Someone with better plans than this," the Reaper said, coming into her personal space. She looked surprised and happy, but then he said, "Let's play Diamondback."
"We could play a new game," the Witch said, brushing a gentle finger along his arm. The Reaper twitched and cowered, but it didn't seem like it was all out of pain.
"Or… Diamondback," the Reaper said.
The Witch looked at the audience, very annoyed. Poppy started a dramatic, readied violin.
"Every time we touch, your hands are colder, colder. There's no beating coming from your wooden chest," the Witch sang, knocking on the Reaper's torso. "Frozen grin, a mannequin, when I get closer. I can see the strings, they're underneath your vest!"
The Witch opened the iron maiden and then went behind the Reaper, walking slowly towards him with a ravenous gaze. The Reaper backed away slowly. "If you can cry real tears, then… you're gonna cry them all for me! If you can feel real fears then… I'm gonna leave you shi-ve-ring!" she sang, until the Reaper stepped back into the iron maiden.
The Witch closed the door and sang loudly, "I'm gonna make you! I'm gonna make you! I'm gonna make you—" She went back to the iron maiden and opened its back side. "Into a real boy!" she sang, pulling the Dancer out. "The big reveal, boy!" She opened the iron maiden from the front and pulled the Reaper out. "Gonna make you feel boy, just like a real boy!"
"Just like a real boy!" the lizards sang in unison.
In-between them, she went to the Reaper and put a hand underneath his chin as a display. "Who's the one that turned your will to winter, winter?" She went to the Dancer and did the same. "Who's the boy beneath the doll that wants to live?" She walked towards the Reaper, who took a little step back. "I can give you life with just a single whisper." She went to the Dancer, who did not cower, and touched his heart. "Show you what the meaning of a heartbeat is."
"If you can cry real tears then…" the Witch sang, walking to the Dancer. He took her into a dance while the Reaper watched unhappily. "You're gonna cry them all for me. If you can feel real fears then, I'm gonna leave you shi-ve-ring." But the Dancer didn't shiver. If anything, he would have made her shiver, hugging her from behind, kissing her neck, running his hand along her body in the dance.
"Oooooooh!" the lizards sang as the The Reaper went to get his coat and scythe. "Oooh!"
"I'm gonna make you! I'm gonna make you! I'm gonna make you into a real boy!" the Witch sang determinedly as the Reaper and the Dancer danced a fighting dance through the mansion. The Dancer climbed on the walls with little effort and slapped the Reaper with his wing back to the ground. The Reaper came up and continued his slashes, and the Dancer disarmed him. The Reaper took off his coat of darkness and everything else on top. He bumped his fists together. The Dancer took off his wings. The violin went into a crescendo as they descended into a fair and honest fist fight. The Witch sang happily, "The big reveal boy! Gonna make you feel, boy, just like a real boy!"
"Just like a real boy!" the lizards sang in unison.
Marion started a little flat, condescending bridge. "You have chosen to seek professional assistance in understanding the art of mortal love."
"Step one: Engage your partner in a series of increasingly intimate questions—"
The Witch came in between the men and stopped their fighting.
"Step two: Wait until an appropriate level of personal rapport has been achieved—"
The Witch took turns kissing both of them, and neither looked happy to wait their turn.
"Step three: Remain emotionally present during intercourse—"
The Witch slipped out of the veritable kissing threesome until the Reaper and the Dancer absent-mindedly made out with each other. She walked to the very edge of the stage and her singing became much softer. She looked straight at Fenris. "If you can cry real tears, then… you're gonna cry them all for me! If you can feel real fears then… I'm gonna leave you shiveriiing!" she sang with the widest grin.
"I'm gonna make you! I'm gonna make you! I'm gonna make you into a real boy!" the Witch sang evilly.
The Dancer took the Reaper in a dance as the sun rotated slowly towards the top.
"Step four: Once both parties have reached climax, continue to hold each other in a close embrace—"
The Dancer took the Reaper up the stairs.
"Step five: When the evening is complete, do not exit the building."
The Reaper and the Dancer made out in the doorway.
"I repeat, do not exit the building until the morning sun has risen."
The door to the bedroom banged loudly shut as the sunrise blinded the theatre.
Witch Hawke bowed to the audience, who came up clapping and whistling.
Act 3
When the curtains came back up, the iron maiden was replaced by a tall simple dark coffin, and the background changed to Sundermount at sunset. A gloomy, calm guitar came. Witch Hawke levitated branches and flowers on top of the pyre above the coffin.
The Fog Warriors came on stage again and started singing with the lizards in a creepily playful tone. They held hands and danced around the pyre. "All my heart, all my whole, all I tried to save my soul! All their guts, try to spill. All my holes, try to fill."
Hawke took off her cone hat and out levitating came the hairy ball, the Chantry Sun, the teddy bear and so on.
"All my thinking, been a long time spent, on my freedom, on how that went! On my saving philosophy. It goes mainly in the depths and the rest to me. It goes—"
The Fog Warriors started throwing themselves up the branches into the fire. "All my troubles on a burning pile! All lit up and I start to smile! If I, catch fire then I change my aim! Throw my troubles at the pearly gates!"
The Grim Reaper voluntarily came out of himself again down the aisle while up above Merlin more or less moaned all the vowels.
"My, my, my… lonely days! They're gone, they're forgotten, but I can't get laid!"
The Dancer flew down to meet him.
"My, my, my… Dancer man! Say goodbye, it's alright, 'cause we're gonna be whole again!" The piano started going strong and heavy.
The Witch and the Dancer held the Reaper's hands, and he went into the coffin. That made the creature mad outside.
The Fog Warriors rocked in the fire and waved their arms. "It goes—All my troubles on a burning pile! All lit up and I start to smile! If I, catch fire then I change my aim! Throw my troubles at the pearly gates!"
The Witch made the fire roar, encasing the whole coffin.
"It goes—All my problems on a burning pile! All lit up and I start to smile! If I, catch fire then I'll take my turn! To burn and burn… and bu-uh-uh-uh-urn!"
The audience came up again whistling and cheering. The Witch came in front of the coffin, took everyone's hands in a chain and they all bowed.
He was uncertain if he should clap. It seemed a little patronising. But he looked around and no one was turning into shadows and running away. He did something right. He did something right!
But the growling from outside became louder and louder, and it banged at the door.
Fenris looked back at the stage, and for one simple moment, he saw the coffin door opened. The Reaper had his scythe around Hawke and glowered straight at him. "She's next," he said, and pulled her into the coffin with him.
"No!" Fenris ran directly on stage and opened the coffin, and it was empty. He looked behind him, and where he once stood lay the very scarred corpse of the Reaper. It dragged itself rapidly on the aisle towards him and scared him right into the coffin.
Afternoon, The Hawke Estate
Fenris decided no more sleep for him until Hawke got back on her feet. He wanted to leave and check on Varric and Aveline, but he simply couldn't. He'd be in the doorway and his whole body would immediately protest. At least Donnic came to visit and said Varric was in bed working on his writing, while Aveline was ay-okay.
"More than okay, actually," the guardsman whispered behind a hand. For a brief moment, the fingers spread apart subtextually.
Fenris wasn't sure what he meant by that. Five what? Times? Orgasms? Positions? Surfaces? At the same time, he felt asking any follow up question would have been weird.
"Congratulations," Fenris said.
"Thanks for your help," Donnic said with a sly salute, leaving. "Happy to return the favour."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Fenris said, scowling.
Donnic pretended not to hear him, which he thought was for the best.
Then Anders came to check on Hawke, and his presence in her bedroom made him mad. Their whole friendship made him mad, if he were truly honest. Then came a question from him that shoved him out of anger straight into dizziness.
"Are you living with Hawke now?" Anders said.
"No," Fenris said. "I am taking care of her."
Anders frowned. "Why not?"
What kind of question was that? That was so big a step his mind spiralled.
"Performing a survey?" Fenris said, annoyed.
"Doesn't seem like there's much to survey," Anders said, shrugging.
His words played with his mind.
"I think it's time for you to leave," Fenris said, showing him the door.
Anders showed his palms in peace and left her bedroom. "I left the sack near the fireplace. Varric said and I quote, 'Take this shit away from me because I will crack and look inside.'"
Fenris chuckled. "How considerate."
"Yeah," Anders said, smiling and crossing his arms. "Varric's a real nice guy. It's hard to come by us these days."
Fenris scoffed to the moon and back. "You're not a nice guy. You just pretend to be nice to get what you want."
"Well, that doesn't make any sense," Anders said, chin in hand, "because I want you to shut up, and when have I ever been nice about that?"
"You don't have a crush on me," Fenris said flatly.
"Oh dear, here comes the last of the qamek vomit," Anders said, pretending to hurl.
"Play theatrics all you want, I know what you're after," Fenris said.
"Wow, you're a real jealous guy," Anders said, lowering his head in thought. A corner of his mouth smiled as he looked up at him. "That could only bode well for you."
"You were rejected. Get over it," Fenris said, and gestured for him to leave.
"I'm glad to have been rejected. She has terrible taste in men," Anders said, leaving. "Besides, it's not me you should be worried about."
Then came Merrill and Isabela, who also had a series of inane questions, including if he was living with her.
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Fenris said irately.
"Just seems like it would make sense," Merrill said. "Your mansion isn't exactly safe."
Isabela snickered, crossing her arms. "For some people it makes sense. For others, home is wherever they are."
They were both wrong in his case, he thought. He wasn't going to move in out of 'convenience'. Home was nowhere he was, in this world or the next. He meant it when he said he found a home in her eyes, but he felt that was unfair. He didn't want her to be his crutch, his saviour, make him into a 'real boy' or any of that nonsense. He wanted to take responsibility. He wanted to be well, and he wanted to make himself well. He had to make a home inside his brain, then worry about making a home outside of it. If the order was reversed, he felt he would ruin it. Besides, he was only just getting used to the new intimacy. He needed time to make sense of it all. Needed time to see how they worked. How he worked, especially. He thought of himself as incredibly difficult and he didn't need more ways in which to disappoint and fail.
But… it was clear to him for a moment. He had options. He could go to Markham and find relief for his pain. He could keep going to that group. He had Hawke, and Aveline, and Varric. He had Donnic. He even had Isabela, who, like a broken clock was right twice a day, occasionally felt charitable. And if he was feeling particularly desperate, he had Sebastian to listen to him too. He had a support system and didn't even know it. He felt quite lucky in that moment.
As for Leandra, she doted on Hawke for a while, but she rather slyly suggested she had things to do, and she left him to care for her by himself. He wasn't happy to be left unsupervised, but he resolved he was a grown man and could look after his own girlfriend. She was unconscious anyway, so there wasn't much to do.
But that was more a curse than a blessing. With indefinite time on his hands and too many thoughts in such a silent room, he went to her nightstand and started reading. In fact, he read everything. Both smutty novels, Hard in Hightown, the surprisingly easy-read female ejaculation guide and one way less interesting but alarming book in her mystery chest. He knew he shouldn't have opened it. Varric was much stronger than him.
Almost two days went by, during which Fenris braved a trailblazing mental cocktail of heaving tits, grinding hips and sliding shafts, with necessary helpful soft breaks of Donnen Brennakovic ignoring all the rules and casually flirting with a lady that sounded suspiciously like Hawke. He had a lot to think about since Varric's "You're better off with me!" comment. Anders also took the liberty to fill him in, rather enthusiastically, on the rest of his qamek-riddled ramblings.
But the graphic smut wasn't the problem, as dizzying as it was. He started with what he thought was a cliched erotica novel, Escape From The Void. It started very nicely. Nearly no smut for the first two chapters, in fact. It was gloomier and much more philosophical than he expected, telling the tale from both perspectives of a man and woman lost in their own Voids.
He was a Fereldan human. Typical, of course. Less typical that he was a commoner. He was a war painter, no longer able to fight as he once had due to a nasty leg wound during Loghain's betrayal. He sat and painted battlefields, and watched from afar as his brethren did unspeakable things to his general's complete indifference, making the darkspawn seem innocent in comparison. He had a mental breakdown during the Blight, deserted his brethren and crossed into The City of Chains. He joined an underground Tal-Vashoth special 'retreat' called Paradise Palace, something that save for the cloying name sounded suspiciously close to Qunari re-education centres. Any person with half a mind would have seen it was a cult. He was to give himself up, with pay, as what could only be described as a sex slave. It was designed as a recovery estate. Recovery through… consensual sex slavery, if that made any sense. It didn't, Fenris decided. This book was looking kinky in the rear-view mirror.
But he kept going because it was rather enjoyable to read about the alarming number of Tevinter magisters willing to be slaves to Tal-Vashoth in Kirkwall for Brobdingnagian amounts of gold. That side plot made Fenris twinkle.
She was a Tal-Vashoth former Tamassran turned dominatrix. But wasn't that just repeating oneself? Well, no. He was being ungenerous. Tamassrans almost entirely ruled Qunari society, and sex was just one tiny dot on that map. Her role did not used to be sexual, but intellectual. She had provided counselling for those soul-sick from the Tevinter-Qunari war. She passionately believed in what she did, and cared deeply for her patients, most of them women of the Ben-Hassrath. But seeing them come back again and again after she thought she'd cured them, hear of others lost to suicide, it eroded her beliefs to the point of insanity. She grew soul-weary over the never-ending suffering and decided to admit herself as a patient. She sank into catatonia, with no amount of counselling able to help. She already knew the words by heart. They were meaningless now.
Women generally did not receive 'sex therapy' unless they were in a fighting role—few and far between as that was—and were thus considered to be men. It was believed women were not sexual creatures in nature, but out of duty. Men needed sex to keep their spirit healthy, while women needed to be needed, so the ideology went. There came providing that relief. But one day, a Tamassran decided their way of treating her was wrong, because she was not a woman. She certainly disagreed, and thought how could she be a man if her role was not violent, but it was not for her to decide. She faintly nodded to the offer of sexual therapy in the form of, well, extremely kinky domination, the Tamassran's fake shaft breathing life back into her withdrawn and locked body (Fenris rolled his eyes). When she recovered, the Tamassran got in trouble over her unorthodox decisions, but a few of her sisters and herself believed the Qun told the wrong story about gender and choice. They decided to defect to Southern Thedas and bring this wild revelation to the world. As a result, women who went to their retreat went for next to nothing, while the men had to pay whopping amounts to keep them in business. But even so, the taxes were proportional to class, so our charming folksy Fereldan got a nice discount.
Then came the really problematic stuff. The Fereldan submitted to them, and was paraded through a veritable orgy of initiation. Fenris skipped a lot of pages because no amount of thoughtful philosophy was going to make the word 'slave' arouse his interest. He set his finger inside as a bookmark and closed it to look at the author. It was a Fereldan woman living in Orlais. Why would a Fereldan glorify this bullshit? Why would another Fereldan read it?
He was about to give up and stop reading— and soon have a very unpleasant conversation with Hawke—when he got to the good part…
When the Fereldan was allocated to the Tal-Vashoth protagonist, it didn't go as expected. He was sullen and flippant at first because he had indicated on his admission form that he was good with either gender, but preferred a male dominant. She was disappointed and distant, because he was a man. That was not whom she was doing this for. It was busy work. She felt insulted that after all her efforts and accomplishments, she was still assigned busy work. Fenris was confused and couldn't for the life of him pin-point which of the protagonists Hawke identified with.
The Tal-Vashoth dominated him out of existence, and he was mindblown, but not quite by what Fenris expected. The Fereldan was mindblown by their deep connection. She made all efforts to stay cold and rational, and she denied her feelings tooth and nail. But one night, he defied her service and kissed her as he would a person, and asked of her to stop the act. She was quite insulted by him calling it an 'act' when she truly believed and enjoyed what she did. But he didn't mean the dominance. He meant her arctic demeanour. He wanted her soul, not her body. He wanted it all, if he were truly honest, he said. She was weak, or thought of herself as weak, because love was not even a word in Qunlat, and in a moment of insanity, told him to pack up his bags and they would both escape. He could leave any time he wanted. He could stop anything he didn't want if he requested it. But she didn't have that luxury. She was not allowed to leave. Not only was she an important pillar in the retreat, but the Qun was still strong within the organisation. It was just the Qun with a playful capitalist asterisk. So, they bolted.
They ran across Orlais from town to town, hanging out in cafes and museums and speaking of their past, their dreams, their fears and their personal philosophies. He used to be a loyal and passionate soldier and now he couldn't walk properly and he hated war and people made him sick to his stomach and he couldn't see a way to peaceful co-existence of any peoples. She used to be a passionate pacifist and still believed she was. He couldn't understand how she thought she was a pacifist through violence.
"You can throw a mabari in a lake o' swans, but that don't makes him a fish," he'd say.
"Swans are assholes," she replied gruffly. "At the end of the day, violence is inescapable. Saddeningly and maddeningly necessary. But that doesn't mean it has to harm others. In this place, people consent to what they get. They seek it and we make a thousand times sure it's the right thing for them, and if it isn't, we change it. Change is even more inescapable than violence, and that's what made me desert my faith. As for violence, if it can heal, then I love violence. And I've healed many people before you came around."
He chuckled and smirked at her. "You didn't heal me through violence, duck."
The book became softer and softer, their love making even more so. Well, soft with a yet another playful asterisk.
In the end, they built their own retreat in Rivain, with counselling, sex therapy, romantic matchmaking and love masterclasses. Masterclasses? Fenris thought. Where could he sign up?
"You're a master healer, now, duck," he said to her, very congratulatory as he raised his colourful cocktail. " 'Ave I ever said thanks?"
"No need, bozo," she said to him affectionately. "I don't think I ever healed you. I think you were the one who healed me."
"Call it even, duck," he said, chuckling.
They clinked their cocktail glasses in the sunset on the beach, and simply held hands. The last word was love.
Fenris closed the book, dizzied and thoughtful. He looked at how surprisingly little he'd read of Hard in Hightown after he go to the good part. He thought he'd better start putting in the work if he was going to read the lesbian novel. A cursory glance happily revealed no mention of dominance or submission. But he correctly feared titanic levels of pure female energy might kill his poor and foolish heart.
Hawke woke up, gleaned it was night time, looked to her left, and Fenris wasn't beside her. Somehow, she knew that was going to be the case. He could be cute all he wanted, but that didn't exactly spell love. He could want her, recite the chronicles of his sad life, bond a little more, but when did that ever guarantee a man was going to stay at your side in your time of need? She mentally sighed. That was uncalled for. She was being insecure.
She couldn't remember much ever since the battle. She remembered Anders looming over her a lot. She remembered Fenris was there… somewhere. She remembered being put to bed. She remembered having a very bad dream and that her ex-husband was in it. There was nothing more she needed to remember.
But when she looked to her side again a little further down, half a white head was leaning against the edge of the bed. Well, what do you know?
"Whatcha readin'?" Hawke said, stretching over to him.
Fenris closed the book with oddly unwarranted speed. "Hard in Hightown," he said.
"What'd you think?" she said, rubbing her eye.
"I think I'm going to kill Varric," Fenris said sulkily.
"Yeah… he didn't disguise that very well, did he?" Hawke said. She came down from her bed and rested against her nightstand. They both sat on the fluffy purple rug he got her for her birthday.
"Ferris? The bartender?" Fenris said to the book with a murderous glower. "I'm not even a side character. I'm an extra."
No 'Hey, how are you doing?', no 'Are you alright?'. Straight to 'Why did Varric not make me important enough?' What was his problem? Did he really have to be extremely emotional and/or inebriated and/or horny to show affection? Knowing why he was like had been a very helpful eye opener, but it wasn't magic. She had emotions, just like anyone else.
"You seem very hurt."
"If I had tried to disguise that, I would have done a much better job than him."
"You are pretty impressive at hiding your emotions."
So impressive he should enter a contest. What was she doing? Wearing her heart out on her sleeve, throwing it violently at things, almost throwing herself at him, and he was cooler than a fucking cucumber. Was she a hypocrite, considering her record? A little. She accepted that. She just felt she was putting in more than he was when all was well and dull. It was getting on her nerves a little. Relationships weren't defined by their melodramatic moments, but by their everydayness. She'd learned that from her parents. It was never about the fight, but about how you handled the after-fight. It was never about earth-shattering revelations or undying love confessions (hypocrite! she thought), nor the wedding, nor even the honeymoon. Not that her parents ever got to go on a honeymoon. They frequently teased them that they owed them one, and she took it to heart. But that wasn't the important thing. The important thing was… well, he was there, at least.
"Your tone suggests a compliment," Fenris said.
"I am also pretty skilled at deception," Hawke said.
And so, with characteristic chilliness, Fenris changed the subject. "Are you alright?"
"I feel like a pig shat in my head."
"What do you need? Tell me and it is done."
Well, okay… maybe he was just… too immersed in the book?
"Water," she said.
He didn't say anything. He simply went and grabbed the glass from her nightstand and gave it to her, even though it was closer to her than to him.
"Anything else?" he said. "Hungry?"
She looked up at him and his crotch. She blinked and shook it off. "Maker, no. I need a hug."
Fenris came to the floor and hugged her. She sighed on his shoulder. "How are the others?"
"All good," he said, then took a little distance from her again.
"Are you okay?" she said.
"I'm fine," he said coldly. He looked away to his right. "I have a few questions…" he said, rummaging through something. A chest. Her chest?!
"I have one, first and foremost," Hawke said, her eyebrow raising like a dagger. "Who gave you the right to look through my things?"
"I already saw most of your things two days ago. I thought I'd finish strong."
"Two days?!" She was out for that long? Mother of Andraste! She thought that was just an illusion of time going slower listening to Crowley sulk and lament from his sofa, staring at Ravena with puppy dog eyes as she rowed with Ruelle on the lake, Bucky splashing in an out as a colourful, glittery sea dragon and making them laugh. She raised a finger, containing herself. "Follow up question. You've looked through all my things?"
"I had to."
"You had to?"
What kind of obsessive psychopath was he?
"I feel like you're missing some things," Fenris said.
Oh, he feels? Stop.
"Do you not remember?"
"No. Illuminate me."
"What do you last remember?"
Properly? "Anders."
His face didn't move, but his jaw betrayed him. "You and Varric were badly hurt. We carried you to the mage's clinic." We? So, he was there… somewhere. "He could not cure you of your madness. I suggested your axolotl potion. He did not have any. I went to your house." He was only slightly, but carefully enunciating the pronouns. "Some guardsmen were at the door with a search warrant. Your mother stalled them until I could collect everything of potential danger—letters, drugs, potions and this chest, according to your dog."
"Holy shi…" Hawke said, thinking. She went across the rug and hugged him. "You are my handsome hero after all."
When she pulled away, she saw Fenris smile.
"Who led the guardsmen?"
"Brennan."
"That's rather odd."
"Perhaps Aveline ordered her to stand back from the poison attack due to her poor immunity."
"Uh… sure. Immunity. Well, either way, she owes her, and me."
"I thought you'd be more concerned."
"What was the cause of the warrant?"
"Harbouring a fugitive."
"Fucking Vanard," Hawke grumbled, covering her face. "I'm sorry, Fenris. I never intended for you to be involved in my trouble." She grimaced. "In this trouble."
"I was already involved," Fenris said coldly. He looked away. "Aveline must know who this 'fugitive' is supposed to be."
"If it's you, you know she will never let them go after you," Hawke said, taking his hand. Ugh. Don't say it. But it's the right thing, she thought. But ugh. Don't say it. "If your mansion is next, you can always stay here."
"That's not a very good idea," Fenris said. He looked away, thinking. "I have Aveline's apartment, at least."
"Not for long," she said. "I have a feeling she'll finally go home at the end of the day."
"Ah, Donnic, of course…" he said, thinking. "I will figure something out."
She let go of his hand. "Don't be stupid, Fen Fen."
"I am not being stupid. I am thinking this very carefully."
"Alright, then."
It's not like she was asking him to move in with her. In a perfect world, that was way too soon. But she needed to know he was safe, and this was the best hideout for a number of reasons. That would have been mighty ironic though, given the history of this house.
He picked up a book from the chest. "Hildegaard's Hair?" he said, showing it to her with a particularly raised eyebrow.
"Yeah, so?" she said.
"For a feminist who hates her given name and goes to surprising lengths to hide any evidence of it, you sure are fond of an antiquated children's tale." He tilted his head patronisingly. "Plus… the hair."
"My father gave it to me."
"The name, the book, or the hair?"
"All of them, I guess. I'm attached to it. The book, I mean. It has him inside. His… I don't know. His perception."
"A helpless little girl trapped in a tower? I hardly think that was his perception of you."
"It was a warning. Of where I could end up, if I didn't listen to him."
Fenris inhaled, looking away. "Petrice and her Templar were watching from afar. They were there at the side alley too, and you almost outed yourself in front of them."
"I did?" she said, her heart rushing in her throat.
"You did," he said, his jaw clenching again. "I had to take your lyrium potion to my crotch."
Hawke broke into snickers.
"It's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
"It leaked."
She was laughing now, held onto the bed. "How'd that feel?"
"Surprisingly sticky."
She was on the floor.
"This is not funny, Hawke!" he snapped. She flinched and looked up at him. The jaw was taking the spotlight. "There was a moment when I—"
When…?
"Give up the lawsuit," he said flatly.
She laughed again. "Not even if you asked me nicely."
"Would your father have approved?"
"Would my father have approved? Jee, I don't know, Fenris. Is this the Storm Age?"
"I meant as a mage. Would he have approved?"
"If it was anyone else, he would have come back to Kirkwall for an autograph. But since I am doing it, he would probably guilt-trip me with things like family and 'I didn't go through all this trouble just so you get yourself thrown in my Circle!'"
"Well, what's more important? Family or politics?" Fenris insisted.
"Whoa," Hawke said, raising her palm. "I'm doing this for family. For Arianni's family, for her boss's family, for my family, for all of them."
"Why does it have to be you, though?"
She mock-thought, chin in her hand. "Because I can. And because if everyone sat back and let history happen to them, we'd still be living in the Dark Ages licking the Imperium's boot."
"Oh, so you're Andraste in this little play."
"Don't patronise me. It's not a play. These are real lives. I'm not Andraste. I'm not leading a revolution. I'm trying to improve what we already have!"
"You want to improve something of little significance by stirring fires in an organisation with a lot of significance."
"What? You think authoritarianism and brutality is of little significance? On your own race, worst of all?"
"Don't talk to me about race. You're human. You don't know anything about race."
"Do you want to be at the head of this thing? Have at it. I'll support you."
"I'm already up to my neck in this."
"You have to take me as I am, Fenris," she said, widening her arms apart. "This is important to me. I want a world where Chantry and state are truly separated, and if they don't want separation, then they need to let mages participate as citizens. I want a world where mages and templars co-exist responsibly and peacefully. I want to see mages living in their own homes, reporting to Templar stations, getting health check-ups, lending their own magic to help people. Ban them from politics for all I care, but we've got to behave like mortal beings with one another. I want to see the Chantry welcome all the genders, all the races. I won't see it in my lifetime, but it's not about my life. You have your problems. I have mine. I want to support you. If you don't want to do the same, then I'll give you a few more."
"You mean what you say, I'll give you that," Fenris said, sighing.
"I follow my heart," she said, hand to her chest. "This is what it tells me to do. If I don't follow it, I spiritually degrade."
"I can't fight a whole Templar Order," he said sternly, brushing his hair. "I-I can't—I can't climb up your hair to free you."
"You won't have to," Hawke said chuckling. "I will meet with Meredith, and I will make sure she gives me what I want before the next hearing. And as for the hair, I changed its meaning. It's a hair of years, remember? It's got wisdom."
Feelings started to join the spotlight. The extreme feelings. The words came like cold daggers, and they had no disposition to validate her wisdom. "You will get yourself in the Circle, and I will never forgive you," Fenris said with rancour.
"I won't," Hawke said firmly. But it unseated her; his face, his tone, the choice of words. They weren't together when she started the lawsuit, but he was involved now. She had to be smarter. "Not after what the blushing lizards told us."
He seemed to calm down, but not much. "That is not enough."
"They're making more and more Tranquil," she said. "I just need to find the evidence."
"Your politics will be the death of you," he said reproachfully. His scowl competed with the jaw. "And you will be the death of me."
"How about we both stay calm and alive?"
He composed himself, and whatever fury there was, may as well had never been. "The Templars raided a mansion earlier this week and Meredith had to apologise."
"Good. I'll use that too." She looked down and pursed her lips. "Thank you for everything," she said, touching his leg briefly with her foot.
Fenris gave a slight nod, and went back to rummaging in the chest. He picked up a blade. "Why does this have 'Property of [redacted]' scribbled on it three times in a row?"
She took it from his hand and clicked a lid open, extending it up and up into a dark, simple metal staff. "Because Bethany and I kept fighting over whose it really was." She put a hand to the side of her mouth. "It was hers," she whispered.
"But you don't use staffs."
"When the need arises, I'll use anything," she said, standing up. She spun it around her arm into her other arm, rolled it in the air, and made some inoffensive magic splash out at the end.
She couldn't read Fenris's face, but something was there.
"What?" she said, annoyed.
"That was… kind of hot," he said, looking up at her and swallowing.
"Ha!" She contained her laughter, but not her wide grin. "Hypocrite!"
"It's not the magic that entices me. It's you."
"Not even a little bit?"
"No."
She stabbed the staff into the ground and made a slope of ice under his bottom. He slipped down, very annoyed.
"Alright…" he said sullenly. "I was going to be nice and overlook the most embarrassing one of all, but you've asked for it." He picked up a tarot deck from the chest and threw it in the air, looking very smug.
"I'm not embarrassed in the slightest," she said, grinning. "Death!"
"Really? Is that the card you associate with me?" he said morosely.
"How do you know that card is a card?" she said in childish mockery.
He swallowed.
She crossed her arms with a patronising twinkle. "What's the matter, Fen Fen? A closeted tarot enthusiast, are we?"
"Enthusiasm is a strong word," he said, looking away. "Curiosity never hurt anyone."
"Now I must hear about this," she said with an evil smile.
Fenris sighed, throwing the tarot deck lazily on the floor. She sat down in front of him in a lotus position with considerable eagerness.
Three years and one month ago, Wildervale
After the ugly events transpired in Tantervale, Fenris moved south. He felt stuck. He was determined to find a solid defensible position, and he was caught between Kirkwall and Ferelden. He'd heard the City of Chains mentioned to him with tired disdain, and he received it in the same manner. But a highly authoritarian Templar city sounded a lot safer than his past choices. Then again, if there was one place that hated Tevinters more than any other, it was Ferelden. He resolved he was going to be hated anywhere anyway, but it would give the hunters a lot more pause. News of the Archdemon defeat spread across towns with constant gayety and people were a lot more welcoming and tolerant, at least for a little while.
But the trouble with being a former slave was he wasn't good at making important decisions.
He had Felix's new address, and he was going to let him know on what location he decided to receive his boon. He just needed someone to confirm with him on a map where he was, and he could send the letter. The trickier part was how to read the old letters that would be sent to him from allegedly good-willed Magister Remus. He needed answers. He needed something. As far as he knew from Felix, Remus was a former apprentice who did not part with Danarius on good terms. He had left his service before the ritual. Felix claimed Remus had had some sort of involvement in the preparations of the ritual and had held onto a paper trail for leverage should Danarius ever threaten him. Remus must have known Fenris before all this. It was a disappointment that none of the hunters did, after much torture. Felix didn't know him either, but he shared a friend with Remus. After Fenris let him flee to Rivain, he promised he'd find out about his past.
It was only much later he'd concluded Danarius intercepted Remus's package and had probably killed him too. Felix stopped receiving letters, according to a very helpful Aveline a few years ago. He'd pretended he had a massive headache and his eyes were strained. It seemed to have convinced her, as she didn't pester him after that.
But wandering through Windervale at night, a little drunk and a lot miserable over a particularly unsettling night terror, and with a Chantry too big for his liking, he bulldozed straight into a psychic's shop. In truth, he thought it was a front for the apostate black market, and he was going to give them a piece of his mind.
But as soon as he went inside, the old woman at the table stared at him with an inexplicable smile. The smell of incense softened him.
"You're late," she said flatly, offering him a seat. The smile died.
"What?"
"I don't have all day, messere. Closing time was an hour ago. I am tired. And your energy is particularly overbearing."
"Right. My energy," he said sarcastically.
"I felt it all the way from Tantervale."
Fenris frowned, attempting to calculate what about him gave him away to this charlatan.
"Consequently, I can do it with you all the way there," she said, shuffling some cards. "But that would seem like bullshit."
"This is all bull—"
A card fell through. Then another.
"The cards show me mercy," the old woman said. "I cannot wait to go home."
"I cannot go home," he said. Why did he say that?
"Two of swords," she said, putting it right in the middle of the table. "You feel blind and stuck in harrowing indecision."
"Can't you just 'read my aura', or whatever you were doing earlier?"
"Do you want answers, or do you want cryptics?" she said, a little annoyed.
He didn't answer.
"Nine of swords," she said, putting the insomniac crying in her hands above a veritable fan of swords on the wall in a cross over the first card. "Already so many swords. No wonder your energy is exhausting," she complained. "You are plagued by nightmares, which makes it hard to think."
"One could see the dark creases under my eyes from Tantervale. Well before my 'energy'."
"It's dark, messere. I am a psychic, not an owl," she said, another card falling through. She put it to the south of the first. "Page of cups. There is a tender-hearted man inside you, though you are not aware of him."
"Why are you saying the card names out loud?" he said, deflecting. Could she see through his hidden skills, or lack thereof?
"So you can research them for yourself should you not believe me."
"I will not believe you, period."
"Judgement," she said, sliding the next fallen card to his left. "You did a bad, bad thing, messere. No wonder you can't sleep."
He sat down at this point, silently.
"Let's see what's on your conscious mind," she said, sliding the next fallen card to the top. "The Hermit. You're alone, in the dark, looking for the light."
"He has a lamp," Fenris said, pointing to the hermit.
"He does. He draws light from the only star in the night sky. He knows what he's looking for. It's simply so very dark."
The psychic touched the first card, of the blindfolded woman crossing two swords in her hands. "Your soul is stuck here, between two swords, two ideas. You're blind. You don't have enough information. Consequently, the hermit is stuck too in his journey. You want to know where you should go next, then?"
"Shouldn't you know?"
"The question or the answer?"
"Both."
"You asked the question."
"I did not ask any question."
"It was asked."
"Fine. What is the answer?"
The woman shuffled the cards and nothing fell, during which time she stared at him. He crossed his arms and held onto the staring match.
"Finally…" she said tiredly, when a card fell down. "That was quite the spiritual constipation."
"Mhm," he said, unconvinced.
"The Lovers," she said, sliding it to his right. "You will meet your soulmate soon."
For the first time in his entire life, Fenris laughed hysterically.
"Something funny, messere?" the psychic said glumly.
"Hysterical," he said, waving sideways. "Next."
"Queen of Swords," she said, putting the next card at the bottom, next to the cross. "This is how you see yourself."
"I see myself as a woman?"
"Do you?"
"No."
"Congratulations, messere," she said flatly. "It is not about gender. It is about energy. Grew up with many sisters?"
"No. Move on."
"I wasn't finished. I will describe the energy, since it's gotten you so snippy. She's been through many trials. She is cold and unfeeling. Her mind is set, her personal morality unmoving. She mistakes it for objective truth."
"He. He mistakes it for objective truth." He frowned at himself. He was concerned with the wrong parts of those sentences.
An unsettling card of a black hooded skeletal horseman fell. "Death," she said, sliding it above the queen. "That's how others see you."
"An ill omen," Fenris said, nodding. "That will never change."
"People always look at Death and think of the end, but Death means change."
"That will make me feel so much better as I walk down the street."
"Now for the answer to your problems," she said, shuffling the cards.
Fenris had been sitting on some additional comments, so he filled the time of this next spiritual constipation.
"So, my 'lover' isn't the answer?" he said, with mocking air quotes.
"I will give you some advice for free, messere," she said, like a scolding teacher. "A lover is never the answer. Love, maybe."
"What's the difference?"
"One is a mere mortal that can't possibly carry you herself, while the other is a force that bears the whole world on its shoulders."
This psychic was making a serious salad of malarkey and poppycock.
"I have somewhere to be," he said impatiently, standing up.
The red card finally fell, and he did not like it at all. Not one bit.
"The Demon Prince," she said, sliding it up the column. A tall wicked demon keeping a naked man and a woman in chains.
His heart sank with a deep and soundless thud. He crossed his arms. "So, what's the answer?"
"You seem unseated, messere."
"Demons don't unseat me."
"Something did."
"The chains, I suppose."
"Then that's your answer."
"I am not going back in chains," Fenris said grimly.
"You said you have somewhere to be, messere," the old woman said, pointing to it impatiently. "Kirkwall. The City of Chains."
"It can't be that simple."
"It is very si—" The last card flew down with a fury. "The Sun." She placed the card above the chains. He was sweating now.
"What does that mean?"
"It is the outcome. You will be happy."
Fenris laughed hysterically again. "That is neither here nor there in relation to my question."
"The cards disagree. You need more information. The Sun has the information, and it's in Kirkwall."
"The sun is everywhere."
"It's above Kirkwall," she said, adjusting it primly.
"Do I look happy?" he said, annoyed.
"No, messere. It looks like a long, tiring journey to get there. I pity your lover."
"I pity her too."
"Beware of self-fulfilling prophecies, messere." She looked down at the cards. "Do you have fault with the cards?"
"I have two particular major problems."
"Only two?"
"Yes. One with this lover, and the other with the chains."
The old woman laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"You have major problems with major arcana cards."
He raised an eyebrow. "I don't get it."
"A fellow psychic might. This will kill at our next get-together." She took a smaller deck and tapped it a couple of times on the table. She shuffled them and a card flew out on the floor. "The World," she said, putting it on top of the Lovers. "That's your lover."
"I will fall in love with the world?"
"That seems highly unlikely. The more plausible thing is that she is larger than life, or perhaps cares too much about everything."
"That sounds terrible," he said flatly.
"Sounds like some strong shoulders," she said, shuffling. "But don't let it get to your head." Last card came flying on the floor too. "The Fool," she said, putting it over 'Kirkwall'.
"So, I'll do something foolish there?"
"You must become a fool. Start anew there."
"I already am a fool."
"I don't believe that for a second, messere," she said, pointing to the Queen of Swords. "You've been through enough."
Hawke was on the floor laughing. "You came to Kirkwall because a psychic told you to?!" she said, cackling and coughing.
"Stop," Fenris said tiredly. It was his third attempt to make her stop, and he knew he was losing.
"I can't. I will never!" Hawke said, laughing with delight.
"I was going to anyway, more or less. This just seemed like a divine nudge," Fenris said.
"A divine nudge? Fenris, you know tarot is banned by the Chantry."
"And I was cancelled in the eyes of the Maker. It seemed only appropriate."
"And?" Hawke said cockily, hand under her chin. "Did you meet your lover?"
Fenris gave a small chuckle. "Well, you are larger than life," he said, rolling his eyes. "And you care too much, about everything."
"You said that sounded terrible," she said, chuckling. "Don't tell me you changed your mind because a tarot card told you to."
"That did sound terrible," he said, smiling a little. Then the smile turned into a dark grin. "But I am a fool for you."
"Woof," Hawke said sultrily, crawling towards him. She was about to kiss him when she saw the book he had been trying to blot out all this time. "That's not Hard in Hightown!"
After some resistance and struggle, he hid behind his bangs and scratched behind his neck. "Fine, you caught me."
"You're reading Crimson & Clover!" she said gleefully, taking the book.
With odd speed, Fenris snatched the book from her hands and held it to his chest. "I'm not finished!" he said. He lowered his gaze on the book. "Mary just broke up with Belle."
"Aww, there's the sad puppy eyes!" Hawke said, smiling.
Fenris glowered at her. "It's not fair," he complained to the book. "They made so much sense together."
"Are you more of a Mary or a Belle?" she said with a curious eyebrow.
Fenris scoffed. "I'm a Mary."
"Well, she had her reasons," Hawke said, shrugging. "Belle wouldn't leave her husband and her title. She just wanted Mary to dissolve into her own world at court."
"True, but Mary didn't give her enough of a reason to consider a different path. She is just too obsessed with her ex-lover's killer," Fenris said.
"Wouldn't you be?"
"The killer is irrelevant. Nina was run over by a horse-drawn carriage that didn't stop. There's hardly any case for intent there. The glaring blindspot in Mary is that she doesn't see it was her own fault for letting Nina storm out in the night after Mary said those hurtful things."
"Maybe Mary is hung up on her still, and blames herself, so she needs to find someone else to blame."
"Mary should have a good hard look in the mirror."
"Alright," Hawke said, chuckling. "Well, the story's not over."
"It better not," Fenris said, putting down the book. "I am seriously invested now."
He could not possibly get any cuter, she thought.
"Speaking of which…" Fenris said, picking up another book from his right. He held Escape From The Void toward her. "Care to explain this?"
Hawke's heart sank and she was sweating. "Right… that's, err… not what you think."
"Oh, I've read it," Fenris said, his eyes unfaltering. "Cover to cover."
"Oh, boy," Hawke said, her shoulders sinking.
He shook the book toward her. "This book was a bait and switch, and a good one at that. But what does it say about those baited by it?"
"Well, I suppose it makes people take a good hard look at why they enjoy their kinks, where they come from, etc. Reminds them not to glorify them nor take them lightly."
Fenris raised a cutting eyebrow. "So you have a master-slave kink?" he said, his voice deep and sharp.
"Maker, no!" Hawke said, her eyes coming out of their sockets. "Isabela gave it to me about a month ago." She decided to leave out the part where the pirate jokingly suggested to take it as preparation material for bedding Fenris. "She hated it, which made no sense to me, so I kept reading, and then I got to the good part."
"Hmph," he said, thinking. "I suppose that makes sense."
"Oh, boy… you must have had a hard couple of hours. Why did you keep reading?"
"Because I needed to know what was in your head, and you were unconscious, so… I had time."
"Right… of course." Hawke shrugged, pointing at herself. "Not that depraved. Sorry to disappoint."
"But you do have inclinations," Fenris said, scanning her.
She didn't exactly hide it over the years. He probably saw her bottom drawer too. Knew she wasn't all talk. He never exactly rejected the idea, either.
She put a hand at the back of her hair. "I do…" she said, pursing one corner of her mouth. "I like exchanging power. It's hot. It's like sexual alchemy. I like the fluidity of roles."
Fenris scoffed. "That Tal-Vashoth thought she was so enlightened for changing roles, but she just replaced one role with another. It was still the Qun. And it still presumed everyone can be cured by submitting."
"Well, no, not everyone," Hawke said. "The retreat was mainly designed for people who were involved in real world violence, and thought filtering their violent natures through sex would pacify them in the real world."
Fenris chuckled. "Then it makes perfect sense they were never attacked by the Qunari. The Arishok would congratulate them for doing a service to the Qun by weakening the South's warriors."
She laughed. "You're not wrong," she said, sighing. "I think it would have worked better if they had diversified their services, the dynamics, etc. Maybe they did in the end. It was a little vague."
"So…" Fenris said, putting his fingers together. "What's the worst dynamic I could expect from you?"
Hawke laughed nervously, scratching her head. She was not ready to talk about that, but he cornered her. "I don't know. I suppose the farthest I would go is calling someone Daddy/Mommy." She left out the part where it she was good with it the other way around, because at this point it was clear that his pendulum struck violently to the other side.
Fenris frowned. "That's… that's got to be more fucked up."
"Why?"
"Because… incest?"
"Oh, grow up. It's not incest," she said irately, taking the book from him. She scratched the cover a little, thinking. "It's like saying the dominant and/or top is a big softie. They're not some cruel and cold torturer, nor are they truly there to assert authority. They know they have it, so they give up some of it. They care about the submissive. It's more about… I don't know… offering care?" Then a thought came over her, and it was so hilarious she couldn't for the love of Andraste stop it from coming out. "Like you with your flowers."
"What? No! See, now you're making me all confused!" Fenris said, holding his head.
Hawke laughed joyfully. "Good!"
"Then again," Fenris said, hugging his knees. "I think my defining trait is that I am always in a state of confusion."
"No problem," Hawke said, laughing. "I'll put that on your tombstone. 'Fenris, 9:04 Dragon to 9:something Dragon' and just '?' underneath."
Fenris laughed with his eyes closed, his nose wrinkling. "Perfect. What shall yours be?"
"Hawke, 9:06—"
"Just Hawke?"
"Just Hawke," she said, gesturing writing in the air. "9:06 Dragon to 9:something Dragon, and an arrow pointing to your tombstone saying 'I'm with stupid'!"
Fenris chuckled, his head falling back. "I should have seen that one coming."
She chuckled with all her teeth, very amused, but it seemed she really planted a trick cog inside his brain. He was shaking his head with his eyes pressing shut and he raised a finger again. "Wait… so the submissive is like a child?" he said, scowling.
"Ew, no," she said in disgust. "More like, I don't know, a goofball to take care of and punish playfully."
His eyes narrowed, full of suspicion. His left eye almost closed, as if he saw what she was doing, and he couldn't decide how to feel about it.
To be fair, she would have disguised it better had she not bit her lip during her explanation.
"So what kind of submissive are you?" Fenris said with narrowed eyes.
Hawke prepared her hands apart professorially. "On the spectrum of power exchange, where this end is like a pure submissive that just gives up all their power, I'm err… I guess I'm at the other end," she said, shaking her other hand. "A brat."
He frowned and squinted, because that word came up before. "That's a real thing?"
"Yep," she said, smiling playfully. "It's the most difficult and resistant of submissives. The dominant has to earn their power." Fenris listened and raised a thinking eyebrow. "On the bright side, they are so annoying that they easily give the dominant a reason to punish them, if that makes sense."
The eyebrow came back down in a frown. "This is confusing me," he said tensely.
She grinned evilly. "You're cute when you're confused."
"So… I am always cute."
"Incredibly so now."
Fenris shook his head in contained amusement and looked to the ceiling. "You're a pain in my arse, Hawke."
"Hey, now, that feels like skipping a few steps!" Hawke said, going in a fit of chuckles on the floor.
"Shut up," Fenris said in-between laughter.
"Ah, ah," she said, raising a finger. "You can't tell me to shut up. You're not my Daddy."
"Stop," he said, face-palming.
She went on with her chuckle fit, and when she calmed down, she looked up at him from the floor and said, "Speaking of words with different meanings… do you think we should have a safe word?"
"I know this…" Fenris said, uncrossing his legs and thinking. "A memorable word that means truly stopping everything."
"Yes. Feels like we need one, since I'm a pain."
He scoffed, grinned a little. "Certainly the only pain I enjoy."
"Arse pain? Noted," she said, closing her eyes and nodding patronisingly.
He snickered, hugged his knees and looked away. "Let's see…"
"It can't be something disgusting, but it also can't be dull or something you'd say during."
"Something ridiculous like you, adorae?"
"A little less ridiculous, perhaps. But remember!" she said, raising a finger. "You can't use it as a joke in banter, so really think about it. It has to be the true letter of order in times of chaos. Don't get all poetic, 'cause it will—"
His eyebrows twitched, which she annoyingly knew meant… "You're gonna be poetic, aren't you?"
"No…"
She half-picked herself up, pulled him to her and she climbed on top of him. "Yes, you are, you fucking liar! I can see it on your face!"
He shrugged under her, his arms rising a little on the floor. "Alright, it's a little poetic."
"Here we go," she said, sighing and sitting down in earnest on him. There was a lot to sit on, as it turned out. That made no sense. She glanced briefly at a mirror. No, that definitely didn't make any sense.
"Sunset," Fenris said.
"You and your fucking Sun!" Hawke whined, her head falling back.
"It makes perfect sense," he said with an annoying little index finger. "I've always wanted to feel the warmth of the sun."
"Yes, yes, and you never do. Which makes 'sunset' meaningless. You're in a state of permanent sunset."
"You are so, so wrong," Fenris said with a languid blink.
"Pray tell, have you 'felt the Sun'?" Hawke said, blinking mockingly.
Out of the blue, Fenris rolled them and came on top. "Yes… You make me spin."
It felt nice. Like a true little sleepover. Sitting up all night talking. Something might happen, something might not, but they had intimacy, and she loved that. Love itself could wait, she decided. Saying the words out loud was overrated. She'd heard them a million times, and were they truly meant? Did they really count for anything? Deeds, not words, as Aveline would say. She was in her head now. She would say to her annoyance, in his defence, that if she'd heard the words a million times and barely felt them real, maybe with this one, she wouldn't have to hear them. She would just feel them. Enjoy the silence.
Hawke took him by the forearms, biting her lip. "If I wasn't so fucking ill, I'd so take you for a spin right now."
"That's alright," Fenris said. Seeing his full smile was a little devastating. He came down and kissed her. "It is not a race to the end."
"Not at all."
He pulled her up to him and she was surprised when he hugged her out of his own free will. It was a weird, long hug.
"You're a big softie, aren't you?" Hawke said, chin on his shoulder.
"Well… now that I'm off you…" Fenris said. She could feel his smirk behind her.
He was a big softie underneath all that empire of icicles, she thought. He could deny it all he wanted.
"You can be on me a little longer. I think it's nice," she said.
"Whatever you need, it is done." He climbed back on, smiling down at her.
"Really? Whatever?"
Fenris looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes and inhaled. "I am not responding to that name."
"What name?"
"You know which."
"The name that must not be named."
"It must not. I am having enough trouble as it is."
"I am not calling you that name." She smirked. "In the bedroom."
"Hawke…" he whined with the cutest eyes. "Stop confusing me."
"Sorry, I can't help it sometimes."
"How would you feel if I called you Mommy, hmm?"
Hawke raised an eyebrow, thinking. "I'd find that deeply inconsistent with everything I know about you."
"You're a big softie, too, though," he said, and immediately grimaced at his slip of the tongue.
She snorted. "Yeah. I made Aveline a friendship bracelet and gave it to her in front of all of you. It wasn't like that was a state secret."
He shook his head, amused. "You have no shame, do you?"
"You only live once," she said, shrugging. "And it's not a shame to be soft-hearted. But I'll keep your secret," she said, winking.
Fenris looked a little vulnerable. He gazed to his side. "Good." He smacked his lips tiredly. "And yes, that is deeply inconsistent with me."
"Cool beans," she said, shrugging. "I don't even know what I'd call you in that situation."
"Ho, ho, like Void are you calling me what I'd think you'd be calling me in that situation," he said, taking her arm. "See this arm?" he said calmly. "I will bite it off."
Hard limits. Good on him. He'd come a long way since Seheron.
"Ho, ho, settle down big bad wolf. I'm calling you Fen Fen, and you're not in any way little."
"If you call me Daddy Fen Fen I will seriously hurt you," he said, glowering.
She smirked and raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like an invitation, Daddy Fen Fen."
Fenris came down to her, hypnotising her with his nice eyes. "If you call me that again, I will act the part and never be home."
"Ooh, smack those burns on me harder," Hawke said flirtatiously.
"Stop," he said, his head falling back.
She wasn't sure if he forgot he had the luxury of a safe word or not.
"Alright," she said, smiling. She tapped his thighs. "Besides, I don't need any of that."
"If you don't need any of that, what do you need?" Fenris said, scanning her eyes.
"Performing a survey?" Hawke said, smirking playfully.
"For the last two days, yes."
Hawke sighed, and smiled a little. "I just need someone who's there with me. Everything else is just blowing bubbles."
His eyes seemed to light up. "Blowing bubbles?"
"It's a saying in our house. Everything else is just blowing bubbles. As in something fairly unimportant but enjoyable."
She'd never seen a man look happier about not getting blown.
"Alright, you're crushing me now. Get off."
"Ask nicely."
She bit her lip, smiling. "Please get the fuck off."
"You were doing so well…" he said, shaking his head. He got off her and sat against the edge of the bed.
"Wow, that's a glower and a half," she said, coming halfway up. "Am I annoying you?"
"Incredibly so."
"Hm!" Hawke smiled. "Good to know."
Fenris buried his face in his hands. "Stop."
She made a long, loud raspberry. "Make m—"
Before she knew, she was pulled by the sweater to his lips. His hands went on her face and his tongue went softly in her mouth. He knew how to blow good bubbles, alright. He stopped the kiss softly and brushed her hair around her ear. "How are you feeling now?"
"Still pretty shit, but you made it a little better."
"Are you hungry now? Can you eat?"
"Yes, and no."
"Even so, it's been two days. You should eat something."
His deceptive eye contact didn't prepare her for the sound of buttons being undone.
Her eyebrows came up in dry surprise. "I'm wounded and you want a blowie?"
But offense was not enough. She failed temptation and looked down.
He crossed his calves along the floor, intertwined his fingers on his torso and his cock twitched left and right on its own as he gave her the most scorpionic grin. "Just something to look forward to so you get better," he said, very nonchalantly.
She liked that detached display of power. He knew he had it now. Did he know it was too much power? Could he handle it or would it go to his head one day?
Should she let it? It was tempting.
At this point, she bit her lip on the inside so hard it was drawing blood. She blinked and shook it off. "Alright. Put that thing away. I am ready for food."
"Excellent," Fenris said with a little grin.
Songs altered from Mother Mother - Hayloft, Lola Blanc - Real Boy and Mother Mother - Burning Pile