Evening, The Old Town
The stars shone through the dark celestial sheet above Markham. The moon was waxing in a little rain puddle on the cobble stone road. Hawke stepped on it.
Fenris followed, seeing his reflection in the riptide. He stomped on it.
"Do you think we're being followed?" Aveline said.
"Nah," Bull said from behind.
"If there were hunters, they would have made sure we never got our weapons back from the arena," Fenris said, also behind.
He'd been watching her ever since they left. She wouldn't look at him. He'd caught a few glimpses before; underneath the blasé attitude, there was hurt. He couldn't bring himself to walk next to her, and yet he hated it.
"I… think she meant Templars," Donnic whispered to him, leaning in.
"Or 'concerned citizens'," Hawke said, making air quotes. She did not look behind.
"Templars?" Fenris said in a worry, looking behind him, looking everywhere. "Why would there be Templars?"
No Templar will touch so much as a hair of hers on my watch, the gruff one said.
"Because you yelled at her and called her a witch?" Aveline said, her voice acidic and cold. She did not look at him either.
"What?" Fenris said tersely. "No, I didn't."
There was a cacophonous chorus of yes, he absolutely did.
A strange fear crept up over him, a metallic taste in his mouth.
Change the subject, the black wolf said.
To what?! Hey, Hawke. In a fugue state, I outed you in the middle of the World. Now, let's talk about fucking candle-making. It wasn't going to happen.
He said no such thing! the gruff one said.
He didn't… the boring band-aid bath guy said. Did he?
I would know, the gruff one said.
What the fuck do you know? the hard-up grinning lunatic said. No one knew their heads from their arses for a moment there!
Only tongue-and-cheek, the gruff one said. Never matter-of-factly.
IT IS A MATTER OF FACT THAT MAGIC FUCKS YOU UP! the half-blind man growled.
Fenris felt his body tighten and burn, as if he was back in the arena, at the initial point of impact.
Not long before that, the little demon in his brain was riding on the wings of fear and constructive a narrative—that Hawke didn't really love him. That none of this may have meant as much to her. That she couldn't possibly love him as much as he loved her because she used to really hate him once. That it could be some kind of twisted power fantasy. That she could have been playing him all this time—that she could have orchestrated that duel with the dwarf just to fuck with him!—that that whole display of hers decimating the naked man statue and saying she loved him could have been a manoeuvre to dethrone Danarius from his mind and crown herself the 'good' mistress! That the coat and boots could have been a test to gauge her power. That all she may have wanted was her eye-candy quirky guy, and once she got enough of that, she may toss him out like garbage. And look at him—he was falling right in the trap! Proving himself to her, becoming dependant on her, playing the 'bodyguard', dreaming dreams of being a househusband? How many cousins removed was that from his former occupation?! He was so blind! He was so angry.
In hindsight, all of this seemed like complete nonsense.
But at least that line of nonsense had context.
He saw something mundane and meaningless—Croaker making Trevelyan lose her armour—and he felt like his ribcage was ripping through his heart. Something awful was about to happen.
MAGIC FUCKED YOU! the half-blind man yelled inside his body. People went on talking about the 'event', though he could scarce pay attention now. The pain pulsated in his muscles, through his ribcage and it cracked at the hip, AND YOU ARE A FOOL AND YOU ARE SELFISH AND YOU DESTROY EVERYTHING YOU TOUCH!
Oh… he yelled at her, the gruff one muttered.
ΟΙ ΚΑΚΟΙ ΠΙΘΗΚΟΙ ΚΕΡΔΙΖΟΥΝ ΠΑΝΤΑ, the half-blind man growled ominously.
That's not even Tevene, the boring band-aid bath guy said.
IT IS ARCANUM FOR 'THE EVIL APES ALWAYS WIN', the half-blind man yelled.
Oh my fucking Maker. Do you have any idea what you've done? the hard-up grinning lunatic said angrily.
Hawke did not deserve that, the boring band-aid bath guy said.
He dishonoured her, the gruff one said.
"They probably thought he said 'wench'," Hawke's candid voice broke him away. Her head was turned towards Aveline. "Or, you know, that he was just being misogynistic."
"So, they probably didn't even register," Aveline said in a bored tone.
"Saved by the patriarchy!" Hawke said flippantly.
"Yay," Aveline said insincerely.
"Dear, patriarchy," Hawke said in a sweet, sarcastic tone. "Thank you for my freedom. I shall use it wisely. I'm going back to the kitchen now. That's where all the knives are—"
"It's not funny," Fenris said flatly. He did a serious, awful thing. He'd just become a thousand times uglier in the mental mirror.
Hawke's cold laugh crept down his spine. "Fenris, it's so not funny that I'm going to make it funny, or I'll start crying right here in the middle of the street!"
Or he was.
"I… need to clear my head," Fenris said, brushing up his bangs. He outwalked them.
Evening, The Laughing Fox
The candlelight glowed in the round stained-glass windows of laughing foxes on violet walls. Upstairs, the round windows were of sleeping foxes curled up into themselves. Downstairs, underneath a painting of a fox smelling a flower, a woman sang along the sweet and swirling sound of her mandolin. It was a precious tavern.
With a delightful assortment of beautiful booze…
Hawke ordered a pitcher for the group, and she was already on her third tankard. The first two just kind of disappeared out of thin air.
"After this one, you're cut off," Aveline said.
"Why?" Hawke whined dramatically. "I need like… nine pints to get drunk. At least."
"Please," Aveline said, chuckling with a grimace. "That may have been true when you were a drunk, but it's been a while now. You'll be kissing the table soon."
"Well maybe I want to kiss the table," Hawke said, hands on her hips. "Maybe it has a great personality."
"Plus, it's all wood, right?" Bull said, chuckling. "What more do you need?"
Well, it would be nice if the table didn't hate her.
"Thanks for sticking around," Hawke said, raising her pint.
"Hey, no problem," Bull said candidly.
"I'm sure you pictured your evening a little differently," Aveline said, drinking.
"Trouble finds me no matter where I go," Bull brushed it off. "Don't think there's much to worry about, though," he said, looking to his side. "Right, Krem?"
Krem wasn't paying attention. He'd been transfixed on the minstrel since tankard #2. His throat would move when the music crescendoed. Wait… where was his Adam's apple? It was at this point Hawke became blue in the face with the worry she may have been using the wrong pronouns.
"Okay, he's not listening to me," Bull said calmly, looking back at the others.
Hawke breathed out. She had been using the right pronouns.
"What?" Aveline said, frowning at her.
"Nothing, uh…" Hawke drawled, making a motion of relief. "Just… phew! No trouble. Well… no more trouble," she said dejectedly, rotating her tankard.
Everything was going so well! This day was such a victory! Why did it have to flop like that? Urghh.
She was proud of Fenris for wanting to get better, and she was so happy to see him grow into himself, express himself, embrace his weirdness and laugh it off.
But it hurt her. It hurt her so much. That word, the way it was said, that whole reaction just… it made her skin crawl, made her see red, made her heart black. But in that moment, it wasn't anger that rose to the surface. It was fear.
All that bitchy bullshit, the hateful rhetoric, all the dehumanising propaganda of the past—in hindsight, they had been laughable peanuts compared to the very real, very visceral way in which Fenris acted against her. Like she was bad, like she was dirty, like she meant him harm.
Was it a mistake to touch him in a state like that? Yes. Was it generally a bad idea to come at Fenris from behind? Absolutely. She knew she wasn't blameless.
But still… it hurt.
If he'd yelled, "Don't touch me!" she would have understood. Why did it have to be, "Don't touch me, witch!" Never before had he put so much distance between himself and her, to the point she felt reduced to a two-dimensional boogey woman. Was that really what she amounted to when all the other mundane layers of personhood paled in the spotlight of adrenaline? At least the 'clown mage' of old had character. Was this how Anders felt? No wonder he hated him. There was no shipping those two for laughs. It was too sad.
She drank her pint pondering these things, and she found it surprisingly hard to detach from the hurt. She couldn't put herself in his shoes. He would have to say his part and say it eloquently, because it was just too hard to think.
After all, it was one thing to see that hateful face in ignorant strangers. It was another to see in your boyfriend, who cared for you and knew everything about you.
That was scary.
"If you need to cry about it, I'm big and cuddly," Bull said, opening his arms a little.
Hawke looked at him. "Yeah, you're really not my type."
"Maybe you should be cut off, chief…" Krem said, slowly taking away his pint.
"Oh, look who decided to join us again," Bull said snarkily, resting an elbow atop the chair. "Can you leer any more obviously?"
Krem cleared his throat, grinning. "Well… she's very leer-worthy."
"So, ask her out."
"I'm not going to ask her out. I'm not a creep."
"Were you planning on saying something creepy?"
"I wasn't planning on saying anything."
"Yeah, just going up there and staring at her would be creepy."
"Will you leave it be?" Krem said, laughing in annoyance. "We have the gay burlesque show tonight."
"So?" Bull said candidly. "She could come with. The same goes for you ladies."
"No, thanks," Hawke said grumpily, jaw in hand. "I'm not feeling very gay right now."
Fenris walked aimlessly through the crooked stone streets aswarm with nobles, peddlers and beggars. No plan on the outside, no feeling on the inside. The moon continued its sonata of rain on his hood.
It was terrible. There was nothing. There was nothing, and yet there was so, so much, and far away. Like the soft murmur of thunder off in the distance. His heart beat still with the after-shock, but there was a heaviness in his chest and his hip was killing him.
Then a couple walked past him. A young nobleman carried his lady on piggy-back as she held onto a ridiculous pair of shoes. But they were laughing.
That could have been them laughing right now. What the fuck was he doing?
He was so angry. Emotional tumours ballooned up inside him without any warning and he ruined everything!
He just found himself inexpressibly angry and bothered by that performance in the arena, and that the crowd continued cheering in constant gaiety raised his anxiety to the point he forgot where he was, who he was with and why he was even there. Couldn't tell Markham from Minrathous. But there was no recognition. There was only the immensity of the feeling, and the wind coming from the north.
Thinking back on it, the way it manifested inside him, it was wildly insufficient for it to be called a 'flashback', as Bull put it. There should have been… more. Images, sounds, something, some kind of association that would justify him behaving like a raving lunatic, but there was none. He just felt like he was 'back' there, and something bad was going to happen. When? Where? What? Who fucking knew? There were only feelings. Vast, painful, unknowable feelings. Like a tidal wave approaching. They needed to stop.
Then he felt it, a black pit burning through his gut at the memory of him shoving Hawke's hand away. Did he really yell at her and call her a witch in front of thousands of people? He must have. He just couldn't remember it. Merely that he was scared and he wanted so very desperately to leave. That the world was going to swallow him whole. That someone was pulling him back in the maw of the monster. That whomever tried to pull him back was surely a mage, and they did not mean well. That he was filled with hate.
HATE? the half-blind man said ominously. WHO KNOWS THE DARK CURRENTS WHERE LOVERS GO?
Do not talk out of your arse, paranoid fleshbag, gruff one said in annoyance.
He would never hurt her.
And yet, you did, the black wolf said. This is what you do. You hurt people.
YOU FUCK PEOPLE! the half-blind man said.
You are not good for her, the black wolf said.
YOU'RE NO GOOD FOR ANYONE! the half-blind man echoed.
Fenris woke up staring at his reflection through a tavern window in the rain, suddenly dizzy and unable to remember where he was or what he was doing. Laughter came beyond the golden swarm of rain droplets shining in the streetlight. Then he saw his face again. He looked sad.
Look at you, the black wolf said disapprovingly. You're useless.
YOU'RE MENTAL! the half-blind man yelled.
You are a danger to the ones you love, the black wolf said.
LOVE IS TERROR! the half-blind man lamented. SHEER TERROR. PANIC AND SCREAMING!
You deserve to be alone, the black wolf said.
YOU WILL DIE ALONE! the half-blind man said.
Born alone, die alone, the black wolf said.
He felt himself going down the doom spiral, saw himself sinking deeper and deeper as if he was floating outside of his own body—a stupid, hateful, useless fuck.
Enough, the boring band-aid bath guy said. You are the same parts who made him behave that way.
HOW DARE YOU, YOU BLAND, GREY TOWEL! WE WERE PROTECTING HIM— the half-blind man said.
From what? The absolutely nothing that was going on? the boring band-aid bath guy said.
His Adora? the hard-up grinning lunatic said angrily.
Yes, Adora. The 'evil' witch, the gruff one said sarcastically.
IT WASN'T ABOUT HER, the half-blind man said. IT WAS ABOUT ALL MAGES.
Who will lie to you, brainwash you, control you and break you, the black wolf said.
Fenris stopped in his walk, halfway along a stone bridge. The moonlit river rippled in water cups under the rain.
Don't listen to them, the boring band-aid bath guy said. You freaked out. You dissociated. Old hate filled in the blanks.
SO. MUCH. HATE! the hard-up grinning lunatic complained. I can't work with this!
He looked down, nothing in his vision beyond wet strings of white hair and a violent downpour in the dark water.
I don't know what to say, the gruff one said dejectedly.
He clung to the balustrade, his eyes glazing over the distorted mass of stars in the river.
Was there really anything left to say?
Everything and everyone that you hate is engraved upon your heart, the boring band-aid bath guy said.
And he wanted so very much to get away from the hate. But he had only one heart, and where there was beauty, there was ugliness.
If you want to let go of something, if you want to forget, you cannot hate, the poet said.
He did not want to hate.
IF NOT THE MAGES, IF NOT THE IMPERIUM, IF NOT THE HUMANS, THEN WHO IS THERE LEFT TO HATE? the half-blind man shouted.
Yourself, the black wolf said, a pang of pain rippling through his chest.
Don't listen to him, the boring band-aid bath guy said. None of this matters right now. You can wax poetic about how sad you are and how much you hate yourself later.
Haven't I suffered enough? the poet complained.
His hands came together over the balustrade, the cold air seeping through his sleeves. His thumb gently brushed the soft red band around his wrist.
You must make up for the hurt you've caused her, the gruff one said.
You must think about her feelings, the boring band-aid bath guy said.
You must own your mistake, like a man, the gruff one said.
Like a good man, the boring band-aid bath guy corrected.
And so, Fenris finally felt like he could breathe again. It wasn't full, it wasn't rhythmic, but it was something.
He just felt incredibly sad now, thinking how she must have felt. A flash of her fearful, widened eyes on him strangled his heart like he was doing it himself. It's wasn't fun and games. It was reality. It was a big, fat, painful slice of reality he didn't know how to contend with. He could feel his tear ducts burning him from the inside.
If you can't let go… let it in, the poet said.
Don't you mean out? the boring band-aid bath guy said.
No, the poet said.
Think about something else, the black wolf said.
No, he wasn't going to do that. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. He walked on with the feeling, even as it was terrible. He carried it in his breast pocket.
Evening, The Laughing Fox
While Bull left to play wingman for Krem, Aveline became very… shifty. She took a seat in front of her.
"Hawke, I… I didn't want to say anything before, to protect his privacy, but…" Aveline said, staring at her drink, "Fenris has been acting strange."
Hawke looked at her. "Well, that narrowed it down."
"Alright…" Aveline sighed. "Donnic said he loves me."
Hawke blinked, failing to connect the two. "That's... great news, right?"
Aveline's face did not agree. "I didn't say it back," she said, hugging the tankard.
"Oh," Hawke said flatly. Great. Another one. "Shit."
Oh, shit! She had given Donnic some very crap advice. No wonder he was so passive aggressive with her the other day! She'd thought it was because Aveline or Fenris may have let slip about her… situation.
But, no. Donnic was not the mage-phobe she was looking for.
"Uhm… so that's my fault…" Hawke said, scratching her head.
"What?" Aveline said, frowning.
"He asked me the other day for advice, because he wanted to tell you he loved you…" Hawke said, her shoulders curling up. "And uh… well… I thought you were good for it, since you said you'd moved on."
Aveline face-palmed.
"M'bad…" Hawke said quietly, hugging and staring at the tankard.
"I was ready to date, not to get married," Aveline complained.
"Since when does love require marriage?" Hawke said, laughing. "Wait…" she said, squinting. "Weren't you ready to send goats to his mother or something?"
"Well, what in the Void did I know?" Aveline snapped. She softened, looking down. "What did I know?"
"So, you're not in love with him?" Hawke said, raising an eyebrow.
"I… am, but…" Aveline sighed, closing her eyes. "I just… that demon really messed with my head. I…" she said, rubbing her forehead. "I've had to grieve all over again."
Hawke exhaled through her nose heavily, filled with sadness. "I'm sorry, Aveline."
"Thanks," Aveline said, nodding to herself. "I just… don't know if I can open up about it all."
"Is he starting to ask questions?" Hawke said.
"His only question is 'Why are you sad?'," Aveline said, chuckling. "And I hate the answer."
"Aveline…" Hawke said, taking her hand gently. "There's no pressure to open up. From anywhere," she said, shrugging. "You're just giving yourself a problem."
"Maybe I am…" Aveline said, looking down and scratching her forehead. "It just became… all too much, all of a sudden. If I say I love this man, then I have to say goodbye to Wesley once and for all."
"Why?" Hawke said, frowning.
"What do you mean why?" Aveline snapped.
Hawke sighed, pondering her answer. "I don't think you have to let go of his memory. I think there's enough room in your heart for both of them."
"But it's not fair," Aveline said sternly.
"Fair's for fairy tales," Hawke said, making a raspberry. "This is real. Life is hard enough as it is. And he was such a big part of yours. You don't need to give him the boot."
Aveline didn't speak.
"Wesley will live in your heart forever," Hawke said, taking both her hands. "Keep him there. You wouldn't be the woman you are now without him."
"I suppose I could…" Aveline said, thinking. "I could take Donnic with me, to his grave."
"Yeah," Hawke said. "I think that's an excellent idea. Share the burden. He'll understand." She leaned back in her chair. "He'll probably feel relieved."
Aveline grimaced unsurely.
"It's not like he can compete with a dead man," Hawke said, opening her palms. "This is your pain. And your happiness. This is all part of you. And he loves you. He will have to love it all."
Aveline smiled a little. She leaned back in her chair. "Why didn't I just find you earlier?"
"I'm sure you had other shit to deal with," Hawke said, drinking. "But what does this have to do with Fenris?"
Evening, The Knight of Cups
At first he thought the tavern was called The Knight of Roses, and the hanging sign was of an armoured knight holding the eponymous flower, so he approached with a sense of wonder. But it was a drunken Knight of Cups, the red coming from the wine spilling from his multiple goblets. He still went in, because the cold seeped into his bones.
He sat down at the bar. The tavern was filled with would-be-knights, barging in loudly drunk off their arses from the Grand Tourney. It was not a bar for the enlightened likes of the knights of roses. This was where all the washed up jerks went.
"What can I get ya?" the bartender asked, whose mutton chops needed a good oiling.
"Are you perhaps still making coffee?" Fenris asked.
"Uh, yes. Still got some in the pot—" the bartender said, making to leave for it.
"I would like a new pot, brewed a specific way."
"Is there more than one way to brew coffee?" the bartender said, chuckling.
"Yes," he said flatly.
The bartender stared at him. "What shall it be then?"
"I would like the coffee brewed from cold in the pot and stirred constantly until foam forms at the top and it boils," he said, gesturing. "I would like you to take the pot off when that happens, take the foam and put it at the bottom of the cup, then bring the pot back on the fire for a second boil."
The bartender looked at him as if he were not all there, mentally.
"Please and thank you," Fenris said, sliding an extra silver.
The bartender didn't break eye contact as he took the money, then slowly left.
Was that awkward? the hard-up grinning lunatic said.
I honestly can't tell anymore, the boring band-aid bath guy said.
Who gives a shit? the gruff one said.
I can't say I'm broken up about it, the boring band-aid bath guy said.
So, it's just me? the hard-up grinning lunatic said.
Why do you care? You're not trying to sleep with him, the gruff one said.
I'm learning, the hard-up grinning lunatic said.
In the meantime, Fenris opened his notebook. Valeria's face came in his mind, though her words were lost in a salad of internal dialogue. He knew he had to write this down. He just needed to find a blank page among the endless lists of annoying shit Hawke did.
See? Knowledge is power. I'm a sexual historian, the hard-up grinning lunatic said.
Take a break, PhD. You're not needed tonight, the boring band-aid bath guy said.
If he fails at dialogue, and history says he will, I may have to come in, the hard-up grinning lunatic said.
The gruff one scoffed. He won't be doing the slapping tonight.
Fenris frowned.
Hmm… the hard-up grinning lunatic said.
Fenris raised an eyebrow.
Turn the damn page, the gruff one said.
He shook it off, and turned the page. This was just silly. If he was going to get slapped, he was going to get slapped the right way—fully clothed and standing straight.
He turned another page, and started writing down his feelings. Everything. What triggered them, how it felt, the sensations in his body, the thoughts that arose from it.
He felt like there was pain inside him he hadn't even met yet. That he'd been walking around all this time in serious denial of the fact his memory was coming back. Only it wasn't. It was just… there, somewhere, cut off from him but he wasn't cut off from it. It was there, in vague shadows of the past, pulling at his heart strings. It ruled him in ways he never wanted anything or anyone to rule over him again. But could he rise above it?
Yes, you can, the boring band-aid bath guy said. Because you and I made a pact. Whatever happens, you will learn to live like a free man. You have already risen above so much. Andraste is testing you again. Six years I've done nothing but get you out of bed in the morning, even as you felt like shit. We stick together and we'll make it through.
How do you know your life won't be better when it's upside down? the red band said, shining on his wrist.
His coffee was half gone, and he'd filled five pages. He picked up the notebook and stared at it all. It felt smaller, rather than bigger than he was. He felt like he was overviewing the thread. He was on a journey, and this was a bump in the road he could learn from. There was a part of him that wanted to break free, and there was another part that understandably devoted all its energy to stopping that from happening. And in the middle, there was him… like a scared child, bearing frozen witness… unable to discern whether he was thirty or thirteen. But he wasn't alone.
Before the Great First Kiss of Justinian 6, 9:34 Dragon, he and Hawke were becoming very close. He fought it, questioned it, ignored it—nothing worked. He was already compromised, but the remaining resistance came from three things: 1) That he was afraid to get that close with someone—it meant giving away parts of him the other would have power over and he was opening himself to hurt; 2) That he had no idea what he was doing; 3) That he liked a mage.
It wasn't a problem that she was a mage. Hawke was a strong mage with sky-high morals and she had little arrogance about her power—Fenris was proud to serve her, and he wore it on his belt. The problem was him. That he would fall for a mage. With his past, it was a matter of pride. He just didn't want to be that guy.
It raised questions.
Or worse, it could make him question his beliefs.
Like what if it wasn't about nature, but nurture? Kirkwall had problems, but it couldn't hold a candle to such a widespread infection of toxicity and nihilism as there was in Tevinter. No one believed in the Maker. Not even the Divine himself. In one breath they said, "Love thy neighbour and treat him as you would your own," and in the next, "Slaves, be obedient to your human masters with fear and trembling, in sincerity of heart, as to Andraste". The woman who brought a world together against slavery and mage supremacy inspired generations of future slave masters to take her name in vain in order to breed obedience in the non-mage population and the entirety of his race. This was a world where bodies had value and a person's life very little. It was a world where the struggle to resist consorting with demons was done in a morning's shit. Absolution from sin was a mass-produced perishable good. It cost you a candle and a tithe, or new hooves for the entire clergy's horses if it really got out of hand. It was a world where Templars served the interests of a few elite mages and the Soporati and the slaves just had to get. in. line.
What if it mattered how you grew up and what influences you had? What if it mattered what kind of culture you lived in, and how supportive your parental figures were, if you even had them? If the nature of people was weak, was it not important to build each other up? Was it not crucial to inspire each other?
He feared that kind of philosophy would soften him in the face of very real danger, but at least that way of looking at the world made Hawke seem like an ordinary person wearing blossoms and scars of experience rather than the weird forest fairy he often couldn't help picturing her as.
In the end, the desire to be happy trumped both pride and fear. He did not like how he was turning out. He decided to change things. What if he 'forgot' his past for a little while, like it was all a bad dream? A secondary, willed amnesia. All he knew was that he knew nothing. Time to build a new foundation of ideas. Have a think. Have… emotions, even? Be… bold?
His body began to move, so he kissed her. His mind began to dream, so he let it. His heart began to need her, so he opened it.
And a whole mess of crap came out, the black wolf said disapprovingly.
But so many good things too, the boring band-aid bath guy protested.
Beautiful things, the poet said.
Glorious things, the hard-up grinning lunatic said.
Interesting… things, the gruff one said.
It was truly riveting. And he really felt he was in a new chapter in his life. He saw it as a gift, and he wanted to hold it very, very close. The feeling of making someone happy, the feeling of being loved (whether it was deserved or not), the feeling of being with her—it left him looking up in awe and wonder at this terrible, beautiful world.
But now there is caveat #4: That you could hurt her, the black wolf said. You have witnessed the evidence this evening.
Doesn't that make them equal? the gruff one said. Peace endures when everyone has weapons of mass destruction.
The longer he lingers, the greater the pain when this relationship goes to Fuck-All Borough, the black wolf said. Everyone saw it. They put their money on it.
His heart sank with a deep thud. Maker, it could go to Fuck-All-Borough, couldn't it?
Forget the darkest timelines—this one was dark indeed, and it was staring right at him. A black hole of life without Hawke coming nearer and nearer with every coffee sip, and he was terrified.
What if she didn't want to 'talk it out'?
He'll be fine, the gruff one said. He will admit to his wrongdoing and apologise, and if she decides to discontinue their bond, he will respect her choice and nod honourably. Then he will move on.
You say that with such confidence, the hard-up grinning lunatic said.
Minimise losses, the gruff one said. If shit hits the windmill, the main objective is to preserve friendship. The rest is emotional nonsense Lieutenant Boring Condom can deal with.
Fenris looked inside for willpower.
Totally… the boring band-aid bath guy said with worryingly fragile confidence.
He'll be fine, the gruff one said in lukewarm denial.
What kind of life would that be?
Without her touch? the hard-up grinning lunatic said.
Without her laughing in his arms? the poet said.
Without the playfulness? the hard-up grinning lunatic lamented.
Without the roof talks and the dancing and the bedroom singing, and all the wonderful shit they always end up doing together that came to feel like home? the poet said.
Without the future…? the boring band-aid bath guy said, suddenly dejected.
Fenris closed his notebook, and deeply breathed out.
It wouldn't…
Evening, The Laughing Fox
"I did try to find you the other day," Aveline said. "But you weren't home. I tried Fenris's house. You weren't there either. So, I turned to him for comfort."
"Ohhh…" Hawke said, narrowing her eyes. "Did he say something stupid?"
"No…" Aveline said flatly, staring at her. "In fact, he was very wise about it," she said, her eyes going through the memory. "He'd told me I couldn't dictate to my heart when it was ready. That I had a duty to it first."
Hawke looked very puzzled. "Was he… high?"
"After today, I'm sure he wasn't," Aveline said, chuckling. "I was the one who was being juvenile. I even messed with his head and made him panic because he didn't say it back to you."
"What are you like, Aveline?" Hawke said, face-palming.
"I know," Aveline said, chuckling. "I'm an idiot." Her eyes went shyly on hers. "But I told him he needn't worry."
"No, he needn't worry…" Hawke said, checking her fingernails. "About that."
Aveline sighed. "The point of the story is—he started acting strangely. He kept looking at that red band of yours." She looked away, then back at her. "As if it was… talking to him or something."
She huffed, a smile building up on her face despite her anger. "He was 'consulting' with me."
Aveline raised an eyebrow. "Sure."
"I don't think it's strange. I think it's sweet."
"Well, when I told him about our story, how we met, and… what I had to do…"
"What?"
Aveline sighed. "He started tearing up."
Hawke blinked. "Huh?"
Had to kill her husband. Had to kill his tribe.
… Maybe?
"Did he say why?" Hawke asked.
"Sympathy?" Aveline said, shrugging.
"Right…" Hawke said, pondering.
"Yeah…" Aveline said, her shoulders curling up. "I couldn't help but feel it was… personal for him."
It's just bloody nonsense deja-vu's making me dizzy, she remembered him saying tersely.
"Did he seem dizzy?" Hawke asked.
"Dizzy?" Aveline said, thinking. "He was a little dizzy. He was worn out from it all, really."
"So that's why he didn't mention it," Hawke said to herself.
Aveline shook her head in confusion.
"He mentioned having feelings of deja-vu," Hawke said. "And he does not enjoy them. Nor speaking about them."
"He did say he'd felt like he was 'all over the place lately'," Aveline said, frowning to herself.
"All over the place!" Hawke said, waving her hand dramatically.
"So that's what that was today?" Aveline said.
Hawke widened her eyes on her. "Well, it better be!" she whined loudly. "Hates magic, hurts when touched, wakes me up screaming, has weird deja-vu's, internalises his feelings, doesn't let me snack in bed—" she said, counting on her fingers. She raised her hands dramatically. "I think that's enough!"
Aveline laughed. "Well, you say you love him. Don't you have to… love it all?" she shot back.
"I can love it all and feel incredibly hurt at the same time," Hawke insisted.
"So, what are you going to do?" Aveline said, drinking.
Hawke sighed heavily. "I have no idea."
Evening, The Knight of Cups
"You take way too long to clear your head. I'm freezing," Donnic's voice came on his left.
Fenris flinched and knocked over the coffee cup on his notebook.
"For fuck's sake, Donnic," Fenris complained, trying to salvage it.
Donnic took a seat next to him and ordered an ale.
"Why did you follow me?" Fenris said flatly.
"I'm a Guard. I can't help it," Donnic said with moderately veiled sarcasm.
Fenris looked at him. Donnic smiled nonchalantly, drinking.
"I don't want to talk about it," Fenris said.
Donnic put the pint down. "I don't think anyone wants to talk about it right now."
Maker. He hadn't even thought of how this would affect everyone else.
"I ruined the trip, didn't I?" Fenris said flatly.
"There's still time," Donnic said, shrugging. "I mean, we could kill someone. That'll ruin it."
Fenris made a bored grimace. "I don't really feel like killing anyone right now."
Donnic downed his pint, making a sound of refreshment. "Do you feel like shopping?" he said nonchalantly.
Fenris looked at him. "Yes, that calms me down," he said sarcastically.
Donnic lowered his tankard. "I'm going shopping," he said vaguely, throwing some coins on the bar. "If you want you can come with," he said, his eyes fixed on him as if the message carried more weight than that.
Fenris frowned, searching for subtext through a headache. "Are you… hitting on me or something?"
Donnic frowned at him. "Are you still high?"
"Did you not serenade me at my window?" Fenris teased him.
"Oh, pfft," Donnic said dismissively. "I recited a poem, and that poem was clearly written for a girl."
"Of course," Fenris said smugly, putting his notebook back in his coat pocket. "It was for a girl," he said, making an exaggerated wink.
Donnic sighed and rolled his eyes. "Just come with me."
Evening, The Evening Market
They walked past about twelve lantern-lit stalls in the busy street when Fenris started groaning unhappily.
"Don't start," Donnic said.
"There's nothing here she would like," Fenris complained. "And you're not even talking."
"I thought you liked quiet," Donnic said, browsing a stall of various mystic paraphernalia.
"I'd rather hear you than a thousand people yelling shite," Fenris said, throwing a tarot deck in the air. "Can't you whinge about Aveline or something?"
"Does the misery of others make you feel better?" Donnic said, chuckling.
"It would make me feel better if I could help you, for a change," Fenris said, smelling a crystal. What was this even for?
Donnic smiled, looking at the creepy doll in his hand. "Fair enough," he said, putting it back. "I suppose I'm a little blue."
"Because she didn't say it back?"
"I feel like I've rushed her," Donnic said, shrugging. "I suppose I got carried away."
Fenris got distracted when he found a small wooden box with The World card painted on the lid. He was keeping that.
"That what you're getting her?" Donnic said, raising an eyebrow.
"No, that's more for me," Fenris said, then squinted and gestured, "that she could use."
"Right. That 'she' could use," Donnic teased him.
"Like all her hair bobbles and pins and 'cute rocks' she just has to pick up," Fenris said, making air quotes. "She leaves them all over the place and it's driving me insane," he said, widening his eyes and making hand claws.
Donnic laughed at him.
"What were we talking about?" Fenris said grumpily.
"Something something rushing her, getting carried away," Donnic said, sighing.
"Who wouldn't get carried away with a woman like that?" Fenris said, shrugging.
Donnic's eyebrows raised and he nodded. "Killing people would count as getting carried away."
"Old news," Fenris said in a bored tone, inspecting a fox figurine. There were a lot of them. "Today I told her I would enjoy being a househusband."
Donnic looked at him, and laughed. "I knew you liked that apron too much."
"Every joke has a grain of truth," Fenris said, smiling a little.
"Wow," Donnic said, thinking. "So you're flirting with marriage, but you still can't say three stupid words?"
Fenris shrugged, browsing. "I'm a catch, I know."
"You're just afraid," Donnic said.
Fenris pursed his lips, showing himself off with tepid enthusiasm. "The fear is founded."
"Huh," Donnic said, thinking. "I wonder if it's the same thing with Aveline."
"Just give her time," Fenris said. "Aveline always means what she says. It wouldn't be three stupid words, coming from her."
Donnic looked down, browsing a shelf of fantasy creatures. "I know. I'm afraid I can't replace the one she used to say that to."
"Bullshit," Fenris said, turning to him. "Aveline chose you. She does not choose lightly. Nor do I. I'm Team Donnic, all the way."
The guardsman smiled coyly, but it kept widening on one side. He couldn't help it now. "Thanks."
Evening, The Laughing Fox
"Aha! I win!" Aveline shouted as she stood up. She threw the cards down and they flew across the table. "Best—hic—best player ever," she mumbled, trying to high-five Bull and Hawke at the same time and missing both their hands.
Hawke sipped loudly from her Guard Captain-mandated non-alcoholic cocktail. "Woo," she said lazily.
"Woo," Aveline said, going down to pick up a card. There was a delay. "Hoo," she said, standing back up with a wobble.
"Look who I found strolling up and down the evening market," Donnic's voice came from behind.
"Hawke, you need to see this," Fenris said urgently.
"What?" Hawke said flatly, averting her gaze.
"Just trust me," Fenris said, taking her by the hand. "You can slap me right after."
"'Kay?" Hawke said, raising an eyebrow.
He took her outside. The tavern was up on a hill overlooking a steep street, the moon shining through a grey sheet of clouds. The rain had stopped, but it could return any minute now. Thankfully, that wasn't the view he had in mind. He went left, on the narrow ascending alley. And there they were, under the multi-coloured lanterns, a skulk of foxes running around, eating leftovers, climbing up on windows and knocking over flower pots.
"Oh my fucking Maker!" Hawke said, wrapped in awe.
Fenris gave her a piece of smoked meat. The one that had knocked over the flower pot was now down on the ground smelling it. Hawke drew in closer and it liked her gift. When it was done, she tried to pet it, and a kind of electricity surged through her arms and ears as the fox started laughing. It was a high-pitched, golden laugh, and it really liked belly rubs. She'd never seen such friendly foxes before! They were basically smaller, prettier dogs who could laugh. She was in love!
Then she heard an adorable cry coming from behind her. Fenris was rubbing a fox's chin, but this one sounded like a big baby!
"How do you always attract the sad ones?" Hawke said, laughing.
"How do you always attract the clowns?" Fenris shot back, grinning. His fox cried some more, opened its mouth and he booped it on the nose.
The laughing fox came to the crabby fox and checked it. It started laughing and the crying fox started laughing too. Now it couldn't decide if it was happy or crabby.
"This feels very familiar," Hawke said, looking up with half-lidded eyes.
She saw him looking up at her. It was the first time they really made eye contact. He seemed fine, but his eyes were bigger, and they had a soft gleam as the dots of his eyes found hers. He looked down again.
The foxes got bored of them. They followed them down the alley as they took a right turn for the tavern porch. There was food left out there.
Hawke looked at the furry red creatures whining, laughing and fighting over shares under the torches. So, this is where the tavern got the name. Maybe wider Markham liked foxes. They seemed to have semi-domesticated them, much like Ostwick did its ducks and swans. Her soul was filled with wonder and warmth. Why didn't Kirkwall befriend its ravens, instead of just using them as mascots for flags and statues? Fenris was being a better Kirkwaller than the city-born.
His arms suddenly wrapped around her from behind. "I am sorry," Fenris said, a softness to his voice.
Hawke melted into him for a second, his head on her shoulder. She looked at him, couldn't stand the sight. She gazed in the opposite direction, but her hands went on his arms, and they weren't pulling them apart.
Why couldn't it just be like this all the time?
Because life was messy, and moments like this could only glow in the dark.
"We need to talk," Hawke said, finally getting the strength to pull his arms away. "Let's go upstairs."
She went inside, got a bottle of wine from the bar, and when they passed their table, Aveline took her hand gently as she walked. She looked behind her and Aveline gave her a supportive smile, while Donnic was holding out a bag that Fenris awkwardly went back for.
It wasn't raining yet, so Hawke decided to break into the roof. Fenris followed her, hearing his heart beating in his chest. It was a little less comfortable, merely an attic with a balcony surrounded by taller roofs, but it was something.
"Should you really be doing that?" Fenris said, as she sat atop the balustrade.
"Is'fine," Hawke said, beckoning to him.
"No, no it's not," Fenris said tiredly, pulling her away. "Let's sit on the bench."
"Let's sit on the windowsill with our feet on the bench."
He chuckled. "Fine."
"Wine?" she offered.
"Please," he said, taking it.
There was a great view of the city descending in narrow, swirling streets. The foxes went on with their adventure downtown. The right-hand side of the night sky was sparkling with stars. He was terrified.
"Why did you call me that?" Hawke said flatly, not looking at him.
"I… don't know," Fenris said with a sad twitch of the eyebrows. "I was not myself."
"Who were you then?" she said, taking the botte back.
"I don't know that either," he said, looking down. He looked back up, in the distance. "But I don't enjoy him."
"That makes two of us," she said, drinking.
There was a silence, and it was clear she'd be damned if she was going to fill it herself.
"I was just… I really disliked that scene," he said, making a grimace as he scratched his leg. "And suddenly I forgot where I was, or who you were when you touched me."
"Really?" she said in an unimpressed tone.
"Really," he insisted. "This happened once before."
She scoffed. "I think I'd remember that."
"It was when you were sick, and everyone gathered around your bed," he said, rubbing his arm. "I felt very dizzy and suddenly I couldn't recognise anyone in the room."
"So that's why you were acting strangely?"
"I felt upside down. It was… unpleasant."
She blinked, filled with confusion. "Alright, but what was it about that scene that made you freak out?"
"I don't know," Fenris said tensely, holding his hands together in a fist. He shook his head, looking down. "I just felt like something terrible was going to happen, and I needed to get out of there."
"So it's really not just deja-vu's you're having, but jamais-vu's."
"What… was that again?"
"It's like… when you can't recognise yourself, or the world around you. It's never seen."
"Yes. That is terrible," Fenris said.
"Alright… that… sucks," Hawke said, crossing her legs and arms. "But, is this what I am to you, in the final analysis?" she demanded, looking at him. "An evil witch?"
Fenris frowned, shaking his head. "I didn't say evil."
"You didn't have to," Hawke said, staring him down.
Peeling his own face off would have been easier than this.
Fenris sighed heavily, brooding his answer. "No. That's not what you are to me at all. You're…" he said, his eyes glazing over her as he inhaled. "Well, you're everything," he said quietly.
"Yeah, right," Hawke said, looking away and drawing circles on her trousers.
"I dishonoured you and it's not right," Fenris insisted. "I put you in danger. That's the last thing I wish." He sighed. "Tell me what I can do to make things right," he said, touching her arm. "Tell me what I can do to show you what you mean to me."
Hawke chuckled bitterly. "You'll have to figure the latter out for yourself."
Fenris nodded to himself.
Hawke looked at the city, shaking her head. "I know you suffered, and that you can't get better at the snap of a finger. I will never invalidate that," she said softly. "But you have to understand how incredibly shitty it feels for me. I never did anything to you. I never did anything to anyone!" she said, her voice breaking as she looked down. "And even so, once people know what I am, that's all they see. They see a bad person, just like that. A boogey-woman. A fffreak," she said tersely, tears running down her face.
Looking at her, a great sadness seeped through him, and it was difficult to exhale. Flashes of him saying the cruellest of things once upon a time came to mind and a rock was forming in his throat. Of course she really hated him at first. It wasn't cute. He may have called her a viper once and regretted it, then respected her ever since (ish), but he didn't extend the same courtesy to the rest of her kind. People may not have smiled and stayed quiet, but he had this cosy bubble of ability in Hawke's group to say whatever he wanted and air out his grievances and congratulate himself on being right every time a mage fucked up. He may have had this luxury with an ordinary mercenary company, but a lot of those folks were massive racists too.
"No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I will never escape this," Hawke said sternly through her teeth as the tears poured down her face. "But… coming from you?" she said softly, shaking her head as she looked down. "I can't…" she said, her voice breaking.
Fenris watched her with a glower reserved for himself. He closed his eyes, his nose wrinkling with the acid feeling of failure. You were not supposed to make your girlfriend cry.
He scooted over and brought her to him, arms wrapped around tight and chin under her head as she sobbed in his chest. Emotional pain dwarfed any skin impact. He just petted her hair and rubbed her arm then squeezed her again like a support snake. The music downstairs had stopped. The saddest sound in the world was playing.
If this wasn't the kick in the arse to really get his shit together, what was?
"My pain does not take away from yours," Fenris said softly, gazing down upon her. "I will not turn a blind eye to the hurt I've caused you when I was acting out of mine."
She searched something in his eyes, though he would never know what, and the gleam of her tears became static. "Thank you," she said to his chest.
"Just tell me, and it is done," he said, pulling her chin up softly.
"I don't know," she said, chuckling. "I'll have to think about it."
He stroked her bangs and wiped her cheek, then he kissed her. He was filled with happiness that she kissed him back, though she was still sad.
"I bought you all this shit," Fenris said, yanking the bag at his feet lazily. "But I'd rather show you this," he said, taking the notebook out of his coat pocket. He wrapped his arms around her again and opened it.
"Your spank bank? No, thank you," Hawke said, worried.
"My spank bank?" he said, brooding as he turned page after page, trying to get to the good part. "No… that feels… too transactional."
She chuckled.
"How about… 'Harder in Hightown?'" Fenris said deeply in her ear, turning more pages.
"You've got yourself a story," Hawke said, chuckling.
There it was, the journal entry. He turned the pages slowly.
"Wow. You really went at it," she said, reading. "What's that word?"
"Boring," he said flatly.
"Boring… band-aid… bath guy?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "That one of the goblins in your head?"
Fenris chuckled. "More like a distant cousin of a spirit of…" He shrugged nonchalantly. "… something or other."
"Ohhh," Hawke said, squinting. "So, you really talked to yourself."
He nodded with a smirk. "I was alone at a bar and I was exhausted from all the socialisation."
"Hardcore," Hawke said approvingly.
"At times, a little too hardcore," Fenris said tiredly, closing the notebook. "I'd rather not break into a million fucking pieces."
Hawke rested her head in his lap, and raised her knees. "What if you don't break into a million pieces?" She looked up at the stars in the night sky. "What if the pieces are just shining in the dark now, so you can see them, and you can put yourself back together?"
Fenris smiled a little. "I hadn't thought of it that way."