HAWKE
An overwhelming sense of grief looms over me as I watch Serena and Fenris share a drink together on the opposite side of the Hanged Man.
The two have grown closer over the past few days. More so than before. Or that's how it appears on the surface.
I can see it in their softened gazes with one another. The stolen glances. The way Serena's now a big ball of awkward, blushing energy whenever he's near. Not to mention Fenris's bold and near constant smirks and private whispers in her ears. And let's not forget their decreased physical proximity to each other, either.
The two remain joined at the hip, even while walking nowadays. A miracle I didn't think possible, coming from such distant elves. Especially Fenris, who despises letting anyone close, in fear they might accidentally brush against his markings.
At first, I tried to shrug this all off as mere coincidence. Nothing to be worried about. Just a phase, like Varric said. An inevitability that must come from temporarily living together.
But then, I noticed it happening more and more often. The distance decreasing. As well as the constant blush blooming across Serena's cheeks.
And who can deny it all now, seeing them here, like this?
Serena leans in closer to Fenris again, the third time this past hour. He proceeds to whisper something into her ear. Something that leaves the she-elf fidgeting, smiling—a wad of flustered, untangled nerves.
Varric sets his drink down on the table between us. "Look, Hawke. I—"
"You don't need to say anything. I already know," I whisper, unable to tear my gaze away, despite the pain ripping through my chest. "I missed my chance."
Varric pauses. "Perhaps, for now." He sighs. "You never know. You still might get one yet . . . given some time."
"No need to offer forced optimism, Varric." I lean back in my seat. "I've only got myself to blame. And now, it's time I try to move on. I wish only for their happiness."
The words come out sounding fake. Probably because they taste like bitter ash, swirling in my mouth. But I mean it. If this means they can both be happier, so be it. They've both been through enough as it is. And who am I to deny them this chance, if it means they might find happiness at last, together?
"Hawke . . . " Varric whispers again.
A soul-crushing numbness presses down on me. "I need some air," I mutter, standing up.
I burst out into the frigid cold of Lowtown, not daring to look back. The district's typical, horrid stench of old piss and garbage fills my lungs, making me cringe.
Maker, I don't miss this.
How does Varric stand it? Does he have some dwarven resistance I don't know about? Is it teachable?
I grimace and slouch against the nearby wall, letting out a loud, envious huff in the process.
My attention drifts upward to the darkened night sky. Most of it lies obscured from view, beyond a low overhang of clouds, preventing any chance of absent-minded stargazing. But hey, at least it matches my mood: my true feelings trapped behind an unfortunate wall of my own making.
"What am I doing?" I mumble under my breath.
What was I thinking?
Me? And her? Nothing could've ever come from this.
I'm a human noble. She's an elf.
The two look like they were made for each other. And they understand each other in ways I cannot. How could I have ever been so foolish as to get my hopes up? To think I actually stood a chance?
I recall Serena's bashful smile when listening to Fenris again.
My gut tightens into a firmer, mangled knot. One I can't loosen. That aches.
The Hanged Man's door swings wide open to my left.
Slow, measured footsteps saunter over to me.
"So, this is where you've run off to," Isabela purrs, under the adjacent torchlight.
I look down at her. She's standing a mere foot away from me now, crossing her bare arms. A mischievous smirk tugs at the corner of her lips.
"Care for some company, handsome? It'll cost you five silvers."
SERENA
The Hanged Man's usual racket rings in my ears. Merging. Dimming. Spinning.
An unexpected, hazy heaviness tingles across my skin.
I'm drunk—either that or I'm getting close.
I've been pushing myself far too hard tonight. Not that I thought it mattered, what with Fenris and the others keeping such a close eye on me. Something I'm slowly getting used to; though, it seems to have backfired, a least in this instance.
I waver back and forth in my seat. The world feels like it's rocking, identical to a boat, stuck out at sea. The infernal swaying is hard to resist, even though I know it's just in my head. An illusion goaded on by the liquor, thrumming in my veins.
"I'll be right back." I rise to my feet.
Some cold air could do me some good . . .
Fenris looks up at me from his ale. He gives me a quizzical squint; one I can tell is him asking if I need company or assistance, or if I'm even going to be alright.
"I need to stretch." I give him my best 'I'm okay' half-smile.
Fenris's squint persists, but he nods once, then goes back to his drink.
With forced concentration, I power-walk over to the door, ensuring no matter what that my footing remains steady, straight. One misstep and Fenris will be back up, insisting we turn in for the evening.
But I won't have that. It's still too soon yet.
The past few days have felt like a massive whirlwind, and I need the break. However, not for the reasons I would've expected.
Since our fiery kiss, Fenris has kept a distance—granting only the occasional innocent peck on the hand before bed, when we've always slept separate. Things haven't gone farther beyond that. His rare, heart-throbbing smirks, though, have increased beyond counting, as has his flirtatious teasing.
I can tell he really does want to take this slow now, whatever this is. Something a part of me is grateful for. But I think my heart might've preferred the random bursts of passion, over the coiled-up anticipation, spread out across several days like this.
I just simply don't know how to take it.
For brief moments, I feel happy, relieved. Like I might finally be moving on, nearing inner peace. A tenderness and calm I haven't felt in years.
But then, the grief hits. The flashbacks. The doubt.
I see Tamlen, stumbling his way towards me the night he appeared at our old camp as a ghoul; his black blood coating my hands, my dagger; the freshly made grave I dug up for him, piled into a lifeless mound before me.
And then . . . there's his hand on my shoulder. His voice.
'Serena,' he calls out.
I shudder.
No. No. Stop thinking about this. Stop it.
I grasp at the makeshift necklace dangling around my neck.
Agonizing grief threatens to swallow me whole again. I try to shake it away before I sink into the familiar waters. The depths I've been trying to escape, ever since I came to Kirkwall.
The trembles recede. I hurry outside into the cool, night air, one hand clenching tight onto my forehead, still struggling to force the feelings and memories away.
I'm immediately greeted with the sight of Isabela cornering Hawke against the tavern's wall.
My heart drops.
Both of them look over at me.
"Oh. Um . . . aneth ara," I whisper.
The tremors throughout my body finally cease, but I get the sudden urge to turn and run. To get away from both of them as swift and as graceless as I can. Forget keeping up appearances.
"Serena? What are you doing out here?" Hawke stands up straight and looks me over with wide, concerned eyes.
I gulp.
No. I can't let him see me like this. Not while I'm . . . I can't-
I glimpse over at Isabela. She's staring at me, waiting, her intimidating gaze as sultry and calculating as the night we first met at the Pearl.
"I . . . um . . . needed to stretch a bit," I lie. "These darn, rusty legs." I pat my right thigh.
My chest squeezes.
I exchange nervous glances between the two.
They haven't moved. Their closeness remains stable, unshakable. Just like that night I saw them flirting at the bar.
My gut churns. "Um . . . well. I hate to intrude. I'll-I'll just be going now." I spin on my heels and move in the direction of Hightown. "See ya!"
"Serena, wait!" Hawke calls after me.
I freeze.
No. Don't call out to me like that. Don't make this harder than it needs to be.
"Sorry . . . I just-" The ache in my chest intensifies.
The memories of Hawke, Tamlen, and him pierce through me again in an instant. The loss of the latter two a cannonball to the soul.
"I need some space. Sorry." That's all I can force myself to say, before I clench my fists and sprint down into the Lowtown market. My mind a blur. Unwilling to ever look back. Lest I face more than one unspoken reality tonight. One I'm not in any way prepared to accept or acknowledge. Past, future, or otherwise.
