A knock on the door, a greeting from Bodahn who pointed him towards the study where he would find Hawke reading, writing a letter or going through her mail. It was becoming a routine Fenris knew well and every time the apprehension he felt became easier to ignore, began to feel more like enthusiasm.
Thoughts of shame at his incompetence were being whittled away, mostly by Hawke being so unashamedly vocal in her admiration and praise of how fast he was picking everything up. He might have neglected to tell her of the times spent practicing on his own, testing himself in the marketplace by spelling out a word, trying to work out what it said without help.
As he pushed open the door to the library that night he found Hawke stood by the bookshelves, skimming a long finger along the spines of the books, head tilted at what he assumed was an uncomfortable angle to read the titles. He smiled to himself at the posture, the fact she didn't realise she was being observed meant she didn't try to hold herself any particular way. He gave himself another moment before quietly coughing.
Instead of standing up straight, presenting herself as the noble lady the rest of the city believed her to be, Hawke rolled her head over her shoulder, still twisted at the waist.
"You're early!" It didn't sound like much of an accusation, though she turned fully towards him and crossed her arms in front over her body. He smirked, her apparent good mood infecting him.
"If you prefer, I could wait in the entry hall until you're done abusing your spine. I might find a decent conversation with your hound."
"A compliment to my skills as a trainer, I'm sure."
"Was I interrupting something?"
"Only my alone time."
"I'd rather not know." He said jokingly, then looked down, feeling the tips of his ears start to warm. Luckily Hawke laughed and he looked up to see her walking towards him, swaying her hips ludicrously. Oh, he wished she wouldn't do that.
"Have you perhaps been spending a little too much time with dear Isabela?" She turned sharply towards the writing desk. He struggled to keep his gaze from her hips, still playfully swinging as she walked away from him. Venhedis, now was not the time for these thoughts.
"Was there a plan for the evening?" He hoped to change the subject abruptly and thankfully she was already turning back to face him, a book in her hands.
"Today, I thought you could start some sentences." He heard her faint sigh as he quickly looked down, as if she was expecting the cold wash of doubt that hit him, telling him that this next step would surely be the one where his tenuously growing confidence would fall. He looked up at her face again only through the force of his will and was taken aback by the understanding smile she gave him. "You're doing so well, I need to keep up the challenge somehow."
Fenris pursed his mouth at her, seeing how she was trying to goad him into it. He silently walked over to join her at the desk and immediately noticed that the selection of two or three books had grown since his last visit. "I thought you should pick what to read. I—didn't want to make you do something where you felt uncomfortable."
He looked at the books laid out on the table but quickly knew which one he wanted. He reached past her, to the corner of the desk she was most in the way of, and selected the tome half hidden beneath another. The same book that had prompted him to leave the first time they had tried this.
"I was wrong to take out my frustrations at myself on you. I trust you Hawke." He waited until she took her eyes from the book in his hands and looked at him. "You thought this was the right book for a beginner, so this is where I shall begin."
She still looked hesitant but he cleared a space on the desk and sat down. She paused only a moment before drawing the second stool over to join him without a word.
Page one, the title, "The Loss—lost d—dog." A Ferelden book, then.
He began shakily but with a little help from Hawke, he came to the end of the first sentence. Then he made it through the next one. Hawke put her elbow on the desk next to the book and rested her head there, leaning so that she could still follow where he was up to. His attention was drawn away from the book. Her content smile seemed to show she was happy but the energy of earlier seemed more subdued. He silently looked back to the next sentence.
"Achanai," She supplied after his glaring at the page led to a lengthier pause than before, "It's her name."
"How delightfully awkward." He intoned sardonically and her answering grin was bright. He drank it in selfishly.
"Hush you. It's pretty."
"She couldn't have been named something simple?"
"That's not usually why names are chosen, no. Come on, don't get distracted." She put on a charmingly poor impression of severity and flicked her hand at the page. He just looked at her, unimpressed and she snorted. "In your own time then."
He continued trying to make out the next sentence, almost managing it completely without help, the success giving him a warm flush of accomplishment. Then he heard Hawke take a long, deep breath, his gaze arrested by the way it drew up her body then she blinked her eyes leisurely. He knew he shouldn't be watching but he was intoxicated in the way she drew him to her, memories flickering through his mind of a night in the firelight that seemed so far away now. Darting his tongue over his lips nervously, he drew back from his hunched position over the book, away from her.
"My apologies if this is keeping you from something else."
"What?" She turned wide eyes to him, brow creased slightly in confusion. "No, this is good." She sat up as she spoke so her eyes were level with his own.
"You seem distracted." He commented slowly.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be, Fenris. You should know that. No, it's –something on my mind."
"Hawke—" It wasn't his place to pry details from her, so he spoke her name with no expectations, simply a reassurance that she could take it however she needed. What he didn't expect was the soft look that entered her eyes while they still held his own, then looked down at the book in front of them.
"My father read this to me."
"I didn't…would you prefer if I read a different one?" He didn't expect that, either.
"No. No, I thought it would work best. It's a story for reading out loud."
"I'm afraid I'm not getting very far through it."
"You're doing perfectly." He didn't know what to do with this tender memory she was sharing with him, nor how to look into her earnest eyes when he saw something deep within them, something he felt was too private to give to him. So he turned back to the words on the page, scanning agitatedly to find that damn name, then impulsively let out a huff of frustration. The last word had been 'woods'. He looked for the word beginning with w—.
She shuffled closer and pointed to the page. "You were here." Her soft tone caused him to glance across at her, then he barely caught himself from jerking backwards when he found her face barely a handspan from his own. She leant over his shoulder, and his eyes were uncooperatively drawn down to her mouth where he saw her kind, friendly smile.
Friendly, nothing more. That bridge had been burned many months ago. Whatever he might feel, he knew he had crushed his chances at anything more.
He turned back to the page, her arm coming under his own to leave a finger marking the place. She was so close he could feel the warmth of her body at his shoulder, where her arm lingered by his own and the way her hair had a gentle flowery fragrance – Orana had been experimenting with a new soap. And yet here she was, right here and completely beyond his reach.
He concentrated on staring at the page, hearing instead the fevered rush of blood in his ears.
"Fenris?"
Come on, he knew this word. "The…gih- giruhl- girl…" He finally made the shapes focus into words and kept going but she didn't pull away immediately. She drew her arm back slightly, moving it out the way so he could actually see the rest of the page, but she only went as far as the edge, resting her hand alongside his wrist.
He was looking at the book and making sense of the next word but her finger moved in the corner of his vision, uncurling freely from her loosely held fist. She traced the edge of the paper and continued moving down to lay it gently against the red scarf, still tied around his wrist. She was barely touching it, he couldn't feel her through the material but it still seemed as though everything in his body was fixated on that point, more than the lyrium thrumming in his skin.
He strained to look at her out of the corner of his eye and she appeared to still be looking at the book. When he made it more obvious, turning his head, her eyes raised up, curiosity on her face more likely to be over why he'd stopped than the question of the token. He couldn't tell if she was even aware of what she was doing and he turned back to the book with a thinly concealed sigh.
It was a few moments before she moved, tickling her finger over the bright fabric once more. He glanced at her again, her eyes were on the token, then she lifted her head to his face and his heart pounded once more in his chest. Her eyes challenged him as she ran her finger over it so that he could feel it this time, holding his gaze, then she tapped his wrist over the fabric and he looked down at the offending finger. He huffed out a laugh when he saw she was pointing it again at the page, inviting him to continue.
He frequently felt like he would never understand what was going on in her head. After all, he was the fool who had rejected her and since then they had had to keep each other at arm's length, or so he thought. Yet here she was, reaching out to him and for once, he allowed himself to hope. Perhaps it was a sign of her forgiveness.
Perhaps she was not quite so far from him as he had thought.
This was written over two sittings where I was in two very different moods. Meaning that editing it was interesting. Hope i fixed it up nicely though and comments would be appreciated