Sorry it took so long to update! I've gotten wrapped up in my other fic, Paradigm Stew, because it's fun to mess with the canon on a massive scale. But again, this doesn't follow canon (even if it's a lot closer) and at long last, we get to see some other characters' POVs regarding Fenris and Hawke's relationship.
Warnings: angst, sex (nothing graphic, sorry!), alcohol, and the inevitable awkwardness of 'The Long Road.'
Extra Disclaimer: I do not own Dune or the Litany of Fear. I just use it on carnival rides. But Fenris' real name is a Dune reference.
Varric could tell from twenty feet away that the slump of Fenris' shoulders wasn't his usual brooding slouch when the elf entered the Hanged Man. He looked defeated, tired, his white hair messier than usual. As Varric watched from the top of the stairs, Fenris managed to run his gauntleted hand through his hair with an irritable jerk three times before he even ordered his customary bottle of wine. That explained the hair.
"Hey, Broody," Varric called, motioning the elf over before Isabela could prowl onto him. She had that glint in her eye of too much whiskey and a bad day.
Fenris wasted no time following the dwarf to his suite, flopping into one of the chairs with a sigh. Varric turned to stare at him, arranging his duster around himself as he settled into his favorite seat, the armchair with the cushions that he shipped in special from the Tethras Manor. He waited until every fold of his beloved jacket hung just so, letting the elf stew over his wine, before lifting his mug of ale to his lips and slurping loudly.
"So what brings you here tonight?" Varric asked, raising his eyebrows. He knew the answer, of course, but he didn't win every game of Wicked Grace by flashing his cards early. Instead he pointed out the obvious. "You've been pretty scarce these days."
"I came here to drink, dwarf," growled Fenris. "Why must you always pry?"
"Surely you have access to better wine in Hightown," pointed out the dwarf, enjoying another sip of warm, flat ale. "Not to mention a larger, less smelly place to get drunk. So why are you here, instead of, say, at home?"
The elf's green eyes narrowed and his lip curled in that telltale sneer. By the Stone, if Fenris were so inclined, he could have every woman from here to Hightown just by sneering. Too bad for Isabela that he only wanted the one. He took a long sip of wine, managing to make even that action seem violent. "I came here to escape Hightown," he snarled. "I could not endure another minute."
Varric nodded. The heart of the matter. "What is it this time?" he asked, leaning forward on his elbows. He liked nothing better than a juicy story of Hightown drama, and no one provided them with such consistency and venom as Fenris.
"It's her," grumbled the elf, taking another hostile gulp of wine. How anyone can manage to make drinking look so dangerous and scary is beyond Varric, and he wouldn't believe it if he weren't witnessing it.
"Well, of course it's her," Varric chuckled. "You're always extra-broody after an encounter with Hawke."
The bottle of wine clanged against the tabletop with enough force that the dwarf blinked, waiting for the glass to shatter. "I do not brood," Fenris growled. Perhaps his grip was so tight he was actually holding the bottle together.
"Friend, if your brooding were any more impressive, women would swoon as you walked by. They'd have broody babies in your honor," Varric answered, laughing and shaking his head. "Of course, what good is a swarm of swooning women when the one you want is just down the steps from you?"
"Why do you not get beaten more regularly?"
The dwarf responded with a broad smile. "I'm just too handsome and charming," he replied. He swigged his ale and waved a hand. "And I give great advice to broody elves who are trying to woo mages."
Spiky shoulders slumped further down and Fenris hung his head. "It is too late. I lost out on my chance to be with her long ago," he muttered. He took a long, slow sip of wine and set the bottle down with a dejected scowl.
"What bullshit," Isabela announced from the doorway. With one accusing finger waving a wild arc in testament to her inebriation, the Rivaini stumbled into the room, ranting at Fenris. "You and Hawke have been through far too much to jus, jus quit like that." It was clear she was too drunk to remain silent about her eavesdropping. Varric glanced up as the pirate slung her hips into the nearest chair, rocking it precariously back, and lunged out to steady it before she could tumble ass-over-tits.
"You do not know what you are talking about," snapped Fenris, one of his gauntlets digging tracks into the table's surface. Varric winced as he watched, wishing that Isabela had learned something of subtlety. Alas, it was not the pirate's strong suit, even when keeping secrets about her relic and reasons for being in Kirkwall- two things the dwarf has investigated with quiet vigor in the past few months, only to come up empty-handed time and again.
Isabela snorted and Varric shot her a look. She spoke anyway, oblivious or drunk or just ignoring him. "I know more than you think. I know you ran off after kissing her, instead of bedding her like you should have done," she begins.
"Enough!" roared Fenris, getting to his feet and with his hands on the table as if he meant to flip it over.
Varric jumped up, too, before his suite could get trashed or violence could break out. "Okay, okay, let's calm down. Isabela, how about I help you off to bed?" he asked.
"Oh, Varric," she purred, flashing her amber eyes up at him from her seat, "I knew it! You;re jus dying to sleep with me. And I'll finally get to run my fingers through that lovely chest hair." She reached for his chest and he backed up a step.
"Easy, there, Rivaini," he chuckled, taking her hand and holding it away from his precious tawny chest-mane. He glanced over to where Fenris sat and saw that the elf had disappeared with his bottle. He sighed and looked back at Isabela. "Come on. Let's get you to bed."
Aveline swung her shield to deflect the great swing of Fenris' sword, and her whole body shuddered with the impact. The elf was hitting hard today in their sparring practice, and she expected to have a few bruises where she'd let her guard down. He recovered, using the momentum of her deflection to whip his whole body around and come at her sword arm, forcing her to parry his ruthless blows.
For several more minutes Aveline backed away from his constant onslaught, until she couldn't take any more. "All right, Fenris," she said, lowering her weapon. "Why don't we take a break and you can tell me what's going on."
He frowned at her and sheathed his blade. "What do you mean?" he demanded in that harsh, irritated tone. Of late it seemed to be the only way he spoke.
She crossed her arms and stared at him. "Is this about Hawke?" she asked, too blunt to withhold her knowledge or opinion. "You're very angry today and it's unsettling. I know you two have been out of sorts for the past few months, but you can't let yourself make mistakes. It could jeopardize all of us, especially Hawke, if you slipped."
Fenris took a step toward her, menacing with his green eyes and chiseled features twisted in a sneer. "I would never allow her to come to harm," he growled, his voice low. He paused then, lowering his gaze and his voice with a hint of soft regret. "That is why I left."
Aveline snorted and shook her head, leading him to the sidelines of the practice ring for water. "Have you spoken with her since?" she asked, passing him a canteen and sipping from her own.
He frowned and shook his head, and for a moment she thought he looked like a small boy caught in the midst of doing something he knew he shouldn't. She resisted the urge to chuckle, and it faded the moment he looked up and met her gaze again. "What do I tell her?" he spat, bitterness overwhelming his words. He spun away and stalked along the length of the courtyard. "Shall I tell her that I was too cowardly to stay with her? That I do not know how to love, or how to treat her with the care that she deserves?"
"It's a start," she answered. "At least you're admitting that you love her and care for her."
"What do I know of love, except that I cannot offer her anything?" he returned, staring at her with a mix of fury and terror in his eyes. He gestured with one hand, fingers curled with self-loathing, to encompass himself. "I hate this. I hate that I wake up from my dreams to realize that she is not there with me, hate that I think of her every moment that I am awake. I hate that I am not good enough, that she will doubtless marry a nobleman with wealth and a title, who can care for her and look after her as I never could. And I hate that the thought of it makes me sick, that I want to run over there even now and confess it to her, to demand that she turn away her suitors because I want to have her all to myself."
She took another sip of water and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. It seemed so simple, yet she knew how complicated such things were. Her eyes darted around the practice ring to ensure no other guards were there. "You'd be happier if you did that," she said. "And you'd be doing her a favor to charge off and frighten all those blue-blooded vultures away from her."
He hung his head again. "I cannot," he murmured, his voice so quiet she had to strain to hear it.
Aveline opened her mouth to reply, to ask him why he couldn't, when a startled exclamation of "Captain!" made her turn around. Guardsman Donnic and Guardsman Brennan stood there in practice armor with padded weapons, brows raised as they looked from her to her tattooed companion.
"Guardsmen," she said, startled. She bit her lip; in the leather practice armor she could see Donnic's muscled form without plate-metal interference and her heart picked up speed. "The field is yours. Come on, Fenris, our time is up." She motioned to the elf and made a hasty retreat from the practice yard, unable to look either of her guards in the eye. Fenris followed, glancing back once as they turned the corner out of sight of the courtyard. His brows rose but he made no comment. At least he didn't ask nosy questions like Varric, or make up wild stories the way Isabela did.
"Thank you for your time," Fenris said, inclining his head. "I will see you tomorrow."
"Wait," she said, lifting a hand to stop him before he could run off. She glanced back in the direction of the yard, though it was out of sight. "I was wondering if you would go ask Hawke to come talk to me later. I have... a favor I need from her."
He raised his brows. "What do you mean?" he asked.
An idea took shape in her head. If she could perhaps lead by example, demonstrating to Fenris how difficult it was to take such a step but how rewarding it might be to do so, then she might be able to help him and Hawke. "Just ask her to stop by this afternoon. I'll be in the barracks." And before he could protest, she hurried off to wash up and get to her office.
Fenris scowled as the final beacon flared to life, daring a sidelong glance at Hawke. She slid her staff back in place on her shoulders, craning her long neck to look down the path as Aveline and her guardsman approached. He couldn't help staring at her neck, at the pale skin he once bruised with rough kisses and teeth. Each time he saw her, he found himself lost in agonizing memories and fantasies of what might have been, trembling with desire and rage because he could not have her.
"I have never seen Aveline act so... indecisive," Hawke sighed, choosing her description with her usual care and caution. She ran a hand over her dark hair, setting it into flattering disarray. Fenris looked away.
Beside her, Varric shrugged. "Remind you of anyone?" he asked. Fenris clenched his fists, glaring at the dwarf with sudden force. Varric chuckled at his reaction and it made Fenris want to tear that infernal smirk from his broad, beardless face.
Hawke looked down at the dwarf, her eyes skipping Fenris entirely. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed, but knew that the twisting sensation in his chest came more from the latter. "Not every accidental encounter is the beginning of an epic love story, Varric," she said, her voice quiet and sad. This time her eyes did flick to Fenris and he caught his breath, unable to look away from the brilliant blue of her eyes. "Sometimes caution is better than the alternative."
Anders, quiet until now, huffed and crossed his arms. "If you never take a risk, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been, killing yourself with regrets and questions," he announced, staring at Hawke with intent and intensity that set Fenris' teeth on edge. If that abomination dared to lay one of his filthy hands on her, Fenris would rip his beating heart from his chest and stomp on it until it popped.
To his horror, she gave the other mage a fond smile. "We can't all be as brave as you are, Anders," she answered. "Not everyone has the courage to lead a revolution under the Templars' noses. Some of us are afraid even to say what's on our mind." Again, her gaze flicked over to Fenris and he found his hands clenching into fists in an effort to maintain his customary stoicism. He had never had a problem sharing his opinions and he was not afraid to be with her. On the contrary, he knew it would be easy, that all he needed to do was to seize her shoulders and kiss her again. It was a measure of his bravery that he chose not to, that he instead held back his bestial nature to prevent the inevitable pain he would cause.
"Fear is the mind-killer," Fenris quoted. He didn't know why the words of the old secret litany popped into his head at that moment, but it seemed appropriate. The others stared at him in shock. Hawke's eyebrows threatened to disappear under her dark bangs, while Anders' nose wrinkled and Varric smirked.
Before anyone could speak, Aveline and Donnic came to a halt by the beacon. "Hawke," the redhead said, her green eyes wide and an expression of dread filling her features, "What are you doing here?"
Hawke took a breath, meeting her friend's eyes with a gentle gaze of her own. "Aveline..." she said, a note of pleading and warning in the name. 'You know why I'm here."
Donnic frowned and looked around their group, at the lit beacon, and then to the guard captain. "What's going on here?" he asked, confused as he added up the obvious pieces.
"She wants you," Fenris grumbled. He looked between the guards as Aveline's face turned red. "It is pathetic." He paused when Hawke's shocked, hurt eyes sought his face and added, "But admirable.
He knew he shouldn't have interfered like that in their business the moment Donnic made an awkward and hasty exit, more so when Aveline began to yell at Hawke and him. Finally they wound back down the Wounded Coast path and heading toward the city. Fenris saw the knot of tension between Hawke's shoulders and noticed how, even as Varric and Anders parted ways near the Hanged Man, she would not look at him. They walked up to Hightown in silence until they reached the base of the stairs to the Viscount's Keep. She halted and turned to face him, brows drawn in a frown and blue eyes flashing at his face.
"Why?" she asked, and he saw the set of her jaw. He knew she had a thousand whys stored up, a million reasons to ask him and demand an explanation, and he felt his pulse race as she stared at him with that cool accusation and hot anger warring through her gaze.
He shook his head, helpless. "This is neither the place nor the time," he said, daring to meet her eyes.
Hawke narrowed her eyes and turned on her heel, marching up to the Keep with sharp steps. Fenris watched her ascent, feeling as if he had just lost out on something but unable to define just what it was. After a moment, he steeled himself and followed her.
Fenris could climb from his balcony, across the eaves of his mansion, right onto the roof of the Amell Estate. While he'd known this for some time, he'd never used the route, feeling that it would be intrusive to drop in through her window unannounced. After the happy ending to Aveline and Donnic's mess, though, he felt he needed to say something. Hawke had hurried from the Keep and disappeared before he could attempt to speak to her. He had no idea what he meant to say now, but the route he'd been aware of for so long now disappeared under his feet. Too soon, he crouched over the lighted bedroom window like a gargoyle, debating whether or not to brave her wrath.
Before he could lose his nerve and run away, however, she leaned head and shoulders through the window, twisting to look up. "Of course it's you," she murmured, disappearing for a moment. He hesitated, wondering if she wanted him to come in or just to leave, and then she reappeared, climbing through the window in a surprising show of agility. He took her hand as she gripped the ledge above her window and hauled her up in a swift motion.
"Hawke," he said. He realized he was still holding onto her hand and let go, heat flooding his cheeks. "I came to apologize."
"What have you come to apologize for?" She folded her arms, the hand he'd touched curling into a fist in the crook of her elbow.
"I..." he started, and halted when he realized he still didn't know what to say. She deserved an explanation, or a confession. She deserved a better man than him. Ashamed, he met her eyes. "I cannot be what you want me to be."
"Why would I want you to be any other way than you are?" she asked. Her blue eyes narrowed on his face and he felt the wind pick up, though he couldn't be sure if it was her doing or not. "If I wanted some fop suitor, I have dozens. But I want a man too proud to bow to any other, a man too strong to allow even the torment of slavery to break his spirit. I want a fighter, Fenris. You would know that if you had ever bothered to ask." She took a step toward him, invading his personal space until her chest brushed his. Dressed only in a loose shirt, without his armor between them, he felt the soft flesh of her body too well and took a sharp breath.
Fenris stared in her blue eyes, his hands at his sides itching to seize her by the waist and haul her close, his muscles tense with anticipation. "I will only disappoint you," he whispered, lifting a hand to touch her cheek.
She tilted her head against his palm, closing her eyes for a moment. He thought he could see a sparkle of tears, but she took a shivering breath and blinked them away. "If that's what you prefer," she said, her voice so quiet even his keen ears strained to hear it. In spite of his hand tilting her face toward his, she refused to meet his eyes as she spoke. "I won't impose myself where I'm not wanted."
It broke his heart to see the mighty Hawke like this, frightened and tearful but so brave as she tried to hold it back. He realized as he looked at her that she meant to protect him, that these soft words were meant to absolve him of his sins against her. And just like that, his willpower shattered and he drew her against him, kissing her. Unlike the fury he'd inflicted after Hadriana, this kiss held promise. Not to say that it was gentle, but his lips were softer on hers, his tongue requesting entrance to her mouth rather than forcing it. His fingers threaded into her hair as her arms circled his neck, his other hand gripping her waist as if to prevent her from escaping him.
Hawke made a soft noise into his mouth, her hands now tangled in the fabric of his shirt, and as they continued kissing, Fenris knew he couldn't stop this time. With a growl, he tore her robe apart and drew her to the ground with him.