Some Lovers

A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet

006: Guilt

A Lowtown whore around the corner from Gamlen's miserable hovel was peddling her wares. Loudly. Perched on the steps up to the shack's door, Hawke balled her hands into fists, pressed them to her ears, and yelled, "Shut up!"

There was a moment's silence in response and then the lady rounded the corner, scowling. With her hands on her hips, she planted her feet squarely at the bottom of the steps and called up to Hawke, "What, you think you're too good to have to hear a woman making a living now that your little expedition's come through for you?" Hawke was quiet, pressed her hand against her mouth and turned her eyes toward the wall. "Huh?"

"I didn't say anything," Hawke muttered into her palm.

"Where's your brother?" the woman stood on her tiptoes, peering over Hawke's head as though expecting to see Carver in the shadow of the doorway. "Has he gotten over his infatuation with that Hightown tart yet?" Hawke didn't say anything. The woman smirked. "He was never so unsympathetic to my profession."

"He's not here!" she suddenly snapped, raising her head, her eyes glaring gray daggers at the prostitute. "He's not here, all right? And, unless you want to be chatting up the guard, I suggest you take your leave!"

"Well, where'd he go then?" the woman didn't move an inch.

Her frustration building, Hawke braced one elbow against her knee and pressed the base of her palm into her forehead. "He is a templar recruit now," she declared, her voice rough. "If it so pleases you," she flung one arm out in the direction of the alley, "do go to the Gallows and see if you can find him. Be sure and tell him that his mother is sick in bed from that little display of his manly pride."

The woman glanced in one direction and then the other before looking back to Hawke with a look of dislike. "This street don't get enough traffic for me to be bothered with this tomfoolery. Tell your uncle that Belle won't come calling this way again anytime soon. Though, truth be told, I haven't seen head nor tail of him since your family came along."

"And good riddance!" Hawke called after the whore's retreating back. She sighed with satisfaction; the darkness was finally quiet again. Even her dog had stopped barking; everyone said Mabari were smart but keeping quiet now took some intuition, intuition that Hawke, sadly, had not been blessed with.

I should never have shown him those letters, she thought to herself. I should have let him come with me down into the Deep Roads instead of brushing him off just because Mother told me to. He should have known that doing this would kill Mother. She never liked us fighting; now this is like a declaration of war. I never should have–

"Hawke?"

She didn't look up at the sound of her name, merely stared at the feet of the person who had addressed her. "You know," she began in a pragmatic sort of voice, "you really ought to wear shoes."

"Is something wrong?" Fenris wanted to know, confusion creasing his forehead. "Is your mother alright? Carver? I can't imagine you would worry over your uncle."

"Carver is in perfect health," she looked up at the mention of her brother, her eyes unusually wide and her smile equal parts bland and false.

"That is… good to hear. Varric is gathering the crowd." He jerked his head in the general direction of the Hanged Man. "Apparently, he wishes all to learn of the rock wraith we encountered on our little venture. You are probably sick of hearing about it but I could do with a drink and perhaps you or your brother…"

"Carver," she interrupted, stressing the name, "will probably not be coming to the Hanged Man for some time now."

The barely perceptible slump of Fenris's shoulders told her that he was willing to bite. "And why is that?"

"My brother wanted a career change," Hawke replied with another deceivingly bright smile, "so he has decided that he wants to be a templar. I walked in as he was taking his leave of our mother this afternoon."

"But," Fenris stood very still as he processed this new information, "your father was… and your sister was and you are…"

"You can't be too surprised," she said with a bitter smile. "He didn't really understand magic or mages even though he knew so much about both. I suppose that means he'll make a pretty decent templar."

"Perhaps," said Fenris noncommittally. "Perhaps you should be speaking to Varric of this."

Her eyebrows disappeared into her slightly overlong bangs. "I don't want to kill Carver," she replied incredulously. "Varric wants to kill Bartrand."

"As do I. Although I think it more poetic if the dwarf does the actual deed." He paused and then asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

"What do you mean?" Hawke looked up from her hands again.

He raised his arms and shrugged. "I have no family," Fenris replied flatly. "What wisdom do you think you'll get out of me?"

Her mouth dropped slightly open. "Get out of you?" she repeated incredulously. "Whatever do you mean by that? You were here. I needed someone to talk to, someone who is not mother or uncle or dog, someone who can talk back, offer sympathy. Though," she raised her chin, suddenly haughty, "it's true you would not have been my first choice for a kind word."

Quickly, she got to her feet and brushed the dirt from her tunic. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my mother is not well."

Hawke's hand was already on the door when she heard him call out for her to wait. Slowly, she turned around to see him looking at his feet. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You looked to me for comfort and I gave you nothing. It wasn't my intention to hurt you."

"That's a little hard to believe," she said in return, "considering."

Fenris bowed his head in acknowledgement and did say anything else. After a moment, Hawke turned her face from him and went inside. She brushed past Gamlen, ignored Dancer's whines, and went straight to her mother in the backroom. Tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, she said, "I'm here, Mother."

Leandra Amell's gray eyes –so similar to her daughter's –were shut, her head lulled back against the back of her chair. "Who was that you were talking to?"

"It was only Fenris, Mother. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Some water maybe," Hawke nodded and turned to the door to fetch a cup. Her mother's next comment stopped her in her tracks. "Carver didn't seem to like this Fenris. He said that he didn't like the way the elf spoke to you."

"Carver didn't like any of my friends, Mother. But Fenris…" Hawke paused, picking at her fingernails as she thought. "Fenris doesn't understand many things and it isn't really his fault."

Leandra smiled weakly. "That's charitable of you, my dear."

"What can I say?" Hawke flashed that signature, sardonic smile. "I'm a sucker for lost causes."

…

A/N: Really, don't get used to so many updates! My life's just been weird lately and I suddenly have a lot of time on my hands. But I'm pretty pleased with this little piece. Please read and review!