Some Lovers

A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet

017: Isolation

"What's going on between you and my sister?"

Fenris chose to say nothing at first. Instead of responding or even showing any sign of a reaction to Carver's demand, the elf took another sip of his drink and allowed the Hanged Man's din to ring in his ears for a moment. He had never appreciated the white noise more.

Carver was patient; Fenris was impressed. Perhaps templar training had indeed done something for Hawke's once abrasive younger brother. "I don't know what you're talking about," Fenris finally replied shortly. "Perhaps you should be directing this question at Anders."

"Anders? She hasn't been sleeping with Anders too, has she?"

No. The younger Hawke was just as much of a block-headed idiot as ever. "Why don't you ask her?" Fenris answered with another question and raised his glass to indicate the happy couple playing wicked grace with Varric and Isabela at a table across the room. Carver followed Fenris's gaze to where his older sister sat beside Anders, so close that she might as well have been sitting on the mage's lap, under the pretense of advising him on his hand. Fenris took another long drink in an attempt to drown the rage boiling in his throat at the sight of them.

"I…" Carver started to speak and then stopped. His blue eyes were wide. "I didn't… see her over there," he finished rather lamely. "But… I'm not going to ask her. I'm asking you. Varric said that you and she were…"

"Varric needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut." Maybe more alcohol would help. He waved the bartender over. Corff deposited Fenris's next drink, swept the empty cup away.

"Maker knows I could use one of those." Carver took his place at the bar beside the elf and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking for spare coin. The pennies clattered on the wooden counter followed by the clunk of a cup. Hawke's younger brother dragged the ale toward him with every appearance of intending to nurse the drink for the rest of the night. Fenris made no comment; it was Carver's move after all.

"The pint," Carver began, "I mean the point here is that I don't want you playing around with my sister's feelings. She's my sister and I don't want anyone messing with her."

"Hawke is a grown woman."

"And my sister," Carver growled in return. "And I'm supposed to protect her, whether from templars or broody, mage-hating bastards who decide to bed her and then walk out on her. Sound familiar, elf?"

Too familiar, he thought but he couldn't say that. "I do not brood. And I do not hate all mages."

"So you're a liar too? My sister has excellent taste." Carver sighed. "I don't even understand why you hate mages so much. We get the magister thing, but what about here? What are they supposed to say? 'Sorry, I was born this way'?"

"You're the templar," replied Fenris evenly. "You tell me."

"That's…" he started and then stopped, thinking. "That's beside the point, elf. You haven't answered me about my sister."

"You didn't ask any questions. You've just been complaining."

"What exactly are your intentions toward my sister? There's one; sorry I didn't spell it out for you."

There had been a time when Fenris would have been annoyed at that comment; incensed even. But he was well aware that, in the larger scheme of things, he was in no way the injured party. And also that if Fenris so tried to rip out Carver Hawke's internal organs, his older sister would probably freeze him where he stood. So instead he answered, "I intend nothing."

"Is that so?" Carver didn't sound convinced. "What are you doing here then?"

"Drinking, as you've observed," he nodded to his cup.

"Then drink. And stop staring at her. You're making her nervous."

"She seems perfectly content." Fenris made a point of staring at Hawke just to irk her brother and realized with a pang that her hair was only three shades darker than the abomination's. Even more painful: Isabela seemed to have taken it upon herself to "stumble" into the happy apostate couple and push Hawke entirely onto Anders's lap. Neither seemed to mind much.

Following Fenris's gaze again, Carver groaned at his sister's blatant display of affection and downed the rest of his drink. "Maybe it's for the best," the templar said, obviously trying to accustom himself to the sight of his sister with her knees draped over an abomination's lap. "They can be fugitives together."

"If you truly took issue with that mage, you could always invoke your templar authority," replied Fenris evenly, almost hoping that Carver would. "But somehow I don't see you kicking down Merrill's door any time soon."

Carver flushed in response. "I don't see you reporting him to the templars either, elf. And why don't you, if you hate him so damn much?"

"If you want to drag your sister's friends into the Gallows, you can take it up with her." He drained the dregs of his cup and winced at the bitter taste. "I've already made her…" Fenris stopped.

"You know," began Carver, his voice conversational but not without an edge, blue eyes fixed on the elf's profile, "if I weren't a templar and you didn't glow, I would take you out into the street and beat you within an inch of your life for breaking my sister's heart."

"I have never been more grateful for this curse to reach into a man's chest and tear out his insides," answered Fenris ironically, rapping his knuckles on the countertop again. "That's a first."

"Be grateful," the templar said flatly, "and if she decides she wants someone else, it's her business and you keep out of it."

Fenris's eyes narrowed at the potential threat but Carver merely pushed himself away from the bar, striding deliberately across the Hanged Man's main room to plant himself beside Isabela's chair. The elf watched the pirate and the templar exchange words before Carver swept Isabela out of her seat, sat down, and then pulled her into his lap with new confidence. Isabela giggled. Hawke shook her head with mock disapproval. Anders tightened his grip around Hawke's waist. Apparently feeling left out, Varric reached out and pretended to grab at Nora the barmaid as she passed. She squawked and giggled in response, scurrying out of reach with her jug.

Across the room, Fenris frowned. Stupid idea, thinking I could have someone, he thought morbidly, his thoughts as well as his tongue seemingly loosened by the drink. Stupid people, thinking they might be in love. Stupid Anders, thinking he's in love with her. She doesn't love him. She can't love him. She's not stupid. But the silly grin on her face was telling him otherwise. Shamed, he looked down again at his glass. It was half-empty already; he should fix that soon.

He missed Hawke and knew he had no right to.