Some Lovers

A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet

022: Method

Fenris had brought the wine and, as the night went on, it became clear that he was not going to share it. This night's selfishness was just one event in a long track record of perceived conceit and "me first" behavior and Aveline was not going to let him get away with it.

"Alright, Fenris, I'm just going to go out and say it," said the guard captain of close to three years. "You need to learn how to share."

"Such a sudden desire to drown one's sorrows in wine's sweet embrace," commented Isabela to no one in particular as she lounged across Varric's bed. "Could a little heartache be stirring in the otherwise icy guard captain?"

Aveline's face reddened. "Shut up, whore."

"That's not what those copper marigolds said," Varric chuckled as he tenderly polished Bianca.

"You told." Aveline rounded on Hawke, mint green eyes accusing. "Hawke, how could you?"

Twin spots of pink appeared on Hawke's otherwise pale complexion. "I did not. I asked for advice. I never said who the advice was for."

"Whatever makes you feel better," Isabela smirked. Rolling onto her stomach, the pirate propped her chin up on her hand and declared, "I think I need to compose a sonnet. What rhymes with 'Donnic'?"

"Tonic?" Fenris suggested, still nursing his bottle as Aveline shook her head in defeat.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet Donnic/ Your love is like a poison/ I shall need a tonic." Isabela smirked again, counting out the syllables. "Try imprinting that in copper and sending it to him."

"Is that how Isabela gets her men?" said Aveline conversationally to Hawke. "She starts spouting poetry at them and they'll do anything to shut her up."

"Not always," Isabela replied with a sideways glance at Varric. "Not if they're dirty poems."

"Alright," said Aveline, turning to square off with the pirate captain. "So how do you get so many lovers? You're not that pretty."

"Some people are actually attracted to me. But you already knew that." Isabela's brown eyes roamed around Varric's suite. "And it isn't as though you approve of my methods, guard captain. Why don't we ask…Hawke?"

"No, let's not ask Hawke," said the woman in question, closing the newest edition of Varric's serial. "There is nothing to ask Hawke about; I have no love life to speak of."

"No, you don't, do you?" Isabela tapped her index finger against her chin. "Not since the viscount's son got over that cute little crush. What was his name again? Or how about Anders? What rhymes with that?"

"No more rhyming," Fenris suddenly said. Hawke glanced across the room at him in surprise. "It is too late in the night."

"Then share the wine if you can't keep up with Isabela's dazzling wit," said Varric in return.

"Or take a nap?" suggested Isabela, already closing her brown eyes. "I know I plan to."

"I plan to sleep in my own bed tonight," declared Aveline, grabbing her shield and sword from where they were propped up against the wall beside Fenris's weapon.

"And there's your problem, big girl."

"Good night," said Aveline, ignoring Isabela's mumbling. "And, Hawke: we need to deal with that slaving operation out of Darktown. Anders gave me a tip…"

"No more talking," replied Hawke, sinking down onto the carpet beside Fenris, her blonde head lulling back against the wooden paneling. Her gray eyes were already half-closed. "I'll see you in the morning."

They all heard the sound of Aveline's angry stomping down the stairs and Hawke opened one eye to survey the suite. Isabela was already lightly snoring, Varric was unusually quiet. Fenris was silent but awake beside her, the bottle of wine still in his hand.

"Give me that," she held out her hand. Surprisingly, he acquiesced. She took a couple of sips and then said, "This is good."

"It is Tevinter. It is good at a high price."

"How much?"

"How much is the blood and sweat of slaves worth to you?"

Wrinkling her nose, she studied the bottle again, swishing around its contents. "I hope you're joking."

"Do you remember that mine, the Bone Pit, and its history?"

"How could I forget?" she rolled her eyes.

"Ask me again if I'm 'joking'."

"Alright: I get it," she took another swig, just to annoy him. "No more questions." She paused. "Just tell me this: why did you come here if you didn't want company?"

"I could not resist –what was it? –oh yes: Isabela's 'dazzling wit.'"

Hawke was taken aback. Since when had he ever expressed an interest in Isabela? All that the pirate talked to him about was oil and smallclothes. She was beginning to reevaluate her entire opinion on the male gender when he spoke up again: "Why did you sit next to me?"

"You're overanalyzing things."

"Then, by your own argument, so were you."

Her breath caught in her throat. Discreetly, she coughed into her hand. "Do you plan to stay the night here?"

"Do you?"

"Are you going to turn my every question around to bite me?"

Fenris shrugged. "I was only going to say that, if you were, I would be happy to walk you back to your estate. It's dangerous to travel alone."

"You do it all of the time."

"My appearance does not attract the same curiosity as yours."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Surely I do not have to state the obvious." His lips curved in a small smile that was somehow pleasing to Hawke's eyes. It was almost as pleasing as what followed: "You are a woman and you are beautiful. Surely you realize this."

"I'll stay," Hawke suddenly decided, feeling her face flush and wondering how he had managed to trap her like this. Did she ever stand a chance once he said those words? "But I plan to sleep. No more drinking." She thrust the bottle back at him before clambering onto the chaise longue. Turning back to look at him again, she added, "And your flattery has improved. Have you been practicing your method?"

"Recent events seem to have inspired me," he shrugged again, his efforts appearing artless with that gesture.

Hawke smiled to herself as she lay down on the chaise, thanking the Maker that Isabela would never be able to find a word that rhymed with "Fenris."