Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
For a moment, Fenris wondered if he'd stepped into the wrong room. The normally tidy room looked as if a hurricane had swept through; the bedsheets were in disarray, clothes and belongings strewn across the floor. The curtains that had hung around Hawke's
giant bed had been ripped off and thrown aside; at least one chair was in splinters on the floor, and broken glass glinted at him from the remains of at least wine bottle, the contents of which stained the carpet a deep blood red. At least seven other
wine bottles were scattered about, all empty. Deep scorch marks scarred the wall and the room stunk of ash and spoiled wine.
Fenris stepped gingerly through the wreckage, scanning the room for the tousled black hair and signature blood swipe he knew so well. When he found neither, his eyes turned to the bathroom door off to the side of the room.
The door refused to open all the way; it bumped against something halfway. Peeking his head around the door, squeezing through the small opening it gave him, he could see what blocked his way: Hawke.
She lay curled up on her side, her back to him. She didn't stir when the door bumped her, or even when he had to push her a little to allow himself room to enter. Fenris closed the door behind him, leaving them in the dim flickering light of the lamp
up on the wall. He knelt beside her and rolled her gently onto her back. Her normally pale skin seemed even more ghastly white than normal, exaggerated by the lack of her usual blood swipe war-paint across her nose and cheeks.
"Hawke," Fenris murmured. "Wake up." He shook her shoulder lightly, again with no response. His worry deepened; a quick hold of her wrist confirmed a heartbeat, though a little slow. He thumbed one of her eyelids up, and her pupil contracted sluggishly.
Remembering the many empty wine bottles, he sniffed her breath and reeled back at the stench of alcohol. "You never could hold your liquor," he muttered to himself as he slid his arms under her prone form and lifted.
A moment later, Hawke was in her bed and by some miracle he had managed not to step on any broken glass as he carried her across the trashed room. He made his way to the bedroom door and leaned his head out. "Bodahn?"
The dwarf's head appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes full of concern. "Yes, ser?"
"Please get me a couple glasses of cool water and a clean towel, and a bucket if you have one."
"Oh, of course! Right away!" The dwarf disappeared, reappearing only a minute later. "Here you are," he panted, setting everything down on the bedside table Fenris had just set upright. "Ancestors, she looks awful," he fretted at the sight of Hawke lying
prone on the mattress. "Is she going to be alright?"
"Of course she will," Fenris said brusquely as he dampened the cloth with the water from one of the glasses. "She's Hawke, she always pulls through."
Fenris wiped at her brow with the cloth, pondering on if he believed his own words. In the nearly four years he'd known her, he'd never seen anything affect her this badly. To be fair, mourning one's own mother being murdered had to have an incredible
toll on one's life, but even her brother's forced initiation into the Gray Wardens hadn't upset her nearly this much. He hadn't been there, so he had no idea beyond Varric's words on how it had affected her in the moment, but he knew at least that
she'd returned and had to tell her mother that Carver was forced to join the Gray Wardens or die. That night, she had gotten very, very drunk from her wine cellar. It was in Carver's honor, she'd claimed, even though her brother had always hated wine.
Fenris guessed it was partially to honor him, like she'd said, and partially to ease her guilt and the strain of waiting for weeks on end before learning he'd survived the initiation.
Of all of the metaphorical and literal demons Hawke had faced, either alone or by his side, he knew that guilt was the one she struggled with the most. On one of the evenings she had spent in his mansion with him, chatting over dinner, she had confessed
in an unguarded moment that she blamed herself at least partially for Bethany's death, and fully for Carver's drastically changed fate. That was the first time he'd ever seen tears in her eyes. If he had to guess, he could say with much confidence
that this drunken stupor was due to that same guilt, multiplied now with her mother's death added onto it.
At least two hours passed before Hawke moved a muscle. She woke to a pounding headache and every muscle in her body throbbing in protest. She opened her eyes and immediately squeezed them shut; even the dim lighting seemed blinding.
Fenris leaned forward, relieved to see her waking up. He kept his voice soft, so not to startle her. "Hawke?"
Her lips parted as if to speak, but at the last moment she gagged. She jerked to the side, leaned over the edge of the bed and vomited into the well-placed bucket. Fenris brushed her hair out of her face with one hand, rubbing soothing circles on her
back with the other as she retched again.
After another minute, she spat the last of the bile into the bucket and leaned back on the bed wearily. Fenris wiped her face with the cool cloth to clean her up. She opened her eyes a fraction, her ice blue eyes staring up at him blearily. For a moment
she didn't seem to recognize him, but then her eyes slid shut and she let out a soft sigh. "Fenris. What time is it? What…what day is it?"
"Tuesday, probably," he guessed. "It's late, but I don't think I've heard the chantry bell strike midnight yet." He saw her lips mouth the word 'Tuesday', and a frown wrinkle her brow. Hawke lifted a hand to her head where undoubtedly a deep headache
was already throbbing. She looked at him again, seeming to be able to focus a little more now.
"I'm thirsty," she muttered after a moment.
Fenris nodded towards her table. "I have water." She nodded, and he helped her sit upright with the help of some pillows behind her. He handed her the glass still full of water, and she downed it in seconds. Two glasses of water later, she finally seemed
satisfied.
"Thank you," she said softly. She seemed to have realized now what state he had found her in, especially the state of her room. She lowered her eyes, unable to meet the elf's gaze. "I'm sorry you have to see all this."
"There's nothing to apologize for," Fenris said, waving a hand dismissively. Seemingly satisfied that she was okay for the moment, he stood and began picking up debris from the floor. The clothes and curtains he set in a pile at the foot of the bed, the
splintered fragments of the chair he tossed in a corner. "We were worried about you."
One of Hawke's eyebrows arched as she watched him begin gingerly picking up glass fragments and setting them in a pile on the bedside table. "Who's 'we'?"
"Varric sent me to check on you," Fenris said automatically, but regretted it when he saw the faint hope flicker out in her expression. Her eyes dropped to her hands curled up in her lap. She fiddled absentmindedly with her ring as she seemed to fall
deep into thought.
"How is everybody? I know I've…not really been out and about," Hawke said at length, another apology in the tone of her voice. Fenris let out a huff as he righted her wardrobe from where it had fallen on its front.
"I don't tend to spend my free time with your friends," he pointed out. When Hawke's shoulders slumped, he relented. "However, it is likely they're all doing what they normally do when you don't have them with you."
"Varric will be spinning stories in the Hanged Man," she murmured. "Isabela will be drinking or in bed with someone. Anders will be running his clinic"
"Sebastian is probably in the chantry, Aveline will be handling guard duties, and who knows what that blood mage, Merrill, is doing" the elf added, now cleaning up the spilled wine. By now, the room looked almost livable. "You sure do know how to absolutely
wreck a room." When Hawke didn't reply, he glanced up at her. Her gaze was faraway, lost deep in thought once more, but something seemed different about her. "Hawke?"
Her gaze snapped back to the present, and she gave him a piercing stare. "Quentin is still alive," she stated, her voice colored with a seething hatred.
"Yes, he escaped," Fenris frowned. "We found no evidence of where he went so we gave up the chase for the sake of getting your mother out of there."
"Yes, I know," Hawke said distantly. "It's just what you said about Merrill, it might have given me an idea."
"Hawke." He waited until she met his gaze. "You're not thinking about doing what I think you are, are you?"
"What? No, no," she waved a hand dismissively. "I'm not going to do anything stupid, you don't have to worry about that. I just might have thought of a way to help bring him to justice, I just need to think about it a while."
Fenris sat on the edge of the bed, close to her. "Please do not do anything reckless," he admonished softly. "I know that while you understand why I could not be with you in the way you wish, that I still hurt you, but please don't mistake that for me
not caring about you. It would be a colder world if anything happened to you."
Hawke's eyes dropped from his, a blush finally bringing some color to her cheeks. After a moment, she coughed lightly and glanced at him. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to," she offered. "I think I'll be alright now."
"I will stay if you want me to."
She let out a breath. "I want you to, but I don't need you to. Go home and get some sleep. And, um, thank you again. For coming to get me." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. She gave a sheepish smile, and he gave a soft smile back.
"If you ever have need of me, you need only to ask," he affirmed. She nodded. "Before I go home, however, you need to give your word that you'll allow Bodahn in here. The dwarf is worried sick about you."
Hawke glanced guiltily at her bedroom door, where her poor misshapen doorknob glinted dully in the light of her lamp. "Ah," she mumbled. "I ought to apologize about that."
"Yes, you should," Fenris said, amused. He stood and stretched, popping his back as he did so. "If you're really alright now, I'll go home. Just…please tell me before you try anything reckless," he asked, half ordering and half pleading. Hawke's expression
softened, and she nodded.
"I promise," she said. "Goodnight, Fenris."
"Goodnight, Hawke."