Hawke arrived, breathlessly, at the Hanged Man a half an hour later to find Anders, Isabela, Varric, and Merrill talking together at a table. Merrill waved her over. She breathed deeply to calm her nerves, and sat down with her friends. Varric clapped her on the shoulder and poured her a drink.
"Oh no, you sneaky dwarf," she said, half-laughing, and pushed the mug away.
"Still hurting, huh, Hawke?"
"Lightweight."
"Oh shove it, Bela. We can't all be like you."
"I know, Kitten, and it's dreadfully sad, isn't it?" She winked, and took the drink Hawke turned down for herself.
"How are you today, Hawke? Better, I hope?" Merrill asked, taking her hands in hers.
"Did I miss something last night?" Anders eyed Hawke, his drink halfway to his lips.
"Mm, you bet it did. Our good pal Hawke and the Tevinter elf finally had it out."
"Bela, please. Nothing happened, it's nothing. Isabela and Varric just like getting me really drunk, is all."
"I see, you and the elf."
"Please, it's nothing, guys. Can we just drop it?"
"Sure, Hawke. Consider it dropped," Varric poured everyone another drink. Even Hawke, who gave in and took one.
Fenris stood in his room, still wet from his pitiful excuse for a bath. As always, it was cold but the warm water burned his skin and irritated his markings. He toweled off, staring at himself in the mirror. His hair was damp and stuck to his face. Beads of water rolled down his stomach and dripped on the floor. He looked with disdain at the markings covering his body. They followed his body downward, from his head to his feet, interrupted only by his scars. Mostly self inflected, but Danarius had awarded him a few of his own when he wasn't particularly agreeable. Danarius would strike him with his magic, as would Hadriana, and he was powerless to stop it.
Hawke had traced her fingertips along his marks, trailing from his chest, to his stomach, to his
He shivered, remembering how warm her hand had been around him.
How could he have been so stupid to let her go. No, to send her away.
He had recoiled, at first, from her touch. It was unexpected, how she had grabbed him as he tried to turn away. He was scared, his mind immediately going to Danarius and pavali scented nightmares. But, her face. Her endlessly blue eyes had brought him back.
And then, they were kissing, her tongue teasing his. He could feel her smile on his lips, and her hands on his hips. She had pushed herself ever closer, her body mingling with his. His mind shut off when she kissed him, and all he could see, feel, think, hear was her.
For the first time in a life time, he was free of Danarius.
She pulled him up the stairs to her room and he had followed eagerly. She undressed him slowly, taking time to kiss each of his scars. He stared up at the ceiling, unable to believe it was happening at all. She kissed his chest, his stomach, she kissed the scars on his arms and his wrists. The cuts on his hands. She kissed every mark on his body and, for once, he loved them. He laid her on the bed and untied her robe. His breath hitched in his throat as she lay there naked in front of him.
She, too, was a mosaic of battle scars. He stood and took her all in, he stared at her marks, her freckles, her body.
"You're beautiful, Hawke," he whispered in her ear as he climbed on top of her. She was warm.
"You're not so bad yourself, you know."
He kissed her again.
Her touch had been enough to banish Danarius from his mind for a few moments, but eventually (as always), he clawed his way back into his consciousness. Hawke unlocked memories of the abuse he suffered under the hand and house of the magister, and it terrified him. Memories of his mother and sister also wormed their way inside, begging for his attention. Hawke's breath began to sound like his master's and the night was tainted. Hawke was beauty, and light and yet, somehow, Danarius had found a way to paint her black.
He was so afraid. He had left to spare Hawke from discovering the truth about him, and to protect himself from the already fading memories. He couldn't go through with that again, he wouldn't remember the way his mother called out his name with the same accent as his master.