title: guess who's coming to dinner

prompt: someone gave quark a prompt she's always wanted filled, namely, leandra inviting fenris to dinner, and so i wrote it for her.

originally written: 4/8/2014

notes: written entirely in gchat, hence the lack of capitalization. sorry, everyone!

"why fenris," leandra said, "i'm so glad to see you like the potatoes."

"er," fenris said, swallowing another stuck-to-the-roof-of-his-mouth bite. "yes."

"and remind me again," she said, "where are you from?"

"mother," hawke said desperately, as if perhaps she had presented her mother with a list of questions she was Not Allowed to Ask and perhaps her mother had chosen to ignore it.

"er," fenris said, wondering if taking another sip of wine to try to wash down the mashed potatoes would lead to leandra thinking him an alcoholic, "tevinter. er."

"ah yes," leandra said, calmly ignoring the daggers shooting forth from her daughter's eyes. "tell me, is it as awful as they say?"

"er," fenris said, suddenly self-conscious about his go-to filler word, beginning to think leandra might believe him to have a speech impediment, "that is, well, yes, madam."

"well, i am glad to hear it," leandra said, as hawke made gestures suggesting she wished to climb over the centerpiece and throttle her. "malcolm and i discussed heading north, but i thought it sounded like such a dreadful place."

"well," fenris said slowly, as leandra's eyes twinkled at him in a way that reminded him very strongly of her daughter and confused him greatly, "i must...commend you for your taste."

leandra smiled, still twinkling, and fenris found his feet actually twitching with the desire to run. "why thank you, fenris," she said. "more potatoes?"

o.O.o

"MOTHER," hawke said, having shooed away Orana and insisted that they would clear the dinner dishes themselves.

"yes dear?" leandra said, admiring the tart on the counter. "orana, you've really outdone yourself."

"thank you, ma'am," orana said, carefully dolloping whipped cream atop it.

"MOTHER," hawke said again, concerned her mother did not understand the full depths of her terror.

"i heard you the first time, dear," leandra said. "and do tell sandal he may lick the spoon."

"of course, ma'am," orana said, taking the empty bowl and the spoon with her.

"Mother," hawke said, attempting to tone down her urgency to less adolescent volumes, "what are you doing?"

"admiring a tart, dear."

"not right now," hawke said, then, frustrated, "yes right now, only out there. with..."

"yes?"

"fenris," hawke said, and as soon as she said his name she saw the look in her mother's eye, the look that said she knew the exact depths and breadths and heights of hawke's enjoyment of the name.

"ah yes," leandra said, carefully picking up the tart and placing it upon its pedestal. "fenris."

"yes, mother," hawke said. "why are you so-"

"interested in him? well, darling, a good mother ought to show appreciation for her daughter's interests, and he seems to be occupying quite a bit of your time, lately."

hawke toed the ground guiltily. "i'm sorry i haven't been home more-"

"oh not at all, dear! you have your life to attend you," leandra said, admiring the tart upon its pedestal. "i just thought i'd see if your elf was as committed to his involvement with you as you are to him."

hawke opened and closed her mouth wordlessly, protestations of we're not involved failing to come from her lips-no, to her horror, something far more desperate sprang forth-"and?"

"and what, dear?" leandra said, carefully lifting the pedestal and turning towards the door.

"and?" hawke said, nearly tripping over her feet in her haste to block her mother from leaving the kitchen.

"euphemia," her mother said, stopping short in the face of her daughter's tangled limbs, "use your words."

"and?" hawke said helplessly.

"and i suppose you'll have to ask him yourself, now won't you?" leandra carefully nudged her with her foot, just enough to cause her to step to the side without bashing her head on the doorframe. "now come, we don't want to him to wonder what we're up to, now do we."

hawke righted herself against the door frame and followed her mother back to the dining room, wondering just when she had become so...conniving.

o.O.o

fenris had not been wondering what they were up to. fenris had heard hawke's initial squawking and concluded that the following silence meant that leandra was spending her time quietly lecturing her daughter on all the reasons dating former slaves were unbecoming and beneath her.

after that split-second decision, he resigned himself to drinking all the wine on the table before they returned, in hopes that his drunken behavior would convince hawke to turn him out on the streets rather than risk dividing her already-splintered family. the fact that hawke had spent many evenings in his less-than-sober company already did not dampen his enthusiasm for his plan. there was quite a bit of wine; leandra hadn't appeared to touch hers.

"dessert!" leandra announced, carrying what appeared to be...something. fenris squinted and finished his glass, fumbling to set it down on the table, succeeding, more or less.

leandra set down the thing-ah, a tart, and it smelled of apples, and he loved apples-and smiled at him, though her brow wrinkled with concern. "is that how one indicates they are through with their glass in tevinter?"

fenris blinked at the upside-down goblet, vaguely aware of hawke's nervous face appearing behind her mother.

"er."

"i'll take care of that," hawke said, picking it up and giving him a worried look-and sniff.

"it's fine," fenris said, speaking as carefully as he could.

"oh no, be a dear and take that back to the kitchen, will you?" leandra said, cutting into the tart.

fenris's terror was somewhat submerged beneath his alcoholic haze, but he recognized the panic in hawke's eyes as that of a kindred spirit, and had to resist an absurd urge to comment on it. "oh that's all right, mother, i'll just-"

"euphemia," her mother said-and what a lovely name, fenris thought, so musical and soft and pretty, so unlike the crisp businesslike surname, and as pretty as he found her he wasn't sure he would ever be able to see her as anyone other than hawke. it was what everyone called her; it was the sound of his salvation.

it occurred to him that he'd been staring at her for an awfully long time, and she was staring back at him, and he wasn't even sure why he was thinking about her name, come to think of it—

"euphemia," her mother said again, "the kitchen?"

hawke had sort of a queer smile on her face, and he thought he might have it too, and then she shook herself and said, "right! the kitchen. right. going, mother."

she picked up the goblet-leaning close enough for him to smell-had she put on perfume?-and started for the kitchen, but looked over her shoulder at him-"eyes where you're going, dear," leandra said, her eyes on the tart slices as she plated them.

"right! right," hawke said, narrowly avoiding an encounter with the sideboard on her way out of the dining room.

the room was more than silent when she'd gone; it was empty, and fenris found his fingers twitching for another glass of wine to take her place. instead he got leandra, bringing him a slice of tart topped with whipped cream.

"now," leandra said, seating herself next to him with a slight sigh indicating that the silence was a bit of a relief, though he felt nothing but sheer terror, "there are a few things i'd like to discuss with you, master elf."

fenris, unable to tear his eyes away from hawke's mother, at least stopped his mouth with a bite of-delicious tart; he blinked and chewed, and his amazement must have shown on his face, because leandra laughed and said, "it is good, isn't it?"

mouth full, he nodded; she took a bite, and they chewed in companionable silence for a moment. "i gave orana the recipe; it came from my mother. of course," she said, and for a moment she was lost in a fond memory, looking again like her daughter-like fenris would never be able to look-"she never had the opportunity to serve it to malcolm.

"sometimes i regret that," she said, as fenris found the tart sticking to the roof of his mouth for entirely different reasons than those of the-"and i almost regret serving you those potatoes," she continued, and he was fairly certain the entire hawke family secretly wanted him to choke and die on his own surprise, "but euphemia insisted upon contributing to the meal."

"er," he managed, around a mouthful of tart.

"oh yes. she insisted that if i were out to ruin her life, she be allowed to mitigate as best she could." leandra paused, studied him, then handed him a glass of water. "please."

"thank you," he said, gulping down the glass, though it had the side effect of clearing his head, and he was fairly certain he'd rather be drunk for this conversation.

"but it showed you were a polite young man," leandra continued, "and so i allowed it. you are very polite, which i suppose comes from being a slave-yes, she's told me all about you," she said, as fenris flinched, "perhaps more than she's realized, but then she does tend to carry on without thinking about it.

"you, however, seem more the silent type." she appraised him, and he resisted the urge to tug at his collar, though the candlelight was starting to make him sweat. "and i think that's a good balance for her. she relies on you, you know."

fenris swallowed, and found his voice. "i...am indebted to her, as well."

it seemed woefully inadequate, suddenly, though he'd been very carefully being indebted to her and nothing else for so long that the sudden suggestion that he was in fact many other things-that she would welcome those other things—

leandra smiled, almost sadly. "yes," she said. "a good balance."

a crash drew their attention to the door to the kitchen, where hawke was very guiltily picking up the remains of a vase on a sideboard. "er," she said, and fenris found himself smiling, "i, er. tripped."

"yes, dear," leandra sighed, rising from the chair and letting her skirt settle before gliding over to her daughter.

"i'm sorry," hawke said.

"don't worry, dear," leandra said, as sandal suddenly dropped down from-where, fenris wasn't sure-and began cleaning the shards. "dulci gave me that hideous thing months ago. i've been waiting for someone to trip over it."

"mother," hawke said, glancing at fenris, who found his smile broadening. even from the other end of the table he could see her cheeks redden in the candlelight.

"there, there, dear, i'm sure he's quite familiar with your maladroit ways," leandra said, and fenris barely suppressed his chuckle as hawke shriveled up with embarrassment. "now go enjoy your dessert. it's late, and i've got an engagement first thing tomorrow, so i'm off to bed."

hawke, three steps into escaping from the situation, stopped dead and twisted her head to look at her mother. "to bed?"

"certainly," her mother replied. "i do believe you've told me on several occasions you're too old for a chaperone, have you not?"

"mother," hawke said weakly, reaching for the back of a chair to steady herself, nearly turning it over, spinning on her feet to end up leaning against the table instead.

leandra smiled, and looked back to fenris with that familiar twinkle, and he found himself strangely-reassured? "it was so lovely to meet you, fenris," she said, a genuine smile on her face. "we must do this again sometime."

"happily, madam," he said, raising his glass of water to her, as hawke gaped at him with something akin to betrayal on her face. "i am afraid my house is ill-suited to return the favor."

"that's all right, we'll have you here," leandra said. "i've heard all about your corpses." before hawke could even get the first syllable out, she smiled again and said, "good night, dears. enjoy your evening."

and up the stairs she went, leaving hawke and fenris alone, alternately staring at each other and looking anywhere else. fenris knew he would have to-think, and possibly to do, but for tonight-he pushed back the chair next to him, pulled forward a plate, and said, "tart?"

"yes, please, thank you," hawke said desperately, landing in the chair next to him, and for a minute they sat in companionable silence. the tart was almost good enough to distract him from all her nervous twitches, but finally he said, "what?" just as she said, "fenris-"

they both stopped, looked at each other, waited; finally he said, "please," and she said, "do you really want to come over again?"

"yes," he said, "if you'll have me."

"of course," she said, and then again, "of course," and the warmth in his stomach had nothing to do with tarts or alcohol or questionable mashed potatoes and everything to do with the smile in her eyes.

"good," he said, and then, as it occurred to him, "only one condition."

"anything," she said, and it took his breath away.

he found it again. "please, don't cook for me."

a fork flew past his head, and she looked as though she wanted to put the tart on his face as well-so he solved the issue by placing his next bite in her mouth-bold, perhaps, but it did stop whatever tirade of sound she had planned.

"thank you," he said, "for trying."

she stopped chewing, blushed, swallowed, and said, "you're...welcome."

there was a pause, and she said, "i really am a terrible cook."

"yes," he said.

"you didn't have to agree so quickly."

he shrugged, as he wasn't quite willing to offer an apology.

she seemed to realize this and sighed. "fenris?"

"yes, hawke?"

"thank you for having dinner with my mother."

"any time," he said, and it sounded a bit like freedom. "any time."

FIN