Prompt: hawke/fenris...i'll take three lines i'm starving

Originally Written: 7/8/14

Notes: This is totally not a Quark prompt. Yup. Totally.

I don't know you at all, nonny, I'm sure.

"Fenris," Hawke said, not bothering to lift her head from where she'd pillowed it on her arms as she lay on the hearth.

"Yes?" Fenris said, not bothering to look up from the book he read from the comfort of an armchair pulled just a bit closer to the hearth than Orana had originally placed it.

"I'm hungry," Hawke said, voice still muffled.

"I see," Fenris said, turning the page as carefully as he could manage, given how desperately he wanted to know what happened next.

The fire crackled.

"Fenris," Hawke said, lifting her head and settling her chin on her arms, "I'm hungry."

"So you said," he replied, eyes busy parsing a particularly complicated sentence.

"Fenris," she said, and he felt the barest—he pulled his feet up into the chair, shifting to tuck them underneath him. "I'm hungry."

"I fail to see how that affects me," he said, tickled foot notwithstanding.

"Find me some food," she said, her voice a bit strained, though he didn't deign to see how far she was stretching to try to reach him.

"No," he said, delighting in the word.

"I know you've stopped reading," she said, and he couldn't quite keep from guiltily skimming the next three lines to get his eyes moving again. "Since you have, could you get me something to eat?"

He waited.

"Please?"

He sighed, reached behind the throw pillow next to him, pulled out a rumpled paper sack, and tossed it to the floor, all while returning his attention to the intricacies of Varric's latest thriller. He couldn't block out the rustling of the paper, Hawke's deep sniff of its contents and subsequent sigh of happiness, or the glee with which she took her bite of a still-warm sweet roll from the Lowtown market.

"Oh Fenris," Hawke said, or something along those lines, as he was certain her mouth was otherwise occupied with sweet roll, "you do care."

"Hmph," was, he thought, enough of a response as he shifted again to drop his feet to the ground. The plot twist was only a few pages away, he could practically taste it—and Hawke was idly rubbing his foot with one hand while she licked the remains of the sweet roll from the other, and the fire was warm, and it was, all in all, a good night.