Chapter 23- Drunken confessions!

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So… this is another Fenris chapter!

I will be closing act one up soon! Sorry guys, if I'm dragging let me know! Love you guys!

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Lunaaa

X

Fenris stormed into his mansion, completely drenched and extremely annoyed. His armour squeaked as he trudged up the stairs, water soaked through even to his undershirt as he made his way into his bed chambers. He yanked off his armour with practiced ease, letting it drop to the ground before grabbing a towel and drying himself off; he slipped into his leggings and tunic quickly before starting a fire with old, unused furniture he had in a pile by the mantle.

When the fire was strong enough to burn by itself, he threw the last remaining pieces of wood into it and grabbed one of the blankets, curling around himself as he grabbed one of the bottles of wine he kept under his bed, nursing the bottle as he thought.

He had not meant to be so rude to Hawke, nor had he meant for his temper to get the better of him. But her foul mood, much like her smile, was infectious, and he had snapped. He was truly sorry for snapping at her, but sometimes it felt that Hawke thought she could do everything herself and her little band of misfits were just there as her back up, nothing really worthy of helping the great Hawke. Nevertheless, nothing he had said to her was as cruel as what her own sibling had said, Fenris thought to himself as he began to tear the wrapper from the bottle of wine. At least Fenris' words were somewhat true and he had not just said them just to get at Hawke and win the argument. He frowned at the memory of Carver telling Hawke he wished she had died, instead of their younger sister. Carver was a good man, but sometimes he understood why Hawke hit her younger brother regularly.

Hawke was a good woman, a good friend… and he and Carver had basically partnered up against her just to best her at an argument. It was not his intention, for he hadn't even started the argument that fault lied with Hawke. And yet he felt guilty, as if he and Carver had torn her down with the intent on doing so.

He began to get frustrated with his thoughts and the bottle of wine's wrapper that refused to release itself from the bottle. He remembered one time he had failed to do so when getting Danarius another bottle of wine, how his master had smiled as he flicked his hand and the glass had smashed at his feet, how Danarius told him he had to pick each piece up with his mouth. His throat and mouth were cut and sore for days, and Danarius knew… oh the bastard knew because everything that Fenris ate for the rest of the week was covered in salt. He would smile as Fenris hissed in pain…

Fenris saw red, and launched the bottle at the wall between the two windows of the large bedroom. It shattered into pieces, making a brilliant sound as it did so. He stared at the wall for a minute, panting with the adrenaline rush, but before he could recover he heard a tap at the window.

Tap, tap, tap.

After the third tap, there was an abrupt silence and Fenris grabbed his sword instinctively at whatever was tapping at his window.

He arched the sword upwards, ready to swat at whatever foolish thing had decided to be the object on which he would be venting his anger out on tonight. He stood in silence for a moment, the pouring rain the only thing to be heard. He took a step closer to the window, his grip tightening on his sword but before he could even react the shutters blew open and Hawke jumped in, surveying him with what could only be described as an almost paralytic smile.

"You! I have a bone to pick with you!" she screeched in an almost joyful manner, staggering slightly as she tried to walk up to him. Normally, if Hawke was sober and she had said something along similar lines then Fenris' stomach would tighten and he would prepare for Hawke's wrath, but because Hawke was the drunkest he had ever witnessed her being, he almost found the sight of her comical.

"Are you sure you do not want to hit me when you can see straight, Hawke?" he asked her genuinely, lowering his sword and dropping it on the floor whilst he watched her sway from side to side as she attempted to look at him seriously but failed miserably.

"You have very pretty eyes," she murmured to herself, Fenris' sensitive elf ears the only reason he even heard it.

He froze at her observation, his stomach tied in knots as he looked at the drunken Hawke. Why was it whenever Hawke was drunk she seemed to be as open as Isabela? Of course, he wasn't comparing anything about Hawke to the pirate, they were completely different. Hawke seemed to be so intoxicated she was close to passing out to tell Fenris things like this, where Isabela told him on a regular basis.

He frowned at her for a moment, wishing for a second he could just read her thoughts, just for a moment to see if he could understand her any better. He looked at her as she confidently glided along the room and dropped herself on his bed. She laid there for a moment, smiling at him and his stomach knotted. She was absolutely soaked from the rain and if Fenris hadn't found himself completely speechless by the drenched woman in his bed smiling at him widely, he would have requested that she got off his bed before he forced her to.

"Hawke, how much have you had to drink?" he asked her, eyeing her smile with a suspicious glare.

"Well, I'd say there's about two fifths of this brandy left, shame really I only got it a few hours ago…" she said, retrieving the bottle of brandy from maker knows where, and showing him it like she was presenting him a trophy.

"Do you often decide that binge drinking is the right way to go about your problems?" he questioned her with a severe tone, knowing full well that she would not have got so drunk if it weren't for the incident that had happened earlier on. He mentally cursed Carver Hawke, for if he had just kept his mouth closed and let Hawke have her rant, then maybe all they would have been dealing with was a busted nose each and to buy Hawke a drink or two.

"Only when I remember things that I am better off forgetting, Fenny," she smiled, sitting up on the bed and steadying herself just before she nearly fell off.

"Hawke, come sit by the fire you're drenched and will most likely get cold," he ordered, looking at her soaking hair as she sat on the edge of the bed, still grinning in an almost docile manner. He didn't know what to think of absolutely drunk Hawke, but he had a feeling she could be twice as annoying as sober Hawke.

"You're okay Fenny-Fen, I have my magic potion that Varric gave me!" she said, opening the cork to the bottle of brandy.

Before she could take a sip, Fenris stepped forward, his arm outstretched as he said, "Hawke, you've had enough, give me the brandy,"

"Why don't you come and take it off me?" she asked, her grin growing into a wide smile.

What was this? Hawke was his friend and she had done nothing to suggest otherwise, apart from that night when she had once again overstepped her limit had she even shown any advances on him. Was this some sort of game? Did drunk Hawke do this to all the males in the group? Is that why the abomination looked at her wistfully and was always first to put a mug of ale in her hand whenever the dwarf hadn't gotten there first. He just didn't know, and yet he didn't want to question it, in an odd way he revelled in the knot in his stomach, the feeling that was exceptionally wrong and right all at the same time.

"I don't understand how you even made it to my home so drunk," he said, looking up at the ceiling hoping someone or something would save him right now.

"Well, I was sober when I was at the Amell estate, then I climbed here downed more of the potion and ta-da Hawke that isn't a nasty pasty and is as merry as a drunken sailor!" she explained, putting the bottle down as Fenris had distracted her from drinking it. He looked at her for a moment, wondering how much more it would take for her to pass out, and how much vomit would be involved in the matter.

"Indeed. And what is going to happen when you sober up? Are you going to tell your brother that you are actually alive?" Fenris asked her, whilst still offering her his hand.

Her grin flashed off her face in almost an instant at his words, a dark expression replacing it as she stared at him with a feral expression in her eyes. He cursed himself as he stared into the mage's eyes, as the shivers that ran down his spine felt almost electric as he stared at her. He didn't understand, nor did he want to. He would just enjoy the feeling and not fall into the trap that she unintentionally laid for the weak. He would not be weak.

"As if he even cares if I'm alive, don't you recall what that moron said back there? And don't say he was just angry, Fenny, I see it in their eyes all the time. Whenever they speak about Bethany, they look at me and I can tell! I can see it don't you worry, Fenny, I know they wish it was me," she laughed, coldly and pulled on the large bottle of brandy again.

Fenris cursed himself for bringing Carver into the conversation; he should have known it would just cause her to indulge herself in more alcohol.

"What is it going to take for you to stop drinking that?" he asked, seriously and then instantly regretted it as Hawke grinned at him menacingly.

"To what extent would you go to stop me from getting absolutely off my daggers, Fenny?" she said, a grin playing on her lips that made Fenris' stomach drop.

"Enough to make sure you didn't become nothing more than a pile of vomit, but first I'm curious and you're in a talkative mood, why do you have to get intoxicated to be yourself?" Fenris asked, wondering if she would give him an honest answer.

"Because there is too much hate bubbling in my body and I find alcohol flushes out the hate and replaces it with intoxication and I like it; it feels fuzzy and warm and I don't feel things anymore," she said, honesty ringing in her words. It made him wonder what he would be like if drank too, of course he had indulged in a bottle of wine on an evening but that had given him a warm feeling and nothing more. In truth he had never really drank to become extremely drunk, he had always drunk enough to make him merry and still be able to string coherent sentence. And yet…

"I'll drink it all in one go and then you'll have nothing left to drink," he said, forcing himself out of his thoughts to look back at her. She must have thought it was an excellent idea, because as soon as he had said it she had almost thrown the bottle at him, her eyes looking at him expectedly with a glint of excitement underlining them. He didn't understand the excitement, but Hawke was infectious and suddenly he felt it too, the excitement and the childishness of drinking with the intent of getting so drunk you couldn't really care anymore.

He took the bottle gingerly, automatically regretting his proposal. He looked at Hawke's playful face and suddenly he realised it didn't bother him that much, she was smiling and no longer looked like a feral animal caught in a trap, he would regret it tomorrow but for today he was content that his friend was no longer in such a sour mood.

He put the brandy to his lips, prayed to whatever entity that was out there watching the moment that he would survive the drinking, -for he knew that Hawke would soon find his wine collection and move onto that- and began to pull on the bottle full of honey coloured liquid. It scorched his throat as he carried on pulling, his throat protesting as he dragged down the firey warm liquid. The warmth spread to his abdomen as the brandy sloshed in his stomach.

He threw the bottle to the ground and a for a second he felt nothing but the brandy sloshing around in his stomach, then in what seemed like minutes the brandy spread, it's warmth speeding through his veins and straight to his head.

Making him extremely drunk.

He lowered himself to the floor, expecting himself to be acting just as Hawke did, when in fact he felt nothing but warmth. It flushed in his cheeks and his veins and everything felt much more empathised, like he could feel each grain of the wood flooring that his buttocks sat on, he could see the dust motes in the barely lit room as they seemed to dance around much more slower. But apart from that he felt somewhat normal, if not feverish from speaking with Hawke.

Hawke.

And that was when he knew the alcohol in his body was creeping up on him; he knew it was a silent tsunami because he looked at her but saw her differently. He didn't understand, but as he looked at her and saw that she looked back in the same feverish way, the hairs on his arm seemed to stand still.

He didn't understand her, he wished he did. Were they friends? It seemed she did it unintentionally, yet she was a master at stirring feelings he could not recall ever having. He found himself watching her when she didn't notice; he glared when the abomination got to touch her for his so called medical reasons, the way she smiled at the dwarf and the way she walked. She stood out, she made a statement without even having to try and he realised he admired her.

Were they just friends? Was the alcohol making him overthink, maybe Hawke was like this with most of the males and that is why they sought her attention so? Hawke was mysterious, attractive and he didn't doubt that she knew it. His eyes flashed up to hers, as he looked at them he felt as if he was being dragged back into the jungles of Seheron, where for the first time he was safe… she felt safe.

"How are we doing, Fenny?" she asked, a laugh escaping her lips as she found one of the bottles of wine he had planned on drinking alone later on in the evening. His process of thought had become slightly delayed and for a second he stared at her as she stared back. The air around him seemed to be disappearing, he sucked in a much needed breath and replied "I am tepid, Hawke and yourself?"

She opened the wrapper to the wine with great ease to his annoyance, and proceeded to drink it much like she had with the brandy, after taking several pulls she offered him the wine and where normally he would decline, the jittery feeling in his stomach made him accept it.

"So, Fenny if someone told you six months ago you would be sat in your own mansion drinking with a secret apostate would you rip their heart out? Would you? I bet you would!" she exclaimed, grabbing the wine back and swigging it vigorously.

"I suppose I would have laughed at them, but maybe if they foretold me of the woman I would meet, I wouldn't have laughed so much," he replied truthfully, and it was indeed the truth, Hawke was a force to be reckoned with in all aspects.

"Oh? Is that because you males cannot believe that I am a woman, so have made me sound quite the butch lesbian?" she asked, her eyebrow raised at him quizzically.

"I do not see why they do such a thing, beautiful women are a force to be reckoned with," he said, his thoughts escaping before he could piece them together, his self-control and barriers were gone and it felt odd to be relieved of them.

"You think I'm beautiful?"

"You think I have pretty eyes?"

"Touché, Fenny."

She took a swig of the wine again, this time a much deeper pull than before as if she was trying to distract herself from the conversation. She passed him the wine and began to stare at the floor, her brow furrowed as if she was trying to say something, he blinked at the thought it was as if the alcohol had given him the ability to read her on a better level, as if them both being intoxicated made themselves understand each other a little better.

"What is troubling you, Hawke?" he asked, he was concerned for how the alcohol was meddling with his self-control; he felt like a puppet with alcohol pulling his strings.

"What troubles you, Fenny?" she quipped back sarcastically, and for a while they sat facing each other with nothing but the light of the fire and an occasional crackle filling the room. He looked at her for a moment, and in her drunkenness he saw she looked almost sad. She seemed deep in thought, but when he looked back at her again he saw that whatever she was thinking about made her brows crease and her lips mash together.

"Things, Hawke. I imagine I would appear preposterous if I was just troubled by thin air," he replied, a sloppy smile riddled on his face as she glared at him. He knew that glare well, for truth be told –or alcohol be told, as it had hit him like a ton of dwarven stone- he glared at her in the same manner most of the time. It was a small comfort that she found him just as frustrating at times. He wondered if this would all be forgotten tomorrow. He wanted to remember it, he wanted to remind himself to let it slip to the dwarf that they got incredibly intoxicated and she spent the evening there knowing full well he would tell the abomination and he would have a fit. Fenris smiled to himself at the thought, but snapped his view back to Hawke who was looking at him deep in thought.

"I propose a trade of troubles, you tell me yours and I'll tell you one of mine," she said, her tone business like as if she was bartering with a merchant in Lowtown rather than a friend. He raised his eyebrow at her as he debated. On one side, Fenris hated speaking of himself rather he be the one that listened than be the speaker of the group and yet the other side seemed somewhat appealing, not many, it seemed, knew Hawke's tale or how she came to be as she was, normally he would frustratingly decline, but with his new found confidence he decided the deal was acceptable and nodded in acceptance.

He looked at the floorboards for a moment, examining the small dark veins that ran down in in their thousands, creating the pattern in the wood. He took a deep breath in, and readied himself for the onslaught of her disgust and his shame.

"So many to choose from, Hawke that is the problem. My former master had an apprentice, her name was Hadriana. And every time I say that bitch's name I can feel the bile oozing from my stomach," he growled, accepting the bottle of wine once again, and examining the dark green glass as he thought of how he could word such vile things to her.

"I can tell you and she were not on good terms," Hawke replied, her tone light as if she could sense the mood darkening.

"That is an understatement to say the least, Hadriana hounded me, she tried to make me her own but I would not bend to her and Danarius didn't like how she looked at me. But because she could not have me, she hounded my sleep, made me eat pitiful scraps in a bowl like an animal. Hate is not the right word to describe my emotions toward her, for it is something much deeper than that, it burns in my very soul," he said, as he stroked the wine bottle before taking a long drink.

"There was a slave that had been assigned to Hadriana, a small human girl which wasn't that rare in Tevinter, they bind even their own. She would tend to the witch's every need, never complaining when Hadriana viciously took her frustrations out on her. One day, the girl found out that she had magic and not only that but that it came to her naturally, magisters do not like to cage those who they can mould into their own filth. But Hadriana was scared, she saw the look in Danarius's eyes as he stared at the slave girl who had more skill in her thumb than Hadriana, and she knew her master would surely replace her with this slave without hesitation," he continued, his grip on the bottle tightening, threatening to shatter it into tiny pieces at the memory.

"It seems magisters have no quarrels with just replacing people like they are broken vases," Hawke spat, reaching for the bottle. Her fingers ever so slightly brushed against his own and a warm feeling spread around his cheeks and ears. He blushed, but thanked whatever entity was out there that in the warm glow of the fire Hawke did not notice.

"Indeed, that night I was being punished for not beating one of the other slaves hard enough, so instead of sleeping in the bedrooms with Danarius, I was made to sleep in the cells with the other slaves, when I heard agonizing screams. This was not uncommon, but yet the screams haunted me and without even thinking I followed the screams to Hadriana's study and when I opened the door,, there was nothing left of the girl, just her innards and blood. Hadriana had killed her out of pure jealousy," he spat the last bit, hating that he had to keep saying her name.

He looked at Hawke, who stared at him with knowing eyes. He was not finished with his tale and she knew it.

"She caught me staring, and turned to me with the slave girl's heart still in her hand and commanded that I eat it. She said I had been starved for three days now and she was being kind enough to offer me some nutrition. I refused, so she summoned Danarius.. She knew I would tell of what she had done if my Master asked me, and she explained everything that she did and what she wanted me to do, and he looked at her not in disgust, but pure affection and agreed to her request. I was forced to eat her heart, and I will never forget it. It is burned into my soul. That is why I will take great pleasure in cutting that witch down and all the other bastard magisters with her. May they rot with their darkspawn legacy!" his voice had become a loud feral growl, he bared his teeth like a wolf ready to strike.

Hawke sat opposite him, her eyes slightly bigger watching his outburst but she did not move or falter. He took a few deep breaths and grabbed another bottle of wine that he kept near the fireplace; it felt good to vent the anger at something. For too long he waited in the darkness stewing on the memories that haunted him.

"And that Hawke, is one of my many troubles. What do you when you stop running? That will always be my question, for I am nothing but a fighter, I know little more than the slicing of cold steel on skin. But before my temper becomes the better of me, before the wolf inside eats me alive you said this was a trade did you not? Distract me from this hate for a little while," he spat, ripping the wrapper of the wine off in one go and downing the wine as if he was a man dying of thirst.

"Well, if we're going for distraction Fenris…" she replied, a coy grin on her face as she winked at him.

"You are very amorous after a drink, Hawke, have you noticed that?" he said, looking at her in confusion, "yet when you are sober you are as closed as a book on a shelf. Care to share why that is?"

"The alcohol washes away my fear. You're easier to be myself with, rather much like my brother," she replied, her features mashing together in annoyance at the mention of her brother.

"What do you have to fear? Also, I very much doubt you would flirt with your own sibling, Hawke," he said, his tone serious as he looked at the woman as she wrinkled her nose, he knew by now she did this whenever she felt uncomfortable, it was endearing.

"No, Fenny, that's reserved for you only, it seems. And I will warn you once and once only: I will tell you only what I wish to,; you may ask my dear sibling what happens when people ask me to disclose things I don't want to speak of. They are mine to tell when I am ready," she said, her tone serious as she looked at him with bright eyes. Hawke's eyes glowing bright empathised every word she said. "But we did have a trade…"

She took a large gulp of what was left of her bottle of wine and took a deep breath, as if was truly difficult to say what she wanted to. It seemed odd to find someone else in the same boat as he, especially when through the day when they worked together Hawke was one of the chattiest people he had ever met.

"Back when I was thirteen, nearly fourteen, my life was pretty normal – I lived with ,other, father and both of my siblings in a quaint little cottage on the outskirts of Lothering away from the Templars, not that there were very many in Lothering anyway. My father, he – one night he appeared in my dreams, panicked, begging for my help. He was outside somewhere, so I fled my bedroom in the middle of the night and found him, half-dead in the fields, shot with an arrow laced with magebane. He was dying… there was nothing I could do, nothing any of us could do. We got him inside, expecting him to die within a few hours at most – we were all there, at his side, he was in agony but he was too stubborn, too strong to die – he held on for four days. And I stayed at his side, reading to him. The twins just thought he was sick, too young to understand what was really happening.

"By the third day my father was delirious, lost to hallucinations and waking nightmares. My mother's singing seemed to be the only thing that calmed him, and then on the fourth day, he died. He took an arrow protecting us – the Templars were looking for mages, for apostates, they knew about us, and they found him. He should have run but he didn't. He died to keep us safe, to protect us. A part of me died with him that day, I swore I would protect the rest of my family, keep them from harm, but I failed. Bethany died. It was my fault. I wasn't fast enough, strong enough, she cast her spell at the ogre, protecting mother and then it just… picked her up like she was a ragdoll and crushed her," she said shakily. "It should have been me," she finished, staring down at her hands; she brought her legs up to her chest, hugging herself close, her eyes lost in a sad haze.

"I did not know your father, nor your sister, but I am certain they would not believe that for a second. You father died to save you, and your sister sounds brave, protecting your mother like that."

She gave him a feeble nod. "They were always so selfless. Bethany took after father the most, he taught her so well." She sniffed and let out a long sigh. "I miss them," she admitted quietly before burying her head on her knees.

He shuffled closer to her, not so close as to touch her, but enough to make her feel… well, he hoped it was a comfort, either way. Fenris did not know what it was like to watch a loved one die – but thoughts of Hawke dying stirred something deep in his chest, an ache of sorts; he could imagine how painful it would be to lose someone you cared for. There was sadness in Hawke's eyes, more sorrow than he ever would have believed possible, but there was anger too and a cold hatred that burned within her, a hatred he was knew intimately.

You know nothing of me, therefore my knowledge of slavery is also unknown to you.

Her words. Spoken to him weeks ago. Echoing through his alcohol fogged mind. Panic clasped his heart as realisation began to set in. There was more that she was not telling him.

"You said they knew about you, the Templars. Surely they did not stop their hunt after finding your father?" he asked carefully, watching her as the shadows from the fire danced across her curled up form.

She didn't reply and he frowned slightly. "Hawke?" he asked quietly. Soft snoring was his reply; she had finally passed out from the alcohol. He smiled slightly and then grabbed a blanket and gently put it over her shoulders and coaxed her down on the rug by the fire; he settled next to her and slowly drifted off to sleep.