#implied!fenhawke

[kirkwallcowboy]

Okay last WIP spam for a while i just didnt really expect to work on it so much the last entire 24 hours.

[lunehowls]

expressive ears

[moosu]

I have so many Fenrises that sometimes I wonder if I'm drawing him too much...

[creamecream]

Some of my favorite Fenris/Merrill drabbles I wrote.

Compiled from Discord messages, and mainly for @shinynymphia

Warnings: Fenris x Merrill, Zevran x Warden Mahariel, implied Fenris having feelings for Hawke, Merrill pining heavily, use of “knife-ear”.

Khaalida is Fenris and Merrill’s daughter.

-Handsome-

“He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

She’s responding before she realizes she’s even opened her mouth to speak, her eyes are currently glued to the other elf’s face as a smile tugs at his lips, laughter dancing in his green eyes when Hawke tells another joke.

“He certainly is…” she mumbles, only to shut her mouth quickly, she hadn’t meant to say that! Fenris would surely take great offense if he heard her, let alone found she mentioned it to anyone else.

-Heartache-

“knife-ear.”

The sentence is barely muttered before Fenris is on them, holding the offending person by their throat, near growling.

Merrill freezes, opening her mouth-

“Fenris! Stop!”

Only for nothing to come out, Hawke having spoken instead.

Fenris looks back at them and drops the person he had been threatening, stepping away from them and straight back to Hawke’s side. “As you wish.” he mutters, and Hawke gives him a relieved smile.

Fenris’ eyes brighten and, Merrill doesn’t know why, but realizing that Fenris would most likely not have stopped if she had spoken instead of Hawke burns painfully in her chest for a long while after.

-Petal-

A hand reaches, but is quickly snatched for the air, Fenris barking out a low “No.”

Merrill looks between the two elves, confused. then Zevran snickers, slipping his hand out of Fenris’ grip easily.

“She has a petal in her hair.” The Antivan elf insists, before wrapping an arm around and placing a sound kiss upon Mahariel, whom has his arms crossed, giving his lover a suspicious look.

Fenris hisses and takes Merrill��s face between his palms, pointedly not looking at Zevran as he removes the stray petal from the other’s hair.

-Letters-

Khaalida’s little feet kick as she sits and reads, her mother’s hands full with the dishes from supper, her father outside, practicing his swordplay.

Khaalida looks up when her father enters, his white hair falling into his face as he places his grate sword down by the kitchen door.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Khaalida squeaks, trotting over to her father excitedly. “Daddy, who’s Hawke?” the little elf asks, causing her father to freeze, his green eyes going wide when he sees Khaalida has her hands, still slightly sticky from the jam her mother had given her, upon a few letters.

“Put those down!” Fenris shouts, his anger getting the better of him, his lyrium markings flaring bright with it, though he comes to his senses as soon as he hears his daughter shriek, as well as how Merrill drops a dish, shattering it around her bare feet.

Khaalida looks up at her father with teary eyes, green as his own, before she turns and bolts, running for her room.

“Da’len!” Merrill shouts, not caring about any broken clay she steps upon as she runs after her daughter, leaving Fenris alone in the kitchen.

[villainanders]

“People referring to Lavellan as Lavellan in Solavellan posts implies that all Lavellans are Solasmancers” is so stupid I’m sorryyyy when people just call Hawke Hawke without any qualifiers in fenhawke posts that doesn’t imply all Hawkes are Fenris romancers

[perlen-gold]

Lyrium

Prompt: Lyrium for @14daysdalovers

Pairing: fenhawke

In spite of everything they imply Hawke loves running his fingers along the iridescent white rivulets on Fenris skin, still dewy from sweat, and trailing each and every delicate path, still incandescent, with soft fingertips. White, pearl white as his hair.

“It is alright, isn’t it?”

A deep voice, resonate as gravel under swiftly flowing water.

“I have told you before.” Fenris answers in unconcealed exasperation for he is none to offer redundant information – never saying more than needs to be said – a character trait that cannot be erased by even the most winsome smile on Hawke’s face.

“What’s this?” Hawke asks, brushing a tender spot just below Fenris bare shoulder blade. Weeks had passed since their leaving Kirkwall till Fenris finally allowed the charcoal black armor to rest on the ground instead of buckling it on as soon as their strained breaths and Hawke’s lips left his body.

“An old wound. I defended Danarius from a rival blood mage who conjured up a beastly demon, ironclad and armored with poisonous thorns.” Fenris voice is slow and low with slumberousness.  Hawke likes his voice this way, bereft of any harshness, less thunderous and quite deep.

“And he didn’t heal you?” Hawke’s brows meet in thought.

“No. It was his opinion that I might become a fast learner that way, obviously.”

After those words, Fenris extends one elbow in order to push Hawke’s heavy torso away from his backside since, despite the drunken droplets of rain outside the frigid glass windows, Hawke’s broad-shouldered body is radiating heat. Hawke lets himself be pressed away only to move closer the moment Fenris ceases to move. It has become a kind of game between the pair of them by now that Hawke is only too happy to indulge in.

“And this?”

At a lighter touch now Hawke’s fingers travel to another patch of roughly mended almond skin on the small of Fenris’ back. He leans in closer to catch Fenris’ drowsily mumbled words.

“Danarius had me flayed. Hadriana stole my food so one night I stole hers instead.”

“I remember her. She looked like one voracious woman to me.”

Fingers tracing the intricate, icy white markings up Fenris’ neck Hawke’s face remains placid, revealing never how grave Fenris’ words may or may not distress him.

“What about this one?”

This time, Hawke cannot grasp Fenris’ next words, so easily do they evaporate into slumber, except for “dragonling”, and he makes a mental note to let his healing power wash over Fenris every time they encounter so much as a half-starved stray dog, even if it will drive Fenris mad with irritation.

Though he can feel his breathing fluid and even beneath his own arms, Hawke allows his inky beard to scratch Fenris’ jawline when he asks once more: “It’s alright this way, isn’t it?”

A huffing snort.

Across Hawke’s face a deliberate smirk scurries and his mind floats back many, many weeks to a similar night.

Still, he keeps asking the question. Not every time, perhaps, but from precious time to time as if to catch Fenris off his guard;  just to make doubly sure; even if he knows the answer because his hands tell him so.

Some months ago it came as a severe shock with the force of an ear-splitting explosion when Hawke first discovered another shred of truth about those elaborate lyrium marks.

Misreading Fenris flinching at Hawke’s most gentle touch for a reaction of unfamiliarity, he had not been paying his occasional recoiling much heed anymore as even their kisses seemed to be sheltering something wild and heedless.

And then, one day, when their skins were cooling off slowly, adding it as an afterthought, really, Fenris casually mentioned the pain.  

Shock. Anxiety. Guilt. Horror. Fury.

Fenris, how could you not tell me?

I did not think it something worth mentioning.

How can this not be worth mentioning to you? To me?

Anger was welling in Hawke’s chest so rapidly it caused his lungs to hurt just as much as each white-hot, luminescent curve blazing before his eyes in the close-lipped dark of night. It built its way into his veins, infusing his skin with the very agony Fenris had been enduring for months and decided not worth mentioning.

Fenris noticed it, this non-characteristic display of ungoverned emotions on Hawke’s face. Between them the air was suddenly bare and raw with stillness.

Fenris’ eyes narrowed as they did slightly before immediate battle.

Each wince or cringe, each small hiss under Fenris’ breath on Hawke’s lips now colored in a different shade of hue.

The mere thought was sickening.

Holding his gaze, Hawke felt his voice rising in his chest when he observed the emerald in Fenris eyes sparkle as it does whenever one of his adamantly unwavering beliefs is to be casted with the shadow of doubt. Instead of shouting, however, Hawke shied away from Fenris outstretched hand, appalled at himself, when it reached for him.

However, even this thronging sensation resided under Hawke’s skin, tangible, yet not to lash out.

Instead of shouting, Hawke sat up. Quietly, he leant over him, scrutinizing Fenris jowls, eyes, brows for any clandestine signs of lingering pain, his voice as calm as the wind rustling under forest green leaves, his emotions spreading none the stormier throughout his bitter body but channeled to where he could master and contemplate them.

“Fenris. Why didn’t you tell me at the very beginning? ”

“I do not fear pain.” Fenris stated, an unpleasant smile lurking at the edge of his eyes still squinting in warning.

Hawke chose his next words carefully.

“You should have told me.” And then, without waiting for the answer: “I can help you, Fenris. If only you permit me to.”

Fenris anger, on the other hand, flared up immediately and disastrously as a torch of flame might blaze fierce white-hot light into utter darkness.

It took Hawke days upon days of coaxing, reasoning, pleading, reassuring, arguing, even fighting, with Hawke refusing to touch him at all and Fenris becoming broodier and more irritated by the hour, and eventually more coaxing for Fenris to reluctantly admit Hawke’s magic to response to the lyrium’s violent power.

For the first time ever Hawke could remember, while he was merely touching his hand, cupping it in his own and fingertips simply resting on Fenris’ tense palm, he felt Fenris rigid fingers slacken. Gritted teeth, set jaws relaxing.

Suspicious eyes smoothing as a firmly shut door might quiver when confronted with the softest of pushes.

And then, if only in the briefest blink of an eye, Hawke witnessed the violent smoldering waver.

That very night Hawke exhausted himself working his magic on every inch of Fenris trembling skin until he felt drained with anemic debilitation.

And still he asks the question. That, too, is a kind of childish game between them, one that Fenris cannot refuse to join in for his own slight dishonesty, and one that Hawke cannot forsake for his own stubborn, lovesick, unvoiced needs. The third time he poses the teasing question, Fenris remains silent with sleep. Hawke smiles, seeking out the tell-tale spots of scarred almond skin and planting a scratchy kiss on each before he gives in to fatigue himself, Fenris’ cold fingers reaching out and interlacing with Hawke’s just beyond the brink of slumber.

Over time Hawke has adapted, learned to bestow just the right amount of magical power to soothe the vigilant lyrium into peaceful hibernation. Soon, this newly discovered ability comes without asking, without concentrating, of its own accord, without thinking.

Under his touch his skin, Fenris confessed, some days later, prickled nigh on without pain, so close to innoxiousness he could even imagine analgesia.

He will never touch Fenris without this gift of his again, and, among so numerous a thing, Hawke discovers that there is an unflinching, appeased quality, void of hissing and restrain, under that menacing white-hot colored blaze.

[transfenris-truther]

Tagged by @blarrghe to share some recent fics. Much Appreciated! I've been putting this one off until I had a new Fic to share, lol, sorry. I'm tagging @tea42, @perlen-gold, and @merrybandofmurderers if ya'll want to do this. No pressure!

I have too many projects, yet somehow only a few ongoing fics.

No Town More Barren than Our Town is my massive ongoing FenHawke fic which takes place over the course of the game.

No One Will Get Away With Anything JUST finished. It's a Trans Fenris Backstory fic, with all the awful stuff that implies. It's also a LOT about Varania. I just wanted to call it out here because I'm real proud to have recently finished it.

If Not By Faith- By the Sword JUST was posted. I finished the first chapter like ten minutes ago and I'm super excited to share it. It's a Templar Carver fic about working within the Templars to try to get justice for mages trapped there. There's not much to it right now, but I have PLANS.

No Town More Barren Than our Town (94339 words) by TransFenris_Truther Chapters: 30/? Fandom: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke, Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age) Characters: Fenris, Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Aveline Vallen, Merrill (Dragon Age), Isabela (Dragon Age), Anders (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras Additional Tags: Anders is less mean, Fenris is less mean, plenty of slaver killing, Minor Fenris/Isabela (Dragon Age), Trans Character, Trans Fenris (Dragon Age), Trans Male Character Series: Part 3 of The Ones We've Lost Summary: When Fenris comes to Kirkwall, he doesn't plan to stay. He plans to hire a few goons, track down a chest and go back on the run. He's surprised to find that he likes the goons he's hired, and he likes the miserable city he's found himself in. Or maybe he just likes Hawke.

No One Will Get Away With Anything (88783 words) by TransFenris_Truther Chapters: 26/26 Fandom: Dragon Age II Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Varania (Dragon Age), Fenris (Dragon Age), Fenris' Mother (Dragon Age), Danarius (Dragon Age), Leto (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Trans Male Character, Trans Fenris (Dragon Age), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slavery, grooming of a child, Angst, Danarius is the worst kind of evil imo, Transphobia, Homophobia, Sexism Summary: Varania loves her family, but she doesn't understand her brother anymore. As her magic grows and he changes, the two grow further and further apart. Her mother is getting sicker, and Leto is getting more and more reckless. Varania is afraid, she's unsure, she knows that one small slip up can ruin her future. She knows she's not being fair, but all she wants is to keep her family together, even if it means forcing Leto to lie low. Leto knows he's destined for great things. He's a slave now but he's exceptional. Someday someone is going to notice his strength, his speed, his cleverness. When that happens, he'll be able to truly protect his family and make them proud. So what if he's a slave? So what if his body isn't the way he wants it to be? He knows who he is, even if his twin doesn't.

If Not By Faith- By the Sword (2516 words) by TransFenris_Truther Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Carver Hawke/Merrill, Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age) Characters: Carver Hawke, Cullen Rutherford, Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Merrill (Dragon Age), Anders (Dragon Age), Isabela (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Drug Use, Templars (Dragon Age), Templar Carver Hawke Summary: Carver joins the Templars because he has to. His brother must be dead, or so lost in the Deep Roads that he'll never be seen again. His Mother can't afford to live on a mercenary's salary alone. Desperate Fereldans can join the guard, the Templars or mine the Bone Pit. Carver's already burnt his bridges with the guard, but if the purpose of the Templars is to protect mages, he has a lot of experience. Unfortunately, it seems very few Templars share his perspective. With the disappearance of his brother into the Deep Roads, Carver joins the Templars to make ends meet. To his surprise, he ends up a key member of a secret society of Templars affiliated with the mage underground. His brother may be the Champion of Kirkwall, but Carver's name is going to mean something too.

[leeebo]

so here it is again, my fic, and honestly? I like how it ended. 

Gaius deals with Alistair’s loss the same way he dealt with the loss of his family - getting drunk. Or he attempts to. His anger proves to be too much for the alcohol to cut through, and instead, he talks things out with Adralan and despite everything, begins to think of Adralan as a friend. 

Want to read more about what happens, after their discussion and before Halamshiral? Click the link! (Fenris also makes an appearance, just so you know) ((gaius also gets his ass kicked by cullen)) 

[mascindulgence]

tony hawk’s moving castle

inspired by this legendary tweet:

[trashwarden]

Had a pleasure to host Dragon Age Secret Santa event for friends and I got to draw Fenris chilling with Hawke’s Mabari for margawart (on twitter)! 

Merry Christmas!! 

little bonus

Like Varric said: eveyone’s a critic

[lesbijkas]

something, something male wife monday...

[ID: a full color picture of Fenris from Dragon Age II. he is a brown skinned elf with short white cropped hair, green eyes, and white tattoos. he is wearing a red robe like top with golden details and gold earrings. on the left he has a serious expression, eyes open, with gold sparkles spaced around is head. on the right he has a happy, love struck expression, smiling with his eyes closed. a red lipstick mark is on the bridge of his nose and golden hearts float around his head. END ID]

[serphena]

Did your Hawke try to move on from Fenris after the initial breakup? Were there any moments in those 3 years that made her keep waiting for him?

Did your Hawke try to move on from Fenris after the initial breakup?

Some thoughts first, if you don’t mind.

She definitely tried to do something in order to feel anything at all, we’ll get there in a bit.

Marian’s mental state isn’t really okay in general. She struggles with her identity as a mage, doesn’t feel the connection with the Fade as much as she thinks she is supposed to (from what her father and sister, and later Merrill told her, it was supposed to be a unique, special experience), doesn’t want to have magic but tries to live with it and to top it all her religious beliefs reinforce the thought that she is flawed because of her magical abilities. She deals with lots of self-guilt and negativity from herself on a day to day basis, ending up in Kirkwall was okay-ish for some time until she had to let go of ther brother (her friend and anchor) and then things started to go downhill.

In a short time she experienced so much loss that it forced her to, for a loss of a better term at the moment, completely shut down. First it was the night with Fenris, where she felt like she was the one who fucked up, who did it all wrong, who pushed him away. Chateau Haine might have been a nice distraction, but it also made her feel used  and deceived, plus the venom spitting beasts got her new scars to the collection.

Soon after that the matters with the qunari got so out of hand so fast that she didn’t even have proper time to mourn her own mother’s death. Then Saemus died as well and she felt her control of the situation and of herself, slowly fading. So far she tried to keep it in, slap a smile (it was getting weaker with every day) and act as if it’s nothing. That event in itself was a punch, she didn’t want to think what would Carver say or do if he were around. (but it gnawed at her anyway).

When she encountered Gray Wardens during the night qunari attacked, she thought maybe Carver will get mad at her. Will scream, grab at her and blame her for everything. She was preparing for the anger. Instead she was met with with empty eyes and saddened voice, uttering one single sentence that made her completely break down - I’m sure you did your best.

Fight with Arishok was bad. She was weakened, heartbroken and just tired. She was surprised to wake up in her own bed, last thing she remembered was Meredith declaring her the Champion and then she fell to the floor, right into the big puddle of blood.

After few weeks of bedrest, she felt better in terms of her body’s condition, but mentally it was still messy.

So she tried to initiate something with Isabela (because there is a mutual attraction and they spent the night together years ago, before she even thought of Fenris in a romantic way) when the pirate visited her room to check up on her. Isabela recognized right away what it was all about and stopped Hawke from hurting them both. If it were any other moment, she would probably take Marian up on her offer - but Hawke was still mourning, in a lot of pain, and her heart was broken, so them jumping into bed together wouldn’t solve this. Marian apologized and didn’t try this kind of thing again.

Were there any moments in those 3 years that made her keep waiting for him?

It took her few months to heal from the injuries she got in duel with Arishok, so she didn’t think of him much. Or tried to, because he was also the one visiting her and checking up on her and she wasn’t sure what to think or feel. On one hand, he admitted during that night it was too much, but wasn’t running away completely. She grabbed on to this tiny chance, this hope that maybe with some time there would be something between them again. While she thought she needs to fix something, he was dealing with the perspective of giving Hawke time and making it up to her somehow. He helped her with things around the mansion when she was stuck in her bed, and when they got the green light from Anders he returned to training her in combat (it was something she asked of him, because she didn’t want to rely on her magic only during the fights). So they had that. And their reading lessons. Marian tried to get every chance she had to still be in contact with him, and needed the time to spend with people in general, after finally being able to wake up and get out of bed on her own. She didn’t want to lose their conversations they had long before their romance started, so she was spending time with her friend and inside her heart she simply hoped it would be enough.

[laugandraws]

For Maker's sake, Hawke, join the boy!

[kibuto]

Fictober 2019 - Prompt 03

Prompt: 03. Now? Now you listen to me? Fanfiction: Dragon Age 2 Characters/Pairings: (Implied FenHawke) Garrett Hawke, Carver Hawke Warnings: None

He'd lost track of how many times he'd tried to change his brother's mind. Garrett Hawke, however, was stubborn to a fault and would cheerfully make stupid decisions as if they were logical. It drove Carver up the wall, especially when those stupid decisions somehow came out to an ending that was good.

Muttering under his breath about family fortunes and good sense, he let himself into the Amell manor. Garrett's mabari, creatively named Dog, sprinted from his spot by the fireplace to roll at Carver's feet and beg for belly rubs. "All right, you old hound?" Carver asked with a grin. He knelt and stretched one gloved hand out to scratch and pat. He'd grown fonder of Dog since not having to live with him in close quarters. His breath still reeked, though.

"Is someone there?"

Carver rose at the sound of his brother's voice and followed it to the parlor, Dog trotting at his heels. "Just me, brother. Were you expecting someone?"

"I-- no, no I suppose I wasn't." Garrett was far from the boisterous man Carver was used to. He sat in a chair by the fire, an uncorked bottle of wine at his elbow. There were no glasses.

Carver frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he gave the elder Hawke a critical once-over. "Now I know something's wrong, because usually you're a pretty good liar and right now you're shite. What's going on?"

At first Garrett didn't respond, just blew out a breath and reached for the open bottle. After a pull and under Carver's unwavering stare, he finally relented. "It's Fenris."

Carver rolled his eyes. "Of course it is."

"Don't give me that; you asked," Garrett replied. "He's, er... well, we're taking something of a break."

"Wait-- were you two seeing each other?" Carver asked incredulously.

Garrett's mouth flattened into a thin line hidden beneath his beard. "Carver," he said warningly.

"I'm not saying there's anything bad about it! I'm just surprised, that's all." Carver moved to sit down opposite Garrett, dropping his hand to ruffle Dog's ears the way the mabari liked. "So why are you taking a break?"

"I'd rather not get into it." Now Garrett was avoiding looking at him. This wasn't good.

Carver knew full well that any time he made a suggestion, Garrett preferred to do the opposite. He'd been waiting for an opportunity to use some reverse psychology, and it was as good a time as any. "Well, sitting in here and drinking alone seems like a good choice after being dumped," he said, carefully keeping his voice neutral. "If I were you, I wouldn't talk to him about it at all. I'd just stay in here for a while. It's safer, and maybe if you wait long enough everyone will forget that you two were ever a thing so you won't have to face awkward questions."

There was a long pause before Garrett nodded. "You're right. They'll likely move onto the next thing eventually."

Slapping his forehead, Carver groaned. He buried his face in his hands. "Now? Now you listen to me? Come on, Garrett!" Lifting his head, he gave his brother his best scowl. "You've never been the type to go running away from a little trouble. Why start now?"

Garrett looked morosely down at the bottle still in his hands. When he didn't answer, Carver stood up and walked to his side. He removed the bottle, maybe a third gone, from Garrett's hands and set it back on the table. "Alright. Let's do this properly. We're going to get you a bath and then get you dressed and then we're going out and I'm going to buy you a drink outside the house. If you're going to get drunk, it should at least be among friends."

[perlen-gold]

For the WIP game: Varric ... (I'm bracing myself for feels) 😭

Man 🌹 @kourvo after the last snippet, you're one brave lion! 🦁

(I shared a snippet of this recently for WIP Wednesday XD but this time I’m sharing the whole chapter as it’s one of the short ones! Once again, it’s an excerpt from my longfic Ablaze)

💗💛💜  Thank you so much again for asking about all these WIPs! 💗💛💜   

I certainly didn't expect it!

Varric shoves, not hard, but hard enough for Hawke to feel his back collide with the battlements.

“What the blight was all the about, Hawke?” Varric half-grunts, half-yells, his voice rasping in his throat.

Hawke’s dirt-streaked hand misses his eyes, rubs against his face and beard instead.

“’Go, I will cover you? Corypheus is my responsibility?’ Andraste’s bloody tits, seriously, Hawke?”

Varric is heaving hard, huge intakes of breath.

“You would have died, you stupid bastard!” Drained, Varric slouches against the rampart of Adamant fortress, sliding down until he comes to sit on the ground, hunched over his chest. “What about Kirkwall? What about the rest of us? What about Fenris, for Maker’s sake?”

He does not look at Varric.

“Under pressure, I start swearing and write stories and you are sarcastic to the point of ridiculousness and bust some asses! That is how we cope, Hawke, and dying in the fucking Fade is not one of our mechanisms!” Then Varric voiced what Hawke was thinking. “Are you mental, Hawke?”

Hawke passes a trembling hand over his eyes, the other still grinding his bearded cheek, frantically, his mouth, chin, neck. His moving eyes dart around, unfocused.

In his chest, his breath tears around. It comes in long, hard, heaving draws.

“I cannot …,” Hawke breathes, half of his face hidden in one hand . “I cannot … –“ He stops speaking when the voice flees his throat, leaving it all raw and hurting.

 Slowly, Varric watches him crumple, too, collapse, slumped to the ground, his bent back supported by the fortress’ jetstone walls. They do not look at each other, not speak, simply sit there, stooped, the tips of their grime-stained boots essentially touching. Their gaze falls to the ground, hijacked there, drawn into themselves.

For a while there is naught but silence, broken solely by their heavy breathing.

“Makes our first trip into the fade look like a holiday, huh?” Varric mumbles at length. “I still vote against taking a room there.”

“Yes. Too much vermin.” The weight of Hawke’s forehead presses upon his bruised knuckles.

“I should have come sooner,” he then says, calmly.

Varric wretches his gaze from the ground. “I told you not to, remember?”

 “You should not have been alone in this, Varric.”

“Maker’s breath, I was begging you to stay away,” Varric mutters, his hands all over his pale, face, “and I am glad I did. I even wrestled Cassandra for your honor.”

A remote smile tugged at Hawke’s lips. His forehead came away from his arms to rest his head against the dark, battle-stained walls.

“Would have loved watching that. And place bets.”

“On the lying dwarf or the crazed sword-lady?”

“Not saying.”

Varric’s mouth twitches but he looks away.

“That clearly says ‘the most handsome dwarf in Skyhold’.”

“You are forgetting I fancy people with tall swords.”

A small, short-breathed laughter, cleft and cupped, escapes Varric’s throat. Hawke grunts then, hoarse. “You should not have been alone in this, Varric.”

Absent-minded, Varric motions nervelessly, a tiny shaking of his head, eyes focusing on no exact point somewhere to Hawke’s left in the fuliginous night.

“Thanks. But this is no story for heroes.” An inenarrable emotion passes over his face, quick and aching. “Did you really see spiders in there?” he almost whispers.

Varric looks at his hands in his lap. “If Bartrand and I had not found it … if we had never set out for the blighted Deep Roads … if we had not been so greedy … if we had never found the idol –“

“I went to the Deep Roads as well, remember?” Hawke interjected in a sharp voice, “There was no way we could have foreseen this. No,” wearily Hawke rubs is face again, sensing dirt, blood and sweat under the pads of his trembling fingers, “if anything, Corypheus is my fault. I swear, I thought we had killed him, I really did. If my father – “

“Don’t you start on this again,” Varric snapped angrily with an irked lift of his head, “I was there as well, remember? He sure looked as dead as you can possibly be!”

Fraught with exhaustion, breathing hard and shallow, the two of them laid back their heads, their gazes losing focus once more.

“All spiders?” asks Varric, after some time, softly.

A spasm, like the sudden rupture of a very tightened string, scuds across Hawke’s features. Eventually, he nods, throat too tight to speak. “And … them.”

They stare into the smoky, bluish-gray night sky.

“I have never seen you fight with someone before.” Varric’s mouth twisted, an edge of caution smoothing out his voice. “Well, severe a few limbs here and there and pierce a few egos, but never actually argue. You are no quarreler, Hawke.  Maker knows, I have rarely witnessed you become angry ever before. “

After these words they look at each other, memories kindled like fire-lit projectiles illuminating the battle-worn night. Hawke wipes at his face again while his other hand travels to his chest, rubbing it as over smooth stone, as if trying to ease a pain within his ravaging breath inside his chest.

“Strout … was a good man.” Hawke’s words come slow, cautious, placed like dulled tiles on crumbling earth. Varric looks up to see a grimace sunder Hawke’s gray, pinched features as a discordant tune. Threaded with self-disgust. And something almost like shame. “I should not have talked to him the way I did. He deserved better. My manners never exceed in the presence of good men.” Hawke adds, a cracked smile passing between Varric and him like a secret gift, a twinkling in their eyes, before it passes away.

Hawke rubs his beard and face again, massaging his jaw with a slow-moving vigorousness bordering on real pain. Then, he laboriously climbs to his feet.

“I told the Inquisitor I would go to Weisshaupt. Someone must warn the other Wardens,” he says contemplatively, almost unattentive, absent-minded. A fast shrewdness passes over Varric’s face while he fixes his gaze at him as Hawke speaks.

The air presses its cold smoke-mouths against their faces. Hawke’s gaze lingers on Varric like moon-lit clouds on a dark pool , long and intense. “Come with me, Varric.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Varric mumbles, suddenly almost inaudibly, his slow glimpse falling upon his hands still resting in his lap, with defiant defeat. “But I am in this. Something tells me I need to stay where I am. At least for the time being. Someone must write down all this shit, I guess. Maybe I will compose an ode or something.”

Reaching out, Hawke simply nods and without further ado his slightly calloused, smoke-streaked hand, willfully steady now, comes to rest in front of Varric. “The weirdest shit I have ever seen.”

Varric lets out his breath as if had been holding it within his sunken chest. Then, an inconspicuous smile darting over his canny eyes, he seizes Hawke’s proffered hand and Varric too rises to his feet. “All of it.”

“Answer this one question, Hawke,” he continues, their hands still clasped around each other, firmly so, “Cross my heart! How in the blight did you coax Fenris into staying behind? Cut the petty excuses, we both know he would rather have killed himself than remaining behind wherever you go, Hawke, let alone let you walk into peril on your own – and we also both know that he is the single most obstinate elf in the world which is saying something. Mind you, I am glad he was not with us in there. Maker knows, our angsty elf does not need to be hunted by more demons.”

Momentarily, Varric halts there as he notices something else streak across Hawke’s face, the skin beneath his beard whitening, blanching, paling. Hawke could feel Varric’s grip unobtrusively tighten, a seriousness shining forth in his mahogany eyes. “Also, you look heartsick to the bone. Tell me. How did you do it?”

Hawke’s gaze flees to wander over the rampages and battlements, unhearing of the voices in the night, the shouts of those who fought, the cries of the wounded, the jubilation of survivors.

Finally, he bends one knee to kneel down.

Thus they embrace, on the half-shattered parapet of iron-black Adamant fortress. In a swirl of desertic coldness, shrouded and obscured in battle-spiraled fumes midst a barren, hissing wasteland, verging on a harsh-steep cliff just above the gaping chasm in perpetual danger of falling. Varric accepting his silence and thereby reaching beyond it. Varric’s fingers clawing into the fabric on Hawke’s shoulders and Hawke tightening his arms, his hold around Varric.

“Sorry … about before …,” Varric mutters all but inaudibly.

“I felt a little breeze stirring up there. Was that you?” Hawke ponders, a smile in his words, Varric's snort in its wake.

“Take care, my friend,” murmurs Hawke softly and he can feel Varric’s mouth stretch into something he cannot see. “You too, Hawke.”

When he somewhat loosens his hold, Hawke grips Varric’s shoulder. “Do write to Fenris for me, will you?” he asks hoarsely, his mouth almost too dry to speak. “He … he should be back in Kirkwall by now.”

“And once again a smart dwarf rescues another human’s sorry bottom,” Varric gives a deliberate sigh as he hastily wipes his sleeve across his eyes, “Ah, but you know I cannot refuse you anything. You do look lovelorn, you realize, Hawke? It is pitiful.”

Hawke forces a low chuckle. “Another human who would be lost without his dwarf.”

“We are helpers.”

Varric’s grip clenches once more around his cloak before he taps Hawke’s shoulder with the rim of his fist. “Don’t die, Hawke.” Then, taking a deep breath, “This really is no story for heroes.”

“It is good we are no heroes, then,” retorts Hawke, a hint of the old mischief twinkling in his eyes and Varric lets out a short, breathless laughter as they break apart.

“See you in Kirkwall, Hawke.”

And Hawke, standing upright, holds his gaze, teeth clenched, the corners of his mouth twisted into a crooked though genuine smile. “See you in Kirkwall, Varric.”

On the very first step of the spiraling staircase leading down into the battered watchtower Hawke passes a mirror, cracked, partially burst, half a spider’s web. Beneath the layer of blood-soot, iron-strained, the features of the man he catches sight of remain hidden. Smudged as a line of ink slipped, scratched wildly across the parchment. 

It is the face of a man who looks as though he does not know where he is.

Or what to do.

Or whom he is looking at.

(Excerpt from 'Ablaze')

[junie-junette]

Small sketch I did this morning of our sweet Fenris waking up (and blushing hehehe) with Hawke. And as I was saying this morning : “Feeling down today ? Draw some fenhawke !“ I think this is my official mantra now. I should print a tshirt or tattoo it on my ass. Well, I hope you've had a nice day ! *** If you like and want to support my work *** - My shop - My Ko-Fi - My commissions