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Fenris cannot for the life of him understand why he is sitting there on the edge of a fountain in the middle of a crowded park to watch her. There's nothing particularly eye-catching about this woman, outside of her pleasantly lilting voice. The rhythm is simple but there is a skill there as her fingers dance along the fretboard. She's gathered an impressively sizable crowd around her little nook in the park. He supposes there is potential there.
As he listens to her little song about a lover, he thinks of his previous studies. The local media had declared him a “star in the making”. For years, he traveled the world as a relatively renowned pianist. Danarius had beaten his talent into him. If he did not play a piece of music to Danarius' liking, he would be thrown across the room, denied food, even a bed to sleep.
That life was better left in the past. Music, what normal people described as something beautiful, unique, and expressive was nothing but a reminder of the abuse he suffered. He was never good enough, never passionate enough, never expressive enough. He had been a slave to music.
Not anymore, Fenris thinks as he promptly stands from his spot by the fountain and walks away from the woman performing.
It's his lunch break and the only place Fenris can think of as a proper escape is the park again. He's tired of sitting in a cubicle, typing away on the office computer endlessly until flashes of his fingers on piano keys begin to invade his mind.
So he goes to the massive park in the middle of Kirkwall, where parents watch their kids play, teenagers hang around in needlessly big groups, and street performers show off their skill. As he strolls along the lakeside it begins to lightly drizzle. The people begin to flee but he doesn't really mind. His feet find the path leading to the garden and he hears her voice again.
When Fenris looks at her, there are no other people there to watch. She's sitting under a tree in the damp grass, her eyes focused on the lake as she mindlessly plays her guitar. The tune is familiar, a folk ballad, but the lyrics she sings are new.
“I loved and I never knew a kiss so tender...”
Her voice is softer, almost somber. She has turned the once joyous ballad into the lamentation of a broken heart. He knows the tempo, the key, he could accompany her easily enough on the piano had he any reason to. The thought surprises him. It has been a long time since he has thought of playing again. Why he had the sudden urge to accompany this stranger's lamentation was beyond him.
Fenris turns on his heel and walks away.
He tries to fall asleep in vain that night. What was a light sprinkling in the afternoon has now turned into a furious storm. The lightning outside of his windows illuminates the dusty grand piano in the corner of his studio apartment.
Many times he has wondered what exactly made him keep the massive, inconvenient instrument. It had been nothing more than a reminder of what he had endured, what he left behind, his failures. Now the lid remains closed and the top of the piano is basically a glorified coffee table.
Something compels him to rise from his tangled sheets in the dark. He crosses the room and tentatively approaches the instrument. His cool fingers gingerly run along the rim of the lid. Fenris thinks of the woman in the park and how natural it was for her to play her music. Performing in the park for the occasional group was no competition. The folk musician plays for herself.
He abandons the idea of lifting the lid and returns to bed. The former prodigy dreams of a soft soprano and old guitar strings.
When he inevitably returns to the park, it is a bright and beautiful spring day. She's there, just as he was guessing she would be. To his surprise, an older couple sways together in rhythm with the guitar. He recognizes the classic Orlesian song that she sings in her unique fashion.
“Je vois la vie en rose...”
Fenris closes his eyes. He sees his fingers on the keys again but the pit in his stomach has vanished. She's there singing and he's right there beside her, accompanying her delicately so as not to distract from her own performance. There is no audience, no judges to critique their style. Only them and their music.
When he opens his eyes, she is looking at him. Her doe eyes are locked with his and he is frozen in place. The song finishes, the audience claps and throws their change into her guitar case. She gives him a timid smile then, as if she were unsure of whether or not to acknowledge his continued presence.
“Typically fans of mine will at least spare a copper,” she addresses him for the first time. An embarrassed blush blooms bright on his cheeks and he stumbles over to her.
“Forgive me – I did not even think,” Fenris stutters out as he quickly searches for change in his pockets.
The folk singer chuckles, a genuine warm and teasing laugh as she shakes her head. “No need. I've noticed you around here lately is all.”
He does not know what to say to that. She turns her back to him and removes the strap from around her neck. She collects the change, barely enough to cover the metro into Lowtown, and pockets it. Once her guitar is tucked safely into its soft case, she places the case around her shoulders.
“Is there something you need?” She asks carefully, glancing over her shoulder to regard him. He notices a pink flush in her cheeks.
“N-no. You are... very talented,” he answered honestly. The folk musician turns around fully to stand before him. She's gazing up at him with her warm eyes.
“Thank you. I'm Hawke, by the way,” she introduces herself with a grin. He couldn't contain the answering smile even if he wanted to.
“I am Fenris.”
After the introduction they regard each other in silence, neither of them sure of what else they could possibly say.
“I'll see you around, Fenris,” she saves them both and it sounds like a promise. Hawke waves goodbye to him and he watches her walk away.
He dreams of La Vie En Rose that night.
“That's the Orlesian song isn't it?” Sebastian asks one day as they're working in their own respective cubicles. Fenris' eyebrows shot up immediately, wondering just what his coworker could possibly be on about.
“What?”
“That song you were humming?”
Strange, he thought to himself. He did not remember ever humming. Not while he was the prodigal pianist, not when he escaped the clutches of Danarius, not even when he was a child. He is hyper aware of his voice for the remainder of the work day.
When work gets out, he shoves himself onto the metro and tries to ignore the sea of bodies around him. He picks up a sandwich from the deli below his studio apartment and vows to not think of work or music or beautiful women in parks for the rest of the weekend.
The TV is merely background noise as he drinks his wine far too quickly. The piano is there on the other side of the room, taunting him, begging for him to notice it, to run his fingers along the keys, to play just a single note.
He's standing before he even thinks better of it. He plops himself on the bench and he ignores the dust as best as he can as he lifts the lid. The notes come easily, he can remember so well everything he had learned and he's playing La Vie En Rose as best as he can remember it. It's lighter than anything else he had been forced to play.
Danarius had never been a fan of modern music, if you could even call this song “modern”. Everything Fenris had ever studied and played was composed before 1920.
His thoughts drifted then, remembering how simple it could be to fall into the familiarity of playing music. La Vie En Rose melted away from him.
A darkness had crept into his thoughts. The anxiety of being nothing less than perfect, the feeling of utter despair and defeat when he placed second in the Free Marches Youth competition for piano. He had been kicked down a stairwell for that loss.
Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 fell from his fingers. He played expertly, just as he always had. Fenris loses himself. The comfort of his apartment has warped into a stage. The orchestra is leading him, or does he lead the orchestra? Danarius is right to the side of the stage, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed and focused only on him. He is freezing and too hot, the stage lights are too bright, the strings are far too loud and he is not good enough.
His fingers freeze, disbelief mingling with abject horror. Fenris recoiled backward, knocking the bench into the wall. He has broken into a cold sweat, his vision tunneling. The urge to collapse and claw at his own skin warred with an urge to rage and destroy the instrument that brought nothing but memories.
He knew better than to think music could ever bring him anything but pain and regret.
Summer has arrived and Fenris has avoided the park for weeks. He does not hum, he does not listen to the radio, he refuses to listen to anything even remotely classical or Romantic. Surprisingly, he does not mind the thick, heady beats of hip hop but even then he cannot stand to listen for long.
Fenris goes about his daily routine as mindless as a slave. He wakes and he bathes and he eats when he remembers to. He goes to work and types nonsense for his boss to review (which Meredith seldom does herself). When the workday is over, he returns home via the metro and resigns himself to eating store bought rotisserie chickens for the rest of his adult life. Some nights when he tries to sleep, he thinks of melodies that refuse to let him rest. He is reminded of brown eyes and a tiny, unsure smile; of fingers that can fly across a fretboard. If this is all there is to his life, then so be it.
Occasionally, his coworkers will cajole him into drinks and pool after work at the dive bar down the street. It is on one of these weekday nights when the air is oppressively humid and the insects fly around his elongated ears when he hears her voice again.
Hawke is on the stage at The Hanged Man, swaying with her lively strumming. She wears a floral sundress and bright red lipstick. Sebastian and Donnic nod along with her song as they nurse their beers but he cannot move.
The crowd goes wild for her performance, cheering and hollering for “the Champion”. Her acoustic guitar has been replaced with a pale blue electric guitar. Fenris vaguely recognizes the man with the abundance of chest hair on drums behind Hawke as the owner of the bar. Another woman accompanies them on a bass guitar, a petite girl with yellow flowers poking out of her cropped black hair.
As much as he has avoided her, he feels positively enamored in her presence. She's enchanting and the way she attracts an audience has inevitably sucked him in too. When they finish and the bar erupts in more applause, he doesn't hesitate to join in their adoration.
“Aveline's been insisting we see The Champion and I can't say she was wrong,” Donnic nudges Sebastian.
“What did you think of them?” Sebastian asks him then and his mouth falls open.
“She is... I mean, they're really good,” Fenris manages to respond as he watches Hawke pack away her electric guitar. He hears the man snort and then she's looking at him, recognition in her eyes as a beaming smile lights up her face from across the room.
“Maker's breath, is she coming over here?” Sebastian stammers and Donnic shrugs. Fenris tightens his grip on his beer bottle, his throat suddenly too dry as she approaches him.
“Fenris, right?” She asks and the sound of his name on her lips is something otherworldly.
They're all waiting for him to respond and he thinks he has never felt more exposed. “Yes, it is nice to see you again Hawke,” he finally speaks and her grin widens.
“You remembered my name?” She asks and sounds surprised.
“Wait, how do you know Hawke?” Donnic cuts in and the woman flicks her eyes to his coworker.
“Nice to see you again too, Donnic,” she greets him, a friendly look in her eyes before returning her gaze to Fenris. “We met in the park.”
“Funny coincidence,” Donnic shrugs before his eyes scan the bar. “Now I'm off to find my darling wife.”
The man scoots off of the bench, leaving Fenris and Sebastian alone with Hawke. “Please join us,” Fenris remembers his manners and waves to the now empty seat beside him. She agrees hesitantly and sits a respectable distance from him.
Sebastian seems confused but smiles uncertainly at Hawke and speaks. “I'm Sebastian, I work with Fenris and Donnic.”
“Nice to meet you Sebastian,” Hawke nods politely and the group falls into an uncomfortable silence before Hawke saves them.
“It has been a long time since I've seen you around the park,” she remarks and although her words are casual it feels like an accusation. Had she truly missed him?
“Yes I haven't had much of an opportunity to,” Fenris explained and Sebastian gave him a curious look. “Do you still perform there often?”
“Yeah, I need all the change I can get. Starving musician and all,” Hawke jokes.
“I'll have to come around again during my break sometime,” Fenris says and hopes it is not an empty promise. He cannot seem to control his mouth around this woman.
Such a declaration brings a light blush to her cheeks and Fenris cannot help but think it is the most alluring she has ever looked. She cocks her head and smiles, her dark lashes blinking up at him. “Yes, I would like that.”
“Hawke! There you are!” A brazen woman sporting gold jewelry and little else approaches and flashes a dazzling wink at Hawke. The stranger immediately joins their table, giving Sebastian a suggestive smile as she sits beside him. “Care to introduce your friends?”
Hawke rolls her eyes at the woman and clears her throat. “This is my friend, Isabela. She's a groupie.”
“Psh, I am the one managing her social media presence!”
“By not advertising the band at all,” Hawke retorts and Isabela merely shrugs and winks. “This is Fenris and Sebastian.”
“Where are you finding all these guys?” Isabela leaned her chin on her palm and waited expectantly for the young woman across from her to respond.
“The park, evidently,” Sebastian chimed in for her and Hawke rolled her eyes.
“Anyway, so you guys work for the Kirkwall Times?” She changed the subject, looking intently at Fenris.
“Sebastian is an editor, I merely report on crimes and city projects and such,” he explains with a shrug of his shoulders and Hawke's eyes shine with interest as she tilts her head and beams at him. Fenris thinks her interest in his career, however charming, is perhaps a bit unfounded.
“You're a writer then?” She presses and he suddenly wishes they were anywhere but at a sleazy dive bar surrounded by others. Her presence feels somehow like a dream to him. The woman had been a mere fancy in the park, a soothing voice during his lonely afternoon walks, and here she was in a stingy bar wanting to learn more about him. He did not belong here and he couldn't help but feel like she did not either.
“He's quite good,” Sebastian chimes in with a dazzling grin, and Fenris shoots him a look. He recognizes the former Chantry brother is trying to be his “wing man” and the entire concept feels disconcerting.
“I'll have to read one of your articles sometime. I must admit it has been a while since I've picked up a newspaper,” Hawke admits and Fenris cannot help but snort. No one reads the paper anymore and the Kirkwall Times hasn't bothered creating any sort of online presence.
“You really should,” Sebastian insists while flashing Fenris a look.
“Hawke!” A distinctly male voice shouts from across the bar and Hawke groans.
“That may or may not be someone I'm looking to avoid. That's my cue to leave,” she says reluctantly, standing slowly and giving Fenris a shy smile. “I hope to see you around again, Fenris.”
“Yes, I – I would like that,” he responds automatically. Her eyes meet his one last time, hesitant before she resolutely turns on her heel with her friend, Isabela at her back.
“Maker's breath, why did you not get her number?” Sebastian laments into his glass and Fenris thinks it's because he is afraid.
Weeks go by and Fenris does not think of music, but he thinks of Hawke. He thinks of her kind smile, her knowing eyes, her bright red lips and dark hair. He has barely spoken more than a few words to her and already she has captivated him.
On his lunch break, after a particularly slow and hot morning, Fenris wanders into the park in search of the Champion. He has not thought of what he could say to her, of how foolish and frankly creepy he could seem by seeking her out. All the while as he wanders through the park, his heart races with anxiety, nervous and hoping he will see her, will hear her voice rise above the summer crowd.
Ten minutes before his break is up, he realizes she is not there and returns back to the office.
Fenris remembers out of everything he had once learned that the only compositions he ever even slightly enjoyed were rough and dissonant, choppy and erratic. He likened the music to the feelings he buried deep within, never daring to express for fear of Danarius' wrath.
After his escape, he had been angry. He drank and he ran and he became involved with people he shouldn't have been involved with. Writing had been his escape when music had failed him. He no longer writes fiction the way he did before landing a job for the newspaper, but the fancy strikes him one quiet morning after months of wondering what he should do with his spare time.
The hum of his fan lulls him into a daze as his fingers work of their own accord. Images flash in his mind of a singer with a voice like the wind and lips the color of fresh blood and before he knows it he has written no beginnings of a novel and no short story. There on the page is a poem about a woman. It is then that he realizes he is a stupid man in love with the idea of a woman he barely knows. The piano across the room sits there and taunts him.
She's finally there in the park a month after he began to search for her. Her voice does not accompany her instrument. She's playing a classical guitar this time, and her fingers dance like magic. There is barely a crowd today, so when she ends her song and lifts her head, he does not hesitate to approach and drop a few silvers into her case.
He watches her and his heart is beating ridiculously fast as she takes notice of him. Her eyes grow wide as if she truly had not expected him to be there.
“Fenris?” She asks and he smiles.
“Hawke,” he greets her and a smile blooms on her lips.
“I... was just about to pack up if you maybe want to–”
“Would you care to get a coffee with me?” They speak at the same time. Her brows shoot up into her wispy bangs and she giggles.
“I was wondering when you'd ask me,” Hawke admits as she ducks her head and zips up her case. She slings the case over her back and he offers his hand, helping her stand back up. “I thought perhaps I might have been coming on a bit too strong.”
“No, I just... I've been in a bad place. Is it weird to say that I've been taking walks all month during my lunch in this park to look for you?” He wonders aloud and immediately wishes he could take the words back. Before he can even begin to explain himself, she laughs.
“Dude, it might be but you're ridiculously handsome so I think you get a pass.”
“Hawke, are you suggesting that attractive people can be completely inappropriate and get away with it? Just because they're good looking?” Fenris questions in mock offense.
“Wait, is that not how it is in real life? Haven't you seen any romantic comedies where these guys full on stalk women and the women are always expected to be flattered?” Hawke continues sarcastically and Fenris finds himself completely enamored with this woman.
“Ah, yes I suppose I might have to work on my game a bit. Perhaps I can follow you home at night, or call you from a random number and breath into the phone?” He suggests and she snickers, playfully swatting his arm as they walk side by side back into the city.
“Now you're talking! It will be just like the movies,” Hawke says with a dreamy sigh.
“Or we could just start with coffee,” he adds, his smile widening as she looks up at him and nods.
“On second thought, that does sound best.”
Fenris will never be a professional pianist. He has the skill but before now, he lacked the passion that had always been absent from his performances during his childhood with Danarius.
Music may not be something that encompasses his life like the way it does with Hawke, but that's okay. He is a writer, a good one at that, and he knows his way around a kitchen (much to Hawke's delight). Occasionally, he'll find himself on the bench, losing himself in Hawke's voice or stringed instruments as he accompanies her. They play well together, beautifully even, but the rest of the world will never hear it because its theirs and theirs only. She respects his boundaries and she knows of his past. Despite her very career being centered on music, Hawke does her best not to crowd him with it and he loves her all the more for it.
He loves her for embodying something that he had once thought to hate but he loves her more for the other things that define her. Hawke is a free spirit, a strong woman who is not afraid to be vulnerable, and oftentimes stubborn to a fault. Nonetheless, Fenris realizes that the woman in the park he idolized in his mind all those months ago is very different from the woman he knows now who currently squats in his studio apartment with him. He has never been more happy.