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Her laughter reached his ears right away.
Faint, but enough to catch his attention as he stepped from the sunny outdoors and into the foyer. Yet as far as he could see, Hawke was nowhere in sight.
He was sure it was her voice though, and if there was any doubt they faded away when he heard it again, likely from the direction of their bedroom. It was followed almost immediately with a high-pitched squeal.
What in the Void is she doing?
One eyebrow slightly raised, Fenris scanned the house for any signs of guests, but found nothing. And indeed, he had not heard any other voice other than Hawke’s, for whatever reason she had for laughing and squealing to herself.
Following the direction of her voice, he arrived at the bedroom, and as expected he found Hawke alone. She was sprawled across the tall armchair by the window, still wearing the same loose tunic she wore to bed, her bare legs lazily dangling from the padded armrest. An opened book was resting on her lap.
Oh.
Watching her, he couldn’t help the smile that was tugging at the corner of his lips. Short wisps of her raven hair stuck out to every direction—clearly she had just gotten out of bed not long ago. Her long bangs fell unceremoniously on her forehead and she nonchalantly brushed them away when they were getting over her eyes.
Hawke turned away from her book and met his gaze as he was approaching. “Fenris.” She beamed, smiling widely. “Good morning!”
“It’s half an hour before lunch, Hawke.” He stopped just before her. “I would hardly call it morning.”
“Any hour before lunch still counts as morning.”
“Perhaps. For a sleepyhead.” He brought his hand to ruffle her hair, making it messier in process, a half smile gracing his face at Hawke’s lazy attempt to push his hand away.
“It’s true, you know,” she drawled out. “You can’t blame me, I woke up to the lack of morning cuddles with a certain someone.”
He let out a chuckle. “I thought I’ve told you I had business to do early in the morning.”
“I know, I know... How’s it going by the way, any progress on that tip you received?”
“Yes.” He strode over to lean casually against the armchair. “I found a lead that marks the location where the rest of the slavers are. Possibly where they are hiding the missing refugees as well.”
“Mmm,” Hawke hummed. “Imagine what the rescue operation would be; you, flanking from the shadows, lashing out and kicking their asses like a tornado. Perhaps even leaving some kind of macabre art form on the ground by the time you’re done.”
“Your taste in arts sometimes worries me, Hawke.”
“Says the one who used to decor his foyer with dead bodies for six years.” She rolled her eyes. “By the way, check this out.”
With that she took the book on her lap and held it in front of Fenris, who was now eyeing the front cover with intrigue.
Hawke had been kind enough to teach him how to read those years ago, and with so many time had passed by he had definitely improved significantly, even at some evening drowning himself in piles of books he had found in the library at Danarius’ old mansion. Yet, if the letters were printed in an intricate style of lettering, sometimes he would still need to take his time.
This particular book cover, for example. At the top there was an embossed Kirkwall heraldry, and scribbled below in large size were letters shaped in bold, geometric lines without any curves. Furrowing his brows, Fenris focused on each word. T... ale… of… the… cha..m..pion…?
He looked back at Hawke, eyes widened. “Tale of the Champion?”
She nodded excitedly. “I know, right? It’s about me!”
“But who wrote—oh.”
He dropped his question as soon as he noticed the back cover. There, big enough to almost covering the whole page, was a portrait of a certain beardless dwarf with a wide, smug all-knowing smile of which Fenris was so familiarly acquainted.
“Varric’s latest book, apparently,” she chimed in as she brought the book back to her lap and opened the page back to where she had been reading before. “He did say that he was going to write about the events in Kirkwall and we’d discussed a few details. I joked that he might as well put me in the center… you know, with my good looks and good hair.” She made an exaggerated gesture mimicking a vain Orlesian noble yet with a notable lack of elegance.
He arched an amused eyebrow at her. “Looking like you just wrestled a darkspawn, you’re not convincing anyone.”
“Shush, you.” Hawke playfully smacked his arm. “Anyway, he only laughed and said he’d do something about that.”
“Well, he certainly kept his promise,” he commented, his mind took him back at those times when the dwarf kept bombarding him with questions regarding his relationship with Hawke. He merely threw him off that time. But if he DARES putting that in the book…
Oh, he wouldn’t admit it out loud but he would be terribly embarrassed if that was the case.
Fenris wanted to groan.
“I’m glad he sent us a copy,” Hawke continued cheerfully, as if oblivious of her lover’s silent frustration. “Oh, there’s also a letter with it, it’s on the table.”
She gestured at the table beside the armchair. Taking a deep breath to regain his composure, Fenris reached for the parchment and began to read:
Dear Hawke and Elf,
How have you guys been? I hope this mail arrives safely (would hate for this to fall into that scary Seeker’s hand and having my ass hurled up into another blasted interrogation).
I’m doing fine here in Kirkwall. Yep, I’m back at the city. Crazy right? Business is all good, ignoring the Merchant Guild and keeping the Carta off my back truly becoming quite the routine here, but hey, I’ll take anything other than squabbling rogue templars or rebel mages fire-bombing the city.
Kirkwall’s recovering. Slowly, but we actually made real progress. I’ve got to hand it to Aveline though, both you and I know not to mess with our dear Guard-Captain. She really rallied the rest of the guards to help clean the mess and actually get the job done (she said hi, by the way, and will write to you soon). And do you remember that senechal with surly face, Bran? He’s the viscount now! Well, provisional viscount to be exact, but still, I’m impressed that he actually managed to get the worst job in the city. Still surly.
So I guess I’ll left you a little gift, your very own autobiography! Yeah, those many questions I keep asking you back then with the old gang? So yeah, I was compiling materials for this one. May have sprinkled little bits of salt and sugar here and there, but don’t worry, nothing grand, just to amplify the epicness for the readers. And you should know that it actually sells well. I guess people all over Thedas really want to know about the Champion considering recent events. And before you ask, yes, royalties in order, I assure you. What, you’re the central hero after all!
Anyway, I hope you guys stay safe. And Elf, take care of Hawke, will you? Less brooding, more sweeping her off her feet (or the other side around, you pick).
Your friend,
Varric
Fenris put the letter back at the table. Well, hearing from Varric again actually made him happy. He glanced over at Hawke. “It would seem that he’s doing alright in Kirkwall.”
“Yeah. Good thing that the Seeker—what was her name again, Cassandra?—doesn’t give him any more trouble this time.”
“If anything, I must admit his loyalty to you is admirable,” Fenris remarked, trudging over to sit on the bed. “Who knows what sort of business those people have got on you and the Hero of Ferelden.”
“Aww, Fenris,” Hawke cooed, flashing him a coy smile. “Are you worried about me? That's so sweet.”
He smiled at that. “I don’t need to state the obvious, I’m certain. Speaking of which” —he nodded at Varric’s book— “was that the reason why you laughed to yourself a moment ago?”
Hawke stared at him for a few seconds. “Oh. You… heard that?”
“From the front door, yes.”
She gave a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of her neck. For some reason she was blushing, which Fenris suspected had nothing to do of him mentioning about her loud laughter. “Oh. Well. I uh… just came to one of the most interesting part of the book,” she muttered, rather bashfully.
He narrowed his eyes, waiting for Hawke to continue, who quite curiously started to have an immense interest with the edges of the papers. “Oh?”
“It’s—well, there’s you in it actually.”
Fenris stilled. That dwarf….
“Nothing awful or grossly fictionalized or anything like it, don’t worry,” Hawke hurriedly said, though failing to hide her growing smile. She passed the book over to him. “Here, read it yourself. It… brings back memories, that’s all.”
Taking the book from her hand, Fenris looked down apprehensively at the opened page and began reading:
He cast a glance at her. The dread for whatever coming for them next, the engulfing warmth only found in someone who had so willingly given her entire self to him, the long years of paving their own ways to finally join in the same path—every single emotion colliding together in this moment of truth.
Fenris took a step forward, his hand reaching to Hawke and caressed her cheek with a gentle affection I had never thought could exist within him before.
“Promise me you won’t die,” he whispered, his voice almost pleading, “I can’t bear the thought of living without you.”
Hawke stared back at him, putting on a brave face, though one could easily see in her eyes that she felt the same about the elven warrior; the fear, the longing… everything. The Champion herself, usually so charming with her wit, could not come right away with clever words after hearing this sincere proclamation.
Instead she took a deep breath and lifted her chin. In a small voice yet firm, perhaps as a way for reassuring him and herself, she said, “I don’t plan on dying.”
His lingering gaze was intense. “You’d better not," Fenris said, and pulled Hawke into a hard, passionate kiss. His hand found its way to the back of her head, deepening the kiss, and she responded by wrapping her arms around him, pulling their bodies together in a desperate, longing embrace.
There were no time for words. I witnessed how the lovers poured their emotions and feelings into each other’s arms in such intensity, with little care to other matter as if there were no one else at the Gallows —
Fenris slammed the book shut.
A deep shade of red colored his cheeks, extending all the way to his ears.
Hawke laughed heartily, seemingly easing out of her own embarrassment, and retrieved the book from Fenris who simply glared at the innocent thing. “It’s a bit over the top, I agree,” she lightly quipped in.
“A bit?” Fenris snarled, looking at Hawke as if she had mentioned that Tevinter magisters were as harmless as cute little nugs.
“Okay, a lot.” Hawke laughed again, setting the book aside, swinging her legs off the armrest and shifted so that she sat facing him. “Though if memory serves, you did kiss me in front of everybody that time. Quite eagerly, even.” She smirked at his glowering expression. “Not that I complained.”
Fenris exhaled sharply and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m going to kill Varric.”
“Oh, he’d take it as a compliment.”
“And people all over Thedas read this?”
“Apparently so.”
“Fasta vass!”
He proceeded to rant a string of Tevene curses, ignoring Hawke who continued to snicker over his annoyance.
And then he fell silent. “Hawke,” he called her after a while.
“Yes?”
Fenris opened his mouth, but paused instead.
His eyes found Hawke's blue ones, observing how they were gleaming under the strip of sunlight that entered the room through the windows. She was staring at him expectantly; head slightly tilted, body leaning closer—almost in a childlike curiosity.
Whatever words he might have formed in his tongue vanished. His mind steered him somewhere else.
He bet not many people ever thought that the infamous Champion of Kirkwall could ever look so innocent. Most people saw her as Hawke, the Champion who was admittedly—as Varric had once put it—larger than life. Most only knew her as this controversial figure who had risen to power from nothing, had defeated the Arishok in single combat, and to top it all had sparked the events that ultimately led to mage rebellions all across Thedas.
And he had the privilege to know the woman behind the tale.
Her charming wit and share of flirtatious words back when they had been getting to know each other. Her strong stance in mages and their freedom, which had so often clashed with his and had caused so much bickering between the two of them in the older days.
Her vulnerable side as she had broken down in tears in the aftermath of her mother’s death, failed in her attempt to keep the brave face, sobbing hard and clutching onto his chest when he’d come to check on her. One detail that never made it into Varric’s stories.
Her soft sighs and gasps against his mouth and under his touch. The attentive, gentle carresses of her fingers across his skin every now and then. The lovely sound of his name in her voice whenever he coaxed her into the peak of pleasure.
Everything about her was endearing.
“Come here.”
Hawke quirked an eyebrow, but did not say anything until she walked over and stopped by the bed. “What is it—”
A small gasp escaped her when Fenris gave her hand a soft tug so that she tumbled over, and captured her lips in a gentle kiss, one hand moving up to bury his fingers into her hair. Hawke hummed into his lips, and soon Fenris felt her kissing him back, felt her climbing the bed to sit on his lap, arms circled around his neck, her bare legs brushing against his clothed thighs.
“Well, I don’t know what came over you,” she mumbled against his mouth, grinning widely, clearly in favor of this surprise display of affection. "But I can't say I'm not enjoying it."
Fenris chuckled softly. “Neither can I,” he murmured, before pulling away to look at her. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
He watched gleefully when that made her blush. “Me too,” Hawke whispered, leaning to plant a tender kiss on his lips. “And Fenris?”
“Mm.”
“About that time at the Gallows…” She paused only for a moment. “You need not be embarrassed, you know. I never mentioned this before, but…”
She ran her hand gently across his face before resting at his chin, fingertips tentatively caressing his lower lip. “When you kissed me that time… it gave me this enormous amount of boost. You know, like I just chugged down ten mana potions at the same time. I’m not even exaggerating,” she said, voice soft in a sense of nostalgia. “I felt like I could do anything. And knowing you were there beside me, fighting at my side, knowing that you’d be waiting for me when it’s all over... it was enough reason to survive.”
Fenris’ eyes found hers and his heart fluttered at the genuine sincerity, completely unmasked and bare for him to see, further showering himself with overwhelming gratitude that from all people, this woman chose him, chose to fight beside him, to continue her life with him.
He captured her fingers with his hand and kissed them one by one. “I feel honored,” he hummed against her fingers between kisses, enjoying the sounds of her contented sighs.
“The honor is mine.” Hawke smiled, her free hand playing with his hair. “You know, this is unusual.”
“What is?”
”You and me, reminiscing the crazy old days, making kissy faces at the end.” She chuckled. “If this is Varric’s true intent of giving the book, I’d say it’s pretty damn effective.”
Fenris snorted a laugh. “Command me to stop, and I shall.”
“And miss out this rare occassion when you get all softy? Perish the thought.”
“Call me softy again and I shall stop.”
“Oooh. Scary, softy Fenris.”
“Hawke.”
“I can’t wait to tell Varric of how adorable you are when you—whoa! ”
She yelped and bursted into laughter when Fenris flipped her onto her back against the mattress, his elbows pressed on each space beside her head as he climbed over her. “You will say nothing to him.”
Hawke grinned. “Fine, but at least let me tell him you did fulfil his wishes to sweep me off my feet.”
“Hawke...”
“Oh don’t worry, I won’t give him any details. Best keep the best bits to ourselves.”
Fenris gave her a satisfied smile. “You’d better not,” he murmured, and bent down to kiss her again.