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The first year they knew each other had been filled with Hawke’s shameless flirting. Fenris didn’t think much of it, since she openly flirted with all of her friends, notably Isabela and Varric. However, with every stolen glance or seat taken next to him, he never failed to feel that tiny feeling grow in the pit of his stomach.
*
The second year, they shared a kiss.
It hadn’t been much; Fenris had walked her home after a night at the Hanged Man, something that wasn’t unusual since they took the same route from Lowtown ever since she recently moved into her estate.
The moon hung heavy over the city, reflecting off of the elf’s markings brightly. A hand found its way looped around her waist as the mage’s feet betrayed her by stumbling over themselves. As they made it to the front door of her estate, Fenris’ hand left her waist.
“Think you’ll make it up alright?” he asked. Hawke nodded; a lopsided grin splayed upon her face. She stuck her hands out to the side and in what looked like an attempt at a curtsy, she bowed.
“Thank you for the escort, messere.” Fenris rolled his eyes and stepped forward, using his hands to steady her arms as she looked like she was about to fall over. Regaining her balance, Hawke found herself only inches away from the elf’s face. With alcohol running through her veins, she was slouched, making them the same height. She looked at him intently, carefully studying his face. Had his eyes always been this green?
She brought her hand up to his face, finger barely ghosting the three dots on his forehead. He flinched but didn’t pull away; instead following her hand’s movements with his eyes. Her finger trailed down his nose bridge, down to his lips. They looked so sweet, and all she wanted was a taste.
Trailing her finger down to the marks on his chin, she leaned in and closed the gap between the two, she pressed her lips to his. It was just a moment before she pulled back, but she still felt Fenris tense before her. She grinned at him and made her way to the door, before glancing back at him.
“Goodnight, Fenris.”
The pair never talked about that night, of course. Months went by of nothing but stolen glances, flushed cheeks, and no words out loud on how they felt.
Fenris wondered if she had forgotten about it. She was of course, drunk that night, but drunk Hawke and sober Hawke weren’t that different from each other. Maybe it meant nothing to her, he thought. Maybe it was a fluke and nothing more. Fenris didn’t know how he felt about it, but he never did stop thinking about that night, where he tasted the bitter ale and honey on her lips. Their closeness allowed him to see every single freckle that adorned her face. Had she had this many this whole time? He remembered it all, and part of him hoped she did too. He was never a fan of physical touch, even though Hawke was heavily affectionate with her friends. She held back around him after the first time she touched his arm without warning and he nearly knocked her out. Yet there was something about that night that she touched him. Her fingers were cold and ghastly against his skin. His markings had hummed with the incredibly soft touch. It confused him terribly. Her touch was the first welcome touch he’d ever has, as far as he could remember.
Hawke didn’t forget. It was always something she prided herself on; her perfect memory. She remembered everything from that night. Their walk to her estate, her horrible curtsy, the moonlight reflecting off of his markings, the smell of leather and wine. Maybe he didn’t think it was anything at all. A drunken mistake. Unless...? No, she couldn’t afford to think that way. She’d never be good enough for him and she knew that. It was best to not get herself hurt, so she did nothing.
*
The second year had ended not with a kiss, but her hand in his.
Isabela, Varric, and Fenris had joined Hawke on a trip to the Wounded Coast, where they had been tasked with clearing a cave of bandits. Walking along the coast, the wind whistled as Hawke held her hands up in defense.
“All I’m saying is that there is no reason why I can’t get a pet nug.”
Isabela shook her head. “You live in Hightown! Some noble is gonna try an’ butcher it for their Sunday roast.”
“Fair point, but Killfang could be his guard dog.”
“A mabari guard for a nug?”
“It makes perfect sense.”
Isabela rolled her amber eyes and jogged a few paces to catch up with Varric, leaving Hawke with Fenris trailing behind her. Hawke slowed her steps to allow him to catch up.
Nudging him, she spoke quietly enough for only his ears.
“Hey, you.”
He looked up at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes?”
“You’ve been awful quiet the way here.”
“Just…thinking.”
“Care to share?”
“Not quite. Soon, perhaps.”
Her lopsided grin decorated her face. “Soon it is then.”
Hawke reached out to touch his hand, lingering as if to give him enough time to pull away. When he didn’t, she interlaced her fingers with him. It wasn’t a perfect fit; his metal, spiky gauntlets were digging into her hand. Her leather gauntlets brushed against his arm with every swing of their hands, and the heat of the sun burning down on them made their hands sweat. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it was enough.
*
Their third year of knowing each other ended with another kiss.
The night had ended as it always did, after a round of wicked grace, which Fenris had won. Hawke and Fenris took the worn path from Lowtown to Hightown once again, basking in the moonlight and crisp wind. It was mid-winter, though it wasn’t nearly as cold as Ferelden got. Hawke wore her tunic and breeches, along with a cloak and she felt fine.
Fenris, however, wore his leather breeches, several layers of tunics, a cloak, scarf, and most interesting of all, boots. He had always walked barefoot, so with boots, he walked awkwardly. Hawke had to admit the sight of him brought a smile to her face. His scarf was wrapped up past his chin and his steps were heavy as we wrapped his cloak tightly around himself. He felt her eyes on him and glanced at her. “Don’t say anything.”
Putting her hands up, Hawke chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” The pair made their way to her estate and she opened the door with ease. “Come on, then.”
Fenris hesitated, looking between Hawke and the door. It was nearly midnight, with the wind howling and he could barely feel the tips of his ears. Giving in, he trudged in after her and immediately felt relief.
The entry was nearly black, save for the fire Bodahn had left on in the library, the flames’ light enveloping the otherwise dark estate. Hawke shed her cloak and tossed it on the nearby chair before undoing the laces on her boots. Fenris followed her lead and removed his cloak and scarf, folding them neatly and placing them near hers messily strewed cloak. He struggled with his boots and finally kicked them off. Looking up, he saw Hawke with her arms crossed, giving him a grin. She nodded her head toward the library and the pair made their way into the warm firelit room.
He noticed she seemed to spend most of her time in the room, though he had never even seen her pick up a book. Hawke plopped on the couch, grabbing the throw blanket from the headrest. Unfolding it, she held it up, waiting for Fenris to join her. He hesitated, but the cold in his body chose for him. He joined her under the blanket, settling it on their laps. They sat in silence, with only the fire to speak.
They had found themselves alone together more often, and in those moments, words seemed to fail them both.
Hawke wiggled down so she could rest her head on his shoulder and stretch her legs over the rest of the couch. It wasn’t that Fenris had gotten used to her touch because he hadn’t. Since last year’s kiss, she had only touched him when it wasn’t against his skin. He had never outright asked her not to touch him, but she noticed his hesitancy and became more careful. Her head rest against his clothed shoulder, with no skin in sight to touch. Fenris relaxed into her touch, feeling warm and content.
Hawke let out a short sigh, closing her eyes and nuzzling further into his shoulder. After a few minutes, Fenris felt her breathing steady and heard soft snores. He smiled to himself and leaned down to plant a kiss on her head before allowing his eyes to droop and fall victim to sleep.
*
The fourth year was much, much different. Carver had left to join the templars, something that felt like a betrayal to Hawke. She grew much closer to her other companions, with their band feeling like a family. Something had shifted, between her and the white-haired elf, however. The glances they shared lingered longer, and the space between them kept shrinking. It came to a head, though, when Fenris couldn’t take it any longer. He couldn’t take all of the ‘almosts’ and the ‘nearlys’ anymore.
That’s when he made the split-second decision at nearly midnight to go to Hawke’s estate. He was hoping she was still up as his hand nearly shook while he fumbled with the key, she gave him. Opening the door, he found her halfway up the stairs, turning around at the noise.
“Fenris? Everything alright?” No, he thought. Everything is not alright. I need you. He ran up to meet her on the stairs, grabbed her hands in his, ignoring the slight hiss he felt from his markings.
“Hawke, I-I have been able to think of little else. Command me to go and I shall.”
Hawke’s eyes widened, confusion marring her face. She had feelings for him, and she thought he did too, but she never thought it’d go farther than what it already was. Sensing her hesitation, Fenris began to let go of her hands. Her hands jerked back to him, holding his face in her hands. She gave him a deep kiss before pulling away and her eyes darkened.
“Stay.”
And he did.
He left her bed several hours later, not having slept at all. She was curled up to him, her arm slung across his waist and her long black hair fanning across the pillows. His body ached with want, desire, and pain. Her hot lyrium tasting skin burned against his markings, making the flashes of memories too intense to bear.
Carefully lifting her arm off of him, he sat up. Head in his hands, he felt his chest tighten. Was it worth it? One night of giving in to his selfish desires, just to leave her like it hadn’t been the best night of his life?
It wasn’t fair to her, he knew that. He shouldn’t have barged into her home, he shouldn’t have kissed her, and he sure shouldn’t have followed her into her quarters.
He thought he could be happy, he really did. But it was both not enough and too much at the same time. He began to dress, considering what in the world he would say to her. She had been the one to kiss him that first time yes, but this was his doing. He came to her, he begged for her, he craved her, yet he was the one leaving.
As he finished buckling his last gauntlet, he heard her stir. He looked over and saw her sit up, the blanket pulled over her bare chest. She ran a hand through her hair and yawned.
“Fenris?”
“Hawke…Fred, I am so sorry.” I don’t want this to end.
“Was it your markings? Are you alright?"
“I can’t.” I don’t want to say goodbye.
“Please just stay, we can talk—"
“I was a fool to think I could be happy.” I was a fool to fall in love with you.
“Fenris, please...”
“I should never have come here. Forgive me.” This is the happiest I have ever been.
“But, I—"
“You deserve better. I am sorry.” I cannot love, I cannot be loved.
And then he was gone.
After a week of crying and mourning her love life, Hawke was determined to move past it. There is absolutely no reason why they couldn’t be friends and be adults about this. Sure, she had spent the last week crying in Varric’s suite and whined about how she could never be loved and how she ruined everything. But that was the past, she thought. This was now.
They spent the next few months pretending it never happened. She still took him on jobs with her, they still sat at the same table to play cards, and he still stopped by every week for their reading lessons. Their current arrangement was good enough for Hawke. If he didn’t want to be with her, there was nothing she could do to change that. She still loved him, and he still had her heart, but she knew she couldn’t have his.
After Hawke finally felt like things were beginning to feel normal again, her mother was murdered. He saw her collapse on the ground with her mother in her arms. She was hunched over, with her shoulders shaking as she wailed. He stood, helpless with the others.
Several hours later, he came to her estate and she was silent. He joined her on the bed, knowing any words he could provide would be for nothing. Instead, he held her hand and she let him. That night, they slept in her bed with his arms tightly wound around her as she mourned, and they never spoke of it again.
*
The collapse of both Hawke and the arishok sent ripples around the keep. The second Hawke hit the ground, there was yelling, crowding, voices overlapping. She knew the arishok was dead, and she felt like she was about to go too.
Finally, Fenris had made his way through the crowd of nobles and guards and along with Anders and Aveline, they made their way to Hawke. The elf felt his blood grow cold; he could see the arishok on the ground, a giant lump of burnt flesh. And next to him, flat on the ground, with more blood than he had ever seen, was Hawke.
He rushed over to her and fell to his knees. He saw her eyes were still open and carefully brought her head into his lap. The woman who never let him forget she was taller than him, who had the longest legs he’d ever seen, whose personality made her seem larger than life, had never seemed this small.
“Hawke do not do this. I am so sorry.”
Voices blundered together as the ringing in her ears only grew louder. Her breath was unsteady and ragged, and she could feel her blood pool around her and paint the ground. Hands covered her as Anders began to heal, though Fenris didn’t let go of Hawke. He kept her head in his lap and tried his best to wipe the blood off her face. When her eyes began to close, he held her tighter.
“I will not allow it.”
And with that, he kissed her. It was brief, only enough for him to brush his lips against hers. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t passionate; It was a plead, a demand for her not to leave him. There is so much left to say. He wasn’t sure if she was even conscious, but he needed her to know. I have not forgotten; I am still here.
She felt it, the kiss. As she spent the next few weeks at home healing, it was all she thought about. She knew it was just the heat of the moment, the fear of what he had just witnessed. Maybe he thought it was his fault since he had been the one to offer her as the arishok’s opponent. He made it clear when he walked out on her that night. She had grieved his absence, though he still took residence in her heart.