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“I'm going alone.”
Those words had hardly been his favorite ever spoken by Dehlian Hawke. They in fact had been the bane of his existence. Finally solidified in a relationship with Hawke and then the world turned to ash in his hands; the mages rebelled, the world fell around it- and soon Hawke too slipped from his grasp. He felt as if it was some cruel joke of the Maker's to finally give him the sanity to have what he wanted only for it to be ripped from him.
Tevinter mages were usually the outlet of his wrath. What if she died? The thought gnawed at him everyday. She had made it clear she loved him and did not want to leave him, and he made it clear he would not hesitate to follow her. In her typical 'get my way' fashion, she was gone before he had the chance. What, to look for Stroud? Some Grey Warden they met years before?
It was even more ironic she felt some kind of responsibility for 'unleashing' a mage she had no intention of releasing, merely being the part of some crazed plot. And this had all been thanks to an Ancient Tevinter Magister.
Of course it had been, he sometimes angrilly mused and kicked the broken bodies of their ancient ancestors a little harder.
So when he got the letter he was. . .angry. Empty. Hawke was going alone, again, and this time it might not even be so dangerous. This was merely out of responsibility, yet somehow that was not inclusive to him. He knew exactly how she felt. He had been exactly where she was. But he couldn't bring himself to accept it.
So he hadn't. He was fairly sure she would make it to Weisshaupt long before he came for her, but the least he could do was make sure she didn't do this skulking business once she got back. At the very least, they needed to talk.
But it was in a damp old inn where he found her, or she found him.
He didn't recognize her. He had simply walked into an inn, only to hear a room had been paid for by a man of his description. He was expecting a trap. What he got was a very incredulous looking woman crossing her arms. He wondered who he was looking at for a split second, because the woman had incredibly short hair.
Dehlian Hawke's proudest feature was her discipline. To most her beauty seemed all natural, but he knew how carefully she plucked each eyebrow and traced each rouge onto her lips. And he knew how each morning she awoke and brushed her long, long, delicate hair into a fine braid. Before him stood the same woman with a key set of differences. Subtle makeup, of course she wouldn't just forego it, and incredibly short hair. But it was very clearly her – each hair on her head combed back as if to declare she had forced it into that position.
She held up a piece of paper.
“Our dwarven friend happened to write me just to let me know you were on a witch hunt, sans the witch. I think he added that last part to spare my feelings,” she smiled a little. Fenris felt a lot of things in that moment, mostly rage and absolute anger. His eyes were easy to read. Emerald filled with a piercing anguish and absolute outrage. How could you? How could you do that? Why would you leave me behind and -
She approached him slowly and looked to him. There was silence.
“I had to,” she said softly. He gritted his teeth.
“No,” he spat, “You damn well didn't, Hawke.”
Her eyes were filled with pain.
“I almost died,” she choked. “More than I ever had before. My life hinged on someone else deciding to die, and the choice of a woman. I could have died. Should have. I offered,” she admits. He seems taken aback and almost visibly recoils..
“You what?”
Her eyes, for the first time in the many years he has known her, are downcast.
“How could I face you, knowing I had volunteered to die to make up for it?”
He steps backwards, and feels at a loss. What had happened to his beloved Hawke? The hair was merely a symbol for the damage. He could see the tears welling up in her eyes.
“Hawke,” he whispers. How could he comfort her when he was so angry? How could he be angry when she was vulnerable. She bites her lip and turns.
“I failed everyone. I failed my family, Kirkwall, even the mages I saved. Even worse- just by being born and daring to live through the Blight I failed the whole world. All my skills couldn't kill him, and my blood gave him life. It's my fault Corypheus nearly.. .” she scoffs at herself. He could tell she wanted to open her mouth and say more, but she felt silent. Fenris walks closer.
“Don't be a fool Hawke. You're a woman with the world's worst luck, and responsibility, thrust on you. Not a single person blames you,” he reminded her, even though his tone was rough. She snaps back.
“They should!”
He gripped her arms suddenly and looked her in the eye. They were the same height, afterall. There was silence there for a good while as he looked at her eyes. Black as charcoal and the most beautiful sight in the world, he so loved the sight of Dehlian Hawke. He thought she would be a dead body the next time he saw her, all these long months. All he had wanted. . . even if the world had burned at Tevinter hands. . . was to see those eyes again.
He runs his fingers through her short hair and shakes his head. She was still so beautiful, she didn't need all the hair to have such beautiful tresses. He has the same somber look he always did, but he knew it would comfort he as it always did. As his presence always did.
“No,” he simply says. No to what, he imagined she was thinking. It was to it all. No, you shouldn't have died. No, it isn't your fault. No, I can't go on if you die like that. He pulled her suddenly into a deep embrace and smiled softly. Her smell was the same, and he was afraid she would fade away.
“The world is better for having you in it,” he says simply. His hands run through the short hair and he smiles. “My life. . .would be nothing if you were not in it,” he reminded her.
She looks up at him and her look is somber but she knows he means it. The life of a slave she had saved him from, a life with a love he never knew he'd have. She sniffled a little, failing to hide the remnants of tears, and smiled.
“And here I was worried you'd hate my hair so much you'd leave,” she taunted. He smirked a little and grabbed a handful lightly.
“I can still pull,” he warns mockingly. She laughs and motions to the bed.
“If you're interested in a washed up Champion of Kirkwall,” she laughs. He takes her hand and embraces her once again.
“Because I'm interested in Dehlian Hawke,” he lovingly chides as he kisses her.
If Dehlian Hawke had been right about one thing, it's that he would have died for her. And he'd do it now more than ever.