Suddenly, it seemed the world was revolving around them. During their search for the blasted cat all over the Elven Alienage, his eyes wandered to Merrill’s ears whenever her back was turned.
“Anders would probably get all upset and cry if Pawsy got cat-napped and eaten by the residents,” said Merrill, rubbing her hands.
“Pawsy? I’m guessing Blondie didn’t name it,” chortled Varric.
“He has got the cutest white paws around,” Merrill perked her ears. “Pawsy’s the perfect name for him!”
Hawke raised his brows. The slight elf’s ears were as animated as her lithe, nervous hands. They had a language of their own. How was it he never noticed despite being around Fenris all the time?
“Your ears, Merrill,” Hawke pointed.
“Yes? What about my ears?”
“Do all elves move their ears like this?”
“Of course they do,” chirped the petite elf.
“Even…” Hawke bit his lip.
“Even Broody’s?” Varric nudged the tall warrior as he completed his question.
“Fenris’s ears are very twitchy,” said Merrill. ”I keep wondering if he drinks tea. Elves who drink too much tea have twitchy ears.”
“Twitchy…?” ventured Hawke, not daring to believe a word.
“Twitchiest pair I’ve ever seen,” nodded Merrill.
Right after they found the abominable cat hiding under a sack in the corner of the Alienage, Hawke immediately sought Fenris out.
He found the elf in the study of his mansion, perusing books on the shelf.
“Hawke,” greeted Fenris as the hulking man threw open the doors and stormed in. ”What’s wrong?”
“No, I…no. I was just thinking,” stuttered Hawke. And it was then, at that very moment, Hawke realised why he had never thought to look at his lover’s ears. With a pair of smouldering green eyes gazing at him, how could he even contemplate looking elsewhere?
Fenris nodded and offered, “if you require assistance, I am here.”
Hawke reluctantly pried his eyes away and looked to the elven ears. He marvelled at how slender and fragile they looked with their blushed tips, reddened by the sun despite Fenris’s dark skin.
His white-haired lover turned back to the shelves and reached for the books on the top shelf. Stretched to his full height from his usual hunched position, he grasped a heavy book with his fingers and pulled. It was slight, but Hawke thought he saw Fenris’s elven ears twitch and draw back under the strain of pulling out the tome.
“You are quiet. Is there something bothering you?” asked Fenris as he set down A Very Brief History Of Antivan Wine on the table with a heavy thump and closed in on Hawke, who was intensely focused on those ears like a hungry hawk eyeing a scurrying rat from the sky.
“Hawke?” implored Fenris softly.
His ears drooped lower, stayed low and twitched once in uncertainty.
“Hawke!”
And they did it again, this time twitching twice in a row.
Fenris shook the burly man by the shoulder until he was jolted out of his observation.
Hawke burst into giggles as the elf watched on in aghast. Thoughts of possession and blood magic flitted through his mind and he gnashed his teeth in fear and worry.
“Hawke, what are you—”
“There it is again!”
“What?”
“Your ears,” grinned Hawke. ”Why, after all this time, have I not noticed such a marvelous thing?”
“I do not understand,” said Fenris.
“They move.”
“They do?”
Hawke looked at Fenris, incredulous. ”You didn’t know?”
Fenris snorted. ”I know elf ears are capable of wiggling, but I never thought anything of my own.”
“They do. And most wonderfully,” beamed Hawke.
The elf rolled his eyes. Hawke was his usual boisterous self and that was all that mattered to him. He turned back to the shelf and looked for another book to borrow.
“They’re alive, I swear. I feel as if they’re talking to me,” said Hawke, refusing to drop the subject.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” muttered Fenris, running his fingers over the books on the low shelves.
“They’re twitchy,” said Hawke, “and there they go again! They are saying ‘you know you want to touch me’.”
“Fenris?”
“Hmm?”
“May I touch your ears?”
“And if I say ‘no’,” snorted Fenris, “is that going to stop you from getting what you want, oh Champion of Kirkwall?”
“Not at all,” grinned the hulking warrior, who reached a finger out and stroked the dark elven ear from lobe to tip. It twitched, no, fluttered and trembled.
“Stop it, Hawke,” gasped Fenris, covering his face in his hands.
“You liked that?”
“No, you oaf. That tickled,” snapped Fenris, lifting his head up for a moment. Hawke rubbed the tips gently between his fingers and Fenris moaned right back into his hands.
Hawke turned his lover around and patiently coaxed the stubborn hands away from his face. He smiled at Fenris, who was blushing relentlessly, and leaned in to plant a kiss on both ears.
“I love them,” grinned Hawke.
Hawke observed all the different messages he was reading off his lover. The round green eyes were narrowed, either amused or annoyed. His thin lips were pursed into a frown of obvious disapproval. The long fingers curled around his large hairy forearm, uncertain as to pull him close or push him away. And those soft, twitchy ears…
Those talking elven ears.
They twitched like a puppy dog’s wagging tail, happy and wanting.
They completely betray you, thought Hawke.
“And I love you,” Hawke answered to all of Fenris, drawing him into his arms. They kissed, his fingers never moving from the ears that opened another window into his lover’s soul.