Work Text:
Coritha Hawke sighed, letting herself fall back onto her rumpled bedding. Well that went swimmingly, she thought, running her hands through her shoulder-length hair, trying to get some of the tangles out. Her body was still tingling and sated from Fenris’ passionate attentions, and she briefly mourned the loss of a repeat performance in the morning.
Can’t really blame him for leaving though. I would run, too, if sex brought back my life’s history and then wiped it out again. She huffed. Blazes. I should be pissed. I should be cursing his scrawny ass to the Void and back. I should be plotting some sort of inventive revenge. She groaned and rolled herself off the bed, heading for the washbasin. Why do I always have to be able to see other peoples' viewpoints? Can’t I, just this once, be completely selfish and think of no one but myself?
She snorted. Of course I can’t. I can kill a man without a thought, send begging mages back to the Circle, and turn a blind eye to Anders’ attraction to me, but at the end of the day I still can’t stop myself from caring.
As she wiped herself down with a cloth, she pondered over his words. He obviously enjoyed it. Immensely. He’d even said so. He hadn’t rejected her when she had told him she cared for him. He hadn’t run away while she was dozing, instead waiting until she was awake and then trying to explain. That. That right there. That’s why I can’t be angry at him, blight it all.
Even in an obvious sate of confusion - and fear - he had tried to explain it to her, tried to make her see that it wasn't her fault.
All I wanted was to be happy. Just… for a little while.
Oh, how her heart had broken when he said that, as he’d looked away and his voice had faded. Just thinking about it now made the trembling pieces shudder and crack.
She shook herself and put the washrag back where it belonged. She wouldn’t think on it tonight. For now, it was enough that she knew they had shared something, that he didn’t hate her, and that there was still hope.
Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow, she would have to think about it.
And make sure that damn, blighted, blazing, fool elf didn’t get it into his head that she would be glad to see him go.
***
In the morning, she was woken up by a giant, slobbery tongue soaking half her face. After that lovely wake-up call, Bodahn handed her not one, but three letters - one from Aveline containing a tip on some slaver activity, one from the Viscount’s office letting her know about escalating tensions with the Qunari, and an introductory letter from a seamstress, who was offering her services to “Lady Hawke” if she should ever require “professional, speedy service” in regards to her “fashionable clothing needs”.
After finishing her meal, she headed upstairs to get ready. Her armor needed a bit of attention after the rough treatment Fenris had given it the night before. Looking at a small dent in her breastplate, she was suddenly struck by a surge of thankfulness that her mother had been out of the house visiting friends that night. She already thinks all the elves I associate with are odd, she’d lose her head if she ever knew the oddest of the lot spent the night in my bed.
Except he didn’t spend the night. She fought off a wave of annoyance, instead reigning her thoughts in. She needed a way to let him know she wasn’t going anywhere, one that wasn’t pushy or needy or, Maker forbid, commanding. She’d never command the elf to do anything unless his life was on the line, and even then she’d prefer to move him bodily out of the line of fire.
Hawke paused. Perhaps that slaver den, from Aveline’s letter… but no. Not the day after. He had likely drowned himself in wine after leaving, if she knew him. The last thing she wanted was for him to get hurt fighting with a hangover on top of the awkwardness that was sure to hang in the air between them. No, she would go and drag Aveline out of her office - by her hair if she had to - and then fetch Varric and Isabela from the Hanged Man.
She was halfway to the door when she realized that Varric and Isabela wouldn’t even be awake at this hour, let alone sober.
Maker, are all my friends hopeless drunks? You’d think at least one of them would have some sort of restraint- wait. That’s it.
Smiling to herself, she continued on to her door, ignoring the concerned looks Bodahn and Orana were sending her way. Sebastian would probably be eager to help - he hated slavers, even if he usually refused to admit he felt such ugly emotions. She’d still need a third person, though, in case things got rough…
Her smile turned wicked.
Taking both Sebastian and Anders out always ended up being fun.
She whistled cheerily as she walked out the door, with her mabari following at her heels.
***
“Hawke! I didn’t expect you to bring Reaper by until tomorrow.” Aveline smiled, the expression more than a little wicked. “It’s for the better, though. Can’t let the recruits get used to a routine.”
Hawke shook her head, chuckling. “I actually came to pick you up, not drop him off. Think of this as a response to your letter."
Aveline groaned, slumping back in her chair. “Hawke, I’m busy. Can’t you take one of the others, instead?”
Hawke shrugged. “Varric and Isabela won’t be up yet,” Aveline nodded, frowning, “Merrill said she’d be out on the Wounded Coast today, gathering herbs,” Aveline’s frown deepened, taking on a resigned edge, “and Fenris is… indisposed, today.” The guard-captain raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push.
“Alright, alright. Just… let me wrap a couple things up. Why don’t you and Reaper go make the morning training a bit more interesting?”
Hawke grinned and headed toward the door. Just as she was about to close it behind her, Aveline called out again.
“Wait.”
Hawke did, shooting an inquiring look back over her shoulder.
“Then you’re bringing me, Sebastian, and… Anders?”
Hawke nodded, fighting back a smirk.
“Oh, Hawke. You do know how to make things interesting, don’t you?”
The recruits were alerted to her presence in the Barracks by the sound of her cackling.
***
Covered in blood and gore, Hawke and Aveline walked side by side out of the slaver’s den, trying desperately not to laugh at the men following them. They'd been going on since the moment the last of the slavers was dead, and had devolved from legitimate argument to childish bickering.
“Anders, please. There’s no need to bring Elthina into this. She hasn’t done anything to-“
“Exactly! She’s sat on her ass this whole time, too cowardly to-“
“Don’t you dare call that woman a coward! She’s stood between the Templars and the Mages for longer than you’ve been alive-“
“And that’s another point. She, and her views, are so outdated that-“
Hawke broke first, slapping a bloody, gauntleted hand over her mouth to try and muffle her chuckle, but it was too late. Both men turned betrayed eyes to her. Oh Maker, their faces…
Her eyes met Aveline’s, and both women gave in, leaning against the nearest wall and laughing until tears streamed down their faces.
Anders stormed off in a huff, heading to his clinic. Sebastian tried to look disappointed in them for all of a minute before his lips started twitching.
“Alright, yes, we’re ridiculous. But could this please wait until we are out of the most dangerous place in the city?”
His whining tone set them off again, and it wasn’t until an urchin tried to pick Sebastian’s pocket that they sobered up enough to make their way back to the surface.
***
It was almost dark, and Hawke still hadn’t found that damned box.
She’d caved and asked Aveline - Aveline, of all people, Maker help her, there wasn’t any hope for her, none - for advice on what to do about Fenris.
Of course, Aveline hadn’t had clue about what to do, though she did get a kick out of being able to tease Hawke for once instead of the other way around. But she had mentioned “tokens of affection” which had given Hawke an idea.
Perhaps not an entirely good idea, but it was an idea, and all she could do was try.
Which led her to her current predicament: being absolutely unable to find the small box her mother had given her several weeks before. It supposedly had “proper tokens” for a lady to give someone she had interest in. She’d never opened it, of course, because at the time she’d thought that the only interest she had was doomed to be denied.
She cursed, squirming her way under the bed. It still might be denied. He mentioned things being too fast. But how else can I make sure he knows I’m there for him, without actually BEING there for him, and possibly pushing him away? She huffed, flopping face-down under the bed, the box nowhere to be found. Who am I kidding. I was never any good at this stuff. If only Bethany were still…
She sniffled - immediately glad that Orana was dedicated in her cleaning - and then laughed, the sound coming out a little broken. Bethany would have loved Orana. And she would have told me I was being a fool, and given me clear instructions on how exactly to fix this whole… mess. But she wouldn’t want me to cry for her. She hated people being sad.
Momentarily forgetting where she was, Hawke tried to get up and nearly brained herself on the bed frame.
Maybe I’ll just wave a handkerchief at him. He should get the point, right?
***
She’d had to smother herself with a pillow to not wake her mother with her screeches of frustration at least three times, but she eventually found the damned box under her wardrobe, of all places. She’d opened the box and found a length of red fabric and and small shield with the Amell crest, both in surprisingly good condition considering where she’d found them. Now, she just had to go talk to Fenris.
It took everything she had to not call Reaper into her room and hide there for a week, instead.
***
When she reached Fenris’ mansion, she almost knocked. Then she almost left. Then she just barged right in, and ordered Reaper to guard the door.
It’s not like I’ve ever knocked first before.
“Fenris?” she called. Wouldn’t do for him to mistake her for an enemy and run her through. There was a beat of silence, before she heard a muted curse. She rolled her eyes. Really, did he think she’d just leave him to rot?
A decidedly broody Fenris came out of the main bedroom just as she reached the top of the stairs. Aside from the frown and an apparent refusal to make eye contact, he seemed fine. Hawke felt some of the tension leave her shoulders as the sight of him. Ugh. I’ve turned into one of those fretting maidens from mother’s romance novels. Worrying about people who can handle themselves just fine whenever they aren’t within shouting distance. Pah.
It wasn’t until he shifted nervously that she realized they’d been standing there awkwardly for at least two minutes. Oh, this is going well.
She drew breath to speak, but fell silent again as the elf flinched, as if expecting a blow. Maker, he thinks I’m mad at him. This is exactly why I need to do this. She squared her shoulders, fighting to ignore how he hunched his.
“I’m not angry.”
He blinked, looking confused. She didn’t really blame him though. She sounded kind of angry. She rubbed her forehead with her right hand, trying to not think about the box her left was clutching. Try two, then. Honesty. That's what he gave you, that's what you’ll give him back.
“Ok, so I’m… a little irritated. But I understand. So can we just…” she groaned, dropping her hand and looking at the ceiling. “Can we just sit down? Please? It might make this a little less awkward.”
She saw the corner of his mouth quirk up as he nodded, then lead her into the room. Don’t look at the bed. Don’t think about what the desk could be used for. Don’t- shit, don’t bother giving yourself rules - you’re already breaking them, she thought, catching her self as she took in the room, kicking herself for lingering on the bed and desk.
They sat, Fenris seeming rather twitchy. At least I’m not the only one suffering, here. Hawke sighed.
“Are you alright?”
Hawke blinked at the sound of Fenris’ voice. He’d been quiet for so long she’d half-thought he’d forgotten how to talk. “Yes. Why?”
His mouth curled up into a wry sort of smile. “You’re not speaking. If I know one thing about you, Hawke, it is that you always get to the point, and you don’t stop until everyone gets it.”
She would have been insulted, but it was true. She relaxed a little, noting that he had as well. Here goes nothing.
She set the box on the desk. “This is for you, but don’t open it until I’ve explained.” He pulled it closer to himself, his expression one of wary curiosity, but he nodded. She gritted her teeth, then forced herself to start. “I care about you.” Blunt. Good. He can’t twist that around. “And I know you care about me, too, so don’t even try it.” She narrowed her eyes at him when he started to speak, and he subsided with a self-deprecating sigh. “But I get it. Even without… everything else… this might’ve been a bit fast, and that’s fine. I’m not going to push. But,” she leaned forward, prompting him to meet her gaze for the first time that night, “I’m not going to let you think I don't still want you.” His eyes widened and he leaned back, stunned. She smiled, as gentle a smile as she had ever brought to bear. “If you want space, fine. If you want me to not come here again unless you invite me, fine.”
She swallowed, fearing his response to the next part. “If you want me to never speak to you again… I’ll respect your wishes.” ‘Fine’ would not be something she would be if that happened, and she wouldn’t lie and say it was.
“I don’t want that.” He seemed a little panicked at the thought, and she almost fainted from the sheer relief that flowed through her.
“Ok, then. Well.” She leaned back in her chair. “Then I’ll wait for you, Fenris. And you know I can be patient. As long as you need, I’ll wait. If you want me to.”
He looked positively flabbergasted, and more than a little shellshocked. Did he not expect me to be that blunt? When am I not blunt? Amusement briefly conquered her nervousness, and she smiled again, until he visibly readied himself to speak and gave her blighted, nervous heart a reason to panic again.
“I cannot ask that of you.”
Andraste’s dirty knickers, what does it take ?
“You didn’t,” she replied, with as much steel in her voice as she could muster. “I made the decision on my own, thank you very much. If you want this, I will wait.” She motioned towards the box he was now clutching like a lifeline to an older, saner world. “And you can let me know you want this by wearing what’s in that box. As long as you’re wearing at least one of those, I’ll know to be patient. If you don’t wear them, that’s fine too. No hard feelings, we’ll work through the awkward and just be friends. It’s your choice.” She nodded, proud of herself that she hadn’t choked up at the thought of him denying her.
Everything was perfectly still - for a minute or an hour, she didn’t know. Then he nodded.
She stood up abruptly, immediately feeling bad for startling him but feeling an instinctual need to leave now before something fucks up. “I’ll go, then.” she shot him a tremulous, fleeting smile… and bolted.
***
She spent the night at the Hanged Man - where she successfully drank Isabela under the table - and then had to be walked home by a long-suffering Varric in the small hours of the morning.
Her mother was awake already, and looked angry enough to spit at the sight of her drunk daughter being half-carried by a well-known dwarven rogue of marginally ill repute, but thankfully wasn’t loud with her remonstrations. She did, however, keep a close eye on them as Varric got her to her bed. Does she honestly think he’s going to molest me, or something? As if. Bianca would have his balls.
Varric left fairly quickly, and all at once the one thought she’d managed to avoid until then slammed into her brain like a well-aimed punch.
What if Fenris doesn’t wear them?
Good mood thoroughly ruined, she called Reaper up onto the bed and cuddled him until she fell asleep.
Dogs are much better than people, anyway.
***
After over a week of worrying, fretting, and many other annoying, non-useful activities, she’d just about given up on ever seeing Fenris again. It eventually got bad enough that Aveline took pity on her and sent her a list of suspected slaver hideouts, and threatened to go ask Fenris to join them in the search herself, if Hawke didn’t.
Hawke did. With Sebastian and Isabela in tow as extra incentive for him to come, much to their amusement. She left them outside as she entered the house.
Forcing herself to act normally, she called out, “Fenris! Aveline wants us to go check out some suspected slaver activity. Want to join in on the fun?"
She jumped a foot in the air as his voice came from behind her, where he’d come out of one of the side rooms. “Of course. Hunting slavers is always a pleasure.”
She froze for a moment, afraid to look. Don’t be a coward. Better to know for sure, she told herself. She turned.
Blessed Andraste. He was wearing them. Both of them. The Amell shield was affixed to his belt, and the red fabric was tied - a little messily - around his left wrist, above his gauntlet. Good thing it’s red or it’d get ruined after one battle, she thought, a little hysterically.
He shifted his weight and looked at her from behind his hair. “I couldn’t get it tied right. Could you…?” he said, holding out his left hand.
She nodded, too quickly if his smile was any guess. She could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks as she re-tied the cloth, making sure it was secure.
When they exited the mansion, Isabela and Sebastian were leaning against a wall, looking bored. When they saw him, they started in on Fenris at once, asking him where he’d been, what he’d been doing, if what he’d been doing had been dirty - Isabela, of course - and so on.
Hawke just grinned, ignoring his pleading eyes. That’s the price you pay for brooding in your house for a fortnight, buster.
***
All the nerves and waiting were entirely worth it when Anders - upon seeing Fenris’ new accessories at the Hanged Man that night - choked on his beer and spit it across the table.