Chapter Text
Hawke stared morosely at the bottom of her third, no, fourth tankard before banging it down hard onto the table. The Hanged Man was doing a brisk trade as usual but she had managed to snag a table to herself in a quiet corner of the main floor. She signalled the barkeep who eyed her speculatively before sending over another mug of ale. Rather than going home, which would result in the inevitable and endless questions from her sister and mother about the outcome of the latest lesson she had come here, intending to drink herself insensible instead. Conversation was the last bloody thing she wanted at the moment. She pulled out her boot knife and began scratching away at the table's already heavily graffitied surface. Seeing both the knife and her expression, the barmaid put her drink down without a word and retreated hastily.
Hawke took a long swallow. He's right she thought muzzily it does take the edge off. She shook her head angrily. Blasted elf.
He'd been creeping into her thoughts relentlessly ever since she'd stormed away from the mansion earlier that evening. A polite, bordering on pleasant (if at first toe-curlingly awkward) lesson ruined by another pointless argument. After she'd made a serious attempt to improve the civility of their relationship as well! She slammed the knife down onto the table making the nearest patrons jump and sidle away nervously.
His expression as they had sparred kept sliding into her mind, dulling the sharp edges of her anger and annoying her even more. His smile when they had fought, intent on besting the other. It…had been…
Fierce?
Joyful?
Real.
That was it. His face had been for once unguarded and breath-takingly transformed. She rested her forehead against the cool of the mug. It's actually rather impressive how quickly things went downhill from there. She shook her head slowly in disbelief. He thinks I'm incapable of making sensible decisions when it comes to all things magical. He thinks I need him to protect me from hordes of renegade mages, from myself! She ground her teeth in remembered fury. Arrogant, patronising, tight-arsed –
A sudden memory of him sitting back on his heels, green eyes wide and strangely vulnerable flashed through her mind. Real Expression Number Two. She shifted uncomfortably. I'd forgotten about that one. Alright, disregarded it. Maybe the lyrium burn brought back some upsetting memories. Perhaps I should have –
She straightened abruptly and banged the mug down with a noise of exasperation. I will not feel sorry for him! Let's not forget that Real Expression Number Two was immediately followed by default Real Expression Unbridled Fury accompanied by the usual tirade of mage-related bigotry! There was no need for him to be so angry at me especially as I was trying to be, she choked slightly on her ale at the thought, nice. She shook her head sharply to clear it of another memory, this time of a swiftly hidden expression of hurt as she'd shoved him away from her. It dimly occurred to her that either she was getting better at reading him or he was no longer bothering to hide his feelings from her quite so well.
Bugger nice from now on. In fact, he can stuff his lessons right up his ar-
She picked up her boot knife and was moving to stand when a slim figure plopped lightly into the chair facing her.
"Hawke! Goodness, have you drunk all of this yourself? I'd be dead if I drank this many. Or at least in a puddle of all sorts of nasty things."
Hawke rubbed her eyes and sat back down, vaguely aware she was grateful for the distraction from her circling thoughts. "Hello Merrill. Lost again?"
"Oh no" the elf said cheerfully and without a trace of irony. "I'm in the Hanged Man. Isn't it strange I can get lost anywhere in this town and find my way here, but not home? Although," She frowned. "I'm not sure how to get home from here. Varric usually shows me but he's off on a trading expedition." She brightened suddenly. "That reminds me, Varric gave me a message to give to you."
There was a pause.
"…yes?" said Hawke eventually.
Merrill was looking down at the table in alarm. "Did you draw this, Hawke?" Hawke looked at the fresh scrawl of graffiti and shrugged, reddening slightly.
"It looks like an elf with an axe in its head." She looked up, eyes wide. "It's not me, is it? He asked me, you see, so I thought it would be alright…"
Hawke scrunched up her face in confusion. "No, it's not you – wait, who asked you what?"
Merrill stared at her indecisively, her mouth open.
"Is this the message you were talking about?"
"No. Wait. Yes!"
Hawke leaned forward impatiently. "…and?"
Merrill leaned away from her, wetting her lip nervously. "So…Varric left something for you" she said quickly. "He said he'd picked it up in Hightown and it would prove useful in the next few days. I dropped it off at your house."
"That's it?"
"Er. Yes."
"What is it?"
"I'm not sure. It was in a pretty box though. He kept winking at me, said it was a shame he'd be away for a few days because he'd like to see you putting it on."
"Then why are you looking so shifty?"
Merrill avoided her gaze, looking instead around the crowded bar.
"Merrill?"
"Do you hate him?" she said suddenly.
Hawke blinked at the abrupt swerve in conversation. "Are we still talking about Varric?"
"No, Fenris. I'm thinking if this picture isn't me then it's probably him. And it's not a very friendly one."
Hawke looked away. "I barely know him. And I don't intend to try and placate him anymore. I told him in no uncertain terms that after this ball, whatever happens, he stays away from me."
"Oh dear, really? I know he upset you but...what if he tried to make it up to you?"
"What, by growing a personality and kissing every mage he comes across?"
Merrill flushed slightly and bit her lip. "I wouldn't object to that last part…" she whispered conspiratorially. Hawke raised an eyebrow at her.
"I'd settle for him deciding not to be such an arse but I suspect that'll never happen."
"People change" said Merrill simply. "Either that or you start seeing them differently."
"Or they stay exactly the same." Hawke pulled herself to her feet, wincing slightly at the stabbing pain in her side. "Come on, it's late. I'll see you home."
"Thanks, Hawke."
Arriving back at Gamlen's hovel later Hawke tripped over in the dark and fell through the front door, cursing. A single taper on the desk lit the room dimly revealing the rather unsavoury figure of her uncle in his nightshirt.
"Andraste's tits, girl, must you wake the entire household with your clumsiness?" He eyed her sourly. "You're drunk." She glared at him and when she said nothing forthcoming he gestured at the desk with a grunt. "Some elf left this earlier. I'm going back to bed."
After he had gone, Hawke picked up the gilt trimmed box and opened it. Inside lay a pair of red silk, low heeled shoes. A delicate pattern was picked out in gold filigree and complicated looking ribbons flowed from the edging at the top. Hawke smiled. Got to give it to the dwarf, he has good taste.They were very beautiful and looked extremely expensive. Her smile faded slightly at the thought of the next dance lesson but at least the slippers would go some way in addressing Fenris' continued complaints about his bruised toes, the leather of the soles looked very supple. Sneaky Varric. He must have known or at least guessed. Still, she could still do a reasonable amount of damage if she brought her heel down hard enough. Grinning, she headed for bed cradling the box against her chest protectively.
She woke late the following morning feeling rested and strangely content. She had just finished dressing when Bethany appeared, waving a small package.
"This was outside the front door."
It was a small box, one corner crushed and Hawke realised it was what she had tripped over in the dark the previous evening. The paper surrounding it was decorated with an intricate, elvish design. Opening it quickly she found within a small pot of salve.
Bethany took a quick sniff and recoiled. "Urgh. What is that?"
Frowning, Hawke sniffed it, swiped a little with her finger and tentatively applied it to the back of her hand. There was a vague tingling and a sudden coolness on her skin. Carefully she took more onto a finger and swept it over the throbbing skin of her left side, sighing with relief at the sensation. "I think" she said slowly "it's an apology."
"Well, it's certainly…practical. It's rather thoughtful, actually."
"Don't make more of it than it is, sis. If I can't move freely I can't dance and this lessens our chances of success, yes? So this is just as much for him as it is for me. "Still," she said, looking slightly mollified, "I suppose it's better than nothing."
"So..." Bethany fidgeted. "Are we still going?"
Hawke sighed with irritation. "Yes. I can't put it off forever, I suppose." She adjusted her daggers.
"Come on, let's go and look at…ugh…dresses."
Bethany looked at her nervously. "Are you absolutely sure you need me to come with you? I know how this sort of thing makes you quite, er, angry"
"There's no-one I'd rather go with"
"You just spat on me."
It was late afternoon and Hawke ambled through the market eyeing the weapons and armour. Bethany had left an hour or so earlier pleading fatigue but in reality she'd grown impatient of Hawke's obvious disinterest and growing annoyance with all things dress or dress-related and had sloped off to look at the mage goods in Lowtown. Hawke had waved her off with relief. She had the distinct impression that anything deemed 'fashionable' currently would immediately mutate into 'utterly ridiculous' as soon as she tried it on leaving her looking like an expensively clothed abomination. It seems unfair that Mother has to put all the work in to make something for me. She has enough to do. Maybe Isabela can help me. She wears…womanly clothes. I'll ask her to pick something, add 6 inches of cloth at the bust and the hem…
She stopped beside a cloth merchant's stall and ran a hand over one of the gossamer thin rolls. Maybe red and gold to match the shoes.
She looked up at the merchant to ask about pricing and caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. She paused for a moment and then turned her head slightly on the pretext of looking at the other goods there. A slim dark figure stepped back out of her view into a nearby alleyway.
Hmm. What's he doing here? She turned and began to head towards an area of the market where the stalls were less busy. Stopping again she flicked a glance to the side and saw the figure slide behind a pillar gracefully. He's either stalking me or is too cowardly to approach me. Either way…she smiled to herself.
After a pause she moved towards the market exit as if to leave and then abruptly spun on her heel and headed back the way she'd come. Fenris froze in front of her. Caught you! she thought triumphantly. She saw him cast a quick glance at a nearby fruit stall as if he might dive behind it before deciding that staying put was probably the most dignified option under the circumstances.
He attempted a nonchalant pose as she sauntered closer, her face carefully neutral.
"Good afternoon, Hawke" said Fenris with a visible effort.
She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. "Fancy meeting you here, Fenris. I thought you hated the market."
"I avoid it when possible. However, do you suppose food and supplies magically appear in front of me whenever I wish them to?"
"That would be awkward. Would you have to smite yourself for unregulated usage of magic?" She tilted her head and grinned, a faint challenge in her expression.
To her surprise the edges of his mouth quirked slightly. "Perhaps I should leave any punishment to your discretion. I'm sure you could come up with something appropriate."
"Don't go thinking I'd restrict you to just one punishment, now." He dipped his head in amusement, relaxing slightly and then paused as if choosing his next words with care. "In truth I have been walking for some time with the hope of meeting you."
"It would probably have been easier if you'd simply walked up to me rather than sloping into alleyways and behind pillars."
He reddened slightly. "I wanted to make sure your mood would be…reasonable."
She watched his eyes move around the market uncomfortably and then fix on hers again. He seemed to be waiting for something. She sighed and relented.
"Thank you for the gift." She said shortly. "It will come in very handy."
"You…approve?" She nodded and then turned and began to move slowly along the line of stalls once more, vaguely surprised when he fell into step beside her. "I'm not saying I've forgiven and forgotten but as a peace offering it'll do."
"I see." There was an edge of sharpness to his voice and he appeared on the verge of saying something else when the feel of her warm hand on his arm made him stumble slightly.
"One moment, I want to have another look at these."
Hawke stopped before a stall piled with brightly coloured rolls of cloth. She browsed, brow furrowed in concentration, not noticing Fenris continuing to stare stupidly at the place on his arm where her hand had briefly rested.
"Maybe red…" he heard her murmur and visibly recollected himself. He moved closer and watched her hand gently trace over a swathe of deep red silk. "A dress made from this would go beautifully with a gift I received recently." He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.
"The colour is…most flattering" he said softly and watched her eyes move over his face.
"I bow to your superior knowledge" she said with a smirk before beckoning the merchant over. "Now if I can get something made that avoids making me look like I've had an altercation with some Chantry curtains…"
"Hawke in a dress…" he mused.
She raised her head slowly. "Yes?"
"It could well be one of Kirkwall's most anticipated occasions."
He's teasing you, Hawke. "Or one of its most farcical sideshows." She unrolled a section of cloth and held it up in front of her.
On impulse Fenris grabbed an edge of the silk and draped it over one of her shoulders, smoothing the cloth around her exposed neck and chest. He gently lifted her jaw with the back of a gauntleted hand before tilting his head and nodding in silent approval.
"I was right, it seems" he said half to himself. He suddenly became aware of her eyes on him and they gazed at each other for a long moment. He opened his mouth to speak.
"That colour suits you very well, Serah Hawke." A soft voice floated over her shoulder. She whirled round in surprise effectively cocooning herself in the smooth material, wincing at a sudden tearing noise. The merchant shrieked and raised both hands in horror. Mortified, Hawke flailed her way out of her prison of cloth to come face to face with a brightly smiling Saemus Dumar.
"Good day to you, Ser" she said breezily, flapping away tendrils of silk. "I'll pay for that," she said hastily to the furiously mouthing merchant. Saemus seemed oblivious to anyone but her and stepped forward eagerly.
"Are you choosing material for an evening dress, Serah Hawke? If so, this colour is perfect. It's…vivid and…and…unusually red. Much like yourself. I mean…no, no, not that you're red of course." He quailed slightly at her questioning gaze. "In fact," he continued valiantly, "I think you are looking an extremely healthy...colour"
"I…thank you, Ser." She said, sketching a quick curtsey and biting back a laugh. "I am indeed looking for finery today. Thank you again for your kind invitation - I will enjoy the opportunity to wear such clothing for a change."
"And I very much look forward to seeing you out of your clothes." There was a pause and he stuttered suddenly, turning bright red. "I mean…that is to say your normal clothes. Not out of…oh dear…" he turned towards the merchant, flustered. Hawke hid a smile behind her hand and heard Fenris restrain a snort of amusement behind her.
"Allow me to purchase this for you? As a gift? It would give me great pleasure."
Hawke frowned uncomfortably. "It's rather expensive, Saemus. I don't…"
"It is unlike you to refuse expensive gifts, no matter from whom they come" murmured Fenris in her ear.
She shot him a scathing look. "That's very generous of you, Ser," she said loudly, turning back to Saemus. "I only hope I can do justice to your fine gift."
"You will do this material more than justice. You will be the most beautiful woman there, Serah." He turned to face her again, the tips of his ears still slightly red. "And I will be the most fortunate man." He held her gaze and blushed again. "I can hardly wait."
He departed, bowing low over her hand and turned back to give her a shy wave a few steps on.
"He's endearingly awkward." She murmured, watching him leave. And likely easily hurt. She felt a vague twinge of apprehension. But this could change so much for us…
"Inexperience is endearing, is it?" muttered Fenris darkly, scowling at his departing back. "I might have known you'd prefer boys, Hawke."
"Funny, I've thought the same thing about you many times" she said sweetly, pushing past him at his growl of indignation.
"Serah," called the merchant after her. "Will you be taking this cloth now or will your manservant return for it later?" Hawke didn't dare look at Fenris. She could feel the resentment coming off him in waves. Time to leave, I think, before the limbs start flying. She moved forward quickly, picking up the wrapped bundle.
"I'll see you in a few hours" she muttered in his direction and fled.
"Oh, this is lovely" breathed Leandra. "Yes, I can make something quite suitable with this…"
"Just…nothing too fancy please, Mother?"
"I'm not putting weapons pouches anywhere, if that's what you're asking."
"No, just something practical. And easy to walk in."
"Yes, yes." Leandra ignored her, turning dreamily and draping the fine material around her body. Hawke's face softened at the sight of her enraptured expression. I'll buy you such dresses, Mother, when all of this is over. Ones that are worthy of you, I promise. You deserve so much better.
"I'll see you later. Wish me luck" She planted a quick kiss on her cheek, and, after hesitating briefly, fetched the box containing her fine shoes, slipping out into the cool of the evening.
TBC