Chapter Text
HAWKE
As things so often did in my life, my plan had gone straight off the rails. What was intended to be a quick trip to the Wounded Coast to track down a supply of Elfroot to restock Anders' clinic - I'd promised him I'd do it, since he had so many other things on his plate, and wasn't backing down because of a few storm clouds - became an impromptu overnighter in a very damp cave.
The storm hit, and it hit hard.
Fenris and I were caught out in it when the proverbial dam had burst. The ground - already muddy from weeks of rain - instantly became so slick that it was a danger to try and make our way around some of the steeper cliff faces.
I'd invited Fenris along, not really expecting trouble on my herb-gathering venture, but one never knew what sort of trouble they would bump into wandering the coast so near Kirkwall, and I had wanted someone capable watching my back. I hadn't expected the trouble to be weather-related and joked to him that perhaps I ought to have brought Merril, as she seemed the type to have a spell to do something about this inclement weather. Fenris didn't find that as amusing as I did. Maybe because the idea of having Merril along bothered him, or maybe because he was drenched, and barefoot in mud that went well past his ankles. Probably option number two, since bringing Merril along at this juncture was an impossibility.
I gave the clouds my best glare before I conceded the fight, and speaking - practically shouting over the gale-force wind and rain - I said, "We need to find shelter!"
And that was how we ended up in the cave.
"Well, this is cozy," I offered.
Fenris speared me with a scathing look and I thought I heard him mutter, "The things I do for you."
Or, perhaps he said, 'Something something, doom on you,' which went much better with the look he was giving me.
"If I'd known we'd be pulling an all-nighter, I would have brought wine. Would that have made it more tolerable?"
"That would depend."
"On?"
"The vintage."
I snorted. "So picky. What if I compromised and brought a half-empty bottle of Isbela's favorite rat-flavored whiskey from the Hanged Man?"
Finally, for the first time since we'd been caught in the storm, Fenris smiled. He shook his head and almost rolled his eyes at me.
"You are impossible, Hawke."
"Impossibly cheery, you mean."
"Yes."
"Well, it's like my father used to tell me..." I paused, and though I didn't intend to, my voice came out softer when I continued, "...You have to stand through the storm to appreciate the sun."
A moment of silence passed and I hurried to fill it... "I don't think he meant it quite so literally, of course."
"You do not talk about him often."
I stared down at my hands and picked at the mud caked under my fingernails. "What's there to say? He was a mage." I smiled wryly over at Fenris.
"He must have been a remarkable one, then."
That surprised me and my eyebrows jumped for my hairline with surprise. I expected something snide, or some sharp comment. Fenris was always quick to disparage most Mages.
"What makes you say that?" I asked.
"You."
Such a simple response and still, I felt my face heat. Thankfully, our dark little cave didn't afford much light, so if my cheeks were splashed with color, he wouldn't notice. I let the silence go on for a few moments before I spoke again.
"He taught me everything I know. Me and my sister. Father was part of the Kirkwall Circle, you know. And it was because of the training he had there, that he was able to teach us. I don't know where I'd be without that... So, you know, I don't disagree when you say that the Circle is important. It's just that they've over-stepped, and it's gotten worse. It isn't what it should be at all."
I was glad Fenris didn't immediately take that point and run with it. He stayed quiet, watching me with a look that was difficult to read through the shadows.
"Anyway, my father did his best," I continued, "Always made sure Bethany and I knew how to use our magic, and resist any temptation. But I don't know why I'm bringing all this up."
"I'm sure he was a good man."
I smiled. "He was. I miss him..." I found my eyes were suspiciously wet, and ran the back of my sleeve over them. Time to change the subject before I ended up blubbering. That would be awkward.
"Where was I? Oh... Right. Rat-flavored whiskey!"
We picked a spot deeper into the cave system that was slightly less soaked. There were only a few puddles of water there, and I managed to step in all three of them on my way to sit down on a mossy boulder. With the chill in the air, I would've liked to start a fire, but again, I was ill-prepared for our unplanned camping trip. Instead, I summoned just enough of my magic to warm my hands. As I rubbed them together and a few sparks flew into the darkness, I caught Fenris watching me.
"Does it bother you?" I asked.
"No."
"Perhaps if we look deeper into these tunnels, we might find some old dry wood so we can start a proper fire. And if we're really fortunate, we might stumble on some torn trousers that are - if nothing else - dry."
Fenris laughed, that low sound that I spent so much of my time trying to earn. I smiled at him.
"Am I forgiven for dragging you out into the mud on my herb hunt?"
"Do you feel the need to ask forgiveness?"
I considered it as I pulled my boots off one at a time, and wrang my sopping wet socks out, watching the water drip in a stream to the stone floor. Finally, I answered.
"Hmm... Not really. Perhaps I've been looking for an excuse to get you alone in a dark room."
I bit my tongue and hoped I hadn't gone a little too far with that one. But it wasn't an untrue statement. Granted, in my imagined scenarios, there was a lot less water involved. And no mud. And the dark room wasn't a cave. But beggars can't be choosers.
"You are a strange woman, Hawke."
I grinned and then left my socks on top of the boulder and stood. "I'm going to look deeper to see what I can find."
Fenris moved to join me. I could feel the warmth radiating from him in the dark. I hadn't realized until then just how cool the air was. Didn't help that I was soaked, but I resisted the urge to move any closer... with some difficulty.
My luck - rarely good - held, and I hadn't gone more than a few paces when I stepped on something painfully sharp. I winced and stumbled, accidentally bumping into Fenris. He steadied me with a hand on my shoulder.
"Sorry..." I righted myself and brushed my foot off on my shin, glad it had been a stone, and not glass or some other nonsense. "How do you do this all the time?"
"Do what?"
"Walk around barefoot and not step on every rock, broken bottle, and every other sharp object while you're at it?"
He huffed in response but didn't give away his secrets. A shame, really, since I could've used them about now.
I pulled my staff free and called just enough magic that it illuminated the path. I wasn't in a hurry to step on any more unsavory things today.
We continued deeper into the caves, and the distant sound of the storm faded the farther we went. It was quiet here. The only sound was that of our footsteps on the cold stone.
"Hawke..."
"Yes?" Silence dragged on for several seconds, and I finally paused to turn and look at him. "Is something wrong?"
Whatever he'd been intending to say, he had thought better of it. He waved away my question. "We should move on."
"All right."
We made our way down a set of stone steps and encountered our first potentially useful firewood. It was an old cart, possibly used for mining or transporting things through the tunnels. It was dry and rotted, and smelled vaguely dusty. If we pried off a few boards, it shouldn't be difficult to light them on fire, so long as we moved to a more ventilated area. Wouldn't do to smoke ourselves out.
I went about prying a few loose boards free, all while wondering aloud, "I hope the others aren't too worried about us. The last thing I need is them risking a rescue and getting marooned out here in this storm, too."
"It is more likely that Varric believes you orchestrated this to get me alone in a dark room, and even now he is writing out his fictional scenario while Isabela throws in graphic details she believes he should add."
I just about choked on a laugh and hoped it didn't sound too pitched. "Somehow, I'm afraid you may be right."
"Hmm," was the only response I got to that.
"Don't worry. We can hunt it down and burn it." After I took notes, I thought, mostly in jest.
"Before, or after you read it?" he asked.
Did he read me that well? I laughed and turned toward him. "I might peek at a page or two. You know, to correct any inaccuracies. Sorry Varric, there was no passionate love-making. Hawke reminisced about the old days, then stepped on a rock after leaving her soggy socks on a boulder before going to search for firewood."
Fenris laughed and as he did, he shifted closer to me until his arm brushed against mine, and I was acutely aware of the contact, and more so of the fact he didn't recoil from me.
I met his eyes and he met mine, and for a second... I wondered if maybe there would be something risqué to write home about. (Not that I would share such personal things, of course. And certainly not with the likes of Varric and Isabela, who were both shameless gossips)
I forced myself to shake off any wild notions, and I certainly had plenty of them - because whenever Isabela got me alone, she filled my head with her theories about our nonexistent relationship - and refocused on the task at hand. I pried a few more boards loose and then dumped them in Fenris' arms.
"Hold these, would you?"
He did so without complaint.
Once we had everything we needed to start a fire, we headed back to our temporary camp.
I lit the fire and we settled close to it. I held my hands out, warming them over the flames and watching the orange light flickering and sparking in the darkness. Fenris sat across from me, cross-legged. He'd removed his longsword, leaving it leaning up against the stone wall beside him. That, I noted, was progress.
I hadn't seen him without it for months after we had first met. He would never be parted from it, even in the relative safety of his own mansion. It was the same story with his armor. It had seemed practically a part of him since he always wore it. It took months before that had changed, and then only out of necessity. He'd been badly injured in a fight and needed stitches. I'd offered to heal him, but he had refused, too wary of me and my magic to accept the offer, and even *less* likely to accept help of any kind from Anders. So I'd done what I could for him, in the form of stitching the deep wound and bandaging it. He had a scar on his left shoulder now, I knew.
Now, he sat across from me, mindlessly removing his rain-soaked armor, while I tried not to stare... Too much. Easier said than done. It was so rare that I saw him without armor, that it seemed almost unnatural. He'd removed both gauntlets and vambraces, setting them beside the sword. I couldn't help watching the way his hands moved... Graceful. Quick. The Lyrium seemed to shine in the firelight.
Maker, I felt like the woman in one of Isabela's scandalous books. And I was just staring at his hands.
Pull yourself together, Hawke, I thought.
And then to make matters more embarrassing, Fenris caught my stare, meeting my gaze over the fire. I did what any good Fereldan caught staring would have done, and waved at him. Genius move.
One dark eyebrow twitched upward, but he said nothing about catching me watching him.
Of all the people to get stuck in a dark cave with. I sighed. It might be a little more bearable if I knew how my unsubtle attempts at flirting earlier were received. In silence, that's how, I thought to myself. Wouldn't do to sit there and overthink it.
"Well, we're going to be here all night. You should rest. I'll take the first watch. After all, you never know when a mercenary group might round the corner. Or a giant spider. Or an unfortunate combination of both."
I was surprised when he agreed and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. I half expected an argument along the lines of him preferring to stay awake, or take the first watch, or... something. Not a simple agreement. Perhaps it was a little silly that I should feel honored by the fact he trusted me, but I did. It meant so much to me that he thought I was deserving of trust, and I intended to keep it that way.