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It started one day in the Hanged Man, as most of the group’s trouble did. Hawke and Fenris were sharing a drink with Isabela who was enthusiastically congratulating them on their recent reunion and unsubtly asking for details of their bedroom activities. Which, Hawke mused to himself, had been enjoyably frequent. It was as if tearing out the throat of his former master had opened the floodgates for Fenris and the elf was now eager to begin exploring every facet of his freedom, to which Hawke was very much obliged to assist.
Isabela gave an exaggerated shiver, squirming in her seat, “Not that the thought of you two succumbing to passion after years of trying to keep your hands off each other isn’t delicious ,” she was saying, earning exasperated looks from both men, “But I still feel cheated I never got a shot at our lanky elven friend in the meanwhile.”
Fenris rolled his eyes and drank deep from his mug of terrible ale, “And I find it hard to believe you did not try to tempt Hawke as well” he replied wryly.
Hawke and Isabela exchanged a look and began to laugh uproariously, leaving Fenris to stare in bemusement as he glanced between them. “Even I wouldn’t try for the impossible, sweetness,” Isabela said, wiping a tear from her eye.
Fenris blinked, “Impossible?”
“You know? Because I don’t have the right rigging?” Isabela replied, grabbing hold of her breasts and giving them a couple of emphatic jostles, “No mast to hoist his mainsail? No rod to reel him in?” Hawke’s mouth fell open in mortified revelation as he watched Fenris’ eyes distractedly follow Isabela’s hands and, more importantly, what she was currently squeezing beneath them.
“Hold a moment,” Hawke said, “Fenris are you… you’re attracted to women as well as men?”
Fenris raised a brow in return, eyes widening with his own dawning realization, “Yes? And you, I presume, are not.”
Isabela gaped at the two for several moments before flinging herself back in her chair with a delighted cackle, “Andraste’s dimpled ass! You didn’t know !?”
“I just thought-” Hawke began.
“I had assumed-” Fenris started to say.
Recovering quickly Isabela sat back up straight, her face alight with devilish glee as she turned to Fenris, “Oh I’m sure Jethann at the Blooming Rose could tell you stories -” she purred, casually shoving Hawke back as he attempted to clamp a hand over her mouth, “I bet he would have been glad to take care of you while Fenris left you cold those long years, Hawke.”
Hawke went pale and abruptly stood, nearly knocking his chair over as he did so, both Isabela and Fenris regarding him quizzically. The Champion appeared uncharacteristically antsy as he struggled to explain himself.
“I, uh, I just-- I need some air,” Hawke said before striding quickly from the tavern.
Isabela and Fenris sat in cowed silence for several moments. “Weird. Isn’t that what you normally do?” She asked eventually, eliciting a grumble from the elf.
---
Hawke slumped miserably in the tiny, opulent confessional, the stiff wooden bench he was sat upon already making his lower half go numb. The entire Chantry smelled of incense, but it was stronger in this enclosed space and the musty fragrance was starting to make his eyes itch. A gold-plated engraving of Andraste stared him down from above the door, judging him, he decided. He glanced to the small slatted window between his booth and the next, waiting for a priest or a monk to arrive. Maker, but this had been a dumb idea. He had thought being able to pour his heart out to the disembodied voice of a stranger might help. He would just have to wait and see--
“Child of the Maker, I will hear you in his stead.”
At the sound of that unmistakable Starkhaven accent Hawke let himself fall forward and loudly banged his forehead against the wall.
After a pause he heard Sebastian say, “Em… Hello? Are you alright?”
“Of course. Of course it would be you.”
“Hawke? Gracious, I’m so pleased that you're coming into the Maker’s light at last--”
“Keep it in your pants, Sebastian, I just needed someone to talk to.”
Another pause.
“But, surely your friends-”
“Someone who won't laugh at me and hold it over my head for the rest of my life.”
“Ah. Fair point.”
Hawke hefted a great sigh and righted himself. Might as well dive right in.
“It’s about Fenris.”
Sebastian gave a knowing hum, “You’ve upset him.”
“What? No! Why would you just assume that!?”
Yet another pause.
“Because you’re you and he’s him?”
Hawke groaned and thunked his head against the wall again, wondering if he could regret this any more.
“Hawke, perhaps you should just tell me what’s wrong.”
“I… I found out… Fenris likes women,” Hawke mumbled, feeling an over-reactionary fool saying it aloud.
“I was under the impression the two of you are lovers,” Sebastian replied slowly, sounding confused.
“He likes men too,” Hawke added quickly, “I know it shouldn’t bother me, but, it does. It makes me worry he’ll tire of me, I suppose.”
“My, someone hurt you badly,” Sebastian observed.
Hawke’s heart leapt into his throat, “What makes you say that?” he yelped.
“Hawke, you may recall I was not always a chaste brother of the Chantry. I am not unfamiliar with the trials of love. I’ve been hurt and regrettably have hurt my fair share.”
Hawke remained silent, leaning against the wall with another great sigh. It was true, he had been hurt. It had been scratching at the back of his mind, but it wasn’t something he was ready to talk about.
“Fenris loves you, doesn't he?” Sebastian asked after a few moments of quiet.
“Yes. Well he's never said- well he has just in his own way.”
He could hear the smile in Sebastian’s voice, “His devotion to you and love for you is clear to all with seeing eyes. You should talk with him, tell him your fears, I’m confident he will listen.”
Hawke could practically feel the color return to his cheeks. Perhaps coming to the Chantry hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. He thanked Sebastian, left a donation for good measure and made his way back to his estate feeling clear of head, heart and will.
---
Which all immediately crumbled when it came time to face Fenris.
The elf stood in the middle of the library with his arms crossed, watching Hawke expectantly, his eyes warm but his face a maddeningly unreadable mask as usual. Hawke began to fidget under his lover’s scrutiny.
“I suppose you’d like to know why I acted the way I did earlier,” Hawke said.
“I would appreciate that, yes,” Fenris replied.
Hawke turned his back to his lover in a vain attempt to hide his agitation, only to give himself away as he paced in place, “I know what you said, Fenris, you want a future with me. And I want that too. But part of me can’t stop worrying,” the Champion put his fingers to his mouth, a habit his mother had always chided him for, “What if- what if you find women more pleasurable?”
Fenris appeared entirely nonplussed, “What?”
Hawke bit the nails of one hand, the other tugging nervously at his braids, threatening to pull them loose, “What if you grow tired of only bedding a man?”
“Hawke.”
“Maybe it won’t be good enough after a while and you--”
“Hawke!”
Despite being roughly half his girth Fenris easily grabbed hold of Hawke, spun him around and then held him in place with two slender hands locked on either side of his face.
“It is you I want, Hawke. All the rest comes with that.”
Hawke’s face flushed and he went almost boneless, as if he would melt into a puddle right there. Fenris raised a brow, an amused smile crossing his face. He guided Hawke across the room and sat him down in a chair, crossing his arms again as he stood before him.
“Now,” Fenris said, “Will you tell me what is really bothering you?”
Hawke chewed at his lip, fingers drumming on the arms of the chair. He took a steadying breath and began his story.
“A couple of years before the Blight came, I had- I had a lover. I had messed around with other boys when I was younger, but, he was the first one I was truly involved with,” Hawke began. He noted that Fenris’ eyes narrowed slightly at the thought of him with other men, but since the elf remained silent he took that as leave to continue.
“I was smitten with him, but, it wasn’t long before he started going with women behind my back. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but when I confronted him he said-- he said it had been fun, but, women were meant for men in the end.”
“Then he was a fool,” Fenris barked, “And did not know what he had.”
Hawke grinned sheepishly, a faint chuckle falling from his lips, “I was just a Ferelden farm boy at the time, Fenris, nothing special.”
“You were still you,” Fenris answered firmly and Hawke nearly laughed at the grimly serious expression on his lover’s face.
Hawke reached up and gently traced Fenris’ cheek with his fingers, the elf remaining still, watching him carefully. “I- I was laughed at,” Hawke confided softly, “For believing he and I would stay together. For being how I am, only going with men. I- I wasn’t serious about anyone after that… until you.”
Fenris sighed wistfully, lifting his hand to cover Hawke’s, warm lyrium-lined fingers entwining with the mage’s thick, bronze digits, “I hurt you as well.”
"Not like that," Hawke replied, "I'm sorry I could even imagine you'd be anything like that. I wasn't thinking."
"You rarely do," Fenris replied dryly.
Hawke chuckled in return, “You had your own problems and needed time. I hope you’ve noticed that didn’t discourage me.”
“I have, and in spite of my efforts at the time,” Fenris said with a small smile, “I am yours, Hawke. I will always be.”
Hawke suddenly surged forward in his seat, wrapping his burly arms around Fenris’ slim waist and burying his face in the elf’s chest. Fenris bore his weight easily, brushing his fingers back through the Champion’s hair. “Although you are a strange, fretful, fool of a man,” Fenris amended, earning a burst of laughter from Hawke.
---
If Hawke had thought that would be the end of it the next night at the Hanged Man proved he was sorely mistaken.
“You really had no idea, elf?” Varric asked, laughing. “I mean, that poncy coat he always wears didn’t tip you off?”
“Wait, what?” Hawke squawked.
“Or the hair,” Isabela chimed in.
“What’s wrong with my--”
“Or the way he twirls his staff,” Aveline added.
“Hey! That’s the way all mages--”
“Or the way he never notices when those fancy ladies are pushing their breasts on his arm at parties,” Merrill said, taking a sip of the fruity drink she had somehow procured, and blinked owlishly at the group’s stunned expressions, “Oh, did I do it wrong? Was that too obvious?”
“Kitten!” Isabela squealed, followed by a peal of astonished laughter.
“I get the distinct impression I’m being made fun of,” Hawke said with a pout.
“We’ve got to knock you down a few pegs once in a while, Hawke,” said Aveline, “For your own good.”
“He’s of a delicate disposition,” Fenris drawled dryly, “Careful or he might flee in a fit as he did yesterday.”
“Oh now that’s just unfair-!” Hawke began to say before Fenris grabbed him by the braids at the back of his head and pulled him down into a kiss. Their friends broke into loud, whooping cheers and Hawke found he had nothing much left to complain about.