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A blanket of warm silence had fallen over the manor, the dust finally permitted to settle in the aftermath of twin tornadoes, one elven, one human. Soft orange light danced in Hawke’s hearth, the logs sharing secret crackles and whispers as they burned.
The bed sheets rustled. Strong fingers curled around Fenris’, coaxing him back from the brink of sleep. He let them stay where they were. Blinked over at Hawke with drowsy green eyes.
Hawke chuckled under his breath, answering the question of an arched eyebrow. “I have something I want to give you.”
“A gift?” Fenris’ voice was rougher than usual, molasses over sandpaper. “Have you not given me enough already tonight?”
“I know, it’s almost impossible to top me – as a present, I mean.” That got a snort out of Fenris, the sound slapping a grin on Hawke’s face. Cheeky bastard. “But as I’m sure you remember, that was a mutual exchange. So just consider this an extra token of my appreciation.”
Fenris shifted up onto one elbow, the other hand still trapped in Hawke’s. The weight of it was distracting, his markings tingling with the brush of Hawke’s thumb. “What is ‘this’, exactly?”
Hawke’s arm withdrew in response, and Fenris swallowed a twinge of disappointment as Hawke flopped on his back, stretching out toward the bedside table. He rummaged around with blind fingers for a moment, and then rolled onto his side again, excitement in his smile as he met Fenris’ gaze.
“This.”
A tail of red silk dangled in front of Fenris’ nose, the rest of the fabric curling up and over Hawke’s hand, a bright stain against his skin. Confusion drew creases across Fenris’ forehead, and he sat all the way up, Hawke’s arm chasing his movements. He took the silk in hesitant fingers, rolling it between his index and thumb. It was one of the softest things he’d ever felt, but apart from that and the fact that it was from Hawke, he couldn’t place its significance.
“Thank you.” It came out as more of a question than anything else. He weighed the fabric in his palms, his eyes drifting back up to Hawke’s.
“It’s… a favor of sorts.” Hawke again supplied the answers Fenris didn’t ask for, but he seemed less comfortable than he had a second ago. Nervous. His cheeks had gone a few shades redder in the firelight, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he cleared his throat. “See, in my family, we have this tradition. I don’t know when it started, but it’s been going on a long, long time. At least that’s what my father told me when I was a kid. Anyway, uh, the thing is, my father gave my mother a favor like this before they got married. It’s supposed to show commitment and all that.”
It took Fenris several beats to process Hawke’s rambling, his mind sorting through the pieces of Hawke’s words without fitting the big picture together. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Skirting around it felt less treacherous. “…I see.”
His blank voice set off a note of alarm in Hawke’s. “I-it’s not that big of a deal, really. I mean it is, but it’s not an engagement or anything like that. It’s more like a promise? Just something to say, ‘hey, you’re really special to me and I want to make sure you never forget it.’ Unless that’s not what you want, then that’s alright. You don’t even have to wear it if you don’t–”
One lyrium-streaked hand clamped down over Hawke’s mouth. “Hawke. Stop.”
The hand resettled in Fenris’ lap, and Hawke stayed silent, watching him with a rather frazzled look in his eyes. Fenris dropped his attention back to the gift, ignoring the buzz of Hawke’s anxiety as best he could. He had enough of that already roiling in his stomach.
However Hawke tried to play this off, clearly it was important to him. Fenris had heard of this kind of thing before – heroes bestowing favors upon their chosen loves, in case something should happen to either of them. As far as Fenris knew, it was usually a woman left with the favor, but that wasn’t what bothered him about this. He had always thought situations like this were nonsense anyway, reserved for fairytales and romantics who needed a serious dose of reality. Certainly not for people like him.
Yet here he was. Sitting in Hawke’s bed, Hawke’s blankets pooled around his bare hips, Hawke himself a foot away, and Hawke’s favor spilling over his legs. He’d given himself over completely to Hawke, exposed himself in more ways than one, more ways than he ever had, and Hawke had reciprocated every bit of it. The ghosts of Hawke’s fingertips were burned into Fenris’ skin as deeply as the lyrium – deeper, even, a new set of marks beside the old. Marks he’d actually asked for this time.
He’d never wanted a lover. Never dreamed he could have one. Until Hawke, it had been an impossibility, a fool’s passing thought and nothing more.
Now… well, Hawke had made his feelings for Fenris perfectly clear. Fenris couldn’t put a name to his own, but his gut told him if he attempted to part with Hawke now, it would be unbearable.
And that terrified him.
“Fenris?”
That wary voice nudged him out of his reverie. He glanced up, his vision swimming into focus and presenting him with Hawke’s worried face.
“Look, if this is too much, I understand.” Hawke swallowed, his blunt nails scratching at his beard. “I just thought – no, it doesn’t matter what I thought. What you think is more important. I care about you, Fenris. I want you to know that, but I won’t ever force it on you.”
Of course Fenris knew. It was why he dared to trust Hawke so much. Hawke may have been a mage, may have been a little too reckless and smart-mouthed for his own good, but he was kind, and careful, and safe. And he trusted Fenris, too, regardless of every reason Fenris had ever given him not to.
Fenris’ grip tightened on the strip of silk. “This favor… it would make me yours?”
Hawke seemed taken aback by the question, his eyes widening a fraction and his arm dropping from his chin. “…In a way, I suppose it would. But it doesn’t have to. That’s up to you to decide. If anything, it would show the rest of the world that I am yours. I’ve been yours for a long time now. This just proves it–”
He cut himself off. Choked on his next inhale. Gawked as Fenris wound the favor around his wrist once, twice, and tied the ends off with a deliberate knot.
Turning his forearm this way and that, Fenris took a moment to admire the way it looked there, a sharp contrast against his dark skin and pale markings. His heart was banging on his ribcage like a feral dragon, his hand trembling as he held it up. Part of him recoiled from that splash of red, scared of what it meant, what it could mean, for him and for Hawke.
A louder part of him told the first to calm down and shut up.
Because as unfamiliar and dangerous as this was, it felt right. Like Hawke’s favor had always belonged exactly where it was now.
I am yours.
When he looked back at Hawke, wonder had consumed Hawke’s features, his smile broad and radiant. It made Fenris smirk.
“Thank you, Hawke.” A statement this time, smothered an instant later as Fenris grabbed Hawke by the shoulders and crashed their lips together.
Fenris wore the favor the rest of the night, the soft fabric melding itself to his skin as Hawke’s warmth enveloped him, as they curled up in the sheets together, as he trailed his fingers over its creases and Hawke’s breathing faded to light snores. It was the last thing he saw as sleep claimed him, blending with the red of Hawke’s bedding.
It was the first thing he latched onto when he jolted awake, gasping, his entire body shaking as flashes of memory spiraled through his mind like a hurricane.
It was the only thing that kept him from falling apart as he gathered up his clothes, hovered by Hawke’s fireplace on numb legs, tried – failed to explain himself, broke both his and Hawke’s hearts in one fell swoop.
It was the only way he could hold onto Hawke, even as he turned his back and left Hawke behind – maybe for a day, maybe forever. He’d thought he was ready. He’d forced himself to be ready.
But he wasn’t. And for now, it would have to do.