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Hawke had finally convinced Fenris to move into his estate.
Well, it had taken a roof collapse in the stolen mansion and a summons from Provisional Viscount Bran who issued Hawke an ultimatum to get 'his elf' off the decaying property. It came as a surprise to no one that Fenris’ presence there was a bit of an open secret, but after seven years his seemingly indefinite squatting was becoming an issue, especially as Bran was keen to reclaim, repair and resell the property to someone marginally less likely evade taxes by having the collector’s life threatened. And with the actual owner (whose ownership of the property was of dubious legality to begin with) dead by the elf’s own hand it was difficult to argue.
Even so, Hawke had to bring Aveline along to reason with Fenris, who reminded him that the guard would be asked to make an arrest next. Aveline had sternly assured Fenris that she and Donnic would see to his removal personally if it came down to it, if only to eliminate the otherwise high probability of causalities. And so after much griping and grousing and grumbling, Fenris became an official resident of the Amell household.
Despite his insistence that he required only basic shelter it hadn’t taken Fenris long to avail himself of the many amenities of the estate. Piping hot baths were a luxury the elf had never before enjoyed and he was sure to have a soak at least once a day, saying it eased the ache of his muscles and the markings both. Although he had initial apprehensions about Orana’s presence he was soon looking forward to a variety of proper home cooked meals; even if at first he ate like he was afraid someone would take it away from him, much to Bodahn’s piqued concern.
So the next step was obvious in Hawke’s mind. In fact he’d been thinking about it constantly for months. He loved the man more than he ever thought possible, with a fire that had refused to die during those awkward three years they were together-yet-apart and had not been extinguished by the veritable whirlwind of passion that followed their reconciliation.
Hawke found Fenris lounging in one of the plush chairs in the library, a book in hand, the gentle glow from the fireplace haloing his silken white hair. Hawke stood in the doorway for a time, taking in the elf’s visage, feeling a stir of pride at seeing him read so effortlessly.
“Is there something you need, Hawke?” Fenris asked without so much as glancing up from the text.
He would just ask. He hadn’t purchased a ring, something about it just didn’t feel right. Fenris wasn’t exactly a stickler for tradition, their relationship had always been on their own terms, and the red band on Fenris’ wrist was practically a betrothal token as it was. And so Hawke drew in a breath to prepare himself.
“Marry me,” Hawke said.
“To what end?” was Fenris’ immediate reply. He finally lifted his gaze when he was met with heavy silence, his neutral expression shifting into mild confusion at the crestfallen look on Hawke’s face.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hawke asked with a pout.
“Marriage is for political ties, inheritance and succession. Unless you’re very confused as to how it works you should know you and I will not produce progeny.”
“Well, yes, I mean, technically that's the purpose of a marriage, but, it’s also what two people in love do?” Hawke implored.
Fenris fixed him with a blank stare for several moments before reaching an obvious conclusion, “Is this a Ferelden thing?”
“What?”
“This foolish idea that marriage results from love.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at Hawke’s red-faced stammering that followed and added, “You truly are barbarians.”
“Alright, I get it, it’s a foolish idea from a silly barbaric doglord,” Hawke huffed, turning on his heel and heading for the door to escape his embarrassment.
“I will consider it,” Fenris said, stopping the Champion in his tracks.
“You're playing with my heart here, love!” Hawke declared as he clutched his chest dramatically and fell lax against the doorframe.
“I mean it,” Fenris replied, turning back to his book.
“Well, I'm glad I have your consideration at least,” Hawke snarked with a roll of his eyes.
“And Hawke?”
“Yes?”
A gentle smile tugged at Fenris’ lips, “I am yours. Always.”
It was incredible how those words could still make him feel giddy. Repressing what would have been a rather shrill giggle a mischievous grin broke out on Hawke’s face instead. He bounded over to the chair and practically threw himself into Fenris’ lap, deaf to protests of ‘Hawke!’ and ‘you’re too large!’ until he was curled up against the elf like a clingy mabari that thinks it’s a lap dog. With a put-upon sigh for show Fenris relented and allowed him to stay, slowly carding his fingers through the Champion’s hair as he returned to reading.