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Fenris had no idea how to take it.
He walked, his naked feet in the sand of the Wounded Coast, broadsword strapped to his back. Watching Hawke’s huge frame, walking up front, leaning down to listen to Varric. Both laughed.
How can you laugh like that? When I bleed inside?
Well, Fenris, who's responsible for the pain. Is it Hawke? Or is it you, who walked out the same night you tasted each other for the first time? After attacking him on Sundermount. After assaulting him in his own home.
He looked away, trying to convince himself that he was checking the surrounding, scanning for dangers, enemies.
Hawke turned over his shoulder, as if he could read Fenris' agitated thoughts, feeling his turmoil of emotions. And smiled.
Fenris almost choked.
How can you smile? How can you smile at me of all people?
Not with disdain, sarcasm, hatred. No it was the same soft, a bit sad smile Hawke was so known for. Big heart, big mouth Hawke.
He'd been coming to Fenris’ mansion, not even a week after that night. Coming over as if nothing had happened. Asking him to come along to clear out some smuggler caves. Good money. Asking as if it had meant nothing. As if the shared night hadn't shaken Fenris' world to the core. As if feeling something so extraordinary, so devastatingly beautiful and terrorizing all at once, had meant nothing.
He came along. Of course. He needed the money. But even more, Fenris needed the friendship. He could not risk losing the favor of the champion of Kirkwall. He hated the part that felt like that, fearing to lose his most powerful ally. If Danarius was coming for him he needed Hawke. So of course he said yes to come along. Thanked him for the invite.
Fenris felt heat creep up his neck. Blamed the blasted sun that hung behind the hazy sky like a silver coin, its light thin but the heat oppressive, moist, barely tolerable. But deep down he knew it was shame. Shame for even believing for a second Hawke might be out for revenge.
He was a human, a mage, a man of rising power. And Fenris had left him. This must have scratched his ego, no? Insulted him? An elf, a former slave, a fugitive with next to nothing to his name denied him.
The men Fenris knew would have taken their revenge. Shunned him. Sent the guards to his door to investigate the illegal squatting elf in Hightown. Or worse - ask him along on a mission only to hand him over to slavers.
But this was a normal mission. Or as normal as it could be, when Hawke was involved. A man who attracted chaos like no other. Nothing out of the ordinary.
So it probably just meant nothing to him at all. Just a fling. A thing to take the edge off. You threw yourself against him, he just took what was offered.
I'm not even worth a broken heart.
Fenris counted it luck when they finally found the smugglers and the short but bloody fight relieved him of his spiraling thoughts.
*
The Hanged Man was packed tonight, sweat and smoke and the horrid beer giving the air the quality of breathing through cloth.
The band of misfits crowded together at a table too small for all of them. Aveline and Donnic were sharing a stool, Merrill squeezed between Isabela and Varric, laughed like a kid. Anders sulked a little, he was even more gaunt and drawn than usual, next to Hawke's larger than life figure even more so. Sebastian next to Fenris looked still out of place in the shady pub but Isabela kept him entertained, telling one of her horrid tales from her pirate days.
Fenris tried to listen too, but it was difficult, his eye kept drifting to Anders leaning into Hawke, whispering in his ear. A hot stab inside when the wretched mage placed his hand on Hawke's underarm and Hawke his own hand on top. Warm.
Loving.
So this is it now, yes? The sewer mage has made his move?
Hawke answered something and Anders leaned in closer as if expecting a kiss. But then Hawke took his hand away and turned to Sebastian. And the sewer mage's face fell.
Maybe not as successful as it seemed.
Fenris tried to ignore the warmth that spread in him when no more touching between them occurred. Hawke divided his attention equally among the group around the table. Laughed with Merril, jested with Isabela. Discussed politics with Aveline and Sebastian. Traded barbs with Varric. And smiled at Fenris, that stupid smile that made his stupid heart flutter.
“How about another round?” Hawke announced and rose to the cheers from the table.
“I help you carry,” Isabela rose too, only to be immediately questioned what her agenda was for offering selfless help. She grinned and winked and linked arms with Hawke when they made their way to the crowded bar.
Fenris’ eyes followed them, searching for meaning in the way Hawke slung his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. They laughed together, Isabela with her head thrown back, that loud, deep laughter that was contagious.
It stung. Hawke could laugh with her like that, have fun with her like that.
What do you even have to offer? Only dark thoughts and an even darker past. Nothing to have fun with.
They returned to the table, arms full with tankards, smiles wide. Isabela winked at Fenris when she sat down and he had no idea what to do with that. Hawke didn't join her side of the table but sat down on his old place and the moment between them seemed to be over. Hawke started a tale with Varric and Isabela flirted with someone on the next table.
So this is nothing then. He's not with Anders and not with Isabela. And the little blood mage could not hold his interest for more than one night I bet.
Ah, just like you?
Fenris rose. Hawke's gaze followed him.
“Thank you for the drink. I should go.”
“Aww, you're no fun, it's barely ten!” Isabela pouted, even Aveline frowned. But Fenris already placed a few coins on the table. The talk around the table continued, the gang closed ranks over the free places, breathing a bit easier. Varric's attentive eyes snagged on him, way too knowing. Too kind. Time to go.
He pushed through the crowd, maybe to escape the horrid beer or the stale air or the confusion in his own mind. It was, however, a relief to suddenly stand outside in the cool evening air.
He felt Hawke's presence beside him before he saw him. The big man was surprisingly swift especially in a place as packed as the Hanged Man. The sounds from within ebbed when the door closed behind Hawke.
“Let me bring you.”
“I can handle myself just fine,” Fenris bristled.
“I know. Maybe I hope for you to keep my poor ass safe in these dark streets.”
Despite himself Fenris snorted. Hawke could handle himself as much as he could.
“Well, I told you, I'll always be at your call if you need me.” It was a jest but it rang true. More than that. A part of Fenris might even hated how much it was true, but he would always follow Hawke, to wherever. He was forever in the man's debt but also…
“Thanks,” Hawke smiled. His warm, open, handsome smile. They left together, strolling towards Hightown.
*
Later, alone at home, the dusty darkness of his mansion closed in. Illuminated by the hearth's fire, Fenris pondered on that smile. How Hawke divided it among them, shared it freely with his group of mismatched friends. Who longed for it. Even if they would never admit it, Fenris knew how they felt. He was the same. Pathetic plants, all of them longing for the sun’s warmth.
If he smiles at all of them the same way, then you're nothing special.
I am not special. Not in a way that counts!
What a relief. It meant Hawke had moved on. That they had rebuild their friendship after that one wonderful disastrous night. Despite all the mistakes Fenris had committed. He was once again welcome among Hawke's closest friends. Nothing more, but also nothing less. That's what he'd wished for, what he'd asked him for, if not in word, so in deeds.
Why does it hurt then?
Why was he jealous of Anders and Isabela and even the wretched blood mage? Why did he wait for the moment when Hawke finally moved on entirely, taking someone's hand like he had that night taken Fenris’. Kissing someone's else's lips. Hearing someone else gasp his name between his sheets.
It's not my place. I forfeited the right to claim his affection as my own when I left.
You couldn't handle it.
Fasta vass! I handled it just fine. He's free to go and love whoever he wants!
Yes, he is. But are you?
When he finally unclenched his fists, his palms bore the mark of his own grip.
*
It went like this. Hawke, despite being Champion of Kirkwall, invited his friends along for the most obnoxious of tasks, from helping unstable mages to finding another torn pair of trousers to sell. And whenever he needed a sword, or was just in the mood for Fenris's company, he called for him to join.
Some were noble deeds. Getting rid of thugs that terrorized the nightly city. Others were suicide missions Fenris would have told anyone else to walk away from. Like going into the Fade, to face his inner demons alongside real ones. Watching Hawke almost get killed by blood mages he himself had set free years ago.
Like accompanying him to his mother's unmarked grave in the darkest part of town, standing silent while Hawke crumbled. Despite everything Fenris had witnessed in Minrathous and Seheron, even combined it wasn't close to what they encountered deep down on the hunt for Leandra.
The night after Leandra's burial, Fenris found himself at Hawke's door. It was the first time he'd set foot in the mansion since that night, the night they'd shared, the night he'd run from.
He had to come.
He himself had no memory of a mother, no memory of anything close to family. But he knew Hawke had loved his family more than anything. And as his friend, he had to be there. Not during the day, when everyone wore their official faces. Hawke needed someone at night, when the mask fell and the raw pain emerged. When the lonely halls echoed with each step and the shadows closed in.
Fenris knew something of shadows. He had lived with them since the day he ran.
After that night, something shifted. Hawke still hurt, of course he did. The grief clung to him like a shadow, and even his sun-warm smile couldn't quite burn through it anymore. But in that shared darkness, something passed between them. A strange form of recognition. Two people who knew how it was to be haunted by their own hearts, sitting together in the quiet, neither needing to explain.
It was enough.
For the first time, Fenris stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. Stopped bracing himself for the day Hawke would finally tire of him, finally stop knocking on his door. The fear didn't vanish entirely, it never did, but it loosened its grip. Made room for something else.
There was only one question left, nagging at Fenris.
*
They sat together by the fire in Fenris’ home. It had been a quiet night, neither of them in the mood to go to the Hanged Man or be somewhere else. Hawke had mostly looked into the flames.
The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable, not exactly. But full. Heavy with things neither of them said.
Fenris had spent years reading silences. This one felt different. Not the silence of a man who had run out of words, but the silence of a man who had chosen to hold them back. For his sake. Always for his sake.
The fire popped. Fenris watched the sparks die on the stone.
He's still here. After everything. He's still here.
The words came out before he could stop them.
“But… how long are you going to wait? I might never…”
Hawke looked up, startled for a moment and then his face did a complicated thing, a smile tinged with sadness, understanding and something else. Something unfathomable warm.
“I'm not waiting, Fenris.”
“But…”
Hawke placed his hand over Fenris, his big, calloused, impossible warm hand. “I'm not waiting, I am where I'm supposed to be. Here, with you.”
“You deserv-... you deserve someone who can turn to you in full.” Fenris had no idea when or why he'd started crying but his words came with a sob.
“You are with me to the fullest of your capacity. And that has always been enough for me. If you are my friend, my lover, my partner, those words are labels. The only thing that matters to me is that you're close to me, that you trust me, that you rely on me. I’m not waiting. I am here with you and that is what I want.”
Fenris stared at him, uncomprehending. “You're insane…”
Hawke chuckled to himself. “Maybe. But this is how I feel. How I felt for a long time. I don't want to be with someone else, I want to be with you. In a way you feel comfortable with. If there is nobody else for me, then there is no use in pondering what others might be able to give me. I have no use for it. All I want is to be whatever you can accept me as.”
Fenris cried. He cried like he’d never cried before since the markings. Sobs tore out of him and tears streamed down his face, his body shook with grief. Grief for Hawke and his unwise heart. The loneliness he forced upon him with his incapability to let him close. But also for something else that had been locked down for as long as he could remember.
For a young elven boy who had nothing but the memory of pain and a cruel life. For the men and women he killed. For the parts he killed in himself. For the leash that was still around his throat, despite all his running. He cried like hed never had before and Hawke just sat there with him.
True to his words, to just be content to be with whatever Fenris had to give.