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pikapeppa · 5 years

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Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Unforeseen Delays

Chapter 21 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3!

In which we get some quality Solas and Dorian time, and some other dear friends show up... ❤️

Read on AO3 instead (>10,000 words, ughhh). Whole chapter is here, however, if that floats your boat.

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Hawke yawned and stretched her arms, then picked up her little pot of kohl and began lining her eyes. “So by the time we return to Skyhold, we should have a few days to relax before the wedding, barring any delays.” She inspected her reflection in the elaborately framed Orlesian mirror, then smiled excitedly at Fenris over her shoulder. “Do you think Isabela and the others will be there already by the time we get back?”

“Perhaps,” Fenris said as he buckled his belt. “But for the Inquisition’s sake, I hope not.”

Hawke turned on her stool to stare at him. “Why?”

Fenris picked up his chestplate and smirked at her. “Isabela will try to loot the castle if we aren’t there. Aveline will try to arrest her, but she has no jurisdiction in Skyhold. Then Donnic will attempt to smooth things over…” He shook his head, then began strapping on his chestplate. “We’ll return to Skyhold to find a mess of shouting and misplaced valuables.”

Hawke smiled slowly at him, then turned around to face the mirror again. “You’re looking forward to seeing them,” she said. “Admit it.”

“Of course I am,” he said. “Seeing our friends will be the second-best thing about the day.”

She shot him a brilliant smile, and Fenris smiled back at her. It was the morning after the debacle at the Winter Palace, and Fenris was in good spirits; they would soon be leaving this blasted palace and all its pretentious trappings behind. Cullen and his soldiers had departed at the crack of dawn, and Fenris was eager to get moving as well.

He selected a plain glazed bun from the tray of elaborate pastries that a palace servant had delivered to their room that morning, then took a small bite before picking up his gauntlets. “Come on, Hawke. Get dressed,” he said. “The others are likely waiting.” She was still wearing only her underclothes and a satin guest robe she’d found in the closet.

“All right, all right, hold your horses,” she said absently. She finished lining her eyes, then rose to her feet and drifted over to her pack to dig out her travel clothes.

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Hawke as he walked over to the door. “I told you,” he drawled. It was likely Varric, come to find out what was taking them so long.

Hawke mockingly blew him a kiss. He shot her a chiding look, then opened the door, but it wasn’t Varric.

It was Solas. Fenris lifted his eyebrows in surprise. Solas was frankly the last person that Fenris would have expected to come to their door.

He half-closed the door to obscure Hawke’s half-naked body from view. “Solas,” he said. “What is it?”

“I would like to speak to Hawke, if I may,” Solas said. “It is a matter of some urgency.”

Fenris blinked in surprise. Before he could reply, Hawke was pulling the door wider and peering over his shoulder. “Hello, Solas!” she said. “Come on in.”

“Thank you,” Solas said. Fenris pursed his lips slightly as Solas stepped past him and into their suite.

Fenris closed the door and watched with growing wariness as Solas began to pace around the common area. He’d never seen Solas so agitated. The elven mage was usually the epitome of calm.

Hawke shot Fenris a quick look of alarm, then drifted over to the coffee table. “Do you want some breakfast? A fancy Orlesian pastry? Some tea?”

“I will have tea, thank you,” he said. “I detest the stuff, but… this morning, I must shake the dreams from my mind.”

Of course, Fenris thought with a hint of exasperation. Of course this had something to do with dreams or the Fade – whatever ‘this’ was.

He folded his arms. “Something is clearly wrong. What is it?”

Solas glanced at Fenris, then nodded his thanks to Hawke as he took a cup and saucer from her hands. “I may need a favour,” he said to Hawke. “One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages and forced into slavery. I heard a cry for help as I slept.”

Her eyes widened. “Captured by mages?”

“Slavery?” Fenris said sharply.

Solas looked at him. “Yes,” he said. He gulped down the tea, then grimaced and placed the empty cup on the coffee table.

“These mages. Are they Venatori?” Fenris demanded. “Seeking victims to fuel their blood magic?”

“I cannot say if they are Venatori,” Solas said. “But they do not seek to perform blood magic.”

Fenris frowned. “How can you be sure?”

Solas ran a hand over his scalp. “Because my friend is a spirit of wisdom,” he said.

Fenris wilted slightly as Solas continued to explain. “Unlike the spirits clamouring to enter our world through the rifts, my friend was dwelling quite happily in the Fade,” he said. “It was summoned against its will and wants my help to regain its freedom and return to the Fade.”

“How do you know it wasn’t attempting to push its way into our world through the rifts?” Fenris said.

A tiny crease appeared between Solas’s eyebrows. “I have known it for… for most of my life. It is an explorer of the Fade, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you, but it had no wish to come here physically.”

“All right, Solas,” Hawke said. “So your spirit friend has been captured by mages. How can I help with that?”

“You can assist me in breaking the summoning circle and setting my friend free,” Solas said. “I… it is not something I think I can do alone.” He looked away and rubbed his chin, and Fenris silently studied the tension in his jaw. Solas was the consummate loner; he’d lived and travelled on his own for most of his life, and he never asked anyone for anything. This so-called spirit friend must be extremely important to him if he was asking Hawke for help.

Fenris pursed his lips. He probably shouldn’t feel so irritated by Solas’s request for help; Solas wasn’t the only elf in this room who’d reluctantly sought Hawke’s assistance, after all.

Solas took a deep breath, then turned back to Hawke. “I got a sense of my friend’s location before I woke. It is in the Exalted Plains. I hoped we might make a detour on our journey back to Skyhold.”

Hawke shrugged and looked askance at Fenris. “I don’t see why not. It’s on the way home, after all.”

Fenris sighed quietly. “All right,” he grunted.

Solas’s eyebrows rose, and he bowed his head. “Thank you. Both of you,” he said. He glanced at Fenris. “I did not think you would wish to help.”

Fenris shrugged. He didn’t particularly care either way what happened with Solas’s spirit friend, but he was not letting Hawke out of his sight.

“You should ask Dorian to help, too,” Hawke said. “I’m sure he knows more about this than I do. I’ve never broken a summoning circle before. It might be a nasty business.” She wafted back toward her travel pack, and to Fenris’s mild alarm, she discarded her robe.

Fenris looked sharply at Solas, but the elven mage didn’t seem interested in Hawke’s near-nudity. “No,” Solas said firmly. “Dorian’s help is not necessary.”

Hawke paused in the act of pulling on her trousers. “Why not? The more mages, the merrier.”

Fenris huffed softly. “Famous last words, if ever I’ve heard them,” he muttered.

Hawke stuck her tongue out at him, and Solas ignored him to frown at Hawke. “Dorian is from Tevinter. He practices the binding of spirits himself. He happily keeps spirits as slaves!” He began to pace in front of the coffee table again. “He treats Cole as an oddity, not as a person. He�� he will not understand what I wish to do.”

Hawke tilted her head thoughtfully as she tucked her shirt into her trousers. “Well, maybe you can consider this a learning opportunity for him. And honestly, Solas, we could use the backup. Just to make sure we have enough strength to take the summoning circle down.” She raised her eyebrows persuasively.

Solas frowned more deeply, but he bowed his head. “As you wish. I will find him and inform him of our plans.” He nodded politely to Fenris once more, then left the room.

Fenris watched as Solas quietly closed the door behind him, then gave Hawke a pointed look.

She was humming to herself as she pulled on her boots. She looked up and met his gaze, then widened her eyes. “What?”

“I would qualify this as an unforeseen delay,” Fenris said flatly.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it won’t take long,” she said. “Even if we swing by the Exalted Plains, we’ll still have at least a day at Skyhold before the wedding.”

Fenris shot her a deeply skeptical look. She grinned and skipped over to him, then twined her arms around his neck. “Oh come on, Fenris, it doesn’t hurt to help a friend.”

He raised an eyebrow at her winning little smile. “That is almost never true.”

She laughed. “Okay, fine, you’re right. But it’ll be interesting! Meeting an actual friend of Solas’s?” She wiggled her eyebrows in interest. “You can learn a lot about a person by meeting their friends.”

She released him and picked up her travelling cloak, and Fenris smirked and folded his arms. “So what did people learn about you by observing all of us chasing after you in Kirkwall?”

“That I’m the most interesting woman they’ve ever met, obviously,” she said promptly. She fastened her travelling cloak, then stroked her chin thoughtfully. “And possibly also that I’m insane.” She smiled mischievously at him as she picked up her pack and her staff. “I wonder what people think about you now that they’re meeting all of your friends?”

“They are more your friends than mine,” he said. He opened the door and stood back to let her pass.

She stopped and chidingly pinched his chin. Her gaze was warm and fond. “You keep saying that,” she said softly. “We both know it’s not true.”

Fenris shrugged, and Hawke’s smile widened slightly. Then she playfully chucked his chin. “Now come on, we’re running late,” she said. “I’m going to have to tell everyone how it took you fucking forever to get dressed…”

He rolled his eyes in fond exasperation as they made their way to the grand foyer to meet the others. This stop in the Exalted Plains might be an unanticipated delay, but at least it was on the way. Hopefully Solas’s spirit problem would be resolved with the minimum of fuss.

****************

Two days later, Fenris, Hawke, Dorian, Cole and Solas were making their way across the grassy plains toward the place where Solas’s friend had allegedly been captured. The rest of their group had gone to inform the remaining Orlesian soldiers of the official end to the civil war, as well as to investigate the so-called ‘freemen’ who had been murdering and pillaging in the nearby settlements. They’d all agreed to meet up at the end of the day along the south bank of the river to camp for the night before continuing on to Skyhold.

Solas was deep in conversation with Hawke, telling her about the mechanics of summoning circles and how best to break them without causing a backlash of wild magic. Fenris was purposely hanging back, unwilling to engage with Solas in a conversation about magic. Nothing good had come of the last few times he’d spoken about magic with Solas.

Dorian seemed to have decided to keep Fenris company rather than conversing with Hawke and Solas. To Fenris’s disgruntlement, however, Dorian wouldn’t leave him alone about what he was planning to wear for the wedding.

“I still can’t believe you refused our dear ambassador’s offer to have something made for you by an Antivan tailor,” Dorian lamented. “The Antivan tailors are second best only to ours, you know. Hidden pockets aren’t their only specialties.” He tapped his chin. “Though now that I think of it, the hidden pockets may, in fact, explain why Josephine’s sleeves are so large. Glorious, don’t get me wrong, but very large.”

Fenris huffed as they made their way along the river. “If by ‘our’ tailors you mean Tevinter tailors, I wouldn’t know about that,” he said flatly. “They are not exactly in the business of making custom-fitted tunics for slaves.” In truth, Danarius had had a few pieces of clothing custom-made for Fenris, particularly for showing off Fenris’s gold-plated cuffs and collar during his cursed dinner parties. But Fenris wasn’t about to remind Dorian of this.

Now that Fenris thought of it, perhaps this was why he was balking at the idea of having something custom-made.

Dorian tutted. “You’re not a slave anymore, Fenris. There’s no need to dress like one.” Dorian eyed Fenris’s functional travel clothes and armour with a hint of disappointment. “I suppose it could be worse. At least you’re not going for the ‘apostate hobo’ look like some members of our party.”

“I heard you,” Solas called over his shoulder.

Dorian widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Solas! You startled me. You're always so… nondescript.”

“Please speak up. I cannot hear you over your outfit,” Solas said briskly. Then he pointedly turned away.

Dorian chuckled. “Frankly, I think he’s jealous of my hair,” he said confidentially to Fenris. “That’s why he’s always so shirty with me.”

Fenris ignored this remark. “I will not have something tailor-made,” he said firmly. “Think of something else, or stop talking about this.”

Dorian’s eyebrows jumped high on his forehead. “Ah! So you are willing to accept my help, as long as the garment isn’t tailor-made?”

Fenris shrugged moodily. “I suppose I can’t wear armour at my wedding.”

“You’ll wear armour at this wedding over my dead body,” Dorian announced. He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got just the thing. It’ll match Hawke’s dress.”

Fenris looked at him in genuine surprise. “Hawke’s…? She will be wearing a dress, then? You – you’ve seen it?”

Dorian grinned at him. “That is the most interest I’ve seen you express about this wedding since I heard about it.”

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away, and Dorian laughed. “Of course she’ll be wearing a dress. She’s not a complete barbarian.”

“I heard that!” Hawke turned around and shot Dorian a cheeky smile. “Should I sic Toby on you when we get back to Skyhold? Show you just how much of a Ferelden barbarian I really am?”

“Thank you, but no,” Dorian retorted. “Mabari drool leaves stains that are a horror to get out.” He casually brushed a nonexistent bit of dirt from his elegant sleeve.

Hawke chuckled, then turned back to Solas and Cole while Dorian returned his attention to Fenris. “I haven’t seen the dress, but I heard her describing the design to Josephine,” Dorian said. “At least one of you has the sense to get something custom-made.” He wiggled his eyebrows salaciously. “I do think you’ll like it.”

“Hmm,” Fenris said nonchalantly. His eyes traced idly over Hawke’s lightly-armoured back. He hoped the dress she’d chosen was backless.

Dorian studied him for a second, then chuckled and shook his head.

Fenris raised an eyebrow at him. “What?” he said flatly. “What inconsequential topic are you going to aggravate me about now?”

Dorian dramatically placed one hand on his chest. “Me? Aggravate you? I would never.”

Fenris raised one sardonic eyebrow, and Dorian’s expression grew serious. He shrugged. “I was simply thinking that it will be nice,” he said. “To see a wedding where the people getting married actually, you know, enjoy one another’s company.”

Fenris murmured an acknowledgement of this. Dorian had casually mentioned his parents’ unhappy marriage, and Dorian’s implications matched Fenris’s general impression of upper-class Tevinter weddings, from what he’d seen.

Then he shot Dorian a sharp glance. “You’re still not invited to the ceremony,” he said warningly. “Only Varric and–”

“I know, I know,” Dorian said impatiently. “I mean your tavern party after. You’ll wear your wedding clothes to the party, at least?”

Fenris shrugged. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Good,” Dorian said. “Then everyone can see what excellent taste I have. I plan on telling everyone you’re wearing something of mine.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. Then Solas came to an abrupt halt. “My friend!” he gasped. Then he scrambled away over the moss-covered boulders that lined the edges of the river.

Suddenly on alert, Fenris and the others hurried after Solas. They clambered up a small hill, then Fenris stopped short at the sight before them, forcing Hawke to bump into him.

“Venhedis,” he snarled.

“Oh shit,” Hawke said. “Well, that’s a demon.”

“That is most definitely a demon,” Dorian confirmed.

Solas spun toward them. His face was crumpled with anger. “That is not its natural form. It has been corrupted!” he snapped.

Fenris scowled and folded his arms. “You mean to tell us that this monster was your friend?” He jerked his chin at the enormous pride demon. It was centered between four large crystalline-looking stones, and Fenris could feel a faint snap of energy in the air: likely an artifact of whatever magic was keeping the demon contained.

“It is my friend,” Solas snarled, and Fenris drew back slightly. He’d never seen Solas this irate before.

Solas scrubbed a hand over his bare scalp and began to pace. Cole shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Confused, caught and captured,” he whispered. “Can’t move, can’t stop, can’t come or go, em halani lethallin–”

“They forced it to act against its original purpose,” Solas ranted. “What did they do, what did they do, what did they do…” He stopped and glared over Fenris’s shoulder. “Perhaps we should ask!”

Fenris turned around. An exhausted-looking mage was approaching them, and sitting on the ground behind him were three other mages in dirty Circle robes.

The new mage gazed at Hawke with wide, hopeful eyes. “The Champion of Kirkwall!” he exclaimed in relief. “Surely you can help us! Do you have any lyrium potion? Most of us are exhausted. We’ve been fighting that demon–”

Solas took an aggressive step toward him. “You summoned that demon!” he shouted. “Except it was a spirit of wisdom at a time. You made it kill. You twisted it against its purpose!”

The mage’s smile faded, and he lifted his hands. “I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons,” he said in a soothing voice. “But–”

Solas swelled with rage, and Hawke coughed delicately. “You might want to hold off on telling our bald friend here anything about demons,” she said to the Circle mage. “This lovely demon here is his friend, after all.”

Her tone was light and playful, but Fenris could see her apprehension as she eyed the demon, and he could hardly blame her. They’d fought so many demons by now that Fenris had lost count, but Fenris was the only significant muscle in their current party, and this particular demon was an exceptionally large one…

The mage shook his head and lifted his hands once more. “Listen to me,” he insisted. “I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle–”

“Shut up,” Solas growled.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Solas’s fury was a nearly-palpable aura in the air, and the Kirkwall mage cowered as Solas took another slow step closer. “You summoned the spirit to protect you from the bandits,” he said quietly.

The mage took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes.”

Solas pointed imperiously at the demon. “You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill,” he said. “That’s when it turned. You are responsible for any acts it may have committed.” He turned to Hawke. “The plan remains,” he said. “We break the summoning circle, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

Solas’s voice was commanding and hard. Fenris scowled at his uncharacteristic tone, and the Kirkwall mage gasped in horror. “What? But… but the binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us!” he said plaintively. “Whatever it was before, it is a monster now!”

Dorian pulled a little face. “I have to agree with our sorry little Kirkwall friend here, Solas. The demon–”

Solas spun toward him. “You don’t get to speak here,” he snarled. “You have been just as guilty yourself. Enslaving spirits, forcing them to do your bidding – this is common currency in your land.” He jabbed a finger at Dorian. “You do not get to speak. You are here to lend your assistance, not your opinions.”

Dorian recoiled, his face twisting with offense, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. “It is a demon,” he told Solas bluntly. “It is no different than the ones that pour through the rifts.”

“No!” Solas snapped. “That is false! It – you –” He ran his palm over his scalp once more, then glared at Fenris. “You saw the spirits in Old Crestwood. You saw how benign they can be, that they don’t all wish to be trapped here in this mundane world. You helped that spirit of command! Cole fights by your side every day! How can you not see that this is no different?”

His voice was growing increasingly agitated. Hawke gently squeezed his arm. “Solas,” she said in a neutral tone, “Your friend could kill us. You see that, right? While we’re breaking the summoning circle, it could look at us and think, ‘oh, some puny little mages, I’ll eat them for breakfast’.”

“That will not happen,” Solas yelled. “I know this spirit. This is not what it wants.”

“You are willing to risk all of our lives on that?” Fenris said archly.

Solas rubbed his face roughly, then looked at Hawke. “It will not kill us if we are quick and careful,” he insisted. “Please. Help me break the summoning circle.”

Dorian folded his arms. “I don’t recommend this.”

“Nor do I,” Fenris said.

Hawke blew out a breath. Solas took a step closer to her. “Hawke, please,” he said insistently.

She nibbled her lip, and Fenris shook his head irritably. A friend pleading with Hawke to do something extremely dangerous? Hawke had only one response for this type of scenario, and it was as inevitable as sunrise.

He pulled his greatsword from the sheath on his back. “This is a mistake,” he told her.

Hawke grimaced. “It always is, isn’t it?” She pulled her staff from her back as well.

“Wha– hang on a minute,” Dorian said. “Did I black out for a moment? Am I missing something here?”

Hawke shot him an apologetic look, then turned to Solas. “All right. Let’s break the fucking summoning stones.”

Solas wilted in relief. “Thank you–”

Fenris stepped forward. “If the demon comes close to harming Hawke, I will kill it,” he growled.

“I beg your pardon,” Dorian protested. “What about me? I’m too young and beautiful to die.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, then glared at Solas. “Cole and I will keep the demon distracted,” he said. “You three focus on the damned summoning stones. If the demon so much as looks the wrong way at Hawke or Dorian–”

“How sweet. I knew you cared,” Dorian said, and Fenris shot him a dirty look.

Solas huffed in disgust. “If you insist,” he said impatiently. “Now come. We must hurry!”

They bolted toward the summoning circle. Solas, Dorian, and Hawke positioned themselves at a higher elevation out of reach, and Fenris and Cole readied themselves at the edge of the summoning circle.

Cole gazed vacantly up at the demon, and Fenris frowned at him. “Keep its attention,” he instructed quietly. “Don’t hide too much. We must keep its eyes on us to keep the others safe.”

Cole grasped his daggers more firmly. “Yes. Keep the others safe,” he repeated.

Fenris nodded in satisfaction, then looked up at the rise where Hawke and the others were standing. Her expression was utterly serious as she met his eye, and she held up three fingers.

Fenris nodded sharply, then adjusted his grip on his sword and counted down from three.

On the count of one, the magical hum of the summoning circle disappeared. The demon straightened to its full height and released a diabolical laugh.

“Cover its left flank,” Fenris snapped at Cole. Then he phased directly in front of the demon.

The demon stared down at him, then growled and reached for him with one huge clawed hand. Fenris poked the demon in the knee, and it swiped at him.

He dodged back with the help of his lyrium marks. Then Cole appeared behind the demon and smacked its left leg with the flat of his blade.

The demon spun toward him with a snarl. Together, Fenris and Cole kept the demon occupied, irritating and taunting it with shouts and prods from their weapons while Hawke, Dorian, and Solas worked on dismantling the magic of the summoning stones.

One of the stones abruptly shattered, and the demon shuddered and fell to one knee. Fenris glanced over at Hawke and the others; her face was creased with concentration as she and Dorian listened to Solas, who was speaking urgently to them and gesturing at another stone.

Fenris hefted his sword, then phased behind the demon and smacked its rump with the flat of his blade. “This way, you cursed creature,” he snarled. “Come and face me.”

The demon heaved itself to its feet once more, then raised its arms, and three wicked-looking lashes of electricity bloomed from its enormous wrists.

Fenris growled in disgust, then glowered up at the demon. “Come on, then,” he roared. “Approach me if you dare!”

The demon took a thundering step toward him, and Cole appeared beneath it and jabbed its ankle, causing it to stumble and snarl in anger. Together they continued taunting the demon until there was only one summoning stone left.

Then the demon turned toward Hawke and the others and raised its lightning-laden whips.

A bolt of panic surged through Fenris’s chest. He darted in front of the demon and swung his blade purposely at the demon’s shin.

His strike hit true. The demon shrieked in pain, and Solas looked up.

“Solas,” Hawke yelled. “Come on, pay attention!”

Her voice was tight with strain, and a fresh surge of concern kicked Fenris’s heart rate even higher. He phased toward the demon and slammed his pommel into its knee, then darted behind it. “Demon!” he roared. “See me!”

Cole appeared beside him. “Try to catch me,” he said to the demon, then he darted toward it and slashed its knee.

The demon raised its whips, and Fenris and Cole both phased behind it as the whips came lashing down with a hair-raising hum of power. Fenris gritted his teeth in concentration, his attention split between keeping the demon busy and the fear-inducing pallor of Hawke’s face as she, Dorian and Solas worked on the final stone.

Fenris’s chest was heaving with exertion from the effort of not killing the demon. Keeping it distracted while dodging its whips and not seriously harming it was taking its toll, and finally the strain became too much: one of the demon’s lightning-laced whips licked across the back of Fenris’s calf before he could phase away.

He stumbled to one knee with a grunt. The demon raised its whips, and Hawke’s cry of alarm met his pounding ears. “Fenris!”

Then three things happened at once. Dorian’s vibrant barrier sprang up around Fenris’s kneeling form; a cage of shimmering white light appeared around the demon; and the final summoning stone shattered with a ground-shuddering crack.

The demon collapsed inside Hawke’s signature cage of light. Fenris sneered at it as he gingerly rose to his feet, and a minute later, Hawke was beside him and gripping his arm.

“Shit,” she hissed. She rifled in one of her belt pouches with shaking hands. “Let me find you some elfroot…”

He shook his head. “I don’t need it,” he said. The wound on his calf felt merely like a superficial burn, and Fenris was more annoyed than injured.

He cupped Hawke’s precious pale face in his hands. That magical cage of light was her strongest and most mana-sapping spell. “You need lyrium,” he told her firmly. “Take some now.” He looked at Dorian, who was approaching them and looking rather worn himself. “You need some as well,” he added.

Dorian sighed and nodded his thanks as Hawke handed him a small bottle of lyrium draught. “I believe a bottle of wine would serve me better at this point, but this will do,” he said. He and Hawke gulped their potions quickly.

Then Cole spoke. “Freed, but fading fast. You were quick, but not quick enough.”

Dorian tutted. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Cole.”

Hawke suddenly grabbed Fenris’s hand and Dorian’s shoulder. “Maker’s balls,” she breathed. “Look.”

Fenris and Dorian followed her gaze. In the spot where the demon was hunched over just a moment ago, there was… a woman. A hazy, glowing, incorporeal woman…

Fenris’s jaw dropped in genuine surprise. It was unmistakably a spirit. As they stood staring, small wisps of the spirit’s humanoid form began to drift apart, like smoke dissipating into the air.

Solas slowly kneeled in front of the spirit. “Lethallan,” he rasped. “Ir abelas.”

His face was tight with grief. Solas and the spirit spoke together in Elvhen, and Hawke winced. “Damn. This is awkward. I’m glad I can’t understand what they’re talking about,” she whispered.

Dorian looked dumbfounded. For once, he seemed to be lacking in witty rejoinders. Fenris shot him a sharp look. “You have never seen anything like this before?” he asked.

Dorian shook his head. “The spirits we bind at home are not like that, I assure you,” he said. “They don’t talk or… they don’t seem to think. If they had, I…”

He trailed off and rubbed his mouth, and Fenris frowned more deeply. He glanced at Cole, who was standing slightly apart from them and watching Solas’s conversation with his usual vacant expression.

“He was right,” Hawke said softly.

Fenris looked at her. Her eyes were wide as she studied Solas. “That demon literally turned into a spirit,” she said. She looked up at Fenris. “I sort of thought he was being metaphorical, you know, with his ‘spirits and demons are the same and also not’ business. Like it’s a continuum of demon-ness or something. But that transformation happened in the blink of an eye. That’s…” She shook her head. “That’s… incredible.”

Fenris didn’t reply. He was feeling rather nonplussed himself. Solas always spoke about how demons were a corrupted reflection of spirits, but Fenris hadn’t seen any conclusive evidence to prove his theories true. Even Cole’s presence hadn’t provided much clarity on the matter. Though Sera and Cullen called Cole a demon – and Fenris did too, at times – the strange boy’s behaviour thus far had been largely without reproach. There was no reason to think Cole wasn’t just a spirit in human form.

Now, to see the proof so clearly – proof that spirits and demons were, in fact, one and the same…

Fenris rubbed his hair. This went against Chantry teachings. It contradicted the beliefs of almost everyone that Fenris had ever met – everyone except Merrill, who had said similar things about spirits and demons, once upon a time.

But if Solas was right, and spirits could be corrupted into demons…

He frowned at Cole, who was still hovering nearby and watching Solas’s conversation. Then he turned his gaze back to Solas.

The elven mage was reaching toward the spirit, and a gentle green glow of magic was emanating from his palms. The spirit tilted her – its – head back, and Fenris caught a fleeting look of joy on its face before it dissolved away to nothing.

Solas didn’t move. For a long moment he remained still and silent, alone on the bank of the river. Hawke released Fenris’s hand, then stepped away from him and walked quietly over to Solas’s side.

Fenris and Dorian slowly drew closer as Hawke crouched beside him. “Hey,” she said softly. “I’m really sorry, Solas. That was really… um, shitty.”

Solas didn’t reply. Fenris shifted his weight awkwardly as the ugly silence stretched on.

Then Cole drifted over and sat on the riverbank beside Solas. “Your friend wanted you to be happy, even though she knew you wouldn't be,” he said dreamily.

Solas inhaled slowly and looked at Cole. “Could you... if you would remember her, could you do it as I would?” he asked.

Cole tilted his head and gazed at the burbling river. “He comes to me as though the Fade were just another wooded path to walk without a care, in search of wisdom. We share the ancient mysteries, the feelings lost: forgotten dreams, unseen for ages, now beheld in wonder.” His empty gaze drifted up to the cloudless sky. “In his own way, he knew wisdom as no man or spirit had before.”

Solas released a tremulous breath and bowed his head. “Thank you,” he whispered.

For a long, tense moment, no one spoke or moved. Then Hawke reached out and squeezed Solas’s shoulder.

He lifted his face and finally looked at her. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “We gave my friend a moment’s peace before the end. That’s more than she might have had.” He rose to his feet, and a fresh scowl creased his face as he watched the Kirkwall mages’ approach. “All that remains now is them,” he growled.

The mage who was acting as their spokesperson stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Thank you,” he said fervently. “We would not have risked the summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected.”

Solas stepped aggressively toward him. “You tortured and killed my friend,” he snarled.

To Fenris’s alarm, a ball of fire was forming in Solas’s palm. The Kirkwall mage stumbled back. “W-we didn’t know it was just a spirit,” he stammered. “The – the book said it could help us!”

Solas curled his lip. His expression was uncharacteristically feral, but also oddly familiar to Fenris. Before Fenris quite realized what he was going to say, he opened his mouth.

“Stop,” he commanded. “Do not kill them.”

Solas shot him a filthy look. “Why shouldn’t I? They murdered an innocent!”

“I’m sorry! Please, we didn’t know!” the Kirkwall mage bleated.

Fenris ignored him and stared at Solas. “Killing these mages will not undo what has been done.”

“It is justice. It will make me feel better,” Solas snarled.

Justice, Fenris thought. Quick flashes of memory sprang to his mind: an image of Anders’ glowing eyes, then Hadriana’s lifeless corpse, and Fenris’s own unbridled rage that her death had failed to assuage.

He took a step closer to Solas. “This is not justice,” he said. “This is vengeance. And it will fix nothing.”

Solas’s expression was twisted with anger. “I do not believe this,” he expostulated. “If you were in my position, you know you would do the same. If Hawke were murdered through an act of sheer ignorance, do not pretend you wouldn’t commit your life to avenging her!”

Fenris glared at him. He couldn’t reply, because he wasn’t certain that Solas was wrong.

Then Hawke stepped in. “Solas, think about this for a minute,” she said. “Killing them won’t solve anything. They didn’t know better. You could teach them, train them–”

He spun on her. “Train them in what?” he shouted. “The binding of spirits? The chaining of slaves? How very predictable of you.”

Her jaw dropped in shock, and Dorian whistled softly. Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Watch your tongue, mage,” he growled.

Solas’s lip curled, and Hawke lifted her chin. “I was going to suggest that you educate them about the nature of spirits and demons,” she said coolly. “If you tried being as patient with them as you’ve been with me, instead of acting like an angry asshole, perhaps they’ll actually learn something, and they won’t do it again.”

“There is no point,” Solas shouted. “I have tried to… I – I have tried, and there is no point.”

“If there’s no point, then what are you even doing with the Inquisition?” Hawke asked. “Why did you accept the position of co-leader of the rebel mages if there’s no point?”

Solas turned away. His shoulders were heaving with fury, and Fenris watched him carefully until his posture gradually relaxed.

He looked at the Kirkwall mages, who shirked away from him in fear. “Never again,” he hissed. Then he looked at Hawke and Fenris.

He was obviously still angry, but when he spoke, his voice was calm once more. “I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold.” Without waiting for their response, he strode away to the north.

Dorian folded his arms as they watched Solas’s departure. “Who would like to bet that he won’t come back?” He looked at Fenris and Hawke. “No takers? Shame that Varric isn’t here.”

“I wish he was,” Hawke lamented. “He’s good at smoothing things over. He probably could have talked him into staying.”

Do we want him to stay? Fenris thought bitterly. Solas’s unfettered rage, his unfair accusations about Hawke… it was too familiar to Fenris, uncomfortably familiar for so many reasons, and he was frankly glad that Solas was gone.

He turned to the Kirkwall mages. “You summoned a demon,” he said. “You used magic that you don’t understand, and you placed all our lives at risk, including your own.” He lifted his chin. “That won’t go unpunished.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “What did you have in mind?” she said warily.

He eyed the scared-looking little pack of mages. “Confiscate their staves, perhaps,” he said. “Stop them from practicing magic.”

Hawke folded her arms, and Dorian scoffed. “That’s as good as committing them to death, you know,” he said. “They’re defenseless without staves. More defenseless than they already are, I should say.”

Fenris scowled at Dorian and Hawke. “Solas was right about one thing. These mages are ignorant. They can’t be left to wander in the Dales on their own.” He waved angrily at the mages. “Leave them to their own devices, and soon they will be slitting their wrists for power and calling it self-defense.”

“They won’t wander the Dales alone,” Hawke said firmly. “I meant it about teaching them. They can join the Inquisition, and we’ll train them up until they’re not stupid anymore.”

Fenris glared at her. “I don’t want these imbeciles joining the Inquisition,” he said.

Hawke scowled at him in return. “Well, it’s not entirely up to you. You made me a co-leader of the rebel mages, and the rebel mages are your allies, not your subordinates.”

Fenris stared at her with growing ire. Dorian coughed delicately and edged away. “I’m just going to go speak to Cole there…”

Fenris ignored him as he slipped away. “Hawke,” he growled, “I do not like this.”

“Fenris, I’ll teach them,” she said quietly. “I’ll fix this. It’s better than letting them wander the wilds on their own.” She squeezed his hand. “Do you trust me?”

He scowled at her, then exhaled sharply. “You know I do.”

“Then trust me with this,” she said softly. “Let me try to do something useful for once. Aside from looking pretty.” She smiled winningly at him.

He shot her a chiding look, and she batted her eyelashes at him.

“Fine,” he grumbled. Then he turned to the Kirkwall mages. “You are officially wards of the Inquisition, until Hawke deems you fit for service,” he said. He pointed to the west. “Go to the nearest Inquisition camp. Our companion Cole will accompany you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do not even think about trying to sneak away.”

The head mage swallowed hard. “Y-yes, Inquisitor. Champion,” he said, and he bowed nervously to them both. “Who… who did you say will accompany us?”

Fenris glanced over at the river, where Dorian was teaching Cole to skip stones. “Cole,” he barked.

Cole looked up, and the Kirkwall mage jumped. “Wha– where did he come from?” he exclaimed.

Fenris frowned at the mage as Cole approached them. “This is Cole,” Fenris said. “Do not speak to him. Do not perform any magic around him. He will protect you if any bandits happen upon you.” He gave Cole a stern look. “They are weak. Keep them safe until you arrive at the camp.”

“All right,” Cole said. He smiled vaguely at the terrified-looking mages as they walked away to the west. “Nugs are kind,” he said to one of them. “Almost everything is bigger than they, but they're still happy. If you hold out your hand, they will nuzzle it. It's how they call you ‘friend’."

Fenris shook his head in exasperation, and Dorian chuckled. “He is a puzzle, that one. If anyone tried to bind him, I bet he would simply sit there and tell them how nice their summoning stones were.”

Hawke huffed. “After seeing this shitshow? If anyone tries to bind him, I’ll kill them,” she said. “Binding Cole would be like tying down a baby nug. It would just be plain mean.”

Fenris frowned slightly as he, Dorian, and Hawke slowly wandered in the direction of their rendez-vous point with the others. “This means Cole could become a demon, then,” he said.

Hawke pursed her lips. “I… suppose,” she admitted. “But Solas said he’d have to come in contact with corrupting forces.” She glanced askance at Dorian and Fenris. “What do you think would corrupt him? He sees all the worst things that nobody else sees. People’s secret pain and guilt and all that stuff. But he’s still the perfect little helper. If all that awful shit doesn’t corrupt him, what would?”

Fenris shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Solas also said that most spirits embody some… some value, or virtue. We should find out exactly what sort of spirit Cole is. Then we can keep him away from corrupting influences.”

“Well, that’s easy. He’s a spirit of helping, of course,” Hawke said.

Fenris twisted his lips. That seemed too simple, somehow.

Dorian seemed to agree with him; he frowned thoughtfully and stroked his chin. “I think it’s a bit more subtle than that. Sometimes he says things that aren’t, um…” He swallowed. “....that are not particularly helpful. Or… perhaps not in the way he hopes.”

Hawke slipped her hand through Dorian’s elbow and squeezed his arm. Fenris gave Hawke a warning look. “If Cole should ever turn, you know what must happen,” he reminded her quietly. “He asked for it himself–”

“Don’t,” she interrupted. “He won’t turn. He’ll be fine. Solas will tell us how to stop anything bad from happening to him.”

Fenris and Dorian exchanged a wary look. Then Dorian addressed Hawke. “You truly think Solas will come back to Skyhold?”

“Of course he will,” she said confidently. “He’s angry now, but he’ll calm down. He’s calm about ninety-five percent of the time. He doesn’t have the capacity to stay angry for that much longer.”

Her expression and her tone were cheerful, and she was refusing to look at him or Dorian. It was classic Hawke behaviour: acting like everything was fine when one of her friends walked away.

Fenris gently stroked her back, but he couldn’t help but wonder when exactly she and Solas had become so friendly. They’d probably grown close through their work with the rebel mages; they did spend a lot of time together in that capacity, after all. But whenever Fenris saw them together, Solas always seemed to be lecturing at her, and Fenris genuinely wasn’t sure how she tolerated it.

Perhaps she sees him as a father figure, he thought. That would make sense, given Hawke’s history as her own father’s magical pupil.

If that was the case, it would make Solas’s abandonment even more difficult for her to bear.

Fenris nibbled the inside of his cheek before speaking. “Solas was… exceptionally angry,” he said carefully. “This might be more than he can tolerate.”

Hawke shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think he’ll come back.” Suddenly she gasped and pointed to the riverbank. “Andraste’s tit, look! It’s that golden halla!”

“What?” Fenris said, thrown off by her non-sequitur. He followed the direction of her pointing finger.

Sure enough, a halla with golden hair and horns was drinking from the river. It looked up at them, then cantered away to the east.

Hawke looked up at Fenris with a grin. “Let’s get it back to that Dalish camp!” she said brightly.

Fenris wilted in exasperation. “You know I’m not fond of the Dalish. I don’t particularly want–”

“Oh come on, Fenris, they were way nicer than Merrill’s clan,” she said. “I’m going to chase the golden halla. I dare you to join me!” She bolted away in the halla’s wake.

Fenris watched her running away, then rubbed his face. “Fasta vass.”

Dorian, meanwhile, was chuckling. “Venhedis, she’s something else,” he said. “Look at her! Oh, the sheer lack of dignity…” He sighed dramatically.

Fenris shook his head. “In less than a week, that will be my wife,” he told Dorian.

Dorian looked at him. They both looked at Hawke as she tried in vain to catch up to the fleet-footed halla. Then Dorian burst into laughter.

Fenris smirked, then rubbed his mouth and folded his arms. “Kaffas, Dorian, collect yourself.”

Dorian was bent double with mirth. “Your wife,” he rasped, “the shemlen halla-wrangler.”

Fenris couldn’t help it. He laughed. Dorian plopped himself down in the dirt, now positively wheezing with laughter, and for a moment they forgot the drama of the situation as they laughed together and watched Hawke awkwardly chasing the halla across the grassy landscape.

Eventually Dorian calmed down and stood up, and Hawke managed to chivvy the unruly halla back to the Dalish camp. Fenris fondly watched from afar as she spoke to the Dalish, charming them despite their suspicions and her race.

“Oh, how entertaining the south is,” Dorian said happily. “The things I’ve learned since I’ve been here. Aside from how damned cold it always seems to be.” He rubbed his half-bare arms and looked at Fenris. “Weren’t you cold when you left the Imperium?”

Fenris shrugged. “I was, yes. But I grew to like it, in time. Besides, freedom is worth far more than warm weather.”

Dorian grimaced slightly. “Ah. Right.” He was silent for a moment, then changed the subject. “So this whole summoning-circle debacle was a first. I’ve been binding spirits since I could hold a staff, and none of the spirits I worked with back home looked like that.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at him. “They didn’t look like what? Like humans? Like you?”

Dorian cleared his throat. “No. No, they didn’t.”

Fenris looked away toward the Dalish camp once more. Something Solas had said earlier today was nibbling at his brain: something about the binding of spirits being akin to slavery. Fenris had dismissed the words at the time, preoccupied as he’d been with keeping everyone safe and alive, but the words returned to his mind now as he eyed Dorian’s calm face from the corner of his eye.

“The spirits you bound,” Fenris said. “Did they ever try to escape? Did they ever say they didn’t wish to be bound?”

Dorian slowly twisted one of the silver rings on his right hand. “Well, they didn’t speak, so no.” He paused, and Fenris waited while he ran his thumb over his rings. “Sometimes they struggled, or tried to escape the binding at first.” He met Fenris’s gaze. “But it’s like trapping animals for a menagerie. They’re agitated at first because they don’t understand. But if you show them no harm, they calm down. They even become friendly most of the time.”

Fenris stared at his earnest face. Dorian’s answer was benign, but something about it made Fenris feel uncomfortable.

“And if they don’t calm down?” Fenris said. “If they continue to be… agitated?”

Dorian’s expression was growing apprehensive. “We reinforce the bindings until they become compliant,” he said.

Fenris licked his lips, then looked away. An unpleasant feeling was starting to bubble in his belly – a feeling of irritation that he hadn’t felt in some time, not since he and Dorian had first been reacquainted.

Dorian sighed. “Look, I don’t believe that all spirits are as advanced and… and thoughtful as Solas says. I mean, Cole certainly is. But not all spirits are like Cole.”

Fenris didn’t respond. He couldn’t look at Dorian. The ways Dorian described binding spirits, and the ugly parallels that were drawing themselves in Fenris’s head...

The silence between them was heavy with tension. Then Dorian spoke again. “Perhaps I’ll stop the practice while I’m here.” He cleared his throat again. “Perhaps… perhaps even indefinitely. The, er, bound spirits are useful, but I suppose I can peel my own grapes and wash my own feet. You know what they say: while in the south, do as the barbarians do. Or don’t do, as the case may be.”

His tone was determinedly jocular. Fenris glanced briefly at him, then looked away again. “That may be for the best,” he said.

Dorian nodded, and they fell silent once more. By the time Hawke rejoined them with flushed cheeks and happy smile, most of the tension had left Fenris’s shoulders.

“Good news,” she said. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “One of the Dalish scouts wants to join us the Inquisition, but her Keeper won’t let her because he thinks we’re a bunch of Chantry-loving shems. If we do a few little Dalish-friendly things–”

Fenris sighed. “Hawke…”

“Hear me out,” she pleaded. “They’re simple things. Find someone’s brother, clear a graveyard of demons, and rustle up some supplies. Easy stuff.”

“Oh goody, more demons,” Dorian drawled. “You certainly know how to show a man a good time.”

Fenris had to agree. “This will take at least an extra day,” he complained. “I want to return to Skyhold.”

“It won’t take that long,” Hawke wheedled. “I bet we can do it all today.” She winked at Dorian. “You’re a betting man. I hear you and Varric talking. How about it, Vint? Two royals that we can win over the Dalish in a single day?”

Dorian scoffed. “You’re on, barbarian. As long as our glorious leader joins us.”

Fenris gave them both a reproving look, then sighed. “Festis bei umo canavarum. All right, let’s get this over with.”

Hawke clapped her hands, and she and Dorian began poking fun at each other as they headed toward the haunted elven graveyard.

‘We’ll just swing by the Exalted Plains quickly’, she says, Fenris thought wryly. And naturally, things hadn’t gone as Hawke had planned.

For her sake if nothing else, Fenris hoped that Solas would come back.

*********************

When Fenris and the others returned to Skyhold three days later, Josephine was practically frothing with anxiety when she met them in the courtyard.

“Lady Rynne!” she exclaimed. She ignored Fenris completely and hooked her hand through Hawke’s elbow. “Your dress arrived days ago. We must make sure it fits. Please come with me.”

Hawke looked at Fenris in alarm as Josephine pulled her arm. “Josie, hang on,” she protested. “We just got back, I haven’t dropped off my things, I–”

“There is no time,” Josephine insisted. “Leave your things with Fenris. A messenger will carry them to your room.”

“But–” Hawke protested.

Josephine planted her hands on her hips. “Lady Rynne, the wedding is tomorrow,” she said severely. “We must do your dress fitting right now, in case alterations are needed.”

Fenris watched with growing amusement as Hawke cringed away from the ambassador’s steely stare. “All right, fine,” she said hastily. “Andraste’s tits, you’re a scary little thing. Let’s go, then.”

Fenris took her staff and travel pack. “Enjoy yourself,” he called.

She shot him a dirty look as Josephine dragged her away. Dorian chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. “And you, my good man, should come to my quarters and look at the tunic I’m going to lend you. You’ll probably need it taken in.”

Fenris shook his head. “Not now. I will find you later in the library.” He hefted Hawke’s pack onto his shoulder and headed for the stairs to the Great Hall.

“Suit yourself,” Dorian called after him. “Oh wait, no, I’ll be the one suiting you. In case you forgot that it’s my impeccable clothing you’ll be wearing.”

Fenris waved dismissively over his shoulder as he made his way up the stairs. As he wandered past Varric’s usual spot in the hall, he glanced casually at the rotunda.

He stopped short. The torches in the rotunda were lit. Fenris quietly made his way toward the room and peered inside.

Solas was there, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a row of paint jars lined up on his desk. Hawke was there as well, and she was hugging him.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. He was genuinely surprised that Solas had returned. Solas gingerly patted Hawke on the back as she hugged him, then smiled faintly at her as she pulled away.

Fenris waited in the doorway as Hawke and Solas spoke quietly together. Hawke punched him affably in the shoulder, then turned and made her way toward the door where Fenris was waiting.

She smiled at him as she approached. “Told you he would come back,” she whispered.

Fenris bowed his head slightly. “I stand corrected.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m shocked that Josephine let you escape.”

Hawke snickered. “She gave me three minutes. I’ve already been gone for five. She’s probably pulling her luscious hair out.” She kissed him on the cheek, then darted away.

Fenris huffed in amusement, then looked up and met Solas’s eye. Solas’s expression was as neutral as usual, with no lingering hints of the anger that had driven him to storm away.

He folded his hands behind his back as Fenris approached. “Fenris,” he said quietly.

Fenris nodded a brusque greeting. “You returned,” he said. “Hawke said you would. I, however, had my doubts.”

Solas nodded an acknowledgement. “So did I, for a time. But only a short time. You and Hawke did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon the Inquisition now.” He sighed and looked up at the painted walls. “Furthermore, Hawke is correct. How could I make this world better if I did not stay to help?”

His expression was calm and melancholy – more melancholy than usual. Fenris eyed him appraisingly, then decided to stick to business.

“I have concerns about Cole,” Fenris said. He folded his arms. “That friend of yours proved that you are right about… about the nature of spirits and demons. But this means that Cole could become a demon. He could become dangerous.”

Solas pursed his lips, then met Fenris’s eye. “Any person can become dangerous when influenced by the wrong people,” he said calmly. “Like any thinking being, Cole is affected by those around him.” He tilted his head. “Do you think you are less likely to be betrayed by the Iron Bull, for instance, who has openly decreed his primary allegiance to the Qun?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “I ask you this because we don’t want Cole to become dangerous,” he said flatly. “Tell us how to stop it from happening. Not binding him is a start. What else should we do?”

Solas’s eyebrows rose. “Oh,” he said. “I… I see.” He smoothed his fingers along the cord of his jawbone necklace, then folded his hands behind his back once more. “Cole reflects the hurt of those around him, and he eases that hurt. This is his purpose. As long as he is not stopped from helping those in pain, and as long as he is not forced to injure any innocents, he will remain himself.”

Fenris nodded and glanced at the rotunda walls. The lines of a new scene were sketched on the wet-looking wall in charcoal.

He glanced at Solas once more. “Explain something to me,” he said. “If all demons are spirits, why do you kill them? We kill them because they are dangerous,” he clarified as Solas frowned slightly. “But why do you? Why have you not attempted to revert them?”

Solas’s brow cleared. “Would that I could,” he said softly. “But you saw the magical effort that was expended to free my friend. Furthermore, she… it was a being of great intellect. It knew itself intimately, and it knew that it did not wish to be what those… those fools forced it to be.” He took a deep breath, then continued in a calmer, quieter voice. “In times of war, there are only so many lives that you can save.”

Fenris studied him in bemusement. What wars could Solas possibly have seen in his forty-something years of isolated apostate life?

He didn’t bother to ask. He knew what the answer would be. Wars in the Fade, he thought. For Solas, everything came back to the blasted Fade.

Fenris dropped his arms to his sides and took a step away. “It is good that you’re back,” he said. Truthfully, he was glad for Hawke’s and the Inquisition’s sake rather than his own, but the sentiment was still genuine.

“Thank you,” Solas said. “I am pleased to be back, as well.”

Fenris nodded, then turned and made his way toward the Great Hall once more. But something occurred to him just before he left the rotunda.

He turned back. “Solas. What type of spirit is Cole? What virtue does he represent?”

Solas paused with his stirring stick halfway into a jar of paint. “Is it not evident from the work he does?”

Fenris frowned. Solas gazed at him for a moment, then began to stir the paint. “He is a spirit of compassion,” he said softly. “A very rare spirit indeed.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Then a piercing shriek poured out of the Great Hall, followed by the cacophonous sounds of two women laughing.

Fenris whipped around. He would recognize that raucous throaty laugh anywhere. He strode back to the Great Hall.

It was Isabela. She was hugging Hawke so hard that she’d lifted Hawke clear off her feet, and Hawke was pink-cheeked with joy as she returned the wily pirate’s embrace.

“You saucy bitch,” Hawke cackled, then briskly wiped her eyes as Isabela set her down. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, you know, just long enough to be missing the ocean already,” Isabela said. She grinned at Fenris as he approached. “My, my, what have we here?” she drawled. She shifted her weight saucily to one hip as she looked him over. “You’re looking lankier than ever. My girl here has treated you well, it seems.”

“So it would seem,” he said. He allowed Isabela to kiss him on both cheeks, then eyed her sun-browned complexion appreciatively. “You are looking well, too. Finally owning a ship seems to suit you.” He smirked.

She laughed at his taunt. “Damned right,” she said cheerfully. “You’re welcome to join my crew if you like. I can get you away from all of this in a heartbeat.” She waved a dismissive hand at the Great Hall.

Fenris huffed ruefully. “A kind offer, but we shall have to decline for now.”

“For now,” Hawke said. She slung her arm around Isabela’s shoulders. “We might take you up on it later if things get any more insane.”

“You should,” Isabela said. “This undead magister bullshit sounds like… well, bullshit. I’d run as far from that as I could in a heartbeat.”

Hawke wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Let’s not talk about it right now. Tell us what you’ve been up to, that’ll be much more fun.”

Isabela smiled and casually inspected her nails. “Oh, you know. Just becoming the tyrannical bitch who wrestled the Raiders into shape.”

“And the tyrannical bitch who picks on the merchants trying to deliver goods to Kirkwall,” a stern female voice added.

Fenris smiled, and Hawke gasped in delight at the sound of the familiar voice. “Aveline,” she squealed. She bolted toward Aveline and threw herself into the Guard-Captain’s muscular arms.

Isabela rolled her eyes and tutted. “I brought her and Donnic over from Kirkwall,” she told Fenris quietly. “She spent the whole trip nosing around in my cargo bay. You’d think I’d murdered a sack of puppies by the way she reacted to all my stuff.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Stolen stuff, I presume?”

Isabela shrugged elegantly. “I am who I am, sweet thing. It’s my way of life.”

Fenris chuckled, and he and Isabela wandered over to join Hawke, Aveline and Donnic. Fenris firmly shook Donnic’s hand. “Thank you for coming, my friend,” he said warmly, and he shook Aveline’s hand as well.

“Finally getting married, you are,” Aveline said approvingly. “It’s long overdue, if you ask me.”

Isabela scoffed loudly. “It’s a bloody mistake, if you ask me. I don’t want to hear the whining when your sex life goes out the window.”

“What makes you think that would happen?” Donnic asked her.

Aveline tutted and smacked his arm, and he winced. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. Meanwhile, Isabela and Hawke were cackling at his inadvertent implication, and Fenris couldn’t help but laugh as well when both Donnic and Aveline began to blush.

Fenris turned to Isabela. “If you think our marriage is a mistake, you’re free to leave,” he said mock-casually. “Your presence is hardly crucial.”

Isabela scoffed. “What, and miss the chance to party in an ancient enchanted castle hidden in the mountains? Nice try, handsome. Besides,” she said, “my presence is crucial.” She winked at Hawke, who grinned at her.

Fenris gazed at them in confusion for a moment, then wilted in amusement and exasperation. “You are kidding,” he said to Hawke. “You asked Isabela–?”

“Excuse me,” Isabela protested. “What’s wrong with Hawke asking me?”

Fenris folded his arms and gave her a knowing smirk. “You just said you disapprove of our marriage.”

“Not your marriage. All marriage,” Isabela said. “But when duty calls, who am I to say no?”

Aveline snorted. “You always say no to anything involving duty. Or honour. Or loyalty.”

Donnic laughed nervously and patted Aveline’s elbow. “What duty are you talking about, Isabela?” he asked politely.

She grinned wickedly. “Guess who’s officiating the ceremony tomorrow?”

Aveline’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious,” she said, and both Hawke and Isabela burst into laughter.

Aveline scowled at Isabela. “How is that possible?” she said incredulously.

Isabela pointed at herself. “Ship captain, big girl,” she said cheerfully. “I have the power to marry anyone foolish enough to want it.”

Aveline gaped at her, then turned her scowl to Fenris. “You’re in agreement with this plan?” she demanded.

He lifted his hands innocently. “I knew nothing of these plans. I am simply the groom.”

“Kind of an important role, don’t you think?” Varric said. He wandered over with a grin on his face and Carver and Toby in his wake.

“Hello, Varric. Carver,” Aveline said distractedly as she patted the ecstatic mabari on the head. “I’m surprised you two allowed this to happen.” She shot Isabela a filthy look.

Carver blinked. “What do you mean? We were supposed to do something?”

“Nah,” Varric assured him. “She’s being facetious. We’re groomsmen. We just have to show up.”

Aveline tutted loudly. “Men,” she complained.

Donnic patted her hand sympathetically. Hawke and Isabela continued to laugh and joke around lewdly, and Varric began filling Donnic in on the goings-on at Skyhold while Aveline scratched Toby’s ears and told Carver about the latest news in Kirkwall, and Fenris simply listened to them all with a smile on his face.

The last time they’d all been together was years ago. So much had happened in that time, and so much had changed in the world. For Fenris and Hawke, the past few months had been particularly difficult; horrifically so, at times.

But now, with their Kirkwall friends and family gathered around, Fenris could relax. For the first time in months, he was starting to feel normal. For the first time in months, Fenris wasn’t the Inquisitor, and Hawke wasn’t the Inquisitor’s right hand.

For the first time in months, Fenris felt like… himself.

He admired Hawke’s broad and beautiful smile. Tomorrow is going to be a good day, he thought.

*********************

Elvhen phrases in this chapter, thanks to canon translations and FenxShiral on AO3: em halani lethallin = help me, my friend. lethallan, ir abelas = my friend, I’m sorry.

#fenris #fenris fic #fenris the inquisitor #fenquisition #Lovers in a Dangerous Time #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #hawris #f!hawris #fenrynne #dorian pavus #solas #all new faded for her #pikapeppa writes

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pikapeppa · 5 years

Text

Fenris/f!Hawke modern AU: Tequila

Chapter 5 of Damned Spot is up on AO3! It ends on a bit of a cliffhanger BUT THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE UP EITHER TONIGHT OR TOMORROW, I PROMISE. Posting this one tonight for @dadrunkwriting Friday!

In which Fenris and Rynne flail around like awkward idiots in the wake of the previous night’s party. Tiiiiiiny hint of smut. Previous chapters can be read here: [1] [2] [3] [4]

And beautiful art of this fic can be seen on the Tumblr of my partner in life and crime, the ever-talented @schoute.

***********************

2:21pm - you had fun last night. admit it!

Rynne’s phone made a little swish sound as it whisked her message away to Fenris. She grinned to herself as she pulled her sunglasses from her forehead down to her nose, then stepped out into the brilliant afternoon sunshine.

She was still on a high from how great the party was. After the intensity of the conversation on the balcony, Fenris had spent the rest of the night by her side. They’d both continued drinking, and he’d started loosening up, and Rynne lost her breath every damned time he laughed. He talked more than she’d expected, firmly sharing his opinions in the ebb and flow of conversations as they moved among the various groups of people in the house, and he was just…

He was so fucking smart. And articulate. And surprisingly opinionated. Rynne hadn’t expected that either, given how infrequently he participated in chit-chat at the Hanged Man. But now that she’d seen him talking more freely, it was more obvious than ever that his customary reserved silence masked an unceasing river of thought rather than a lack of anything important to say.

His opinions didn’t always match with hers. In addition to the lyrium issue, Fenris favoured the death penalty and really seemed to hate big corporations like Amazon. Rynne, on the other hand, supported rehab for convicted criminals and didn’t particularly care where her stuff came from as long as it was cheap. She and Fenris butted heads a few times, and the conversation became rather heated on more than one occasion - too heated for Isabela, who complained that this was a party and not a courthouse - but somehow, Rynne always managed to diffuse the tension and make him smile.

And as soon as Fenris smiled, every hint of cogent thought fled her foolish brain.

He’d followed her from the couch to the kitchen to the games room, scoffing at her jokes and returning her teasing with rapid-fire retorts that made her laugh so hard her stomach hurt. He’d point-blank refused to dance with her, but it hadn’t stopped her from dancing up on him like the shameless tart that she was. At one point, while she was twisting in front of him like a snake, he put his hand on her waist.

Fenris had touched her. Touched her of his own free will, twice in a single night. He’d shaken his head and smirked at her as his elegant, tattooed fingers squeezed her waist, and…

Maker’s balls, Rynne really wanted to fuck him.

But it was so much more than that. Usually Rynne was happy to hop into bed with whoever caught her interest, and if the fling became more than physical, that was a happy plus. But with Fenris… She got the sense that that wouldn’t work for him, and that she’d have to wait for him to come around to the idea of sleeping with her.

Rynne didn’t care. She was more than happy to wait. She would wait for him for months if she had to, because she could happily admit the truth: in the space of less than two months, she’d become more attached to Fenris than to any other romantic partner she’d ever had.

Fenris knew her worst secret, the one she’d been forced to hold most closely to her chest, and he didn’t think she was a horrible person for what she’d done. He’d given her a few secrets of his own, and she knew that was no small thing for him. Somehow, for some reason, Rynne trusted him at a visceral, instinctual level, just as much as she trusted Piper and Cullen. And in the most uninhibited depths of her heart, she knew that she would wait for him for as long as it took.

But hopefully it wouldn’t take too long.

She cheerfully hummed along to her tropical house playlist as she made her way to Athenril’s coffee shop in Lowtown. She was so busy rehashing the happy events of the previous night that she was halfway to Lowtown before she realized that Fenris hadn’t texted her back.

She pulled out her phone and swiped through to her messages.

2:33pm - fine, play coy, i dont mind ;) 2:33pm - seriously though i’m really glad you came

She popped her phone back in her pocket, but to her happy surprise, it dinged less than a minute later.

2:34pm - Thank you for having me.

I haven’t had you yet, she thought cheekily. But she would keep that thought to herself. For now, at least.

2:34pm - anytime ^^ 2:34pm - are you super hungover? did i wake you up? lol

2:34pm - No. I’ve been up for hours. Some of us don’t have the luxury of blackout curtains in every bedroom window.

Aw. So snarky, she thought fondly. She could imagine the crease of his eyebrows and the smirk on his lips as he texted her. The image fostered a warm feeling in her belly, and she grinned to herself as she stepped into the road.

“Hawke! Be careful!” A strong female hand grabbed her elbow and pulled her back, and Rynne squealed in alarm as a taxi screeched around the corner in the spot where she’d just been standing.

“Fuck!” Rynne gasped. She pulled out one earphone and stared up at Aveline, who was scowling at her with a look that she usually reserved for shoplifting teenagers. “Av! My hero! Kirkwall’s finest at her very best! How are you?”

“I’m fine. But you need to pay attention to your surroundings,” Aveline scolded. “Turn your music down. You would have heard that cab coming if your music was quieter.”

Rynne tilted her head playfully. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over my music. What was that you said?”

Aveline pursed her lips. “Very funny.” She waved a hand for Rynne to cross the street, and they made their way in the direction of Lowtown together.

“Seriously though, how are you?” Rynne asked. “How’s Donnic?”

Aveline’s expression softened at the mention of her husband. “He’s well, thank you. Enjoying paternity leave.” She smiled slightly, and Rynne grinned at the pinkness of the police captain’s cheeks.

“And how’s Carver doing?” Rynne asked. “I hope he listens to you more than he ever listened to me. It would be embarrassing for a police officer to get another ticket for parking in a no-parking zone.”

“He’s doing very well,” Aveline replied. Her tone held a hint of censure. “He’s a hard worker, you know. A good addition to the precinct. And yes, he listens well, so no complaints there.” Aveline shot her a sideways look. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen each other, hasn’t it?”

Rynne shrugged casually. “Yep.” It had been about six months, in fact. But it was better this way. It wasn’t like Carver wanted to see her, anyway.

She changed the subject. “What are you doing out in these parts, anyway?” she asked. “I thought you were more of a desk jockey these days. Are half of the precinct on vacation or something?”

Aveline pursed her lips again. “A good captain keeps her eyes and ears on the street whenever she has a chance,” she announced. She gave Hawke a knowing look. “You should be grateful that I’m out and about. You’d be roadkill otherwise.”

“That I would,” Rynne chuckled, and she slipped her hand through the crook of Aveline’s arm. “Care to escort me the rest of the way to Athenril’s, just in case I decide to wander into traffic again?”

Aveline smiled. “I’m afraid not. I’ll be leaving you here, actually. I’m off to the docks.” She patted Rynne’s hand, then pulled away. “Be careful,” she warned. “Volume down!”

“Yeah, all right!” Rynne waved and popped her earphones back in at full volume, then pulled her phone out again.

No further texts from Fenris. The ball was still in her court.

2:40pm - hey, those blackout curtains are necessary ok 2:40pm - you don’t know this, but im actually a vampire 2:41pm - i spontaneously combust in direct sunlight 2:41pm - none of that sparkly diamond skin twilight bullshit. i’m the real deal

She held her phone loosely in her hand as she strolled along. When he didn’t reply a few minutes later, she lifted her phone and tapped out another message.

2:44pm - what are you up to today? wanna hang out later?

She sent the message before she could stop to think twice. Maybe she was being overeager, but she’d really enjoyed spending time with him last night. They were both off work until Tuesday, and if she had to wait that long to see him again, she would drive Piper up the wall with her gushing.

By the time she reached Athenril’s coffee shop, he still hadn’t replied. But as luck would have it, he didn’t need to. As Rynne stepped into the cafe, she instantly spotted a familiar black-clad and hooded figure standing at the counter with his hands shoved into his pockets.

She grinned, then sashayed over to him and leaned against the counter. “Excuse me, sir. Are you a janitor? Because you’ve swept me off my feet.”

Fenris recoiled at her abrupt appearance, then his eyebrows rose as he recognized her. “Hawke! What are you doing here?”

“Inspecting the goods, of course,” she said. She bit her lip and gave him a coy smile.

To her slight disappointment, he didn’t smirk in return. Instead, he ran a hand over his hood and dropped his gaze.

Rynne straightened up. “I’m picking up an order,” she explained. “It’s our usual after-party thing. Unfortunately, I drew the short straw for pick-up today.” She stood on her tiptoes and waved at Emile, who held up two fingers to her.

She nodded, then turned back to Fenris. “Did you get my text?” she asked brightly.

“I did,” he confirmed. And he said nothing more.

Rynne frowned slightly. He wasn’t looking her in the eye. Maybe he was just really focused on getting his coffee, but she was getting a distinctly weird vibe from him.

Well, he’d been weird when she first him, and that hadn’t thrown her off. “So. What are you up to today?” she said. “Want to come over and hang out with us?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said. “I’ve… I have errands to look after.” He nodded at the barista as she handed him his coffee, then turned away from the counter and from Rynne.

Her stomach started writhing. What was wrong with him? Had she done something wrong? She could hear Isabela’s voice in her mind telling her to brush him off and let it go, but Rynne’s shameless, prideless tongue wouldn’t stop wagging.

She followed him as he moved toward the door. “Do you want to go for dinner with me?” she blurted. “There’s an Antivan tapas place that just opened in Hightown. I haven’t been there yet, but Varric said the fish tacos are to die for.”

“No,” Fenris said bluntly. “I mean - no, thank you. I will see you on Tuesday.” He finally looked her in the eye - the briefest, most neutral look - then pushed open the door to the coffee shop and left.

Rynne stood dumbly near the door as she watched him leave. Then she slowly made her way back to the counter.

“Hé, Hawke!” Emile glided over and handed her a tray of drinks and a paper bag as he reeled off their regular order. “One Nevarran spiced chai, one espresso, one black drip coffee and one Arlathan apple spice, and one mixed box of Orlesian petit-fours… hey, are you okay?”

She hauled her face into a smile. “Yeah,” she lied. “I just remembered I haven’t done my taxes yet.”

Emile’s face fell. “Ah merde, I haven’t either! My father will have a fit…” He pulled his phone from his pocket and began madly tapping at the screen.

Hawke grimaced guiltily and backed away from the counter. “Er, sorry! I’ll, uh, see you later.” She hurried away from the counter and left the cafe, but as soon as she was on the street again, she let her smile fall away.

Her chest felt heavy, like someone had dropped a pile of rocks into her rib cage. Why was Fenris being so cold? Maybe she’d said something stupid last night that she didn’t remember. She had been pretty drunk by the end of the night. Maybe they’d argued about something

Or maybe she was just a deluded idiot, and he wasn’t actually interested in her at all.

She pulled her sunglasses down to hide her burning eyes. It doesn’t matter. He’s just a boy, she told herself. A handsome, intelligent boy with hidden depths, but still just a boy. As Isabela would say, boys come and go - literally and metaphorically - and they were imminently replaceable.

Maybe if she kept telling this to herself, the stupid childish pain in her chest would go away.

Maybe if she kept telling this to herself, she would start to believe it.

********************

Hawke slid Fenris’s water with lime across the bar. “Hey,” she said.

He nodded. “Hawke,” he greeted, but she’d already glided away to the other side of the bar.

Fenris watched her wistfully for a moment, then lifted his water and turned around on his stool to face the rest of the pub. The Hanged Man was relatively quiet, as was usual for a Tuesday; they didn’t do karaoke on Tuesdays, so the customary mix of 80s new wave and 90s grunge was pumping through the speakers and carrying the conversational susurrus of the laid-back post-work crowd.

Fenris sighed quietly. He slid his hand into his pocket and idly toyed with his phone. This was the first contact he’d had with Hawke since he’d run into her at Athenril’s cafe on Sunday. She hadn’t sent him a single text since then.

She’d only started texting him regularly about a week ago, but it was odd how quickly he’d become accustomed to the presence of her sunny swearing and ridiculous typos on his phone. Since the run-in on Sunday, she’d gone completely radio silent. It was…

Necessary, he told himself. It was necessary. She was getting too close, and Fenris couldn’t let that happen. The closer she got, the more dangerous it was for them both.

He’d been a fool at the party on Saturday. On the balcony during that moment of weakness, he’d told her Danarius’s name, and it was a foolish fucking mistake. Knowing even that much information was a risk to them both. What if she tried to Google Danarius, and someone was spying on her search histories and tracked her down to get information about Fenris’s whereabouts? Fenris used a VPN for all his online browsing, but Rynne didn’t seem the type to care about that kind of thing. Fenris wasn’t ready for Danarius and his men to come after him. He needed more time.

If Hawke learned anything more about Fenris, it could compromise his goals. His revenge would be at stake. Worse yet, Hawke herself would be in danger, and Fenris’s blood ran cold at the thought of any harm coming to her.

He briefly turned back to the bar and lifted his water. As he sipped from his glass, he glanced at Hawke again; she was leaning her elbows on the bar and giggling with a pair of businessmen.

“Puppy eyes.”

He turned and met Piper’s shrewd amber gaze. “What was that?”

“Puppy eyes,” she repeated. “That’s what Merrill would call your face right now.” Her eyebrows were lifted and her lips were pursed; her expression was the definition of unimpressed.

Fenris frowned and turned away. “There are no puppy eyes.”

Piper snorted. She leaned over the bar and stared at the side of his face. “This would be cute if we were all sixteen. News flash: we’re not. We’re all fucking adults.”

Fenris refused to look at her. He restlessly ran his thumb across his phone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” Piper retorted. For a long moment, she stared fixedly at him as though he was a bizarre piece of art, then straightened up and wafted away.

Fenris scowled at her slender back, then replaced his glass of water on the bar and went to sit by the door of the Hanged Man. Only one bouncer was needed on Tuesdays to monitor the inside the pub, but Fenris couldn’t help but wish he could sit outside today.

An agonizing few hours later, after the waitstaff had cleaned up and gone home, Fenris made his way to the bar while Piper and Hawke were starting to lay out the cash. But before he could say goodnight, Piper raised her eyebrows at him.

“I have to leave early,” she said.

Hawke’s head whipped up at her words. “What? Since when?”

“Since two hours ago,” Piper said pertly. “Cullen got off work early tonight, so guess who else will be getting off early?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Hawke groaned and rolled her eyes. “Wow. That was a stretch, even for you.”

Piper snickered and bumped Hawke’s hip. “It was clever and you know it.” She smiled as Hawke chuckled, then turned back to Fenris. “Can you help Hawke to count the cash?”

Fenris tensed, and Hawke’s grin immediately slid away. “What? No! I can do it on my own-”

Piper flapped her hands. “No, Fenris can help.” She looked at him. “I asked Varric already, he’s paying you for an extra hour. That works out for everyone, right?” Piper’s tone was light and friendly, but her eyes were like daggers on his face.

He clenched his jaw and gave her a hard stare, but her strong chin was belligerently lifted, and… well, the whole point of being here was the money. If he was being paid for an extra hour…

He turned his gaze to Hawke. “I’ll help. Tell me what to do, and it is done.”

Hawke stared at him for a second, then smiled tightly and shoved a pile of twenties toward him. “Fine. I hope you can do math.”

He frowned slightly. “Of course I can.” He sat on a bar stool across from her and lifted the pile of bills.

“Good,” Hawke said. “Because I can’t. Pipes is the brains of this operation.”

Piper laughed. “Nice try, bitch. You’re brilliant too.” She checked her phone, then hitched her purse onto her shoulder and waved at them. “Cullen’s just outside. Have a good night!”

“Bye. I hate you,” Hawke called to her departing back.

“Love you too!” Piper chirped, and then she was gone, leaving Fenris and Hawke alone.

Hawke stared blankly at him for a second, then shot him an alarmingly bright smile. “Who wants a drink?” She turned away and grabbed a lower-shelf bottle of tequila, then pulled out two shot glasses.

“Oh. Er - perhaps just one-” Fenris said dumbly, but Hawke was already pouring him a shot.

The pushed the tiny glass of tequila across the bar to him, then poured one for herself and immediately drank it. “Want a piece of peach with that?” she asked. “Piper calls it Fen’harel’s Fuzzy Cock. Well, she does when we add some lime juice to it. Three ingredients makes it a cocktail.” She winked at him as she poured herself a second shot.

“No,” Fenris said. “No peach is necessary.” He downed the shot and winced at the harsh burn of cheap liquor, then began counting the stack of twenties.

Hawke chattered the entire time they were counting the cash. Fenris listened as she complained about her favourite food stand in Lowtown closing last week and an outlandish anime she’d just finished watching and how she was planning a trip to Rivain in a couple of months. He watched with no small amount of wonder as she managed to swiftly count the cash and write the amounts on a spreadsheet while simultaneously talking and pouring them shot after shot of tequila.

By the time the task was almost done, Fenris was feeling a little hazy from the drinks, and he wasn’t sure how helpful he had ultimately been. “You may want to check this,” he confessed as he pushed a pile of dimes toward her. “I counted twenty-three, but I… I may have miscounted.”

She grinned at him. Her coppery eyes were brilliant from the booze. “Some helper you are,” she teased. She quickly counted the coins again, her face briefly furrowing into a frown as she counted them, then gave him a satisfied smile. “You’re good,” she said, and she wrote the amount on her spreadsheet, then began to tally it all up with a calculator.

Fenris watched her as she worked. She hummed to herself as she tapped in the numbers, some song that was vaguely familiar to him from earlier that night. Her face was peaceful and her tiny smile was sweet, and…

Venhedis, he wished his life really were this simple. If only he really was just a man working at a pub with a beautiful woman who hummed happy songs while she counted the cash. But this kind of simplicity, of uncomplicated peace and quiet… This was as foreign to Fenris as his native language was to her, and there was no point pining for something so bright when all his future held was blood.

She looked up from her spreadsheet and tapped at the computer over the till, then punched her fist in the air. “Yesss. Counted the cash while drunk. Pipes and Varric will be so proud! Or horrified. I can’t decide.” She grinned at him, but her smile froze when she met his eyes.

He stared at her, unable to breathe and unable to look away from her stricken expression. Then she dropped her eyes and began replacing the cash into the drawer. “Fenris, can you put the bigger bills into that envelope, we’ll lock it up separately in the safe-”

He reached out and took her hand. “Hawke,” he blurted, “I… I am sorry.”

Her hands went still, and her eyes darted back to his face. “Sorry for what?” she said faintly.

He hesitated as he realized that he wasn’t entirely sure what to apologize for. He hadn’t forced Hawke to talk to him, after all. She’d flirted with him and garnered his unwavering attention without any particular encouragement from him. He hadn’t asked her to be his friend. He hadn’t asked her to become the first person he’d trusted in a very long time. If he was sorry for anything, it was that he’d indulged her incessant attempts at conversation and gotten them both into this uncomfortable position in the first place.

But he couldn’t tell her that, not without explaining why they couldn’t be… whatever she clearly wanted this to be. Finally he settled on a cheap diversion. “You’re a beautiful woman. Is there no one else who has your attention?”

Her eyebrows leapt high on her forehead, and she smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that first part.”

He gave her a chiding look. “I’m a Tevinter gangster with years’ worth of blood on my hands,” he said bluntly. “None of those things bother you?”

She turned her hand in his grip and squeezed his fingers. “You’re not a gangster anymore,” she said.

A wriggle of guilt burrowed into Fenris’s belly, but Hawke wasn’t finished. “Besides, if I was interested in anyone else, I’d be with them. I’m only interested in you.”

He stared at her with growing puzzlement. “Why?” he said hoarsely. Now that he thought about it, he genuinely wasn’t sure why she was so drawn to him. He wasn’t even particularly nice to her. Kaffas, he’d been a downright ass the last time he’d seen her, and purposely so.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled slowly at him. “What, you want me to list all the reasons?”

With horror, he realized that it indeed sounded like he’d been soliciting compliments. “No,” he said hastily, but it was too late; she was already pouring more shots and talking.

“You’re smart. You’re funny when you’re in the mood. When you’re not in the mood, your angry face makes me want to rip my clothes off. I…” She trailed off and ran a hand through her tufty hair. “You get me, Fenris. Or I thought you did.” She downed the shot and poured herself another. “It also doesn’t hurt that you’re fucking gorgeous.” She tilted her head. “Why are you asking me this? Do you like me?”

With a slightly shaking hand, he gulped the shot she’d poured, then watched as she filled his glass again. “That is not the issue,” he hedged. “Whether I like you or not is irrel-”

She bluntly cut him off. “It’s a simple question, Fenris,” she said. “Do you like me, or don’t you? I can’t tell, you see. I need you to break it down for me like the idiot that I am.”

He shook his head in growing exasperation. This was not where he’d meant this conversation to go. Where… where had he meant this conversation to go? He couldn’t quite remember.

He lifted the shot glass to his lips. “We shouldn’t be together,” he insisted, then downed the shot.

She frowned, then placed her glass on the bar with a clatter and poured two more. “I told you stuff about me that no one else knows. And I thought… I thought it was the same for you. Was I wrong?”

“N-no,” Fenris said. He was feeling increasingly agitated. He was starting to get the distinct sense that he was being interrogated; ironic, since he was the one who had clumsily started this conversation.

“Then what’s the problem?” she asked. “Do do you like me or not? That’s all that-”

“Yes,” he finally snapped. “Yes, I do, all right? I like you, Hawke. I think about you, and… in fact, I’ve been able to think of little else.” He snatched the shot from the bar and gulped it in one big swallow, then slammed the glass on the bar and glared at her.

Her mouth had dropped into a comical little ‘o’. Fenris dragged a hand through his hair. “Why are you staring at me like that?” he demanded.

Her expression slowly lifted into a brilliant smile. “I didn’t expect you to say ‘yes’,” she said. Then she burst into laughter.

Fenris planted one elbow on the bar and pointed at her accusingly. “You see? This - your - you laugh like this and it… You drive me mad with your incessant flirting and your laughing and that macabre little dress of yours with the skulls-”

“Oh, that dress,” she drawled. Her voice was vibrant with mirth, like laughter smoothed and curled into speech. “You liked that dress, did you?”

“I…” He buried his spinning head in his hands, then scowled at her again. “I wanted to peel it off and watch it pooling around your feet,” he growled.

Her eyes widened, and Fenris watched with a nearly-vindictive rush of satisfaction as her cheeks turned pink. “Well, fuck me sideways,” she breathed.

Her evocative curse painted a brilliant picture in his mind: Hawke naked and sweaty, stretched on her side while he slid up behind her and stroked the inside of her thigh…

A roar of heat blazed through his chest from throat to groin, and he dragged in a heavy breath. His eyes were fixed on her lips, her plump and parted lips, and suddenly it felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, not even if he was panting for it.

Then Hawke lunged toward him and hooked her hand around the back of his neck, and before he could do more than gasp in surprise, she was kissing him.

Hawke was kissing him. Hawke’s lips, her fingers on his neck, it was… she was…

The next thing he knew, he was on his feet with one hand gripping her short dark hair as he leaned over the bar and kissed her back, and she was whimpering against his lips like the wanton little thing she was. There was a faint clatter of coins as she splayed her palm on the bar - the bar, the fucking blasted bar that stood between them, separating them and stopping them from doing something stupid-

She petted his neck and released a tiny sob of want when he nipped her lower lip. “Fenris,” she begged. “I want - I…”

“Come here,” he breathed. This was a foolish thing to do, an act of complete idiocy, but Fenris couldn’t stop: he was drunk on her, intoxicated by the reddened look of her lips and the taste of tequila on her tongue and the sheer shining joy in her eyes, and he wanted this more than he’d ever wanted anything in his cursed life.

Hawke smiled against his lips, then pushed away from the bar and hefted herself onto its surface, and Fenris gaped at her as she clumsily scrambled over the bar and onto her feet beside him.

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket. “Now, where were we?”

He didn’t waste his breath replying. He dragged her against his body and slid his thigh between her legs, then swallowed her rapturous cry with another kiss.

She slid her tongue against his own, then broke away with a moan as he slipped his fingers into her loose camisole and up along her ribs. “Fucking Maker’s balls,” she whined, then she gasped and thrust her hips against his leg as he snuck his fingers under her bra and pinched her nipple.

He breathed hard as he palmed her pert little breast. His body was thrumming, heavy and pulsing with the strength of his need for her, and he hadn’t felt this way in years. He hadn’t wanted this in years, not since he’d had the tattoos branded on his skin. The tattoos represented so many layers of resistance, of pain and emptiness and regret. Especially since leaving Tevinter, Fenris hadn’t wanted to be seen with these metaphorical scars staining his skin.

But in this moment, he would strip himself bare in the space of a second if it meant Hawke would strip herself as well.

He carefully licked her lower lip. “Let’s leave,” he whispered.

She pressed her lips together, then gasped again as he pinched her nipple harder. “Oh fuck,” she whined. “I… Fenris, we have to lock up the cash, I can’t just…”

He growled in frustration, and she laughed breathily. “You making that sound does not make this easier for me,” she panted. She pushed gently at his chest.

He reluctantly allowed her to step away, then penned her between his body and the bar. “A renegade with a work ethic?” he whispered in her ear.

She shivered prettily, and her hands were clumsy as she collected the cash. “Exactly,” she replied. “Never let it be said that I shirked my duties to this lovable dump.” She shoved the bigger bills into an envelope and replaced the remaining money in the drawer, then picked it all up and shifted away from him. “I’ll be super quick, I promise.”

He allowed her to move away, then shamelessly watched as she hurried to Varric’s office and let herself inside. While Hawke locked up the cash in Varric’s safe, Fenris pulled up his hood and wandered restlessly toward the door.

This was a bad idea, and he knew it. It was stupid and irresponsible, and he suspected that he was going to regret it tomorrow, but it just felt so fucking right. The lingering feeling of Hawke’s hands on his skin, stroking his neck and pressing against his chest - it warmed and riled him the more he thought about it. He thought about her lips and the sharp taste of her tongue, and it was so fucking wrong and selfish and unfair, and he was powerless to stop.

The distinct click of a lock caught his attention. He turned to see Hawke hurrying toward him with her phone in her hand. “I called an Uber,” she said. “It’ll be here in two minutes.”

Two minutes. He had two minutes to do the right thing. To tell her this was a mistake, that he was a complete and utter ass whose only legacy was a trail of bodies and blood and death, and that she should write him off altogether…

She slid her palms along his abs and lifted herself on her toes. “Kiss me while we wait,” she whispered.

He instinctively gripped her hips as she leaned into his chest. “You’re very demanding,” he said.

“Of course I am. This is everything I wanted,” she retorted. She bit her lip, and her gaze drifted up to his eyes. “You’re all I think about, too,” she murmured.

And just like that, Fenris was sunk. His resistance and his reasons were gone, obliterated by the woman in his arms, and in the muddled mess of his sex-scrambled mind, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

In this moment, all he cared about was her: the charming and infuriating woman in his arms, with all her merriness and her melancholy. And for tonight, Fenris was hers.

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