and if I requested "you keep saying you're fine and your hands keep shaking so I need you to pick one" for fenhawke .....
Not quite the exact quote, but the spirit is still very much there. (Be gentle, I haven't played the game in a hot minute.)
On most occasions Garrett Hawke thinks heās seen it all. Been there, done that, got the tunic. Heās fled a Blight and then spent a year working the seedy underbelly of one of the most vile cities in Thedas. Heās smoked out blood mage rings and dissipated hauntings, freed slaves and plumbed the depths of the Deep Roads. Heās even survived seeing his little sister torn to shreds in front of him, somehow. Heād thought himself inured, impervious to anything Kirkwall could throw at him.
Children. They were using children.
There is a bitter, heavy silence as they trudge their way back to the Hanged Man, each one of them enclosed in their own mind, repeating what theyāve seen over and over in their heads. Anders, constantly rubbing his hands over his face, doesnāt even stay for a pint, disappearing back to his clinic with almost a Dalish goodbye. Varric gives them a hollow-eyed nod and leaves them in the common room, holing himself up in his room and making certain they wonāt follow by shutting the door tightly, something he rarely ever does.
That leaves Hawke and Fenris. Fenrisās gaze has been steel, his face a storm since they cleaned the place up and reported the whole thing to Aveline, his entire body one single line of furious, disgusted tension. And Hawke, wellā¦
How heās still standing he doesnāt know, but he certainly doesnāt feel as if heās there. Heās viewing the whole world from three feet to the left, a spectator as his body works on its own.
āHome, then.ā He tries for at least neutral ā cheerful would be utterly beyond him ā but of course he misses it by a country mile. His grip on his staff he hasnāt put it away yet he really should put it away itās too conspicuous really is white-knuckled, somehow the only thing keeping him tethered to himself.
He leaves. He can feel Fenrisās gaze on him as he follows, and although Hawke is silently begging him to stay he canāt be alone right now Makerās breath heāll go mad if heās alone right now he knows perfectly well their paths will diverge once they make Hightown. The journey there, up the many steps, is silent, but again, Fenrisās gaze is a physical thing, both lead and gossamer at the same time.
In front of Hawkeās door, they pause. For a goodbye, Hawke thinks. Fenris looks him in the eye, and there is profound concern there.
āDo you wish me to stay?ā he asks, quiet, the distance between them a chasm and nothing at all, they might as well be touching.
Hawke feigns a smile. Heās usually good at it. He doesnāt want to know what his face is actually doing right now, itās probably not pretty, but itās the best he can do under the circumstances. From Fenrisās reaction, heās done a piss-poor job of it.
āIām fine,ā he says anyway.
Fenrisās gaze turns flinty. āYou always say youāre fine, but from the way your hands are shaking, I doubt you are.ā
Hawke blinks, looks down at his gloves. Oh. He hadnāt even noticed, how funny, he really is trembling like a leafā¦
āI will stay,ā Fenris says, with a finality that Hawke meekly acquiesces to with nary a protest, and he starts when Fenris takes one of his shaking hands and leads him inside. It is dim beyond the threshold, a single lantern left lit by Motherā¦ no, waitā Orana for his return. Somehow that makes it all worse.
His staff falls to the ground, a clatter of wood and steel, his fingers unable to hold it any longer. His knees buckle, and Fenris sits him on one of the chairs near the fire. He removes his gauntlets and takes Hawkeās hands in his own, and Hawke feels ashamed at how they tremble still.
āYou carry too much, sometimes,ā Fenris murmurs. Hawke merely tilts forward, too hollowed out to cry, and Fenrisās shoulder takes him, carries him for a while.
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