Hello!
I'm Rak, mid 30's, they/them. This is a Fenhawke blog plus posts of other DA characters and ships I like. Occasionally I post mine and other's fanfiction. Fenrevas on A03.
Occasional posts relating to political issues, which I will tag.
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I co-run @fenhawke-week and a Fenhawke discord server - message me if you would like to join!
Link to my A03.
Series set during DA2.
Fenris x Hawke series set during DAI.
Fenris x Hawke x Zevran series set after DAI.
My OC Ash Hawke
Full Name: Ash Najila Hawke
Nicknames: Hawke. âBright eyesâ, used by Isabela, which is the meaning of her middle name in Arabic. Ash's middle name is inspired by my Lebanese nana's name.
Age: 36 during Inquisition
Height: 5'7
Gender/Pronouns: Gender non confirming/genderqueer woman. She/her
Sexuality: Bisexual/Pansexual
Hobbies/interests: Boxing, writing angsty poetry then burning the pages before anyone can read it, playing games with her friends
Fighting style: Duel daggers rogue (shadow/assassin) & boxer-brawler
Personality: Ash, as a purple Hawke, is friendly, outgoing and prone to making awkward humorous comments. Underneath her outgoing exterior, she has a lot of inner conflict. Ash is often impulsive, jumps before she looks, âstabs first, asks questions laterâ. She really loves pancakes!
There's loads more I could yell about her but I will leave it there!
Warnings: none. Game violence kinda. Brief mentions of blood
@fenhawke-week
"I think I win" Hawke said, oh so confident as he spun his mage staff around and winked at him.
"Oh yes? How many did you get?" Anders asked from just behind Fenris, making the elf roll his eyes. Clearly Hawke had been talking to him but of course the mage had to interrupt.
"34." Hawke said, his staff now behind his head resting across his shoulders with his arms draped over it on either side. "Fenris?" he challenged by name this time.
"Also 34" the elf said, smirking some at her as he put his sword away.
"So we need a tie breaker" the man said, looking around for yet another battle.
This was friendship with Hawke. Always on the move, always being challenged to keep pushing forward, always a game and a show. But it was also someone who would die and kill for him in an instant without any questions. Something Fenris knew and would always appreciate.
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Happy posting and happy Fenhawke Week - let's go!!!
Here are some of the most recent updates from our members this past week! Go and check them out, comment, kudos, and show them some love for their work
Knee deep in flowers, we'll stray by Sunstream7
-Viessa Surana copes very well with her partner's Templar training and certainly does not have any complex thoughts about her own life.
@sunstream7
Skipping Stones by TrillianNSeven
-Rurik has always used charm as a way navigate the world without ever having to take things too seriously. But when he turns that same charm on Tahlenâs mother, his friendâs reaction is more complicated than a simple disagreement over manners. Perhaps some innocent flirting was a way to finally get two idiots to start talking properly.
@trillianwrites
Many Arms Around the Mast by lemondelighted
-Darkness, silence, pressure. And now, as the water fills her, understanding. The vast greatness of the ocean is not crushing her; it is shaping her into something new. The fight against gods and monsters is set aside after the arrival of an unexpected note brings Dasha Laidirâs greatest and worst desire within reach. The Tevinter merchant who had once held her in golden chains is back in Minrathous, and his reappearance on the board will not go unchecked.
@lemondelighted
Only the Word dispels the darkness by fade-tongue-expert
-Sparrow Surana has never gone out of his way to hide the fact that he is not like most men, nor is it something he feels the need to talk about; itâs just a fact of life. In the Circle, no one cared, and since leaving it isnât something heâs had much time to think about. This makes the moments when others take notice all the more interesting, as Sparrow learns as much about his compatriots as they do about himâ if not more. Or; moments when other characters realize the Hero of Ferelden is trans (and the limitations of Thedosian language around this concept).
@fade-tongue-expert
What's the Qun's opinion on Abominations? by tarasmom UPDATE
-Patience didnât belong here. They tolerated her, and she made sure to be useful, but the biggest consequence for Rafaelâs open hostility was mild scolding. And yet BasalitâReth made sure to treat her as an equal, to make sure that at least her needs were met. It was such a strange experience. A low bar, to be sure, but between her life in the tower and what she could remember of her parents, sheâd been an obligation at best, a burden to suffer through at worst. With BasalitâReth, it felt like he looked after all of them because it made his life more complete. Patience didnât quite understand it, but BasalitâReth returned a smile, and the idea of her presence making someoneâs life better, despite literally being most peopleâs worst nightmare, warmed her as much as the delicious mug of tea.
@tarasmom
Phoenix Rising by katamara4654
-What happens when an atheist female surgeon, Talia Elgadir, gets dropped into Thedas after her death on Earth? A whole lot of chaos. She's stubborn, sees how awful elves and the lower class are treated and she's having none of it. She's going to help the Inquisition save the world, all the while learning that she has a secret she didn't even know she had. ~âYou asked me a while ago if Iâm ready, if this is what I wanted to do. I donât think itâs what I want to do but what I need to do. You were Wisdom in the Fade, I am Perseverance, with the guidance of Renewal. I think I was either brought or born into this world to help bring back the balance, which the Evanuris destroyed,â Talia said with a small resigned smile lighting her face.~
I'm Lost and I'm Found by fade-tongue-expert UPDATE
-Lydra prepares to travel to Wycome to face Clan Lavellan-- and their past.
@fade-tongue-expert
The Remedy by Fiber_Punk
-Jowan can't stop acting on his overwhelming thoughts about his childhood best friend Makara Amell. At her suggestion, he attempts to purge himself of his fantasies by intentionally masturbating to the thought of her. However, the remedy doesn't work on the first application, and suddenly the remedy becomes more problematic than the actual sickness. AKA: Jowan and Amell realize how addicting power exchange can be in a powerless place like the circle.
@fiberpunk027
Sober Thoughts by BreathlessFlame
-Farryn gets drunk enough to confess to Fenris after many years of pining. It's always about the pining. For FenHawke Week 2026 - Day 1: Longing
@shayslounge-art
Lead Her Safely by DalishDays UPDATE
-Chapter 2: Through the Paths of This World
@lelianasconscience
White Wolf, Crimson Favor by cassafra5 UPDATE
-Fenris and Corrine get ready for the coming day and arrive at the tournament. Sensing imminent danger, Corrine sets her plan into motion and gives Fenris her favor.
@cassafra5
Like Foxglove Wine by Tieflings_and_crows
-The last thing Viago excepted to do after a contract was end up in his former lover and protege's bed. But that one decision reignited feelings they both thought were dormant. But danger is always around the corner when you are a crow and it tends to follow you and your lover even on your vacation. Can both Viago and Carphria survive what the threat has planned for them and can their feelings for each other remain intact?
@ladyofcrowsandcoffee
Hawke's Phonics by BreathlessFlame
-Farryn teaches Fenris to read. For FenHawke Week 2026 - Day 2: Reading Lessons
@shayslounge-art
Lessons in Longing by Fenrevas UPDATE
-This chapter was written for #Fenhawkeweek26 Day 2: Reading Lessons | Grief Guard what you have and keep it safe, right? Reading lessons are put on hold for a while and Fenris tries to comfort Hawke.
@rakshadow
Reading Lessons by lyriumtits
-Vissenta brings new reading material to Fenris. Written for Fenhawke Week 2026.
@lyrium-tits
at beauty's sacred shrine to pray by kilmorgancastle UPDATE
-Chapter 3: epilogue: letters
@kilmorgancastle
I am away for a big chunk of July but I managed to churn out a little drabble!!! My first bit of Threnody fic (kind of), aaaaa
676 words, teen
The thing in his dreams is not Hawke.
His Hawke - his Threnody - was a storm folded in on itself - a large, unruly body and heart doing its best to stay within the lines. It had taken him so long to see that, in the beginning - the constant effort, all the ways she hated herself for the overflow. He had only seen the spill - the swagger, the affected selfishness, the magic that burned so bright it hurt to look at - not how much it had cost her.
After Kirkwall, with the help of years and time and a life that the stories knew nothing about, Threnody had begun to learn how to flow. She had gone quiet, for a while, and slowly learned a different kind of loudness - a truer, less self-conscious kind. She had begun to laugh at their own jokes, so hard it made them snort and tears run down their eyes. She never would have done that before; it would have interrupted the performance.
The thing in his dreams never laughs.
He never thought, when Threnody taught him to read (one of the only times he had ever seen her unguarded - her finger poking hesitantly at the letters, glancing at him nervously, biting her lip and focusing for fear of teaching it wrong) that he would learn to hate the written word.
The thing in his dreams is a parody. The swagger is there, and a little of the affected selfishness, but the magic grows dimmer every night. The thing in his dreams is neither large nor unruly - in body nor in manner. Every joke is perfectly timed. Every movement fluid and smooth. She holds her head up high, even when she doesnât know whoâs watching. Worst of all, when the thing in his dreams speaks, the voice is Varricâs, not Threnodyâs, not Hawkeâs.
It is worst when she remembers.
One moment sheâll be sweeping him off his feet, having just saved the day, with a cheeky wink and a grin on her face - and something will curdle in her expression. Her face will fall. Her movements will slow. She will look at him - really look - and say âFenris? Is that you?â He will say âyes, Threnody, I am here,â and his voice will be thick with tears. She will say âoh, Maker. Where am I? Where did I go?â He will say nothing, only reach to cup her face with his hand - but before his skin meets hers, she will be gone again, lost in the lie they told.
Merrill explained it to him, once, while he sat bedraggled at her fireside, trying not to hate himself for accepting a maleficarâs comfort. The Fade is a realm of belief - and Hawke has been trapped there a long time. Physically there, not just in her dreams - and nobody knows what that does. But the theory goes like this: anything that stays long enough in the Fade eventually becomes like the Fade. A product of belief. And, well, what most people believe about Hawke isâŠ
âThe Tale of the Champion,â he had finished for her.
Varric sends him a letter, every once in a while. They all go in the fire. The thing in his dreams would hate him for that. Maybe Threnody would too, just a little.
It has been a decade since Threnody taught him to read. When he puts pen to page, the letters come steady and even - although he cannot help but worry, sometimes, that a reader could tell how late he learned. It does not matter. He will be getting plenty of practice, soon.
A fresh roll of parchment. A full pot of ink. He has made a desk of his dining table, set everything else to one side. Threnodyâs mabari snoozes by the fire. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, sets his feet flat against the floor. He steadies himself, and he begins.
The Champion of Kirkwall was a storm folded in on itself.
Belief is a thing that can change - and for a beginning, this will do.
Check out our pinned post for Event Rules and FAQs
Reply to this (or the relevant daily prompt post) with your art, fic or other Fenhawke fanwork underneath
Or create a new post and tag @fenhawke-week
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Tips
Don't forget to tag your post with #fenhawkeweek26 and optionally add your works to the A03 collection
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We are across different timezones and schedules so don't panic if your post isn't reblogged straight away. If it's been more than 24 hours, you could DM one of us with a link to your post in case we have missed it.
Happy posting and happy Fenhawke Week - let's go!!!
I kind of wanted to do a bunch of art for FenHawke Week (@fenhawke-week) like I did for Rookanis Week back in February. On the other hand, I also don't have as much fic stuff written for Aelinn Hawke and Fenris as I do for my other DA ladies. So, I decided that since FenHawke Week is eight days, I'd alternate art and fic. (Also, that way, I don't drive myself absolutely batty trying to jam out eight art pieces on limited time.)
So for today, I decided to go with the "Grief" prompt and write a ficlet for these two. Sorry, this is sad, but it's the saddest fic day for the week, if that helps?
This is set just after Leandra's death. Hawke is grieving. She and Fenris are already in their "Act II breakup" phase of the relationship.
Grief
(1,301 words)
Read on AO3
The oppressive silence in the Hawke Estate loomed over Fenris like an angry ghost, scratching at his nerves with ragged claws.
Hawkeâs home should have been boisterous. Warm. Full of life and laughter. Visiting friends. Loving family. Respected staff. A place the people in her circle could call comfort, could call a second home.
Instead, the grand fireplace in the main hall stood dark and cold, ashes scattered across the floor like something had been raked out recently but no one had cleaned after. Letters piled up on the sideboard, beneath a bare spot on the wall where a portrait had once hung. Hawke and her family, when she was younger, Fenris thought, but couldnât quite recall for certain. Faulty memory, perhaps.
Guilt at not paying more attention to his one-time loverâs home, more likely.
The soft pat of his bare feet on the floor seemed to thunder in the lonely space. Fenrisâs lips thinned into a hard line. The others should have been there.
He should have been there sooner.
But no, Varric had to prod him out of his own self-pity to even convince him to come, and after all the pretty arguments of who was best suited and who might just make things worse and who Hawke really wanted to see, the only thing that had finally convinced Fenris was the promiseâthreat?âthat if he didnât step up, Anders would.
And, even though Hawke had thrown out Varric and even shouted at Merrillâand she never shouted at Merrillâand even though Fenris was probably the last person she wanted in her home, he now stood at the bottom of the stairs and hated himself for hesitating.
Orana appeared briefly in the hallway that led to the kitchens, holding a tray of food. Their eyes met. Hers were puffy from crying. Fenris felt his soften, and wondered if he looked as lost as he felt.
To his relief, Orana said nothing. She simply inclined her head and disappeared back into the shadows. Relinquishing the task of reaching out to Hawke to him.
The stairs felt cold underfoot as he climbed to the upper landing. The silence continued to lean in as though it could smother him too.
Hawkeâs door mocked him in its steadiness. The last time heâd laid eyes on it, heâd left Hawke behind, her eyes dark andâheâd thought thenâaccusing. Only, heâd come to find after, heâd misunderstood. Heâd broken whatever fragile, fledgling thing had grown between them, and sheâd blamed herself for it, not him. Had continued to speak in his defense against Anders even though he didnât need it. Had continued to treat him as a person even though he didnât deserve it.
Heâd driven in the knife, and twisted it, and she still called him friend in spite of it all.
He considered knocking, and instead tried the handle. The door creaked as it opened.
âI told you I didnât want any,â Hawkeâs broken voice quavered from the far side of the bed. It cut right to Fenrisâs heart.
The room was a mess. Bed linens rumpled and tossed aside, clothes strewn about, Hawkeâs glaive propped against the half-open wardrobe like a drunkard. A tray of uneaten and congealed food sat on the desk. The curtains were drawn as though to shut out the outside world. The fire in the fireplace guttered under a thick cloak of ash. Shadows coated everything as the lone lantern on the nightstand struggled to illuminate anything. The room smelled stale and musty.
Hawke huddled on the floor as far from the door as she could manage, hunched over her knees, head hanging between them, her hair a disheveled mess. She still wore the clothes Fenris had seen her in the day herâ
Well, the day everything fell apart.
He rounded the bed, cautious. Hawkeâs mabari, leaning against her like his weight alone could bear her up, lifted his head to whine plaintively at Fenris. And around Hawkeâs feet, scraps of black spilled like wool leavings in the weaverâs quarter.
Oh.
Hair.
Hawkeâs hair.
The knife sheâd obviously used lay just out of her reach, strands still clinging to the blade. He could see now the rough hack-job sheâd done of the cut, hear the shudder in her breaths of emotions long wrung out.
She turned her head slightly as he approached, one tear-swollen, red-rimmed eye watching him warily. If she was surprised to see him and not one of the others, she didnât show it. Her breath hitched again as he settled next to her, a polite distance away. It might as well have been a chasm.
A half-choked sob that seemed to die in her chest, and she rubbed her arm across her face with an ungraceful sniffle that sputtered into fresh tears. âI take it Varric sent you,â she said, hiccuping on the words.
He couldnât meet her eyes. âI know I....â He swallowed. Searched for the words. Found only helplessness that galled him. She needed more than he was. More than he could be. And yet he was the only one at her side at the moment, aside from her dog.
Because a certain dwarf thought he might succeed where the others had failed.
âIâm...not sure Iâm the one you want to see right now,â he finally managed.
She shrugged listlessly. He swallowed down his knee-jerk irritation at the implied dismissal and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to try again.
âYou were right.â
The defeat in her voice, muffled against her knees, brought him up short.
âYou...and the templars....â Her shoulders shook with her next breath, and she kept her face buried between her legs. âMages ruin everything they touch.â
Ice lodged in his stomach as effectively as a blade, and he felt the prickle of the lyrium markings along his shoulders and spine flaring up in response.
What has magic touched that it does not ruin?
To hear Hawke, fiercely proud of her magic and yet kind and caring and protective of those she loved, who put up with him and his mess and his sharp tongue, say those words....
To agree with him....
His heart clenched around the damage he had done.
âWould it...help you? Thinking that?â he murmured.
She tried to laugh. The sound snagged in her throat and squeezed out as a sob. âI failed her, Fenris. I failed Carver. I failed Bethany.â Hawke hugged her legs closer to her. âWhat good is magic if all I do is fail the ones I love?â
He had no answers. He knew what he wanted to say, but shouldnât. He thought he knew what he needed to say, but couldnât. All he could manage was an awkward hand on her shoulder. Too light. Too heavy. It felt like both and an intrusion all at once.
âI donât know,â he forced out. The closest to truth he could find to give her. âMaybe...itâs better not to fill these moments with unnecessary words.â
She did manage a laugh this time, bitter like stale beer. âEloquent as always,â she sighed.
He bit back the harsh words that tried to spill loose.
âBut thank you,â she added. âFor being here.â She took another shaky breath. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. âI know itâs...itâs hard, and...Iâm not the best right now....â She choked.
He pulled her to lean into his chest without thinking. She didnât protest. Her fingers clutched at his armor leathers, holding on as though he was her only lifeline, and she buried her face against his chest and sobbed.
When she finally cried herself to sleep an hour later, he carefully moved her to the bed, stroking her raggedly shorn hair out of her eyes, and left her there with an inadequate apology and all his regrets.
âInquisitor Lavellan, there is an elf identifying himself as a âBlue Wraithâ here to see you.â The guard stated quickly, looking quite shaken. Kelly, an older elven female, lifts her head from looking down at the maps in the war room. âWhere is he?â She follows as the guards starts towards the war room doors. âHe- well, last I saw, he was in the court yard- I believe Varric was speaking to him.â âVarric was speaking to him?â She shouldnât be surprised- the dwarf was a smooth talker.
As they reach the courtyard where Cassandra usually trained in Skyhold, Varric was indeed standing there with an elf, the dwarfâs back to the approaching woman. The elf lifts his gaze, his forest green eyes cold and void of emotion besides anger. The markings on his skin flicker and a hint of electric blue light flickers, He reaches up and draws his greatsword off his back, causing Varric to glance behind him before trying to stop him. âFenris- Wait-!â âOut of my way, dwarf.â The elf, now identified as Fenris, nearly shoves him out of the way, stalking over towards Kelly.
She herself was unarmed- she had no reason to carry a weapon when Skyhold held no serious threats. A set of footsteps and another sword being drawn was heard behind her, causing Fenrisâ markings to brighten. âTemplar. This is between me and her.â He growled, causing Kelly to look over her shoulder, seeing Cullen indeed brandishing his own sword. âCullen,â She raises a hand to him. âStand down. Let me handle this.â The blond hesitates, before stepping back, sheathing his sword back on his hip.
Kelly turns back to Fenris, who was now holding his weapon and standing in preparation to strike her. Now that he was closer, the older elven warrior could get a better look at him. His hair was disheveled, possibly from weeks of travel; the bags under his eyes told a similar story, and his armor was dirty; he bore no obvious injuries, but she could smell the unmistakable scent of iron coming from him, possibly soaked into the leather of his armor.
Varric had told her about Fenris. Former slave, was a companion in Kirkwall, sporting intricate scars infused with lyriumâŠ
âŠand was Hawkeâs lover.
Her eyes widen as it fell into place. The Champion of Kirkwallâs lover. The one Varric said he had to write a letter to after Hawke stayed behind in the Fade so they could leave.
Surely she could remedy this by a simple introduction and try to explain what happened, right? âFenris, I would like to introduce myself. I am-â
âI donât care who you are. Where. Is. My. Hawke?â
Updated Chapter for @fenhawke-week Day 2: Reading Lessons | Grief
Excerpt:
It is the first time he has visited her bedroom since the night he came to her all aflame and left her alone and cold. Her ember eyes sad beneath her ever-present smile as he slunk away in cowardice.Â
Fenris creeps up the stairs like an intruder. He is uninvited this time after all. He intrudes regardless. His pulse quick, a sharp pain in his chest. No less than he deserves.Â
The door is ajar and Dragon lays across the entrance, guarding what he loves. His ears twitch and his eyes roll in Fenrisâ direction. His stumpy tail begins a sad thump-thump against the floor. Â
âGood boy,â Fenris tells him and the Mabariâs tail thumps louder. Â
Her bedroom is so quiet. It is strange being here without the warm peal of her laughter. The way she lights up every room until all anyone can see, think, feel is Hawke.Â
Thereâs the dull echo of people shouting and birds singing their warning calls coming from the Hightown courtyard below. The stench of sewers, and baked goods from the market streaming through the open window. Outside, Kirkwall is as mad and bustling and craven as ever, but inside these walls everything is muffled beneath the veil of Hawkeâs grief.Â
He scans the room for her, expecting to find Hawke nestled in her bed like a creature hibernating for winter. The bed is messy and unmade, but thereâs no sign of Hawke. Â
âHello? Hawke...â He coughs to clear his throat, suddenly wishing his hands were not empty, and he had at least thought to bring some nice pastries, flowers, a book, a blade, something that might offer her comfort. Â
Read the rest:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Day 1 ⊠Day 2 ⊠Day 3 ⊠Day 4 ⊠Day 5 ⊠Day 6 ⊠Day 7 ⊠Day 8
Day 1 of @fenhawke-week 2026
(Fenris & Eleena Amell Hawke, 9:37 Dragon)
Fenris: "I... may not get the chance to say this again. Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me, Hawke. Promise me you won't die. I can't bear the thought of living without you."
Hawke: "I don't make that promise unless you do."
Based on my latest chapter of White Wolf, Crimson Favor - Ch.4 In Her Favor !
@fenhawke-week
It was past dawn and a hazy dew lingered in the air over the Vinmark Mountains. Corrine awoke to the high-pitch ringing of a whetstone against steel and the glint of the dying fire against metal. She sat up abruptly only to see Fenris looking over his blade. The dim sunlight dappled over his bare arms and highlighted the lyrium marks wrapping around them as he turned the blade over. His eyes scanned the length of it and over every detail before his ears pricked to the sound of her movement. Pausing, he gave her a sideglance.
âSo much for keeping watch,â he said dryly. Their squire, Valentin, was passed out facing the rising sun with his mandolin still clutched in his arms. Meanwhile, other members of the camp were already stirring and Athenril was already on the far end of the camp directing the elves with the limited patience that they had paid for.
âI couldnât have been out that longâŠâ Corrine muttered to herself as she wiped the sleep from her eyes. She had stayed alert for at least a couple hours with her mind racing with thoughts of the tournament, of risk, and of the complexities that were already unfolding with this mission. At some point, all the thoughts had run together and everything had gone black.
âIt was enough, I hope.â Another dry response. Was it sarcasm, concern, or a bit of both? He didnât follow up to confirm it was either. They had shared a bottle of wine the night before and then a dance to celebrate with the freed elves; now a new day lay ahead to tackle the joust and the simmering emotions between them.
Before she could respond, his attention was back on his blade. Taking some wood ash, he appraised its grit between his fingers before mixing it with some oil from his pack and applying it to the blade with a soft cloth. He ran it along the blade in long strokes. He seemed lost in thought; it was part of a long-practiced ritual, a sort of meditation.
âIt was. Thanks.â She started. âGood that you let me rest; they say the Fade calls to sleep-deprived mages and leads them astray.â The head turn was abrupt and immediate. He had a noticeable grip on the blade as he stared at her.
âReally?â He asked wryly.
âNo,â she stifled a laugh. âNot really.â
âAnother bad jokeâŠâ He exhaled through his teeth before turning the blade in his grip and turning back towards the dying fire.
Grinning, she cupped her face in her hands, still sitting up from her bedroll. âNo need to worry. Iâm just a normal girl, after all.â
âBut youâre not.â Fenris countered.
Her heart sank as he sighed and looked to his blade to pick up where he left off but paused before speaking. His tone was conflicted but thoughtful, as if saying more would betray him. âYouâreâŠsomething more.â
Her expression softened. Something more. Her magic indeed made him wary but there was something else that pulled at him. At both of them.
âYou as well,â she responded.
Caught off-guard, he gave another side-glance. He looked downwards while in thought for a moment before returning to his work, though she caught the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.
She ran her fingers through her hair, untangling the knots she had gotten from tossing and turning before noticing the extra roll that had been placed top of her sometime in the night. She felt the thick, worn material with her fingers. It smelt of leather, petrichor and ash; it smelt like him.
Closing her eyes, she took it all in for a moment. His smell, his words, everything that had transpired before and what laid before them and what felt inevitable despite her denying what she had seen in her cards. She got up from her bedroll and folded his across her arms before approaching him.
âYou didnât need to do that for me. Did you even sleep?â She asked as she set the folded roll by him.
âThe Dalish advise covering and hiding hapless travelers spending nights in the Vinmark Mountains, lest the Dreadwolf take them in their sleep.â Fenris stated flatly.
Corrine blinked in confusion, wondering if this was something new he had picked up on from his travels or from Merrill. âWait, what? They say that?â
âSeeing as Iâm not Dalish, I wouldnât knowâŠâ he trailed off before a grin spread across his lips. âSo no, not really. And I am accustomed to little sleep. It seemed you needed it more.â
âIâm not haplessâŠâ she asserted. She shook her head at being fooled once again by the elfâs perfect poker face.
âYou were trembling in your sleep,â he pointed out.
Her eyes fell to her hands as she sighed. It wasnât from cold but from the same recurring nightmare she had had since Bethanyâs death. What awaited them at the tournament was weighing on her and with it that ever growing fear once again.
Noticing her expression, he leaned in. âHawke, I-â he cut himself off. A force of habit. After the other day, she had a new name and one not even Varric called her. It still felt too foreign on his tongue and to call her âLady Corrineâ felt too painfully familiar.
She smiled solemnly. âWhen we get to the tournament, itâll have to be My Lady or Lady Corrine. If Iâm tied to the Hawke name, they could very well also tie my knight to it as well. Risky if Danarius is involved.â
She was met with silence as he looked away as his brow furrowed. Titles left a bitter taste in his mouth after his escape from the Castellum Tenebris but was a necessary charade.
âIs that all?â he asked with a dark chuckle. âDonât pretend you donât enjoy this little play youâve put on.â
She cocked her head slightly at his remark before leaning in close. Her lips parted in a mischievous smile as she spoke. âI wonât deny that I enjoy how my name sounds when you say it.â
He was taken aback before she continued. âDo it for the tournament and after, we can go back to routine and I can be âHawkeâ again, if thatâs what you want.â
âItâs not thatâŠ,â he started before they both heard a loud yawn as Valentin roused from his sleep. He stretched out all four limbs before looking over at them lazily. Looking over yonder, the skies had lightened and it was high-time to head out.
Valentin, true to Athenrilâs description, was a skilled squire and assisted Fenris with the armor Corrine had provided. He was soon unrecognizable under the sheets of steel and under the helmet. The white charger Athenril provided was tractable enough that he seated it with ease and soon the three bid farewell to Athenril and the elves and went in separate paths through the Vinmark Mountains.
-
Despite what he had heard from Donnic and Aveline, nothing could prepare Fenris for the sight of the tournament grounds that stretched from end to end. Corrine had asked him to let her do the talking with guardsmen at the front and, brandishing the invitation she had, the three were able to make it through with minimal fuss though talk of the Amell House entering the grounds with just a small crew instead of an entourage did raise eyebrows. Lady Amell and her knight Blaidd received a mix of tepid welcomes and curiosity from the other nobles. Talks of the âwild-cardâ Amell quickly began to make their rounds among the other lords and ladies during the opening ceremonies.
Arriving, Corrine and Valentin already noticed small signs of tampering. Perhaps a noble, upon seeing their entrance, had tossed some coin at attendant with loose enough morals to tamper with the straps on their horseâs saddle and weaken their lances. It was something she already expected and it only made her more sure of the plan she had been racking her mind over.
There was only a short break before the tournament started where Fenris was able to see Corrine before she was to head to the stands. In the midst of all the hustle and bustle of the crowds, they hadnât spoken but he had kept his eyes on her. She was a vision in red; fully committed to her role as âLady Amell.â No longer in mage robes, she had adorned herself in a dress befitting a noble lady. It was impressive how quickly she had camouflaged herself though, with how many eyes were on her and her team as a defiant new challenger, he wondered if it would be enough.
Fenris had removed his helmet in order to get some air before the first rounds. The pavilion they were in offered a welcome reprieve to be away from the wandering eyes and whispers. As Valentin fussed over the finer details of his equipment, Corrine noticed his eyes on her.
âHow do I look? Convincing enoughâŠ?â She asked as she did a turn. Her tone was playful but there was that bit of hesitation in her voice as she looked up at him for approval.
âYou lookâŠdifferent,â he said with some reluctance. In reality, he was struggling with his words. Seeing her in the dull light of the pavillion, adorned in gold and red and without the facial markings she normally had during missions, was different. She looked almost regal. The way her hair cupped her face and how the fine silk folded over her delicate form made his breath catch in his throat.
âWhat?â She choked out a laugh as she looked over herself, suddenly self-conscious. âIs it that bad?â
âItâs an improvement.â Another gruff response and another failed attempt at trying to get his words across. He caught his squire cringing at the entire exchange as he tended to his lances from the other side of the pavilion. Fenris sighed as his hand cupped his face in frustration.
She grimaced. âAn improvement. What are you trying to say?â
He sighed and pushed through his embarrassment and continued, casting his eyes to the side ââŠthat youâre beautiful.â
She was speechless for a moment before smiling and taking the sight of him in. The old armor they had found rotting in the basement of the Amell Estate so long ago was unrecognizable now on him. There he was, her knight donned head to toe in Amell armor, sharp-eyed and battle-ready. It filled her with pride and awe.
âThank you. And you make for a stunning knight,â she said softly as she approached him. âIâm honored.â
Their moment was interrupted by the sound of a horn going off in the distance. âFIRST PASS TO START IN FIFTEEN MINUTES!â came the cry of the announcer across the field.
She looked pensive for a moment, internally deliberating on her choice. âYouâll need to finish up here. I have one last thing to give you, if youâll indulge me.â She pulled from her side a ribbon in the same color as her dress.
âA ribbon?â He muttered skeptically.
âA favor,â she corrected. âItâs customary for a maiden to give her knight a favor. Itâs for luck, though hopefully, you wonât need it.â They had less than fifteen minutes left. It was time for her to enact her plan - the card she had been saving.
He scoffed. Luck was something he felt had long evaded him, though his freedom and progress in Kirkwall had all been fortuitous after joining in with Hawke and her team. Her sapphire eyes looked at him eagerly until he relented. âFine. Have at it, then.â
Smiling, she took out a small blade from her pack. He eyed her with suspicion as she cut a lock of her dark red hair before taking it her hand and stretching the fabric out in front of him.
âGive me your wrist,â she instructed.
He held out his right arm to her and watched her work as she worked the fabric around the hair lock and in circles. Each movement was deliberate and careful to tie the lock tightly in place.
She gently pulled his wrist to her lips and kissed it before looking up at him. âDone.â
He didnât pull away but eyed her and exhaled a breath he had held from the moment she had began tying the favor. Even through the armor, it was almost as though he could still feel the warmth of her lips against his wrist. It felt out of place to have her looking up at him, an elven slave wrapped in armor, as if he was her liege. As if she was the one in his service instead.
âAre favors normally sealed with a kiss?â He asked with a grin, raising an eyebrow. âIs that part of your luck?â
âIn a sense.â She smiled to herself as she let go of his gauntlet. He was skirting too close to the truth. âIâll be with you on the field, in spirit.â She turned to leave but he caught her hand. There was a pause before he spoke.
âIâll make every strike count and look for you in the stands,â he promised. His thumb caressed the inside of her palm as he held it gently.
âIâll be cheering for you,â she responded with a grin while reluctantly pulling away. âIâm sure youâll make me and House Amell proud.â
As she left to the stands, he found himself admiring the favor that she had wrapped around his gauntlet with such care. Her dark red hair was secured in the same red material as her dress. He brought it to his face, smelling the bergamot and vanilla heâd come to associate with her on so many nights back at the mansion.
Even if luck didnât exist, the favor secured around his gauntlet made him emboldened to win, for the mansion and for his lady.
First post for @fenhawke-week !!! Thank you @midnight-life-4ever-blog for your help! Prompt: Hawkeâs Favor || Longing
'Whatever you decide, I will understand. And it'll all be fine, just go back to being friends." ~ Kaleidoscope, Chappell Roan
***
It was a spring day in Kirkwall, not the kind that brought the smell of flowers on a warm breeze or the hope of summer. The air was chilled, and the clouds overhead threatened an even colder rain. As Hawke glanced out the window, she was strangely glad theyâd be in the tunnels under Darktown rather than out in what was shaping up to be a thunderstorm, though she was sure sheâd regret it as soon as they set foot in the blasted, shit filled, Lyrium tunnels.
The weather reflected her mood, and as she donned her armor, she took a few minutes to indulge in the hurt feelings. The buried feelings of resentment mingled with sadness and confusion to create the perfect self pitying cocktail. She didnât often allow herself to sink into the depth of despair, so it was a nice treat.Â
A glance toward the bed brought up a different but familiar feeling: longing. Was it really just three nights ago that she and Fenris had lain there together, sheets wrapped around their legs, grins on their faces, before theyâd gone to sleep and it had all gone wrong?
Hawke couldnât stop herself from reliving it all again and analyzing every moment to try to find where sheâd made her mistake. Heâd come to her, telling her that he couldnât stop thinking of her and kissing her senseless. Theyâd had the best sex of her life, and heâd held her as they fell asleep.
Whatever visions heâd seen, happened while she was in the Fade, far away and unable to protect him from the pain as she always tried to do. By the time sheâd woken, it was too late.
Sheâd spent the last days curled up in her bed, ignoring the world, but the day had come that sheâd promised Anders they would investigate his claims on the âTranquil Solution,â and it was important enough to get her out of bed.
Hawke had kept her mother and the servants at bay with a fake hacking cough and pleas to let her rest, but she had a feeling her mother knew something was amiss. Leandra had stopped in one evening, as Hawke pretended to sleep and sheâd felt her motherâs cool fingers on her forehead.Â
âOh, my dear, it will be alright,â Leandra had whispered as she ran her fingers through Hawkes hair.Â
It had been difficult to not start crying to her mother like she was a child, but she didnât want to have that conversation with her mother.Â
Just a few days before Leandra had made teasing insinuations about Hawke and Fenris, the smile on her motherâs face had warmed Hawkeâs heart a bit. Her mother approved, wanted her to be happy.
Hawke glanced again at the bed, still deep in the torrent of resentment and pain. It would be so easy to fall back into comfort and lock out the world, but many mages didnât have that luxury.Â
âStupid conscience, always making me do hard things I donât want to do⊠Why canât I be one of those nobles who gets to sit around all day eating chocolate? Oh, but no! I must be the hero of the whole fucking city,â she muttered to herself as she finished getting dressed.Â
While applying her Kaddis, a red stripe of paint across her face to match her Mabari, Forte, she stared at her reflection, hoping to find the strength other people seemed to see in her. Hawke didnât apply the paint every day, but today she wanted the extra armor. Â
It was a practice sheâd started when she was young, and theyâd found her Mabari pup abandoned in the wild. At 14 sheâd thought it made her look intimidating, her father had told her she looked like a fierce Ferelden warrior.Â
Tired eyes met her in the mirror; she didnât look like much of a warrior. Just a girl playing dress up.Â
She realized that sheâd have to stop by Merrillâs and ask if she would come along. The extra task made her body grow heavy.Â
Originally, Fenris had insisted on coming and even though she knew it would anger Anders to have him there, sheâd agreed. His blade would certainly be useful, and at that time she wasnât sure she could stop him from following along.
But now⊠well, now she wasnât sure when sheâd see him again. Fenris had always liked to hide away and lick his wounds after something difficult, and this time she suspected heâd need a while away.Â
Or perhaps this time she would lose him for good.Â
Heâd left with tears in his eyes and her scarf around his wrist, and she didnât know where that left them.Â
Definitely not in her bed, Hawke thought ruefully.
The spot on her vanity where she usually kept her scarf still sat empty, proof that Fenris had been there. There were other ways she could keep her hair out of her eyes, but its absence just brought up more questions. Inexplicably, heâd had it tied to his wrist when sheâd awoken to an empty bed, and he hadnât explained before leaving.Â
Maker, she wished she could hate him.Â
She shook her head at those thoughts. They didnât serve her. The mission today was too important to be worrying over Fenris, but thinking about Fenris had become one of her favorite habits over the last few years, and it was a hard one to break.
Her muttering started up again.Â
âStupid handsome face, with that dumb deep voice and dreamy eyes. Why canât he have a less spectacular ass?â
She dragged herself downstairs, grabbing an apple, her staff, and sheathing her daggers.Â
With her Kaddis applied, armor on, and weapons ready, she felt a bit steadier, and as she called her Forte to her, she felt ready to face the day. Swiftly, the Mabari bounded over, eager to please and excited for a fight.
Hawke smiled down at the big-headed beast and began roughly petting her head and neck.Â
âReady to go kill some Templars, girl? I bet you are, yes you areâŠâ
She indulged in the baby talk for a moment before opening the door and freezing in place.
Right outside her doorway stood Fenris, leaning against the wall like a handsome, broody statue. Eyes closed and arms crossed, she examined the bags under his eyes and the weariness in his posture.
Maker, he looks exhausted, and she had to fight the urge to start mothering him.Â
Then sanity returned.Â
What the hell?
A confused, âFenris?â was all that left her mouth.
He opened his eyes and looked at her like there was nothing strange about his appearance in his usual spot by her door.Â
Nope, nothing earth-shattering and heartbreaking had just taken place between them.Â
This was a completely normal day.
âHawke,â he returned, his face giving away little.
Then there was silence between them. Silence used to be a comfortable thing with them; they would talk for a time and then lapse into quiet as they stared at a crackling fire or a book and shared a bottle of wine. This silence was brittle and strange, and Hawke longed to go back to that old comfort.
At that moment, she wished their night together had never happened. She wished they could go back to the comfortable longing that had existed between them, instead of this knowledge and hurt.
âCan I help you?â Hawke finally asked, unable to stand the quiet any longer.
âYouâre going into the smuggling tunnels with the abomination today, correct?â Fenris said as if theyâd just discussed it the night before.
âYouâyou want to come?â
His eyebrows drew together, and he pushed off the wall.
âIf you insist on doing something so foolish, I insist on being there.â
âFenâlook, you donât have to do this. I was going to get Merrill,â Hawke stuttered out her reply, still feeling lost.
Fenrisâs slight frown turned into a full scowl.
âYou intend to venture forth with three Mages as you potentially face Templars?â
Hawke shrugged, fully aware that he was right and that she hadnât given it that much thought.
âWell, I canât very well bring Aveline, and Isabela said no. Varric will be there,â she said, as if any of that would be a comfort.Â
An image of her, Anders, and Merrill all purged of magic, while their Dwarven friend and his crossbow fought on, filled her mind like poison.Â
On the other hand, this conversation was torture, and she tried to imagine walking to Darktown in that same dreadful silence.Â
Maybe mass death was preferable.Â
âWell, there is no need to bring Aveline, Isabela, or Merrill, since I am coming,â he said, lifting his chin and crossing his arms.
Conviction was written in every line of his body, and Hawke couldnât be more baffled. As they stood locked in an awkward battle of wills, Hawkeâs confusion turned to irritation.Â
Most of her anger had been at herself for letting them carry on before he was ready.Â
But here he stood, not letting her feel heartbroken in peace with his stupid, lovely eyes that bored into her now as if he hadnât gazed at her tenderly while they made love just days ago.Â
How could he stand here like nothing had happened?Â
Instead of chasing the anger away like usual, she embraced it.Â
âI can handle myself. Youâre not needed,â Hawke finally bit out after her frustration reached its peak.
And finally, she got the reaction sheâd wanted out of him, as those same beautiful eyes widened before skittering away.
It didnât feel as good as she thought it would, and she sighed, rubbing above her eyebrows where a headache was already starting to form.Â
When she opened her eyes again, she noticed something new on his person: a small Amell crest hanging from his belt.Â
Maker, help me.
For a few terrible seconds, she thought she might cry. She closed her eyes, counted to five, and got herself back in check.Â
âYouâre wearing the Amell crest,â she stated, forgetting their disagreements from a minute before.
Fenris looked down at his belt as if he had just been made aware of it.
âOh. Yes,â he agreed, running his hand over the crest.
Why was on the tip of her tongue, but the word struggled to get out. There were so many âwhysâ sitting between them, and she worried that acknowledging them would push him away.
âWhere did you get that?â she asked instead, a safer question.
âBodahn.â
Ah, yes, of course. Hawke couldnât stop her eye roll at his easy answer.
âI requested it by note. He had it delivered,â Fenris supplied quickly, as if that was the most pressing thing she was curious about.
She fought with herself, desperate to understand what was in his heart but terrified of driving him away.Â
Maybe this would have to be the new normal, Fenris acting cool and collected while wearing his affection for her on his body and Hawke trapped in a prison of longing that she would never escape. Only this time the longing would be worse because she knew what she was missing.Â
Knew how his kisses felt, his hands, his⊠well other pleasant areas.Â
But there was nothing for it. Sheâd rather have him in her life as a friend, than not at all.Â
Finally, she pulled her mind from the gutter and let out another long sigh.
âFine. If youâre so desperate to trudge through the sewers to fight, and probably be killed by Templars, who am I to stop you? To Darktown.â
She punctuated her words with a wave of her hand and started off, not bothering to turn around, knowing that he followed behind as he always did.
As they made their way, the silence still hung around them. A hungry ghost from the days before theyâd slept together.Â
She let her mind take her to a peaceful place, where there was no wall between them and they were just friends again.
Maybe someday they could make it back there. And maybe, someday, she would learn to stop wanting more.
Everyone always turned to stare at Hawke when she walked into the room. Thatâs just the kind of person she was, even before the stories started to get out. She had a presence, something that went beyond the face tattoo and the lip rings and the eyes that you swore could glow at you in the dark. Itâs why there were stories, after all. All of Kirkwall could tell that a woman like that was one in a million.
The way the elf stared at her, though? Well, that was different.
When Fenris stared at Hawke, you felt like you were seeing something private. It wouldâve been less scandalous to walk in on the both of them naked, honestly. We all could tell something changed overnight, even without that scrap of red silk he started to tie around his wrist all the time. The first time he showed up at the Wicked Grace table with that thing on, everyone stopped talking.
Everyone but Hawke, that is.
âSilver to buy in,â she said, cheerful as ever. She scooted over on the bench to give him room, and he sat down at her side, and everything was just like normal. Only the sharp-eyed observer would have noticed that she sat up a little straighter, that he held himself a little too carefully, and that the steps of their practiced little dance were too practiced.
