#implied fenhawke

[inkzncowfolk]

this is the expression he makes right before deciding to leave u in the middle of the night wyd

[heylavellan]

Woo DA2!!! (also happy Friday!!!) For Hawke x whoever you're feeling (I can see Merrill or Anders maybe?), "they like me too? are you sure? is this a prank?"

finally got a better grasp on my hawkes as characters, so i thought i'd let merrill, anders, and karl gossip at the hanged man.

@miladydewintcr | @dadrunkwriting

gossip at the hanged man

rating: g

words: 298

additional notes: felicity is tranquil, and karl lives in this fic. a touch of kanders as a treat. hawke uses she/her

Merrill stared at her cup of apple juice, carefully considering the words that came out of Anders' mouth. He was currently pressed into Karl's side, who was holding him close with a grin.

"No, no. That doesn't make sense anyway. Hawke's been spending all her time with Fenris and her mask slips around him," she explained, blushing as she looked at her hands.

Hawke couldn't like her anyway. What with being tranquil. Sure, they had a rapport and Hawke took time to visit multiple times a week. Especially to help with groceries. Merrill still wasn't too good at figuring out how to properly store food without the mice tearing into it. Yet Felicity had overcome all their expectations, perhaps this is something she was wrong about.

Karl offered her a kindly smile. At least he was nicer than Anders about the blood magic. More sense, that was for certain. "In the way that you can, when you're tranquil. It's hard to explain, but even when I'm not around him I know he's important," Karl explained. "She likes Fenris. But back in Kinloch, she never could really settle on one person."

Merrill's mind immediately began racing. Perhaps Felicity had more Dalish ideas about relationships than she first expected. Her words escaped her mouth before she could stop them: "Are you sure? This isn't a prank, right? Wouldn't put it past Anders..."

"I swear on whatever god you deem relevant," Karl replied, squeezing Anders' shoulders.

Anders sat a bit more upright to add, "I'm trying to help out Felicity. I'd at the very least prefer to see her with a mage."

A warm feeling rose in Merrill's chest as she took a sip from her apple juice, smiling a bit to herself. Maybe there would be a chance for her.

[slytherkins]

Please reblog. Please do not repost.

[kaerwrites]

in one of your writings, varric mentioned how he would talk to anders after seeing how hawke is upset at how anders has been reacting to the fact that hawke and fenris are together now. i was wondering how that talk would go down between them.

It was easy to lose track of things sometimes. Carta contracts, deals with the city guard, publishers breathing down his neck - Varric was supposed to have a handle on things, but, looking at the man seated across from him, he realized guiltily that he really didn’t.

When was the last time he’d really looked at Anders? Sure, he saw him all the time, but how often did he stop to take a really good look?

It was an uncomfortable question, with an even more uncomfortable answer. Had his wrists always been so thin? His long hands so skeletal? Anders’s hair hung limp and unwashed in his sallow face, his nose and chin and cheekbones jutting forth against his flesh like a challenge. The black he wore made him pale, almost corpselike, like the bones that strained so painfully against his skin had decided to jump up and run around town without the benefit of life to aid them. 

For as long as they had known the healer, Varric knew Hawke had gone to pains to help keep him fed, ordering extra food and bringing “leftovers” from home even when he could scarce afford it himself. Despite their arguments and disagreements and tensions, Hawke took care of his family - and Anders was family. But Anders had been distant lately, absent, and it occurred to Varric that he hadn’t actually seen the former warden eat in a long time. Anders hadn’t joined the group for many meals at all this year. Varric couldn’t remember the last one.

“Hawke’s late. Looks like it’s just you and me, Blondie,” Varric said, casually, putting down his pen and leaning back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. When Anders looked up, his eyes were fever-bright, intense. For a moment Varric thought he saw the flicker of spirit-blue, brief and lightning fast in the healer’s brown eyes. He pretended not to notice. “You wanna play some cards while we wait? I’ll spot you a sovereign to get started.”

That gaze shifted away, furtive; Varric could see the journey of thoughts flickering across his friend’s face, though he couldn’t guess at what those thoughts were. He took out his cards, anyway, and leaned forward as he began to shuffle. 

“Shit,” Varric said. “I feel like it’s been a while. You’ve been scarce lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” Anders said. His voice was guarded and gruff. 

“We’ve been through too much for you to make yourself a stranger now,” Varric said, and the mage didn’t answer. The cards made that great shushshushshush noise they did as he arched two stacks between his hands and let them come back together. “You want a drink? Hawke said something about you wanting us to crawl around the sewers tonight. Could use some fortification.”

“If you don’t want to come, then don’t.”

Varric paused, rebuffed and stung. He frowned. Anders wouldn’t look at him. There was a protectiveness to the way he had his arms crossed, his body turned partially away. He was fidgeting. Varric put down his cards.

“Look, Blondie... you know you can talk to me, right?” Anders barked a laugh. Varric continued anyway. “I know this hasn’t been an easy year for you.”

“I wouldn’t know an easy year if it bit me in the ass.”

“Yeah, all right, that’s fair. But you seem...” to have gone downhill. Varric edited himself quickly. “Stressed,” he said instead. “Sometimes it helps to talk it out, that’s all. We’ve been friends a long time.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

Varric hesitated. He reached for his cards again, cut them, put them back down. “I know it hit you kind of hard when the big guy and the elf - “

“Don’t.”

“I’m just saying you can talk to me. That’s all.”

“I have more things to worry about then where Hawke puts his dick,” he snapped, and the savage fury in his words seemed to stun even him. For a moment, in his surprise, he almost looked like his old self again. 

Varric made himself keep his voice calm and casual. He started shuffling the cards again. “Yeah,” he said. “Been there. Not with the big guy, thank the Maker for little mercies. Heartbreak hurts like a son of a bitch. But ultimately, isn’t the important thing knowing that the person you care about is happy?”

“It is trivial,” Anders said, and his voice sounded more like Justice, and that alarmed Varric more than anything.

The door opened before Varric could answer. He heard the chorus of  “Hawke!” before he looked up to see those big shoulders in the Hanged Man’s doorway. There was no shortage of bar patrons who thought themselves friends of Kirkwall’s Champion just because they chose to drink in the same place. Hawke ignored them all as he made his way to the usual table. 

Fenris was with him, looking disheveled and happy, confident, secure, even relaxed. They had been holding hands, but stopped as they neared the table. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Hawke said.

“Your fly’s down,” Anders answered, coldly. “Let’s go.”

[jawsandbones]

❛ I will not be another flower, picked for my beauty and left to die. I will be wild, difficult to find and impossible to forget. ❜ (hawk to her mother.)

She pretends not to know. Shesays nothing about the late nights, the clothes she finds soaked with blood.The cracked knuckles, the fresh bruises, the cut on her chin. She pretends notto know, just as she pretends not to know that he left her. She doesn’t knowwhen it happened, when they drifted away. She remembers a gurgling baby in herarms, smiling brightly, reaching upwards. What a carefree and happy child shehad been – muddy boots and scraped knees, assembling her own gang of fellowchildren. A toothy grin and messy hair, presenting her with the frog she’dcaught.

Every bath would be full of dirtand grime, the room filled with her constant chatter. Telling her all about herday, every new thing she’d seen, everything she’d done. She grew and thesilence grew with it. Chatter was mere sentences, sentences became words, andwords became grunts. The silence and the magic grew hand in hand, and she wasmore Malcolm’s daughter now. She would stand in the doorway, watch Marian andMalcolm work the fields. The reasons why she had left everything behind, thecold that swept in after the fire. At least she still had her babies, hertwins. Smiling Bethany, darling Carver. Until they too, were gone.

She knew what it was to beyoung. Full of passion, a love of life, a defiance of rules and everythingproper. Leandra had long given up trying to control her. Never did she thinkshe’d return to Kirkwall, take control of the estate, and feel the weight ofthe Amell name on her shoulders. She thinks Marian should feel it as well, butthey call her Hawke and she comeshome with a split lip and a black eye. She still knows what it’s like, runningheadfirst into mistakes. “An elven slave,” she says over washing dishes, “Ihope you know what you’re doing.” Hawke throws down the drying towel, turns onher heel and leaves.

She can see them, even whenMarian thinks she can’t. That alcove by the Chantry, heads close together,talking and smiling. She says nothing about the token wrapped around his wrist,emblazoned with the Hawke sigil. She buried her own with Malcolm. She’s neverknown Marian to be patient and this Fenris is resistant. Time would wear,affections would crumble, and she wouldn’t make the same mistakes she did. Ababy they thought they wanted, a life they thought they needed, decisions theythought they would never regret. But oh, how they did.

“The Viscount is holding a gathering,”she tells her, “many fine young nobles will be there.” Marian lifts her feetfrom the table, settles them heavy on the floor as she slams her book closed. “Youshould meet with them before you’re past marrying age.” Leandra doesn’t need tolook at her to know her expression. She’s seen it in Malcolm before. The clenchedjaw, the hard line of her brows, those serious eyes boring holes into her back.

“Go yourself,” she says.

“At least one of us has to represent the Amellname,” Leandra hisses as she turns. Marian has her hands on her hips, laughingas she walks away. The book is filth, some common trash. They should havestayed in Lothering. There Marian would have thrived, amongst the wild.Nobility doesn’t suit her. Later in the evening, Leandra smooths down herdress, walks to the Keep alone. She receives a white lily, whispered words. Athome, Marian isn’t there.

[hunterofthegods]

“When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.”

— William Shakespeare

[kaerwrites]

Id love to see you write a drabble of Fenris realizing for the first time he’s befriended someone in the gang! Anyone at all! Implied or even mentioned fenhawke is always welcome haha Your way of writing Fenris feels the most accurate of anything I read its so easy to immerse in your stories!

I hope this is ok, dear. Thank you so much for the sweet words!

–

Hawke was his first friend.

Fenris knew it with a settled kind of certainty, though hecouldn’t quite manage to pinpoint when or how or why it had happened. He andHawke sort of just – fell in together. They made an unlikely pair, the fugitiveslave and the big-shouldered mage, and yet somehow it happened, so easily and sogradually that Fenris never stopped to question it.

Aveline, too, was a simple matter. They would never beclose, never share secrets and yearnings and dreams, but their respect wasmutual, trust earned.

Trust for Varric came with proof. Deeds that exceededflippant tales, small kindnesses that the dwarf thought unobserved. Friendshipcame after trust, with ale and cards and understanding.

Friendship with Isabela was as inevitable as the crashingwaves at sea. Forceful and bold, a force of nature, she found a place in hislife, eroding away barriers he hadn’t expected ever to budge.

By the time he met Sebastian, Fenris had four friends, andtrust didn’t seem such an alien concept. He was there when Fenris left Hawke,understanding, supportive. His friendship was priceless, unexpected.

Fenris thought he would never come to like Merrill. Hisfellow elf was infuriating, illogical, reckless.

But she wouldn’t make him so angry, if he didn’t care atall. In time he realized it wasn’t friendship, but family, that lay betweenthem, a connection deep and heartfelt and confounding.

Anders was something similar. Not a friend, and no, notfamily. But a part of his life, a piece of his puzzle, an influence on the manhe was to become. Maddening, insulting, enraging. Perhaps they could have foundunderstanding under other circumstances. Perhaps if their paths had notdiverged – Fenris, healing, while the mage deteriorated. Fenris would neverknow.

“Will you miss it?” Hawke asked when he found him lookingback, the day they left Kirkwall, and Fenris thought of the man he had been,the day he arrived. He thought of the things he’d gained, and the things he’dlost, his friends and his not-friends, the place he had found for himself.

“Yes,” he said, and he meant it, without hesitance, and whenHawke offered his hand, he took it.

[kaerwrites]

there are tales when people who had violent death would reborn as spirits both benevolent or malevolent. so fenris just want to be free from danarius and hawke is more than willing to help (and then stay somewhere close to protect this pure soul because no one deserves what hawke had)

“Begone, spirit,” the elf said. “I am no mage – and I shall makeno deals with you.”

There was no answer – not in words, not in action. Therewas, perhaps, a shift in the air, a feeling of amusement and affection, ofwarmth, and somewhere, within all that, a deep and abiding sorrow. A breezestirred his hair, and for a moment there was the tantalizing hope of a memory.Calloused fingertips, and the smell of woodsmoke and flannel. Amber.

The elf scowled, and swiped irritably at his head, shakingit and dismissing the feeling.

“Go away,” he said.

His name was Fenris. That was almost the extent of the elf’sknowledge. There used to be more.

He knew that he was a slave, the monstrous creation of amagister known as Danarius. He knew only because he was told so. Danarius washis creator, his master, his god. That was what he was told. He had understoodthat, once, they said. A more loyal monster the world had never known.

“My darling Fenris,” Danarius said, later, when he came tosee him again. “I know a part of you yet longs to return to my side.”

Fenris snarled and yanked on his chains, a dog on a leash.His master’s words rang false. His touch sparked a revulsion that Fenris couldnot explain.

“I will teach you to be obedient again,” Danarius swore.

Only when he was gone, did the spirit return – soothing hisaches, drying his tears. Angry, protective, loving. “Go away!” Fenris sobbed,even as he yearned for the comfort.

Sometimes, Fenris wanted to give in. Sometimes, the spiritwas all that kept him from it. Sometimes he hated it for it. He would rage,thrash against his chains until they bit into his skin, scream his voicehoarse.

He missed the spirit when it was gone for too long.

Fenris was longing for death, the day the strangers came.

“More locks,” the woman swore. Human, with wild, dark hair.The dwarf at her side hefted his crossbow.

“We’re clear for now,” he said. “Just be quick.”

It had been so long since he had been free, that it wasdifficult for Fenris to stand straight. A red-haired human – female, strong featured– took his weight upon herself, helping him to walk. The hall outside wasempty, and her sword was coated with blood.

“What – are you doing?” Fenris demanded, too weak to fight.

It was the dwarf who answered. He said, “What Hawke wouldhave wanted.”