An unprompted post-DA2 FenHawke piece for @dadrunkwriting based on the fact that while writing "the fastest way to stop me talling is to kissed" I realised that Adrian Hawke is definitely the type of person who won't be quiet - even when asleep.
Fenris had tried. He had really tried.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been—an hour, maybe two? He could tell by the slow shift of the stars through the porthole that it had been long enough.
And yet, despite being fast asleep, Adrian was still talking.
He was used to Adrian’s half-coherent midnight ramblings, the way he muttered about absurd things—treasure maps, duels that never happened, whether or not Orlesians put wine in their bathwater. Most nights, it was nothing more than background noise, something he could tune out.
But not tonight.
Tonight was particularly bad. Less fragmented thoughts, more full sentences.
Adrian sighed, shifted, buried his face deeper into the pillow, then mumbled with absolute conviction:
"If you think about it—really think about it—fish should wear hats."
Fenris exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.
Adrian moved again, pressing closer in his sleep. His voice was muffled but still far too clear.
"D’you think Isabela’s ever tried to—no, never mind. Stupid question. Of course she has."
A pause. A deep, contemplative breath.
Then:
"If I were a nug, I’d be so powerful."
That was it.
Fenris was done.
Quietly, he slipped out of bed, careful to avoid waking Adrian. He wasn’t going far—perhaps the galley, maybe some quiet corner below deck, even the crowsnest if nessecary. Just somewhere quiet where he could actually sleep.
One night of peace.
The door clicked shut behind him, muffling Adrian’s nonsense, and for the first time in what felt like hours, there was silence. Fenris exhaled, pressing his back against the wooden frame.
Leaving didn’t feel great, but self-preservation won out over sentiment.
Adrian would understand.
Probably.
Pushing off the door, he made his way up the steps toward the deck. The Crimson Gale was never truly silent—ships never were—but compared to the ceaseless chatter inside their cabin, the night air was mercifully still.
He paused at the top of the steps, glancing at the horizon before casually noting the locations of the night crew. The galley should be empty at this hour—perfect.
When he stepped inside, the galley was dark, save for the faint glow of embers still burning in the stove. He didn’t bother lighting a lantern, there was no need—he could see perfectly well in the dark.
He exhaled, settling onto a bench, leaning back against the wooden wall.
No muttered nonsense about nugs.
No fish-hat debates.
No one speaking at all.
Finally.
Silence.
And yet—
Slowly he noticed it.
Creeping into the edges of his awareness.
Every sound.
The way the ship creaked. The distant, muffled footsteps of the night crew. The slow, rhythmic slosh of water against the hull. The occasional, near-silent groan of the wood adjusting to the sea’s movements.
None of these sounds were unexpected. And yet…
He sat there, eyes open, tense, ears twitching at every tiny noise.
It wasn't just quiet, it was the wrong type of quiet.
The kind of quiet that made his skin itch, instincts too sharp to relax.
He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to shake the tension from his body.
It would pass.
The quiet wasn’t a threat. It was just—
A distant rustle of fabric.
His head snapped up, ears straining.
Nothing.
Just the wind shifting outside. The faintest whisper through the sails.
Ridiculous.
With a frustrated groan, he pressed his fingers to his temple.
He'd just wanted one night.
One night without Adrian’s rambling, his unconscious shifting, the warmth of his body beside him.
One night of silence.
Another sound, his entire body tensed.
This was absurd.
He let out a slow breath, closing his eyes.
The ship creaked. A rope shifted. Footsteps echoed.
His eyes snapped open.
No.
With a muttered curse, he pushed himself to his feet.
When he slipped back into the cabin, Adrian was still sprawled across the mattress, one arm loosely draped over Fenris’ now-empty side. His messy brown hair stuck up at odd angles, his breathing soft and steady.
Fenris lingered in the doorway.
This was foolish.
He had left for a reason. He could still leave—turn around, go back to the galley, let reason win out. But the bed was warm, Adrian was warm, and the quiet outside had been worse than the nonsense in here.
With a quiet sigh, he surrendered to inevitability and slid beneath the still warm blankets.
“Mm?” Adrian mumbled, voice groggy. Not awake. Just shifting. His hand finding Fenris’ chest, fingers splaying lazily over his heart.
He sighed.
Then barely audible:
"Hats for fish… Dolphins... they are already smug."
Fenris closed his eyes, exasperated.
And yet—
His lips twitched into a smile.
The quiet was worse.
