Too many obsessions

Hawke couldn’t stop herself from reliving it all again and analyzing every moment to try to find where she’d made her mistake. He’d come to her, telling her that he couldn’t stop thinking of her and kissing her senseless. They’d had the best sex of her life, and he’d held her as they fell asleep.

Whatever visions he’d 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 she’d woken, it was too late.

She’d spent the last days curled up in her bed, ignoring the world, but the day had come that she’d promised Anders they would investigate his claims on the “Tranquil Solution,” 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 she’d felt her mother’s cool fingers on her forehead. 

“Oh, my dear, it will be alright,” Leandra had whispered as she ran her fingers through Hawkes hair. 

It had been difficult to not start crying to her mother like she was a child, but she didn’t want to have that conversation with her mother. 

Just a few days before Leandra had made teasing insinuations about Hawke and Fenris, the smile on her mother’s face had warmed Hawke’s 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 didn’t have that luxury. 

“Stupid conscience, always making me do hard things I don’t want to do… Why can’t 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,” she muttered to herself as she finished getting dressed. 

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 didn’t apply the paint every day, but today she wanted the extra armor.  

It was a practice she’d started when she was young, and they’d found her Mabari pup abandoned in the wild. At 14 she’d thought it made her look intimidating, her father had told her she looked like a fierce Ferelden warrior. 

Tired eyes met her in the mirror; she didn’t look like much of a warrior. Just a girl playing dress up. 

She realized that she’d have to stop by Merrill’s and ask if she would come along. The extra task made her body grow heavy. 

Originally, Fenris had insisted on coming and even though she knew it would anger Anders to have him there, she’d agreed. His blade would certainly be useful, and at that time she wasn’t sure she could stop him from following along.

But now… well, now she wasn’t sure when she’d see him again. Fenris had always liked to hide away and lick his wounds after something difficult, and this time she suspected he’d need a while away. 

Or perhaps this time she would lose him for good. 

He’d left with tears in his eyes and her scarf around his wrist, and she didn’t know where that left them. 

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, he’d had it tied to his wrist when she’d awoken to an empty bed, and he hadn’t explained before leaving. 

Maker, she wished she could hate him. 

She shook her head at those thoughts. They didn’t 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. 

“Stupid handsome face, with that dumb deep voice and dreamy eyes. Why can’t he have a less spectacular ass?”

She dragged herself downstairs, grabbing an apple, her staff, and sheathing her daggers. 

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.  “Ready to go kill some Templars, girl? I bet you are, yes you are…”

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. 

Then sanity returned. 

What the hell?

A confused, “Fenris?” 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. 

Nope, nothing earth-shattering and heartbreaking had just taken place between them. 

This was a completely normal day.

“Hawke,” 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.

“Can I help you?” Hawke finally asked, unable to stand the quiet any longer.

“You’re going into the smuggling tunnels with the abomination today, correct?” Fenris said as if they’d just discussed it the night before.

“You—you want to come?”

His eyebrows drew together, and he pushed off the wall. “If you insist on doing something so foolish, I insist on being there.”

“Fen—look, you don’t have to do this. I was going to get Merrill,” Hawke stuttered out her reply, still feeling lost.

Fenris’s slight frown turned into a full scowl. “You intend to venture forth with three Mages as you potentially face Templars?”

Hawke shrugged, fully aware that he was right and that she hadn’t given it that much thought.

“Well, I can’t very well bring Aveline, and Isabela said no. Varric will be there,” she said, as if any of that would be a comfort. 

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. 

On the other hand, this conversation was torture, and she tried to imagine walking to Darktown in that same dreadful silence. 

Maybe mass death was preferable. 

“Well, there is no need to bring Aveline, Isabela, or Merrill, since I am coming,” he said, lifting his chin and crossing his arms.

Conviction was written in every line of his body, and Hawke couldn’t be more baffled. As they stood locked in an awkward battle of wills, Hawke’s confusion turned to irritation. 

Most of her anger had been at herself for letting them carry on before he was ready. 

But here he stood, not letting her feel heartbroken in peace with his stupid, lovely eyes that bored into her now as if he hadn’t gazed at her tenderly while they made love just days ago. 

How could he stand here like nothing had happened? 

Instead of chasing the anger away like usual, she embraced it. 

“I can handle myself. You’re not needed,” Hawke finally bit out after her frustration reached its peak.

And finally, she got the reaction she’d wanted out of him, as those same beautiful eyes widened before skittering away.

It didn’t feel as good as she thought it would, and she sighed, rubbing above her eyebrows where a headache was already starting to form. 

When she opened her eyes again, she noticed something new on his person: a small Amell crest hanging from his belt. 

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. 

“You’re wearing the Amell crest,” 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.

“Oh. Yes,” 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 ‘whys’ sitting between them, and she worried that acknowledging them would push him away. “Where did you get that?” she asked instead, a safer question. “Bodahn.”

Ah, yes, of course. Hawke couldn’t stop her eye roll at his easy answer.

“I requested it by note. He had it delivered,” 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. 

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. 

Knew how his kisses felt, his hands, his… well other pleasant areas. 

But there was nothing for it. She’d rather have him in her life as a friend, than not at all. 

Finally, she pulled her mind from the gutter and let out another long sigh.

“Fine. If you’re so desperate to trudge through the sewers to fight, and probably be killed by Templars, who am I to stop you? To Darktown.”

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 they’d slept together.