♚ s.t.r.i.k.e x t.w.i.c.e. ♚

He jerked to a stop and looked up at Hawke. Fenris let out a small sigh of relief before latching onto Hawke’s arm. He tried not to dig into the man’s skin with the gauntlets. The elf’s free hand grappled at the cliff face and his feet scrambled for purchase. Unable to find anything but smooth stone, Fenris growled in frustration.

“Maker’s great--” Hawke cut off, heaving them up an inch, “Hairy ball sack.” He gasped, barely keeping his footing. “Fenris you need to lay off the pies.” Despite the elf’s efforts Garrett could still feel the spiked tips of Fenris’ gauntlets dig into the meat of his arm, but that would hardly matter if they both ended up plummeting to their deaths. 

Hawke spoke so openly, so plainly, that it threw Fenris off a bit. He lowered his sword just a fraction — so that the tip rested under Hawke’s chin instead of at the tip of his nose. Staring up at him, his brow furrowed, lips turned down into a deep-set frown. Was it really a good idea to invite a self-proclaimed god to show off his power?

"The sharing of power and bonds between dragon kin are a complicated matter. You called to me, and I answered. That is enough." Hawke was somber for a moment, despite all that had transpired his mark could make or break a person, it tied them together in ways no one could undo, not even Mythal herself. He had to oversee, he owed it to the mortal of his choosing.

Fenris quirked a brow at the tease. He shook his head and slowly lead the way off the cliff. If the weed turned out to be worthless, he might just strangle Hawke later. Friend or no, he didn’t want to have wasted his time with this. Hawke was always so quick to jump to a task before looking into the details. 

“But whatever would I do without your delightful company?” It was another prod but Garrett did actually mean it, despite their occasional arguments the elf was insightful and humorous under the heavy veil of quietness he wore.

‘ i have quite a time before i’m your age, ser. ’ proving once more, for the first time in awhile, he is capable of joking. while rubbing his neck, he looks up to hawke from where he sits and smiles at him briefly, almost cheekily.

If Hawke’s eyebrows could go any higher they would. “Inquisitor.” He teased. “Was that a joke I heard? I was beginning to think you really weren’t the type.”

things to call tall people

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Well I’m definitely human, but I’m no mage.” He gestured to the blades at his back. “My sister is and my father was, my– friends, not me.” He shrugged a lingering note in his voice implying something a little deeper. “I’ve fought for them all my life, but I don’t blame your suspicious, perhaps it doesn’t mean much but two of my closest friends were elves, one a Dalish blood mage at that.”

“Always.” Hawke murmured, pulling the heavy blankets up around them both, he threaded his fingers through Fenris’s hair, and let his breathing even out. –He still felt a little guilty, even as his free hand traced the scarred lines of lyrium that trailed over the elf’s back, but what was past was past, he could only make amends from now on.

"I didn't have any plans on stopping, sweetheart." He brushed back Fenris' hair and kissed the cluster of marks he kept hidden by his bangs. "If you'd rather--" Garrett began, keeping up his gentle stroking at Fenris' back. "I could give you a proper back rub."

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“No offense.  You’re just a shem.  You’re a mage though, which makes you better than the other humans.  But ain’t easy to just fall in and trust.  If you get it.”  He ought to.  Anyone who’d dealt with people hating them for who they were would at least know that much.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Well I’m definitely human, but I’m no mage.” He gestured to the blades at his back. “My sister is and my father was, my– friends, not me.” He shrugged a lingering note in his voice implying something a little deeper. “I’ve fought for them all my life, but I don’t blame your suspicion, perhaps it doesn’t mean much but two of my closest friends were elves, one a Dalish blood mage at that.”

“Would you like sarcasm? I’ve heard I’m rather good at it–” she laughs out gently, resting her head on her chin and watching him now.

“Good enough to best the champion?” Garrett waggled his eyebrows, despite not using the title formally any more it was still a long standing joke he’d yet to strike from use.

     at the hand that threads through his hair, the herald        waves a hand and makes a noise of disapproval,  lips        pursed and followed with a slight huff as he straightens        his hair out.

Hawke huffs at him affectionately,  sometimes it’s  hard to believe this is  the man in charge  of legions  of soldiers and religious  fanatics. He wonders if Mikhail is Andrastian. It would be fitting, and he’d never seen the boy dissuade the rumours that he was Andraste’s herald.