(athenril-of-kirkwall) ‘ you got two choices: let me carry you, or die out here. take your pick. ’ with any characters you'd like
Blood runs in crimson streaks through the street. Covers the blade Hawke so recently tugged out of Fenris, both of them hidden away in an alley. Maker, there is so much blood. The thick copper scent of it fills Hawke’s nose, weeps across his hand where it presses against the jagged open wound on Fenris’ side, gushing into the cloth Hawke tore off his shirt. Too much, Hawke’s hands shake even as they glow with pale golden light, he is losing too much blood.
Fenris hisses, a harsh breath forced out between his teeth. “Leave it be Hawke, it is nothing.” Sweat beads in swathes across his skin which is bloodless and ashen. Even his eyes are beginning to unfocus as Hawke desperately tries to staunch the blood flow.
Nothing his ass. “Shut up, I’m not going to let you just bleed out in some dirty alleyway Fenris. Not now, not ever.” But Hawke’s energy is running low, the pair of them ambushed on the way back to Hightown without warning and nearly off guard. The glow of his magic is weak and fading.
“Leave it be.” Fenris’ hand comes up to cover Hawke’s own, already cold and clammy.
Hawke shakes his head, “Did you not hear me?” Fast math in his head, how much mana he has left up against how deep the wound is. And Hawke comes up short. Time is not on his side either, no potions unless they can get-
Freezes. It would be close, he’s already exhausted from the fight and from squeezing as much magic out on this as he has left but. It’s where they’re headed anyway. His hand stills under Fenris’ and he takes his eyes off the wound to look up at him. Normally vibrant green muted and Hawke makes his decision.
“Okay, you got two choices: let me carry you, or die out here. Take your pick.” He has lyrium potions at the house, along with his tools and poultices and bandages. Everything he is missing here in this alleyway choked with blood.
“Hawke-” Fenris begins with a low rumble Hawke is surprised he can still manage before he dissolves into a wet cough.
Hands aching he continues to press them, hard, against the thin makeshift bandage. “I’m not going to ask again Fenris.“
“Fine.” Short and chopped and quick to match how Fenris’ breathing is harsh and ragged.
Without waiting for another word Hawke pours the last of his energy into the wound, nearly slumps over with the effort but manages to slip his arm under Fenris. Blood slowed to a thick, heavy trickle and it will have to be enough. Hawke hoists him against his chest and stands on shaking legs, “We’re going home and you’re going to stay there until this stops happening."
So cold, greyed out skin and labored breaths against Hawke’s neck. "You’re being ridiculous."
"Better ridiculous than dead.” Trembling step after trembling step Hawke makes his way back home. “Maker Fenris one of these days you’re-” Stopping the words before they can spill further Hawke’s hands clench around Fenris. “Just, promise me you’ll stop throwing yourself in harm’s way like this.”
Fenris shakes his head weakly, “If you would stop putting yourself there I would."
Crimson around Fenris’ wrist, smooth as satin and dry as bone. Hawke’s fingers glance against the token as he hurries through the backstreets towards his house. It’ll be close, closer than Hawke wants to ever experience again. But.
With the Maker on his side Hawke will make it on time.
