Work Text:
A LIVE COAL IN THE HEART
Hawke pulled her sword across the oiled whetstone in frustration. She'd never been particularly skilled at the task, but her blade had dulled to the point of uselessness from her duel with the Arishok; the now dead Arishok. Once upon a time, she would have asked Fenris to do this for her, but ever since he'd ran out on her, things had been strained and awkward between them. She pushed down at the hurt that threatened to engulf her and focused on her anger instead. Stupid blighted elf.
Truth be told, she was beginning to think coming to Kirkwall in the first place was the worst mistake of her life. What matter that Meredith had proclaimed her the Champion of Kirkwall? What did Champion mean with her sister's corpse still lying in the Deep Roads, her mother murdered by a maniacal mage and her lover hiding away in that derelict mansion avoiding her like the plague? And those were just the three BIG things – there were so many others…
The answer was easy – it didn't matter. It was a hollow title, grudgingly bestowed. Oh yes, she'd seen the look on the Knight Commander's face when she'd burst into the throne room to find Hawke standing over the Arishok's dead body. The woman should have just held up a sign that said, "You will pay for stealing my glory, Ferelden dog."
Hawke pulled the blade across the whetstone again, and the metal shrieked in protest from her clumsy efforts. She huffed in frustration and attempted to slow her hand. There was, however, a cherry on the top of this particularly miserable scenario – but it was a poisoned fruit and its taste was bitter indeed.
Her best friend had betrayed her.
From the first moment they'd met, she'd had an instant kinship to Isabela, even though in many ways they were complete opposites. Where Isabela was a dark beauty with her obsidian eyes and raven black hair, Hawke was fair and blond with eyes a blue so pale they often seemed white. Isabela was bawdy and always flew by the seat of her pants. Hawke, however, lived by the warrior's code of honor and duty. Perhaps it was their differences that had made them attracted to each other like the opposite ends of a magnet. Whatever the cause, her pirate friend with her sharp, shiny blades had been a fixture at Hawke's side from the first. It was Isabela she'd run to after Fenris had left, and although several days and nights of drinking and cards and inappropriate flirting with the entirely wrong sort of men had not cured Hawke's broken heart, it had gone a long way to dulling the pain.
Thinking back, it was almost funny that Hawke that had been the only one even slightly surprised when Isabela had run off with the Qunari relic. Yes, she had returned at the last possible minute, but to save Isabela's life and freedom, and to avoid an all out war with the Qunari, she'd been forced to accept the Arishok's challenge - and she now had the scar along her ribcage to prove it. The truth was Isabela's betrayal had cut her more deeply – cut her in places no one would ever see.
A soft knock at the workroom door interrupted her thoughts.
"Enter," she said absently, not really caring who it might be.
She watched in surprise as a mop of white hair and a pair of green eyes peered around the door, and a rumbling voice asked, "Am I disturbing you?"
For a moment, she was struck speechless. This was the first time Fenris had come to her home since their one and only wild and glorious night together. Hawke pulled her thoughts together and managed a calm enough voice, "I'm not busy. Come in."
He approached her warily, his gaze shot down to her sword and he winced. If anything the blade's edge was in worse shape than when she'd begun.
Hawke cleared her throat. "I suppose I should have taken this to the smithy," she said as she lifted her blade for inspection.
Fenris had the good grace to flush, but recovered quickly and asked, "May I?"
Hawke nodded as she set down her sword and moved away from the table. Fenris took up the task, and for long moments, the only sound was the smooth slide of blade across stone. How did he do that? He made it look so easy, but she knew the skill it took and his hands were remarkably… No, she would not think of that, it only led to pain and regret.
In order to distract her wayward thoughts, Hawke asked, "I'm sure you didn't come here only to sharpen my sword. Did you need something, Fenris?"
"Yes," he drawled and paused in his task. "Though I have no right to ask."
"Do you not?" she questioned. "I thought at least we were friends."
A look of such pain crossed his handsome face that Hawke felt an answering pang in her breast. Their eyes locked, and in that moment she didn't know if she wanted to punch him or kiss him. Did he regret leaving her? In the years since, he'd never said a word. Apparently, he was going to remain silent even now. "Out with it then," she said harshly in an attempt to cover her more tender feelings.
Fenris proceeded to tell her the story of Varania, his sister. Hadriana had attempted to use the knowledge of Varania's existence as a bargaining tool for her own life, Hawke remembered. That hadn't worked out for Danarius' pet pupil. Hawke could still remember Fenris saying, "You have my word," in that slow drawl of his just moments before he'd thrust his lyrium-lit fist into her chest. After he'd tracked his sister down and began a long correspondence, he'd convinced her to come to Kirkwall and sent her the coin to do so. Now Varania was here, staying at the Hanged Man, but Fenris was afraid it was a trap set by his former master, Danarius.
"Come with me, Hawke," he said. "It would mean a lot to me. That's all I ask."
"Can't we meet her somewhere else?" she asked. "I don't like going to the Hanged Man."
This seemed to surprise him, and he lifted one brow as he said, "This is new. You once practically lived there."
"No longer," she bit off. "I don't like the clientele."
Fenris studied her for several minutes before asking, "What aren't you telling me?"
Hawke felt the anger erupt in her chest and between clenched teeth she said, "And what gives you the right to ask?"
He visibly blanched, before nodding his head once. "You are right. I forfeited that right some time ago," he said in a low growl.
She took a deep breath and turned away from him, trying to collect herself. Of course she wanted to go with him to meet his sister. Whatever the current state of their non-relationship, she would not have him lose his freedom. Honor and duty, she thought, were difficult taskmasters. She did not, however, want to have the displeasure of running into Isabela at the Hanged Man, and in order to convince him, she would have to explain herself.
"I don't want to risk seeing Isabela," she said tightly. "The bitch betrayed me - after all we'd been through together. She was my best friend." She looked at him pointedly. "Frankly, I've recently had enough of that sort of thing to last me a lifetime."
Fenris surprised her by asking, "You consider my actions a betrayal, as well?" He nodded as if answering his own question. "I suppose I deserve that."
"And what would you call it?" she asked heatedly.
"Cowardice. Fear." He glanced down at the floor before his eyes met hers again and she could have sworn there was a sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. "I would ask you to forgive me, but…"
His words had caused her mouth to dry, and her heart to beat rapidly within her breast. What was he saying? "But what?" she asked.
Suddenly, his expression became fierce, and his eyes blazed. "I am not free to do so until Danarius is dead," he spat. "So I ask you, will you come with me?"
If Hawke had been angry before, now she was incredibly confused. Did Fenris still harbor feelings for her? He seemed to be hinting that was true, and if it was, did she want to risk her life and her heart for someone so emotionally damaged? She longed for him, wanted him, but did not trust there could be a future with him. In the end, however, her practical side won out. Those questions were for another day. What mattered was Fenris' freedom.
"I'll come with you," she replied briskly. "We'll go as soon as my sword is ready for a fight," she added, nodding at her neglected blade lying forgotten on the table.
"I thank you." Were his only words as he resumed his task.
It turned out the easiest part of her day was helping Fenris kill Danarius. Considering the plethora of slavers, corpses and demons – never mind the powerful Tevinter blood mage – the fact that her day had gone downhill from there was saying something.
Oh, and let's not forget the light-hearted moment when Fenris had crushed his betraying sister's heart. Not a pleasant sight, even though Varania had more than deserved her fate. Didn't anyone believe in loyalty anymore?
Fenris had returned to his mansion feeling more disgusted and depressed than feeling free and victorious, and she would meet him there later as she promised. Right now, however, there were a pair of dark eyes fixated on her with a look of entreaty shining in them. Maker, she did not want to deal with this. She almost wished the bitch had just kept running. Hawke surely did not need more drama right now. Being friends with Isabela was no longer fun – in fact, it was the opposite of fun – it was downright painful. There was nothing Isabela could say or do to make up for the fact that she had abandoned Hawke – had lied to her face – in one of her greatest moments of need. Hawke had enough heartache, enough trouble in her life. She only wanted to cut Isabela out like a cancerous growth and forget she had ever existed.
If not for those eyes, she might have done so. Instead, she stepped forward to hear what her former friend had to say.
"Hawke, I… well, I'm sorry," Isabela said, but the tone of her voice was more petulant than remorseful. Great. It was still all about Isabela.
"You brought the stupid book back," Hawke said. "Stop stressing and move on."
"You mean just go back to the way things used to be?" Isabela asked with a tentative smile.
Hawke remained silent. That's not what she'd meant at all. She would never trust Isabela again – risk the pain of that kind of betrayal again. With Fenris, at least she understood why he was so screwed up. Andraste's ass, he'd been a slave! Isabela had no such excuse. Carefree, fun-loving, irreverent Isabela was a selfish prig who thought only of herself.
Isabela tried again. "So you forgive me?" she asked, peering into Hawke's face as if she might find the answer there.
Really, she only wanted this conversation done, so Hawke said, "Nothing to forgive. Maybe you should try putting your own life in order instead of worrying over me."
"Castilion will kill me if he finds me," Isabela said, and there was real fear in her voice.
Hawke didn't care. "Yeah," she said, "that's a tough break." Her own eyes were blazing now with anger as she added sarcastically, "We all have it tough, sweet thing."
She could see the renewed hurt in Isabela's eyes as soon as she said it, but it no longer mattered. Let Isabela resume her wanton ways in the seedier parts of Kirkwall. It was no longer Hawke's concern. Let her suffer.
"Hawke…" Isabela said and held out her hand.
"I'll see you around," Hawke replied briskly and turned on her heel.
Weary and wanting nothing more than to go home and soak in her tub, Hawke instead kept her promise to Fenris. She arrived just as Varric and Aveline were leaving, shaking their heads and waving her in.
"What was that about?" she asked him.
"They don't understand," he told her. "Now that Danarius is dead, I should be happy."
"But you're not." She could plainly see he wasn't. "You're free now. You can do anything you want."
"Can I?" he asked. "After so long, I do not know what freedom means."
The way he was looking at her made her nervous. "Fenris, this has been a very long day." She sat down on the bench and pulled the cord from her hair, which then fell in waves about her shoulders. "What do you want from me?" she asked.
"I want a future," he said and rose to stand before her. "And I had hoped…"
Hawke let out a frustrated breath. "Everybody wants to pretend like nothing ever happened." She did her best to calm herself before she went on, "But things did happen. Bad things."
"I should have asked for your forgiveness for what I did long ago," he said in a low rumble. "I need to know if you can forgive me now."
"What does that mean, exactly?" she asked. "It seems to me forgiveness is nothing more than allowing people to hurt you and then giving them permission to do it again."
"If you would but give me the chance, I would prove myself to you," he said. "I can't…. I can't imagine anything worse than living without you."
There was an awful lot of sincerity in those big green eyes of his, and oh how she wanted to give into the feelings that threatened to burst within her chest; feelings other than pain and humiliation and rejection. For once, she would just like to be happy, and perhaps even in love, without the fear that some new thing would happen to break her trust or her heart. Did that make her a fool?
"Fenris," she said with a sigh, and then paused to collect her thoughts. "I won't make any promises. You can't just step back into my life like you never left me."
"Allow me to show you, Hawke," he growled. "Allow me to stay by your side and prove that I will never leave you again."
His words were sliding into her heart, making her feel things she had pushed away for many years. "Never?" she asked. "You would make such a promise?"
Fenris knelt down before her. "My sword, my heart, my life for you," he said, and she felt a heat begin to build low in her belly. She understood what his words meant; she'd waited a lifetime to hear them. It was the promise a warrior made to his liege-lord, but she knew by his tone he meant much more as he spoke them to her.
She would not be weak, however, would not give into the desires of her flesh until she could be sure her heart was safe. No. For now, she thought the prudent course would be to grant him permission to at least try to win her back.
"I make the rules. I set the pace," she said in her sternest voice, though inside her spirits danced as if she might truly have a chance at her heart's desire.
He stood and held out his hand to her, and she saw the smile in his eyes as she took it. Hawke allowed Fenris to pull her close, until his mouth hovered over hers in a tempting promise. "Allow me to seal our bargain with a kiss," he requested, and she felt the warm of his breath play upon her lips.
"Just one kiss," she said, and her voice was softer than she would have liked. If she were honest with herself, the liquid heat now running through her veins was beginning to overwhelm her. No one else had ever made her feel this way. Ever.
As she tasted him again after so long, felt his tongue slide along her bottom lip before he pressed his lips fully to hers, her only thought was that she wanted him to keep his promise - wanted it more than anything.
In the weeks that followed, Hawke was so focused on her experiment with Fenris that she gave thought to little else. She liked to call it an experiment because she still didn't trust that he would overcome his fears – his past – and give her the loyalty she must have to move forward. The only small concession she had given him was to a kiss goodnight when they parted. It was a small thing, perhaps, but she found herself looking forward to it more than she thought was safe.
She had also been avoiding the Hanged Man, but at the moment, she had a note from Varric in her pocket requesting that she pay him a visit. He had some business to discuss, apparently, and Varric was such an old friend, such a good friend, that she felt she could do no less than to acquiesce.
As she walked through the door, her eyes automatically glanced at the bar, and she was relieved to see Isabela was not standing in her usual spot. One less thing to deal with today, she thought, but her stomach had other ideas, and it squirmed in discomfort. She didn't want to admit how much she missed her friend – former friend – and hurried up the stairs to Varric's rooms.
She found him sitting at his table, busily scribbling in that fat book of his.
"Varric," she said by way of greeting.
"Hawke," he said and looked up with a grin. "Take your sword off and stay awhile."
She grinned back at him as she took her seat and asked, "So what's this important business we need to discuss?"
"What's your hurry, Hawke?" he asked. "Doesn't the Champion of Kirkwall have time to gossip with an old friend anymore?"
"So far my greatest challenge as Champion has been to write polite notes stating, The Champion regretfully declines she cannot attend…"
"No surprise there. Every noble in Kirkwall wants you on their guest list," he said with a chuckle. "So what have you been doing with yourself?"
Hawke felt her cheeks flush but managed to keep her expression neutral. "Nothing of import," she said. "Other than Cullen's report on Aveline and finally having the chance to kill Jeven, it's been fairly quiet lately."
"Rumor has it you've been coming and going from Hightown Estates an awful lot lately," Varric said blithely.
"Never been fond of rumors, Varric," she replied.
Varric got straight to the point. "So what is the deal with you and the broody elf?" he asked.
"There's no deal," she said, but in her mind, she thought there actually was a deal. Varric must have seen something in her face, because he started laughing.
"Whatever you say, Hawke," he finally said, wiping at his eyes. "Trying to get information out of you is like trying to catch a greased nug with your bare hands."
"Impossible you mean?" she asked, finally giving into his good humor.
"Exactly so," he said with a chuckle. "Ever since Rivaini left it's been too quiet around here."
Hawke felt her stomach drop. "Isabela left?" she asked.
Varric's face sobered. "You didn't know?" he asked. "You have been out of the loop."
"What are you talking about, Varric?" she insisted.
Varric's usually cheerful expression sobered into a frown. "She took off about two weeks ago," he said. "Said she was done with Kirkwall, that there was nothing here for her now that the relic was gone." He paused and looked down at his hands. "I think she was terrified Castilion would find her if she'd stuck around."
"So she's not coming back?" Hawke asked through a suddenly dry mouth.
"That's the word," he said. "Shame, really. Rivaini could always liven up the dullest situation."
Hawke stood abruptly and said, "I have to go."
"What? Wait, Hawke, there's something…" Varric began.
"It can wait," Hawke said, as she turned and hurried away.
Hawke walked blindly through the streets, her emotions in turmoil, oblivious to where her feet where taking her. She didn't notice her surroundings at all until she reached the Chantry Courtyard. One more flight of steps would take her to Fenris' mansion, but on an impulse, she continued on toward the Chantry proper. Suddenly cool darkness and the earthy smell of incense was just what she wanted more than anything. Why had Isabela's leaving Kirkwall felt like a punch to her gut? After all, she'd been the one to sever their friendships weeks ago. Though she didn't understand why, there was a huge difference between not speaking to an Isabela still prowling the streets of Kirkwall, and not being able to speak to Isabela at all because she had sailed away on a ship to parts unknown. Balls, she thought. She'd believed she was past this. She slipped in through the doors and immediately knew she'd made the right choice. She felt safe here, cocooned from prying eyes and nosy nobles. Perhaps she'd go upstairs, sit in the pews for a time, collect her riotous emotions and put them to bed once and for all.
Still wrapped up in her thoughts, she nearly ran into Sebastian as she turned the corner of the stairway.
"Pardon me," she said. "I wasn't looking…"
Sebastian smiled at her. "It's fine," he said. "And it's good to see you, Hawke. It's been awhile."
"Good to see you, too," she replied and her gaze drifted longingly up the stairway to the quiet row of pews.
"Excuse me," said Sebastian. "Am I keeping you from something important?"
"What?" she asked and looked back at him. "No, I…" She laughed softly. "I don't know what I'm doing, really."
Sebastian laid a hand gently upon her forearm. "Is something troubling you, my friend?"
Hawke drew in a deep breath. "Yes. No. I don't know." She shook her head.
"It sounds like you could use a friendly ear," he said, and smiled at her in such a way that she felt some of her tension melt away.
"I'd like that," she replied. Sebastian was, after all, supposed to be good at the soul absolution stuff. Maybe he could help her.
Once they were seated in the pews, Hawke found she didn't know where to begin, and Sebastian simply sat composed and quiet, waiting for her. She knew what her trouble was, but didn't know quite how to frame it in a way that didn't make her appear cold and heartless. She felt rare tears stinging behind her eyes and decided it didn't matter what he thought of her. She blurted, "What do you know of forgiveness, Sebastian?"
"I know the Maker forgives us of our transgressions if we but ask," he said. "Although, we must prove ourselves worthy of Him again and again."
That's not quite what she'd been thinking. The Maker was too large of a concern for her. "I mean forgiving other people, Sebastian. Isn't it a foolish weakness to act like things are fine when you've been…" She found she couldn't finish the question.
"Just because you forgive, does not mean you forget," he said.
"A little less obtuse, please," said Hawke.
"We forgive others in our hearts, Hawke," he said. "We replace the resentment, which is like a live coal burning in your heart, with feelings of love and absolution."
"But that just makes you vulnerable," she insisted.
"Perhaps to some degree it does," he said. "But if your heart is not open, why have one at all?"
"I just don't get it," she complained. "I understand giving second chances when they are deserved, or when there's a good reason. But when you've bared you soul to someone, when you've let them see just who you are, and they are still capable of betraying you… What would be the point in forgiveness then?" she asked. She was thinking of all the nights she and Isabela had sat drinking and sharing their stories, laughing at the mistakes of their youth, confiding their hurts and their insecurities. She really had made a huge error in judgment in trusting the former pirate raider – that much at least now seemed obvious.
As if reading her mind, Sebastian said, "I think you are going about this quite backward."
"What do you mean?"
"Forgiveness always begins with the self," he said mildly.
Perhaps it was the sacred atmosphere, or Sebastian's gentle brogue, or the absolute silence that permeated the Chantry, but in that moment, it was as if a light had turned on in a dark room. "Forgive myself," she whispered.
"Yes," he said. "We always expect too much of others, and they always fail to live up to our expectations." He took her hand in his before he continued. "That is the cause of much of the world's suffering."
Had she… had she really expected Isabela to live up to her own standards, knowing who she was? The very things Hawke had loved about Isabela were the very things that made her untrustworthy. Yet, their bond had been so strong; Hawke had simply assumed her friend would live up to the same standards of honor and duty she herself adhered to. She had set herself up for this failure of trust.
"Life is messy," Sebastian was saying, "we all make mistakes, we all fall short of the mark."
"Sometimes gloriously," said Hawke with a smile.
He laughed softly. "That is often the case, yes." He crooked a finger under her chin and turned her head until their gazes locked and held. "Whatever you do Hawke, do not feed the anger, the hatred inside yourself. It will destroy you."
"But it's in there," she said. "I'm so hurt, so angry, and I don't know what to do with those things."
"Whenever those feelings arise, my friend, you must think of some better memory – a shared laugh, a kindness, a moment of peace. Though the mind does not forget, it can be directed to a better place, which can fuel our hearts with what's best in us."
They sat together chatting quietly for a few more minutes before Hawke took her leave, her mind and her heart both processing what he'd said.
As she left the Chantry and made her way to Hightown Estates, she considered that even though she may never get another chance with Isabela, there was a certain elf waiting for her – willing to make amends, to love again, to heal.
Perhaps that would have to be enough.
Epilogue
Hawke was late, which made him nervous.
Every day she came to his mansion around the noon bell, and he would then remain at her side throughout the rest of the day, no matter what her other plans might be. She had given him this chance to prove himself, and he was more than grateful for it. When he considered how he had nearly lost her… Well, being without her was much worse than his nightmares of being a slave, or old memories that came and went without rhyme or reason. He'd told her, "my sword, my heart, my life for you," and he had meant it with every fiber of his being.
Why was she late?
Without her he hardly knew who he was. She had filled all the corners of his heart and his mind – corners that had been left vacant by the ritual that had erased his memories and branded him with these cursed lyrium markings. Perhaps he was too dependent on Hawke, but he did not care if that were true. Hawke gave his life meaning, which was all he had ever hoped for after his escape from Danarius. Well, that and to stay alive at all.
He'd been pacing, his thoughts in turmoil, but he couldn't seem to help it. When he finally heard the door slam and Hawke's purposeful footsteps on the stairs, he breathed a deep sigh of relief.
She was here. Thank the Maker.
He was so accustomed to her usual greeting; a clipped, "Fenris," as she would enter his room, that when she stood silently in the doorway and simply stared at him, he did not know what to do. Her appearance was different, too. Usually her face was an expressionless mask, and her eyes were cold and penetrating. Today, however, there was a softness to her features he had never seen before, and her eyes… instead of hard chips of ice, they seemed more like the soft blue of the wildflowers that grew along the Wounded Coast. His relief that she had finally came to him was replaced with a new kind of nervousness. What if she were here to reject him? To send him away? He could not bear the thought.
"Hawke?" he asked hesitantly.
She pushed away from the door and moved to stand before him. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Do you stand by your word, Fenris?" she asked.
He did not need to ask her what she meant. He answered her by repeating his promise. "My sword, my heart, my life for you," he said, his voice rumbling in his chest as he spoke.
The smallest of smiles graced her perfect lips, though she did not speak. Instead, she removed her sword and set it down on the long table, her eyes never leaving his.
Fenris watched, unsure of what he should do, as she removed her gauntlets, unbuckled her bracers and dropped the lot on the floor. Next, she lifted her breastplate over her head and tossed that aside, as well.
"Hawke?" he asked again.
Now only dressed in her leather pants and padded shirt, she walked over to his bed, sat down, and began to remove her boots. He followed her, dropped to one knee before her, and helped her to pull them off. When she allowed that, he felt his blood begin to thicken and pulse within him. With trembling hands he helped her off with her pants. Perhaps no further words were necessary. Perhaps they had said enough, and now he need only show Hawke what she meant to him.
Fenris stood and slowly removed his own armor, until he stood before Hawke in only his smalls. She had watched him do that, her eyes brightening with each bit he tossed aside. He could not say who moved first, but suddenly they were in each others arms, pressed tightly together, clinging to each other as if their lives depended on this single embrace.
To have her in his arms this way, to feel the long length of her body melding into his, for long moments he could do no more than breathe in her intoxicating scent, as his heart pounded hard in his chest. It was Hawke who moved first, pulling away just enough to angle her mouth slowly over his, until their lips met in a kiss more profound than any words could ever be. Soon they were feasting on each other, starved as they were from the long years of being apart. He could not get enough, even as their tongues slid, and their teeth nipped until his lips felt bruised and swollen. He needed more.
Hands grasped and fabric tore until there was nothing left between them, and they tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. Fenris moved over her and slid his palm up her ribcage, until he cupped the heavy swell of her breast. He briefly captured her heated gaze before he lowered his head and sucked on the turgid tip, as if it were his only sustenance. Hawke began to tremble, her breath coming in reedy gasps as she reached between his legs and grasped him, trying to pull him to her. Her touch nearly undid him, and a low, rumbling growl escaped his throat.
"Fenris," she gasped, "Please, please, Fenris."
His lips sought hers as Hawke used her hand to guide him into her, and he thrust his tongue at the same moment he pushed into her sweet, tight heat. They both froze as her body adjusted to him, even though everything in him wanted to move, to push, to sate himself within her. Again, it was Hawke who moved first, lifting her hips and pushing him more deeply inside of her. He lost control then; felt his marking flare into life as he pushed into her over and over again – Hawke's hands locked on his hips, holding on, screaming her ecstasy, as her body tightened around him in a pleasure so great it was nearly pain.
When the memories came, he did not care. They were nothing to him. He held onto his Hawke and waited for them to pass, wanting them gone again so he could be with his love. His heart. His life. She was there waiting for him, with shining eyes, her lips curved in a satisfied smile, her body still locked around him, her hands soothing down his back.
He kissed her gently before he rested his head on her shoulder, and wrapped his arms tightly around her. Nothing else mattered. No one else mattered. Just this. Just Hawke. Until death came to take him, there would only be Hawke.