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Champion's Coffer

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9:34 Dragon

Hawke had learned a great deal about ducking and covering her blind spots while training alongside Carver under the army's watchful eye. She had beaten the Arishok, she wasn't slow or clumsy, and she tried to do things with style. She could be a bastard or a saint, but as long as she was stylish about it that’s what people remembered. So she noticed when she started taking more hits. An arrow to the shoulder, dodging a blade winding her to one knee and leaving scrapes. She was exhausted.

Varric was the first to remark on it. He was always at her right and he was covering her more and more it seemed. She waved him off with a scoff every time he called her out. Brushing Varric’s concerns away with a joke was child’s play after four years of practice.

The sky blue tonic rolling between her clammy palms she found harder to ignore.

When had she last bled? She thought back and chuckled to herself, nervously, when she couldn't remember. Sarge raised his head from the opposite end of the bed and whined at her. Right, probably not a laughing matter. She placed the vial on her bedside table and gathered her armour from the floor.

Her mind was buzzing as she tightened the straps of her glove. It had been two months at least. She hadn't been to the Blooming Rose since the Qunari left and, even then, they used protection.

She opened her door, and Sarge padded out in front of her. “Well, that only leaves...”

Fenris.

The thought brought her up short and, on the heels of that, a smaller thought crept up and left her leaning on the door for support:

Maker, she had fought the Arishok with child.


“I warned you about that porcupine.” Varric scowled at her from his seat across the long table and Hawke shifted uncomfortably.

“I remember and I know what you’re--”

“I believe your exact words were,” he coughed into a hand, raising his voice a few octaves for effect. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “I was being diplomatic, you sheep’s ass. It was the nice way to get across, ‘Stay out of my bloody business’.” She chose to ignore the dwarf’s raised brow and her own hypocrisy. She had, after all, shown up at the Hanged Man near midnight asking for him to do very much the opposite of staying out of her business. “Besides, this,” she motioned down the length of her body, “had already, um, transpired by then.”

“You’re sure?” He questioned evenly.

“I could not be more positive.” She responded, lips in a tight line.

Varric softened at that. “You two don’t seem as close lately.”

“It’s no skin off my back, I assure you.” Hawked lied easily.

“No, just a few pounds to add around the waist.”

Hawke let out a loud breath. “What do I do, Varric?”

He looked at her long and hard for a moment before slumping down into his seat. “Talk to Isabela. After that,” he lifted his shoulders in a small shrug, tugging the sleeve of his dark blue nightshirt back up his arm to stop its downward slide.

Hawke nodded quickly and turned to leave.

Not tonight, Hawke.” She could swear Varric was teasing her, could hear that smile in his voice, but when she turned his face was wiped clean. He motioned to his bed in the corner. “I have some shipping manifestos to go over. You get some rest. You can talk to her in the morning.”

Hawke let out a slow breath, turning back towards the bed and removing her armour piece by piece. Her fingers began to tremble by the time she reached her leg guards and she sat heavily on the edge of the bed, nearly falling on her way. Varric stood in front of her, hands on his hips in some stern imitation of her mother.

“Maker, Hawke, when did you find out about this?”

“About an hour ago?” Varric hid his shock quickly, bending to bat her hands away and remove the last pieces of her armour. “I didn't think...,” she trailed off, laying back and staring at the ceiling.

“What made you come here, huh?” He pulled up the covers to her chin and she turned to look at him.

“I was scared.” She could hear how quiet her voice became at the admission. “I can’t let myself think about this, Varric. If I do, it might...” She swallowed loudly and turned back towards the ceiling, “I can’t do this right now. After mother, after the Arishok.”

After whatever that was with Fenris.

“Well, you came to the right place.” He said and, after a moment, she heard him drag a chair to the bed. “Did I ever tell you the incredibly soothing and not at all thought-provoking story of the wandering minstrel and the three-headed nug?”

Hawke laughed loudly and settled back into the pillows.


“I know a way to get rid of it, if that’s what you want.” Isabela said, voice calm, over the rim of her mug. “And there’s always magic. Anders could help, though I don’t know how Justice feels about this sort of thing.”

Hawke snorted. “Like I give a toss what a Fade spirit thinks about my life choices.”

“As I said, that part’s up to you.” Isabela’s smile was wan, but genuine. “You should decide before you tell anyone else. Take some time, if you need.” She tilted her head, adding, “not too much, mind.”

“Of course.” Hawke smiled nervously. She leaned back and tapped the edge of the table until the other woman shot her a dangerous look. “Do you have any children, Isabela?”

"Andraste's granny-panties, Hawke!" Isabela laughed, pounding the table dangerously hard with a fist. "No, I had something whipped up to take care of that long ago. For a different life but one no less perilous."

"It's dangerous for me to be pregnant." Hawke nodded in understanding. "It's dangerous for a child of mine to even exist, this family gets in enough trouble as is. I don't need a target painted on a baby's back.” She thought of Carver and her father and, after a painful moment, her mother, in the ground. Of Bethany in the Circle.

“Do you want this?” Isabela was looking at her, chin on her hand.

“No.” Hawke replied immediately.

So much for taking my time.

“Sorry, I mean,” she tried to articulate, “no, if you handed me a squalling infant right now and asked, do you want this, of course not. That’s not,” she shook her head, “that wasn’t the plan but...”

“But,” Isabela raised a brow.

Hawke thought about her mother, again, this time happier memories. Learning to properly cut an animal, to hone a blade, all for 'proper wifely duties' like cooking, of course. Of she and Carver sneaking out to watch the soldiers train. Of her father teaching Bethany from old tomes in hushed words. She imagined a faceless child curled up with Sarge by the fireplace at her estate, being passed around to her friends. It was so easy to picture Aveline's shocked and, ultimately, fond reaction. Merrill's excitement and Varric's protectiveness and that look Anders sometimes got around stray cats in Lowtown.

“I think I’d like it.” She grinned widely. “Still, every time I think of Fenris and a baby it's,"

"Hilarious?" Isabela offered with a chuckle.

"Impossible." Hawke ran a hand over her brow. It was true, she had trouble picturing Fenris with a baby. The baby she thought more solidly. Trying to conjure up an image now, she just felt, well, she supposed the word was nervous. "I just wish I could do this on my own."

The other woman's eyes hardened. "That's not fair to him. You do this, you tell him, understood?"

"Don't see how I could avoid it." She motioned down at herself.

"Fair enough." Isabela softened. "Anything else I should know?"

"Nothing Varric hasn't chewed me out for, I'm sure."

"Good," she nodded swiftly. "You’re okay on your own from here?”

Hawke stood to leave with a mock-salute. “First Fenris and then Anders, got it.”

"Hawke," Isabela's voice was nervous behind her, and when she turned, the woman wouldn't meet her eyes. "Thanks. For trusting me with this, after everything--"

"I never doubted you, Isabela," Hawke cut her off. She suddenly realised that Isabela had never come to her after her battle with the Arishok. Qunari were still leaving the city, some from the shore and, for the first month, she had just assumed the pirate had taken the Siren’s Call and set sail during the initial stage of recovery.

“Well, now you know better.” Isabela’s grin was devious. “Still, you’re one of the best friends I’ve had in,” she let out a hard laugh, “a long time. I was going to sail out, but if you decide to keep the beast I’ll stay until it’s born, at least. If you don’t, well, I’ll stick around for that too.”

Hawke leaned over to brush a kiss over her cheek, smiling. “You earned that.”

“I’ve earned bloody more than that, you bastard.” Isabela grinned into her mug and waved her out.


Standing in front of Anders’ clinic, she reasoned to herself that Darktown was on the way to Hightown. She was just taking the quickest route and, really, what was the point of telling Fenris anything without a full story? That was the excuse she would give for her cowardice, later, as she stepped into Anders’ clinic.

"Hawke!" Anders looked pleased, if a little confused, to see her. "Trouble in the hills?"

"No," Hawke's brows drew together. "Why does everyone always assume I'm showing up to fetch them for some dangerous quest? I could just be popping in to say hello, you know?"

Anders gave her a disbelieving look but Hawke stood her ground. "Fine then," he relented after a moment more. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need to talk to you about something." She rubbed her hands together. "It's private."

The mage looked around. There weren't many people in the clinic at this time of day. Only one other worker--an elf--and a few patients too feverish to have their wits about them. Still, it never hurt to be certain in Darktown. He conversed quietly with the elf for a moment and, though she shot Hawke a wary look on her way out, she left without a fuss.

"Going to get some ingredients." Anders explained, motioning Hawke to sit on one of the high tables. She leaned against it, eyes wary. The last person she had seen on said table had been leaking pus from his ears. "We have a while. What do you need?"

"An oven," she quipped. "I've been thinking of baking some bread, lately."

Anders looked around, eyebrows drawn together. "All right. I'm not sure why you came to me but--"

"I'm making womb in my life for another." He blinked at her and she rolled her eyes. "Andraste's tits, Anders, I'm pregnant."

"Oh!" Anders eyes widened to a spectacular size, then narrowed to slits. "Oh. Those were truly awful, Hawke."

Hawke shrugged. "Sorry, I'm nervous."

“I don’t really specialize in,” he turned a light shade of pink, “that.” The man’s obvious discomfort restored to Hawke an unexpected sense of normalcy. Teasing Anders, now that was familiar territory. All she had to do was cross her arms, smirk, and the man glowered back something frightful.

"Can’t you get someone to teach you?"

The mage gazed at her evenly. "Sure, I'll just learn a new field of medicine, shall I? Would you like me to pick up archery while I'm at it?"

Hawke considered it. "If you'd like. As a long-ranged specialist I'm sure it would give you a tactical advantage when--"

"I was kidding, Hawke." Anders sighed. "There are plenty of specialists, good midwives, in Hightown."

“I can’t go to a midwife,” she explained. “I’m trying to keep this under the radar while I can. I know everyone seems to be on a Champion high right now, but I still have enemies."

Anders nodded solemnly. "I'll do what I can."

"That's all I ask." Hawke pushed herself away from the table. "I'll find out what Orana knows, too."

“Who’s the father?” Anders questioned as they made their way to the door of the clinic. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

She did, in truth, but it wasn't as though hiding it would prove anything. He was going to find out eventually. “Fenris.” She admitted wryly.

His shock covered the disgust she expected was lingering just below. “I didn’t know you two were--”

“We’re not,” she interrupted, swift and simple. “And he doesn’t know, yet, so I would appreciate you keeping this between the two of us for now.”

“No problem there.” They stood at the door for an awkward moment. “Well, as off-putting as the thought is, knowing will actually come in handy. Come back tomorrow and I should have some more information for you.”

“Thank you, Anders.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “Truly.”

He shrugged looking something more genial. "Don't thank me yet."

“Out of curiosity,” she turned back to look at him, “who did you suspect was the father?”

“I didn’t have a clue, honestly.” Anders crossed his arms, smirk wide and devilish. “Though a secret liaison with the Arishok would have made for an amazing addition to Varric’s Champion tale, don’t you agree?”

Hawke could feel her cheeks redden at the tease. Shit, she thought with some vehemence, you win this round, Anders.

“She was the only one who earned his respect. She wanted to make peace, but they made,” he lowered his voice, “so much more. It writes itself, really.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very clever!” She turned away again and slammed the door, stifling the man’s laughter. “Pervert.”

The sound stayed with her through the dismal streets of Darktown and, eventually, she found herself shaking her head and laughing along.


Hawke couldn’t stand in one place, so settled for treading a back and forth path. “Fenris, I know we haven’t properly spoken since,” she paused, toeing the ground, “well, since you left me naked in my own bed with what I'm sure, in your mind, was an amazing explanation. And, really, you shouldn't need to explain yourself and I shouldn’t have to hear you out, but you’ve been a good friend and, let’s be honest, I’m an amazing friend. You’re lucky to have me, really.” She coughed. “With that in mind, how do you feel about babies?”

Fenris’ imposing estate stared down at her in mock judgement.

“Ah, this is going to go splendidly.” She slumped.

“Hawke?” A voice spoke from behind her and her body straightened before her mind caught up.

“Fenris!”

"What are you doing here?" He asked, a little too accusatory for her tastes. He touched the hilt of his blade and looked around with narrowed eyes. "Is something amiss?"

"Why does everyone think I've come to recruit them?" Hawke threw her hands up, exasperated. "I'm just here for a friendly visit, that's all!"

Fenris lowered his guard looking, if anything, more confused. "Oh. I see."

"Fenris, I know we haven't--"

"Hawke I think I know--"

They stopped speaking simultaneously and looked at their feet.

"Would you like to come in?" Fenris motioned to the door of his estate. Hawke nodded and quietly followed him inside.


"You were saying something before?" Fenris sat at his normal place, motioning to the seat next to him.

"I'm a guest." Hawke refused the seat with a small wave. "You go first."

He seemed to accept that, drawing into himself before looking up at her. "Hawke, I think I know what you want to talk about."

"I really don't think you do." Hawke laughed quietly.

"The reasons I left that night..."

Ah, Hawke thought with a twinge of annoyance, well, he's not completely wrong. You did come about that night.

"...are irrelevant."

What?

Fenris shook his head. "I was foolish, but I stand by my decision. I think it's best if we pursue this no further."

"If," Hawke balled her fists, the leather of her gloves stretching in the quiet, "if you'd like. I'm more concerned about you, Fenris. Before you left, you talked about flashes of memories, of how unhappy you were. Please, you have to understand, I'm not asking for your undying love." Hawke said, voice small and tremulous. "Whatever's happening, you don't have to go through it alone. You have a whole group of rather insane people ready and willing to help you face your demons."

"They're my demons, Hawke." He stood, chair scrapping across the ground behind him. "My memories, my problem."

"I'm your friend, Fenris, whatever else." She smiled at him, eyebrows drawing together. "Isabela, Varric, Aveline, and the others, we're all here. You should let us help you."

"Stop fighting me on this, Hawke." Fenris turned to the window, seeming to deflate. "You may think you're trying to help, but you're being incredibly selfish."

His words brought her up short. Well, he isn't wrong. The thought was rather bitter and, in all her pleading, she had forgotten her purpose for coming.

“Right,” she laughed without a note of humour in her voice, “I forgot. You only need me to help kill the slavers and lock up the mages. How incredibly selfish of me, helping you get rid of Hadriana. Of course, when something happens to me, to my mother,” she choked on the last word and Fenris turned back, stricken.

“I tried to come to you, Hawke.” He took a step towards her. “You turned me away!”

“You did not want to hear anything that I had to say to you that night, trust me.” She laughed bitterly.

“I don’t know where this is coming from,” Fenris hissed. “I understand you’ve been through a great deal, we both have. But if you would like to remain friends I suggest you walk away from this, Hawke.”

Hawke slammed a fist into the wall next to her and Fenris watched, expression unflinching.

"I'm," Hawke blinked quickly, pulling her fist back to herself, "sorry."

At least I know where we stand, Hawke thought dourly as she descended the steps to the front, a baby won’t change that.

“That went well.” Isabela drawled from the shadows to her right.

“Shit, Isabela! You scared me.” Hawke hissed as the other woman stepped up to her, slinging an arm around her waist. “Fenris really needs a lock."

"How would I spy on him, then?" Isabela asked as they stepped out onto the streets of Hightown. The night was mild and calm, a scent of metal and flowers mingled and carried on the wind from the market.

"I couldn't tell him,” she admitted ruefully. "I was too angry. It felt like...well, I suppose no time is a good time but this felt more than a bit not good."

“I think he wanted to make you angry. You were clearly all right with using him as an emotional punching bag." Isabela spoke softly, turning her friend back towards the Amell Estate.

“I'm furious but that isn't his fault.” Hawke replied tightly. “I wanted to hurt him. I didn't think I cared for him enough for me to want to hurt him so badly.”

“That’s not love, that’s pride.” Isabela assured her. “You tested the boundaries of your friendship and you failed. Alcohol and bruised pride all around!"

"Maybe," Hawke groused. "He won't tell me why he left, not really. I can figure it out, for the most part, but he's talking around what happened like he has something to hide. I'm his, well, his friend I suppose and he's completely shutting me out." She shook her head. "I complain about everyone needing my help but the second one of you keeps me in the dark look at how I act. You must be right, must be a pride thing."

"I usually am." Isabela replied with a purr. "Dont beat yourself up, Hawke. Generally, when we hide things from you it means we are doing something incredibly dastardly. You are honour bound to yell at us like unruly children."

"I doubt ravishing and walking away falls under the nefarious purpose category but thanks for the morale boost." She sighed lightly, stretching her bruising fingers. “Please don’t tell Varric I punched a wall."

Isabela chuckled lightly. “You make my life so interesting, Hawke.”

“That makes two of us.” Hawke laughed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

Isabela looked at the other woman’s stomach. “Three.”

Hawke took a deep breath. “Three.”


“You can’t eat that.”

Merrill looked up at Hawke with a sort of mossy net, covered in a hardened wax, draped from her mouth to her fingers. She swallowed with some difficulty. “You absolutely can eat this. I’m eating it right now.”

Hawke ran a hand over her brow. “No, you’re not supposed to eat that. It’s not made for consumption.”

“Well, I just ate it.” Merrill looked down at the rest of the moss in concern. “Does it do something bad?”

“Your life is a series of poor decisions, Daisy.” Varric shook his head in wonder.

“It’s kind of minty.” The elf sucked the rest down, munching happily. “Can I have another?”

Hawke shrugged as Varric tossed a few coins onto the merchant’s stand. Merrill scooped up her ‘treat’ with a grateful smile. Lowtown was filling up with the usual mid-morning crowd. Some of the younger urchins looked up at Hawke with something like awe as they rushed past, but it was an otherwise unremarkable day.

"Aveline won't be married for another year, at least." Hawke bent over to examine one of the knives on display, sharp and wicked, but too heavy when she lifted it. "Why are you shopping for them now?"

"Unlike the rest of you, I won't be buying our illustrious captain's gift at the last minute." Varric held a red sash aloft and Hawke made a face at it. He shrugged, placing it back down. "It never hurts to be prepared."

I'm pregnant and the world keeps turning. She thought with no little wonder. "Thank you, Varric."

He glanced up at her and, like always, seemed to understand what she meant. "Don't mention it."

"Merrill don't buy that, I can get you a decent one elsewhere. Oh, don't look at me like that, you piss-eared swindler!" She directed at the merchant. "When I can get better in Hightown you know your prices are too high for the shite you're slinging." She crossed her arms and watched as Merrill took over, haggling with the man like a pro.

"Speaking of plans," she turned back to Varric at the sound of his voice, smiling when she noticed he had purchased the sash anyway. "I'm setting some things up for the nug. Nothing that would be noticed but, like I said, it never hurts to be prepared."

"What kind of things? We don't need word getting out about this until," she considered, "never would be nice, but not exactly feasible."

"I'll keep you in the loop." Varric assured her. "Right now I'm just making sure certain people are too busy to pay any attention to you."

"That shouldn't be too hard with Kirkwall still in shambles." Hawke looked at the edge of the marketplace where a group of men and women were rebuilding, yelling orders and moving planks. A long, arduous process that wasn't likely to end soon. And this was one of the luckier patches in Kirkwall.

"And, thanks to me, you're well known for your adventuring ways." The dwarf grinned, going for charming and landing somewhere near smug. "No one's going to be asking questions if you disappear for a little while."

"You've really thought about this." Hawke looked at him wonderingly.

"I know." Varric held his arms out. "Feel free to bask in my genius."

"Varric," she sighed dreamily, "my hero." He nodded in agreement and she broke off with a snort. "Think you could continue this pattern? I kind of blew up at Fenris. How is wine as an apology gift?"

"For Fenris it's ideal and, may I add, he likely deserved it. He's not exactly Mr Genial." Varric motioned Merrill back over to them. She had apparently won her battle with the merchant, as she was carrying two thick garments and looked very pleased with herself.

Hawke shrugged reaching out to balance Merrill, whose garments were now dragging mostly behind her, with a hand on her shoulder and hip. "We both said some unkind things but I may have gone a bit far."

"Don’t we all?” He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “You’re going to try to make it work between you two?”

“Maker, I hope not." Hawke scoffed. "I mean, I hope he doesn’t want to. He doesn't seem to. He has some stuff to sort out, I think."

“Just be careful. Still, that’s at least one weight off my mind.” Varric admitted, ruefully. “No offense, but the farther you stay away from the elf and Blondie, the less worrying I have to do, and let me tell you, worrying about the Champion of Kirkwall is a job unto itself.”

“Varric, I’m touched.”

"What was that about Fenris?" Merrill questioned, eyes moving between the two of them. Varric chuckled quietly.

"C'mon, Daisy, we'll fill you in."


"List of practicalities," Anders held a sheaf of paper in front of her, and Hawke took it gingerly between her fingers. "There are a lot of mothers in Darktown and they have a lot of good advice to offer. This is the most medically relevant and the best I could do with such short notice."

“What, no alcohol?" She paused and considered.”Yes, I suppose that makes sense. Did you write this?"

"It’s the pamphlet that’s handed out to any expectant mothers in any Kirkwall clinic." Anders rolled his eyes. "Those points at the bottom are mine and more tailored to the individual, being you."

"This has the same format as your manifesto,” She said with some interest.

Anders blushed scarlet and continued. “Speaking of that...”

“Oh, Anders, not right now,” Hawke groaned, “I’m having a baby can I please get a break from politics?”

The mage’s eye twitched, “Unfortunately not.” He motioned for her to sit and she stored the pamphlet in her belt. “I considered it yesterday but I didn't want to alarm you. After talking to more than a few of the mother's here, I'm fairly certain that your family’s lineage coupled with,” he grimaced, “Fenris means you should prepare yourself for the possibility of a mageborn child.”

“My family's magic. It's a risk, I know." Hawke shook her head ruefully. "But what does Fenris have to do with this? He definitely isn’t a mage.”

“For as much as the elf bellyaches about magic, those tattoos aren't just for decoration.” Anders responded, wryly. “What?”

“Sorry, it’s just," Hawke realised she was smiling as she spoke. "I’ve been so scared, being the Champion, having a baby, and I’ve been coming up with ways to hide it, keep it safe. I thought I was being over dramatic. You giving me a reason to be paranoid makes me feel better somehow.”

Anders considered this for a moment. “I cannot say how safe a mage child will be, not to mention the child of someone with as many enemies as you seem to attract on an hourly basis, but I can promise that this child will have the most extensive security network anyone has ever wanted or needed.”

“What more could a girl ask for?”


A stiff drink. Hawke thought later that night, standing in front of Fenris' estate, holding wine she was no long permitted to drink. This girl could really, really use a hard, stiff--

She shook her head and walked inside without preamble, Sarge trailing in behind her. It wasn't until she reached the steps that she noticed the house was too quiet. She placed her gift on the floor and put a finger to her mouth. Sarge sat with a thump as she pulled her hood up, cloaking herself in the shadows of the estate. Her footsteps were light when she reached the door. She couldn't hear any voices. Perhaps Fenris wasn't home. She stepped into the room slowly.

A gust of wind to her left and a sword at her throat. She lowered her hood with her right hand and turned to look at Fenris.

"Expecting someone else?" Hawke smirked.

"I wasn't expecting you." She pressed with her left hand and her blade dug lightly into the elf's thigh. Fenris lowered his blade.

"You really need a lock." Hawke let out a loud, deep breath and threw herself into one of the chairs at Fenris’ table. “This is so stupid,” she grumbled, “we’re acting like children. We’re adults, yes?”

Fenris nodded, slowly lowering himself into a chair across from her.

“I apologize for the way I,” Hawke folded her hands primly in front of her, “spoke to you yesterday. And the wall.” Sarge trot into the room as she spoke, bottle of wine in his mouth that he deposited, helpfully, at Fenris' feet.

Fenris smiled softly, petting the Mabari's head. "I understand times are difficult."

"You don't know the half of it. Laborious, you could say." She laughed, mostly to herself, and took a deep breath. Well, here goes nothing. “I’m having a baby and it’s your kin. What you decide to do about that last part, well...,” she left the sentence hanging.

Fenris blinked slowly from her to the wine and, after a long moment, he spoke. “Was this a ruse? Are you still so angry that you would--”

“No!” She waved her hands wildly. "I've got a list of rules from Anders and everything! I know how this must look after yesterday. I was trying to tell you and my, well, let's just say temper got the better of me. Anyway, I’m not here to conscript you into anything, I just thought you should know.” She lowered her arms, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m pregnant. I’m handling it.”

He looked, momentarily, panicked. “Are you--”

She shook her head. “I thought about it, but no, I’m going to keep it. Would it bother you? If I did, um, do that?”

“I’m not sure.” Fenris admitted quietly. “This is all a lot to take in, forgive me.”

“Take your time.” Hawke shrugged. “I’ve got a few more months of this, myself, no rush.”

Fenris nodded absently. “What would you wish of me?”

“Nothing.” Hawke breathed a sigh and made a motion towards the wine. “Drink double, as apparently I’m no longer allowed. Like I said,” she leaned back, “I’m handling it.”

Fenris pursed his lips but whatever he was thinking he kept to himself. She let a small smile slip out as she stood. “Maybe don’t drink it so fast, though.” She added, clapping him on the shoulder as she passed. “That was bloody expensive.”

Fenris shook off his shock, standing slowly. “You’re just going to leave?”

She felt the power she had in that moment, saw the opportunity to cut him with their roles reversed. Him confused and her walking away. Maybe she shouldn’t have and a better person than her probably wouldn’t, but she had proven on multiple occasions that she was not the best person. She was not even closest to the best.

“Can't imagine what else there is to say, really.” She shrugged, backing out of the door. "C'mon, Sarge. Goodnight, Fenris."

"Goodnight, Hawke."