Chapter Text
Hawke wearily pushed the door of the cabin in, shutting it softly behind her. She looked around, noting the presence of Fenris' sword. He was home then. The fire was still crackling strong in the fireplace, suggesting that it was lit recently. Listening, she could hear the elf's voice in their son's room, and could barely make out the words of Malcolm's favorite bedtime story. A pang of guilt struck hard in her chest.
Fenris was going to be livid, or devastatingly calm. The latter scared her more. And Hawke knew she deserved every bit of what she got. If the Inquisitor hadn't picked her, if she'd thought rationally and saved Stroud instead... she wasn't going to think about it.
I am alive, and I get to see my boys again.
The mage lay her staff next to Fenris' great-sword gently, still not quite ready to alert the two to her presence. Hawke unbuckled her armor, laying the pieces on the table to clean later, drawing out every motion. Finally, she tugged off her boots and crept down the hallway, trying to avoid every squeaky board she remembered until she reached Malcolm's-
"Who's there?"
Well shit, missed one.
Hawke swallowed the lump in her throat, steeling herself. She wasn't a coward, at least not when it came to fighting, but the mage had the emotional capabilities of a walnut. She pushed open the door and put on her best smile- it wouldn't fool Fenris, but for little Mal...
Fenris' eyes widened, his arm still stretched protectively in front of their son, who as soon as he could see her, slipped out from underneath said arm and threw himself at Hawke's legs. She reached down to pat his head, ruffling his dark curls and letting her smile fall. He'd gotten bigger, she'd missed his fourth birthday, and she almost let him grow up without his mother. Fenris, for his part, was looking at her with unreadable eyes. After a moment of staring at each other stupidly, he stood, walking over to her.
"He has missed you."
She laughed weakly at that, noticing her pants were wet where Malcolm's face was pressed against them. There was another strong tug at her heartstrings.
"N-no kidding. I-"
Shit, don't you dare start crying, Hawke.
With eyes starting to water, she picked up Malcolm, who was struggling not to sob himself. The boy managed to get out a garbled "Ma" before wrapping his arms around her and crying his little eyes out. She held him close, eyes locked with her lover's. The elf gestured to their son's bed, where she sat, still holding the crying child. Mal never cried, he was tough, like his parents, but he was near inconsolable now. After a moment Fenris left the room, leaving her with questions, but it was probably for the best. He needed to process this in his own way, as much as Mal needed to cry it out.
"Your ma's here now, Mal. I'm not going anywhere ever again."
Hawke bit her tongue, she knew she shouldn't make promises she couldn't keep, but that terrible habit she had of speaking before thinking was hard to break.
After some time, the crying stopped, and she looked down to see that he was asleep, snotty nosed and ruddy cheeked. Hawke wiped his nose with a dry part of her tunic, gently laying the boy down and tucking him back in. She looked at him for a long time. His curls had gone past his ears, he hadn't gotten a haircut, she'd have to do that in the morning. His nose was more pronounced, just like his father's, and he could have discovered his magic while she was gone, or he didn't. She'd have to ask Fenris.
Oh Maker, Fenris.
The thought of leaving Fenris alone, having to raise a mage child on his own... They had talked about it, and he certainly wouldn't love their son any less, but Mal would need a teacher. If she couldn't be the one to do it, he'd have to join up with Merrill's clan, or Maker forbid, he'd have to find Anders. Just the thought made her anxious. Those two together, even though Justice had since been reigned in by time and practice, would lead to ruin.
In the moment, the choice between her and Stroud had seemed so easy. Her life, for the greater good-and she still didn't agree with the choice the Inquisitor made, but now she was torn with guilt because she was so able to leave her son, Fenris... he might have understood, but not little Mal. If there was a demon of guilt, she was sure it'd be feeding right now.
The mage paused at the thought... She would have to look into that.
Hawke lost track of how much time she had spent avoiding Fenris, but it was time to face him. She couldn't deny she had though about him all too often. Seeing him again would have gone quite in a different direction had their son not been in the room. The wall pinning, lip biting, clothes ripping direction, if she let herself think hopefully. The mage shook her head furiously to clear her thoughts.
Marian left Malcolm to his rest, closing the door softly behind her, and opened the door across from it, leading into her and Fenris' shared room. It was much like she left it, except instead of a sleeping elf on her bed, he was reading a book and looked up at her with those same unreadable eyes from before. After a few tense moments, she spoke.
"Do you speak first, or do I speak first? I'm not quite sure how these reunions work. We've done everything together for the past decade so-"
"Varric sent a letter ahead." He said, interrupting her babbling.
"I did not expect you back so soon."
Thank the Maker for Varric Tethras!
He closed his book, setting it down before coming to face her. She immediately averted her gaze, keeping her eyes on the floor.
"You did not trust me not to follow you."
It was a statement, not a question.
"No."
"I will not lie. I would have."
She looked up at him. Upon closer examination, the unreadable expression on his face was a fragile mask. His jaw was taut, the muscles there straining. Without thinking, she raised her hand to touch his face, and in an instant, her wrist was in his vice-like grip. They stared at each other for a moment, his brow furrowed, obviously trying not to be angry. They've grown, both of them, past the pointless arguments, and past the misunderstandings, but she'd hurt him. It was written painfully across his face now.
"Fenris. I am so so sorry."
The fingers around her wrist clenched tighter, not enough to hurt, but close to it.
"You are allowed to protect me, but I am not allowed to protect you?" He bit out. There goes his control.
"You know you would have done the same thing if you were in my place." She quipped, not yet struggling against his hold.
"I would no-" He was cut off by her raised eyebrow, and he sighed, the grip on her wrist loosening.
"I've told you before that I cannot bear the thought of living without you, fool woman."
He was still looking at her, never one to shy away from her, not once he had figured her out. Maker's breath, just that slight twinge of disapproval, mixed with all the feelings they never seemed to speak. It did things to her. Things like make her kick herself mentally, and make her think that she loved him more than anything in Thedas, with the exception of their son. They weren't even married, because such formal declarations of love weren't needed between them... and big shindigs were not in their nature. However, now was a good time to voice those feelings, on her part.
"I love you Fenris. I'm an idiot, but I'm your idiot."
The corner of his mouth twitched at that, and all of the sudden she was caught in a firm embrace, tunic covered in snot and sweat, all her travel weary glory ignored. Before she was able to let out even a gasp, his mouth was firmly pressed against hers, his tongue entwining with her own in a way that never failed to make her whole body shudder. One of his hands pinned her wrists behind her as he pressed her against the hard planes of his body, and he continued to absolutely claim her for a few seconds before pulling back to fix her with a glare.
"This conversation is not over." he said archly, his eyes heated, but somehow still rebuking her. Only he could achieve that.
"I'm not that much of a fool." She replied, wry smile tugging at her lips at the same time she tugged him towards the bed, she needed him as much as he needed her right now, words could wait.
"I wouldn't dare hope."