At Your Side (A Dragon Age fanfiction)

The Dance

Hawke didn't bother to knock; none of them did, at this point. But once inside the sagging front door of the derelict mansion, she didn't pause with her usual privacy-protecting shuffle of feet and clearing of the throat, either. Her imagination had painted a number of different receptions to her visit, few of them positive, and she knew if she stopped to think about it she'd turn and leave again, losing any chance she might have of salvaging things between them.

She climbed the familiar stairs, noticing that the walls sported new holes. Round ones, as though he had punched his fists through them. The evidence of his torment didn't make her feel any better.

Fenris was standing near the fireplace, his arms crossed forbiddingly over his chest. His eyes flicked up when she came in, but there was no emotion in them, his expression carefully blank. A talent learned during his years as a slave, no doubt.

Hawke stood there awkwardly, unsure what to say. Finally, she held out the book she'd been carrying. "New reading material." They'd finished the last book just before their night together. She'd allowed herself a few fantasies about what that might have been like, a reading lesson with the possibility of truly delicious rewards for his hard work. She looked down at the book to avoid meeting his eyes, not wanting her thoughts to show on her face.

He crossed the room to take the book, holding it by the corner to avoid the slightest contact with her. He scanned the cover. "The History of the Fi— of the Fifth Blight. By Brother Gen ..." His voice trailed off as he scowled at the unfamiliar word.

"Genitivi," Hawke supplied. "He's a prominent scholar. Apparently he was with the Hero of Ferelden when she went to the Temple of Andraste." She shrugged. "I thought it would be interesting."

"Indeed." His eyes were hidden behind that shock of white hair. He circled the desk, sitting down behind it, his strong, slender fingers dexterously riffling through the pages.

Evelyn remembered the touch of those fingers on her skin. She ached to feel his hands on her again. Of its own volition, his name left her lips. "Fenris ..."

"Don't."

"Can't we talk about this?"

"No." The word brooked no argument, and Hawke took a step back from the stolid determination in his voice.

"But I—"

"NO." Then, more quietly, "You don't."

She swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat, suddenly angry. What a stupid sodding waste. Nothing stood between them but his stubbornness and his cowardice. And your pride, whispered an inner voice. If you bent, the voice said, would he? Hawke shook her head. She hadn't done anything wrong, she shouldn't have to plead with him. More to the point, she simply couldn't bring herself to beg, or to use the passion they had shared as some kind of persuasive angle. No. If this was the way he wanted it, this was the way he would have it. "Fine." She glared at him, further angered by the release of tension in his shoulders when she spoke. "Then let's get this started. I have places to be."

He nodded briefly, turning to the beginning of the book. "Deep beneath the soil lies the city of Orz—Orzammar?" He paused, waited for her confirming murmur, then continued. They made it through the first chapter, telling of the Hero of Ferelden's exile, her escape from the Deep Roads, and her subsequent recruitment into the Grey Wardens.

As he came to the end of the chapter, Evelyn squinted out the dirty windows, calculating the angle of the sun. "Time for me to go." Maliciously she added, "All sorts of parties as we approach Firstday. Mother's dragging me off to dance with a lot of nobles tonight. She still hopes to marry me off."