ventito | Fenris - Dragon Age

[Here he was again, looking to drink as heavily as he could manage, to numb himself from the outside world. Dorian stepped up to the bar, settling into place, and nodded at the familiar elf a few seats down. He debated for a moment if he was going to inch closer, but if there is anything misery likes, it's company.

So he took his whiskey, and stepped over, settling into place in a seat. He didn't say anything, but he took a few drinks, sitting in silence. He wasn't certain that anything needed to be said, but he finally broke the silence, swirling his whiskey and looking at the lowball glass.

He wasn't exactly certain where he stood with Fenris.]

Good evening.

[That was a start, at least.]

((OOC: BACKDATED LIKE WOAH SO I CAN ACCEPTABLY MAKE THIS AU MAKE SENSE.))

[It all started with the stupid chocolates and only got worse from there. Fenris was an enigma, filled with opinions he didn't deviate from that only made sense when he explained them and the most amazingly dry sense of humor Jove has ever come across. She had liked him right away, but the attraction had been more of a slow burn.

It's impossible to ignore that it exists now, though. Now she's been spending a day a week with him, locked up in his room alone with him as she helps him pick up the business of reading. It hadn't been much at first, friends sitting near enough that she could point out which letters he should be putting emphasis on, but as time went on she was able to lean a little more into his personal space without him flinching.

Now he's sitting while she stands beside him, one hand braced on the back of his chair while the other supports her weight against the desk he's at. Close, but not too close. It's a delicate line to ride and the last thing she wants to do is make him uncomfortable.]

You're coming up to a tough one now, here. [She points to the word on the page, honest, with its traitorous silent H.] Someone decided words with letters that don't have a sound was a good idea. Try it without the first letter.

[Family has always been a difficult concept for Fenris. His own were long gone, shadows in his memory, the hint of a voice, Varania's departing back, nothing of substance. But then things changed, slowly, but change they did. He found love, the love of two people, at that. He found security, and then, surprisingly to him, he found family.

He'd never considered being a father, he'd assumed such a thing was unattainable. When Jove had told him she was with child, he was terrified. What if he got it wrong? He barely understood how to take care of himself. How could he take care of a child? But when their daughter had been born, the fear dissipated. For the most part. At night, he would stand guard by her crib, like a Mabari, watching her sleep in silence. She was so small, so precious, and she meant the world to him.

He kept his silent watch over her as she grew. Teaching her what he could, half the time learning along with her. Today, she is happily playing in the courtyard of Skyhold, tottering over to the various people wandering around, demanding they state what their business is in her castle. Fenris watches from his quiet corner, a soft smile on his face. ]

[ Hawke is...tired.

'Tired' used to mean something different. Before it meant a grin still lingering on his face, splatters of enemies' blood on his clothes, dirt under his fingernails. It meant collapsing in a chair at the Hanged Man with a foaming mug of ale, surrounded by his friends, ready to recount the days' adventures. Before, he could fall into bed and wake up the next day ready to take on the world again.

Now, there's something much colder and much deeper dragging his bones and making them ache, like his spirit's back is giving out. He wants to bounce back like he always does, put himself back together with a smile and a terrible joke--but it's harder now, and Hawke wonders if he really is just getting way too damn old for this.

The journey to Weisshaupt is smooth enough, he thinks, though his definition of 'smooth' generally just means a few less bodies in the sand than usual. The fortress is...somber, heavy with the grief and shame hanging over the heads of many of the Wardens, but it all barely registers to Hawke. He feels like something chipped off him and fell to the ground and is floating around somewhere in the Fade, never to be picked up again.

It's late; talks will come tomorrow. For now, he's directed to the chamber he'll be staying in and informed that someone had arrived earlier that day to meet him. Something swoops up in Hawke's stomach and up to his chest, something that's equal parts ecstatic and terrified and yet muffled by the pervasive exhaustion he still feels, and he heads there immediately.

He just hopes the person waiting for him recognizes the man he came to meet. ]

[It takes a few months from the dissolution of the Inquisition for Jove to decide her only real choice is to go to Kirkwall. After everything she learned from Solas about her own people, after how much she had changed during her time living in Skyhold, there was nothing left for her with her clan. They knew it, she knew it, and all it took was one last letter to Wycome to find they didn't require her back. As much as she loves Skyhold, with everyone leaving it because there was no more need to house an army there it became too depressing to stay.

So she goes to Kirkwall and isn't very fond of Hightown, but the shemlen there greet her with the respect she's come to expect, being the Inquisitor. Many still greet her that way, or with Herald, or your Worship, and she supposes it fits if she's to hold the title Varric gave her for no reason other than he could.

The house itself is nice, and Varric tells her over drinks it once was a dump, roof caving in in places, broken wine bottles, cracked tile and if she could believe it, corpses for decoration. He's fixed it up, now, decorated it so it looked very much like Skyhold had. The same tapestries, she thinks, and he refuses to say if it's true.

He also refuses to admit to putting extra work and money into making it somewhere she can live with only one arm.

She's had the most trouble adjusting to that, but here there are workarounds for so much that she hadn't realized troubled her. There are railings near the deep bath, the kitchen is arranged so that everything she may need to reach for will always be on her right. When she first visits the house on her own and realizes how far he's gone, she has to take more time than she'd like to admit to sit at the table and cry.

Now, though, it's been a week and she's gotten used to the place. It doesn't feel like home in the same way Skyhold had, but Varric visits daily and tells her what he's done to drive people up the wall and it's certainly a start. After she sees him off far too late at night, she doesn't think twice about checking the windows to be sure they're securely locked before tumbling into the soft, warm bed. They'd had more than a few drinks and now, suitably hazy and mildly floaty, it doesn't take her long to fall asleep.]

[After the work she's put into it, Jove is proud to say the bath she's gotten ready is looking quite inviting. There are candles and little trays of food, a bottle of Fenris' favorite wine and glasses, and steam curls up from the heated water to make the room comfortingly warm.

It's been a long couple of days fighting for the good of the world, and they could both use some time to relax together, quietly, with no chance they might be called away for some new and exciting crisis in Thedas. She's asked one of the pages to bring her message to Fenris, telling him to visit the Inquisitor in her quarters at his earliest convenience.

When he arrives he'll find her already in the water running a soapy cloth along one arm and looking entirely relaxed already.]

Fenris had always had a great amount of faith in Kirk, the man lent himself towards gathering loyalty quite well. He still hadn't quite believed he'd have a chance out of Thedas, when all this was over- a different place to live. Somewhere he could thrive much better, away from dark magic and holes in the sky. When Kirk had told him he could go with him, Fenris had taken it in good humour. He never thought the man had actually meant it.

But here he was, aboard Kirk's ship - Kirk's actual ship, a member of his crew. The...uniform had taken some getting used to, and he'd kept his old tunic and armour in his quarters, just in case. He still remained barefoot, though. Some habits could never be broken.

Still, he was grateful to Kirk for bringing him here. For giving him a new home. He'd always been comfortable around the man in the Fleet, but comfort had grown into something more, during his time there and then especially here. Familiarity, the knowledge of what they had been through- it made him feel closer still. His ease around Kirk had changed, he'd allowed himself beyond his usual jokes, strayed into casual flirtation- which in itself crew into far less casual flirting. He'd surprised himself when he came to realise he actually meant it.

And so, he found himself heading to Kirk's quarters a little brighter than usual. He welcomed their talks, to reminisce about where they'd been, discuss perhaps where the ship would go next. But he found he welcomed Kirk's company even more. He knocked on the door, before entering- not really waiting to be welcomed in first.

"Kirk?"

Before anything else, Kirk fussed over the brown paper bag in his arms as he stepped out of the rain into the coffee shop. He looked more like a mother hen with her egg than a man, but considering what was inside, Kirk had every reason to fuss. A birthday cupcake. A very special one.

Certain that his cargo was not damaged from the sudden storm, he took a quick glance in the windows and slicked back his damp hair and made his way to the end of the bar, taking the middle seat on the short side of the 'L'. It should honestly have had his initials embroidered in it by now, considering he had been coming to the coffee shop every single day for the past six months. Well, not ever single day - but 99% of them, with few cancellations except for being sick or work.

He gave a smile to the waitress whose shift would be ending soon, usually fifteen minutes after he arrived. She gave him a smile back and a knowing look, one shared between co-conspirators. For his part, Kirk shrugged out of his jacket and leaned against the counter, waiting to be served by the man behind it. Though frankly he would be happy just watching him move about all day. Except then he wouldn't be able to present his gift, and that wouldn't do tonight.

"I'll have my usual, when you're ready!" he called to Fenris, beaming innocently at him from down the bar.

“I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls.”

That's Relm's story and she's sticking with it. The others poked and prodded her about the incident all night while they drank and gambled their money away at the Hanged Man. After spending a lot of time in the company of liars, she's picked up on a few things. Okay, it's not the most believable lie ever, but it gets the point across: she's not spilling the details.

"Amazing feat of physicality. Who knew that the baron had it in himself to pull off such a thing?"

Now that they're all walking back home, Relm finds herself feeling less cornered. And the others, walking ahead, have more or less given up on the line of questioning. So now she's just being a little shit about it, but honestly, Fenris should be used to her antics by now. "And I mean, really, Varric will spin it into something far more ridiculous and dramatic anyway, so what does it matter what I tell him?"

Relm has tried really, really, really, really hard to be mindful and understanding with Fenris, especially in regards to mages and magic. He went through awful things at the hands of one. She gets it, she really does. Some mages are assholes and abuse their power. They deserve to die. And even when he'd go off about mages and making general hurtful statements, she reined in her hurt and tried to reason with him or, if impossible, just sat and listened.

"What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?" Then he went and said that and Hawke just about had it. It took every ounce of willpower not to say something in the immediate aftermath, letting him storm out of that holding cave. At first, she thought she'd just let it slide like all the other comments. But throughout the rest of the day and the day after, she had sat and stewed on it. That one stung, more than the rest. Maker, even his slightly earlier comment about all mages deserving to rot didn't cut as deep. It's hard to articulate why. Probably some mix of her own feelings about magic, about him (Maker help her, of all the people she could have fallen for), and perhaps just... letting things go too much. Too many barbs left unchallenged, too much bitterness left unremarked upon. Now it's come to a head.

She drinks that night, as she often does. But it's not for fun, and she quickly moves away from the happier, funner activities at the Hanged Man and towards, well... brooding. He's rubbing off on her, she supposes. A couple drinks later, and Hawke leaves the tavern without warning. But she's not going home, oh no. She has another mansion in mind for her destination.

Is this a bad idea? Probably, she thinks as she marches towards his door. But a bit of liquid courage (not enough to render her drunk but enough to loosen her up) and boiling anger override her sense. Relm's gunning for a fight, and maybe one needs to be had. Normally she at least knocks on his door before entering, but tonight she barges in, slamming the heavy front door behind her before plunging further into the empty rooms of his borrowed mansion.

She tries to think of something clever or witty to say, something to trip him up. But her mind's a jumble, and her usual wit fails her. So when she reaches the foyer, just at the base of the stairs, instead of a cutting remark, all she manages is...

"What the fuck, Fenris?"

...at least it's to the point?

Drift Fleet AU - A bar on Accendo - 2/7

Fenris stop banging all the inquisitions