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rose_in_winterCharacters: Fenris, Mage Female Hawke, Sebastian Vael (Fenris/f!Hawke/Sebastian)
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Canon-typical violence, explicit sex
Fic Wordcount: 117,000
Chapter Wordcount:
Notes: Canon-divergent, ignoring most of Act 3. A thousand thanks tosenmut's Discord server for cheering and brainstorming and reactions and encouragement.
Beta: breadedsinner and MikWrites_InSpace
Summary: After the duel with the Arishok, Ariane Hawke looks around at the wreckage of her life in Kirkwall and asks herself: what is left for me here? As tensions increase between the Circle and the Templars, she turns to helping Sebastian retake Starkhaven. Meanwhile, she is trying to figure out how to love Fenris when he hates mages, and also definitely not looking at Sebastian's gorgeous eyes. Definitely not. Neither is Fenris. Sebastian is not looking back.
Definitely.
Canon divergence in which almost all of act 3 goes in the bin, and three damaged people try to find a way to live with each other and themselves, and maybe heal a bit.
Chapter index here.
Varric was all but bouncing on his toes when he strolled into the Hanged Man.
"Somehow," Fenris said, "I do not think that bodes well for us."
"It might bode well for our purses," Hawke answered.
"Are you short, Hawke? I could help out," Merrill said.
Hawke leaned over to tuck back a lock of Merrill's hair. "Just a turn of phrase, Merrill."
"Ah." Merrill peered over the rim of her tankard at Varric, who was chatting with Nora as he gestured at their table. Hawke and Fenris exchanged glances.
When Varric arrived at his customary seat, he took his time getting settled and then surveyed them all thoughtfully. "You look suspicious, Hawke."
If that was how he wanted to play, she could play along. She gestured to the table. "I'm in an arse-alley tavern with a ragtag group of miscreants and ragamuffins, myself very much included. You're always telling me to watch my back."
Varric chuckled. "So I am."
"You're looking awfully pleased with yourself, Varric," Merrill said.
"Yes," Aveline said from behind Hawke, "you are. Do I need to leave this conversation?"
"Not at all," Varric said, pointing at an empty chair. "Completely aboveboard, I assure you."
Aveline's eyes narrowed. Hawke couldn't blame her for being distrustful.
"Lady Merinfort is having a party," Varric announced.
Hawke dropped her head into her folded arms and whimpered. She felt the weight of Fenris's sudden concerned look like a touch, though he was across the table from her.
"Does this mean that Lady Amell is attending?" Varric asked with entirely too much glee.
Hawke lifted her head just enough to give him the most lethal look she could summon. "Varric," she said pleasantly, "I suspect you wrangled an invitation to this solely because you know I had to accept mine." She had spent the last three weeks closed in small offices with solicitors (and railing to Fenris about it afterward), cleaning up paperwork, back taxes (not as bad as she'd feared, since the Amell mansion had been owned by someone else for many years), and old contracts between families. The Merinforts had made a contract with her grandfather for their choice of either a son or grandson of the line. Since her uncle was no prize and Carver was unavailable due to a permanent case of the Gallows, the solicitors had advised Hawke that it would be wise to flatter the matriarch of House Merinfort in an effort to get her to extend the term of the contract to include any future children Hawke might have, rather than requiring her to pay the penalty for breaking it.
Hawke hadn't decided yet if she wanted to terrorize Lady Merinfort by suggesting that any such children were likely to be mages and, if nothing else went wrong, possibly have pointy ears.
She hadn't actually gotten around to asking Fenris if he wanted to go with her, and if he did go with her, the extent to which she was willing to throw her wine in Lady Merinfort's face and cause a public scandal was going to depend entirely on how the lady reacted to her escort. But she wouldn't do that to him without his express permission.
"A party? Why is that a bad thing?" Merrill asked.
"Rich people's parties are dreadfully boring," Anders told her solemnly. Hawke hadn't even realized he was there, but she smelled the astringency of medicinal herbs as he pulled out the chair next to Aveline's. "Or so I am told."
"It depends entirely on who's hosting them," Sebastian pointed out. Hawke blinked in surprise; she hadn't realized they were all gathering this evening, though it was good to have everyone gathered. Except Isabela. She put that thought away. "There are certain parties held for The Right Sort of People," and his tone became unbearably priggish, such that she wadded up a scrap of the paper Varric always kept around and flicked it at his face. He batted it away without blinking. "Those parties are indeed dreadfully boring. Of course, sometimes rich people throw incredibly decadent parties that can be quite a lot of fun if that's your style--though if it's still the same Lady Merinfort, I sincerely doubt she wants to host one of those."
"Do you know everyone in Kirkwall?" Merrill wondered.
"He is a prince," Anders pointed out.
"Was," Sebastian said.
Hawke raised an eyebrow at him. He glanced away.
"You're going, right, Choir Boy?" Varric asked casually, and Sebastian snapped his head around to glare at him. "I saw your name on the guest list."
"How did you--" Sebastian caught himself and sighed. "I received an invitation, yes."
"Well, you can't let us suffer alone," Varric said. "Don't you have to give succor to the faithful?"
"You aren't a Chantry believer," Sebastian said.
"There's probably something in there about your duty to corral the foolish." Hawke peeked at him over the rim of her tankard, hiding her smile behind it.
"I am fairly certain Andraste does not command me to keep you all out of trouble of your own devising," Sebastian said.
"I have no intention of devising trouble," Hawke protested, and at Sebastian's look, she quickly amended, "at this party, anyway."
"What does the Chant say about accidental trouble?" Merrill wondered.
"I don't believe it is that specific," Anders told her.
"I'd like to see inside one of those mansions once," Merrill mused, studying a plate that had previously held bread and cheese and now held crumbs.
"You have," Aveline pointed out mildly. "You've been to Hawke's house, and Fenris's."
"Oh, but I meant one not covered in corpses," Merrill said. She blinked. "Well, Hawke's doesn't have any corpses. And I suppose Fenris has cleaned his up, hasn't he?" She looked at Hawke, rather than at Fenris himself. "Has he?"
"I saw no corpses when last I was there." Hawke considered. "Well, there might've been some dead rats, but that's because a cat moved in and he hasn't made it leave."
"Why would I make it leave?" he asked. Damn it, she needed to stop smiling when she heard his voice. She was never going to hear the end of it from Varric as it was. "It keeps the rats out of the larder."
"Broody has a pet," Varric proclaimed, sounding delighted. "This is definitely going in the next installment of Hard in Hightown."
"Varric," Aveline said.
"Oh, maybe your cat and Anders' cat can be friends!" Merrill bounced up. "Can we go get Ser Pounce-a-lot and introduce them?"
"Absolutely not," Anders and Fenris said in unison, and then glared at each other, as though even that small moment of agreement was too much.
"Cats are very territorial," Sebastian explained to Merrill, who was looking crestfallen.
Hawke left the question of cat friendship to them and turned back to Varric. "Is anyone attending I need to be wary of?"
Varric hummed and became unusually interested in his ale, even given that he was a dwarf, and Varric.
"Varric," Hawke and Aveline said together.
"I did see two names in particular among the best and brightest," Varric said.
Hawke cursed under her breath. Of course the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter had to be present. That could either make her discussions with Lady Merinfort much easier or much, much more difficult.
Fenris was alert in that way he had when they were somewhere he expected spells and arrows at any moment. "Why do you expect that to be more trouble than usual?" he asked.
Hawke sighed. "It's a party."
Fenris watched her with a wary expression.
"A Kirkwall high society party," she clarified.
He folded his arms. "I see."
He certainly did not see, and the porcupine face was in full effect. Hawke made herself keep the sigh inside her mind only. "Varric, I'm borrowing your extra room," she said, and put her hand on Fenris's wrist, very lightly, making sure he saw the touch coming. "Let's talk," she said to him.
They made their way around the table and up the stairs. Hawke felt Sebastian's gaze on them as they went, and wondered why. He'd been odd, since the night they'd talked in the Chantry and she'd gone to Fenris's mansion at dawn. If she hadn't known better she'd have said he was jealous. Or maybe pining. Was pining allowed under Chantry rules? She could hardly ask him.
Varric had an extra room he didn't exactly pay for, but that was rented out last if the Hanged Man ran out of other rooms, where he conducted business that was best held not in the noisy and violent common room of a noisy and violent tavern. Hawke led Fenris in and kicked the door closed behind them.
She could appreciate that he was at least trying not to watch her like he expected blood magic at any minute.
"So," she said. "To summarize, as the head of House Amell, I am invited to a party held by a woman who has the right to financially ruin me if neither my brother nor my uncle marry one of her granddaughters, unless I can convince her not to, or convince her to wait for any future children I may have for her great-grandchildren. Since she invited me to this party, and since I don't want to offend her, I should probably go. The reason I haven't asked you to come with me is because I'm not sure there's a reason for you to put up with Kirkwall's high and mighty."
He thought about that for a moment. Hawke made herself bury her hands in the pockets of her robe because otherwise she would be wringing them.
"I do know how to behave at fancy parties," he said, though there was a grim edge to the assertion.
"Of course you do." It had never occurred to her that he wouldn't, and he looked at her, surprised. She pushed back strands of her hair that had gotten into her face and tried to put thoughts into words, which was a terribly difficult task she didn't like doing. "I don't think this is going to be an enjoyable evening," she said after a moment. "I expect everyone to either treat me like a curiosity, attempt to get in my good graces, or attempt to talk me into or out of taking the viscount's throne. Probably with some bonus sneering about my mother marrying beneath her and am I sure I'm the heir to Amell, and some commentary about magic running in the line. None of that is something I want to do. I don't see any point in giving them another target."
Fenris crossed his arms. "They wouldn't be the first to treat me like a curiosity, or a barely-tamed pet."
"Yes, I know. That's the point. You don't have to let them." She shoved her hands back into her pockets and perched on the corner of a chair that was sitting in the middle of the room for reasons it was probably best for her not to think about or ask Varric about. "I don't expect it to be dangerous unless Meredith has gone much farther out of line than I've heard about," she continued.
He narrowed his eyes. "Then why ask me?"
"For the pleasure of your company," she answered, and realized after a moment that he thought she was sassing him. In fairness, she was probably eighty percent sarcasm by volume. "I do like spending time with you, you know."
He paced the short distance to the wall, studied it as though something interesting was hiding in the faded boards, and then paced back. "I see."
Hawke shrugged. "They might have good wine, I guess."
He laughed at that. "I think the cellar I appropriated is fine."
"Exactly." She tilted her head at him. "I don't have to take an escort," she said quietly, and then gathered up all the courage she could find. "But maybe I could come see you when I get tired of playing nice for them?"
"Always." He came closer, and touched her cheek with just the tips of his fingers.
"Besides," she added, "this way you don't have to wear shoes."
He rolled his eyes. "Truly a benefit."
She tucked her arm into his. "All right?" she asked.
"All right," he agreed, and went back down to the common room with her, where a game of Wicked Grace had broken out. They joined it, and Hawke settled in for the serious business of taking Varric's money for the hell of it.
Chapter Fourteen
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Canon-typical violence, explicit sex
Fic Wordcount: 117,000
Chapter Wordcount:
Notes: Canon-divergent, ignoring most of Act 3. A thousand thanks to
senmut's Discord server for cheering and brainstorming and reactions and encouragement.Beta: breadedsinner and MikWrites_InSpace
Summary: After the duel with the Arishok, Ariane Hawke looks around at the wreckage of her life in Kirkwall and asks herself: what is left for me here? As tensions increase between the Circle and the Templars, she turns to helping Sebastian retake Starkhaven. Meanwhile, she is trying to figure out how to love Fenris when he hates mages, and also definitely not looking at Sebastian's gorgeous eyes. Definitely not. Neither is Fenris. Sebastian is not looking back.
Definitely.
Canon divergence in which almost all of act 3 goes in the bin, and three damaged people try to find a way to live with each other and themselves, and maybe heal a bit.
Chapter index here.
Varric was all but bouncing on his toes when he strolled into the Hanged Man.
"Somehow," Fenris said, "I do not think that bodes well for us."
"It might bode well for our purses," Hawke answered.
"Are you short, Hawke? I could help out," Merrill said.
Hawke leaned over to tuck back a lock of Merrill's hair. "Just a turn of phrase, Merrill."
"Ah." Merrill peered over the rim of her tankard at Varric, who was chatting with Nora as he gestured at their table. Hawke and Fenris exchanged glances.
When Varric arrived at his customary seat, he took his time getting settled and then surveyed them all thoughtfully. "You look suspicious, Hawke."
If that was how he wanted to play, she could play along. She gestured to the table. "I'm in an arse-alley tavern with a ragtag group of miscreants and ragamuffins, myself very much included. You're always telling me to watch my back."
Varric chuckled. "So I am."
"You're looking awfully pleased with yourself, Varric," Merrill said.
"Yes," Aveline said from behind Hawke, "you are. Do I need to leave this conversation?"
"Not at all," Varric said, pointing at an empty chair. "Completely aboveboard, I assure you."
Aveline's eyes narrowed. Hawke couldn't blame her for being distrustful.
"Lady Merinfort is having a party," Varric announced.
Hawke dropped her head into her folded arms and whimpered. She felt the weight of Fenris's sudden concerned look like a touch, though he was across the table from her.
"Does this mean that Lady Amell is attending?" Varric asked with entirely too much glee.
Hawke lifted her head just enough to give him the most lethal look she could summon. "Varric," she said pleasantly, "I suspect you wrangled an invitation to this solely because you know I had to accept mine." She had spent the last three weeks closed in small offices with solicitors (and railing to Fenris about it afterward), cleaning up paperwork, back taxes (not as bad as she'd feared, since the Amell mansion had been owned by someone else for many years), and old contracts between families. The Merinforts had made a contract with her grandfather for their choice of either a son or grandson of the line. Since her uncle was no prize and Carver was unavailable due to a permanent case of the Gallows, the solicitors had advised Hawke that it would be wise to flatter the matriarch of House Merinfort in an effort to get her to extend the term of the contract to include any future children Hawke might have, rather than requiring her to pay the penalty for breaking it.
Hawke hadn't decided yet if she wanted to terrorize Lady Merinfort by suggesting that any such children were likely to be mages and, if nothing else went wrong, possibly have pointy ears.
She hadn't actually gotten around to asking Fenris if he wanted to go with her, and if he did go with her, the extent to which she was willing to throw her wine in Lady Merinfort's face and cause a public scandal was going to depend entirely on how the lady reacted to her escort. But she wouldn't do that to him without his express permission.
"A party? Why is that a bad thing?" Merrill asked.
"Rich people's parties are dreadfully boring," Anders told her solemnly. Hawke hadn't even realized he was there, but she smelled the astringency of medicinal herbs as he pulled out the chair next to Aveline's. "Or so I am told."
"It depends entirely on who's hosting them," Sebastian pointed out. Hawke blinked in surprise; she hadn't realized they were all gathering this evening, though it was good to have everyone gathered. Except Isabela. She put that thought away. "There are certain parties held for The Right Sort of People," and his tone became unbearably priggish, such that she wadded up a scrap of the paper Varric always kept around and flicked it at his face. He batted it away without blinking. "Those parties are indeed dreadfully boring. Of course, sometimes rich people throw incredibly decadent parties that can be quite a lot of fun if that's your style--though if it's still the same Lady Merinfort, I sincerely doubt she wants to host one of those."
"Do you know everyone in Kirkwall?" Merrill wondered.
"He is a prince," Anders pointed out.
"Was," Sebastian said.
Hawke raised an eyebrow at him. He glanced away.
"You're going, right, Choir Boy?" Varric asked casually, and Sebastian snapped his head around to glare at him. "I saw your name on the guest list."
"How did you--" Sebastian caught himself and sighed. "I received an invitation, yes."
"Well, you can't let us suffer alone," Varric said. "Don't you have to give succor to the faithful?"
"You aren't a Chantry believer," Sebastian said.
"There's probably something in there about your duty to corral the foolish." Hawke peeked at him over the rim of her tankard, hiding her smile behind it.
"I am fairly certain Andraste does not command me to keep you all out of trouble of your own devising," Sebastian said.
"I have no intention of devising trouble," Hawke protested, and at Sebastian's look, she quickly amended, "at this party, anyway."
"What does the Chant say about accidental trouble?" Merrill wondered.
"I don't believe it is that specific," Anders told her.
"I'd like to see inside one of those mansions once," Merrill mused, studying a plate that had previously held bread and cheese and now held crumbs.
"You have," Aveline pointed out mildly. "You've been to Hawke's house, and Fenris's."
"Oh, but I meant one not covered in corpses," Merrill said. She blinked. "Well, Hawke's doesn't have any corpses. And I suppose Fenris has cleaned his up, hasn't he?" She looked at Hawke, rather than at Fenris himself. "Has he?"
"I saw no corpses when last I was there." Hawke considered. "Well, there might've been some dead rats, but that's because a cat moved in and he hasn't made it leave."
"Why would I make it leave?" he asked. Damn it, she needed to stop smiling when she heard his voice. She was never going to hear the end of it from Varric as it was. "It keeps the rats out of the larder."
"Broody has a pet," Varric proclaimed, sounding delighted. "This is definitely going in the next installment of Hard in Hightown."
"Varric," Aveline said.
"Oh, maybe your cat and Anders' cat can be friends!" Merrill bounced up. "Can we go get Ser Pounce-a-lot and introduce them?"
"Absolutely not," Anders and Fenris said in unison, and then glared at each other, as though even that small moment of agreement was too much.
"Cats are very territorial," Sebastian explained to Merrill, who was looking crestfallen.
Hawke left the question of cat friendship to them and turned back to Varric. "Is anyone attending I need to be wary of?"
Varric hummed and became unusually interested in his ale, even given that he was a dwarf, and Varric.
"Varric," Hawke and Aveline said together.
"I did see two names in particular among the best and brightest," Varric said.
Hawke cursed under her breath. Of course the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter had to be present. That could either make her discussions with Lady Merinfort much easier or much, much more difficult.
Fenris was alert in that way he had when they were somewhere he expected spells and arrows at any moment. "Why do you expect that to be more trouble than usual?" he asked.
Hawke sighed. "It's a party."
Fenris watched her with a wary expression.
"A Kirkwall high society party," she clarified.
He folded his arms. "I see."
He certainly did not see, and the porcupine face was in full effect. Hawke made herself keep the sigh inside her mind only. "Varric, I'm borrowing your extra room," she said, and put her hand on Fenris's wrist, very lightly, making sure he saw the touch coming. "Let's talk," she said to him.
They made their way around the table and up the stairs. Hawke felt Sebastian's gaze on them as they went, and wondered why. He'd been odd, since the night they'd talked in the Chantry and she'd gone to Fenris's mansion at dawn. If she hadn't known better she'd have said he was jealous. Or maybe pining. Was pining allowed under Chantry rules? She could hardly ask him.
Varric had an extra room he didn't exactly pay for, but that was rented out last if the Hanged Man ran out of other rooms, where he conducted business that was best held not in the noisy and violent common room of a noisy and violent tavern. Hawke led Fenris in and kicked the door closed behind them.
She could appreciate that he was at least trying not to watch her like he expected blood magic at any minute.
"So," she said. "To summarize, as the head of House Amell, I am invited to a party held by a woman who has the right to financially ruin me if neither my brother nor my uncle marry one of her granddaughters, unless I can convince her not to, or convince her to wait for any future children I may have for her great-grandchildren. Since she invited me to this party, and since I don't want to offend her, I should probably go. The reason I haven't asked you to come with me is because I'm not sure there's a reason for you to put up with Kirkwall's high and mighty."
He thought about that for a moment. Hawke made herself bury her hands in the pockets of her robe because otherwise she would be wringing them.
"I do know how to behave at fancy parties," he said, though there was a grim edge to the assertion.
"Of course you do." It had never occurred to her that he wouldn't, and he looked at her, surprised. She pushed back strands of her hair that had gotten into her face and tried to put thoughts into words, which was a terribly difficult task she didn't like doing. "I don't think this is going to be an enjoyable evening," she said after a moment. "I expect everyone to either treat me like a curiosity, attempt to get in my good graces, or attempt to talk me into or out of taking the viscount's throne. Probably with some bonus sneering about my mother marrying beneath her and am I sure I'm the heir to Amell, and some commentary about magic running in the line. None of that is something I want to do. I don't see any point in giving them another target."
Fenris crossed his arms. "They wouldn't be the first to treat me like a curiosity, or a barely-tamed pet."
"Yes, I know. That's the point. You don't have to let them." She shoved her hands back into her pockets and perched on the corner of a chair that was sitting in the middle of the room for reasons it was probably best for her not to think about or ask Varric about. "I don't expect it to be dangerous unless Meredith has gone much farther out of line than I've heard about," she continued.
He narrowed his eyes. "Then why ask me?"
"For the pleasure of your company," she answered, and realized after a moment that he thought she was sassing him. In fairness, she was probably eighty percent sarcasm by volume. "I do like spending time with you, you know."
He paced the short distance to the wall, studied it as though something interesting was hiding in the faded boards, and then paced back. "I see."
Hawke shrugged. "They might have good wine, I guess."
He laughed at that. "I think the cellar I appropriated is fine."
"Exactly." She tilted her head at him. "I don't have to take an escort," she said quietly, and then gathered up all the courage she could find. "But maybe I could come see you when I get tired of playing nice for them?"
"Always." He came closer, and touched her cheek with just the tips of his fingers.
"Besides," she added, "this way you don't have to wear shoes."
He rolled his eyes. "Truly a benefit."
She tucked her arm into his. "All right?" she asked.
"All right," he agreed, and went back down to the common room with her, where a game of Wicked Grace had broken out. They joined it, and Hawke settled in for the serious business of taking Varric's money for the hell of it.
Chapter Fourteen