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contreparry · 5 years

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For DWC: Oats for Fenhawke? Or something with Orana?? :D

I’m not that great of a Fenhawke writer, but I can definitely write some Orana! Here you go, for @dadrunkwriting!

Lady Hawke had a lute in her quarters.

It wasn’t exactly in her quarters, more like her private library where she hosted her friends (her particularly close friends, Orana noted). The library was filled with objects that Lady Hawke treasured: strange little journals full of scribbles from Messere Tethras, Chantry pamphlets from Brother Vael, Lady Merrill’s halla carvings, Lady Bethany’s letters, Guard Captain Vallen’s notices, Lady Isabela’s model ship in a bottle, Messere Anders’s manifesto, and... and the lute.

It was Fenris’s lute more than anyone else’s, even Lady Hawke’s. The others played it, true, and with varying degrees of success. Messere Anders, for all his wit and jovial conversation, was all clumsy thumbs, while Brother Vael made for a competent, if by-the-books, musician. But it was Fenris, silent, stern Fenris, who gave the instrument its soul. Whenever he took it in his calloused hands, cradled the rounded wooden body and held it close, Orana took the opportunity to linger in the shadows of the doorway to Lady Hawke’s library to listen in on the beautifully bewitching music that poured from his fingers and through the lute. Orana took longer setting out the things for tea or supper, or took her time in taking them away. She dusted the spotless shelves within the library, rearranged the ornaments and knickknacks on the shelves, brought in fresh flowers from the garden, all for the excuse to listen to more of Fenris’s golden playing.

He had never played back in Tevinter, in Ma- in Danarius’s household. He was The Wolf, The Hound, Danarius’s creature in all things. Orana knew better than to cross his path, and she watched him from the shadows, much like she did now. But back in Tevinter she watched in fear. In Kirkwall, she watched with wonder. Who would have thought that Danarius’s guard, shadow, assassin- that there was this softness within him? That he was capable of bringing the world to a stand still with his playing?

Orana should have realized that, for all that softness and artistry, Fenris still had that bit of The Wolf within him. She should have realized that he was always watching.

“Do you play, Orana?” Fenris asked one afternoon as Orana brought more flowers from the garden- wild oats that had somehow blown into the garden, orange and yellow zinnias, deep red hollyhocks, and several golden sunflowers. Fenris’s question caught Orana so off-guard that she dropped the old bouquet of flowers (chrysanthemum, roses, sweet alyssum) on the table, and she nearly dropped the vase as well.

“N-no, Messere Fenris,” Orana stammered out after she fumbled with (but caught) the now empty vase. “I- I do not play.”

“But you wish to,” Fenris stated. He always did that now, stating his observations. Orana liked that much better than when he watched the world a few steps behind Danarius, but it was still unnerving to see that cool green gaze assess her. It made her feel small.

No. No, she was not small, not unimportant! Fenris was only making an observation, and he looked now, waiting for an answer. Orana drew in a shaky breath and poured fresh water from a pitcher into the vase.

“It... it doesn’t matter if I wish it or not, Messere,” Orana replied, trying to keep her voice measured, trying to erase the longing she felt in her soul when she looked at the beautiful lute with its polished wood and lovely strings and elegant carvings. Oh, to play, to make music like Fenris could, to bring such life and joy and magic into the world! But she couldn’t, she hadn’t the talent, it was obvious, she wasn’t good enough-

“Besides,” Orana tried to laugh as she shoved the freshly cut flowers into the vase, “I hardly have the time to play! There is far too much work to be done, and I-”

“Come here,” Fenris ordered, and Orana shrank down. Oh, he was angry, wasn’t he? But she glanced through the pale fringe of her bangs at Fenris, at his face, at his eyes- and they weren’t the cold eyes of a hunter, or the dead eyes of Danarius and all he touched.

Fenris’s eyes were soft, the way they always were when he played.

“If you wish to learn to play, I can teach you,” Fenris offered. “It would be... pleasant... to teach someone a skill that doesn’t involve killing.”

Orana hesitantly stepped forward. “You are certain?”

“Never more certain. Sit down, we will practice chords,” Fenris said, and Orana eagerly sat down for her first music lesson. When Lady Hawke arrived in her library, nearly an hour later, Fenris had coached Orana through basic fingerings, two scales, and chords.

“Oh, good,” Lady Hawke said cheerfully, announcing herself with a broad, toothy grin. “I think I’ve got another lute up in the attic, might have been Mother’s when she was a girl. My dear uncle managed to hide away a few things before he lost the manor completely.”

“Oh, Lady Hawke, I couldn’t-” Orana protested, but she clutched the lute closer to her body even as she protested. A lute of her own? It was like a dream!

“Nonsense, instruments need to be used,” Lady Hawke insisted.

“And you need to practice,” Fenris added. “Remember, stretch your fingers and hands, your wrists as well. You needed my assistance, Hawke?”

“Yeah, heading down to Darktown to fetch Anders before we go see what Varric needs us for- oh don’t make that face, Fenris.”

“Hmmph,” Fenris grumbled as he stood. “Practice the scales and chords you learned today, Orana. We will work on a song next time. Lead on, Hawke.”

“Goodbye, Messere Fenris, Lady Hawke!” Orana squeaked out, still clutching the lute to her chest. Even after they both left and Orana was alone in the library, she still held the lute. She cautiously plucked one string, then another. One note, another, a chord, another chord. It was clumsy, dull sounding, not quite the glorious, perfect flood of music that poured out when Fenris played, but each sound thrilled Orana to her very bones.

Each wobbly, imperfect note was hers, and that made it all the more perfect.

#da drunk writing circle #my writing #I don't know how well this fills the prompt #I hope it's acceptable

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