10 for the hurt/comfort prompt 💖
10. "It's okay to cry." (I did this for Fenris and Hawke c:) Thank you for the prompt!
(Maria Hawke/Fenris | 1,133 Words | Hurt/Comfort | CW: References to broken bones and blood)
Laugh or Cry
The first time she said it, Fenris had just taken a crushing blow to his leg on the Wounded Coast. The words had, he thought, been intended to take his mind off the pain while she healed him—though as far as he could tell, Hawke had never met a bad joke she didn’t love.
So, while she watched the bones of his leg knit themselves back together, Hawke looked sidelong at him and said it:
“It’s alright to cry, you know.”
“What?” Fenris asked through clenched teeth.
“It’s alright,” she said, “I wouldn’t judge you. Goodness knows I cry over the silliest things all the time. I won’t tell the others, either. Healer’s word.”
“Right,” Fenris replied doubtfully, and she winked at him.
“Your bone density is top notch, you know. I’m sure it all fit together quite nicely before the incident with the warhammer.”
There was a horrible crack from the vicinity of his leg and Fenris gritted his teeth for the wave of pain that was sure to follow—only nothing did. Hawke raised a hand and motes of pale blue spun from it, enveloping the break.
“You’ll be right as rain soon enough,” she said, which might have been reassuring, except she kept talking, “I used to do this for the horses in town, you know. Creatures’ll panic themselves into a heart attack if you aren’t careful.”
“Am I to believe,” Fenris said, passing a hand over his forehead to swipe away the sweat before it could drip into his eyes, “That your primary means of practice was on farm animals?”
“Hmm? Oh, no,” Hawke said, and squinted at something on his leg.
When he moved to sit up, she set her hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back.
“Nothing you’ll want to see,” she said, “You know I was a smuggler for a year, yes? Far more broken bones there than back home. I only meant that horse bones are much more delicate than yours and I had them up and walking again. I’ve healed other bones, too, of course, and all manner of hurts.”
“Of course,” he muttered, and rubbed the shoulder she’d touched to dispel the sensation of her hand against the narrow strip of his bare skin.
But of course that wasn’t the only time; if there was something Hawke loved, it was repeating a foolish joke. So several years later, during an ill-advised visit to some lowbrow theater in Lowtown, she leaned over the armrest between them and repeated it.
“It’s okay to cry, you know,” she whispered directly into his ear. Fenris resisted the urge to lean into the words and shook his head, as if unaffected by it all.
In truth, the actress wailing over her dead lover’s body onstage was little more than background noise. If asked, Fenris likely couldn’t have explained what the play was even about. He’d been distracted for the duration, because for some reason Hawke had chosen to come to this event in a dress Isabela had chosen for her—which meant it draped low in the front and exposed both of her shoulders to the smoky air of the theater.
Hawke’s arms, he had realized when he’d arrived late to their group’s seats, were covered in freckles.
He couldn’t explain why the sight of them had struck him most of all.
“I saved you the aisle seat,” she’d whispered as the lights went down, and Fenris hadn’t even thanked her. He’d just sat there, stiff as a statue, and tried very successfully not to actually turn his head and stare at her.
His self control was better than that.
But not when she leaned over like that to whisper in his ear and the scent of her wrapped around him like—like it had a mind of its own. So:
“It’s okay to cry, you know,” she whispered as the play reached its climax, “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Hawke,” he managed, his voice thankfully chiding instead of—of—anything else.
She laughed slightly and angled herself closer so he could hear her over the screech of violins. Against his will, his eyes dropped to her bodice.
Fenedhis, he could see all the way past her cleavage to the swell of her stomach beneath.
Fenris squeezed his eyes shut.
“I know,” she said into his ear, “It’s all very touching. I’m genuinely shocked I haven’t heard you laughing at the thing since that awful bit where they drank out of the boot. Shameless.”
“Shameless,” he repeated, his voice rough even to his own ears, “I couldn’t agree more.”
And then—things changed. Fenris grew closer to her, then too close, botched things horribly, and for a long time kept a very, very careful distance between them.
But Hawke, as they all knew well, could never abandon a lost cause.
So: here they were, later still, fighting side by side on the Wounded Coast again. Lovers, now, and not reluctant allies; and when she fell at his side in battle it hurt far more than a broken leg.
“I will not allow it,” he growled, and raised the blade she’d given him for a blow that would have felled a dragon.
When their foes had fallen and the others began to pick through their pockets, Fenris darted back to her side and tucked his hand beneath her neck.
“Hawke,” he said roughly, smoothing her curls away from her forehead.
Blood had stuck them to her skin; it would be a task to get it all out later. He knew now exactly how much of a task because lately he was the one to rinse it out, to comb out anything still tangled in the strands, to ensure that she went to bed clean and safe and well.
Maria was not even unconscious; just dazed, blinking up at the dull sky. He didn’t like the way her eyes looked, the unfocused way they wandered past his face to the clouds. After a moment, she took a breath and parted her lips.
“Fenris?” she said.
He frowned and leaned closer. Was there something more wrong than he’d thought? Did she need—
“It’s okay to cry, you know,” she said, her voice piteous, her eyes round and entreating, “I won’t tell anyone if you do.”
“Hawke,” he said roughly, and dipped his head to kiss her forehead over and over, speaking in between each touch, “You are an utter fool.”
“No,” she said.
Fenris didn’t much care that he was getting her blood on his mouth—only that she was well enough to make horrible jokes.
���I’m your fool,” she finished, and he huffed.
“As you say,” he murmured, and sat back to offer her another vial, “Drink this and stop your jokes.”
“Never,” she said with a smile, and drank it down.
And Fenris was glad.
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