For @dadrunkwriting Friday! In which Fenris and Hawke talk about religion, and Hawke puts her foot in her mouth more than once. Inspired by Fenris and Sebastian’s banter, which can be seen in full here. 

Read on AO3 instead.

***************

“So,” Hawke said. She handed Fenris a glass of wine and plopped down beside him in front of the fireplace. “Sebastian has been leaning on you pretty hard lately, hasn’t he?”

“What do you mean?” Fenris asked.

“He seems to have made it his goal of the year to convert you to Andrastianism,” Hawke said. She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Andrastianism? Is that a word? Andrastianity, maybe? Or is it just ‘the grand and glorious faith of Andraste’?” She smirked at Fenris. “Remind me to ask him next time he comes out with us. His head will probably explode when he realizes that I don’t know.”

Fenris watched as she swirled the brandy in her glass before taking a sip. “He is certainly very… focused,” he said carefully.

Hawke snickered. “That’s one way to put it. ‘Stubbornly determined’ is another. I don’t see why he won’t just leave you alone. Not everyone needs to believe in some fancy all-seeing bogeyman to get themselves out of bed in the morning.”

When Fenris didn’t reply, the smile slowly faded from Hawke’s pretty face. “Oh,” she said blankly. Then her cheeks started turning pink. “Are you actually…? I assumed…”

Fenris idly stroked the stem of his wineglass. “I may have been considering what Sebastian has said,” Fenris muttered.

“Oh, shit,” Hawke said. “I didn’t think… Well, um…” She trailed off, then gulped from her tumbler of brandy before letting out a nervous little laugh. “Maker’s balls, I’m surprised I can still drink around the foot I’ve gotten wedged into my mouth here.”

Fenris offered a tiny smirk at her awkward version of an apology, but he didn’t answer. When Sebastian had first started prodding him about this topic, he’d felt like he was being targeted, exactly as Hawke suggested; it was as though Sebastian was trying to meet some kind of quota by bringing the poor lost elf into the Chantry. But to Fenris’s own surprise, the more Sebastian talked to him, the more it felt like a calm academic debate than a conversion routine.

And the debate had gotten Fenris thinking about the Maker more than he had since he’d been under Danarius’s thumb.

Fenris’s relationship with the Andrastian faith was… complicated. He’d heard two very different versions of the Maker’s love from two very different classes of people. The magisters and their ilk claimed that their magical tyranny was in the Maker’s name, while Fenris’s fellow slaves whispered that the Maker would deliver them from their suffering if they prayed hard enough. Fenris hadn’t seen any evidence that either story was true. But he had always rather envied the peace that the other slaves derived from their daily prayers. After his talks with Sebastian, Fenris was starting to wonder if perhaps the Maker worked in a more quiet manner than the epic rescue that most slaves seemed to hope for.

He was quiet for long enough that Hawke began to fidget awkwardly beside him. Finally he took a gulp of his wine. “I am not… convinced by it,” he said finally. “Sebastian says the Maker has a greater plan. To trust that this grand plan will ensure that justice is done. But how long does a person need to suffer before the Maker takes mercy on them? Their entire life? Where is the justice in that?” He stared broodily into his wine glass for a moment before going on. “Are you meant to simply wait until the Maker comes to help you? To sit passively until He comes and scoops you from your misery? That is not how life works. Not mine, at any rate.”

He broke off, wondering why it felt so much more personal to talk about this with Hawke than with Sebastian. The topic was the same. And if anything, Sebastian was more pushy than Hawke was. So why was he finding it difficult to look at her?

Hawke seemed to find it difficult too, because she was quiet. Abnormally quiet. Fenris glanced at her and found her nibbling her lower lip.

“It is unlike you to be so silent,” he remarked. “Do you not have any opinion about this?”

“No, I do,” she said. Then she continued biting her lip.

Fenris tilted his head chidingly. “Hawke. You’ve never minced your words before. I don’t see why you would start now.”

She was silent for a moment longer, then she lifted her chin in a mock-dignified manner. “They say you shouldn’t discuss politics, religion, or sex in polite conversation,” she said virtuously.

Fenris smirked at her prim expression. “Conversations with you are never polite,” he drawled. “Half of the words that leave your mouth revolve around sex. And you brought up the topic of religion in the first place.”

She laughed, then relaxed and stretched her legs out toward the fireplace. “Correct on all counts. But if I tell you what I think, you have to promise you won’t get mad.”

Fenris raised one eyebrow. “That depends on how you say whatever you’re about to say,” he replied, then smiled. “I suspect I’m about to be entertained, at the very least. Perhaps you should offer me snacks.”

Hawke grinned at him, then ran her hands through her hair. “Okay. Well, I don’t believe in the Maker, for one.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “I gathered as much. Go on.”

She eyed him suspiciously, then shrugged. “All right. Here’s the thing. It’s too convenient,” she said. “Chantry people are always all, ‘oh, it’s the Maker’s will, it’s the Maker’s will’. No matter what happens, they always say it’s the Maker’s will. But how do they know?” She rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hands. “There’s no hard concrete proof that he ever existed. I mean, there’s proof that Andraste was a person. There are artifacts and stuff, and she’s splashed throughout the history books of all the different cultures across Thedas. She probably wasn’t as much of a badass as the books made her sound, but she was certainly real. But the Maker… As far as I know, there’s no proof. It’s more likely that when weird shit happens, it’s random chance, not the work of the Maker.”

Fenris grunted an acknowledgement, and Hawke looked at him warily. “Should I go on?” she asked.

He nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, Hawke continued. “I just think it’s unfair to make everyone act in the supposed wishes of this possibly-nonexistent all-powerful man just in case he decides to show up someday. People shouldn’t do nice things because the Maker wants them to. They should do nice things because they’re nice things to do. And don’t get me started on the whole abstinence thing!” She barked out an incredulous laugh, then rolled over onto her back and smiled at Fenris. “All these Chantry sisters and brothers putting aside ‘worldly pleasures’ because they think the Maker wants them to? Ridiculous. I’m going to enjoy the life I’ve got, thanks very much. I’ve got a body that feels things and wants things and hungers? Then I’m going to feed it. I’m not going to shun the things that make me happy on the chance that abstaining might maybe make the Maker happy. Again, if he exists. Which I doubt.”

Fenris stared at her stretched-out supine form, compelled by the unusual conviction of her words. Especially what she’d said about a body that feels things and wants things and hungers…

He shifted uncomfortably, then forced himself to focus on her words. “And for those who hope the Maker will save them from the misery of their lives?” he said. “The people who pray that He’ll deliver them to something better than what they’ve suffered so far? What would you say to them?”

Hawke’s smile slowly faded into a look of wary caution. “I wouldn’t say anything to them,” she said slowly. “Everything I’m saying now is purely between you and me. And the dog. But he’s not much of one for gossip.” She jerked her chin at Toby, who was lolling on the carpet at their feet.

“Humour me,” Fenris said. “Do you not think there is value in such prayer? In that kind of hope?”

Suddenly Fenris realized why this conversation felt so much more personal with Hawke than with Sebastian. He wasn’t really asking Hawke about religion. He didn’t really care whether she believed in the Maker or not. What he was really asking her was about hope.

Hope. That poisonous, tempting thing that she’d encouraged him to have. That dangerous, nebulous thing that eluded him now, and the lack of which had driven him to push her away.

Fenris has wanted to believe his life could be better, but he just… couldn’t imagine how. That faith, that trust that he’d eventually have a good and happy life – he couldn’t ever remember having that kind of hope. And Hawke, despite her obvious atheism, was completely awash with it.

And Fenris needed to understand how.

Oblivious to his anguished thoughts, Hawke rolled onto her belly again. “I do think there’s value in prayer,” she said. “Specifically for the hope thing. If believing in the Maker is what people need to keep on going, then they should do exactly that.”

Fenris grumbled another acknowledgement, and they were silent for some time. Surreptitiously he studied her idly waving feet and the contentment in her face as the flames flickered across her features.

“How are you so damned hopeful all the time?” Fenris suddenly blurted. “Your life hasn’t been… well. You’ve… suffered losses.” She turned to look at him with wide eyes, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling slightly ashamed by his graceless outburst.

He tried again. “I simply mean… Some people rely on the Maker. You do not. What… how do you…?”

He trailed off, unsure how to phrase his question, but thankfully Hawke understood. She slowly resumed a sitting position as she replied. “I think I’d find it more disturbing if there was some unknown mystical man planning out my fate. I rather like the idea of everything being random,” she said. “I take comfort in that chaos.”

Despite his growing agitation, Fenris smiled. “Why does that not surprise me?” he deadpanned, and she treated him to a slow, mischievous smile.

But Fenris still wasn’t quite satisfied by her response. “Chaos and randomness, then. That’s it? That’s what gives you hope?” he demanded.

Hawke stretched her feet toward the fire again and leaned back on her elbows. “No,” she said casually. “I just…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just a hopeful person, I suppose. Things seem to work out all right for me. I mean, aside from Father dying and Bethany being killed by that ogre and good old Carver joining the Templars just to get away from me…” She took a deep breath, then smiled brightly at him. “But you know, that’s life. People die, and people leave, and shitty things happen to everyone. It could be worse, right?”

Fenris studied her smile with a painfully pounding heart. It made no sense. She made no sense. She had every right to be angry. Her own brother had been resentful and angry. So how wasn’t she?

Tongue-tied, he continued to study her bright and brittle smile until she laughed uncertainly and ran her hand through her long dark hair. “Well, enough about me,” she said. “I much prefer the conversation we were having before about the broody handsome elf and the generically handsome Chantry man. It’s like the set-up for a fantastic joke.”

She snickered, and Fenris scrambled to control his emotions. He was suddenly feeling angry, and he wasn’t sure exactly why or at whom. Hawke was right; terrible things happened to everyone. So how wasn’t she angry about the things that had befallen her? How could she suffer such things and still carry on so cheerfully? It was…

Unfair was the wrong word. That wasn’t what he felt. It wasn’t like Fenris wanted Hawke to be angry. This rage was corrosive; it was horrible and poisonous and all-consuming. It had eaten away the possibility of anything meaningful between himself and the woman lounging beside him. Fenris absolutely didn’t want her to feel this way. Nobody should feel this way.

“Fenris?” Hawke said tentatively.

He jolted, then shakily reached for his wine. He took a large gulp, then blurted the first thing he could think of to say. “I went to the Chantry to pray,” he said.

Her jaw dropped. Then she covered her face with her hands and groaned. “For fuck’s sakes, Fenris, you couldn’t have led with that?” she said plaintively. “Now I’m even more of an asshole than I already sounded.”

Her beautiful face was scrunched up with horror, and she looked so discomfited that Fenris finally laughed, albeit tensely. “It was worth it to see your face right now,” he teased. “You are redder than the wine in my glass.”

She punched him lightly in the arm and smiled sheepishly, then rubbed nervously at her bare throat. “And?” she said cautiously. “Did you… uh… How was it? Were there any… um… epiphanies or anything?”

He smirked. He could tell how hard she was trying to rein in her skepticism, and it was oddly endearing. “No epiphanies,” he said. “But it was… peaceful, I suppose. It’s very quiet there.” He rolled his mostly-empty glass between his palms. “I am not stared at as much as I thought I would be. It’s… a very calm place to be.”

“It sounds nice,” she murmured, and he nodded in agreement.

They were silent for a while. As Fenris watched the flickering of the fire, he allowed his myriad thoughts to swirl idly through his mind. He thought about Hawke’s hardships – her late father and sister, Carver leaving the family to join the Templars instead, her lost home in Lothering. He thought about Danarius, about the fog warriors and his yet-unknown sister. He thought about the quiet in the Chantry: the dancing motes of dust in the air that were set aglow by the afternoon sun slanting through the stained glass windows. And he thought about Hawke’s constant and irrepressible grin.

Without really thinking, Fenris opened his mouth to speak. At the exact same moment, Hawke spoke as well.

“I could come to the Chantry with you if you like-”

“If you wished to come to the Chantry with me, I would not be opposed-”

They both stopped abruptly, and Fenris grinned as she burst into laughter. “Of course I’ll come,” she said happily. “I’ll bring a bag of sunflowers seeds with me.”

Fenris frowned in sudden confusion. “Why?”

She raised her eyebrows as though he was being dense. “To flick the shells at the back of Sebastian’s head, of course,” she said. “How can he really know his faith unless it’s being tested?”

Fenris admired her mischievous grin, then finally shook his head and chuckled. “You’re an idiot,” he said, out of pure habit.

The cherished pet phrase sat in the sudden silence between them, heavy with the memory of how easy and good their past flirtation used to be. How happy he’d thought he was, back before he’d realized too late – far too late – that he was utterly unprepared to be with her.

Fenris dropped his gaze to his hands. He could feel the easy glow of their camaraderie fading away, like a blissful dream being beaten back by the cold light of day.

Then Hawke reached out and tapped the scarlet scarf on his wrist. “Only for you,” she said, with uncharacteristic gravity. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

As I would for you, he thought as he met her clear amber eyes. But he couldn’t say it, because it wasn’t true. The one thing he couldn’t give her was the one thing he knew she really wanted.

He swallowed the lump in his throat with difficulty. “Thank you, Hawke,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered. Then she turned her gaze back to the fire.

They sat in a silence for a while, their hands close together on the carpet between them, and Fenris was visited by yet another painful reminder of how tantalizing this situation would have been just a few short weeks ago. Before their glorious but ill-fated night together, he would have been entranced by the simple idea of reaching out, of sliding his fingers closer to hers and taking her hand. Of feeling her palm against his bare skin.

Now that he’d tasted the full glory of Hawke’s torrid and unrestrained affections, the idea of merely holding her hand was too much to consider, while at the same time being nowhere near enough.

Abruptly he drained his wine glass. “I will be going now,” he said, then rose to his feet.

She looked up at him in disappointment. “So soon?” she said wistfully. And it was true; he and Hawke were intractable night owls, and Fenris’s evenings with Hawke normally stretched into the wee hours of the morning.

But that was… before.

Now, being around Hawke for too long was painful. Watching her mouth while she talked and remembering the rightness of those lips pressed against his… It was a stinging reminder of a life he couldn’t have, not with the blank wasteland that was both his past and his future making him so vulnerable.

He shrugged listlessly. “I will see you tomorrow,” he said.

Finally Hawke shrugged as well, then stood and trailed him into the main room, with Toby faithfully following at her heels.

“Don’t bother yourseIf. I can let myself out,” he said. The wistful ache behind his sternum was becoming heavier by the second, and he didn’t think he could bear the sight of her closing the door behind him tonight.

Hawke shot him a coquettish look. “I should hope you can operate a door on your own. Big strapping boy like you?”

He huffed in amusement, and Hawke chuckled as she knelt beside Toby and affectionately rubbed the mabari’s neck. “Bye, Fenris.”

“Goodnight,” he said softly, then made his way to the door. Just before he stepped out of her house, he glanced back at her.

She was sitting on the carpet, hugging the big mabari around the neck, her face hidden against his fur. Toby looked at Fenris and tilted his head, and it was probably just Fenris’s imagination, but the mabari’s expression seemed oddly reproachful.

The now-familiar throb of remorse ached in his chest, and he wearily pushed it aside. Hawke was the most blithely hopeful person he knew. If her sunny sense of optimism hadn’t been crushed by the loss of half her family and her home, then losing their fledgling relationship wouldn’t crush her either. Fenris had to believe that.

He wondered if Sebastian would let him into the Chantry this late at night.