Title: Colours
Fandom: Dragon Age
Rating: T
Length: 1,123 words
Content notes: No content warnings apply.
Author notes: Written for ‘mamihlapinatapai’ (n. Yaghan): a meaningful look shared between two people who long to initiate something.
Summary: Time has not diminished Fenris's feelings for Hawke, despite another tempting offer.



It had been months. The blazing heat of summer had mellowed into the residual warmth of autumn before the first portents of winter had arrived. As the nights cooled and the market awnings were drawn in earlier, the groups sitting around smoking and drinking in Lowtown diminished. It was a cold and lonely walk back through the empty streets to Hightown.

It had been months. Yet still he could not force himself to forget.

The night they had shared still intruded unexpectedly into his thoughts. A small gasp, a certain look, and he was back in her room, her bed. He had analysed every moment of their encounter, trying to figure out where it had gone wrong. And how it was that Danarius had managed to destroy this, too. Before it had even had the chance to become something.

The mage enjoyed taunting him. Hawke still asked Fenris to accompany her, and Fenris would take his customary place at her right side. When Anders was absent their outings were the same as they ever were. But when Anders was present he would take every opportunity to touch, kiss, or hold Hawke, a smirk on his face when he glanced over at Fenris. Fenris could only look away.

Yet he still wore her colours.

He didn’t know at the time why he had taken it – a scrap of cloth on the floor of her bedroom, the blood-red colour of the Amells – but later he found himself wrapping it around his vambrace, securing it with a knot. Perhaps he had hoped that it would say what he could not. But it appeared that the message, such as it was, had failed to be heard. Or, worse, had been refused.

There were moments when their friends were distracted that Fenris would catch Hawke looking at him. But when he met her eyes she would just look away.

Isabela had called him on it, of course. It was late at night after a game of Wicked Grace. Sara and Anders had already left for the clinic, and Fenris had been girding himself for the lonely walk back to his solitary bed when she had cornered him.

“What if you don’t have to go back to Hightown?” she’d said, looking him up and down and jutting her hip out in clear invitation.

He’d allowed himself an appreciative glance, then looked down. His fingers were unconsciously worrying the fraying edge of the red fabric. Isabela followed his gaze.

“Ah.” The single syllable conveyed her opinion. She straightened her stance. “How long are you going to go on moping after Hawke? She’s moved on, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I am aware,” he said dryly. As if he could be otherwise. Anders had been over Hawke all night.

Her face softened. “You don’t have to go home alone,” she said. She inclined her chin in the direction of her room.

It was a tempting offer. A warm bed, even warmer company. He liked Isabela, admired her. A tryst with her might not be so fraught as his encounter with Hawke had been.

And yet.

Isabela was watching him carefully. Fenris had the uncomfortable feeling that she could read every thought from his expression. She arched an eyebrow.

“You are a beautiful woman-” Fenris started, but Isabela cut him off with a laugh.

“Spare me,” she said, “I know a rejection when I hear one.” Then she sighed and looked at him with a frown. “I am worried about you, though. It’s not good for you to keep your course tied to hers. She’s heading for a storm, and you – you need to steer your own ship.”

The nautical metaphors brought a small smile to his lips.

“I appreciate your concern-” he started.

“- But you’ve nailed your colours to the mast.” It wasn’t a question. He glanced back down at the scrap of cloth on his wrist. He could not deny the aptness of her metaphor.

When he looked back up, she leaned forward. For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him, but she stroked his cheek instead. “Just remember you have friends looking out for you,” she said, then sauntered away with a swing to her hip. She paused to give him a wink over her shoulder before disappearing back up the stairs to her room.

It was with only a moderate amount of regret that Fenris turned from the warmth of the common room and stepped out into the decidedly chilly night air.

“Fenris!”

He hadn’t walked more than a few steps before he heard his name called out in a slightly breathless voice. Hawke came jogging over from the direction of Darktown and fell into step beside him. They walked together through Lowtown’s empty market square.

“Glad I caught you,” she said. “I was hoping I could walk back to Hightown with you.”

Fenris frowned. “Weren’t you going to the clinic with Anders?”

“He had to see some patients,” Hawke said, with a dismissive wave, “So I thought I’d try to catch up with you.”

They were silent as they walked together up the steep stone steps that led to the wealthier part of town. It was a comfortable silence, her shoulder occasionally bumping against his as they ascended. He glanced over at her from time to time, but there were only a few lights still burning and the shadows lay long upon the ground and on her face.

He wished he had the courage to do something, say something, to make manifest the message of his silent sartorial symbol. But she had given him no indication that she had thought of him in that way since their night together, so he stayed silent.

It was all too soon when they reached Hawke’s estate. They paused at the door.

“Goodnight, Hawke,” Fenris said. Then – “It was good to walk with you again.” It was not enough. But it was one tiny portion of the truth.

He expected Hawke to turn away, but she hesitated, licked her lips. “I’ve missed it,” she said, and her voice was not its usual confident timbre. They looked at each other, and Fenris could feel the bevy of unspoken words pressing against the sudden blockage in his throat, but his voice failed him.

“I-” he said, and broke off just as Hawke said,

“Well, goodnight.”

They looked at each other again, neither moving. The moment stretched out.

“Thank you,” Hawke said. Before Fenris could even wonder what she was thanking him for, she had turned, and left. The door shut behind her and Fenris found himself staring at the Amell crest embossed upon its face.

“Goodnight” Fenris said again, and walked the last few minutes back to his mansion alone.