Title: Heartstorm
Fandom: Dragon Age
Rating: G
Length: 650 words
Content notes: N/A
Author notes: Written for the 'storm' challenge in fan_flashworks and the 'deities and their followers' prompt in genprompt_bingo.
Summary: Fenris realises he has fallen in love with Sara Hawke.

***

The bell tolled solemnly somewhere above Fenris as he entered the Chantry. The storm had come on suddenly and heavily, one of many that marked the summer season in Kirkwall. Water dripped off his hair and down his face.

Usually, the Chantry was quiet and mostly empty, but the storm seemed to have driven people inside to seek temporary refuge. Nobles and servants alike cluttered up the entrance and vestibules, speaking inanities among themselves as thunder crashed outside. It seemed strange that life should be able to go on like normal, when everything was so different.

Shaking his wet hair out of his eyes, Fenris set his jaw and shouldered past them, provoking impotent cries of outrage in his wake. He strode down the length of the nave until he reached the chancel with the colossal statue of Andraste rising above a small forest of votive candles.

He looked up at her and slowly unbuckled the baldric that kept his greatsword sheathed on his back. Kneeling down, he placed the sword on the floor in front of her and stayed kneeling with his head bowed. He brought his hands together, but when he tried to form a prayer, his lips moved without words. He stared down at the tiles, at the water that was pooling beneath him, feeling his heart pounding in his chest as though he’d run into battle.

When he had been with Danarius, he had needed to know there was something beyond his existence. He had clung to faith in the Maker as something to hold onto. Something to keep him alive. A survival strategy. But it was failing him now.

Things were comparatively simpler with Danarius. It had sometimes been hard to find the will to continue on. But what was going on now was so much more. So much worse. He needed help finding a way through. But it was failing him.

After awhile, his lips formed the familiar words of the Chant, but this was the verse that emerged:

You have walked beside me
Down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh.
You have stood with me when all others
Have forsaken me.

I have faced armies
With You as my shield,
And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing
Can break me except Your absence.

He should have been thinking of the Maker. But it was Hawke who arose in his heart, Maker forgive him.

Hawke, whose visage had been haunting his thoughts and dreams for weeks.

Hawke, whose golden brown eyes would catch his across the room, and a smile would light up her face.

Hawke, who complemented his fighting style so perfectly it was like they had always fought together.

Hawke, who drank Danarius’s wine with him and kept him company through some of his darker nights.

Hawke, who had stood by him against Tevinter hunters and mages, even Hadriana.

Hawke. Hawke. Hawke.

Her name repeated alongside his heart beats, like a Chant, like a warning. There was danger here. He should not get too close. She was a noble while he was a fugitive slave. He had nothing to offer her, and she was a weakness Danarius could and would exploit.

He could not afford to entertain this foolish notion. Even, or perhaps especially, if she felt the same way. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the Chant again.

I cannot see the path.
Perhaps there is only abyss.
Trembling, I step forward.
In darkness enveloped.

I am not alone. Even
As I stumble on the path
With my eyes closed, yet I see
The Light is here.

It was futile. He opened his eyes and sighed. There was no point in continuing this farce of prayer. He picked up his sword, then looked up at the statue of Andraste, her gaze raised skyward.

“Andraste guide me,” he muttered, and turned and left the Chantry.