Title: What follows hope
Fandom: Dragon Age
Rating: T
Length: 820 words
Content notes: N/A
Author notes: Written for the ‘triangle’ challenge in fan_flashworks.
Summary: Fenris asks Isabela to confirm an unwelcome suspicion about Hawke and Anders.

***

“Oh, yeah, Hawke and Anders are fucking,” Isabela said, picking a bone out of her soup and sucking the clinging remnants of meat off it. “Have been since the Deep Roads.” She looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know?”

Fenris only scowled and turned away. As unwelcome as the confirmation was, it was better to know than otherwise.

“Maker only knows what she sees in him,” Isabela added, using the bone to stir the remains of her soup.

Varric snorted from where he sat at the head of the table. “Yeah, I’m told that selfless healers with a troubled past and permanent stubble are very unattractive to women.”

“Not my type,” Isabela said, with a dismissive flick of her fingers. “But I don’t really go in for sad and angry. Too much trouble.”

“So you go for sad and broody instead,” Varric retorted, which earned him a glare.

Fenris ignored their bickering. He stared unseeing at the stale ale in the tankard between his hands. A kind of numbness settled over him as he recalled all the evenings that Hawke had chosen to head home via Darktown, instead of walking up to Hightown with him. He had been blind. Wilfully so. He hadn’t wanted to see the truth right in front of him, while he had misinterpreted what had obviously just been signs of friendship between himself and Hawke.

“I was surprised his custodian allowed it,” she said, ripping a piece of bread off the boule on the table. “What do you think, is it technically a threesome when there’s a spirit involved?”

Varric wrinkled his nose. “I’d prefer not think about it at all, Rivaini.”

Anders had not been reticent to show his attraction to Hawke. Would things have been different if Fenris had done the same? Hawke had expressed interest in him the very first night they had met, but he had not reciprocated. Her forwardness had been off-putting, too reminiscent of those who believed they had the power to command his affections. It was only after he had gotten to know her better that he realised such frank assertions were part of her generally forthright nature. And that he wanted to return her interest in kind. Had he been too late? Or was it simply better acquaintance that had dissuaded her interest in him?

“What happened down there, anyway?” asked Isabela. “Did they have some kind of kinky darkspawn-inspired tryst? Oh, please tell me there was an orgy.” She waggled her eyebrows with a grin.

Fenris briefly caught Varric’s eye. He suspected they were both recalling their last, horrible week in the depths. Anders had been barely lucid as they had fought their way out. Panic had consumed him as soon as Bartrand had locked them inside the ancient Thaig and he did not fully regain his senses until they were back above ground. Hawke had helped him through the worst of it, staying by his side and soothing him with a lullaby she used to sing to Bethany and Carver.

“There was something, wasn’t there? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Nothing like that,” Fenris said shortly.

“You know I’d never betray Bianca,” Varric said with mock offence.

Was that what had changed things between them? Anders was so pathetically desperate for someone to care about him, Fenris could well imagine the depths of his gratitude at Hawke’s kindness. And if he thought too much about that, he could make himself sick.

There had been moments in the Deep Roads when Fenris had felt like he was growing closer with Hawke. Conversations in the darkness when they were on watch. The way they had worked almost symbiotically together to dispatch their foes. Sleeping with her head in his lap, when the only other bed was stone. What they had shared during those weeks had lodged something in his chest that was unlike anything he had felt before. He had thought Hawke might feel the same. Apparently, he was mistaken.

“Oh, cheer up,” Isabela said, nudging his shoulder with her own. “Plenty of fish in the sea and all that.” She lifted the bowl to her lips and drained the last of her soup.

“Speak for yourself,” said Varric, his hand straying to the eponymous crossbow on the table beside him.

Fenris abruptly slid out of his seat and stood up. “I should get going,” he said.

“Not going to stay for Wicked Grace?” Isabela asked, replacing her bowl on the table. Then, wickedly, “Hawke’s coming.”

Fenris closed his eyes and swallowed. He did not think he could bear to see her. Especially if Anders was going to be there too.

“Not tonight,” he said. “Another time.” He needed to come to terms with the loss he felt before he could face her.

Isabela was looking at him with pity. He could not bear that either.

He turned and left the tavern.