Chapter Text
Hawke liked Fenris. There was no other way to put it besides that. He knew very obviously that he shouldn't. Fenris hated mages, with just reason to. That alone should have been reason enough to be weary, Hawke was a mage, although not like many, he still had magic running through his veins. It was a part of who he was, something he couldn't hide from whether he wanted to or not. Fenris was angry, unhappy with the circumstance of his life. He hated the world, and it was a fire that burned through him to the very core. But Hawke, foolheartedly and naive as he was liked Fenris, enjoyed being around him, he was passionate and fearless in a sense, that made Hawke, well simply put, like him. The way Fenris' white hair seemed to glow in faint comparison to his dark skin, or his emerald green eyes or perfectly pouted lips didn't hurt.
Seems like a waste of a perfectly handsome elf. He couldn't believe his stupid brain had come up with that line, and maker forbid, he was foolish enough to say it out loud. A slight chuckle followed up by an awkward cough was all he received in reply, message received loud and clear. Fed up with embarrassing himself and his brother who had accompanied him along on the mission he said a graceless goodbye and left in a huff. Andraste's tits he thought to himself how do I manage to make such a complete ass of myself? even my blighted dog seems embarrassed by me. Doing little to reassure him, Pancake, his cleverly named mabari whined as he walked behind his master. “Cake, don't.” Hawke groaned loudly and let out a sigh while glaring over to his brother who also appeared to be about to add in. Another groan as the three of them walked back to Lowtown to retire for the night.
A few days had passed, aside from killing a few bandits on the road and drinks at The Hanged Man with Varric, who was very quickly becoming a good friend to Hawke, nothing interesting had happened. Nothing embarrassing either, which Hawke was thankful for. He hadn't seen Fenris again after his quite frankly embarrassing attempt at flirting that had ended with an artless escape from the harsh stare he was receiving and the endless teasing Carver was giving him. Hawke needed, no, wanted to apologize for making Fenris uncomfortable. At least get on track to where they could be friends and possibly have help for the upcoming expedition he was planning. Although someone who hates mages as much as he does likely wont consider one a friend he sighed into his pitcher of ale maker why did I have to go and hit on that damn elf.
The Hanged Man was packed, a busy night without a doubt. “Chuckles,” Varric placed his now empty mug on the table, “something wrong? No stories to tell me today?”
“Varric! You know if I had tales to tell you would be the one to hear them.” Hawke flashed his best grin and swallowed the last of his ale. “Tastes like piss you know.”
“Another pitcher then?” Varric called the giggling redheaded waitress over and ordered some more.
“My dwarf knows me so well,” he watched as the empty pitcher was removed and a full one replaced it. He filled his mug up for the third time, took a big swig and looked over his shoulder as the door opened.
Carver peeked in, looked around and started walking towards the two of them. Placing his hand on his Hawke's shoulder and sighed when he saw his brother, drink already causing a stupid red flush to creep over Hawke's face. “Brother, drowning your sorrows in ale?”
“Carver! My favorite little brother,” Hawke slapped Carver's hand off his shoulder before taking another deep drink. “I don't,” hiccup, “know whatever you're talking about!”
Varric perked up from his glass, “sorrows? Little Hawke you have to tell me the details!” He gestured for Carver to sit, “another mug!” The too perky waitress sauntered over, a full mug in hand. She placed it on the table and winked at Carver before leaving to serve the other customers of The Hanged Man.
“Don't call me―Ah never mind,” Carver took a swig, his face quickly soured, “you sure this isn't piss?”
Varric laughed at the all too familiar comparison, “the Hawke brothers we're too much alike!” Another chuckle followed as he drank some more. Varric seemed to have an impossible tolerance for alcohol, “but tell me more of this sorrow!”
Carver grinned, all too willing to share his brothers embarrassment with the world. “Well see, brother and I received news of a job.” A groan from Hawke who was slowly reaching the ends of his ale interrupted him. “Some missing cargo or something, anyway, we get there and low and behold there isn't any damn cargo.” Carver takes another swig of his ale and continues to retell the story to an all too interested Varric.
“And Hawke!” Carver pauses to catch his breath between laughing, “the idiot calls him handsome right after the elf finished chewing him out for being a mage!” He takes another drink, “and as he's saying goodbye Cake just pushes Hawke with his damn big head and he almost falls straight into Fenris!” Varric and Carver both laugh as Hawke makes strangled noises from behind his hands. “Hawke damn well ran away!”
“Carver,” Hawke whines, his head in his hands, face red from drink and sheer embarrassment.
“Chuckles,” Varric laughs and slams his cup down, “Andraste's tits Hawke! I would pay five sovereigns to see that!”
The loud hum of the pub does nothing to drown Hawke's embarrassment, he groans into his hands before slapping them down on the table.“Oh Varric, my truest, truest friend.” He sighs, “do not believe a single foul word my baby brother speaks!” He glares at Carver.
“Oh brother, if looks could kill!” Carver takes one last swig of ale and pushes to his feet, “I need to get out of here, Aveline has a job she wants help with tomorrow,” he laughs and looks over to Hawke, “I came here to get you so you don't drink yourself into a stupor over some elf.” Carver flashes his best shit eating grin.
“Carver I swear, if Cake didn't love you so much I would shove a fireball up your arse!” Hawke pushes himself up as well, stumbling slightly before gaining his balance. “Varric, I'll see you later,” he places a few silvers on the table and waves. He turns to walk out the door as a rush of how drunk he is washes over him and grabs onto Carver to support. “Little brother!” He smiles stupidly down to Carver, “carry me home!”
“Shove off,” he pushes his brother gently, not hard enough to knock him over, just enough to make Hawke stumble slightly. “Aveline will kill you if you're hung-over tomorrow!”
A groan and a wave of his hand reassured his brother, Hawke looked back to Varric and flashed another smile, “now Varric, when you write of my heroic tales, make sure you mention how charming and handsome I am! None of those blighted tales of me making an ass of myself”
Varric chuckled, “Wouldn't dream of it Chuckles.”
The Hawke brothers left the pub. The smell and sounds hung in the air around the entire block. The buzz of laughter and drunken fun could be heard for a while as they left. It had been much too long since Hawke and Carver had been together without an uncomfortable tenseness in the air, let alone smiled or laughed together.