"We are both men of action." Fenris observes kindly, rather than touching on either of their heritages. Even if Fenris hadn't been incredibly distracted by Rowen's body back in the manor he would need to get up and at least stretch a little before trying to tackle any more reading. Like any other skill it must be practiced to build any stamina for and Fenris has had the thinking done for him for most of his life. Reading is different to sitting and stewing in his own thoughts. He has to parse someone else's from page alone and then consider them.
It is tiring.
The fresh air does the elf a world of good. As fresh as Kirkwall ever gets, at least. Even in Hightown the scent of industry carries, but it's far less offensive than any of the other parts of the city. Besides. Rowen upkeeps his mother's garden still and those plants smell nice enough. Earthy and not overly pungent. Fenris lifts his sword with one arm from behind his back and produces it with a simple flourish.
His head tips to the side.
"Sorry, Hawke." Fenris murmurs with a hint of a tease to his deep tone. "Practice or no, I do not intend to hand you a victory on a silver platter." Not for what he wants.
His feet shift on the dirt before the elf takes off, lunging toward the mage with sure steps. He knows Rowen's moves as well as he knows his own, after this many years fighting at the mage's side. This is a dance he feels entirely at home with.
Hawke had learned to fight with his fists before his magic. Malcom Hawke had always cautioned his children to always keep their talents harnessed, to never strike out in anger with their magic. And as the eldest, and by far the most hot-headed and aggressive, Rowen had taken those lessons securely to heart.
Although it was decidedly strange not to use his magic to counter Fenris, it wasn't at all impossible; Hawke snapped his staff up to counter, the stave taking the brunt of the blow with a ringing clang. Hawke smirked as he set himself and shoved the elf back, then made his own advance, swinging his staff in a wide arc to drive Fenris further away, clearing the space between them.
"Oh, I never expected you to," he quipped with a crooked grin, human and elf slowly circling each other in the warm sunshine. Hawke's bright gaze never left Fenris's green eyes, though his large frame was tense and primed to dart aside at the slightest provocation. He tapped taunting fingers atop the haft of his staff. "Come get me, Fen."
Rowen Hawke could have been a fearsome warrior. Is, in fact, quite fearsome in his own right. Fenris has admired the Ferelden for as long as he's known the man, even when his emotions grew complicated by the fact that the man was a Mage. All it took was one brooding morning watching Rowen Hawke practicing his Staff-blade counters in the first light of dawn for him to know that mage or not--Rowen Hawke was a fighter first and foremost.
A man like that, Fenris had thought, he could make an accord with. Could. Did. And much more.
His steps are light on the ground but his focus is all on Rowen's towering frame. Hawke doesn't lumber despite his size. He's quicker than anyone that tall should be. Dexterous as well as strong. But Fenris doesn't have time to admire it in the moment.
"If you're not casting, then I am not stepping." Fenris replies smoothly. He tips his blade down low until the tip is nearly at the ground and darts in for a low swing arcing upward. CLANG! So swift, he hadn't even seen Rowen move to block him. Fenris leaps back before the turn of Hawke's staff could try to knock his sword from his hands. Rather than circling, he darts back in again the moment his feet touch the ground.
CLANG!
Back again. Circling. Fenris has no idea how satisfied the smile curling across his lips is.
Reading lessons were nice, but this was nice, too. Circling in the backyards, weapons at the ready, trying to catch the other off his guard. Fenris was smirking, Hawke noted with silent delight, and he knew his own grin was slightly manic, probably more than a little lopsided. Mage though he was, the fierce song of battle was a melody Hawke knew well, and he'd never shied away from its addictive music.
That could very well be due to the ancestral blood of ancient Ferelden running hot in his veins.
Whatever the cause, Hawke doesn't hesitate to give just as good as he gets, countering every move Fenris makes and snapping back with a few of his own, the late afternoon sun glinting off both combatants. There were runnels in the grass from avoidant feet, a few new scrapes along the back wall's brick, and a plethora of leaves shaken from the nearby trees as bodies rebounded off their trunks now and again.
Sweat beading his forehead and running down his temples, Hawke's blue eyes were bright and hot, and he was completely oblivious to his tunic coming unbuttoned in their battling. --at least until his inattention nearly got him clobbered when a corner of the shirt wound around his staff and he nearly failed to counter Fenris' incoming blow. Momentarily defenseless, Hawke instinctively ducked and somersaulted out of the way, rolling to his feet after shedding the offensive garment and, taking his staff in both hands, gave a sort of berseker-sounding yell and charged the Tevinter elf, catching Fenris across the chest and driving him backwards into the brick wall.
Hawke grinned, sweaty, disheveled, and grinning like a maniac. "Pinned ya," he chortled. There wasn't an ounce of give in the bunched muscles quivering beneath the mage's gleaming skin. "Does this mean I win?"
In that peculiar sort of way that didn't ever seem like luck at the time but had pulled his fat from the fire more than once before. With his tunic caught on his staff, Fenris had checked his swing--there was no desire to actually cleave the Ferelden in half. Sure, Rowen had ducked aside and not Needed the handicap but then he'd popped right back up sweaty and shirtless. Baring all of that skin to the afternoon sun and Fenris, Maker help him, had hesitated.
The traitorous part of his body that knew Exactly what it wanted to do with the man opposite him heard that bellow and went 'yes, please'. Before he could so much as find something clever to quip he was slammed back against the brick wall. Rather unhelpfully, his smalls only got tighter for that. Fenris is left hissing for the loss and the discomfort both. Staring up at Hawke with a hungry gaze.
"W...what kind of move was that?" The elf's voice was already deep. Now? It was throaty. Grit and warmed honey drizzled over a treat to be snapped up.
Hawke shrugged, still panting softly, eyes still bright. "Dunno. Just made it up." Which was true; he'd never in his life studied actual battle tactics - he and Carver had learned by flailing away at each other with sticks back on the Lothering farm when they'd been just bratty little kids. As Hawke and Bethany grew in their magic, the three Hawke scions learned to mix sorcery and steel together, proving to be quite formidable for their Templar neighbors residing at the local Chantry.
But perhaps Fenris had been on to something when he'd suggested more than a drop of barbarian blood ran strong in Hawke's veins; he'd always had the uncanny knack of getting out of a brawl without it devolving into fists, but if it did, he was typically the first to take a swing. Instinct, perhaps. Or, more of that luck that cheerfully toddled after the Ferelden mage, happy in his footsteps.
Either way, Hawke still kept Fenris pinned between his large frame and the unyielding garden wall, though the longer they remained thus, the thicker the tension became. The elf's voice curled over the human's ears like treacle, sweet, thick, and altogether delicious, making an involuntary shiver course down Hawke's spine. He couldn't have stopped his eyes from falling to Fenris's parted and so delectably-kissable lips if his life depended on it; he licked his own mouth, tasting sweat, sunlight, and...something else, the elf's breath, perhaps.
The staff's pressure eased as Hawke relented a fraction, the shaft slowly lowering between their bodies and Hawke's knuckles inadvertently drug down Fenris's chest, the unintentional touch making the mage inhale a shaky breath and stifle a telling shiver. For two eternal heartbeats, intent burned blue and bright in Hawke's wide gaze, but then he forced himself away, taking a slow, agonizing step back and lowering his staff altogether.
Offered a lopsided, slightly sheepish, altogether longing smile.
That's all. Rowen stared down at him with a hunger in him that Fenris matched in kind. This wild, reckless man took the elf's breath away even when he wasn't slamming Fenris into walls. Pinning him down with his bulkier frame. It was electric, that pull between them. Hawke would toss the staff away and then--
He didn't. Rowen Hawke pulled away as though he'd been wounded. Fenris blinked. The moment between them was broken. He didn't have to look down to know he was still achingly aroused for the sparring they'd just finished, but it looked like Hawke was just going to...what? Leave him like this?
"Are you joking?" Rowen was only doing what Fenris had asked of him. It clearly wasn't easy for Hawke to get ahold of himself enough to let Fenris go. But in the moment? The elf's blood boiled with frustration. The scent of ozone filled the air for just a half second before Fenris was gone--already pushing Hawke's staff away with one hand. The other was reaching up to grab Rowen by the back of the neck as he had no shirt collar to yank as he hauled the Ferelden mage down and into a fierce kiss.
Hawke's sheepish expression morphed into puzzlement at Fenris's response, and he opened his mouth to speak, but before the first word left his tongue, he suddenly found himself mouth to mouth with his beloved elf, abruptly swallowing the surprised squawk of being so abruptly snared and hauled downward. But that surprise didn't last long; sheer instinct had him enfolding the elf's lean body in both arms, molding hard frames together as if it'd been but hours since they'd last parted, and Hawke fell so very willingly into Fenris's kiss, his heart leaping like a wild salmon before it then began to race like a Marcher stallion, thudding sharply against his ribs.
Shaded light flooded his closed eyes, but Hawke didn't need to see, not with Fenris in his arms, Fenris's lips glued to his, and Fenris's tongue invading his mouth as if it belonged nowhere else. Unable to stop the soft, eager little moans that made their way out of his throat, Hawke gave just as good as he got, licking his way into the elf's open mouth and all but drowning in the remembered flavor of those beautiful lips.
A few unthinking, staggered steps put Hawke's back against the white oak tree that towered over the courtyard, but he didn't even feel the rough bark scrape skin. He merely gathered Fenris even closer, deftly pulling the elf astride one muscled thigh, groaning all over again when he felt the very prominent evidence of his beloved's arousal. He'd been determined to keep his own under wraps, but a pointed thrust of hips revealed he was just as needy, just as desperate as Fenris.
Even if Hawke wanted to complain, his squawk was met with a deep rumble almost nearing on a growl coming from Fenris' throat. He was waiting still somehow for the rejection. For Hawke to pull away and condemn him for his actions. But it never came. Rowen parted his lips for Fenris and suckled at his tongue as though it were something else he wanted in his mouth before devouring Fenris' mouth in kind. Stealing the very air from his lungs.
Electric lust crackled through the elf that had nothing to do with the Fade he had just stepped through. It had been so long since he'd been enveloped in Rowen's arms. So long since he'd been held so protectively and taken apart. Until he scarcely knew his own name. Until all there was was them. It had terrified him and so he'd ran. But Rowen hadn't given up on him, it seemed. Not when he was being plucked up as easily as he'd pick up the Ferelden in turn and settled against a firm thigh as thick around as both his own legs.
"Hhhhhaa--!" The rock of Rowen's hips sent Fenris' blood simmering in his veins. He craned his head upward to bite at the shell of Rowen's ear. Aching to hear something more primal from Rowen than those little moans muffled by his own mouth. "Want you--" Fenris breathed into that ear as he drug one hand down Rowen's chest possessively.
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Date: 2025-10-01 05:03 pm (UTC)It is tiring.
The fresh air does the elf a world of good. As fresh as Kirkwall ever gets, at least. Even in Hightown the scent of industry carries, but it's far less offensive than any of the other parts of the city. Besides. Rowen upkeeps his mother's garden still and those plants smell nice enough. Earthy and not overly pungent. Fenris lifts his sword with one arm from behind his back and produces it with a simple flourish.
His head tips to the side.
"Sorry, Hawke." Fenris murmurs with a hint of a tease to his deep tone. "Practice or no, I do not intend to hand you a victory on a silver platter." Not for what he wants.
His feet shift on the dirt before the elf takes off, lunging toward the mage with sure steps. He knows Rowen's moves as well as he knows his own, after this many years fighting at the mage's side. This is a dance he feels entirely at home with.
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Date: 2025-10-05 04:06 pm (UTC)Although it was decidedly strange not to use his magic to counter Fenris, it wasn't at all impossible; Hawke snapped his staff up to counter, the stave taking the brunt of the blow with a ringing clang. Hawke smirked as he set himself and shoved the elf back, then made his own advance, swinging his staff in a wide arc to drive Fenris further away, clearing the space between them.
"Oh, I never expected you to," he quipped with a crooked grin, human and elf slowly circling each other in the warm sunshine. Hawke's bright gaze never left Fenris's green eyes, though his large frame was tense and primed to dart aside at the slightest provocation. He tapped taunting fingers atop the haft of his staff. "Come get me, Fen."
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Date: 2025-10-13 01:21 pm (UTC)A man like that, Fenris had thought, he could make an accord with. Could. Did. And much more.
His steps are light on the ground but his focus is all on Rowen's towering frame. Hawke doesn't lumber despite his size. He's quicker than anyone that tall should be. Dexterous as well as strong. But Fenris doesn't have time to admire it in the moment.
"If you're not casting, then I am not stepping." Fenris replies smoothly. He tips his blade down low until the tip is nearly at the ground and darts in for a low swing arcing upward. CLANG! So swift, he hadn't even seen Rowen move to block him. Fenris leaps back before the turn of Hawke's staff could try to knock his sword from his hands. Rather than circling, he darts back in again the moment his feet touch the ground.
CLANG!
Back again. Circling. Fenris has no idea how satisfied the smile curling across his lips is.
no subject
Date: 2025-10-16 12:17 am (UTC)That could very well be due to the ancestral blood of ancient Ferelden running hot in his veins.
Whatever the cause, Hawke doesn't hesitate to give just as good as he gets, countering every move Fenris makes and snapping back with a few of his own, the late afternoon sun glinting off both combatants. There were runnels in the grass from avoidant feet, a few new scrapes along the back wall's brick, and a plethora of leaves shaken from the nearby trees as bodies rebounded off their trunks now and again.
Sweat beading his forehead and running down his temples, Hawke's blue eyes were bright and hot, and he was completely oblivious to his tunic coming unbuttoned in their battling. --at least until his inattention nearly got him clobbered when a corner of the shirt wound around his staff and he nearly failed to counter Fenris' incoming blow. Momentarily defenseless, Hawke instinctively ducked and somersaulted out of the way, rolling to his feet after shedding the offensive garment and, taking his staff in both hands, gave a sort of berseker-sounding yell and charged the Tevinter elf, catching Fenris across the chest and driving him backwards into the brick wall.
Hawke grinned, sweaty, disheveled, and grinning like a maniac. "Pinned ya," he chortled. There wasn't an ounce of give in the bunched muscles quivering beneath the mage's gleaming skin. "Does this mean I win?"
no subject
Date: 2025-10-18 06:36 pm (UTC)In that peculiar sort of way that didn't ever seem like luck at the time but had pulled his fat from the fire more than once before. With his tunic caught on his staff, Fenris had checked his swing--there was no desire to actually cleave the Ferelden in half. Sure, Rowen had ducked aside and not Needed the handicap but then he'd popped right back up sweaty and shirtless. Baring all of that skin to the afternoon sun and Fenris, Maker help him, had hesitated.
The traitorous part of his body that knew Exactly what it wanted to do with the man opposite him heard that bellow and went 'yes, please'. Before he could so much as find something clever to quip he was slammed back against the brick wall. Rather unhelpfully, his smalls only got tighter for that. Fenris is left hissing for the loss and the discomfort both. Staring up at Hawke with a hungry gaze.
"W...what kind of move was that?" The elf's voice was already deep. Now? It was throaty. Grit and warmed honey drizzled over a treat to be snapped up.
no subject
Date: 2025-10-21 11:06 pm (UTC)But perhaps Fenris had been on to something when he'd suggested more than a drop of barbarian blood ran strong in Hawke's veins; he'd always had the uncanny knack of getting out of a brawl without it devolving into fists, but if it did, he was typically the first to take a swing. Instinct, perhaps. Or, more of that luck that cheerfully toddled after the Ferelden mage, happy in his footsteps.
Either way, Hawke still kept Fenris pinned between his large frame and the unyielding garden wall, though the longer they remained thus, the thicker the tension became. The elf's voice curled over the human's ears like treacle, sweet, thick, and altogether delicious, making an involuntary shiver course down Hawke's spine. He couldn't have stopped his eyes from falling to Fenris's parted and so delectably-kissable lips if his life depended on it; he licked his own mouth, tasting sweat, sunlight, and...something else, the elf's breath, perhaps.
The staff's pressure eased as Hawke relented a fraction, the shaft slowly lowering between their bodies and Hawke's knuckles inadvertently drug down Fenris's chest, the unintentional touch making the mage inhale a shaky breath and stifle a telling shiver. For two eternal heartbeats, intent burned blue and bright in Hawke's wide gaze, but then he forced himself away, taking a slow, agonizing step back and lowering his staff altogether.
Offered a lopsided, slightly sheepish, altogether longing smile.
"...eh...sorry, Fen."
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Date: 2025-10-25 07:16 pm (UTC)That's all. Rowen stared down at him with a hunger in him that Fenris matched in kind. This wild, reckless man took the elf's breath away even when he wasn't slamming Fenris into walls. Pinning him down with his bulkier frame. It was electric, that pull between them. Hawke would toss the staff away and then--
He didn't. Rowen Hawke pulled away as though he'd been wounded. Fenris blinked. The moment between them was broken. He didn't have to look down to know he was still achingly aroused for the sparring they'd just finished, but it looked like Hawke was just going to...what? Leave him like this?
"Are you joking?" Rowen was only doing what Fenris had asked of him. It clearly wasn't easy for Hawke to get ahold of himself enough to let Fenris go. But in the moment? The elf's blood boiled with frustration. The scent of ozone filled the air for just a half second before Fenris was gone--already pushing Hawke's staff away with one hand. The other was reaching up to grab Rowen by the back of the neck as he had no shirt collar to yank as he hauled the Ferelden mage down and into a fierce kiss.
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Date: 2025-10-30 11:41 pm (UTC)Shaded light flooded his closed eyes, but Hawke didn't need to see, not with Fenris in his arms, Fenris's lips glued to his, and Fenris's tongue invading his mouth as if it belonged nowhere else. Unable to stop the soft, eager little moans that made their way out of his throat, Hawke gave just as good as he got, licking his way into the elf's open mouth and all but drowning in the remembered flavor of those beautiful lips.
A few unthinking, staggered steps put Hawke's back against the white oak tree that towered over the courtyard, but he didn't even feel the rough bark scrape skin. He merely gathered Fenris even closer, deftly pulling the elf astride one muscled thigh, groaning all over again when he felt the very prominent evidence of his beloved's arousal. He'd been determined to keep his own under wraps, but a pointed thrust of hips revealed he was just as needy, just as desperate as Fenris.
no subject
Date: 2025-11-03 11:09 pm (UTC)Electric lust crackled through the elf that had nothing to do with the Fade he had just stepped through. It had been so long since he'd been enveloped in Rowen's arms. So long since he'd been held so protectively and taken apart. Until he scarcely knew his own name. Until all there was was them. It had terrified him and so he'd ran. But Rowen hadn't given up on him, it seemed. Not when he was being plucked up as easily as he'd pick up the Ferelden in turn and settled against a firm thigh as thick around as both his own legs.
"Hhhhhaa--!" The rock of Rowen's hips sent Fenris' blood simmering in his veins. He craned his head upward to bite at the shell of Rowen's ear. Aching to hear something more primal from Rowen than those little moans muffled by his own mouth. "Want you--" Fenris breathed into that ear as he drug one hand down Rowen's chest possessively.