Of all of her companions, Fenris was the only one who never used her given name.

To him, she was always, and only, "Hawke."

Even during their most intimate moments, the heated murmurs that passed his lips were always of her last name, never her first. It had troubled her for a while, until she worked up the courage to ask him why.

"You are Hawke to me," he explained, as if that explained anything at all. She had to accept that it did, at least to him.

Even now, although they were in hiding, Fenris refused to use her less well-known first name. He insisted on using Hawke, despite the fact that on more than one occasion they had to slip out of town in the middle of the night as she had been recognised.

But despite it all, she had learned to enjoy all the different ways he could say her last name, tender, exasperated, amused, and (her favourite) the almost-growl that signalled that he wanted her. The way he used her name managed to convey all the devotion that he seldom otherwise spoke of.

It wasn't a normal relationship by any means. A mage and a mage-hater, a human and elf who were on the run together tended to attract notice, no matter how they tried to avoid it. But she didn't care, as long as they were together.

Sometimes though, she wished for a little bit more normal. Having less people out for their blood would be nice, for a start. She also sometimes wanted to make their relationship official. She wanted to be able to introduce Fenris as her husband, to show the world that they belonged together, no matter what they thought or said.

But Fenris had some very understandable issues about belonging so she never mentioned it to him. They knew what they were to each other. It was enough, more than enough.


The latest stretch of their journey had been a little rough, and so they took the decision to rest in the next town. The town was small enough that she couldn't get away with openly wearing mage robes or carrying a staff, but wealthy enough that if she wore her worn travelling clothes and her scuffed but comfortable boots, she would stand out just as much.

So she dug the one fancy outfit she had kept from her time in Kirkwall out of her pack, smoothed out the creases the best she could, and tried to act as if she belonged there. Fenris, of course, slouched behind her in his usual leather gear and woe betide anyone who took it upon themselves to comment.

They booked a room in a reasonably comfortable inn (ignoring the raised eyebrow of the landlord when they asked for a double room), and sat down for a meal together. It was only then that she realised that she had managed to scrub up better than she had first thought.

A man wearing a suit of armour and who carried a sword and shield that all showed signs of use approached her table and looked her up and down in a way that she assumed was meant to be flattering. "Hello beautiful," he said with a smirk. "Why don't you send your servant away and come and sit with me?" He extended a hand and waited expectantly.

She hesitated, though not because she was considering his offer. But her pause gave Fenris enough time to stand, grip his wrist in a not-friendly way, and snarl "I am not her servant."

Everything stopped for a moment. The other customers clearly expected a fight, and she rose to her feet to prevent one. Fenris ripping out some poor sod's heart in front of an audience didn't come under her definition of keeping a low profile.

Fenris let go of the man with a faint curse and pushed his way from the table. "Let's go, Hawke."

As she followed him upstairs with a sigh, she could hear the murmurs and questions start behind them. She heard someone ask "… that Hawke?" and sighed again. It looked like they would be sneaking out of the window during the middle of the night. Again.

"Why don't I just wear a sign, Fenris?" she grumbled as she closed the door and wedged it shut as securely as possible. "Yes, I am that Hawke. Tell your friends!"

"You didn't say no." Fenris' quiet statement cut off her rant.

"What do you mean?"

"When he asked you to send me away, you didn't say no." He wasn't looking at her.

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't say anything because I was trying to figure out if the satisfaction of setting his hair on fire was worth being chased out town for."

Fenris' forehead scrunched up the way it did when he was considering a concept that was unfamiliar to him (such as "not all mages are soulless abominations," "people sometimes wear shoes for a reason," or "ph is actually pronounced f." She'd always found it utterly adorable) until he finally nodded in acceptance.

"Really, Fenris," she chided gently. "If you don't know that I love you by now, I don't know what else I can do to convince you."

"You could marry me, Hawke." He didn't say it like a proposal, but like a challenge.

Her eyes widened. "What?" she gasped.

His expression closed, and he turned away from her again. "It's nothi-"

"Don't you dare take it back!" she all but shouted. Then, more calmly, "Of course I'll marry you. I just never thought you would want to."

Fenris had quirked an eyebrow at her when she started yelling, but started rummaging in his pack, drawing out a beautiful, ornate ring. She extended her left hand for him, deciding not to ask where he got it from. Finding out that he had looted it from some corpse would just kill the moment.

She went for another question instead. "How long have you been carrying this around with you?" Her voice wasn't quite steady.

Fenris studied the ring on her finger with satisfaction, before he flicked his eyes upwards to meet her gaze. "Years, Hawke. Years."

She shivered a little at his intense tone and pulled him close for a kiss. But before they could get too carried away, she pulled back and carefully took his hand. "Right. Let's go."

"Go where?" Fenris wondered, willingly following her as she pushed the window open and dangled her legs out, preparing to jump.

"The Chantry, of course," she replied. "I've got a ring and I'm wearing a dress. This is probably the best chance we have to actually get married before someone figures out who I am, or you change your mind, or the Chantry blows up or something."

"I'm not going to change my mind," Fenris objected, but he landed neatly alongside her anyway, and offered no other opposition to her plan as they made their way through town.

It took some determined hammering on the Chantry door to wake up the Reverend Mother, and the rest of her carefully horded gold coins to perform a no-questions-asked ceremony in the middle of the night, but it was worth it when she and Fenris stood handclasped under the altar.

The first time Fenris used her given name was during their vows. It felt very strange to her, but feeling his fingers grasp hers tightly as he confirmed the devotion between them was better than anything she could have hoped for.

Eventually the Reverend Mother blessed their union, barely stifling a yawn, and sent them on their way. She couldn't believe that she was married. Nothing had really changed between them, yet somehow everything had.

She couldn't stop smiling, and Fenris caught her expression, seeming smug. "You're mine now, wife."

The roughness of his voice made her shiver, and she couldn't even muster a protest about the possessive statement. But still. "Wife? I'm not even Hawke now?"

Fenris cupped her jaw and leaned forward. She parted her lips expectantly, and Fenris breathed "Wife" against her lips.

She pulled him forward into a kiss that was a little too demonstrative for a public street before gasping out, "do you think we have time for a quick honeymoon before someone breaks down our door looking for us?"

"I'm sure we'll manage," Fenris replied. "Wife."

Based from a kmeme prompt asking for possesive Fenris calling F!Hawke wife, and written in celebration of my new laptop. It actually works and everything!