Posts Tagged 'mama hawke'


Nap time in the Hawke household. 



When your friend’s parents are famous for saving Thedas, but ur adoptive Mom is famous for punching the Arhisock in the face.


“Hawke– Your mother…she always was a hero.”

Fen/Hawke, R, for your meme pls? :)



R. A deafening sound.

The first night his daughter is born, Fenris does not sleep. Hawke herself is out like a light, past exhaustion and still pale, and he does not wish to disturb her; and yet every time he glances towards the tiny trundle where his daughter sleeps, wrapped tightly in Merrill’s knitwork, something terrified and tender lodges high in his throat. He cannot sleep, and he—

Somewhere near the second hour of the morning, the baby stirs restlessly, small movement and small sound like thunder in the silence. Fenris pushes from the bed, realizing too late he has not been careful, but—Hawke sleeps still, her mouth parted, and does not wake as he lifts the child from the trundle and carefully carries her back to the bed.

Such a little thing, he thinks, half-aghast, as his daughter opens her eyes and closes them again, apparently appeased for the moment with her relocation to the rumpled blankets between her mother and father. Six hours old, and so terrifyingly small. He has never cared for something so fragile before.

With as much care as he can manage, Fenris touches one finger to the top of his daughter’s head, to her forehead, to the end of her nose. Everything about her is soft, from her chin to her tufted dark hair, and when he tucks the blanket more snugly around her shoulders she lets out a short, gusting sigh that brings an unwilling smile to his face even through the fear.

All at once, Fenris realizes Hawke’s eyes have opened. Only barely, blue slits still heavy with exhaustion and lingering aches, but she’s watching him watch the baby, and he can’t find the words to answer the question she hasn’t asked.

“You’ll do fine,” she says eventually, her voice croaking and tired, but there’s a smile to it that even he can’t ignore. “Stop worrying.”

He swallows, hard, and says, “I wish I could believe you.”

She smiles again, a bewildering certainty in her face. “Do you want her?”

No doubt. “Yes.”

“Will you protect her?”


“Will you love her?”

Fenris lifts his eyes, meets her gaze across the pillow. “Yes.”

“That’s enough,” Hawke says, and leans forward enough to kiss his cheek, and then her daughter’s, before closing her eyes again. “Go back to sleep.”

He does, eventually, but he waits first, listening for a long time to the beat of his daughter’s heart into the dark.


De-stress doodle… Aster, Fenris and lil Faelan Hawke ♥♥

Luca sounds intriguing. I would love to hear more! :-) What was he like growing up? What sort of childhood do you envision for a Fenhawke child? (’cause my own Fenhawke children aren’t past the age of 5 yet and I’ve not thought much about where they go from there…)


oh my goodness I dont think you’re prepared for this conversation

My main AU for him is whence he’s inquisitor. It doesnt make any sense with timelines, but there it is. For his canon, however, he’s still just a wee bab when his mother goes off to Skyhold.

For this reason, I see him being raised more by Fenris rather than Aura. He is in every way his father’s son; from fighting style, to sense of humor, to they way they both have a crooked little smirk.

Growing up, he hardly ever cried. Parent would go to the crib to check if he was awake in the morning, and he’d be lying there, looking up at them with wide eyes and a smile, waiting. He has always been rather quiet, and always held on too tightly. To his mother’s hair or his father’s hand, to the familial bond he shared with his parent’s friends and family. It would be his downfall, however; one by one, they all leave him. They go off to fight or just to live, and he is left with no one.

It is this that brings forth the tragedy of one Luca Hawke. He’s beautiful and charming and smiles easily; but he is cunning and swift, and trusts no one. He cares, and wants to help those he can; but he doesnt believe that loving someone is worth it.

But that’s later in his life. Thinking about that brings me nothing but heartache so lets go back to his childhood, shall we?

He’s absolutely horrendously spoiled by his family. Auntie Isabela brings him gold jewelry that he cant wear yet, and he’s gotten used to Merrill braiding his hair for him. Of his parents, Fenris is the most protective, I think. His concern is obvious; always watching his son closely for any sort of harm. Aura laughs and kisses his cheek, telling him not to worry so much; he’s the son of a wolf and a hawk, with mountains of love and protection surrounding him. Nothing will happen to him, not if she has anything to say about it.

Oh I love the idea of him being Inquisitor! (I’m following a fic of a similar concept, Fenhawke daughter as teenaged Inquisitor, by @dammithawke and – timelines or no – it is a concept so full of potential.) Love the spoiling by family/friends too! I mean after all, as close and intense as this found family of Hawke’s is, they’d be so excited about BABY Hawkes being added to the family, of course the kid’s going to be delightfully spoiled.



Word count: 1264


Rated: G

Pure fluff, and vocabulary.

Also read it on: | Ao3 | DA

“P..p…pa…” The boy’s breath stirred his dark hair away from his eyes as each repetition of the syllable grew more forceful with his frustration. Lisbet Hawke, quietly dusting the shelves in the library so she could listen in on the lesson (and trying to hide from Fenris’ view the tiny spark of lightning magic she was using to attract the dust), held back a chuckle when her son glanced up at his father with a scowl that did as much to proclaim his parentage as did his green eyes. Fenris, unmoved by his son’s glowering criticism, nudged him back toward the book. “Go on. You know the letters. Sound out the rest of the word.”

Malcolm let out one more great huff before returning his attention to the puzzling word. “Pa…ra…this is a D…do…but Da, I do not know this last one.”

Fenris smiled slightly. “Then clearly we must work more on the end of the alphabet. That is an X, Malcolm. You pronounce it as K and S, together.”

“If it is K and S,” protested the child, “why do we not just write K and S? Why do we need so many letters?”

Hawke did not entirely stifle her laugh at the boy’s affronted air. Fenris arched an eyebrow in her direction before continuing. “If it were a K and an S, you could always take one of them away. An X is…always together. You cannot separate it into two.” Malcolm’s narrowed eyes suggested he did not approve of inseparable letters, so Fenris hastily added, “Besides, X is a Tevene letter originally. That means this word was borrowed from Tevene, so it retains its spelling.”

This got Malcolm’s attention, hungry as he always was to learn more of his father’s storied past in foreign lands, all the more so given Fenris’ reticence on the subject. Seeing the light of attempted digression in the boy’s eyes, Fenris pointed to the next sentence. “Go on, then.”

“But Da,” said Malcolm, pointing back to the word with its stubborn X, “what does this word mean? ‘Para…dox’? It’s no use reading it if I don’t know what it means!”

“True enough,” Fenris nodded, eyes narrowed as he considered a definition. “A paradox is…”

“Is your Da,” Hawke put in, glancing their way from the shelves. She smiled when her menfolk looked up at her with identically puzzled expressions, Malcolm’s nose wrinkling just as Fenris’ did.

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