Author's Notes: This is what happens when I listen to pub songs while overtired. (The song in question is 'Seven Drunken Nights'.) In my head, this is set in act 2 sometime after All That Remains, but it can really be anywhere between the romance scene in act 2 and the romance scene in act 3.

There were no two ways about it: Hawke was drunk.

Staggering under the larger man's weight, Fenris dragged his erstwhile companion up another flight of stairs, cursing the number of them separating the Hanged Man and the Hawke estate. When Hawke chortled softly near his ear, he cursed the man, too, for good measure. "You should know better than to bet with Isabela for shots; she cheats better than you," he said aloud, propping Hawke against a wall long enough to reposition Hawke's arm over his shoulders and his own around Hawke's waist. "I should know better than to not leave you snoring under the table."

"I c'n wok," Hawke managed to get out, then set to put words into action, nearly sending himself back down the flight of stairs they'd just ascended. "'m dunk- hor- hudky- f'n."

"You're a fool," Fenris corrected, fingers curling tightly to maintain their grip on the wobbly sack of jelly masquerading as Hawke. "As am I, for putting up with you."

"I luv you," Hawke said suddenly, wrapping both arms around Fenris when the elf's grasp slackened, sliding to his knees with a thud before grinning up at Fenris, eyes bright with liquor. "'s'okay, yer not obgi- gobli-"

Fenris stared down at Hawke, unable to keep from drinking in the emotion in Hawke's expression, even sloshed as it was. "Hawke. Do not say this to me now."

"Why not?" Sorrow swam into Hawke's eyes, deepening the gem-bright green into something Fenris was quite certain he could fall into and never find his way out of. "M'n it. 'ven when yer all-" He waved his hands about in an enthusiastic manner that managed to convey absolutely nothing.

"Hawke," Fenris said again, then bent to get his hands under Hawke's arms and haul him to his feet again. "You're too drunk for this conversation, and I am not drunk enough." His hands lingered for a moment before hurrying to settle Hawke against him again as his mind raced for a distraction. "Why don't you sing that song Varric asked about tonight?"

Hawke hummed absently, head dipping to loll against his shoulder. For a long moment, Fenris thought he'd finally passed out, before Hawke inhaled and began to sing.

"As I went home on first day's night as drunk as drunk could be, I saw a horse outside the door where my old horse should be! Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me who owns that horse outside the door where my old horse should be?"

Even as he winced at the volume, Fenris added his voice to the chorus, too grateful for the distraction to care about the picture they made, singing and staggering through the empty Hightown streets.

"Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool, still you can not see! That's a lovely sow that me mother sent to me! Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more, but a saddle on a sow sure I never saw before!"

It was three more verses before they reached Hawke's estate, Hawke's voice dying in the midst of the chorus as he recognized the alcove of the entrance. He straightened slightly and sighed, though he hesitated in reaching for the door handle as his eyes slid back to Fenris. "Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool, still you can not see," he began, almost whispering the words, barely hinting at a tune. "What makes my life worth living is standing next to me. Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more, but never have I loved a man quite like this before."

"Hawke," Fenris all but groaned, but Hawke was slipping away, practically falling through the opening door and Fenris was helpless but to let him go. Green eyes met his once more, briefly, before the door swung shut between them, leaving Fenris with nothing to do but to turn and make his way to his own home, the echo of song in his ears and his heart in his toes.