After returning to the estate from a battle, covered in the blood of their slain enemies, a hot bath is drawn and the finest soap is used.
The luxurious basin is thankfully big enough for two grown men, and they make good use of that fact. They slide into the welcoming water with an exhale of relief, savoring the warmth for a long minute before turning their attention to one another. Hawke makes sure to be gentle while washing the blood from the elf’s hair, from the tips of his ears and the base of his strong neck. He wipes away red streaks to reveal white ones, the ones that will never go away. Fenris busies himself dragging a damp washcloth over the planes of Hawke’s chest, where the blood seeped through the seams and cracks of his armor. Neither of the two men speak, their ritual is a quiet affair.
The water is tinged pink with blood and grows cool over time, and Fenris pulls Hawke from the bath, trying to dry them both off enough before Hawke inevitably pulls them both to bed–tumbling onto clean sheets and bath-warmed bodies seeking each other out in the dark.