The realization sank in as his fingertips groped for the knot to the sash at his wrist. A habitual enforcement of security, as he would always proceed to tighten it upon touching it to ensure it would not come loose and be tugged away with the wind. This time, his fingers met nothing but the cold iron of his gauntlet, and the shock froze him in place to stare, bewildered, at his arm. The rain came plundering down, clapping against stone, cloth, and skin. But all thoughts of its chill moisture were long lost, drowned by a new and desperate need. He turned back, scanning his eyes across everything as he followed the ghosts of steps taken not long before. He feared it could be far by now, wafted away on the storm raging from above to be given as a token to the vast sky. But, if there were any chance, he would not let it slip from his grip as he searched on anyway. *This* was the start of the great misconception Fenris would breathe into Hawke.

In the evening's twilight, the first game of Wicked Grace to which he was not present, came and went. The elf having abandoned it for much more pressing matters. And during the following day, Isabela had paid a visit, curious to hear his excuse. Sickened slightly by all his time foraging for the still missing red cloth out in the downpour previously weathered by Kirkwall, he merely told her he had something more important to tend to. He was trying his best not to call ettention to his misfortune, concerned it would hurt Hawke to know it was no longer with him. And she had passed the word along, adding the notion he was ill when she relayed it to Edrear. But, no more aware than any of them that the scarf had vanished, a secret Fenris intended to carefully keep to himself. With the news, Hawke was lead to his door, seeking to look after his ailments.

Crossing the main hall to the balcony, Edrear called out a warning of his approach as he always does for the sake of courtesy.

Heart thundering within his chest, Fenris moved to hide his bare wrist behind his back, managing to stow it away in time before crystalline eyes peer through the doorway to his chamber. Hawke crosses the threshold, expression tense with worry. His lips part in a nervous smile, his tone ever gentle.

"I heard you were unwell. I came to make certain you were alright." Edrear explains himself.

His attempt was endearing, but it only served to further increase Fenris' desire to hunt down Hawke's favor and return it to its proper place. With an ache of regret, Fenris pushed him away, fending off his kindness.

"I am fine," he mutters lowly, "I only need some rest. Something I would prefer to be left to do alone."

A lie was all he could offer to keep Edrear from wondering, investigating. It earns him a soft chuckle.

"Reluctant to ask for help as always, I see. Are you certain there is nothing I can do for you? It really is no trouble, and it won't kill you to have someone see to *your* needs for once."

With a sigh, Fenris commits to greater assertion, worried more and more his secret will be discovered with each breath.

"Yes, quite certian."

His voice echoes his frustration with clarity, a frown drawing at his mouth and creasing his brow. A warning that his tolerance would not last. Hawke shifts his weight back, a reluctant smile blooming at his lips once more.

"Alright, I suppose. Your fever does not look to be severe. I will check in on you tomorrow," he turns, "No matter how much you fuss."

Relenting to Fenris' wishes, he left the elf in peace to recover. But Fenris only bid his time to ensure Edrear had wandered far enough to avoid notice, then slipped from his mansion, on the hunt once again. He would not surrender to inaction.

Spirit restless, his feet wandered the streets of Kirkwall long into the night, his heart still left wanting. As the moon made way to return to the distant horizon, he trailed his defeat back home again to give in to his exhaustion, his hope straining. But it could not keep him bound to his stolen place of refuge, his need calling him out again when the sun was climbing to its highest glory on the morrow. And not long before Hawke came once again to Fenris' door as he had promised, to look after the stubborn elf. Only to find him missing, his hiding place deserted. And Edrear wondered then why he was gone, feared the worst, and clung to wishes of the best. That it was only a mere coincidence, a mistake to be concerned. The archer relinquished his chase, and returned home to await the light of the next day to again seek out his friend and former lover. Bent on protecting Fenris' welfare and keeping him from the hands of his former captors. Bent on keeping what Hawke could not live without. It only became worse from then on.

Although Fenris' endeavors broadened to include all of Kirkwall and beyond to the coast if need be, even Sundermount's mighty peak, night after moonlit night he would come to where it had all started, hands empty still. And his pain and sorrow was growing, his frustration and desperation a constant source of suffocation as they pressed upon his chest constricting his lungs. And, in these hazy days that came and went in endless movement designed to return what was lost, as tireless as the days he spent running and running with no end in sight, he continued to push Hawke away. Even after the man had nearly broken down in relief to find Fenris was still free, he turned away. Keeping a cold front and leaving Edrear to look longingly after his shadow as they crossed paths during his hunt, secret still clasped firmly behind his teeth. But, by now, others had noticed the lack of red at his wrist, and had brought it to Hawke's attention anyway. None the wiser that it was taken by misfortune and not removed by choice. And, slowly, as a week passed into another, an idea came forming in Edrear's mind. A terrifying realization for a man that gives his all and loves so very deeply becoming truly attached to those he bonds with. In the ice tenderly kept between them it dawned on Hawke that Fenris had moved on, truly let him go. And further this path of conception went to belief that he intended to leave, as the elf had always warned he would. Evident now that he was never to be found day after day. All the while, Fenris remained in unawareness of the turmoil he's caused.

Sunset hues blaze over Kirkwall, baptizing the land in fire before it is overtaken by black sky. Weary, Fenris' feet come to a halt as he returns to the Hightown market square, preparing to take shelter at his borrowed mansion yet again for an evening. Lost in the lullaby of cicadas, his eyes are no longer searching, his focus far too haggard to keep seeking now. He is uncertain he will take up the hunt again, hopes long since buried in a pitiful grave. Instead, perhaps it is time he confronted Hawke and told him of this incident. Fenris found he could not bear to tell him another lie, or push him away any further.

He missed Edrear's company, the teasing, the discussions. Missed those impish grins and intricate melodies blown into the beloved flute that was never left home. Fenris' vision clouds as he recalls the warmth of their interactions, his focus on bloody red hair and eyes clear cut like quartz. Maybe his worry has been unfounded all this time, maybe Hawke would not miss it so much after all. Likely, he would be far happier knowing Fenris stopped driving himself to look for it, more concerned about the elf's comfort. A soft smile plays across his lips. It's time he offered up the truth, it has been far too long.

He turns through the streets changing his destination from home to another familiar refuge, encouraging his aching legs to walk on and departing from the square. He is not far from the estate when his right foot makes contact with something stiff but pliable, the sensation taking him by surprise. His green irises dart to cobblestone beneath his weight to find the impossible. A red strip of cloth, rigid and encrusted with dirt and slightly more frayed at its edges, but relatively unharmed, it's vibrance peeking through the grey and brown stains. Carefully, he bends down to take hold of the sash, grasp tight around it so it cannot possibly slip away. It is in need of a washing, but no less wonderful to see and Fenris breathes a sigh of something beyond relief, more than happy to have it again. Lovingly, he packs it into a belt pouch and quickens his pace, eager to tell Edrear the good news. Eager to see him again, now with no fear of shame.

But when he enters through Hawke's door he becomes increasingly more hesitent, sensing the mood of the home has changed. Feeling it on the air like a thunderstorm that is about to break, charged with despair. Bodhan looks to him with pleading eyes, the wrinkles at their corners sagging and deeper.

"I will not pry, it is not my business. No one can stop you if you're certain you must but... Please, if there is anything you can offer the young master before you go, Messere, it would greatly ease his troubles. I'm sure of it. He has been so upset these past days, and nothing brings him comfort."

Fenris did not understand, but an unsettled feeling twisted his gut. Bodhan took great pride in caring for Edrear and his family, always happy to work back the debt he owed for his son's rescue. The worry for his Serah had worn on him, aging features more and more. Fenris hoped he could set things right.

Softly he steps up to Hawke's chamber door, looking on within to find the man slouched at the edge of his bed, face gripped in his straining hands. One of his reoccurring and, severe, headaches wracking him with misery. Another price he must pay for his void eyes, a scarring of magical alterations much like Fenris' brands. Fenris presses onward across the floor tiles, a deep set frown claiming his mouth, his gaze empathetic. Catching sound of his approach, Edrear sighs, unaware of who it really is.

"It's alright, Bodhan. Honestly. You should get some rest, you've been working much too hard." It is a dismissal made in mumbles, almost as though he has said it many times in the last while.

Fenris only seats himself beside Hawke, pulling him out of the grip he has been pressing to his aching eyes. Edrear offers a glance Fenris' way, taken by surprise. Then quickly, he hides his face again. In part from the pain, and in part from the unbearable concept of fate he is convinced is coming his way. He trembles, not ready for the finality of his ideas.

"Have you come to say goodbye?" It is nearly a breathy whisper, as though his throat struggles to speak the question.

Fenris looks troubled as he replies, "Goodbye?"

Many of his own ideas at what that could mean jostled through his mind, leaving him equally displeased. Hawke clarified, voice nearly breaking as he reveled in the horrid conviction.

"You want to move on, like you've told me you would often these past years. Don't you?"

His tone is begging Fenris not to go, not to leave him behind and alone. The fret this causes results in a strong cringe and he falls to his side, skull threatening to cave in under the pressure of his ailment. Edrear never could take loss well. His attachment can go far beyond normal means, even turning to obsession. His dependence on others for certain, average, abilities a viable reason why he takes to his loved ones so strongly. And, in that instant, it becomes clear why Hawke has been in such distress as of late.

Fenris supresses a laugh, a gesture without mirth, "I am not leaving Kirkwall."

Tears are spilling between the cracks of Edrear's fingers, slow and subtle, but present and speaking volumes none the less.

"Then, why are you always running from me... Did... Did I do something wrong?"

Fenris understood the responsibility for Hawke's suffering was his alone. He had shunned him far too harshly over something so arbitrary, and dug a chasm between them. His intentions may have been well, but his actions betrayed them.

"No," he makes haste to deny the notion, "I... There was something that had to be done. But, it was no fault of yours. I'm sorry."

Edrear lays in silence, not yet reassured.

"I lost something of great value to me," Fenris explains softly, "It took some time to find it. But, I did. I treated you unkindly without intending to do so. I was so caught up in my search, I did not realize I was hurting you. I truly am sorry."

Hawke staunches the flow of tears he had been trying all this time to hold inside. He had tough walls around his exterior, but once through them, he was far too soft beneath their outlying protection. His muscles relax, the headache ebbing away some.

"I would have helped you look, you know."

Fenris scoffs, "You're help would have been accompanied by endless teasing for having lost it in the first place, no doubt."

"You really aren't going anywhere?" Edrear prompts, wanting yet more assurance.

"I am not."

"Good," he sighs, "Maker help me- what is it you lost anyway?"

Fenris rushes to produce an answer, no longer sure of telling the truth. But he will not lie either.

"Just something from the past that I kept to remind me..." he trails off, leaving the description purposefully vague.

Hawke moves to eye him suspiciously for a moment before offering up a gentle grin, trying not to wince from the pressure still mounting in his mind. He knows, Fenris is certain of it. Edrear is a clever man if given the chance, and the scarf has been absent for some time, it's presence is not there still. But, the crest has never left his belt while his behavior as he kept tucking his right hand behind his back now clearly showed how he was hiding something. The pieces came together, and revealed the truth of it all in spite of his efforts. And Hawke came to realize all of the indicators he had missed in his concern. But, he says nothing of it, letting the entirety of the incident go for the comfort of knowing he was wrong.

"You should get some rest, Fenris. You sound as tired as Bodhan does."

The suggestion is made with tenderness, and Fenris smiles.

"As though you have any right to make mention of it."