philia (n.) - friendship, a feeling of warm regard, protective affection, esteem

"They should be just up ahead," Aveline said quietly as they approached Sundermount via the Wounded Coast. The guardswoman had recruited the Hawke sisters to help her out with a situation just outside Kirkwall, and Fenris, an elven warrior they had helped out of a tight situation a week earlier, had seemed the most capable back-up. "There might be stragglers before the main group. Stay alert."

The others nodded and readied their weapons as quietly as they could. Bethany glanced over at Fenris. Despite his difficult personality, she couldn't help but admire the way he moved, graceful and intimidating, like a prowling wolf. He carried himself with a lithe fluidity, as though he were not entirely human, but made of water and lyrium. The subtle sound of many arrows being nocked brought Bethany back to the present.

"Get ready!" Aveline barked. Aveline and Fenris charged forward to engage the bandits.

"Traps!" Hawke called sharply. She dropped a flask of dark powder at her feet and vanished into the shadows, barely visible as her nimble fingers disabled the trip wires the raiders had set in the sand.

"Stay low, sister!" Bethany covered her sister by taking out the archers nearest her with a fireball. Marian was crouched low enough that the flames licked over her harmlessly. The archers, however, were not as fortunate.

Marian flashed Bethany a grateful smile and joined the fray. Bethany turned her attention to the melee and considered her options. Many of her area effect spells were useless at the risk of harming her companions. Aveline and Hawke seemed to be holding their own, engaging a reasonable number of foes. As she watched, Aveline took off a raider's head with her sword and bashed in the face of another with her shield. However, Fenris, who had been backed against the cliffs a good distance from the others, was quickly being overwhelmed by no less than five attackers.

"Fenris!" she cried, and sprinted towards him. Hawke, who had finished off her last bandit with a well-placed backstab, followed Bethany's shout. The mage hung back, afraid to harm the elf, shooting off a few blasts of magic with her staff. Fenris and the Hawke sisters were able to turn the tide of the battle and made short work of the remaining raiders.

Fenris, who had been wiping his blade clean on a dead bandit's shirt, whirled on Bethany as she approached. "I had it under control," he hissed, his face inches from hers. The venom in his voice and eyes was palpable. "You did not need to do that."

Bethany was taken aback. Hawke stepped in, placing a calming hand on his shoulder, but Fenris flinched and shrugged away. "Don't touch me."

Hawke grimaced. "Fenris, we're your companions. Bethany was only trying to help."

"I don't need help from a mage." He spat at her feet. Hawke's eyes narrowed.

"You can take that attitude elsewhere," she said firmly. "I agreed to help you kill your master, should he ever return, but in the meantime I will not stand for you treating my sister like garbage. You will treat her with the respect she is due."

Fenris and Hawke glowered at each other for a long moment, their eyes equally hard, until Fenris huffed and walked away, kicking the sand every few steps.

"What was that about?" Aveline asked in a low voice as she sidled up to them. Hawke made a noise of disgust. Bethany just looked after the elf, speechless. What could have happened to him to warrant such a reaction to freely given aid? Just how dark were the shadows of his past?

Several rough weeks had passed since Fenris had made a scene after the foiled ambush. It had been a welcome change to have another warrior on hand, now that Aveline had her hands mostly full at the barracks. However stiff and disapproving Aveline could be, she was nothing compared to the prickly ex-slave. He was condescending, bitter, and kept his eyes on Bethany at all times. It was starting to make her supremely uncomfortable.

"You can stop watching me," she snapped over the campfire one night. "I promise I'll give you a warning if I'm about to turn into an abomination."

"There is never a warning for that."

"Maker's breath, it was a joke," Bethany said, rolling her eyes. "Don't you ever lighten up?"

"Not around magic."

Bethany sighed, frustrated. There was just no reasoning with him.

As they disembarked from the ferry, Fenris looked up at the massive stone tower that rose out of the Gallows. Its sheer enormity dwarfed everything in the plaza below.

"I have heard of the Circles of Magi outside the Imperium, but I've never been in one," he remarked. "Is it wise for us to be here, considering who we're with?"

Hawke shrugged. "Mages are a silver a dozen here. What's one more?"

"Hmm. I suppose you're right."

Bethany shot a withering glare at Fenris. "I'll try to avoid setting the place on fire," she sneered. "It'll be hard, but I think I can control myself."

"Take one more step and the boy dies!"

The party froze. Hawke drew a short curved knife from a sheath hidden at the small of her back, concealing it until the last moment. "Then this is as far as I go," she said grimly, and threw the knife with deadly accuracy. The slaver's eyes widened in surprise as the blade embedded itself in his throat, and with a spray of blood, he pitched forward.

"Clear out, you lot," Hawke growled at the contingent of slavers that had drawn their swords uncertainly as their leader fell. "Or you will die like dogs."

Most of them took her advice and ran down the passageway out of sight. A group of archers decided to take their chances, but before Fenris, Varric, or Hawke could make a move, Bethany took them out with a well-placed fireball that ripped through their ranks. Fenris grabbed Hawke's arm and spun her roughly around. "How could you let them live?"

Hawke's eyes glinted dangerously. "Let me go, Fenris."

He loosened his grip and she yanked her arm away. He had squeezed hard enough to bruise, but she'd be damned if she was going to let him know that. "I see," he said, his voice laced with contempt. "That soft spot in your heart includes slavers now, does it?"

Lightning fast, like the rogue she was, Hawke punched him. Had he seen it coming, Fenris would have been more than able to parry the blow. As it was, his nose broke with a wet crunch as his head snapped back and he fell hard on his ass. Hawke towered over the prone elf, her fist still clenched and smeared with blood.

Two pairs of brown eyes, wide as saucers, watched the scene in shock. Bethany's hands were over her mouth in horror. Then Varric whistled and began a slow clap.

"I hold no love for slavers," Hawke growled, holding out her hand to help Fenris to his feet. "You would do well to remember that."

With an ugly look that held a new respect for Hawke, Fenris nodded, touching his nose gingerly.

"Bethany?" Hawke asked, gesturing. The mage nodded. The gentle warmth of Bethany's magic washed over him like a hot bath, and he felt a tingling as the cartilage in his nose knit together.

"There," she said. "You still look a fright, but you should feel better now."

Hawke climbed the ledge where the scared half-elf still stood, his breath coming in short, squeaky gasps of fear. "Hey, calm down, kid," she said, bending down to retrieve her knife from the dead slaver's throat. "We're here to help."

"We should send him to the Circle," Fenris said thickly, still rubbing his newly-healed nose. "That is the best help he can hope for."

"No!" Feynriel said, his eyes wide. He backed away. "No! My mother sent you, didn't she? They'll make me Tranquil, they will! It's a fate worse than death. Please, serah," he pleaded. "Don't take me to the Circle."

"Relax," Hawke said, shooting a warning glare at Fenris. "We're not going to take you to the Circle."

"Why should I believe you?" he asked, bumping into the cavern wall as he backed up as far from Hawke as he could.

She sighed. "You saw what my sister did to those slavers, didn't you? I've worked my whole life to protect her from the Circle. Where will you go, if not to the Gallows?"

"I thought I might seek out the Dalish," he said timidly, wiping blood from his face. "I'm as much Dalish as I am human, and they know a bit of magic. Perhaps they can help me."

"There's a Dalish clan on Sundermount, just outside Kirkwall," Hawke said, shrugging and turning away. "Do what you must. I'll let your mother know of your decision." She hopped down from the ledge, followed by the boy, who took off.

"Come on. Our work here is done." Hawke made to leave, but Fenris stood rooted to the spot.

"You – you would just let him go?" Fenris asked warily. He was not about to tempt Hawke's right hook again so soon.

"Yes, Fenris," she said. "I'm just going to let him go."

"Most unwise," he said carefully.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "I'm done talking about this. Let's get out of here."

When the party emerged from the slaver caverns, dusk had already set in over the Wounded Coast, suffusing the sand with a muted gold sheen.

"Make camp," Hawke barked. "I don't want to travel in the dark. Too many things around here go bump in the night."

They settled into the familiar routine of making camp. Bethany gathered tinder for fire and used a quick spell to light it. Fenris' lip curled, but he said nothing, the memory of his broken nose still fresh in his mind. The companions ate in tense silence and divvied up the watches. Varric and Hawke retired to their respective tents. Fenris, who had first watch, dragged a piece of driftwood to sit by the fire and positioned himself so he could look out, away from the camp, wary for any sign of intruders.

"Why must you always be so cruel?" Bethany asked.

"The world is cruel," Fenris said. "The sooner you realize that, the better."

"That doesn't give you an excuse," Bethany said hotly, her face flushed by more than the heat of the fire. "What you did back there was uncalled for. In one breath, you spout the Chantry's rhetoric and would see thousands of people oppressed for nothing more than a mistake of birth. In the next, you rail against slavery and demand freedom for all those in chains. How are we different, Fenris? An apostate mage and a slave on the run?"

"We are not the same. All mages are vulnerable to the whims of demons. I am my own master, but I ally myself with those who share my beliefs," Fenris said calmly. He sounded almost bored, which only aggrieved her more.

"That's not true," Bethany said. "You ally yourself with me. Willingly, in fact."

A sardonic smiled crossed his features. "Yes, I suppose I do, at that."

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that there are good people in this world that just happen to be born with magic?"

"It's not," Fenris said. "There are far more who will stop at nothing for power. But you fail to account for the glaring truth that good people are often the weakest-willed, and therefore are easy prey for demons."

"I am not going to fall prey to a demon," Bethany said.

"You are not weak," Fenris said.

Bethany's mouth fell open, but facing away from her as he was, Fenris didn't see it. Was that – a compliment? From the mage-hater himself? Bethany didn't know what to say. She felt her anger ebbing away.

"Thank you," she said. "You've given me much to think about."

Fenris heard her footsteps whisper through the sand as she retreated into her tent. He had never known anyone like Bethany Hawke. If all mages were like her, Thedas would have no need for Circles and templars, and the Imperium would be a much nicer place. What a thought. The elf chuckled to himself and turned his attention back to the darkness surrounding the camp.

"So you've been an apostate your whole life?"

Bethany looked over at the elf. "Like my father before me, yes."

"Didn't your family think that dangerous?"

Bethany gave a long-suffering sigh. "Many mages go their entire lives without being possessed by a demon or falling to temptation, Fenris."

"What about the templars? Wasn't that danger enough?"

Bethany gave him a sidelong look. If she didn't know better, she would think he was concerned for her. "My family loved each other. It was worth every move, every sacrifice, every measure to protect my father and I from the templars. Wouldn't you do anything for your family?"

"I – I don't know if I have any family," Fenris said.

Bethany gaped at him. "What? How can you not know?"

Fenris stretched out his left arm, and with his right, ran a long, thin finger over the white line curled around his wrist. "When I received these markings, all recollection of my life before was stripped away. I have no memory of any family, though I suppose I must have had one once."

"I'm sorry, Fenris," Bethany said. She didn't know what else to say. "I'm sorry that my brother and father are dead, but to have no memories by which to remember them? I cannot imagine what that must be like."

"It is a strange predicament," Fenris admitted. "Even if my family yet lives, I do not believe I would recognize them." He turned away. "Enough talk. Hawke is waiting."

Indeed, Bethany's sister was giving the two of them a puzzled look as she waited for them to catch up. Bethany's heart was a mess of emotions. She felt pity for the elf, but also a sort of speculative fear. How would she bear it if she were unable to remember her family, or even her life before? No wonder Fenris was so aloof. She had come to care for him, as comrades in arms, and she made up her mind to make sure he knew it.

"Do they hurt?"

By the Void, was she talking again? "What?"

"Your markings. Do they hurt?"

"You do not want to know the answer to that question," Fenris said, his expression shuttered. His dusky skin and the white lines that marred it glowed in the firelight.

"So they do hurt," Bethany said quietly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You can stop talking," Fenris said through gritted teeth. He stoked the fire a little more vigorously than was necessary.

"I could try something," Bethany continued as if she hadn't heard him. She reached out and lightly touched his wrist. His lyrium tattoos flared hot and bright. Bethany gasped. Fenris hissed and jerked his arm away.

"Don't touch me, witch!" he snapped.

"I-I'm sorry," Bethany stammered. "I was only trying to help."

"I don't need your help," he said. It was clear the conversation was over. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Bethany picked herself up and meekly returned to her tent.

Fenris rubbed his arms. His flesh tingled, though not unpleasantly, from the lingering sensation of Bethany's touch. Since he had escaped Danarius, he had allowed no one to touch him. The memories of his master's touch were ones of agony and humiliation, and he had no desire to feel those things again. But when Bethany had touched his bare skin, it had been gentle and unassuming. He had pulled away more from surprise than anything, and now he felt a twinge of regret. Fenris scowled and pushed the feeling away. It was easier not to allow another that close than to risk that pain again.

"Hey," Bethany said tentatively. Fenris turned. "I got you something."

"What?" Fenris said, taken aback.

"I got you something," Bethany repeated, a delicate flush creeping up her neck. "A gift."

Fenris frowned. "Why?"

Bethany's face fell slightly. "No reason," she said. "I just thought of you when I saw it. And – and I'm sorry – about, you know . . . the other night." She held out her hands. In them she held a miniature carved wolf, roughly hewn from a chunk of blonde wood.

"It's what your name means, right? I read it in a book about the Arcanum language. I found this in the wares of a Dalish merchant. Merrill said it's probably supposed to be Fen'harel, but . . . here."

Speechless, Fenris took the figurine. "It was the name my master gave me," he said slowly. "Fenris, his 'little wolf.' He took great pleasure in showing me off to other magisters. My markings made them uneasy."

Bethany winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories. I just think of you as Fenris. Just Fenris. Not anyone's little wolf. Not anymore."

Fenris gave her a half-smile. "It is the only name I have ever known. Thank you, Bethany Hawke. You are . . . a friend, I suppose."

"What, have you never had a friend before?" Bethany said lightly.

The smile vanished as quickly as it had come. "No," said Fenris. "I haven't."

"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like. A world without magic."

"As do I," Fenris said carefully.

"It would be a lot simpler," Bethany went on thoughtfully. "I would be free."

"You are free now."

"Not really," Bethany said. "As long as I live, there will always be templars chasing me. Don't you feel that way? About Danarius?"

"I do," agreed Fenris. "But when he comes for me, he will die."

"You're lucky. For me, there will always be more templars to take up the chase."

Fenris almost pitied her. "What would you do with your freedom, were it possible?" he asked.

"I don't know," Bethany said, staring into the fire. "Settle down somewhere quiet, I suppose. Get married. Have children. Things I cannot do because I am an apostate."

"Your father did those things," Fenris pointed out.

"My father was a brave man," Bethany said, a trace of pride in her voice, "but I am not as brave as he was. The strain of having a family, moving us, hiding us, protecting us – those things were what killed him in the end."

"I'm sorry," was all Fenris said, and he truly meant it.

The four companions edged along the side of the cavern, taking care not to scuff their boots on the wooden bridge that held them. They had already spotted their quarry, but if they were careful, they might still have the element of surprise. That is, until Varric tripped. As the dwarf got back on his feet, Hawke turned to glare at him.

"What?" he said, annoyed. "You try sneaking with legs that are three times shorter. Let me know how that works out for you."

"Shut up!" Fenris hissed from behind them, but it was too late. The apostates had spotted them.

"The templars have come for us!" the man in the middle shouted.

"Well, he obviously forgot to put his eyes in today," Hawke snorted.

"Indeed," Fenris said.

"Decimus, no! They are not templars!" the woman beside him cried, tugging on his sleeve. He backhanded her with a force that sent her sprawling and she crawled away with a whimper. She and several others seemed to have had enough and could be seen edging out of the cavern.

"Attack! They will not take us alive!" Decimus pulled out a dagger and slit his wrist, calling forth blood magic from his veins and raising the corpses of mages and templars alike to do his bidding.

Hawke and Fenris charged into the fray, while Varric hung back, firing off bolts as fast as he could. Hawke was a whirl of blades, barely a blur as she moved from mage to mage, stabbing here and slashing there. The apostates' robes were no match for Fenris' enormous blade, and he cut them down with hardly a sound. Bethany sent several spirit bolts careening towards Decimus himself before he threw up a magical barrier, protecting himself from harm. The younger Hawke, frustrated at this sudden turn of events, didn't notice his undead minions approaching from behind her. She only just managed to throw her staff up to defend herself from a dead templar's rusted blade. There were four or five of them; Bethany lost count as she parried their blows, faster than she had ever done so in practice with Marian and Carver and her father, fueled by the adrenaline that pounded through her veins.

"A little help!" she cried desperately as she backed up to evade another slash. One more step and her heel caught on a stair. With a shriek she fell backwards, cracking her skull hard on the landing, and was unconscious in an instant.

"No!" Fenris shouted, and sprinted towards where the mage had fallen. With a sweep of his sword, he knocked the undead warriors out of the way, and they crumpled in a broken heap of bones and armor. Fenris sheathed his sword and sank to his knees beside Bethany's still form. He drew her close, cradling her in his arms. The sounds of battle faded from behind him. He heard footsteps as Hawke and Varric walked up.

"She needs healing," Fenris said, his expression unreadable. "We must return to Kirkwall immediately."

"Here, I've got a potion," Hawke said, digging in her pack. Her eyes were troubled as she unstoppered it. "Hold her head, Varric."

The dwarf tilted Bethany's head back as Hawke slowly poured the health serum down her throat. When Varric pulled back, his hands were smeared with red. The bottom dropped out of Fenris' stomach, but he did not falter. "Let's go."

The two rogues defended Fenris as he carried the unconscious mage out of the caverns. When they emerged, Varric quickly relayed the location of the escaped blood mages to Ser Thrask, who headed towards the coast, the other templars in tow. Hawke, Fenris, and Varric headed towards Kirkwall, a journey of several hours on foot. Hawke offered to carry Bethany for a time to give the elven warrior a rest, but Fenris would have none of it. He carried her all the way to Darktown, and refused to leave her side until Anders all but bodily threw him out of his clinic. Only then did Fenris return to his rundown mansion to wash up and wait for news.

Two weeks had passed since Bethany's injury, and Anders had sent her home after a few days to heal on her own. Finally, she felt ready to venture out once more, and Hawke had made her first day back an easy one. The Hawke sisters and Varric followed up on leads around town and tied up loose ends. Bartrand's expedition was nearly ready; the dwarf had set their departure date several weeks out. As the afternoon waned, they stopped by Fenris' mansion in Hightown to invite him to the Hanged Man for a drink, and to their surprise, he had agreed. Bethany, however, had suspected her presence had something to do with his sudden amenability.

As they were about to leave Hightown, Fenris grabbed Bethany's arm and pushed her up against the stone wall, roughly, but not hard. Hawke and Varric were already halfway down the steps to Lowtown, their minds on ale and Diamondback, not noticing the absence of their companions. The shadows kept Bethany and Fenris sheltered from prying eyes for the moment.

"What do you want from me?" Fenris demanded in a harsh whisper. His strong hands kept her upper arms pinned to the wall. "Tell me!"

"Let go of me," Bethany said, her eyes glinting with fear and something else, a hardness that Fenris saw more often in her sister's eyes – the sharp gaze of a Hawke. "What have I ever done to you?"

"Done to me?" Fenris gave a hoarse laugh and released her. "By the Void, do you not see it? You've driven me completely mad. You accept your fate as a mage, yet you do not embrace it as a magister would. You hold your own in battle. You value freedom above all else. You give without thought of yourself. When you hurt," he paused, "I hurt."

"Fenris –"

"You taunt me with your soft looks and your fierce words. Why?"

"I don't mean to taunt you," Bethany said. Her heart was pounding.

"Then what do you mean?"

"I – I care about you, Fenris," Bethany stammered.

His eyes, as deep, dark green as elfroot, were unreadable. "We should go. The others will be worried."

Bethany followed him down the steps, her cheeks flushed. He had pushed her away again, but she had cracked his shell, and slowly but surely she was worming her way into his heart.

There came a soft knock on the doorjamb. Bethany was the only one home at the moment, curled up on the bottom bunk of the bed she shared with Marian. She was immersed in a small book, her dark locks pulled back with a blue ribbon. When she looked up, he closed the door behind him and crossed the room to speak with her.

"You'll have to teach me to read, when we return," Fenris said, gesturing at the book.

"Fenris," Bethany said, flustered. She pulled the ribbon from her hair and used it to mark her page. "I thought you were leaving soon." Fenris did not seem in any particular hurry; his usual spiky armor was absent, and he was clad in a simple linen tunic and leggings. His feet were bare, as usual, and as Bethany cast her eyes about for a place to look without meeting his eyes, she found herself fascinated by the small white dots on each toe, just before the nail.

"I am," he said. "Your sister and the dwarf went to make last minute arrangements." He leaned against the bed frame gingerly. The spindly piece of furniture seemed likely to collapse under undue strain. "I do not mean to pry, but I do have to wonder: why are you not joining the expedition? Did you not raise the money along with Hawke?"

Bethany sighed. Of course Marian hadn't told him. The argument had taken place several nights prior, and the memory of it still rankled. She finally met his eyes, her gaze defiant. "My dear sister does not think me capable enough, and my mother clings to the one child she still can hold."

"I highly doubt that," Fenris said, raising a thin eyebrow.

"What?"

"You are far more capable than you realize, and Marian fears it," Fenris said, and Bethany's breath caught in her throat at the husky quality of his voice.

"Do you?" Bethany inwardly cursed her voice for quavering.

"Not anymore," Fenris said, and pulled her towards him. She didn't resist as his mouth met hers, his calloused fingers curled in her loose hair. Her lips parted in surprise, but she didn't pull away. Fenris seized the opportunity and tightened his hold on her, crushing her soft body against the hard planes of his own, and she made a small noise in the back of her throat. Her fingers crept up his muscled back as she applied herself to the kiss. Engrossed in each other, neither of them heard the door click open.

"Bethany!"

The two of them jumped apart and looked around at the interruption. Leandra looked positively scandalized.

"I should go," Fenris said evenly, and he swept out of the room.

"Mother!" Bethany burst out.

"What were you doing with that elf?" Leandra's eyes flashed.

Bethany crossed her arms petulantly in front of her. "I think it was rather obvious what I was doing," she said. "I'm a grown woman, Mother."

"You are acting like a child!" Leandra said. "Cavorting with elves twice your age –"

"He is not twice my age, Mother –"

"– using your magic in the city where anyone could see you, visiting all manner of shady establishments –"

"Enough!" Bethany shouted, and her mother fell silent. "Sometimes I think you want me to go to the Circle. I could turn myself in and be done with it. I'd be out of your hair, and I wouldn't get into so much trouble – is that what you want?" she fumed. She knew it was a low blow, but she was too angry to care.

"N-no," Leandra said, and Bethany felt a sick satisfaction as her mother's anger was replaced with drawn fear. "No, of course not, dear. I love you. I just want what's best for you."

"Maybe the Circle is what's best for me," Bethany said. "I have to go." She didn't really, but she couldn't stand being in that house a second longer. She brushed past her stricken mother and out the door.

Bethany stalked through Lowtown, fuming. Despite her angry words, Bethany had no intention of turning herself in to the templars. She found herself at the steps to Hightown before she realized it, and slowed as she ascended the last few stairs. Bethany meandered through the cobbled streets, running her fingers over the rough stone of the nobility's houses. If all went well, perhaps she and her mother and sister would live here someday. Gamlen's hovel seemed smaller by the hour.

Bethany rounded a corner and gazed up at the dilapidated mansion that Fenris called home. She had been here before; she had even endured the elf's ungrateful wrath after helping him raid this place. Stubborn vines crawled over the peeling paint of the house, its tattered second-story shutters framing dirty windows. The inside of the house was even less hospitable. Fenris never even bothered to lock the door.

Slowly, an idea took hold in Bethany's mind, fueled by her ire. With purpose, she pulled open the front door and strode inside. In Lothering, she had never been able to let off frustration with her magic because of watchful templar eyes, so she had taken to cleaning whenever she was upset. If Bethany was going to clean now, she might as well do so where it was needed most.

She rolled up her sleeves, tied back her hair with her red scarf, and began her hunt for a mop.

Bethany returned to Fenris' mansion every day for the next three weeks. Moving from room to room, she cleared out broken furniture, laundered the curtains and bedclothes, scrubbed the floors and windows, and made the whole house shine from within. What began as a project to channel indignant fury transformed into a labor of love – and with each day of exhausting work, despite Fenris' absence, Bethany realized that her work here was fulfilling because of her growing love for the elf.

There wasn't a lot she could do about the outside of the house. After all, the building was technically abandoned, and squatters did not generally renovate their residences. Bethany entered the room Fenris had claimed as his own, admiring her handiwork. She sprawled on her back over the freshly-made bed, careful not to muss the bedclothes, and stared up at the canopy. She closed her eyes and relived the kiss – something she had done countless times since Fenris' departure. Giddiness rocketed around within her stomach, and she smiled so wide it hurt.

Three quick pounds on the door downstairs brought Bethany back to reality and to her feet, poised to flee. Years of careful listening told her that the booted feet coming for her belonged to templars. They had a certain measured weight about their tread, templars did – different from the ungainly step of city guards, or the nimble flight of footpads. Her heart thudded in her chest. Bethany went to the window. It was a two-story drop, but to evade the Circle would be well worth any injury. She threw open the panes, each side folding outwards like fancy Orlesian doors, and climbed onto the sill, albeit awkwardly.

There were shouts from just outside Fenris' chamber door, and then there they were – two templars with wild, triumphant eyes. Bethany suddenly realized she had left her staff at Gamlen's – it hadn't seemed important these past few weeks.

"We found one! She's escaping out the back window!" The two templars hurried towards her. Bethany jumped. There was a sharp crack, like a tree branch snapping in a storm, and Bethany's legs buckled. She looked up. The two templars were leaning out the window, looking down at her. At best, she had mere moments to heal herself and run.

The pain that had exploded in her leg on impact had quickly subsided to a persistent ache, but a mind-numbing brain fog had set in. Reaching for her magic was like swimming through molasses. Bethany's healing magic trickled weakly through her fingers, willing her bones to knit back together.

"Oh no you don't, maleficar!" The second templar bellowed from above her. Bethany felt her magic yanked away as the templar's cleanse rolled over her. Mentally, it was like being bowled over by a full-grown mabari. Bethany desperately reached out for her magic, fumbling in the dark, but it simply wasn't there. Before, she had been sure of her escape. After all, hadn't she spent nineteen years dancing just out of the templar's reach?

Now, Bethany Hawke was truly afraid.

Hawke, Fenris, Varric, and Anders returned from the Deep Roads expedition tired, hungry, angry, and dirty, but alive. Varric invited them all to the Hanged Man for a celebratory drink, but Hawke declined.

"I'd better go see Mother," she said, "and Maker knows Bethany's going to skin me alive."

"Do you think she's still upset?" Varric asked.

Hawke chuckled. "My twelve-year-old sister held a grudge against Carver for a year for nailing her braid to the bed. She probably won't speak to me again until I'm thirty."

"Look on the bright side: five years of blessed silence, then," Varric quipped, and the two of them laughed. Hawke bade them all goodbye at the entrance to the pub and headed to her uncle's house.

Fenris half-heartedly joined Varric and Anders, but after two terrible hands of Wicked Grace, he left them to their ale and returned to his derelict mansion. As he walked in the door his eyes widened. The foyer was immaculate. Everything was in its right place.

Fenris moved through the house like a ghost, pausing here and there to marvel at how different the place looked now that the dust was gone and the bloodstains were barely noticeable. His heart felt lighter than it had since he had left. Fenris had a sneaking suspicion he knew who was behind it all, and was overwhelmed. How could he ever thank her for something like this?

When he reached the room that served as his own, he hesitated. The door was ajar. Something irrational within him said she might be here, but that was ridiculous. Fenris pushed open the door and his stomach dropped. A scrap of red cloth lay on his bed, a forlorn token of its owner's fate. Fenris crossed to the bed in three strides and snatched it up, burying his nose in it. It was hers; of course it was hers. Something was wrong.

"Hawke! Open the door!" Fenris said, pounding his fist on the door of Gamlen's house. The run from his mansion to Lowtown was a blur.

When Hawke answered, Fenris' fears were vindicated. Hawke's expression was drawn, and her mother was seated at the writing desk behind her, sobbing. The aura within the house was that of familial grief. Someone had died, or just as good as.

"I'm sorry, Fenris," Hawke said quietly, closing the door behind him. "I know you two were close."

"Is she –," Fenris' voice cracked, and he swallowed. "What happened?"

"Templars," Hawke said. "They found her in a Hightown mansion. It was yours, wasn't it? That's how you knew."

Fenris nodded and closed his eyes. "When?"

"A few days ago. Mother found out yesterday. The Knight-Captain was kind enough to write her a letter," Hawke said bitterly.

Fenris didn't know what to say. He said nothing.

"I don't know what's going to happen," Hawke went on. She shook her head as the enormity of the news sank in. She would never see her little sister again, at least not alone. There might be supervised visits under extreme circumstances, maybe a letter here and there that passed through countless templar hands before reaching Bethany's eyes. But never again would the two sisters fight at each other's side. Never again would they share a drink at the Hanged Man. Never again would they giggle about boys and dreams and memories together in the safe darkness of their shared bedroom. Bethany would never see the Amell estate restored to its former glory.

"I'm sorry," Hawke said again, her voice full, quavering with unshed tears. She turned away and felt a hand on her sleeve.

"I never wanted this," Fenris said suddenly. "If anyone in the Circle does not deserve their fate, it is she."

Hawke glanced back at him. "Thank you," she whispered.

He left without saying good-bye. Standing alone in the Lowtown slums as dusk set in, Fenris realized Bethany's red scarf was still bunched in his hand.

He tied it around his wrist.