The smell of blood in the air was unmistakeable. Hawke glowed with it, surrounded by a fine red mist that left a grisly trail in her wake.

Fenris sensed the sticky residue on his skin and felt unclean. But contact was unavoidable as the four of them jostled around the narrow hallway to chase the demons bubbling from the ground around them, even Sebastian's white armour bore faint splotches of red and brown. Symbolic, perhaps, of Hawke's influence.

Hawke, however, was a saint compared to the monster they were seeking. Fenris had had his doubts about this DuPuis' guilt, he had too much faith in Aveline's abilities to think her people would miss the presence a blood mage in the midst of Hightown. (Well, any blood mage other than Hawke) But innocent men did not guard their houses with demons and the possessed bodies of the dead.

Sebastian nodded grimly to Fenris as they cornered a demon of rage. He did not like these creatures any more than Fenris did. The demon roared, it's unnatural flames licking at the rich curtains and carpets of the mansion without burning them. Suddenly it staggered back, assaulted by a twisted ball of energy from the other side of the room. Fenris looked up and saw that Merril and Hawke had set themselves up in a relatively safe corner of the room and were working together to fight from a distance. He should perhaps be grateful that neither of them had tried to befriend these demons rather than killing them.

Fenris found himself watching Hawke despite himself. Her short dark hair stuck out at all angles, greased with blood and sweat, one of the arms of her robes hung loose from a long tear and a dark stain of something unpleasant spread across her neck and chest. She was, as always, painfully attractive. Part of him hated her for it, for making him feel such a frustrating mix of anger and respect and desire, and then he hated himself for thinking that way.

They had been fighting across this house all morning, but Hawke's eyes were still bright and determined, wearing the fierce joy she only seemed to find in battle. Her eyes met his across the room and she smirked. "Time to die!" she shouted. A rain of fire poured from the ceiling and the shades around Fenris exploded into bursts of blood and flame.

The sunshine of the High Town street was like a slap to the face after the shuttered darkness of the shade infested house. Fenris blinked and then returned to the argument he was having with Hawke.

"I can't believe you let him go!" he said. "Wait, what am I saying, of course I can believe it. Your kind always sticks together."

"Exactly," said Hawke. "You know what they say about honour among blood mages. And you must admit he had a very compelling story, I particularly liked the bit about the lilies."

"So you think he was innocent of killing all those women?" asked Sebastian.

"I think so," said Merril. "And I'm sure Hawke knew what she was doing."

Hawke shrugged. "If he kills again we'll know I was wrong," she said. She turned to Fenris "Of course, you don't care about that, do you? He could kill a hundred women and you wouldn't mind, as long as he didn't do it with magic."

The four of them continued in this way across the crowded boulevard until they found themselves at the door to Fenris's mansion, only a few houses away. Disturbing to think he'd lived so close to DuPuis and never noticed anything strange. "So, Fenris," said Hawke "Are you going to invite us in?"

Sebastian smiled politely. "You needn't go to any trouble on my account, Fenris. Though I have nothing in particular to do at present and I do always appreciate a good chat."

"Ooh, are we visiting Fenris?" asked Merril. "How nice! Oh…but I have to go, that's annoying."

Hawke, who had barely paid any attention to Merril once the battle was over, sighed dramatically. "Oh, what a pity," she said. Hawke then turned and leered at Sebastian "I was hoping the two of us together could corrupt these upstanding gentlemen from the path of the Maker with our evil witchy ways."

Sebastian looked disturbed.

"I'm sure you'll do fine without me," said Merrill, giggling. She gave a cheerful wave goodbye, which only Hawke returned with any enthusiasm, and then she was gone. This still left Fenris with Hawke and Sebastian standing at his door, looking expectant.

Fenris sighed. "You can both come in if you like," he said. "But I am not exactly set up for entertaining."

He opened the door and felt a vague sense of embarrassment at the state of the house. Broken tiles and empty bottles littered the floor and everything smelt vaguely of decay and dust. But what did he care for the opinion of these pampered human nobles with their estates and their servants? They should just be grateful he'd cleaned up the dead bodies.

"You have a wine cellar don't you?" asked Hawke. "That more than makes up for the lack of matching chairs." She patted Sebastian and Fenris on the shoulders and pushed through the doorway. "You boys enjoy reciting the Chant to each other, I'll be downstairs."

Sebastian grimaced. "That woman is a menace," he said. He looked pristine and white in the mucky dark of the house, sitting carefully on Fenris's least dilapidated looking chair with a straight back and easy grace. "I am grateful for the help she gave avenging my family, but some of the things she does…I'm surprised you've stayed working for her so long, Fenris."

"Some days, so am I," said Fenris.

"Do you think we should go looking for her?" asked Sebastian. He did not look very enthusiastic at the prospect. "Ah, but we can have a more pleasant conversation by ourselves. So, shall we start reciting from the Canticle of Threnodies?" Sebastian grinned and Fenris found himself smiling slightly in return. He liked Sebastian, for all his naive faith he was a genuinely good man and sometimes managed to make Fenris feel briefly like perhaps one day he could be a good man too. Then again, at other times Fenris found him frustratingly sheltered and condescending, and he found himself wondering if goodness was even a valid concept let alone something worth striving for.

"I must admit to not knowing that particular part of the Chant," said Fenris. "Perhaps we should instead continue our previous conversation, you were telling me about Starkhaven."

"Ah, if you insist," said Sebastian, "But it is a very pretty Canticle."

Fenris managed to successfully forget about Hawke completely until some time after Sebastian had left. He had been happily contemplating nothing in particular in the silence when somehow once again his thoughts turned back to her, and then he suddenly remembered that he'd never seen her leave.

He wandered down to the cellar but it was hard to tell if there was anything missing from the chaotic pile of bottles. Deciding that she'd be found when she wanted to be, Fenris grabbed a half empty sack and did a slow tour of the house, picking up any really offensive refuse as he went. (It was one thing to not care about the impression he gave, and another to have to live with the smell of dead rat)

Fenris eventually found Hawke in one of the guest bedrooms. She'd kicked off her boots and thrown off the dusty coverlet and lay half tangled in the sheets. She must have fallen asleep, her hair was all flattened on one side and there was a Hawke shaped dent in one of the pillows, but she was awake now and drawing pictures in the air with wine (at least, he hoped it was wine) Next to the side of the bed were two bottles and an empty wine glass, fallen on it's side. A window had smashed open during a storm a season ago leaving the floor littered with leaves, and the ripped curtain bathed the room in shifting patches of shade and sunlight.

Hawke made no explicit acknowledgement of his presence, but the liquid picture morphed into what he decided was meant to be wolf. The little red wolf ran in a circle before being accosted by a bird shaped blob, which was meant presumably supposed to be a hawk. The bird swooped at the wolf a few times before both shapes dissolved into a cloud of shapeless red globules.

"How very inventive," said Fenris. "Try not to stain the sheets."

"You know you can hire servants to deal with that sort of thing," said Hawke. She did her best to sound like a Hightown noble, but her speech still bore traces of her more humble Fereldan origins. "I don't know how well the mercenary business pays these days but they're hardly that expensive. I could lend you one of ours if you like. Unless you enjoy living in squalor."

"Perhaps I do," said Fenris. "And I certainly don't need any of your servants."

Hawke shrugged and sat up. "Your loss." She made a small gesture with her hands and the red liquid evaporated in a small puff of flame. The room filled with a sweet burnt smell: definitely wine.

"Is Sebastian gone?" she asked. Fenris nodded. "Good. I don't like him. Or at least…I think he's far too much of a good influence on you. I'm always worried the two of you will run off and make little dogmatic Templar babies together."

"That is unlikely for multiple reasons," said Fenris. He put down his sack. "And it is hardly Sebastian's influence that makes me understand the need for the Templars. It is you mages who have seen to that."

Hawke made a sound of disgust. "Fine, fine, we're all abominations waiting to happen, thank Andraste we have those kindly Templars to keep us in line. Let's not argue. Come sit down next to me." She patted the bed next to her and smiled at him.

Fenris felt like he was trapped where he stood by the sharp edges to her smile. "Is that an invitation?" he asked. She flirted with everyone, including him, and Maker help him he flirted back, but he couldn't imagine Hawke found his hatred of magic very attractive.

Hawke frowned. "An invitation to sit down," she said, irritably. "But nobody's making you."

He sat.

Hawke shuffled forward on her knees until they were next to each other, sitting a handsbreadth apart on the edge of the bed. She stared into his face as if she were searching for something and Fenris tried not to stare too obviously back. At this distance he could see the subtle variations in the shifting darkness of her eyes, the hint of teeth between the parting of her lips.

"Fenris," she asked softly, "Have you ever had sex with Isabella?"

Fenris blinked. What was she playing at? "That's an incredibly personal question," he said, looking away. "And it is absolutely none of your business." He hadn't, of course. As far as he knew, he'd had never had sex with anyone, though the possibility of taking up one of Isabella's blatant invitations had certainly crossed his mind.

"I have," said Hawke.

"You and half of Kirkwall."

Hawke gave a little broken sigh but did not reply. Fenris looked at her and realised to his horror that there were two thin lines of tears running quietly down her face, though Hawke quickly wiped them away. She groaned. "I'm so embarrassed at myself," she said. "I wasn't expecting her to propose marriage or anything but it was…it was like it was nothing to her. Like I'm…"

Fenris had no idea what to say. He wasn't exactly practised at comforting crying women at the best of times, and this was Hawke. When he'd tried to say something consoling about her brother's death she'd just laughed and told him to stop pretending he hadn't thought Carver was an idiot. He didn't know how to deal with a Hawke who looked miserable rather than amused or angry or bored.

She took a breath and pulled up the side of the sheet to wipe her eyes. She looked at the fabric in her hands, now stained with tears and soot and blood. "Sorry about your sheets," she said.

"Do not trouble yourself. Now they fit with the rest of the decor," said Fenris.

Taking this as permission, Hawke used the sheet to more completely wipe her hands and face, leaving long black smears on the dusty white. "And now Isabella keeps looking at me, like she thought I'd just become another one of her harem she could call on whenever she wants a bit of…whatever I am. And I don't want to say yes, but I don't have any good reason to say no, and so she thinks I'm just not interested in her, or that I didn't like it, and I…" Hawke made a sound of frustration. "And the really pathetic thing is I mainly wanted to sleep with her so I knew what I was doing when I finally got Merril into bed, but I've lost all enthusiasm for that now."

Now this sounded more like the Hawke Fenris knew. He didn't even like Merrill but still felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl, he had his doubts about how much Hawke really cared about her beyond their shared interest in blood magic.

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Fenris. "I'm sorry that you're feeling…troubled about Isabella, but couldn't you talk to…" He was going to say 'Merril' then reconsidered. Who were her other friends? "Aveline? Or anyone else? You have repeatedly told me that we are not friends, and I am hardly qualified to give romantic advice."

"Oh yes, because Aveline is such a font of wisdom about relationships. And she hates Isabella, she'd probably just say something smug about not expecting anything better. She barely likes me. Anyway I don't want to talk to my friends. If I even have any. I don't trust anyone who wants to be friends with me, it shows a terrible lack of judgement." She smiled grimly to herself. "And most other people don't care about me at all, or if they do it's to despise me. But you…I feel like I could tell you my darkest, most repulsive secrets and you would just say that it was no more than you expected. It's…comforting."

Fenris snorted. It was a bizarre thing for her to say, but he understood what she meant. Hawke was certainly the only person he knew who really accepted how blase he was about violence, even if they disagreed on the specifics of when that violence should be applied. "So what does it say about me that I see you for what you are and am still…" He stopped.

Hawke turned to face him. "Still what?"

She shifted closer, resting her hand lightly on his arm. He usually could not stand to be touched, but his skin sang at the contact, and he had to stop himself from leaning into it. She repeated, "Still what, Fenris?" Her eyes were, for once, open and free of guile, dark and round in the shadows of the curtained room. She moved her hand up to his face, and traced her fingers lightly along the curve of his jaw. He wondered if she was as attracted to him as he was to her. From the look in her eyes it seemed likely.

His breath hitched. "I…"

The moment dragged on for what felt like forever, and then something shifted in Hawke and the moment was gone. She narrowed her eyes and her lips twisted down and the mood suddenly felt much more familiar. "Still putting off betraying me to the Templars?" Her fingers pinched his chin, the painful bite of her nails like the pure tone of a bell above the usual dull ache of his skin.

"No," said Fenris. "I would never willingly betray you."

"Still waiting to see how long it takes me to become an abomination, then? I'm sure you think it's only a matter of time. How you will enjoy saying "I told you so" as you rip my heart from my chest."

Fenris grasped her hand carefully with his sharp gloved fingers and removed it from his face. He could feel the tension in her fingers as she pulled her hand away. "If you ever become an abomination I would not flinch from killing you," he said. "But I would not enjoy it, and I do not think it is inevitable. You have a strength most mages lack." And it was true. Whatever he thought of Hawke, she was not one to be overcome by any outside influence. She certainly showed no sign of being influenced by him. "But if you continue with this unnecessary and reckless use of blood magic then yes, I do think the consequences will be dire, not just for you but for all of us."

Hawke swung her feet off the edge of the bed and stood up with a jump. She strode to stand in front of the Fenris, doing her best to tower over him despite her relatively short frame. "Unnecessary?" she said. "You think all magic is unnecessary! If it were up to you we'd never learn anything more dangerous than healing spells, and any mage who looked at you the wrong way would be made Tranquil."

The anger her words inspired in him felt like a relief. He knew what he was doing now. Fenris stood up himself, and was irritated by the fact that Hawke was still slightly taller than him. No matter. "Perhaps that would be better than the situation we have now," he spat. "Or have you forgotten the creature we faced today? The women he or his supposed prey have murdered? Time and time again I have seen 'good' mages fall to temptation. The few who do not are…" He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment, letting his mind clear. "No, I go too far. I agree that since you have this…power you might as well use it. But only as long as that use is controlled."

"I do not wish to be controlled," said Hawke. "No more than you do." Her eyes were alight again, as if in battle, all traces of her previous misery entirely erased. Fenris wondered if this was what she had wanted from him all along, a chance to shout and be shouted at. She smiled triumphantly. "I wonder, Fenris, what you would have been like if you were born a mage. Would you have become one of these magisters you despise so much?"

This was a question Fenris had asked himself many times, though he was not going to admit that to her. "I was not born in the Imperium," he replied. "Had I been discovered as a mage while living in Seheron I would have been made a Sarabas, and perhaps that would have been no worse than the life I ended up living. And had my magic been discovered after I was taken to the Imperium I would have remained a slave, my magic would have been just another tool for the use of my master." The idea disgusted him, he could not imagine how he would have felt about himself if the magic that had destroyed his life lay within him as well as in the hands of his tormentors. That this was not the case was a small mercy to be thankful for, perhaps. "Not all mages are magisters, Hawke. But the magisters are what you get when mages rule." She frowned at him, but the short fuse of her anger seemed to have burnt itself out and she did not bother to argue. "I might as well ask what sort of person you would have become if you were not born a mage," he added. Lately, this question had plagued him as much as the first, along with the question of how he would feel about her if it were true.

"A very boring one," she said. "You do remember Carver, don't you? No thank you."

His own anger dissipating, Fenris noticed how close they were standing, and wondered what would happen if he shifted closer. "It would take more than a lack of magic to make you boring," he said.

The way she looked at him made him wonder how much she saw in his own expression. He looked away. "I'll take that as a compliment," said Hawke.

"It was meant as one."

She ran a hand over her face, leaving a thin smear of something dark across her cheek. "Ah, I am tired. That's probably as positive place to end this conversation as we're going to get, and I need a bath." Hawke gave a little ironic half bow, waving her hand. "Thank you for your hospitality and your wine, serrah." She walked herself to the door, and Fenris was left alone with his thoughts and pile of ruined sheets.

Fenris made a show of hating any time spent in the Hanged Man, but he did not dislike it quite as much as he claimed. Unlike Hightown, noone looked at him askance for the shocking faux pas of being an elf without a master, and the raucous, crowded atmosphere, while irritating, was sometimes a welcome a change from the silence of his house. Though he might not admit it, Fenris was glad that Isabella and Varric dragged him out for cards every now and then, even if they did always try to cheat.

Isabella sat opposite him and dealt out the cards while Fenris amused himself by trying to figure out how she palmed the better ones for herself. He had yet to catch the trick of it. She leaned over the table far more than was necessary, almost certainly aware of the view this gave him down her bodice. Fenris found himself quite effectively distracted and wondered how much of this was part of the trick. Isabella grinned. "So, is Hawke coming?" she asked.

"How would I know?" asked Fenris.

"Well, she's always mooning over you," said Isabella. "I'm sure if you told her we were playing cards she'd come. She seems to be avoiding me."

"Mooning over me?" said Fenris. "That's not what I'd call it." He looked at his cards. They were terrible. He raised an eyebrow at Isabella. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Isabella. "I'm just being a friend. Who wishes to spend time with her friend. And worries that said friend might be having her heart broken by another friend who insists on being mean to her."

Fernis wasn't sure he'd describe himself as being friends with either of them. He thought about trying to help untangle the mess that was Hawke and Isabella's relationship but decided he would probably only make things worse. Anyway, that was their problem. "Mean?" he said. "She's a blood mage! It takes more forbearance than you can imagine to even stand to be in her company."

"And see," said Isabella. "That's a very mean thing to say. I think May is delightful company, and she's not tried to sacrifice me to a demon once in all the years I've known her." She sighed dramatically. "But for now I will have to settle for you, I suppose. At least you've brought along a delightful pile of silvers."

The night air whispered cold against Fenris's skin in the shadowed caourtyard of the Hawke estate and he wished with all his heart to be elsewhere.

Hawke was staring at him. He recognised that expression. It was the same mix of affection and sadness that she had worn for a time around Isabella, a glimpse of the inner loneliness she usually kept masked under sharp words and empty banter. And now she was wearing it because of him. What was he thinking?

He'd come to her house planning…planning something stupid. But all they'd done, all they ever seemed to do, was argue. Even now he was still just so angry, angry at her for the things she'd said and the person she was, angry from merely thinking about Hadriana, and angry at himself for being so overwhelmed by his emotions. How could this lead to anything good? How much worse would she feel, would they both feel, if they let this flirtation progress any further than it had? Hawke was one of the strongest people he knew, but that strength turned to weakness when she let herself care about people, which is why she usually didn't. It would be her downfall if she let herself care about him.

Hawke had answered the door in a short, simple dress, the first time he'd seen her in anything but mage's robes, and Fenris was transfixed by the hollow of her throat, the curve of her legs, the way her skin reflected gold and brown in the lamplight. He saw the invitation in her eyes and thought about how easy it would be to stay, to feel that skin against his own.

"You don't have to go," she said. But he did.

Hawke's hand was warm and steady on his leg. Fenris felt the familiar glow of healing magic as it spread through the wound, and fought the almost overwhelming instinct to panic. He tried not to slip back into memories of other times, other places, of when being healed was just another part of his bondage, maintenance performed on a useful tool whether the tool wished it or not.

The battle had been heated, they'd killed more Qunari than he'd thought the little room could fit, and for what? To defend some narrow minded Templar who couldn't stand to share his city with another race of people with a different point of view. Fenris wondered what these people thought of elves.

He had a feeling that Hawke's motivations had had less to do with xenophobia and more to do with not provoking a room of angry people with swords, and that was a motivation he could respect. But respecting Hawke didn't change the inescapable horror he felt as she performed magic on him. "Could I not…use a potion," he said, trying not to let the pain show in his voice.

"Don't be stupid," said Hawke, "This is far too deep a wound for that. I need to get this properly sealed up now before you lose any more blood. I don't see why you have to…" She looked up at him in irritation, but something in his expression made her open her eyes briefly in surprise, and then she looked back down without finishing what she was saying. "Stay still, it won't take long," she said, more quietly. After a moment she looked back up, smiling. "So, do you think I did the right thing? Qunari versus Templar, such a tough decision, it must be heartbreaking to see your two favourite types of bigot fighting with each other like that."

"And you sided with the Templar," said Fenris, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm sure Anders will be happy with you."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Anders is never happy with me. As if I'm going to put my neck out for his doomed attempt at revolution, or whatever it is he's planning." She shifted her fingers and Fenris winced. Whatever Fenris might think of Anders, he did have more practice at healing, Hawke tended to focus on making people explode more than on putting them back together again.

Fenris remembered the one time Anders had offered to try and heal the lingering pain left by his markings, as if Danarius hadn't spent countless hours experimenting to try and fix what he saw as an embarrassing flaw in his creation. That conversation had not ended well.

Hawke continued in a detached tone, one he'd heard a lot from her of late. "And in general I've decided I'm done siding against the Templars all the time. You're right, mages do always seem to turn out to be abominations or evil, and all that my sympathy for them gets me is disappointment and trouble with the powers that be. I don't like the Templars, but there's no point fighting against the status quo when I don't have to, especially when the status quo is usually right."

Fenris didn't remember Hawke ever showing all that much sympathy towards other mages when it didn't suit her. "So you'll be giving up blood magic yourself then?" he asked.

Hawke grinned. "Oh, I wouldn't go that far. But not everyone can be trusted to use it as wisely as I do." There was a fierceness to her smile that made Fenris wonder how much she was motivated by having a socially sanctioned excuse to kill people. Her recent glee in sending the guards to find DuPuis had certainly not seemed motivated by any added sureness of his guilt. This should probably have bothered Fenris more than it did.

Hawke had nearly finished, and was running her hand over the newly formed skin to prevent it from scarring. She was treating him with the utmost clinical detachment, but Fenris still found himself horribly aware of the intimacy of the touch, and the way her figure was outlined by her robes. The cognitive dissonance with his memories of Danarius was unpleasant.

She stood up. "You should be fine now," she said, "But let me know if it troubles you." In the past she might have accompanied this with a smile or a not entirely good natured poke at the affected area, but now she just walked away to go talk to Isabella.

Fenris felt the sting of regret and berated himself for being a hypocrite. It was good that Hawke and Isabella seemed to have patched things up. Fenris didn't know if they were sleeping together, but as he had to keep reminding himself, he shouldn't care.

He should have been happy, he'd gotten exactly what he wanted. But as Hawke's interest in Fenris had waned his interest in her had only grown. He kept thinking of the yearning way she'd looked at him when he'd visited her house, and wishing she would look at him that way again. Which was selfish and absurd. They could never make each other happy, they could barely manage a civil conversation.

Perhaps he should follow Hawke's lead. She had managed to become friends with Isabella, despite the sting of rejection. Perhaps he and Hawke could become…if not friends, then better acquaintances. Allies. He resolved to treat her with the same platonic respect with which she had been treating him.

"You are such an idiot," said Hawke.

"I'm fairly sure that's…not the usual thing people say in these situations," said Fenris, a little breathless.

Hawke pushed him back against the wall. "Shut up," she said. "Don't make me kiss you again."

Fenris tilted his head and smirked. "Yes, that would be…"

She put her hand over his mouth. He could have pulled it away, but was content for the moment to have it stay, the gentle pressure gave something for his mind to focus on to keep from being distracted by the pain in the rest of his skin. He shut his eyes. He could feel the warmth of her body through her thin dress as his hands ran roughly across the curve of her hips, the softness of her breasts. Hawke pushed her other hand into his hair, shifting his head, and kissed a line up his neck. "We could have been doing this months ago," she said. "You. Have. No. Idea. How much I…"

There was a strangled cough. Fenris opened his eyes and found himself face to face with Hawke's uncle, standing a few feet away having clearly just come up the stairs. Hawke had been slowly pulling Fenris towards what he assumed was her bedroom but they had kept getting distracted and had as yet barely made it onto the first floor.

Hawke took her hand off his mouth and turned towards Gamlen, her body still pinning Fenris to the wall. "Hello uncle Gamlen," she said. "Can I help you? As you can see I'm a little busy right now."

"Uh," said Gamlen. He stared at Fenris. Fenris, remembering some comments Gamlen had made about elves back when they'd had to visit Hawke at her Lowtown shack, smiled back smugly. "It's about your mother," said Gamlen, awkwardly.

"Can it wait?" said Hawke.

Gamlen looked from her to Fenris and back again. "Yes..yes I suppose so." he said. "I'll…be downstairs when you're…I'll be downstairs."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Probably complaining that she won't give him money again," she said. She stood back slightly and shifted her hand to pull absently at the buckles of his amour while looking irritably back down the stairs at where her uncle had just been. "Ug, he's totally spoiled the mood."

Fenris pulled her closer and ran his other hand up her back, tangling his fingers in the softness of her hair. "Do you wish me to leave?" he asked.

"Oh no," she said, "You don't get away that easily."

The problem with euphoria is that it only highlights the contrast when you fall back into despair.

Fenris could feel the memories of his past life slipping away, images of a red haired girl and an unfamiliar house fading into an incoherent blur. The intensity of the flashes of memory had been almost unbearable, moments of happiness and of fear and of a pain so overwhelming it could only be the moment he'd gained these accursed markings, but the sense of loss as the memories faded was even worse.

It made no sense. Why now? Why here, with Hawke? For a moment he wondered if she had cast some magic on him and he was filled with anger and disgust, but he knew with an unshakeable certainty that she had done no such thing.

It shouldn't be possible for him to trust her so much, to allow himself to be naked with her, both literally and metaphorically. She was a mage, and a cruel one at that. And yet, he did.

For as long as he could remember Fenris had seen his body, his markings, as part of his enslavement, a tool of his master that only brought shame and suffering and death. The idea of physical intimacy had seemed like weakness, a vulnerability he could ill afford. Best to ignore his body, beyond making sure that it was fed and rested and ready for battle, best to avoid letting anyone else get close. But he couldn't do that any longer.

It had been bad enough when it was just the brush of Hawke's robes against his arm in battle, the touch of her fingers across his face. But now her touch consumed him, and he could not shut out the sensation if he wanted to. Pain, memory, affection, lust, he was awash with feeling when usually he allowed himself to feel nothing beyond the inescapable ache of his skin. It was overwhelming.

Fenris felt almost paralysed, transfixed by the sensation of Hawke's body against his own. He tried to blot it all out as he had before, but the touch of her fingers was like an electric shock sparking against his skin. He rolled on top of her, burying his face against her shoulder with a groan. Hawke laughed.

"Again?" she said. "Not that I'd mind but I probably should go downstairs again at some point. Plus I am a little sore."

He lifted himself up onto his arms and looked at her in concern. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"Not in a bad way," she grinned. Hawke lifted her hand to his chest, lazily running her fingers around the edges of his markings. "Would it bother you if I said these are beautiful?" she asked. Her smile was open and affectionate and cut at his heart like a knife.

"No," he said, turning his head away. He got up and started walking around the room picking up the discarded pieces of his armour. It was much less enjoyable putting them back on than it had been taking them off.

Why had he thought having sex would fix anything? It had only made things infinitely worse. Before, he had desired Hawke, had thought of her often and been distracted by her presence. Now she filled his awareness entirely and it took all his strength not to lay back down at her side and never let go.

This filled him with a horror he could not entirely explain, even to himself. Beyond the pain, the confusion, the sense of loss, he was filled with a deep sense of dread. A sickly fear in his belly twisted around his heart saying "Leave now, run, before you are trapped and can never escape."

He had been attracted to people before, had felt affection and a desire for their presence, though he had never acted on it. But this was not a vague attraction, this was a sucking bog of need, beyond reason or hope. Even if he could become accustomed to the intensity of her touch, he would not be satisfied with a brief affair, or with their relationship remaining the same except for the addition of sex. But what alternative was there? Would he follow her here, become her pet? Would he pretend that he didn't hate her a little every time she cast a spell? Would he have to stand by and watch as she walked the slow path to abomination, or would his hatred infect Hawke and make her despise herself, make her deny the very essence of her being? She needed him too, he could see it, and it was only going to get worse the longer he let this go on.

Hawke sat up in bed, still naked, and watched Fenris as he buckled the straps on his belt. The breath caught in his throat and he turned away.

"Was it that bad?" she asked. He looked up and she was smiling, but it was not the same open smile as before. He could see her asking herself if this was to be a repeat of Isabella, and he saw no way to explain how he felt without making it all that much worse.

"It was fine," said Fenris, and he watched her face change as the walls started to come back down over her heart.

As he walked through the ground floor towards the door Fenris was accosted by Gamlen. "Is May coming down?" he asked.

"She should not be be long," said Fenris.

"About time," said Gamlen. He looked at Fenris with distaste, which only matched Fenris's opinion of himself. Fenris tried to think of something polite to say but decided that the situation was too far outside the realms of etiquette to be salvaged and just left. He hoped he hadn't caused Hawke any problems with her family in addition to everything else. He took one final look towards the house, towards Hawke, and wondered if he would ever be back there again.

Fenris had only met Hawke's mother once, several years ago. She'd seemed like a nice enough woman, certainly much more sweet natured than either of her surviving children, but ill suited to the difficult life of a refugee in Lowtown. From all accounts she'd thrived once returned to the station of her birth, doing her best to bring honour back to the name of Amell. Hawke had complained about this on multiple occasions (especially since she didn't see herself as an Amell in the first place) and had joked about marrying Sebastian just to get her mother to stop suggesting nice noble men to ally the house with. But Fenris could tell that Hawke secretly loved her mother a great deal, he sometimes wondered if she had any real ambition for herself at all, or if all the scraping for gold and vague attempts at political maneuvering was all for her mother's sake. She certainly hadn't been doing it for Carver, though his death had made her a little more hard hearted, a little bit more broken.

And now her mother was dead.

Fenris stood by Hawke's door and wondered what he hoped to achieve by coming to see her. He was clearly the least qualified person in the world to make Hawke happy, and after the night before she probably had no wish to speak to him ever again. Were it not for him, her mother would quite possibly still be alive.

And yet, he could not leave her alone, not now.

Hawke looked up when he entered the room, and there was no anger in her eyes, only grief.

"Is it my fault?" she asked.

And what could he say? She had no use for empty platitudes.

In the end, Fenris could offer nothing but his presence. Hawke stared into space, her eyes empty, neither crying or speaking, and all he could do was sit silently by her side.