A/N: A little Hawke/Fenris love for ya. Inspired by one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite singers.

I do not own Dragon Age or any of it's characters etc etc.

Not for profit just for fun. Enjoy!

X

X

X

But I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
Here in this lonely place
Tangled up in our embrace
There's nothing I'd like
Better than to fall
But I fear I have nothing to give

"Fear"-Sarah McLachlan

X

X

X

To be free. To own freedom.

It is less a want than a desire. Less a desire than a need. One that I have gone to sleep with at night and woken with in the morning for as far back as my broken memories can reach.

I have always traveled light and spoken little. It is easier to move on from a place when there are no attachments.

I have spent many nights alone. In seedy taverns, backstreet brothels, under the stars. Here in the crumbling remains of Danarius's manor. But I'd never felt alone. Until now.

What is it about losing something that makes one want it more? It doesn't matter that it was my own inexperienced fumbling hands that let it go. Only that it is gone.

I feel her loss with an ache that's burrowed into my bones. I try to drown it in vintage Tevinter stock. Fine full-bodied Aggregio red as blood and bitter as tears.

I am afraid. Afraid of admitting what it means that I feel this way. Afraid of the power that admission will grant.

And because of that fear I am alone.

I hurl the bottle in my hand at the wall near the fireplace. The sound it makes as it shatters is like music.

I slump down into my chair staring into the flames as though they might hold some fragment of wisdom. They dance and shimmer but keep their secrets.

"I see you've been redecorating again."

The knife is in my hand before I can stop it. An ingrained muscle twitch honed in necessity. It sticks in the doorframe the wine having thankfully altered my ability to aim.

"Ei vento nai mordoi deid Varric. Perhaps in the future you might do something to announce your presence. Like knock."

"I did, several times, I guess you couldn't hear me over the sheer amount of broodiness in the room."

"Did you want something or did you come simply to mock me." I glare at him. At least I hope I am glaring. My eyes burn in any case.

"Actually I came looking for Hawke. She left the Hanged Man a couple of hours ago after drinking her weight in Rivaini Rum. Without these." Varric tosses a pair of Elvhen made daggers, a gift from Merrill, on the floor at my feet. "I stopped at the estate but Bodahn hasn't seen her. Blondie and Bela were still at the tavern when I left. Aveline is patrolling the coast and Merrill's been on some damn fool pilgrimage for the past week so if she isn't here…"

The implication falls like a stone between us.

A different kind of fear pools in the pit of my belly. It has the instant sobering effect of an icy shower.

"How could you allow her to leave alone in that condition?"

"Have you met Hawke? I'd like to keep my testicles thanks."

I grab my blade as I stride past the dwarf and out into the hall a growl reverberating in my chest.

"She's probably hiding."

"Or lying dead in a gutter in Darktown." I nearly tear the front door from its hinges.

"Your unfailing optimism is astounding."

"Optimism is not what has kept me alive this long. Have you any idea in which direction she was headed?" It is an almost impossible feat to keep my voice steady.

"No, but I know someone who might. Come on we need to get back to the Hanged Man. If we're lucky he'll still be there."

The jaunt to the tavern stretches on in the way that things do when you feel the need for haste but cannot actually hasten things. It is impossible to keep my thoughts from wandering into dark places and the constant anxiety is causing my fingers to tremble. I fist them tightly in an attempt at control.

Varric is silent. The one time I would welcome the dwarf's inane chatter he seems at a loss for words. This only succeeds in heightening my anxiety.

We do not enter the tavern but instead walk around the side. There sitting against a wall a chipped decanter in his hand is one of the filthiest men I have ever seen. His eyes are closed his head is canted at an odd angle and he is breathing with some difficulty through a nose that looks to have been broken at least half a dozen times.

"Nug." Varric pushes the man with the toe of his boot. "Nug wake up."

"Hmmm…Wha?" The man blinks rheumy eyes then smiles giving full view of a mouthful of black chipped teeth. "Hey what Varric! Do ya something?"

"You see Hawke come through here tonight?"

"Who?" Nug cups a hand around his ear but I can tell by the look in his eyes he can hear. I take a step forward and he flinches. Varric puts out a hand pushing me back a step and I bite back a growl of frustration. This is taking far too long.

Varric drops a silver on the ground next to the man. It's gone in an eye blink. "Ayup. Saw her alright. Stumbling drunk she was. Muttering something about fools. Wandered off down yon there t'wards the docks."

I am off in that direction before the man has finished talking. Varric has to jog a bit to catch up.

I round the corner and my body tenses. There lying in a shaft of moonlight is a pool of blood. Could be anyone's I tell myself. The coterie is free with its affections.

There is something balled up in the center of the puddle. I advance slowly searching out signs of imminent danger. The air is still.

I drop down to get a better look at what is on the ground. I use my knife to lift it. It is dark in patches but I can till make out the color. A very unusual bright crimson. The color Hawke had been wearing this morning.

I had turned to her in the midst of an unforeseen skirmish. "That garment is ridiculous. Orlesian silk is not appropriate for fighting in. It gives no protection and with its loose fitting arms and frills it could easily catch on a blade."

She'd shaken her head that lopsided grin on her face. 'Well I hadn't planned on wearing it into battle. This was sort of a surprise. Besides sometimes a girl just wants to feel pretty' she'd said.

She'd looked breathtaking in it.

I pull it free of my blade wincing at the scent of copper wafting from it. The silk is wet and slippery. My fingers come away red. I tuck it into my right gauntlet and tamping down a tide of panic I continue on toward the docks. Next to me Varric has pulled Bianca from her holster and loaded a blue fletched bolt.

I take no more than a dozen steps before bringing my foot down on another small puddle. I look down with a sinking heart and realize that it is indeed blood. Scanning the ground I can see drops and splashes at irregular intervals before me.

I can take no more. Breaking I sprint through the alleyways letting the blood be my guide. The trail ends at one of the many sets of stairs leading down to the water.

I advance slowly panic warring with confusion when I hear her. She is singing her voice pitched low and laced with sadness.

I peer over the edge. Hawke is lying on her back one leg dangling in the water. Her left hand holds an Elvhen dagger which she is swirling back and forth making ripples. Her right hand lies across her belly wrapped in a scrap of crimson silk that matches the one in my cuff fingers crusted with dried blood.

The lament she sings is an old one. A bard's tale of love and loss. One I know well as I was, on occasion, called upon to sing it.

Her face is turned toward the lake the moon gilds her cheek and hair faintly silver.

"Is this some sort of prank?" No longer filled with gut wrenching fear I am beginning to grow angry. I spin to face my companion. "You said she was unarmed."

"Did I?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"You made me believe she was in danger." I growl.

"No. That was your conclusion I simply didn't disabuse you of it."

"The daggers?" A slight tremor passes through me the result of too many conflicting emotions.

"Mine. Same style different color grip. Merrill is a sweet kid but not very creative. You saw what you wanted to Broody."

"But the blood." I protest my anger dimming.

"A coincidence. Actually had me slightly worried for a moment."

"But why?"

"You asked for help. I answered."

"I never…"

"Yes you did. Every time you came into the tavern noticed her there and slunk away before she saw you. I saw it in your eyes every time we played cards and conversation turned toward her. Sometimes it's the things you don't say." He eyes me pointedly. "You can thank me later. Now go down there and talk to her."

I stand rooted to the ground as he walks away. I feel like I have been hit in the face with a brick. I'm told the truth can do that to you.

Her voice wraps itself around me. Full of a yearning my heart echoes.

She stumbles over a verse and the words come to me without thought. Are almost past my lips when my jaw clacks shut.

The link between her voice and my former life slams home the fact that I have nothing to give and so much to lose.

I begin to walk away. I tell myself that I am affirming my status as a free man. No longer prey to another's whim and fancy.

Her voice cracks then fades away on a sob. It stops me in my tracks.

I realize I am not walking away because I'm strong but running away because I am a coward. Too afraid to reach out and grasp what is right in front of me.

I can hear her speaking now. Hushed tones that flutter in the night breeze. Surrounding the one word that flies like an arrow to the center of me.

"Why?"

I turn and stride back toward the dock. Toward the only thing I have ever desired above freedom.

She looks up as I descend her eyes wet and shining and heartbreakingly beautiful.

I reach down and pull her up into my arms. She opens her mouth to say something. She always has something to say. Not this time. I silence her with my own.

I kiss her until she goes soft. Until her knees buckle and I am forced to hold her upright so that I can look into her eyes when I finally speak.

I cannot give her jewels or land or even a name. I cannot give her answers. My life is a riddle I myself have not yet mastered. But then she's never asked for any of those things. So I give her the only thing I do have.

"I am yours."