Between acts 2 and 3. Hawke was badly injured in the fight with the Arishok, and her healing has been slow. Fenris blames himself for her injury (Seeing as he had just broken her heart, left her right before her mother died, and suggesting that she engage in single combat). I figured there must have been some point after that they made up.

I own nothing of Dragon Age, I just play in the universe.

The storm blew in from the sea in a matter of moments, turning the streets of Kirkwall first into rivers, then sheets of ice. Denarius' mansion creaked ominously as the icy wind whistled through the cracks. Fenris huddled closer to the fireplace, pulling the woollen blanket tighter about him as he did so. The wind rattling the loose shingles on the roof made concentrating on the words in front of him very difficult. Only stubborn determination kept him laboriously pouring over the letters. The elf hated reading, it was difficult and made his head hurt, but the sense of pride he got whenever he handed over a completed book made the misery bearable. That and the smile on Cat's face as she gave him the next one. It was, Fenris mused, a smile shown to the world far too rarely. He ran a finger idly down the edge of the page, lost in thought.

When Leandra, Cat's mother, died, something had broken in the woman. That wickedly crooked smile she flashed so often had become something of the past, and her dark eyes had lost their sparkle. Fenris couldn't remember the last time she had joked about something. She'd also lost weight, though he doubted anyone but himself had noticed. Perhaps the abomination had, she did seem to be spending a great deal of time with him anymore. Fenris heaved a sigh, and attempted to turn his attention back to the page. He mumbled a few choice words beneath his breath when he realised he'd lost his place. Starting from the top again, trailing a finger along the lines of neatly printed words, he began reading.

Halfway down the page, a slight sound from the front door made him pause. Years of being on the run had trained him to never dismiss a sound out of place. The elf froze in his seat, listening. There it was again, a rhythmic thumping, barely louder than the wind yet howling through the city. Carefully, Fenris marked his spot with a piece of ribbon he'd acquired from somewhere, and placed the book on the table, next to the mug of tea he'd forgotten about.

The knocking came again, quieter this time, followed by a heavier thump, as though something had just fallen against the door. The elf rose smoothly and padded silently from the one room he bothered to upkeep, out into the chilled main hall of the dilapidated mansion. He effortlessly snagged his greatsword as he prowled by its hook, sliding the polished metal out of its leather casing with practiced ease. Attention focused completely on the door, Fenris stalked through the entryway.

Sword at the ready, he paused for a moment, then flung the door open. It took all his years of swordsmanship to not skewer the figure falling towards him. There were a few perilous moments spent juggling sword and person before Fenris managed to untangle himself and set the woman on her feet. She was soaking wet, and shivering so violently she could barely stand. Dark eyes looked up at him out of the cowled hood of her cloak, and he suddenly realized who she was.

"Hawke", he asked?

Caitleen Hawke didn't reply, and his worry mounted, she should have been home, not out in this storm. There was no reason for her to show up at his doorstep. Fenris looked the diminutive woman over briefly, ascertaining that there were no immediate injuries, his chest tight with worry he had no right to feel as he watched her try and unclasp her sodden wool cloak with fingers made clumsy by cold. He reached around her and slammed the door shut, closing it against the storm raging outside, then undid the clasp for her.

Wool slid away from her shoulders, landing in a sopping mess on the stone tiles, and she stood, shivering. Fenris wanted to take her into his arms and supply the warmth she so desperately needed, but he resisted the temptation. He had no right, the elf told himself firmly, he'd given that up almost a year ago when he'd run away from her.

Instead, he propelled her gently as he could into the room he lived in. Hawke was shaking so much he almost had to carry her up the stairs. Once there, with the light of the fire illuminating her, she looked worse than he had originally thought.

"What were you thinking, coming here", he queried, briskly stripping her of her soaked clothing when he realized she couldn't do it herself.

"T-t-templars, m-m-m-making trouble", Cat managed to stammer through frozen lips, "c-c-couldn't g-g-get home".

Fenris grimaced. Templars, the order was becoming a problem. Hawke had been fine as long as she had kept her head down, but after the events surrounding the Quinari uprising, she had been forced into the spotlight more often than was particularly safe. Varric and Carver ran as much interference as they could, but the Templars were becoming suspicious. She wasn't careful enough, he thought, even with the scrutiny being turned her way, the little mage still insisted on helping the abomination in his clinic. She was too kindhearted for her own good.

"What happened", he asked. She shook her head slightly, teeth chattering. Hawke was afraid if she tried to speak, she would bite her tongue, besides, she wasn't likely to be going anywhere soon, and detailed explanations were a bit beyond her frozen brain. Thoughts at the moment were pretty much limited to, 'Fire warm', and 'elf pretty', so she stood silently, trying not to interfere with Fenris as he deftly stripped her down till she was in nothing but the long tunic she wore beneath her robes. If she'd been any less frozen, she would have been embarrassed, as it was, she just wanted out of the wet fabric.

Face set in a mask, Fenris moved to her back. His fingers were cold, and the knots were swollen, making this last article of clothing a frustrating one. He wanted to be done with this and away from her. Preferably in another room, maybe across the city. This forced intimacy reminding him altogether too much of the night they'd almost spent together. An aggravated growl rumbled through his chest when one of the laces snapped. He almost cursed under his breath, but the now loose garment shifted just then and he caught sight of something which made his heart lurch in his chest.

Cold as she was, the scar running the length of her back stood out as a jagged red line across pale skin. He tried to keep his mind on the business at hand, but an old anger and fear welled up in the pit of his stomach. They'd almost lost her from that wound. His fault. He was reminded of it every time he saw the hitch in her step as she walked, and the way she leaned on her staff for support. His eyes narrowed further when he caught sight of the mottled purple and red marks of a new bruise around her throat. The marks were a livid handprint against her skin. Someone had been attempting to strangle her this evening. Dark visions of half formed nightmares danced about in his mind, each one worse than the last. Without thinking, the elf lifted one lyrium lined hand and traced over the bruise lightly.

Hawke flinched as his fingers brushed the back of her neck, and Fenris jerked his hand back as though it had been burned. Flushing, he reeled away from her.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean…", the words trailed off as he turned away from her. Shoulders stiff, hands clenched into tight fists, he fought to regain his control. How she always managed to undermine his carefully placed shields, he couldn't understand. No one affected him the way she did, and he didn't think she was even aware of the way she eroded the walls he placed between himself and the world.

There was a soft sound behind him, and he was suddenly all too aware of the almost naked woman in the room. Fenris shook his head to break from his reverie, Hawke was going to need something dry to wear, for his sake as much as hers. He had at least one long sleeved shirt floating around here somewhere. As short as Hawke was, it should fit her. The elf padded over to his wardrobe, careful to keep his back turned, even after he heard her bundle herself into the blanket he'd been using as he read.

Cat sank wearily onto the hearth, as close to the fire as she could get without actually sitting in it, too cold to care how itchy the blanket was against her bare skin. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, shivering harder now that she was beginning to warm. She opened her eyes again when she heard Fenris intentionally scuff his foot along the floor as he approached, a habit he'd picked up after the last time she'd almost fried him with a lightning bolt for sneaking up on her.

"Here," he said, tossing a handful of dark fabric at her, "put this on". Then turned on his heel and strode out of the room, not waiting to see if she reacted to the command.

The shirt settled gently into a pile beside the sitting woman, who stared at it for several seconds before realizing what it was. She didn't want to unwrap the blanket, but by this time she'd warmed up enough the rough wool was starting to itch. Still shivering, Hawke reached out with a foot and snagged the shirt, dragging it back to the relative warmth of the blanket before slowly slipping into it. The fabric was soft and warm against chilled skin, and smelled of oiled leather and steel. When she pulled it on, it fell halfway to her knees and the sleeves dangled off the ends of her fingers. Slowly, deliberately, she rolled them up, waiting for Fenris to come back.

On the other side of the door, Fenris leaned against the landing rail. He couldn't turn her out, but he did not want her here, in his house. He was sure she would ask questions he wasn't ready to answer, and if she did, he couldn't, wouldn't deny her. He thought briefly of how tired, how sad she looked, and hung his head, closing his eyes against the wave of sorrow washing over him. Maybe if he waited long enough to go back in, she would have fallen asleep in front of the fire, and he wouldn't have to talk to her at all. It was a cowards hope, he grimaced as the thought crossed his mind, but that didn't stop him from taking his time to collect his sword from the entry where he'd left it.

Softly, Fenris reentered the room, hoping against hope Hawke was asleep. She wasn't. She stood before the fire wearing nothing but his shirt as she leaned forward drying her hair in the heat. The golden firelight played through her dark curls, casting a halo about her head. It also played along her bared legs, flickering up the thorned vine tattoo swirling up her calf. His eyes were drawn up the lines to where they disappeared into the shirt, halfway up her thigh. She'd rolled the sleeves up past her elbows, and the soft fabric clung and bunched in a most alluring manner as she bent and ran her fingers through her hair.

He hastily turned away from the scene by the fire before she could catch him staring. The sheath was hung on a hook behind the door, and he focused on sliding the sword into the leather case, desperate for anything to distract himself. He froze when she said his name softly.

"Fenris"

He turned his head towards her slightly, but gave no other reply. She straightened, staring at his stiff shoulders, and the way his white hair fell around his tapered ears, wishing she could do something to relieve his worry.

"You've been avoiding me" she stated, tonelessly.

Nothing he could say would sound like anything but a feeble excuse, so he remained silent. It was true, being around her was, painful, so he cut every conversation short and kept their time together brief. Avoiding her had been relatively easy. They'd stopped sparing after the night he left, and then she had been injured, so they never started again. For all that, here she was, and nothing would make him walk away from her again.

With a sigh, Hawke bent to retrieved the blanket from the floor before continuing. "I'm sure that it's partially my fault, after you left I know I was actively avoiding you, but", she shook her head, exasperated, "It's been almost six months since then, and I" she let out an explosive sigh, "Maker, Fenris, we're both adults, we should be able to at least put up with one another". She turned back to the fire.

"I miss you". She whispered the words so quietly he almost didn't hear them. Voice sad she continued, "I don't want what happened to ruin what we have".

"What do we have", Fenris spat, surprising even himself with the bitterness in the words. He turned and glowered at her through a thin veil of white.

She cast him a wry smile over one shoulder, "We were friends, at least I thought we were". Moving closer to the fire, she reached cold fingers towards the warmth, leaning her forehead wearily against the stones of the fireplace as she did so.

"I don't want to lose you".

The statement pierced his heart as surely as if she had stabbed him. Some small part of him screamed to take her in his arms, to tell her his heart belonged to no one but her, to assure her he was not lost to her, but even as he opened his mouth to speak, something stopped him. He'd been a slave too long to trust. He wanted too, but long years of learned paranoia were too much to counter. Better to lose her now than later when she tired of him, better to push her away before she was killed defending him, better...

'Coward' the small voice whispered.

Completely unaware of the internal struggle going on behind her, Hawke continued speaking. "What happened that night", she shrugged, "it happened, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want. We can put it behind us, move on". Saying the words took more effort than she'd thought they would, and Cat found herself intensely glad the elf couldn't see her face. She hurried on, desperate to speak her piece before her nerve broke completely. "We tried, it didn't work. I hoped we could at least be friends still. I miss you, I miss discussing books with you, I miss playing Wicked Grace with you, Maker's breath, I even miss getting my ass kicked sparing with you".

She risked a peek over her shoulder, and found Fenris staring at her, brow furrowed and arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. Ducking her head to avoid his eyes, Cat examined the backs of her hands, wishing the elf would say something, anything. The silence stretched on, broken only by the sounds of the storm outside.

After what seemed like an eternity, Fenris pushed himself away from the wall with a sigh and Cat relaxed slightly. She heard him settle into one of the high backed armchairs and turned to face him.

Fenris sat, elbows on knees and his hands buried in his hair. He looked, tired, as though he had no strength left to him.

"Sit" He ordered, not looking at the woman by the fire, "Standing can't be good for your back".

"Actually", she blurted, "Anders says I need to start pushing myself, he suggested I start sparring again".

The name was like a slap across the face, and Fenris raised his head just far enough to glare at her. "Why don't you spar with him", he growled, "You spend enough time with him as it is".

Hawke leveled a flat look at him, and he glared back into her dark eyes, unflinching. Finally, she rolled her eyes, a slight smile touching the corner of her mouth.

"Honestly, you two are like children. I wish you could have seen his face when he suggested I take up sparring with you again". Cat rolled her eyes again, a smile spreading all the way across her lips. "He's useless at staff fighting, and he knows it. Besides," she flashed him a quick wink, "I'd rather do it with you".

Slightly mollified, Fenris relaxed back into his chair. "Sit", he commanded again, and this time she shuffled over to the other chair.

She sat, tucking her feet up under the blanket, and eyed Fenris' mug of tea, now ice cold, with interest. Though he tried not to smile, a hint of amusement touched his eyes as he pushed the mug closer to her. Careful not to let the blanket come untucked, Cat reached out and took the proffered mug of tea. She held it in both hands, as though she were warming her fingers, and concentrated on the liquid. A slip of steam escaped, and the blissful look on her face as she sipped the now hot tea brought a reluctant smile to the elf's face.

He gave her a moment to enjoy herself, then launched into interrogation. "Now tell me what happened with the templars, and" Fenris voice hardened, "tell me who did that", he gestured at her throat.

For a moment, Cat looked confused, then her face cleared as she remembered. Lifting a hand from the mug, she lightly touched the bruise. "There was an accident at the docks today, they brought several people down to the clinic." She grimaced, "It was pretty bad, one of the men was out of his head with pain. He got ahold of me before Anders knocked him out". Smiling into her tea ruefully, she continued, "Anders did what he could, but we were both pretty well exhausted by that time. It doesn't hurt at all, if that makes you feel better".

It didn't, but Fenris wasn't about to let her know that. "And the Templars" he inquired?

Cat sighed, her breath misting the steam rising from the mug. "I think they were recruits, Knight Captain Cullen wouldn't allow them to harass me, but the Knight Commander might turn a blind eye. They were hanging around my front door, and I'm fairly certain they were drunk. I really didn't want to have to go all the way back to Darktown in this weather, so I came here", she finished cheerfully.

They sat for a long time in companionable silence, broken only by the crackle of the logs in the hearth and the rattle of the wind on the shutters, Fenris reading again and Cat staring contemplatively into the fire.

It was surprisingly comfortable, just the two of them, and neither were willing to break this truce they'd come to, even after Fenris realized that Cat had drifted off to sleep. He watched her sleep, springy black curls falling over her face as she shifted to a more comfortable position. The empty mug slipping out of her fingers had him springing to catch it before it broke against the hard stone of the floor. Carefully, he placed it back on the endtable. Cat shifted again, clearly uncomfortable. A moments consideration, and the elf scooped her up, blanket and all.

She roused slightly, then rested her head against his shoulder. Breath caught in his throat as the scent of her hair hit him. He wanted to bury his face in those dark curls. Taking a deep breath, Fenris resolutely marched across the room and deposited the sleeping woman gently into the bed. He tucked the blankets up around her shoulders. As she nestled herself into his pillow, a stray curl fell across her face, and he was halfway to brushing it away before he caught himself. Fist clenched, he turned his back to her, unwilling to admit how appealing she looked there, in his bed.

The wet clothing lay in sodden piles where they had been left. Fenris stooped to retrieve the articles so he could dry them by the fire, though he supposed Hawke could probably magic them dry if she really tried. Once her clothes lay out where they could dry, Fenris stretched, glancing longingly at the bed. He couldn't sleep there, not with her, but the chair by the fire looked entirely unappealing. He sighed, this was going to be a long night. But as he glanced back at her one more time, a strange sense of contentment filled him.

He sat and thumbed through his book, a smile playing over his lips. Yes, this was going to be a long night, but she was worth it.