Fenris huffed and looked down at Susan. She had her head on his shoulder, snoozing quietly. A dull pain throbbed through his skin, especially strong where his tattoos were. He had a passing inclination to smack her upside the head, then decided against it. If it didn't hurt so much he would've liked it.

It was a little odd to see her sprawled out in the bed, completely dead to the world. Years of living in Kirkwall had beaten The Lesson into her as it had everyone else- always be alert. Now she was tangled up in the sheets, resting, not looking over her shoulder or sweeping the streets with her eyes. He shifted again. She wasn't touching his shoulder anymore, but the irritation remained.

Fenris considered himself an expert at slipping away in the night. Susan was a light sleeper, always had been as far as he could tell, and he wasn't about to wake her up with uncomfortable twitching. So he slipped out of the room, creeping silently down the stairs and out the back door. He sat by the fountain in the back yard and sagged.

She found him, like she always did.

Susan reached over his shoulders and twined her fingers in the spaces between his. Warm, soft, but still accompanied by a twinge of pain. Her breath was soft on his ear.

"Are they hurting?" she asked quietly. He nodded.

"I could get something from Anders, if you need it."

He shook his head. There was silence for a minute.

"I don't like them," Fenris said finally.

"I think they're beautiful."

He was conflicted- he wanted to accept the praise, to feel good about it, but not for his markings. Never for those.

"They're a curse," he said bitterly. "They hurt, they garner stares and judgement, and they remind me every day of what that bastard did and continues to do."

"You don't have to like them, love," she said. "But you can be proud of them."

He couldn't help but snort a little. Once again she was making zero sense. "Proud?"

"Yes. Proud. Shouldn't be too hard for you." She grinned a little, then sobered. "You're the bravest, strongest person I know, to be able bear those. Even when people stare at them or judge you, you keep going. You don't let them break you."

"I've come awfully close," he muttered.

"But you're still here, right?"

"I suppose."

Susan pulled away and sat beside him on the rim of the fountain. She took his hand and dipped it into the water. The chill was harsh at first, sending goosebumps crawling up his arm, but then gentled.

"It's not exactly fair of me to tell you to just let it go," she continued, watching the blue-white light ripple in the water. Her thumb brushed across his palm. "I don't know what it's like. But I don't love you any less for them."

"Would it be easier if I didn't have them?" he asked.

"We'll never know."

"Let me rephrase that: would you love me more if I didn't have them?"

"Never," she declared. "How do I put it... They're like the cracks on this fountain." She nodded to the statuette spilling water at the top. "They're imperfections that weren't intended to be there, but no one can fix them. And why should they? Moss has grown in them, and while the fountain may not be flawless, those cracks look just as nice as unbroken stone. The green adds to it."

Fenris fought the urge to roll his eyes, and squinted at the statue, trying to picture it with lyrium tattoos.

"The cracks don't hurt the statue," he said finally.

"No, but that just means you're even stronger. Make these markings your strength. Don't be ashamed of them," she said.

Fenris leaned his head on her shoulder. He pulled his arm from the water, but still kept a hold of her hand. He relaxed, letting his muscles loosen, and breathed deeply. He could almost pretend he didn't feel the ache.

"There," she said, smiling. "You're fine."

"I am," he repeated.

"You are."

He closed his eyes.

"I love you, Hawke."