The morning came, and snow was falling.

Thankfully it was light and not the blizzard that had stranded them for the night on Sundermount. It had been stupid, a monumentally stupid idea, to try and climb the notorious peak at this time of year. But they had needed the coin and the threat of Darkspawn in the pass had meant the Kirkwall Guard had been willing to pay, knowing their own men were not equipped or suited to the task. This was mercenaries work, not soldiers.

And it might not have been so bad – If Isabela had not been away, had Varric not been dealing with something urgent for his family, if Merril had not been involved in her own quest against slavers, if Aveline had not gone with her, on Hawke's own orders, if Bethany had not been injured badly in the last fight, if Anders had not been needed to watch over her, if Sebastian had not been hunting down an informant with links to the Crows... So many ifs.

But that was the way it had to be and so it had been herself and Fenris, more than enough for the Darkspawn, but sadly not enough for the weather. They had set out in the morning, with the weather fine and it had been supposed to stay that way. She had been glad to get out of the city – Kirkwall was just so...big. So closed in, so unlike tiny little Lothering, which was barely more than a farm settlement. Was being quite apt now.

She had enjoyed it, being out in fresh air, walking on grass and under trees, honing her Survival skills as they tracked the Darkspawn and kept alert for danger or ambush. Their information pointed to a small band of Genlocks and Hurlocks, no Emissaries, Ogres or Shrieks and the trail established that, but it never hurt to be cautious and Fenris had pointed out that their group could be heading to rendezvous with another ahead and she agreed.

She had never had the chance to work solely with Fenris and it was...odd. Bethany she knew as well as her own daggers and could never be ill at ease with, Aveline was never very vocal, but never quiet – rasping leather, jingling chainmail, the thud of her footsteps – Hawke could always tell she was there. Varric never shut up, unless he had to, Isabela had a presence, as far as she could explain it, Anders flirted, complained and joked, Sebastian would point out things of interest and Merril she kept in her sights, feeling strangely protective of the girl, even knowing the Dalish spellcaster could well take care of herself.

But Fenris...Moved like silk over skin, his bare feet making as little noise as hers, and did not talk, instead preferring to motion to things he wanted to bring to her attention. His armour did not creak or clatter and she wondered if it was enchanted or perhaps very well-made or if it was simply because Fenris wore it.

He confused her terribly at times. He had run away from the magister who had branded him with Lyrium, and yet at times it seemed he wanted to confront him, he would let no one touch him, even to heal him but he fought ferociously and often physically, he hated mages and yet got on well with the three in their party. Well, as well as he got on with anyone – he was singularly the most alone person she had ever met. And that was another puzzle; Fenris did not interact with their group, did not listen to Varric's tales, did not respond to Isabela's flirting, did not banter with Anders, did not discuss weaponry with Aveline, ignored Meril's attempts at conversation and Bethany's questions and simply ignored Sebastian. He would listen to Hawke's orders, but only if she made it an order.

So why was he with them, their little ragtag group? Why stay? He seemed to not need companionship and could very well take care of himself. Why even take orders from her? She had wondered if he thought that if he didn't she would turn him in, but she had told him when they met that he could leave as he wished, had made sure he understood that he was a mercenary, not a slave.

They had made their way up the mountain as her thoughts swirled in her head like fog, but the freshness of the trail had forced her to concentrate – daydreaming got your head separated from your shoulders. She and Fenris picked up the pace, hunting rather than tracking now and readying themselves for the combat to come.

Thankfully the Darkspawn had been alone, three Genlocks, one Hurlock and one short, brutal and bloody battle far up the mountain as the snow began to fall. Between her daggers and Fenris' broadsword the Darkspawn went down. Injuries were minor, cuts, bruises and abrasions – nothing that would not heal on its own. But now the snow was falling thick and fast, the wind beginning to howl in a sudden storm. She had not seen this coming, the blizzard was unprecedented, and they had not enough supplies, or the right kind. This was bad, very, very bad.

"Hawke, are we not leaving?" came the polite question. She shook her head.

"We can't Fenris."

"The Darkspawn are dead are they not? And there is no sign of any others." Again, his voice was nothing but calm and polite. At times she found it infuriating, how emotionless he seemed...Or simply was.

"We can't make it down in this snowstorm." She explained.

He looked at the snowflakes tumbling down, moved by the wind.

"It does not seem so bad."

"It isn't right now, but already it's getting hard to see, and soon we won't be able to. We'd not be halfway down before we were blind."

"Surely if we moved quickly..." Why was he being so stubborn?

"NO! Fenris, listen to me, you go out into that you will end up blind and frozen."

"It is just snow." And he was turning to leave.

By the Black City, he really was going to try it – and he would die. And she couldn't let him, he didn't know the danger, but the only way to stop him now was...She lunged forward, praying that she wasn't about to be skewered, and grabbed his arm.

The blow across her face stung, as did the quick kick to her knee that sent her down to the cold ground, but most worrying was his weight on top of her and the small but very sharp knife pressed to her throat...Until she saw his eyes, she had never seen that look in them or in anyone's but instinct knew what it meant. And she was afraid, wondering how many moments she had left before he slit her throat.

"Do not touch me."

And she had disliked it when his voice was emotionless...Stupid, right now she would give anything to never hear that tone in his voice again, directed at her or not. She dared not move or speak, could barely breathe without feeling the daggers edge rasp against her throat.

Throat, always a good place to go for, almost as good as eyes, oftentimes left woefully unprotected, despite is vulnerability. Slit it properly and your victim bleeds out quick and quiet, if you don't want 'em dead but want 'em down and quiet a stiff-fingered jab does the job, they can't breath for a while and can't call for help, or a choke hold to knock 'em out, an' you do that thus...

Why oh why was she re-living her Rogue training? Surely if she was going to die she could have something more interesting to pass across her mind? That night with Emeryn perhaps? A hand gripped her hair and yanked, apparently Fenris had been talking to her while she waited to die, she yelped and turned her attention back to him.

"Why?" was the harshly voiced question, and for a moment she wasn't sure what he was asking.

"You were going to get yourself killed! I had to stop you somehow and you weren't listening to reason."

"I do not wish to be touched."

Oh that was the Templar calling the Crow a murderer.

"Says the elf sitting on my chest with a knife at my throat and pulling my hair!" She shouted.

For a moment Fenris froze and his eyes seemed to flicker, the gesture oddly reminiscent of Carver when he had to think hard and quickly.

And Maker how it hurt to think of him, to be reminded of him.

Fenris finally pulled the knife away from her throat, moving off her and standing with a grace even she envied. She hauled herself up, rubbing a shoulder that would most certainly be bruised. Her arse was numb from the cold ground and the sensation brought to her attention their most pressing concern.

"We have to find shelter, while we can still see. Pick up firewood if we find it." Fenris looked at her, with an expression she was sure was exasperation.

"You still wish to stay here?"

"Do you know anything about surviving a snow storm in the mountains Fenris?"

"Get out of it; try to get off the mountain..."

"No! No, no and again nooo. Firstly, if you are with others you stay together. You find shelter while you can, but as soon as you can't see you stop."

"Why?"

"Because if you try to wander in a snow storm you die. It's white, nothing but white. Left becomes Right, backwards is forwards, you could be on the path or on the edge of a cliff. And the only luck you have left is if your body is found come spring. Now come on. I saw a cave a little back, we can still reach it." She moved off, hoping he would follow and was more relieved than she could say when he did.

The cave was really more of a crack in the mountainside, but she and Fenris would fit, and a smaller gap to let in wind and snow was good. They had found nothing to use as firewood, probably the Darkspawn had scrounged it all, cursed damn monsters. It didn't really matter – the cave was barely enough for two, if they had tried to have a fire in there they would have been sitting on it.

The night was going to be far from comfortable. And speaking of comfort...Fenris was already discomforted, acting like a cat locked in with a dog, trying to pace in the small space. Hawke sighed.

If the storm doesn't kill us we may just kill each other

Fenris seemed to decide that pacing was impossible and sat on the cave floor, as far as possible from Hawke, of course, and seeming to sink into one of his meditations. She wrapped her arms around her knees, listening to the wind outside and began to be thoroughly bored. She was at the point where baiting her companion by throwing stones at him seemed like a good idea when Fenris finally spoke.

"How is it that you know so much about surviving snow storms Hawke?"

"We had a mage come to Lothering when I was about fifteen, a friend of my fathers. He had two companions with him, a boy about my age, his apprentice, and their guide. They had come across the Anderfells – they had started with a group of about twenty; merchants and travellers mostly, a few mercenaries for protection and the guide. The weather went bad, some of the travellers thought they knew better than the guide and took off on their own - they never saw them again. Even some of those that stayed ended up with frostbite – even with a mage and an apprentice healing one man lost a foot, another lost most of his hand. They stayed with us about two months, and my father asked the guide, Kelithan, to teach Bethany, Carver and me about Survival. He had a way of making the lessons stick – He was a good teacher."

Fenris had been quiet the entire time, simply listening. But now he looked worried.

"Hawke...I am sorry – for not listening to you before. You have never led us astray yet and I had no reason to question that now. And I am sorry...For hitting you, and for pulling your hair." She had never before seen the elf look so guilty.

"It's ok Fenris – I honestly was more afraid you were going to skewer me with your broadsword so it worked out better in the end." She smiled, hoping he would understand that it really was ok.

He still looked worried.

"Fenris, I grew up with a little sister mage and a warrior little brother – a little slap and some hair-pulling are nothing. At least you didn't set it on fire."

"Bethany...Set your hair alight?" Now he looked like he was torn between horror and curiosity.

"Nope, Carver did – playing with candles. So I sneaked around following him for a day dressed like a Shade, scared him witless." She laughed, and for once it felt good to remember her baby brother, to talk about him.

Fenris smiled back.

"I am glad I did not cause such damage to your hair, it is such lovely hair..."

The next moment was as frozen as the air outside, Hawke wanted to comment, perhaps ask Fenris he was flirting with her, but he had gone completely still, not even breathing and she didn't have the heart – he would think she was ridiculing him. She just let it pass, as they both tried to look anywhere but at the others face. And that was how she came to be looking at his feet – his bare and obviously cold feet.

"Fenris – your feet! They must be freezing, here." Hawke rummaged in her pack, pulling out two thick rolls of bandages. It wasn't perfect but it would help.

"Wrap these around your feet."

"Thank you Hawke."

The silence was comfortable this time, whilst they had talked the sun had set outside and Hawke couldn't help but notice the silvery glow of the Lyrium against Fenris' skin through half-lidded eyes. It was mesmerising how the light played over the muscles in his arms, her gaze followed the trailing designs until they met his armour and she couldn't help wondering what the rest of them looked like, what he looked like, under the metal.

"You should sleep Hawke."

"Mmmrrmm..." was her only reply, already halfway following his advice.

Hawke's even, slow breathing told him she was asleep. Fenris was not exactly sure how long had passed, perhaps a several hours? It didn't matter; he did not need as much sleep as his human companion, he could stay awake the few hours till dawn came.

A few hours spent watching her sleep...There were worse things and few better that he could think of. He admired Hawke, even trusted her – more than he trusted anyone else in fact. He knew she at least liked him as a companion, letting him stay despite his faults. And he had almost ruined it today.

Stupid, stupid, stupid...

He tried to ignore it, the fear that contact would mean pain. He was better than he had been, actually being able to stand being with another in this small space was a triumph. It was alright if he initiated small contact, but the feel of another grabbing his arm without warning...He had lashed out and even with Hawke's forgiveness he still felt ashamed.

And not just because you hurt her, because when she was under you, when you ran your fingers through her hair, it felt so good...

Fenris shook his head, as if the motion would dislodge the thought from his mind. But it was the truth, wasn't it? He wanted Hawke and the fact that the thought of being intimate with someone terrified him wasn't the least of it. Why would Hawke even want him? There were too many reasons why not. It was better this way, being a friend, able to watch her back and keep her out of danger – insofar as it was possible; crazy human that she was.

Hawke shifted, trying to curl up further into herself for warmth. Fenris himself was not all that cold, but she certainly was. Surely it would only be the act of a friend to share his own warmth with her? And she was deeply asleep; he had no need to be afraid of her right now. Mind made up Fenris moved to her and pulled the sleeping woman into his arms, settling her across his lap, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her.

She didn't wake and it felt...Good, warm and comforting, to hold her. The soft skin of her cheek brushed against his neck, the strands of her hair were silky against his face. He could smell the elfroot soap she used, the leather she wore, sweat from the battle with the Darkspawn, her skin. His hand moved without him thinking, trailing his fingers across her brow and down her cheek, then through her hair.

You would never think it of her, to feel so soft...

"Mnnn...Fenris..."

He felt like his heart had stopped, like it was trying to climb up his throat.

She's awake! She is going to kill me for this, how could I have been so stupid?

But Hawke said nothing more, did not even move. And after a breathless moment of terror Fenris realised the woman in his arms was still asleep. And she had spoken his name as he caressed her.

Why? Could it be that Hawke did not find him as unattractive a prospect as he had thought? The thought was both exhilarating...and terrifying.

What could he offer her, still half-broken as he was? A lover who only dared hold her as she slept, who could only nearly bear to touch and not to be touched? That was no relationship, and as sweet and forgiving as she could be Hawke could never be satisfied with such – he could not do that to her, at best she would come to hate him, at worst hate herself.

But...he was getting better. When he had first escaped from the magister even this would have been unthinkable. It would be a slow road, but it could be done, he would conquer this fear, re-learn to accept touch as natural and not threatening. He would do it, he could do it. And then he would court Hawke, let her know what she meant to him. And now he had another reason to love her, this crazy, forgiving, combat-hardened, soft human woman. Hawke had given him purpose.

But until then, morning was coming and for now he needed to let her go.

The morning came, and snow was falling.