It's been a long ass week dealing with smugglers and slavers and Hawke had had enough. Enough fighting, enough mud, enough aching muscles, enough burning tang of lyrium down her throat, enough nagging between the other apostate mage and a certain Tevinter elf, and not enough damn rest. Marian nearly tore off her pauldrons before collapsing on the bed she hadn't slept in for weeks. Carver followed her through the estate, boring holes into the back of her head, more than likely peeved that she left him behind again.

"I'm just as capable as-"

"Save it," Hawke mumbled. "I'm tired. Need sleep. The usual at the Hanged Man tonight. Wake me later."

Her voice was muffled by the various pillows cushioning her head. She was still clothed in her slightly oversized robes when she fell asleep. She had lost a sizable amount of weight since Lothering, but it just wasn't enough. Many potential employers eyed her because of her size, and she knew what they were thinking-she was fat so she couldn't get the job done. Well, sorry for not being your ideal type.

It was always the same, it didn't matter if she'd proven herself dozens of times. They would take one look and not expect her to suit their needs. Same goes for men, too many rejections because of the doughy flesh that lined her midsection. Either that or it would be one night and she would be left behind and feeling used. They would take her out and it was always like it was expected that she would sleep with them. And she always had, afraid of losing their approval if she didn't give them what they wanted. It never mattered though, a soon as Isabella walked by or arrived unannounced as she tended to do, all swaying hips and gravity defying bust, they lost all interest in chubby Marian.

But then there was him, the tattooed elf that had been traveling with them. She couldn't quite make out his intentions- apparently he was content spending time with her, just drinking wine and talking by the fire. He even attempted flattery, or at least he said he'd try to improve. Oh, how that half smile made her heart flutter. But Marian knew he wasn't really interested. She was a mage, and he made it known on several occasions that it was not welcome. The fact that he wasn't interested didn't keep him from approaching her in her dreams, however, and Hawke drifted to sleep with thoughts of him on her mind.

. . .

They were wandering along the coast, just the two of them, searching out herbs for Anders, if Marian could remember correctly. Curious, Fenris wouldn't usually agree to such a task, especially not with the gleeful look he had when she approached him. No matter, he was here now and it was just them, the coast, and the brisk clean air.

"I'm glad you asked for me to accompany you," he said, suddenly laying his hand on her arm. He had never been one for touching, but she wasn't about to question it after longing for it for so long. His usual spiked armor was absent, leaving his fingers bare against her skin. And he was smiling genuinely. Wait, Fenris smiling? He wouldn't go anywhere without armor.

Hawke looked down at the game around her forearm and down further to look at her own attire. Her noble clothing. Why would she wear this out to the coast?

"I have something I wanted to ask you, Hawke," he said tenderly, stepping closer to her and wrapping his arm around her waist.

"Unhand me!" Hawke shouted, pushing him away.

Fenris stilled and gave her a hurt look. "I had thought. . . that you cared for me, the way I care for you. . ."

"You cannot trick me, demon!" Hawke pulled her arm from his grasp.

"You don't think that I wouldn't want you? I care for you, Hawke. I am no demon," the imposter insisted.

"Fenris would never- he would never be like this. He would never be caring or tender, especially not to me!" Hawke spat, stepping away from the dark spirit wearing the elf's face.

"He may not be. But I can, I can give you this. I won't care that you are a mage. , In fact, I will love you-"

"No! Get out! This is my dream, this is mine and you don't belong here!" Hawke hissed, pulling her staff from her back.

The demon used his face to frown at her. "He will never love you. You will always be a fat, disgusting mage to him, just like those he escaped in Tevinter. And if you do get him, he won't stay. He will be like the others and use your body because it is convenient and leave," It promised, "But I can offer you happiness. We can stay here and-"

Hawke smashed her staff over the head of the imposter, waking in her own bed, the demon's words echoing in her head. These dreams have become more frequent, always involving him. Hawke let out a deep breath and wiped at her forehead, damp with sweat. She darted her hand under her mattress to reach for her journal, but found nothing. Panic swept through her and she jumped out of bed, searching with both hands under the fine linens to find the book of her private thoughts.

"Messire? Are you awake? Shall I draw a bath?" Bodhain called from the hallway. Hawke's gave darted to the clock. She was late for the meeting at the Hanged Man.

"No, no, I don't have time," she said quickly undressing and redressing in clean clothing, dabbing at her blood caked skin with a damp rag until the basin of water on the table turned red.

"Your brother left not too long ago, said not to disturb you-" Bodhain started when she exited the room.

"Carver?" she narrowed her eyes. "Was he caring anything with him when he left?"

"I did not notice-"

The door slammed and Hawke ran off across Hightown. After several minutes of running, she found herself it of breath and nearing Lowtown. She slowed and continued on into the usual tavern, hearing laughter coming from Varric's suite.

It's not what you think, she thought to herself. You're overreacting. You just misplaced your journal and Carver thought to let you rest, that's all.

But as she climbed the stairs, her fears were confirmed as Carver's cove echoed through the hall. "Oh, this sounds juicy!" he sadhus with a chuckle.

"I really don't think you should be reading that. Those are her private thoughts," she heard Anders say.

"Aww, come on, Blondie! She never lets anyone in. Don't you wasn't to know what she's thinking?" Varric countered. Hawke's heart raced as she rushed up the stairs.

"From what I hear, she lets everyone in," Isabella laughed, voice dripping with innuendo. "But I suppose her body is different than her mind. Go on, Carver."

"'I had a dream of him tonight'" Carver recited from the pages, "'I admit that I have been thinking of him much as of late. But I will leave it to be a dream. The cause is too important and he will never think of me in the same way."

"The cause? Ah, so she's got it out for Blondie then!" Varric laughed.

Hawke stood in the doorway, hands shaking in rage. "You will stop immediately," she ordered.

"Hawke! How wonderful, you're finally here!" Merrill said happily. "We were just taking about you."

"Give it back, Carver," Hawke said sternly, holding her hand out for the book.

"I don't think so, sister." Carver chuckled darkly and moved out if her reach. "'Again, I had a dream of him,'" he taunted, maneuvering easily out of her grasp. "'I'm pretty sure it was a demon, but it was nice feeling that I could be at least a little attractive to him."

Carver stepped out of the way as she lunged for him. "Honestly, falling prey to a demon," he scolded.

"Give it back, brat!" she shouted a the others just looked on. Hawke realized for the first time that he, Fenris, was here too, sitting in a chair in the corner. She had to get the book back before-

"'He will never care for me, just as the demon said. I will always remind him of the fat, slovenly magister overlords that had enslaved him.' Wait, this is about-"

But Hawke was already gone, tears silently rolling down her face ass she fled the establishment. Stupid girl, stop crying, she scolded herself. When she had glanced at the elf nervously when her brother still remained out of reach, the look on his face was pure fury. How dare she fall for him, the look had said. How dare she embarrass him with this.