A/N: Hello, ello there! I'm Eyelash of the Twilight (or ET) for those who do not know lovely ol' me. I'm not new to , but I am knew to the Dragon Age fandom! I'm very excited to be exploring other fandoms than the one I originally started writing for, and I thought I'd do that by just taking that plunge and, well, writing something. Lol. This story will be a series of one shots (how many there will be I will know later on), but there should be quite a few. These one shots will be for a challenge on LJ. This is my first time with a challenge and I'm so pumped!

The challenge goes how most fanfiction challenges go. I've been bequeathed a plethora of words and I'm to write on what I believe that they mean, which, I feel, is very fun and helps to inspire some creative ideas. The words are for the F!RogueHawke/Fenris pairing (my favorite pairing out of both Dragon Age games); I chose the pairing because I felt it had so much depth to it. And I'm a Fenris fangirl. XD

A reoccuring theme I've chosen to help spice up the collection a bit is music, but you guys can probably see that already. The chapters will have musical themes to them, as does the title and the summary of the collection. They will be called "movements", and, if I'm feeling daring, I might just throw in some others. Lol. There are also in no particular order. Some might be connected, but these are just one shots. I don't really have the time to write something big right now...

The first word on my list was "Apart", so I've chosen to put my own spin on Hawke's feelings after Fenris left her high and dry (which totally made me sad all day when it happened to me D:). This is some unrequited F!RogueHawke/Fenris, as well as some F!RogueHawke/Isabela friendship.

Also, I'm referring to my Hawke as just "Hawke" for now; I'm not sure whether or not to include my name that I used in my playthrough, which was Robin, or to just use the default name "Marian", but I should know by the time I update for the second word (which might not be for a few more weeks, but it'll be there! I promise) Or, if anyone has any personal preferences, please feel free to let me know. If anyone has any critiques or suggestions or something interesting they would like written, they can also feel free to let me know. I've never written for DA before, and I want to get better, so help would be greatly appreciated!

If you like, drop a review like it's hot. ;D

Hope you guys enjoy!


The Symphony of Life

By Eyelash of the Twilight


First Movement: Apart


"So take a good look at my face.

You'll see my smile looks out of place.

Look a bit closer;

It's easy to trace

the tracks of my tears."

- Smokey Robinson, "Tracks of My Tears"


"…It's too much…"

"…This is too fast…"

"…I cannot do this!"

"…I can't…"

"I…can't…"

"All I wanted…"

"…Was to be happy…"

"At least for a little while…"

"…Forgive me…"

In a turbulence of sweat, fear and heavy breathing, she jolted upright out of bed, arms flailing around in the mayhem, hands desperate for something to cling to other than blankets and drapes. Alas, nothing everything seemed to reject her grip, the momentum of her body forcing her sideways, damp sheets and all, on to the floor beside her, the back of her head hitting the tile with a loud thump. Pain ricocheted from her skull down to the small very end of her spine, causing the entire back to arch and a loutish grunt to force itself from her throat.

It took her only a few seconds to make out her position after the fall. Back to the ground, one leg leaning against her mattress, while the other had been forced under the wooden bedframe, disappearing under the thick, almost corporeal darkness. That set her nerves ablaze. It was a shame that candle and firelight could reach only so far. She didn't like darkness of any kind. If the world's forces could bend to her will, she'd make it so that darkness, in both a literal and figurative sense, never existed. She, and, most likely, all of Thedas would be much happier with eternal, jovial daylight.

But that was the whole point of light wasn't it? Light wouldn't have a purpose if darkness could not be. There would be no way to appreciate happiness and love without having to experience pain and sadness. It reminded her of a saying her mother would tell her when she was a girl; "Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing." All must have its balance. Wasn't that the whole purpose behind the Maker, the Circle, and even the Qunari?

"A place for everything, and everything in its place…" she mused aloud. That sounded more Qunari-like.

She couldn't help but chuckle. There was definitely no place for her.

Not with mages, Qunari, the Maker…

'…Not even him…'

Vehemently, she shook her tender head. No, she couldn't tread those waters. Not now. It had only been three days since then, and she wasn't ready to face that beast head on quite yet.

"Three days…"

And every night since had been riddled with bad dreams; a plague propagating within her mind. Nightmares were the cause of her current uncomfortable pose, not to mention the reason why her bedspreads were soaked and tacky by morning. But that wasn't even the worst of it. There were no horrible creatures, deaths or even betrayals haunting her. It was just a voice. His voice. A voice brimming over with guilt and frustration, and each inexorable word proclaimed over and over again, never ceasing, always without mercy. A bane to her slumber. A toxin to her heart.

It had been less than a week, and, at least to her, there were no signs of this curse removing itself. Was she going mad? Or was it a demon? It had to be one or the other. How else could she justify these tormenting sounds that would not leave her? Or could it be that the shock, the unadulterated disbelief that had coursed through her, lingered on despite the passage of time?

The only thing she knew without a shadow of a doubt was, regardless of the cause, the anguish she had felt on that bittersweet night had not left her. The only thing that managed to act as a balm for it was to reflect on what had been wonderful and not agonizing. Reaching into her psyche, she forced the familiar sensations of their night together to resurface. How bronzed his skin looked compared to hers. The warm desire in his glimmering verdant eyes. His surprisingly cool hands on her sweltering form. His wine flavored lips. The caress of his breath and the pressure of his teeth on her neck. The scent of his hair, which was akin to cypress and mimosa; a woodsy fragrance.

And the markings. Each swirl and curve beautifully exotic yet anxiously compelling. She swore with every touch she could feel the lyrium, raw magic, vibrating on her skin, sending gratifying electric currents throughout her body. It was something she could never admit to him, though, no matter the status of their relationship with each other. As striking as they were, the lyrium caused him pain, and she did not think he would delight in others deriving any kind of pleasure from them.

She lost herself in the fantasy. His whispers of romance, his comforting embrace, she permitted them to spirit her to a place that had nothing but him.

'…Fen—'

Her senses came alive as the low sound of the wooden door opening filled the spacious, quiet room. She had not been expecting the noise to interrupt her reverie, and it caused her to jerk and gasp audibly. She didn't need to strain her neck to see who had walked in. Only one person came to her private quarters without knocking first. Hopefully her guest wouldn't notice her flustered appearance.

"I have just got to hear about the night you had!"

But she had completely forgotten she had never moved after she had toppled to the floor.

'…Damn.'

Isabela, grinning from ear to ear, plopped down on the floor beside her, folding her legs and setting her hands ever so primly in her lap.

Putting on her best smirk, she said: "Don't get your hopes up, Isabela. I didn't wake up like this."

One eyebrow lowered; Isabela was unconvinced.

"Are you saying that because you know you're telling the truth, or is it because you think you're telling the truth?"

She laughed genuinely. She hadn't done that for too long.

"Would you like to decide that for yourself? Because I could just let your imagination run off with you instead of giving you an answer."

"Hmm," Isabela tilted her head towards the ceiling, as though the answer should come falling through it any second. "It would be much more fun, not just for me but for Varric as well, to let my imagination run wild."

"Scratch that," she huffed. "I definitely don't want Varric adding any Isabela-esque stories about me to the other completely ridiculous ones."

"Have you heard the newest one? You slew twelve dangerous blood mages who had captured a small child from Darktown with only one knife in your mouth."

She could do nothing but roll her eyes to that. How in Thedas was she supposed to stop Varric from spinning these false tales of her gallantry? She didn't necessarily mind, but once they flew on past fantastic into the foggy region of ostentatious, she began to wonder whether allowing him to continue was the right thing to do. She was brave, yes, but she wasn't reckless. And she didn't want anyone else to think that either.

"For some odd reason, that one seems much tamer compared to the others."

"I have to agree with you there," Isabela chuckled, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I told him he should tell some about your sexual escapades. For the men of course. And for me. I prefer much more…decadent stories."

"You would."

"You bet! But, sadly, I didn't come up here to talk to you about decadence. I actually came to remind you that we had business to take care of today. Or did you forget we promised to raid the DuPuis mansion for that tall, grey Templar?"

It took a few seconds for her memory to catch up with Isabela's statement.

'Emeric. Yes. Now I remember.'

"Yes. We should probably do that tonight. It'd be easier to sneak in unnoticed with the cover of darkness."

"Oh, I do love sneaking," Isabela twirled a dark tendril of hair around her left index finger. "And doing it in the dark just makes it feel more wrong, doesn't it?"

"I'm just going to pretend that there were no subtle implications with that sentence."

"You always take the fun out of everything, don't you?"

She sat straight up, pulling her leg down from its perch on her bed and willingly inserted it into the same black oblivion the other had ended up in during her bout of clumsiness.

"Untrue. I'm the life of the party, and you know it."

Isabela examined her fingernails. "Compared to some of the other rain clouds we know, you are most assuredly a ray of sunshine."

She turned sharply to face Isabela head on, copying her position on the ground. When she was fully settled, Isabela opened her mouth to say something, but shut it quickly, her amber colored eyes searching the face of her companion as though she were deciphering a treasure map in a foreign tongue. After what seemed like hours went by, Isabela leaned back, a curious grin forming on her full lips.

"You're eyes are bloodshot, Hawke. And you've got tear lines all over your face."

Her breath hitched in her throat. Tear lines? Bloodshot eyes?

Had she been…crying?

Crying. The word almost sounded as made-up as Varric's accounts of their adventures. She could barely recall the last time she cried; a wisp of cloud on the vast open sky of her memory. Years, her mind told her. Years. She shed tears when Malcolm Hawke died, and how long ago had that been? Too long, Hawke determined. The man that called himself her father seemed like a mere flight of fancy after the destruction of Lothering, the loss of her only brother and the ejection of her dearest sister. She never once shed any for Carver or Bethany; not when she saw her home consumed by the Blight. Tears were a sign of weakness, and, being the example she had to be for her siblings as well as her mother, showing any might as well have been criminal.

That's what she told herself, anyhow.

Hurriedly, she leapt to her feet in desperate search for a looking glass. Her eyes darted all around before she finally noticed one being shoved in her face; a small, round object held by a hand with many rings.

Isabela was right. Red lines wormed from the bright blue irises of her eyes, making them look like large cerulean spiders with spindly legs. Her face was flushed, and she found shining streaks starting at the base of her eyes, and she managed to trace them all the way down past her chin, to a place where the looking glass could not reach. She felt swollen, ugly, and embarrassed to be found that way by someone as lovely as the notorious Rivaini pirate.

Out of one corner of the small piece of glass, Isabela's face emerged.

"Something you want to talk about, Hawke?"

Hawke didn't immediately respond. It took more than she thought to discard the sight of the mournful face in the looking glass from the front of her mind. This was her face? How could it be so? Tears had not dared to stain her face sense her pubescent days. Why on earth would they come now?

Stupid question, she thought to herself. She knew exactly why her face had been stained. But no one else could.

"I-I…" Hawke stammered, pushing the looking glass and Isabela's arm downward. "I must have cried during the nightmare I had last night."

"Bad dreams?" Isabela tossed the mirror onto her bed. It bounced lightly before settling in the middle, the side with the glass no longer visible. "Should I get your mother for this? Or do you want me to hold you and tell you that it wasn't real?"

"I wouldn't dare put you through that. But if you wanted to get me a glass of hot milk, I wouldn't refuse it."

"Ha-ha," Isabela mocked. "For some odd reason, I don't believe you."

"No, I really would like the milk."

"As hilarious as you are, I'm talking about you crying over a bad dream. Most of the things normal people have nightmares about, you've seen with your own eyes, Hawke. I think it would take more than some scary monster under your bed to provoke a tear from you."

A knot formed in her stomach. Isabela was much too clever for her own good. Hawke had never been the best at sharing her dilemmas with others. She could barely let her own sister into her personal life, at least when they had been together. Most of all, how was she supposed to drop her torrential emotions like a heavy sack on Isabela, who, not only was known for possessing an opportunistic way of thinking, but was also someone that she hadn't known for more than a decade? Both statements went against her usual thought patters. Rule One; don't burden others with your problems, and Rule Two; if you end up telling the truth, don't tell it to someone you don't completely trust with the information. And that was just the peak of the mountain. Hawke didn't know how Isabela handled personal affairs, let alone someone else's. It was more than blatant that she wasn't the motherly type, if their previous conversation was any indication, so how could she be the sisterly type? Or any type?

Telling Isabela what happened was a bad idea, Hawke told herself, the words lacking sinew.

Nevertheless, no matter what she tried to sort out, she knew she couldn't do it alone. Who else could she run to? Mother? No. Absolutely not. Though her mother might understand her feelings, telling her about her own daughter's sexual escapades might be crossing a boundary Leandra did not want crossed. Varric wasn't exactly the type that you could vent to, plus, she didn't want to give him more fodder for his narratives. Merrill's naiveté was endearing, but not when the conversation led to or involved something that was frank and lewd. Aveline took a harsh attitude with everything thrown at her, and Hawke wasn't looking to approach this with militaristic flair. Sebastian would only throw her lines involving the Maker, which didn't really help anyone but him, as pure as his intent would be. Anders wouldn't have sympathy for her as much as he would anger for the opposite party, and Bethany…

She didn't even know were Bethany was. Let alone how to contact her. Anders mentioned that being a Grey Warden was like sacrificing your life for the sake of others, but Hawke never really understood what that meant until she realized that writing her sister was inane, since Bethany couldn't really tell her where she was. She had given up all rights to her sister in exchange for the knowledge that she was alive. It was like setting a bird that wasn't ready to fly out of its cage. The cage would kill it, but there was no guarantee that it would make it that far. Clinging onto hope seemed like only option at the time.

Maybe now that was Hawke's only option.

But when it came to this, what was there to cling onto? Certainly not hope.

So should she cling onto Isabela?

'…There's a first time for everything…'

Mustering up her renowned courage, Hawke spoke.

"…I…I think I've had my heart broken, Isabela."

Isabela's mouth fell open a little.

But Hawke felt refreshed. Like bathing after weeks without soap or good water.

Isabela gauged her cautiously. Hawke deduced, judging by her perturbed demeanor, that she didn't believe her. Hawke wasn't the slightest bit astonished. She and Isabela joked around far too much for her to fully trust that Hawke was bearing the sore scars of her heart without more evidence. Hawke had to comply with that demand in order to sway Isabela.

"Heartbroken? Is this about Bethany?"

"No."

"…Your brother?"

Hawke smiled at her sadly. "Afraid not."

"…Your father?"

Hawke shook her head.

Isabela blinked. "Is this about Sandal breaking your hairbrush the other day?"

Hawke laughed candidly for the second time today. In the last few days, that was a new record.

"As distraught as I was after that, no, it has nothing to do with Sandal."

Isabela breathed. "Maker's breath, Hawke. Is this about a man?"

Hawke sat down on her bed, grabbed the looking glass and turned it to reflect her face. The red lines in her eyes and the stains on her face were still there, vibrant as ever. She was heartbroken. This was the proof. In her nightmares of listening to his voice and not being able to shut it out, Hawke had wept. Wept for him, for her, wept for the silent cracking in her heart, a new sliver forming every time she had to relive him walking out the door and not coming back.

And he hadn't. She hadn't seen him since that day. The day that haunted her sleep.

And it would continue to haunt her if she didn't get everything off her chest.

Speaking to the glass, fixated on her lips instead of the swashbuckler, Hawke said it vocally for the first time.

"I slept with Fenris, Isabela."

"…Are you joking? Because if you are…"

Hawke said nothing. She counted the small, darker blue flecks in the eyes of her reflection.

"Holy shit! You aren't joking. You went to bed with him?"

Hawke snorted. "I'm just as astounded as you are."

"When was this? How long?"

"Three days ago."

"Three days ago!" Isabela put her hand on the side of her head. It was obvious she was reeling. "Three days…you mean after we killed his lady friend? When he ran off..."

Hawke switched from her eyes to her freckles. She wanted to count how many faded dots were really on her face.

"He came here," Isabela was excited and stunned as she connected each piece together. "After he got all fussy, he came here to apologize like a nice boy, but he ended up being a little naughty—didn't he?"

Hawke kept on counting.

"No wonder we couldn't find you two! You two wanted to tussle, and I do not mean fight!"

There were twenty freckles. Twenty. Had he seen all of them that night? He was so close to her face…

Isabela sat down beside Hawke vigorously, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

"Oh, stop being so staunch on the details, Hawke! How was it? Does he like being restrained? I always thought he would. I mean, you can take the elf out of slavery, but can you take the slavery out of the elf, am I right?"

"Trust me, Isabela. By your standards, it was quite boring."

"I might just surprise you, Hawke. Anyway, this doesn't quite explain why you've been blubber…" Isabela trailed off.

Hawke finally looked at her, hoping that her inner sorrow wasn't as visible as her crying symptoms.

Isabela's glare narrowed. "Did he force you to—"

Hawke gave her a meaningful look. "You're the one joking now."

"Just want to get my facts straight. So if it was consensual, and you're definitely not shedding tears of joy…you must feel some regret about it?"

"Not exactly," Hawke blushed a bit. "He...may have said that it wouldn't be happening again."

Isabela folded her arms and crossed her legs. "Men, huh? As soon as they get what they want from you, the leave, am I right? Personally, I've had enough experience to just stop caring about who wants what. In fact, I prefer the ones who don't want attachment. Saves a lot of trouble later, you know."

"I suppose that is true," Hawke chortled and shrugged.

"What I don't get though is this; why the whimpering, Hawke? You found someone to show you the love I know you must be craving after everything that's happened to you in the last few years. That doesn't mean you have to have it every night, right? It should be like drinking water when you're parched. One swallow is good. Don't take another until you feel the need."

Hawke didn't say a word. This was the part that was hardest to express.

But Isabela seemed to be finding all the concealed messages.

"Unless there are attachments," She smiled impishly. "And there are, aren't there?"

Hawke could only nod.

"Hawke, was he…you know…"

Isabela let the question hang.

"Not much gets past you, does it, Isabela?" Hawke smiled bitterly, thought it was not meant for her friend.

"That explains everything!" Isabela jumped up in front of Hawke, beginning to pace. "That's why you said you were heartbroken, why you've been having nightmares and crying in your sleep. You're in love with the boy! Not to mention he made off with your virginity like a petty thief."

Hawke cast her face towards the fireplace sheepishly.

"And he left you. Balls!" Isabela slapped her own forehead. "Does he know you're mad for him?"

Hawke shook her head adamantly. "No, and I don't want him to."

"Why not? That might make him come back, you know."

"I don't know for certain how he feels."

"So what if he left because he thinks you just wanted him for sex?"

"I don't want him to come back out of pity for me. And that's beside the point. I already know why he left."

Isabela huffed. "Out with it then!"

"He said…" Hawke gathered her thoughts, tearing them away from the feel of his soft, snow-colored hair on her skin. "He said it was because he had remembered his life before he was a slave. Sometime during….it…he could recall everything about his past. But, afterwards, he couldn't bring it back. He said it…pained him."

Isabela conveyed no emotion. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Hawke unconsciously began to defend him. "He seemed like he was upset by it, though. He apologized fervently, but insisted that he couldn't continue it. He said it made him happy, and that was what he wanted, even if it was for a moment."

Fury seethed from Isabela. "That is bullshit. Sorry, Hawke, but I'm not kidding. That is complete and utter bullshit. Be glad he walked out on you. To the Void with him and his excuses."

Hawke bristled. "Where did all that come from? Why are you so angry with him?"

"Because I know his type, Hawke. His leaving has nothing to do with anything he told you. He's afraid. He's turning tail and running like a frightened, beaten dog. If he wasn't afraid, he wouldn't give a damn about his past life or his pain or whatever. He wouldn't leave you. He would just shove it all out and stay with you."

Hawke's eyes widened. She had never seen Isabela so ardent about emotion and the treatment of others before. This was something new she hadn't expected.

"You're saying that he's afraid? Afraid of what? Me?"

"He's afraid of starting over. He's so focused on his past that he can't take that step forward and realize that the future is more important than any sodding slavers. He's not ready to move on."

"That still doesn't explain the anger," Hawke held up one finger.

"One," Isabela copied her gesture. "I can't stand cowards. You know that. Two, he's toyed with your emotions, whether he meant to or not. He knew what he was getting into. He's not completely ignorant about the ways of the world. Women don't look at sex the way men do. Well, most women. I'm special. But my point is, he took a risk; there were either feelings or there weren't, and now look at you. He's broken your wee little heart. Poor girl."

"I don't think he planned on having flashbacks, though." Hawke felt herself becoming wistful. "It just caught him off guard and he didn't know how to handle it."

"How is that any better of an excuse? Did he come to your house planning on tumbling with you? Did he plan on meeting that magister woman when we traipsed through the Wounded Coast that day? Did he plan on joining our merry band of misfits when we helped him raid his master's mansion? I'd bet good money that the answers to all those questions is "no". But they happened regardless, didn't they?"

"What are you getting at?"

Boldly, Isabela put her hands on her hips.

"What I'm getting at is this; when that Hadriana woman found him, he dealt with it by going after the bitch. When you asked him to come to the Deep Roads with us after the mansion plot went downhill, he dealt with it by just tagging along with us. He didn't deal with this, Hawke. He fled from you like you were the Blight. All because he decided he was too timid to deal with it. That's a coward if I ever saw one."

Hawke couldn't refute her claims. Fenris had left because it had been something he wasn't prepared to face. Was that true cowardice? She had always thought that when people fled, it was out of fear, which also stemmed from cowardice; for those who did not lack valor remained and faced their demons head on. Nonetheless, Fenris had never been a coward before. Any time an adversary that had tormented him from his life in Tevinter appeared, he would face it head on. Isabela even proved it by reminding her of the incident with Hadriana.

So what was it that made Hawke different?

"Thank you, Isabela. I appreciated your friendly wrath." Hawke said, trying not to dig too deeply into the complicated psyche of the elf that caused her turmoil. Most of her just wanted to forget it had ever happened and move on with her life.

"Pleasure's all mine," Isabela winked. "By the way, does he know that you were a virgin?"

Hawke shrugged. "I'm sure he might have some idea, but I never said it directly to him."

"I'm assuming he was also a virgin?"

"From what he's told me."

"Aww, it's actually kind of cute. Save for the whole "Sorry, it was fun, but I've got an emotionally scarring past I need to get over first." That's absolutely cruel. Why don't you tell him he took your virginity? Bet that'll spread a nice smearing of guilt over all that lyrium."

"Whether or not it was from fear or pain he left me, he still felt remorse for the mistakes he made."

Isabela rolled her eyes. "Sure. 'Oh, I'm so sorry for what I've done, even though I know I have the power to change it.' As far as I'm concerned, that doesn't count for anything."

Hawke smirked. "Then how about this: I don't feel like giving him more to brood over."

"I love how he denies it so much. One day, Varric will get him to break down and admit he does brood pretty much all day every day."

"And then he'll brood about that."

"Then get all flustered and deny it again."

Hawke and Isabela smiled at each other, and, for a strong moment, Hawke truly believed she had found a good friend in Isabela. She did not regret for one second coming clean to Isabela about what happened with Fenris and how she felt afterward, but the breaks in her heart had not mended, and the melancholy felt by them was not dissipating. Something was still not right.

"Isabela…" Hawke started. "I'm still…"

"Still heartbroken?" Isabela swayed back and forth somewhat.

"It's getting to be kind of creepy the way you know everything I'm about to say."

"What can I say? I'm truly one of a kind. I'm a woman, Hawke. You're a woman. I know how women think. That, and it's obvious you're still hurt by the expressions on your face."

"I always thought I was harder to read than that."

"Women can read any emotion when they see it. If emotions were languages, they'd have us all sent to the Circle for out gifts."

"It does seem to me like they send anyone who isn't normal there."

"And I'd be the first one they'd jump on. But that's not important."

Isabela swaggered back over to Hawke's bed and sat next to her, taking her hand and holding it between both of hers, the one on the top patting her fingers with a feather light touch. Isabela's skin was smooth, but felt thicker than her own.

"The thing is, sweetheart, you're in love with this boy, and only hard work can get rid of that. Until you do, or he decides to come back, you're going to be inconsolable. The pain isn't going to leave. You gave him something you can't really give anyone else, and, to your heart, he took it, threw it on the ground and stomped on the thing until it disappeared. You have every right to feel the way you do."

Hawke kept her gaze at Isabela's hands. Though she wished she could contradict her, Isabela was right. Her feelings for the former slave were authentic and impossible to shake. It was like a disease, the way this love had invaded her and refused to leave. There was no cure. This wasn't something she could cut with a knife, slay with a sword, or disintegrate with magic. This was no foe to be conquered. This was no quest to complete. This was something Hawke couldn't take down, no matter how much help she got or how much tenacity she summoned.

And that irked her. More than anything she'd ever faced. More than this Qunari dilemma. More than the Deep Roads expedition. More than earning her way into Kirkwall. More than running from the Blight. More than leaving her home. She had never encountered a problem she could not fix, save for the deaths of her father and brother and Bethany's newfound title of Grey Warden. Every path she looked down was closed. There was no way out.

Hawke wanted to hate him for it. Wanted to summon all the rage that she could find within and force it all at him. But every time, it failed. She could only think about how enchanting his eyes were, how handsome his face was, how sultry his voice sounded, how soft his lips felt on hers, how lovingly he had held her in the moonlight. It was a prison she couldn't escape, a trap that she had walked into without a second thought. She could only blame herself. And that just brought shame.

She was hopelessly in love, deep down in her bones, and nothing she could ever do would make it stop.

Hawke blinked, and a single droplet of water fell on the knuckle of Isabela's ring finger.

'…Am I…'

Hawke snatched the looking glass from its resting place on her pillow and let it reflect her countenance.

Tears.

She was…crying.

And fully awake this time.

And it was so easy to trace the tracks they made on her face.

"Sometimes," Isabela said softly, yet positively, "all you really can do is cry, sweet thing."

So she did. She didn't sob or moan. Soundlessly, Hawke let the tears fall on her face, and Isabela didn't move until they were all gone.

Using the sleeve of her robe to wipe the water from her flaming cheeks, Hawke turned back to her friend, hoping for some insight to one last question.

"Why did he run away from me, and not from Hadriana?"

Isabela leaned in, a knowing smile on her face, and she whispered.

"I think it's because he's never been in love before."

Hawke felt her chest swell.

She could only hope Isabela knew what she was talking about.

"So," Isabela waggled both brows. "Now can I hear the gory details?"

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Hawke wasn't exactly sure when she and Isabela decided she was well enough to start the day, but by the time they both walked out of her estate in Hightown, the sun was already close to the middle of the sky, meaning the day was already more than half over. Hawke felt chagrin wash over her along with the sunlight. She had spent far too much time wallowing in her own misery. Letting a beautiful day like today pass over her when she could have used it to solve all of this mess with the Qunari made her feel foolish and selfish at the same time.

"I spend too much time focusing on myself," Hawke said in passing.

"You're joking right?" Isabela, lead her down towards the market district. "Every breath you take isn't even for yourself, Hawke."

Hawke knew Isabela was right. She'd been right about a lot of things. So Hawke allowed herself to smile and wave Isabela off.

"It's not like I need air to live, you know."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot, all you need to get by is a broody elf, right?"

"Very funny."

"I still can't believe he said it was "fine"! He might as well have called it "adequate"! You definitely need some tips, Hawke. I thought you'd at least get a "satisfactory" out of him."

Hawke glowered. Maybe telling Isabela wasn't the best idea. Out of everyone else she could have told, Isabela would be the only one to hold it over her head like a blood mage over the Knight Commander.

Which reminded her.

"Isabela, is Fenris going to be at the market?"

Isabela glanced back at her friend.

"Of course. Our whole motley crew will be there. Why? Are you planning on turning tail too?"

Hawke shook her head, resolved.

"I've never been one to run. I don't plan on doing it now. It's just…I haven't seen him since...so it might be a little awkward."

Truth be told, she was more than little intimidated. Something like this had never happened before; this was all unfamiliar. It reminded her of the day she first realized she would be living in Kirkwall after the majority of her life had been spent in Lothering. She had been daunted then too, but had ignored all of her doubts in order to keep her mother and sister safe from harm.

For Leandra and Bethany she had been able to persevere. There was no one to protect or assist when it came to this, other than herself. And Hawke never took enough time to put any of her attention there, nor did she care to, so where was she supposed to pull the mettle from?

Before she could finish reasoning, the typical hustle and bustle of the market filled her ears. Her eyes brought the scene around her into focus, and she caught the sight of her band of followers congregating near the path to Lowtown.

Varric was there, his confidant smile plastered on his face and his dear Bianca resting on the back of his shoulder. He was listening to Anders; the mage's brow furrowed as he spoke to Merrill, and her wide, curious eyes were everywhere but on him. Aveline was already well into an argument with Isabela, most likely started by the latter, and, judging by the facial expressions, Aveline was losing, and losing badly. Sebastian, who was sending small squares of light over the hard ground beneath their feet due to the sun reflecting off his armor, was doing his best to try and quell the squabble, but he was more ineffective than Aveline.

And then, there he was. Like a shining ray bursting through the dark clouds of a thunderstorm. Prudently, he observed both conversations, letting his eyes take turns gazing at both groups. He was propped up against the wall, one foot down on the ground and the other flat against the stone like his back and sword. To some, he might have looked ominous or even ominous, but Hawke could see through his menacing appearance. She knew he hated Hightown as well as his group's contentions, so it was only natural he would want to keep his distance.

He looked breathtaking. She could literally feel the air being stolen from her, and she wasn't sure how to react. She was much more than intimidated now. She was panicky. What if she couldn't keep herself together? Cried in front of everyone? How could they look to her as any kind of leader if she lost her composure so easily? Surely that wouldn't deign any kind honor. Even more frightening; what would Fenris do? Would he ignore her? Berate her? Storm off from humiliation? And who knew what would happen after that?

'…What am I fighting for…?'

Hawke wasn't given any time to prepare.

Anders had given up on Merrill and thrown his stare in her direction, smiling widely and called out to her.

"Hawke! You're looking radiant as ever, I see."

In slow motion, she saw each one of them turn towards her. Varric was first, and he nodded meaningfully in her direction.

"Get your ass over here Hawke," he smirked. "I've waited long enough for you to show your pretty little face."

Merrill was next, her whole form perking up when she saw her.

"I'm so excited about today. It's rather nice outside. That should be a good sign, shouldn't it? The sun is particularly bright..."

Aveline came afterward, also offering her a smile.

"It isn't like you to sleep in. I was afraid you'd fallen ill. It's good to see I was wrong."

Sebastian followed Aveline, and he mimicked everyone else's beam.

"It's nice to see you well, Hawke."

Isabela fell behind Sebastian, winking at her. She did it often, though this time it seemed more recognizable.

"Seems our fearless leader needed a little push out the door this morning. Luckily enough, I'm an impatient woman, so I got to be the one to do the pushing."

At the sight of her, Fenris jumped from the wall, clearing the gap between him and their group in no time at all. His eyes grabbed her and held on tightly, and he didn't say a word.

But in his eyes, Hawke saw everything.

She finally saw what she was fighting for.

'If I let myself fall apart now, I don't know what will happen to Fenris or the rest of us. They need me, just like Mother, Bethany and Carver…maybe even more…and…'

Isabela's words chimed from Hawke's memory.

"I think it's because he's never been in love before."

She had to fight to find out if Isabela was right, too.

Hawke bolted toward them, smiling as widely as she could without looking awkward.

"Well, it seems we're all here and accounted for, aren't we? Forgive my sluggishness. And, yes, I know what you're all thinking, and the answer is no, I wasn't drinking last ni—"

"Hawke, have you been crying?" Merrill asked, her lips puckering.

Hawke felt her blood freeze.

"…What?" was all she could say.

Anders leaned in to inspect her face, which caused Hawke to lean back out of instinct.

"She's right. You have tear tracks on your face. Are you all right?"

Hawke's eyes raked over the faces of everyone, all, save for Isabela, had an expression of worry or intrigue on their faces. Isabela's was more expectant. She was curious about what Hawke's excuse was going to be for the tracks of her tears.

But it was Fenris' face that set shivers down her spine. It was an odd mixture of sorrow, interest, and something else. It took Hawke a few beats to identify what it was, but when she did, she felt as though she could hear the heart beats of every living being playing together like an orchestra.

She'd seen it before in the eyes of many.

It was…hope.

She might not be clinging to hope, but he was. There was no mistaking it.

Which, in turn, caused the small bud of hope within her to bloom.

"I think it's because he's never been in love before."

Hawke regarded everyone with a wink.

"Nothing to worry about. I'll be all right. Let's get started, shall we?"

Though they were not rushing to start their already half wasted day, Hawke, with assistance from Isabela, managed to convince them to abandon the plight for now and focus on the task at hand. Hawke permitted Isabela to lead, Merrill at her heels, and the rest of the band after her. Hawke stayed behind this time to bring up the rear, but before she could fall into line, she felt a familiar, cold metallic hand grab her by the arm.

Twisting her body around, she met Fenris face to face.

"Hawke—" he started, voice low.

Hawke, not eager to hash their inner feelings out at this juncture, place a hand over his, insinuating the fact that he could let go of her. He caught on in less than a second, and promptly released his hold.

Hawke nodded cheerfully at Fenris, no longer having to fake a smile.

"I'm fine, Fenris. I promise."

"Your face says otherwise."

Hawke shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Does it? What else can my face say? Can you read the Chant on it?"

"Hawke," Fenris was stern this time. "I am asking in earnest. Is there something you wish to…talk about?"

There were so many things she could say to him. Hawke could call him a womanizer; a usurper of love. Threaten to never enter the secret walls of her heart, as he had had a hand in their current crumbling. She could follow the advice she'd been given and declare that he had stolen her womanhood to make sure he felt disgrace for his actions. She could threaten to run into the arms of Sebastian or, for maximum jealously and irritation, Anders.

She could ask him why he left. If he was really afraid of moving on, as Isabela suggested. Did the pain of his past really bother him that much? Did he know how much pain he'd caused her? Did he know that he was the first man she'd ever made love to? That he was the only man she ever wanted to make love to? That she treasured the memories of their time together, even if he didn't? Did he run away because he didn't know how to love her? Did he feel anything for her at all?

Or she could admit the truth to him. That she was smitten with him in every sense of the word. That she didn't regret the night they shared. That she still longed for him both emotionally and physically. That she'd die for him at any given moment. That thoughts of him plagued her day after day; prowled her sleep. That he was indeed the reason behind the tracks of her tears, and every smile given to him was fabricated to disguise every broken piece of her.

That she wanted him to love her like no man could ever love another woman.

But none of it would satiate her.

Isabela had been right. Unless he came back to her, unless he could confront his evolving infatuations, the only cure for Hawke was time.

And no quarrelling, inquiring or confessing would give her any assurance.

So there was really only one thing she could ask.

"Will you still travel with me?"

At her words, Fenris, with the care one would use for a newborn, took her hand in his, brought it to his lips and dusted the lightest of kisses over her fingers, sending traitorous goose bumps down Hawke's legs. Her mind went to the night they had slept together, how his lips on her bare skin felt so magnificent, and the thought she might melt if she didn't find something block the sun. Once he released it, Hawke balled the fist and forced it to her side, hoping it would help, but to no avail.

Fenris looked at her with trustworthiness in his eyes, and he said only one sentence.

"I remain at your side."

And that was more than she ever could have asked for.