Avery Hawke sighed angrily as she glared out into the silvery line of the horizon. She'd come to this spot as a last resort, needing to flee the hushed, mocking laughter of the two men who haunted her home. She couldn't go to the Hanged Man, as she was sure Varric was itching to get started on all his "I-told-you-so"s. Most likely he'd be kind about it, wait until she brought the subject up, and that would only make it worse. She already knew perfectly well that everything was all her bloody fault, thank you very much. She couldn't go to her best friend's clinic, as he was one of the very people that she was fleeing. And he hadn't lived there for a while now anyway. She couldn't go to her own bloody bedroom because most likely there were two rutting men already occupying it.

She knew how this all had happened, but still it seemed so inconceivable. She had never really meant for it to be the three of them. It was an idle fantasy, nurtured secretly in the back of her mind. For so long it seemed that having just one of them was so far out of reach, it was no stretch of the imagination to just go ahead and make it both. When she proposed what she did out of drunken horniness and desperation, one late night when they all had bellies full of Isabela's rotgut whiskey, she'd been shocked when they both said yes. And for a while there… it had been earthshattering. It was every girl's fantasy wasn't it? To be fought over, adored and pampered by two irresistible, passionate men?

Fenris came first, appearing six years ago, his elegant neck and green eyes digging their way deep into her heart almost upon the very moment they'd first met. They had one perfect, mind-blowing night together sometime in the beginning, but apparently it had either been too mind-blowing for him, or not mind blowing enough. "I can't. I can't," he'd uttered, right before he fled. Leaving her still naked, embarrassed, abandoned and alone with a shattered heart. She thought they had embarked upon something real, something deep and special. But before he left in the middle of the night, he'd informed her that that was very, very wrong. They had not made love, they'd merely made a mistake.

Then came Anders. She had noticed him right away too, but he'd been so full of warnings about how he would eventually hurt her that for a little while at least, she'd listened. Plus she'd been so distracted by her persistent feelings for the beautiful, maudlin elf. Distracted… insecure… completely fucking heartbroken. It took much longer with the follow mage. Years and years of talking deep into the small hours of morning about mage rights, the abuses of Templars, memories of their childhoods. She'd been convinced that he had no interest in her like that. Spirit or no, he'd made no moves and remained the picture of restraint, while she pined away, yet again. When finally she got a wild hair up her ass and said "fuck it" she made a move herself. Shortly after, he confessed his long held feelings. Love, even. But followed up of course by yet more warnings.

Not long after that, a pleading Fenris returned.

That first night was… beyond anything she ever imagined possible. And then it turned into two nights. And then three. Fenris apologized, said he should never have left, that he had never stopped wanting her and vowed not to crush her again, the way he already had. Anders claimed she was the first that he'd ever dared to love, and that losing her would destroy him.

She had loved them both, separately first and then together. She probably should have just chosen one of them. If she had, she'd not be in her current predicament.

Before their mouths had ever met in a kiss, even walking through the city with Fenris and Anders in tow had proven to be an exercise in patience. Until the moment they wanted each other, they had openly hated each other, bickering incessantly the way she and Carver used to. But when the doors to the bedroom closed, all their disagreements seemed to melt away. And for a while Avery had found their growing affection for each other to be a huge turn on. Seeing Anders' skillful lips tease groans of pleasure from Fenris' lithe body had thrilled her in a way she had never known. She had learned what it felt like to be filled up completely with the attentions of two people that she loved. She discovered the titillating thrill of watching two men do to each other what she had only imagined in curiosity. She had found nearly everything they did to be irresistibly sexy, up until the point where it all fell apart. It took a few weeks, but slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Anders had apparently fallen victim to the elf the same as she had.

Eventually she'd begun to feel edged out. She'd wake to the two of them sighing and groaning together, while she lay cold and untouched, fighting for her share of the sheets. She'd return from her bath to interrupt the midpoint of a scene of ecstasy, mouths hungrily devouring the other in what was clearly more than just a physical playtime. Their eyes were open, locked together in an expression well beyond just carnal pleasures. Had she been invited to, she would have joined in as she had in the beginning. She would have relished the sensation of four hands roaming her body, two mouths kissing her and each other, and hardened lengths prodding for entry into her depths. Hell, she would have enjoyed the attentions of just one of them. Whether in the middle or on the outside didn't matter, as long as she was somewhere. But her presence had become less and less essential, until one day it seemed to cross the line into unwanted.

With a stabbing ache in her gut she'd withdrawn more and more, avoiding going home when she knew they were there together, even as she acknowledged that it would probably just drive the wedge deeper, reinforce whatever it was that they had built without her. But it just hurt so much to watch. It hurt even more that they apparently never once considered the fact that it might hurt her. They seemed to assume that because she had been the one to extend the invitation to the two of them, that she sanctioned all of their activities. Or maybe they were just too wrapped up in each other to notice anything else at all. She'd felt that way herself, for a while.

In truth it wasn't her place to sanction or not sanction. They were both grown men, they could make their own decisions. But they had both professed their love to her, and they were in her home, eating her food and staining her sheets. She never would have attempted such an arrangement had she known it would break her heart and make her feel like an outsider in her own life. She should have known, though, shouldn't she? Wasn't this exactly what Varric had warned her about? That things could get a little too complicated? That it could all easily take a turn for the worse? He was right. It had been foolish and stupid to let it go this far.

She blinked back the tears as she watched the descending sun turn the sky gold, and she considered her options. She'd need to walk home soon, and something there needed to change, had to change. She couldn't go on the way she was any more, couldn't bear the knife twisting in her heart, her home turned into a place she dreaded instead of her sanctuary of peace among the stinking chaos that was Kirkwall. She could confront them with an ultimatim, though those never went well. No good relationship should require one, so she might as well just break it off altogether if she was going to go that route. And that seemed like the best option anyway. She could evict them both from her home. She'd still be left alone, with little chance of ever reclaiming what she had been so reluctant to give up with either of them, but at least she'd have her own space back. Her bed, her kitchen, her washroom. If they only wanted each other, fine. It hurt, it fucking killed… but having to watch them from the outside was the worst part of it all.

Or she could put more effort into trying to be a part of the group. She'd never expected that being kept in the loop would actually take so much effort. But in truth, she had also never expected that they'd even condescend to join each other in bed at all, much less would come to prefer each other over her.

What would happen if she did just sit them down and talk to them? Be honest about her feelings? The thought of laying herself bare, the thought of the pity sex she'd probably get out of it for a couple days, at least until they thought it was safe enough to return to what they really wanted, was almost more depressing than just being alone. No, not almost. Definitely more depressing.

Either option was incredibly painful, but solitude certainly felt preferable to pity sex and hollow professions of… whatever. It was clear what they wanted. Any one who'd seen what she'd seen would know.

She had considered standing, beginning the arduous, dreaded walk back home to do what needed to be done, but before she could do so a body dropped down beside her, the metal armor that adorned it clanking softly as it settled. She blinked at the figure for longer than she should have needed to, confused.

"Knight-Captain Cullen?" she asked, almost disbelieving her own eyes.

Not only was it a surprise that anyone knew about her hidden spot at the docks, a little ledge that curled around the waterside of a building, perfectly hidden unless you knew exactly where to look, but she had also never seen the strung out looking Templar anywhere but at his regular post in the Gallows. There had been the one time on the mountain that she confronted him appearing to abuse one of his Templars and she'd stepped in angrily. And then promptly ate crow as the Templar transformed into an abomination on the spot. But still, he seemed so displaced, sitting there so naturally. And with all the Templar crack downs that Meredith had been demanding, it was a wonder that he'd had a free moment to come there at all.

He said nothing, his eyes distant and glassy as he watched what seemed to be the same place in the horizon that had held her own gaze for at least an hour already, if not more.

"Hawke," he said simply, not turning to look at her. His voice sounded flat, damaged.

Despite the protection of her newly won title, the presence of a Templar continued to raise her hackles almost purely out of habit. Cullen was one of the few who seemed to actually converse with her with a shred of humanity when she paused at his post in the Gallows, but to see him so far from his usual station raised a peal of panic in her chest that she couldn't help. Who was he pursuing out here? For the Knight-Commander himself to be involved, it must have been something major.

She said nothing else, her heart beginning to beat louder and louder in her ears.

"You can relax," he said finally. "I'm not here in any official capacity." He sighed again, lowering his face into his hand to rub forcefully at his furrowed brow.

"This is my spot too. I found it during a raid a few months ago. It's a nice place to come be alone for a while."

He paused then, and all she heard over her heartbeat were the creaks of shifting wooden boats and the gentle lapping of water against the building.

"You took a boat across the channel just to come have a few minutes alone?" she asked.

"Not exactly," he answered, lifting his head back up, his lids slowly unveiling his bloodshot eyes. "Just pretend I'm not here. I'll do the same."

Just pretend a Templar is not sitting right there? He could do nothing to her, of that she was certain. Her connections up high were too vast now. He's lose his post most likely, at the very least. If not also his head. But still. He was there.

A deep shaky breath, and palms pressed into her eyes until blue stars erupted in her vision helped a little. He was quiet, unmoving. She couldn't even hear him breathe. It had obviously been too much to expect that her little hidden spot remain her spot alone. But of all the people in Kirkwall to share it with, she could never have guessed that it would be with this particular man.

She took another deep breath, the emotional knife in her gut still present and throbbing. Maker, why was it so difficult for her to just keep some air in her lungs? At some point she would begin her return home, and complete what would most likely end up a double break up. She could not envision a scenario in which either of them chose her. Not after all she had seen.

She turned her attention back to the undulations of the reflective water, flashing a kaleidoscope of evening colors.

How quickly things had changed. She had gone from the peculiar heartbreak of having to choose one love over another, to losing both. No more warm brown eyes laughing with her over mugs of tea. No more quietly curled lips as Fenris flashed her one of those rare smiles that for so long he had saved just for her. No more warm bodies beside her at night, fitting into nooks and angles and making her heart feel like it could burst with love.

She felt a hot tear slip from her eye and she blinked it away, angrily, not wanting this man to see her continue to weep. But Cullen hadn't even glanced in her direction. Out the corner of her eye she could see that his shoulders were slumped, his face sallow and grim. Whatever weighed on him seemed to be at least as heavy as her own troubles, judging by his expression. She took another deep breath, still feeling as though she had been forgetting to breathe. Her body ached for air. Ached for something unnameable and, apparently, unachievable.

Of course Cullen had troubles. He was number two to Meredith, and the relayer of outlandish orders, on the front lines as boundaries were repeatedly crossed, as prejudices and sensitivities clashed. Anyone with a shred of sanity, even the most devoted Templar in the order, would be burdened by that position. Or at least they should be.

For a moment she found herself stunned by her flash of empathy. Sympathizing with Templars was generally not an impulse that she gave in to. Maybe it was the struggle that was so visible in his eyes. That was good, Avery thought. That must mean that Cullen was having an attack of conscience. As he should. They all should.

But Maker did he make it look painful.

She leaned back against the wall behind her and surrendered herself to her own knot of emotional anguish. A part of her didn't want to do what she had to do, because it would mean the end of a future that she had clung to for over a year now. Another part of her couldn't wait to strike out at the two men who had caused her to hurt so deeply.

The aching welled up, rising to a point that forced a sob to her throat before she had the awareness to stop it. Had Cullen not been there, she wouldn't have bothered trying to. She gulped it down trying to clear up the tears by forcing her breathing to be steady, turning her face away and grimacing the tears back. Andraste's ass she was pathetic.

For a moment Cullen seemed released by whatever weighed on his mind, and his honey colored eyes flicked toward her. She looked away, hiding from his view. Why did he have to be there now, of all possible times? This was her spot. This is where she went to be sad by herself, where she could be weak. Where she could be an actual human being, and not the indomitable, infallible Champion of Kirkwall.

She winced, preparing herself for the inevitable prodding questions about why she was crying, what was wrong. And the usual proffering of countless obvious and useless suggestions about how to magically make herself feel better.

But the seconds ticked by with no word spoken. Instead a shaky hand landed upon her back, pressing gently between her shoulder blades. She let her cramping muscles loosen slightly under his touch as the questions she anticipated failed to come.

She breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to explain was that she had been in love with two men, and in her inability to choose either, she had inadvertently encouraged them to fall for each other. What a stupid problem to have. What a stupid, agonizing, depressing, annoying, embarrassing problem to have. Especially on top of everything else. If she never had to speak about it to anyone in her life, she would be eternally grateful. She would never step foot in the Hanged Man again if it meant avoiding that conversation forever, with Varric or anyone else.

Against her better judgment, she found herself leaning into his touch. For whatever reason, they had both ended up in the same place during a moment of emotional turmoil. And they were both just people, weren't they? People with shitty positions of responsibility in a shitty city that was on the verge of burning itself to the ground.

But then, she also didn't need yet another man to come and complicate her life, regardless of the circumstances. She should just swear off men altogether for a while. Men and elves and women and people and love and EVERYONE, every damn soul in this city. Concentrate on herself, on what exactly it was that she was working toward in all her efforts. There had to be an endgame, right? Now that the Qunari were gone, the duel with the Arishok still fresh in her mind and in the still healing scars on her body, there were other issues to deal with. The increasingly unhinged Meredith was an obvious one, so was the widespread oppression and abuse of mages across so much of Thedas. To that end, her involvement with both Anders and Fenris had complicated her ability to see either the mage or Templar sides as clearly as she could. Both were fanatics about their position, and both were capable of making excellent arguments. But neither of the two sides was beyond reproach. It was all too confusing at times. Yet another reason she needed to just free herself from both of them. Their influence on her was too strong.

She stiffened her back in response to her thoughts, pulling away from Cullen's touch, and she felt the weight of his hand disappear.

Looking over to him, she began to run through her mind all the things she should say to the powerful Templar.

Get out. What are you even doing here? Why do you do the dirty work of that psychopath? Don't you have mages to harass somewhere?

But something in his face silenced her before she even spoke. Cullen seemed just physically…wrecked. The bags under his eyes always had a tired purple sheen to them, and he always seemed much more gaunt than she would have expected an otherwise muscled warrior to appear. Perhaps it was just the light, she thought. It had fully reached that golden hour just before sunset, where everything was cast in warm glow. She would have thought that'd be an antidote to the sickly purple and ashy pale that infected his skin, but it apparently wasn't. She knew that the lyrium addiction thrust upon most Templars became a heavy burden that wore harshly on their bodies. That on top of all the stresses of just being where they were, when they were…. What person wouldn't struggle?

He finally became aware of her staring at him. Her mind raced for a moment as she contemplated whether she should say something, but she chose not to. She had been grateful for how little he said to her thus far. He'd promised to pretend she wasn't even there, so he must have truly wanted the same in return. She broke her eyes away from him, forgetting for one blessed moment about her own troubles as she considered his. Lyrium, Meredith, throngs of desperate blood mages, the criminal element trying to capitalize on the chaos... And her? Surely the apostate Champion of Kirkwall was one of his biggest pains in the ass.

For some reason she couldn't quite discern, she found that she was the one to raise a hand in comfort. He had attempted it for her, despite who and what they were. And Maker did he look like he needed it. He looked on the brink of complete collapse. But his back, like the rest of him, was clad in cold metal armor. He could only have felt nothing as her hand sat there ineffectually. She considered moving her hand to back of his neck — the only exposed piece of flesh besides his hands and his face — but that just seemed so... inappropriate. Or she could just forget it, and pretend like she hadn't even bothered. Surely he wouldn't want the soiled hands of a mage upon him anyway. She opted for the latter.

"Are you… okay?" he asked finally, his voice sounding thin and tinny. The question was a surprise.

She sighed, unable to find an answer within her muddled brain. She could lie. Insist she was just fine, the same as she would have with anyone. Except he had already seen her tears. It was abundantly clear that neither of them were in the healthiest emotional state at the moment.

"I am alive. That is the best that I can claim," she answered. Almost imperceptibly, his head nodded.

"Same here," he whispered.

Avery let her gaze roam over his face again. He looked so different away from his post. Weary eyes the color of honey, a two day old stubble coating his jaw that looked several shades darker than the disheveled hair framing his pale face. The line where his lips met flowed in a surprisingly pleasant set of curves.

His hand found his way to her back again, and she closed her eyes as she melted into the touch. How long had it been since either Anders or Fenris had touched her? Two weeks? Could that be all? When had she become such a pathetic lout that two weeks of no affection had her feeling so starved? Wasn't she supposed to be a strong woman who was perfectly capable of taking care of herself? The Avery that had fled Lothering would be appalled.

"This is not going to end well," he sighed.

"This?"

"This city. This… whatever this all is. This almost rebellion? This campaign waged by a madwoman? Mages are turning to their own desperate means. We're stretched so thin that my men are breaking left and right. Cracking under the strain of it and doing… things. Horrible things. We are all, every one of us, is currently marching toward a sea of our own blood."

Avery nodded quietly. The throbbing ache in her abdomen was joined by the shaky, almost unbearable anxiety that regularly fired up as she walked through Kirkwall now. Everyone was looking at each other with suspicion, ready to react. Meredith had gone beyond making harboring apostates a hangable offense, and made merely having knowledge of an apostate and not reporting it a crime.

She felt an intense pang of sympathy for the Templar, a strange, forbidden emotion. And yet here he was, comforting her. She shared his fears, his concerns about the city. She harbored a significant number of others due to her own status as an apostate, but what had brought her here wasn't really any of those things. Not this time. This time it was sadness over two stupid men. He had real problems that he was worried about, that they all should, but still he was comforting her.

His hand felt heavy and warm on her back, and without realizing that she had even changed position, her head came to rest upon the cold metal that covered his arm. She'd had a theory for much of her life that you could tell a lot about what a person wanted by what they offered. He must have thought a hand on her back would be comforting to her, because that is what was comforting him.

Wanting to return the kindness, she raised her own arm to him again, moving it up to the back of his neck and lingering there, afraid to touch the golden skin above his metal collar. That was such an intimate place to touch, and probably would have more of a confusing effect than a comforting one. Instead she squeezed him toward her in an awkward little hug. She tried to resist patting his arm. Maker she was failing terribly at this. Whatever this was supposed to be. This visit to her ledge had begun a solitary thinking session, whereby she worked out what to do with Anders and Fenris. Where she raged and cried in private. Now it was… something else entirely.

His eyes met hers again for moment, and she saw flecks of gold that were glowing the same color as the increasing orange of the evening sky. She also saw a roiling storm of anguish, a bottomless pit of memories and experiences that seemed to war within him. She looked away quickly, startled by the intensity she saw there.

She toed at the ledge below the makeshift bench with her boot. She really should get home before the sun went down and she was walking home alone in the dark. Most likely she would slip through the secret tunnel that began beside Anders' clinic, but even just the walk from the docks to that part of Dark Town wasn't a good idea after sundown these days.

His hand slid from between her shoulder blades to encircle her body completely, and though his was composed of hard, cold armor, she sighed against him. For a fleeting moment she noticed how good his touch felt and she closed her eyes, thinking that accepting a moment of comfort, even one from an assumed enemy, wasn't the end of the world. She couldn't put her hand on his back the way he had, but maybe doing this for her was comforting to him too. Yes he was a Templar and she a mage, but they were both just people. Her body relaxed. Just a moment, she thought as she turned toward him slightly, angling herself against the armor so that its ridges didn't dig into her back. For just a moment, and then she would excuse herself and finally walk home.

She almost jumped as lips met hers and they were warm and soft, brushing against her mouth with a gentle tentativeness. The ticklish shiver of it caused her to habitually tilt her head and open her mouth, allowing their lips to come fully together, gently locking into a tender caress. A warm tongue slid onto her own and she tasted the tang of metal, the familiar flavor of lyrium. Her nose was filled with the musky seawater scent of man and she sighed as she returned the slow, languid movements of his mouth.

With a jolt she realized what was happening and pulled back abruptly.

His eyes were wide, reflecting back the same shock that she was feeling. How had that even happened!? He pulled his arm back with a repulsed jerk. No, this was absolutely not something that was supposed to occur. It was bad enough that she was pining over two men who no longer wanted her, making her feel as sad and pitiful as she had ever felt in her life, but this was utterly beyond the pale. She needed to simplify her life, simplify! Not complicate things further. This was precisely that.

She stood, stepping quickly around him and letting her feet carry her over the pathway, up the stairs and back in the direction that would eventually lead home.

Her pace was brisk, fueled by the outrage she railed against herself. What in the bloody hell!? No more men! She would return to her mansion, oust her traitorous lovers, freeing them to go gallivant wherever and however they chose, as long as it wasn't in her bed, in her kitchen, anywhere that she had to watch. She would no longer abide being the enabler to her own heartbreak. She walked furiously, feeling her determination grow with every step. No more!

She shook the memory of the kiss out of her head. What in Andraste's balls had even happened!? Had she done something to make him think she wanted that? Was it how she turned toward him? They were only comforting each other weren't they!? And Cullen!? She had talked to him hundreds of times and never, not once, had it ever crossed her mind to do something like that.

Her head was shaking furiously as she spoke to herself, some words emerging from her mouth, some flying through her mind faster than her voice could catch them. That was only a strange, momentary lapse in judgment, born of two people in pain. Right? She couldn't even remember who kissed who, but it didn't matter. It shouldn't have happened, it wouldn't happen again, and it had meant nothing. She was a mage and he was Templar. That alone was enough to disqualify it as anything at all worth thinking about. It was as good as having never happened at all.

She realized with a start that she hadn't even bothered with the secret entrance, and had instead crossed Lowtown to climb the steps leading to the upper level of Kirkwall. But there was still a glow from the last tendrils of sun that had yet to sink beneath the horizon, and if she had passed any questionable characters they had obviously had the good judgment not to bother her.

She quickly crossed the last several feet to her house, and was brought to a halt just outside her door, as the angry shouting voices within burst through and spilled into the shadowy courtyard. Fenris was snarling and Anders' eyes were wild and black. They faced off silently for a moment, the air between them saturated with tension. Avery's heart jumped into her throat, and she considered the possibility of having to jump between the two in order to prevent them from killing each other.

Of course they had come back to this. Of course they had. She felt that center of pain in her gut intensify and throb as she watched them. Even in scenes of violence, even when they were about to be at each other's throat, they were wild and beautiful. But once again she might as well not have been there at all.

She decided not to wait to see what happened, what else they might have to say to each other. It didn't concern her anyway. Consider this the first cord she would cut. She turned to enter the door to her home, closing it firmly behind her and flipping the lock, leaving her two former lovers out in the night.