Some people will recognise this. A few months back I published a work called "the assault on Caelan Hawke", but I was unhappy with the way it was progressing so I took it down and ripped it apart. From the bloody pieces I created "the hazards of love". I hope you will enjoy reading half as much as I enjoyed writing.

Love to my wonderful betas.

Bold, italicized font indicates sign language.

Oh, the hazards of love -

You'll learn soon enough

the prettiest whistles

won't wrestle the thistles undone

.

.

It was Thursday evening, and it had rained a truly depressing cold, dark rain most of the day. However, as Detective Alistair Theirin sprinted from his car in the driveway to his front door, it had calmed down considerably. He still felt like a half-drowned cat when he came through the entryway. He hung his sopping coat on the rack, next to a yellow coat he immediately recognised as belonging to Kallian Tabris, his sister-in-law. After he kicked off his uncomfortably leaking shoes, he turned around to empty his pockets onto the small table by the door. It was a beautiful piece of furniture with flowers carved into the dark wood. Each of the four legs ended in a cat sitting on an intricate orb. The entire thing had been disgustingly expensive, what with being hand-crafted and unique, but his wife had wanted it. Alistair had been married for ten years and had yet to learn how to tell his wife 'no'. He chalked it up to her being perfect, and people who said different were lying. It wasn't her fault that most people never saw beyond the pointed ears.

Notebook, pen, cell phone, and guardsman ID badge went into the ceramic bowl. It was shaped like a sleeping mabari, and his brother had given him on his twenty-fifth birthday. It was the only item he had left to remind him of better times.

He hung his socks to dry on the hallway radiator and padded into the kitchen barefoot. As he walked, he tried his best not to notice how his jeans chafed against his legs. The first person he spotted was his father-in-law, Cyrion Tabris, who was setting the table. Cyrion was an elven man in his early fifties, but he looked older. Life hadn't been kind to him, and the lines on his face ran deep. Having been unable to find other work due to being elven, he had spent most of his life doing hard labour. This had left him with a bad back and worn-out joints. These days, he ran a small bookshop in the elven quarter and hired Kallian to do all the heavy lifting. The only non-human player in the city's only elven-friendly cricket team, she was strong enough that she could probably throw Alistair clean across the room if she felt so inclined. You'd never believe it from her slender figure and dainty hands, who were currently at work chopping a head of lettuce. He nodded at them both in greeting, but they were ephemerals compared to the vision by the stove. An elven woman with long golden hair hummed the same tune as her father while she stirred a large pot, the contents of which smelled absolutely divine. Her name was Beatrice, and she was the light of Alistair's whole world.

Alistair slid up behind her, wrapped his arms around her swollen midsection, and rested his hands on her distended belly. If he focused, he could feel one of his sons move lazily beneath his hands. Holding her like this, he had to lean down to smell her hair. Petite Beatrice just barely reached his chest while he towered over her, but she fit just right all the same.

"Hey honey." She turned her head and smiled up at him. "How was work?"

"Boring. Paperwork."

"I thought being a guardsman was ninety-nine point seven percent paperwork?" she teased, her beautiful blue eyes twinkling. Beatrice was the sort of woman who seems to be made up of flowers, sunshine and gentle smiles, until the gloves came off and you realised that those flowers grew on barbed wire. Tonight, however, she seemed to be mostly content and nurturing. Then again, working as a gardener and growing the most beautiful roses in Denerim she was usually nurturing.

"It is," he agreed, "the rest are a statistical errors. Is that your fish soup?"

"Correct." She dipped a spoon and held it up for him to taste.

Alistair moaned in appreciation as the taste exploded on his tongue.

"Did Zevran say when he and Bela was going to be over?" she was referring to his work partner, Zevran Arainai, and his life partner Bela, who coincidentally was Cyrion's third child. "More saffron?"

"No, but they know you're making fish soup so I expect them to be knocking down the door in the next fifteen minutes. And it's perfect, as always."

"Fifteen minutes? That gives you time to shower and change. I've put out fresh towels."

Alistair stared at his wife. He could see the lines of exhaustion around her expressive eyes, and wondered once more what he had done to deserve a woman who always took the time to look after him.

"Maker's breath, I am a lucky man" he whispered reverently as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

A few streets away, the Hawke family was also getting ready for Thursday dinner. It used to be Sunday lunch, but since Caelan had started working weekends that had required a change.

"I'll get them" Caelan called as the potato timer went off. A human male of average height, he sported dark hair and a well-kept beard. He'd grown the beard out to hide the feminine form of his chin and jaw in his late teens, and ten years on it was part of him. His mother Leandra still didn't like it, but she was conservative like that. She liked it even less that he had quit his office job to go into woodworking full time, but Caelan chalked it up to her being sore he'd broken up with his then fiancee at the same time. He loved his mother, but she had the unfortunate trait of thinking she knew what was best for everybody. Usually without asking them first.

His younger sister Anna scrambled out of the way as he opened the oven. He pulled out a tray of perfectly golden potatoes, smelling faintly of rosemary. "Pass the salt?" he asked, and she did a weird little half-turn to reach the shaker with her healthy right arm. Anna's left arm had been badly burned in a fire back when she worked as a firefighter. She still could not unbend the fingers or twist the elbow, and most likely, she never would.

"I'll go tell father dinner's ready" she said, disappearing through the door into the living room. Malcolm Hawke was deaf since birth, so she could not simply call out to him.

"Use the blue dish, honey," Leandra ordered as she turned of the stove and poured the gravy into a bowl.

"Sure" Caelan agreed, distracted. The golden colour of the potatoes had made him think of another shade of gold, the most beautiful shade in the world. Then again, if you asked him, everything about Anders was examples of perfection. Eighteen months and he was still completely starstruck over the man, to Anna's endless merriment.

The meat was a bit on the dry side, but once complimented by gravy, it was perfectly fine. Caelan wasted no time complimenting his mother. Leandra'd had a rough time lately and it didn't hurt to cheer her up, especially since his little sister Bethany seemed to be rather subdued. Bethany's twin, Carver, as always said very little but Bethany could usually keep the conversation going with only their mother as a partner.

Once the dinner plates had been cleared and the dessert - Bethany's pecan pie - had been fetched, Caelan couldn't hold back his news any more.

"May I have everyone's attention, please" he asked out loud as he reached over to his father and knocked on the table in his field of vision. As he did, Bethany touched Carver's arm to make him look up from his pie.

'I have something important to tell you' Caelan signed. 'I am going to ask Anders to marry me'. With those words, he pulled a small box from his pocket, opened it, and passed it to Anna. She admired the exquisite wooden ring inside. She recognised his style of tiny flowers and leaves, and the piece of amber in the middle was a peculiar shade of gold. She handed the box to Carver, then smiling signed 'It's gorgeous'. Carver nodded, giving his brother a thumbs up as he passed the ring to his father.

'Very beautiful', Leandra agreed. 'You made it yourself?'

'Yes, completely. It's taken me months to find the right stone. It's the colour of his eyes,' Caelan explained proudly.

'Beautiful', Bethany echoed her mother, her face unnaturally pale. Malcolm frowned at his daughter's distressed expression.

'Bethany?' He signed, clearly concerned.

Bethany tried to smile but failed miserably. 'I'm fine', she replied.

Alistair and Bela gathered up the plates and took them to the kitchen, fetching the chocolate cake Beatrice had made at the same time.

"Now will you tell us what we're celebrating?" Zevran mock-complained to Anders, who had said very little during the entire meal.

"Yes, tell us!" Kallian urged, "I'm about to faint!"

Anders blushed, but smiled. His amber eyes had a soft, happy glow to them.

"And besides" Beatrice pointed out, "if you and Kali want to eat cake and make it to that show, you're going to have to hurry up."

"Very well," Anders said, accepting a thick slice of cake from Alistair. "I am going to ask Caelan to marry me."

There was complete silence for several moments. Then, three voices cried out in happiness at once, and Anders found himself in a congratulatory group hug with the Tabris siblings.

Leandra looked at her daughter with obvious concern."What's wrong, honey?" she asked gently as she filled up the dishwasher.

"Oh mum," Bethany's lower lip trembled. "I wish… if only… he always..." she didn't have to say anything else. Leandra knew exactly what she was referring to, and she wiped away a few stray tears from her daughter's cheek.

"It's going to be alright, honey," she promised. "Mum will take care of everything. I'm sure he'll understand once I've talked to him." she didn't exactly know how, but this was her baby girl. Leandra was going to make sure Bethany never had any reason to be this unhappy again. Caelan was usually very understanding; he'd step down gracefully. And then Bethany could have the fairy tale she deserved.

"Mum?" Caelan called from the hallway. "I have to go."

Leandra drew a deep breath, then hurried into the hallway to get a few words with him.

"Be careful," she said, more out of a sense of obligation than anything else. "Caelan, honey, I was thinking- Merrill is such a dear girl-"

Caelan's brown eyes turned cold. "I am not having this discussion again. Anders and I are getting married, and Bethany is going to have to grow the hell up."

Leandra let her arms fall helplessly to the sides. "I just want what's best for everyone," she said quietly.

"No you want what's best for Bethany." he snarled, and then he was gone. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Leandra feeling as if something important had just slipped out of her grasp. She didn't know how to get it back.

Kallian looked at the clock and nearly flew to her feet.

"Anders, we have to go or we'll miss the start!" she cried. Anders was much calmer than the twenty-two year old and finished his cake.

"It was delicious, Bee, as always." He gave Beatrice a quick hug. "Sorry about game night."

"Oh rot," she smiled back, "we'll play next week. You have tickets for opening night; that's much more important. Now go, Kali's right - you don't want to miss the start."

Bela and Zevran looked at each other.

"We should probably go, too." Bela folded zir napkin, even though it had been used.

"Come father, we'll drive you home."

"Thank you," Cyrion said, "let's just help put the dishes way first."

Caelan pulled his collar up as he hurried down Ostagar street. Once more he cursed both Varric Tethras, his boss, for making him come out this late on a Thursday evening for a paycheck. He also cursed himself for his inability to say no. he could have been safe at home in bed with Anders, but no. He had to be hurrying through an alley that was so dark you could barely see your hand in front of you. The wind and rain were picking up too, and Caelan had no doubt that his shoes would be leaking by the time he got to the Hanged Man.

He stopped for a moment, squinting into the dark. He knew there was a big dumpster about halfway down the alley, and he didn't feel like colliding with it just because he was in a hurry. That's when the voice called out to him.

Both bewildered and angry, he turned around to face the caller. For a moment he was confused; the coat didn't fit in this area at all, and why would the owner of that coat be in town this late at night? He raised his hand to his face in an attempt to see better.

"Oh come on" he groaned when he recognised the person. "I'm not in the mood, okay? Just… just go home, and I'll forget the whole thing and things won't be awkward or anything. Just let it go. Please."

He realised a little too late that, for the other person, letting it go was no longer an option.

Lyrics quoted are from "The Hazards of Love part 1" by the Decemberists.