Some part of Fenris believed that Hawke was a phantom, playing at the edges of his mind. She was everything that he believed to be right with the world. Everything he had hoped to find outside of Danarius's control. Bravery, compassion, beauty, openness... All of these things could be applied to the raven-haired woman who sat before him now, and yet none of these were properly sufficient to explain her perfection. His heart swelled, tender and fearful for her, and perhaps of her. The part of him that would always be subservient, that railed against his role as a slave even as it recognized the need to obey, warned him of the danger in becoming too involved. He followed her willingly, a fact that he had to remind himself of time and time again. And yet was it not a kind of slavery? Was he unable to control his impulses, cowed by something much larger than himself? It was thoughts like these that seized him with an all-too-familiar fear, that sent urgent whispers through his skull that it was time to move on. And yet he couldn't. She needed him. As afraid as he was of what they had, she needed him.

"Maker's breath, Hawke, if I didn't know any better I'd say you had a death wish." Aveline's voice cut through his thoughts, reminding him that there were more pressing things on hand right now. He stood quietly at the edges of the group crowded around their impromptu leader, his stoic manner belying the fear caged in his green eyes. Hawke's hand was a mass of blood, pressed to the wound in her stomach. Anders hovered near, his hands glowing with the blue cloud of healing that Fenris still did not trust. And Hawke, his beautiful Hawke, simply laughed off their concern, even through the pain. He could see how much it hurt her in the pinch of her brow, the tightening of her eyes. She was careful. He knew she tried very hard to be careful. But the Invisible Sister's blade had still sunk into her ribs, probably missing something vital by only a fraction. This he surmised only because Hawke was still conscious and - mostly - ok. But it had bled profusely, and they had barely managed to get her up onto a nearby crate so Anders could take a look at it. In one of those rare moments, Fenris found himself thankful they had brought the abomination with them. Like it or not, Anders was the most accomplished healer not currently imprisoned in the circle tower. If anyone could protect Hawke from her own mortality, it would be this man.

"Can't leave just yet, Aveline. I haven't heard enough wisdom from our mother hen." Hawke quipped, her tone and grin marred by the pain that clearly still dominated her senses. Anders worked quietly, but Fenris could have sworn that the concern on his face was laced with something else. He couldn't place it, perhaps didn't want to place it, but the expression set him on edge. He suddenly had no desire to allow the two of them so close. But alarm won over his dislike of their proximity, his intense gaze shifting back to the woman he found himself more than just a little protective over. She looked ghostly under the light of Anders's magic, pale even by her own standards. It was alarming.

"Next time I hope you would have enough sense to call for the guard. We've been patrolling around here more frequently." Aveline's smooth tones only rubbed at his irritation. Call, yes. Why didn't Hawke call for any of them? But he knew why. She thought herself infallible, as free and clear as any rogue. He had seen her blend completely with the shadows before, but no one was perfect. Still, a question nagged at the back of his mind. If she was alone when this happened, what was Anders doing here?

"I'll take that under advisement. Oww, Anders, can't you be any more gentle?" Hawke's complaints drew a wry smile from the blonde apostate, his hand pressed to the space where the knife wound had been only moments ago. All that was left of it was a prominent hole in Hawke's linen tunic and the blood that had all but poured from it, staining one side of the fabric crimson. Fenris had seen plenty of people bloodied before, but this sight turned his stomach. He was once more reminded of how fragile she really was.

"You're lucky to have survived this. Any further down and they would have gotten something important." The mage hovered even after his work was done, and Fenris bristled in contempt. His job was finished. Did he not realize that? "Are you ok?"

Fenris watched as something passed over Hawke's pinched expression. Her gaze flickered to the white-haired elf for only a moment, a second's hesitation, but it was more than enough. He felt himself relax again, though he did not ease his stance. They would have to have words about just how dangerous this was.

"Right as rain." She answered lightly, her beautiful face smoothing into one of those trademark smiles. It was amazing how easily she could sweep into a different emotion, a different expression. Anything to soothe the worries of the people around her. It worked on Anders, but both of them knew it would not work so easily on Fenris. He had too much at stake, an emotion that sparked between them that he would not dare name. Giving it a name would be giving it power, and she already had too much of that over him as it was. Whether she knew it or not.

Hawke slid down from her perch on the crates, stumbling as her supple leather boots hit the ground. Before Anders had a chance to reach out Fenris was there, his arm wrapped delicately around her stomach, one hand resting on her opposite shoulder to hold her steady. She threw him a grateful smile, and it was as if the world fell away. All he was aware of in that moment was the warmth of her against him, the weight of her thin body pressed into his arm. He nodded once in return, unable to respond to the force of that nameless sensation that curled in the pit of his stomach and made his actions selfish.

"I will get her home." Fenris spoke finitely, not allowing anyone to argue with him. Aveline responded that it was for the best, and her word was what silenced any response Anders might have had. The look he received from the mage sent spikes of distaste through his stomach, anger building at the truth behind that look. But he pushed past it, far more concerned for the woman he held. She walked as confidently as she could, but Fenris was close enough to see the pain it caused her. Not even Anders could wipe away all of the hurt in the end. Some part of the elf reveled in the realization.

The Amell estate was not as far away as they would have feared, and Fenris pounded a gauntleted hand against the heavy door. Hawke laughed quietly next to him, prompting his dark green gaze to fall to her. The cheeky smile she offered in response nearly made his heart stop. She was so... so close...

"Everyone's probably dead asleep right now. Come on." She fished a key from her greaves, and Fenris suddenly realized that they had forgotten her breastplate back there. Well... It probably didn't matter. One of the others would realize it too and probably give it back the next day. Pushing the thought from his mind he helped her into the darkened recesses of the receiving room, pushing the heavy door closed behind them. Its muffled bang still echoed loudly in the empty space, making the elf much more apprehensive than he really needed to be. The pair of them headed into the main hall, the fire that had been there now reduced to glowing embers. She led him up the stairs and he realized with a growing apprehension that the sanctuary they now approached was one he did not trust himself in. For good reason.

No preparation in the world could steel him against the force of it burning through his blood. Her room looked like her, smelled like her. Prince, her faithful mabari, was curled up in one corner fast asleep. The vigilant creature he was, his head raised as they entered. No doubt pulled from his dreams by the pungent smell of blood that invaded the safety of this room. He barked at them, the sound muffled and more of a whuff than an actual bark. Hawke managed to stand on her own, moving across the space without Fenris's help to pat the mabari soothingly on the head. Satisfied that danger had not invaded his head dropped to his paws again, and soon enough he fell into his dreams again.

Fenris had halted in the space she left him, not at all pleased at the loss of her warmth on his side. It was a treacherous feeling, the need to have her close to him. It had been three years since they had first met, and he was suddenly met with the realization that this was the first time he had been in her house, let alone her room. Sure, he had visited on a few occassions when she brought him to that hovel her no-good snake of an uncle lived in, but that hardly counted as her home. It didn't... feel like her. Not like this place did. Even the very air was saturated with everything intangible that made Hawke who she was. He breathed in, attempting to still the burning of his blood, however futile it proved at this point.

His gaze followed her as she moved to the side of the bed, taking note of the clear wince as she leaned over to try and undo the lacings of her boots. At once he was across the room, kneeling before her to help. Her surprise shifted in to distress, and he noted with some manner of distaste that she shook her head in an attempt for him to stop.

"I-I can do it myself!"

"You can barely bend yourself. The abomination does not heal as well as well as he'd have us believe."

"Please, Fenris, don't..."

"It is only your boots. I cannot see why..." All at once he stopped, warmth spreading in his chest with the realization of what distressed her so greatly. Being with her, he found himself forgetting more and more. Of what he was. What he had once been. She wasn't upset because he was coddling her. She was upset because this was what he had once been forced into. With that thought came the realization that he did not mind this. Free will was a funny thing sometimes.

"I can get it. Just... give me a minute."

"I do this because I want to, not because I have to." He looked up then, having slid one boot from her foot. Distress, he noted, did not suit her at all. Her dark brows were still knit over those impossibly blue eyes, and he offered her a smirk in return. "I'm helping as a friend."

Her shoulders dropped, the tension in her body released, but that crease between her brows did not smooth. He longed to reach up, to pass a finger over it and smooth it away. But he only removed her other boot, standing up to discard them next to the bed in a pair. Hawke sighed, moving to lay on the bed rather gingerly. Her hand pressed to her side, and he wondered if she was still torn inside, or if it was nothing more than lingering pain from what had just been.

"I hope you're not planning to sleep like that. Your mother would likely have a fit over the sheets." Fenris's dry humor brought a laugh to Hawke's lips, and the elf's blood warmed all over again. He always marveled at just how easily she could laugh, even after all this time.

"You shouldn't do that, you know. Varric's going to be mad you made a joke and he wasn't around to tease you for it." The mirth dancing in her eyes made his heart stop, and he tried his best to cover its subsequent frantic beating with another trademark smirk. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed again, standing up rather unsteadily. He moved to help her straighten but she managed before he could get far, and he fidgeted back to his usual wariness. She turned her back to him, reaching for the hem of her shirt to tug up over her. The small noise she made part-way had him on edge, her subsequent laugh more bitter than happy.

"This is kind of awkward, but will you... Um..." Glancing at him over her shoulder she implored with that beautiful gaze, and he found it impossible to say no. Swallowing, the sound impossibly loud to his ears in the dim bedroom, he approached from behind to grasp her shirt. "I can't get my arms up far enough, and it's ruined anyway. Just... Can you cut it down the sides?" His gaze fell to the line that kept front to back, and he gave a nod though it was likely impossible for him to see him. Raising his hands he grasped the fabric at her back, holding it taut as his sharp gauntlet clawtips settled on the stitching. Each thread pushed against him before popping under his careful descent. He was hyper-aware of just how tense she really was, and some part of him wondered if being so near was as difficult for her as it was for him.

The fabric gave way entirely under his touch, and with a few more popped threads he was able to pull it off of her without disturbing the unseen wound beneath. She seemed to be hesitant, once-nimble fingers fumbling with her greaves. The embers in her fireplace did nothing to warm or light them, but the moonlight that spilled into her room was enough to make her pale skin glow. He could see, even from the side, the dark smear of blood on her stomach.

"The kitchen's downstairs and to the right. Can you get a bowl of water and a cloth for me, please?" Her entreating voice broke through his thoughts, and he cursed himself mentally for not thinking of it before.

"Of course." Turning on his heel he moved out of her bedroom, leaving the treacherous, soothing space that was completely Marian Hawke to hunt out water and a cloth. Being so close to her in such an intimate space had rendered him stupid where his sharp thinking was what they needed the most. He couldn't be numb to things now. Not when Hawke was in pain and needed his help. His help. No one else's. That thought alone brought back the warmth.

With some luck and eyes that had been long since tempered for darkness he had procured his items, making his way back up to her room. Holding the bowl and cloth with one hand he opened the door with the other, squinting against the light that spilled out into the hallway from within. The curtains, he noted, had been drawn, and she had stirred the fire back into a blaze. For a moment he forgot how to breathe, Hawke's pale form standing in front of the fire with naught but the barest clothes hiding her from view. He was struck again with the realization of just how small she was. The leather she usually wore filled her out much more than anyone would have them believe.

She turned to look at him then, and he wasn't sure if the color on her cheeks was due to embarrassment or the proximity of the fire. Still she turned to him, and his gaze fixed on the dark slash of blood that glinted red in the light. He set the bowl on the nightstand, and she passed him a grateful look before taking up the cloth to clean herself up. Her breathless laughter reached him once more.

"It's cold."

"I... apologize." He managed awkwardly, met with her conspiratorial giggle once more.

"No helping it. Better cold water than sticky blood. My mother sees this she's going to faint straight out." Her tone was absent as she cleaned herself up, wiping the remnants of the night's earlier endeavors away with careful strokes. Fenris watched her movements, marveling at how small and sure her hands were.

"Good that you're getting rid of the evidence before she wakes." His reply seemed feeble, ringing in his ears mockingly. Still she looked up at him, grinning, and once more he wondered if his heart was going to stop.

"Better throw out the rag then. She sees it soaked in blood she's going to ask questions." Her tone was impossibly light, and Fenris marveled at how she could stay so carefree on the outside even in the face of so much trouble. Everyone looked to her as a solver of problems. She cared for this city and its people like they were her children, despite the depressing welcome she had entertained. She was so beautiful, so pure and forthright that he couldn't help but want to be closer. She was everything he was not. His past weighed him down, made him stew for hours over how to overcome it without ever reaching a conclusion that did not end with his former master's death. He was drawn to her brightness, the parts that he could see and could not. He was drawn to how she could hold her head up even after the world had tried to beat her down. And in all of his marveling at what she was, he had developed something that dared to whisper its longing in his skull even now. That made his fingertips itch, wanting to reach out and touch that pale skin. To claim her dark lips and hear her sigh, feel her yield to him. Under him.

Fenris shook his head, forcibly willing these thoughts away. He saw her raise her head, a brow lofting in question. He knew he needed to cover up his thoughts, shamed as he was about them.

"What were you doing out with Anders so late?" The elf cursed the ring of jealousy in his tone, hoping she wouldn't notice it. Her moment's hesitation and speculative gaze told him that she had. But, ever the good person she was, she did not say anything about it.

"He wanted me to help with an investigation of his. He had heard a rumor of mages being sold into slavery. Found the slavers, took them out. We were on our way back when the Invisible Sisters got to us. Good thing for you and Aveline." Her smile soothed his jealousy, even as he bristled in anger over the infernal abomination. What was he thinking, taking her out in the middle of the night like that? And to a nest of slavers, no less! The lyrium beneath his skin flickered, feeding off of his anger. He willed it quiet, not wishing to upset her.

Her skin cleaned of blood and the water in the bowl red she finally sifted through her armoire, slipping into a silken robe. Her pale skin disappeared under the whisper of blue fabric, and he ached to see it again. It was dangerous, this feeling that had been growing for three years now. He knew it would have been far better for them both if he walked away now before anything could come of it. He was strong, but there were dark things yet to come, and he could not protect her against everything. But the realist in him knew it was far too late for that. He was too far gone, too invested in her to leave just like that. The act alone might very well kill him.

"I should let you rest." He managed eventually, the span of what seemed like eternity probably only a few seconds. She turned to him then, surprise widening those beautiful blue eyes. She moved as if to speak, her lips parting, but they closed again. Her dark brow furrowed, and she glanced to the bed, pale cheeks tinting again with what he knew in his gut to be more than the heat of the fire. He allowed himself a moment, a fleeting dare of hope, to believe that she felt the same way he did about what was happening between them. But she smiled and looked at him, and he knew in his heart that the spell was broken.

"Don't worry, I'll be right as rain in the morning. Will you meet me here tomorrow? The Viscount wants me to do something for him, and I really don't want to face Seneschal Brann on my own." The seneschal disliked her, if he remembered. Fenris couldn't understand why. Still he nodded, intent on rendering aid.

"I will return here tomorrow."

"Thanks, Fenris. I owe ya one. Goodnight." Her sweet smile tugged at his heart, and he offered her a tentative smirk to hide the warmth she had instilled in him. The sound of her door closing was louder to his ears than it should've been, and as he left the Amell estate to return to the hollow bones of his hideout he tucked the memory of this night into a corner of his heart.