"What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?"

He said this with a sneer, and with such emphasis that he could have caused an earthquake right here in the dungeon. His eyes bored into mine, and this time it wasn't the same old feeling that I got when we made eye contact. I felt a pang in my chest that spread quickly to my stomach and all the way to my fingertips and toes, and tears swelled and burned in my eyes. My hands had started to shake.

His expression remained unchanged as he stared at me for a moment, and with a turn and his hand over his face, he said, "I need to go."

And it was to my own physical and emotional relief that he, indeed, left my line of sight.

A night out at the Hanged Man did not help matters.

" 'What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?' " Varric cackled between sips of beer, with his own high-pitched imitation of you-know-who that would have brought me to tears had I not been so sad and angry.

I slammed my fist down on the table. "Shut the bloody HELL up, Varric!" I screamed, causing dozens of pairs of eyes toward my general direction and a wave of brief silence to flow through the pub. Out of embarrassment, I tried my best not to shake the foundation as I stomped out of the area and into the private rooms.

But the silence stayed at our table, where Sebastian, who was at the scene, broke the quietness and gestured towards Varric with his mug of tea: "That was how Fenris sounded, though."

"Are you sure he sneered like that, though?" Isabela asked. "I mean, I wouldn't doubt it if he did, but you know what they say - 'a sneer on his lip, but want in his eye.' "

"I'm sure if he wanted something, Isabela, he would have asked for it," Aveline added with disgust to the 'been-everywhere' pirate.

"You guys, that's enough…" said Anders.

It was after I slammed shut the door to Varric's room that I could no longer hear the usual hustle and bustle of the bar and I could finally get some alone time - I could never get it at home, with mother, dog, Bodahn and Sandal having the run of the place, and I was never alone elsewhere. I believe this was the first time I had experienced the peace of real, true silence - and not the kind that I had created a few moments earlier.

Before I knew it, I could hear a faint rustling from the other side of the door. There was a knock.

I hesitated, then shouted, "Go away."

But the door burst open anyway, and it was one of the new maids. She set a pile of freshly washed sheets on one of Varric's dwarves hand-crafted end tables and said to me in a snotty accent that was thickly Ferelden, "You should get some anger management, miss."

"Don't let that door hit that sore ass of yours on the way out," I remarked.

"My job is better than the open positions at the Blooming Rose." And with that, she slammed the door shut.

I flopped on Varric's bed (which was three times the size of any standard bed a dwarf like him would need) with a deep sigh. I sprawled out on the blood-red silk sheets and gazed at the old carvings of Kirkwall slaves on the ceiling.

Slaves.

Tevinter.

White hair.

Lyrium tattoos.

I closed my eyes and let my body relax as my imagination ran wild.

Deep, grainy voice and large, glazed-over eyes with that smirk of a smile.

He offered me a large glass filled with wine.

I pushed it away. I knew better. "No, Fenris."

He gently took each one of my hands and cupped them around the bowl of the glass. "I insist."

Then he looked down at me and smiled.

"Drink it."

All of a sudden, he was on fire.

"Fenris, you're-"

"I'm fine, Hawke," he said. "I can finally stop running."

I dropped the glass and let it shatter as I almost slipped on the wine running towards Fenris. I opened my arms as wide as I could to embrace him and I let the fire spread onto my clothes and my skin. I couldn't feel anything but this warmth, and I knew it belonged to Fenris, and not the undying flames. I felt him embrace me back.

"What magic touches, it spoils," he spat as he pushed me away. I fell into the puddle of wine and the fire that was on me extinguished, while he remained in the bright, burning aura.

"Look at what you've done to me, Hawke!" He fell to his knees and his eyes bore into me once more. "Look at what you've done to me."

"Fenris, I-"

"Don't even try anything, Hawke," he growled. "Don't even try to…"

"…Wake up, Hawke!"

The transition between his voice and that of another man's was what awakened me.

That, and the incessant shaking of the bedpost.

"Isabela! You're scaring her!"

"Sorry!"

"Hawke?"

It was the same male voice. I opened my eyes to that light auburn-blonde hair that I would never be able to find anywhere else.

"…Anders?"

I think I saw him smile, but everything was blurry. "Yes, it's me. Come on, I'm taking you home."

"You're… what-"

"Shh. Just rest your eyes."

I felt two muscular arms carry me into the humid and liquor-smelling environment of the pub and into the cool, night air of Lowtown. I remember being carried like this by my father when I was a child, but it had been so long and I had forgotten how good it felt to be held. I felt like I was defying gravity without even using what magic I possessed.

Magic.

"M-magic 'poils ev'thing," I slurred.

"Relax, Hawke," said Anders.

"Take care of her, Blondie," said a familiar, friendly voice, which was also male.

"Vvvvv…" I tried to say. I heard some laughter.

"Be careful with my sister!"

"You know me, Carver."

I couldn't make out any more voices, so I allowed myself to drift off once again - drift off, into the drunken state I, as it pains to admit, was in.