Part I

"Hawke," Fenris barked, reaching out and grabbing the mage's elbow and pulling him back from the edge of the narrow mountain trail. Hawke regained his balance and let out the breath he had held as he felt the path give way under his foot. Turning to Fenris, he smiled warmly and gave a small wink.

"What would I do without you, Fenris?" Hawke queried, leaning closer to the elf and whispering in his ear, "And I told you to call me, Garrett. Remember?"

Fenris suppressed a shudder as Hawke's breath ghosted over his ear, and remained completely still as Hawke gently kissed his cheek. Fenris did not realize until Hawke pulled away, smiling sadly, that he had been holding his breath; his body rigid. He silently berated himself for his reaction, feeling guilty that intimacy with Hawke still made him nervous. Perhaps it was the lingering tendrils of Danarius's wickedness on his psyche, or maybe he was just terrified of messing up his second chance. Whatever the case, Fenris hung his head in frustration, but quickened his pace to keep up with Hawke, who had already started back on the trail down the mountain.

They spent the next hour walking in silence, both men lost to their private thoughts. Fenris continued to upbraid himself over his issues with intimacy. He had told Hawke that he could not bear to live without him, which was true, but they had only been together once since Fenris had apologized for leaving and, though very pleasant, he was still very unsure of himself when it came to intimacy (emotional or physical) with Hawke. After once again experiencing a vivid rush of memories, as well as unsettling images of his former master, Fenris wondered if he would ever achieve any level of comfort with intimacy. He was working on it, but sometimes, even when Hawke simply displayed casual affection, all of Fenris's anxieties seemed to bubble to the surface at once.

He could see that his inability to accept affection troubled Hawke, and he vowed to relegate his memories to the past, where they belonged. Fenris smiled wryly. He had spent so long trying to remember his past only to now be desperate to forget everything if it meant pleasing Hawke. Of course this tendency also bothered Fenris; that he had traded Danarius for a new master in Hawke was something that whispered darkly to him.

"Fenris!" Hawke's voice cut into his thoughts and he jumped slightly, looking into the mage's bright amber eyes.

"Yes, Haw..Garrett?"

"Are you alright? You seem…disturbed."

"It is nothing. Did you need something?"

Hawke continued to stare at Fenris, concern evident in his gaze.

"There is a small town marked on the map up ahead. We've been keeping to the forest for two weeks and I thought we might try to get a room at an inn. Maker knows I could use a hot bath and a warm bed to sleep in…"

"No!" Fenris snapped. "We cannot risk anyone recognizing us, or running into Templars, and that is far more likely to happen if we go to a town," he reasoned gently, trying to make up for his initially harsh tone.

Hawke watched Fenris closely for a moment and the elf wondered whether they were about to have an argument, but then Hawke simply nodded and continued walking.

About an hour before sunset, Hawke turned off of the trail and walked away from it at a right angle for about ten minutes. Fenris, even after being on the run for two weeks, could not figure out how Hawke always managed to find the best places to set up camp. The elf could hear a stream gurgling nearby and a small copse of young pine trees with a space in the center would serve as their camp. The young trees would make their camp completely invisible to anyone more than fifteen paces away, and the sound of the stream would easily drown out their voices. They would be virtually undetectable.

Fenris pitched the small tent he had been carrying in his pack while Hawke collected kindling. Though they were almost out of the mountains, the winds coming off of the mountain peaks were bitterly cold at night, so Fenris lined the bottom of the tent with fallen leaves for insulation then covered them with a couple of thin furs. It did not take long to set up camp, and when the fire was burning brightly Hawke cleared his throat and look at Fenris.

Things had been painfully quiet between them lately, both still in shock from what had happened in Kirkwall. Fenris knew that Hawke agonized over his brother, Carver's, safety. They did not know if the young man, a member of the Templar order, had been allowed to continue his service or if he had been punished (perhaps even killed) for his relation to the Champion. Both men were also concerned for their companions. They had all fled and gone their separate ways, but there was no way for Hawke and Fenris to know whether they had made it to safety or not.

Fenris wished to break the silence between them but found he could not, so, after Hawke cleared his throat, the elf looked at him expectantly.

"I'm going to have a wash in the stream. You'll start the soup?"

Fenris nodded and gathered the small pot they had used for cooking from his pack and followed the mage to the stream.

Kneeling at the stream, he filled both Hawke's and his waterskin along with the cooking pot. Glancing over to where Hawke stood near some large rocks, he saw that the mage had stripped off his clothes and was laying them neatly on the rocks. Fenris blushed lightly at his view of Hawke's backside. The fading light cast shadows over the muscles in his back and the curve of his buttocks, but Fenris could still easily see every contour. He swallowed hard and stood up, turning around to take the waterskins and pot back to the camp.

Fenris found what little was left of their rations in Hawke's pack. Tonight their dinner would consist of a thin, mushroom and salted beef soup, and one piece of hard tack each. The soup was almost finished when Hawke returned, his skin red from the frigid mountain stream and his teeth chattering lightly. Fenris moved over on the small log he had placed beside the fire, making room for Hawke to sit down and warm himself.

"Thank you, Fenris," Hawke murmured shakily, sitting down and immediately leaning close to the fire. "Ah, better already," he sighed, rubbing his hands together over the flames.

Fenris caught a whiff of soap smell as a cool breeze blew through the camp, and marveled (not for the first time) at the fact that Hawke had seemingly thought of everything during their rushed packing before leaving the city.

"I'll watch the food if you want to bathe," Hawke offered.

Fenris nearly cringed at the stilted nature of their conversations now. He longed for the easy banter they had shared before, but he knew it would not be that easy to rebuild their relationship. It was his fault, he knew, and he took full responsibility. He also knew that he was fortunate to even have Hawke back in his life and he was determined to fix things.

Fenris nodded and rose, heading toward the stream.

"Just…just don't eat it all while I'm gone," Fenris said, clumsily attempting to break the awkwardness that had been so pervasive between them. He chanced a glance back at Hawke and smiled nervously as Hawke looked at him in surprise. Then the man's face broke into a grin, and Fenris's heart beat more quickly. He had not seen Hawke really smile since they had left Kirkwall.

"You wound me, serah," Hawke chuckled. "I don't eat THAT much!"

Fenris's nervous smirk turned into a genuine smile as he grabbed the small bar of lye soap out of Hawke's bag.

A few minutes later, the elf sat down by the fire, freshly bathed, and accepted the bowl of soup Hawke offered to him, hands shaking slightly. Fenris tensed momentarily as he felt Hawke scoot closer to him until their thighs were touching, but he soon relaxed and was grateful to have the other man's body heat added to his own.

Once they had finished their food, the two men quietly banked the fire, and made their final sweep of the camp before bedding down. Hawke set a few very weak wards, designed simply to alert him if anyone got close, but not to be strong enough that a trespasser would sense them. These wards would theoretically give the men just enough warning to hopefully escape should someone get too close. This is what they had been doing from the beginning of their flight and Fenris would have insisted on keeping watch, but since there were only two of them neither man would get enough rest splitting the watch between them. Hawke's wards would just have to do.

Fenris climbed into the small tent once his sweep of the area was complete and, placing his sword within reach, nestled under the fur blanket. Since they put the fire out to avoid anyone spotting the smoke during the night, he knew it would get very cold and he was not looking forward to it. Cold temperatures had a curious effect on his markings. Lyrium, somewhat like water and many other elements, expanded slightly at cold temperatures, and in the case of Fenris's markings stretched uncomfortably within is skin. He closed his eyes and listened as Hawke finished his wards, glad that the other man would soon be beside him in the tent. Even with his anxieties, Fenris much preferred to be warm and could push his fears to the back of his mind rather easily if it meant that he did not have to endure the cold and his expanded markings.

There was no sound of insects, due to the cold, so the only other sound was the gentle rustle of fallen leaves in the breeze and the babble of the brook they had bathed in. Fenris felt the familiar tingle of Hawke's magic resonating in his markings as the other man finished his spells and crawled into the tent. His heart beat faster as he felt Hawke's arm slide around his waist, but he kept his eyes closed; too nervous to look into the face he knew was only inches from his own.

"Fenris," Hawke breathed, "You do know that I…I…"

Fenris opened his eyes, startled at the pain he could hear in Hawke's voice.

"Yes, I am aware, Garrett," Fenris assured him, "I…too…"

Fenris could have kicked himself in frustration. Why was this so hard?

"Just do it! Just open up, you know you have nothing to fear from Hawke!", he urged himself.

Fenris reached up and touched Hawke's cheek in what he hoped was a comforting way. He was momentarily surprised by the ease with which the motion actually occurred, perhaps he was not a complete loss after all. Something about the gesture just felt so right, and Hawke seemed to immediately relax into his touch. Fenris marveled at how good the other man's stubble felt against his palm, and he almost reflexively pulled his fingertips gently over the rough cheek.

"Fenris," Hawke whispered, pulling the elf closer.

"Yes, Hawke?" Fenris replied, swallowing hard as Hawke pressed their foreheads together, the movement stirring feelings in him that were decidedly not related to anxiety.

"I'm so sorr-," Fenris placed his fingertips over Hawke's lips, cutting off the mage's apology.

"There is no need to apologize," Fenris stated firmly. "When I said I would gladly follow you, I meant it, and I fully intend to do just that."

The strain seemed to lift marginally from Hawke's face and Fenris went back to slowly caressing the man's cheek, glad that he could do even a little something to help ease the burden of guilt that he knew Hawke carried with him.

"Thank you, Fenris," Hawke breathed, and Fenris's eyes fluttered closed. Hawke pressed his warm lips against Fenris's mouth and the elf immediately parted his lips, but he began desperately hoping he could keep the memories of his former master at bay. He hated that even after death the magister could invade his life, creep into his mind, and hurt him when he wanted his thoughts to be only of Hawke.

The kiss was sweet, tender, and even a little hesitant at first. Hawke cupped Fenris's face gently as the elf continued to run his fingers over the mage's stubbled jaw. Fenris opened his mouth wider, letting Hawke's tongue claim him as he pressed his body closer to the mage, suddenly very eager for this closeness after weeks of being awkward and unsure around each other. He banished thoughts of his past and his fears, focusing instead on the hot mouth covering his and the warm hand moving to rest lightly on his hip.

"Mm, Fenris," he heard Hawke sigh as the man unconsciously rocked their hips together.

Fenris gasped rather loudly and Hawke pulled back, concern wrinkling his brow, but before he could say anything, Fenris had closed the gap between them, kissing hungrily; trying to assure the other man that everything was fine. He was relieved when he felt Hawke respond, no hesitation evident in the man's lips.

Fenris felt one of Hawke's hands slide up the back of his jerkin and he arched back into the touch, feeling the faint tickle of magic in his markings where the mage's skin came in contact with them. Hawke broke their kiss to trail hot, wet kisses down the elf's neck.

"Hawke," Fenris panted, now distinctly aware of his growing arousal as the mage trailed a palm down his abdomen. He continued to pant as he rolled onto his back, Hawke moving to crouch over him. The scant couple of times that they had been together had taught Fenris something about Hawke. He was a very intuitive lover. The man showed the same, if not more, care and attention to detail in the bedroom, so to speak, as he did in every other aspect of his life. This attention to detail had saved their lives, as well as the lives of their companions countless times over.

Now, however, Hawke's attention to detail meant that he was aware of Fenris's lingering anxieties and would try his best to soothe them. It also meant that he knew what the cold did to the lyrium markings in Fenris's skin, so he left the mage almost entirely clothed and they both remained under the blankets. Fenris had been struck every time they had been together by the efforts that Hawke went to making sure that he was comfortable. It was not something that he had ever been accustomed to with Danarius. Quite the opposite.

Fenris almost wished that Hawke would just undress him. He yearned to feel their skin pressed together, to have more contact, but for now he settled for placing a hand at the small of Hawke's back, pulling the man closer as he bucked his hips roughly. He was rewarded by a low groan and a dull ache as Hawke lightly bit a spot on his neck, which made him rock his hips forward again, seeking more than the light friction his leggings afforded.

Hawke groaned once more, but this time he placed a hand on Fenris's hip, stilling him. Fenris frowned, not understanding, but then Hawke locked eyes with him. He watched with wonder as Hawke moved down his body, pulling his leggings down just enough to expose his hardening flesh. Fenris's breath hitched as he felt Hawke's mouth descend on him, but he did not take his eyes from the other man. The heat was utterly sublime, and Fenris's mind reeled at the sensation.

No one had ever done this for him before. It had never been about Fenris's pleasure when his former master had taken him. And the other times he and Hawke had been together Hawke had made sure he felt good, but he had not done it quite like this before. Fenris fought back gasping moans as his fingertips dug into Hawke's shoulders. The sensations were intense. He felt Hawke's hot mouth and tongue moving over him then the man's hand gently began massaging his testicles.

"HHNnng!" All of Hawke's ministrations combined were completely overwhelming him and he could feel the tension building rapidly.

Hawke chuckled at Fenris's reaction, sending tiny vibrations through the elf. Fenris groaned again, panting heavily, fingers sore from how tightly he was gripping Hawke's shoulders.

"Hawke," Fenris breathed; his voice like gravel and surprising even him with how deep it was.

Hawke hummed with pleasure at the sound of his name, and Fenris registered vaguely that Hawke's other hand was busy stroking his own arousal, but he could not focus as the tension coiled tighter and tighter. He knew he would not last much longer, but he continued to watch Hawke with fascination, unwillingly to look away. Then the elf's eyes grew wide as Hawke took a deep breath and swallowed him.

"Hawke!" Fenris gasped as the tension finally snapped. White light exploded behind his eyes, colors, voices, a vague memory of pain; but that too was washed away as another wave of pleasure crashed over him. He briefly lost track of time and when he regained his senses Hawke had moved his mouth back to the elf's neck, kissing and sucking gently between breathless moans as he quickly brought himself to completion.

Discarding the small cloth he had used to clean himself, Hawke situated himself and pulled Fenris into his arms, turning the elf slightly so that he could curl around the slightly shorter male. Fenris allowed himself to be moved, his bones feeling like gelatin, the tingle of magic still skating lightly along his markings, all of his energy seemingly sapped away. He would later marvel at Hawke's constant selflessness, even in intimacy, and wonder why someone like Hawke could have possibly chosen to be with him, but for now exhaustion overtook him. He was only aware of a few warm kisses pressed to the back of his neck before sleep claimed him.

Fenris would later realize why he awoke in the middle of the night, chest tight, a feeling of unease encompassing him. For the moment, however, he was confused. Until he heard a very faint rustling of pine needles, likely only detected because of his elongated ears. At the noise, Fenris shifted and gently shook Hawke awake, placing a hand over the man's mouth, signaling him to be quiet.

Hawke looked surprised and momentarily confused, sleep still clouding his thoughts, but he quickly caught on, nodding his understanding even as he reached behind him for his staff. Fenris released the mage and grabbed his sword from its resting place beside him. He fleetingly wished he had is armor, but it would have been ridiculous to try to sleep in it. The elf cautiously crouched and inched his way out of the tent.

His breath caught in his chest and he felt his heart sink as at least half a dozen Templars stepped into the small clearing. Quickly doing a full count, Fenris totaled nine Templars. They were vastly outnumbered. He wanted to believe this was a nightmare, but he knew he was awake, knew this was real.

The soldier that appeared to be the group's lieutenant stepped forward.

"I believe we've found our man," the woman sneered, as Hawke exited the tent and came to stand beside Fenris, staff lowered.

Fenris frowned, fearing what his lover was about to do. He had not immediately attacked because he knew that they were hopelessly out-numbered and part of him always waited for Hawke to issue orders, to pull something out of his sleeve like he always did; but his stomach sank and he knew how this altercation was going to end. Fenris raised his sword and snarled at the Templars, hoping that he and Hawke would at least get to go out fighting, though the thought of dying now, when they had just begun to repair their relationship, wrenched at his heart.

"We only need the mage to stand in judgment for his crimes," the lieutenant announced, "Kill the elf!"

Fenris's markings flared to life as he prepared to fight, but he froze at the sound of Hawke's voice. It was his "Champion Voice" as Varric had called it, full of force and authority, commanding.

"NO"

The Templars froze, unsure of what to do. Fenris did not expect what happened next, though he probably should have. All the same, it sent his mind reeling.

Hawke addressed the lieutenant, "I will go with you."

Fenris's jaw dropped and something inside him screamed in protest.

"Garrett!"

Hawke held up a hand and Fenris fell silent, disbelief and anger flooding through him as he realized that Hawke intended to sacrifice himself to save Fenris's life. Always sacrificing! Had the man not sacrificed enough already?

The lieutenant seemed to consider the mage's offer.

"Put down your staff, apostate," she ordered.

Hawke eyed her warily, but moved to place his staff gently on the ground. Fenris frowned as he felt a familiar tingle spread through his markings. He assumed the mage was pooling his mana for an attack, but instead Hawke set the staff down and kept his hands in front of him assuming a non-threatening stance. Fenris wanted to scream! The situation was dire and he could not see a way that either of them could escape.

"Now, take me. Just let him go," Hawke bargained.

The lieutenant held up her hand, seemingly telling the other Templars to hold their positions as she stepped closer to Hawke.

"I don't make deals with murdering apostate scum," she growled, simultaneously issuing a signal with her raised hand and stepping forward to subdue Hawke.

Fenris tried to move close enough to Hawke to protect him, but he found himself completely surrounded and barely managed to hold off his attackers as six of the nine Templars closed in and began looking for an opening in his defenses. That meant that Hawke was left to deal with three Templars, without his staff. Fenris felt the sharp crack of a powerful spell, the force of it making his markings vibrate. He saw Hawke fall to his hands and knees. The Templars had all three hit him with a mana draining spell at the same time.

"Hawke!" Fenris yelled as he stabbed clean through one of the Templars, trying to clear a path to his lover who was now being clapped in irons, even as he struggled with is remaining strength against the bonds.

Fenris managed to cut his way toward the Templars now restraining Hawke. Unfortunately that meant that the majority of the Templar regiment was now behind him, but all he could think of was getting to Hawke.

Fenris sought out Hawke's eyes, moss meeting amber, his heart wrenching at the sight of Hawke chained like an animal. Fenris knew how that felt and rage seared through his veins. Their gazes were still locked though, as Hawke's eyes grew wide and Fenris did not even have time to turn around. He felt something hard smash into the back of his head. His knees immediately buckled and gave out, but the man who had hit him caught him with an arm looped under his chin from behind.

Unable to move, his senses lost from the blow that would have instantly killed most people, all the elf could do was watch the sheer agony in his lover's eyes as he felt cold, sharp steel draw swiftly across his throat, cutting deep.

"NO! FENRIS!"

Fenris dimly heard Hawke screaming his name, and fighting against his captors, as the Templar dropped him. He landed on his chest, his head turned toward Hawke. He could see the man fighting to reach him. Fenris could not move, his body refusing to cooperate, and when he tried to speak, only a bloody gurgle fell from his lips. All he could do was lie there in the rapidly spreading pool of his own blood, listening to his pulse grow weaker and weaker, his body growing cold, his eyes wide and staring, seeing the man he loved watch him die before being dragged away to likely be tortured and executed.

A/N: Reviews are very much appreciated. I haven't written in awhile so I'd love to hear what you think.