A/N: Hey, guys, here's another Dragon Age story. Chronologically this takes place before "This Isn't Kirkwall" but can be read alone, of course. Again I haven't played all of any of the games yet - 5 hours into DA:O, 10 hours into DA2, and about halfway through Inquisition. So if something is wrong I apologize. In the game I was playing as a sarcastic, upbeat Hawke but I believe he would change after the mage uprising and everything, at least a little. So he is a little more somber in this, and uncertain, but I think it's how he would behave given the situation.

Story length: 4138

Begin!

In This Silence Find Your Home

It's the silence that gets to him the most, these days.

Life in Kirkwall was always moving, aglow with mischief and chaos. Someone always needed help. Someone was always in trouble in one way or another. There was the sound of vendors in the market; kids running around with their cheerful chatter; patients coughing in Anders' clinic; the feel of Fenris' heartbeat beneath his ear…

Okay, so the latter is still there, he muses as he opens his eyes. Fenris is awake as well; he always wakes first, his markings painful after a while of resting on them, but he rarely gets up if Caleb is with him like this. Caleb isn't sure how he becomes so clingy during the night; perhaps it is because after their first night together, Fenris vanished, saying he couldn't do it right then. Three years later he returned, but the fear was still ever-present in the back of his mind. Fenris could always change his mind again. He could always push him away and slam his walls back into place, and if he does it, Caleb isn't sure what he will do, after having been with Fenris through everything, after having him so close like this.

Fenris will patiently wait for him to wake, if Caleb decides to use him as a pillow sometime during the night. For as standoffish as he was when they first met, he's certainly grown soft around the edges, which always makes Caleb smile. He enjoys being this close to Fenris, when the elf will let him. Fenris has never been overly fond of being touched, but when they are like this, it doesn't seem to matter to either of them.

"Morning," Caleb says through a yawn as he looks up toward Fenris' face, those large green eyes tracking his every movement.

A dark brow quirks, disappearing beneath a veil of white hair. Fenris probably needs a haircut; they both do. That white hair is nearly shoulder length. "Afternoon," the elf corrects him with that deep, gravelly voice of his.

It is deeply seducing, even when the elf doesn't mean it that way. He could tell Caleb the world is burning around them, and he would smile, nod, and climb into bed without a second thought. Is it possible to be in love with someone's voice? Maybe, he muses, if he is already in love with the rest of the person, too.

Caleb sits up, allowing Fenris to do so as well, and he looks around the room they are in. It's some inn in the middle of nowhere, a stopping place along the road to wherever. The memories of these past few days comes rushing back to him. Fleeing Kirkwall was hard; as much as he didn't like Kirkwall in the beginning, it eventually grew on him. And why wouldn't it, after he put so much effort into that city? He helped so many people, tried to keep the rising tensions at bay, but in the end he failed. He seems to always fail in the end. His siblings, his mother, the city… Everything he touches…

"What has magic touched that it hasn't spoiled?"

Fenris' words come back to him, unbidden, and he closes his eyes. He truly is an apostate now. He was always a mage, but never truly considered himself an apostate until he was really and truly on the run, like he is right now. After Kirkwall, he must flee. Fleeing from there was hard; hearing Anders tell him to kill him was hard as well.

He wonders if it would have been more merciful to kill him. But he didn't; he spared his friend's life. And now Anders is out there somewhere as well, on the run from the war he caused. Thankfully it's only been a few days since the fall of Kirkwall, and news can only travel so fast with everyone scrambling to keep track of everything, so for the moment, they are safe. For the moment, they can rest.

For a moment…

"Hawke?"

Caleb's eyes open to find Fenris in front of him, green eyes forever watching him, calculating, wondering, curious… "I'm fine," he says immediately, smiling at the elf. "I'm hungry, are you? Stay here and I'll get something to eat."

He climbs out of bed and pulls on a light tunic before lacing up his boots and moving toward the door. The inn is small, as is the room. It is barely big enough for the bed itself, meant only as a resting place for the truly weary. Fenris doesn't stop him on his way out, for which he is grateful. He loves Fenris' company, of course, but sometimes he needs to be alone, especially after the events of Kirkwall.

He grabs two plates of food from the breakfast service at the inn – even though it is afternoon as Fenris pointed out – and makes his way back to their shared room. They have only been here a day; they arrived yesterday afternoon after walking all night. A rest was in order after that, their minds still ignited with memories of the events in Kirkwall.

Anders was a fool then.

Blowing up the Chantry… what was he thinking? How could that possibly resolve the tension between Templars and mages? It sparked a war, sure, but who wants war, really? A lot of innocent people died when that Chantry exploded. Many more will die caught in the crossfire of this war. That is the worst of it, he is sure. The innocents who don't know what kind of disaster they are being tossed into.

He pushes the door to their shared room open and enters. Fenris is waiting for him, sitting on the bed. He looks up as Caleb approaches. Caleb smiles and hands him a plate.

"For my favorite elf," he says.

Fenris snorts as he accepts the offering. "It is nice to know you favor me over Merrill."

Caleb chuckles. It feels good to do so, after everything that has happened. "It was close, but I don't get to sleep on Merrill. So you win for being a good pillow."

Fenris' lips twitch upward ever-so-slightly before he digs into his food. Caleb smirks; smiles from Fenris are rare and he always enjoys them when they occur. It is his unofficial goal to make Fenris smile and laugh as much as he can. He feels he hasn't been doing his job since they left Kirkwall. Both of them have been fairly quiet on their journey here, speaking only about which direction they might take.

They haven't talked about what happened. Caleb feels the need to do so, to clear the air in a way, but he doesn't know how to broach this topic. He knows Fenris is angry with him for sparing Anders. The two of them never got along and he knows they never will, but how could he kill Anders?

The two eat in silence.

It's been too quiet lately.

He misses the noise of Kirkwall, even if he was always busy. Even if it seemed like no one could solve their own problems. The place became home after staying there for so long, and meeting so many new people who eventually became the best friends he ever had. Now it is just him and Fenris.

That's fine, really. He loves Fenris; he is glad they are together.

But he misses the others. Varric, Merril, Isabela… even Anders. He is still angry with Anders and he isn't sure if he can quite forgive him for what he's done, for the war he started. A lot of innocent, good people died in that Chantry, and many fell on the battlefield that day. It will get worse.

And now Fenris is dragged into this as well.

He is happy Fenris is with him, but this doesn't seem fair. Fenris was getting a fresh lease on life, finally, after Danarius died and they got back together. Everything seemed wonderful. Now Fenris is dragged back into the action because of Anders. And Caleb. But mostly Anders.

He would have been caught in the war either way, no matter whose side he chose. But he chose Caleb's side, which in hindsight, he probably shouldn't have. Caleb would be hurt if Fenris chose the Templars over their love and their friend, but he would be able to understand it, too. Fenris was wary of mages; he didn't need this war. Now he is fleeing Kirkwall with a mage.

Things are going to get a lot worse, Caleb knows.

"Caleb?"

Caleb blinks, confused for a moment. Fenris so seldom says his first name that he isn't sure what to make of it when he does say it. It does make something melt in his heart, though, and leaves this warm feeling in his stomach. A smile slides over his face as he glances over at his lover.

Lover.

A chill slips down his spine in all the right ways.

"Yes?" Caleb asks.

Fenris doesn't quite frown, but he might as well be doing just that. "When are we leaving?"

"Whenever you want," Caleb says quietly, dragging his gaze away. It is hard to look at Fenris when he got him into this mess. He shouldn't have asked Fenris to join him as he defended the mages. But he himself is a mage; how could he not defend his own kind when he agreed with Anders? He agreed with Anders' defense of the mages, but he couldn't agree with the fact he blew up the Chantry just to get something started.

"We should leave soon," Fenris says. "It won't be long before word reaches this place. You are the Champion of Kirkwall; you are bound to be noticed."

Not to mention the fact people know the Champion of Kirkwall is a mage. An apostate. They will be looking for him and he will probably be easy to spot around here. Perhaps if they go further away, things will be okay and he won't have to worry about being noticed so much.

Again he feels guilty for dragging Fenris down with him. Now Fenris is on the run again, after doing too much of that in his remembered life already. Guilt gnaws semi-painfully at the pit of his stomach.

"We can go now," Caleb sighs. "If you're ready."

"I am ready."

Of course he is, Caleb muses as he looks around the tiny room. Fenris brought no personal belongings, really. They had very little time to escape the city before the Templars came to the Hawke Estate to find them. They packed quickly, only the necessities and what little things they wished desperately to take with them. Caleb took a necklace of his mother's and Bethany's doll she loved as a child. Sentimental things.

Fenris has no such things, so he brought with him only clothes. He didn't bother to unpack anything last night, so of course he is ready to leave. Caleb wishes he could ignore sentimental things like Fenris can. Perhaps it would be easier and better that way.

Sadly he can't just leave things behind – not things that remind him of better times, remind him of lost family members. Letting go isn't very easy.

Fenris has never had anything to hold on to, so maybe he doesn't understand.

They leave the inn within the next hour, and they are back on the road again.

xXx

Traveling has never been one of his favorite activities. Traveling to the Wounded Coast and back again, over and over, grew tedious and he found he rather hated it. And yet now he had no real destination in mind. He was merely running from a past he would change if he could. He's not sure what he would have done different, what he could have done differently; it's too late to change anything, anyway, so dwelling on it won't help anyone.

The silence is loud yet again. It rings in his ears and he finds another reason he dislikes traveling at this point in time. Before, when they traveled, he at least had others to talk to. Varric, Anders, Merrill, Isabela… He had his friends traveling with him too. Now it is just him and Fenris. The road is long and quiet and they have no set destination in mind. Simply running from a rebellion he's partially responsible for.

The two don't speak as they travel. There is little to say. Fenris has always been a man – elf – of few words, so his silence is almost appreciated. It is something familiar and inviting, something unchanged even after everything that has happened around them.

He does miss the noise, though. The noise of Kirkwall, the chatter of his companions as they journeyed to the Wounded Coast and back again. Yet again he is fleeing from a place he thought was home. First Lothering, now Kirkwall. It never seems to end.

When they stop for the night they are in a small clearing in the woods. The trees are towering and giant around them, giving them a sort of seclusion not offered along the road. It is truly off the beaten path and should be safe enough for one night. He's still not sure where they will go next, however.

He feels guilty about dragging Fenris into all of this with him. He's the mage here, not Fenris. Fenris shouldn't have to run with him. If Caleb was a better person, he'd end things here, let Fenris go, let him be free.

But he is not a better person. He is selfish, and he clings to this last bit of normalcy. If he is physically or mentally smothering the elf, Fenris hasn't said anything. He hopes he's not making him uncomfortable, but he does have doubts. Doubts which grow more every day.

"You know you don't need to come with me," he finds himself saying as they settle down for the night, sitting against a large tree trunk with their bags next to them on the ground.

Fenris merely raises that brow at him. He is very good at that – leveling him with a simple look, a mere lifting of one thick brow. When he tries it, it never seems to work. People just laugh and roll their eyes, and it just looks like he's pouting when he tries to be serious. Fenris is the king of quirky eyebrows, though.

"I'm just saying," he says somewhat defensively. "They're not after you. You're not a mage."

"You are," Fenris says simply, like it solves everything.

Caleb sighs and shakes his head, and then smiles at the elf. "I'm glad you're here, elf."

"Someone needs to watch your back, mage. You're not very adept at doing it yourself."

Caleb rolls his eyes. "One time. One time I forget to dodge a knife and none of you will let me live it down."

"Most would worry when their insides become their outsides."

"It wasn't that bad. It was a scratch, a cut. It only looked bad."

Fenris quirks that brow again. "And I assume the feel of blood squishing through my fingers is all in my imagination?"

"Yes, you're clearly delusional if you think that's what happened," Caleb says with a brief nod.

In truth he remembers the incident in question. Dealing with bandits in Lowtown at night grew tiresome. One time he grew careless, was exhausted after a long day of traveling to the Wounded Coast and back, and didn't have his head entirely in the fight. He missed the guy coming up behind him and spun too late. The slash of a blade missed his spine but left a rather nasty gash in his side.

After that things get a little fuzzy, and he blacked out before they could take him to Anders, but things worked out fine so there is really no need to bring it up again.

"So then, mage, what did happen?" Fenris asks, and his lips twitch ever-so-slightly, the barest hint of a smirk.

Caleb flashes him a toothy smile. "I manfully collapsed, feigning injury until the threat was eliminated."

"So in other words, you let us take care of the bandits while you lay on the ground."

"Pure laziness," Caleb confirms with a nod, smirking at the elf. "I never said I wasn't lazy. If it weren't for all those walks to the Wounded Coast and back I'd be a few stones heavier than I am now, let me tell you."

Fenris does his own equivalent of rolling his eyes, which is looking upward very briefly before refocusing on him, quirking that eyebrow again. "I see," he says in that wonderfully deep voice of his.

Caleb grins and slides a little closer to the elf.

For warmth, of course. It can get quite chilly at night through these parts.

Fenris doesn't fight him. Whenever the elf allows him to be this close to him, something in Caleb's chest loosens and he leaves him relaxing against the warm skin at his side. He's careful of the markings, of course. Careful not to touch them too harshly, even if it is an accident. He doesn't want to cause Fenris undue pain, after all. Or pain at all. Fenris has been through enough in his life so far without Caleb adding problems as well.

But isn't that what he's doing now?

What has magic touched that it hasn't spoiled?

Those words echo through his mind again. Fenris is right. Magic can be quite terrible, if used the wrong way. The bad thing is, there's a price for everything. Everyone always has a reason to do what they do. Who is to say who is wrong or right? Was Meredith right to demand the deaths of all the mages in Kirkwall because an apostate destroyed the Chantry? Was Anders right in blowing up the Chantry to start the mage rebellion, getting the mages to finally fight back any way they could? Was he himself right in allowing Anders to live, siding with the mages and ultimately killing Meredith?

Who is to say who is right or wrong?

All he knows at this point is the fact that magic is the cause of all of this. Of those particular events in Kirkwall. Elements of the Fade, or the Blight, demons and spirits… They all played a part in the downfall in Kirkwall, and it happens all over Thedas, not just in one city.

What has magic touched that it hasn't spoiled?

I don't know, he wants to say.

He closes his eyes, taking in a slow breath, attempting to find rest when his mind is still racing.

I just don't know anymore…

xXx

"Hawke."

Caleb blinks his eyes open slowly, sunlight filtering down through the leaves surrounding the clearing they're in. Fenris hovers over him, a veil of white hair falling over one large green eye as the elf looks down at him with something akin to a frown playing on his lips, one of the marks of the tattoos – lyrium tattoos, but still – stretched a little too much in one direction, giving him away.

"Hey," he says, smiling. "Good morning."

"You were having a nightmare," Fenris says without preamble, without returning his own 'good morning'.

"Oh… did I wake you?"

He does that sometimes.

Fenris eyes him as he scoots back enough to allow Caleb to sit up. "Is there something you wish to talk about?"

"Like what?" he asks through a yawn, stretching, arching his back to stretch tense, sore muscles. All of this traveling, sleeping on the hard ground, is getting to him. They never stay in one place long. They can't keep this up.

"You seem unsettled."

"How so?"

"You are not yourself lately."

Caleb shrugs as he pushes to his feet. "Kind of hard to be myself when I'm on the run, you know. That's kind of the point of being on the run – you have to hide."

Fenris' brows knit together in his version of a scowl. "You know that is not what I mean."

"Enlighten me, then."

"How are you?"

The question is so sudden it leaves him faltering. He frowns. "What?"

"How are you?" Fenris repeats. "It shouldn't be hard to answer. I assume you will say you are 'fine', but we both know that is a lie."

"Fenris…"

"Anders was your friend," Fenris says quietly. He has rare moments of sentimentality, when he just knows what is bothering him, and knows what to say and how to say it. It's part of why he loves him as he does. "There is no shame in this. You were not in the wrong, Hawke, he was. He is the one who betrayed your trust in him, not the other way around. You are not responsible for what he did; you are not responsible for the lives lost at the Chantry. You are not responsible for what happened after."

"I kind of am," he says quietly, looking down at the ground. His shoes are dirty. He will need to clean them soon or they will forever be caked in dirt and dust and mud. He rubs the toe of one shoe until the dirt ground, creating a small trail in its path.

"You are not responsible," Fenris repeats with that firm tone of his that brooks no argument. The elf can be quite stubborn. Arguing with him usually ends with Caleb having a migraine and giving into Fenris' wishes. He has finally met someone more stubborn than himself.

"I should have–" he starts but is cut off as Fenris stands right in front of him now. Fingers hook around his chin and lift his gaze and then he's looking into angry, burning green eyes.

"You should not," he says simply. "Anders did this. He is the cause of this. All you did was attempt to help a friend. Would you blame me if I did the same?"

Caleb sighs. "You would never help Anders."

"That is not the point. Would you blame me if I did everything you did? If I unknowingly helped Anders set a bomb in the Chantry? If I spared the life of a former friend?"

"Of course not," Caleb says. "You wouldn't have known, and you were trying to help, so–"

"Exactly," Fenris cuts back in, and those green eyes soften ever-so-slightly, going from a green leaves caught in a tropical storm to the color of grass on a warm summer's day. "Therefore it is not your fault."

Caleb sighs heavily. This is why he dislikes arguing with Fenris. He never seems to win. He smiles and wraps his arms around the elf, easily pulling the smaller frame off his feet, crushing their bodies together. Fenris releases a huff at the sudden movement but doesn't fight him.

"I'm happy you're with me," he finally says, still holding onto Fenris in a tight hug. "Even if… I think you should go."

Fenris stiffens in his grasp. "What did you say?"

"I just… You're not a mage. You don't need to be running like this, not after you finally had a home."

Fenris is quiet for a long moment, stiff in Caleb's arms. Neither of them move, or speak, or dare to breathe. This still silence settles of him and Caleb's heart races as he aches for someone to say something so he knows what to do next, because right now he truly has no idea.

"I have a home," Fenris says finally. "And it's not in Kirkwall."

Caleb all but sinks against the elf at those words, because he understands the meaning behind them. The things Fenris struggles to say. Fenris isn't good with expression his emotions verbally, but that is okay. Caleb himself isn't the best at it, either. But with him saying such a statement…

It is oddly satisfying, and seems to quell some of his fears.

If this is truly where Fenris wants to be, then Caleb can't just chase him off. Even if it was the right thing to do, he knows he can't find it in himself to make Fenris leave. He is too weak, too selfish. He clings too tightly.

Fenris makes it easy to cling.

The silence that surrounds them, now, is not awkward or unwanted.

It is comfortable, a lazy blanket over their shoulders shielding them from the world around them, from the chaos they left behind in Kirkwall. The chaos they are trying to outrun.

The silence will follow them wherever they go, lingering, reminding them of a different time. A time when the air was filled with eager chatter, the spaces around them filled with the rest of their companions.

He might not ever like this particular kind of silence.

But he can live with it, and he can grow used to it.

A/N: And there's that story. I was very loopy when I wrote the second half of this so I hope it sounds okay. Thanks for reading and please review!

~Muffy the Dough Slayer~