There were many things that Hawke enjoyed about living in an estate in Hightown. You were less likely to get mugged at night, for one, and she really couldn't complain about how lovely it was to be able to turn in after a long day, take a bath, and snuggle deep down in the warmth of her bed. The only issue was that if you lived in Hightown, you were expected to act like you lived in Hightown – like nobility. If you had the coin, you bloody well should be flaunting it every chance you got, or at least that's the impression she got from everyone else on this side of Kirkwall. Unfortunately, she was just not the type to run out every day to buy a fancy new dress because she'd already worn all the others. Actually, Hawke didn't have many dresses to speak of as they didn't exactly make for good armor. She usually ended up scuffed, bruised and dirty anyway, so what was the point of owning such things? The one she did own had only been purchased when she had to attend some party one night because, as Aveline had put it, 'the Champion should try to mingle with the people of Kirkwall'. Sometimes she felt cursed for having earned that blighted title in the first place – brought about way too much attention.

Now there was another party to attend and she sat glaring at her open wardrobe, blaming the singular dress for having started a trend.

"You've been in here for hours. Is there a problem?" Fenris' deep voice pulled her from her pouting.

"There's a party," she frowned as he stepped quietly over to her bedside and looked down at her.

"You do not wish to go." He didn't need to ask – he could already tell, even if she wasn't being so obvious about it. She shook her head. "Then don't."

"But I have to or people will be insulted."

"That's never bothered you before."

"Maybe not, but it's not that I don't like the party," she lifted her hands. "The food and drinks are fabulous and I get a lot of insight listening in on the gossip of the townsfolk. The problem is I get uncomfortable. It's like I don't belong there." Fenris had turned and settled down on the bed beside her now.

"I'll admit, thinking of you as some insufferable strutting lady of Hightown with her nose in the air is hard to picture."

"You don't like the idea of me strutting?" she asked coyly, tilting her head at him and he gave her one of his brief, airy chuckles.

"I understand, though," he said. "They still give me strange glances."

"Perhaps if we fitted you with a nice vest and a long coat with tails..." He curled up his lip at this and rolled his eyes beneath his dark brows.

"No, thank you."

Hawke tapped her knees with her fingertips, dancing around the subject she had actually hoped to bring up with him. Truth was, the last couple of parties she had been to there had been two things that had really rubbed her the wrong way. One, the parties more often than not included some fancy dancing and she was always teased in that not-so-polite way when she didn't come with a partner to join in. Secondly, Fenris' move into her estate, though she'd been prodding him for ages to do so and was glad he'd finally complied, had raised more than a few eyebrows. What manner of strange company was Serah Hawke keeping these days? Normally, she wouldn't give a damn about any of it, would have just sauntered out without a word, but some teeny tiny part of her wanted to rub it all back in their faces so badly. Champion or no, she had been aching to find a way to take the people of Hightown down a few notches and the only way to do that was to either humiliate them or outdo them. While she would have loved the prior, the latter seemed more poetic. Besides, that's how nobility handled these things.

So what better way to make her point than to walk in the door with the most handsome, mysterious, exotic elf in town on her arm (she knew he had admirers – and why not?), and show them how to properly burn up the dance floor? Of course, she was only somewhat trained in formal dance and had only just learned it since moving in to Hightown. Fenris, however, she couldn't be sure about. Somehow she doubted that dancing was high on Danarius' priority list for his bodyguard, right next to reading and writing. But if she could learn, than so could he.

Now, how to bring it up?

"What?" he asked warily as she gazed at him, the scheming thoughts swirling in her mind. She placed a hand over his on his knee.

"Fenris...," she said, using the most persuading tone she could manage. Fenris knew that look and was having none of it.

"Whatever you're thinking, put it right out of your head."

"Please, Fenris," she said, pressing her hands together, pleading and giving him puppy dog eyes. They were nowhere near as good as his, but she was determined to try. "Just go with me for one night and I won't feel so bad."

"Or you could simply not go." Hawke groaned.

"Come on. All you have to do is dress nice and stand around looking offish. You're good at that!" He offered her a prying look from beneath his wispy, white hair. "Okay, and dance, too... but that's it!"

"Hawke, I don't know how to dance."

"Me either, really. But we can learn – together!" He rose off the bed and Hawke quickly grabbed hold of the bottom of his tunic to prevent him from leaving. "Please, Fenris. I never ask you to do anything." She puffed out her lip when he looked at her and he made an irritated noise in his throat as he looked away again.

"I never enjoyed being shown off like a trophy for Danarius. What makes you think I want to do it for you? I have nothing to prove to these people, and neither do you."

"That's not fair," Hawke said, standing and rounding him to take his armored hands in her own. The gauntlets always made them look so much bigger than they actually were. She had come to know them as strong, yet slender things with delightfully nimble fingers. The idea of them holding her during a tango or waltz was enchanting, which was in part why she actually rather liked the idea. Her voice became soft as she searched for eye contact with him. "Just try... for me..." She huffed a breath when he pointedly avoided looking at her. She'd played nice but now it was time for a different tactic. "Fine. If that's how you want it, you don't have to." Her hands slipped from his and lifted in the air in defeat. Fenris, puzzled by her willingness to give up so easily, blinked a couple of times and granted her a suspicious look.

"Why?"

"Because you obviously don't want to. Besides...," she turned away as a mischievous grin crawled over her lips. "I'm sure Anders wouldn't mind escorting me. I've heard tale that he's got an interesting 'Spicy Shimmy'. I'm sure he could pick up some new steps in no time."

As she had hoped, the naughty girl she was, Fenris' hand clamped down on her shoulder and whirled her around, catching her by the waist. Well, at least he was off too a promising start – it was something he had done many a time and the grace came like second nature. As per the usual when he was feeling a tad possessive, he said nothing, but instead pulled her lips to his with a hand at the back of her neck. These kisses were some of her favorite, a subtle and passionate reminder to let her know that he didn't plan on sharing her with anyone. It was fiery, made her tingle from head to toe, and drove the point home with a swift ghosting of his tongue over her lower lip.

"Why do you vex me so?" he asked, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Because I know, deep down, you love it when I'm a tease," she smiled. He gave a heavy sigh against her mouth and lifted his eyes to hers.

"What would you have me do?" came his resignation. Hawke did her best not to fall into a fit of gleeful clapping and high-pitched noises.

"We have a couple of weeks yet, but I've found a dance instructor. I met up with him at the Hanged Man. He's going to be stopping by tomorrow," she said brightly.

"The Hanged Man?" Fenris asked, raising a brow. "Are you certain he's a dance instructor?" There were many cons in Lowtown that would claim to be whatever you wanted if it meant they could get your coin. Hawke was a bit disappointed he thought she would be so naïve. She rested her hands on her hips.

"Yes. I'm not about to just pick someone up off the street, Fenris. Trust me."

"Ah! Greetings and good day to you!" Fenris gave the elf at the door a very unamused look.

"Oh! Hello, Zevran!" Hawke called from the stairs as she trotted down.

"Excellent! You are both here and we may-" SLAM.

"Fenris, don't be rude!" Hawke said, reopening the door.

"Eh-ha," Zevran smiled. "Good to see we are not afraid to let the emotion show!" As he strode in, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, Fenris threw Hawke a look.

"What?" she asked, shrugging up her shoulders.

"An assassin, Hawke?" he grunted.

"He's not just an assassin! Isabela told me he's very talented in many things."

"And that made you think of dancing?" he asked, incredulous.

"It's true!" Zevran interjected, stepping up beside them. "There are many things that one must know to be an effective assassin. It's not all poison and knifing in the dark. Half the fun comes from getting there."

Fenris did not seem impressed, nor convinced. Hawke reached up and turned his leering expression away from Zevran with a gentle press of her hand.

"Just...give it a shot. For me," she cooed and he groaned deep in his throat before pulling back and stalking away. Hawke gave a sigh and folded her arms as she and Zevran watched him go.

"He is...wound very tight," the assassin noted.

"Not always."

"Ah," he grinned knowingly, cocking a brow. "The angry, silent type by day and rife with passion by night. This is promising." Hawke raised her own brow at his tone, wondering if he was speaking about dancing or something else entirely. It wasn't really surprising, though. This was one of Isabela's acquaintances after all. He pulled his attentions away from Fenris' retreating form and gave her a playful smile. "Shall we, then, my dear Champion?"

Fenris never could fathom the amount of outrageous things this woman had gotten him into. It was even harder to believe that he had actually agreed to half of it. For all this training and years of becoming an immovable force to be reckoned with, it was a pair of soft brown eyes and slightly quirked lips that were his downfall. No matter how he tried to be angry with her he could never sustain it long before that ache to have her near returned. He could only assume that this was one of many trials he had to endure as a free man. If only it didn't have to involve this damned elf that seemed way too happy all the time.

"Hands up, nice and strong. Yes, like that." Fenris watched him bustle about their forms as they stood with the palms of one hand pressed together, the others resting just lightly at their respective shoulder blades. "Now... let's try the first few steps, on my count..."

Fenris listened to the beat and time Zevran set, gave a breath and tried to push Hawke backward as he'd seen the elf demonstrate. For some reason the action was not quite so smooth, and he found himself stepping directly into her, chest to chest, as she stumbled in an attempt to follow his lead. When he tried to continue despite this, it only resulted in Hawke losing balance altogether and he had to grasp her under her arms to keep her from falling. He caught her eyes as she stabilized herself again, knowing the frustration must have already been showing on his face by how she bit down on her lip. She always did that when she was worried he was getting fed up with something. She was only partially right – he'd actually been fed up the moment Zevran had showed up at the door.

"Sorry, I'm being clumsy," she said, making light and quickly taking the blame. Zevran stood, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with his fingertips.

"Fenris – I can call you Fenris, yes?" he asked, stepping a little too close for comfort – which was any distance, to be honest. "I think I see the trouble. You are trying to force the lovely lady where you want to go. You should be guiding her like a gentle breeze and let her move. Here, like this." He stepped in between them then, taking the position that he and Hawke had been in before and began moving her around the courtyard stone effortlessly, almost as if they were floating. They repeated the very same steps he had just taught them, over and over, a few meager steps, and Fenris felt a tinge of jealousy rear up inside him. Hawke seemed to have no trouble following Zevran's lead, she was even smiling.

Fenris crossed his arms as they came to a stop before him and Zevran flourished with a bow to Hawke. When he moved to lean in and kiss her hand, Fenris shoved his way between them before lips could meet skin, shoving Zevran back and reclaiming his role as lead.

"Perhaps we should try to take it slower," Hawke suggested and Fenris felt both thankful and scornful at the same time. He didn't want a crutch, didn't want to feel inferior in front of Zevran. He would admit none of his insecurities and just concentrated on Hawke instead. She seemed so eager for him to succeed and was more than willing to accommodate whatever it was he needed to do so. Fenris simply wanted this to be over with.

Zevran slowed his count upon Hawke's request, and it seemed to help. Fenris didn't crash into her this time, but instead found his head in a jumble trying to remember and preempt every move. Zevran made dancing look like it should have come as second nature, but that couldn't have possibly been so. He was an assassin and was trained in illusion and trickery, something Fenris was almost certain was involved. Somewhere in his over-thought and rigid movements, left became right and forward became backward and the tripping started again.

"Venhedis!" he swore, pulling his hands from Hawke's in agitation.

"You're doing great, Fenris," she tried to soothe.

"No," he said. "I am not made for this, Hawke. I was trained to wield a sword and kill, not dance."

"So was I, and yet I can dance just fine," Zevran pointed out, but it didn't seem to help in the slightest.

"No one asked you," Fenris sneered.

"It's not so different from a battle, Fenris," Hawke said. "You learned how to wield your blade as though it were and extension of yourself. It's like that."

"I also shatter the bones of my enemies by smashing my blade into them. Do you suggest I do the same with you?" Hawke cocked her head with a look that said that really wasn't what she meant. He knew it, but he wasn't feeling terribly agreeable at the moment.

"Now you're just being snarky. Here, let's try again." She lifted her hands and beckoned him with her fingers.

"No, Hawke," he said gruffly. "I am done with this."

"You can't be done with it! We just started!" He turned away from her and headed for the house, hearing her shout after him. "What about the party?"

"Not my problem."

"Blast!" Hawke declared, sitting down on the stone bench at the left of the steps to the courtyard. "I had hoped this would go better."

"There is no need to worry, dear lady," Zevran said. "I am sure he will be back."

"You don't know Fenris," she sighed, resting her chin in a hand. "When he doesn't want to do something he reallymakes it a point not to do it."

"And yet he made the attempt to do it for you anyway. No, I think there is still hope. I have not yet forgotten the look he gave me when I tried to work my charms with you. It seemed as though he wanted to do some very unsavory things to me." He gave a vibrant laugh and then raised his brows with a wry smile. "He will be back, if only to make sure I do not have my way with you."

"Hm, I'd watch yourself," Hawke chuckled. "He has a nasty trick up his sleeve that I doubt you'd like to be on the receiving end of."

"Ah, but I do so love living on the dangerous side," he replied, eyes glinting. "But that is for another time, my dear lady. Shall we continue your lesson?" Hawke nodded and rose to her feet to find the placement of her hands again. Fenris was a bit taller than Zevran, she realized as she came eye to eye with the elf. He pulled her back into the gentle rhythm of their steps again, looking as though he was enjoying it all immensely. "You are very natural at this, I must say."

"Thank you. So are you."

"Mmm. Dancing is one of my favorite things to do. There is little to compare with a gorgeous woman moving so carefree in one's arms."

"I wish Fenris felt that way," she said with a small frown.

"He does," he insisted as he rested his hand at her opposite hip and led her around him. "He will realize this, also, as soon as he stops worrying about his feet and focuses on the beauty before him.

"You are a smooth-talker, aren't you?" Hawke smirked.

"Guilty, as charged, but I assure you, all of it's true." They slowed to a stop and he bowed again, Hawke chuckling and offering a curtsy.

Fenris watched on edge from the bedroom window above, thrusting the drapes over it before sitting down on the bed. Of all the things she could have asked of him – why dancing? He'd submitted to her insistence that mages were not all bad, slain a thousand foes at her side, and finally relented to her constant hinting at how much she would love it if he would just abandon the old mansion and stay with her always. He didn't understand why she continued to attend these parties when her distaste for them was so great, when she felt she didn't belong. Hawke knewwhere she belonged, and it wasn't with nobles with nothing better to do than scoff and jeer when someone wore the wrong color for the season. She deserved so much better than that.

He was still easing into the idea of being free, so maybe it was that in itself that made him so adamant about not trying so hard to please others. He had always voiced his opinions openly whether people wanted to hear them or not. Too many years had been spent bowing and saying little beyond 'yes, master' and once he was out of Danarius' reach he worked his hardest to remedy that. Hawke was not demanding in her requests, by any means, always giving him the choice to do as he pleased. The trouble with her was that he typically wanted to do just about everything she asked, a quality he once would have attributed to weakness, if not for the fact he knew it was love.

Rising from the bed, he stepped soundlessly about the room as the discomfort of being less-than crawled thought him. He replayed the motions from the courtyard in his head over and over, wondering where he had gone wrong. With no one to watch him he attempted to recreate Zevran's grace, the absence of a partner creating less chance he would step on any toes. The sound of footfalls on the steps made him stumble and scramble for the nearest chair. He pulled the book off the nearby table into his lap and did his best to look submerged in its writing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawke enter.

"Zevran's gone," she said. He grunted a vague response and watched her come closer. "How's the book?"

"Fine," he said and only looked at her when she crouched in front of him, her hands on the edge of the book's pages.

"I think you should give it another try, love," she said. "I think you'll be really good at it once you catch on. I mean, look how well you're doing with your reading."

"Yes, because it has a practical purpose," he said.

"Dancing is practical."

"Enlighten me, then," he said, pulling the book from her and closing it before standing to return it to the table. "So far, all I've heard is you want to learn how so you can show off to the Hightown elite."

"Don't say it like that," she said, rising to her feet. "And that's not the only reason. Dancing is a wonderful way to be romantic, too."

"I fail to see how prancing about like a fool could be anything but mortifying."

"You enjoy sparring with me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And how often has thatended up with us tangled in my bed sheets?" Fenris tilted his head to the side, expression becoming wary but intrigued at the memory.

"That is adrenaline talking."

"Maybe," she murmured as she began to round him, light on the balls of her bare feet. "Or is it that you enjoy watching the way I move?" Fenris' eyes followed her form as she rounded him, arms folded over his chest. On her third pass, his hand flew out and caught her by the hip, whirling her back up against his front, holding her there.

"I do, I'll admit," he said lowly by her ear. "But these dances we do are for us alone... I cannot help you, Hawke."

As much as Hawke would have liked to press the matter further, she could not bring herself to do it. Fenris had given her so much thus far, confiding in her and daring to trust her with his cautious heart. Dancing was not enough to make her want to challenge this, so she let it be and continued meeting Zevran on her own. The assassin expressed his disappointment at the decision, but seemed more than happy to have her all to himself in the meantime. Every so often, when he got a little too friendly, Fenris would spontaneously appear to sit and watch. He made it no secret he had his eyes on Zevran and his busy hands.

After one such lesson, as Hawke retreated into the manor to retrieve something to drink after exerting herself, Fenris prevented Zevran from following her with a hand to his chest as he tried to climb the steps.

"You're starting to try my patience, elf," he said with a warning tone. "You are here to teach her to dance, not to touch her in such an intimate manner."

"My dear Fenris," Zevran began.

"Do not call me that."

"Very well, but as I was going to say, that is what dancing is. It is veryintimate. And it is no fault of mine that you have decided to remove yourself from the picture." Fenris growled and threw Zevran against the wall, pinning him there with his gauntlet blazing and ready to leave him heartless on the stone below. Zevran didn't even have the courtesy to look upset at this, the same smug look glued on his face.

"If you dare to touch her like that again, I swear..."

"What are you afraid of, Fenris?" Zevran said, voice still playful but with a hint of something else beneath his tone. "You are ready to take my head, and yet you refuse to declare to the world that you love her."

"What?" he snarled.

"Is she not worth it, my friend? Were it me, I would not hesitate to take that beautiful creature out in front of those nobles and show them exactly the passion they are missing. You dislike how I touch her, how she moves to my whims...Then I suggest you act." Fenris suddenly became aware of the dagger pressing into the side of his abdomen, glancing down at the blade tilted and ready to cut through his thin tunic, armor, skin and bone. Turning his eyes back to Zevran, he glared and the elf smirked deviously.

"I brought some cold – hey, what's going on?" Hawke said as she returned, a tray of drinks in her hands. Fenris and Zevran quickly moved away from each other, lyrium fire dissipating and dagger sliding discreetly back into its leather strap. Hawke's brow raised, suspicious. "Everything okay?"

"Just fine, my sweet," Zevran said, emphasizing the last words as he stepped up to greet her. Fenris subdued the rage in himself, Zevran's words repeating in his mind. Why would he accuse Fenris of being afraid to openly express his love for Hawke? Not that it was anyone's business, but he would not have hesitated to admit it to anyone. Was the former Crow baiting him, trying to make him fight for her? He knew she was smart enough to see through his endless and obvious flirtations. She had told Fenris time and again that she only had eyes for him and he believed her, but that didn't make him like Zevran's mannerisms any better. That didn't mean this challenge would go unanswered.