Vivianne Hawke was sitting in her armchair, almost curled up to herself, her head resting on her knees. Since those words, her evening felt ruined all of a sudden. It shouldn't have: she, Anders, Fenris and Carver had come back victorious, holding Corypheus spoils, plus, she and Carver had shared a nice brotherly moment. She, Carver and Mother had exchanged tales about Father, had laughed together like a real family regardless his templar allegiance and the magic running into her blood. Why did Mother have to ruin their perfect day?

You and Carver are wasting Malcom's actions. Please, don't let your resentment get stronger than your love. Try harder, for your father.

Yep. She had enjojed her evening until Mother, after Carver had left, had presented her with that plead. Vivianne snorted, causing Wolf to half-open one eye and look quizzically at her. She hadn't meant to dig up those memories. To think back at when Carver was still a whiny boy hidden in her own shadow, and yet still her little brother instead of her little templar brother. Despite his deep rooted frustration for not being a mage in a family of mages, Carver had earned her esteem. Even more. Vivianne never dared to tell anyone, but all her jokes and her standing up for the family on her own feet, her acting like the "lady of the house" were just a way to show him how strong she could be. He had been her knight in shining armor for a long time, a young man deserving more than life had offered, a bit bruised but still kind- hearted and loving. In fact, after Father's death Carver had been the only man left in her life to trust and rely on until... Vivianne gasped, eyes widened like if a ghost had popped up beside her. A look in the mirror in front of her reflected back her scared eyes and an upset look on her face. A glance weirdly contrasting with her blonde hair, perfectly arranged in three braids entwined on her head. So much discomfort, and so much order. She couldn't let that thought come up, let alone give it voice. Panicked, the girl fled from her own reflection and stood abruptly up. She looked around, desperately searching for something which could chase away those memories. Her glance the same of a cornered prey. A sigh of relief made through her lips, when her fingers found one of Leandra's gifts on the night table, a novel she had cherished many times. Struggling for any kind of antidote against the memories the forbidden continuation of that sentence had revived, she curled up in bed, still clothed in her armor and all, and opened her book on a random page. Only to find herself gasping at the very sight of those words.

My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.

She slam the book closed. And she immediately bit her lip, full of shame: that was Mother's gift, that novel so full of annotations and so lively, so clearly read again and again. Cherished. With a remorseful sigh, Vivianne caressed the yellowish pages with her fingertips before dropping it gently on the floor, the pages facing the floor. Almost simultaneously, a mabari's head popped up from under the bed, and Wolf jumped straight on the bed sliding under the sheets right after, only his intelligent eyes visible. The sight was enough to steal the girl a brief smile.

"Come on, big boy. You know Anders doesn't want you under the sheets, and he might be back very soon" she said, jokingly, without any intention to move the dog away and instead, in fact, brushing his big head. Was that a pang of guilt?She wondered if Wolf had sensed her hurt and discomfort, and knew how badly she needed a hug.

Do you ever wonder what he thinks about?

Her hard earned smile dropped. And this time, guilt stung hard. She could almost hear his chocolate melting voice, see him wondering about Wolf's intelligence. Vivianne's panicking eyes wandered at the door. "Please, don't come home now" she whispered to herself hugging Wolf tight. And there she was, a child naive enough to act like not being surprised by Anders with those memories floating in her brain could be even remotely enough to solve everything. Vivianne, her head resting on Wolf's though neck, waited patiently for what, she knew very well by now, was about to feel. And welcomed her rage and resentment towards Fenris with resignation.

There was denying it. Carver had been the only man left in her life to trust and rely on until the day she and her friends took Anso's job. Carver, Anders and Varric had look worried at the sight of a man able to tear one's heart apart from a chest tearing up his armor. Not her. Her instinct had made her see hurt, angst and fear, emotions hidden under a facade and in those green eyes, revealed in that soft, hesitant way he had asked their help.

Seems like a waste of a perfectly handsome elf.

That adorable, shy giggle had been the confirmation. She had known from the start: though he didn't share her view on mages, he was not one to back up from any kind of confrontation, he was a good man brave enough to fight for his friends and himself. Step by step, an evening after another, her fascination had become affection and a her affection had become love. She had never been scared to admit it, and for three years she had been oblivious to Ander's feelings and had shrugh her friend's concern about how Fenris was "damaged" off. None of that mattered. She had never been in love before, how could she? An apostate always on the run, no chance to bond with anyone. And yet she instinctively recognized her own feeling. For three years, she had drunk every smile, every laugh, every argument they had shared, every single time waiting to be held in his arms and led, for the first time in her life, to bed by a man. The man she had grown to love.

Vivianne almost crumpled under the weight of that memory, fighting hard to swallow back her bile and her bitter tears.

I have been thinking of you. In fact, I've been unable to think of little else. Command me to go and I shall.

This should never have happened in the first place.

It was all she could think about. Haunted by those two opposite declarations echoing all around her brain, Vivianne couldn't take it anymore. The disappointment, the rage, the pain took over her and she threw the book against the wall. Blasted. If only Fenris was more like the book's character, Heathcliff, and wasn't still so kind and protective towards her. If only she could hate him, instead of being simply so resentful and suffering such a raging pain. In only he didn't comment on her and Anders, pointing out how prone she was to follow "crazy tainted people advice". If only she could understand him and his ways.

And as her bitter tears reached her eyes, Vivianne knew. She was trapped in resenting Fenris and blaming him for not being the man she thought she knew anymore, without being able neither to hate him or forgive him. Just like Carver, Fenris had become a different person. One able to throw her away like garbage then being the kindest man in the world, even in disagreeing with her. The other signing up for the templars and shed his own skin. She had lost the two men of her life, and she had to turn to someone else to keep walking, to be the Qunari ambassador the Viscount expected her to be.

Sniffing, her cheeks still burning with the salt of her tears, Vivianne dropped a kiss on Wolf's head and dragged herself out of bed, unfastening her armor and getting ready for sleep. Anders would have been back soon, and she couldn't bare her heart to him. Not yet. He wouldn't have understood: he would have mistook her resentment for love, he would have been hurt and jealous. And she couldn't mistreat who had remained by her side since her life had fallen apart, to the first man who ever treated her like she was his precious treasure. The man she had grown fond of, first as a friend and then as a lover, the only one who shared all her ideals and dreams. Regardless of Justice.

And yet, as Vivianne slipped under the blanket side by side with Wolf and finally sleep had almost took a hold on her, a thought tickled her mind. What if she was bound to Fenris just like Catherine Earnshaw was inevitably entangled with Heathcliff? What if she was never to be free from his hold over her? What if her feelings for Anders were doomed to change and pale in time like he was another Linton?