Rating: T, for a few mild swear words. And some sensuality, I suppose.

Disclaimer: Bioware owns it all. Sometimes even my soul, I think. *sigh.

a/n: I always thought the demon encounter for Hawke in the Fade was really weak. I know he's a sloth demon, and hell, his name is Torpor, but mages like Feynriel don't come along every day. I always thought he'd try a little bit harder. This was an exploration of my Hawke; I'm trying to get a feel for how she thinks, and of course, for her relationships.

I love your reviews! *hint, hint* Constructive crit is always welcome.

The sky shone a bright, brilliant blue above me as I ran through the familiar pasture, a carefree laugh bubbling up from within me as the tall, green grass tickled my knees.

"Wait!" Bethany called, her own laughter escaping in breathless huffs as she leaned over, her hands resting on her knees. "Too...fast. Can't...breathe."

I did stop, my toes digging into the soft ground, and looking back, I squinted through the bright sunlight over my shoulder. "We're almost there," I said. "Maybe if you hadn't eaten so many of Mother's tarts last night..."

A handful of dirt came out of nowhere and pelted the side of my face. Sputtering, I frantically wiped at my skin while spitting out little pieces of rock. Bethany starting laughing hysterically, even as she began to back away from me.

"Papa's going to kill you," I said, somewhat shocked at her liberal use of magic in the open. Reaching out with my hand, I smirked. "But if that's how you want to play it..."

The scene before me began to shift, the blue of the sky fading into a lighter purple, the grass receding into the ground to leave crumbling stone. Bethany's frozen form disappeared in a haze of purple light, fading into the brightness that continued to change in intensity. Details of the scenery around me began to reveal themselves and I found myself standing on the Imperial Tevinter Highway outside of Lothering in the fading summer light.

The thick, heavy thud of a fist hitting flesh sounded through the air as two figures appeared next to me. A farmhand from a neighboring farm, Simon Sharp, stumbled backwards from the force of the blow, his face snapping back almost comically.

Carver followed his punch with a threatening step forward, glaring down at the cringing boy in disdain. "If you ever touch my sister again, I'll kill you." Turning away from Simon with a sneer of disgust, he looked to me. "C'mon, Charley."

With a look born of the deepest loathing, I glared at the boy on the ground as I followed Carver's terse command. Wiping away the unpleasant sensations that lingered from my mouth and chin, I fell in step beside my brother, stealing a side-long glance at him. Carver kept a fast pace, anger written into the tense lines of his shoulders.

Taking a breath, I tried to cut through the awkwardness I was feeling. "I don't kno-"

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me. "Why didn't you tell me that he was bothering you?"

Taken aback by the question, I fumbled for an answer. "I didn't really think you cared."

"Well, I do," he said curtly, beginning to walk again. I had to jog to catch up to him, my mind a mired mess of confusion at his surprising intervention. Slowly the anger began to fade from his body and expression, and he slowed his step slightly so I could keep up.

A pleased smile was starting to tug at my lips, and I bumped into his arm playfully. "You like me. Admit it."

He snorted, pushing my arm and making me stumble sideways. "Don't be stupid."

I only smiled, my mood brightening despite the evening's events. It didn't matter what he said; I could still see the way Simon had held his jaw, tears in his eyes. Nothing Carver could say could ruin that image for me.

"I don't even know why that sap wanted to kiss you, seeing as how you're... you. I didn't know boys went for freckled and ugly and annoying."

The slight smirk in his voice was the only thing that saved him from being tossed with magic into the Goran Farm pond. Instead, to express my displeasure, I punched him on the side of his arm, hard.

"Ow," he cried, bring a hand up to rub the offending spot. Even in the dying light, I could see the sudden glimmering of a devious light in his eye, and I stopped in alarm, my muscles preparing to run in the other direction.

I was too slow, however, and he pounced at me, grabbing me by the shoulders and dragging me forward, forcing my head under his arm.

"Ew! Disgusting!" I cried, my indignation muffled underneath the smelly heat of his armpit. I beat against his arm with all the strength I possessed, but he only laughed at my futile attempts to free myself. With his other hand, he dragged his knuckles back and forth roughly across my scalp, heedless of my outraged cry. Resisting the urge to zap him, which would only land me in a world of trouble with Father, I dug my fingers into his side.

He released me with a girlish cry, the muscles of his abdomen contracting in immediate defense. I stumbled away from him, laughing in triumph. "And here I thought only girls and babies were ticklish," I said mockingly as I smoothed my ruffled hair.

"I am not ticklish! I only let you go so you wouldn't start crying."

I rolled my eyes in disgust at this pathetic excuse, but in a rare show of tolerance, I didn't negate it. As we started towards home again in what could almost be called a companionable silence, I thought on how he'd stood up for me. Warm feelings that had nothing to do with the night began to spread through my chest. I supposed I could let him have this one, just this once.

The world came to a grinding halt again, the scene beginning to melt away. An ache touched my heart as the memory was taken away, and I stood in an endless stretch of purple haze and light. I turned around, searching for some sort of landmark, only to trip over a small, wooden stool.

"Careful," Father chided gently, reaching a hand out to steady me.

I scowled down at the offending piece of furniture, resisting the urge to give it a resentful kick. The number of times I had tripped over the stupid thing, I couldn't even count.

"We could burn it," I suggested, looking up hopefully. "You keep saying I need more practice with my fire spells."

"Or you could just learn to stop tripping over your enormous feet," Carver said, inserting his own helpful suggestion from the table with a smirk.

I glared at him. "At least one of us is growing," I retorted, pleased when he blushed angrily.

"That's enough from both of you," Father interrupted sternly, giving a resigned shake of his head. He looked to me. "In a way, your brother is right. Although his tone left something to be desired," he said with a meaningful glance to his son. "You must learn to step carefully. Stumbling in the wrong situation can bring unwanted attention to your presence, which is what you should always be vigilant to avoid."

"I didn't do it on purpose," I muttered resentfully, looking downward so the slight roll of my eyes wouldn't be noticeable. The lectures on being unremarkable, about staying hidden in plain sight never ended, despite the fact that I had heard them all a thousand times. In fact, I could repeat some of his favorites word-for-word. Don't wear bright colors. Don't be attractive, but don't be ugly, either. Don't laugh, but don't be too timid. My entire life was a slew of endless rules that constricted around me until I wanted to scream.

"I know it's hard," Father said, interrupting my inner tirade with a gentle voice. He laid a sympathetic hand on my shoulder, and he looked so sad for a moment that I felt my anger dwindling. "The cost of freedom is high, Charlotte." His eyes left mine to travel around the room, resting on each of member of our family by turn. "But don't ever forget that the rewards are worth the price."

I smiled weakly, nodding my head as if I were in agreement. I wasn't exactly sure anything was worth the price of Carver.

I turned to go to the kitchen, where Mother and Bethany were preparing dinner, but Father caught my shoulder again, leaning down to put his mouth close to my ear. "After we eat, we'll sneak that rotten stool out back and blast it to pieces."

My smile was genuine this time as he let me go. I stepped forward to take my place chopping vegetables, but when I reached forward for a potato, my hand grasped air. Tears stung my eyes as I whirled around, seeking that beloved face just one more time.

"He is here no longer," a voice said from the depths of the mists. "But I can bring him back, if you wish."

I wanted to close my eyes against the pain, but instead I searched the purple for the source of the voice. My sense of loss was overwhelming, a void so wide and so deep it threatened to swallow the bright red fury that now pumped through my veins.

"My father is dead," I said, keeping my voice cold and controlled.

"What is death to a spirit of the Fade?" the voice scoffed. "It is merely a transitioning from one plane to another- it is more a birth than a death, truly."

I smiled grimly. "Except you only forced me into reliving my memories. That is hardly gaining my father back."

"But is a return to your old life not what you seek? To be surrounded by those that love and support you? You crave the carefree days before the Blight destroyed all that you knew, when your life was simple and easy. No responsibilities, no pain, no loss."

The words wove themselves through my mind, caressing the deepest parts of me I kept hidden, even from myself. Before I had been forced to Kirkwall, I had never appreciated my life in Lothering. I had craved all the things I had been denied: luxury, adventure, freedom from the incessant rules. A vision of the Amell estate flashed before my eyes, mocking me from the depths of my memories. And now I had it all, everything I had thought I wanted.

All around me rose the walls of my Kirkwall home, replacing the purple mists. The fireplace crackled cheerfully, casting light on the fine things that I had bought with my new-found wealth. My potions and weapons were scattered out across my worktable, along with the various trophies had I discovered along the course of my adventures. A templar shield was propped up against my writing table, upon which was heaped piles of unopened correspondence. And in the corner my mother sat, her face creased in pain. Tears ran down her ashen cheeks in quick succession to fall into her lap. In her hands she held the miniature oil paintings father had given her on a birthday long past; I didn't need to look closer to know what she saw. Bethany would be smiling shyly from the canvas, her black hair falling around her face in careless curls. Father would be depicted the other painting. No smile lit his features, but I had always imagined a slight twinkle in his eye. Carver, as lost to us as irrevocably as Father and Bethany, looked out from his painting propped up on a nearby table. My painting was nowhere to be found.

"Not very subtle, are you?" I whispered bitterly, unable to remain impartial to the scene. "Take it away. I have no need of your cruel reminders."

The imagery began to fade, piece by agonizingly slow piece, with the striking image of my mother's grief the last to disappear.

"What wouldn't you do to take the pain from her eyes? You remember how she used to be; you remember the life that once exuded from her. Until you failed her. If it weren't for you, both Bethany and Carver would be with her still. And you would deny her even now, after all you have done-"

"Now you're just selling too hard," I said, my attempt at a light tone failing miserably. My voice was hard and even as I stared into the emptiness. "I refuse your deal, demon."

"Perhaps I underestimated the priority of your desires," it said, its voice contemplative. "Perhaps what you desire is closer at hand- a much more attainable wish."

Apprehension prickled along the back of my neck, a fear for what I might see growing in my belly as I waited for the construction of the newest fantasy. Nothing erupted around me, however. Instead, a voice sounded from behind me, low and intimate.

"Hawke."

I closed my eyes briefly even as I began to turn, unable to resist the yearning that sprung to life in my chest.

I opened my eyes to a familiar shock of white hair framing a very familiar set of green eyes. What was not all that familiar, however, was the conspicuous lack of armor and weaponry that I had rarely had occasion to see him without. He stood before me, alone in the nothingness, wearing only a pair of white linen trousers, leaving the trail of lyrium tattoos that covered his chest and arms open to my eyes. The need to touch and be touched by him threaded through me, calling to me like an addiction. My breath caught as I fought the cascade of feeling that descended upon me, leaving me unable to utter the words I needed to dispel this newest fantasy. With smooth, sinuous steps he approached me, and Maker help me if I didn't want him closer. A part of me was screaming to be heard, but it was easily lost in the myriad of emotion and pure want.

When he was close enough to touch, he stopped. The few inches felt like miles as my body cried for his touch. The heat from his body seemed to sear into my skin, burning me with the responding heat that spread rampant within me. Remembrance of our shared night was unrestrained in my memories, and I longed to run my fingers along his warm skin, to hear his intake of breath at the intimacy of my touch.

"I have been a fool," he whispered, his voice low and raw, bringing to life the words I had desperately longed to hear since the night he left.

When he raised his hand to cup my cheek, I didn't protest, instead leaning my head into his touch, a tiny sound of contentment escaping me. His hand snaked around to the back of my head, tilting my face upwards to meet his. I whimpered as our lips met, a brief, ghosting touch that left me hungering for more.

"His desire for you is great," the voice said in a low, seductive whisper. "A simple nudge is all that is needed to return him to your arms. Nothing but a simple persuasion, and he is yours."

Fenris's breath on my cheek muddled my thoughts, stealing my attempts at coherence. A sense of wrongness was growing within my breast, but I couldn't understand it, and his mouth trailing across my cheek chased away any desire to do so.

"Do not deny me your love," he said against my ear. "With you at my side, I can finally know the happiness that has eluded me since Danarius branded me." His voice was nothing more than a throaty whisper, his lips tickling my ear as they moved. "Don't leave me alone to my pain, Charley. I can't bear facing another day without you."

The heat of his mouth pressed against the hollow of my neck, and I blinked in confusion as his words began to clear through the fog of desire. Charley? He hated my boyish nickname. Gasping, I pulled myself backward, stumbling over my feet in my haste. My chest heaved as if I had just run a long distance, and I fought a wave of nausea over what I had almost done.

"He would never call me that," I said in cold anger, staring at the apparition that now watched me with an air of detachment. I stared into the demon's eyes with seething rage, unable to believe that I'd nearly been swept up in its deception. "I am done with your games."

Before it could react, I expelled a burst of fire from my fingers. The fury in my breast caused my magic to be strong and wild, and the fire branched out in a wider range than usual. I lost sight of the Fenris doppelganger amidst the bright orange flame, but I drew another spell to my fingertips, preparing to fling it in its general direction.

A chorus of cries reached my ears, and I took a step backward in confusion, calling my magic back as I looked around for the source of the sounds. The world around me exploded in light, and I cried out, shielding my eyes against the intensity.

"Watch where you point those things!"

I lowered my arm cautiously, opening my eyelid a sliver to see out. "Isabela?"

"Who did you think?" she asked, her voice heavily sarcastic as she beat her blue bandana against her knee, smothering the tiny flames.

Still guarded, I looked around me. I had returned the courtyard that I had first encountered the demon Torpor, surrounded by my three companions, but what was to say that this wasn't another vision? They had spread out in an effort to escape the flame, and now stood absorbed in the aftermath. Varric was running his hands lovingly over Bianca, a worried crease between his brows as he murmured gently to "her". Fenris stood back from the other two, his sword drawn, his posture tense as if he were waiting for me to attack again.

I felt my mouth draw down in wry humor as I relaxed. If Fenris was treating me like an abomination-in-waiting, I was definitely back in reality.

"Sorry," I said, wincing as I surveyed the damage. "I couldn't see you. All I could see was the demon. I think I might have singed him too, if it helps."

Isabela stopped smoothing the edges of her blackened bandana to glare at me. "It doesn't."

"Let me see to your burns, at least," I said with an apologetic smile. Drawing closer, I stepped up to Isabela, inspecting her with a clinical air as she fussed with her clothing. Light patches of inflamed skin ran along her right side, mainly on the exposed patches of her right arm, though I could see some damage on her cheek and jaw. Placing a gentle hand on her chin, I turned her face towards me fully. I sucked in my breath in a quiet gasp. Maker help me; she was going to kill me.

"What?" she asked, noticing my change in expression.

"Nothing," I lied, quickly bringing my hand up and running it over the burns, releasing a flow of healing magic into the injuries. No magic in the world could bring back the right half of her eyebrow, however. "All better," I said weakly.

"Thanks," she said slowly, watching me suspiciously.

I nodded, clearing my throat as I moved on to Varric. "Is Bianca all right?" I asked with a small smile.

"She's seen worse," he said. "What about you? You seem a little shaken up."

"Demons," I said simply, reaching out to heal him.

He nodded in understanding. "I was in the Hanged Man, just...waiting. I guess it got you with something different."

"You could say that," I muttered. "It didn't talk to you?"

"Not a damned word. Boring as shit."

A smile tugged at me, despite my frazzled emotions. "Sorry to keep you waiting." Lowering my hand, I shook my head, my voice hardening. "But it's done. All that's left is to kill the damn bastard."

Varric lifted an eyebrow at my vitriol, his expression changing into something calculating as he appraised me. "I guess so."

"Tell you what," I said, laughing a little at the obvious question in his voice. "Get us out of here, and I'll give you an epic tale over a pint, worthy of any street rumor."

"You've got yourself a deal, Red."

Isabela plopped down on a shimmering bench next to Varric, using her ruined bandana to rub at the scorch marks on the tops of her boots. "I'll be expecting one hell of a drink for this as well," she said, sending me a scowl.

A humorous retort leapt to my lips, but I caught sight of her brow again and I choked it back. "All you can drink," I said instead, glancing at Varric to see if he had reacted. The dwarf had returned his attention to Bianca, and was still too engrossed in the weapon to have noticed yet. I let out a sigh of relief.

Digging into my potions satchel, I pulled out a small vial that contained a thick, green liquid. Pulling out the cork, I took a quick sip, shuddering at the horrible taste. Immediately I felt its rejuvenating effects begin to spread through my body, warming me and bringing tingling life to my extremities.

I held out the bottle to Isabela. "Rest for a moment, but keep your guard up. I doubt the demon is done with us."

Nodding distractedly, she took the vial from me, taking a long draft without so much as a grimace. I shook my head in amusement. I suppose after so many tankards of rotgut rum, there aren't many tastes left that can faze you.

My eyes sought Fenris, who still stood apart, though he had at least put away his sword. Humiliation filled me with the memory of the demon's offer, and I could feel my cheeks start to burn as I avoided his gaze.

"Did I get you?" I asked as I approached him, determined to act normally.

"We were held in our visions for some time," he said quietly, ignoring my words. I chose not to respond to the non-question, lifting his hair with my fingers to see the extent of the burn. I winced at the blistered, glossy expanse of skin that stretched from his temple to his jaw. He stood unnaturally still at my closeness, and I could practically feel the tension that emanated from him. Judging by the severity of the wound, he must have been standing much closer to the flame than the other two. Almost where his look-alike had stood in my vision. Pushing away the unsettling thought, I released a healing flow into his skin, watching as it reknit, focusing on it rather than the horrible, awkward silence that had fallen.

Just as I was about to say something undoubtedly stupid to break the thick silence, I leaned closer and frowned. The magic hadn't healed as much as I'd hoped; my work with burns was often hit and miss, unlike Anders, who excelled at them. Making a face, I opened my pack and pulled out a healing salve I kept for the occasions that my magic was insufficient or impractical. I dug my finger into the goop, coming up with a decent dollop. I hesitated as my hand hovered over his skin, my eyes flitting to his, only to find him averting his gaze as far from me as far as he could manage. My lips pressed together in quiet frustration, and I began to dab the paste onto the remaining burn.

"As I was saying..." He cleared his throat, and I let out a tiny sigh.

"Was it really that long?" I asked evasively, drawing my lip between my teeth as I cautiously applied the mix to the red, sensitive skin.

"Yes." He glanced at me briefly before returning his gaze to whatever was so interesting on the other end of the courtyard. "It was foolish to court temptation for such a length of time."

My hand paused for a moment, faltering under his words. Usually I took his comments and lectures with a grain of salt, but this time there was no denying that he was right. The visions the demon had presented passed before my eyes, and I swallowed back the bile that rose in my throat. When Fenris cursed the danger that all mages presented, I always mentally excluded myself from his condemnations, but now I couldn't help but wonder if I'd been foolish to do so. Had I become so convinced of my own strength that I believed myself to be invulnerable? A wave of shame passed over me, quick and hot, as I remembered how easily the demon had been able to play on my desires.

Questions to which I had no answers swirled around my mind, feeding on my fear and doubt. I added the finishing bit of salve to the burn, lowering my hand and busying myself with wiping my fingers on a rag and twisting the lid back into place. My hands stilled, and I stared down at them, my mind heavy with sobering thought.

"Nothing is worth becoming an abomination," I said matter-of-factly. "I know that." I paused, an aching pain in my chest as my voice lowered to nothing more than a whisper. "But sometimes they hit you where it really hurts."

I could feel his eyes on me, but this time it was me who didn't want to look up.

"Meaning that you considered the offer?"

The question wasn't asked with venom or suspicion, merely a quiet curiosity. "Meaning that it can be hard to turn away, even if what they show you is only an empty echo of what you lost."

He was quiet a moment, digesting my words. "It showed you your family," he finally said, not a question. "An effective ploy, to play on your memories."

I stared at the Fade-distorted ground, my lip turning cynically. As much as I missed my family, I knew which vision had tempted me more, and it frightened me.

"They can be very convincing," I said with dark humor, fighting off a caustic laugh at the truth of my words. "Sometimes I really hate having to be a good little mage."

When the immediate censure I had expected failed to materialize, I glanced up at him. The disapproval I had expected was there, but behind it, his eyes glinted with the slightest hints of sympathy, and maybe even a tinge of understanding. My breath caught as he held my gaze, and I was nearly swept away in the well of gratitude that flooded me. I wondered what, if anything, the demon had shown him; maybe he could relate more than I would have imagined. We stared at each other in a moment of unguarded emotion; for the first time since our night together, neither of us shied away from the silent honesty found in the exchange.

In the days spent avoiding the awkwardness, it was easy to forget exactly how much I missed him. I missed the camaraderie we used to share; the many nights spent before the fire with a book and a bottle of wine, the way being with him made me feel safe and a little less alone. Despite all the ways we clashed, he understood me in a way that no one had since Bethany died.

The intensity of his gaze had begun to shift, deepening to become something more. My heart jumped to my throat as I stilled, caught in the sudden heat that flared between us. The air was sharp with tension as my breath came faster, electric awareness of him jumping through my limbs. I felt my body drawing closer to him, my heart beating painfully as he opened his mouth to speak.

A loud, horrified gasp jerked me from the intimate moment, and I jumped, startled and dismayed. Fenris snapped to attention, his sword already in his hand as his eyes sought the source of the disturbance. Varric began to laugh like a madman, and I cringed like a guilty school child, my stomach sinking to my feet. I had no need to turn around to know exactly what had happened. I had really hoped to be out of the Fade -out of Kirkwall- before the pirate discovered her new, ah, look.

"Hawke!"

The angry screech of my name grated along my skull, and I winced, my shoulders tightening reflexively.

"Void take me," I muttered, earning me smirk from Fenris, who had lowered his sword to watch the scene with unfettered amusement.

Turning reluctantly, I pasted a flimsy smile on my face. Isabela stood, her features horrified as her fingers ran over the newly-smooth expanse of skin. Varric was still laughing, his mirth renewed each time his eyes fell on the missing brow.

"Lighten up, Rivaini," Varric said when his laughter finally died. "No man looks at your face, anyway."

A swirling movement caught my eye. "Oh, look," I said, unable to conceal the relief in my voice as I gestured to a point over the furious pirate's shoulder. "Demons."

Say what you will about Torpor, but for a demon of sloth, he had impeccable timing.