A/N: For my wife, on her birthday.

A/N2: Male mage Hawke. Set during Act II in the midst of Fenris romance, the day after the night he breaks it off.

There came a time when a man had to think that he'd been spending too much time drinking on his own.

For Hawke, that came at about two in the morning, when he found that not only was his glass empty again, so was the bottle.

There seemed to be a lot of them scattered around the place.

Either he was seeing double or he'd drank too much.

Right. Enough was enough. He was practically brooding here for Maker's sake. And he didn't do brooding. Cos if he did brooding then he'd just be another broody mage flower. And goodness knows, there were enough of those around.

People! That was what he needed. Other people and socialising and not drinking alone in the dark like someone who had just had his heart broken by a wonderful, gorgeous elf with beautiful hair. And sexy hands. He hadn't even known that hands could be sexy before, but just watching Fenris'...

He reached for the glass only to find that it was still empty.

Oh, he had to get out of here.

Seemed like the best idea he'd had all night.

After a couple of false starts he got to his feet and stumbled drunkenly down the stairs, only to come face to face with some hideous monster.

He yelped and immediately shot a fireball at it.

A second later and he was looking morosely at the statue above his fireplace. The rather singed looking statue above his fireplace.

Well, that would teach him to have something quite so scary in his house.

There was the sound of running footsteps and then the door burst open and Bodhan was standing there in a tartan nightshirt and nightcap, staring at him.

"Is everything alright, serah?"

"Uh, yes," he nodded intently. "Yes, I killed it." He gestured at the statue. "It's dead now."

Bodhan stared at him and he felt compelled to explain.

"I swear I saw it move," he said. "They do that, you know. Statues. They move when you're not looking and then Bam! They kill you. So I killed it first."

Sandal's head popped out from behind his father's back. "Enchantment?"

"No," he said seriously. "Just magic. Fire. Fire is good." There should be more fire. More fire and more alcohol and the two went together so well.

"I see, serah." Bodhan frowned. "Do you think that it might be a good time to go to bed?"

"Nooooo," he said, shaking his head. "The night is young and so am I. I'm off to find adventure, Bodhan. Adventure and more drinks and who knows? Maybe even some conva..vonci...convivial company. That sound good to you, Sandal?"

"It's very shiny!" Sandal told him excitedly.

He nodded wisely. "Exactly. Fire does that."

"We haven't seen Master Fenris around the estate for a few days," Bodhan commented hesitantly.

"It's not him it's me," Hawke explained, spreading his arms wide. "Or it's not me, it's him. It's not, anyway."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Master Hawke," Bodhan said and it seemed sincere.

Wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"Right. Well. I am going out. Soon as I put on some different clothes, anyway."

If he was going drinking then apostate mage from Hightown probably wasn't a good look. Actually, thinking about it, there were very few situations in which apostate mage from Hightown was a good look. He should maybe work on that. Maybe Isabela had some ideas. She'd been talking about a hatshop the other day...maybe there was some kind of non-magey hat he could invest in.

The Hanged Man. Where everyone in Kirkwall went to drown their sorrows. Unless they drowned them in The Rose, he supposed. Which might be an idea. He hadn't been in The Rose for years. Not since before the Deep Roads. Before he'd got the stupid idea into his stupid head that whatever stupid feelings he had for Fenris might be worth investing time and emotion in.

Maybe he should've gone to The Rose instead. Yeah. Yeah, he had coin to spare. He could just find some men who didn't care who he was, as long as he had gold, and who would tell him that the sex was more than just fine and who he wouldn't care about one bit.

Well, he was here now. He might as well have a drink or two.

"The truth is out there," another patron told him seriously.

Hawke squinted at him, remembering vaguely seeing him the last few times he was in here. "I seriously doubt that," he said. "I've been out there. There's no truth to be found."

"You just don't know how to look," the man insisted.

"I do too!" Hawke answered indignantly. "Firs' you open one eye. Then the other. Then you're looking."

"They say the viscount is an automaton, you know. Made by the dwarves for the Tevinter Imperium."

Hawke blinked at the sudden change in direction and shook his head firmly. "No. I saw him eat an apple once. Automatons don't eat apples."

"They do if they don't want to get scurvy," Isabela said, dragging him away. "What are you doing, Hawke?"

"Came for a drink," he explained.

"Is that wise, Hawke?" Merril spoke up from behind him and he jumped a foot in the air. Huh. He really hadn't seen her there. How did she do that? Maybe it was some kind of Dalish elfy blood magic thing. Or maybe he was just drunk. "I think you've had a drink, haven't you? I mean, unless you want another one. I'm not saying that you're drunk, you just seem – "

" – drunk," Isabela cut in decisively. "Seven sheets to the wind. On top of the crows nest without a rope. Three planks over. Completely smashed, in fact."

He flung his arms wide. "The Amells have a vast and glorious wine cellar that stretches from here to Denerim!" he proclaimed. "I drank it."

"It goes under the sea?" Merril exclaimed. "That doesn't seem possible. Couldn't you let people go through it? Sounds safer than a boat."

"He's exaggerating, Kitten," Isabela explained patiently.

"You mean lying." Merril frowned. "He does a lot of that."

"Yes he does," Isabela agreed. "It's one of his better qualities."

"I have lots of better qualities," he muttered sulkily. "Lots and lots and lots."

"So what are you doing here?" Merril asked. "I would have thought you'd have been with Fenris." She giggled. "I've seen the way you look at each other, you know."

He kept his face completely blank. Didn't let a single drop of emotion show through.

Isabela took one look at him and signalled Norah grimly. "Round of drinks here. Triples. Quickly. Put them on Varric's tab."

Huh. He thought he was good at being a blank slate.

"Varric said he didn't like you putting drinks on his tab," Norah pointed out sullenly.

"Well, Varric is old enough to expect things he doesn't like," Isabela said dismissively, and with a sniff Norah vanished to get them drinks.

"What's going on?" Merril asked nervously.

"Ancient human tradition, Kitten," Isabella explained. "We're going to drink till he's not worth it."

Hawke sighed. He was worth it. He really, truly was worth every second of it.

"That's a sure sign that you haven't had enough drinks," Isabela explained assuredly.

That sounded worth a try.

"It must have been the sex," Isabela insisted, her arms flung wide, cheap rum sloshing over the edge of her tankard. "Trust me. I've had a lot of experience in this area. With men, it's always the sex."

"It wasn't the sex," he protested, and he might just be trying to convince himself of that. Just a little. "He said the sex was fine."

Isabela looking at him like he was a naive fool to be pitied was one thing. Merrill looking at him that way was another thing altogether.

"More than fine," he added quickly. He drained his tankard again and waited for it to be magically refilled. The power of money. "He said the sex was more than fine. I'm not talking about this with you."

That was a good statement. Optimistic. Unfortunately they seemed to have no intention of stopping talking about it.

"Maybe it was all over too fast?" Merrill suggested. "I had a...dalliance...with one of the hunters once and he was finished practically before we'd lain down. I wasn't very happy with him, I know that. I told him about a couple of things that could help...creams and exercises and jewellery and such...and he never spoke to me again. Is it the same between men, actually?"

Isabela looked amused. "Well, Hawke? Was that the problem? Were you dropping your anchor before you've docked?"

"No it was not," he said stiffly.

"No," she said thoughtfully. "No, I don't suppose that could be your problem. Maybe his..."

Merrill looked lost.

"Shut up, Isabela," Hawke said through gritted teeth.

"You didn't look bored, did you?" Isabela went on, unsurprisingly undaunted. "Men really hate it when you look bored. And when you insist on always being on top. Or...you didn't call out the wrong name, did you Hawke?"

"Of course not!" he said indignantly.

"Ah," she nodded. "You asked him if it was in yet, didn't you?"

"Isabela!" He stood up quickly and stood swaying for a second. "I think, on the whole, I'm going to go upstairs and see what Varric's up to. I'll see you later."

"Sorry, asked him if what is in?" he heard Merrill asking as he walked away. "Did I miss something again?"

He knocked on the door unsteadily and walked in at Varric's brisk "Yeah?"

"Hawke!" Varric exclaimed as he walked in. "Good to see you. This mean that something exciting is happening somewhere?"

"Just a whole lot of alcohol, my friend," Hawke told him, holding up the fresh bottle he'd acquired from Norah. "You in?"

"Not often I turn down a drink," Varric said, watching Hawke with narrowed eyes. "So what's up?"

He shrugged and sat down heavily across the table from Varric. "You know." It wasn't a question. Varric got to hear everything practically before it happened.

"Yeah, I know," Varric said resignedly. "Sorry to hear about it though. I thought he'd be good for you. You sure seemed to be good for him."

"Things happen," he said again, and there was a hole in his chest and he was going to do his best to fill it with booze.

"So what happens now?" Varric asked.

He frowned. "What do you mean, what happens now?"

"Well, is Fenris still going to be part of our little happy family?" Varric pressed. "Or is it going to be all awkward we pretend that we never see him and you cross to the other side of the street if you see him coming?"

"No." He shook his head resolutely. "No awkwardity. Everything's jus' going to stay the same. Except with no looking and definitely no touching."

"Oh, because that doesn't sound awkward," Varric muttered.

"Just because we're not lovers doesn't mean I don't still care about him," Hawke protested.

"This isn't sounding good, Hawke," Varric said firmly. "You're sounding like one of the girls who's always following Donnen Brenicovik around, giving him gifts even though he hasn't said a word to them in months."

"I got Fenris a gift," Hawke said distractedly. It was about the only part of Varric's speech he'd managed to latch onto. "I gave it to him yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Varric checked grimly. "As in, after?"

"Uh huh," Hawke nodded.

"That's really not good," Varric sighed. "You need to get drunk, start a fight and get laid. Not necessarily in that order."

"I am drunk," Hawke pointed out.

Varric eyed him critically. "I think you could be drunker."

Varric had taught him a new drinking game. It involved shots, dice and a sovereign. He wasn't sure who was winning, but if he held the sovereign in his hand and squinted at it just right...then it flew across the room and buried itself in the far wall. He hadn't known he could do that. That was a rare talent indeed. He was sure there had to be some practical application.

"Hanging pictures, perhaps," he considered out loud.

"Uh huh." Varric examined his wall carefully. "You know, every now and then, I think that the Templars might just have a point."

"What?" Anders was stood in the doorway.

"Uh oh," Hawke said with a smile, lolling back in his chair. "Hey, Anders. Want a drink?"

"Yes. No. I, uh, just came by to see if Varric could get me some stuff printed," Anders explained, still hanging awkwardly in the doorway, like he was worried that he was missing something.

"'nother manifesto?" Varric asked. "No problem. Have a drink, Blondie."

"Yeah, go on," Hawke urged.

Anders shrugged and sat down at the table with them and grabbed a glass. "So what's going on."

"Fenris and Hawke aren't together anymore," Varric explained, pouring more brandy.

"Good," Anders said shortly. "About time."

They both stared at him.

"Oh, come on," Anders went on. "You really didn't see this coming? It's simple. He hates all mages. You are a mage. How could you think that it was ever going to work?"

Hawke crossed his arms. "There's more to me than being a mage. There's more to Fenris than hatred. You see too much 'n black and white."

"You are too quick to ignore the plight of your kind," Anders shot back. "You honestly want to – "

" – Blondie, you're not exactly helping right now," Varric said quietly.

Anders looked at him guiltily. "You're right. I'm...I'm sorry, Hawke. I am sorry you're hurt. I just never thought he was good enough for you." His tone was sincere and Hawke bit his lip awkwardly. He knew Anders meant well, generally. Anders did care about him, after all. Maybe not even a fraction as much as he cared about his cause, but there was still friendship there, despite everything they disagreed on. But there had been that moment of awkward flirtation, back when they'd first met, and he sometimes wondered if Anders had wanted to take that further. He never had.

"I think," he said, standing up "I think I'm going to go and get some air. Or more drinks. Or both."

"Hawke..." Anders called after him, sounding even more guilty.

He waved a hand dismissively on the way to the door. "'s fine, Anders. Don't worry about it."

It seemed as though the bar had got even more crowded since he'd been upstairs. He caught sight of Isabela in the table in the corner, arm-wrestling with a guard while Merril stood in the crowd, cheering and clapping.

Worrying. Definitely worrying.

He squeezed his way through to the bar and tried with desperate charm to signal the barman.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "Hey. You. Skinny. Don't push in line."

"What line?" he demanded without looking round. "There is no line. This is a den of unorganised chaos and I require a drink."

The hand gripped a little tighter. "Yeah? Well I require a drink first, okay skinny boy?"

"Look..." He turned and looked up. And further up. And further. "Wow," he said blinking. "Was your mother an Ogre?"

That might have been a mistake.

A pair of massive black eyebrows knitted together. "What did you say about my mum?"

Somehow a space had cleared around them.

Time to apologise. Time to apologise and backtrack and get the hell out.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself say. "I didn't realise that it was your father."

Fortunately he managed to dodge and the giant possibly-darkspawn fist buried itself in the bar where he'd just been leaning.

Right. Important thing to remember. Important thing that Father had reminded him of every day since he'd turned, oh, about fifteen.

Do not use magic in bar brawls.

Even after all this time that remained good advice. No matter how drunk people are, they tend to remember catching fire. Well, most of the time. His lifespan was definitely improved by not casting spells in public.

Unfortunately, right now, his lifespan could probably be measured in minutes.

Without magic, he was just a skinny guy with a sexy smile facing a brick wall intent on knocking his teeth out.

Well. More or less.

He punched the guy smartly in the face, and while he was still laughing at how ineffectual the punch was – and okay, yes, it was – Hawke took advantage of the moment to smartly stamp on the side of his leg, dislodging his kneecap, and grabbing a chair to smash up into his face on the way down.

The chair dissolved into matchwood.

It would be really nice if that was an end to it.

The guy stood up again, blood streaming down the side of his head, his face twisted with pain and anger.

"Ah," Hawke said calmly, taking a step back. "Is it too late to talk about this?"

He couldn't help glancing round quickly.

Isabela and Merril had picked an inconvenient time to vanish.

He felt around behind him as the guy advanced towards him, and at the last moment his fingers closed around a bottle.

Perfect.

He swung it blindly, and at the same time he threw a Mind Blast at the guy, disgusing his gesture as drunken defence.

The bottle caught the guy on the chest.

The guy went flying across the room and hit his head off the far wall to a chorus of impressed "Ooooohs."

The crowd turned to stare at him.

He shrugged, raised the bottle to his lips and drained it.

"Out!" screamed the barman. "You're barred until you pay for breakages!"

Huh. Who knew it was possible to get barred from the Hanged Man?

This really wasn't his night.

He woke up to a sensation of light and pain and he hurriedly screwed his eyes shut with a groan. Oh, Maker. Where the hell was he and was he actually alive? At this point he really didn't want to rule anything out.

"You're awake then," a voice said cheerfully. "Morning."

Took him less than a second. "Aveline?"

He opened his eyes again and took a quick squint around. Aveline. Aveline's office, in fact, and Aveline herself was sat behind the desk doing paperwork.

Quick check. He was lying on a sofa in the corner. Seemed like a blanket had been thrown over him. Rather more worryingly, he didn't appear to be wearing a shirt.

Lying half naked in Aveline's office with no idea of how he got here...no. No. No, that really wasn't possible...was it?

He sat up awkwardly, pulling the blanket with him, making sure to cover as much of himself as he could. Aveline was watching him, a slight smile on her face.

Right. He could...well, he could ask. "Aveline, uh, what...did we...?"

"You know," she said, sounding as amused as he'd ever heard her. "I'm almost tempted to say yes. Just to see the look on your face."

He relaxed. "That's a no then."

"That's a no," she agreed.

"So what did happen?" he asked.

"Brennan arrested you," she explained. "Well, almost arrested you. Apparently you were being drunk and loud in Lowtown."

"That's a crime now?" he wondered. "You're going to have to lock up half the city."

"Yes, that's a crime, Hawke," Aveline sighed. "Breach of the Peace. Honestly, did you even glance at the book I got you?"

"The People's Guide to the Laws of Kirkwall?" He shrugged. "I peeked at the end. I know who did it."

"Anyway," Aveline went on, ignoring him pointedly. "Normally she would just give the miscreant a warning and send them home. However, as she found you minus your shirt and standing next to what she described as 'a gigantic unconscious man with burnt hands' declaring yourself to be the god of hell fire..."

Hawke winced. "I'm in trouble?"

"You're in trouble," Aveline confirmed. "But only with me. She recognised you and dragged you back to my office. By the time you got here, you had fallen asleep."

"Oh," he said. Somehow this wasn't sounding any less embarrassing.

"She thinks it's cute," Aveline added with a glint in her eye. "She said you looked adorable."

"I am many things, Aveline," Hawke said as calmly as he could. "I am an apostate, a great lover and a snappy dresser. But I am not cute."

"Perhaps," Aveline said annoyingly. She stood up and poured a glass of water from a pitcher. "Would this help your mood?"

His eyes lit up. "Please."

"Here," she said, passing it over and sitting down beside him. "So. I don't think I've ever seen you that drunk, Hawke. You didn't even drink like that after Bethany died."

"I had to stay strong for Mother and Carver," he said. That hadn't been his tragedy. To let himself fall apart would have been selfish. This...he'd wanted one night of selfishness. One single night of hurt and stupidity.

She nodded understandingly, and Hawke might know a thing or two about carrying on no matter what, but Aveline was the master. "So what happened now?"

He was silent for a long moment. Then "Fenris..." he began, and he cleared his throat and talking hurt.

"Oh, Hawke," she murmured, and her hand gripped his forearm tightly.

They sat together for a moment, and after a second she laughed self consciously. "I'm rubbish at this, aren't I? I'm supposed to be saying something comforting."

He shrugged. "What is there to say?"

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "Yeah, me too." He dropped his head in his hands. "I really liked him," he said, grateful that his words were muffled. "I've never liked anyone like that before."

Her hand squeezed his forearm a little tighter.

He shook his head to clear it. "I'm going to go home and take a bath. Find some clean trousers. Find any kind of shirt. Reassure Mother I'm still alive. That sort of thing."

"Sounds good," Aveline nodded. "Oh, I might need you later this afternoon," she added very casually. "There's been some reports of Raiders near the western cliffs. I'm taking a patrol up there. I could use you."

Their eyes met.

He smiled. "Keeping me busy?"

"Beats moping," Aveline pointed out firmly. "I know what you think about mopey mages."

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I'll see you this afternoon."

"Good," she said, heading back to her desk and the apparently unending variety of paperwork.

Hawke found himself smiling as he left her office.

After all. Life always went on. This was a whole new day and he had wonderful friends.

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