This story has a mixture of in-game dialogue and original content (it begins mostly cannon with an AU plot line introduced that will eventually take over). Party banter galore! If you love and miss your old companions from DA2, you will (hopefully) love this.

As a longtime lurker first time poster, this is my first fanfic, so I want to try to cover all of my bases in the hopes that I do not break any rules or offend anyone! I rated this story M for cursing mostly, but there is some violence, and smut : )

Also, I tried to talk to them about it, but Fenris and Hawke can be a little rough with each other at times. So, if anyone is afraid they might adversely react to some hostile interactions, tread carefully! Things don't get too crazy, but I'm not you and you're not me. What I find tolerable, you may not, and I would hate to mislead anyone.

Obligatory: I have no intention of infringing on the rights of Bioware, I am just madly in love with your characters, and miss them. This creation is a way for me to hang out with them again, and share them with this beautiful community.

I know there are countless wonderful stories to chose from on this site, so thank you for taking the time to read mine. I sincerely appreciate it.


Hawke crossed her legs on the table and leaned back into the unsteady, wooden chair. Sipping her ale, she casually listened to Varric's retelling of her family's flee to Kirkwall. In the year that had passed since their hasty departure from Lothering she had lost her sister, become an indentured servant, released a dragon from a locket, gotten wrapped up in a scheme to enter the deep roads, and made a few spectacularly unorthodox friends. Not surprisingly, none of those accomplishments held a candle to the extravagance that Varric was spouting to the hungry crowd downstairs. What did he call it? Ensuring future job security?

Hawke smiled as he reached the climax of his story, something involving an ogre and a ball of twine.

"…And the rest, is for another day." Varric always liked to end his tales on a cliffhanger.

A collective groan rang out from the front room of the Hanged Man as the music started back up, and the dwarf retreated from his self-made stage. Varric jumped when he saw Hawke waiting in his room,

"Maker Hawke, you're going to give me a heart attack one of these days. Can't you enter through the door like a civilized human? I've heard rumors they exist."

"No doubt rumors started by you." She smiled into her mug of ale, "Having fun?"

He grinned, "We're about to, I received a note from an old contact this morning, Anso. He has some job for us, said to meet him by the docks tonight."

Hawke pointed and flexed her toes, "Excellent, it's been at least a week since someone tried to kill us. I'm starting to think no one cares anymore."

"Don't be so pessimistic, I recall being shot at on your account at least twice yesterday."

"That's sweet, but Isabella gets the credit for that. I'm not sure she understands the technical differences between 'keep watch' and 'screw the dock worker in the alley.'"

"Semantics!" Isabella yelled as she entered the room arm-in-arm with Merrill, Carver trailing closely behind.

"Where's Blondie?" Varric looked over his shoulder at the new arrivals.

"He's at his clinic, I'm actually heading that way." Merrill piped up.

"Oh… so, you won't be coming with us tonight?" Carver asked as nonchalantly as he could manage, which held all of the subtly and nuance of a bull in a china shop.

"Sorry, no. You could come help me if you'd like?" Merrill offered.

Isabella grinned mischievously, "I bet Carver would love to come with you or after you… but if we're being realistic it'll probably be before you."

Carver's face immediately crimsoned, and he started grumbling beneath his breath, turning away from the two.

"I missed something again, didn't I?" Merrill looked confused.

Hawke threw back the rest of her drink, pushing herself from the table, "All right, Varric, Carver, Isabella. Let's head out!"


"So, is your friend always that twitchy?" Hawke asked skeptically.

"He's a contact, not a friend," Varric corrected, "but you're right. He doesn't fit the bill." He rubbed his hand over his face, sighing, "This is definitely a trap."

"Well, look at it this way: now it's a trap we're willingly walking into." Hawke punched his shoulder and walked ahead briskly.

"Has she always been crazy?" Varric looked to Carver.

"It runs in the family."


After fighting through what Varric would later exaggerate as hordes of bloodthirsty assassins, the group made their way into the small hovel. Hawke sent a dagger flying into the neck of the last man, releasing an exaggerated moan,

"Doesn't anyone ask first, stab later anymore?" She jerked the sharp blade from the man's crumpled body, wiping the blood on her pants, while Varric inspected the large trunk at the back of the room.

"Totally empty!" He yelled, kicking the trunk shut. "What kind of nug-shit is this? Anso and I are going to have a serious heart-to-heart when we get back, and when I say heart-to-heart, I mean Isabella's fist to his face."

Varric was still ranting as they exited the building, with Isabella egging him on, and Carver rolling his eyes at the scene. So, it was only Hawke who noticed they had been surrounded.

"Guys…"

"And then I'm going to strap him into a chair, in front of his mother…"

Varric ran into Hawke, stumbling backwards,

"Maker Hawke, what are you…" He trailed off as he saw the menacing crowd around them, "Well, shit."

"That's not the elf. What do we do?"

"Doesn't matter. The master said to kill anyone who came out of that house."

Varric stepped forward, "Clearly there has been a misunderstanding. Can't we all just take a minute and—"

An arrow flew by Varric's head, imbedding itself in the wall behind him.

"I guess not."

Isabella threw down a flask of Chameleon's breath, concealing the small group, as Varric shot a bursting arrow into the center of the opposing unit. The resulting explosion and flames killed two men, while dispersing the remaining mercenaries into smaller, frenzied clusters. Hawke sprinted around a group of confused men and cast a powerful gravitic ring. The men's panic increased as they felt the immobilizing pull of her magic,

"They got a ma—"

The man's cry was cut short by Hawke's blade, sheathed hilt-deep, into his throat. Sputtering blood onto the ground, he collapsed. She twisted from the fallen corpse, and joined by Isabella, danced anonymously throughout the group, eliminating them one at a time. While they were occupied, Carver and Varric took on the remainder of the mercenaries. With the help of Varric's debilitating miasmic flask, Carver was able to rush the group, dealing crippling, whirlwind blows with his powerful longsword.

The battle ended quickly. At the end, the four friends stood in a circle bordered by gore and corpses. Finally a lone man stepped out from the shadows of the stairs,

"I don't know who you are friends—"

"Presumptuous." Varric whispered to Isabella.

"Do you two take anything seriously?" Carver asked.

"Not unless they're being paid." Hawke turned from the man threatening them, whose words at this point had been completely ignored, to face her brother.

The man had clearly grown both confused and irritated, only getting the attention he desired when he finally shouted,

"Lieutenant! I want everyone in the clearing! Now!"

The stranger held his triumphant gaze on the group until Varric pointed behind him

"Uh, I think there might be a-"

"Captain…" A man stumbled around the corner, bleeding profusely, until finally dropping, lifeless at the Captain's feet.

"…problem." Varric finished lamely.

"Your men are dead, and your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can." A deep voice called from the shadows.

A lean, white haired elf materialized from the darkness. As he approached the group, Hawke observed (as did Isabella, if her appreciative rumblings were any indication) intricate white markings that traveled in delicate patterns all over his skin, like strange tattoos.

Instead of retreating, the slaver captain grabbed the shoulder of the tall elf,

"You're going no where, slave."

Without warning, the elf's tattoos ignited, and a bright bluish-white light spilled from his body, illuminating the dark clearing surrounding them. In one swift movement, the elf twisted his body, shoving his arm deeply into the slaver's chest, and retracted with his still-beating heart.

"I am not a slave." He emphasized each word, dropping the heart next to the corpse.

Hawke's eyes were wide; she spared a quick glance to her companions to see all three of their mouths slightly agape. The frivolous tone from earlier had evaporated completely. A long moment of silence passed between the group and the new stranger.

"I apologize. When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they would be so… numerous."

Hawke gathered herself quickly, hoping to salvage a sliver of her reputation as the unflappable juggernaut that Varric had worked so carefully to construct.

"I take it these men were here for you, then?"

"Correct. My name is Fenris. These men were imperial bounty hunters seeking to recover a magister's lost property, namely myself."

"So, we can assume there's no job then?" Varric had finally recovered from his disbelief.

"That's not entirely true, the job simply wasn't what was originally presented." Fenris offered.

"This seems like a lot of effort to go through for one slave." Carver had also found his voice, along with his skepticism.

Fenris turned to make eye contact with him, "It is."

"Does this have something to do with those markings then?" Isabella practically purred next to Varric.

Fenris looked down at his body and arms, "Yes, I imagine I must look strange to you. However, these markings have served me well. Without them, I would still be a slave."

Hawke exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, "Well, I suppose killing slavers isn't a complete waste of time. Good luck to you." She began to move past the elf, signaling the others to follow.

"Wait." Fenris commanded the rapidly retreating group, "My master has accompanied them to the city, and I will need your help to confront them."

"Listen, elf…enris, we'd love to help, but storming the house of a prepared Tevinter magister… is not really our forte. I'm not sure its anyone's for that matter." Varric tried to be as diplomatic as possible, hoping to prevent another heart-wrenching scene.

"He will be prepared. However," the elf judged the carnage surrounding the companions, "you and your friends should meet no greater difficulty than you can handle." Fenris eyed the still distrustful group, "and you may take whatever boon is left in the house upon completion."

The group's hesitation lessened noticeably, and they glanced around at one another before Hawke finally accepted, "Lets go kill us a magister."


The battle inside the mansion was hard fought, but profitable, as promised. Fenris, clearly distressed by the departure of the magister, stormed outside, leaving the party to loot the decaying home. Noticing the trail of blood left behind, Hawke followed the injured elf, leaving her friends to finish gathering valuables.

The fresh air was a wonderful reprieve from the stale mansion; Hawke took a deep, appreciative breath, allowing the night air to cool her sore and overworked limbs. Looking around for Fenris, Hawke spotted him close by, leaning against a wall in the courtyard.

"It never ends," he said, "I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul." He exhaled, angry and defeated.

Hawke immediately felt uncomfortable and intrusive; she was at a loss for words in the face of such unexpected resentment and honesty. She had often felt similarly toward her magic, and the adverse affects it had on her family: a life of hiding and living in poverty, the stout bitterness of her brother, and the constant sorrow of her mother. It was one of the reasons she had worked so hard to hone her skills as a rogue. She never wanted to be a slave to her magic, to have it hinder her or her family any more than it already had.

Despite that however, training her magic with her father and sister had been some of the happiest moments of her life. It was only with the death of her father that her enjoyment began to diminish, and when her sister had perished too, magic had strictly become a means to an end; nothing more than an unfortunate reality of her life. Gone were the long afternoons spent discussing their father's philosophies, practicing constant control and vigilance, and maybe setting Carver's breeches on fire once… or twice. Bethany would always immediately extinguish them of course, appalled (and only slightly amused) by Hawke's rashness.

She smiled at the memory of her sister. Bethany had been such a uniquely beautiful soul; her spirit never dampened by their situations. She and Hawke had been complete opposites. Where Bethany had been soft, compassionate, and gentle, Hawke was sharp, sarcastic, and biting. Bethany was cool water, and Hawke was a burning fire.

Hawke suddenly realized that she had been silent for far too long, lost in her memories. Focusing her eyes, she met Fenris's scrutinizing gaze.

"You're injured." She reached for his hand roughly, gathering mana in her palm, "I'm not the best, but despite Varric's insistence that I once replaced all of his fingers with thumbs, I can get the job done." She began to channel the energy around the elf's open wound.

He seethed out a curse and violently pulled away from her, grabbing her arm in the process. Twisting her hand behind her so that he was now situated at her back, his skilled stance threatened to break her arm if she moved. She had been so preoccupied by her thoughts she hadn't even considered he would react adversely to her magic. Chastising herself, her mind raced, trying to surmise an escape.

"I should have realized sooner what you are. I could feel your energy, but I could not explain it. You hide your nature well, mage." He spit out the last word like poison.

"And here I was thinking I had just done you a favor, I guess you're not interested in tea later?" Hawke snarled.

"I need no favors from a mage."

She sent her head flying back into his nose, hearing a satisfying crack; she broke free as he stumbled back. Spinning around to face him, she pulled out her daggers.

Just then, Varric, Carver, and Isabella exited the mansion laughing, arms spilling over with loot.

"And then he said, 'your eyes are like bumblebees, flying into the-'" Isabella trailed off as they approached the scene.

Hawke and Fenris were now facing each other, weapons drawn, with Fenris's bloody nose running down the front of his armor. Carver dropped the materials in his arm, drawing his longsword and taking his place near his sister.

"I suggest you step back, Elf."

"Carver, stay out of this," Hawke spoke sharply to her brother, but kept her eyes locked on the elf. Carver glared at her, but remained rooted to his spot.

"I think an explanation is in order." Varric tired to restore some semblance of order.

"You harbor a viper in your midst, it will turn on you and strike when you least expect." Fenris spit blood onto the ground.

Varric sighed, "Ah, this is a magic thing. Listen, Hawke has saved my ass more times than I care to count, and yours several times now as well. I think we can at least be civil about this."

"I'm not blind. I know magic has its uses, but even the best intentioned mage can fall pray to temptation," he eyes remained trained on Hawke, "and then their power is a curse to inflict upon others."

"No one is stopping you from moving on, you know." Isabella was displeased with the threatening of her friend.

Fenris slowly began to lower his weapon, recognizing a lost battle when he saw one.

"I imagine I appear ungrateful."

"You don't say." Varric drawled, sarcastically.

"I apologize. Nothing could be further from the truth." Fenris paused, reaching into a small satchel tied to his side, and retrieving a pile of coins. "I did not find Denarius, but I still owe you a debt. Here is all of the coin promised to you by Anso. I will take my leave."

Varric took the coin, and Fenris turned to go. Hawke and Carver held their positions.

"Who's Denarius?" Isabella whispered to Varric, who put his head in his hands.

"Context clues, Ravaini, context clues."

After walking away a few paces, Fenris paused, looking over his shoulder at Varric. He hesitated, as if second-guessing what he was about to say, but continued anyway,

"Should you find yourselves in need of assistance in the future, I would render it."

"Hawke is the leader of our merry band of misfits, she'll have to be the final say on that." Varric stepped aside.

Fenris's eyes switched from Varric to Hawke, still poised to pounce,

"Are you willing to work with mages? Or will this continue to be a problem?" She asked; all emotion removed from her voice.

"I will not interfere with your abilities, unless my own life is at stake, but I cannot pretend that I will not watch you. Closely."

"Kinky." Isabella nudged Varric, cutting the tension.

Hawke's lips twitched involuntarily,

"We'll be in touch."


"Well that was simply enthralling." Varric entered his suite, sliding large mugs of ale across the table.

The group had convened with Aveline, Merrill, and Anders at the Hanged Man to regale in the night's events. Merrill was petting a tabby cat Anders had 'begrudgingly' adopted at her insistence.

"His name is General Meow," she introduced the cat to Carver, who raised his eyebrows at Anders.

"She's the mastermind behind that one," Ander's shrugged, "Though I cannot say Sir Pounce-A-Lot wouldn't approve."

Across the table, Aveline was not enjoying the recapping of their evening,

"He threatened you?" It had taken time for her to move past a man having his heart pulled out, but she was absolutely not tolerating the elf's aggressive behavior towards Hawke.

"Can he be trusted?"

Hawke had remained mostly silent since the incident in Hightown earlier that evening,

"I think we can." She said it without fully understanding why she believed it to be true, "I don't think he'd trust me to watch his baby or anything, but I'm not sure I see him as a threat to our safety."

"In all fairness, Hawke, I don't think anyone who knows you would leave you alone with a baby." Varric joked.

"Laugh it up dwarf, if you ever pop one out, guess who's not offering free services." Hawke stood, draining the remainder of her drink, "I'm going home. Keep an eye on Carver, will you?" She smiled at Aveline, briefly resting a hand on her shoulder before sneaking down the stairs.

Once outside, she paced up and down the alley, too wired and cross to head home immediately.

The nerve of that ungrateful son of a bitch.

Thinking about the venomous way he had addressed her had been a growing irritation in the pit of her stomach. She had been attempting to conceal her bruised ego all evening. Just because she did not consider him a threat, did not mean that he hadn't greatly wounded her pride, harshly reminding her that her liability as a mage was never lost, no matter what she did to offset it. She thought of his confession:

'like a plague burned into my flesh and my soul'

How close to home those words had hit. For one blissful moment, she had seen an equal, someone who understood the agonizing responsibility of a life chosen for you.

Laughing bitterly, she punched the alley wall. Old plaster cracked and crumbled around her bruised and now bloodied fist.

That fucking asshole.

She turned away from the wall, running directly into what she would soon come to recognize as the immovable figure of Fenris.


Fenris had walked the halls of Denarius's decrepit mansion restlessly after the departure of the strange group.

How could he have been so foolish?

He had been successfully on the run for three years, and he had risked it all by putting himself in the hands of another mage, a clever mage at that. The familiar thrumming of the lyrium beneath his skin had been present, but hadn't actually seen the woman perform any spells nor wield a staff; instead she had played the role of an adept rogue. He had been blinded by his desire to see Denarius destroyed, but he would not let it happen again.

Fenris continued his pacing, attempting to hold onto his fury, so as not to face the hollow void of the mansion around him. However, as time wore on his irritation dissipated.

He thought of the woman, Hawke. She had not been what he had expected. Her hair had been long and dark, tied back low on her neck. She had a small, lithe frame, and severe features, with sharp lines and piercing eyes. But all in all, she had seemed a standard woman. Nothing like the gargantuan beast the rumors led him to expect. She was nevertheless, undoubtedly talented and commanded a powerful group. Perhaps that is where the rumors prevailed. Unfortunately, that made her all the more dangerous.

Still, the loyalty shown by her party was admirable. Devotion beyond coin was hard to find in a mercenary band, and it deserved respect. She had also not only aided him in thwarting the slavers, but had willingly ambushed the hideout of a Tevinter Magister. Albeit for coin, he reminded himself. When she had approached him outside however, it had been to offer unprompted assistance.

And you attacked her, the one person in this city who might be able to help you defeat Denarius

Before he knew what he was doing, he had left the mansion and began moving through the sleeping city toward Lowtown.


Fenris found the Hanged Man easily; it was sort of hard to miss. He was considering what he might say as he approached the front of the building, still not sure he shouldn't return to the mansion, when he heard the dull crunch of plaster around the corner. Investigating the sound, he saw Hawke, slowly removing her fist from the small crevasse it had created in the decaying wall.

Shaking off the pain, and pieces mortar, she turned and walked rapidly down the alley running straight into Fenris. Startled by the forceful contact, they both staggered back a few steps before righting themselves.

"Fenris." Her eyes narrowed, and he felt them cutting through him like sharp daggers.

"Hawke."

A long moment of silence passed between the two before he chose to break it.

"I wanted to… apologize for earlier."

Hawke remained impassive, so he continued,

"Missing an opportunity to catch Denarius left me in an undesirable state, and I may have… Lashed out unnecessarily toward you." He felt disarmed by her, unsure if he had made the right decision is coming here. He struggled to find each word; "I stand by my intentions. As would you if you lived through the corruption of the magisters." He could see that he was winning no further support. "However, I see that I might have been… misguided in this particular situation."

Hawke allowed the silence to hang in the air. Fenris had just made the choice to leave when she finally spoke.

"Fenris, I do not know you or your shit, and honestly right now I don't care. So let me make this very clear: I will never endanger my friends or family. I include myself in that danger, as I was taught. If you're with us, great. But I will not have mood swings, bullshit prejudice, and second guessing threaten their safety."

He studied her pointedly, searching for a lie or a weakness. He found none. "Understood."

Hawke stuck out her hand, a gesture of truce. After another short moment, Fenris gripped it firmly in return.

"We usually meet at the Hanged Man. Maybe I'll run into you there."

He nodded and released her hand,

"Perhaps you shall." He bowed his head very slightly and turned to walk away.

"Fenris, your arm." She nodded to his wound, "It's still bleeding. Allow me to heal it?"

It was posed as a question, but Fenris knew it was a test. A test that held a myriad of unspoken challenges.

He turned to face her, and without breaking eye contact, slowly extended his arm toward her outstretched hand. He watched her carefully as she gathered her mana, sending streams of energy swirling over his wound. His tattoos lit up beneath her touch as red, flickering ribbons of magic slowly drew the gash shut. When it had been completely sealed, save for a light pink line, he removed his arm from her grasp.

"Thank you." He conceded.

"See you tomorrow Fenris."