A/N: Standard I/P disclaimers.

I thought DA2 missed a lot in the establishment of friendships, relationships and people's actions. This is everything that came between what happened in the game.

"I've noticed when humans tell stories; they always talk about how attractive the heroines are. Why is that?" Merrill asked as she listened in on the group of Fereldens talking about the famous warden's newest exploits.

We were sitting at what was quickly becoming our usual table at the Hanged Man, a bottle of something that tasted less and less awful the more we drank in the center. I raised my glass with mock hauteur and grinned at the little Dalish elf. "Because saying that someone has porcelain skin, hair of spun gold, and eyes of the truest sapphires sounds much better than saying she was pasty, had hair that was lank, and eyes that were small and hard. And…" I leaned forward as though imparting a great secret. "For some reason, heroes are better received if a majority of the population wants to sleep with them."

"But I knew Mahariel before she left my clan to join the Grey Wardens. She didn't look at all like that."

Verric reached across the table to grab the wine bottle and poured himself another glass. "It's called narrative license, Daisy. Those who tell the stories make history and they change details to suit them. In a decade, the Warden will be a human ten feet tall that could singlehandedly destroy hordes of Darkspawn in a single movement."

"But she isn't a human, she is an elf. And how could she be ten feet tall? She wasn't any taller than me." The tattoos between Merrill's eyes creased in confusion.

The dwarf shrugged. "That's just how stories work. When I tell Hawke's story, she'll be a long legged beauty, with skin the color of fresh cream, waist length hair that makes men beg to bury their hands in it, and eyes that steal the secrets of your soul."

I snorted into my wineglass and fingered my own light brown locks which had finally grown back to my shoulders after an unfortunate fireball incident. "So, basically you'll be substituting me with one of the girls from the Blooming Rose."

"Narrative license. Behold the power of the story."

"Anyways, why would you even think there would be a story? I'm just a girl trying to claw her way out of Lowtown and into to someplace that smells a little less like week old garbage. If people wanted to hear those types of stories, everyone would be famous."

"You, dear Hawke have what I call a 'Tragic Past'. People with 'Tragic Pasts' always make a name for themselves, good or bad."

"You just capitalized that didn't you?" I accused. "You know I hate it when you capitalize things when you're talking. I bet you even used quotations."

Verric flashed his white smile. "You know it. With your history and skills, it would be a crime for you not to do something noteworthy."

"I'm so glad that my father's death, the razing of my home, and my sister's death by an ogre has you salivating at the possibilities," I muttered dryly. "You know who else has history like that?"

"I'm sure you're going to enlighten me."

"Mass murderers." I drained the last of my wine and set the glass back on the scarred table with a thud.

"Whatever you say, Hawke." Verric looked at me over the rim of his own glass. "I've known you now for what, four months?"

"And in all those months, it seems as if you have never learned my name," I grumped.

"Elizabeth sounds like someone's aunt," he said dismissively. "Hawke rolls off the tongue better."

"Why would someone name their ant Elizabeth?" Merrill questioned. "And why would someone have an ant anyway?"

"Aunt as in older female relation, not as in a tiny bug with six legs," I clarified.

"Oh, in my clan we just call them kin."

"Anyways, Elizabeth," he emphasized the name, then grimaced and shook his head. "Hawke, what I was saying was in that time, you have managed to pull together favors from an unlikely group of misfits. A pirate queen with no ship, an escaped slave, a guardswoman, a possessed mage, a ridiculously handsome dwarf, and Daisy here, all in less than a year. Do you know how many storytellers would give their right leg to be at the start of something like that?"

"Leg? Why not an arm?"

"You can't have a tankard in one hand and a quill in the other if you're missing an arm."

I nodded sagely at that advice. He had a point, or at least the drink made it sound as if he had a point. "Speaking of possessed mages, have either of you seen Anders lately? I went to check on him a few weeks ago at his clinic to see how he was holding up after that thing with Karl. He seemed… off." Off was an understatement. When I had arrived, his robes had been splattered with patches of blood. Some of it the rust of aged stains, some of it fresh. He looked tired and older than he had just a few weeks ago. There was also a line of the wounded and the sick out the door of this clinic. He had barely had time for a few words to me before I got the impression he wanted me to leave.

"I think Blondie is trying to drown himself in work so that he can forget for a little while. You do know that Karl and he were lovers right?"

I was surprised. "No, actually, I didn't know that. I suppose having to kill someone you love would explain a lot. How did you find out about anyways? He's never mentioned it that I can remember."

"I keep my ears open. Sometimes what people say isn't as important as what they don't say. I would give him a little more time. Something tells me another week or so and he should be back to himself again."

"Is that something he said, or something he didn't say?"

Verric smiled a purposefully mysterious smile. "Call it dwarf intuition."

I rolled my eyes. "How about I call it 'Verric pays for information'?"

"There is always that." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "On the subject of paying, how are you coming along with raising the funds for the expedition?"

"I'm getting closer to what we need. A few more jobs should do it, I think. Aveline mentioned that clearing out some of the groups that roam the less reputable areas of the city at night could add to the purse, but she is always so busy."

Merrill was peering into her empty glass. "What about your brother? Surely he would be willing to help."

Carver. Ever since puberty, my younger brother had been antagonistic toward me. It had only gotten worse since Bethany died. Having his twin ripped away seemed to ruin a piece of him. He rarely smiled now. When we had arrived in Kirkwall, we had to choose to work with smugglers or mercenaries, either group having the deep enough pockets needed to grease the palms that would allow us into the city proper. I had chosen the smugglers, figuring that it would be a less bloody path. Carver had resented that decision. While good with a sword, he lacked the necessary temperament needed for stealthier jobs. As a result, it was I that had earned a bit of recognition among Kirkwall's less lawful citizens. He seemed to take it as a personal affront. Ever since he had been taking more and more risks. One of these days, my little brother was going to get himself killed. "Ah, no. I think we should leave Carver out of this. He's probably too busy sulking.

"Why would Carver be sulking now?"

"When isn't he sulking? But this time is because he is trying to join the guard and his application was rejected. I think Aveline had something to do with that."

Verric nodded in approval. "Always knew our girl had a head on her shoulders." His looked turned sly in a way that I was starting to recognize meant trouble. "There is another option as well." I braced myself. "The runaway slave. What was it you called him? Oh yes, I remember. The 'perfectly handsome elf.' He did mention that if you ever needed him, he would be in that run-down mansion."

I could feel blood heat my cheeks even as I tried to play cool. "His name was Fenris, I believe." My own thoughts mocked me. 'I believe' Andraste's ass. I knew perfectly well what his name was. The surprised, extremely rusty chuckle the elf had given when I had made that little comment had piqued my curiosity about him enough that his name stuck in my mind. "I could go see if he would be willing to come out and give us a hand."

"Want us to come with you?"

I glanced at Merrill, who was now drawing pictures in the rings of condensation on the table while wearing a silly half smile. "Perhaps you should see Merrill home instead. In this condition, she would probably get herself all tangled up trying to use that twine to get back to the alienage, then I'd have to come unknot her. Again."

Verric put a hand on Merrill's shoulder. "Come on Daisy. Anymore of that wine and you'll wilt."

She stood, only slightly unsteadily. The two of them made their way through the crowd of patrons and out the door of the tavern. I watched them leave then called to Corff to put the evening's drinks on Verric's tab. He gave me a knowing grin and nodded. Verric might be a little miffed, but the man wanted me to come up with fifty cold. I had to save money somehow if I was going to get to that obscene amount.

The night breeze brought the scent of the sea with it as I made my way to Hightown. I made sure to walk casually, my head high, a hand resting naturally on a dagger. Lowtown was the last place a woman, hells even a man, wanted to be walking alone at night. The few groups of thugs I passed sized me up. Most knew me from my work with the smugglers, those that didn't; tonight I was able to ward them off with an 'I dare you' smile. If there was something I learned ever since coming to Kirkwall, it was that a little reputation and a hell of a lot of swagger, real or not, made people think twice about messing with someone. Some days it boggled my mind that the flippant crap that came out of my mouth seemed to be more effective than the most dire of threats. Maybe it made them question my sanity? Probably. Never trust a crazy chick with sharp pointy things strapped to her body, I've always said.

I made it to Hightown with no problems for once and it didn't take long to find my way back to the mansion that I had only been to once. I just looked for the most run-down home in the district. Now that I was in front of the door I paused. What was I supposed to do, knock? If I was squatting in a house, I certainly wouldn't be answering the door. Whoever was on the other side was most likely not the neighborhood welcoming committee.

The door gave when I pushed hard at it, sticking a little. I thought I remembered Ander's Force Push slamming an armed guard against the door the first time we came here. Looks like the elf never gotten around to fixing that. When I shut the door behind me and let my eyes adjust to the dim light, I noticed that the elf hadn't gotten around to fixing anything. The place was a mess. Broken crates and pieces of furniture littered the foyer. The bodies were gone, but there were still some dark stains on the floor. I wrinkled my nose. The stains were starting to smell.

I started to head to the open door that would lead me deeper into the house and stopped when my skin started to tingle. My flesh seemed to know a hell of a lot better than my brain when danger was close. "Fenris," I called. "It's me." Yeah, that's smart. Like he would know the voice of a woman he had only met once. "Elizabeth Hawke," I clarified. "We slaughtered the previous inhabitants together?" I heard a shifting just on the other side of the door before the elf stepped out, broadsword naked in his hand.

"Hawke," he said coolly.

I eyed the bare weapon critically, before giving him a wry smile. "You were expecting someone else?"

He moved the blade so that it rested over his shoulder. "Perhaps."

We stood there looking at each other. He was tall, even by human standards, but very lean. If I hadn't seen him fight firsthand, I would doubt his ability to wield the large weapon he carried. Hair the color of snow looked as though it was cut for necessity rather than style. Short enough that it wouldn't get in his way, with a few messy locks that fell forward. How he kept it out of his eyes was beyond me. It would drive me insane to have to keep tossing it out of my face. Maybe elves had some secret elven hair rituals that made it do what they wanted?

The stretching silence pulled me out of my hair ponderings. "So," I said. When he didn't respond, I raised my brows. "Do you want to invite me in?"

He turned and headed toward the stairs, sword still over his shoulder. I took that as my invitation and followed after him. There was a fire going in what had to be the master bedchamber and the smell of spilt wine hung heavy in the air. Fragments of a broken bottle lay smashed near the fireplace, the bloodlike puddle still fresh. I nodded to it. "Looks like you were having a nice time before I came." I bent down to read the label. "Agreggio Pavali," I said, impressed. "You have good taste."

"Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed."

I sat myself down in one of the chairs facing the fire and eyed him. He turned to sheath his sword and the flames caught his profile. They turned his tanned skin golden and made the pale lyrium scars much more pronounced. With the grimness in his eyes and the steel in his stance, I could see why they would be intimidated. The idea of this warrior being a slave was like having a tiger chained to your bed. Deadly, but beautiful. I pushed the thoughts away so they wouldn't show on my face and gave him a slow smile. "I can't imagine why they would be put off."

Fenris gave a soft snort and the corner of his lips twitched. "You say what's on your mind," he said, shaking his head, "I'll give you that."

"Life's too short," I said. "Especially in my line of work. That's why I'm here actually. You mentioned before that you would be willing to help us out. Is that offer still good?"

He looked cautious. "Yes," he said slowly. "I owe you a debt. If my sword will repay that, then you have it."

I made a face. "You and your sword don't owe me anything, Fenris. You needed help and I gave it. I just came to see if you would mind coming out with a few of us to get rid of some of the more troublesome gangs. You're perfectly free to say no."

He gazed at me and in the light of the fire I could see the color of his eyes for the first time. They were a pale green and extremely skeptical. I sighed. "Look, just come out and get to know us. Nothing says bonding like making bad people bleed." When he didn't smile, I tried another track. "You're new to Kirkwall and from what little you've told me, it seems like you could use someone to watch your back. This isn't a good city to be alone in."

His voice was cool, boarding on cold. "I have made it just fine without you or anyone else so far."

"Fine, so you don't need someone to watch your back. How about a friend?"

"Slaves do not have… friends." He spat the word as if it was something foul.

"Well, it's a damn good thing that there are no slaves here then. All I can see is a stubborn elf." His head jerked back slightly at that and his eyes narrowed. I could tell he was fighting for control over his anger. A muscle twitched once in his jaw before he finally relaxed slightly.

"Very well," he said, the words sounding as if they were being pulled from him by force. "I shall accompany you if that is what you wish."

I nodded. "Great. Meet me at the Hanged Man tomorrow evening and we'll go from there. And don't worry about it too much, we don't bite." I paused. "Well, Isabela might."