Fenris had no choice but to follow his master- Hawke, he reminded himself sternly, into the parlor. Just because Hawke had been lenient last night didn't mean he could expect the same this morning. Especially considering that Hawke was clearly no longer suffering from his headache.

"Did Anders come in last night?" Hawke asked Prince Vael who had started his breakfast already.

Vael swallowed hastily. "I'm hardly the person to ask," he said curtly.

Hawke sighed. "I was just wondering," he said.

Vael ignored that, instead passing several calling cards across the table. "You gained several allies, it seems."

"Makes me wish I'd slept even later," Hawke muttered, scanning the cards. "Who's Lady Camille and why is she requesting a private luncheon with me this afternoon?"

"Orlais still covets the Free Marches, Hawke. Enough, it would seem, to entertain marriage with the strongest ruler of the most prosperous nation in the region. And for shame- you of all people should know that 'private' actually means 'in the company of our impotent, weaponless bodyguards.'"

"Fantastic. I suppose you think I should accept?"

"You could entertain marriage with worse prospects. A pirate, for instance, would be far worse," Sebastian said. Fenris shifted his weight slightly. His feet hurt no matter what- the point, of course, of the beating- but it was far worse when he was standing still for any length of time.

"You're only saying that because you've got Miranda and three heirs already," Hawke said, smirking.

"Fenris, are you not hungry?" Vael asked.

Fenris sucked in a harsh breath. He could feel Hawke's attention on him, but kept his eyes firmly on the breakfast table and the little pile of cards in the center.

"Fenris," Hawke said. "Sit."

He could no more disobey than he could rid himself of the markings. Fenris sat.

"Eat," Hawke ordered, serving food onto the plate that had been set before the seat Fenris had chosen.

"Hawke-" Vael started to ask, but Hawke interrupted him.

"Not now, Sebastian," Hawke said. "I'm still hoping for wishing-makes-it-not-real, and if I think on it too much..."

"You'll have to think about it sometime, Hawke," Vael warned.

Fenris took a bite of the breakfast, and when Hawke didn't change his mind, as Danarius so often had (Fenris privately thought Danarius often had his mind made up from the start, and only pretended to allow Fenris momentary luxuries. He didn't think it often, though, because it wasn't right to think so ill of one's master.) he chewed it slowly and swallowed.

The door flew open, and Fenris leapt to interpose himself between Hawke and the newcomer.

"Maker save the poor souls in this town," the newcomer said. "Because no one else seems willing to try. Hawke, I know I said I'd be back before the embassy ended for the day, but the word got out, and I had lines out into the streets. Little elf girls with sexual diseases and working human men with festering wounds from iaccidents/i that no one could be bothered to heal."

"Anders," Hawke began, only to be interrupted.

"Maker's Breath; Fenris?" Anders exclaimed, taking the three steps to close the distance between them. He grabbed Fenris's chin and tilted his head around to the left. "That's new," he muttered, fingers tracing the only mark on his body that wasn't laced with lyrium.

"It looks like a brand," Hawke said. "Does the shape mean anything to you?"

"I don't know. Maybe? It's familiar but- I'd have to look it up. Fenris, what does it mean?"

Fenris wrenched his head free to look to Hawke for permission to speak to Anders.

"Anders," Hawke said, and Fenris winced a little, because judging from the strain in his voice, his headache had returned.

"I said I was sorry!" Anders snapped. "Besides, keeping track of my every movement doesn't mean you'd be able to stop me if I decided to destroy half the city anyway."

"That's not what I was going to say. Fenris needs healing. I know you're tired, but-"

"But you want me to heal him. I wish you wouldn't ask."

"And yet, here I am, asking."

Fenris wasn't particularly enamored of the idea of allowing a mage who didn't want to, to use magic on him, but Hawke seemed insistent.

"Hawke-"

"Just look at him, first. Look at him and then come back out here and tell me you won't heal him."

Anders sighed. "Fine."

"Fenris, go with Anders; show him every one of your injuries, no matter how minor iyou/i think it is, and listen to what he tells you to do, okay?"

Fenris absolutely did not want to go into a room alone with Anders, but he couldn't not, so he followed behind as they went back into the bedroom, but he lingered near the door when it was shut.

"Do you have to make this difficult?" Anders asked, an eyebrow arched imperiously.
Fenris very carefully looked away from him.

"Come here," Anders snapped. "And show me whatever it is he wants me to see. Neither of us wants to be-"

Fenris turned away from him and shrugged out of the poorly fitted shirt and Anders cut himself off with a hiss of breath.

"Andraste's left tit, Fenris," he said. "What happened?"

Fenris didn't respond, barely even breathed. Every instinct screamed at him to iturn around, face the mage, never turn your back on a threat,/i but Hawke had said-

Anders touched his back, and the lyrium markings sang out to meet his magical energy, and it hurt how powerful Anders was. Fenris had no doubt that should Anders desire it, he could drain Fenris dry, and Danarius had very carefully designed him so that he couldn't be drained completely.

He very carefully did not react, not even when Anders started casting and it was surprisingly soothing, both cool and warm, making him want to cry out and relax all at once.

"Those were infected," Anders said. "I will never understand this country."

Fenris ignored him and moved over to the low stool by the fireplace so he could remove the bandages from his feet.

Anders knelt before him and took his foot away, light fingers untying the bindings, even lighter fingers running down his soles, sparks of cool/warm healing magic trailing in their wake.

When Anders was done, he set Fenris's foot gently down.

"Are you- I suppose I can see you're not alright. But- will you be?"

Fenris met Anders's gaze then, for the first time. He didn't reply, as Hawke hadn't given him permission, and besides, what would he say? But he met his gaze and let that answer Anders's question.

Fenris had somehow missed the fact that Hawke had no real guard beyond one of Vael's detailed to keeping an eye on him.

That guard had winked at Fenris and said "Good luck," with a smile Fenris couldn't begin to decipher.

Now, though, Hawke had him, and even without a sword, he dared any of these delegates to make an attempt on him.

He made sure to keep his stare stern and indiscriminate, and he stood just behind Hawke the whole time. More people fawned for Hawke's favor even than had Danarius, which pleased Fenris. He crushed down that emotion as soon as he felt it, because it was confusing.

Danarius had said he'd been confused before, and that was why he couldn't be allowed to remember the rest of his life; so he tried to avoid confusion as much as possible now.
His hand went to the side of his neck of its own volition, pressing against the mark there.

Hawk turned to look at him. "Fenris?" he asked, ignoring the Antivan delegate who had just approached. "Viscount, but excuse me for asking how many men you are going to commit? Only I do not want to seem weak, but..."

"Is everything alright?" Hawke asked. The Antivan left quietly, but Fenris watched him closely until he'd engaged the Orlesian delegate in conversation regardless. Antivans could not be trusted.

Fenris looked back at Hawke, and remembered he'd been asked a question. Hawke didn't look upset at being ignored though, just concerned.

"I'm fine," Fenris said evenly. And he was. Momentary confusion aside, he was better than he'd been days, able to stand and move and wear clothing without pain. Once his body had relaxed enough to sleep last night, he'd slept deeply and well.

Hawke tilted his head. "Okay," he said softly. "But you know you can tell me if you're not, right?"

Fenris inclined his head politely. Hawke moved as if to touch him, but stopped just short, snatching his hand away at the last second
Something inside him ached at the abortive gesture, but he kept his face calm and blank, and waited for Hawke to go back to his politicking.

Over Hawke's shoulder, Danarius caught his eye, and he made a quick, decisive signal with his hand, and Fenris jerked his head, a 'no' and rebellion and hatred all at once. Hawke turned his head as if to follow Fenris's gaze, and Danarius signaled again.

"Oh, for-" Hawke snapped when he had seen who had Fenris's attention, and Fenris looked back at him, guilty.

"Not you, Fenris," Hawke said. "Just- I'd say ignore him, but I'm going to settle this once and for all."

Fenris had little choice but to follow Hawke over to his former master. He dragged his feet and didn't even glare at the Orlesian in hopes that she might detain his master, but to no avail. After just a few steps, they were there, and Danarius had the look on his face that usually preceded agony for Fenris and happiness for himself.

Even knowing that bodyguards must always be alert, even knowing that what little temper Hawke seemed possessed of seemed to be fraying; which admittedly showed through sharp words and cruel conversational barbs, never a whipping or lash of magical force, (but the day was still young); Fenris let his head tilt down, and focused his attention intently on the morbid designs of lilies and deathroot across the carpet, trying to find some repetition or pattern there rather than acknowledge Danarius's anger.

"Whatever petty revenge you're trying to initiate, don't," Hawke said bluntly.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're insinuating, Viscount," Danarius said smoothly.

"I'm sure," Hawke said. "But face it- I've won, and I never even had to use blood magic to secure my victory. And I hope that stings. I hope it keeps you up at night for the rest of your life wondering how you managed to lose to me- or how did you put it? A 'petty would-be-master of a slave who couldn't escape his chains even when he'd managed to run so far,' if I remember correctly."

"He hasn't even managed that much, this time," Danarius said with the tone he normally used to point out a flaw in an apprentice's work right before he poured magic into just the right places to cause a spell to go horrifically wrong.

That alone was what drew Fenris's attention up again, and that alone was the reason he caught the swift signal that meant 'kneel' out of the corner of his eye.

Fenris didn't think, reacted only to Danarius's mood and the familiarity of obedience.

He hit his knees.

Hawke hit Danarius with his closed fist. Fenris had a wild thought of how badly he'd failed- he existed to ensure his master never had to resort to physical violence- and how he was glad Hawke hadn't ordered him to hit Danarius, because he wasn't sure he would have been able to, no matter what quarrel Hawke held with him.

Hawke visibly reigned himself in, his fists clenched tight at his side. "You had no right-" he snarled, but cut himself off abruptly, crouching next to Fenris. He squeezed Fenris's shoulder, and Fenris didn't flinch under the white-knuckled grip, but it was a near thing. He'd behaved so poorly, Hawke would be well within his rights to order him dead, and Fenris wouldn't protest, would gladly draw the blade himself and present it to his master, would-

"Go back to my room," Hawke said, his voice still rough. "Wait for me there."

Fenris nodded, and as soon as the grip on his shoulder was loosened, he fled.

He didn't make note of the hallways he ran through, or the startled people and slaves he left in his wake. It was too late now, he knew, but he had to obey, to be good. He didn't know how else he might repair the situation. He thought bitterly of the healing this morning and hated himself, just a little more, for having wasted it all so soon.
A reprieve of two days had seemed too good to be true- too good to even think on. And now...

He threw open the door with far too much force and stumbled to a halt in the middle of the parlor, looking around himself despite the need to obey coursing through his consciousness.

The door to the mage's room was exactly the same as the other two, but Fenris knew Anders was actually within. He edged towards it, casting a guilty glance to Hawke's room. Anders had been... kind, earlier.

Hawke had given him the choice, after all; that Fenris remembered clearly. He remembered the way he'd tended those wounds, practicality and pity and disgust all at once, and he thought maybe Anders might- intervene, perhaps. He took another step toward the door, and his skin itched, and he knew what the order had been, and every inch of him was starting to ache with the disobedience, until he let his hand, half-raised to knock at the mage's door, fall back to his side, and he went to Hawke's room instead; instantly, the ache subsided.

He stripped out of his shirt, and after a second's hesitation, his trousers, folding both neatly and laying them on the chest next to the bed. Then he knelt in the center of the carpet and focused on his breathing.

When Hawke entered the room, almost an hour later, he was in the same position feeling much calmer. He didn't move when Hawke came in.

The door latched closed with a soft snick, and Hawke slumped against it, looking utterly defeated.

That almost caused Fenris to lose his composure. He had a gut-response to Hawke looking defeated that confused him; made him want to reassure him and stand between him and all comers. It was subtly different from his desire to be a good bodyguard; he wanted to defend Hawke, didn't consider it mere duty.

"Fenris," Hawke said, and nothing else. Fenris watched him carefully, waiting.

After another beat of silence, Hawke scrubbed his hand over his face, sighed. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do, here," Hawke said. "I'm lost, otherwise. I want- I want to do the right thing, but it's feeling more and more like there isn't a right thing to do."

"Danarius is an old enemy, is he not?" Fenris asked carefully, unsure if he should voice the suspicions that were clouding his mind with confusion or not.
Generally, his instinct was not, but something about Hawke made him want to abandon his instincts.

Hawke let out a bark of startled laughter. "Or something of that nature, yes."

"And you took me from him to hurt him, because he hurt you before?"

"More or less."

"You should kill me." Fenris stated flatly. "Or give me a blade and I will gladly do it myself."

"What?" Hawke demanded, drawing away from the door, startled. "No!"

"He'll use me to kill you," Fenris said. "I'm susceptible to his magic, if no one else's. Were you a magister yourself, you could... alter that. But you aren't. And your mage friend is... unskilled in such magic, is he not?" It was like walking a narrow beam when the ground below was studded with traps and shattered glass.

"You mean blood magic? Hah. No, definitely not."

"Then you must kill me," Fenris said. "I'm supposed to be your bodyguard, to keep you safe. And he'd use me to- I can't. Please," he added in a whisper. "Don't make me hurt you."

"Could I make you hurt him?"

Fenris nodded. "Of course," he said. "You're my master."

"Well, it seems simple. I order you not to hurt me."

"I-" Fenris said, then shook his head. "I wouldn't though!" He couldn't.

"Then I don't understand what the problem is, Fenris. You aren't explaining this very well."

"I failed you," Fenris said. "It's more dangerous to have me as your slave than not, and that's not how it's supposed to work."

Hawke moved to kneel next to Fenris, and while he still had several inches of height on Fenris, it felt wrong. Fenris moved to prostrate himself, but Hawke took his hand, placing it over his heart.

"What if I ordered you to kill me, Fenris, what then?" Hawke asked quietly.

Fenris tried to pull his wrist free, but Hawke dug his fingers into Fenris's skin, pressing against tendons painfully enough to make him subside.

"No!" he shouted, fingers flexing slightly against the leather of Hawke's brigantine.

"See?" Hawke asked, and Fenris was unsure if he meant the suggestion that Fenris be killed, or that Fenris wouldn't be able to kill Hawke. Either way, he nodded reluctantly.

Hawke let Fenris's hand go, and reluctantly he returned it to his side.

"I have to get ready to meet Lady Camille for lunch. You should get dressed; unless you'd prefer to stay here?"

"But," Fenris said. "You haven't punished me."

"Do you really want me too?" Hawke asked. "And how should I punish you, Fenris? You want me to beat you?"

He bent closer, his hair brushing against Fenris's cheek when he whispered, "How would that help? What would that accomplish?"

Fenris didn't dare move. His breath stayed caught in his chest, and he closed his eyes. He didn't know, he wanted to snap. He was the slave, and Hawke the master. The roles should be obvious, but Hawke kept twisting them, erasing lines and refusing to draw new ones. He didn't like this confusion.

Hawke drew away. "The truth of it is that you don't want to be punished, Fenris. You want to be forgiven. The problem with that is that I don't think there is anything to forgive.

Therefore, we seem to be at an impasse, so I'm going to forget this ever happened."

He stood, going to the trunk and tossing Fenris his clothing before opening it. "So, Lady Camille's suite for lunch? I've already told a servant to send food for Anders, so you're welcome to stay here if you'd rather."

For some reason, the idea of Hawke dining alone with the Orlesian made Fenris's gut churn. He started to pull his clothing back on.

Hawke was modeling a bright red scarf in the mirror. "What do you think, fancy enough to win me a bride?" he asked.

Fenris accidentally put his hand through the fabric of the sleeve, rending a large hole in the fabric. He stared at it in horror.

Hawke laughed, before throwing him another shirt from the trunk. "Here," he said. "This should do for now. It's in my colors and everything, which might even be an improvement."

The shirt was too large, but Hawke gave him a belt for the waist and wrapped the red scarf around his neck so the lyrium along Fenris's collarbones wasn't glaring too brightly. He positioned it carefully, so the Hawke family crest was over the top of his sternum.

"There. I'll certainly buy it as good enough to win you a bride, Fenris," Hawke said, and Fenris thought he sounded wistful.

"It's your scarf," he said. "You should wear it if you want to."

"No," Hawke said, a wry grin twisting his mouth. "We've delayed enough."