A breeze was sifting through the leaves of the trees in Skyhold's garden. They glowed green and gold in the afternoon sun, casting shadows on the moss-covered paving stones and the medics tending to the herbs that supplied the infirmary. The cool mountain air made ripples across the surface of the fountain near the stone pavilion.

It also kept blowing Hawke's hair across her face.

"Pleh." She spit out another flyaway that had cut her off midsentence.

Marcus giggled and mimicked the sound. He was sitting next to her on a bench in the pavilion, swinging his legs and holding onto half of a large illustrated book. The other half was balanced on Hawke's lap.

Over in the patch that served as a kitchen garden, Fenris turned back to the cucumber trellis he was assembling. It was modeled on several larger ones that already bore spirals of green bean vines, their diamond-shaped leaves fanning outward in clusters.

He listened as Marcus tried to sound out a few letters while Hawke rearranged her waves and curls. There was the shuffle of a page turning, and the story continued. Marcus had chosen several of them from one of the higher shelves in the library, once Fenris had picked him up and read out the titles that seemed of interest to a four-year-old. Not many of those here. Perhaps they would be enough. Perhaps Marcus would not have tired of them before it was time to return home.

Hawke was leaving for Crestwood tomorrow morning. They had spent two nights together, and after the third they would part again. She would bring Lady Cadash to meet with their Grey Warden contact, and they would continue to pursue the trail of red lyrium that had followed them out of the Deep Roads all those years ago and had burst to the surface in the wake of the Breach.

A vein of it had appeared near their town in early autumn. For days after they had destroyed it with the help of a squad of Grey Wardens, the untainted lyrium in Fenris' tattoos had itched and crawled, relieved only by towels filled with conjured ice and by Marcus' little fingernails scratching away. Meanwhile, Hawke had wilted, still mentally sound but unable to do much more than move from chair to bed to chair again. Somehow the effects had been worse than at the battle against the Templars during the Kirkwall Rebellion, and when they had removed other red lyrium veins in the years since then.

They had agreed that Hawke would not repeat the experience. She had promised Fenris she would be careful. That was the only promise she could make.

But enough; she was sitting with Marcus now, her arm around his shoulders, and exclaiming at a plot twist. Marcus clapped his hands to his cheeks and flopped backwards.

Fenris sat back on his heels; he had not been paying close attention. Something about forest creatures. A frog and a toad. "Have I missed some excitement?"

"Daddy!" Marcus squirmed sideways and eyed him through his fingers. "Can we read it again tomorrow?"

"If you like."

"I want to read it again!" He lifted his side of the book, like the half-door that led to the courtyard garden back home, and ran down the steps of the pavilion.

Hawke shrugged and set the book down on the bench.

"Don't you want to read another book with Mummy first?" asked Fenris, as Marcus crouched next to him and began pulling up weeds.

"I have to leave really early tomorrow morning, little bee," Hawke said, joining him. "We won't have any time after breakfast."

"Oh." Marcus dumped a handful of weeds and dirt clumps to the side. He mashed the dirt for a bit, contemplating.

Hawke made a little bouquet from some droplet-shaped leaves. "I'll be back soon, don't worry. I can't say when, but soon. And I'll write." She tucked the bouquet into Fenris' tunic pocket.

The green beans were thoroughly de-weeded that afternoon, as were the radishes and lettuce. Marcus got three bedtime stories that night.

Neither of his parents could sleep.

In a quiet corner of the battlements, Fenris touched the small of Hawke's back, beneath her cloak, and drew her closer. She rested a hand against his chest, watching silently as he lifted her wrist and began to wrap a frayed strip of red cloth around it.

"Take this with you," he said.

"Fen, I - I can't…"

That surprised him. "How come?"

"It's just… I gave it to you."

Fenris folded the edge of the cloth band. "You did."

"Well, what if it's, I don't know, bad luck? Giving it back."

"Not if you were borrowing it."

There; a glimmer of a smile. "All right."

Some time later, Fenris trailed his lips downward, along the line of her jaw, her throat. The soft fabric on her wrist pressed against the back of his neck.

"Safe return."

"Hmm?" He kissed her collarbone.

"That's what it means."

He paused. "Or less chafing under your gauntlet."

"Wait, is that why you-"

"Never mind."

"Fen! Are you..." She broke off into laughter.

Then there had been no more sadness, not until the last moment they held each other, at the drawbridge, framed by the frozen mountains and clouded sky.

Note: this was also written for a C/P Sells Seashells prompt ("bittersweet").