A/N: Originally, Bound was going to be a one-shot. However, a) I am new to the site and b) apparently the site is having technical issues (to put it mildly), so I was not able to change the status to complete. In retrospect, I am glad it worked out this way, because last night I was inspired to write the second and final chapter of Bound from Hawke's POV. Who knows, if not for the site issues, I may have never posted it. Moral of the story, all's well that ends well.

Disclaimer: Once again, I am saddened by the fact that I do not own Fenris or Hawke.

I opened my eyes to find a familiar room, although I had never seen it this time of night or under these circumstances. A full moon's light streamed in through the window, bathing the room in a soft glow. I could hear the sound of rhythmic breathing, and could see the rise and fall of his chest—smooth white skin embellished with purple lines. I traced the delicate marks with my eyes: up his sculpted chest, along his graceful neck, ending at his handsome face. His eyes were closed in peaceful slumber, and his lips were parted just slightly as he slept. In all the time I had known him, he had never seemed relaxed, until now.

I was content to lie there and enjoy the beautiful man intertwined with me—I was not sure where I ended and he began. Every muscle in my body ached in the most pleasant of ways, a small price to pay to feel so alive again. I was physically spent, but my mind was still running over the events of this evening and the past several years. I had come to his home earlier tonight out of concern, and to be honest, was hesitant in doing so. Fenris and I had history, and it was not always pretty.

"All that time wasted," I whispered, running my fingertips along the lyrium marking on his arm.

From the very moment that I laid eyes on him six years ago, I knew he was like no other man I had ever met. It was not just the exotic looks or the unique skills he possessed; there was something else about him that called to the deepest reaches of my humanity. In the beginning, our friendship was rocky at best. He trusted no one, but I made it my personal mission to be the first to earn it. He despised magic and never held his tongue about it, which made for some interesting interactions in our little group. In particular, he and Anders would clash frequently. Both were stubborn mules, and believed whole-heartedly in their convictions. There were quite a few times where I had to stand between them, and tell them to cool down, or I would kick both of their asses.

Somehow, in that mess, our friendship slowly grew, until one day it blossomed into something more. One evening, a bunch of us were at the Hanged Man, enjoying a little rest and relaxation. I was playing cards with Varric and Anders, and all of us were trying to teach Merrill how to play. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Isabela left her stool at the bar, and sauntered over to Fenris, taking a seat next to him. I found her behavior off; usually she spent her off time preying upon the numerous male patrons. She leaned forward, placing her ample breasts right in his face, and whispered something in his ear. Fenris looked confused first, then shocked, and finally intrigued as they continued their conversation. I felt my blood begin to boil as they spoke, and, fueled by the ale, I abruptly excused myself from the table. I stormed over to where they sat, only to discover that whatever conversation they were having was over. I did not dare ask Fenris about it, but I went to Isabela the very first chance I had, and confronted her. She wore a smirk on her face during the entire discussion, but she would not tell me what they had spoken of—only that, based on my reaction, it had been effective.

At that point, thanks to my friend's meddling, I realized that I felt very deeply for Fenris, in ways that were not platonic. Of course, I cared for him and had compassion for him, so they were part of it. But, there was more. I had clearly been jealous; I wanted his attention and his admiration. I had slowly but surely fallen for Fenris, and what drew me to him was his passion. Fenris felt all or nothing—he was never undecided or middle of the road. Even when our opinions differed, I appreciated his ardor for his position. I wanted to know that passion and be consumed by it; I wanted him to feel all for me.

Acceptance of my feelings led me to flirt with him, and we began to have nightly chats over glasses of wine. The longing built up between us culminating in that night three years ago when he finally granted me my wish. He showed up at my house late at night, not long after dealing with Hadriana. He marched up to me, claiming that he could not get thoughts of me out of his head. He told me that he would go if I asked, but I would never be able to tell him to leave—I wanted him and I was going to have him. But, the very thing that I loved most about Fenris, his passion, is what condemned that night. He felt so much that it triggered memories of his past that he could not deal with, and he fled.

It crushed me deeply, I will admit. No one ever wants to think that something so beautiful could have such ugly consequences. No one ever wants to think that they caused their lover anguish simply by being with them. I was royally pissed at first. I wanted to confront him, take my fists and pummel him, and tell him to get the hell out of Kirkwall. In one of my more stupid and angrier moments, I even considered going to Anders for comfort, knowing that it would probably lead to more. I thought it may make me feel better, and as an added bonus, Fenris despised him. Luckily, I regained my senses before I ever acted on any of my impulses. None of it would have brought him back.

I was filled with immense despair. For a brief time that night I had known Fenris' passion and no amount of revenge could replace it. I had a taste of heaven, of emotion so strong that it shook me to my core, and I was addicted. I wondered if this was what it felt like to be on lyrium, having the need of it consume you until you can think of nothing else. It was ironic; the former slave had basically enslaved me—not by force, but by love. I thought that he would depart from our little group, but he did not. It was a good thing that he did not leave; what I felt that night with Fenris had a grip on me so strong, I would have followed him all over Thedas. He took care to make sure that we were never alone, and he never once broached the subject. For three long years we sat in limbo, afraid, neither progressing nor regressing, until last night.

I felt him stir below me, and a hand slid along my spine leaving goose bumps in its wake. "You should be sleeping," he murmured.

"Well, I was until you tickled my back." He gave me a disbelieving look and I sighed, "Alright…maybe I was lying here enjoying the scenery."

He smirked, "Were you now?"

"Yes, it's like I have my own little lyrium garden to play in."

He laughed at that, and I smiled before continuing, "Besides, last time I did not get to enjoy the view."

His face fell slightly at the reminder of our previous encounter. He started, "Marian, I am so…"

"Stop," I abruptly said as I put a finger over his lips. "If you tell me you are sorry one more time, I will scream."

He looked confused, so I continued, "I forgave you for leaving a long time ago—that night happened and I will not forget it. I refuse to feel badly that it did happen, since it led me to be here with you right now. It was incredible, and sometimes in life, you have to take the good with the bad. So, no apologies, Fenris. I am not sorry it happened, and I hope that neither are you. We wasted three precious years in agony, and I refuse to waste one more minute. "

"Your wish is my command, messere," he replied as he beamed at me. He pulled my face up to his, and stared at me with those stunning, green eyes. They looked more at ease then I had ever seen them, and I took great satisfaction in knowing that my presence had everything to do with that.

"So, am I having an incredible dream?" I asked as I ran a hand down his muscular stomach.

"Not unless I am having the same one," he responded back as he wrapped his arms around me.

"You are staying this time," I half asked and half demanded.

"Well, yes, we are in my house after all," he replied teasingly, wearing a huge smirk.

I grinned and reached down below his stomach, giving him a playful tug, "You should be nicer when you are so exposed."

He gasped in pleasure and growled, "I am not going anywhere ever."

"Neither am I."