Danielle thought to rush out after him, but her duvet was all that covered her body. She dropped the duvet so it rippled until it pooled into a scarlet mess on the floor. She stepped over it and let out a morose sigh, folding her arms and gripping onto each one. Her grip tightened and she turned her face so her delicate, porcelain cheek brushed against her shoulder. She felt unclean. He had touched her, begrimed her and made her feel weak. When he took his hand away from her trousers, he laughed and had said "until next time, Blondie," in a gruff, repugnant voice as he clicked his tongue against his cheek and walked away guffawing. Touching her was not his main goal, however: it was to warn her.

"If you don't meet our man," he whispered in her ear and subsequently sneered "Hawke," in a patronizing tone. "I will do much more than touch you," he finished, sucking on his fingers as he waved goodbye.

Danielle shuddered. She had never met a foe she could not defeat with her daggers. In normal circumstances she would have slit his throat within a second as he slid down to her trousers. However, this time she could not. Or Fenris would die. Both Danielle and her lover were at risk. She was vulnerable and hated the feeling more than anything in the world.

The man's aim was to tell her to meet his master in a grimy warehouse in Kirkwall docks. If she didn't, Fenris would be tracked down and killed. She thought about what Fenris had said, about how his life would be broken if she were gone. She reflected on that thought and believed the same about him: if he were to die – her precious, brooding, magnificent man – a piece of her would die too. She could have no-one else in her bed, she could not laugh the way she did with him, nor would she be able to talk to anyone else with such honesty, pain and admiration. Her life may never have been as afflicted as Fenris', but he truly mended her. He spoke to her with profound ebullience, hanging to every word she ever said. Yet when her mother died, he came to her, and no words need had been spoken. His pain and beauty formed a magnificent man, who Danielle could not live without.

She couldn't take a gamble on Fenris' life; nor could she rendezvous with her assailant's master, as she could not risk rape or death because of what Fenris had said before he left in anguish. Yet, how could she tell him that a man had touched her in a way he only touched her? This would evoke a fuming rage within the pained man; yet she could hold in the truth no longer. She decided that she must tell him, as they should make decisions together; even if it ended in their mutual death.