On some days, Fenris' markings hurt so bad that he can't stand to be touched.

The door is closed. That is his first clue that something is wrong. Hawke always leaves her door open, partly to be open for questions and to talk to whoever comes along, partly to hear any ambush on her room before it can happen. Being paranoid in Kirkwall keeps you alive.

Fenris hesitates, his hand hovering over the door handle. A closed door should not be opened by a slave, unless ordered to do so. But he isn't a slave anymore. He presses the handle down and pushes the door open.

"Hawke? Are you here?" he calls into the room, waiting in the door way. The light from the hall spills into the room and his eyes adjust quickly. Only the light of a few candles by her bed illuminate the room with a play of light and shadow. He sees the shape of her, softly glowing in his Lyrium enhanced vision. She is hunched over the desk, her head on her arms on the table. An unopened bottle of wine sits next to her, the alcohol coloring it in an eerie light.

"Usually people knock, you know?" she says, her voice muffled by her sleeve.

"They do? Not just slaves and servants?"

Hawke sits upright and leans back in her chair. "Yes, it's polite to knock and wait to be called inside. You never know, people might not be decently dressed or they might not be alone. Or," she throws a pointed look at Fenris, "sometimes people want to be just left alone."

"Even if it's better to not be alone?"

"Yes, even then. You can't always assume what people need." She stretches again and stands up.

He has taken a step inside but the door is still open behind him. He understands that she wants him to leave, she practically made him a sign that said so, but something holds him in the room.

Hawke has taken a step to the window and stares outside into the darkness that her human eyes can't even penetrate. When she looks over her shoulder after a while, she seems to be surprised that he is still there.

She tries to smile but fails and her voice is soft like a little girl's, "I can't help you today, I'm sorry. You have to ask someone else."

"Help me with what?" Fenris asks. He doesn't feel like he needs help standing here with Hawke. It used to be that it made him nervous and defensive whenever he had to speak to her but not anymore. By now, he really likes talking with her and he looks forward to their little talk everyday.

"I'm sorry Fenris, it's been a bad day."

"Yes, I know." His foot begins to twitch and he has to force it to keep still. It feels so strange to stand here. Usually, Hawke would have asked him to sit down by now, her open smile inviting him to say something and even though he never knew what to say, suddenly, something would come up and they would talk until their eyelids felt heavy.

Hawke turns away from the window and sits down on her bed with a sigh. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her thin shirt reaching down to the floor. She looks up to him and her eyes have a darkness to them that he has never seen before. His Lyrium markings begin to glow.

Fenris shifts uncomfortably. He can feel the fire of the Lyrium all the time, but recently the burning has gotten worse. Every skin contact hurts and he only endures the constant pain of his armor because he can hardly run around naked in battle.

Hawke turns away from him and it makes the burning on his skin even worse. She lets her head fall into her hands. "I'm sorry, what ever you need, Fenris, I can't give it to you today. I'm empty."

The burning gets hot and he is about ready to run back to the mansion and rip everything off his skin but something holds him here. He never had friends or at least he doesn't remember if he ever had friends. He still isn't quite sure how friendship works but he knows that they help each other. Hawke has helped him so much but it has never occurred to him that she could need help too.

He sits down next to her, ignoring the searing burn on his skin as his armor shifts. But he must have shown something on his face because Hawke looks at him critically.

"Your markings hurt again."

"It's nothing."

Hawke lets out a snort. "Of course it's something. That armor must irritate your skin all the time." She raises her hand to touch his arm but stops herself, hovering over his arm, the light of his markings reflecting on her palm. "I'm sorry," she says and lets her hand drop into her lap.

"You don't need to be sorry, I'm used to the burn of the markings," he says. He raises his own hand to place it on her shoulder, like he has seen Varric do when he wants to give her support but in that second she turns away and rummages through a bag at the foot of the bed.

"I forgot I have something for you, where is it?" she mumbles, almost lying on her side as she searches through the bag. Her back is stretched out long, her butt lifted slightly off the bed and Fenris can't help but stare at it. It is right in front of him, how could he not?

He doesn't deny that she is attractive to him in a purely physical sense but that isn't why he is here. He loves their talks, the stories, the way she listens, how she always has a snarky remark on her lips. That is what they have and it is all that is there. And he doesn't ask for more. How could he, an elf with burning skin, who can't stand to be touched, wish for more?

He moves to stand up but Hawke notices it and grabs his hand by the gauntlet. "Wait, don't go yet." Fenris sits back down, a strange tightness in his throat preventing him from speaking.

She sits back up, a small leather bag in her hand. "I have something here, it's from the Dalish."

Fenris scoffs and Hawke looks in his eyes. "It's not magic," she says and dips her finger in the bag. It comes out with white grease on the tip and she holds it up to him. It smells of green leaves and herbs.

"It's a salve for burn wounds, specifically for Lyrium burns," she says. "The Dalish have some experience with that and they know best how to treat elven skin. Would you try it?" she asks, waiting for him to answer.

That tightness in his throat comes back, it always happens when she asks him something and waits for his approval or denial. He has not been a slave for a while but in moments like these, he actually realizes what that means.

He nods, his voice stuck somewhere in his chest. She takes his hand and sets her finger to the Lyrium marking running just above his gauntlet and next to the piece of protective leather that covers the inside of his arm, following the curved line up to his shoulder guard. He tries to control his expression but he winces when her finger touches his skin.

Hands, holding so hard, burning fingers, pressing, pinching, twisting until the blood leaves and the Lyrium glows, "Quiet, hold still!" holding, down, down, it burns, it sears, holding, taking, this is all he is good for..."

"You're shaking," she says and her hand flies away as if his skin burned her. "I'm so sorry, does it hurt so much?"

"No," his voice is rough, rising from the depth of hate that has formed in his stomach.

Hate for him or for HIM?

"Just a bad memory," he says and he holds his arm out to her.

"Can you take these off?" she points to his gauntlets and the arm cover. He releases the latches where the covers connect to his shoulder guards and is surprised how quickly she has the gauntlets and gloves pulled off his hands. He stretches his fingers, he hardly ever takes the spiky gloves off, not even when he usually falls asleep in the chair next to the fireplace in the ugly house he lives in. It's not his house but it's not HIS house either. Not anymore.

Hawke pulls his other arm forward, his thoughts have distracted him so much that he doesn't notice that she has covered all the lines with salve. She works over his other arm, dipping her finger into the salve from time to time. The candlelight reflects on her face, giving it a golden glow. She has a calm look of concentration on her face, her bright eyes half lidded as she works over his arm. Her fingertip follows the flowery designs softly, applying just enough pressure to spread the salve. Her eyes are fixed on his lines, lifting and turning his arm to reach every silver-blue glow.

Finally she looks up, lowering his arm but she keeps his hand in hers. "How does it feel? Any better?"

Her eyes are shining again. That's the first thing he notices and it's the only thing. Two lights, bright and vibrating like a sound in his heart.

"How does it feel?"

"What?" Fenris wonders if she means his heart or the feel of her hand on his.

"Does the salve help?"

She looks at him and he wants her to never stop but he forces himself to look away, to not get lost in those eyes. He looks over his arms, over the lines that glow softly through the thin film of grease over them. The burn is still there but it's muted, receding.

He takes a breath, trying to calm his beating heart. "Yes, it feels better," he says but it sounds like a whisper.

She points to the protection over his torso. "Take that off too," she says and there is a rough vibration in her voice that he never noticed before. She sees that he hesitates and lets go of his hand. He immediately misses her touch.

"Fenris, I will not do anything that you don't want, I promise. I know you don't like to be touched and I –," she closes her eyes for a breath and when she opens them again that familiar rougish smile plays on her lips, "– no matter what I would like to do with that wonderful body of yours, I respect that."

He has to grin at that but he hides it behind his arm as he ruffles his own hair. Hawke has many men interested in her, she has no need to settle for him. He looks down to concentrate on the buckles of his chest piece to hide his wistful smile. Maybe one day he could stand to be touched but how likely was it that Hawke would still wait for him then?

He lets the chest piece and the back piece fall and looks down. He doesn't want to see how she looks at his marked body, the lines of ownership on his chest.

"Fenris," her voice is soft when she calls him and he slowly raises his eyes to her face. She stares at his chest and he feels the glow getting brighter, the burn biting. He turns his face away but she takes his chin in her hand and turns it back to her.

"They look beautiful," she says, "I know you hate them for what they mean but they don't mean that to me. For me they are just beautiful." She dips her finger into the salve and begins to trace the markings on his chest, spreading the cooling salve over the burning light. She keeps talking, her voice soft and easy. "If we ever find a way of removing the Lyrium from them, I will help you but as long as you have them, let me tell you, they are incredible, so beautiful." She makes him turn so that she can follow the lines down his side. "It's not only me who thinks that by the way."

"No?" Who else would look at a marked slave?

"You have no idea how many girls are ready to fall at your feet when they see you, strong but lithe and with light all around your body in beautiful patterns." She chuckles slightly, "That milkmaid yesterday almost fainted."

"She probably hasn't seen much in her life," he says as she sits down behind him, tracing the markings on his back.

Hawke laughs quietly, "Probably true, but I almost joined her." She spreads the salve over the last line and lets her hand linger on his lower back. She is closer now, her breath flowing over his shoulder and if he just turned, his lips would catch hers.

But her hand burns. It's not quite as bad as before, the salve is helping but his skin hates every contact, even the lightest pressure. He wants to press himself against her and he wants to rip off his skin to stop the thousand needles from tormenting him.

She realizes his discomfort and removes her hand. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"No, I'm sorry, I should go," he says and he swallows hard, swallows down everything.

"Fenris," she calls after him before he reaches the door. "I'm not asking... I don't..." she rakes through her hair and sighs, "Could you just stay here? Not holding me or anything, just, could you stay, please?" It almost sounds like a plea. So strange, coming from her.

"Of course, Hawke, if you want me to," he says and walks back to the bed. She points to the side of the bed and he kneels down on it, sitting on his haunches as she crawls under the cover on the other side. She lies on her side, her face turned to him, her beautiful eyes looking at him. He expected to see disappointment but it's not there.

"Blow out the candles please," she says. Without the light of the candles, the moonlight and the glow of his markings makes everything silver-blue. In his Lyrium enhanced vision, she glows bright and golden and her eyes are blue pits of fire. They get smaller and smaller as she closes her eyes and he watches her as the tension leaves her face.

He thinks she has fallen asleep when she suddenly whispers, "Fenris?"

"Yes?"

"Call me Marian."

"Yes, Hawke, I mean, Marian."

She smiles with her eyes closed. "You don't have to stay here all night, just for a bit."

"I understand."

"Good night, Fenris."

"Sleep well, Marian."

Her smile stays on her face until she finally falls asleep, her face relaxing. He keeps watching her.

He does not leave.