A/N: Hey, hey, hey! Hope everyone is having a very special wonderful Valentine's Day! I, myself, have no Valentine to speak of, but that's super ok, cause my mom gets me chocolate on V-Day anyway. XD Sad, right? Anywho, I actually have just recently finished the one-shot for the second word in my series, which happens to be Romance, and I'm updating it today, which happens to be Valentine's Day. Go figure! I totally didn't even realize it until I actually saw the date when I was waiting for the website to load, so I had a little chuckle to myself about my impeccable timing. Go me! Teehee.

So, I've found that the number of one-shots this segment alone will hold, and it's a little over a hundred! I'm completely serious, crazy right! Nah, not so much. But it will get kinda crazy trying to find a song to correlate with every single word, but I'm up for the challenge. BRING IT ON. :D By the way, I loved this song so much for this word. It actually had me tearing up. Not the story, but the song. I'm not that conceited. Lol. But it helped inspire the setting. I hope you guys love it too! I reccommend listening to it while you read. It helps set the mood. Unless you don't like Dashboard Confessional. Which is cool too.

This is a cute little thing, shorter than my last update, told in Fenris' POV. I'm absolutely terrified updating this, because I feel like I'm not going to do him justice. But I did my best, giving him a resonable attitude with a touch of obliviousness (not too much though; I don't think Fenris is Captain Oblivious, he's just not as experienced at reading when a girl likes him unless their blunt). Please let me know if I need to improve! Still haven't given this F!RogueHawke a name...it'll probably be Marian, just because. :P

Thanks for the welcoming reviews! I'm so excited to be writing for the F!Hawke/Fenris community!

Please review! I really do love them. ;)

Second Movement: Romance

"I watch you spin around in your highest heels.

You are the best one of the best ones.

We all look like we feel.

You have stolen my heart."

- Dashboard Confessional, "Stolen"

Fenris gulped down two full schooners of spirits in less than thirty seconds. He had hoped it would perk up his mood a bit, but he was sorely mistaken. His ire had only risen, mostly due to the fact that the servant who had offered him the tray of drinks had glared at him with one of the most judgmental looks he had ever seen. And that was an impressive statement, as far as his past life as a slave was concerned. It was part of the reason why he had taken two schooners of wine and two flutes of champagne in the first place. Half out of his own vindictiveness, the other half was because he had established that the more alcohol he had in his system, the less he seemed to worry about petty matters.

But his inkling that, drunk or no, he would not be able to shake this foul mood appeared to be coming true, which further displeased him.

He did not even want to be at this supercilious festivity. He had made it vocal to everyone in the cabal that he thought this gathering would be a waste of his time and theirs, but each one of them paid no heed to his words, and he was forced to clean himself up, put on a smile he was not willing to show, and stand there in a corner like a fool while others congregated in the middle of the room to dance and make merry. Women cackling and chirruping like birds, mean boasting and laughing raucously.

All because of her.

He did think there was a just cause for celebration. Hawke had pulled off a miracle; he was not blind. She had defeated a powerful creature, the leader of the Qunari, in single combat, something that people like Varric regaled to the masses to keep legends alive and children hopeful for the future. She had changed the views of the people of Kirkwall, on top of saving them from being killed by the Arishok. The city, the Kight Commander, the First Enchanter; they all owed her more than just their lives. They owed her for keeping the Qunari from razing the whole city and crushing the morale of the humans that inhabited it. It was no wonder they bequeathed her the title "Champion."

But was this loud, boisterous affair necessary? Nobles from Kirkwall had been thrust into the grand ballroom of the Viscount's keep, a place usually reserved for political business alone; to humbly rejoice in the fact that they were not dead. Then again, he supposed this was technically political business; the only person who was left to take charge of the city was the Knight Commander herself, and she had been the one who proposed the gala initially. It must have been her own way to show that she was ready to arrogate the rights of the Viscount and control Kirkwall. Ridiculous, he thought. The weedy-willed Viscount Dumar brought this upon himself. Humans lacked fortitude when it came to their emotions. Because he could not gather enough courage, full scale war almost broke out across the Free Marches. How in Thedas an idiot like that came to hold a position of power was a mystery to him.

A sharp pang of guilt rippled in his chest. Was he really in any position to talk? He had no idea what the Viscount had suffered when he had been told his son was killed. Though Fenris had had a family once, he was sure, he could not remember them, and therefore could not feel acute sorrow for the lack thereof. Taking it one step further, he had no children to speak of as well. At least, none that he knew existed. He could not feel empathy for a father when he only knew the definition of the word. He had heard parents say that they would give their lives for their children at any moment, and the Viscount was never given the chance to even bargain with the horrible Chantry mother who had murdered Seamus. Perhaps he had arbitrated to quickly…?

Hawke's face slunk to the front of his mind.

No. He was not erroneous for judging. Hawke had gone through something ten times worse than the Viscount. She had lost her father at a young age, seen her brother mutilated by an ogre, was forced to leave her sister with a man she did not know, and had held her mother as she died from the twisted desires of a blood mage. The poor girl had truly been to the Void and back, but she had the pluck to persevere and search for peace with the Arishok; to try to rescue and assist others in need. She was the reason why all these obnoxious humans were in this chamber today, drinking and dancing like tomorrow would never come, and the Viscount was dead. That was proof enough for him where the strength could be stumbled upon in this dismal place.

Hawke was the power in this city. Not Meredith or Dumar. And she deserved it. She was capable, quick on her feet, fearless, unprejudiced, beautiful…

'…Beautiful…'

Fenris snatched up a champagne flute and emptied its contents, barely tasting what he was putting in his mouth. He had to pull his mind away from that place. He could not tread that path any longer.

He had strayed from it long ago.

Pulling his gaze away from his feet, he cast his eyes out towards the audience facing him. He recognized a few people that he did not know personally; they would often walk the same route as he when traveling to and from home, since he lived in his own estate in Hightown, or, it was his as of three years ago. They appeared to be happy, though some were unquestionably "sloshed", as Isabela would say. He made out Sebastian, the Starkhaven bowman, no beverage in his hand, but he was, indubitably, having a splendid time speaking with the crowd forming around him. There was a great smile plastered on his face, and a few younger girls were gaping at him, hanging on every word that came out of his mouth, though he seemed to ignore them entirely, which Fenris considered to be rather funny. Not too far away from Sebastian was Aveline was sniggering with a small company of her guardsman who had made the guest list, no doubt , her new beau Donnic on her on her right. Even at events such as these, she could not be found too far from her work. That made him smirk. She was a creature of comfort. They had that in common.

Varric had clustered a group of nobles in the corner opposite Fenris, his eyes dilated and his hands gesturing wildly. There was no need for Fenris to try and figure out what Varric was saying; it was another outlandish tale about Hawke. He always looked the exact same whenever he pleased new listeners. One in a while, he would listen to the stories himself; just to see how much of a distance there was between the truth and his idea of the truth. Varric never failed to make Fenris squint in disbelief. He never knew someone who had such a knack with exaggerating. But, Fenris had to admit it was something he liked about the dwarf. Varric definitely amused him.

Isabela was absent from the assembly. She had used the excuse that she did not drink and revel with nobles on Hawke, but Fenris did not believe a word of it. Isabela had not shaken her humiliation of double crossing the rest of them. He could see it in her eyes, read it in her motions. She always kept to the back when Hawke took the front, and vice versa. Isabela sought to believe that there was some kind of unseen wall between the two of them because she was afraid that Hawke would eventually turn on her and either slit her throat or demand that she leave for good. To Fenris, Isabela had all intention to fear. Hawke was much kinder to her than he would have been. While he may not have let the Arishok take her back to Par Vollen, he would not have shown Isabela the courtesy that Hawke had.

But it was not his place to decide. He was merely a follower, not a leader, and was content to be so. For now.

Closer to the middle of the room was the Witch, her eyes glittering as she stared at the myriad of glasses on the tables that lined the expansive room, all shapes and sizes, each one partially filled with different tinted wines, champagnes and liquors. How she could be so fascinated with something so minimal and still be able to consort with demons was beyond him. It made her stupidity even more palpable. It should not have irritated him to this extent, but as they were the only two elves at this party, save for Hawke's hired hand, Orana, the humans would judge all elves by their exploits while this massive rendezvous continued. With his standoffish tendencies, Orana's position as a domestic and the Witch's insufferable ignorance, it made them all looked like doe-eyed, unfriendly servants. And he was no one's servant.

Fenris snatched up the last of his champagne and knocked it back. Ignoring it would be the best course of action. It was always the best course of action.

He could not wait to leave.

Setting the flute back down, with a noisy thump, he cast his eyes to the very center of the room, where the dancing was taking place.

And he felt his heart skip a beat.

She was like a single flower blooming in the snow; something that could make you gasp from shock and smile out of pure wonder. She wore a long, comely red dress—a lighter shade than the wine; this was more like a rose red—and it clung to her curvaceous form in such a way that it made her look even more voluptuous, which he didn't even know was conceivable. Black lace adorned all of the skin above her chest; what was supposed to be the collar and the sleeves of the dress had been modified to show more of her peachy skin, as it was relatively visible through the lace itself. Her wavy blond hair had been pulled into a taut, elegant bun atop her head, the black jewels pinned to her locks flickering sporadically in the candle and firelight. Her cheeks had been augmented with rouge, her lips with carmine. It made her blue eyes, which were already a rare shade, come across as distinct and alluring compared to all the red and black.

Hawke was breath-taking. Awe-inspiring. He felt as though he had been walking and someone had taken the solid floor from beneath him. Never before had he gazed at a woman, human or elven, as perfect as she.

'…Words elude me…' he thought in Arcanum. '…Loveliness personified…'

Time stopped. The chatter around him became muffled; an undertone compared to what it once was. Everything in the room misplaced its color, excluding her. He became so aware of the beating of his heart that he could feel it racing on the balls of his feet. She was so beautiful. How could he not have noticed that sooner?

But he did notice it sooner. Much sooner than here. He had seen how appealing she had been since the first moment he had laid eyes on her. Her full lips, the sea that rolled in her eyes, her golden hair, the velvety sound of her voice. He had yearned to drown himself in her. Wake up every morning to that smile, those eyes, that voice saying his name…

'…No,' He tried to rationalize with himself. '…You released her. You have let her go…'

But did he really want her to go?

Evidently not. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything before. That amorous night that had seemed like centuries ago was still fresh to him; a cut that still bled. Her kiss, her touch, her sighs. He kept those memories close to him when he began to feel browbeaten or deterred. His stint with her had been brief, but he would not have traded it for a lifetime. He longed for her in spite of everything, even more so now at her most luxurious, but he could not have her. She had been his once, and he had let her slip through his fingers without even realizing what he had done. She had asked for him to stay, and he didn't even turn around to tell her how badly he desired to say it. He truly was a fool, and if Hawke was as intelligent as she looked, she would do good to harbor anger and distrust towards him. It was sensible, tactful. She would save herself from getting hurt again, and he would be punished by having to look at her during moments like this and berate himself for turning his back on true love.

It was only fair, he admitted.

But that didn't mean that he had to lock his feelings away.

He blinked, and sound and color washed over him like an ocean wave. It came back stalwart; so rapidly that it made his ears and eyes ache to such an extent, he had to turn away from her. The alcohol was not exactly auspicious at this moment either. Luckily, it took a great deal of wine and champagne to get him harebrained. As he casted his eyes back to where Hawke had been before, he felt a spike of terror slice through him as soon as he discovered she was no longer there. Instantaneously, he straightened his body, poised it into a defensive position, and scanned the room as hastily as he could for her. He did not trust wealthy, lecherous bigots to treat a woman as fine as she with any type of respect, and he would rip out as many organs as he could to make sure Hawke was safe and content.

And then he spotted her, and he felt his heart sink into his stomach.

Of course she was dancing with the Abomination. Because the Maker could not let Fenris have just one night of total amity. Watching the cheery scene made him grind his teeth together. Under the glimmering chandelier, Hawke and Anders danced strongly and harmoniously, the latter grinning as though he had just been given one hundred sovereigns for being alive as long as he had. Hawke was not as visibly pleased as he, which helped Fenris to regain his composure, but there was an aura of happiness around her; he had chosen to become attune to the revolutions of her moods. The Abomination spun her, the skirt of Hawke's dress twirling along with her, splaying out like a tent around her feet, showing off a pair of black heeled shoes. It made her look elegant. Lithe.

And it made him sick.

It was one thing to lose her to someone like Sebastian or Varric, but it was a totally different story when it came to Anders. Fenris would rather die than leave her in the hands of that mage. He was possessed by some demon of vengeance, which made him precarious. He had seen his lack of control, though Anders claimed there were no problems with his domination over Justice. Lies. Abominations could never be straightforward or faithful. They cared for their own selfish gain, nothing more. And all Anders chased after was freedom for mages and Hawke's unwavering affection; a suitable example.

Fenris had never been the jealous type of man, at least not that he could remember, but Hawke awoke many new things in him, some beasts that he did not even like. But they were things he could not stop, did not want to stop. His jealously towards Anders being one of those things. Fenris could not keep Hawke from falling for him, though. He had squandered his stab at capturing her heart, and the Abomination was taking full advantage of that.

Soon, the song they danced to began to fade, and, ultimately, came to a complete halt. Fenris felt an enthusiastic itch worming down his back. The music would soon collect itself and restart. This was his chance. It was not that he wanted to dance with Hawke, per se, but an opening to separate Hawke and Anders from each other. Hawke being within an arm's length of an Abomination did not sit well with him. If he offered Hawke a dance, he would know she was secure and would not have to threaten Anders to get her away from him. It solved the problem with no confrontation, which is the way it should have been, considering their environment.

He, undeniably and positively, was not doing it because he fancied a dance with her.

He moved like a cloud of smoke through the dense blockades of humans, gracefully dodging a numerous amount of potential crushed toes to get to her as fast as possible.

He was right behind her shortly, and he could hear the soothing peal of her laughter even though they were surrounded on all sides by noisy invitees. Anders was the first one to detect him, and they shared a brief glare. He was the first one to waver, and he politely regarded Hawke right afterwards.

"Looks like you've got another gentleman caller. Come find me if you want to talk."

Hawke didn't immediately turn around, for Anders, with all his charm, seized her hand and placed a most chaste kiss upon her fingers. Fenris growled low, deep in his throat, loud enough so that Anders could hear; Fenris hoped so, anyway. Anders locked eyes with him once more, winking at him as though he believed they were lifelong friends as he stalked off to Varric's corner of the room. He had done so on purpose, to provoke him. Wished for him to think that he was going to steal Hawke out from under his nose and was proud to do so.

But the joke was on him, for there was nothing for him to steal.

He had let Hawke go freely.

It didn't take her long to discern it was him. She had barely turned around before she started talking.

"I'm surprised to see you out here. You've been in that bloody corner drinking all night."

Fenris cleared his throat and tried to hide his smile; he was glad she had noticed him.

"I have no cause to be sociable. Even the servants regard me with disdain."

Hawke folded her arms across her chest, and Fenris stealthily admired her lacy arms.

"Do you think that might have something to do with you looking like a livid drunkard? They probably thought you were just here for the wine."

"They would not be completely incorrect," he stated with gumption.

Hawke winked at him, and he felt his ears get warm.

"As long as you're not trying to paint the walls again, I've got no qualms with how much you drink. Did you need something?"

Fenris suddenly felt as though he had walked outside in his smallclothes. He came here fully prepared to ask Hawke to dance with him, but all of the nerve that had driven him to approach her had dwindled to faint ashes. This reminded him vaguely of that night months before; all the feelings he had for her coming to a head in one heated moment of passion, and how he just turned on his heels and discarded what relationship they did have like a broken sword. How did he have the gall to insist who she should and should not spend time with? What made it fair for him to just imagine he would be granted a dance just as long as he asked first? He had presumed too much.

But here, surrounded by dim light and sweet sound, he had never seen her so magnificent. A jewel discovered amongst dirt and grime. And that helped him recover what he had lost. Who could not resist her? Who could not be daring and ask for her hand at least once? It was a gamble, but he was no coward. To walk away now would be spinelessness, a frittered opportunity at experiencing her wonder up close. Just this once, he would presume.

Fenris pulled his chin up. "I came to request a dance with you, Hawke."

Incredulity flourished on Hawke's face, and Fenris felt himself jerk a little. Was that delight strewn amongst the surprise on her countenance?

"Of course you can dance with me, Fenris." The tone in Hawke's voice went up an octave.

"I—ahem—thank you…"

The music had already recommenced, though the melody for this piece was much slower than the one that Hawke and Anders had danced to. Fenris watched Hawke's face. Her eyes darted to and fro before she took one step closer to him, closing the gap small between them. He was near enough that he could see the light-colored skin of her shoulders through the thin lace overlay; could smell her strong, freesia-scented perfume wafting in the air, and it made him as giddy as any wine would.

She bit her bottom lip shyly; he could not think of an appropriate word to describe it, but he settled on charming. That was the best term to define what it had invoked within him.

"Do you know the steps? It's perfectly fine if you don't, we'll just look like we're both drunk. I almost tripped Anders a few minutes ago."

That got a grin out of him. "That I would have enjoyed seeing."

"I'm sure you would have, as well as my own stumbling."

"It depends on whether or not you fell. Actually, no, you are correct. I would have enjoyed seeing that as well."

Hawke snorted. "Maybe I should trip you too, then."

"Ah, but since I would be leading, then I would have to take you down with me," he quipped.

"Lying on the floor like fools together, eh? I suppose that's fair."

"Of course it is. But, fortunately enough for you, I do know the basics."

Fenris offered his hand to her, hoping that she would not perceive the slight shaking in his knees. He did know uncomplicated steps, but it had been years since he had danced at a formal occasion. While Danarius did not let him do much, there was a certain amount of etiquette that he had to be taught in order to make the magister not look like a total barbarian. Fenris, more often than not, loathed all of the things he was forced to do and learn while under his master's heel, but, during cases such as these, he found them quite useful. Was almost grateful for them.

He became tremendously aware of his arms when Hawke took his hands. The sensation of her skin on his traveled through his nerves all the way up to his elbow. He could even feel it in his markings. Grasping one hand, he allowed her to rest the other on his shoulder, and he placed his free hand on her hip, the curve of it memorable for him. Four freckles she had there, he recollected, two darker than the others. Freckles. She had some on her face as well. Most of them on the fleshiest parts of her cheeks. Freckles. There were a few on her back as well, between her shoulder blades...

He could name the location of every freckle on her, he realized.

Fenris cleared his throat to block out the images. It was rude and improper to think of such things. Hawke would not want a man she was no longer involved with knowing it, to boot. How had he learned all the eccentricities of her body in the first place?

Because he wanted to. It was that simple.

They moved a bit stiffly at first, Hawke trying to find her bearings. In the faint light, he could make out a slight blush daubed on her visage. She was nervous, but why? If anything, he should have been the nervous one. It was he who had hurt her, he who had given, and still would give, her more trouble to add to her collection. He had half expected to have been rejected as soon as he had made himself known. But she had accepted without even deliberating on all the things that he had done wrong to her. Her kindness was an ever-flowing river, and that almost made him angry. Was she vamping him? She could not be…

Hawke stepped on his foot, breaking up his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking quite self-conscious.

Fenris focused on Hawke. No. He could see the rectitude in her eyes. This was no game. Perhaps she was nervous because she was not a good dancer, as evidenced by her two left feet. But…no. That could not be it. She had been good-humored with Anders, and he was just as horrible a dancer as she…

Fenris almost stopped them completely. He was ashamed of his own obliviousness. Of course she was edgy when dancing with someone who actually knew what they were doing when she did not. Hawke did have a reputation to uphold; it was extremely understandable. He chuckled as quietly as he could to himself. He could not exactly blame her. He never enjoyed people believing he was puerile at sophisticated functions, even when he was a slave. Fenris sympathized with her, and decided to offer his assistance.

It was the least he could do for someone he cared for.

"You are trying to lead, Hawke. You must allow me; it is the job of the male."

"Oh, so women can't lead, can they?" Hawke peered up at him; a jest.

"I am sure that they can, but not in dancing. It is not proper custom."

"Isn't that a bit sexist?"

"It has nothing to do with that. Males are taller; stronger. Therefore, it is easier for them to guide a woman across the dance floor because they are so light and easy to carry."

"Men lead because their better suited for it," Hawke rolled her eyes. "Not the best of arguments, Fenris."

Fenris could not help but adore her smarminess. He really did not know why. It was probably because she had been the first one to talk to him in such a way.

"Perhaps I should demonstrate? Shall I throw you over my shoulder and carry you around the room until you understand?"

"And how can you be sure I won't fight back?"

"Oh, I am hoping you will. How else would we draw attention to ourselves?"

"You want everyone to see me thrashing around while you try to restrain me? Wouldn't that look a bit too much like you were trying to manhandle me?"

"If they asked, I would certainly be honest and say I was teaching you about the strength of men."

"What's to stop me from turning against you?"

Fenris bristled. "Would you? Truly?"

Humor danced in her eyes. "No. But only because you look so mortified."

Fenris laughed, heartily and true. They could go around in circles forever, and he would never get tired of their playful banter. She was such a joy in his life, as if happiness had never really existed within him up until the day they had first met. Hawke had been the one to find the light that had been extinguished in his heart and taken the time to try and spark a flame that he had never had in his entire life. It was his blessing and his curse.

And it was a curse because he had forbidden the light-maker from her work.

Yet here she was, allowing him to traipse her around a dance floor, speaking and teasing him as though absolutely nothing had happened between them. But was that because she was trying to move on, or had she already moved on? He found himself craving an answer to that question.

What if she had moved on, what would he do?

What would he do if she had not moved on?

Had he moved on? Maker, no.

'…I will never move on…'

Fenris stopped breathing.

He would never move on, would he?

Hawke suddenly felt so diminutive in his arms. It was her. It would always be her. Now and forever. That was why everything ceased to be when he had seen her radiance for the first time tonight, why his rage had boiled over when he had seen her with Anders. Why he felt so dizzy from her perfume, why her touch made him weak. Why he felt she deserved respect, why he wanted so desperately to dance with her. Why he felt compelled to protect her, to be near her, to remember every indistinct feature of her body.

She had taken the part of him that cared for anything and hidden it within her, and now she was the only thing he ever coveted in this life he had built after fleeing slavery.

The music petered out, or it must have, since Hawke had immobilized both of them. She drew her hands from his form, and he had, not once, felt such an overwhelming absence. His hand, however, had remained firmly attached to her hip, and he was not planning on removing it.

Hawke looked down at it quizzically, then back up at him, curiosity flitting across her face.

Fenris met her eyes, locking her in a gawk. Neither of them wavered. He did not want them to. Not after he had uncovered the truth. How could he have been so blind?

He loved her, and that loved fulminated inside him like a fire.

And he had to tell her. After his gaffe, if he could confess, the weight of fault on him would vanish.

And, maybe, just maybe, she might reciprocate.

"Hawke," Fenris said unhurriedly, steadily.

Hawke's face flushed redder than the band wrapped around his wrist. She was incredibly feminine, then. Like a normal girl who had been confronted by a handsome, enigmatic man. She had looked the exact same when they made love. He felt pleased that he could create this in her, and it only added to his resolve. Her breathing became so heavy that he could make out the rise and fall of her bosom, though he could not hear it over the chatter of Kirkwall natives.

The world had been emptied except for the two of them.

This was the time. It had to be now. It was too impeccable, too romantic. He had to let her know. If he did not, he would never be able to live with himself.

Fenris inclined his head as close as he could to Hawke, eyeing her pink lips, leaving little room amid their faces, her breath tickling his nose. She did not move a bit; he had turned her to supple stone. Yes, he elected. This was it.

Just loud enough for her, he murmured.

"You have stolen my heart."