Author's Note: Hey guys - I would love to hear your opinions on what's happening. I try to keep Fenris as in-character as I can, so please let me know if I'm failing miserably. Thanks for looking/reading! 3

He heard Varric and Hawke's footsteps before they reached his room, but he didn't open his eyes, hoping they would assume he was sleeping and leave him alone. Of course, he had been expecting too much.

"Ah, rise and shine, Broody!"

"Varric," Hawke said sternly, like a mother calmly disciplining a child. "Good afternoon, Fenris."

Of course it was the afternoon already. Fenris hadn't slept all night, and when he finally succumbed to sleep in the early morning, he had been exhausted.

Fenris groaned, rolling onto his side and sitting up. "What?" He asked, irritated.

"I told you I was stopping by." Varric laughed. "We need to talk to you about Beautiful."

"Beauti...?"

"Your wife of course," Varric looked delighted. "That's her nickname."

Fenris looked at Hawke. "You know about her?"

Hawke nodded solemnly and Varric laughed again. Of course he knew. Everyone knew.

"I've never been known to keep a secret, Broody."

Fenris groaned, rubbing his forehead and getting up to sit near the fire, which was now reduced to smoldering embers. The dim afternoon light poked in through the small windows, but the room was still dark and stank of old wine. Hawke and Varric took the bench opposite him and regarded him for a few moments before moving on.

Hawke spoke first. "What do you think you're going to do, Fenris?"

Fenris narrowed his eyes, glancing between the two. Were they both on Astoria's side? What were their opinions about this?

"I haven't decided."

Hawke tilted his head thoughtfully. "I remember when you met your sister, and you remembered her calling you Leto. Do you think your memories can come back? I mean, that one did. Seeing her acted as a trigger. Maybe seeing Astoria more will trigger other memories."

Fenris nodded. "I suppose they could."

"Did anything come back to you when you saw her?"

"No." He didn't want to say that she had looked familiar, like he knew her and had seen her a thousand times before. He didn't want them to be on her side – he wanted justification for saying that he would stay in Kirkwall.

Hawke nodded. "I'm sure Danarius made especially sure to get rid of those memories. Especially if you liked her as much as it seems you may have."

He hadn't thought of this, and that made him feel like a fool.

"I don't even know if Danarius meant to erase my memories, though I can see how it would be useful for him." He was silent for a moment as he gripped his knees. "What do you think I should do, Hawke? I respect your opinion."

Varric feigned disappointment at not being included as Hawke pondered this, brushing something off his knee. "I don't think you want my opinion, Fenris."

"I do." He replied, shoulders tense.

Hawke nodded once, scratching at his dark beard. "I think you owe it to her, Fenris. She not only supported your mother and sister, but your child. And now they're all gone. She has nothing if she doesn't have her son back."

That was Hawke. Always helping people. Fenris was half-surprised that Hawke wasn't running off with her to help.

"I owe it to her?" Fenris sneered. "I gave myself up for them, I got these markings for them. I owe them and her nothing."

"Perhaps if you did not escape after two years," Hawke pointed out. "But that was Danarius' fault for erasing your memories."

He had a point, as much as Fenris didn't want to admit it. Two years of servitude did not call for the release of three slaves in Tevinter. It would be a bad deal for any magister.

"There's nothing for you here, Fenris," Varric said, sounding sincere to his credit. "This city is crumbling – it's only a matter of time before it implodes on itself. Go. You deserve to enjoy something."

Fenris averted his gaze to the low burning embers in the fireplace. The three of them were silent for a while. Hawke and Varric share a look.

"Do you believe her, anyway?"

He nodded after a hesitation. Varric breathed in relief.

.

"She was all torn up about it, Broody. I thought the stress of the situation would kill her before she got to your mansion. The last thing she wanted was to make anything more complicated. Try to be sympathetic."

He looked up at the dwarf and the human and rested his chin on a few of his fingers, thinking. "Are you kicking me out?"

Hawke furrowed his brow in confusion. "What?"

"Will you tell me to stop following you? If I don't help her..."

Hawke sighed, rubbing his forehead, frowning. "Fenris... At the very least, she knows who you were before your markings. You should at least talk to her. Go to the Hanged Man, or Maker forbid, let her stay in your house." That wasn't a no.

"It is not 'mine,' and she is hardly my wife. Our marriage wasn't binding."

"Oh Broody," Varric sighed, "you know that's a load of bull, right? She just didn't want to scare you. Of course, no one will ever be able to prove it, but come on. Be reasonable."

Fenris thought he was going to explode suddenly, and the mansion was too small and too dark for him. This was a chain, he realized. Another chain when all he wanted was to be free of them.

"I... need some air," he announced, getting up abruptly and grabbing his great sword and heading out of his mansion.

He ducked through the alleys of Hightown with his head down, listening for anything out of the ordinary, alert for anything that might cause him harm. It was his reflex at this point, though Tevinter was no longer on his heels.

Muscle memory brought him to The Hanged Man. He stood outside of it and looked up, disgusted, at the sign.

Hawke was right. Hawke was always right. Fenris admired and hated that about him sometimes. He always listened to Hawke. If Hawke had given him up to Danarius a year ago, he wouldn't have fought him. Something about that understanding of himself disturbed him.

With a defeated sigh, he stepped into the tavern.

He knocked on the door that he had been told was hers, the noise on the wood sounding panicked, anxious. There was a bit of shuffling on the inside, and the door cracked open a tiny bit. Through the small opening, he saw Astoria looking out cautiously. Upon seeing Fenris she sucked in a breath and opened the door enough for her full face to be visible.

"Oh, Le – sorry, Fenris. Are you alright?"

"I want to talk to you," he answered gruffly, voice low.

"Yes. Come in," she stepped back and opened the door to let his angry, panicked frame stalked in. He looked around at the room his "wife" was living.

It was small and dirty. A small bed in the corner was unmade, with pouches sitting on top beside a dagger. He realized that she was holding the other one, but now it lay limp in her hands, no longer so dangerous. She was wearing her armor, and her hair hung loose past her shoulders.

He realized how he must have just looked to her. Like a tornado storming into a room of innocents, anger directed at no one in particular but at everyone in his way.

The door shut quietly behind her as she leaned against its wood as if to give him all the space in the room, eyes warily on him as he turned to look at her. He looked away then, trying to figure out what to say. Suddenly he was tongue-tied, and that was certainly a first. He bowed his head, his thoughts simultaneously screeching to a halt and storming in his head.

"I..." Astoria began, catching his attention as he looked up at her, "I wanted to apologize."

"What?" He furrowed his brow.

"I never meant to turn your life upside down."

He scoffed, and the sound seemed to startle her. He had not been expecting an apology from her.

"N-no, it's not that." It was though, and he knew it. He groaned. "Venhedis."

Astoria startled, and he realized she probably knew what it meant.

"I... I just don't know what you want from me." He admitted.

The look she gave him was so sad, he wondered how it could really be the same woman as in those drawings who looked so carefree while smiling, giggling with him even.

"Like I said, Fenris," she began calmly, still leaning against the door as if encroaching on his personal space, he would explode and incinerate the room, "I'm not expecting us to run off into the sunset and be like we were. We're different people. But... if you choose to come with me... I am going to save Lysander. I have to."

"What magister has him?"

She looked to the floor. "I don't know."

He took a step towards her, his anger flaring. "So you're going off to the Imperium planning on knocking on every magister's door and asking if they're the ones who have kidnapped your son?"

She sucked in a sharp breath and eyed him levelly. "If that's what it takes."

He scowled. "Then you are a fool."

"Maybe. But I have nothing left to lose."

Her conviction was alarming, her voice stern. Part of him wanted further revenge on the Imperium. Another part of him gnawed at him that it was his duty to follow her, to get his son. He had nothing left to lose either. But his instinct screamed at him and he wanted to run.

Astoria cleared her throat softly and added, "If you will not come with me, and I don't expect you to, I would appreciate it if you could tell me who Danarius' colleagues were. It would give me an idea of where to begin looking."

Fenris frowned. "Very well. At the least, I can do that."

Astoria shut her eyes tightly, as if keeping herself from crying. Fenris arced an eyebrow and then sighed, realizing how cruel he had seemed to her, how it must conflict so starkly with what she remembered of him.

"I'll buy you a drink, and we can talk," Fenris offered, trying to keep his voice calm and steady. Astoria opened her eyes, glassy and blue and beautiful, and nodded, biting her bottom lip anxiously.

"Thank you."