April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
-from "The Waste Land", T.S. Eliot (lines 1-7)

Hawke woke slowly, lingering for a time in a state of neither sleep nor waking. With the blankets draped over both of their bodies, the bed had grown wonderfully warm. Her mind was hazy from the heat and comfort and, for a while, she believed that the body she felt against hers was somehow part of her dream. It felt like a dream—lying in the tranquil quiet of the room that remained darkened with the thick, crimson curtains still drawn across the windows. Sighing softly as she came into consciousness, Hawke's eyes fluttered open slightly. Through her lashes, she saw Fenris' face, with his eyes still closed and his jaw slightly slack in sleep. She smiled, making a small, contented sound, before furrowing her brow and opening her eyes fully. Hawke was reasonably certain that she was awake now, but the situation in which she found herself seemed preposterous to be real.

It seemed impossible that Fenris had truly come to her bed, if only to sleep. And yet, there he was beside her, his body pressed against her own. Over the course of the night, she must have somehow made her way across the mattress until she was beside him, her leg draped over his thighs and her arm possessively laid across his chest. It appeared that he had also shifted in the night, lifting one of his hands to clutch lightly onto her wrist. Her eyes were drawn to his long fingers, where they clung to her. She wondered, for a passing moment, if he had woken when she had first wrapped herself around him and if he had allowed her to do so. Of course, that would have been truly impossible. He must have been unaware of what she had done in her sleep and, when he woke, she was reasonably certain that he would be upset with her for holding onto him so cloyingly. With any luck, she would be able to edge away from him without arousing his attention.

She knew that she should pull away, but, for a moment at least, she allowed herself to look at him. It had been ages since they had been this close together and he looked so peaceful in his sleep, as his dark eyelashes fluttered almost imperceptibly against his cheeks. Hawke's gaze wandered down to his lips, which were parted slightly as he lay beside her. She blushed, looking away quickly, and began to move away from him as hastily as she could without waking him.

She was groomed and dressed before he awoke and, when he said good morning, Hawke did her best to behave normally. She was uncertain what she should say about the night before or what it meant that he had felt comfortable enough to share her bed. She did know that is was probably best to make no mention of it. If she thanked him for comforting her, then she would likely do no more than embarrass him. Rather than making some clumsy attempt at conversation, Hawke simply proposed that they leave Athraim that day. Fenris agreed without resistance and they left the inn early, eager to leave the unseemly establishment behind them as soon as possible.

Brutus, they found, had been waiting expectantly for them beside the building's entrance. He had caught himself a rabbit during the night, it seemed, and proudly offered it to Hawke as she rubbed his ears. She thanked him for the kind gesture, but allowed her mabari to eat his trophy. Brutus was crunching happily on the rabbit while Hawke led him and Fenris through the streets.

Athraim didn't offer an overly large market, though there were a few stalls lining the road that wound past weathered storefronts. Hawke was pleased to see that the prices were fairly reasonable. She was trying not to think of it too much, but it did worry her that they didn't have more gold with them. While it was true that she had gotten by on significantly less, she had gotten into the habit of spending recklessly since her elevation in Kirkwall. It felt odd and nerve-wracking to be haggling over prices once more. Fenris seemed comfortable enough leaving the choices of what to buy up to her and simply trailed a few paces behind her while she negotiated with merchants and purchased the most essential items they would need to travel in relative comfort.

The greatest difficulty, of course, came with procuring a device which would allow Hawke to effectively channel her magic. It had been ages since Hawke had had to find a new retailer for such supplies, but she knew from past experience that there was generally, in any given town, an unscrupulous merchant who had some supplies stored away in case any apostates should show an interest. Though Chantry law forbade mages from living outside of the Circle, vendors generally seemed to care more about gold than they did about defying the Chantry. However, the availability of supplies for mages was always rather limited and the prices were always rather high.

It did occur to Hawke that perhaps she could make due without anything to amplify her magic. These days, she was reticent to cast at all. Though she still did so on occasion, she had begun to feel less at ease with magic since she had seen what became of Orsino. Even a year ago, she might have made an argument that there were mages who could control their power and that she was among them. Her doubts about magic had been increasing since she had seen the Tevinter Imperium with her own eyes. What had happened with the First Enchanter had only served to solidify her mounting concerns. She wasn't particularly fond of casting in front of Fenris, either. He never said anything about it or even looked at her strangely, but she knew well enough how much he hated mages. She was beginning to understand that sentiment.

Still, it seemed reckless to travel through Ferelden without so much as a staff or talisman. Fenris had a sword, but she wasn't willing to entirely entrust their safety to him. In the event that they were attacked or injured, she'd like her magic to be at its most powerful. As discretely as she could, once they had bought everything else they needed, Hawke told Fenris that they would need to find a shop that sold equiptment for mages.

He lifted one of his eyebrows. "You most likely have a better understanding than I as to how such an enterprise might be accomplished," he replied evenly.

"Right," she said quietly, looking away from him and towards the signs that were mounted along the storefronts. Seeing a promising shop, Hawke began to make her way down the street, letting out a short, shrill whistle to Brutus so that he and Fenris would follow after her.

The air in the small, cramped store was stale and smelled heavily of dust. The windows, covered with grime, only allowed a limited amount of sunlight into the room. Within those narrow beams of light, bright flecks of dust danced lazily. As the door swung open and then shut, the dance of the dust became more frenetic.

The shopkeeper, who stood hunched over behind a long counter, did not appear to be an overly fastidious woman. Her entire aspect, and that shop itself, bespoke a certain degree of carelessness and decay. Her dress, though it was made of a fine gray broadcloth, had clearly been much worn and poorly looked after. Her auburn hair, which was littered with gray strands, was piled carelessly on top of her head with loose tendrils falling down in front of her wide, weather-beaten face. When Hawke and Fenris entered her shop, the woman lifted her eyes to them, surveying them nonchalantly before looking back to the box of threads that she had been sorting. "Haven't seen you two around here before," she said as they drew nearer to the counter where she stood.

"We're just passing through," replied Hawke, glancing around the store. "We thought perhaps you might carry some items we might need for our travels."

"What sort of thing you after?" asked the woman without looking up from her task.

Hawke shifted awkwardly. At least this woman didn't seem the sort to run off to the Templars. "I was wondering if you had any… specialty items?" Hawke tried to convey what she was asking with her tone rather than with her words.

The woman lifted her keen gray eyes to Hawke's face and then turned her gaze to Fenris. "So which of you is the mage, then?" asked the woman casually. "The elf? He one of those Dalish?" Her eyes lingered on Fenris' markings and he narrowed his eyes bitterly, disliking being stared at for so long. The shopkeeper, sensing his apparent hostility, looked back to Hawke.

"No. He's no mage," said Hawke flatly.

The shopkeeper shrugged carelessly and went about rummaging behind the counter. "Fair enough," she said. "It's been ages since I've had a mage come through here. Always keep the goods on hand, just in case, but they never have sold well. Expect that will be turning around soon. Mages coming down from the Free Marches and all."

Hawke furrowed her brow slightly. "The Free Marches?"

The woman glanced back over her shoulder at Hawke. "Surely you heard what went on there? I'll wager that those Marchers will be running all over for a while 'fore the Templars will be able to round 'em up. With any luck, they'll bring a little of their business my way before they get locked up."

"With any luck," echoed Hawke, smiling with polite acknowledgement. So people had heard about Kirkwall, then. Hawke was certain that there would be eventual ramifications for what had gone there, but she knew that she was not immediately recognizable enough that anyone in Ferelden would know her as the Champion of some distant city-state.

The shopkeeper laid out a small selection of supplies on the counter before Hawke. There was an array of brightly colored gemstones, several talismans, and two rather handsome staffs.

"One of these, then?" Fenris said, stepping forward and gesturing to the staffs with some distaste becoming evident on his face.

Hawke shook her head. "I can't afford to be that ostentatious," she replied in a hushed voice. The shopkeeper was going about straightening her shelves and was now far enough away that Hawke could safely add to Fenris, "In Kirkwall, I had some measure of freedom, but here in Ferelden… I'm just another apostate." She reached forward and began to examine a particularly ornate pendant. Running her finger over the smooth sardonyx inset, she murmured, "I can't believe I was ever so brazen as to walk into the Knight-Commander's office with a staff in my hand." Hawke scoffed, shaking her head. "I was so unbelievably conceited to think that I could behave that way and get away with it. I thought I was untouchable." Her lips twisted into a bitter smile as she put the pendant back down on the counter.

While she had been speaking, Fenris had picked up a golden ring with a small garnet glittering in its delicate setting. He was turning it absently in his fingers, staring into the dark depths of the stone, as he said, "You behaved foolishly. I was always concerned for you when you went to the Gallows." Putting the ring down, he added quietly, "And with the abomination, of all people. He seemed to have a certain abhorrence for caution and subtlety."

Hawke glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "You worried about me?"

He scowled, not looking at her, but he did nod his head in tacit confirmation.

Hawke was aware that she was smiling, but fought back the expression and returned to rummaging through the supplies.

In the end, she chose a ring similar to one that she had worn while she and Fenris had been travelling south from Minrathous. She noticed it amongst the others specifically because the bright opal stone looked so similar to that old ring. In truth, opal was a poor conductor for the sort of spells that she preferred to cast, being better suited for healing than for offensive spells, but it was more affordable than other gemstones. Standing in the musty shop, she slid the ring carefully onto her right hand. She had always worn her rings there, on her second most ulnar finger, but it looked preposterous now. She lifted her hand into a ray of light, twitching her fingers so that the gemstone caught the sun. It was a moment before she noticed that Fenris was watching her. She cleared her throat and hastily took the ring off, moving it over to her left ring finger. "I'll take this one," she called to the proprietor.

The ring felt foreign on her hand and she found that she was continually toying with it as they made their way south from Athraim.

They weren't far from the Imperial Highway, but they were in no hurry to reach it. There was only a mild risk in travelling down frequently traversed roads, but both Hawke and Fenris felt more comfortable when they were a little further from the observation of others. They did not go so far into the wilderness as they had when they had last travelled together, but instead followed a narrow, unpaved road that wound through a sparse forest which grew alongside an expansive river delta. As they moved onwards, Hawke and Fenris passed by the occasional traveller, but for the most part they had the road to themselves.

The weather was pleasant enough for travel. Brutus, for one, seemed thrilled to be outside and free to wander through a sea of fascinating new smells. Early on, he discovered the stripped shank of a mule deer alongside the road. He proudly brought his discovery back to Hawke, dropping it at her feet and barking insistently until she obligingly threw it off down the road for him to chase. Brutus persistently continued this game of fetch as their small party moved onwards through the woods. On occasion, he would bring his bone to Fenris, who, though he seemed startled to have been included, indulged the dog by joining in the game. Brutus was thrilled by this development; Fenris was able to throw much farther than Hawke could.

Even though the winter had passed and been replaced by the teasing warmth of spring, Hawke was reminded irresistibly of when she and Fenris had walked alongside one another through the snow. The air between them had been lighter then, but Hawke had to admit that she preferred it this way. Everything had been poisoned before, festering in the darkness as she perpetuated the lies that allowed him to trust her and to feel affection for her. The rotten decay had not been evident to him then, but she had been constantly aware of it. It was somehow easier now. Easier because she could remind herself he knew what she had done and had chosen to stay with her in spite of it. The weight of the lie was almost gone now, though she still carried the weight of everything else.

It wasn't as awkward now as it had been only a few days before. They walked side by side, not nearly so close as they had once, but with less than an arm's length between them. That was something, at least. While they walked, beneath the thin canopy of the birch trees, Hawke found her mind often wandering back to the night before. Her heart beat faster at the mere recollection and, once or twice, she was sure that she felt her cheeks reddening. He had told her that he would never forgive her and she was still entirely certain of the veracity of those words, but some part of her mind made her hope that he would one day feel comfortable enough in her company that he would be able to find some form of happiness. He didn't loathe her anymore, and that was something she had never dared to hope for before. Of course, knowing that didn't necessarily clarify much. She still hadn't the faintest idea what he wanted their future to be.

Lacking that somewhat pivotal information, she turned her attentions to solving the concrete, solvable problems that were before them. She had never been particularly good at making plans, but she never did well without them either. If Fenris felt uneasy at all about their aimlessness, however, he was disguising it remarkably well. When he asked where exactly they were going, he spoke calmly, glancing over at her with an expression that suggested only mild curiosity.

She shrugged carelessly and gave him the answer that she had been intensely mulling over in her mind for the last half hour. "Redcliffe might do well enough," she suggested. "The Blight left a lot of cities ravaged, but Redcliffe, supposedly, suffered the worst of it. It's been a long while since then, I know, but there's still a decent chance that there's work available there for the people willing to do it. And it's not that far from here, relatively speaking. What do you think?" She glanced over at him and found that he had looked forward once more, watching Brutus snuffling around loudly in a patch of honeysuckle that grew alongside the road.

"Very well," Fenris answered. "Redcliffe it is, then."

Hawke nodded, following Fenris' line of sight with her own eyes. "I have no idea as to what sort of work we're suited for, but I suppose we can always try to sort that out later."

"That seems a reasonable course of action," he said, bending forward to pick up the bone that the mabari had brought to him. He looked back at her once he had thrown the bone and, when his eyes met hers, Hawke could have sworn that he almost smiled.

She smiled in response to the expression that he had nearly made. "What sort of thing did you do before?" she asked. "For money, I mean. Before we met and after…." She trailed off, looking down at her feet and intentionally stubbing the toe of her boot against a rock.

"I stole," he said simply. "I tried to work as a mercenary at first, but that drew unnecessary attention."

Hawke nodded, laughing in way that she hoped sounded sufficiently light. "Well, I suppose we could always do that. We could become the most notorious bandits in Ferelden. Roaming the wilderness aimlessly and having all sorts of adventures. Like Black Fox."

Fenris furrowed his brow slightly. "I've never heard of any Black Fox."

She cocked her head to the side. "Did we never read those stories together? I don't suppose you'd have heard of him under any other circumstances. It's really more of an Orlesian saga, though most of the children in Ferelden still hear the stories when they're growing up. I don't think that the legends would have made their way as far north as Tevinter, in any case. Though I do seem to recall that there was one story about Black Fox kidnapping a Tevinter magister. My father told me the story." She smiled a bit wistfully and added, "My father always told my brother and sister and I those sorts of stories while we were falling asleep. Even when Carver told him that we were too old for it, he kept telling us stories."

Fenris watched her expression carefully while she spoke, then looked back down to the ground at the small clouds of dust that rose up around their feet. "That must have been very pleasant," he said quietly. "To have a family."

"I miss them," she admitted, somehow keeping her voice even. When she glanced at his profile, she saw that his expression was pensive. "Do you remember anything?" she ventured softly. "About your family, I mean?"

When she saw the muscles of his jaw tighten, Hawke thought perhaps she should not have asked that question. "I remember my sister," he said coldly. "I wish to remember no more than that."

There was a silence that stretched between them in which they both remembered the day when Fenris had seen Varania again after all those years of separation. They hadn't spoken of that day or of that memory for weeks now and they had never spoken of his sister before that moment. There was little from that day that he felt compelled to revisit in his mind, though the recollections of Varania did return to his mind at times, unbidden and unwelcome. Perhaps she was still alive, somewhere, though he doubted it. Danarius had offered to make her his apprentice, but Fenris had seen nothing of her while he was trapped in Minrathous. Whatever had become of her, he would likely never know.

As he considered this, Fenris felt Hawke's fingertips brush lightly over his forearm as she reached across the space that separated them. The contact was fleeting and she drew back her hand quickly, but he understood the gesture. It was familiar—Hawke's practice of touching him when she needed comfort or hoped to offer it. It had been a long while since she had attempted to initiate physical contact with him, but, strangely, he found something reassuring in the gentle brush of her skin over his own. His own response to her touch startled him slightly, and he glanced over at her with slightly widened eyes. She had turned away from him now, watching her mabari intently and allowing her hand to swing at her side once more. Though her expression appeared to be impassive, Fenris saw that she was blushing.

"I remember your brother," he said suddenly, drawing her gaze back to him. When she met his eye, Fenris turned away. "I didn't much care for him," he added gruffly.

Hawke laughed warmly, shaking her head. "Well, no one really,liked Carver," she admitted. "He and I never particularly got along either, but I did love him. You can love someone without liking them, I suppose."

Fenris frowned slightly but didn't look at her. "Yes," he said flatly. "I suppose that may be the case on occasion."

If she sensed anything unusual about his tone, she concealed her awareness well. "So, you've continued recovering memories, then?" she asked. "There were still a great many missing fragments when we…." She stopped speaking abruptly and cleared her throat, lifting her eyes to stare intently at the branches that stretched overhead.

"There's still some yet to be recovered, I am sure," he told her. "Yet I believe I have regained a great many of the memories of what occurred during my years in Kirkwall."

When she looked back at him, she looked a bit surprised. "Really? That was faster than I would have thought."

"Once I recalled the worst of that time, the other memories came more rapidly," he explained tersely.

"I'm glad," she said softly. "At least, I'm mostly glad. There's a part of me that's… well, ashamed is far too mild a word for it. I've behaved so horribly towards you that it's a bit agonizing to think that you've had to relive the memories. Not that I flatter myself that all your memories have been of me, but…." She shook her head, trailing off.

"It makes very little difference," he told her coolly. "I am already well aware of the worst of your behavior. When I remember, on occasion, the more trivial instances of your barbarousness, I find they have little bearing on my opinion of you. My memories of you are so dissimilar to what you are now that it seems as though I remembering a different person entirely." He shrugged cavalierly and turned his head so that she would not be able to see his expression.

In the trees overhead, he heard the irregular twittering of a nightingale. "But… it was me, Fenris," Hawke murmured from beside him.

"That hasn't escaped my notice," he said darkly, his eyes wandering the trees overhead as he searched the leaves for the songbird.

"Of course," she whispered. When he looked at her, he saw that her head was bowed and she was blinking with a deliberation that suggested that she was holding back tears.

It seemed odd to him that she should be embarrassed by his remembrance of instances of her unpleasantness that were, by comparison, remarkably insignificant. He had remembered, during these many nights, an endless array of examples of her callousness and her conceit and her blatant disregard for others. But that was not all he had remembered. There were other memories as well which, in all likelihood, she had not thought to consider.

He had remembered the weeks she had spent in Kirkwall, trying to convince him to let her teach him to read. He had thrown Shartan's book at her, cutting her forehead, but she had come to him again the next day and entreated him again to let her help him. He had given in at last and, on one occasion, she had fallen asleep beside him, her head on his shoulder, and continued murmuring encouragement in her sleep. He had remembered also the generosity she had shown towards desperate elves, dropping coin into their hands whenever she passed through the Undercity. He remembered the kindness she had shown to Orana, offering her protection, work, and a place to live. There had been times when he caught brief glimpses of her potential for bravery and kindness and tenderness. It had been those brief glimpses that had held his attention all those years ago and, over the past weeks and months, he had witnessed that potential become nearly fully realized. He wondered if she was even aware of the alteration in herself. He thought for a moment that he should tell her, so that she might stop staring at the ground as if she were about to cry. He opened his mouth once, but couldn't think quite how to begin and so decided against saying anything at all. Fenris stared at his feet, shuffling so that the clouds of dust grew larger.

Hawke wrapped her arms around herself and let the silence grow for a long while before attempting conversation again. When they spoke again, she no longer attempted to engage him in conversations about the past. She wanted to know what he had remembered and what he thought of what had come before, but his discomfort and irritation when she had tried to bring up the topic was enough to discourage her. Hawke did not even attempt to talk about her own memories of Ferelden, as most of them had to do with her family and he didn't seem to enjoy talking about that either. She understood his resistance. The magisters had deprived him of so much in his life, not the least of which was his family. She hated the disparities in their backgrounds; it meant that no discussion of the past could be undertaken without vast differences in their perspectives.

Still, they were able to speak with relative equanimity about the general history and legends of Ferelden. Fenris, she found, enjoyed learning more about the land where they had found themselves and she had more than enough information to keep him diverted. Everything she knew, of course, she had learned from her father, but she didn't mention him as they wound down the dusty road.

Though the awkwardness had, for the most part, abated, Hawke was still immensely uncomfortable. A little while after the sun had passed over the middle of the sky, she found that she was exhausted. She had been tired for a long while yet, but her muscles were beginning to tremble and she could feel a light dew of cold sweat rising on her skin. The short break that they had taken to eat had not been nearly enough to revitalize her after a morning of walking. Though their pace was not overly rushed and the even ground did not make for a strenuous hike, it was still difficult for Hawke to continue on for any great period of time. Her strength had been diminishing for some time and the two weeks aboard a ship had done nothing to improve her endurance. Still, neither Fenris nor Brutus seemed the least bit weary and she was reticent to tell Fenris how much she would have liked to stop. It was humiliating to be so weak. Once, not long ago, this distance would have given her no trouble at all and now it felt almost insurmountable. She tried to disguise her distress, fighting to keep her breathing even and keeping her arms wrapped around herself so that her shivering would not be noticeable. The temperature had dropped since the morning as clouds had rolled in to obscure the sun. The thick, dark clouds promised rain, as did a faint metallic scent in the air, and Hawke fervently wished that the rain would come soon so that she would have an excuse for asking to stop.

Her wishes yielded nothing. The sky was beginning to turn a dusky violet over the tops of the trees and clouds were still stalwartly holding on to whatever rain they might contain. The coming evening, however, was enough justification to ask for the relief she craved. She cleared her throat and said, as lightly as she could, "We should stop, shouldn't we? It will be dark soon enough."

Fenris offered no protest. "We're in no hurry," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "We can make camp if you'd like." Hawke sighed inaudibly, wishing she had asked to stop earlier.

They walked off into the woods, leaving the road behind them a ways and deciding to make camp nearby a small stream that babbled loudly through the trees. The clearing that they chose was not very large, but the ground was even and there was space enough for a tent and a campfire. In the interest of preserving their funds, Hawke had only bought enough treated canvas to create one shelter. It had seemed like a practical enough decision at the time, but that evening, as she and Fenris erected the tent together, she began to realize just how small the shelter they were to share was. The prospect of squeezing into that enclosed space with him was not altogether disagreeable to her, but she worried that it might make him uncomfortable. While it was true that he had slept beside her the night before, that proximity had been on his own terms rather than as the result of frugal necessity.

"Will you collect firewood?" she asked, looking over at him as they knelt beside one another, finishing driving pikes into the hard soil. "I have to place a protective barrier around the perimeter."

Fenris nodded, rising to his feet. "Of course," he said, turning from her and walking off slowly into the woods. Hawke followed him with her eyes, feeling herself flooding with anxiety. She had grown used to having him with her and, even when he was taciturn or cross with her, there was comfort in being in his presence. She felt vaguely nauseated as he disappeared into the trees. That weakness was even more humiliating than her physical frailty. With a heavy sigh, she rose to her feet. As she stood, her thighs almost gave out under her. She was at least glad that Fenris wasn't there to see her stumbling.

He returned not long after she had put her spell in place. It was not a particularly strong barrier, but it would be enough to hold out wolves and other minor predators. Fenris began to stack the wood he had gathered at the center of a small circle of stones that Hawke had gathered together, using the last of her strength to do so. He noticed that she was trembling slightly as he went about his task and realized suddenly that she had probably overexerted herself that day. She had seemed to be fine as they walked together and, though he had considered that she must be tiring, she had never complained of weariness. He rose from the ground beside the fire pit and began to rummage through the pack he had carried with them. They had brought food enough for a few days, though the quantities would be fairly moderate. With some dried meat and rolls in his hands, he went to Hawke and offered them to her.

"Thank you," she murmured, smiling up at him from where she sat. She placed most of the food he had given her in her lap and began to take large bites of one of the rolls of bread.

He watched her for a moment, glad to see that she wasn't making a show of not being hungry. "Light a fire," he said in low voice. "You're shaking."

She glanced towards the unlit logs. "Oh, yes, of course," she muttered quickly. "I wasn't sure if you'd rather use the flint." Extending her hands, she conjured bright, ruddy flames, that soon flooded the small clearing with warmth and light. The dim gray of evening was banished and Fenris watched as Hawke sat, bathed in the golden glow of the fire. Shaking his head slightly, he turned from her and sat across the fire from her.

After a few moments, he wished that he had simply taken a seat beside her. He had made a habit of doing so when they had been travelling together before and it felt strangely awkward to have done something intentionally different. She seemed quite far away, though only the fire and a few feet of space divided them. When she looked up at him, smiling, he felt his heart beating faster. Fenris lowered his gaze, staring into the fire.

"We're not actually going to be become bandits are we?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Her smile grew somewhat sheepish when Fenris looked back at her, lifting one of his eyebrows. "Yes, I know that I'm being annoyingly practical." She looked to her side, reaching out to scratch the ears of the mabari that had settled down beside her. "It's just… I spent so many years establishing a stable life in Kirkwall and I suppose I'm just feeling a little adrift. I'm sorry if it bothers you."

Fenris shook his head. "I don't mind it," he told her. "I've never attempted this before—settling somewhere without the intent of running. Surely you know how to proceed better than I." In truth, he rather liked listening to her musings about the future. He had little to offer to her planning, but it was not lack of interest that generally kept him mute. Making plans for the future was rather vastly different from simply fleeing the past. It was all alien to him. He had never given much thought before to what tomorrow would bring. Still, it was pleasant to hear her speak of it and to know that she was considering her life with him.

Hawke brushed her hair behind her ear. "I think the best chance we have is finding work as mercenaries," she said. "We don't exactly have a wide array of skills in other areas." Almost hopefully, she added, "You aren't secretly a carpenter or something, are you?"

His lips turned upwards slightly at the corners. "I'm afraid not, no."

"No, I didn't think so," she sighed. As she lifted her hands to her hair, absently beginning to undo her braid, Hawke's brow furrowed thoughtfully. She no longer looked at Fenris, but kept her eyes trained on the dancing flames instead. "It seems inevitable, then. Though I will admit that the idea of killing for profit doesn't exactly thrill me." Combing her fingers through her loose hair, she let out a mirthless laugh. "I realize that, coming from me, that's incredibly hypocritical, but it does feel wrong somehow." Hawke lowered her hands and folded them in her lap, lifting her eyes just a little towards Fenris. "And it don't like to think of you being in danger," she finished quietly, tightening her hands together.

"I wouldn't be in danger, Hawke. Not any more than I have been these last years."

Hawke bowed her head once more. "Of course," she muttered. He was right, she knew. For roughly six years, she had watched Fenris charge to the frontlines of battle while she was allowed to hang behind, casting her spells from a reasonably safe distance. She wasn't quite sure how to explain to him that it felt as if she had more to lose now. Such a confession, she feared, might make it seem as if she had never valued her family or her friends. In truth, she had less to lose now than ever before. All she had was the man who sat across from her. Perhaps her anxiety and her worry stemmed from the fact that she was more aware of risk now than she had been in the past. When she had been younger, the thought that her friends and family could be killed in battle had never weighed heavily on her because it had not been something she had seriously considered as a possibility. She knew better than that now and her sense of youthful invulnerability had all but disappeared. The thought of Fenris fighting as a mercenary made her feel painfully anxious. How many mercenaries had fallen before her? How many wives had she deprived of their husbands and how many children had lost parents at her hands? Life was lost so easily. Death came swiftly and all it took to bring it about was one misstep. And to risk one's life as a mercenary, fighting another man's battle—it all seemed so senseless. She didn't want to lose Fenris that way.

But the surge of worry she felt about such a future was too convoluted to explain, so she only looked off to the side, toying with the sleeve of her robes while she watched Brutus drifting off to sleep. In the clearing, there was only the sound of the mabari's grunting breaths and the crackling of the fire. Fenris didn't speak for a while and, when she looked up at him, Hawke found that he had been watching her. Smiling uncomfortably, she proffered a suggestion that had only just occurred to her. "There might be a safer way to support ourselves," she said quietly. "Anders taught me enough, I think, that I could run a clinic. I would try to be a bit more subtle about the whole apostate thing than he was, obviously, but I could be an apothecary at least. I can craft some fairly marketable potions."

Fenris bowed his head forward, his fists clenching tightly. Anders. He hated to think of him, even now. Fenris was aware that this reaction was ridiculous. The object of his ire had been eliminated and there was no longer anything to hate or to envy. And yet he found that it irked him to hear that name from Hawke's lips. The mention of Anders reminded Fenris all too vividly of the years when she had been with the mage rather than him. He hadn't understood fully what he felt at the time, but he had been envious. His attraction to her had never been something that he had understood or even named, thinking instead that the interest he felt in her and the agitation that he felt in her company had been a manifestation of his hatred for her. That had been partially true, but it was more than obvious to him now that hate had not been all he felt for her in those days. He had never liked to hear her speak the mage's name. During the nights, when he had been without memory and without any sense of the past, he had heard her murmuring Anders' name while she slept. He had hated the owner of that name from the first time he had heard her utter it. Whatever had truly passed between her and the abomination was something that he would never know and he would certainly never ask her. He would rather not know, in the end. Such things no longer had any bearing on the present. She was his now, Fenris knew. If he wanted her, he had only to cross the short distance between them and show her what he desired. She loved him and he remembered the silkiness of her skin and the warmth of her body as she had held him. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. Fenris glowered into the fire. He couldn't allow himself to submit to such thoughts. Not yet.

When they had lain together, it had meant everything to him. When they lay together again, he knew it would also have meaning. There was not, in the act itself, any inherent significance. He knew that well enough. Yet, attached to that act, there was a great deal. That meaning and weight was created in the mind, but that did not make it any less real. If he allowed himself to hold her in that way again, it would become habit. They would lapse into a natural routine and behave as others did. It would be as though he had forgiven her. It would be as if the wounds had healed. He did not want her mistakenly believing that he had forgiven her and yet he didn't wish to be so blunt as to explicitly tell her that he hadn't.

He knew that he wanted to lay with her again, which he had not been entirely certain of even a week before. That in itself was progress. And he knew that, one day, he would like to lapse into a natural routine and he would like to behave normally and easily with her. Yet that day had not yet come. The memories returned less frequently now and the mere act of looking at her or touching her was no longer guaranteed to trigger some unpleasant recollection. But it wasn't the same as it had been before—when he had wanted her wholly and honestly and without conflict.

A part of him doubted that he would ever have that purity of affection for her again. There was a darkness in everything now and he didn't want to complicate matters further while everything was still so tainted. He didn't want to, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he tired of waiting. He'd gone longer than this without touch, admittedly. He was no stranger to waiting. It was different now, however, than it had been in the past. Now, he was in the company of a woman who wanted him. A woman who loved him. If he asked anything of her, she would not refuse him. That made matters more difficult. He wasn't a gelding, after all, and he was growing impatient.

When he lifted his gaze, Fenris saw that Hawke was staring at him with an expression of slight bemusement and concern. He realized that it had been too long since he'd spoken. He tried to think back to where the digression of his thoughts had begun. He realized that she expected him to respond in some way, but, Fenris only managed to say something noncommittal about how hers sounded like a feasible course of action. She sighed, but seemed contented enough with his response and allowed the conversation to turn away from that topic. Rather deliberately, she began talking about Redcliffe and the rumors she had heard about the Blight. With time, Hawke saw that Fenris seemed to have forgotten whatever had been bothering him as he stared into the fire.

The sun had set entirely by the time the first drops of rain fell. Brutus was the first to run into the tent, claiming an area for himself in the corner. Hawke tried, from the mouth of the tent, to urge him to sleep outside, but he huffed loudly in objection and she sighed heavily, wishing she had bothered to train some obedience into her mabari. "So there's not going to be much room, then," said Hawke looking over at Fenris.

He nodded his head. "Very well," he replied, ducking into the tent without further preamble. Hawke remained standing in the rain for a moment longer, taking several steadying breaths before she joined Fenris in the tent.

The treated canvas of their shelter blocked out most of the light which emanated from the now sputtering campfire. As she fumbled around with the blankets, Hawke could only make out the vague outlines of Fenris' body and the lump that was her mabari. "I'll sleep beside Brutus," she said, inching away from Fenris and towards where the dog lay. "You shouldn't have to enjoy his musky odor all night."

She thought she heard Fenris let out a breath of laughter, but she could not make out enough of his expression to make any firm guesses as to his mood. She could see, however, that he was stripping off his shirt before settling down beneath one of the blankets. That was wise, she thought, given that sleeping in wet clothes would only make the night all the more uncomfortable. Grateful for the privacy lent by darkness, Hawke removed her robe and dove quickly under the cover of her own blanket. As she lay her head down on the ground, Brutus rolled slightly to the side, the weight his large body tugging on her hair. Wincing slightly, Hawke yanked her hair free and turned onto her side with her hair tucked safely beneath her head.

The rain was falling more heavily as she tried fruitlessly to fall asleep. She could hear the patter of the heavy droplets as they broke against the canvas that stretched overhead. It was peaceful to listen to the rain and to the gentle huffing sounds of her dog's breathing. In the darkness, she opened her eyes and looked towards where Fenris lay. The fire, it seemed, had been smothered by the rain and nearly all the meager light had faded from the tent now. She wondered for a moment if he had drifted off until she heard the faint chattering of his teeth clicking together intermittently. With the fire's death, the night had grown colder, and the ground beneath them was taking on some of the rain's chill. Before Hawke was fully aware of herself, she had moved closer to him, beginning to lift her blanket so that she might drape half of it over him. She became conscious of the gesture before she had carried it out and stopped herself before continuing. "Can I…?" she ventured in a whisper.

She heard the quiet rustling of his movement as he turned his head to look towards her. "Can you what?" he asked. She realized that the offered warmth of her blanket was invisible to him in the darkness.

"You're cold," she murmured. "Have some of my blanket." Hawke reached out, laying the thick cloth across him carefully. As she drew back away from him, she felt his hand grab hold of hers.

She tensed immediately, paralyzed and unsure how she should respond. He said nothing, but maintained a light grip on her hand that kept her beside him. Fenris lay on his back, as he always seemed to, while she was pressed against his side with her arm trapped across his chest. Feeling her face burning, she leaned her head down and pressed her forehead against his bare shoulder. She was hiding, though she knew he couldn't see her. He felt her breath brushing over his skin. She had begun to shake, though he doubted that it was from the cold. Experimentally, he ran his thumb over the back of her hand. He heard her teeth chatter together.

"Are you… comfortable?" she asked, sounding rather breathless and unsteady.

It was a question that he wasn't quite sure how to answer. It was only that, when she had been drawing away from him, he had felt compelled to prevent her from doing so. There was comfort in her touch, though it also made him feel ill at ease. He would have preferred to say nothing and allow the night to pass without making comment on their proximity. Yet, she was still very stiff beside him and he felt her waiting expectantly for an answer.

"Very nearly," he murmured, closing his eyes.

The answer seemed to satisfy her and he felt her relax against him, her warm breath still falling humidly over his skin.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

A) Do you know what's annoying about gems and mysticism? Literally ALL of them have "healing" properties. That's about it. I mean, where's my gemstone that gives me the power to smite my enemies?

B) Fun, irrelevant fact about nightingales (that I remembered when I was rereading The Waste Land): In Greek mythology, Philomel was raped by King Tereus, who then cut out her tongue so she wouldn't be able to speak of it (I mean, I would bet that people are gonna be pretty curious as to where her tongue went, but whatever). According to myth, she was then transformed into a nightingale. So I had a nightingale catch Fenris' attention for funsies.