A/N: Combined chapters four and five.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Anders was convinced that Ser Alrik was a pig. I didn't really know much about him, but he was so damned convinced. I wanted to ask Cullen – he would know. Or he would have a better idea. Anders insisted that involving my "pet Templar" wouldn't do us any favors (Anders very, very much disapproved of the time I spent with Cullen). So, instead, we found our way into the Gallows Dungeon. It was the day of Bethany's Harrowing. On our trek down, I imagined what she was doing on the floors above me. I ached to break in again, to see her – to apologize, over and over. I knew it wouldn't do me any good so instead, I fought. Smugglers and templars.

Killing templars had never bothered me, especially not a snake like that one. I thought of him saying the same words to my sister and my blood boiled.

Not as fast as Anders' did. He – rather, Justice or Vengeance, still I did not know which was which – decimated the group with little help from us. As we caught our breath after, the mage girl still curled out of harm's way, he approached her.

"Abomination!" she cried, an accusatory arm outstretched.

"Foolish girl," the Fade-laden voice of Justice fell forth from Anders's lips, the cowering girl glowing blue with the light that came off of the spirit-inhabited man before me. "You must be one of theirs, infected with-"

"Anders," I spoke, gripping the hilt of one dagger. I did not want to hurt him. "Anders, listen to yourself – this girl is who we're fighting for."

"She is one of them! I can feel-"

"Anders!" I took a step towards him,. "Anders, you must recognize what you're doing. We came here to stop mages from being made Tranquil. Ser Alrik is dead, Anders."

The glow pulsed, exploded, and then finally receded. I put my hand out and Anders recoiled.

"I..." he started, his eyes wild as he looked at me. He backed away, tripping a little as he did so. "I need to...leave."

And he did. Without another word, Anders took off from the secret tunnel and left Varric, Aveline, and I with a very terrified young woman.

"I'm...Ella," she murmured as I held a hand out to her to help her stand.

"I'm Hawke," I responded, offering an apologetic smile. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, dusting herself off. "I just wanted to see my mother. They never...they never told her what was happening. Where they were taking me."

"I know you want to see her, but it's safer for you – and for her – if you go back to the Circle. Varric, do you have any parchment?"

The dwarf nodded and offered it to me. He, luckily, had a quill as well. "Here, child, write her a letter and write down where she lives. I'll take it to her myself. My sister, Bethany, is at the Circle. I'll write to her about you, she'll watch out for you." At least, I prayed, she would be able to.

Ella watched me curiously for a moment and I gave her another smile. I touched her gently on the shoulder, "Don't worry, Ella. We'll help to keep you safe. I hope you know that not all templars are like Alrik, and not all apostates are like Anders."

"That was his name?" she asked, squinting a little as if the word had formed in the air. I nodded and she frowned, shaking her head. She said nothing else as she began to write her letter against a stone. I turned back to the looks on my companions' faces and wished I hadn't.

"You're going to have to talk to him," Varric said, his voice betraying both his disapproval and disappointment at the developing situation.

"It seems like he's having more difficulty controlling it," Aveline added and I frowned. I knew that. I knew both of them were right. I had been trying to ignore it, trying to pretend like nothing was wrong.

Ella gave me the letter and we escorted her as far as we could. She planned to sneak back in – I mentioned it to Cullen when I told him of Ser Alrik. He did not seem pleased at being brought into all of it and warned me, yet again, of the company I kept. He, however, spoke little else on the matter and reminded me to meet him that evening. I would, but first there was Anders.

I left Aveline and Varric at the Hanged Man – Isabela had gone to find Merrill, and Fenris would show up on his own. Stories and ale were to be shared that evening, though everyone knew I would not be joining them. And neither would Anders.

I didn't mind Darktown much, aside from the smell. Once you were down there for a while, though, you forgot to notice.

I didn't knock – I never did. I slipped in between the creaking, wrecked door and the rotting wall to find Anders bent over an open trunk, seemingly sorting things into piles.

"Anders?"

He stopped, stiffening as he turned around. "What-"

"Please, Anders, let me talk for just a moment." His face dropped a little from the tightened look he had been giving me. I moved closer, though there was still a gap. I extended my hand, a piece of parchment in it. "I found Ser Alrik's papers. It seems that he was the only one to believe in the Rite of Tranquility. Both Meredith and the Divine rejected it." I neglected to mention the unfortunate response Cullen had given me when I had explained what I could of our interaction with Ser Alrik. I decided then not to speak to him again of mages or templars, if it was at all avoidable. He could have easily had me arrested for what had transpired but, again, he did not.

Anders' eyes widened and he snatched the paper from me, scanning it. His face contorted, somewhere between happiness and anger as if he couldn't decide if he wanted to be glad that he had one less thing to fight about or not. Dropping the paper, he raised his eyes to me. "What of the girl?"

"She wrote a letter for her mother – I'm going to see her tomorrow, to deliver it."

"So she's back at the Circle, then?"

"It is safer there. Bethany-"

The air hummed with magic as Justice threatened.

"No," I responded, all but eliminating the space between Anders' body and mine. "Justice, I am here for Anders. I am speaking to Anders. I want nothing to do with you. This does not concern you."

"It is the plight of mages-"

"Just because you have a booming voice does not mean I cannot speak over you, spirit. Give Anders back to me. The mage girl is safe."

"With your precious templar?"

"With my sister," I growled, my hand itching for my dagger. I did not want to give Vengeance (for in that moment, I knew it was him with certainty) any more reason to attack. "Anders. Anders."

The blue glow receded, albeit unwillingly, and Anders stumbled a little. He frowned. "He's getting harder to control."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I know." I paused. "Are you all right?"

He looked queasy for a moment. "If you hadn't been there, I don't know what I would have done."

"But I was, Anders. And you didn't. I'll always be here," I murmured, my face softening. I reached out and settled my hand on his arm. "Justice may be a part of you, but Vengeance does not have to be."

"I don't know that they're different."

I removed my hand after gently squeezing. "Then we will have to re-teach Justice what he really is, won't we? Justice is about what is most right for everyone, punishing the wicked appropriately for their crimes. Not every templar has harmed a mage, and not every mage is innocent. It is not so black and white as some – many, unfortunately – believe. Circles, given the right leadership, are a good thing. Everyone needs and deserves to learn. Especially mages, with such great responsibility. Warriors are trained with their weapons by those that know more than they do – like any other Maker-given gift, it needs to be honed."

He looked, at first, as if he was going to go into another fit. As I continued, though, he began to nod a little. "But how do we do that? Make them better?"

I shrugged a little, "We try. Prove not every mage is a maleficar, not every templar is power hungry or twisted. This has been building for as long as the two have existed – what people do not understand, they often fear. When people are afraid, they create ways to deal with that fear. It will not be easy and it will most likely be very unpleasant, but the best thing we can do is try."

Anders nodded a little, folding his arms over his chest. A sliver of moonlight shone on the floor of his shack from a hole in the wall, not so much a window.

He opened his mouth after a moment, beginning, "Hawke, there's-"

"Oh, Anders, I'm sorry, I need to go."

At first, he looked hurt. Then, his face darkened. "To meet the templar?"

I sighed. "It's about Bethany."

He waved his hand dismissively, turning away coldly. I huffed and made to remove myself from the clinic before Vengeance came back out to play.

"Be careful of the company you keep, Hawke."

"Funny," I stopped in the doorway, looking over my shoulder. "He often says the same thing."

It was some time after – weeks, perhaps? Maybe even months. - Bethany's Harrowing that I found myself in the Gallows courtyard at night. I returned often, most usually to speak with Cullen. We spoke of life and literature. Rarely of mages – the mage-templar relationship could do nothing for ours, so we let it lie as if it didn't affect us directly. It was better that way. Feigned ignorance allowed us to become friends.

I saw no sign of the Knight-Captain that evening beneath the moon, which was brilliantly full. I was almost concerned about walking around with how lit up the sky was that night. Humming a little to myself, I wandered aimlessly as per usual. I paid little heed to my surroundings – in all of my nightly walks in that particular part of the Gallows I had never been taken up against by thugs.

Without warning, however, as I passed by the familiar alcove, something gripped my arm. The pull was more gentle than a jerk, though no less abrupt. Again I was crushed between the hardness of a breastplate and the roughness of stone.

"Hawke."

It was Cullen. Even in the shadows of our hiding place, I could make out the gleam of his hair and the curve of his jaw. My heart, despite his familiarity, did not cease its rabbit-like beating. I was wrong – he wore no armor. The hardness was merely his chest. Much warmer than the night-cooled plate that occasionally covered it; I was rather surprised I hadn't noticed the difference immediately. He rarely did wear his templar get-up, especially when I climbed the Gallows wall to his room. Occasionally he would wear it when he came to see me – it depended on whether he came under the guise of business or not.

The strong arms that had curled around me after pulling me into secrecy remained wrapped as they were, holding me close in the cover of darkness and the secret hideaway. We often stood as near to each other in the alcove. Even when we were in his room or in the library of my estate, we were regularly side by side. From time to time, we would touch. There had even been moments when I thought, maybe, he would kiss me again. He did not, though I would often find him looking at me with a peculiar shine in his gray-green eyes. He would continue to watch me for a long moment before shaking his head. Sometimes, he would mumble something about rules, vows, the Maker, Meredith, or other unintelligible things.

In that moment, however, when his warmth encased me and his eyes entranced me, he mumbled nothing. I thought, perhaps, time had stopped. I could feel my pulse beating desperately in my head and his in his chest, his heart closer to my body than it had been since that first night in his room. I was unsure as to whether or not I was breathing, so unable was I to focus on anything but the man before me. It was an odd thing; certainly I thought of him, of our conversations, his glances, that feigned kiss and the warmth of his body. I never thought of it as any of the latter happening again, mostly fond reminiscing. And again, I was struck by the idea that I had ever thought of hurting him.

"I have been trying to convince myself out of this for weeks now," he began, speaking to me in hushed tones. "You are an incredible distraction. I often find myself thinking of you when it is most inopportune. Our talks..." he paused, giving me a charming smile, "I have not been able to speak so freely with someone in so long a time, I had nearly forgotten how to do it. Moreover, when we stand close..." He pulled me harder against him, if that was even possible, and I stretched my arms to lay across his shoulders so that our bodies were flush. My skin burned, his radiating heat.

"This is very wrong," Cullen spoke, his face somehow closer now and his words softer. His face betrayed the words he spoke, saying that it was anything but with the look he gave me. "But I..."

"Has anyone ever told you," I murmured with a raised eyebrow, "that you talk an awful lot?"

A grin spread across his face and laughter escaped his lips, though I did not have long to relish in his humor. Pressed back against the wall, his hands moved as if they had never been there. One along the curve of my neck, the other at my hip. And his lips. If I had been breathing before, I certainly wasn't then. It was not entirely unlike the end of our first kiss – it was dizzying and I felt as though I was on fire, tingling from the roots of my hair to my toes as they curled in my boots. It was different, though. I knew him now – and cared for him. And didn't necessarily want to slit his throat or even bestow upon him a lovely black eye. I don't know that I'd entirely forgiven him for taking Bethany, but I understood. Besides, it didn't matter in that moment. Nothing did, aside from the feel of his skin on mine as his fingertips snuck their way beneath my linen top. They did not venture far, but my knees grew weak as his hand held my waist with no hindrance. No man's hand, save for family as a child and Anders as a healer, had ever come into contact so perfectly with my skin so bare. His other hand had curved around, settled between my shoulder blades. One arm of mine had draped itself over a shoulder, the hand of the other found itself intertwined with his hair. How I loved his hair.

Our breathing was ragged when finally we parted. It was difficult to do so and the moment we did, I felt a pull that must have been magic edging me back towards him. His hands did not leave their positions and his head was back only far enough to look at me.

His eyes were wild in the moonlight as he pulled me off of the wall, both of his hands now beneath my shirt, settled on my back.

"You are a force of nature, Marion Hawke," he mumbled, burying his face in my neck. "You are the most striking woman..."

I was relieved that he didn't call me beautiful. I have never possessed any illusions about my appearance and a lie would have shattered our fragile moment. I do not mean to sound self-depreciating, merely rational.

"I am not the sort of man that takes advantage of my position," he began, loosening his grip a little. "I became a recruit as a very young man. I...know little of courting."

Courting. I couldn't keep back my giggle or my blush.

He looked suddenly very young. One hand left the middle of my back, leaving my skin cold for the want of it. It relocated to my cheek. "What's so funny?"

"The idea of being courted. At home, we kept to ourselves. We knew people, had friends...but getting too close to someone was dangerous for our family. Besides, there were plenty of girls that looked like girls in Lothering." I shrugged a little. "You're the first man I've ever kissed. Twice now, in fact."

He smiled at me and leaned in, pressing his lips to mine again.

"Oh...thrice," the same girlish-sounding laugh left my lips and I dared to kiss his cheek. The stubble there scratched gently against my skin. I repeated my action.

We recognized that we couldn't stand there all night. Instead, I let my hair down – literally – and we took off towards my Hightown estate. We alternated between walking hand-in-hand as we spoke quietly, racing each other, and stopping to steal kisses.

The rain began to fall as we reached my front door. It was a gentle tapping on the roof as we disappeared into my bedroom.

I had showed it to him once, after he jokingly commented about how I'd been in his. We opted to retire to the library on his visits for the comfortable chairs and sweet honey wine. That night, however, we took up in my bedroom and closed the door behind us.

Mostly, we talked. And kissed. Both of us were tentative and shy – this is not to say that either of us was unsure of what we wanted. We did, certainly – but we also both recognized that night was not the night.

We ended up on my bed, our bodies overlapping as I laid my head on his shirt-covered chest. He and I watched our hands as he played with my fingers, his voice soothing as he told me a story his aunt used to recite when it rained. It grew late – or, rather, early. He needed to return to the Gallows and rest, at least for the few hours he had left before his day began. Sad to see him go but knowing this would not be the last night I spent in his presence, I walked him to the door. The rain had not ceased; in fact, the storm had strengthened. I opened the door to let him leave. Before he did so, he stole a kiss.

"...Hawke?"

I turned sharply from Cullen to see a sodden Anders three paces off. Cullen looked...confused.

"I...should go," both men said at the same time. Cullen, who had already been preparing to leave, gave me one last, long look before he bowed his head and crossed the threshold. He looked back over his shoulder as he walked quickly through the rain. Anders, thankfully, kept Justice at bay as I gestured him inside.

"Don't be an oaf, it's pouring. Obviously you wanted to talk, so come in before you catch your death."

"I should just-"

"Shut up and get inside, Anders."

Cullen disappeared in the darkness and Anders begrudgingly entered my home, dripping on the foyer floor.

"Bodahn is sleeping. Let me find you a towel before you soak through." I turned away, walking into the main hall of the house. I could hear his footsteps sloshing behind me. I climbed the stairs and scrounged a towel from the linen closet, showing him to my room. I closed the door over a little and leaned against the wall outside. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Anders?"

He was quiet for a long time, aside from the occasional grunt as he dried himself off.

"There's a tunic that should suit you in the wardrobe, we'll hang your things up to dry a bit before you leave."

"I shouldn't stay-"

"Would you stop your nonsense? You're staying until I let you go, is that clear?" I laughed a little as he pulled open the door, rubbing his hair with the towel. The tunic was a little tighter on him than I'd thought, but it fit across his shoulders. There was no way it would have fit Cullen.

His smile was a little lopsided as he handed me the towel. I put it away before going in to collect his pile of dampened robes. "You should put your shoes by the fire, too. We'll have you right as...sunshine? in no time at all."

With everything sorted, I tugged him into the library and moved two chairs to settle in front of the fireplace there. Turning to look at him and folding my legs beneath me, I raised an eyebrow.

"Like I said earlier, what's got you all the way out here at this time of night?"

His face held a concentrated look, though he was certainly staring at the wall behind my head. He was avoiding answering my question. I wondered what he thought would happen when he showed up. "Or did you not expect to see me up?"

Reluctantly, he nodded a little. "I come out sometimes, when I can't sleep. I...I worry about you, Hawke."

I had known Anders had a vague interest in me – or had suspected it, at least. The smiles, the jokes, the vague flirtation. But he always back-peddled so quickly, it sent me reeling. I never knew where I stood with him. I knew he worried because of Carver's death and Bethany's...move, but I knew that wasn't enough to keep him haunting my front door.

"...Are you...seeing...the templar?" he asked without warning, his voice quiet but intent.

I frowned. I supposed I was. He had mentioned courting, hadn't he? I lifted and lowered my shoulders in a shrug. "I couldn't honestly tell you, Anders. I very much enjoy his company and, from what I gather, he enjoys mine."

"But your sister-"

"Trust me, I know." My frown remained. I turned to look into the flames, thinking of Bethany and what a relationship with Cullen would mean. The second it became public (if it did), scrutiny on his interactions with my sister would increase tenfold. He would no longer be able to watch over her for me and I would lose that connection, one more thing for which Bethany would hate me. "It doesn't much matter, really. It can't ever be anything serious. I know that."

I don't think he was convinced. Mostly because I knew I wasn't.