Thank you for sticking with me and thank you especially for the lovely reviews – some of them have made me laugh heartily, glad you are enjoying this as much as I am. Also, thanks for the encouragement, I was feeling a little disheartened there for a while – who knew my ego was so fragile? ;)

Whilst I think about it, does anyone know of any friendly DA communities? PM me if you do, I'm looking for somewhere to chat and swap ideas. Well, mostly chat.

My fragrant beta Midsummer…ah you know what I'm going to say next :)

Chapter 4 – Sparring Partners

"Hawke?"

"Nngh."

"Hawke?"

Hawke rolled onto her uninjured side, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"I'm fine, Aveline. Just…give me a minute." She gasped and pulled at the tatters which were all that remained of the left side of her leather jerkin.

Anders was beside her in an instant. "Let me see."

She sat up slowly, gritting her teeth. "Stop fussing, all of you. There's nothing you can do to help anyway. Did we get him?"

Aveline prodded the slightly steaming corpse of the abomination with her foot. "Looks like it. I'm heartily sick of mages at the moment, I tell you. Why can't they ever come along quietly?"

"I'm not sure blood mages know how. Normal mages, when treated like human beings, may well do." Anders replied stiffly. He eyed Hawke, concern evident in his face. "At least let me give you something for the pain."

Hawke waved him away impatiently. "I'll take something when I get home. Let's just move this shipment before anything else large and ugly comes to claim it." She stood up gingerly, hissing softly. "Maker this hurts. How can you lot drink this stuff and live?"

Anders shrugged. "It's an acquired taste." He carefully wound one of her arms around his neck and motioned Varric to take the other. "Let's get you home. Your sister's going to skin us for this and I shudder to think what your mother might follow that up with."

"My fault" said Hawke, biting her lip. "I wasn't paying attention and then wasn't quick enough on my feet. Ow! What are you doing, Isabela?"

"Any excuse to get your clothes off" murmured Isabela. "Ooh. I'm not sure that's supposed to be that colour…"

"Do you mind?" Hawke pulled her tunic down quickly noticing that both Anders and Varric had suddenly found the cavern ceiling amazingly interesting. "Just leave it. Come on, I've got places to be."

"More lessons?" said Anders sharply. "I don't think it's a good idea tonight. Not with your injury. Please, just rest -"

"That blasted ball thing is a week away, Anders! I still have no idea about any of the dances and the polite conversation thing is very much a work in progress. Or possibly reverse depending on tall, white and sulky's mood. I can't afford to miss an evening. I'll just have to request that tonight's lesson covers something that doesn't involve moving around much. Or moving at all."

"Got to hand it to her," said Varric admiringly. "Our Champion's a tough girl."

"Bloody idiot if you ask me" muttered Anders under his breath. He yelped as Hawke's boot heel came down squarely on his foot.

After a brief stop-off to change, Hawke made her way carefully to Fenris' mansion. She pushed open the front door gingerly and eyed the corpse suspiciously. He appeared to be lounging on his elbows at the bottom of the stairs in a position suggesting polite attention.

"You're late."

She started violently at the unexpected voice and caught sight of a figure moving in the gloom of the foyer. Her daggers were out before she realised the figure was that of Fenris leaning against the desk at the back of the room. The elf raised an amused eyebrow before pushing off and moving towards her.

"A little jumpy this evening, aren't we?"

Hawke sheathed her daggers crossly. "Pays to be in our line of work. Why are you lurking down here in the dark?"

"One moment." She watched him pad about the room lighting torches on the walls until they were bathed in a friendly orange glow. "We need the space in this room and the torches will only last a few hours. I thought tonight we could make a start on the dances you can expect to participate in."

Hawke cringed inwardly. Oh no, I hurt too much for any such thing. "Could we perhaps do that another evening? I thought maybe I could ask you about…" she groped around desperately for a topic. "Er…er…women's fashions. You know, what shoes I should wear, those bits that stick up – are they really necessary...? Maybe the proper use of fans…" She fumbled to a halt at his amazed expression. "Um."

"And you believe I would know anything useful about these things?" He folded his arms and regarded her thoughtfully. "You are trying to avoid the issue."

"I'm not avoiding any…issues" she managed lamely. "Why are you looking so smug?"

"I understand you are worried about your dancing skills or lack thereof but there is no need to be embarrassed."

Hawke stiffened. "I am not embarrassed so don't patronise me! I can dance just fine. Alright, we'll do this tonight. Come on then."

"My apologies. I was given to understand your abilities were mediocre at best."

"Bethany doesn't know what she's talking about."

"I see. Let's begin." He moved towards her and bowed, extending a gauntleted hand. She looked at it as if it might bite her and then took it gracelessly. Tutting, he prised her fingers loose and changed her grip noting that if he had not had his gloves on she might have broken one or two of his fingers. "We're about to dance not wrestle each other, Hawke."

Not much difference in my book she thought grimly. He moved closer and she stiffened her arms, wary of her injury. When he tried to bend them to close the few feet between their bodies she moved back a step or two in response. He sighed and gave up as he'd probably end up backing the stubborn woman around the room. They stood awkwardly, limbs stalled at five past nine.

"Are you expecting there to be a third in between you and the Viscount's boy? Rest assured I am not trying to get any closer to your person than is required within the confines of the dance. You are quite safe."

She scowled at him but relaxed her arms minutely. "I'd be more worried about your person if I were you. Plenty of space for knee movements here."

He stepped forward with exaggerated care, breathing in a sudden waft of clean laundry from her clothes. Unusual. I don't think I've ever seen her without her armour on.

"Much as you like to lead, the male should always initiate the first step" he said drily as she attempted an experimental turn and pulled them both off balance. He moved them back to the starting position.

"Typical."

"I refer only to the dance. I would not presume to know the rules of any other activities in which you may engage in the course of the evening" he said. She looked up at him sharply and realised he was smiling slightly. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Did he just make a joke? After a slight pause he gently swivelled them into a turn.

"Now, an assured dancer needs grace, rhythm and restraint"

She smirked at him. "Up 'til now I've not had any complaints about my rhythm and certainly not my levels of restraint."

Fenris cocked his head. "I am sure."

Hawke eyed him. "Previous partners have said I dance very satisfactorily."

"Indeed."

"Do you dance often these days?"

Fenris stirred slightly. "Not for some time. In truth I cannot remember the last time that I did." He dimly registered that part of him was absurdly pleased at her flirting even as he cursed himself for his sudden attack of honesty. How strange I have the urge to talk of my past to her of all people. He looked up on hearing her foot tapping and almost wished she would ask outright the question that was clearly on the tip of her tongue. She gazed at him for long moments, the flickering light reflecting in the yellow of her eyes. He pulled them into another turn.

"Ow."

"Should I take my boots off?"

Half an hour later he was severely regretting his decision to let her keep her boots on. Even at arm's length and moving slowly the woman clumped about like a three legged mabari. He hissed in irritation as she stomped painfully on his toes. Again. "Maker's breath, Hawke! You need to move according to my lead. At this rate the Viscount's boy will need dragonbone boots just to avoid being hobbled!"

"I offered to take my boots off, didn't I, although Maker knows what's on this floor. I don't have any dainty little dancing shoes to practise in and it's not my fault you prance about in bare feet." She glared up at him. "Speaking of armour why can't you take your gauntlets off? You're chafing my hands."

"I do not wish to. I find most direct contact…uncomfortable. You could loosen your death grip a little, it may help. Let's try again." He staggered back slightly as they both stepped forward simultaneously and she ricocheted back off his chest armour. She dropped his hands with a noise of exasperation and rubbed her nose. "This is hopeless."

"I do not understand how someone who fights so effortlessly can have such trouble following something as simple as a dance step."

"Maybe it's the teacher not the dance – " she stopped suddenly as he raised a finger. "If you don't put that down immediately," she began dangerously.

"I have an idea." He moved around her to prop himself against the desk. "Why don't we approach this as something akin to weapons practice? A set of memorised movements prepared for certain eventualities. You may find it easier to react in this sort of context."

Hawke thought for a moment, lips pursed. "Alright."

"Show me your exercises."

Reluctantly Hawke drew her daggers. Feeling oddly exposed under Fenris' gaze she began to half-heartedly move through her daily routine, aware of his eyes following the movements of her body.

He must have sensed her discomfort. "Would you like me to provide a more tangible opponent?" She nodded briefly. "Very well." He drew his sword from his back and circled to stand in front of her, dropping into a fighting stance.

"Are you sure about this?" She said with a quick smile. "I can't promise to be gentle with you."

He cocked his head at her, eyes sparkling. "On the contrary, I'd prefer it if you weren't."

She lunged forward, blades flashing and he countered quickly, taking a few quick steps forward as she danced away from him, moving quickly to try and flank him.

"Take note of the way your footsteps retreat as mine advance. You reacted instinctively to the movement of my body, just as you should within the movements of the dance" he said, whirling suddenly and forcing her into the centre of the room. She feinted quickly and caught his sword between her daggers forcing his arms up and back. He stepped to the side at her sudden lunge and deflected her blades, backing away with a nod of admiration.

"I'm not the only one retreating" she breathed at him, smiling. And suddenly he was grinning wildly back at her as they came together, spun apart and whirled around each other, their music the clash of weapons.

"Now this sort of dance I understand" panted Hawke and he laughed as he parried her arcing blades. Hawke watched him as a wide, genuine smile lit up his face. He should do that more often she thought absently, eyes moving over his lean form as he moved back into a ready position. He pivoted and, distracted, she belatedly brought a dagger up, only managing to turn his sword slightly as his impetus carried him forward. At the last moment he pulled the blow but the flat of the blade still hit her squarely on her injured side.

Sparks exploded in front of her eyes and she collapsed with a shriek, sudden tears of pain blurring her vision. Dimly she saw him streak towards her and drop to his knees, sword clattering across the floor.

"Hawke? I'm sorry, I thought you saw me turn…are you hurt? Let me see." She weakly tried to push his hands away, too breathless with agony to speak but felt him deftly lift the loose tunic she had pulled on earlier.

There was a long silence.

"I don't…this is…when did this happen?"

She pulled her tunic down and wiped her eyes, angling her head to meet his accusatory stare.

"Tell me." He shoved her hands away angrily and pulled at the tunic again to reveal a vivid white stain across the tan of her ribs and flank.

"Get off!"

He slapped her hands away furiously. "This is a lyrium burn, Hawke. A recent one. When – "

"Today, if you must know. We went after a shipment and the mage protecting it attacked us. He threw some at us as a distraction before going all rargh and I wasn't quick enough. Satisfied?"

He sat back on his haunches, an oddly wounded expression on his face as Hawke sat up.

"And you did not think to ask for my help with this?" He asked quietly. Hawke eyed him with some confusion.

"Well, no…it'll heal in time. Unless you know of any salves that may help? I know you have some experience with…er…lyrium related injuries, but I didn't want to presume. Maker, it's painful. Did your markings hurt this much? Wait, no. Lyrium probably wasn't thrown at you and you must have had some magical pain relief at the very least – "

"Not the injury, you- " he roared suddenly, slapping the marble floor. "The shipment."

Hawke bit the inside of her cheek to quell her sudden flare of anger. "Well, I thought for once – "

"You insist on siding with these…these people. You surround yourself with apostates and sympathisers – is it any wonder you fail to see the danger they represent?" He grimaced as if he had a nasty taste in his mouth. "Why did you not call on me? Out of all your associates I am the only one who will see them for what they are, what they are capable of."

"Is that so?" said Hawke, a glint in her eye. "And what is that?"

"They are monsters." He said hoarsely. "Soulless, selfish and unpredictable. They will turn on you, every last one, and you need me with you to remind you of that! To protect you when they do -" he snapped his mouth shut and took a shuddering breath in to try and calm himself as Hawke's face tightened with rage. "My apologies. Your sister I must exempt from this."

"How magnanimous of you" Hawke spat. She rose, picking up her weapons. "I think that's enough for tonight." He clenched his fists and stepped towards her.

"Do not turn your back on me."

"I'll turn whatever I like on you" she hissed, shoving at his chest, making him take several steps backwards. "For the record, I didn't call on you because I thought things would go more easily if we weren't arguing over every single mission we do together. I thought I'd give you a rest from mages in the hope we'd get on better as a result. Now I see I shouldn't have bothered."

She headed towards the door. "And incidentally," she paused, expression hooded. "I don't need your opinions and I don't need your protection. After this is over, we're finished. Hear me? I don't need you."

She gave the corpse a vicious shove on the way past, slamming the door behind her.

Fenris stayed where he was, rigid with rage, for several minutes before deflating abruptly. He re-sheathed his sword and pulled the corpse into a sitting position at the bottom of the stairs before slumping down next to it. He briefly thought about going after her but just as quickly decided against it. How would he explain that his fury was not due to her tolerance of mages but simply a result of his horror at her injury? He shook his head. No, it was more than that. He had not been there to prevent her being injured because she had not asked him to go with her. He was…hurt about having been excluded from her company, reason or no. The unfamiliar feeling had left him oddly vulnerable which had then made him angrier than he had been for a long time. He put his head in his hands. I'm not good at this.

He'd have to find some way of making it up to her. Retrieving a bottle of wine from the cellar he went upstairs to think.

TBC.