DISCLAIMER: I freekin' wish...man.

Venhedis.

Fenris paced impatiently. He found himself unable to stop from glaring at the door It had been almost a fortnight. He had thought drinking would be a good way to silence his tortured thoughts, but it seemed the opposite was true. Sober he could focus on other things, his reading, his revenge, anything; but drunk he seemed unable to assert the self-control needed to keep his mind off of her.

He could not help but blame Hawke for his predicament. Part of his mind repeatedly insisted that it was her fault, that her display had weakened his mind. She had distracted him. How could anyone have expected him to resist a demon in such a state?

There was no denying it. He had betrayed her. The fault was his alone. She, Aveline, even the abomination had been able to resist. But not him. What did this mean about his resolve? Fenris had thought his hatred of mages to be resolute and unshakable – but how could he continue to blame them for their weakness when he himself was no better?

He had worked himself up into a fury again, flinging the now empty bottle of wine into the fireplace. A frown pulled at his lips, this destruction was not enough. He needed a better outlet, he needed to kill. He needed some sort of...release.

This had been a viscous cycle for him over the last fortnight. Drinking himself into a stupor and systematically wrecking a different rooms within mansion..well, wrecking them more. There was hardly an unbroken item of furniture remaining in this forsaken house. He cursed again, realizing that his eyes had drifted back to the door.

Why had she still not come? He did not understand it. Surely she must have some need of him by now?

No. She cannot just ignore this. She cannot just ignore me.

...but she can. What need had she to discuss this? Why should she seek him out? She knew all the answers, the justification behind these things that were slowly eating away at his mind.

Fenris craved her forgiveness, his fingers itched to take up his sword to fight by her side. Would she not have him back? Had his actions really been so reprehensible? Did she regret what had transpired so much?

Is she so ashamed of wanting me? It was clear he would have no peace tonight. Does she regret her feelings this much?

He had not forgotten a moment of what had transpired in the fade. His betrayal haunted his waking hours, it was true, but she had taken to haunting his very dreams.

Her desire for him had been entirely unsuspected. She had never shown any interest, and she had plenty of opportunity. Fenris had searched his memories again and again for any sign Hawke might have given him; any indication that she desired for more than friendship.

She certainly spent enough time alone with him, teaching him to read. Why had she never acted if she wanted him so much?

Perhaps that was just it then. She did not want him. Fenris had to admit the possibility that it was only his body that she desired. He did not know how attractive he was. There had never been reason to dwell on his physical appearance before now. Still, if Isabela was to be believed he was quite...pleasing..to the eye. Was that really all she wanted from him, a quick rut to satisfy her lust?

He found a growl forming low in his throat...Why did he find that possibility so displeasing. It certainly did not bother him when the pirate queen propositioned him. Why should it be so different for Hawke?

His fingers twitched and the desire to destroy something grew stronger within him.

Curse her to the void and back for doing this to me.

Images of her with the desire demon plagued him nearly every night. Watching her writhe and moan in response to his lips on her body – despite the illusion of it all – had made a deep impression on Fenris. If he was lucky he would simply relive the moments, the embarrassment, the shock of learning the she secretly wanted him. Less welcome was the rage he felt as the demon touched her, the burning desire to remove it's fingers and replace them with his own.

Worse were the nights when the dream shifted and changed. Fenris would find himself entering her bedroom, going to her as the demon had. Sometimes she would not have him at all, and he would crawl back to his mansion with a miserable ache in his heart. Still, Sometimes she would accept his advances – those nights were the wost. Despite his attempts to please her, to touch her as the spirit had, she would not respond. His inadequacy as a lover overwhelmed him and in the end Hawke always sent him away.

He knew that it would inevitably end this way. Since the events in the Fade Fenris had had no choice but to begrudgingly admit to his desires for the woman. It had been all he could do to repress them before. Telling himself that she would not want affection from one such as him, that it would be cruel to complicate her life further when she had done so much for him – for all of them.

Many times he had considered sneaking into her house: awaiting her in her bedroom, coming upon her in the bath, cornering her as she lounged in the library.

Now that he knew of her desire for him it had become infinitely harder to suppress his own. It was impossible to un-see her fantasy, even harder to know he could not give her that which she wanted. His only memories of intimacy were violent or at least unpleasant. Fenris could not imagine she would want to be treated as one of Danarius' whores.

What could I possibly have to offer her, some sloppy kisses and a quick tumble?

She wanted more than that, he knew. She would expect skill, knowledge of a woman's pleasure, even of his own. She would expect confidence. She would expect...things he did not have.

Fenris awoke from his nightly tortures frustrated beyond belief. Often needing to relieve himself. The urge to go to her was strong, but he did not know if she would take him now. He had gone to her mansion many nights. She was supposed to be teaching him to read. He used this as an excuse. Consoling himself that he was merely showing up for the promised lessons, nothing more. Yet he could not bring himself to knock on her door.

Sometimes he simply returned, dejected, back to his mansion, but some nights the desire to be near her was too strong. He would simply wait outside her doors, his eyes trained steadily on her window in a vain hope to catch a glimpse of her figure. The figure that so plagued his thoughts

Hawke...

Fasta Vass! He would not suffer another moment of insecurity. He would have his answer tonight.

Fenris quickly gathered up his armor, securing his gauntlets and settling his over-sharpened blade within it's sheathe. He tried to convince his booze addled brain into forming a broken plan. He would go to the Hanged Man, Hawke was there most nights, she was certain to be there now. It would be easier to face her with so many others around them, perhaps she would even be inebriated as well.

Yes. He would go to her, he could wait no longer.

"Balls."

Isabela flinched as she watched the elf walk through the door of their favorite bar. His handsome featured set in a determined expression that did not bode well for her friend.

Why did he have to come now? Things had been going so well. Hawke was drunk, she was laughing. Isabela felt she had not seen the warrior at ease like this in too long.

When her repeated attempts to convince her companions to recite the events in the Fade had failed, the pirate queen had been forced to draw her own conclusions. Although she had become testy when none of her friends would confirm or deny any of her increasingly absurd theories.

Dammit, she knew the elf was behind this somehow! She wanted to know the damn details!

At least Hawke had not noticed him yet. Her eyes were pleasantly glazed over as she leaned back in her chair, listening happily as Varric regaled the pub with tales of their latest exploits.

It had been impressive, the pirate had to admit, although not nearly as impressive as Varric was making it out be. She was sure the Varterrel had not been quite the size of a Hightown masion. She snickered.

Isabela downed the last of her tankard with a sharp jerk of her head. She had made up her mind.

I am just too nice. She decided as she rose from familiar set at the bar and stealthily approached the elf. She needed to distract him before the others had time to notice his presence. The elf certainly had a penchant for violence, and Isabela did not fancy loosing any limbs over her friends relationship problems – she would have to use more...tact...than normal.

Surprisingly enough, he seemed pleased to see her as she approached. If she didn't think him too straightforward for such schemes she would swear he was up to something. Isabela could almost see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

OK...definitely up to something.

"I need your council." He spat out as she approached. The words shocked her, wiping any thought of secrecy or stealth momentarily from her mind. The elf hated her. He thought her unclean and wanton. What could be so pressing that he would stoop to seek advice from her?

"Fine," She heard herself answer. Curiosity piqued despite her misgivings about his motivation. "But not here, I do not want you bothering Hawke tonight."

In response he gave her little more than a sneer.

"Perish the thought."

With some hesitation, Isabela agreed to meet him tomorrow at his mansion in Hightown. It would be better to discuss whatever this was after they both had time to sober up.

Author's Note: I just found out that Merrill is voiced by the same lady who plays Gwen in Torchwood. I will never be able to look at her the same way again.

Super Thanks to my boyfriend for agreeing to take the dog out AND make dinner so that I had time to finish writing this chapter.

In unrelated news - I have SOMUCHFRENCHHOMEWORK. /dies