It had been four months since Fenris and Hawke had, as Varric put it, "reconciled." Hawke always scoffed at the term, explaining that they were always friends (which stretched the truth slightly, because those first months, they were hardly friends) and all they had actually done is decide to be "more than friends." That stretched the truth a great deal, on Fenris's part; the Hawke crest he wore at his belt declared his allegiance to the world, and he was still grateful that she hadn't said she was aware of the meaning behind the red ribbon on his wrist (a Tevinter custom that declared, for all the world to see, that one was not available, romantically, as one's heart was already claimed. It seemed more romantic that way) that he had worn, daily, for the last three years. He made public declaration that he was Hawke's, in his heart, and she could have moved on, but he never would.

And in these four months of "reconciliation," of them being publicly, a romantically involved couple (oh! The scandal! That the Champion happily accepted an elven lover publicly!) Fenris was becoming more and more frustrated with his inability to either just talk with Hawke about his desires or act on said desires. He had, as Varric had put it, one drunken night while they were playing cards, signed the papers, but he hadn't yet sealed the deal. Fenris hated thinking of it that way and decided that it was probably the best way to think of it, in his own mind. He had had a rather lot to drink that night, after all, but the term never quite got replaced with anything else.

The few times he had managed to be in a more intimate setting with her, something had always interrupted them. The most hated of the interruptions was Anders, that damned abomination who, for some insane, stupid reason, Hawke allowed in her home at his own personal discretion. The secret entrance in Darktown had a lock, and Anders had the key. It also had a magical barrier, and Anders had the key to that as well. Fenris was certain that nothing… untoward… was going on, but even so, jealousy reared up each time he arrived at Hawke's and the damned abomination was already there, or when he showed up right as Hawke was melting into his kiss or embrace, the hope that this was the time crowing in his heart.

Killing the abomination would be considered rude, he knew. There were some few unspoken rules in their circle of friends, and killing one of them was right out. He also decided that killing Anders, while being initially satisfying, would actually keep him from his desired goal even longer, between grief over his death, anger at Fenris for causing it, and irritation at purposeful and intentional violation of Group's Unspoken Rules.

But neither could he continue living with this jealousy. It was a poison as surely as the hate he had harbored was a poison, and he found himself short-tempered and snappish when he truly did not wish to be, especially not with Hawke. He began to grow just slightly paranoid, wondering if Anders was doing this on purpose, to try to drive a wedge between Hawke and himself. He would not put it past the abomination to do such a thing.

Fenris felt like a desperate man, at this point. He did not appreciate casual touch from most people, but Hawke's touch was barely casual, even when it was. Her caresses warmed him, her kisses inflamed him, the thought of her in… other… situations drove him to distraction. With others, even the accidental brush of elbows could cause a flare of the memory of pain. Hawke's touch was something he actively sought out and, being denied it, he found himself frustrated, in several different respects.

He was fairly certain that Hawke had the same desires he did. She gave him looks that were enticing, lingering touches that were mouth-watering, and smiles that made his heart pound. If even Fenris was able to catch those clues, perhaps it was not just him seeing what he wanted to see, as every single one of Hawke's merry band of misfits commented on it at one point or another. And now, desperate times were calling for desperate measures. He would have to speak with Varric.

Varric handled most of Hawke's business. He was in charge of investing her money, handling her bills, appraising certain requests, and a certain level of scheduling of her days. It was by his own choice, Fenris knew; he and Hawke had regular meetings to discuss things, and to make sure Varric was not overworked. Varric, in turn, was able to make no small amount of coin simply by doing what came naturally to him, which freed up time for him to write. If there was one thing Varric loved more than gold, it was writing.

As much as the idea irritated him, Fenris decided his best bet to get Hawke alone so that they could at least talk resided with Varric, and Varric had been a trusted friend to Fenris as long as the two had known each other. Mocking and teasing from Varric was always in a friendly manner, at least, and even Fenris could see it was mostly harmless.

Varric was as wealthy as Hawke was, in his own right, and even had the "Tethras" name to back him up, but he seemed happiest in his palatial suite at The Hanged Man. Truth be told, no one would be able to picture Varric elsewhere; the dwarf lived for knowledge and gossip and secrets, and would just not be at home in an estate in Hightown as he would in his tavern rooms.

So The Hanged Man was where Fenris sought him, ready to beg, threaten, cajole, ask, and exchange favors for only a few days alone with Marian Hawke, preferably in a private, romantic setting. Fenris had a vague idea of proposing marriage to her, and less vague ideas of kisses and embraces and, perhaps, even beds. His imagination knew no bounds, there. There were more things than just kisses and embraces that one could do in beds, and he could recall quite clearly doing those with her at one point.

He knocked heavily on the door to Varric's suite, the door opening just slightly with the force of it, and called out for the dwarf.

"Come in!" Varric yelled, obviously in the bedchamber. Fenris waited in the sitting area, the main features of which were the massive and long table and chairs, and the numerous bookcases stuffed with books.

"Varric," Fenris said, loudly. "Are you decent?"

"Just a minute," he replied, so Fenris settled into one of the chairs and began perusing the titles on the closest bookcase.

Five minutes passed before Varric appeared, and another five before he was nodding in understanding, knowing immediately what the issue was.

"I get it, Broody," he said, steepling his fingers. He was sitting in his customary seat at the head of the table and they both had pints of the usual shill in front of him, although Fenris had touched his only as courtesy. "you want time with Hawke. All of her, not just her most popular parts."

"Creatively put, as always," was the dry response.

"Isabela's not the only helper around here." He took a long drink, seemingly finishing up his ale, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'll do what I can. I know already that you need to have All Soul's Day clear," he said, suddenly quite serious.

"Because of Leandra."

"And Bethany. And Malcolm," Varric agreed. "Not the most romantic of holidays, and don't you go putting any moves on her then, either." As if Fenris would try. He remembered what a sobbing wreck she had been that first All Soul's Day after her mother had been murdered. "Just being there for her will mean a lot."

"I understand." He was there for her every year. On All Soul's Day or not. They all were, always together, there for each other. They had all lost someone important to them, and loss and remembrance were easier to bear with friends and modest amounts of alcohol.

"Maybe I should get with her about holding something at her place," Varric mused, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "She always likes an excuse to cook and feed us, and you would have a perfect excuse for staying over."

"I would like," Fenris said, "to have time with her by myself. Alone. No jobs, no one butting in." He gave a brief sketch of what had happened with the picnic, and how Aveline had butted in at the most inopportune time, leaving Hawke feeling even worse.

"Andraste's dimpled buttcheeks, I bet Aveline felt like a right ass, at that," Varric said, chuckling. "After helping to set things up…" He shook his head. "The problem is, Hawke would get suspicious, so unless you're wanting to let her know your plans, there's no way to clear out her schedule like you're asking."

Fenris harrumphed, scowling at his now mostly empty tankard. "this is not just for my sake," he sake, trying a different angle. "You must have seen how tired she looks. How drawn. Hawke needs a break."

"And you're the elf to give it to her," he replied, nodding. "Which means that you're the one who should be talking her into this. You come up with an idea, talk her into it, and I'll make it happen."

He turned his scowl onto he wooden tabletop. "If I could get enough time to speak with her about speaking to her, I would hardly need to go through you," he snarled.

"Can't help you there, Broody," Varric replied, sighing a little bit. "You might need to risk the clinic."

His eyes came up to search Varric's face. "The clinic?" The only clinic he knew of was the abomination's.

"You didn't know? Of course not. Maker's breath, Hawke…" He sighed again. "She's been helping Blondie in the clinic a lot, lately. Hours daily, that I know of, putting those Healing skills to use."

"And she did not see fit to inform me that she was spending all this time with the abomination." Without thought, he hurled the ceramic tankard against the wall, where it shattered and spilled what little remained. "Spending time with Anders instead of me and not even telling me about it?!"

"Cool it, Fenris," Varric said, voice hard. Fenris glared at the dwarf, hands curling into fists so tight that the tips of his gauntlets cut into his palms. "She's not stupid. She knows that you and Blondie hate each other and that he needs a friend right now. I'm not sure how much 'Blondie' is left. You get left out of jobs with him, for the most part, so you don't see it, but the rest of us do. He's losing himself to Justice, and Hawke's being a friend."

"But I need her, too." It sounded pathetic to his own ears. Varric's expression softened, and Fenris realized how vulnerable he had made himself. If it were anyone but Varric…

"You need her, but Blondie's an actual threat right now, to others than himself. Hawke's keeping those patients safe by watching out for Anders. By keeping a hold on this obsession that he has."

"If Hawke is in Darktown, that is where I will go," Fenris said, and it was his turn for his voice to be hard.

"Just don't start a fight with Blondie," Varric warned. "In fact, if you brought some supplies, you'd make Hawke happy and have a reason to be there."

Fenris nodded. "Yes. Yes, a good idea," he muttered. "I will speak with you later," he told the dwarf, before setting out to collect whatever bandages, elfroot, antiseptics and the like that he could find. Prices were high, in Lowtown, but he hadn't lost any coin—he hadn't played much Wicked Grace with the others, lately, and he had the coin to spend. It would be worth it to bankrupt himself, to be in Hawke's good graces, that he knew.

Within hours he was picking his way through Darktown, trying to avoid stepping in the worst of the mess. Darktown was even worse than Lowtown –it was even worse than the alienage. Walking through Darktown was one time Fenris wished he wore shoes, because it was just a disgusting and smelly place that he loathed coming to and always needed at least one bath after visiting.

At least Hawke and the abomination were at the clinic; Fenris had been afraid they would not be, or that, Maker forbid, he would find them in the compromising situation he so feared. As it was, Anders was behind a curtained partition, delivering a baby, it sounded like, while Hawke was wrapping bandages around the hand of an old woman who looked like she would blow away in a strong wind. Hardly the kind he expected to see thriving in Darktown.

"And come back if it turns red, or you have a fever," Hawke was telling her, concerned and gentle.

"What for do I owe ye?" asked the old woman.

"Messere Hendricks is back having a baby. One night a week for a month, make dinner for the family and deliver it," Hawke said, matter-of-factly. "Even a thin soup is better than nothing, but go by the food pantry and show them this, and they'll give you an extra rasher of potatoes to cook," she finished, pressing a token into the old woman's good hand.

"Thank ye, Champion," the old woman said, pocketing the token and hobbling out. Fenris rushed to get Hawke's attention before the next patient could.

"Maker's breath, Fenris!" she exclaimed, eyes wide as she took the box filled with supplies. "You're a sight for sore eyes!" Her smile was radiant, full of love, and he dug his fingers into the sides of the box to stop from kissing her right there in front of all of Darktown.

"Varric told me you needed help down here," Fenris said. "I am no Healer, but tell me, and it is done."

Her eyes widened in delight. "Really? I thought… Well, nevermind. You truly wish to help?"

He nodded, letting his bangs fall into his face to hide his expression. "I wish to help you," he said, putting extra emphasis on the "you."

Hawke grinned. "Well, set those down in the back and go get me two things: sawdust, or straw, and as many large bottles of vinegar as you can."

Fenris blinked, confused. "But I wanted to spend time with you—"

"You wanted to help? This will save me a lot of time and help me tremendously! We need clean rushes for the floor and vinegar to clean the cots and supplies." She dug out some coin and gave it to him, along with directions to the most likely places to find his quarry.

"Get back soon enough and we can have dinner together tonight!" She said it so brightly that his heart swelled. She did wish to be with him. Score one: Fenris, Score Zero: Abomination.

"Just us?"

"Us and Weezl," she said, winking. He smiled, a bare half-smile this time.

"Then I shall return shortly," he promised.

He took longer than he wanted, but after returning she set him to work cleaning in the clnic, offering him constant smiles, stupid jokes, and happy company. Anders was busy in and out of the partitioned area and seemed unpleasantly surprised to see Fenris there. The feeling was mutual, of course, but considering how pleased –how genuinely pleased—Hawke was to see Fenris there, he took to the idea that irritating the abomination would be a side benefit to pleasing his Hawke.

True to her word, close to dinnertime Hawke started shooing out waiting patients who were not emergencies, and when no one at all was left in the clinic except the woman giving birth, Fenris, Hawke, Anders, and the woman's sister, Hawke shut off the lanterns outside and had Fenris help straighten up, pulling soiled bedsheets into canvas bags, separating bandages that could be washed and reused from those that could not, and wiping down what they could with some of the vinegar.

"Orana will be expecting us for dinner," she promised him, as soon as they made their way to her hidden cellar door. "You are welcome to start, or wash up first." She looked down at herself and laughed, self-depreciatory. "I think I'd like a bath first, to be honest."

"A bath does sound good," he agreed, thinking of one book of Isabela's that he had read where the hero and his lady bathed together. It was not exactly appropriate for all audiences, and he wondered if Hawke knew about such things, and how to broach the topic, and if it were appropriate with just them as an audience, when she broke into his reverie.

"I'll heat the guest bath for you, then," she was saying. "If you want to run to your mansion and get some clean things to change into."

Ah, well, then. If she had rejected the unvoiced idea… "Yes. And I will return, and bathe, and we can have dinner together."

"You should keep some things here," she said, not quite looking at him as they climbed through the cellars. "If you liked, that is."

Fenris was unsure how to interpret that statement. He much preferred the idea of being unclothed at Hawke's estate, with an equally unclothed Hawke. However, he was relatively certain that this was not the direction her thoughts were going. "Perhaps I should," he said, narrowly avoiding asking her what she meant so that he did not look even more the fool.

"That's good," she said. "That would be good, then. A good thing. For good. Yes." But she still didn't look at him, and the magelight she used to light their way cast too many queer shadows for him to actually catch her expression.

Hours later, baths and dinner complete, he found himself virtually cuddled against her on the library sofa, too warm, full, and content, not to mention sleepy, to remember the things he had wanted to talk to her about. The small part of him that was fully awake and coherent kept trying to urge the rest of him to action, but Fenris was too mellowed out to want to break the happy spell, especially if it meant Hawke might move away from him and he would lose that delicious scent of apples that always hung around her.

So the pattern of the next days went, for a month. When there were no jobs, he would accompany her to the clinic, helping the sick and injured and irritating Anders as a bonus. Their friends all seemed to drop by and help as well, even Isabela, if all she did was drop off coin and suspiciously labeled supplies, or food enough to feed all and sundry present for that meal.

Evenings were washing up and dinner, when not out on later jobs or when Hawke did not have events to attend. She even managed to wrangle promises from Fenris to attend some of them with her, first making sure he would invest in proper attire other than his armor.

Their evenings out were mildly entertaining, he had to admit. Hawke clearly enjoyed dressing in pretty gowns and doing her hair up and she looked ravishingly lovely while doing it. Fenris took perverse pleasure in the scandal that the others in the nobility saw in their relationship, and free food and alcohol were always enjoyable, especially moderately good stuff at the expense of people who gossiped worse than fishwives.

On the whole, the month passed quickly and with no real opportunities for deep conversations. Hawke was clearly happy with the time they spent together, though, and a happy Hawke meant a relatively happier Fenris. For the first time he could remember, Fenris felt like an actually free man, in charge of his own life. He had a house, income, a woman, friends, and the work he was starting to do in the Darktown clinic was turning some of the attention he was used to getting in the market –suspicious looks, frowns, distrustful glares—into almost friendly, respectful ones. Hawke's lover, someone who helped the Darktown Healers, someone with coin but who could be trusted. For the first time, his distinctive appearance was doing him some good. And, he was surprised to discover, for the first time the box of coin he kept under a board in his mansion was filled, mainly with gold and silver, collected over the years since the Deep Roads. He was, surprisingly, wealthy in his own right.

The money gave Fenris… ideas. The first idea was that he absolutely wanted to propose to her, to marry her. For that, he needed a ring, which was a custom in both Ferelden and the Free Marches, and one which he was happy to uphold.

The second idea was something to invest coin into, and that was easier to accomplish than getting an appropriate ring. That simply required a trip to see Varric, who was delighted to help Fenris find a local business that was mainly owned by Fereldens and mainly employed Fereldens. It was a textile manufactory, primarily in the business of making inexpensive rugs, carpets, and blankets, mainly purchased by the slightly-more affluent in Lowtown, but now Fenris was a partner, with completely independent income and employing Fereldens, which would make Hawke ecstatic once she found out. She had a great love of her countrymen and, while Fenris did not care one way or another, a happy Hawke meant a happy Fenris, for the most part.

Third, Fenris researched marriage laws and customs and prepared to spend a great deal on whatever type of wedding Hawke might want. He had few preferences, and had not, of course, even asked her yet, but finding these things out were good for him to know, and prepared him more for the future. He would have to make arrangements with the Chantry, and caterers, and a honeymoon, and someone to play music, and flowers. Hawke liked flowers, and Fenris liked Hawke, so there would be plenty of flowers to make Hawke happy.

Fenris spent a probably unhealthy amount of time, planning their wedding in his head, especially considering that Hawke hadn't said yes, or that he hadn't even asked her, yet.