(AUTHOR'S NOTE:: I have edited the previous chapters. I am no longer starting the Hawke/Fenris UST/romance/angst/whatever now. There are lots of reasons for this the most of which being it doesn't feel right to me, and later on it'll make it feel like Fenris is being force into the relationship. I think it would be a much better story if they both discovered it on their own as they got to get to know each other all over again. IF you'd like just take my word for it that I've edited it to reflect that they are not yet attracted to each other. If you'd like feel free to re-read chapters 6-8 and see for yourself the minute differences. Thank you for bearing with me and I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. I appreciate everyone of you who've been reading this and sticking with it, it means so much to know people like it.

As an aside- if you want to read the story with formatting (italics for emphasis) and with complete author's notes (not very good ones I assure you) then feel free to bop over to AO3, which is my primary story website of choice. Thank you all again, you are all so wonderful and amazing and keep me inspired.)

Hawke was dead. If he wasn't dead then he was currently in the very horrific business of dying. His skull was surely crushed and blood and brains seeping from the shattered cracks on to the ground below and he was dying.

I love you mother. Don't cry for me. Father, please keep the family safe. Bethy, you're so talented, so strong, never give up on any of your dreams. Carver... Carver I'm so sorry you've been such a twit. I wish it didn't have to end like this.

And thus he steeled himself for the inevitable darkness to consume him. Except it didn't. Except instead of the blackness of death he was finally welcoming in the world started to brighten around him, his mind began to stir and he realized he was not going to die. Oh no, his fate was one much worse than death. Even the pained groan that slithered from his dry mouth which tasted of despair and ashes and felt dryer than the Western Approach only served to cause further pain and tug him stubbornly along into consciousness. With a heavy heart Hawke decided he needed to open his eyes, to wake up. With a mighty struggle worthy of bardic song and Chevalier heroism he pulled one eye open. It was a grave mistake.

The light stabbed him. It shot into his eye with a truly vicious cheeriness that lanced pain through his very soul. The wicked and vengeful sun laughed in his face, chortled gayly at his writhings and curses. He wanted to die. His body reeled against him, his head felt as if it had exploded. There was no pounding, no beating of demon's fists against his skull trying to break free, he had already accomplished his goal and was dancing around in the maker-be-damned merry sunlight rejoicing in Hawke's pain. His stomach had turned to swamp. His whole innards had probably melted into mush and were wallowing about in his body, gurgling, bubbling and roiling in anger at his slightest movement. Just the thought of opening his eyes once more caused the murky mire in his body to welter and his head to roar and shriek in protest.

But something felt wrong. The bed, for though it was hard and scratchy he was sure it had to be a bed, didn't feel right. The smells weren't right, the lighting wasn't right. With herculean force he wretched one eye open once more, this time forcing it to stay that way, desperately pushing back the nausea and crushing pain in his gut and head respectively to take in the scene before him.

He was facing a window. This was particularly upsetting. His bed was not near a window. His bed was against the inside wall shared with the twins' room. With more effort and struggle he managed to roll his singular eye around the viewable area and froze. Oh Maker take him Leto. He was in Leto's bed. What the fuck was he doing in Leto's bed? Then shattered pieces of the night came rushing back to him, shredding him apart with razor sharp edges and glittering in mocking joviality at the horror of the situation.

But I wanna play with you.

The words rocketed through him, ripped a whole in his chest, swept the breath from his lungs as full, unedited, unabashed consternation filled him. Oh no... Oh no, no, no he had not said that. He had not said anything like that. It was a dream. That was it. It was just a very bad dream, a terrible, awful, no good very bad dream. None of it had happened and he was still in a hellish nightmare and it would all be okay. He would wake up slumped against some wall where he'd passed out pissing, robbed and beaten by some petty thugs and everything, absolutely everything was going to be okay. He would saunter on home, explain away the cuts and bruises and none of this horrid experience would ever, ever have happened. So it was with a bright smile that wistful sigh that he closed his eye, took a breath, and popped it open again.

The sun wasted no time in assaulting him once more, as if berating him for his foolish thoughts.

Oh you thought getting drunk would be fun? It seemed to chuckle Oh you thought nothing bad would come of this? Oh how cute, how so very quaint. This will be fun.

"Well fuck you, too, sun." Hawke croaked out though parched throat, sandy tongue and chapped lips. It was this that caused the elf beside him to stir.

Panic charged through Hawke's body like a lightening bolt. Adrenaline coursed his veins, setting them ablaze, causing the hapless mulch that was once his stomach to give a great heave and threaten to upset the delicate balance he was holding within himself. As Leto gave a great yawn and arched his body in a slow stretch Hawke did the only thing he could think to do, the only clearly logical thing, he snapped his eye shut and let loose a bellow of a snore. There, definitive proof that he was definitely still asleep. Nope, no waking him, not when he was yawning like that. Sleep, sleep, sleep, nothing to see here.

"Hawke."

Snore.

"Hawke. You're not asleep."

Leto was onto him. A fresh wave of hysteria rushed over him and he over compensated by giving a far-too-loud, far-too-long snore. Leto said nothing this time but Hawke could practically feel the other's gaze on him. He squirmed under the scrutiny, trying to play it off like some kind of bad dream. The elf just cleared his throat pointedly. Before Hawke could catch himself he screwed up his face and made a high pitched mockery of the stern sound Leto had given him. He flinched at his error immediately, "Fuck." The curse was soft and swift and followed by a second when he realized his mistake. Leto simply continued to stare at the hot mess of a human next to him.

"By all means take your time. Whenever you're ready, the dawn will wait for you."

Finally Hawke pried an eye open and gave his best glare at the boy who was now sitting next to him. Leto gazed passively and waited for this day's childish tirade to end. Hawke flushed white as the world gave a hard spin and his body did not react well. Leto half leapt back, half shoved Hawke towards the edge of the bed, his foot hesitate for a moment as he contemplated whether pushing the human off the bed was indeed the best course of option.

Garrett's body hit the floor with a leaden thump. THen proceeded to pulse with pain and betrayal. "Whyyyyyy," he half whined half gasped at the not so sudden not so attack.

"Just heal yourself you ninny." Leto muttered, thoroughly uninterested now that the threat of puke on himself or his belongings was abated.

"I'm so weeeeeak." The mage whined again, curling his body in on itself in despair.

Once again a purposeful silence filled the room. Garrett let out little whimpers as he tugged roughly at the magic coiled within him, ripping it free and blasting his body and a large sphere around him with a pulse of healing. The effort was immense and left him drained and, in some ways, feeling worse than before. But, he noted with a small spark of satisfaction, that his stomach and other bodily organs had returned to their normal and appropriate shapes, and his head was once more pieced together.

"If you're quite finished?"

Hawke grumbled a mocking Neh neh neh, if you're quite finished in a high, nasally voice.

"Care to tell me about this... Aiden? Was it?"

Garrett wasn't sure which was worse, having to talk about Aiden or having to address what he had said to his brother not six hours ago. So he settled for groaning and rolling onto his side on the hard, cool floor, squinting up at Leto. The elf raised a hand and drew the curtain then quirked an eyebrow, "Well, do go on."

"He's... Ugh." Hawke rolled onto his back, "He's Alyssa's brother, okay?"

"And?"

"And nothing, alright?" Garret let the silence drag on painfully, dragging it across the jagged rocks of the Storm Coast itself before finally succombing to the tension, "And I like him, okay?"

Leto nodded thoughtfully, "Like..."

"Like as in I want to stick my tongue in his face hole, okay?"

The elf snorted with surprise and let a long, boisterious laugh escape him, "Well I was going to put it more delicately than that. But as long as you're the one saying it."

The mage just groaned again and threw an arm over his eyes, "I don't know what's going on. I went on the date with Alyssa and nothing. Then her brother came with us and we kissed and... everything."

"So you're...?"

The question was obvious and Hawke just shrugged and sighed, "Maybe? I don't know. I like one guy. Does that automatically make me..."

"Well, yeah, it kinda does. You like guys."

"Not guys just him. Just that one guy."

"Mhm, and I'm sure that explains your little bit last night, too?"

His body tensed, feign innocence, feign ignorance, he'll never know!, "What little bit? I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Haven't the faintest, eh? You always try to sound fancy when you're lying, you know that, right?"

Garrett went to mock the elf again but couldn't muster up the energy to be so jaded, "Fine. It was stupid, I was drunk." His face was bright read and he could feel the blush washing down his entire body, the sheer embarrassment filling him, crushing out every other emotion and nerve ending and flooding him with guilt and shame. "I was drunk and Aiden and I were kissing so I was horny and I came back and you were there-" He cut himself off and cried out in frustration, unable to bottle up the sheer chagrin any more. "I was drunk and horny and stupid and I'm sorry and lets never mention it again, okay?" Leto balked at the outburst then smirked, "You might want to say that a bit loud, I'm not sure the east end of Lothering heard you quite as clearly as you'd like."

"Shut up, okay? Just shut your big fat head."

"Ah, see, there's the Hawke I know. So eloquent." Hawke just lay motionless, letting his own self loathing and sorrow wash around him. Leto spoke again quietly, reaching out with a gentle voice, coaxing Hawke back from whatever edge he was teetering on, "Hawke. I'm sorry." The human didn't respond. "Hawke... do you really..." He wasn't sure how to finish the question and Hawke dropped his arm to gaze at him in confusion. "I mean... If you're gay... Did you really want to-?"

"Kiss you?"

"That."

The human paused to contemplate the question before asking carefully, "Are you-?" Again the word was so heavily implied that it might have been a slap to the face. "I- I rightfully don't know." Leto finally conceeded, "I've never thought... In Tevinter, as a slave. And even here." At that Garrett sat up, pushing himself onto his hands, head cocked to the side, gazing intently at the elf, "Never a single girl? Or guy? Not any one who caught your attention?" Again Leto simply shrugged and shook his head, "It would have been foolish to even think. It never occurred to me to even bother looking."

Hawke stood carefully, "Well maybe..." He sat uneasily, carefully, more perched than sitting, on the edge of Leto's bed. "I mean if we-?" The elf practically gulped and shrugged in reply, "I guess..."

The two shifted awkwardly for a few seconds before finally leaning in slowly, eyes squeezed shut, as if preparing for the worst. Their lips met and the worst was not enough. Hawke jerked back, spluttering and spitting, making retching noises and gagging exaggeratedly. Leto simply scowled and swiped the back of his hand across his lips. Hawke continued to put on a show, splayed on the floor, heaving and crying out in pain and disgust.

"I get it. It was gross."

Hawke did not stop.

"Oh sod it all." Leto stood up, planted a foot firmly in Hawke's belly and stepped hard over him to get to the dresser. Hawke gave a loud oof and nearly did throw up that time. But broke down in to hearty laughter at the sight of his brother so upset and flustered. "Oh, come on, don't tell me I hurt you wittwe bitty feewings." Leto threw a boot at his face and Hawke dodged just in time. But continued to chuckle quietly as he picked himself up off the ground. He was about to give some snide reply when Bethany poked her head in the door, face heavy and serious.

"There's some one at the door-"

Hawke beamed and made to push by her, "Oh I shouldn't keep Alyssa waiting! She will be so worried after I got ill last night, she'll want to know I'm okay."

Bethany held up a hand to stop him, "It's not Alyssa."

"Aiden, then-"

"It's not any one you know. It's not even for you." She looked warily over at Leto, "It's for him." Her voice was quiet, almost scared. The tone sent a chill up both of the boys' spines. Leto tugged a shirt and on and strode quickly from the room, Garrett right on his heel. The whole family stood by the front door, so cluttered together that Leto was unable to make out the figure waiting on the stoop for him. He could make out some very choice and harsh words being said by Malcolm to the visitor but that was all. And as he approached the voice cut short and the small group parted for him.

The man in the doorway was clearly wealthy. He wore fine robes of silk and satin and a hood with pointed decorations over his ears lined in silver. Strange garb, he'd never seen it before, which made him frown.

"Salve, servus. I have a letter for you." Leto stiffened, his jaw tightened and his hands clenched to fists by his side. He didn't know this man, didn't know his voice, but he knew those words, he knew that accent, he knew that language and it all screamed to him, Tevinter. The man extended a hand, in it a thick, weighty scroll. Leto almost didn't take it but something about that voice, about the power this man commanded, about the way his presence dominated and washed over him. HIs old life rushed back over him for a moment and his knees almost bent, he almost dropped to the floor, averted his eyes, allowed the scroll to be dropped before him because how could he ever be worthy to take such a thing from this man's hand.

But with a twitch and grimaced, hardened himself and snatched the scroll away. He didn't do it to be rude but it was the only way he would be able to take the paper from the man's hand. The man just smirked, which quickly devolved into a sneer as he inclined his head just slightly to the family, but not to Leto, never to Leto.

"From Danarius."