Author's Note:

I decided to take a bit of a break from finishing and publishing the second part of Night Terrors. I'm writing a holiday story instead, and I don't plan to have that up until later in the week. So, until then, I posted this story. I've been thinking of writing a real story about what happens to Hawke after she left Kirkwall, and I had this scene stuck in my head for a long time, so finally I had to type it up. I want to know what you guys think, if I should go on with writing it. This will not be at the beginning of the story if I do write it, by the way, it will probably be a couple chapters in at least, and I'll definitely refine it a bit more. Kind of a preview, if you get my meaning. Anyways, please tell me what you think, and if ya'll like it I might write an actual story, with chapters and everything :p

She awoke screaming to the night. Again. Shadowy figures floated across her wavering vision. She gritted her teeth and forced herself fully awake, and the figures disappeared. The arms around her tightened, and she heard murmured reassurances in her ear. She trembled and cold sweat slicked her skin. Her breathing was loud and fast in the quiet tent.

Determined to distance herself from her nightmares, Hawke snuggled closer to Fenris, still shuddering, wracked with terror. He held her close, kissing her forehead tenderly. They lay like that for several minutes, while she attempted to get her labored breathing under control. The dead, eerie silence of the night outside fell on her ears. Deciding to break the silence, she found her voice and spoke aloud. It sounded unnaturally loud in the pitch-black tent, but she doubted that Bethany, who was now sitting outside keeping watch, could hear anything except her screams, as it was the time of night where everything was asleep, just a couple hours away from dawn. By this point the others were pretty much deaf to her midnight terrors, or at least they could tune it out better. She hoped she hadn't woken them up again.

"Have you remembered anything yet?" she asked softly, as she did every night. He had told her about the flashbacks he'd been getting lately, but as of yet he had been unable to clearly recall any of them. Her voice dragged and quivered with the pathetic exhaustion of several sleepless nights. In it was a silent plea: Don't let me think of the nightmares.

"As a matter of fact, I have," he answered just as quietly. She could hear his concern for her in his voice, but he couldn't hide his pleasure and his sadness at finally remembering something. And, by now, he knew that it was better not to ask about her nightmares; when he did, she went inexplicably hysterical, despite both their best efforts- they'd decided it was best for her to just try to forget them. He deliberately paused now, and she shifted impatiently at being left hanging, holding her breath with anticipation. His chest rumbled underneath her head as he chuckled with amusement at her restless impatience.

"Well, what did you remember?" she demanded once she was sure he wasn't going to elaborate until she asked. She couldn't repress a quiet, slightly delirious giggle, despite herself; Fenris's laughter was infectious.

"Vague flashes of memories. I can remember some of the more important ones, but even those are fuzzy. Mostly emotions, though." His tone was a little wistful now.

"Anything in particular?" she wanted to know. He hesitated- arranging his thoughts, probably. She fidgeted. Her nightmares were like a fever; if she didn't distract herself, she would invariably succumb to them.

"Varania didn't lie to us," he said at last. "My name was Leto. I think in my dream- flashback- I was around fourteen. We were all slaves for some magister- I can't remember his name, as I didn't go to Danarius until after I got my markings, and he didn't seem very important to me at the time anyway. We rarely saw him.

"My father used to teach me how to fight with a sharpened stick, since slaves aren't allowed to own weapons. I think I respected him and I was very fond of him. He was very adept with the sword. He had been a Dalish elf before he became a slave, which is where he learned to fight. if I remember correctly.. Anyway, one day somebody caught us sparring with the fake swords and told the magister. I was lashed, but I was allowed to live, because at the time I was young and strong and they needed my strength- to move heavy things, I think. My father, though... they beat him to death."

"Oh, Fenris," she breathed, "I'm so sorry..." He shrugged, and she could practically feel his bitterness. She shivered, and her eyes slid shut momentarily before she forced them open again. If she slept, she knew she would dream.

"I was left to take care of my mother and my sister," he went on quietly, "but I get the feeling that I didn't take good care of them for a while after my father died. I guess I went into a sort of... trance. I missed my father so much, I sort of lost it... I don't think I spoke much, but if I did, I wound up snapping at whoever was nearest. I did continue practicing sword-fighting in secret, though."

"Maker, that's horrible... If I could, I would go to Tevinter and kill all the magisters myself for owning slaves and treating them like that," she growled venomously. She twisted a little to look at his face, but even the mighty Hawke couldn't see well in the dark. His mossy green eyes glittered a little, though, and she could see an amused quirk to his eyebrow.

"You're in no condition to be fighting magisters right now," he pointed out, and she scowled at him. He grew more serious and thoughtful a moment later. "But I would be right at your side," he agreed. "The magisters don't deserve to live."

"I'll bet that's where all the blood mages get their ideas from..." Hawke glowered. She heard the slightest intake of breath, and she suddenly realized that she was digging her fingers into his arm. "Sorry, sorry!" she breathed, burying her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "So... ahh... could you remember his name?" she asked, still struggling to distance herself from her nightmares. He rubbed her back, and she could practically feel the helplessness radiating from his body. Her dreams were terrible; in the light of day, she was able to almost forget them, but at night they overtook her to the point where she could barely sleep, but she was so tired that they threatened to haunt her anyway in her weakened state. Is this what Feynriel felt like? she wondered briefly. He was a mage and a dreamer, though, so he could control his dreams better. Well, as far as Merrill and Bethany could figure (without the use of blood magic), she wasn't being haunted by demons, at least.

"It started with an 'A'... Airam?* Alain?" He frowned, then sighed. "I can't remember."

"Hopefully it'll come to you soon," she murmured. Her eyes fluttered shut again, then she flinched and grabbed his arm again, her eyelids flying open and her sensual blue eyes filled with terror. "Don't let me sleep," she whispered, her voice cracking with fear. He gritted his teeth; he hated with a passion whatever it was that kept her from getting the sleep she so deserved and ground her down to the helpless creature that now shivered in his arms.

"I won't," he promised.

"What... what did you look like?" she questioned wearily. By then she was so exhausted it was all she could do to focus on his words, and her mind wandered in different directions anyway. Like a drunk, she thought savagely.

"How do you mean?"

In answer, she turned her face up to his again and reached up, stroking his shock of white hair before sliding her hand down to his cheek and letting it rest there. Her usually brilliant blue eyes- dull from fatigue- were filled with love. He gazed back into her eyes while he thought.

"My hair was a light bronze color," he recalled. "It had streaks of red that kind of glowed in the sunlight."

"So that's why your brow is brown," Hawke chuckled unsteadily, raising her arm to stroke his eyebrow. He snickered against her wrist and went on.

"My eyes have always been this light green color, I think, and my skin was a little paler than it was in Seheron with the Fog Warriors..."

"That makes sense, I guess," she responded with the slightest frown tugging at her lips. She shuddered again. It was cool outside, but not that cold; it was her mind that caused her chills. He stroked her hair again and she sighed quietly, muscles reluctantly relaxing.

Suddenly Fenris was waylaid by another memory. The memory had been one of the vague flashes, but now it struck him full-force and he was dropped back in time.

Leto was seven years old. He huddled in his little cot while the storm raged outside, shaking the walls of the flimsy hut. It was small, only one room; it barely deserved to be called a hut, even. Beside him, Varania was sound asleep. His father was perched on the single stool they had; his elbows were propped on his knees, and his chin rested on his hands as he gazed unseeingly at the wall. His hair was a dirty blonde color, streaked with gray, and Leto was surprised to see how exhausted her looked. Mother was just finishing cleaning the clay dishes from their meager dinner. She glanced over at the bed to see Leto watching her with his huge, green eyes. She set the dishes down and glided silently over to him.

"Is something wrong, my dear Leto?" she whispered, kneeling down beside the cot and gazing into his eyes with an expression of such extreme compassion Leto thought his heart would burst.

"The storm is scary," he whimpered. She smiled; it was a slow, rather sad smile, but it lifted his heart like the sun breaking over the horizon and casting its pink-red rays over the city in the early morning.

"Nature is nothing to fear," she murmured, lifting her hand to brush across his forehead and his magnificent bronze hair, which matched her own hair color almost exactly to the strand. "It shapes the world to make us what we are now. Listen to the thunder, and you can hear the gods communicating." Leto shuddered at the sound of another, louder thunderclap.

"I can't sleep," he complained. He needed his strength for the work he had to do the next day. Mother seemed to ponder this a moment before nodding thoughtfully.

"Would you like me to sing a lullaby?" she offered. He nodded vigorously. She smiled, pleased, and started to sing. Her voice was beautiful and clear, like ringing bells on a fine spring morning. It told stories of beauty and other wondrous things, most of which Leto couldn't understand, but he loved listening to her voice.

Leto was sound asleep before the song had even ended.

"Fenris?" Hawke queried, her tone slurred. He saw her ice blue eyes contract with worry and fear. He stiffened.

"What's wrong?" he demanded quietly.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep or s...something." A yawn broke her sentence. He relaxed and tightened his arms around her again.

"Nope, still awake. I'll let you know before I do that," he tried to assure her teasingly, but he could tell that her mind wandered again. Her blue eyes drifted out of focus and her eyelids inched closer before she gritted her teeth and forced herself to stay awake. Her fingers dug into his arm again, but this time he kept from hissing in pain. Her gaze drifted up to meet his.

"Was it a f...flashback?" She stuttered from exhaustion. She shivered again, and he held her closer.

"It was, in fact." He described the scene to her, and she listened as well as she could; the expression in her eyes told him that she still wasn't entirely focused. There was silence for a moment when he finished as she digested his words.

"Sh-she sang to you? How s-sweet..." Hawke yawned. Sadness flickered across her expression, more pronounced than usual. Fenris reflected that this was usually how she would act when she was intoxicated. Which she almost was, in a sense. "My mother used to sing to me," she went on in a more coherent tone of voice. "When I was little, right before bed. She had a beautiful voice." She sighed wistfully. She gave him a sideways glance, and he uttered a long-suffering sigh. That glance never meant anything good, even when she lay weak and half-asleep on his bare chest. "Do... d'you remember the song she sang?"

"I... yes." He couldn't lie to her, even though he had a sneaking feeling what her next words would be.

"I've never heard you sing before," she commented with a wicked gleam flashing across her dull gaze, effective even as fatigue threatened to creep over her. Her eyelids fluttered alluringly, and he stifled another sigh.

"Singing isn't a usual hobby of mine. I'll leave that for 'Choir Boy.'" He lifted an eyebrow at her. Her eyes widened pleadingly.

"Please, Fenris," she begged, desperation sinking into her voice. "I can't mirror your puppy eyes, but just... try. For me. Maybe it will help."

"Only if you promise to buy sleeping potions once we get to Starkhaven," he warned.

"Of course..."

"Fine." Maker, I can't believe she just convinced me to do this. Well, if it helps...

"Just remember I love you, Fenris," she purred. He kissed her forehead again, stroking her black hair softly as he thought. Then he opened his mouth and sang quietly to her in that sexy baritone voice of his.

That was the first night she slept without screaming from nightmares in a long time.

*Airam Surana is the main character in Ventisquear's story Failed to Fail. I highly suggest you check it out if you're a fan of Zevran ^_^