The recovery was painful, but Hawke felt stronger each day. It was not easy, roaming place to place, having people know his name, calling him 'Champion', some whispering rumors of him seizing the Viscount's seat, others suspicious that he might try to remove Meredith from power. He dismissed either thought. The Knight Commander regarded him with a cool distance, and maintained her attention on First Enchanter Orsino and the mages, as if demonstrating for the populace that she did not care if a mage walked free, certainly not one who was so well known. Orsino, for his part, sent Hawke frequent, delicately worded letters. Hawke ignored most of them.

Isabela stopped by the house once or twice in the first few weeks after the siege, and then stopped coming entirely. He waited for her to pop back up, and even spent a few nights at the Hanged Man, watching. She never did reappear. Varric started to work on a new poem to distract Hawke from thoughts about the pirate, and it seemed to do the trick.

As he healed, he tried to keep busy. When Hawke wasn't in the city, he roamed the Wounded Coast with Varric and Merrill, hunting for mercenaries; despite Merrill's initial protests in the matter, they left any mages alone. Let them fend for themselves, Varric explained. Hawke wasn't up for keeping them on leashes, and he did not want to give anyone ammunition. Merrill let the matter be.

Hawke spent most evenings in the Keep with Aveline, catching a late meal with her and Donnic. They discussed every manner of situation in the city, and Hawke agreed to be a kind of temporary guardsman, watching the streets when he could, and passing information between the guard captain and Varric that could not be observed by the public.

Late that summer, Donnic proposed to the Aveline, and Hawke agreed to be the best man at their wedding. Aveline arched an eyebrow at him, and Hawke clarified that of course he would be her best man, as that was truly the only appropriate thing that he could do for her, after the siege, and nearly dying, and all the other madcap schemes he got involved with that ultimately elevated her status, and, after all, brothers in arms, and all that, yes? She gave him a withering look, while Donnic laughed himself to tears.

The wedding was held at the mansion, and Hawke watched with nothing short of pride. He was happy for Aveline, truly grateful that she could find some joy in her life. He joked with Donnic after the wedding, and made a great show of giving Aveline away. She made a gesture as if to hit him, and then kissed his cheek instead, thanking him, a smile on her face that assured Hawke that Aveline Vallen was truly at peace. The newlywed couple departed the following day for Orlais, and a proper honeymoon.

As fall shifted across Kirkwall, Anders stayed out of sight. Hawke did not seek him out, and no one mentioned the mage in his presence. His shoulder burned periodically, but he found another healer in the elven alienage, and while Merrill was not as skilled as Anders at healing, she knew a few tricks that he didn't. By early winter, Hawke's wounds were completely healed, and he felt fully human again.

He started watching the docks, but there was no sign of Isabela. He never inquired of any of the laborers, and stopped looking at the Hanged Man. It was a fool's hope, and so he resumed his adventures with Varric and Merrill, and spent most of his free time with Fenris, the elf proving to be amiable company, and an eager student of the book.

Hawke off handedly asked Fenris one day, nearly a year-and-a-half after the siege, if he knew where Isabela gone, and the elf simply shrugged, suggesting that she'd gone off to have some quiet time to think about her actions. "You're implying that Isabela has a conscience?" Hawke asked.

"I'm suggesting that a bit of gratitude and reflection never harmed anyone," Fenris replied.

"That you're suggesting something doesn't harm someone—"

"I can read Orlesian script now," Fenris reminded him. "Do not tempt me to read poetry to you."

"Sweet Maker," Hawke said, mock-flustered, "next thing I know you'll be dragging me out for fancy dinner parties and proposing to me in public."

"Orlesian script," Fenris repeated. "Varric has taught me some dwarven script as well. He recently taught me two poems, one about a dwarven princess who slaughtered a legion of darkspawn to avenge her elder brother, and another about a dwarf king who couldn't choose a wife from his concubines, and so held trials to determine who among the women was the fairest."

Hawke actually looked horrified.

"Shall I recite?"

"Please don't," Hawke said.

Fenris shrugged. "It is probably for the best. The second one is particularly abominable."

Hawke laughed.

"I haven't heard you laugh like that in months."

"It's been some rough going."

"It has been silent, however."

"That's a mercy," Hawke agreed.

Fenris shelved the few books at his feet. "I am keeping an ear to the ground," he said.

"For Anders?"

"I have heard rumors. It's discomforting." Fenris gently thumbed through a book. "Marekh," he said, and it was a rare occasion that he used Hawke's first name, "if Anders reappears, what do you wish to do?"

Hawke was examining a row of books on Chantry history. His fingers traced over the spines.

"Marekh?"

"… When I figure that out, you'll be the first to know."

Fenris pursed his lips. "I did not mean to pry."

"What? No, no, that's not it. Don't apologize." Hawke looked at the elf. "I don't honestly know what I want to do. A part of me wants to kill him. The other part… I don't know. He caused enough trouble, he did an extraordinarily stupid thing—"

"Several of them," the elf interjected.

"Fair point," Hawke agreed. He sighed. "I don't know. I… if I had my way, I'd turn him over to the Knight Commander, but the thing is, I'm not certain she'd leave me alone if I did. Even if I turned him in, does she have any authority? He's a Grey Warden, despite what he says. Do they have any influence over what happens to their mages?"

Fenris shrugged. "I've met a few Wardens in the past year when I hire onto mercenary bands."

"Any impressions of them?"

"The two I saw near Starkhaven were odd. There was an archer, and a mage. I actually thought they were Chantry priests when I first saw them, to tell you the truth. They seemed more interested in the devastation in Starkhaven than in our group." He shrugged. "They came to the camp during the evening, spoke little to us, traded what they wanted, the mage gave us a runestone to keep our fires burning all night, and then they left." He frowned. "They were very… sad people. They seemed like they were carrying a burden that most people wouldn't understand."

"What do you think troubled them?"

"I suppose the war in Ferelden, much as it troubled your brother."

Hawke nodded. "I know he kept up on the news before the Deep Roads. I only looked into it after the qunari siege. I suppose it never interested me before. Once you've been in a war, though…"

"You tend to find yourself wanting to see how other people have fought their battles."

"You read my mind," Hawke said.

Fenris shrugged. "It's a talent."

"Up for a drink tonight?"

"I could do with one, yes."

"I imagine Varric's holding court," Hawke said as they walked out the front door. "Suppose he's got a story about you, yet?"

"If he does, he's got it all wrong," Fenris said. "He continuously portrays me as a brooding, unpleasant brute in your stories. This is a complete lie, as I am clearly the funny elf of this group."

"We should start a bard show," Hawke said. "I'm the funny human, Varric's the funny dwarf, and you're the funny elf. We would make a great impression. They'd write songs about us."

"I don't imagine it would be very profitable," Fenris said.

"Now that's what you're wrong. I've heard you sing."

The elf's cheeks flushed slightly. "I was quite drunk that night."

"So was I. it didn't stop me."

"Nor Varric." Fenris actually laughed. "Perhaps you were right all those years ago, Hawke. With friends like us…"

"… I'll be earning every enemy I make." Hawke looped his arm over Fenris' shoulder. "What do you say, elf?" he proposed. "A night of drinking, cards, and Varric's poetry is in order."

"So long as you're buying the drinks."

"My good man, I'm the Champion of bloody Kirkwall. I never have to buy my own drinks, and neither do my friends." Hawke grinned. "It's one of the perks, you know."

Fenris chuckled. "You are a paranoid Champion, which is why you always distribute the drinks people buy for us."

"Of course," Hawke said. "If someone's going to make an effort to stab me in the back, I want to look into his eyes first."

To their surprise, Anders was at the bar, sitting in Varric's rooms, having a casual discussion with the dwarf. Varric raised his glass in greeting. "Hawke! Elf! Wondered if I'd see you two tonight." He gestured. "Look who decided to show his messy little head."

"Good to see you both," Anders said. He smiled faintly.

Hawke ignored him for the moment. He and Fenris sat at the opposite side of the table from Anders, both placing their hands on the table. Anders shrugged, and grasped his mug in his hands. He seemed calm. "So, yes," he said to Varric, "as I was saying, Blackmarsh."

"Who the hell goes to a place with a name like Blackmarsh?" Varric snorted into his beer. "It's like asking for trouble."

"You're not wrong. Adding 'Marsh' to the end of something doesn't make it sound appealing. Pillowmarsh. Kittenmarsh." Anders chuckled. "No, it doesn't work."

Fenris and Hawke looked at one another. The waitress approached the table, and inquired what they wanted. Two beers, Hawke told her, and a bottle of whiskey and four glasses. The waitress wandered away to fetch the drinks.

They spent the next several hours drinking, and swapping stories. Anders seemed to be remarkably peaceful, and the tension was absent from the air. Fenris commented on "You are not acting like yourself," he observed. "You almost seem human."

Anders looked at his glass. "I've had a long time to think," he said, considering each word carefully. "What I've done with Justice is… unnatural. I'm close to a solution, I think." He looked at Hawke, an almost shy look in his eyes. "I know that I have no right to ask any favor of you, but, if I ask for your help in the next few months, would you offer it?"

"I'm not cutting my wrists for you," Hawke said.

Anders glanced at the other mage's hands, and saw the heavy cloth wraps beneath his sleeves. His face had a mild look of disgust. "I wasn't aware you were walking that path," he muttered.

"He isn't," Fenris said sharply.

Varric nodded. "Hawke got a taste of it during that battle with the horn-head," he clarified. "Decided it wasn't for him, but, better safe than bleeding out."

Hawke nodded.

Anders exhaled. "Well, no, the favor won't require that."

"Glad to hear it. Answer will probably be 'no'. I'm telling you that now."

"Well, it won't be for some time," Anders said. "I won't ask until I'm sure." He stood up from the table and dusted off his robes. "Varric, thank you for the drinks. Hawke, Fenris, good to see you both." He turned, paused, and looked back. "The past year-and-a-half, I… I have been doing a great deal of thinking. My actions were foolish, selfish, and wrong. People were hurt because of me, and you," he said to Hawke, "you have every reason to be angry with me. I apologize for any wrongs I've committed against you. Whatever I have done, it has been in an effort to gain your favor, your help." He folded his hands. "If you need me in the future, I will be in my clinic. I don't expect it, but I hope I can earn some of your trust back." He bowed his head shortly, and departed.

Hawke stared after the mage.

Fenris looked at his drink.

Varric drummed his fingers on the table.

They were silent, until the dwarf finally said, "All right. I'm at a complete loss because I have no bloody idea who that man is anymore."

"Did he just apologize?" Fenris muttered.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was trying to seduce me," Hawke grumbled.

Varric made a foul face. "I'd advise against it. I think whatever crazy he's got is catching."

Hawke flicked beer foam at the dwarf. Varric gestured to the whiskey bottle. "Crack that one open, Hawke. Andraste's ass, but I know I need something stronger than beer."

The months eased on. Summer arrived, and Hawke wandered the docks, enjoying the fresh breeze. Varric walked with him. Hawke's gaze shifted to the ocean.

"Still waiting," Varric said.

Hawke shook his head. "No. She'll come back if she wants to. I don't blame her for anything."

"Aveline blames her; so does Fenris."

"It's been almost two years," Hawke said. "Whatever she's done, let it be forgotten. There are other problems."

"Knight Commander giving you trouble?"

"No more than usual. She sends me letters. So does Orsino. I burn them."

"You read the letters?"

"There's no point." Hawke rested his hands on his hips. "Every bloody day, it's 'mages this' and 'mages that', or 'the templars require a firm ally', and I'm really quite happy just letting the lot of them kill each other." He lifted his left hand, still firmly wrapped in cloth. "It would be easy, you know," he said to Varric. "Easy enough to end this whole charade, and then off I go, into the sunset, or however people do it."

Varric lazily kicked a stone with his foot. It skidded off the docks into the water. "Hawke," he said, "you're brooding. I get enough of that with the elf. Don't start."

"I'm not brooding."

"Says the grumpy mage."

"I'm not grumpy."

"Hawke, you could give Anders a run for his money in the grouch department."

Hawke looked at his friend. "I cannot tell if you're trying to make me angry, or just running your mouth."

"Both, probably," Varric admitted. He sighed. "Hawke, we've been over the whole blood magic thing. Even you said it was a bad idea."

"So why am I still wrapping my wrists?"

"I'm no mage, but I understand temptation," the dwarf said. "Maybe it's what makes us friends."

Hawke nodded. "You're right. Sorry."

"You know how much time we spend apologizing to one another?"

"Too much?"

"Too much."

Hawke snorted a laugh.

Varric folded his arms. "You miss Isabela."

"Don't you?"

"I do." Varric looked Hawke. "She wasn't the keeping kind, Hawke. Maybe it's time to move on."

"Maybe."

"Hanged Man?"

"Not really in the mood for a drink."

"Still, you might as well come. Unless you've got something better to do."

Hawke considered that. "Not really."

"Good. Bianca misses you when you're not there to add spice to my stories."

"Bianca misses me, does she?"

"She does. She says you bring the stories to life."

"Dwarf, if you're flirting with me…"

"Hawke," Varric said, resting his hand over his heart, "when have you ever known me to do anything untoward?"

"The entire six, almost seven, years that I've known you?"

Varric grinned. "I see I'm found out."

"I'm on to you, dwarf," Hawke said, returning the broad grin. "All right, no more brooding, no more moping. I promise."

"Then get rid of those wraps. You think I want to be seen in public with a mage who can't hold it in?"

Hawke shrugged, rolled up his sleeves, and ripped the cloth from his arms. He tossed the wraps into the sea, and flexed his hands, enjoying the sea breeze over his skin. "Better?"

"That's the spirit, you're almost human again," Varric said. "Keep this up, maybe I'll think that smart ass mage I found in the markets all those years ago never went away."

"What? You mean he disappeared? And I missed it all?"

"That right there is what I'm talking about," Varric said. "That mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days."

"It already got me trouble," Hawke replied. "It got me you."

"Every crazy group of friends needs a charming, handsome dwarf."

"I agree, but you've got this group, so nobody else can have you."

Varric sighed. "It's a terrible burden."

"Shall we take a load off and see if we can't find more trouble?" Hawke gestured, and Varric knew the old spark was back.