Unsurprisingly, Hawke's dance with Fenris had been a larger scandal than the woman they had found gagged and bound in Gascard's wine cellar.

Leandra had been horrified, vowing to never let Hawke attend a celebration without her again. Hawke however, had been immensely pleased by the reaction, which had rewarded her with being blacklisted to many formal events.

She tried to focus on the documents in her hand. They were notes from Aveline's interrogation of DuPuis, and while Hawke would not shed a tear for the pompous man's demise, she wasn't entirely certain he was lying. He claimed to be pursuing the same murderer that Hawke had been after, asserting that he had murdered his sister. Whether or not he was telling the truth, however, he had kidnapped a woman and practiced blood magic. Hawke wasn't going to lose much sleep over it. She heard the bell toll outside and looked over to her clock.

"Shit, I'm late!" she put the notes away and grabbed a pile of books and vellum.

She and Fenris had been working diligently on his reading since she had given him the book of Shartan. As expected, he had already made remarkable progress, beyond that she was also pleased by the extra time with him, free from the prying eyes of others. If her strange dreams and frequent near-death experiences had been teaching Hawke anything, it was that she needed to cherish what she had with those around her. She pulled on a long coat, waving goodbye to Sandal, and headed to Fenris.

Life was continuing on as normal as was possible in Kirkwall, and Fenris was feeling something akin to contentment, an emotion he never imagined he would get to experience. His fears from the Deep Roads had been foolish, only becoming clear once they had exited the dreadful tombs. The only thing that was controlling Fenris was his fear of being controlled, and he would not lose to himself. Despite Hawke's flaws, she was the one thing in life he could count on. He would not be a slave to his demons and he would not allow her to fall prey to her own.

However, when he was alone, his past continued to haunt him with secrets he had no intention of sharing with anyone else; instead choosing to drown himself in wine and solitude. Unfortunately, he had forgotten about he and Hawke's lesson until he heard the telltale creaking of the door downstairs.

He looked around at the empty wine bottles, and his own disheveled state before continuing to drink the open bottle in his hand. There was no covering up his mess this evening, and in his drunken state, he couldn't find the reasons to care.

Tonight was a tribute, to those who had fallen.

Hawke strolled in the room, arms full of supplies, "Oh Maker. It smells like the Hanged Man in here."

He simply held up his bottle in greeting, "Last bottle of Aggregio, I've been saving it for a special occasion." He passed her the jug.

"And what's that?" He saw her frantically searching her mind for an important date she might have forgotten as she took a swig from the wine.

Hawke was not one for remembering anniversaries or birthdays, but she always tried to make up for it by doing something extravagant for the offended party. Last year she had strung line after line of Seneschal Bran's stolen underwear across the grand entrance of the Viscount's Keep in response to having forgotten Isabela's birthday. Needless to say, she had more than made up for the transgression in the pirate's eyes, and also raised some questions as to Bran's extensive… wardrobe.

"Don't worry, this isn't anything you should know." He watched the obvious relief that washed over her expression, "Today is the anniversary of my escape. Almost four years, and still no sign of Denarius." He took the offered bottle back from Hawke, "I'm beginning to wonder if he's finally given up."

"Don't tell me you miss the attention." She crossed her arms, smiling humorously down at him.

"It's still strange to realize I'm free. I know no other existence; my first memories are these markings being branded into my flesh." She looked surprised at this news, and he was reminded again of how much he avoided speaking about his lyrium markings. "Whatever life I had before I became a slave… it's lost." He saw the sadness in her eyes, the forgotten tomes hanging loosely in her arms. "I apologize. I shouldn't trouble you with this. My problems are not yours." He offered her the wine again.

"As if that has ever stopped anyone before?" she took the bottle and moved to an open chair, "Besides, I've been known to help with problems… or sometimes add on a few more."

He laughed, continuing to study her, "Only a few?"

"It depends if I really work at it."

He shook his head, leaning back against his chair. He didn't know why, but something about the woman always compelled him to share more than he felt he should. He would never admit it openly to the prying dwarf, but he enjoyed the fluttering pressure Hawke elicited from his chest whenever she was near.

"Astia valla femundis. Care to hear the story of my escape?"

"You're lucky I enjoy listening to you talk."

He smiled a little to himself, taking another sip of wine; "There are few pleasures greater than speaking with a beautiful woman."

"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that." She cupped a hand around her ear.

"I don't need to repeat the obvious, I'm certain." He watched with some amount of satisfaction as a blush crept up the woman's neck. Hawke was accustomed to having that effect on others; it was pleasing to turn the cards against her.

He sat back in his chair, "Lets see. You've heard of Seheron? The Imperium and the Qunari have fought over the island for centuries, now."

Hawke nodded, so he continued, "I was there with Denarius during a Qunari attack, I managed to get him to a ship— but there was no room for a slave. So, I was left behind. I barely got out of the city alive."

"Nothing quite like a war to cover an escape, is there?"

"I had no intention of escaping…. That time." She looked at him, seeming puzzled, so he continued.

"There are rebels in the Seheron jungles called Fog Warriors. They found me and took me in, nursed me back to health. I stayed with them for a time. Until Denarius finally came for me."

He saw the growing confusion on Hawke's face, "And you fought back, right?"

He tried to avoid the inevitable question, "I'd grown fond of the rebels. They bowed to no master and fought for their freedom. It was… beyond my experience."

Hawke stretched and yawned sarcastically, "Sounds a lot like someone I know." She smiled impishly, denoting herself.

"Oh, Hawke, we all know your master is a lethal combination of whiskey and pride."

He couldn't help but laugh, but sobered quickly as he studied the almost empty bottle in his hand, remembering the story he needed to finish.

This was the part where the alcohol did nothing to soothe the intense pain and guilt of his actions. Something about Hawke's expression, her belief in his strength, made him hesitate. Did he want to destroy her crafted image of him? He could see her waiting patiently, and knew there was no backing out now. Something inside of himself pushed him to continue the story.

How could he continue to allow Hawke to aid him, and put her life in his hands if she didn't know the truth? If she didn't know everything? They had come so far from almost killing each other on the first night they had met. He wasn't entirely sure how she felt, knowing her penchant to take care of all of her companions, but he was finally coming to accept how he felt. He wanted her there; he wanted her strength, and acceptance. He craved the reminder of freedom that she represented for him. If anyone could help him, it was this strange woman. So, he continued, prepared for what might come.

"When Denarius came, they refused to let him take me." He paused, draining the remainder of the bottle, needing the extra help to get through the next part of his tale. "He ordered me to kill them. So, I did." He watched the confusion and horror that Hawke failed to mask cover her face, and felt his shame increase. "I killed them all."

He scrutinized her reactions as she struggled with what to say next, humor gone. "Wh—, what… why would you do such a thing?"

He was no longer able to maintain eye contact, "It felt inevitable. My master had returned and this, this fantasy life was over. But once it was done… I looked down at their bodies. I felt… I couldn't…"

He stood and paced the room, unable to keep still any longer, "I ran. And never looked back." He finished his tale with his back to Hawke, looking out the window. The silence was thick and heavy, and he prepared himself for the rejection he knew he deserved, but it never came.

"I—" he heard Hawke approach, hesitating behind him, "Shit."

He released a small breath of relief. She hadn't run, and he couldn't help but smirk at her typical Hawke response. The feeling of acceptance he found simply in her choice to remain threatened to undo him completely. He had shared one of his darkest secrets with the woman, and she was still standing behind him, shaken, but present.

He tensed as he felt Hawke's hand on his back; it paused for a moment before slipping around his waist to his stomach, and was quickly joined by her other arm and body, pressed against him in a tight hug.

He could feel her head resting between his shoulder blades. They stood together in silence, Fenris frozen in place. He wasn't sure if he had ever been held before, but the gentle breath and beating heart of Hawke on his back promised he would remember this.

Fenris finally spoke again, "I've never spoken about what happened to anyone. I've never wanted to." He continued to surprise himself with these open admissions. "Perhaps this is what is means to have a friend?"

His markings were lighting up beneath her touch, and he could feel the increase of her pulse in the silence. She finally responded, keeping her voice hushed against his back.

"It might… mean more than that." She spoke the words haltingly, as if they were slipping past her lips without consent.

Fenris was taken by surprise, even after his story, that she could still view him so favorably felt like a dream or a trick.

"I…" he stopped, taking a moment to control the roaring in his ears, and the tension in his stomach. He was entering a territory completely foreign to him, and had to walk with trepidation.

"I am an escaped slave and an elf, living in a borrowed mansion." He paused, "None of these things bother you?"

"I'm an apostate refugee. Does that bother you?"

He finally turned to face her with a chuckle, unsure of what to say from there. Unsure of what they had already revealed. Their usual flirtation had progressed further than it usually did, due in no small part to his drunken state.

She stepped passed him, and stood with her hands on her hips, staring out the open window. He twisted his head to observe, watching as the woman gathered her breath before looking over to him. Her impenetrable, blue eyes were resolute as they held his. With a look, she tore through his skin, and down to a soul he hadn't been entirely convinced he still had. He was disturbed by how much she affected him, and by how little he wanted it to stop.

He turned to face her back, finally speaking, "You… are unlike anyone I have ever met."

She smirked at him over her shoulder. "A lot of people say that about me, but it's usually not a compliment."

"I suppose it's a bit of both." Fenris goaded, approaching her darkened silhouette.

Hawke's smile grew as she stared out the window. Without warning, she jumped through the portal, disappearing immediately.

The quick moment it took Fenris to realize where she was going was filled with surprise and worry.

The roof.

He sighed and climbed out the window after her, stumbling less gracefully than his lithe friend in his ascent.

He found Hawke standing at the very edge of the roof, looking out onto the dark city that was cloaked by an elaborate mural of stars.

She began speaking, still watching Kirkwall, "Did you know you could see my home from here?"

He did.

"Right over there." She raised an arm to point when he didn't respond.

He came to stand next to her following her extended gesture to the nearby house he was very familiar with,

"Interesting."

She dropped her hand and turned to face him. A flash of red fabric caught his eye, wrapping its way up the hilt of one of her smaller daggers on her thigh. Without thinking he reached out to stroke the familiar tattered ribbon; his fingers lightly caressing two strands that hung loosely from the knife.

"A little memento from my dress."

"It was a very nice dress." Fenris smiled at how appropriate the garment's fate had been.

He could feel her studying his expression as she spoke again, "I enjoyed dancing with you."

"I think we both know you enjoyed causing a commotion more." Fenris let his hand fall to his side, giving Hawke a knowing look.

She grinned widely, "There's a pretty high probability of that."

Fenris did not think there was an end to the enjoyment he received from Hawke's smiles. He was preoccupied by her smirk when she surprised him by taking his hand and placing it on her waist, moving away from the steep ledge. Fenris complied mostly out of confusion.

"Well, lets try again. This time, no audience."

She watched him intently as they moved about the roof, his grip tightening on her hip, and pulling her closer.

"You know, you're pretty graceful for a lumbering warrior."

"Funny, I was going to say you were surprisingly clumsy for a rogue."

"Ah, but what I lack in grace I make up for in charm, right?"

"Is this what Fereldans call charm?" Fenris raised his brows jokingly at Hawke.

"All you Free Marchers are so damn sensitive. Give me a drunken bar full of Fereldans any day and I'll show you a good time."

Their efforts had slowed, and at this point they were simply moving a few steps at a time.

Fenris marveled in the serenity that settled over Hawke's expression. He thought about all that he had revealed to her since they had met, and the unquestioned acceptance he had continuously been met with. While most of what he knew about Hawke had usually stemmed from Varric's tales, the validity of which were always in question.

"What was it like? Growing up as an apostate?"

She thought about the question a moment before responding. "I don't really have anything else to compare it to. It just was." Hawke shrugged her shoulders, "My father escaped from the Kirkwall circle to be with my mother, and they gave us a great life… but I think he always felt guilty for our magic. Like he had a responsibility to prepare us for the inevitable trouble that would surround us."

"Considering your luck, I would say that was rather fortuitous of him."

She laughed, shrugging her shoulders. After a moment, she continued, "I miss his lessons the most. He taught us to respect magic, not fear it." She put on her best Malcolm impression, "Magic should serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base." She smiled imagining Bethany's mirth as a younger Hawke mimicked their father's favorite anecdote behind his back.

"An idealist, your father."

"He was my best friend." Her eyes moved passed Fenris, "He was always trying to teach us something new, or embarrass us with a terrible joke." He watched her gaze sadden slightly, "When no one was looking though… I always thought it seemed like he was… waiting for something."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know." She paused considering the thought further, "Sort of like the way Varric steals glances at his crossbow, as if we don't all know the weight it carries."

Fenris looked at her troubled expression, "I apologize, I did not mean to bring up a tense subject."

She focused on him again, "No, thank you. I never really get the chance to talk about him anymore."

He studied the glimmering light of the stars in her gaze, and the slight curve of her lips. The markings hummed emphatically beneath her, and he found the warmth of her body somehow still comforting in the humid night air.

"He, uh…" Fenris felt like his tongue was suddenly swelling, "He raised a very… capable woman."

A lazy smile played across her face, "Careful Fenris, you keep doling out compliments like that and I might do something dramatic."

"In that case, you don't smell nearly as awful as you usually do."

"Flatterer."

They had stopped moving; he wrapped his arm further around her waist. In the silence he could feel her heart quickening against him. Her hand slid from his grip, lightly tracing the armor on his chest. He watched her hesitate when she reached his exposed neck, looking up at him as if asking for permission to continue. When he didn't protest, she glided her fingers over the glowing lyrium in his skin, gently following the pattern up his chin.

Fenris thought he might be able to watch the blue light dance off of Hawke's curious expression for the rest of his life. He could think of a hundred reasons why she was a bad idea, and he didn't care about a single one of them. He was tired of thinking, tired of worrying, and tired of waiting. He was tired of allowing his past to dictate his future.

He moved his free hand behind her neck, breaking her concentration on his markings. She stopped her caresses, and looked up into his eyes, keeping her hand on his exposed neck. He watched reverently as the pulse in her throat increased, the only tell of her otherwise stoic state. Slowly, as though not to frighten him away, she pulled him towards her, closing her eyes. He obeyed without hesitation.

When their lips met it was indulgent and unhurried. Fenris sighed quietly into her soft mouth, relishing in her similarly favorable responses. The markings on his chin were already humming quietly, but they heightened in intensity when he felt Hawke's tongue lightly brush against his bottom lip, asking for entry. He yielded immediately, deepening the kiss and pulling her firmly against him. They explored each other attentively, taking their time. She tasted like fire, and Fenris couldn't get enough.

Hawke pulled his bottom lip into her mouth, biting down, and sending a shock through his body, eliciting a flash from his markings and a low growl.

She slowly pulled back, laughing a little.

"What?" Fenris asked suspiciously, wondering if he had done something wrong.

"Nothing, I just kind of expected someone to interrupt us." Hawke looked around.

He stared back, annoyed that she was fading from his tongue.

"You know: Varric, an assassin, an earthquake. Abominations raining from the sky." She listed off a random index.

"Would this count as an interruption?"

She laughed again, "I guess it does. Sorry. Don't let me disturb your important business." She reached a hand up, pulling his mouth to hers again.

"Uh-hu, and how are you going to get the ship?"

"We're going to win it, of course. It's going to be totally, mostly, somewhat legal."

"Okay, but how are we going to win it?" Hawke crossed her arms, following behind Isabela, thoroughly confused.

"You are going to win a duel."

Hawke raised her eyebrows.

"Its just to first blood… usually. People only die every now and again. Depends on who enters." Isabela shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

"Isabela, I'm not really so much for organized fighting."

The pirate laughed loudly, "Oh I know. That's why we're training."

"What?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, you're good Hawke, a complete natural, but you're all reflex and chaos. We need to hone your skills. With strategy, you'll be unstoppable!" Isabela sprinted ahead, looking over her shoulder as she led Hawke through the forested paths.

Hawke wasn't sure how it had happened, but she had somehow found herself the tool of choice amongst one of Varric and Isabela's elaborate schemes.

Isabela was always scanning the harbor for new and promising ships, and when she found one she inevitably tried to make it her own. Her plans had a nasty habit of crashing and burning spectacularly, but the pirate was never dissuaded. Hawke had to at least admire her tenacity. Besides, it seemed like Varric and Isabela were in it more for the pageantry than anything else, and Hawke couldn't ignore the excitement of an intricate endeavor, even if it seemed doomed to fail from the start.

Recently a man named Castillon had come into Kirkwall with his crew. He had a fast ship, and a penchant for gambling, so Varric and Isabela had gotten to work quickly. They found an underground fighting tournament and promptly entered Hawke under and alias, correctly assuming she couldn't back down once challenged. Isabela cozied up to the captain, hoping to influence his betting, while Varric began forming the illusion of his mystery fighter, aka Hawke, to guarantee a large turnout and higher stakes. The whole act was pure artistry and Hawke was ultimately impressed by their dedication, even as she lay out on her back, bruised and muddy, while a sword-for-hire stood triumphantly above her.

Their training for Hawke had been the hardest to implement. She hadn't seriously trained for anything since the passing of her father, and she tended to react as poorly to structure as a cat to water. Isabela and Varric had tried to keep it interesting, bringing in random travelers and calling on old friends to pose new and creative challenges for Hawke. She couldn't deny that her noticeable increase in speed and strength were bolstering her confidence greatly, but it was being knocked down that kept her crawling back for more.

The evening of the fight came and Isabela presented Hawke with a large box. She sat down, placing the package in her lap and removing the lid to reveal new armor.

"It matches us." Isabela indicated her new scarf, "Varric insisted that it adds to the drama." Hawke listened to Isabela explain as she stroked the fine fabric.

It was light armor, made of dense, but moveable material. The shirt was a deep emerald green with long sleeves, overlaid by a thick, black vest with shoulders that jutted out slightly past her own, buttoning up the front with brass hooks. A hood hung loosely around the neck to conceal her face and head, along with long, black pants that tapered at the ankles. She dressed quickly, adding her own extra guards, belts, and sheathes to the set and examined herself in the mirror. With the hood secured around her head and face, only the bridge of her nose and eyes were visible, and she felt unstoppable.

"Hawke, don't sweat it. You've been training like an animal, and even on your worst day none of these assholes could touch you." Varric rubbed the shoulders of a seated and cloaked Hawke.

"Do you know who I'm up against?"

"Ah, one of these drunks, surely." Varric gestured out at the mob of people.

He walked around in front of Hawke, placing his hands on her shoulders again, "Alright, I'm gonna find Ravaini, and make sure the bets are in place. You got this Hawke. You're going to be a big, damn legend, and legends don't lose."

"She's going to lose." Isabela and Varric were speaking in a dark corner.

"What? How do you know?"

"Because she's fighting The Ogre." Isabela included exaggerated quotation marks when she said the name.

"The who?"

"The fucking Ogre, Varric. I don't know who he is, but it looks like he's undefeated, and—"

"His name's The Ogre. I get it." Varric put up his hand, thinking.

"I'm not going to get my ship, and we're going to lose all of our coin." Isabela sighed, leaning against the wall.

"See this is what happens when we go too big, Ravaini. We need to keep it simple." Varric started pacing, "Alright, here's what we do: Get Castillon to take the ship off the table. Tell him…" he pondered more, "tell him to wait for the finale. He'll appreciate the drama. Then, you need to go to his cabin and find something, anything on him. We're doing this the old fashioned way."

"Blackmail?"

"Blackmail."

She smiled wickedly, "I'll meet you back here. I'm sure Hawke will still be running around in circles by then." She turned to leave, but stopped, looking over her shoulder casually, "And… about the money… do you think I should… switch our bet or...?" She couldn't even look Varric in the eye as she asked the question.

A loud roar reverberated around the room as Hawke's opponent entered the ring. Varric and Isabela turned to watch the fighter. The brutish man's gait practically shook the room with every step, kicking up dirt and dust. He ripped off his shirt with another rattling snarl, displaying a burned and scared body.

"Yeah… definitely switch the bet."

Fenris, Aveline, and Donnic entered the smoky warehouse, pushing through the rowdy crowd.

The Guard Captain studied the raucous room, "Thanks for coming Fenris, I couldn't find Hawke, and I'd already assigned the patrols."

"Keep those patrols away from my mansion, and I am at your disposal indefinitely." Fenris looked at Aveline.

"Maker. This place is disgusting." Donnic stepped over a drunken man, passed out in his own vomit, and shuffled to avoid a small group of men beating each other senseless.

The warehouse was full of smoke, ale, and just about every mercenary band in Kirkwall, "I— I don't think we have enough men, lov— Captain."

"I'm not here to break it up, I'm here for information. We find who's organizing these, and we cut it off at the source." Aveline continued to scan the sloping warehouse.

A loud bell sounded, and the crowd began surrounding the center ring as a fight commenced.

Shouts and cheers encouraged the fighters, who were off to a quick start. The smaller combatant moved impossibly fast, catching Fenris's eye as they danced rapidly around the ring, infuriating their gargantuan opponent.

The lithe, masked figure moved quickly enough that Fenris thought they might win from sheer endurance over the other. However, just as the thought passed through his mind, they slipped on the loose gravel flooring. By the time it took them to correct their footing, the large man had prepared his fist. He brought his swollen and split hand his opponent's face. The force sent them flying backwards, hitting the ground with a hard smack. The slight warrior pushed themselves up to stand slowly, shaking off the shock of the contact before running back into the ring.

"This is barbaric." Aveline was standing next to Fenris, watching the fight. "You know who would enjoy this?"

"Varric!" Donnic shouted.

"Him and Isabela." Aveline turned to her husband.

"No. Varric's over there." Donnic pointed to the dwarf, standing among the unruly crowd, jeering with the best of them.

"Of course he is." Aveline sighed and started towards their friend.

"Nice night for a fight, isn't?" Aveline stopped, standing next to the dwarf.

Varric turned to the voice, his smile faltered momentarily as he saw the approaching party. "Oh, hey Aveline… Broody, Donnic." Varric nodded at the warriors, moving to stand away from the ring so that the new arrivals were no longer facing the fight. "What are you kids doing out so late?" He grabbed ale off a passing tray.

"Oh you know, just investigating illegal fighting rings. Guard stuff." Donnic joked, crossing his arms.

"Is that what this is?" Varric looked around surprised, "You know, now that you mention it, it does have all the classic signs."

A cacophony of cheers and boos erupted from the crowd, pulling everyone's attention back to the fighting ring. The masked fighter appeared to have dislocated the larger fighter's shoulder, and celebrated with a small taunting jig, to the ire and delight of the crowd.

"Tasteless." Aveline shook her head, turning back to Varric, who was attempting to camouflage a look of pure glee.

Isabela interrupted, running onto the scene, and waving a piece of paper at the dwarf, apparently unaware of the new companions, "Varric, you won't believe what I found!" She laughed excitedly.

Varric tried to shake his head covertly at the pirate before forcing out a laugh, "I told you Seneschal Bran was dating Serendipity."

"What?" Isabela looked at the dwarf confused before finally spotting their friends. She quickly hid the paper she had been flaunting earlier. "Aveline! My favorite red headed, female Guard Captain in Kirkwall!"

"Figures you're here too." Aveline groaned, "What are you two up to?" she eyed the pair skeptically.

"We're just taking advantage of the free ale. Place a minimum bet and you drink for free." Isabela explained to an unconvinced Aveline.

"If you're both here, I suppose I'll find Hawke somewhere around as well?" Aveline crossed her arms, looking about the room.

Varric and Isabela both laughed nervously, each mumbling a different response.

Aveline waved off their rambling, "Never mind, I'm sure she's here somewhere."

The pirate fidgeted with the long scarf that she kept tied around her head. Fenris noticed a dark green cloth had replaced the usually blue fabric. His eyes moved over to Varric, the color also matched his coat, a new look for the dwarf as well, black and green instead of his token red.

Something scratched at the back of his mind; he turned to examine the fighters again. The large man had the masked figure in a choke hold, lifted from the ground. He watched the small fighter struggle, their armor matching the same green and black fabrics as Varric and Isabela.

The color paled from Fenris's face and he quickly twisted to look back at the two companions. The dwarf shuffled around, avoiding Fenris's gaze, and that was enough of an answer for the elf.

"Ow, what the—?" The man in the ring bellowed in pain, drawing their attention. He dropped the small figure who quickly scrambled from his reach.

"Oh for the love of— is that Hawke?" Aveline had just come to the same conclusion as Fenris. They turned back to Isabela and Varric, but they were gone.

"This is not going to be pretty." Donnic grimaced as the small group pushed forward through the crowd, ready to watch the fight.

Hawke moved herself as far away from the domineering figure as she could in the limited space. Her neck was absolutely going to bruise, and she was pretty sure all of the toes on of one of her feet were broken.

You'll be fine, Hawke. Just a bunch of drunks, Hawke.

She mimicked Varric in her mind, making a mental note to punch the dwarf when all was said and done.

When you win.

She attempted to pep talk herself.

The large man finally recovered, and charged in blind fury, emitting a loud roar. Hawke prepared her stance, waiting. This was exactly what she had been training for: control and planning.

When the enraged man was close enough, the she crouched down, quickly sweeping her legs around and knocking his feet out from beneath him. He fell heavily, tumbling into the spectators. Setting herself up again, she continued cheering herself on, and feeding off the passions from the crowd.

You can do this. He's like any of these other assholes. He just… clearly ate his vegetables growing up

The fighter took longer to orient himself this time. His arm hung relatively useless at his side, and his head and nose were bleeding from repeated percussions from Hawke. He was growing tired. All she needed to do was wear him out, then he'd make a stupid mistake and she could finish him off.

He began running forward again, when he was close enough, Hawke jumped, spinning around and using the momentum to bring her leg down upon the man's injured arm. He staggered backwards clutching the loose limb in agony. Hawke grinned beneath her mask, feeling unstoppable. Her grin faded as she saw something small and sharp exchange hands from a man in the crowd to her opponent. He was approaching her quickly, a bloodied grin on his face, wielding a knife. The mob went wild.

He sliced ferociously at her, but his lumbering movements were no match for her speed. She dodged the cuts successfully until she was caught off guard by his elbow, which made forceful contact with her jaw. The pain and strength knocked her off her feet, and she fell back into the front row of people.

Familiar arms caught her tumble, and she immediately recognized the warm humming. She turned to look into the eyes of Fenris, smiling coyly at him beneath her disguise, and making quick note of Aveline and Donnic next to him. Before she could speak, he pressed a small, sharp dagger into her hands. Grinning at him, she backed into the fight, watching as he shook his head in exhaustion.

The other fighter was prepared, and immediately charged Hawke, slicing and slashing with complete disregard. Hawke dodged and spun, dancing her way effortlessly around the increasingly irate man. He lunged at her carelessly, and she whirled around his back, stabbing him quickly in the side with her knife. He roared, turning to face her, but she had already danced to his other side, making a similar cut.

The man blindly punched at Hawke, but her lithe form simply ducked out of the way, sliding to the ground and cutting his Achilles' tendons, before quickly rotating up and away. 'The Ogre' fell to his knees, crying out. The crowd was incensed, and going crazy. She held her stance, ready for another attack. The man struggled to stand, but was unable to put weight on his legs. With no other choice, he dropped his dagger and raised his hand, surrendering.

"I still can't believe you won." Isabela offended Hawke with her surprised tone. Isabela and Varric had mysteriously returned just as the fight ended, and they had all departed to the Hanged Man.

"Why is that so hard for everyone to believe?" Hawke slammed her cup down to Varric's laughter.

"Hawke, you were surrounded by every mercenary band in Kirkwall. If anyone had recognized you, there would have been a riot. You're just lucky you still have all of your limbs." Aveline shook her head.

"No one is looking at the bigger picture here." Hawke leaned back into her chair, "I just kicked some serious ass, not to mention won a ship."

Fenris turned to Isabela, "That was a bold bet. How did you know she was going to pull it off?"

Hawke looked at Fenris in disbelief. His lips twitched, fighting a smirk as he squeezed Hawke's thigh under the table. He had actually quite enjoyed the show, once he had gotten over the initial shock of finding Hawke there. She had clearly been training, and making impressive strides. Watching her dominate the ring had been a satisfying sight to see. She shook him off her leg, scooting away, slightly drunk. "You are all jealous. They just believed in me."

Isabela and Varric exchanged looks, and the pirate hesitated, "Well…"

Hawke's head jerked over to her friends, giving them a confused look.

"Oh… Oh Maker! You bet against her, didn't you?" Donnic pointed his finger at the two before Aveline smacked it down. The drunken group fell into laughter.

"What?" Hawke shouted at her friends.

"Well, obviously we tried to change the bet when we saw you were winning!"

"But that doesn't make sense! You wouldn't have won the ship that way." Hawke whined in bewilderment. Fenris watched the scene with amusement; she looked like she wanted to punch him in the face. Again.

"Hawke, sometimes its about damage reduction, and not winning. " Varric tried to rationalize to his friend.

"But… all that training!"

"I know, but when we got to the fight, we saw your opponent and…" he trailed off.

"But look at us know! Best friends and winners!" Isabela put her arm around Varric and the un-amused Hawke.

"So, wait… How did we win the ship?"

Varric grinned, "Turns out our friend had a past he wanted forgotten. We offered our assistance, and he was practically begging us to take the ship."

"So, you extorted him then?" Aveline sighed, rubbing her head in exhaustion.

"All of that work and you could have just done what you always do. Cheat!" Hawke stood up, swaying a bit, "I'm going to get another drink. Who else needs one?"

Everyone raised their hands, "That offer is only extended to those who haven't bet against me." She directed the last comment to the dwarf and pirate, but when she brought her gaze back to the remainder of the group everyone had put their hands down, sheepishly looking at the ground.

"Oh, come on! I hope you all lost your money like they did. Never bet against a Hawke!" She yelled over her shoulder as she stomped off towards the bar.

Hawke smelled the drunk man before she saw him, draping himself over the knotted and busy bar, near Hawke.

"Why's a [hick], pretty thing like you [hick], buying her own drinks?"

"Move on, friend."

"Oh [hick] don't [hick] be that way. I'll show you a night you won't forget." he finished with a lurid stare and a belch to her face.

"I'm sure you would, but probably not for the reasons you're implying."

"You talk too much. I can think of better uses for [hick] that mouth." He slapped her ass, gripping it roughly.

In less than a second Hawke reached back, seizing the man's arm, and twisted it around his back, effectively popping his shoulder out of its socket. Before he could cry out in pain, she slammed his face into the bar. He crumpled on the ground, knocked out cold. The entire bar ceased its commotion. Hawke's ale finally appeared, and she picked it up beginning to walk away, casually stepping over the unconscious man.

Another bulky man, smelling equally as bad as the first blocked her path. Hawke stood in place silent, sipping her drink. Three others joined the first, circling Hawke menacingly. She drained her large mug calmly.

"Five sovereigns says Hawke punches baldy with the glass." Varric leaned to Fenris.

"No deal."

Not a moment later Hawke cocked back her arm, swinging full force at the man in front of her, shattering the thick mug on his jaw.

Fenris grinned shrewdly at Varric, "Never bet against a Hawke."

The bar broke out into Chaos.

Hawke spotted Fenris across the room, engaging two men. There were few in the bar that even came close to a match for Hawke's motley crew, but these men were large enough to keep the elf distracted. Hawke took advantage of the opportunity, sprinting at Fenris full force. His eyes widened as he spotted her just before she made contact. She slammed into him with all of her force, sending them both toppling over a table and knocking back the other two men. Hawke rolled over Fenris and they both jumped to stand, turning to face one another.

"So, when did you wager against me?" Hawke narrowed her eyes at the man.

Fenris laughed, keeping his gaze locked on the woman, "A gentleman never bets and tells." Hawke jumped forward, swiping at his feet with her legs. He stumbled in surprise, but caught himself. She pressed forward again before he could fully regain his control. She threw hit after hit, continuing to push Fenris back. His eye's broadened in surprise and entertainment.

"I told you I've been training."

She had backed him into a dark hall, only stopping when he finally hit the wall. He leaned back lazily, watching her as she slowly advanced. She examined his disheveled hair, busted lip, and narrowed gaze that following her every move. He was perfection.

As soon as she came close enough, he quickly reached out and grabbed her tunic, pulling her into him and crushing her mouth to his own. She immediately opened hers, inviting him in further. She delighted in his groans as he delved deeper, grasping her tightly against him.

Just then, Isabela ran passed the hall with a pair of worn pants in her arms, laughing manically. An irate, and non-coincidentally pants-less man quickly followed, with Varric hanging from his neck and cheering. When all three had disappeared from sight, Fenris turned to look at Hawke, who simply shrugged her shoulders.

"Wanna get out of here?"

He didn't even respond, following Hawke eagerly out the back alley.

Hawke stifled a moan into Fenris's mouth. Sandal and Bodahn had long gone to bed, so consequently, Hawke and Fenris had yet to make it past the main room. The fire crackled lowly, only providing a dim illumination of the large room. Hawke leaned on the edge of her desk, arms wrapped around Fenris. The elf kept one hand behind her head and another wrapped strongly around her back. The embrace was slow and languid, as they both thoroughly discovered the new territory.

The pressure deep in his abdomen pulsed with relentless yearning. He felt her move a hand from his back, slowly stroking down his chest.

He stilled as her hand continued downward towards his waist, and she stopped her caresses immediately. He silently cursed himself for recoiling at her touch. His role as a slave had filled numerous vices for his master, and sometimes for Hadriana. None of the memories were fond, one of the many reasons he instinctually shied away from physical contact.

"Hawke… I," he hesitated, keeping his forehead against hers so as not to look her in the eyes. He wanted to tell her about his fears, about how he had never willingly been with someone since receiving his markings. Instead, Sandal burst from the hall, surprising both of them.

"Letter!" The young dwarf danced into the room with a sealed note, blissfully unaware of the moment between Fenris and Hawke, and approached them without remorse.

Hawke simply sighed, laughing a little as she slid out from beneath Fenris and walked to meet the boy, "What's going on Sandal?"

Suddenly, Bodahn was bustling into the room, adding to the unwanted party, "So sorry Messere! Come here boy!" Bodahn gestured over his son.

Sandal handed the letter to Hawke and skipped back to this father, "Many apologies Messeres, he bowed to both Fenris and Hawke, a lady Arianni stopped by earlier this evening to drop this off for you. Said it was very important. I fear Sandal took his role a bit too seriously."

"It's fine Bodahn. Thank you Sandal."

"Well, evening then." Bodahn ushered his son off to bed.

Hawke turned back to her desk, opening the letter to read it. Fenris studied her in silence.

"Feynriel is back." She looked up from the letter, her expression telling of foreboding.

Lots o' Fenris and Hawke love this chapter. Finally! I guess we'll see what happens to them...

Dani.777- Thank you for always reviewing. You're wonderful!

Bigbrotherlevi- Thank you for following and reviewing! I really like those 'fuck the nobility' moments as well. They're a huge guilty pleasure of mine, along with walking away from explosions without looking back. ; ) haha I hope you keep enjoying the story.

Rburger and dekicobee- Thank you! I hope to keep you entertained!