A / N - the chapter after this will probably come rather quickly as ive been working on it when my internet hasnt been working! also i'm at home for a few days and procrastinating in the form of writing fic, so, enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen

Anders was not happy. His brow drew downwards in a frown as Fenris and Hawke entered the Hanged Man some time later that day. He noticed how Hawke had a new spring in her step and smiled a lot more easily. She seated herself next to Aveline, who had been absent that day due to her guardsman duties, and Fenris found a space between Varric and Isabela. The elf felt eyes burning into him and turned sharply to look at the mage.

"Is there something you want, Anders?" snapped the elf.

Feeling slightly shamefaced at being caught glaring, Anders retorted, "You don't have the temperament for a slave."

Fenris raised an eyebrow suspiciously before glancing down at the hand of cards he had been dealt. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"I'm just wondering how your master didn't kill you."

"How have the templars not killed you?" came the sharp comeback.

"I'm charming," Anders replied smugly. He was distracted momentarily from the death glare Fenris was giving him as Hawke stood from her seat and headed downstairs. Without preamble, Anders immediately followed her, and earned another dirty look from the elf in return. Fenris didn't try and stop him, however, and merely focused on Wicked Grace. He felt his ears burn with anger as he thought of the abomination and Hawke together. The former seemed a lot more taken with her, and he couldn't help wondering…

Meanwhile, Anders caught up with Hawke at the bar. She looked particularly breath-taking, even though she was dressed in her metal plate armour she had worn all day, she held herself with a certain elegance. Brown tendrils of hair escaped the bun poised on the crown of her head and framed her face, longer ones tickling her shoulder blades.

"I thought you could use some help," explained Anders when she gave him a puzzled look. He nodded to the many tankards of ale.

"Thank you," she said graciously, picking up three of them whilst he took the rest.

"So, you and Fenris," he began casually, but stopped when she sighed and clicked her tongue irritably.

"I knew you were going to ask," she said, sighing. "We're friends, for the moment, just like you and I are, but Maker knows if we will pick up where we left off."

This hit Anders like a slap in the face. Of course, he knew that she had been going through a hard time, and now it obviously meant that she had been on rebound when they had spent their night together. He could appreciate this – but it hurt more knowing that it had meant a lot more to him than it did to her.

She caught the look of hurt on his face. "I still care for you, surely you know that? And I did tell you that we couldn't be together?"

The mage nodded then gave half a shrug to show he didn't care that much. Only he did, he cared so much and he wished he didn't. It would make things a lot easier if he didn't.

She stopped walking when she reached the bottom of the stairs and faced him. "I'm sorry, Anders, I really am. When we spent our night together, it was amazing, don't get me wrong, but I rushed into it. It wasn't fair on you or me, and I was selfish. Can you please forgive me?"

He searched her face, seeing the blatant regret behind her eyes and saw that she truly was sorry. Hawke wasn't malicious; she didn't do things to bounce people off each other and see how they reacted. It just wasn't in her nature. So, to keep the peace and realising that being friends was better than cutting her out of his life altogether, he nodded. Instantly she looked pleased as relief washed over her.

"I would hug you, but…" She indicated the tankards in her hands.

"It's fine," Anders reassured her. He stepped aside and allowed her to climb the stairs before him, finding it difficult to tear his eyes away from her backside.

"At last!" cried Isabela when the pair entered. "I thought you got lost!"

Hawke laughed it off and took her seat again. She sneaked a glance and Fenris and noticed she received a rather hard look in return. Before she could say anything, he turned back to the game. Confused by this, Hawke tried to take her mind off it by discussing the new guards Aveline had recently recruited. Every now and then she chanced looks at the elf, but he was determinedly focused on Wicked Grace. What was he thinking? Did he know something or was he being his usual surly self? Suddenly, Hawke remembered that elves have more acute hearing than humans. And she and Anders had been at the foot of the stairs, talking. She mentioned their night together… Surely Fenris couldn't have heard that? But her stomach twisted uncomfortable as she realised that he probably had, and this was why he was ignoring her and being fouler to Anders than usual. No one else picked up on this; Isabela was explaining something to Merrill, the elf staring wide-eyed with rapt attention, Varric was chuckling at Anders's stories as a Grey Warden and Aveline was still in full swing talking about the barracks.

Fenris looked up at Hawke through his eyelashes. He knew that she knew there was something wrong. She was perceptive like that. But that didn't take away the sound of her voice drifting up to Varric's suite…

So she had slept with the abomination. Anger boiled up inside him as Anders laughed, seized with the sudden urge to rip his heart from his chest. The two of them spending the night together shouldn't have bothered him that much, he knew that; but even though he left Hawke he still had feelings for her. He thought she did too – though he remembered her face as he left, the image burned into his mind. Hurt, confusion and disappointment; all of which she had hidden behind a prickly exterior. He felt like he shouldn't pass judgement. Maker, she was allowed companionship, and even he had found his way to the Blooming Rose several times. None of the prostitutes there were the same. They weren't Hawke. He held no affection for them whatsoever, and he found himself not feeling bothered if it had been Hawke visiting the brothel. But she hadn't. Maybe because Fenris felt such a deep running hatred for the abomination it bothered him so much? The elf chanced another glance at Hawke sat across from him and his heart did somersaults when she caught his gaze. He would have to speak with her, and knew that he wouldn't be able to rest until he had. He should let it lie, that would be the best thing, but fury clawed at his insides when he thought of the two together. He had to know how she felt, what had happened, what would happen in their future. He wanted to leave nothing to chance and know that if anything went wrong – which it wouldn't, as he would rather die than see her hurt again – then she wouldn't seek comfort in the mage's arms.

One by one, the suite began to empty. First Aveline, who said she wanted to spend time with her husband as she hadn't seen him for most of the day – to which Isabela wolf whistled – then Merrill accompanied by Isabela to make sure she got home safe and finally Anders, which left Hawke, Fenris and Varric draining the dregs of their ale. If not for the dwarf, the atmosphere would have been rather tense; of which the other two experienced when he stopped to draw breath to take a drink. It was only when Varric burped richly did he announce he would retire for the night.

"As much as I would love to have you here all night, a dwarf's gotta get his beauty sleep," he said with a wide yawn. Casting a glance at each other, Hawke and Fenris began to leave the inn.

Fenris walked a pace in front of Hawke at all times, the sound of her boots against the stone cobbles bouncing off the tall buildings whilst he walked silently like a ghost, a whisper in the shadows.

"There's something wrong," Hawke said abruptly, breaking the tense silence. "I know it."

He didn't accept nor deny this and merely kept walking. He heard her pace quicken as she caught up with him. She stood in front of him suddenly, forcing him to stop, her arms folded across her chest.

"You know."

Fenris gazed at her coldly for a moment before snarling, "Yes, I do know."

"It's none of your business," she said stubbornly, adamantly staring him down.

"It's every bit of my business," he snapped back. "It's pathetic the way you went running to the abomination for affection –"

"Pathetic, is it?" she asked coldly, surveying him through eyes of stone. "Pathetic the way you went sneaking into the Rose every other night, hoping you weren't seen?"

"How did you –" Fenris caught himself midsentence. "Isabela!" Of course. Who else? She was a regular there and could remain stealthed and unseen if she so desired.

"Yes, women talk, you know!" she said with the air of someone stating the obvious. She sighed and her defensive stance vanished; instead she visibly deflated and her voice became soft and pleading. "Why are you bringing this up now? I thought we were actually getting somewhere with our… relationship." The word sounded strange when spoken aloud. Neither had referred to their 'situation' as this.

"But you and the abomination –"

Hawke cut him off sharply. "Don't refer to him as that. Things are over between us – I doubt they had ever started – and it was a one-time thing because I was so hurt from you. By the sounds of it, we're both as bad as each other."

Fenris glared at her for a time and she reciprocated this hard look. The tough demeanour was back into place as she folded her arms and stared him down, refusing to allow him to guilt trip her. Eventually, he relented, and pulled her gently into his chest. Her cheek fell against the cold metal and she relaxed as she felt his gauntleted hand smooth her hair.

"Promise me you'll never go back to him, for whatever reason," he whispered into her hair. "You are mine."

"And I am yours," she breathed back, nuzzling against his breastplate, urging them to be as close as their armour would permit. Shivering, she pulled away. "I'd better get back…"

"Allow me to walk you?" he offered.

Smiling, she nodded. They set of again through Lowtown, their arms brushing against each other occasionally. She ached for him to take her in his arms and carry her to her estate, where he'd lay her down and make love to her in front of the fire, feather light kisses tickling her neck and slender fingers carding through her dark tresses…

"Hawke?" Fenris's voice sounded far away. "Are you alright? You look odd."

She shook her head to rid herself of impure thoughts and found that they were already halfway into Hightown. As she walked, she couldn't help but become aware of the moisture that had pooled between her legs.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she insisted, perhaps too firmly. Fenris cast her a strange look but said nothing. The look on his face now suggested that he had an inkling as to what she had been thinking about. They didn't speak again until Hawke bid him goodbye at her estate door for the second time that day.

She rushed inside and threw off her armour the instant she reached her bedroom before sliding between the crisp clean sheets and pleasuring herself to the thought of him, not knowing that Fenris was doing exactly the same thing over her in his own mansion.