The door to his shared quarters banged open loudly and Fenris virtually snarled as he pushed it back from the ricochet.

"Broody," Varric complained from underneath his pillow. "You need to get laid. You can't tell me Hawke wasn't willing last night."

"My affairs are none of yours, dwarf." He began pulling off his things from yesterday and washing up in the nearly-chilled wash water on the vanity.

"They are when you're this pissy," Varric muttered. In a louder voice, he added, "How's she feeling today?"

"Ready to get to this hunt and be quit of this place," he replied, in between scrubbing his teeth.

"I thought part of the reason she accepted this job was to have some pseudo-romantic holiday with you," Varric said, sounding confused. "What'd you do to piss her off?"

"I don't know, Varric." He tried to not sound angry or exasperated. It wasn't Varric's fault that he didn't know how to talk to his… his… his Marian. Varric had done nothing but try to help Fenris in his pursuit of her, in fact: giving suggestions and advice, helping to set up private times to be with her. Whatever the issue… "I thought… that Hawke forgave me. Accepted me. Perhaps I misunderstood her, Varric."

Varric muttered something about it being too early in the morning for chats like this, but sat on the side of the bed and started combing out his chest hair. "Elf, have you tried talking to her about your issues? Not talking around them, or assuming she knows what you're talking about, or even that there's anything wrong. Sit her down and say, 'Hawke, I love you, let's have sex for days and make pretty little black-haired babies together!' Hawke is a brilliant woman, but she's shy about some things, Fenris. You need to just come right out and say it."

Fenris came just short of dismissing the advice out of hand. "I have no idea how to even broach such a subject," he started, when Anders stalked in and smacked him in the back of the head, their Universal Group Signal that the person, as Hawke put it, "done fucked up." Even with acknowledging the UGS, however, his brands flared and the tattoos glowed a furious blue-white as he grabbed for the mage, deciding that today was the day. Hawke was already pissed enough at him, for whatever reason. Might as well add the mage's death to it.

"You bloody idiot. After all that last night –and don't think I didn't hear her!—you leave her crying today? And still vomiting? Maker, if she looked at me with half of the affection she looked at you, she'd never cry again. I'd drown the world in blood to make it so, but you're the reason—"

"Shut up, mage!" Fenris bellowed, flinging the pitcher of water at Anders. It hit an invisible wall and clattered to the floor, shattering.

"Whoa, whoa, hold it fellas…."

"I have no idea what she even sees in you. You hate everything that she is, that makes her beautiful and special!" Anders jumped back away from Fenris, narrowly escaping his grasp and continuing his tirade. "You leave her in limbo for three years. Three years! If I were in your position, I'd have married her by now, at the very least!"

"You will cease this, abomination, now!"

"No, I won't! It's about time someone made you wake up and see the beautiful creature you've been holding back and hurting!"

"Guys!" Varric physically inserted himself between the two of them, keeping them apart. "Knock it off. Turn the lights off, Broody, and save the preaching for the manifesto, Blondie." Both men tried to object, but Varric held his arms out to keep them separate. "I said that's enough, fellas." He glared from one man to the other. "Do you really think either of you win points with her by fighting? Not much pisses her off more than your bickering."

The bubbling anger in him subsided quickly, smothered by guilt. Varric was right. Suddenly, a stubby finger was stabbed at his chest.

"So you, stop running away from her, and sit her down and talk to the woman. Make time. I know you could, if you wanted to. And you," he said, turning to Anders and stabbing him in the chest with that same stubby finger next. "For whatever reason, Hawke chose the elf over you. Stop trying to break them up. When Anders looked like he was going to protest, Varric stabbed him again. "Stop it, Blondie, or so help me, you'll get reacquainted with Bianca."

Anders balled his fists, but took a step back and away from Fenris; Fenris held his ground, but relaxed his stance. "She was… crying…"

"Because of you." Accusation and venom.

"Go on, Broody," Varric urged.

Fenris wondered, as he wandered through the hall, why this was so complicated for him. Why could he not simply know what to do, and just stop hurting Hawke? Was this some sort of punishment for that first time, when he so stupidly walked away from her, or was he naturally bad at relationships? Perhaps it was best that his forgotten memories stayed forgotten; they might only reveal a string of poorly-handled lovers, on his part, and make him feel even more like a fool.

He expected Hawke to still be recovering, along with Tallis, in her suite, but when he arrived, a busy-seeming maid was stripping the bedclothes and simply shook her head when he asked if she knew where the women went. A quick stop by the rooms Carver, Merrill, and Isabela were sharing let him know that Tallis and Hawke had already gone to prepare for the hunt, and that everyone was to meet them in the hunting courtyard. He cursed to himself, and headed back to his own shared room for weapons and armor. Or rather, the rest of his armor; a Fenris and all of his armor weren't soon parted.

When he finally found Hawke, she was dressed for fighting, staff through the holster on her back, and was being introduced to this Duke Prosper. The man was wearing this… this… for lack of a better term, a "hat." And flouncing. And flirting with his Hawke, and! And! Hawke was flirting back! She touched the man's (for lack of a better word) hat and giggled at him, fluttering her eyelashes!

Fenris saw red.

Varric grabbed his forearm before he could kill the Duke.

"Down, elf," he murmured, smiling nonchalantly. "We're not here to move the Orlesian nobility along."

"But… Hawke…."

"Hawke is a big girl, elf. I'm going to assume she knows what she's doing, or else she wouldn't be doing it."

"Varric…" he wanted to wince at how heartbroken he sounded to his own ears.

"And I see you've brought some manservants already armed?" the Duke asked, rather loudly, gesturing at Fenris and Varric.

"Yes, Your Grace. And might I introduce my brother, Carver Hawke. He is currently serving at the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall," Hawke said.

"It is a pleasure to have you here, Ser Hawke, Champion," Prosper told them, giving a slight half-bow. "Now you will have to excuse me. The hunt waits for no man. Or woman, as the case may be." Another little half-bow, and they were left alone in the courtyard.

Before he got a chance to pull her aside, however, Tallis was speaking to Hawke, voice pitched low but with an expression flirty enough to make him growl. Orlais was a bad idea. A horrible idea. He was going to lose Hawke, all because he said stupid, ill-timed things and made her cry and, Maker, he didn't want to lose Hawke again, he loved Hawke, he needed her, he—

"Everyone ready?" Hawke addressed them all, brightly. "Apparently, we have to hunt and kill a wyvern first. Can't say I'm exactly overjoyed by this turn of events, but a job's a job, right?"

"Hunt and kill a wyvern? Sister, you've gone completely mad. Aren't those things related to dragons?"

"Apparently so," Tallis said, looking much more excited than Hawke. "We're going to have to gather things to bait one out, I suspect."

"Well, hunting things and killing them does seem like quite the pastime of mine," Hawke quipped. "Not the first time I've killed a dragon-like creature. Or an actual dragon, for that matter."

"I feel kind of sorry for it, actually," Merrill said, mournfully. "It just wants to live its life, without bothering anyone, out here in the wild.

"Wyvern numbers need to be kept down, otherwise they breed to quickly," Tallis told her, checking the harnesses of her daggers.

"Elves, too," Fenris said. "We're plucky that way." Every eye turned to him and most everyone looked shocked at what he had said. Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush….

"Well, wyverns breed quickly and dangerously enough to require annual hunts for culling, and so far, there aren't any annual elf hunts yet…" Tallis said, confused.

Hawke shot Fenris a cheeky grin and a wink. "Don't worry, Fenris. Nobody hunts elves on my watch." Her words and tone heated him from head to toe and he knew he was blushing when Varric snickered. It took every last bit of his self-control to not push her up against a tree and have his way with her right then and there, damn the observers, to show how plucky elves could be.

She turned to the rest of them, keeping that cheeky, self-satisfied grin on her face. "Well, team? What are we waiting for? Let's go kill a wyvern and take its stuff!"

"Hawke, I don't think you should touch the creepy-looking, ancient altar."

"Why not? Maybe there's treasure there!"

"Because it's creepy-looking and ancient!"

"You people have no sense of adventure."

A moment later, and some ghastly shrieking, and then:

"I told you that you shouldn't touch it!"

"That's what she said."

"Fasta vass, is that a horror?"

"I am good at summoning those, aren't I?"

"Would you –on your left! Your other left!"

"Don't blame me, I know my left and my right!"

"You can't get mad at him, he didn't go to Chantry School!"

"Oh Hawke, be careful of those—Hawke!"

More ghastly shrieking.

"Someone should tell this guy he's wearing last year's tattered robes."

"Maybe the last age's robes?"

"I blame you, Hawke!"

"Is there no end to these… these… what are they?"

"Cultists?"

"Venhedis!"

"Your right. No, the other right!"

"I think that bastard scratched Bianca!"

"Need… mana…."

"Maker's breath, someone get her some lyrium!"

"Andraste's knickerweasels!"

"Hawke?"

"Hawke?!"

Thump, bump, skinned knee. Sword through the Sky Horror. And then:

"Hawke?"

"Yes, Fenris?"

"No more touching ancient, creepy-looking altars."

"No more today, I promise."

"No, no more ever."

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"In the same place as your sense of self preservation."

"Fenris?"

"Hawke?" A smacking, smooching sound and a chorus of "oooohs."

"Go loot the bodies, Fenris."

"I… in a moment, Hawke."

"Is that a greatsword in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

"It is your extra lyrium, Hawke."

A chorus of disappointed "awwwws."

"But that's his sword right there, he just used it for all that good swording!"

"She meant his hard on, kitten."

"Oh. Does he often get one from killing things?"

"Fasta vass!"

"No, mainly from laying half on top of Hawke and being kissed by her."

"I wish she'd kiss me." A wistful sigh.

"Me, too, kitten."

"And me."

"Probably me, too."

"Maker, you lot are pathetic. That's my sister!"

"She's hotter than you are."

"Vishante kaffas. Fasta vass, will you all shut up about kissing Hawke?!"

"No."

"No."

"Why?"

"Yes, please shut up about kissing her."

Faintly, "Does anybody need Healing?"

"Do dragons and wyverns even mix?" Tallis asked Hawke, all wide-eyed innocence. They had just killed a handful of dragonlings and two older dragons and were now standing around and admiring their handiwork.

"I haven't found much that did mix with dragons," Hawke answered, honestly. "Although the name of the age is appropriate; we even fought one in the Deep Roads."

"Maybe we can drag one of these along as bait," Carver suggested, earning him seven pairs of appraising eyes turned to his direction. He scowled fiercely and crossed his arms over his breastplate. "What? Why are you all looking at me like that? I'm not an idiot!"

"Anybody got a large sack?" Varric asked.

"That's what she said," Isabela quipped. There was a moment of quiet reflection, mainly on lost dignity.

"We have to give her that one," Hawke said eventually, and there was a chorus of agreement.

"I've got a bag," Merrill said, kneeling down and going through her pack. "it's not very large, but Carver can cut up some of the pieces and put them in there."

"Hey, I found so gold!" Isabela crowed, cheerfully.

"Gold? On a dragon?" What, do they have pockets? The Maker must surely have a sense of humor, then; dragons get pockets and women do not," Hawke replied.

"That's because the Maker is a man, sweet thing," Isabela said, "evenly" distributing the booty. Merrill had found the elusive bag and Carver was busy swording up the dragonling, obviously unable to decide which were the choicest bits to piss off a wyvern.

"So, Hawke," Tallis said, so nonchalantly that seven pairs of eyes immediately turned to her. To her credit, Tallis took the scrutiny in stride. "Are you married?"

Hawke laughed and started dusting her armor off. "Is that a proposal?" She sounded thoroughly amused.

"Oh, just wondering if there's a man behind the Champion throne," Tallis replied, in a remarkably flirty tone. Six pairs of eyes followed the back and forth of the conversation.

"A fine question," Fenris said, surprising everyone with a third contender for the banter. Seven pairs of eyes turned to him with various of amused (Varric, Isabela) and bemused (Hawke, Tallis, Merrill) and hostile (Carver, Anders.)

"Perhaps we should start moving again," Hawke suggested, when the silence had stretched on too long.

"Good idea," Tallis said, somewhat uncomfortably. "We can't really get to the jewel while we're hunting, after all."