Several weeks later it was the day of another anniversary: it had been one year since Fenris had crushed Hadriana's heart in her chest. And his own, because it was also one year since he had spent the night with Hawke. That one delightful, excruciating, awful night he could not get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. Many nights he dreamed of it. Many mornings he woke up still feeling Hawke's hands on him, the paths his mouth had traced burning hot, lingering in his mind during his waking hours. A year later, and it seemed like yesterday.

Fenris would have preferred to stay at home this day, alone, with a bottle of wine - or perhaps more than one bottle. But there was a reading lesson scheduled for tonight.

Why did they have that planned for this night, of all possible evenings? All day he was tempted not to go, but if he did not go, he would acknowledge that that night had happened, and that it was still on his mind. If he wanted to act like nothing had ever transpired between them, he should behave no differently during this lesson. Not going and cowardly hiding in his mansion was clearly saying he remembered, and that it did not leave him indifferent. Perhaps if he kept pretending nothing had happened, nothing was going on, and that he felt nothing about it, felt nothing for Hawke... it would go away. Someday. Eventually. Maybe.

So when the sun had set, Fenris forced himself to leave the mansion and make the short walk to Hawke's estate. It was possible Hawke did not even realize that exactly one year had passed. Hawke had probably moved on long ago, pretty much forgotten about this one slip-up. As if Hawke would keep pining over someone like Fenris for a year. Especially if he had indeed moved on to the abomination... That thought failed to reassure.

Before he knew it, Fenris was standing in front of Hawke's door, and Bodahn let him in. Reluctantly, he entered the study, where he found Hawke already waiting for him in his usual chair. Fenris halted in the door opening. He could immediately see that Hawke had not forgotten what day it was. Often Hawke was reading in a book himself when Fenris arrived, or writing a letter, but this time Hawke was just waiting for him. His blue eyes saw Fenris as soon as he stepped over the threshold and pinned him there. His expression was oddly tensed, and Fenris could see a silent question on Hawke's face. A question, mixed with the faintest hint of hope. Fenris cast his eyes down and stared at his bare feet. When Hawke read the clear "no" as an answer in that, he reached for a bottle from next to his chair. The bottle was already uncorked, and with one swift movement Hawke filled two glasses nearly to the edge with blood red liquid. One he placed on the desk; the other he brought to his mouth, drinking it half empty with long, deep gulps. Fenris watched Hawke's Adam's apple move up and down as he swallowed the wine. Fenris tried to swallow the lump that had settled in his throat without success. With slow steps he walked towards Hawke and sat down in the chair next to him.

Without saying a word, Hawke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed the book they were reading over the desk towards Fenris. Fenris grabbed the second glass and let the heavy, full taste of wine roll over his tongue before he bent over the pages of "the Adventures of the Black Fox". He could hear Hawke down the rest of his drink, followed by the sound of liquid being poured in a glass. It was not uncommon for them to enjoy a glass of wine during their lessons, but usually they had one or two drinks over the entire evening. Hawke emptying his in the first two minutes was something he had not seen before.

"Born Lord Remi Vascal in 8:63 Blessed, the Black Fox was a dashing thief and rogue who went on to inspire so many tales of his exploits that it is nearly im... imp... impossible to de-ter-mine today which are true and which are merely fabri... fabricated legend." Fenris drank from his wine when he had finally made it to the end of the sentence. "Maker, Hawke. Can those sentences be any longer?"

Hawke gave no witty reply. He only held the bottle over Fenris' glass and refilled it. Fenris shifted in his chair as he tried to focus on the book. Silent Hawke made him feel uneasy.

"Despite coming from nobi...lity, he has become something of a hero of the common people.

His initial exploits involved ri... ridi... c-u-l-i-n-g..."

"Ridiculing," Hawke helped, his voice calm, without emotion.

"Ridiculing the... t-y-r... tyranni.. cal..."

"Tyrannical."

"Tyrannical and powerful lord of Val Chevin."

He sighed and followed Hawke's example of drinking more wine. Perhaps it would help.

It wasn't long before the first bottle was empty, but Hawke simply picked up a next one and continued to refill their glasses. Focusing on the uninteresting story became increasingly difficult, and Fenris became more and more aware of Hawke's presence on his right. Not that that was something he tended to forget otherwise... As the wine flowed, the memory of the night they had shared hung more heavily between them.

By the time his speech became slurred, Fenris had given up on reading. Yet he kept his eyes fixated on the pages of the book, just to avoid looking at Hawke. His glass he held on his lap, fingers of both hands -even now clad in his steel gauntlets - wrapped around it. He had lost count of how many times Hawke had poured more wine for him. Judged by the cloudiness of his head, it had been many. Many, but still not enough to forget. Not enough to wipe Hawke's caresses from his memory. Not enough to drown the moans of pleasure they had both let out and that were now for some reason echoing in his ears. Fenris felt his cheeks grow hot. Why was this still plaguing him after a year? He had thought it would take a few weeks at most to get over this, but there had been no improvement. What was wrong with him? Why did it have to be so difficult?

Hot air, carrying the scent of wine, against his cheek startled him. He looked up to see Hawke leaning over to him, his face close. Hawke's cheeks had a rosy tint, an almost feverish blush that accentuated the darkness of his eyes. Those eyes. The normally ice blue was almost completely swallowed by black, dilated pupils. In those eyes, with pupils wide from alcohol and lust, Fenris could see the wanting. It was clearer than ever. He had seen it before, especially after the first kiss, but it had gradually become more hidden, until all that was left was the color of frozen lakes. But now the ice had cracked, and he was being pulled under. He could not deny he saw it there. With this look, this gaze, all the lies he had been telling himself for the past year and before that, threatened to be dragged into the light and exposed. I don't want him: lie. I don't need him: lie. I don't know what I'm feeling: lie. He has to hate me: lie. It was right there, the wanting, the ache. Right there in those eyes. He was aware of his own eyes mirroring what could be seen in Hawke's.

But he did not want to face the truths he had tried so hard to strangle. He could not. The lies made it easier, bearable. Most of the time. Not now. Fenris looked down to no longer have to be confronted with all the things in Hawke's beautiful eyes, only to see the lump the soft fabric of his trousers was unable to hide completely. Hawke only wore trousers when he did not have to leave his house. The rest of the city only ever saw him in his robes. It did not occur to Fenris' alcohol soaked mind to avert his eyes. He kept staring at it, while his own hardness pressed uncomfortably against the leather of his tight breeches. He knew his own arousal could not remain hidden either.

Hawke lowered his left hand - to hide his erection, Fenris thought - but instead he touched it, stroked it. Three fingers ran up and down the length. A choked sound escaped from Fenris' throat at the sight. More blood came rushing to his loins, hardening him until it ached. He clenched his glass tighter.

He finally looked back up when Hawke placed his free hand against his cheek. Hawke's thumb pressed against the line on the right of his chin, causing a fierce heat to spread. Fenris felt the lyrium flare up, its activity spreading, traveling down the markings on his neck, his chest, his stomach until eventually Hawke's touch had reached his stiff cock without his thumb ever moving. It had Fenris shuddering in his chair. After a while, Hawke's hand started moving. His fingers traced the lines on his neck and went on to his shoulder. Even through the leather layer of his armor Fenris felt his markings react, conducting the magic of Hawke's touch downwards, as if Hawke had simply grabbed him there. The fingers went on to the bare skin of his arm, stroking lightly, in the same rhythm his other hand was keeping. Each stroke brought Hawke's hand a little bit farther down. Fenris wanted to flinch away from the contact, but the wine had diluted his reflexes, and it just felt so good...

A moan rumbled at the back of his throat, resonating in his chest. Hawke curled his fingers under the red ribbon around Fenris' wrist, leading to Fenris squeezing his glass even tighter. He did not want to see what Hawke was thinking while he stared at that scrap of fabric, so he lowered his gaze again. To Hawke's other hand. A dark spot had formed in his trousers. He wanted to fall to his knees, between Hawke's legs, and bring his mouth over that spot. Suck and taste right through the material of Hawke's pants, making him groan... Right now he could not think of anything he wanted more. He could not think of anything else in the first place.

Hawke's hand had moved again. Fenris closed his eyes as he felt it burn on his inner thigh. I want this. I want him. But through the drunken haze the doubt forced its way up. Nothing had changed since he had left a year ago. Hadriana was dead, but Danarius was alive in the Tevinter Imperium, ready to take him back, and he had still not found his sister. The only thing that had changed was Hawke. Hawke was now not only a noble, but Champion as well. A man with many admirers. If he did this now, he would only make things worse. The careful balance they maintained would get disrupted. Because he would still have to leave. As long as he could not force his past to stay behind him, he could not start this new life. Slipping away in a fairytale had never been this tempting, but the breakdown would be all the more painful. Hawke deserved better than that. If he could ever hope to be worthy of Hawke, Fenris would have to give everything he had to offer. And right now he still had nothing. With Danarius at his back, he had to keep looking over his shoulder. It limited his chance to look forward, and that was what he should be able to do if he was with Hawke. Fenris clenched his fists. As long as he could be nothing more than an ex-slave, it was not enough. He might be able to spell freedom, but he had not crawled out of his cage yet, had not thrown off all his chains.

"I'm a patient man, Fenris. Do you remember I said I was a patient man? I lied. Waste of time."

And his memory... What if his memories would return again when he lay with Hawke? He could not bear to have that precious knowledge, only to lose it moments later. When he met his sister, this problem would be solved... She could help him get his memory back, fill in the gaps. The flashbacks would not be so bad if it did not mean that he gained and lost an entire part of himself.

I'm sorry, Hawke. I can't. I still can't. It is not enough yet. I'm not good enough yet.

Hawke's strokes moved up, to the center of his ache. Fenris squeezed so hard that the stem of his glass broke, cutting his fingers. His eyes snapped open. He jumped up, nearly lost his balance, hastily put the broken glass on the desk, and started walking to the door with unsteady steps.

If Hawke had done something to stop him, had gone after him and grabbed him, he would not have been able to resist. But Hawke did nothing. He did not break the silence he had maintained for the entire evening, apart from the corrections in Fenris' reading he had made. And thus Fenris found the strength to stagger out of the room and the estate without looking back. The strength to flee as a coward.

As soon as he was back in the hallway of his own cold, dark mansion, he leaned against the door, chest heaving, and undid the laces of his breeches to release his rock hard length. With rough, fast movements he tried to relieve himself. Tortured cries welled up from inside him while he did so. The edges of his gauntlets dug painfully in the sensitive skin of his member, but he paid no heed to it. He did not care. It was small and irrelevant compared to the pain he was already feeling.

It did not take long before his seed flowed in spasms over his hand. Fenris bit in the palm of his other hand to silence his frustrated shouts. All over his body, the markings were burning in a manner that was no longer pleasant. They stung, like hundreds of vicious needles. The sensation of his leather armor against his skin became unbearable, so he stripped it off and threw it on the ground. His gauntlets quickly followed. Right now he did not want anything on him that reminded him of the tool he was created to be. A thing, not worthy of finding a caring embrace. A living weapon. Slowly, he lifted a trembling hand and laid one finger on the marking on his chin Hawke had touched. Without clothes, he was still a weapon. The markings were always there. That was why he could not be anything else, even when he tried. Oh, how he hated them! How he hated his curse.

One year. Hawke's face reappeared in his mind. One year later, and he was forced to admit...

A drunken tear leaked from his eye, but he immediately wiped it away. He would not weep like a petty weakling. Tears would not change the way things were. He could only go on, and he would. Soon he would meet Varania, and from then on it would get better. Finally his breathing calmed. His hand went to the red band that was still around his wrist. He would not give up. He would fight like the weapon he was, until things would go his way.

Not bothering to pick up his armor, he stumbled up the stairs, to the room he lived in, and fell down on the bed. Despite the rough night, the alcohol helped him slip into a restless sleep.

Hawke. Hawke had a collar around his neck. A collar with a leash. The leash was in Danarius' hands. With a triumphant smile, Danarius pulled Hawke closer. Hawke did not protest. With a dreamy expression on his face, he obeyed and walked closer to Danarius. Smile widening, Danarius leaned over to Hawke and kissed him. Lips on lips, the reddish brown of Hawke's beard against the darker, near black, of Danarius'. Fenris was forced to watched in horror at the exchange. After a moment, Hawke's content expression changed to a pained one. He gasped, tried to pull back, but Danarius continued to force the contact on him. Fenris could see a blue light spreading. It started on Hawke's chin, shining through his beard, and went down to his neck, further spreading over his arms, his chest... With a shock he realized it were markings, identical to his own.

When the light had reached Hawke's toes, it faded, leaving only a soft glow. As Danarius pulled back, Hawke whimpered and fell to his knees. For the first time, Danarius turned his eyes to Fenris.

"Playtime is over, little wolf," he said. "You can only have one master." He gave a jerk at Hawke's leash. "I am your master. Now, be a good pet and end this pathetic excuse for a mage."

Fenris felt the lyrium in his hand and arm react to the casually spoken command. Before he could stop himself, he took a step toward Hawke, who was still on his knees, and his master. When he stood in front of Hawke, Hawke looked up to him. He could now clearly see the glowing pattern on his neck. Hawke seemed dazed, as if he did not understand what was going on.

Fenris' markings flared up more strongly, but he did not reach out.

"Do not make me wait," his master hissed.

He raised his arm a bit. Hawke closed his eyes.

"Fenris." That tone meant punishment. Punishment was never pleasant. He did not want to feel more pain. And yet he did not act.

Danarius grabbed him by his throat. The pain drove out every thought. He sank to his knees himself when Danarius finally let go. White stars danced in his vision. As his sight started to clear, he could see Hawke looking at him. Expecting.

Fenris lifted a shaky hand. There was a red ribbon around his wrist. His arm shot out and reached into Hawke's chest.