At least it can't get any worse. Not today, anyway. It's pretty late. - Hawke

The estate had never felt so empty. When Gamlen had left—his grief as potent as his anger—Gwyneth had remained in the library, staring into the fireplace, her elbows resting on her knees, fingers pressed to her temples. Her mother was gone, joining Bethany and Carver on the ever growing list of those she had failed to protect. She was terrified to close her eyes, afraid that the image of her mother's face would be there, ashen in death despite her continued artificial life.

Standing in restless frustration, she began to pace in front of the fire, her anger growing. She could still smell the acrid stench of burning lilies, and she had to swallow back the bile rising in her throat. If she had only paid more attention, been home more often, this would never have happened. She wouldn't be responsible for the deaths of her only surviving family.

No, that wasn't true. She still had Arais. Gwyneth exited the library and headed for her writing desk, bending over a blank sheet of parchment, quill moving swiftly across the page as the words formed in her rushed script. The ink began to bleed as a droplet of moisture fell on it, and she realized she had begun crying. Her writing became jagged as the sobs wracked her body. Vaguely aware that Orana had walked up behind her, Gwyneth tried to control her near wailing, forced to cease writing by the shaking of her hands.

She slammed her fist against the table, the inkwell tipping over and spreading the liquid over the table in a black pool. Hurrying to collect her message before it was stained by the growing puddle, Gwyneth set the inkwell upright and cursed under her breath, realizing her finger tips were now hopelessly stained as she wiped them on her finery. Her crying became more desperate as she slumped in her chair, weak with grief.

She jumped when a hand rested on her shoulder, and she looked over to see Orana, her expression pained and helpless. The elven girl was at a loss, trying in vain to find a way to comfort her mistress. Gwyneth, on instinct, reached up to pat the young girl's hand before holding it gently, grateful for the contact despite it not doing a thing to ease her pain.

The main hall was silent aside from the stuttering breaths and quiet whimpers that Gwyneth would let out at random, an oppressively heavy blanket of despair surrounding those in the room. Rising from her desk, Gwyneth approached her Mabari, Dexter. He looked up at her with a sad whine, and she could swear his eyes were wetter than usual, as if he too were crying. She sat cross-legged beside the hound and rested her head on his back, wrapping her arms around him. She felt his head rest on her arm, and he released a huff of air as he whined once again.

"Come on, boy," Gwyneth said between ragged breaths, patting her leg as she stood. "Let's go upstairs."

He barked lamely, pushing himself up and following his mistress as she ascended the stairs and entered her bedchamber, climbing fully clothed into her bed.

"It's alright, Dex. You can come up this time." He hesitated before jumping up onto the bed, curling up beside her and resting his head on her stomach. She scratched his ear softly. "I'm going to miss her, boy."

Woofing his agreement, Dexter looked at her out of the corner of his eye before letting his lids drift shut, and Gwyneth opted to do the same, praying that she wouldn't be plagued by images of her mother, raised from the dead.

Fenris entered the Hawke estate, nodding at Bodahn as he entered the main room. The dwarf informed him that Hawke was in her bedchamber resting, but would likely benefit from his company—she was grieving something awful.

Ascending the stairs slowly, Fenris tried to gather his thoughts and find some consoling words, but realized that he was at an utter loss as to how to comfort someone. He sighed before entering Hawke's room, and noticed that she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair mussed and her finery wrinkled. Her Mabari was lying behind her, his head rising at the elf's entrance.

"I don't know what to say, but I am here," Fenris said, unable to come up with anything else.

"Just say something. Anything," she pleaded.

He moved to stand in front of her, seeing the markings left by her tears and feeling a twinge of sympathy. "They say death is only a journey. Does that help?"

"I suppose they say you go back to the Maker when you die," she replied noncommittally, and he sat down beside her on the bed.

"I've heard that, too." He paused, then, "To be honest, I don't think there is much point in filling these moments with empty talk."

They sat in silence after that, the only sound that of Dexter's panting. A few moments later, the Mabari hopped off the bed and trotted out of the room, leaving Fenris and Gwyneth alone.

The sound of Dexter's heavy footfalls descending the stairs tore Gwyneth from her thoughts, and she sighed heavily before standing from the bed, moving to close the bedchamber door. She glanced fleetingly at the chest that held all of the things she had left from Lothering, and a sharp pang stabbed at her heart. So much had been lost in the four years since her home had been destroyed, and now she was forced to build a new life on her own.

She walked back to the bed to stand in front of Fenris, lifting one of his hands and removing the gauntlet slowly before repeating the action with the other hand. She raised his fingers to her lips and kissed them lightly, leaning into his palm as he slid his hand to rest against her cheek. His callouses were rough against her skin, and she shivered slightly.

Stripping out of her finery, Gwyneth tossed her clothing to the side and began removing Fenris' armor. He aided her as needed, leaning back on the bed as she climbed on top of him, her need to regain some semblance of control nearly overwhelming. She leaned forward to kiss him again, this time more fervently, desperate to banish the emptiness she felt. Reaching a hand between then, she guided him to the juncture of her thighs, sheathing him hilt deep within her.

Gwyneth moaned as he began to move, filling her so completely she was nearly lost to the sensation. His movements were slow and deliberate, angling his thrusts to hit just the right spot. She whimpered a bit as the tension began to build steadily, and she rolled her hips to feel him deeper as she leaned back, relishing in the small amount of pain it caused, grateful to feel something other than emptiness and loss.

Fenris let out a low growl, grasping Gwyneth's hips and lifting her, beginning to move faster, with an urgency that matched hers. She bent down to kiss him hard, matching him thrust for thrust in a desperate frenzy, the tension in her belly tightening until it snapped, her vision going black as she collapsed against him, his own climax pulsing within her.

Feeling moisture spread across the cheek that lay on his chest, Gwyneth became aware that she was crying again. She rolled off him to the side, holding her knees to her chest as the sobs wracked her body with violent spasms, letting out near wails that held all the anguish of recent loss and undiluted grief. She felt Fenris' arms wrap around her, holding her against him so tightly that she almost couldn't breathe. She released her knees to clutch Fenris for support, sobbing into his shoulder until her emotions became too much for her body to handle, and she blacked out.

Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for the kind words she had to say about this chapter. I have nothing else to say, aside from I hated writing this chapter. Absolutely detested it. I'm glad to have it out of the way.