Felix Culpa

by vanityofvanities

Hawke hands Fenris over to Danarius and then, overcome with guilt, tries to make amends for what she's done. Complications ensue when she begins to develop feelings for Fenris, who no longer has any memory of her or what she's done. (Contains dub-con/non-con)

21. Eyes and Ears

When morning came, it was Orana who woke Hawke. The sun had long since risen but, overcome by the exhaustion that had been building within her these last months, Hawke had failed to wake as those first rays of light spilled through her windows. When Hawke awoke, she found that she'd fallen asleep fully clothed and sprawled across her bed without even having covered herself with a single blanket. When Anders had left the night before, she had crumpled back onto the bed and sighed heavily, feeling drained by the encounter. Thinking of the complications he could introduce into her already complicated life was rather too overwhelming to contemplate. The stress of such thoughts, however, was diminished as she sank back on her mattress. The bed was soft and, though there was no fire to heat the room, she was more comfortable than she had been these many months. She'd fallen asleep swiftly and scarcely stirred until Orana had finally mustered the courage to shake her awake.

"Orana," Hawke mumbled, peering up at her servant with one eye still closed. Orana looked anxious, clearly concerned for her mistress's wellbeing, and yet relieved that Hawke was back in the mansion once more and in one piece. Hawke smiled, trying to be reassuring as she began to stretch the lingering stiffness of sleep out of her limbs. As she arched her back and extended her arms over her head, she said, "I trust that all was well in my absence." Hawke forced herself to sit upright on the bed, continuing the process of flexing her sore and aching muscles back into life.

"Oh yes," Orana assured her, nodding. "There was no trouble at all, really. Though we were all quite worried about you. It took you a very long time to return, Mistress, and you sent no news."

"Right," Hawke said, rising from the bed with a loud groan. "There wasn't much of a chance to send news, I'm afraid. We were in the wilderness for the most part and tried to stay away from towns and people as much as possible. I completely forgot about sending word back to Kirkwall." Hawke smiled sheepishly as she added, "I know it was really careless of me, but I forgot that my absence might worry anybody."

Orana shook her head, dismissing Hawke's apology. "Oh, it's quite alright, Mistress. We should have known that you would be alright. You always are."

Hawke chuckled under her breath. "Well, I'm glad that you at least have faith in me, Orana." As she spoke, she began to shuffle towards the full-length mirror that was mounted on the wall beside her armoire. The moment she caught sight of her reflection, Hawke wrinkled her nose with distaste. "Ugh," she groaned. "Well, that's a mess, isn't it?" She lifted her fingers, brushing them clumsily through her unwashed hair and then running them across her cheekbones. Perhaps because she had not seen her reflection in a proper mirror for so long, Hawke had not realized the great alteration that had come to her appearance. The lack of food as well as overexposure to the elements had brought stark changes to her face. Her cheeks were hollow now, concave and seeming to collapse over her jawbone as if she were nothing more than a bit of skin stretched over skull. She turned from the mirror quickly, walking to the vanity table in which she kept her boar-bristle hairbrush.

"Would you like me to prepare you a bath, Mistress?" offered Orana, sounding almost hopeful that she would have the chance to take care of someone once more.

"I think that food may be a more pressing concern," answered Hawke, feeling the bile of hunger churning within the pit of her stomach. "You wouldn't mind, would you Orana?" She sat on the edge of her bed, turning her eyes towards the frayed ends of her hair as she added, trying to keep her voice casual. "And you may need to prepare a bit more than usual, if it's no bother. A guest of mine spent the night in Mother's room. If you wouldn't mind making sure that he gets fed as well, I would greatly appreciate it."

Orana tilted her head slightly to the side. "Would you like your guest to dine with you, Mistress? I could ready the breakfast room, if you'd like."

"That would be wonderful," Hawke said, though her heart beat uncomfortably at the prospect. "Let him sleep until everything is ready, though. I'm sure he's tired and I don't want to disturb him."

"May I ask what I should call your guest, Mistress?" asked Orana politely.

"Of course, names," Hawke said, beginning the process of tying her oily hair back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. "It's Fenris. You remember him, don't you? He's fairly distinctive looking: white hair, green eyes, and white markings on his skin. You met him in the caves when… well, while we were looking for Hadriana."

Orana smiled, nodding to show that she did indeed remember the incident. Of course she had not forgotten that day. After what had happened to her father, everything about that day seemed indelibly impressed into her memories. "Yes, I remember him," she confirmed. "I'm surprised to hear that he is here as your guest. I'd heard…." She blushed, trailing off before adding quietly, "I'd heard that he'd been sent back to Tevinter. I did not think that he would come back to your home."

Hawke felt a surge of discomfort, turning from her reflection back towards Orana. It was not surprising, she supposed, that Orana had caught wind of what had happened to Fenris and the role that Hawke had played in his disappearance. What surprised Hawke was that she had never considered before how her elven servant would feel about what had happened. "He's lost some of his memories," Hawke said quietly. "He'll be leaving once it's safe for him to be on his own."

"I see," said Orana, bowing her head. "I will attend to your guest as best I can and send for you both when breakfast is ready."

Hawke smiled. "Thank you, Orana," she muttered as her servant took her leave.

Alone once more, Hawke removed the soiled clothes she had worn throughout her journey and slipped into a clean set of velvet robes. Though they were common enough and did in fact bear the stains of bloodshed, they felt incredibly luxurious to Hawke after all those weeks of wearing tattered, threadbare robes that had grown almost oppressively pungent as time wore on. It was, for all the unpleasant things that came with it, nice to be home. Moreover, she was despairing less now than she had the night before about the Magister and his slavers. After all, it would be easier this time than it had been with Danarius; she'd be on her own soil and there would no longer be a need for the pretense of seeming demure and submissive. There was no point in resenting this obstacle and, though she would have much rather come home to find no cumbersome impediments standing in her way, she was aware that there was no point in pining over how things might have been. The fact of the matter was that she had irreparably damaged Fenris and, whatever her personal feelings might be, her emotions were weightless and insignificant until all the threats to his wellbeing were removed. Then, and only then, could things be settled.

When Orana came to summon Hawke to breakfast, it was entirely welcome. She'd had enough of waiting and was ready to move on with the day. Leaping up off the bed, Hawke made her way to the door to her mother's room, lifting her hand to knock.

"I wouldn't disturb him, yet," Orana whispered before Hawke could rap her knuckles against the door. "I've only just delivered some clothing for him to wear instead of that horrid, bloodstained armour and it may take a moment for him to dress."

Hawke turned, cocking her head slightly to the side. "Where did you find men's clothing?"

Orana looked slightly embarrassed as she replied, "They are some of Serrah Anders' old clothes."

Hawke let out a little bark of laughter, shaking her head slightly as she began to descend the stairs. "Well, that will make them both very happy, I'm sure."

"Did I…do wrong?" asked Orana cautiously.

"Oh not at all," Hawke assured her. "You did just right, Orana."

Orana sighed with relief; she had always, through all her years as a servant rather than a slave, retained much of her old mentality. Hawke wondered if there was anything she could have done to foster greater independence in Orana during their time together; she had never really considered it before.

The breakfast room, tucked on the side of the kitchen, had originally been intended for the use of servants. Even so, it was in that room where Hawke had always taken the majority of her meals. The dining room was beautiful and opulent, but it seemed downright cavernous at times and there were few things that Hawke found more depressing than sitting at the head of an empty table and staring down at the lines of empty chairs that would never be filled with family or loved ones. It was better, she had always felt, to sit at the small, square table just off from the clatter and activity of the kitchen. It was a pleasant enough room and the furniture, though hardly ornate, was good quality. That morning, Hawke slid into one of the two benches that sat beside the pinewood table and waited for Fenris with some fluttering in her stomach. She had never waited for someone in that room before and, though it seemed silly even to her, she felt herself becoming eager to see him after what seemed a long separation.

Leaning back against the paneled wall behind her, Hawke tried to dismiss the foolish butterflies that beat their wings incessantly inside of her. She took a deep breath, sighing, and turning her eyes towards the fire that had been lit on the humble hearth. The room itself was quite confined and even a small fire heated it effectively even in winter. As Hawke felt the warmth wash over her, the sore muscles of her body relaxed pleasantly. Absently, her eyes wandered to the windows that were covered with gauzy curtains. Outside, she could see that the weather was fair and the sun was bright and warm. She could feel its heat upon her face and, sighing contentedly, she closed her eyes and let her head loll back against the wall.

Hawke lifted her head when she heard the door open and, seeing Fenris, a portion of the smile she was suppressing crept onto her face. He was frowning, clearly less than pleased with the clothes that Orana had given him that morning. Mercifully, she had not given him any mage's robes, but the fact remained that Anders' clothes were still much too large for an elf. They seemed to only be held on Fenris' body by a very determined belt. Though it was, he supposed, better than wearing his armour which needed repairs and cleaning desperately, Fenris was decidedly displeased with the attire. Still, he felt some of his displeasure leave him when he saw her expression. When she smiled, it was as she always did: as if she had been waiting for only him and his company pleased her beyond measure. Her eyes were always bright when they fell on him and her lips seldom failed to turn up into a smile. Without complaining about how stupid he felt clad in oversized clothes that were, to his mind, rather too boldly colored, Fenris sat beside Hawke on the bench. Aware that the female servant was present, he consciously tried to maintain an appropriate amount of space between Hawke and himself as he took his seat. It was, in actuality, too close for polite company and, as Hawke sat fully upright and shifted infinitesimally closer to Fenris, Orana's eyes widened ever so slightly as she excused herself to bring them their meal.

Already, there was a teapot on the table and two delicate porcelain cups with finely crafted saucers. "How did you sleep?" Hawke asked, reaching towards the teapot and pouring its steaming contents into Fenris' cup and then her own.

"Very well," he told her with a slight nod. "I've never slept in a bed of that size alone; not to my recollection, in any case. It was strangely satisfying to have the liberty to consume as much space as I chose."

Hawke's smile broadened. "I know what you mean. Cream or sugar? A bit of lemon or honey?"

He looked surprised by the non sequitur. "Pardon?"

"Your tea," she said, gesturing to the cup that sat on the table before him. "How do you take it?"

"I really wouldn't know," he told her with a faint smile. "I suppose I'll have to trust your judgment when it comes to the appropriate preparation of hot beverages."

"Alright," she said slowly. "I suppose… do you like sweet things?"

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Very much."

"Alright," she said quietly. "Would you hand me the sugar?"

Obligingly, he reached for the sugar bowl and handed it to her. As he held it for her, Hawke used the small silver spoon to bring several heaping spoonfuls of sugar into Fenris' cup before leaning across him slightly to stir the tea until the crystals dissolved. As she did so, she could feel his eyes upon her and hear the quiet sound of his breathing. When she sat upright once more, a blush had fallen across her cheeks. "That might be too sweet," she murmured, "but we can make adjustments and improve on it until we find out what you like."

"Thank you, Hawke," he said, his gaze lingering for a moment on her timid smile before he took the teacup into his hands and sipped from it. She waited for his reaction, watching the flickering of appreciation across his face before turning her attention to her own tea. After no more than a few sips, diligent Orana reappeared and began bringing out several heaping plates of food to the table. Hawke thanked her, eyeing the vast quantities of food hungrily; it had been ages since she'd eaten these well-seasoned breakfast sausages or had a bite of Orana's delightful honeyed rolls.

She and Fenris each ate greedily, their manners falling by the wayside as they indulged in the first good meal they'd had in ages. On more than one occasion, Hawke found that she was chewing with her mouth gaping open and her lips smacking loudly with every bite. She felt better, however, about this breach of civility when she glanced over at Fenris and saw that he was eating with the same abandon. Her mouth full of bread, she smiled to herself before washing back her breakfast with a large gulp of tea.

In spite of their deep hunger, it wasn't long before both of them were full. There was only so much of it that they could take in before the walls of their stomachs ached, straining under the pressure of the sudden influx of food. Hawke leaned back against the wall once more, groaning slightly from the discomfort of having eaten so much. "So," she began, rubbing her hand across her abdomen, "we have to deal with this whole business with the slavers today."

He nodded, leaning back on the wall beside her and turning his head in her direction. "What do you propose we do?"

"Well," she said, "we should go to our friend, Aveline, before we do anything else. She's Captain of the City Guard and there's a chance that she might know a thing or two about what the slavers have been up to in Kirkwall these last couple weeks. She might also have a spare moment to come with us while we go to check on the condition of your home. In the event that there's been some trap laid for us there, it would be nice not to be entirely on our own. And… if she can't help, then we can always cross our fingers and pray that one of Varric's contacts has some information." Sighing, she massaged her temples with her fingertips, eyes closing for a moment. "The sooner we can get this over with, the sooner we can get you home safe and sound."

"Are you so eager to be rid of me?" he asked with a lopsided smile.

Looking over at him, she shook her head. "Hardly. I just want this settled so you can get back to living your life. I'm tired of picking up loose ends when all I want to do is move forward. But apparently these damn mages just do not seem willing to let things go." She sighed heavily. "I can see why you hate us."

"Not all of you," he murmured, his voice low and his smile softening. Her heart shuddered, seeming to stop abruptly before restarting at a staggering gallop.

Hawke cleared her throat, looking away from him. "So," she said, her voice sounding oddly gruff, "Should we… get ready to go?"

She heard him sigh with what she could only assume was frustration; she could understand that sentiment. It was getting exhausting to always be turning away from him in exactly the moments when she least wanted to. "Very well," he said, rising from the table and extending his hand to help her do the same.

In her room, Hawke found that Orana was putting the finishing touches on a bath. The elf informed her that she'd also prepared a bath for Fenris and asked if there was anything else that she could do for them. "Actually yes, if you wouldn't mind," said Hawke, beginning to slip from her clothes in preparation for bathing. "If you could run into the market and buy some nice, elf-sized clothes for Fenris, then I know he'd appreciate it."

"Of course, Mistress," said Orana, bowing her head and beginning to take her leave.

She was already almost out the door before Hawke called, "And Orana? You can call me Hawke. If you'd like to."

Unsteadily, Orana nodded, leaving the room hurriedly and closing the door gently behind her.

When she was alone, Hawke climbed into the bath and sunk down into the warm, foaming waters. It was the first warm bath that she'd had in ages and, though the water seemed scalding at first, it wasn't long before her body adjusted and gave in to the comfort of the bath. Leaning back and resting her head on the rim of the tub, Hawke smiled to herself, thinking that she'd be glad to spend the entire day stewing there. Of course, there were far more important things to attend to than her personal hygiene. She couldn't linger too long and leave Fenris waiting for her for hours. He would not, she imagined, need as long to scrub clean as she would; after all his hair was cropped closer than hers and he would not need as much time to work the accumulated oils out of it. It was, she realized a mere moment later, an unfortunate time to be imagining Fenris bathing. It was ill-advised for her to think of him in the next room, every bit as naked as she, and sighing from the soothing warmth of the water as he dipped back beneath its surface, rinsing the last remains of soap from his soft, glossy hair. It really was not the time to be thinking of the rivulets of water coursing down his bare shoulders as he leaned back against the wall of the tub, lifting leanly muscled arms from the water as he brushed the hair back from his face. She shouldn't be thinking of him methodically running his hands over his skin until his body was perfectly clean. Until he'd taste pristine as she ran her tongue over his exposed skin, sliding into the tub with him and reaching below the water's surface to run her own hands across his hardening cock as he pulled her into his arms, kissing her fiercely and—

Hawke opened her eyes, shaking her head and forcing herself to think of anything else. She had to remain focused on the task at hand rather than allowing herself to be carried away on perverted flights of fancy. Besides, her more lascivious thoughts of him were always colored with trace amounts of guilt. She didn't deserve that liberty and, though it was only within her imagination, she still felt that she was taking advantage of him somehow by imagining him in compromising situations. Still, even her guilt and conscience were struggling to fully overcome the ever-present desire she felt. It was the sort of wanting and desire that she'd never truly known before. An urge not only to possess his body, but to give herself to him fully. Her body was beginning to ache with the constant effort of restraining herself and not giving her heart, her soul, and her body to him when every part of her was already his in its entirety. She had already ceded control of her fate to him and she was becoming impatient to see what her fate would hold, though she could certainly hazard a very grim guess.

Hawke could sense Fenris' growing impatience as well, though she supposed that his was not of precisely the same sort as her own. Still, it was evident that he was eager to leave this dance behind. She would have been hard-pressed to ignore the heat that shone in his eyes when he looked in her direction or the way his voice grew tender at times when they spoke. She could sense his eagerness, sense the increase in the frequency of the times when he would lean closer to her, eyes flickering to her lips and the warmth of his body mounting. She had no fear that he would lean those last few inches forward and actually touch his lips to hers; Fenris, she knew, would not press things further between them until she made her desire explicit to him. What troubled her was how very close she was coming to giving him the permission that he so plainly wanted from her. The only precaution that she could take was to expedite this process as much as possible. Waiting and wanting were doing neither of them much good.

Grumbling to herself, she rose from the tub and wrung out her hair before stepping out of the water and wiping herself dry with one of the soft, white towels that Orana had left for her. Hawke had forgotten about so many of these little luxuries of home, but she did not allow herself to dwell long on that comfort before she walked to her armoire and chose a fresh robe that had not been sullied by her dirty skin that morning. As she put herself together, Hawke became aware of the fact that she had the foolish little desire to look pretty. She arranged her hair with special care, dusted tinted powder across her thin, hollowed cheeks, and attempted to conceal some of the dark, purpling circles that had appeared beneath her eyes during her months of weariness. Hawke even rubbed her lips with colored oils, scrubbing with her fingertip in an effort to lift away some of the rough, chapped skin. When she drew back from the mirror, looking at herself, she saw that she was much improved from the morning. Smiling, she toyed with a lock of her hair. In her reflection, she observed the nervous, girlish gesture and felt a sick squirming within herself. "This is stupid," she muttered, lifting the back of her hand and wiping away the color that she had dabbed on her lips. "Idiot," she scoffed, turning away from the mirror and leaving her room.

She had a reasonable hope that Orana had been able to get to a vendor and back by this point and that Fenris would be clothed. After a moment of hesitation outside of his door, she knocked lightly. He called for her to come in, but she still held one of her hands over her eyes as she entered. "Are you decent?" asked Hawke.

"I would hardly have called you in if I weren't," he replied flatly.

Having received this assurance, she lowered her hand and then saw immediately why he had sounded so put out. Though the clothes Orana had purchased were plainly made for an elf and fit his body well, it was clear that they were not at all to his taste. The trousers he wore, simple and gray, were not altogether a departure from his usual color palette, but the vibrant green shirt he wore left him shifting with discomfort as she stared at it. Really, the color might not have been that unfortunate had the fabric not been quite so shiny. "You look… colorful," said Hawke, deciding that it would be indelicate to laugh and fighting the impulse valiantly.

"Yes, I'm well aware of that," he grumbled, glaring down at the shirt as though it had done something incredibly offensive. "Though I appreciate your Orana's efforts, there's every chance that my armour would be less conspicuous than this."

"It's not bad," she said, her lips trembling with a suppressed smile. "You look handsome."

Fenris' glower intensified. "You don't honestly believe that."

"No," she conceded with a small shrug. "But the green does bring out your eyes." Her tone held no stifled laughter or hint of mocking as she added gently, "And they are very pretty eyes."

Her words had been sufficient to soften his expression. "Thank you, Hawke," he muttered. Now that his slight embarrassment had been somewhat mollified, Fenris allowed himself to take in Hawke's appearance with a slow, careful glance. She said nothing to stem his appraising look, but she felt herself becoming increasingly aware of his gaze with each passing heartbeat. At last, his eyes returned to hers. "I see you've found some clothes not stained with blood," he commented, his voice having grown slightly husky as though he were forcibly restraining himself from saying something else.

"You noticed," she said, managing to sound almost light and amused. "So, now that we're more or less fit to be seen in public, what do you say to venturing out into the city?" He nodded and, when Hawke left the room, he trailed obligingly after her.

They had scarcely made it down the stairs before her mabari came bolting forward from the fireside, making it very clear with a series of barks that he was intent upon joining them. It seemed that his long separation from his mistress had left the dog resistant to her renewed departure. Hawke instructed Brutus to behave well once they were outside of the home, but they had been in the streets of Hightown for less than a minute before he was tearing off ahead of them, wildly following any smell that caught his interest and hurtling into pedestrians at random. Hawke laughed, calling for the dog when he grew too rambunctious, but otherwise allowing his rowdy misbehavior. "He's been cooped up for too long," she observed to Fenris. "I know that I shouldn't let him make such a spectacle of himself, but I'm feeling a bit guilty for having left him alone."

"He seems to have forgiven you, in any case," Fenris said as Brutus came forward happily and offered Hawke a small wooden doll that he had snatched from a small child.

Hawke smiled, chiding the mabari gently and telling him to bring the toy back to its owner. Grudgingly, he trotted of back to the doll's owner before darting off to chase a small bird that had flown across his path. As she and Fenris walked toward Viscount's Keep, Hawke kept a casual eye on Brutus while pointing out various things about Hightown that might be of interest to Fenris. Mostly, she shared personal anecdotes, indicating the places where they'd been ambushed in the past and filling him in on the locations of other landmarks of note, like the Chantry and the more reputable vendors. Fenris walked on at her side, saying little, but happy enough to listen to her speak. She seemed to take pleasure in reacquainting him with this city that had, for a time, served as his home. Fenris enjoyed watching the subtle changing of her expressions as she spoke. He was consumed enough by her pleasant, inconsequential chatter that he scarcely noticed as the eyes of the passersby trailed after him and Hawke, watching them with satirical expressions.

Hawke pretended not to notice the occasional odd looks that came their way, but she did notice with a slight pain. Though the wealthy citizens of Hightown had come to grudgingly accept her presence with time, they had always resented the fact that Fenris was allowed to live amongst them. Had it not been for Aveline's intervention, they would have cast him from their elite settlement the moment they became aware that he'd taken up in the mansion that had been left vacant. The withering stares that they sent in his direction alerted her to the fact that they would have preferred that the elf stay away. Hawke hoped that, with persistent enough blathering and relentless enthusiasm, she would be able to distract Fenris from the blatant staring that the more bold Hightown citizens sent in his direction. She might very well have been entirely successful in that endeavor had not one particularly rude woman scoffed as they walked by and said, just loudly enough for them to hear, "Seems like they're letting anyone into Hightown these days."

In that moment, Hawke would have liked very much to break the woman's face with her fist. She'd politely tolerated such aspersions about herself throughout her many years as a lowly denizen of Lowtown, but she was damned if she was going to let a pretentious, arrogant hag make Fenris feel for one moment that he wasn't worthy to walk among them. But she didn't need to pummel someone in order to assure Fenris that he belonged; instead, smiling up at him, Hawke lightly linked her arm around his, pulling him closer to her side. Looking down at her, he smiled softly while she leaned her head against him, nuzzling slightly into his shoulder. He hadn't needed her to console him over some aristocrat's sniping, but he was pleased that she did so. It was gratifying whenever her thoughts turned to him and gratifying whenever he was reminded of his own prominence within her mind. Fenris didn't let her see him smiling, but held her tightly to him as they began to climb the steps to Viscount's Keep.

Within the Keep, the structure was much as Hawke remembered it though the atmosphere was much changed from what it had been during her early years in Kirkwall. The steady yammering of people waiting impatiently to see the viscount had ceased, understandably, when Dumar had died. Since then, Hawke had witnessed the steady increase of Templars positioned throughout the center of the city's power. During her time away, their numbers had continued to increase and, as she and Fenris mounted the staircase that led to Aveline's office, Hawke found that she was clutching more tightly to his arm. The vast number of Templars could only mean that a new viscount had not yet been selected and that Meredith's control of the city was still steady. In spite of the fact that Meredith had allowed Hawke to exist as an apostate for this long, the idea of the Templars and the Chantry wielding so much power within the city still made Hawke nervous. The more time that wore on without the selection of a new viscount, the more firm Meredith's hold on Kirkwall would become. The nobility, it seemed, had no vested interest in seeing this matter resolved. Their power and their riches were still secure and it was not their friends being branded or their children being stolen away from their families. And it would keep happening. Bowing her head slightly, Hawke led Fenris along through a sea of Templars and guardsmen.

Outside of Aveline's office, Hawke plastered her face with a chipper smile and, sliding her hand from Fenris' forearm to clasp his hand, said brightly, "Alright, here we are. Are you ready to meet old friends?" He nodded and Hawke burst through Aveline's door without troubling herself to knock.

Hearing the door bang open, Aveline looked up with a start. She'd been seated behind her desk, doing some of the paperwork that was required of a Guard-Captain, and had allowed her mind to wander to more pleasant, less tedious matters when Hawke suddenly appeared in her doorway with the elf beside her.

Hawke's broad smile became genuine as she saw the awe on Aveline's face as she stared at them, rising slowly from her desk. Dropping Fenris' hand, Hawke rushed forward, wrapping her arms around the shocked redhead. "Aveline!" exclaimed Hawke. "I didn't realize just how much I missed you until exactly this moment." It was true. From the moment they'd first met, Hawke had always admired Aveline. She had a strength and resilience, both physically and mentally, that Hawke had always envied. Aveline never wavered in her convictions and her forthright honesty reminded Hawke of how her father had been. How she would have liked to be. Hawke stepped back from Aveline, still grinning as the Captain of the Guard looked from her to Fenris with astonishment.

"Hawke," Aveline managed to say at last, "you found him." Her eyes remained on Fenris, staring at him as if she were staring at a ghost.

He shifted his weight a bit awkwardly. "Hello, Aveline."

Aveline looked back at Hawke, furrowing her brow. Once or twice, she opened her mouth as though she were unsure of what to say. Hawke, however, interceded, thinking it best to preemptively cut off anything too revealing that Aveline might have to say. "He's lost some of his memories," she said, keeping her voice calm. "So don't be offended if he's missing some pieces as to who you are; he doesn't remember me either."

Dawning comprehension crossed Aveline's face and, slowly, she nodded at Hawke, before turning to Fenris. "Well, I'm glad you're alive and well, in any case," she said, striding over to him and shaking his hand firmly. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Fenris." He nodded, smiling in response, and looking a bit uneasy when he glanced from Aveline to Hawke as if he were looking for some cue as to proceed.

Ultimately he just said, "Thank you," and looked towards the floor.

Sensing his evident uncertainty, Aveline left Fenris and moved over to her desk once more, leaning back on the edge of it while she began to address Hawke. "I look forward to hearing all about your adventures," she said, her tone calm though her eyes let Hawke know that their conversation would not merely be about adventures and heroism. "My husband will be pleased to hear that you succeeded; for a moment there, we were almost concerned." Then growing a bit stern, she added, "You know, you might have said goodbye, Hawke. I must say that I'm a little offended that I wasn't even asked to come along on your crusade."

Shrugging, Hawke replied, "We could have used your help, believe me, but I knew that, if I told you what I was planning, you'd be too tempted to abandon your post and come along with me. And we couldn't have that, could we?" More earnestly, she added, "This city needs you, Aveline. Sometimes I think you may just be the last sane person in Kirkwall."

"There are times when I'd have to say that I agree with you on that," admitted Aveline with a half-smile. "So, what can I expect to contend with as the aftermath of your quest, Hawke? Knowing you, you've managed to incite the fury of every last magister in the Imperium and you'll soon have their wrath bearing down upon us."

"Something like that," Hawke chuckled, folding her arms over her chest. "Though there's only one magister, as I understand it. But he's brought some men with him. I assume you've been getting reports of increased slaver activity, yes?"

Aveline nodded. "More of my men have been coming back to me reporting on run-ins with slavers," she said. "And not just around the docks or Darktown, either. A few of my guards stationed around Hightown have seen slavers moving about in small numbers as if they're on patrol." She glance towards Fenris and added darkly, "Now that I know that you two have returned, I think I can make some assumptions as to just what they're after."

"So you can understand why I want to deal with them as swiftly and finally as possible," Hawke said, her eyes narrowing.

"I've never much approved of vigilantism," Aveline began, "but I think I can see the merits of it in this case." She addressed Fenris as she continued. "You didn't run into any trouble in your home last night, did you?"

He shifted. "Hawke kept me under her protection last night," he answered. "I have yet to return to my home."

"I figured we were better off sticking together," Hawke interjected. Aveline was studying her expression carefully and Hawke could feel her heart fluttering as she suffered the scrutiny. She could sense Aveline's confusion as she tried to discern exactly how it had come to pass that Fenris and Hawke had become so amicable. "Until all of this is resolved," she murmured, averting her gaze from Aveline's, "I've asked Fenris to stay with me."

"I see," said Aveline slowly, looking from one to the other. She hadn't failed to notice that they had entered the room holding hands or that, every few moments, Fenris looked to Hawke with an expression that was softer than anything she would have ever thought to see in his face. Perhaps she was not always the most adept at love, but she would have had to be blind to miss what was unfurling before her. "I'm afraid that I can't offer much information when it comes to the whereabouts of the slavers," she told them with a sigh. "I've had my guards on the alert and attempting to follow any slavers back to their base, but they've had no success so far. I'm sorry that I can't be of more help, Hawke, but I'll be more than happy to go along with you when you root out this sorry son-of-a-bitch."

Hawke nodded. "Well, I suppose it all would have been too easy if you'd just been able to point to a spot on the map. There's always Varric, in any case. Even though he's been gone for months, I'm sure it won't be more than a few days until he gets his fingers back on the pulse of the city.

Aveline smiled ruefully. "You're right in that, Hawke. The dwarf certainly does seem to have a way of getting the information we need, doesn't he? Though his methods may leave something to be desired."

"Well, you can't question the results," replied Hawke with a shrug. "In any case, Fenris and I are planning to visit The Hanged Man later to see if Varric can get his hands on some useful information, but before we do that, we thought it might be prudent to go to Fenris' mansion to make sure that it's secure." She smiled hopefully as she added, "Now, if you're not too engrossed in your paperwork, we'd both really enjoy your company."

As it so happened, Aveline was more than glad to take temporary leave from the stacks of office drudgery that awaited her attention. She walked alongside Hawke and Fenris, who now walked on with an appropriate berth between them, while Brutus, panting happily, trotted along at Aveline's side. No longer did the mabari run about wildly or bombard passersby with sudden and excessive lickings. He remained even with Aveline's strides, neither walking too far ahead of her or falling behind. "The dog's mannerisms seemed to have improved in Aveline's presence," commented Fenris, looking down at the beast.

"That's because Hawke thinks it's funny when he misbehaves," said Aveline sternly. "She forgets that even a clever beast needs boundaries." She reached out, stroking the top of Brutus' large, square head and he let out a bark of happy appreciation.

Hawke laughed. "Well, in the event of my unfortunate demise, I'll entrust Brutus to your strict keeping." She had been joking as she spoke the words and it was only as the last of them left her mouth that she realized that just such a thing may happen in the very near future. As that latter, darker thought occurred to her, she unconsciously drifted over until she was walking so close to Fenris that they were almost bumping into one another. This response had become almost a reflex that happened immediately whenever she thought of her own mortality. In those moments, it was comforting to remind herself of why it was that she kept on fighting towards that end.

Aveline caught sight of Hawke's movements, seeing how she sought out Fenris and seeing how his eyes looked as they turned down towards her. Aveline shook her head and raised her brow, the slight clearing of her throat drawing Hawke's attention. Aveline had not meant to do so, but she had made Hawke aware of the unconscious, automatic behavior she'd performed. Stepping away from Fenris, Hawke laughed nervously under her breath and began to walk more quickly.

Watching her walk away from him, taking the lead rather than remaining beside him, Fenris furrowed his brow. It was moments like these, when he was reminded of the forced distance between them, that he felt his frustration with her most intensely. Flexing his fingers tensely, he looked down at his feet as he trailed after her a bit bitterly. His feet her bare once more; Hawke had not insisted that he wear boots that morning and he had not taken the initiative of donning them on his own. It was not surprising, of course, that she had not forced the issue as she had done throughout their travels. After all, there was no snow on the ground and the day, though true spring had not yet arrived, was not especially cold. However, he felt a twinge of nostalgia as he looked down at his exposed toes against the paved walks of Hightown. The almost daily insistence that he wear his boots had become a familiar exchange and now that was changing along with everything else. He might have felt more at ease if he had known what they were going to change into, but Hawke was still keeping that information to herself.

He looked up from his feet when he heard Hawke's voice saying, "And this is yours."

"For the most part," muttered Aveline.

Turning his eyes upwards, Fenris surveyed the façade of the building. He was not oblivious to the fact that it was decidedly grimier than the Hawke estate and that it seemed to project a general air of disuse and disrepair, but even with these faults, Fenris was relatively certain that it was among the most wonderful things he'd seen in his lifetime. It might have been shabby, but it was his. A place where he could go and do as he pleased without asking permission or offering apologies for transgressions. For all the times that he had imagined property of his own, the reality of it was still a pleasant shock. "So this is it then," he said, his eyes filled with the wonder that he had managed to keep out of his voice.

Hawke smiled, beginning to fish around in one of her deep pockets as she said, "And, lucky for everyone, I have a key. I made a copy years ago, much to your displeasure. But now I can return this key to its rightful owner. Aha! Here we are." She pulled the key triumphantly from her pocket and held it out to him.

Fenris struggled with the lock for a moment, unsure of which direction he was meant to turn the key, but when he felt the click of the bolt unlocking, it was a satisfaction greater than he could have envisioned.

"Alright," murmured Hawke as they stepped over the threshold and into the foyer, "Let's all be very wary and keep an eye out for anything that might suggest that someone's been here."

Fenris looked down, frowning slightly. "Well, there is a rotting skeleton beside the door. That might suggest that there've been visitors of a less then friendly nature."

Hawke held back a laugh. "That's, um, been there for years," she told him. "It's not the only one, either." Fenris looked surprised and vaguely disgusted. "Don't worry," she added gently. "I can help you move them out before you move back in."

"That would be appreciated," he said, eyeing the pile of bones with distaste.

As they moved throughout the house, Fenris observed that there were indeed various other skeletons littered about. He wondered passingly if he had been the one to kill them and, though he meant to ask Hawke, he found that he forgot to as they wandered slowly throughout the estate looking for signs of disturbance. In spite of the corpses and the cobwebs and the general lack of comfort or amenities, this was better than Fenris would have hoped for. It was a large property, seeming to be roughly the same size as Hawke's mansion. He had little to offer her, he knew, but he was discovering now that he had more than he had supposed. He had a home, at least, and she had promised to help him with the upkeep. Before long, he could make her comfortable there, playing the host while she made herself at ease under his roof. It was a pleasant notion and he allowed himself to entertain it as they swept through the rooms together.

In the end, they could make no definite pronouncements at to whether or not the house had been searched before their arrival. One of the disadvantages of keeping one's house in a state of disorder was that it became a bit trickier to determine whether or not the place had been ransacked. Hawke did say, however, that she suspected someone had taken a cursory look around the place fairly recently. The cobwebs on the door were slightly less dense than those in other corners and there seemed to be a very faint trail of footprints through the dust. The footprints, however, were scarcely visible and, in fact, so difficult to see that they may as well have been a trick of the light. If someone had come, they had left no traps or spells in their wake and so it was not long before Hawke, Aveline, and Fenris emerged once more into the sunlight with Brutus snuffling along at their heels.

"I've enjoyed the break from my duties, Hawke," said Aveline, rolling her head to the side and cracking her neck. "However, I have to finish my paperwork before the City Guard falls into disorder. The two of you will be able to visit Varric alone, won't you?" She sheathed her swords, having kept it at the ready as they went through the mansion.

"We'll be fine," Hawke assured her with a firm nod. "Thank you for coming along with us, by the way. Sorry that you didn't get to put your weapons to good use."

Aveline smiled. "It was satisfying just to stretch my legs."

They bid farewell to each other, with Fenris and Aveline exchanging another handshake, before Aveline watched as the others turned and walked off towards Lowtown. Just before they left her earshot, she heard Hawke laughing merrily at something Fenris must have said and, before they rounded the corner and passed out of her sight, she saw their hands joining together once more. Aveline shook her head, already feeling an ominous sense of approaching trouble. She'd seen enough of the world to know when something was amiss, and there was most certainly something out of joint with the accord that Hawke and Fenris had come to.

In spite of Aveline's trepidation, however, Hawke and Fenris were fairly at ease with one another as they made their way leisurely down towards The Hanged Man. It took a bit longer than it should have to reach the tavern, for they had wound around the city in a meandering, exploratory manner as neither objected to spending a large amount of time with the other. By the time they reached The Hanged Man, Brutus had almost worn himself out with running about and, as he had with Aveline, he trotted along at Hawke's heels in a reasonably composed manner. When they entered the tavern, however, he did eagerly rush up the stairs to Varric's quarters. Fenris and Hawke followed after him, finding that, by the time they reached the dwarf's room, Brutus had made himself at home on the bed and was already being reprimanded.

"Hawke," said Varric, turning to her, "would you make some effort to control your creature? He's lost all respect for me since he beat me at one round of cards and now there's nothing I can do to get him to obey."

"Down, Brutus," grinned Hawke. Snuffing indignantly, the mabari leapt from the bed.

"Thanks for that," said Varric, shaking his head. Then, sitting languidly back in a chair, he added, "Now, I've got a bone to pick with you two. You all snuck off last night before I even had the chance to say goodbye. Now, Hawke, is that anyway to treat a friend who's been your loyal companion these many years?" He clucked his tongue, looking exceedingly disappointed in her.

"We were in a rush," she told him. "I asked Corff if he'd heard any news and he told me that—"

"There's a new magister in town," interrupted Varric, nodding knowingly. "I've already heard, Hawke, and I've got people roving the streets looking for any news that might be helpful. You think I'm going to let the elf get snatched up again?"

Hawke smiled. "I should have known that you'd already have people on it. You are nothing if not an industrious snoop, Varric."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Hawke," he said with a wink. "But even my people need time. I'll check in with them in a bit and, if you come by tonight, I'll let you know if I have any leads for you."

She thanked him, assuring Varric that she'd be waiting for his information with baited breath. Even as she and Fenris left The Hanged Man, Hawke was already finding herself growing impatient. Still, keeping herself from fidgeting too frantically, she smied and leaned back against the wall of the tavern, turning her attention to Fenris as he stood a few paces in front of her with the dog thumping down on the ground at his feet. "So… what do you want to do while we wait?" asked Hawke.

He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to keep her pressed against that wall as he cradled the back of her head with his hand and tilted her face upwards as her lips met his. He wanted to take her to a soft, wide bed and resolve all that had been left unfulfilled and unsatisfied for months. He wanted to feel as he had on that night in the woods when she had let him hold her. He'd like to relive those sensations—her body, her breath, her voice gasping in his ear. That was what he wanted. But he knew better than to say it. Knew that speaking of it would only make her eyes fill with that sadness that he hated to see in them. And so he shrugged his shoulders and said, "I haven't got a preference, really. We can do as you see fit."

Hawke nodded, looking off thoughtfully for a moment while she contemplated their options. "Well," she ventured, "now that we know it's more or less secure, we could go back to your house and pick up a few things you might need. You know, something for you to sleep in and maybe a shirt that's less, well, green."

He voiced no objections to such a plan and so it was not long before they found themselves once more within the musty depths of Fenris' mansion. Though the express purpose of their expedition had been to gather together some of his old things, that mission fell by the wayside as they began, immediately after entering the foyer, to move the corpse that moldered there to the small courtyard that lay to the east of Fenris' house. There were few pedestrians that passed through there and the growing pile of bodies went unseen as, room by room, Fenris and Hawke went through the mansion and cleared it of human refuse. It was only once all the bodies had been gathered that Hawke, cautioning Fenris to stand back, lit the pyre with a grease fire that burned a purplish blue from its great heat. "There," said Hawke, smiling with some satisfaction. "Compared to that, a little dusting and sweeping is going to be nothing."

Fenris stared at her blankly. "You're not going to foist that on me now, are you?" he said, anticipatory dread creeping into his voice.

She shook her head, laughing lightly. "Given that we've already accomplished more in about an hour than we did during the many, many years that you've lived here, I think we've accomplished enough for one day."

Fenris sighed with relief and they finally made their way up to his bedroom and began to peek through his dresser drawers for anything that might be serviceable. No more than a few moments had passed, however, before Hawke began to feel uneasy riffling through Fenris' smallclothes and decided to leave the task entirely to him. While he selected various items of clothing from amongst his possessions. Hawke sat cross-legged on the foot of his bed with the large lute resting in her lap while she plucked lazily at the strings to entertain herself.

She had never learned to play, though her mother had tried to teach her, and Hawke's strumming, though immensely entertaining to her, was less so to Fenris. After several long minutes, he glanced over his shoulder and grumbled, "If you're going to keep doing that, please inform me at once so that I can slice my ears off."

Grinning sheepishly, Hawke laid the lute aside. "Sorry, I never learned. My brother was the only one of us that bothered to learn to play anything and, if I'm being honest, I think he only did that to make the ladies swoon over him." She rolled her eyes, the memory of Carver's poorly written ballads echoing in her ears.

"Does that work?" asked Fenris, lifting one of his eyebrows.

Hawke laughed, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "There's something about a man strumming his instrument and singing some tormented love song that women simply can't resist."

Fenris made a derisive noise, but, after he'd turned back to the dresser and rummaged around for a moment longer, he asked, "Would it work on you?"

"Are you offering?" she said hopefully, taking the lute up into her hands once more and holding it out to him.

Fenris looked back at her and, though he looked for a moment as if he were considering accepting it, he settled on scowling and saying flatly, "No."

"Well, you can't blame me for trying," she said, returning the lute to its resting place beside her.

Though his back was turned, she could tell from the quick shake of his shoulders that he had laughed under his breath. Leaning forward slightly, she watched him as he knelt down on the floor, beginning to search the bottommost drawers. It was a strange experience to be in his home under these circumstances. She couldn't remember a time in recent history that she had come here and had any interaction that hadn't ended with shouting or sniping or curses spoken in a language that she didn't understand. There had certainly never been a time when he'd allowed her to sit on his bed in this familiar way.

"Strange," said Fenris, halting his search and lifting a small bundle that had been tucked between some spare sheets. Hawke watched, her brow furrowed, as Fenris rose from the ground and began to unwrap the fabric that had been bound around his discovery. The contents of the bundle, as it turned out, was a book bound in brown leather. Frowning slightly, Fenris began to flip through it, scanning its pages. As he did so, his expression changed.

"What is it?" asked Hawke, her muscles tense though her voice was calm.

"It… seems to be my journal," he told her, sounding mildly surprised that he had actually stumbled across something of this nature. Hawke rose from the bed and walked towards him slowly with her heart beating painfully against her ribcage. She knew that the sudden shock of panic she'd experienced was unnecessary, but it was still taking her a moment to slow her heart rate to a reasonable pace. Still, whatever the diary said, the worst of who she was and what she'd done would not be in its pages. Soothing herself, she stood beside him, leaning back against the dresser and watching as he became immersed in reading the words that he had written. As he turned through the pages, she watched a slow smile spreading on his face.

"Is it proving amusing then?" she asked. Though the book was tilted in such a way that she could see the pages, the peculiar slant and miniscule size of Fenris' lettering made it impossible for her to make out what he had written.

"Very much so," he said, eyes still fixed on the page as he turned to the next one.

"Will you tell me what it says?" she asked, smiling at him in a way that she hoped was winning.

He met her winning smile with a smirk as he finally looked up at her. "It says you're not allowed to read it," he told her smugly. He pointed to the page with the tip of his finger and added, "I've been very specific about that. In fact, I seem to have gone on for the last five pages about how you off all people are not to read it and the various ways in which I will punish you in the event that you do." He looked back at the page, the smirk still twisting his lips. "So, as you can imagine, I can hardly allow you to read it now."

Hawke heaved an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes. "Fine," she grumbled, drawing out the word and giving it an improbable number of syllables. "Will you at least flip through it and see if you can find anything helpful? Maybe some mention of the contacts you used to find Danarius and Hadriana when you were in Kirkwall the first time around?"

He indulged her, flipping through the pages and meticulously scanning their contents. "No," he said at last. "It seems to have a rather singular focus."

"How much you hate me?" she said flatly, her shoulders slumping forward slightly.

Fenris looked over at her, his smile gone now. "Something like that," he murmured, his voice low and his eyes full of that familiar warmth that never failed to flood her with a nervous thrill that flickered across her skin and trembled in the pit of her stomach. Looking up at him, Hawke remembered what Merrill had said while they were coming south from the Imperium. All those years had passed during which she had seen nothing of what he felt. All those years when he had returned to his room at nightfall and filled his notebook with thoughts of her. All those wasted years that could have been something more. Biting down harshly on the inside of her cheek, Hawke cleared her throat. "Let's go home," she said hoarsely. "I need to eat something."

Fenris nodded, looking away from her, and gathered his clothes and the journal in his arms as they made their way out of his room.

The streets of Kirkwall were darkening as they made the short walk to Hawke's home. The last of the residents were making their way back to their fine houses and only a few remaining servants were still scurrying around the streets, finishing off their errands for the day. With Fenris strolling along at her side, Hawke glanced at the diary beneath his arm and wondered what it would have been like if she'd fallen in love with him then. She wondered what would have happened if she had noticed what he kept hidden and if she had learned how to reciprocate. Maybe they could have helped each other to be whole. Maybe he would have been able to heal the wounds and scars that had made her heart so hard over the years. Maybe, when Danarius had come for him, they would have killed him together. Of course, that would have been impossible. She hadn't wanted to change then and, if she had noticed how Fenris felt for her, then she only would have used that knowledge in some cruel, manipulative way. Still, as they walked beside one another and the hazy purple light of dusk draped over them, it was nice enough to imagine a blissful world in which he was happy and with someone who loved him as much as she did in that moment. He'd have that someday, she hoped. With someone.

When they arrived at Hawke's mansion, they soon saw that Orana had gone to great lengths to create a comfortable environment for them in the event that they returned in time for supper. Nearly the moment that they came through the door, she whisked them away to the cozy room where they'd breakfasted. Sometime during their absence, Orana had set the table in a far more elaborate way than was typical. She'd laid a lace runner across the table as well as a small crystal bowl filled with small, brightly colored blossoms that must have come from the greenhouse. On either end of the table, she had also placed long, tapered candles that sent their golden light spilling over Hawke and Fenris as they took their seats. It was, Hawke thought, mildly embarrassing that Orana had taken such care in arranging the room for them, but she thanked her warmly nonetheless and praised the beauty of the table settings.

As she sat with Fenris, both of them enjoying the thick, wonderfully seasoned stew that Orana had prepared, Hawke found that the dim glow of the candles and the warmth emanating from the fire made it very easy for her mind to wander. She allowed herself to drift off into her own thoughts, letting the peace of this moment expand to fill a lifetime of dinners together and mornings spent waking in the same bed. Smiling, she leaned her head against his shoulder and watched the flame of one of the ivory candles as it danced. Fenris said nothing to break her trance, watching her tranquil expression as her eyes followed the flickering light. Slowly, not wanting to disturb her, he wrapped one of his arms around the small of her waist, resting it there almost weightlessly. They sat in this manner until Orana opened the door, asking if they needed anything else. The slight current of air created by the door caused the candle Hawke had been watching to gutter out and, the blissful spell of self-delusion broken, she laughed and told Fenris that they should probably be returning to The Hanged Man soon to see if Varric's contacts had had success over the day. Each of them feeling a bit regretful, they rose from the table.

Hawke waited for Fenris at the foot of the stairs while he returned to her mother's room, stashing away the items they'd gathered from his home. It took a bit longer than she would have expected and, when he emerged, Hawke noticed with a smile that he had taken the time to change out of the shirt that he'd had to wear throughout the day. The ostentatious green was now replaced by a simple black shirt that, though she'd never seen him wear it, looked like the sort of thing he might have worn about his house while he was alone. When he joined her at the foot of the stairs, she gave him a nod of approval. "You look like yourself," she noted, beginning to walk towards the door.

"That is, I hope, a compliment."

"It is," she assured him, grinning broadly as they slipped out into the cool night air.

By the time they reached The Hanged Man, inhaling its pungent aromas for the second time that day, the usual clientele were swarming throughout the establishment. Varric, however, was not among their numbers. He was, however, waiting for them in his room with a large stein of ale already in his hand.

"Good to see you again, Hawke," he said, lifting his stein to her in a toast. "My eyes and ears have picked up some information that I think you'll find very relevant to your interests."

Her face lit with a brilliant grin. "Oh, Varric, I knew you were good for something," she said.

He chuckled gamely. "Not good for much, Hawke, but I am a man with resources. And my sources tell me that we're going to have to take another little trip to the Bone Pit."

Hawke's face fell. "Honestly? That place is a sucking vortex of problems."

Varric nodded. "If I'd have to guess, I'd say that that's why they chose it. After all the trouble that's gone on there, the place has developed such a reputation that only someone with a very serious death wish would go there." Shrugging, he added, "And since you seem to be the only person that crazy, their hide out's pretty much secure from everyone except their target." He took a sip of his ale. "Not a bad base, really. Let's give the magister his due."

"Oh, I'll make sure that he gets everything that's coming to him," said Hawke darkly, an almost gleeful glint entering her eyes. "Tomorrow we'll pay the Magister a visit and end this once and for all."

"That's the plan," grinned Varric. "I hope you intend to take me with you, Hawke. I've seen too much of this saga to miss the final battle."

She nodded. "I plan on bringing along everyone I can get my hands on. I want this one over swiftly and painfully." Turning to Fenris, she added, "The final honors, of course, will be yours. If you're interested."

When he smiled, baring his teeth, she could almost see the wolf for which he had been named coming through in his expression. "I am indeed," he replied. "I look forward to ending this."

"One more day," Hawke said with an air of finality. To Varric, she bowed her head and added, "And thank you, Varric. Everything that you've done…. Well, it's meant the world to me."

"You know, Hawke, you could always make it up to me with a pint," he told her with a smile. "This one's almost drained." He looked down at the stein in his hand, sloshing the last drops of it around.

Hawke laughed. "Well, I suppose you've earned it," she conceded

Downstairs, while Varric went to claim the large, circular table that always seemed to open up miraculously whenever he needed to make use of it, Hawke and Fenris made their way towards the bar. Though it was a minor annoyance to elbow through the crowd to order directly from Corff, it was the only way to guarantee that the right drinks would be delivered; Norah, lovely woman though she was, had a habit of mixing up orders. Once Hawke had finally flagged down Corff's attention, she turned to Fenris and asked, "Would you like anything? I know that you're not much in the habit of drinking anymore, but what do you say to a celebratory pint of ale? Or maybe some wine?"

"You won't be drinking, will you?" he asked slowly, lifting one of his eyebrows.

"Well, I had considered it," she replied dryly. "Would you rather I didn't?"

He shook his head. "I was only preparing myself for what's sure to come. The last time I witnessed you sampling wine, you began muttering incoherently in Qunlat and needed to be carted off to bed."

Hawke smiled sheepishly. "Well, I'll try to behave myself this time," she assured him. "I'll at least try to remain sober enough to stumble into bed without assistance." Turning back to Corff, who had been waiting for her order, she asked for three pints of ale and a bottle of wine.

When their drinks came, Hawke instructed Fenris to help her carry them and they made their way back to where Varric waited. He had remained standing and kept doing so until Fenris and Hawke had sat down beside one another. Varric then positioned himself in a chair two full seats away from Hawke. It was close enough to engage in conversation if the occasion were to call for it, but deliberately far enough away so that he wouldn't be interrupting their conversation or drawing too much attention to himself. At first, it seemed that Hawke was making a conscious effort to include Varric in the conversation, but as she and Fenris began to drain their first pints of ale, Varric felt himself becoming superfluous. Their eyes turned to him less and less frequently, they oriented their bodies so that they faced each other exclusively, and, as they leaned in and spoke to each other in hushed voices, their smiles flashed across their faces like lightning brightening the darkness.

Though Varric was, on occasion, distracted by a flitting acquaintance that would pass by him in order to say hello, he found himself largely immersed in watching Hawke and Fenris. He tried to memorize their expressions, making note of all that passed between them so that he might record it faithfully when he had the time. Varric was engaged in this enterprise and engrossed to the extent that, when Aveline arrived and placed her hand on his shoulder, he jerked from the shock of it. "Aveline, there you are!" he exclaimed, rising from his chair. "I was beginning to think that the Captain of the Guard didn't have time for fun and frivolity at the local watering hole." Turning to her companion, he added, "And Donnic as well. My, you are letting your hair down."

"There's no need to sound so surprised, Varric," she said, frowning indignantly. "I have, on many occasions, been known to leave the house with my husband."

"True enough, Guard-Captain," owned Varric, nodding with acknowledgement, "but you're usually dressed in armour."

"I do feel a bit naked without it," admitted Aveline, shifting slightly as if she feared that, by taking off her armour, she'd essentially guaranteed that someone would attack her unexpectedly.

"But you look beautiful," whispered Donnic, leaning closer to her and lightly kissing her cheek. Her fair, freckled skin blushed a deep red as she smiled at her husband.

It was roughly around that time when Hawke's eyes wandered from Fenris for a moment and she caught sight of the new arrivals. "That's Donnic there with Aveline," she informed Fenris, pointing them out to him. "I've mentioned him before. You're friends."

Fenris glanced at them uncertainly and then back at Hawke. "Should I…?"

Hawke smiled at him gently. "Why don't you go and say hello while I grab us both another pint?" Both standing, they separated reticently. Hawke watched him from the bar with a wistful smile on her lips. It was gratifying to watch the exchange. Donnic and Fenris were neither of a particularly loquacious nature, but Donnic was smiling as he shifted a bit uncertainly and, in one way or another, they somehow wound up in an awkward hug of manly camaraderie that always contained an element of pummeling the back of the other participant. Fenris looked startled when he was released from the hug and Donnic looked a little embarrassed about what had just occurred. Still, both men were smiling reservedly.

Shortly after Hawke had sat back down at the table, Fenris returned to her. "So we will, apparently, be engaging in some recreational gambling at my home in the near future," he told her. "I fully expect to lose, given that I have no memory as to how games of any kind are played."

"It could still be fun though," said Hawke, rather optimistically. "It's good for you. Once all this business is settled, you'll need people in your life who will be there for you."

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling crookedly.

She smiled. "I'm here for as long as you want me," she muttered, biting her lower lip to keep herself from saying anything more.

Though she could not hear a word of what they said to one another, Aveline could see the look on Hawke's face as she spoke. She could see their bodies inclining towards each other as if they were being pulled together by some irrevocable force. She saw it and, when she exchanged a look with Donnic, she knew that he saw it too. And it worried her. "Varric?" she muttered, leaning in close to the dwarf's ear as she took a seat beside him. "Do you think this is wise?"

"Spending every night among depraved drunkards? Probably not," he shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes, glowering. "You know what I'm talking about, dwarf," she said, keeping her voice low. "Surely you knew that it was ill-advised to allow this to happen."

He turned to her, shrugging his shoulders. "It was too late before any of us saw it coming for us. There was no way of stopping these kids before it happened and Andraste be damned if I'm going to stop them now." He shook his head, his smile fading as he added gravely, "There's no happy ending, Aveline. There's nothing you or anyone can do about that now."

Aveline sighed, leaning back in her chair and gazing off at the ceiling as if, somehow, it held the answers she wanted. "I'm sure you did the best you could, Varric," she said at last. "Though I shudder to think what will become of her when he finds out what she's done."

Varric shook his head. "It doesn't seem like it'll turn out well for either of them, does it?" he said, taking a swill of his ale. "Still, it was almost beautiful for a moment there." From across the table, they heard Hawke laughing, her voice light and joyful.

She caught Anders' attention then. He had just come through the entrance as she laughed, her happiness seeming to radiate outwards. Anders had come only to speak with Varric and he had not thought of finding her there that night. If he had expected to see her, then he would never have imagined seeing her as she was then. Her eyes glittered as her smile flashed bright teeth and she reached out, resting her fingertips on the elf's arm. Clenching and unclenching his fist repeatedly, Anders approached the table and sat in the vacant chair beside her.

It was a moment before Hawke noticed him and it would have been a moment longer if she had not seen the look of mild confusion crossing Fenris' face as the watched the new addition to their party glowering at the both of them. Furrowing her brow, Hawke turned to what it was that Fenris was looking at. "Anders," she breathed, feeling suddenly cold.

"Anders," echoed Fenris, comprehension and bitterness entering his tone.

"Fenris," said Anders, inclining his head slightly by way of an almost civil greeting. "Always a pleasure to see your scowling face in our midst. Though I must say that you're looking much less dour than usual." He paused for a moment, looking pointedly from Fenris to Hawke. "I wonder why that is."

"Anders," she hissed through clenched teeth, "would you like to have this conversation with me privately?"

"There's no need for that, is there?" said Anders innocently. "I'm just marveling at the fact that a healthy, honest relationship has done such wonders for his demeanor."

Hawke narrowed her eyes, rising from her seat. "Anders," she said firmly. "We're going to discuss this privately." She had already begun to walk towards a distant corner before he could voice any objections. Casting one last bitter glance at Fenris, Anders rose and trailed after her.

When he reached the corner, her arms her folded across her chest. Though her face was stern, her voice quavered as she asked, "Do you want to hurt me?"

"Do you want to hurt yourself?" he replied sharply. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? Allowing yourself to develop some twisted fascination with someone that hates you and everything that you are? What do you think he'd do if I had told him what you've done, Elena? Do you think that he'll keep doting on you then?" He leaned closer to her as he spoke, speaking so quickly that his stream of furious questions almost blurred together. "I love you and you're throwing that away for him?" Anders gestured towards Fenris with an almost frantic flailing of his arm.

"Please stop," she said, her voice trembling. "I loved you the best way I knew how. Please don't make me regret that."

He stepped forward, seeming to loom over her. "I could tell him now, you know, and he'd kill you before you could draw another breath. You know that, don't you?"

"Please stop it, Anders," she murmured, looking towards the floor. She was shaking, he saw, and when she spoke her voice had been barely steady. She knew, as did he, that he could put an end to her ghastly charade with Fenris with no more than a few fleeting words. That would be all it took to end it. And, when Anders looked down at Hawke, trying and failing to keep herself from trembling, he knew that that would be all it took to destroy her.

Lightly, he placed his fingers beneath her chin and turned her face towards his. In her eyes, he saw a nakedness and vulnerability that had not been in them in years. The sort of vulnerability that comes with having something beloved that would be devastating to lose. She was a fool. A fool to think that Fenris was anything more than a beast and a fool to have allowed herself to believe that a bigoted elf had anything but suffering to offer her. She was a fool… but he couldn't destroy her.

He shook his head. "You'll regret this, Elena," he said bitterly. "And, when you do, I won't be there to help you. You've got to learn to live with the choices you've made." He turned and walked swiftly up the staircase to Varric's quarters. Her eyes lingered there long enough for her to see Varric follow him shortly thereafter.

Hawke was still shaking as she stood in the corner. For a moment, she'd believed that he would tell Fenris. Out of spite or out of jealously, Anders could have ruined everything just when she was mere hours away from resolving everything and having the chance to tell Fenris in the manner that he deserved to hear it. Anders hadn't, but the threat still made her heart beat fast as she was reminded of the great precariousness of her situation. One false step or slip of the tongue could be the end. There was no guarantee that she would be allowed to choose the time and the place of the revelation. The sheer uncertainty of that situation and, when she returned to the table, she had just barely gotten her trembling under control. As she stood beside his chair, Fenris looked up at her with mingling confusion and concern. "Fenris," she murmured, "take me home?"

He nodded slowly, rising from his chair and holding out his hand to her. She accepted it gratefully and, as he began to lead her from the table, she snatched the still full bottle of wine off the table and began to take deep gulps of it as they made their way towards Hightown.

By the time they reached her mansion, her cheeks were flushed from drink and she staggered slightly as he supported her with his arm around her waist. "It'll be better tomorrow," she murmured as Fenris began to guide her up the stairs. "It'll be better because they'll be dead and you'll be alive."

"With any luck," he smiled, having begun to find some amusement in her increasingly disjointed ramblings.

As they stumbled to the top landing, Hawke stopped abruptly and looked up at him with limpid eyes. "You're so beautiful," she sighed, smiling and almost laughing. "Not… not beautiful like some people are beautiful... where it's just the skin of them that's pretty." She reached out with a fumbling hand and opened the door to her bedroom and began staggering forward towards her bed. "But it's all of you. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." She tripped a little over her own feet and he caught her, lifting her up into his arms.

"Am I?" he laughed, feeling more pleased than he should have that her drunkenness had brought forth this embarrassing song of his praises that she'd never have spoken while sober. As he carried her towards the bed, he felt a twinge of gratitude towards the abomination for having made Hawke seek some solace in a bottle of wine. Fenris placed her gently on the bed and instructed her to get beneath the blankets. Clumsily, she burrowed down amongst them and sighed contentedly. "Thank you," she said, smiling up at him with slightly bleary eyes. "I swore you wouldn't have to help me into bed."

"I don't mind," he told her, shaking his head.

"I don't mind either," she said, reaching out and catching his hand in hers. "I'm glad that it'll be you." Closing her eyes, she yawned, but kept his hand clasped in her own. "Better than someone else, I think." Her eyes fluttered partially open once more and she smiled dreamily up at him as she added. "My heart already belongs to you, you know, so… don't feel sorry, alright? It's yours for the taking. It's…." She yawned again, her eyes closing, but this time, they did not flutter open once more. Her breath came heavily now and her jaw hung slack as she finally gave in to sleep.

He removed his hand from hers and, for a moment, stood looking down at her thoughtfully. Her murmured words were still ringing in his ears when he leaned forward and, just for a moment, pressed his lips to hers. "I belong to you as well," he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face which was damp with dewy sweat. In her sleep, she sighed. Fenris stood upright once more and, shaking his head, left her then.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would ask her.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

A)I've made additions to the Hawke estate. I mean, there's got to be more to it than you see in the game because otherwise everyone would starve to death without a kitchen. I also added a few sundry furnishings to Hawke's room. I figured that, since I've already deviated from canon, it wouldn't bother anyone too much if there were some new rooms and a greenhouse.

B) I don't know why I liked putting Fenris in ugly clothes during this chapter. It just made me chuckle to think of him wearing the sort of super colorful clothes that everyone in Kirkwall seems to own. Meh. I have a weird sense of humour.

C) Hawke doesn't handle emotions well. I feel like she's gotten better since the beginning (when she was downright suicidal) but she's still clearly not in a very good place. When she is driven by a purpose (like killing Danarius or getting Fenris home or killing slavers) she's okay. But when it comes time to wait or she feels helpless, she gets anxious and has trouble coping. Thus the reappearance of Drunk Hawke.

D) I sort of get where Anders is coming from. It's like when you see your friend in a really terrible relationship and you just want to smack their face until they understand how dumb they're being. Couple that with jealousy, I think it's justifiable that he's behaving like such a raging douche.

E) How come Fenris hasn't caught on? Hawke has been pretty blatant lately when she's brought up the past/future. It feels like he should be able to put two and two together, right? Well, not really. She did something pretty unbelievably evil and, though she has been bitchy and whatnot in his memories, he hasn't seen anything that would make him suspect her of that kind of treachery. I mean, imagine your mom or someone you love saying, "I did something terrible and you're going to kill me when you find out." You wouldn't hop straight to, "Oh my God, you've sold me into slavery, haven't you? Damn it, Mom, how could you!" You'd probably imagine something more mundane that the other person was blowing out of proportion. That's sort of where Fenris is. He knows something is up but he assumes that they'll be able to get through it and that she only feels so bad because she's a good person. Haha, how little he knows. Ah, dramatic irony… how I love thee.