AU: Final scene of this chapter is something I had planned out since the very inception of the story so I'm excited to finally see it realized and can't wait to hear what y'all think about it. Thanks for all the comments last week. I was super busy and didn't get to reply but I read every single one and love you all very much!

As a warning, I might not get a chapter up next week because of life stuff, but I'll try. Thank you for your understanding! This chapter is nice and long to make up for it! ^_^

Lovelovelove

Roarkshop

It was another week before Varric finally managed to map out their route. None of them were happy to be going back to the Deep Roads, but Hawke was determined to get answers. She was relieved that Varric had managed to convince Cullen to let Bethany go with them. After all, so long as Bethany wasn't in the Gallows, the attacks would stop. Hawke had made the mistake of not bringing Bethany along with them once; it wasn't a mistake she was going to make again.

It wasn't yet dawn when Hawke sat in Fenris' window, crouched on the balls of her feet and contemplating her next move. She was in her usual leather garb, sitting in silence as she looked at the shirtless elf sleeping across the room. She was loathe to rouse him, though she knew it was only a matter of time before he woke up; he always had the uncanny ability to know when she was nearby. Maybe it was his sharp hearing, maybe it was something honed in him from his time as a slave.

She had considered bringing Aveline to the Vimmark Mountains, but they promised to be gone at least a few days and — while Hawke was certain Aveline would spare the time for her — she didn't want to put her in a position where she had to choose friends over her duties as captain.

But she couldn't trouble Fenris again, could she? She'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit she preferred his sword to Aveline's. There was no denying that Hawke and Fenris fought well together. They could anticipate each other's movements and communicate without words, but there was more to it. There was no doubt in her mind that she could count on him. It had been a long time since she truly felt she could lean on someone, and Fenris made her feel safe. No one had managed that since her father died.

Hawke didn't make a sound as she approached his bedside, wondering if he knew just how much he had come to mean to her.

She pulled down her hood and mask as she stared down at him. He was laying on his back, one hand above his head the other on his stomach. She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, his markings shifting with the small movement. He was like a work of art, vibrant and full of life.

Maker, he was beautiful.

"Hawke?" he asked, obviously sensing her presence before his eyes even fully opened. He blinked up at her, bleary eyed as he stretched his arm out above his head. "What time is it?" he groaned.

"Barely dawn," she said gently as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

"What's happening?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbows to look up at her. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she said with a smile. "Varric thinks he's located the compound sending the Carta after us. He and Bethany are packing for the journey, we didn't want to waste anymore time."

"You're leaving?" he asked. He turned his head to look out his window, noting the first vestiges of sunlight creeping into the night sky before turning back to her. "Now? For how long?"

"It promises to be a few days, at least."

Come with me. The words were right there but she couldn't bring herself to say them. He had done so much for her lately, whether he knew it or not, and she feared becoming trouble he no longer had the patience for. She was well aware that his inexperience with friendships meant that it was a tiresome exercise for him. She thought about how exasperated and irritated he'd been the night he pulled her from the surf, asking her if friendship was always exhausting and intolerable. She couldn't keep troubling him like this, it wasn't fair. So the words died on her tongue.

"I just thought I should let you know," she lied instead. "I didn't want you to learn about our absence and not know where we'd gone."

He tilted his head to the side as he stared up into her face, his brow furrowing and his lips parting slightly as if he were confused. After a few moments of charged silence, he swallowed and shook his head.

"You're not going without me," he said, but his inflection made it sound like it was a question.

"I didn't think—"

"No," he said, more resolutely now, leaning up onto his hands until their faces were only a few inches apart. "Hawke, we are in this together."

"Fenris," she said softly, swallowing down how the nerves in her stomach coiled tightly. She stepped back from the bed before she did something stupid. "You've done enough. You saved both Bethany and my home, you traipsed through a ballroom to warn me; you've been troubled enough by my nonsense."

"True," he said, turning to put his legs over the side of his bed and stand. He rolled his shoulders back and a series of cracks echoed down his spine. Then he reached for his tunic where it was draped over the back of a chair. He slid it over his shoulders and started to button it closed.

"Fenris, you don't have to do this," she said, putting forth great effort to keep her eyes off the hard lines of his chest and shoulders.

"I'm well aware of that," he said, turning to level his hard eyes at her. "Is there some reason you don't want me accompanying you?"

"Besides the fact that you've been inconvenienced by this more than any of us?"

"Yes, besides that. If you do not want me to go along, you need only say so."

"Honestly, it would be great relief if you come along, but—"

"Then it is done," he said.

"You don't even know where we're going yet."

"Does it matter? I have been involved since the beginning and I intend to see it through to the end."

"Right, but—"

"You have never hesitated to bring me along in the past," he interrupted as he slid into his chest piece. "Why are you trying to leave me behind?"

That was a very, very good question. They both knew she wanted him to go, and they both knew that she needed his added strength. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as she tried to think of a lie. When one didn't come, she defaulted on the truth.

"I don't want to be a burden to you."

"Oh?" he said, the beginnings of a smile tugging on his lips. "Much too late for that."

She couldn't help but laugh and nod her agreement. "I can see you're immovable on the subject."

"So I am," he said as he bent to remove his sword from under his bed.

"Very well," she sighed. She cleared her throat and swallowed down the grin that threatened her face. "If you're sure you don't mind the trouble."

He strapped the weapon to his back and closed the distance between them. "If you didn't want to be a burden, you should have left me alone four years ago after the Deep Roads." A slow smile spread across his face, and his eyes sparkled with humor. "I'm afraid you're quite stuck with me now."

She blushed, she could feel it, so in an attempt to hide it from his sharp eyes she turned away and made for the door.

"I suppose I shall just have to make due," she teased over her shoulder, pulling up her mask to hide her grin as she heard him follow her down the stairs.

It was less than a day's climb into the Vimmark Mountains and their party seemed a good deal merrier with the addition of Bethany. Hawke was obviously pleased to have her nearby and safe, and Varric was all too happy to regale the mage with tales of the adventures she'd missed. Fenris was glad for her presence if for no other reason than it meant that they didn't need the abomination, but he had to admit that he was glad to see the anxious tension finally leaving Hawke's shoulders. He didn't know if it was Bethany's presence or the fact that they were finally going to end the nonsense with the Carta; but either way she was back to her old self, and the realization made Fenris relax considerably.

He spared a moment to find it odd that his moods had become so interconnected to hers.

They entered the compound with the first light of the following day and quickly found out it would not be a peaceful end to whatever it was the dwarves wanted with them. Every dwarf that spoke gave them clues that were cryptic and vague, and with the mention of Malcolm Hawke, the sisters were twice as eager to figure out why the dwarves were after them.

Their mission was a grave one, and the further and further into the mountain they fought, the less lighthearted the party became. The downward spiral started when they were forced to kill Gerav — the dwarf that had crafted Varric's beloved Bianca — and seemed to keep plummeting with every new discovery.

They happened upon a shade locked behind a prison of magic, and Bethany was the one to realize that the odd markings on the walls would release it.

"Do you think this wise?" Fenris asked as he watched Hawke eye the markings. He did not like the 'key' she had been handling. It was shaped like a sword and was obviously imbued with some kind of magic, but the crazed dwarves had said it was a key that would lead them to whoever Corypheus was, so Hawke had been wielding it as a weapon.

"Worst case scenario, it's just one more thing to kill," Varric said, removing Bianca from his back.

"If that's all it is, we can ignore any we find in the future," Bethany said with a shrug. "Better to be thorough."

Once the magical shield dropped, the shade within attacked them, summoning a series of rage demons to assist it. They quelled them efficiently enough, and Fenris was about to deliver a scathing 'I told you so' when a cloud of blue smoke, about six feet tall, formed near the cage. A pair of bright, golden eyes peered out from within the shapeless form, and a voice as deep as thunder and smooth as silk echoed from within.

"I could do nothing about the Warden's use of demons in this horrid place, but I will have no one say any magic of mineever released one into the world."

Fenris only watched the figure for a moment before his gaze fell on Hawke. Her entire body snapped taut and tense, her eyes were wide and her eyebrows upturned as if she were in pain. Her attention was rapt on the blue smoke as it seemed to walk through the room.

"That... that voice," Bethany said softly, one hand in front of her mouth. Her eyes shot to Hawke, her eyes asking the question she could not voice.

Hawke said nothing; she just stared at the spot where the smoke had dissipated. Her hands were fists, and she was squeezing them together so hard Fenris could hear the leather of her gloves groaning under the pressure. It seemed like an eternity of silence passed. The party watched Hawke, and Hawke watched a distant horizon that only she could see. The silence was stifling, amplifying even the most distant sounds.

When Hawke finally moved, she looked down at her feet and swallowed an audible breath before turning to her comrades.

"We should keep moving," she said, her tone unnerving in its calm.

Not even Varric said another word.

As they continued through the oppressive dungeon, Fenris kept his senses trained on Hawke. Where her movements were usually fluid and graceful, they were now jarring, almost mechanical.

Her heart wasn't in them, he realized. She was far away, back with the golden eyes within the smoke. Even when they met the tainted — arguably insane — Grey Warden, her attention was elsewhere. Fenris had never seen her this way; It made the nerves of his stomach bunch up and his shoulders tense to the point of pain, but he didn't dare ask about it. Whatever happened in that room, it had obviously been a very different experience for her than it had been for the rest of them, and Fenris was not in the habit of asking her about things as intensely personal as whatever was going on in her head in those moments.

When they reached the next magical prison, Hawke stared down at the key in her hand, obviously debating whether or not to open it.

"Hawke?" Varric tested cautiously.

"I have to know," she said softly, going to unlock the mark on the wall.

Again the demons were handled quickly, and again the form of blue smoke appeared and seemed to walk around the room. Hawke watched the smoke as it moved past her, raising one hand as if she were going to reach out and touch it. With her mask and hood already down, Fenris saw the unusual look of hope mixed with desperation on her face in the setting of her jaw and the knitting of her brows. It made him feel like he'd been kicked by a horse.

"I may have left the Circle, but I took a vow. My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base."

"It is him," Hawke said softly, barely above a whisper.

"That which is best in me," Bethany repeated. "Not that which is most base. That... that's exactly what he used to teach me."

"I remember," Hawke said stiffly.

"Alright," Varric interrupted. "This is all very cryptic and mysterious but does someone want to inform the dwarf as to what the hell is going on?"

"It's our father," Bethany said, her voice shaking slightly. "These... these must be his memories... locked here from when he imprisoned these demons."

Hawke's fists shivered at her sides, and her face was drawn into hard, tense lines. "No," Hawke sneered. "He wouldn't..."

"'Nara, what's wrong?" Bethany asked, reaching for her sister. Her fingers barely managed to touch Hawke's shoulder before the rogue whirled around on her.

"Don't you get it?" she sneered. "'The Hawke's blood', 'the blood of the Hawke', the prisons, the spells. Open your eyes!"

Bethany recoiled like she'd been burned. "I... I don't understand."

"They need our blood, Bethany. The blood of Malcolm Hawke. Why? Why else would they need his blood?"

Understanding hit Fenris, and suddenly Hawke's anger fell into place. "They need to negate his work," he said.

Hawke motioned her hand toward him to acknowledge his understanding. "They need our blood, Bethany, because whatever Father did here, he used his blood."

"Oh, shit," Varric said in realization.

Bethany swallowed and shook her head. "No," she said softly. "Blood magic? But... he wouldn't... he would never..."

"If you have another conclusion, I'd love to hear it," Hawke growled. "The pieces fit."

"Father was not a blood mage!"

"I don't want to believe it any more than you do, Beth, but it's the truth. It has to be. Nothing else makes sense."

It was obvious to Fenris that Hawke was not angry at her sister, but at the memory of her father. Fenris had known of Bethany and Hawke's hatred of blood magic since the beginning of their association, but it wasn't until that moment, as he looked at the sisters staring at each other with matching looks of betrayal, that he realized that the hatred had been learned from their father.

Hawke tore her eyes off Bethany and turned to stalk further into the labyrinth.

"We are wasting time," she said, the sound of her voice weak, defeated. It was not a sound Fenris was used to hearing from her, and he decided that he hated it.

It wasn't long before Fenris regretted his insistence on being brought along. The third and final memory of Malcolm Hawke did nothing to brighten the mood of his daughters. Bethany was made to believe he resented her for her magic, which was an obvious blow to the mage's confidence. Hawke had come to a realization that put a similar dampening on her spirit, but she did not voice it as Bethany did, instead she focused on making her sister feel better, putting her fears to rest as best she could.

Whatever it was that Malcolm Hawke's memory did to Hawke, it wasn't good. The anger was gone, but with it went her enthusiasm. Her weight against Fenris' back was heavy. She had none of her usual energy or lightness of foot. She was still fast, much faster than any of the darkspawn or tainted dwarves were ready to handle, but Fenris knew her far too well. To him she might as well have been standing still.

Upon being confronted by Janeka and her Wardens (who were under the impression that the demon Corypheus could be freed and then used for their purposes), Hawke made the decision to throw in her alliance with Larius, thereby upholding her father's decision that Corypheus was too dangers to be free. When Bethany questioned her decision considering how angry they were, Hawke simply stated that the cause must have been dire if Malcolm had resorted to using blood magic. Fenris had agreed with her choice, but silently questioned her logic. Fenris hadn't known the man, but he doubted the righteousness of any mage that resorted to blood magic.

It wasn't until they found out that Larius had threatened Hawke's pregnant mother to gain Malcolm's cooperation that Fenris found his actions justified. There was no way to be certain as to what would have happened to Leandra if Malcolm Hawke hadn't agreed to aid the Warden, but Fenris agreed that the possibility of her death and the result of Hawke never being born was an unacceptable sacrifice.

Killing Corypheus was not easy, or enjoyable. It was a test of both strength and endurance that left the entire party drained and bone-weary. Yet as Fenris arrived back to his mansion under the cover of darkness, he found himself unable to sleep.

Fenris tossed and turned, unable to rid his thoughts of Hawke's haunted expression, playing in a continuous loop in his mind. They had not walked to Hightown together as they usually did, since Hawke escorted Bethany back to the Circle, and he hadn't the opportunity to ask her about Malcolm.

He hadn't realized how badly he'd wanted to talk to her. He wanted to know why the memories of her father had troubled her so. He wanted to banish the ghosts from her eyes. She was his friend, and she was not herself. If friends could not aid one another in times of uncertainty and suffering, then what was the point of it? She had done as much for him when she had happened upon him on the anniversary of his escape, and he hadn't spent it alone since. She hadn't let him.

Fenris knew that considering the emotional and physical fatigue Hawke had undoubtedly experienced, she was more than likely asleep. It was well after midnight and it seemed silly to wake her in an attempt to get her to talk to him. It was a distinct possibility that he was driving himself to madness for nothing and Hawke was not even troubled any longer.

But what if she was?

Fenris growled and rose to his feet, pulling a short sleeved tunic over his head. Storming through the mansion and into the next room, making his way onto the balcony from which he often watched the goings-on of Hightown. It was from this balcony that he had always spotted Hawke at the miscellaneous social gatherings she was forced to attend as her alter ego, and tonight it was the spot from which he found her sitting on her roof, staring up at the stars.

Fenris was so surprised to see her across the square that he thought he might have been hallucinating. How was she still awake? And why was she on her roof? He leaned on the railing of his balcony with his hands as he contemplated how he should get her attention. The square was completely abandoned beneath them, but he couldn't very well shout and rouse all of Hightown.

He put his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and let forth a quick, sharp whistle that pierced the silence of the night.

Hawke's attention immediately snapped in his direction, and even from the distance he was, he could see the smile break onto her face when she saw him on his balcony. He made a movement with his hand that he hoped translated to 'what the hell are you doing?' but her eyesight was not as sharp as his. She held her arms out and shook her head, obviously unable to understand his meaning.

While he was deciding whether or not to walk over to her mansion, she made the decision for him. He laughed softly as she jumped up onto the Hightown wall, then ran and leapt across the distance to the wall across the way. He watched her walk along the top of the wall with practiced ease, climbing from roof to roof and over the archways until she disappeared over his roof. He leaned back against the railing of his balcony, holding himself up on his elbows as he looked up and waited. He knew she was coming, yet he didn't even hear her creep down the tiles. Finally her fingers gripped the ledge of his roof, followed by her face appearing over the edge. She smiled down at him, her straight black hair falling down the sides and framing her face.

He found himself smiling in return.

"What are you still doing awake?" she asked him.

"I was about to ask you the same question," he said, arching an eyebrow. "One would think you'd be exhausted."

"I am," she sighed, "but my thoughts are a jumble."

"Do you sit on your roof often?"

"More often than most," she said with a smile. "But yes, I rather like being able to see the stars. It helps me think."

Fenris recalled all the times she would raise her eyes to the stars as if searching them for answers. "I see," was all he said in reply.

"What about you? Still buzzing from the thrill of the fight?"

He smiled as he looked up into her face, noting how the playfulness had returned to her eyes. "Something like that," he said. "You said you were troubled?"

"I said my thoughts were a jumble."

"What is the difference?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it before crossing her arms under her chin and resting her head on them. "There isn't one," she admitted.

He crossed his arms and shifted against the railing, not liking the distance in her expression. "I am willing to listen," he said softly.

She moved her eyes back to his face. "You are, are you?"

He shrugged. "I find it to be a slightly less annoying option than lying in my bed and not sleeping."

She laughed and tucked her hair behind one of her ears. "Hoping I will bore you to sleep, then?"

"Worth a try," he said as he stepped up onto the thin railing of his balcony, gripping the ledge of his roof and hoisting himself up. She moved further up to sit on the peak of his roof, stretching her legs out in front of her.

"I'll assume your jumbled thoughts have to do with your father," he said as he made his way to sit beside her, leaning back on his hands.

"A regular detective, you are," she teased, looking up at the sky.

"It must have been... jarring to hear his voice again after all this time."

She exhaled and nodded. "That is a good word for it. I never thought I'd hear it again." She laughed softly. "He could command a room without even raising his voice. It could strike fear into a bandit's heart or rock his children to sleep."

"You miss him."

"Every day." She swallowed and looked down at her gloved hands. "I told you once that I'm named after a mage."

"I remember," he said softly, curious as to where the line of conversation was going. Even if it had no particular course, he would do his best to follow it. "A mage from the Imperium."

"Yes," she confirmed. "My father, he... Where my siblings and I all had his dark hair, Carver and Bethany both got my mother's blue eyes. I was the only one to inherit my father's unusual ones." She let out a small, wistful laugh as she recalled the memory. "He was so sharp featured and angular that he really did look like a bird of prey. I wasn't the first to be deemed 'the Hawk'. He earned the namesake long before I did."

Fenris said nothing, but he noticed how she started to pick at the threads of her gloves. He imagined that if she had a dagger with her, she would be flipping it end to end that way she did.

"My mother always said..." she swallowed and looked back at the sky. "She always told me that my father took one look at my eyes and he just... knew that I was going to have magic. They're such an unusual color; he thought that it was a sure sign that I would be a mage like him." She looked down and laughed again, but it was a sad sound. "He said that he would not wish magic on his children, but even as young as I was, I remember the look on his face when Bethany first showed signs of magic. I remember the hours and hours every day they spent training together. She was the daughter he'd always wanted." She swallowed again and spoke even more softly. "And I couldn't even swim."

"You think that your father favored Bethany over you and Carver," he said carefully. He was in no position to tell her she was wrong, regardless that he was sure it was what she wanted to hear, but he wasn't going to lie to her.

"I know he loved all of us," she defended. "I mean... he was always proud of us, always very supportive, but he did not train Carver and I like he did Beth. I showed signs of light feet very early and he helped me hone that speed, but there was just... they had a very special bond, Bethany and my father. I know she often says being a mage is a curse and that she regrets the inconveniences it caused to our family, but..." Hawke's gaze returned to the sky and he watched the movement of her throat as she tried to swallow down whatever emotion was welling up in her. "When I was young, I would have given anything to have even a piece of my father's magic, just so he would look at me the way I would catch him watching Bethany while she was practicing."

There was a beat of silence as Fenris considered her words. "If she was practicing, is it safe to say that she never saw him looking at her this way you speak of?"

She turned to him, her brows knitting in confusion. "Yes," she said cautiously. "It was the way he looked at her when he thought no one was looking. That's what made it so... tender."

"Then how do you know he didn't look at you that way?"

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps, just like Bethany, you were not looking when he did."

She laughed and nodded, returning her gaze to her hands that were still picking at each other. "Perhaps you're right," she said, but it was obvious she didn't believe it.

Fenris lifted up off his hands and sat forward, bending his knee on the ridge of the roof so he could turn to face her. "Give me your hands," he said, holding out his hands expectantly.

She looked at him, then looked at his hands, then back at his face. "Why?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Humor me."

She hesitated, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth before pushing her hair behind her ear. She shifted so that she was matching his posture and facing him before putting her hands into his. Once he was holding her hands, he tugged on the fingers of her gloves and slid them off her hands, dropping them onto the tiles between them.

He took her hands again, and the lyrium in his skin came alight under her touch. He turned his hands over so that hers rested on his knuckles, then let her finger tips trail down the lines of his fingers, letting her watch how her touch left a pale blue glow in its wake.

"The first time your skin touched mine," he began gently, "you were digging an arrowhead out of my shoulder. You asked me if my markings lit up when just anyone touched me and I said no, but I did not explain why." He turned his hands over again, feeling how her fingers traced over his palm and watching as the glow illuminated her face. "Lyrium reacts to magic, Hawke."

He watched how she froze, her gaze snapping up to meet his as realization dawned in her eyes.

"You may not have magic in the same way that your sister does," he said, "but you are touched by your father's magic. It lives on in you whether or not you are a mage."

She looked back down at her hands and started to lightly trace the patterns of his markings with her fingertips, following them up his forearms. She inched closer to him and put both of her hands on his left arm. He turned, propping the arm up on his knee to allow her hands to wander along his skin freely.

Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as she etched his markings with the tips of her fingers, following them up his arm, her attention rapt on the blue glow she was creating. When he raised his attention back to her face, he saw her eyes start to glisten with unshed tears. In a moment of panic he wondered if he'd made a mistake in revealing it to her.

To his great relief, she laughed; one of those genuine laughs that lit up her face even as a tear escaped the corner of her eye and trailed down her cheek. She quickly reached up to wipe the tear away, but it was obvious to him that she did not have her usual vice like grip on her emotions. He made no comment about it.

They sat there in companionable silence for a long time, and he watched as she continued to chart his tattoos with her fingers. He turned his hand palm up as she followed the markings down his wrist and across his palm, all the way to his fingertips and back down. He rolled his arm this way and that as he allowed her to continue unimpeded by the position of his arm. When she reached the line of his tunic on his shoulder, she lifted her hand toward his face, and he laughed, moving his head to the side to allow her room to trace along the branches of the tattoo under his ear and down the side of his throat.

"This is amazing," she said breathlessly.

"If you say so," he said as he turned his head to meet her gaze again.

"I'm sorry." She swallowed and pulled her hands away. "I know this is probably uncomfortable for you."

"It's not, actually."

"But you said it hurts when they light up."

"Usually, yes," he said. "That does not seem to be the case where you are concerned, however. Perhaps I have grown accustomed to you, or perhaps I am simply no longer uncomfortable with your touch as I am with others."

She grinned, and he found his expression dropped slightly at the sight of the unabashed joy in her face. He had always thought Hawke was beautiful, but the word did no justice to how she looked when she was smiling. He swallowed when she looked down and continued tracing his markings with her fingertips. Her touch suddenly seemed much warmer on his skin than it had just moments before.

"Thank you for this," she said. "It... you really don't know what it means to me, to have proof that he is still very much a part of me."

"You are your father's daughter, Hawke," he said softly. "I think it is safe to say that he saw his magic in you when he learned of your inherent speed."

"You think?" She asked quickly, lighting up at the prospect. "You think it's magic that makes me so fast?"

"I find it possible," he said, smiling. "You are very, very fast, Hawke. What's more, you are the only person who has ever been able to sneak up on me."

"But I can't sneak up on you," she scoffed. "You always know when I'm near."

"Only once you are already close enough to kill me," he said with a small laugh. "I certainly never hear you coming, and I obviously never see you."

"Then how do you know? Even early on, you always knew something was amiss."

He shrugged. "At first I thought it was a feeling of unease, a feeling of..." he searched for a word. "Wrongness. Much like that foreboding feeling in your stomach when something bad is about to happen."

"I am a terrible omen, then?"

"Hardly," he said flatly. "I can merely sense when you are nearby."

"Fair enough," she said. She returned her gaze to how her fingers trailed down the lines on the back of his hand, and he stretched his fingers out as she followed them down to his fingertips.

"I had no idea you would enjoy this so much," he teased.

She giggled and shrugged her shoulders. "It makes me feel like a mage."

"I prefer you the way you are," he said without thinking. He cleared his throat. "You know how I feel about mages."

"I do," she said, nodding. "Fenris, I don't know how to thank you for this."

"Thank me?" he asked with a laugh. "I hardly did anything."

"You've done more than you will ever really comprehend, I think," she said, looking at him with that startling sincerity that only she could employ. "In the few years we've known each other, you have done more for me than I think anyone ever has. I think I will be eternally grateful to you for everything you've done."

He was taken aback by the sadness that welled up in him. How could that be true? How could the simple, ordinary things he'd done for Anara in the past few years be more than anything anyone else had done for her? How long had it been since she had to take care of herself and her family? How long did she carry the responsibility of the whole world on her shoulders? How old had she been when she no longer had someone to look out for her and instead was forced to look out for herself? The idea that Hawke had gone so long with so many relying on her and never allowing herself to truly rely on anyone else sent an odd storm of emotions through his mind.

"Hawke."

"Hmmm?"

He looked down at her hand as it continued to map out his tattoos. "May I call you by your first name?"

She looked up at him abruptly. "What?"

"Not if it would make you uncomfortable, of course," he amended.

"No, no," she said quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It's not that I just... why would you want to?"

"I rather like your first name," he said with a shrug. "You are the closest friend I have, we have been through much together, and you know more about me than anyone else in all of Thedas. It seems... strange that I should address you so formally."

She looked at him with that same studious, unreadable gaze, her eyes darting back and forth between his as she weighed his words.

"I'd like that," she said softly. "I mean, I call you by your name, I suppose it's only fair. You are a very dear to me, Fenris." She laughed and shook her head. "Sometimes you are the only peace of mind I have."

He smiled and returned to looking at her hand that was now resting on his forearm, the glow of his lyrium peeking out between her fingers.

"I am glad," he said finally, returning his gaze to meet her eyes. "That I was able to put your mind at ease, I mean. Maker knows you have done as much for me in the past."

"That's what friends are for," she said with a smile.

"So I am coming to realize." He swallowed and tilted his head to the side, admiring the unusual color of her eyes, silently thankful to Malcolm Hawke for them. An eternity of silence seemed to pass between them before he spoke again. "I am very grateful for our friendship, Anara," he said softly.

He noted the odd shiver that shot through her, and wondered if she was cold. Odd, he thought, he found the early morning unusually warm.

"Is that so?" she asked, averting her eyes and laughing softly.

"Yes," he said resolutely, studying her face. Had he embarrassed her?

"Good," she said with a nod, swallowing audibly. "I am as well. Grateful, I mean." She turned over her shoulder and he followed her gaze. The sky was starting to brighten along the edge of the mountains, signaling the eminent sunrise.

"The only time I see a sunrise is when I am with you," he said. "Perhaps that is indicative of how you have thrown my sleep schedule into upheaval."

She laughed and started to get to her feet. "I promise not to bother you tomorrow. You have more than earned some uninterrupted sleep."

"It has been a long few days for the both of us," he said, dusting off his hands as he stood beside her. "I imagine you are quite exhausted."

"So I am," she agreed. She pointed her thumb behind her. "I should get off your roof."

He laughed and put his hands behind his back. "Goodnight, Anara." He motioned his head at the sunrise. "Or I suppose good morning."

She pulled the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth as if she were considering something, or perhaps she was nervous, he didn't recognize the expression. Perhaps she was simply unsure of what to say.

Before he could ask her what was wrong, she slowly slid her hands on his shoulders and lurched up onto her toes, as if she intended to whisper something in his ear.

But that wasn't what she did.

She pressed her lips to his cheek, and he felt the lyrium on his chin and throat burst alight from the contact. His hands clenched around each other behind his back and he felt like every muscle in his body tensed. He felt the warmth of her breath as she exhaled against his skin before pulling back to look up at him, and he knew the astonishment probably read on his face, but he hadn't the presence of mind to school it.

"Goodnight, Fenris," she said with a soft smile, lingering another moment before finally stepping away and turning to make her way to the neighboring rooftop. He watched her go, his mind trying to think a thousand things at once until she dropped onto the balcony of her bedroom. She turned around as she opened the door, giving him a small wave.

He reacted automatically, returning the gesture without even thinking about it as he watched her disappear into her bedroom.

Fenris could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the lyrium of his throat was still humming, his face was hot to the point of fever — even his ears seemed to burn. She had kissed him. He could still feel her lips against his skin, could still feel the length of her body as it had brushed against his. He turned to look at the spot they had been sitting in and slowly bent down to pick up her gloves. He stared at them as if they held the answers, as if they would tell him why.

He'd been kissed before, but never as a gesture of friendship. The only kisses he'd ever received were from that of Danarius and his apprentices. His master would kiss the top of his head in some kind of unnerving fatherly gesture in front of others, and the apprentices would often kiss Fenris' cheeks, lips, sometimes forehead in an attempt to tease him or make a fool of him in front of guests. He even remembered one particularly unpleasant occurrence when Danarius' second apprentice, Vexis, had thrust her tongue into his mouth in a revolting show of his powerlessness. He only ever knew kisses as dispassionate, cruel, disgusting things.

None of those words applied to what Anara had just done.

Her kiss had left him singed. Burning. Molten. It was gentle and it was tender, it was everything he'd been led to believe they were supposed to be from Varric's atrocious serials. Perhaps it had been her attempt at thanking him, perhaps it was simply a gesture of kindness; he could not fathom any other reason for it.

He slowly lowered himself into bed, finding that more than once his fingers brushed over the spot where her lips had been. He scowled and set his jaw, forcing his hand back to his side. Damn her. Just when he thought he'd reached a point of understanding, she managed to confuse him all over again. Would it never end?

Sleep, he realized, would not be in the cards for him that morning.