Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.

- James A. Baldwin

Hawke stomped into the Keep, shoulders hunched. She ignored the mutterings aimed her way from the nobles, used to them by this point. Seneschal Bran was coming down the stairs as she passed and grimaced when he saw her. "Serrah Hawke, please don't tell me you're here to report more trouble with the Qunari."

"I wish," Hawke muttered. She passed him, leaving him staring after her in confusion, and marched into the barracks, heading into Aveline's office. She heard raised voices from inside and paused with her hand on the doorknob, not wanting to interrupt if she was dressing someone down or something.

"You've gone three years without? You must creak like a rusty hinge!"

Then again, she might need to step in front of Isabela before Aveline killed her. She pulled the door open hurriedly.

"We both place others above ourselves. I just happen to do it clothed," Aveline was saying as she came through the door.

"You're splitting hairs but wishing someone would split yours." Isabela was enjoying herself entirely too much.

"I've had enough of your loose lips! Like many, I'm sure."

"Oh, touché! Prig!"

"Slattern!"

"Ladies." Hawke said, shutting the door behind her.

Aveline spun to look at her. "You told her!"

Hawke spread her hands helplessly. "She was at the Hanged Man and she came up while I was talking to him! I didn't even know she was back from that merc job until she walked up."

"Yes, don't blame Hawke, she did her best to hide your precious little attempt at courtship. I thought she was flirting with him. And making a mess of it."

"That's what he thought too," Hawke muttered. "He told me he likes women with backbone. You know, I've been rejected before, but it's a whole new thing to get turned down by someone I'm not even interested in and wasn't trying to get."

Isabela started laughing. "When she admitted what was going on I knew there was no way I could miss out on this! Just be glad Varric didn't decide to come along!"

Aveline sighed. Hawke shuffled her feet uncomfortably. "Well, that's what you get when you say you're going to show up and you don't."

"I'm an idiot." Aveline leaned against her desk. Hawke regretted her words almost immediately, especially when she took in how upset Aveline was. She padded over and sat on the desk next to her. Aveline shook her head and made a helpless gesture. "It's fear. I know it's foolish, but I can't get away from it. I feel paralyzed. I hate it."

Aveline was sweet on Donnic Hendyr. That had surprised Hawke and she realized it shouldn't have. Donnic was a good man. A steady man. The kind of man who matched Aveline very well, in Hawke's opinion. When she'd questioned Aveline on it, the guardswoman had admonished her to stop trying to protect her. Wesley had been dead for almost four years and Hawke was glad she was ready to move on.

Being recruited in helping her move on, however…

"You know, Lady Biceps, Hawke's track record with men isn't exactly the best. At least that's what Bethany says," Isabela commented, still grinning.

"Just because your track record could stretch from one end of the city and back again doesn't make you an expert on having an actual relationship," Aveline snapped. "Far from it."

Hawke was momentarily distracted by another issue here. "Since when do you talk to my sister?"

"I write her all the time. And send her books to keep her warm in that cold, lonely cell," Isabela said.

Hawke winced, not wanting to think about that. "Sorry I asked." She bit back the sting of unease and jealousy that went through her. Bethany had only answered a couple of her letters, though she wrote to Mother all the time. She'd figured easing Mother's fears had been one of her top priorities and she had a limit to how many letters she could write. But if she was writing Isabela regularly…

She pulled away from those thoughts as Aveline pushed away from the desk, starting to pace. "I'm the Captain, he's my guardsman. I can't get past that."

"Get him drunk."

"Shut up, whore."

Hawke actually thought that idea had merit. "If you try that, though, he might not remember anything you say to him."

"So that's a plus then," Isabela said.

Hawke stomped on her foot. Isabela yelped and glared at her. "If you're going to stand there, be helpful."

Isabela rubbed her foot. "Oh, here's an idea: just talk to him."

Hawke smirked. "See, was that so hard?"

"You little…"

Aveline threw her hands in the air. "I know that, but I'm a mess unless I'm on patrol. I'm good at that. Killing highwaymen doesn't exactly provide an intimate setting, though. And…" She sighed. "And I'm tired of embarrassing myself."

"Then I'll clear the way and you can talk to Donnic!" Hawke said, inspired.

"We will," Isabela chimed in. "I wouldn't miss this for all the gold in the world."

"With Isabela that's fine but putting you in danger doesn't help, Hawke," Aveline said.

"You have a better idea? I'm not running him anymore gifts and I'm not taking goats and wheat to his mother, Aveline. That stuff isn't working. At all."

Aveline sighed again. "All right. You clear up the Wounded Coast, and I…will live to regret this, I'm sure."

"So." Isabela pulled her dagger out of a dead robber's body, glancing over at Hawke. "While we're on the subject of romance: Fenris."

"Don't even start, Isabela."

"That taut, controlled body, brooding demeanor and intense gaze…I hear he still wears the shackles from his life in bondage under his clothes. You know what they say about men like that, don't you?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"He can't find a saw." Isabela burst out laughing, the sound ringing off the rocks. "Had you there! You thought I was going to say something dirty!"

Hawke refused to dignify that with an answer, especially since she was right. She shivered against the wind. She hated the Wounded Coast. It was either sweltering or twice as cold as it was in the city.

"We're not going to have to go through all this again with you two, are we?" Isabela persisted.

"It's different, Isabela. Plus, he already knows."

"You're not going to tell me you've already peeled him out of that skintight armor. You wouldn't be this wound up if you had."

"He was a slave," Hawke snapped. Her face was red. Isabela wasn't sure if that was because she was embarrassed or because she was thinking about getting Fenris out of that spiky armor. Probably both, the little minx. "I'm not doing anything that will remind him of his former master. If that means waiting until he's ready, then I'll wait as long as he needs."

Besotted with him, Isabela noted. Utterly besotted. Not so different from their guardswoman, really. In fact, she and Aveline were too much alike in many ways. Do-gooders. There was no way to compete with such relentless goodness. Hawke finished stripping the last highwayman of anything valuable and straightened, catching Isabela's eye for a moment. Despite their differences, the two of them actually got along well enough. Hawke had a desire to help other people that Isabela found at turns annoying and exasperating, but she also had an almost completely non-judgmental attitude Isabela found refreshing. She'd never gotten a lecture from Hawke, not like Aveline or that handsome prince that had started hanging out with them. Hawke, in turn, admired Isabela's unapologetic attitude and lifestyle, her courage and brutal honesty.

Yes, she was fond enough of Hawke she dropped her teasing. Besides, Aveline and Donnic were coming around the bend. The show as about to start.

She could already see how it was going. Poor Donnic looked bewildered. Hawke came up beside her, squinting at the pair. "Uh oh."

"Even I'm finding this painful to watch," Isabela said. What was so exasperating was the fact that Donnic was clearly mad for Aveline and apparently just as bad as expressing it.

It was like watching two blind, one legged birds doing a mating dance. And Hawke was only succeeding in ruffling their feathers.

Isabela rolled her eyes heavenward. This was in farce territory by this point. Before Hawke could make an effort to smooth things over- and no doubt fail again -Isabela nailed Donnic with an exasperated look: "You're a couple of daft…Take a hint and bend her over a basin, will you?"

Well, of course that was the exact right thing to say. She knew that even as Donnic returned to the barracks, obviously flustered. But there was a flush to his cheeks and a look in his eye Isabela recognized all too well, even if Aveline didn't.

It wasn't like she didn't suffer on the way back. She had to listen to Aveline harping at her and fretting over whether Donnic was going to file a report against her for her 'inappropriateness'. Isabela wasn't entirely certain how she was planning to head him off once they got back to the Viscount's Keep, but that turned out not to matter. She crossed her arms over her chest when Donnic asked to speak to Aveline privately and smiled smugly at the closed door. She glanced over at Hawke, who was twisting her hands together nervously in front of her. Isabela could have set her mind at ease, of course, but…well, she was having too much fun.

First Donnic emerged with a slightly dazed look, like all his dreams had come true. Isabela found that doubtful, they hadn't had enough time for that. But Aveline had an equally goofy smile on her face as she stepped out and she swept Hawke up into a tight hug before anyone could even speak, nearly lifting her off her feet.

Hawke grinned. "I guess he's not going to file a report, then?"

"No…"

"He didn't bend you over the desk, though? Disappointing," Isabela sighed.

"Shut up, whore." There wasn't much fire behind the words this time around. She composed herself with some effort, schooling her expression into a more professional one, though the gleam in her eyes couldn't really be hidden.

Isabela gave it an hour before everyone in the Guard knew the whole story.

Hawke watched Aveline go with a soft expression and Isabela didn't have to guess about who she was thinking about. Good luck with that one, Hawke. She shook her head and headed for the Blooming Rose. After all that matchmaking, she figured she had earned a reward.

He'd come to the conclusion that Danarius had to keep a close eye on him, watching carefully for the days his prized slave moved more carefully than normal, the days his markings sent long shivers of pain through his bones. It was the only explanation Fenris had for how often Danarius called him to his room at night when his markings were especially painful. Those nights were hard enough when he was alone. The bone deep ache kept him from resting comfortably and at those times, his mind seemed to claw at him, flashing bits of memory too fleeting to mean anything to him scraping at the inside of his head.

Hard enough during the times he was alone, yes, but that was a blessing compared to the times Danarius wanted him in his presence. His master never kept any of the other slaves around during those times. He would strip Fenris and leash him with his own hands, forcing him to kneel. Sometimes, Danarius would stand with a glass of wine in one hand and simply watch him as the time passed and the position started to pull unbearably at his muscles. Other times, he would run his hands over his body, forcing him to stay still. Those were the worst. The magister would press a finger hard against one marking and trace it along its length, inflicting the maximum amount of pain. Worse than the pain was the gloating expression on Danarius' face and the chuckle that came from deep in his throat. He would offer praises on how magnificent Fenris was that had nothing at all to do with Fenris himself and everything to do with Danarius' pride in his own abilities. To Danarius, he didn't just own Fenris. He'd created him.

Fingers tightening around the neck of the wine bottle in his hand, Fenris closed his eyes against the phantom of those fingers running over his markings. They didn't hurt like that anymore unless he used them for too long, but sometimes he could still feel those cold, possessive fingers gliding over his body. He liked to think if Danarius tried it now, Fenris would cut his hand off, but sometimes he wondered. Maybe that was why, though it was nearly three years and he'd had no signs of Danarius, he didn't go after him. Was the need to please his master- conditioned in him probably since birth -so ingrained he would hesitate to take Danarius' life?

It was a frightening thought. He'd come too far to risk faltering.

Fenris took another drink, trying to drown those thoughts out. The wine was starting to fog his thoughts pleasantly, enough that when Hawke walked in, he was able to look at her without the confused churn of conflicting emotions she tended to bring lately.

She paused in the doorway, holding a book under her arm, her head cocked as she took in the sight of him and the scent of wine. Maker, she was beautiful. Beautiful, fascinating, exasperating woman. Putting herself constantly at risk because she had to save everyone.

That day they'd saved Lowtown had truly brought things to a head for Fenris. Watching her fight off that sickness as she worked to stop up the barrels had nearly made him sick as well. And when that bastard had shot her…Fenris glanced away and took another drink. Even thinking about it now infuriated him. He wished he could call the man back into existence so he could kill him again.

"New one about the history of Blights," Hawke set the book on his table and eyed him. "Don't get wine on it or Haze will stuff the bottle down your throat."

Fenris snorted and took a drink, then waved the bottle a bit. "Last bottle of the Agreggio. I've been saving it for a special occasion."

She caught the bottle as it started to slip from his hand and took a drink before handing it back with a grin. "What occasion?"

"The anniversary of my escape." He toasted her with the bottle and sat back. "Care to hear the story?"

"If you're sober enough to tell it." There was a quiet warmth in her tone and smile that thrilled him.

"There's not enough Agreggio in the world to stop me from speaking with a beautiful woman. There are few pleasures greater." He smirked, unable to help himself, when she blushed. Poor Hawke, she really did get flustered easily. At least around him, which he would never admit he enjoyed. "You remember Seheron?"

"You've mentioned it a couple of times."

"It's a large island north of Tevinter. The Imperium and the Qunari have been fighting over it for centuries. I was there with Danarius during a Qunari attack. I managed to get him to a ship, but there was no room for a slave. I was left behind. I barely got out of the city alive."

Hawke frowned.

"There were rebels in the jungle called Fog Warriors."

"Rebels?"

"Natives of the island. They seek to free it from both the Imperium and the Qunari. They took me in and healed my wounds. I stayed with them for a time. Until Danarius came for me." He scowled, lifting the bottle and studying the remaining wine within it. "I didn't want to go. I'd grown found of the rebels. They bowed to no master and fought for their freedom. It was beyond my experience."

"Standing up to both the Qunari and Tevinter, that's amazing in itself."

Fenris found he couldn't look at her, staring at the wine. Part of him was sorry he'd started telling the story at all but he pressed on. Backing out now would be a disservice to the Fog Warriors and he'd already dishonored their memory enough. "They were amazing. I knew them only a few months, but during that time, I felt as if I truly lived. They were bold, strong, free with their affections." He'd never felt such awe and joy as in their presence. Learning from their fog dancers, their fighting methods. He'd experienced the first genuine pleasure of his life at the touch of one of their warriors. "When Danarius came, they refused to let him take me." He took a deep drink as if it could drown out all the shame and anger at himself. "He ordered me to kill them…so I did. I killed them all."

Hawke had tucked her legs beneath her and laid her head against the back of the chair, her eyes never leaving his face. "The shackles are hard to throw off." Her voice was soft.

He glanced up and had to look away. She'd seen him struggle against his upbringing as she'd taught him. Hadn't he mentioned it to her before? How even now he could remember what it was like to care only about what his master desired. The idea he could be anything else had never occurred to him until the Fog Warriors. But it hadn't been enough. "It seemed inevitable. My master had returned and this…this fantasy life was over." He closed his eyes. "But once it was done…I looked down at their bodies…" He lost his train of thought for a moment, overwhelmed by the memory of that twisting mixture of grief and guilt and rage. "I felt…I couldn't…" He shook his head. "I ran. And never looked back."

"Weren't there other Fog Warriors?"

"Perhaps, but I felt…unworthy. I had no idea if I could truly escape from Danarius then. I didn't even know what that meant. I simply had to get away. I stowed aboard a ship to the mainland and headed south. Chased by my former master every step of the way."

"You're lucky you managed to get away from him in the first place."

"The rebels had wounded him. The soldiers he brought along tried to capture me. Unsuccessfully. It was weeks before he could mount a proper search, and by then I was already gone."

"I'm surprised you let him live."

"I wasn't running from him, Hawke. Not at first."

She nodded slowly. "From yourself…"

She did understand. He leaned back in his chair, finally looking directly at her. Oddly, he felt as if a weight had been lifted off him. "I've never spoken about what happened to anyone. I've never wanted to. Perhaps, this is what it means to have a friend."

Hawke smiled at him. Not her usual one, that fast humor that flashed across her eyes and face like lighting. It was slow, lighting up everything about her, taking such obvious pleasure from his words. It speared straight through him in a way he'd never felt before. It was more than desire; he felt ready to do anything if she'd smile for him like that again.

He wanted her. He could mince words all he wanted, but in the end, it was that simple. The force of it mixed with the lingering memories of Danarius' touch made him push to his feet and sway.

"Fenris?" Alarmed, Hawke jumped to her feet and moved to him. He jerked away instinctively when she touched him and she stepped back, looking distressed and hurt. Fenris dropped back into the chair and reached out to grab her hand, making her pause and look down at him. Whatever she saw in his eyes at that moment made her breath catch and her eyes darken. They stared at each other, the tension between them wound so tight it seemed to make the room vibrate. He wanted to pull her against him and push her further away at the same time.

Hawke swallowed. "Fenris…" Her voice was hoarse. He knew she wanted him in return. It was in the way he caught her gazing at him on occasion. The way she tensed when he brushed against her by chance. But she hadn't made an aggressive move; certainly nothing like Isabela's flirting, giving him space, perhaps able to sense he needed it.

"Danarius…Hawke, the ritual…it took my memories away even as it laid this lyrium into my skin. The pain was…extraordinary…"

"Fenris..." She laid a hand gently over the one that clasped hers.

"He used to wait for days they were clearly hurting me and run his fingers over them. The memory lingers, especially on days like this."

"Fenris, you don't have to explain…"

He raised a hand and touched a finger to her lips. He met her gaze. "You…are unlike any woman I have ever met. With you…with you, I think it might be different. If you'll give me time."

Some of the tension went from her body and she smiled softly again. "Take as much time as you need." She raised a hand and laid it over his free one where it lingered on her face, the tips of his fingers brushing her cheek. "If I could take that pain from you, I would, Fenris."

"I know." And he did. He released her, letting his hand drop. When she stepped back this time, he let her. He tried to rise again and had to grip the edge of the table.

"You're drunk as hell, Fenris." Hawke was clearly trying to hold back laughter.

"Quit laughing at me, Hawke," he grumbled with no real heat.

"Let's get you to bed before you fall over."

He eyed her and she gave him an exasperated look. "I'm not going to ravish you, don't worry."

Fenris let out a breath at the mental images that conjured, which were not unpleasant. At all. Since he was fairly certain it would take him several hours to cross the room unaided, he didn't protest when she slid an arm around his waist, supporting him. The heat of her body where she was pressed against him made him shiver, the scent of her sweeping through him. Ink and leather and the warm, herbal scent of whatever soap she used in her hair. Everything about her would be warm, he thought. Warm and soft. He found himself almost desperately curious to know what she tasted like; surely if he pressed his mouth to hers he'd find a sweetness in those full lips like nothing he'd ever tasted before. Everything about her was different from what he knew. If he'd been sober, he might have found out, but his head was so heavy...the wine, that scent...

"You throw up on me and I'll skin your hide," she informed him. He had to laugh. She shook her head and guided him to the edge of the bed, letting him go as he settled down. "I'll bring some special tea for you in the morning. You're going to need it."

"In wine, there is truth. That's a saying in Tevinter."

"That's a saying in one way or another everywhere, Fenris. Sleep it off." She pushed a lock of his hair away from his face and then leaned down and brushed her lips across his forehead, the gentlest of caresses.

Even as sleep started to claim him, Fenris thought that was the most wondrous sensation he'd ever felt in his life.