A / N - sorry for the long update. i'm back university now so i'll update when i can. enjoy, please review!

Hawke sat poker-straight in one of the armchairs in the library, observing the good job her companions had done of tidying her estate. Only at Fenris's angry bequest had she reluctantly ceased to help. Now, all eight of them, including Torch, took their customary seats in the library and allow celebratory ale to flow freely on behalf of of Hawke's anticipated return.

"Here's to Hawke: the sticky stuff that holds us all together and without whom I would have never have used Bianca so willingly."

Echoes of "to Hawke!" sounded through the room, accompanied by raised glasses.

The woman in question smiled broadly, her heart swelling with happiness as she looked round at them. All except for Anders.

The mage stood stoically in the corner, having plastered on a smile throughout the festivities, but sank back into a moody torpor when he thought that no one was watching. Hawke narrowed her eyes. She had since asked the group at large how the managed such a heroic feat – but, it transpired, none were the wiser and it seemed that Lucian had kept his mouth well and truly shut up until his last moments, refusing to reveal who had put him up to such a job and why. Hawke had kept her suspicions to herself, waiting for the opportune moment to speak with the mage.

"I tell you," Varric said now, breaking through Hawke's thoughts and effectively reading them, "that Lucian was a stubborn son of a bitch. Never bit back after all that baiting – made me think whoever it was paid him enough to set him up for life."

"Shame he never got that far," mused Isabela, a reminiscent gleam in her dark eyes.

A low chuckle met her words. Anders clutched convulsively at his glass, his eyes watching the swirling of the amber liquid as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever encountered.

"Still no news on that front, Aveline?"

The guardswoman shook her head. "No. I couldn't trace it back further than the caverns we were at. They were definitely slavers, but I'm sure that that's where it ends; it can't go back any further, otherwise one of my men would have caught wind of something."

"Anders," Hawke said abruptly, breaking through the conversation, "can you just take another look and make sure my ribs are healing alright? They're twinging a little still."

The mage's head snapped up. "Sure."

He set down his glass and left the room, all eyes watching him.

"Do you need assistance?" Fenris asked in a low voice beside Hawke. His question was innocent enough but his eyes were suspicious.

"I'm fine." She assured him with a smile, slid from the loose embrace he had around her shoulders and pecked him on the mouth amid wolf-whistles and she followed in Anders's wake. The mage remained silent as he climbed the stairs to her quarters, opening his mouth as Hawke closed the door – but found himself faltering at the angry glare she gave him. Striding across the room, she drew back a hand and slapped him hard across the face. He reeled in shock and rubbed the red welt that had appeared before his bewilderment turned to anger, too.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped.

Hawke's eyes flashed dangerously. "You know exactly why those slaver's found out who and where I was, don't you? It's written across your face, Anders, I know you well enough by now!"

"What in the Maker's name are you talking about, woman?"

An angry growl escaped her as she threw her hands up in the air. "Couldn't possibly be because you, a wandering pissed-up idiot, stumbled into the Rose and bleated about how some 'snowy-haired bastard' stole 'the love of your life'? How many people around here know that you are associated with an elf that fits that description? Or that you and I are – were – friends? Failing that, has it escaped your attention that Fenris's old master is still looking for him and almost definitely wants him dead?"

Anders's face fell at her words, his face practically sagging at the end of her furious diatribe. He had been an idiot; he knew it, she knew it, and because of him, her life had hung in the balance. The one time he gets drunk and lets his mouth run without a filter and the wrong person hears him at the wrong time…

"Maker, I'm an idiot," he groaned, sinking onto the edge of Hawke's bed, his face in his hands.

"You've got that right," she agreed harshly. "And even though those bastards lie dead, Danarius will catch wind of that and find out that his plan has gone to pot, and no doubt perform some kind of ritual that will lead him here. For the love of Andraste, Anders, you've really done it this time."

His shoulders heaved with a great, ragged breath, but Hawke could feel no sympathy towards him. Not yet.

"I think you should go back downstairs," she told him firmly. "You're not to repeat any of this, are we clear?"

He nodded slowly. "I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again."

Hawke snorted. "Please, save the self-pity for now, Anders. I don't think that it would bode well if I banished you from my estate and told the others. Just act like everything is normal, alright? I need to think how to handle this… and you're going to help me." She added the last part somewhat menacingly, as if reminding him that he wasn't completely off the hook.

Another nod. Slowly, he got to his feet, avoiding Hawke's cold gaze as he passed by her. He paused for a moment and made a convulsive motion with his hand, as if to comfort her, but thought better of it as he brushed by her without another word, leaving her with a heavy heart. Suddenly feeling overwhelmed and feeling that a good night's sleep would do her some good, Hawke begrudgingly left her room and trundled into the library, yawning and stretching exaggeratedly.

"Think I'll be off to bed," she announced. "Getting kidnapped has really taken it out of me," she added with a roguish smile.

Varric chuckled. "You heard the damsel in distress – time to carry on at the Hanged Man?"

"You read my mind," grinned Isabela, leaping to her feet.

They filed out, one by one, Merrill actually hugging Hawke very tightly and expressing her happiness that she was back. When they broke apart a distinct wetness clung to Hawke's cheek, though decided not to pass comment about the Dalish elf's overemotional state. Last to go was Anders, and he gave a fleeting smile and mumbled goodbye before hurriedly following suit.

"Finally alone," Fenris mused as the estate door closed behind their last guest.

"Well, except for Torch, Orana, Bodahn and Sandal," Hawke reminded him, counting on her fingers. It finally felt like home to have her servants back, all of whom had eaten and retired early at Hawke's request for them to take the evening off.

Fenris chuckled and she was strongly reminded of how much she had missed that sound. "A good point. Shall we retire too, my lady?"

"'My lady' is it, now?" she asked, amused. Nevertheless, she took his gauntleted hand in hers, leading him to her – or rather, their – room.

Hawke sighed in a satisfied way. Everything had been restored and as it was, with the exception of the hangings around her bed – something which Orana had promised to help with. Hawke's greatsword now hung in a bracket on the wall, her armour clothing a mannequin that stood in the corner. If she were to be completely honest, it looked better than before with thanks to Merrill's eagerness for interior designing.

Hawke fumbled with the buttons on her tunic until two darker skinned hands encased her own, devoid of their usual gauntlets.

"Allow me."

She permitted Fenris to undress her, even to undo her breast band, rather caught in the moment until –

"Hawke." Fenris's voice was sudden and harsh and made her wince. "What is this?"

She craned her neck to see him crouch on the floor, squinting at the burn on her buttock. Her blood ran cold.

"It's –"

"Did they do this?"

'They' meaning her captors. Swallowing, she nodded slowly. A low hiss escaped the elf's mouth.

"Danarius," he spat, an ugly look marring his handsome features.

"What?"

"It is Danarius's mark – he liked to brand his slaves like cattle, so if they ever escaped or were stolen everyone would know that they were his." He traced the healing burn before standing again. "Venhedis! I should have known!"

He began pacing the room like a caged animal, running his finger across his bottom lip and his brow furrowed in deep thought. Hawke watched him helplessly. She was foolish to assume that he would never have seen the burn, or find out who was truly behind this. Fortunately, he did not voice his suspicions, merely a supposed plan of action.

"I need to find him before he finds me – us," Fenris corrected himself. He threw another disgusted look at the unsightly blemish on his lover's skin. It was almost as if Danarius had claimed her through another's doing, reminding Fenris that he was still there, lurking unseen in the shadows like a predatory cat, waiting for the right moment to pounce. He could strike at any moment, Fenris knew, which made it all the more imperative that they act soon. But how was the question.

"We need to find a link," he said at last. "Someone, or something, that can connect us with Danarius…"

Fenris grumbled as he drifted off again, murmuring to himself rather than to Hawke. Deciding that their evening would not be taking a passionate turn any time soon, Hawke plucked her robe from behind the door and wrapped it around herself for decency, wallowing in the loose silk folds.

"What about your sister?" she asked after some time.

The elf halted in his tracks. "What about her?"

"Well…" Hawke hesitate, choosing her words carefully, for Fenris's past was still a sore point even after all this time. "Hadriana mentioned that you had a sister who was working in Minrathous as a servant, right?"

Fenris surveyed her shrewdly. "Go on."

"So," she continued with an air of explaining something very obvious to someone very obtuse, "why don't you write to your sister?"

"And what good will that do? Should she simply stroll into Danarius's manor and request an audience with him, to then tell him that an escaped slave wants him to travel to Kirkwall for me to pleasantly ask him to leave us alone?" Fenris asked sarcastically. "Nothing doing, Hawke, I'm sorry."

Hawke sighed, defeated and out of ideas. "I don't know what to tell you, then," she said with a resigned shrug. She yawned widely. "At least let us sleep on it."

Fenris seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. He would not live with a wolf at his back; but, at this present moment in time, could apparently do nothing more.

"It's late," Hawke persisted. In reality, she would not usually insist that they go to bed so early. Rather, the thought of being alone in the room where she had been knocked out cold and taken against her will caused her to shiver unpleasantly. She wanted Danarius gone also, though perhaps not as much as Fenris did. The talent the magister had of causing unrest and discord was great, and they had to stop him.

They were here. Someone had got hold of her and had their arms wrapped around her neck and chest tightly, something clamped against her mouth, muffling her screams. She couldn't move, couldn't get out… It was happening again…

"Hawke!"

Someone shook her roughly. This along with a distant shouting brought her back to her senses. The person kept on shaking her and soon she realised that it was her who had been yelling. Thrashing around, she attempted to escape the suffocating environment she found herself in.

The bed covers fell heavily to the floor and Hawke found herself sweating profusely, laying on her back, chest heaving, trying to form a rational thought inside her mind. Fenris loomed above her, concern etched into every line of his face. His eyes held that deep emotion that she had only ever seen twice and could still not grow accustomed to; it bored into her, the elf's olive green eyes flicking back and forth, watching her intently. A dull orange glow was present in the room; it couldn't have been later than the crack of dawn.

"It – it was just a dream," she muttered after some time. She brought a hand up to her brow to wipe the perspiration away. Something hard dug into her neck and it was then that she realised she was lying on Fenris's arm. Sensing her discomfort, he moved away, yet rested a reassuring hand on her bare thigh beneath the coverlets. Hawke flinched away instinctively. Her skin crawled unpleasantly as she remembered Lucian forcing himself on her.

"I'm sorry," she apologised, seeing the flicker of hurt in Fenris's face. "Everything is still so fresh. He would have raped me had you not arrived when you did."

The elf's fingers flexed as if itching to wrap them around Lucien's neck, to squeeze the life out of him, to watch the light leave his eyes, but even this would not be punishment enough for what he had put Hawke through.

"It will take time," Fenris murmured at last, settling for lacing his fingers through hers, "but we will overcome this, and Danarius will answer."

Hawked curled towards him and nodded, desperately wanting to believe him – even more so wishing that by speaking the words, they would come true. "I hope so. I'm lucky to have you here, Fenris."

His stomach swooped sickeningly as she spoke his name, as if he had missed a step going downstairs. Her voice – her everything – caused a heavy emotion to rise up in his chest that he had no memory of feeling. Wordlessly, he kissed the top of her head, allowing her to inch closer to him into his personal space.

After a while, Hawke felt the steady rise and fall of Fenris's chest; his slow breathing tousled her hair and his heart beat out a comforting rhythm. Yet, despite all this, all the home comforts that she had very much taken for granted, did nothing to calm her erratically pounding heart, nor the whirlwind of thoughts that crashed around in her mind like debris. She could not rest. Even the birds that had begun to chirp outside sounded louder than necessary. The morning light became brighter and more insistent, rudely pushing through the small gaps between the heavy velvet curtains. As carefully as possible, Hawke pulled away from Fenris's loose embrace, inching towards the opposite edge of the mattress until, convinced that her lover would not wake, slid out from between the bed sheets. She stretched, picked up her fallen gown from the floor, and exited her quarters – though not without extracting a small dagger from her bedside tabled as a precaution.

She encountered no such threats on the stairwell, however, and the next living being she came into contact with was Torch, whose stubby tail wagged so fast that it was almost a blur.

"Hey, boy," she cooed, scratching him behind the ears. Bending down to plant a small kiss on his wet nose, Hawke allowed the mabari to follow her into the kitchen. She usually prohibited him from entering this room due to his habit of knocking over mason jars and eating whatever food was on the counter. Sometimes it was a carrot, other times it was a hog roast.

He bounded across the marble tiled floor now, his claws clicking against the tiles, wagging his stubby tail as he watched Hawke intently. He seemed most pleased that he was in her company; rather, that his mistress had returned and he felt more at ease at having her in his sight. Hawke set about boiling water for a strong cup of freshly ground coffee imported from Seheron, constantly looking over her shoulder at every slight noise. Annoyed, she sighed to herself, knowing that there is nothing for her to be wary about for as long as Torch and Fenris remain in the estate. Her nervous disposition was beginning to irritate her, never mind those around her. It was rather exhausting being on alert all the time and, coupled with her nightmare from that morning, her eyes began to sting with tiredness. Now she knew how Fenris felt, more or less; until Danarius was dead and his evil forces lay with him, Hawke felt the tension in the air more than ever.

She stirred cream into her coffee, absentmindedly watching the white swirl into the black hypnotically, until the tell-tale creak of the kitchen door reached her ears. Instinctively, she swiped the dagger from the counter top, turning sharply on her heel and blindly throwing the blade in the direction of the sound. Her gaze met that of a handsome white-haired elf but she acted a second too late. Her eyes widened in horror but Fenris merely dove to the side as the dagger soared past him, a loud thunk telling him that it had found its mark in the thick wooden door panels.

"Nice throw," was all Fenris said, crossing the kitchen to her.

"Shit," she gasped, still horrified. "I – I almost hit you!"

"No, you didn't," he assured her. Admittedly, he had felt the air at the side of his head stir when the dagger passed him, but the fact that he had escaped unharmed was all that mattered. Much too late, he realised how silently he walked; along with Hawke's current disposition, it did not make for an admirable combination. "I should have announced my presence. Apologies."

"No, no, it's fine," said Hawke, clearly still flustered. She closed her eyes and rubbed at her eyelids, and stared at Fenris as if in a new light when she opened them again. "Oh, you –"

"Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow knowingly.

Hawke moved her mouth but no sound came out. He was wearing a thin white linen shirt that clung flatteringly to his muscles and toned abdomen, lyrium tattoos barely showing, the top two buttons undone so that the collar separated attractively to show off his collar bones. He had pull on a pair of grey leggings that were evidently days old and needed washing but nevertheless, Hawke could not tear her gaze away.

"Nothing," she said at last, though he knew all too well about the effect that he had had on her. "Coffee?"

"No, thank you." He stretched and, in her distraction, Hawke managed to slop coffee down her front. The elf chuckled. "A penny for your thoughts, Hawke?"

"Keep your penny," she scoffed, wiping ineffectively at the mess on her gown.

"Here, let me help."

Fenris rubbed some soap onto a rag and began scrubbing at the dressing gown. The close contact was strange but welcome. Hawke watched him as he worked at the stubborn stain that was now forming.

"I'm sorry again for nearly killing you," she mumbled.

"I doubt it would have killed me. Nearly, though." He glanced up and flashed her a half-smile that she did not return.

"My head is just a mess at the moment with what happened – I knew it was you really but the insecurity is still there –"

"Hawke," said Fenris gently, "stop. You don't have to explain. It was a mistake and we will get through this, together, one step at a time."

She sighed. "Yeah, I know, I –" She broke off as the elf scrubbed more ferociously, jostling her and the mug she still held. "Wouldn't it be better if I took it off? Or gave it to Orana, she's good with stains."

"Off," commanded the elf simply, ceasing his scrubbing. He stood upright and spared the coffee stain a disdainful look which soon turned into carnal desire as Hawke allowed the silk to fall from her shoulders. Her nightgown was also fashioned from Orlesian silk and the edges trimmed with lace. It fell beneath her knees and he couldn't recall her wearing it before, wondering if it had once been Leandra's and whether Hawke wore it for the comfort and smell of home. Nevertheless, it very much flattered her and hung off her lithe frame. Once scrawny with her bones jutting out from her skin, Hawke had filled out since being in Kirkwall; with age and practice wielding a sword she had grown muscly. Coupled with a wholesome diet meant that her backside, thighs and breasts were ample. Fenris never tired of looking at her.

She looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes and made a beckoning motion with her index finger, relishing the way of which he looked at her. "Come here."

He obeyed and she shivered with anticipation, her desire for him to touch her lovingly, to hold her in a gentle caress burning white hot through her veins. Her face burned but her hands felt cold; Fenris wince slightly when she pressed them to his chest, yearning to feel the heat of his skin through the thin linen. Their lips found each other and Fenris kissed her greedily, his tongue forcing entry and his hands fisting through her hair. Hawke's head tipped back to expose her neck to his hot mouth, sighing heavily through her nose when his lips pressed against her feverish skin.

"Fenris…" she breathed, almost a protest, but she remained unsure about what she was protesting against.

"Hmm?" He acknowledged her but carried on pecking away at her throat, the tip of his tongue flicking over a small scar. The leggings he wore were beginning to feel rather tight in the crotch area; he rutted against her, the delicious friction causing him to gasp.

A loud bang caused them to break apart, Hawke's nightdress hanging off one shoulder. She looked around desperately and found Orana entering the kitchen, though stopped in her tracks and looked rather sheepish.

"Oh! Apologies, mistress," she gabbled, flushing red. A basket of dirty laundry sat in the crooks of her arms and she dithered on the spot.

"No need," Hawke replied, breathing heavily. "Please continue with your duties. I should dress for the day," she added to Fenris, something in her voice telling him that he should, too.

He didn't follow straight away, however. Hawke had just finished donning her armour when Fenris entered the room, looking distinctly disgruntled. She knew it was more to do with Orana catching them in a rather compromising position than anything else.

"What took you so long?"

"I..." Fenris looked spectacularly uncomfortable for a moment, the tips of his ears tingeing pink. "I was asking Orana the best way to get rid of stains."

"Oh." Hawke struggled not to smile – out of fondness, than anything. "Is that all?"

"I want to be useful," he blurted out. "I have no idea how to do these trivial things. I never had to cook or clean whilst at Danarius's side, basic survival skills when on one's own." He look frustrated, carding a hand through his already trussed-up hair.

"I'll teach you, like I did to read," Hawke told him gently. "There's a lot I can learn from you, too, we can help each other."

He nodded slowly, though avoided her gaze. She crossed the room and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Shall we go over another book later on tonight?"

Another nod. With a small smile, Hawke slipped from him, and hoisted her greatsword from the bracket on the wall.

Fenris opened his mouth to ask where she was going, but judging by the way her gauntleted hand softly grasped his, she would be going alone. His stomach clenched and worry flooded him, yet remained silent.

"I have some business to take care of," she told him, "I'll be back shortly."

With another kiss she was gone. A loud bark told him that Torch would be accompanying her. Feeling slightly better, though not altogether assured, Fenris removed his sleepwear with a tired sigh, intent of getting on with the day.

Hawke made her way cautiously through the dank streets of Darktown, her fingers flexing involuntary as if preparing for an attack at any moment. It was entirely possible, of course, though she knew that compared to what she had been through, a few mediocre bandits would be nothing. Torch sniffed the ground, also on high alert, though wagged his stubby tail when he realised that they were approaching Anders's clinic. The doors were open but no one except Anders appeared to be inside. Torch barked once and launched himself at the mage. Very much surprised, Anders dropped the vial that he had been holding, a splash of pink splattering over the dirty ground following by a tinkling of broken glass.

"Wha –?"

Torch licked at Anders's face, the mage attempting to push the great hulking beast away. Hawke whistled for him and the dog ceased immediately. With a sound of annoyance, Anders looked down at the lost potion.

"Honestly, your dog causes so much havoc," he grumbled.

Like you? Hawke wanted to say, but bit her tongue. "He's a sweet dog, really."

Anders made a non-commital grunt. "Anyway, how can I help you?"

"I need you to see if you have any spies or links with any of the mages inside Minrathous," she told him matter-of-factly. Well, better no beat around the bush.

If the matter wasn't so serious, Hawke probably would've laughed at the incredulous look of shock on Anders's face. Instead, she leant against a table, eyebrow raised, waiting for his reply.

"This is to determine Danarius's next course of action, is it not?" he said a moment after he had collected himself.

Hawke nodded. "Though, of course, contacting insider would be tricky. What we need to know is whether or not he has left the city yet."

The mage sighed then shook his head. "Sorry Hawke, nothing doing. I'm not familiar with any magisters in such an area – and you know that sending in an outsider would mean instant death. That could make matters worse for you – and for Fenris." He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He didn't care for the elf one iota, but felt he needed to be back on Hawke's good side.

"Well, I thought it'd be worth a shot – I just don't know what to do now." Hawke visibly sagged dejectedly, looking down at her boots, lost in thought.

Anders approached her. "If there's anything else I can do…"

Her head snapped up and she fixed him with a hard gaze. "Yes, there is. I needed to have a talk with you."

The mage's heart dropped, dread coursing through him.

"It's about your… feelings. For me." Hawke addressed the subject awkwardly, as if it were taboo. "As a friend, I am telling you that your affections are doing nobody any favours. I ignored it at first but, if this carries on, then you doom us all – I mean, look what's happened so far."

Her words hit him like a slap in the face. He felt his cheeks grow hot and he found that he could not meet her gaze. "I understand," he mumbled.

"Anders." Hawke spoke softer this time and there was a definite apologetic tone to her voice. She rest a hand on his shoulder and he realised how much he'd missed her touch, amorous or no. "I am sorry that I hurt you. Truly I am. I was a fool and I took advantage of your good nature. If we'd have stayed together, I would only have been toxic for you, because I would've stayed with you for the wrong reasons. In time I will forgive you, just as I hope that you will forgive me."

Too soon, her hand slipped from his shoulder. He looked up just as she was leaving; her head hung low and Torch followed her tentatively. They were words that he never knew that he needed to hear after such a long time. It was time he moved on – and he knew exactly how to go about it.