a/n: Hoo boy, did I struggle with this! It was so hard to get the emotions right, especially for Daedra. She wants nothing more than to settle whatever happened between them, and right now she doesn't even really know if Fenris wants their friendship to continue. She understands that he was extremely distressed by what happened, and she is trying to be sensitive to that. But at the same time, she's very hurt and very angry at him for choosing to walk out on her like he did without giving her a chance to try and help. A lot of this chapter is her struggling to deal with her conflicting feelings about what happened while being forced to push it to the back of her mind by more pressing matters.

I hope that comes across believably as you're reading, because it was a real struggle to tackle it and at this point, I'm just tired of staring at it and ready to move on.


Time Frame: Act II, two weeks after Fenris leaves.


Forward
Part One

"What am I doing here?" Hawke whispered to herself, leaning her forehead against the door as her shoulders sank with a sigh.

It had been two weeks since the night Fenris had walked out on her. She had seen nothing of him in the meantime. Truth be told, she'd been avoiding him because she was so angry with him that she wasn't sure what she'd do if she saw him. It hadn't been difficult; he didn't exactly make an effort to seek her out, and the others had seen little of him as well. What had happened with his memories had been awful for him, she knew, and she wanted to help him, but he had fled the room without even giving her a chance to try. That was what hurt the most. If nothing else, they were friends, weren't they? Close ones. And the idea that he was determined to get through this on his own after everything they'd been through, everything they had shared and talked about, was, frankly, a little hurtful. It felt as if he didn't trust her to help him, and maybe she couldn't, but she could damn well try, and the fact that he didn't even give her a chance grated on her. Perhaps her anger was irrational. She would never be able to fully understand what he'd gone through that night, and she knew that, but it hurt that he thought the best answer was to run from her, from the friendship they had worked so hard to build.

Hawke didn't understand how a night that had started so wonderfully (at least by the time they'd gotten past the stairs) could end with so much pain.

She shook her head, forcing herself back to the matter at hand. This was not the time to dwell on it.

The evening had taken a serious turn after spending the afternoon entertaining nobility with her mother. Hawke had been practically bored to tears, which (despite her best efforts trying to push it from her mind) left little else to do but relive the night she'd spent with Fenris a thousand times over, just trying to understand what had happened. When the notice came from the Viscount, requesting an audience with her as soon as she was able, she nearly hugged the messenger, so relieved was she at the change of pace, despite the dire state of the situation. She couldn't remember the last time she'd donned her armour so fast. Grabbing her daggers, she'd kissed her mother's cheek and was out the door before the woman could ask where she was going.

She was far less excited about it now, standing outside of Fenris' mansion with her forehead pressed to the door and her eyes closed in an attempt to bolster herself. Behind her, she could hear the last-minute bustle of Hightown residents and servants struggling to make it to the market before the shops closed, could feel the heat of the sun fading and the coolness of night spread gooseflesh over her skin. She focused on that for a moment, trying to distract her mind, to no avail.

"Get it together, Daedra," she murmured, before talking a deep breath and holding it for a moment. Finally, she let it escape through her teeth and brought her hand up to knock on the door, waiting a few moments before stepping inside.

He met her at the entrance to his study, having most likely recognized her knock.

The room was even more unkempt than usual. There were books and papers all over the floor, the wooden chair they used for lessons was smashed in one corner, one of the benches was overturned and there was an impressive collection of wine bottles scattered around the room—some empty, others half-full.

"Hawke," he said apprehensively.

"Are you sober?" she asked, refusing to mince words after giving a pointed glance to the numerous bottles sprawled across the study.

It was not what she wanted to ask. She wanted to ask him each and every question he'd left her with that night the week before. Why he left. What his damned problem was and why he was so against her helping him with it. But there were more pressing matters demanding their attention, and their personal issues would have to wait.

"At the moment," he responded drily.

"Good. Because we need you," she said.

His shoulders straightened, and she could see the tension leave him with the prospect of a distraction. "What's happened?"

"I've just come from a meeting with the Viscount," she explained. "A Qunari delegate's gone missing. I—we—need your knowledge of the Qunari in case something goes wrong."

He grabbed his sword from its place against the wall, strapping it to his back. "Explain on the way. The Arishok will not be happy if something happens to that delegation."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Who else is with you?" he asked as they started down over the stairs.

"No one, right now. I sent Aveline on ahead to brief Varric at The Hanged Man; we're to meet them there." They stepped out into the evening air as she continued, "She and the Seneschal are worried that the city guard is involved after several of them failed to report in, and if that is the case, we might find some answers there."

"Understood," he replied. "We should hurry then."

Hawke desperately wanted to broach the subject of the night they had shared, but knew it would only make things worse, and now was not the time for an argument. But Maker, did the walk to the tavern have to be so unbearably awkward? She had a gift for deflecting awkwardness with humour, but of course that gift was nowhere to be found now, when she needed it most. What had happened to the companionship they had shared? The lessons, the late-night talks? She had grown so accustomed to joking with him (or, well, at him) when they walked together, and missed the way he would shake his head in exasperation while trying to hide the way his lips tilted upwards ever so slightly. The expression was unbelievably endearing.

Now, his face was drawn studiously forward, his brow furrowed, and veiled sorrow in his eyes that she still recognized from seeing it the night he left her. This new pain was not something she knew what to do with, especially since she had an (albeit unknowing) hand in putting it there. Hawke always tried to use her knack for dumb jokes to make people laugh, but in this situation, she honestly didn't know how. It was like she was walking with a stranger, rather than someone she had known for the better part of four years. Had she ruined their friendship with her desire for something more? She had originally kissed him in an attempt to stop him from pushing her away, but what ended up happening in the end was so much worse.

Don't exclude him from the blame, either, she reminded herself. He had been just as eager as she, once she broke the ice. If their friendship had been broken beyond repair then they had both played a part in it. But would he have done anything—that night or in the future—had she not made the first move? She honestly didn't know.

When they reached the Hanged Man and opened the door, Hawke let out a quiet sigh of relief at the sight of her friends inside. But judging by the look on Aveline's face, as well as the terror in the expression of the guardsman whose tunic she currently had hold of as she yanked him close, the Guard-Captain's worries had come to fruition. "Who bought you?" Aveline demanded, bringing her face close, subjecting the man to the full brunt of her fury, "Who bought the honour of a proud guard of Kirkwall and made him a useless drunken jackass?*"

A few feet away, Hawke spied Varric, who seemed amused by the Guard-Captain throwing her weight around with the intent to intimidate when he knew how much of a softie she really was. Her anger was worlds less frightening when it wasn't directed at him, it seemed.

"I don't—I don't know!" the disgraced guard stammered, but cowed when Aveline's sneer deepened and she brought her face even closer. "He—he was a templar. I swear! He had the seal of the grand cleric and everything! It's true!"

After a moment, the Guard-Captain slowly, gently—and with great difficulty, Hawke noticed—released the man from her grasp, folding her hand into a fist at her side as she let out a breath through her nose. When she spoke again, her voice was tight with control: "The penalty for abandoning your post is ten days on the wall. I expect you to report in the morning."

As the man fled the tavern, likely thanking the Maker and whatever other god would listen that he still had his job—not to mention his head—Hawke approached her friend with a frown.

"There's your answer," Aveline said, turning towards her. "A templar."

"With the grand cleric's seal, no less. Well done."

"Before you arrived, he mentioned something about 'showing the city what to do with heathen oxmen.'" Varric added.

"So, zealots then." Hawke surmised, running a hand through her hair. "Well that's just bloody lovely."

"Have the Qunari been told of the situation?" Fenris asked as he stepped up to them.

"Not yet." She replied, sighing. "They deserve to know, but I wasn't sure if I should."

"The Arishok needs to know. If those Qunari are killed, it will be better if he knows you at least attempted to find them."

"Are we so sure that's a good idea?" Varric asked. "The man's on edge. If we tell him about this, it could set him off."

"It won't," Fenris responded. "Not yet. We're the ones with the information and the leads. We're the ones with the best chance of finding them, and for all your differences, he has a grudging respect for you, Hawke."

"Lucky me," she muttered, her hands lifting in mock excitement.

"As long as he knows you're on the trail," he continued, "he won't do anything until he finds out what happened."

"And if we don't tell him they're missing, and they die?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment, likely thinking of the possibilities, and judging by his frown, none of them seemed good. Finally, he shook his head, "I don't know what will happen. But I do know what he is capable of, and I'm sure I do not need to tell you."

She shook her head, "No, you don't. I can imagine well enough on my own, thank you."

"So, what now?" Varric asked.

"I trust Fenris' judgement when it comes to the Qunari, so we head to the docks and inform the Arishok first." Hawke glanced between Varric and Aveline, valiantly avoiding making eye-contact with Fenris as she shrugged, "Then, I suppose we have no choice but to head to the Chantry."

"What?" Aveline protested, "So, you plan to take the captain of the guard to accuse the grand cleric of funding zealots?"

"Don't forget the kidnapped Qunari. That too." Hawke added, and then gestured for them to follow her out. "Dear Aveline, I thought you wanted to get to the bottom of this."

"Notably, we are relying on the word of a drunk."

Hawke turned to look over her shoulder to the elf behind her, "It's the only lead we have, Fenris. Do you have any better ideas?" Inwardly wincing at her clipped tone while addressing him, she looked back to Aveline before he had a chance to say anything and shrugged, "You're welcome to wait outside the chantry. That or, we could always split up again, I suppose. I mean, if you want to be the one to tell the Arishok his delegate's missing, be my guest."

Varric snickered at her side as Aveline forced out a heavy sigh through her nose, "Some days, Hawke."


*The actual line is, "... made him a drunken mabari bitch?" but I have issue with that line and other lines in which Fereldans refer to mabari and bitches in a negative light. Given that dogs—and mabari in particular—are held in very high esteem in Ferelden, it seems out of character for Aveline to say something like that as a Fereldan, as a soldier, and as a woman.