The Journal of Marian Hawke

by lotusflwr

Varric persuaded Hawke to keep a journal, not suspecting how pivotal it, or she, would become. Her writings tell part of the tale, but what happened in between? And between her and Fenris? Get the full tale and fill in every funny, dramatic, romantic gap.

35. Interlude: Deeper and Deeper, Part 1

A/N: A real doozy of a chapter that took a while, because I tried to cover three days in one go. Then I got stuck on day three, so I've backed it off to two days. My apologies for the long wait, but I come offering a little hotness so, maybe you will forgive me? :)

Plenty of words already here, so I won't add too many more except my unending thanks for the reviews and support on twitter / tumblr / deviantart / etc.! It really keeps me going, and I appreciate you taking the time. :)

Bioware owns all, though now I do understand why the skipped most of the Deep Roads (sigh…)

P.S. The ever-lovely NineShadows has done some fanart for Chapter 29 - please go see it, it's amazing! http:/ / bit .ly / nMVdsD (remove the spaces)

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Fenris placidly allowed himself to be guided as Hawke backed him up against one of the expedition carts. Looking down, he took in the sight of her dextrous, bare hands gripping his biceps, her fingers lightly digging into the leather straps of his armor and his tanned skin pulled taut over warrior's muscles. His eyes flicked back to her face, a wry smile crooking up the corner of his mouth when he saw the lusty way she was eying his arms. He reached for her, purposely flexing a little more than was necessary to encircle her waist with his hands.

"Ooh, Fenris," she murmured, squeezing his upper arms appreciatively. "You're going to be the death of me."

"It would be only fair, woman," he replied huskily, crooked smile deepening.

Laughing a low, sultry laugh meant only for his ears, she let her hands trail down his unmarked skin to his vambraces. Without the lyrium markings to mar his flesh, the only shudder Fenris felt at her touch was one of sheer pleasure. A normal man now… feeling her touch without hesitation, pain, or fear of the memories…

Hawke slowly lifted her eager hands and trailed them down the metal of his vambraces, leaning fully into Fenris as she unlatched them both. He could feel the warmth of her legs through his leggings and the soft rise and fall of her breathing against his stomach, which soon began to burn with a white-hot heat. She removed his vambraces from his forearms in a deft, deliberate motion, letting her arms trail up his own to wrap around his neck in an embrace. Fenris could hear the vambraces click shut behind his back just before Hawke dropped them into the cart.

She smiled slyly up at him. "That's two pieces down. Now to get rid of the rest of this armor."

"We're standing in the middle of the expedition camp," he warned, though his voice sounded far too husky to be taken seriously.

Hawke put a finger against his lips to silence him, eyes twinkling as she shook her head slowly. "I'm a partner. Surely I am entitled to some… perks?" As her finger began to trail down his chin and neck, Fenris could feel the fingers of her other hand, the one still embracing him, begin to tickle along his spine. Her gentle fingertips stroked up and down the narrow strip of his exposed back, playing along the tailored gap in his tunic which had been designed to vent off the heat of the northern, equatorial climate.

I certainly have prodigious heat to be vented off at the moment… he thought, though he rather ironically shivered, goosebumps breaking out all along his flesh.

"Don't you miss your markings?" she asked, tracing the prickling, unblemished skin of his throat, which no longer bore the branches of lyrium and ink that had tormented him from his first memory of being.

"No," Fenris replied without hesitation, pulling her closer and sliding his arms fully around Hawke to envelop her in a tight, possessive embrace. "They have done nothing but keep me apart — from my past, from any family I may have had, from peace…" She looked up into his eyes, brow furrowing, expression torn. "From you," he added quietly, hands slipping lower and lower down her back until he felt her skirt beneath his fingers. He dug his fingers in and pulled, inward and upward, strong muscles drawing her in, intimately close.

Hawke put a hand against his face, with no hesitation on her part or careful restraint on his. "Fenris…"

He reveled in the way she said his name, for her tone wasn't one of pity, concern, or even tenderness. It was passionate, raw and heated. Yes, this is right…

She drew his face closer, softly caressing his cheek with her thumb. "Kiss me. Please, or by the Maker, I might never forgive you." The serious look of need on her face gave her rather overly dramatic words an urgent earnestness that went straight to his loins.

Still, Fenris resisted, chiding, "In the middle of all these hirelings? In the dark, dangerous Deep Roads?" Chuckling a little deviously, Fenris shook his head, glad when she did not release his face, even then. "So reckless…"

Hawke made a decent attempt to scowl. "You intend to string me along then? You think I am willing to wait for you?" She snorted softly. "You have a very high opinion of yourself."

Fenris merely arched one black, sardonic eyebrow. "Do the words 'I could not have done it without you,' sound even remotely familiar, woman?" he asked, tone cocky as he repeated the words she had spoken before they had retired for the night. He eased her closer as he spoke, torturing both himself and her with the restrained closeness, though he found he could not help himself.

"I'm starting to regret practicing talking with you." Hawke stamped her foot, which caused her rub against him even more, face screwing up prettily into a mask of frustration and want. "I almost preferred you quiet, if you're going to insist on outwitting me with my own words like this. Now hush and kiss me."

"Don't you think you deserve better than… this?" Fenris asked seriously, removing one hand from her waist to sweep it around the dark, musty cavern and eerily silent, empty expedition camp.

Hawke shrugged noncommittally, not looking around and not taking her eyes off of him as she began to frown in consternation.

Fenris sighed, catching her up in his arms again and resting his forehead against hers. He felt his eyes go half-lidded as he rubbed the tip of his narrow, pointy, elven nose against her human one. "I think you deserve better," he said softly, trying to mollify her.

Her face lost most of its sullenness, though she still pouted a bit as she nuzzled him back. Then she slowly lifted her chin and tilted her head so their noses no longer bumped, trying to kiss him regardless.

She is trying to slip past my guard, pouting on purpose, showing off her lips to better advantage, Fenris thought wryly, steeling himself and shaking his head slightly. Since their foreheads still touched, it made Hawke shake hers too, keeping her lips at bay. I can wait, he thought with an amused smile. I have far more fortitude than this. More than she does, at least, and she has admitted as much herself.

Not needing to let his voice drop to a deep, quiet rumble, he promised meaningfully, "Perhaps once we get back to the surface, we can practice… other things that will preclude any talking. Witty or otherwise. You did say you wished to spar…"

It seemed to do the trick, for one of Hawke's fetching eyebrows rose slowly.

"Ohh, Fenris…"

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3 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Morning

Hawke groaned as she awakened, feeling a sharp ache in her shoulder the moment she first shifted. She tried to turn over, but couldn't free her hands from Fenris's strong grasp. "Oww… Fenris."

"Hmm?" he grunted curtly. Much to his dismay, Fenris awakened immediately, his pleasant dream scattering even as he realized it had all indeed been a dream.

No… I can still feel my markings. He held back a ragged sigh, lingering agony beginning to burn all over his body as he thought of, then felt the lyrium etched into his flesh. His disappointment seemed to serve as tinder for the haunting memories, so he tried to put the dream out of his mind. I should know better than to hope by now… Still, despite the hot, searing feeling beginning to prickle his palms, he did not release Hawke's hands, which he still held in his own.

"I need to turn over or something, Fenris. My shoulder hurts like the…"

"By all the sodding paragons and ancestors, am I the first one up? Get moving! We've got to make up for lost time! You blighters had plenty of time to stand around resting your thumbs up your asses yesterday! Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

Hawke pressed her face into her bolster, growling a growl that quickly grew in volume and ferocity. The animalistic sound coming from her made Fenris forget his markings almost immediately, jarring him out of his dark memories and solidifying his attention in the present.

Then she began swearing colorfully and mutedly into her bolster, and he actually had to suppress a chuckle, though he understood her frustrations only too well. He was just as disappointed that it was time to rise, still fairly tired from the strenuous day before and wishing to return to his pleasant dream. A desire to… sleep in? She is beginning to rub off on me…

"Never mind," Hawke finally said with profound resignation, squeezing Fenris's hands. "Doesn't matter now. Perhaps I will just lay here. Stupid shoulder only hurts when I move…"

Fenris released her after a moment anyway, bowing to practicality. Still, he lay there himself, watching with a mixture of concern and nervous apprehension when Hawke finally sat up and worked her stiff shoulder in circles. Perhaps I should offer…

No, he decided hastily, markings tingling again as he thought of his uncontrollable lyrium flares. I must be cautious. It would not do to undo all my efforts of yesterday. Fenris finally sat up, stretching his own limbs out and looking away from her, feeling a bit guilty for not having any noticeable discomfort when Hawke clearly seemed unused to sleeping on the hard ground. She belongs in a soft bed with a blazing fire, not sleeping on cold, hard stone. But, I suppose that is why we are here.

She began swearing softly again and muttering about elfroot tea, and Fenris thought seriously once more about offering to massage her shoulder. Far better her under my hands than Danarius… But he held onto the memory of the poor end to their last close encounter yesterday morning when he had held her by the waist and his lyrium talent had spiraled uncontrollably. The deeper concern that his emotions would run away from him and ruin all his careful plans soon outweighed his immediate concern for Hawke's shoulder. Better this pain than cause her more by having to withdraw yet again.

Fenris began rolling up his bedroll, silently puzzling at the idea that anyone would be dismayed by him withdrawing, staying silent, or leaving. Not counting Danarius and Hadriana, who are not worth counting, everyone else seems quite content to see the back of me. Yet another way Hawke is unique… and unfathomable.

Hawke cautiously eyed Fenris from her bedroll, noting the look of quiet concentration and concern on his face. In the dim light of their tent, she could just make out the crease of his brow and the little wrinkles around the bridge of his nose that he always got when he was deeply considering something.

All right, Marian, she told herself firmly. No mistakes today. Let's get through this one without causing Fenris any further distress. He is obviously still a little unsure about things this morning. Hands to yourself, girl, focus on your work… It'll be a long enough day as it is.

"Did you sleep well?" Hawke asked brightly, folding up her cloak. "Nothing but pleasant dreams, I hope?"

Fenris hesitated before shoving his bedroll through the tent flaps. "Yes… thank you."

Thanking her… hmph. She would probably be a lot less tired if she didn't spend all night running through my dreams. Then he rolled his eyes at himself, remembering hearing a similar line when he stopped for meals in Antiva. Sometimes it was even addressed to him — by both men and women. She is attractive, but I had better not wind up as simpering and brazen in my pursuit of her as those Antivans… or Jethann. He shook his head to clear away the thought, mouth setting in a grim line at the ridiculous idea.

"And you?" he asked instead, though it came out rather growly with the tenor of his thoughts.

"I slept well enough, if not enough," she sighed, rolling up her own bedroll. She turned and fixed him with a small, fond smile. "Thank you for last night. It was nice to talk about my father."

Fenris scratched behind his ear to hide the flush that rose to his cheeks, though it was fairly dark in the tent. 'Thank you for last night.' I had not thought to hear those words from her so soon… Again he found himself shaking his head at his own odd thoughts.

He cleared his throat before replying. "Ahem. It was… my pleasure, Hawke." He hoped it sounded more magnanimous than sheepish. It seems I need more practice talking. She catches me off-guard far too often. Or perhaps I just need more sleep. Being awoken in the middle of a distracting dream to Hawke herself already awake is… not something to which I am accustomed. Fenris tried not to think what it would be like to be accustomed to such a thing, either.

Hawke took a long drink from the waterskin, then handed it to him, thinking his throat must be as dry as hers. His voice sounds rather… hoarse this morning. Yes, it must be the air. She shivered. I hope we move back to a warmer part of the Deep Roads by tonight. This dry air and cold stone does not help matters one bit.

"I wonder what today will bring," she sighed, hoping it wouldn't be as fraught with impediments and darkspawn as the previous one. She quickly gave up on speculating, however, slightly afraid she would jinx the expedition into ruin, given her history. Her thoughts turned instead to the evening ahead. "So, do you intend to trounce Varric at Wicked Grace tonight?" Hawke asked, while Fenris was still busy draining the last of her water. "I'll have good coin riding on you."

Riding on me… Fenris tried not to be further driven to distraction by her choice of phrase. Thankfully, he had already finished swallowing his last mouthful of water.

"Of course," he confidently said instead, stoppering the waterskin and placing it out front of the tent, too. It will be good to have something else to occupy my thoughts today. And my hands tonight. Fenris thought back on his short-lived resolve to cautiously hold back when he was alone with Hawke. I should have known better… And my dreams seem to disregard my plans as well. How long do we have left on this expedition?

Hawke eyed Fenris, taking in his usual early-morning rumpled appearance with both amused adoration and resigned dismay. If I stay in here another moment, I'm likely to do something reckless. I had better find something to do with my hands before they get me into trouble.

She quickly smoothed her own hair out, then headed for the tent flaps. "I'll just go get our water. Best not to dally, Bartrand sounds like he means business today." With a sigh, she pushed her way out into the chilly cavern.

Fenris nodded silently, waiting a few moments for Hawke to gather up her empty waterskin and make her way across camp before he dragged their packs into the tent. He quickly changed into his tunic before she could return and also decided it best to leave his gloves and vambraces in his pack until after breakfast.

Once Hawke returned, they quietly went about the rest of their morning, she resolutely keeping her hands to herself, while Fenris, in turn, turned his mind to his upcoming game of Wicked Grace with Varric. With the chill in the air, they got ready quite quickly, and Bartrand striding around spurring everyone into leaving as soon as possible meant there was no time or temptation to flirt over breakfast either.

After eating, they all returned to the camp and packed away the tents before Hawke and Varric sought out Bodahn and Sandal so the enchantment savant could enchant Bianca with the rune he had fashioned for Hawke the day before. Word of Sandal's mysterious exploits had already spread through the expedition, for everyone had seen the frozen ogre on their way past, taking the detour that Hawke's group had found, and a few hirelings lingered at the breakfast tables hoping to see something spectacular happen. Fenris left them to it, quietly remaining near the carts to finish putting on his armor and stow his pack.

Though everyone expected something more interesting and mystical, in truth it took Sandal only a few minutes of surprisingly deft craftsmanship to fit the crossbow with the lyrium rune. Hawke stood by, comfortingly holding one of Varric's hands while he pressed the other over his eyes, muttering concerns and threats about any rough handling of his dear crossbow as Sandal carefully drilled out a rune socket in the stock. After sanding it down, Sandal even carefully lined it with a thin strip matching decorative brass, which Varric approved of when he risked a peek at the progress being made. Then Hawke had to hold him back from snatching Bianca away entirely as Sandal produced a mallet and began to pound the rune securely into place.

Still, after receiving his now-enchanted crossbow back and running a few test bolts through it, Varric seemed pleased with Bianca's fetching, new, socketed ice rune.

"Enchantment!" Sandal said, clapping when a crossbow bolt whizzed out of Bianca trailing frost behind it and stuck fast into the side of a half-empty water barrel, causing a crust of ice to form around it.

"That's… that's actually kinda cool," Varric said appreciatively, turning his weapon upside down and casting another critical eye over Sandal's handiwork. He ran his thumb over the brass-rimmed rune socket, looking at the perfectly aligned lyrium rune that was now embedded flush in Bianca's red cedar stock.

"My boy does some of the finest work you're ever likely to find!" Bodahn said proudly, helping Sandal pack up his trunk of enchantment gear. "He knows his way around all sorts of weapons and armor. The Queen of Ferelden herself has a pair of enchanted daggers bearing my boy's handiwork!"

"Heh, is that so? Well, I might be interested in getting a few mo…" Varric cut off as Hawke elbowed him, shaking her head then inclining it vigorously at Sandal, who was very focused on placing all of his tools away just so.

"Remember what happened yesterday?" she reminded him, tone hushed. Hawke still felt a little guilty for inadvertently spurring Sandal into running off to make her a rune just so he could enchant something for her.

"True," Varric said, using the cuff of his duster to polish a few of Sandal's fingerprints off the brass embellishments of his weapon. "And Bianca will need some time to heal and get used to her new…"

"Varric! Stop standing around fondling your weapon and get over here! And the rest of you, get packing! We've got to get moving!"

After exchanging resigned glances, Varric headed off to be shouted at and Hawke returned to Fenris, whom she was delighted to find still near the wagons, doing a little bit of practicing with his greatsword to warm up in the chilly cavern.

With Bartrand on a tear and even Varric eager to get going now in the hopes of battle-testing his runed weapon, the entire expedition got packed up in record speed, and they all set off on another day of adventure, hoping to make up for lost time.

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3 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Evening

Though Bartrand set a very brisk pace, their day in the Deep Roads was decidedly and blessedly less eventful than the previous one. Apart from the usual stops to shift blockages, the only trouble the expedition ran across was a handful of darkspawn, which Anders suspected were stragglers from the main group they had killed while taking the detour the day before.

His Grey Warden senses thwarted their ambush, so the ensuing battle was a comparatively short one. Still, by the time Hawke, Fenris, Varric, and Anders had dispatched the horrific creatures, the hirelings had developed a markedly deeper sense of appreciation for their group's usefulness. Except for the corpses strewn along the tunnel the expedition had taken yesterday, most of the expedition crew had never seen actual darkspawn before. Only Bodahn, Sandal, Bartrand, and the always-grim Carta scouts seemed unfazed by the attack.

Some unhappy muttering and coin changed hands at the way Hawke seemed to shadow a mysteriously glowing Fenris throughout the battle, but otherwise everyone was just glad to be alive and intact.

Varric had a particularly difficult evening once it was time for dinner, for a stream of hirelings kept coming by their table with extra mugs of ale in hand, eager to hear stories of Hawke and her friends' exploits.

"Maker," the dwarf huffed, turning a few more hopefuls away. "I shouldn't have to choose between telling stories or winning at cards." He dolefully nursed the second of the three ales he had allowed himself, waiting for Hawke and Fenris to finish their dinner. Anders lingered as well, eating the last pear from Hawke's sack of fruit.

"Usually I just drink the ales as they show up and do both," Varric continued. "But I'm actually intrigued to see how good you are at Wicked Grace, elf. I'm always up for easy coin."

"I thought dwarves were supposed to have an increased tolerance for drink?" Fenris goaded, tone deceptively neutral. "Why not have as much ale as you wish? Unless you think yourself less hardy than the average dwarf…"

Varric narrowed his eyes at the jibe and Hawke chuckled to herself. How clever; he's trying to get a head start on rattling Varric. Fenris is entirely too good at those jabs. But I guess that prickliness seems rather fitting, what with that spiky armor of his. She ran her eyes over his armor, which he had put back on after washing up, terribly amused to see him plotting his victory before she'd even retrieved the Wicked Grace deck from her pocket.

"Hmph. You'd probably like that, elf, wouldn't you," their short companion replied smoothly. "But I'll have plenty of time for drinking tonight. It won't take long for me to trounce you and take all your coin." He paused meaningfully. "Hawke's coin, that is."

Smirking rather gleefully at Varric's needling of Fenris, Anders watched the verbal sparring match from his side of the bench while he finished his fruit.

Fenris paused in the act of mopping up the last of his stew with his extra helping of flatbread. Just as he scowled over at Varric and moved to reach for his coinpurse, however, Hawke discreetly nudged his foot under the table. Once again, the quick thrill of exhilaration at her contact surprised him, and he paused. When Fenris looked at her, she shook her head slightly, lips pursed in amusement but an otherwise serene look on her face.

Hmm. Well, perhaps she feels she has something riding on this too, having taught me how to play, Fenris thought, relenting on footing his own wager. Instead, he focused on finishing his meal and going over the card tactics he'd thought up while he guarded the expedition that day. Keep the dwarf on the defensive. Watch him closely. Intimidate and stay focused. Mention his crossbow and stature often.

The desire to win burned in him already, though he was a little concerned about what tactics Varric would employ. I have no desire to boldly go for the dwarf's hands… Fenris fidgeted uncomfortably. Let us hope he feels the same and the swiping of cards is kept to a minimum. That is… only enjoyable when Hawke does it.

As he pushed his bowl away and wiped at his face, Fenris also cleared away his distracting thoughts of Hawke. He limbered up his hands and turned his calculating gaze on Varric while she quickly cleared the table for their game. Once everything was set aside, she and Anders both stood, and Fenris and Varric slid to the center of their benches to face off against one another. The apostate went off to get himself a mug of ale, leaving Hawke to set up the match.

"All right, gentlemen. Let's get you started." She produced her Wicked Grace deck and a single gold sovereign, setting both in front of Varric for his inspection. The dwarf produced his own sovereign, then cursorily rifled through the deck of cards, nodding in satisfaction after a minute.

I… had not considered inspecting the deck before playing, Fenris realized, keeping his face blank. I wonder if Hawke ever took advantage of that? Even as he thought it, he caught her eying him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Suddenly, several of her miraculous, late-night winning hands when they'd played at his mansion made a lot more sense. Fasta vass… I knew I should have rooted around in my bed. And her sleeves. Hmm, well, I will not make that mistake with her again.

"Looks good to me, Hawke. And I trust you not to have marked the deck for the elf, here." Then Varric looked up at her, pulling a wounded expression. "Though I am deeply offended that you wouldn't let me use my own deck…"

Hawke waggled a finger knowingly. "Now, now, Varric, we must give Fenris a fighting chance at beating you fair and square. Well, as fair and square as Wicked Grace gets, at any rate."

Anders came back with a frothy mug of ale, sitting at another table across from their usual one and pulling out his own deck of cards. Fenris, deducing that he and Hawke would also be playing, was not sure if he approved or not of Hawke's plans for her evening. At least she won't be hovering around me, distracting me. Still, if she and that apostate start playing Wicked Grace and he starts grabbing at her hands…

Varric produced his pencil and his small notebook, tearing a blank page out and making two columns. He scribbled something at the top of each one. "What do you say, elf? Best out of… thirty-three hands, winner takes all?"

"What is it with you and threes, lately?" Fenris asked, frowning at the strange number. "You are a very odd dwarf." Hawke chuckled, and Varric gave him an appraising look.

"Threes and 'odd dwarf,' eh? Is that some kind of pun?" He hooked a thumb at Hawke. "You've been hanging around her too much." She smiled deeply at that and Fenris just raised an eyebrow, though he had thought the same thing himself.

Chuckling, Varric began tugging at the sleeves of his duster as he settled himself on the bench. "Three's my lucky number, elf. And besides, an odd number of hands means there's no chance of a tie."

"Hmm. Very well, have it your way, then. Though I doubt there is any danger of a tie." Fenris languidly relaxed his elbows on the table, intentionally looming over the shorter dwarf. He adjusted the straps of his armor, glad that he had put his chestplate and pauldrons back on after deciding it would be in his favor to look intimidating.

"Good luck, gentlemen," Hawke said with a laugh, leaving them to it. "May the cleverest man win." She gave Fenris an encouraging wink. Fenris looked aside, slightly embarrassed, which she decided to take as a compliment as she retreated to the next table over to seat herself across from Anders.

As she plopped herself onto the bench across from the apostate, Hawke asked, "So, what shall we play, Anders?"

"Diamondback?" he suggested hopefully, nodding at his coinpouch sitting on the table and already shuffling his Diamondback deck.

Hawke bit back a groan. "Um… not tonight, Anders… I have enough coin outlaid for one night on Fenris."

He began to pout, but she decided firmly she would not relent. I am not that fond of Diamondback, and playing against Anders is almost… painful. He makes the wildest bets, then gets cross when you wind up beating him. Even worse is when he lucks into a winning hand and thinks he took your coin skillfully. No, I will not put myself through that tonight. I don't need to get upset with him over a game.

Hawke feigned a yawn, though she did not have to fake the wince when she stretched her sore shoulder. "It's been a hard few days and I'm exhausted. Let's play something fun and simple. How about… Old Mage?"

"Old Mage?" Anders whined. "What are we, eight, Marian?"

"Just humor me, Anders. Please?" she asked sweetly. He began muttering rather childishly, of all the ironies, but he did relent. Rifling through the deck, he evened out the cards so they would all pair, except for a lone Magician.

"Besides, Bethany and I used to play all the time," Hawke added, hoping to obliquely broach the topic of her sister with him. "It's one of her favorite games, you know." It's been a few days… maybe he's starting to miss her?

"Is it?" he responded flatly. "Seems an odd game for her to enjoy. Although I suppose one where the mage has no mate is rather… instructive. In the Circle, the Templars use any close relationships against us. Getting attached is almost unthinkable." He scowled, flinging the cards rather wildly as he dealt. "The injustices never end for our kind."

For the love of the Maker… must it always come back to this? Hawke thought as she scrambled to gather up her scattered cards. Maybe Fenris is right. Maybe I shouldn't be pushing Anders and Bethany together. He's so single-minded, and Bethany deserves someone who is devoted to her, not some cause, however idealistic and noble.

She frowned at her cards, rubbing at her forehead and regretting turning down Isabela's offer to borrow her smutty romance novel. I figured playing cards with Anders would be a good way to pass the time tonight, but I would have been far happier reading about Andraste trying to sleep her way out of Hessarian's bad graces. Despite whatever naughty urges it might have encouraged in me towards Fenris, it would be far easier to resist tackling him amorously than it's proving to tackle Anders and beat that spirit of Justice out of his stubborn, thick head…

They began playing in silence, and Hawke listened in on Varric and Fenris's game hoping to distract herself from her grumpy thoughts about Anders. But the two of them played in relative silence for a few hands, feeling each other out before starting to get down to business.

"That scratch on your crossbow…" Fenris said evenly, reaching for the draw pile. "Do you think it will split open now that we've entered a rather humid part of the Deep Roads?"

Hawke suppressed both a snicker and an urge to tug at her shirt collar. Going straight after Bianca — well, Fenris seems to have put some thought into this. Still, when I wished for a warmer cavern to camp in tonight, I didn't desire the opposite extreme… Anders fanned out his cards for her to pick one, rather obviously nudging one card higher than the rest. Hawke barely kept from rolling her eyes, snatching a card from the very edge of his hand instead.

He swore softly when she made and discarded a pair. "Balls…"

"Don't you worry your pretty, pointy-eared head about Bianca, elf," Varric replied with a smile. He picked up the card Fenris had just discarded and made a show of placing it in his hand, which made Fenris scowl. "She'll be just fine. I'm more worried about you cracking… under the pressure of my card-playing skills."

Well, it seems like they've settled in to a friendly rivalry rather quickly, Hawke thought with fond amusement. Hopefully it won't get too personal. After all, Fenris is hardly likely to flirt outrageously with Varric like he and I were doing at his mansion. She smiled privately just thinking about their thoroughly enjoyable evening playing cards together on his comfortable bed. When I get him back to Kirkwall, I'll…

"Ah-ah!" Hawke warned suddenly, observing out of the corner of her eye Anders's clumsy fingers trying to tip back the cards in her hand. "I see you trying to peek, Anders. Don't even think about it."

"Balls…" he muttered again, taking a card at random. He scowled, unable to make any matches with it. "Story of my life… I can never win, no matter what I do."

Hawke rolled her eyes before turning back to pick another card from his hand. "Maybe if you didn't always try to take shortcuts, things would go better? Learn to crawl before you walk, and learn a light touch before you try to cheat a rogue, hmm?"

Anders pouted. "Hey, you could go easy on me, you know. With my Warden senses, the Deep Roads are very tiring and distracting. And I am only down here for you."

Well, that didn't take long. Fenris gritted his teeth, eyes flicking over to the other table, narrowing at the apostate. Why does Hawke put up with him? The minute he has her to himself, he takes advantage. He looked back at the cards, trying to refocus on his hand. Hawke can handle herself. And the sooner I finish up this game, the sooner we can go to bed. Then Anders can whinge on to someone else, out of my hearing.

He chanced deftly swiping two cards from the draw pile instead of just one, pleased when Varric seemed not to notice. Ah, now this card should help speed this hand along. Just as Fenris placed two useless cards down onto the discard pile, careful to place the least helpful one on top and burying the other while neatening the pile, the dwarf piped up.

"So, I guess you were telling the truth the other day. About staying up late playing cards with Hawke."

Moving to pick his cards back up, pointedly not thinking about what everyone had assumed he and Hawke had been doing, Fenris continued keeping an eye on Varric. "…And?"

The dwarf kept his own eyes on his cards, not even looking as he reached to draw. "Nothing. Just seems a… quaint way to spend an evening. What with the two of you all alone in that big house of yours." He shrugged, smoothly discarding the angel of death and laying down an impressively strong hand. "Just think there'd be all kinds of things to do in a fancy mansion like that besides play cards all night."

Fenris clenched his jaw, rankled at losing another hand — and at the reminder of his cowardice when it came to Hawke. He tossed down his own strong hand, sure that if he'd been able to draw one or two more cards, he would have beaten Varric. The dwarf gave him an apologetic look and added another strike to the column that marked his own wins.

Venhedis, Fenris thought testily. I take back any good opinion I had formed of this nosy dwarf. Still, I will win this. Despite his inane chatter. Peals of Hawke's laughter sounded from the table over, and he held in a sigh. Or… other distractions.

The pairs continued playing their games, Hawke rather handily trouncing Anders at Old Mage while Fenris and Varric traded the lead back and forth in their contest of Wicked Grace. Though Fenris knew his implacable, unreadable face made it difficult for Varric to read his true intentions, Varric's own smooth smile and unconcerned expression made it difficult for Fenris to read him in turn.

They needled and taunted each other with remarks about many things, though the topics often came back to Bianca, Hawke, Varric's dwarven heritage, and Fenris's elven one. Both almost seemed to get more caught up in badgering one another than actually winning at cards, though neither ignored the close score as the number of hands remaining began to wane.

"When elves and humans have babies, they come out human, right?" Varric asked, pretending to consider the top card on the draw pile against whatever was in his hand.

'Andraste knows, I would even welcome grandchildren. Half-elven would be just as precious to me…' Fenris cleared his throat and reached for his cup of water, hastily putting Leandra's words out of his mind. I… had almost forgotten that reason for being cautious. Is this just more goading, or did the dwarf actually overhear Hawke's conversation with her mother? Bad enough that he is so nosy — if he has the keen hearing to support his hobby, well… it would be no small wonder nothing is secret in this expedition, or indeed most of Kirkwall.

"Yes, they are," he finally answered, tone dry. He took a slow drink of water, pointedly not looking away from Varric's small, shifty hands, nor glancing at Hawke. Varric finally decided to pick up Fenris's discarded card, Fenris making a mental note of it.

He spoke just as the dwarf was deciding what to get rid of. "What about humans and dwarves? What sort of child would that be? Something slightly less short, but covered in a lot of hair, I suspect?"

"Ehh, dwarves… and humans…" Varric trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. "Most don't really go in for that sort of thing. Especially in Orzammar. The nobles are far too busy with all their concubines."

"Oh? I see. I did not know that." Though Fenris barely raised an eyebrow, he was glad that the dwarf looked a little rattled by the question. Varric finally discarded a card, expression a little distracted. Fenris took his time, it now his turn to put on a show of deeply considering whether he wanted the card or not, though he assuredly did — he just did not want Varric to know that.

When he finally made his move, with feigned hesitation, Fenris mused aloud, "You know, it occurs to me that I haven't seen any dwarven women in Kirkwall. Not a one…"

Before taking a hearty swig of his third ale, Varric sighed, closing his eyes as he muttered, "Tell me about it…"

Fenris took advantage of his distraction, swapping out one of the cards in his hand for one he'd tucked discreetly into the leather strap along his forearm. He covered the motion by pretending to scratch just as he had done throughout the evening to make the movement seem utterly ordinary. Yes, I will be the victor yet. I need win only a few more hands and the dwarf will never be able to recover.

"Marian, you should have said sooner that your shoulder was bothering you. I am a healer, you know."

Fenris's cockiness and concentration fled before a wave of jealousy as Anders got up and walked around to stand behind Hawke. He glared over at the two of them, anger flaring up hot when the mage placed his hands on her shoulders near the base of her neck. Need he touch her there and like that? Fenris thought, eyebrows drawing tightly together.

"You seemed so exhausted, Anders, I didn't want to trouble you. Really, it's fi…" Hawke arched her back as a warm, green glow suffused Anders's hands and her neck and shoulders. "Oh, Maker! That does feel better. Mmm, thank you…" She slumped languidly with a contented smile on her face.

Fenris's competing resentments fanned each other, driving him to even more distraction. I should have seen to her myself this morning. Ingratiating, fawning sycophant of a mage. And magic… hmph. How can Hawke even stomach that abomination's healing? Though she would not have needed him, not if I hadn't been a coward this morning. His scowl deepened as Anders's hands lingered, rubbing Hawke's shoulders for slightly longer than Fenris deemed necessary for a healer.

"It is never any trouble to tend to you, Marian. You are a good friend, and it is the least that I can do."

Fenris forced himself to look away. Friend? Perhaps I should tell Hawke about his true designs, so she will have more care around him and be on her guard. For her sister's sake, if not mine. It still rankled that she did not take his opinion of the abomination seriously.

Distractedly taking his turn at Wicked Grace, Fenris mulled over telling her. No, he finally decided. If she has not considered him in that light yet, then I certainly will not be the one to make her take a second look at that scruffy mage.

Though he did win the current hand, Fenris proceeded to lose the next several. His thoughts consumed more with jealousy than tactics, he searched for a way to regain his footing — or at least bring Varric down to his level.

"Your brother is taller than you by several inches, is he not?" he observed, focusing grimly on Varric.

Varric just huffed, tapping his short fingers against the tabletop impatiently. "Pick up a damn card then put one down, will ya, broody?"

A few more well-timed, cleverly-worded observations about Bartrand and some lucky hands later, the two of them were tied at sixteen and sixteen, with one game to go.

It will not do to waste Hawke's coin, Fenris thought, stalling for time as he shuffled thoroughly, trying to keep tabs on the angel of death card as he sorted out his own jumbled thoughts. I do not even understand where this jealousy comes from — I have no claim on Hawke. This thing between us… He steeled himself, wearily dealing the final hand of the night. I have been trying to drive it and her away more often than not. But now… now I find myself getting used to it, even though I do not understand it.

Varric went first, since it had been Fenris's deal. He sighed heavily in disappointment that Fenris suspected was genuine for a change. It heartened him enough to draw his focus in more sharply on the game.

"So, elf, any jealous former girlfriends that Hawke will need to keep an eye out for when we get back to Kirkwall?" The dwarf drew and discarded, meeting Fenris's gaze for the first time since they'd starting playing.

Fenris blinked at him a few times, focus dissolving away once again. "Um. What?"

"You've been all over Thedas, right?" Varric asked, shrugging. "I figure with your brooding, there's bound to be a few crazy exes out there who will show up, looking to fight Hawke to win you back." Fenris's eyes began to narrow, but the dwarf continued undeterred. "I know she can handle herself, but… well, it's best to be prepared. This is Hawke we're talking about, after all. Things… just sort of happen around her."

Fenris leaned forward, voice a low, threatening murmur. "I have taken all I am going to take of this line of questioning, dwarf. Now play or forfeit, before things just start happening around you."

Not looking the least bit phased, Varric diplomatically replied, "It is your turn, you know."

Fenris scowled for a few more moments, then stared down at his cards. This dwarf and his incessant need to name things. I don't even know what it is like to have a friend, let alone what this thing between Hawke and me signifies. He drew a card, staring at it blankly for a moment before even recognizing it. He added it to his hand, sullenly discarding.

"The only one who pursues me is Danarius," Fenris muttered angrily. "The rest is none of your concern."

Varric's eyes flicked over to Hawke, who was fully engrossed in trying to get Anders to talk about the queen of Ferelden again. Looking back at Fenris, the dwarf carefully picked up the discarded card and added it to his hand.

"Look, elf," Varric said, tone friendly and easy-going. "I'm not trying to step on those bare toes of yours. Hawke… she's my business partner, and a friend. A good one, too. Of both." Fenris looked away, frowning. "I just try to keep an ear out for her. I've only known her, what, about a month longer than you? But she's unique. Rare — the sort of person that grows on you fast." Then Varric shrugged and grinned. "Though I guess I hardly need tell you that."

The dwarf discarded a card of his own, chuckling warmly, but Fenris didn't smile. He merely drew a card and discarded quickly, still not looking up, hair obscuring his expression. Anders and Varric both call her friend, but they have known her longer than I. He is not wrong in his assessment of Hawke, but what he assumes about her and me… No.

"Just… whatever is going on," Varric said, sorting his hand, tone both quiet and nonchalant, "know that I've got Hawke's back. And if she's got yours, well… Then I guess that means I do, too."

Fenris quietly grunted, unable to find any words for a moment. "Hmph." That was almost straightforward, for Varric. I suppose this is what Hawke meant when she spoke last night of his true character. It is rather… unexpected.

Silently taking his turn, Fenris looked up at Varric as he set down a card. "It… seems I must apologize," he said with slow sincerity. "I had thought you merely goading me." He rubbed the back of his neck then shrugged, trying to release some of the tension he felt. "Despite how it might seem, I have not forgotten that you fought alongside me that night, against the hunters. I do appreciate your help."

Varric waved a hand, wrinkling his face dismissively. "First, I was goading you, elf. And second, it's Hawke you should be thanking. Not me." He drew, smiling broadly at whatever he card he'd lucked into, then placed a useless card down. "I just follow where she leads… though, maybe I gently hint at where to go, from time to time."

Fenris drew his own card, briefly pressing his lips into a flat line before trying to smooth his face back to neutrality. Not only did all the personal conversation about Hawke make him uncomfortable, but he could also feel victory slipping from his grasp. Perhaps if I tell the dwarf what he wants to hear, he will have something to distract him for a change and I can concentrate… I will put all my cards on the table, so to speak.

"Hawke already knows she has my gratitude," Fenris explained quietly, glad for once of Hawke and Anders's loud bantering. "I owe her a debt, one that I do not yet know how to repay — though I do intend to repay it. That is why I follow her. She has my aid as long as she wishes it." Though it seems the longer I follow her, the more indebted I become. And even this expedition hardly seems to make a dent in it… He looked over his cards, not really having a choice but to discard a suit that would undoubtedly help Varric. Chased up a tree by a tiger… just my luck.

As Fenris had suspected, the dwarf snapped up the card almost as soon as he set it down. "You might want to tell her that sometime, then, elf. She seems awfully certain you're going to just up and leave town one of these days." Varric slapped down a card, adding hastily. "Not that it's any of my business, of course."

Fenris didn't even bother considering the worthless serpent card Varric had thrown away, though he wound up drawing yet another serpent from the draw pile. "And how would you know?" he asked with suspicion, disgustedly chucking the weak card away.

"I'm not about to give away a lady's secrets, but… let's just say you really should read her journal sometime." Varric lay a finger beside his nose, the same furtive gesture Hawke had used when sneaking Fenris the last of the bread the morning after they camped on the Wounded Coast.

Fenris just looked away again, dismay over his illiteracy outweighing his curiosity about what Hawke may have written about him. Even this dwarf knows more about this than I do. But her journal holds no answers for me. Besides, it is back at my mansion. There seems no possibility of figuring any of this out.

"And that's the game, I'm afraid," Varric announced, laying down the angel of death and his made hand. "Well, whaddya got? Something better than four of a kind songs?"

Fenris reluctantly lay down his full house, angels full of daggers. It wasn't a bad hand, but it was not strong enough to beat Varric's. "No…" he said simply. "I have nothing."

"Ah well," Varric said sympathetically. "It was a close one." He toasted Fenris, declaring, "You play a fine game, serah. No doubt next time, it'll be even closer. Don't worry, I'll give you a chance to win Hawke's sovereign back." He drained off the last of the ale he had been nursing before gathering up the two gold coins and hopping off his bench.

"You're a good teacher, Hawke," he called to her over his shoulder, heading to top up his ale mug. "I barely beat the elf, here, by one hand!"

Hawke put her cards down, glancing between the dwarf and over to where Fenris sat slowly gathering up her deck at the other table. "Awww, was your match truly won by one hand? It was that close?" Varric just waved the two sovereigns over his head in response and she shook her head. "Maker, I wish I had known! I would have loved to watch the final hand play out."

Then, giving an apologetic glance to Anders, Hawke scooted off the bench and went to sit next to Fenris. The mage frowned at her quitting mid-game, then went to get himself some ale, leaving Hawke and Fenris relatively alone together.

"Tough opponent, isn't he," she said softly, smiling to herself when Fenris slid a hidden card out of the leather strap on his forearm. Well, isn't that clever… I'll have to watch out for him if we ever play in our armor.

"I could have beaten him. I should have won," Fenris grumbled, checking to make sure all the cards were present before he bundled them up. "I just kept getting… distracted." By Anders, by Hawke, these thoughts of Hawke, the dwarf's constant comments about her. He frowned, wrapping Hawke's long, red, satin ribbon around the deck, hastily tying a bow before sliding it over to her. I should have been able to ignore it, to block it out.

Hawke tucked the deck into her pocket, still smiling at him. "It's all right, Fenris. It's amazing that you were able to come so close to beating him on your first try. I doubt I could have done it, and I've played Wicked Grace for years. Varric usually goes easy on me so I won't forswear ever playing him again."

Fenris just made a disgusted noise, waving one hand and clenching the other into a fist on the tabletop. "An almost victory is not a victory, Hawke. I am better than this." Then he looked down, leaning away from her and reaching to untie his coinpouch. "I lost your sovereign, but I will repay it. It would not do to waste so much of your hard-earned…" He cut off as Hawke placed her hand over his, forestalling him.

"First, it was my own idea to front your wager," she explained fondly, smiling and squeezing his fingers as she gently tugged his hand away from his belt. "Second, I only put up a sovereign so Varric would take the game seriously, so you could get the experience of truly playing. And last…" Hawke settled his hand back against the table, glancing over to where Varric and Anders chatted away near the ale barrel.

Seeing that they were preoccupied, she turned back to Fenris, reaching up to tuck his hair aside. Though he still did not meet her eyes, her smile deepened when he seemed to lean into her touch. "And last, you can't repay me for something I've freely given, Fenris."

She says it is freely given, yet… why does it feel like I owe her? he wondered, eyes closing at the feel of her fingertips brushing against his temple. Though her touch made him want to relax, his thoughts caused his face to crease deeply in thought.

For that matter, it feels as if I am more in debt to her each day I spend in her company. Though I follow her and help her, most days I feel as though it is I who owes her. I have never protected anyone this willingly — but then, no one has ever done half so much for me as Hawke. Even though I owe her a debt, she insists on paying me, giving me things, teaching me…

He sighed as Hawke's fingers pulled away. I do not understand why… I do not understand any of this. Nor does it seem as if I am ever likely to. With no memories except fighting and running and being a slave, how am I ever supposed to understand this, or her? How can I repay her when I do not know what I owe? Fenris propped his elbows on the table and resumed his usual hunched posture, leaning his forehead against his entwined hands.

Seeing the unhappy look on his face, Hawke had to fight very hard to keep from acting on an urge to rub his back soothingly. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, no," Fenris droned, staring at the wooden tabletop. "There's nothing to talk about."

"You came very close to winning. It might have just come down to luck, you know. I'll bet you get him next time; you're a fast study." She smiled, but Fenris did not look up from staring sullenly down. "You do think you can beat him, right?"

"Perhaps." If I could get Varric to leave his mouth closed, I could almost undoubtedly win. Or if I could get Anders to leave Hawke alone. Or Hawke to be less distracting. But what are the chances of any of those things occurring?

"Would some wine help?" she asked encouragingly, ducking her head to look up into his eyes. "Shall I bring over a bottle? We haven't had any in days."

Fenris just shook his head, looking away, and Hawke frowned a little at his pointed avoidance. Well, he does like winning, she thought. Maybe he just wants to brood a little over his narrow defeat.

She sighed quietly, deciding that yet again leaving him on his own might be the best option. "Well, I think I am going to have a cup of tea, then go to bed. I am dog-tired, and I'm not just saying that because I'm Fereldan." She chuckled at her own joke, hoping to get at least a small, crooked smile out of Fenris — but she still saw nothing but broodiness on his face. He usually laughs at my dog jokes… Oh well. I did try. Can't win them all, Marian.

Hawke stood, waiting for a moment until it was obvious he wasn't going to follow. "What about you? Will you be along soon?" Fenris gave a small shrug. She offered sweetly, "Shall I roll out your bedroll for you?" Perhaps he'll take the hint and come be sullen in the tent, at least. I hate to leave him here looking so lonely and dejected.

Fenris slumped further at her kind gesture. I should not let her do even more for me when I cannot even understand or appreciate what she has done so far, he thought, already losing himself in frustration. Such attentiveness on her part, and such… confusion on mine. To say nothing of my cowardice. Or this… jealousy. I am not used to experiencing these things, any of them.

"Thank you, Hawke, but I will take care of it," he answered distractedly. "I'm not yet tired. I think I will sit here awhile and… think. Goodnight."

The distractions, the questions, the difficulties with my markings… It is much to take in, and so fast. I had hoped today would be calmer with my better mastery of my markings, some battle to further calm my mind, and cautiously keeping myself from getting carried away with Hawke… but I feel nearly as much turmoil as yesterday.

The smile Hawke had forced onto her face faded at Fenris's reply. As she watched, he turned his face away from her, his already impenetrable expression becoming utterly obscured in shadow.

"Oh. Well…" I guess I am on my own. "Goodnight then, Fenris," she replied, backing away. "Happy… thinking."

Hawke walked quietly to their tent, glancing back a few times to consider Fenris's bowed head and stooped posture. Definitely brooding, she thought, feeling a little dejected herself. Yet I had no idea he took his Wicked Grace this seriously — he enjoyed it back at his mansion, rebounding rather fiercely from his defeats. I would not have pressured him to play Varric so soon if I had known it might rattle him so.

Still, men and their competitiveness… I suppose I should have guessed. Father and Carver were much the same, though not half as good at looking so thoroughly abject after a loss as Fenris.

She sighed before she quickly went about brewing her tea, still watching the tables near the mess tent. With Fenris remaining to think and Anders and Varric off by the ale barrel making up for lost drinking time, their part of camp in the humid cavern was eerily silent. Hawke wasn't entirely sure she was grateful for the alone time, despite not having to hide her tea brewing activities.

While she waited for the water to boil, she grabbed a bedroll and spread it out inside the tent, sighing again when she knelt to smooth it down. Andraste's lucky nose ring, I would have had to have grabbed Fenris's bedroll tonight… She patted down the thick, padded fabric, taking in his warm, unique scent. Well, I'm not swapping them. I'd have to roll it back up just so he can unroll it himself… and this way, I miss his presence a little less. And I truly am tired — I should conserve my energy for tomorrow.

Anders and Varric finally made their way back to camp just as she was draining her tumbler of tea. They both kept well away from the small fire, setting aside coats and pauldrons and complaining about the heat and the Deep Roads in general. Hawke bid them goodnight before she got sucked into their resumed conversation about using magic to cheat at cards.

"I'm not saying that it can't be done, Varric," said Anders, turning back to the dwarf after wishing her sweet dreams. "I just think that it would hardly be a compelling argument in support of the cause of free mages if we all started using the Maker's gifts to cheat at games. For coin."

Varric rolled his eyes. "You know, Blondie, generally when people give you gifts, they want you to enjoy them. I'm just saying, maybe… try it sometime." He sipped at his ale, then paused. "Although, not on me. Not that it would help you much. Your tells could still be read from a mile off."

"Oh really? Well, I will have you know I have since perfected my card playing face." Anders's tried to pull a blank expression, but he grimaced a little with the effort of trying. "Go ahead, tell what am I thinking now, then."

"Hmm. Probably something about hating Templars and how unjust the world is," Varric answered without hesitation. Anders's grimace darkened. "And now possibly lighting dwarves on fire," the dwarf added with a shrug.

Hawke shook her head and went to bed, leaving them to their friendly bickering. Tossing and turning and generally trying to get comfortable in the somewhat stuffy, too-quiet, too-empty tent, she finally decided to sleep on her other side, facing the tent wall. It won't do to make my shoulder sore again after Anders's just healed it. And Fenris isn't even here. She took a deep, calming breath, trying not to brood over him. Besides, it's hot in here, and I can feel a slight breeze on my face this way. Sod… I mean, blasted, hot cavern. I think I preferred it cold.

Taking a few more deep breaths and stretching out, she tried to put her worries over Fenris out of her mind. It was difficult, however, with the fresh scent of him on the bedroll every time she nestled down. Fenris will be fine, Marian. He's just nursing his wounds, trying to come up with some clever, new strategy to beat Varric. And he will probably want some space when he finally comes to bed down for the night anyway. Hawke undid the top two buttons of her shirt, tugging at the fabric a few times to cool off a little before settling back down to sleep. No doubt he is still concerned about his lyrium markings. All day he has been every bit as cautious as I tried to be, and this way, there is no pressure on him. If he needs a little space, he can take it. The best thing I can do is let him come to me when he's ready.

Still, despite her self-reassurances, she fell asleep hoping that when Fenris finally came to bed, he would want at least a little bit of contact. I miss his hands. And caressing his face. Or the feeling of his heartbeat against my fingers, my hand bunching up the silk over his chest. Mmm… maybe he'll be ready to try that again tonight. I'm sure I'll hear him come in, and maybe… Well, we'll see. She drifted off with a sigh, thinking, After just a few days, it already isn't the same, sleeping without him nearby…

Fenris remained at the table for some time, deep in thought and keeping an ear out for when Varric and Anders finally retired for the night. They both call Hawke a friend, but they have known her longer than I, and neither owes her anything. She is Varric's business partner, and he gets as much out of accompanying her as she gets from his aid. And the apostate…

His mouth flattened as he thought of Anders. Well, it is obvious why he wishes to call her a 'friend.' Despite Hawke apparently being unable to help him with the tranquil he still mourns, whom I was told he himself killed out of supposed kindness, she protects Anders just as she protects her sister. And a mage will always take advantage — especially that mage. Fenris rubbed at his forehead, still unable to think of a way to convince Hawke of the truth of Anders's intentions. I understand that her sister is her family, but the abomination? He already takes every opportunity to twist Hawke to his point of view.

Even as he thought it, Fenris realized he himself was not wholly innocent of doing the same thing, just arguing the opposite side. And yet I have lived it. I have seen first hand where this path of Anders's leads. Even the best of intentions can still lead to ruin, and I am certain that that mage's intentions are far from anything good. Free mages will make themselves magisters — it always happens. It has happened before in the Imperium, and it would happen here, too.

The thought of magisters made Fenris think immediately of Danarius. Hmph, and though Varric's concern about me bringing danger to Hawke may have sounded ridiculous at first, it is a troubling thought. Undoubtedly Danarius must have realized that I had help, or he would not have fled so quickly. Still, he probably would not assume Hawke to be anything other than perhaps a hireling. Which she was, at the time. He pointedly did not try to come up with a label for what she was to him now, knowing that to be the root of his confusion.

When Danarius seeks to return, however, he may indeed discover that things have changed. If she truly means to help me when that time comes… I will have to ensure that nothing happens to her as a result of her choice to aid me. I could not bear the thought of her being hurt or worse on my account. He stared angrily at the markings along his arms, then looked at his hands. I did not want these, but Danarius will not kill me or Hawke to get them back. I will not allow it.

As he made his hands into fists, Fenris thought suddenly of the way he had kissed Hawke's hand the night before and the way she had kissed his in return. No doubt Danarius would be furious that his pet showed affection for any other but himself. He enjoyed showing me off and having me intimidate others, but… he did not want anyone but himself touching me. Though even his favorite pupil enjoyed flaunting that prohibition from the start.

His thoughts turned to Hadriana then, simmering anger beginning to boil hotter. And that bitch would undoubtedly hate Hawke for daring to have any success where she herself failed. Fenris thought of the way his former master's star apprentice would waylay him, corner him, or sneak into his room, then force her attentions on him whenever she got the chance. As if I didn't have precious little enough peace during those years of enslavement to Danarius. She sought to take every last moment alone from me and turn it into further torment. If I ever get my hands on her, she will get to know my touch very intimately indeed, and I will make it as unpleasant for her as she did for me…

Even as the memories of Hadriana's foul, intimate caresses began to revolt him and drive away his sweet thoughts of revenge, Fenris finally heard Varric and Anders fall silent. Bah. Enough of these thoughts. I should get some sleep. I clearly will not figure anything out tonight, and tomorrow brings another day's march down deeper into this… wretched place. He stood from the bench, taking a moment to stretch his leaden legs and regain feeling in his backside. He rubbed at his lower back, scowling a moment at the hard, wooden bench before quietly heading for the tent.

Hawke should surely be asleep by now, he thought as he undid the leather straps at his forearms and elbows. He slipped his chestplate and pauldrons off as he walked, a precaution against awakening her should she not yet be deep in slumber. She does sleep very deeply, but that is no reason to risk waking her. There is no use in both of us being disturbed tonight. Fenris carefully set his armor aside with the rest of the neat pile beside their tent before gathering up the remaining bedroll.

As he slid softly through the tent flaps, he took in the sight of Hawke asleep and sprawled facedown away from him on her own bedroll. Almost half of her lay pressed to the cool stone floor, though her face nuzzled against the bedroll fabric as she stirred. Her soft, comfortable clothes were a bit twisted and riding up her arms, legs, and torso, baring rather more skin than he'd ever previously seen of her. Judging that the tent was somewhat stuffy, he could only assume that, in her sleep, Hawke was trying to cool off.

Fenris quickly unrolled his own bedroll alongside hers and tucked open one of the rear tent flaps, letting in a little relatively fresher, cooler air. Well, he thought a little distractedly, sitting cross-legged on his bedroll as he considered both her state of dress and his own, perhaps I will forgo my silk shirt tonight. It is indeed rather warm in here. She is unlikely to wake up or move from that position, knowing her. Once she falls asleep, she barely shifts at all. With his light sleep and constant awareness, along with Hawke's own cautious care of him, Fenris was confident that nothing untoward would happen if he made himself a little more comfortable for one night.

Bad enough having to wear my leggings to bed. The only way it could be worse is if I had to wear boots… Still, he unbuttoned his tunic while keeping a wary eye on Hawke's sleeping form, and he placed the folded garment within easy reach so he could pull it on if anything happened in the night. Already cooler and more comfortable shirtless, he settled back onto his bedroll, finally noticing that it smelled strongly of Hawke.

The usually comforting scent of her immediately brought his jumbled questions back to mind. Fasta vass, I have never so looked forward to returning to a place as I do that mansion. My quiet room, my bed, my bathing tub… He sighed quietly. Missing his borrowed mansion was almost as confusing as his mysterious relationship with Hawke, and Fenris had to forcibly block all his churning thoughts as he tried to go to sleep.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the weak illumination and sulfury air that the open rear tent flap allowed in. One day closer to Hawke's goal, and one more day of getting used to this… whatever it is between us, he reminded himself. Well, at least there was no trouble with my markings. Between the fight yesterday and the ambush today, they feel quite under control for now. That is one less haunting thought for the night, at least. He felt the barest hint of a smile quirk up the corners of his mouth. Haunting. Hmph. Lyrium ghost.

Folding his hands over his bare stomach and taking a deep breath, Fenris calmed a little with the feel of the rise and fall of his own breathing. Hawke sighed in her sleep shortly after he did, a short, soft snore that trailed off and made him both want to chuckle and roll his eyes. Hmm, well, at least I did not awaken her, it seems. All became relatively silent again, the usual thrum of the stone floor and vague, soft roar of the air currents becoming the most prominent sensations to him. As he tried to sleep, Fenris could not help but think back on the conversation he'd had with Hawke the night before, about her father.

'I suppose he just finally found someone he wanted to be with.' That is what she said when I asked her why her father would persist with courting Leandra. Though he had thought about Hawke's words since last night, Fenris still did not fully understand. Could that really be enough? I believe her when she says that her parents were happy together, yet… it hardly seems their beginning can be that simple. It sounded as though Malcolm barely knew Leandra, and their lives before they met were utterly different. Hawke said they did have some things in common, but… He did not even try to puzzle that out, feeling too inexperienced and also too tired to wonder what commonalities an orphaned apostate mercenary might have with a Free Marcher nobleman's daughter.

Indeed, Hawke's father intended to leave Leandra behind and flee, Fenris thought instead, able to understand that part of the story, at least. Yet he changed his plans and risked his freedom to take her with him. It is difficult enough for one to flee from such pursuit — I know that firsthand. But for two to run and hide, one an inexperienced noblewoman, at that? Why risk himself and her that way? He thought about it briefly, then recalled Hawke's own explanation for Malcolm's change of heart.

'He would never have to be alone again…' Those words gave him pause, just as they had the night before when she had first spoken them.

Fenris thought of his own long, lonely years of flight, of moving from place to place with no familiar faces and very few unguarded ones. No family, no friends, no knowledge of what those things even mean, no end to the pursuit, no one to trust but myself… He opened his eyes and looked over at Hawke, who seemed to be sleeping more comfortably as the tent became less hot. Then he looked back up at the tent ceiling, staring blankly at the canvas.

The cozy tent and Hawke's own presence reminded Fenris of her other words about why Malcolm Hawke, a savvy, skilled, but hunted man, would risk so much for a woman he had not long known — one who had devoted herself to him despite everything. '…Able to carry his home with him, no matter how far or how often they had to flee.'

Though he could sense the similarities, he dared not consider the possibilities, just as he still dared not think of Hawke's cleverly worded declaration yesterday, still too unsure and hesitant from his previous experiences to even acknowledge those hopes.

Hmm, well… he mused instead, it is no wonder why Hawke asked me if being alone is hard when we were leaving Kirkwall. Her father would indeed have kept his family close, once he had one. To belong, to be taken care of, never alone… Fenris envied her that closeness, though he knew she and her family had also been forced to run often. It would be difficult to flee with so many, but her father must have thought it worth it. And it made him teach his children well, for Hawke and Bethany are both capable and strong.

Then he thought of their brother, Carver, who had not survived their flight from Lothering. Fenris clearly remembered the grief on both of the sisters' faces when they spoke of their brother. Still, I suppose having a family to care about also means you become vulnerable. Then, should something happen, you must carry the grief of losing someone, too. Hawke's father has been gone for four years, yet Hawke looked… pained last night when speaking of him, even still.

The envy Fenris felt for her family abated somewhat as he shied away from the idea of more suffering, even as he longed yet again to remember who he was and where he had once belonged. I suppose I feel the pain of loss even without the benefit of knowing who or what I did lose, he thought, the empty feeling inside him straining his heart just as it always did. He rubbed absentmindedly at his bare chest, the chain of his wolf pendant sliding against his fingers.

I told Hawke the truth on the road here; the loneliness can be ignored, sometimes, but truly, it never does get any easier… He looked back at Hawke again, taking in the sight of her utterly comfortable and vulnerable, as trusting of him in her sleep as she seemed when awake.

And yet, she spoke truthfully, too, Fenris admitted to himself. I am not so alone as I once was. And I am not fleeing. Not anymore — I intend to make my stand against Danarius, once he comes for me again. Down here in this forgotten, underground place, I am not even hunted or pursued. If any of Danarius's bounty hunters even still follow me, they would have attacked during the past three weeks. And if they picked up my trail now, they would await me on the surface. He knew better than to hope Hawke was right about Danarius taking a year to regroup, but he also knew that if Kirkwall hadn't been cleared of the hunters, they would have shown themselves before he entered the Deep Roads.

The Deep Roads is dangerous enough in other ways, but, he thought cautiously, it… seems there is no danger of capture. For now. Immediately and out of habit, Fenris ran through a thorough reassessment of the situation to ensure he had missed nothing. None of the hirelings have given me pause, so there should be no treachery from that quarter. Hawke's companions, too, seem above suspicion on that count. Without the maps and the scouts, any hunters stand little chance of successfully following and navigating our treacherous path through the Deep Roads to find me. Indeed, any sane person, even someone as proud as Danarius, would assume it more likely I would die down here and never let me get this far.

No, if they followed, they would have done anything to prevent me entering these tunnels. Satisfied, he came back to his original conclusion.

No pursuit at present – and with Hawke, and Varric, too, at my back, and my own formidable skills… I have little to fear at the moment. He let the thought hang in his mind for a while, absorbing its significance. His eyes shifted from the tent ceiling to Hawke again.

No hunters. No Danarius. No one but Hawke and I. Alone but… together. The idea of it swelled in his chest, driving back the lonely ache and replacing it with a wholly different one. I have little to fear in this moment.

Fenris thought suddenly of gathering her up in his arms, of holding her close despite the heat, hoping, believing, knowing that he had mastered his markings and could control them for her. For the time being, I am free, and I should live as a free man does. Time is precious, and to waste it would be foolish. I've wanted this very thing; wanted it for so long. No more hunters at my heels, freedom within my grasp, no longer alone… I have fought for this, I have come so far for this. And Hawke — Marian — I have come to want whatever this is more each day I have known her. I have taken what she has already given. Why should I not take more? It would all feel so right.

But Fenris found that he could not make himself move. He could only run his eyes over her, drinking in the sight of her exposed calves, her lower back, and her sides, finding the curve of her waist and her bare skin so tantalizing and inviting in the dim light — but not enough to make him break free.

If I am not hunted, then why do I wait here? Why don't I feel free? he thought with deep frustration, struggling against the only life he could remember, one of pain, fear, and bitter disappointments. Why can't I just go to her as I would wish to? As I so often dream of doing? He finally moved, but turning onto his side, away from Hawke as the thoughts of Danarius and Hadriana came back to him unbidden. He closed his eyes, willing it all away. The markings, the memories, the pain…

Crossing his arms across his bare chest and curling up on his bedroll, Fenris still felt terribly exposed and isolated. After running so long, after so many ambushes and near escapes, after nearly losing control with Hawke herself — letting my guard down seems an invitation for disaster. I have seen what can happen, and I have dreamed of even worse things. He wanted to believe he could never hurt Hawke as he had in his many disturbing nightmares, but the awful memory of what he had done to the Fog Warriors denied him even a semblance of assurance.

I enjoy following her and she, too, seems to enjoy my company, but… I cannot seem to go much further than following her lead. I do not know what I am doing, and that is dangerous. He thought of his lyrium flares with her, his previous poorly worded attempts to force Hawke to keep her distance, and the terrible, blind instinct that had claimed him when they fought Arvaraad's squad. I have sworn to protect her, yet I have come too close already. Taking her hand has proven harmless, but… anything more?

Fenris wondered what it would feel like to have her touch him unarmored, the memory of her hands running sensuously over his vambraces and of his own careful handling of her making him doubt his own reluctance. But his thoughts were too swiftly replaced with different ones. Ones of his own hands clawing for the clasps of his vambraces, scrubbing against the metal and the leather padding and his own skin, desperately trying to rinse blood and gore away in the salty waters of the Ventosus Straits. He had felt nothing but horror that morning over three years ago as he knelt on hands and knees on the southern coast of Seheron, hoping futilely that the cold waves would cleanse him of the Fog Warriors' deaths.

Perhaps… Fenris thought, quickly and ashamedly putting those memories aside, perhaps it is for the best that I do not get any closer to her, given… my past.

Determined to sleep before more waking nightmares could claim him, he settled down deeper against the bolster. It smelled enticingly of Hawke, however, and he sighed heavily, finding her scent stimulating rather than calming. Time and again I raise my guard around her, yet… she slips under it so often. I do not know what to do other than pull away when she gets too close.

Fenris shifted even further over to the edge of the bedroll, where her scent was less strong. It felt odd to him though, as if he would roll off onto the stone floor and up against the side of the tent. He gritted his teeth, stirring again and trying to settle in regardless. And now even pulling away seems… wrong. Being with her does feel somehow right, yet… it just doesn't feel as it should. Though I admit I have no idea how it should feel.

He thought how the two of them must look just then to an outside observer, her carelessly sprawled out and asleep and him wide awake and wound like a spring, cowering as far away from her as he could get. Surely it is not supposed to be like… this. Fenris could almost palpably feel her sleeping presence even with his back to her, his lyrium-etched skin tingling more from a desire for her touch than with memories of the markings being burned into him.

He ignored the sensation, not wanting to fantasize about Hawke's hands on his back lest he wind up inadvertently recalling Hadriana's loathsome fondling, with which he was unfortunately more familiar. No, he thought angrily, it is I who am not supposed to be like this. If I was a normal man, I would not have reason to hesitate. Even her father, who was a mage, an apostate even, hunted by the Templars, who ran almost his whole life — even he was more normal than I can ever hope to be. He clenched his fists against his chest, huddling tighter.

Curse these markings… it is no wonder this all wrong. Fenris tried to put it out of his mind and rest, hoping that perhaps he could at least resume his dream from the night before — of being normal, not having markings, not fearing Hawke's touch. He tried to recapture it, picking it back up where it left off, willing himself to continue the dream and drift off, seeking some short respite from his waking reality.

She admired my arms, then removed my vambraces and ran her fingers along my back. We were… very close. Then she tried to kiss me despite this wretched place being unworthy of her. So I promised once we got back to Kirkwall, we could practice. And then… He struggled to settle his mind, recounting the dream from the beginning each time when the thread of the fantasy kept breaking as he tried to figure out what would come next. But after several long, quiet minutes of this, Fenris still kept returning to wakefulness, unable to dream or even fantasize. He could not make his tense shoulders and back relax nor force himself to sleep, despite mental weariness, physical tiredness, and years of practice falling asleep whenever he got the chance to as a slave.

"By all the Old Gods," he growled impatiently under his breath, rolling onto his other side to face Hawke again, but without opening his eyes. She made a soft, sympathetic-sounding noise in her sleep that only made him feel more frustrated. Venhedis. She even pities me in her sleep… He kept himself both from growling and from regretting his decision to share a tent with her.

When Hawke could not sleep the other night, she said she usually empties her thoughts into her journal. But I cannot write, nor do I not know what my thoughts are to even begin emptying them. Fenris's growing irritation was diverted momentarily as his thought of her journal reminded him of his conversation with Varric. He began to wonder what was in it that the dwarf had referred to during Wicked Grace.

Grateful for the distraction, Fenris figured, Whatever it may say, Hawke truly must not want me to go. Not if Varric thought to mention it. Despite his constant attempts to rattle me with talk of her tonight, he seemed unusually direct and sincere on that count. Which is especially unusual for him. Though he had a hard time understanding why someone like Hawke would care about the plans of a fugitive elf slave, Fenris wearily decided to simply accept that she must. That she cares at all is flattering… an honor, even. But why?

Irritation at his insomnia waned as he tried to reason out Hawke's motivations. She wanted my help for the expedition, obviously. And she is no friend of slavers; that much has been clear from the night we first met. And her father and her family had often run… perhaps she simply does not wish that fate on others? He remembered what she had said the night she stayed at his mansion. 'You should consider living… You deserve some happiness.' I suppose it is what she is seeking herself by doing all this… adventuring, as she calls it. Fenris himself called it normal life. I have put three years and the length of Thedas between me and my past, and still it won't stay there…

He sighed, wondering how he was supposed to go about turning his efforts into happiness the way Hawke was turning her adventures into a future for herself and her family. She speaks much, but I feel as though I understand so little of it. So little of her.

His thoughts drifted back to her family, and once more to their conversation about her father. Well, at least now that I know more about Malcolm Hawke, I do understand better her words about the women in her family having a history… with unconventional men. Fenris still could not bring himself to think of her actual words, attributing her bold use of the word 'loving' to the Antivan brandy, and probably simply referring to her mother's devotion to her father.

He opened his eyes, looking at Hawke again. Though their bedrolls were side by side, she was so far on the other side of hers that he would have had to stretch to reach her from where he lay on the far edge of his. Well, hers really, Fenris thought, wondering if she truly couldn't smell the difference between their bedrolls — or if she could.

The latter was a tantalizing prospect, he found. The idea of her taking in his scent while he was absent strangely aroused him, and he had difficulty settling his thoughts again as he thought of rubbing noses in his dream and wondering what it would feel like to have her rub hers elsewhere. Hair, wrist, neck, chest. Lower… He shifted on the bedroll, allowing himself to inhale her scent. To think that she might enjoy mine as I enjoy hers…

Deciding to somehow find out if it was true in the morning, Fenris noticed that he was still fidgeting, his thumbs stroking along his own crossed, bare arms as he thought of her. Touching her is the one comfort I am lacking, he knew, acknowledging why he was unconsciously making the motion.

He studied the slopes and curves of Hawke's exposed sides again, envying her unmarred, creamy skin, free as they were of markings. Though I may be a coward and cannot hold her as I wish, how easily I forget that she has no markings, no pain when I touch her, no reservations about losing control of herself and hurting me. She has made so many countless, careful gestures, and yet they are not for herself — they are for me.

Fenris knew he warranted such care, even as he wished it was unnecessary. I wanted her to fear me, for I do not trust myself. It seems that she may have finally taken that lesson to heart, for she has been far less reckless with me than I have been with her. Again he thought of his lyrium flares, which had undermined his boldness in taking her hands to press against his face and chest and in holding her by the waist as she put his vambraces on.

He could still hear the frantic sound of her voice each time, thinking how it always turned to quiet reluctance once he had regained his composure. The thought that she pities me, that she thinks, or worse, knows that I am… weak… vulnerable… broken? That she makes allowances for it? Makes allowances for me? No, he thought disgustedly. That is not flattering, nor an honor. I should not need such allowances.

I should be stronger. Better. More capable. The thoughts deeply rankled, and Fenris felt himself growing as angry with himself for not being more, as he was furious with Danarius for forcing the markings upon him and making him less in the first place. I should not even be this… living weapon. No one should be made into more an animal than man. They did this to me… But now I continue to let myself act as if nothing has changed, despite claiming that it has, despite wanting to leave my past behind me.

He felt his whole body tightening, beginning to quiver with rage, frustration, and bitterness — mostly over his own cowardice. I cannot remove these markings, nor will I let Danarius tear them from my flesh. And I cannot change the past. But I needn't act like a coward. Not here, now, in the present. I did not want this for myself, but the lyrium branded into my flesh has proven useful in gaining and keeping my freedom. Yet will I let it hinder me after coming so far? What use is slipping my collar when I continue to think of myself as less than a man?

Fenris stared at Hawke, feeling even more absurd in his agitated state as he observed the gentle rise and fall of her slow, measured breathing. She called me brave. Yet am I truly scared of this sleeping woman? Hmph, he thought, gritting his teeth. I am better than this. I am better than all of this. He tried to match his breathing to hers to calm himself. I am free. Free to do as I wish. He consciously forced himself to loose his muscles, to stretch out along the length of his bedroll, to be as languid as Hawke looked.

Still his hands fidgeted, thumbs running over the pads of his fingers as he considered her back. If this does not feel right, then I should trust my instincts and move. If pulling way feels wrong, then… she is there. She wants me. I want this. Fenris lay his hands on the bedrolls, in between his body and Hawke's, like she had done each night prior. Though she was asleep and and he could not seen her face since she was turned away from him, he thought of the look on her face as he held her in the oak tree, when he tucked her hair behind her ear, when she'd helped with his vambraces.

I have already extended my hand to her many times. All I need do is… do it again. I need not get close, just… closer, he reasoned, knowing that he would rest better with her than without her, wanting something that day to make more sense and not less, needing to prove to himself that he was no longer a cowed slave, that he was not a coward of a free man.

All I need do is… go to her.

Moving to action before he could hesitate, Fenris determinedly shifted over to put himself within reach of Hawke, halfway on both bedrolls. He slid one unwavering hand along her hip, slowly feeling his way along as the curves of her through her clothing gave way to the warm, supple flesh of her bare waist. She shifted, making a soft, contented sound and he let his hand come to rest, palm cupping the dip of her waist, his long fingers splayed across her slender stomach. He held still, wondering if she would awaken. And if she does, what then?

But Hawke made no further signs of stirring, so after a moment Fenris carefully wound his other hand in her hair and finally felt himself relax. Yes. That is better. It is more… right. He knew it was a compromise between his true wishes of wanting to hold her and his current reality of restraint, but he was too cautious and uncertain to take bolder action. It is more than before. Even a small victory is a victory. He let himself enjoy it, even as he began to inevitably wonder what came next.

I should be pushing myself, I should be trying harder, Fenris told himself sternly, one thumb stroking Hawke's side and the other, her ear. Too long I have been afraid, running, alone. I say I want to live as a free man does, yet I do not consider things from any other viewpoint than the one I know. And thanks to Danarius, what I know is precious little enough — only this wretched half-existence or being a slave. He scowled to himself, his hands holding more firmly to Hawke.

I keep thinking of myself as broken, weak, and worthless, just as the magisters would want. But why should I let them influence me any longer? No, I should endeavor to be better than this. My dreams of having no markings are just that: dreams. I must find some other way.

Again, Hawke's words echoed through his mind. 'I don't think I would change anything about you… I would see you happier, though.' Fenris moved even closer to her, pushing himself as close as he dared while still taking pains to keep anything except his hands from touching her. Even as he flexed his new resolve, he was as always cautious not to overreach lest what little he had gained slip through his grasp. Though there is much I would change about myself, I cannot say that I disagree with her other remark.

Thinking then of her comfort, Fenris lifted his head and considered what he could see of Hawke's sleeping profile. He found her perfectly content, her peaceful, unguarded expression in profile achingly beautiful. She can be so selfless, and I do not understand how, he thought, wondering how she could sleep on despite everything, finding it unfathomable to imagine himself doing so. She even seems to do it almost without thinking. She is open and giving, even in her sleep. It is no wonder she has so many friends, and I have none. Fenris settled back down, thinking about all the other ways in which he already studied her and envied her, and he wondered how, with his limited experience, he could ever understand her.

What hope do I have of understanding anything about this thing between us if I do not understand her in the first place? Sighing tiredly, he let his eyes slipped closed.

I will try harder, he resolved, not wanting to revisit the topic that had started him down the dark, confusing path that night after just finding some measure of peace. I will study her more closely and be more… attentive. If she can do it, so can I. Hawke resettled on her bedroll, burrowing against the hand he had entwined in her hair. Her body writhed beneath his fingers as if she were trying to snuggle closer, though Fenris kept a careful, steady pressure on her back to prevent her from pressing up against him. He refused to think of having restraint and consideration for Hawke as further evidence of his cowardice. I need time. I will get used to this eventually. For now, I have more than enough to think about for one night, and I need to sleep. And I do not wish to risk waking her.

Still, once Hawke quieted again, Fenris felt a warm surge of affection, and also a swell of pride in his decision to reach out to her. She seems to want me, so I will give her what I am able. He daringly stroked her bare lower back for a few moments before placing his hand on her side again. Then, judging by her deep sigh that she unconsciously approved, he counted up another small victory. Even in her sleep it seems she enjoys my company…

As Hawke slept deeply on and Fenris tried once more to go to sleep himself, he continued to revel in the feel of her beneath his fingers. Though still as confused as ever, he maintained a center of calm and kept his swirling thoughts flowing, finding it indeed markedly easier than in previous days to do so. Perhaps it is because she is asleep, or perhaps my mastery over my markings truly is growing. Perhaps I am getting used to this. He knew he could use his powers if he wished to concentrate, as always, but there seemed no imminent danger of his emotions spiraling out of control on their own.

I enjoy this far too much, he realized as he began to drowse, fingertips slowing but still caressing Hawke's warm skin. It does feel good to freely give her something for a change.

With that contented thought, he finally went to sleep, both keeping himself at a distance while giving Hawke as much of himself as he could.

---

4 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon

The next morning, Hawke awoke to the feel of Fenris's cool fingers stroking along her brow.

"Ennhh… mmm," she groaned, first unhappy to find herself awake, then rather pleased at the sensation that roused her. Still, her entire body protested. No, it can't be time to wake up. Sleepy. Perhaps I am dreaming. Yes. Bartrand hasn't even shouted anything horrible yet. And I don't even remember Fenris coming to bed. So… yes, I must be asleep. Mmm, sleep…

She scrunched her face, eyes still resolutely closed as she realized she was laying completely flat, her cheek against the fabric of the bedroll. The tender feel of Fenris's touch on her forehead stopped as she scooted herself further up to lay her head against the more cushioned bolster. Smelling Fenris's scent on it, Hawke buried her face in and inhaled deeply. Maybe the scent of him will help the dream of his touch resume. I would like that…

Settling back down as she exhaled, she sighed quietly and contentedly. "Mmm, Fenris…"

But Hawke froze halfway through fully relaxing as the quiet rumble of a chuckle came from somewhere beside and above her. Then fingers curled under her chin and a thumb ran across her lips. If this is another one of those weird dreams, she thought apprehensively, where I open my eyes and see Anders or a darkspawn or Uncle Gamlen or something, I will stab someone…

Fenris smiled to himself at the consternated look on her face. She truly does like sleeping in. Not that I mind taking the time to wake her — it is rather gratifying to hear her sigh my name like that… "It is time to rise, Hawke," he said gently, thumb moving to stroke along her jaw. "Bartrand will undoubtedly begin shouting soon. I thought you might like to be awake before then. So you can… fully appreciate it." She gave a tired, resigned chuckle at his teasing, and he released her face to take her hand.

Well, if I must wake up, I suppose this is close to the way I would prefer it to be. Still… "Remind me next time we come to the Deep Roads to do so on my own terms," she groaned, bedding back down. She tugged at her twisted clothing unsuccessfully with one hand since Fenris now held the other firmly. "Bad enough it's so hot without having to wake up so blasted early."

"You do look quite hot," he agreed seriously. "I assume that is why your shirt is half undone."

Hawke's hand flew to her somewhat exposed chest, pulling the gaping fabric more demurely over herself. Andraste's lacy red breastband… I had forgotten I undid a few buttons last night. And it feels like more came undone while I slept. She finally opened her eyes to see Fenris sitting cross-legged on the stone floor next to her bedroll, watching her quietly with his back against the tent wall. He is already in his tunic, she thought with a twinge of disappointment. That is not fair.

The blow was softened as he rubbed her hand between his, then kissed the back of her thumb. "Come, it is time you were awake."

He kept his gaze on her hand, but Hawke's own sleepy eyes opened wider. She felt suddenly much more alert, her usual early morning fog utterly fleeing at the feel of his lips on her thumb. How is he even up before Bartrand if he did not come to bed when I did? she wondered, suddenly remembering how she'd fallen asleep still missing his presence and touch.

She drew herself up, propped on one forearm. "What are you doing up already, for that matter, Fenris? You did sleep, didn't you?" She looked him over more closely, searching for signs of exhaustion or restlessness.

"I do not need much sleep, Hawke," he reminded her, fingers toying with the band she wore on her finger, much like how she always fiddled with his rings. "And I slept very well in fact. I just… woke early and decided to get started with the day." He inclined his head towards the open rear tent flap, and Hawke looked over at the bucket of cool water he had already brought for her morning ablutions.

Taking advantage her moment of distraction, Fenris flicked his eyes upwards wryly at his other reasons for waking early. I did not expect to actually continue that dream from the night before… and I certainly did not expect it to skip to our return to Kirkwall and 'practicing' at my mansion…

It had taken some careful, quiet exploration, but after he had awakened, Fenris found a suitably secluded corner of the large cavern where he could be utterly alone with his thoughts. Though no one except Bodahn and Sandal had even yet risen when he crept off, Fenris had been concerned that his lyrium markings might flare again and attract attention. But the dwarves had been too preoccupied in the mess tent with starting breakfast to notice him slip away. Then he had managed to keep his markings to a quick flash that would not have been noticeable from his concealed spot, especially with the general illumination in the large cavern.

"Was… there something on your mind, Fenris?" Hawke asked hesitantly. His attention snapped back to her as she gazed at him with concern after noticing the distant look on his face. Perhaps whatever he was thinking about last night is still bothering him? she fretted. Something more than just cards. His markings again?

Fenris tried not to flush, realizing that he'd been distractedly remembering his dream again. When he looked down to cover his reaction, however, he felt his cheeks burn hotter as he once more took in the sight of Hawke so thoroughly disheveled from sleeping in the warm tent. Fasta vass, I am supposed to be trying harder to be attentive. Why must my — no, her distractions be so numerous?

"There are always many things on my mind, Hawke," he grumbled, determined to meet her eyes again. As he did, her brow furrowed with worry, so he smiled reassuringly at her. "But right now, I think only of getting you up and dressed." Fenris moved one hand to her side, gently tugging the hem of her shirt down, though he let the side of his hand trail along her bare skin.

Hawke looked down at herself, then aside, sleep-flushed cheeks going even warmer than the stuffy cavern warranted. "Yes… I suppose I must look quite the sight this morning," she remarked, trying to keep her tone light.

Fenris responded only with another soft chuckle, standing gracefully with her hand still held in his. He extended his other hand to her, which she hastily took while looking anywhere but straight ahead. His narrow hips were of a height with her as she sat on her bedroll, and she did not want to be caught peeking between the tails of his tunic at his snug leggings and the contours of what lay beneath.

He helped her to her feet, and Hawke quickly shook out her legs, letting the bunched fabric of her cropped pants slide back down past her knees. Fenris released her hands and leaned down to retrieve a waterskin, handing it to her as he straightened. She lifted an eyebrow at his anticipation of her needs, but accepted it gratefully, taking a long drink as she moved off the bedroll.

Fenris had already begun to roll it up, and she remarked after lowering the waterskin, "You certainly are on top of things this morning, Fenris."

He paused, not looking at her as scenes from his pleasant dream came to mind. Yes, I certainly was… Then, putting his early morning fantasies out of his mind again, he finished bundling up the bedroll. "It is the least I can do, Hawke. Besides… this is my bedroll." Expression carefully neutral, he waited for her response, still curious about whether or not she knew it was his bedroll, and whether she enjoyed his scent on it.

I have been caught… "Oh… um, yes. You noticed, too?" Hawke rubbed at her neck, which was a little stiff from how she'd slept flat against the stone floor. "I just grabbed the closest one and didn't realize it wasn't mine until I already had it spread out. And, well… I guess I didn't think you'd mind," she explained, looking a little sheepish. And I missed you, and then it just smelled so much like you…

After standing, rolled up bedroll tucked under one arm, Fenris inclined his head. "One bedroll is much like another," he replied noncommittally. "I just thought it… curious, that you could not tell the difference." He kept any hint of disappointment from his voice.

Hmm, it seems it was just a mistake. I probably do not have a smell for her to enjoy in the first place. I do not notice anything, after all. He wondered if she would enjoy it if he did. Well… perhaps I, too, should find some new, Orlesian soap, once we go back to Kirkwall.

Then he thought of himself, a rather distinctive escaped slave and elven squatter, shopping for fancy soaps in Hightown. Perhaps I should just let her choose one for me. Though he had not really thought much on it before, he knew that he'd likely have plenty of coin to spend if the expedition was even half as successful as Bartrand estimated. Living in the lap of luxury like some fat magister…

Hawke thought of Fenris's fresh, intoxicating, masculine smell and how it had motivated her to keep his bedroll out. Glancing at the lone bucket of water and deducing that he must have already washed up for the morning, she drew closer to him, hoping to catch a whiff of his scent, fresh from the elf himself.

"I wasn't being reckless, if that's what you're thinking," she teased, daring to run her fingertips through his already-combed hair as if to fix it, pleased when he did not pull away. "I was just too lazy to roll it back up." Fenris rolled his eyes in wry amusement at her admitted laziness, shaking his head, and with the motion she caught the scent of soap, leather, and just the barest hint of fresh grass, which still somehow clung to his tunic.

"Besides, you smell nice," she admitted, defending against his disapproval. One of his black eyebrows shot up in a fetching arch and, seeing that she had successfully diverted him, Hawke smoothed his hair back down before releasing him and shrugging. "I might even continue to steal your bedroll from now on. Especially if you continue to roll it up for me." His other eyebrow rose, and she smiled slyly. Maybe that will make him think twice about not coming to bed with me, too…

"If you start taking it every night," Fenris reasoned, "…wouldn't it simply become yours?"

Always so practical… "You and your early-morning bedroll logic," Hawke sighed heavily, preferring their usual morning flirting to trying to think too hard upon awakening. "This is why I prefer beds. No swapping, no rolling them up — you just… get in and enjoy. Much simpler, and more comfortable." She closed her eyes and began rolling her neck illustratively, wincing as as she rubbed at it. Comfort or no, I am already more than pleased with this morning. Despite sending me to sleep alone last night, now he has come back. And so attentive! Such a nice change… I could learn to live with his brooding if he makes up for it like this.

To think that she enjoys my scent… To think that she wants me, would share a bed with me, Fenris thought, beginning to feel as aroused as he had upon awakening. Tantalizing scenes from his dream burst forth vividly from his memory, visions of unmarked limbs tangled together warmly, of experiencing tender closeness, of drowsing the day away, marking the passage of each lazy hour with kisses, of no longer feeling alone. I have never so looked forward to returning to a place as I do that mansion…

Heedlessly, Fenris dropped the bedroll to the ground and reached to pull Hawke's hand away from her neck. Momentarily startled, her eyes popped open, but she did not resist. He moved her hand to her side before brushing her hair back to rub her neck himself.

"Oh Maker, Fenris…" she murmured, eyes slipping closed again. His other hand slipped along the other side of her neck and began to massage there, too. Andraste's stained-glass snuffbox, she marveled, his hands!

"You clearly are not meant for bedrolls," he said, his voice as soothing as his strong, lithe fingers, which worked away at her tense muscles. They kneaded with practiced skill after years of rubbing down Danarius whenever the magister had wished it of his favorite pet. This I do for her freely, Fenris thought with determination, keeping his thoughts clear and eyes on Hawke's blissful face. No Danarius. Just Hawke. Marian. She and I, alone but… together.

The feel of her to him was utterly different from the feel of the old magister. Where Danarius's neck had been thick and corded, Hawke's was slender and lithe; where Danarius's skin had been loose and starting to wrinkle, Hawke's was smooth, supple, and inviting. Massaging her was hardly any effort at all compared to working on his former master, who had been a virile man in his prime and had still cut a fairly powerful figure the last time Fenris had seen him.

But Hawke… Fenris thought heatedly, running his eyes along her body. She is strong, but also small enough that my large hands can easily tend to her all over…

Is it his markings I feel tingling against my neck? Hawke puzzled, experiencing every sensation acutely with her eyes closed. The hum of it, his cool hands, those clever fingers… whatever he is doing, it feels amazing against my sore muscles. Maker, where was he yesterday before Anders decided to heal me? I would have much preferred this… She began to sag, her entire body turning languid under his ministrations.

"Kneel," Fenris said, feeling Hawke already sinking beneath his hands and worried that she might lose her balance. Complying immediately and without opening her eyes, Hawke folded her legs smoothly beneath herself and sat back on her heels. He moved behind her and crouched, resuming the massage from the rear so he could also work on her shoulders. Along with her neck, they, too, felt tense to his experienced touch.

Fenris set his mouth with grim satisfaction that Anders had failed to fully alleviate her shoulder soreness. Magic may be able to reduce swelling and knit muscle back together, but it does not stretch it out or make it pliable again. It was a fact that Danarius often lamented to other magisters or just the open air while his elven pet bodyguard kneaded him after a battle, a duel, or simply a strenuous night's 'entertainment.' Even as he commanded Fenris to do it, he would complain of wanting to find a way to accomplish the same thing using magic so he could find better uses for his slave — though he never truly bothered to look into it.

As Fenris's large hands almost fully enveloped her shoulders and began kneading, the fabric of her loose shirt bunching beneath his touch, Hawke groaned, and Fenris found her noises to be profoundly more contented and appreciative than anything she had actually said to Anders the night before. Hmph. Hawke's father was a wiser mage than either Danarius or Anders. Why use magic for anything when two capable hands can do far more?

"That feels so much better than any healing magic I have ever felt," Hawke sighed, as if reading his mind. He redoubled his efforts, and a pleased whimper escaped her lips as her head lolled forward, chin pressing against her chest. Fenris noted her pleasure with a deep sense of pride. Yet another victory. Here is something else I can do for her, and another way to use for myself what was forced upon me as a slave.

"About sodding time you bastards got up!" Bartrand called in deep, gruff, and oddly sing-song voice. "How many days have we been down here? Don't you get it yet? Do I have to do everything around here? Varric!"

Hawke did not even jump when the Bartrand's resounding shouts thundered across the cavern, so relaxed was she under Fenris's touch. "Please don't tell me that means you have to stop, Fenris," she pleaded weakly, not lifting her head.

Fenris did not stop squeezing, instead digging deeper against her shoulder blades with strong thumbs. He leaned heavily towards her, bearing down to loosen the taut tendons deep beneath her muscle that were also pulling on her neck and causing her to ache further. She groaned appreciatively, pressing back against his hands but allowing him to manipulate her however he wished.

"Part of getting you ready for your day is ensuring you are prepared for battle, Hawke," he finally answered, murmuring into her ear.

As he pressed in towards her, Fenris drew close enough that he could lean in to bury his nose in her hair and take in her aroma — which he did. So much better than my dream, he thought, though in his dream he had buried his face in her hair from a different angle and in a much more restful state for both of them.

Hawke whimpered wordlessly and softly again at the feel of his warm breath against her ear, at his face nuzzling against her hair, and at his skilled fingers plying deep. She found the sweet ache of it all both painful and thoroughly enjoyable. "Maker's breath, Fenris," she said, utterly breathless herself, "in that case, I hurt all over…"

"Well… Then show me," he responded quietly, utterly serious. I will give her whatever she needs and whatever I can. She has no markings, no reason for hesitation, he reminded himself, though he hardly needed the motivation. And clearly my hands bring her… comfort.

Hawke did hesitate however, and he had to pull back as her head lifted to regard him over her shoulder. "I… I didn't…" she stammered, looking a little alarmed. "You don't… I mean, we have nothing but time. No rush. Not this morning, I mean, obviously we don't have a lot of time this morning… We should rush. But not like that, of course… Though even if we did have time, that isn't to say that I wouldn't… or that you'd have to…" She continued to babble on, looking back down at her lap, wringing her hands together as she made a stream of excuses and offered him any number of pretenses to halt for the morning.

Fenris gritted his teeth at how she was making allowances for him again. Venhedis, it is bad enough that I hesitate, that I have not given her more until now. I do not need her turning aside what is offered, afraid to accept my attentions. I should have been better than this all along. I do not want her pity — I want her.

Determined to press on, he slid his hands into her loose collar and rubbed her bare skin, his hands spreading open her partially unbuttoned shirt. No markings… how I would wish for that. How I have longed for that…

Hawke's protests cut off abruptly with a short gasp. The… warmth. The strength. The feel of him. Andraste's… something… I cannot even think what.

"Where else, Hawke?" he asked calmly, before his resolve could wane or she found some reason to hesitate.

Without thinking, Hawke's hands went to the edges of her shirt's v-neckline and pulled, sliding it completely free of first one shoulder, then the other. Her head dropped forward again as she fumbled with the remainder of the buttons, and her soft, grey top fell fully away to rest in the crooks of her arms, exposing her chest and upper back.

Though Fenris continued his attentions, his eyes wandered to absorb the sight of her as he memorized everything new and appreciated any familiar features all over again. His hands soon began to follow his gaze, trailing down her shoulders and across her back, grazing the top of her breastband. Hawke arched as his thumbs ran up her spine and his fingers splayed out, the tips brushing against the backs of her arms.

Her back bowed again and Fenris slid his hands forward to grip her upper arms, stroking up to her shoulders, then down into the gathered fabric of her shirt, to her elbows. Her armor was practically sleeveless, so he was more than familiar with seeing her arms, yet as he kneaded them, he was surprised at how much thinner they felt than his own. He was an elf and used to how even most moderately strong human men had biceps similarly-sized to his, though his true strength was deceptively much more than met the eye. But he had never before put any thought into how he compared to a human female. Feeling Hawke's comparatively slim arms amused him deeply, enough that he actually chuckled at it, and Hawke shifted, roused out of her languorous haze by his laughter.

"What?" she demanded, accusatory tone dampened somewhat by the relaxed, sultry tone lacing her voice.

"Nothing…" But he gave her upper arms a few quick, teasing squeezes. Hawke scathingly tsked at his impudence, flexing in defiance of him as she pretended to pull away, mock affronted. Her movements made surprisingly lean, hard muscles pop up under his grip and, as he playfully tried to hold her fast, Fenris thought of the lightning-quick, sharp motions she made with her daggers while fighting.

"Nothing, hmm?" she chided. Hawke pressed her hands against her thighs and turned to smile wryly at him over her shoulder, showing off the lithe definition of her back, shoulders, and arms to good effect.

Somewhat chastened, and also distracted by his unimpeded view of her chest and the tops of her banded breasts, Fenris apologized immediately. "I stand corrected. You are definitely… something." It was Hawke's turn to chuckle, and she turned to face forward again with a self-confident smile on her lips.

Starting to feel rather unstable as he crouched, Fenris went to his knees. He resumed limbering up Hawke's neck and shoulders with larger, bolder motions, now that he was unimpeded by her shirt and able to get a better grip on her bare skin. Her contented noises also became bolder, as well as more frequent, and Fenris found himself determinedly seeking out every small knot, little ache, or tender spot, hoping to tease his name from her lips one more time.

"Oh, Fenris…" she groaned yet again, as he inched his fingers up along her spine. He planned to knead her from the middle of her back all the way to the top of her head, already smiling deeply from the countless small, murmured victories that he had racked up that morning. Hearing her sigh my name with my own ears instead of hearing it in the Fade… there is no comparison.

Hawke arched her back again, though she did not even know how she managed it. My whole body feels like it is made out of liquid, she thought dazedly. His touch is unlike anything I have ever felt. The thrum of the stone floor beneath her legs seemed almost to amplify the vague tingle of his hands, and she could not help but say his name again in wonderment.

"Fenris…" What did I do to deserve this? Maker…

He felt himself falter when she breathlessly called his name again, for it sounded so much like her panting cries from his many dreams. Fenris's eyes slipped closed as he tried to refocus on the path he was stroking up past her shoulders, but he could feel himself tightening and starting to ache more with every writhing motion of her beneath his hands. I do not know what I did to deserve her attentiveness… but I do know that I enjoy returning it, he decided.

"Mmmm, Fenris, yes… right… right there," Hawke sighed, as his fingers slid to the base of her neck, perfectly pinching, kneading, then caressing the increasingly sensitive area. She felt her arms break out in gooseflesh as he leaned towards her again and his soft, warm breaths stole across her neck. Maker, his… How does he even… Andraste's pert…

As she made a new sound, a soft, plaintive coo for him, Fenris shuddered, bearing down on her as his own tightness contracted further and momentarily stole his balance. Festis bei umo canavarum, he thought distractedly, pulling just short of pressing his arms against her back. He shifted, resettling himself and trying to adjust his increasing discomfort. I do not know why I even bother going off to be alone… he thought, trying to dim his arousal by mentally compressing it away. It never helps for very long with her always so near.

Keeping his eyes closed, knowing that the sight of her would only make matters worse, Fenris let his fingertips trace up along the sides of her neck to carefully gather her hair up. Hawke shivered gratifyingly, so he also smoothed a few locks of behind her ears, eliciting another involuntary shudder from her as his fingertips traced along the curve of them. Other senses heightened by his lack of sight, the alluring scent of her hair captivated his attention as it drifted up to him from her stirring.

The fragrance drew him inexorably forward, and his fingertips grazed along Hawke's jaw as he gently tilted her head back, bringing her to him since he could not press up against her. She did not resist and he did not relent, and soon he had his forehead pressed against the top of her head and his face buried among the soft, thick, berry-and-honey scented strands of her hair.

"WHAT? I don't see anyone at the breakfast tables YET? What are you blighters waiting for, serving girls to come to your bedrolls and spoon-feed you? Let's move, people! And where's VARRIC?"

They both completely ignored Bartrand's irascible squalling, past caring and distantly satisfied that everyone else must be taking their time that morning, too.

Fenris inhaled deeply of Hawke's hair, his fingers now playing along the front of her creamy neck. "You smell nice," he growled as he raggedly exhaled, a little surprised at the gruffness to his own voice. I have never been this aroused with anyone around to speak to, he realized.

Then he thought of how well honey and berries went with the sort of porridge that was waiting in the mess tent whenever they finally got around to leaving their own. Delicious… "Good enough to eat," he murmured enticingly.

The fingertips of one hand explored the dip of her collarbone and the hollow of her throat, playing along and under the short necklace Hawke wore. The fingers of his other hand trailed up to her tilted chin and back down again, softly caressing her exposed throat. Though the rest of his body was tense and wound tight, Fenris was achingly careful to keep his touch light, gentle, and controlled.

That was just a nightmare, he told himself, pushing away the fear that he would make a mistake that would cost Hawke her life. It was a nightmare and it was weeks ago. It was Hadriana's neck I wanted to crush, that I thought I was crushing. I know Marian now. I could never mistake her for Hadriana. She is nothing like that cruel bitch.

He forcefully put the disturbing dream and Hadriana out of his mind and focused back on Hawke. I would never hurt her. I could not. If Danarius commanded it of me, it would be he who I would kill, for I will never take another order from him again. The last one… never again. Never again. I would not do that to her. I owe her so much. Too much. I could not harm her. I could sooner tear out my own heart. Eyes tightly shut, Fenris willed his thoughts to be the truth and not just hopes, knowing and fearing how often his hopes failed him, leading to disaster.

"Mmmm…" Hawke's hands came up involuntarily to press against her chest, sliding up to bump against Fenris's coiled and writhing fingers. She was completely caught up and carried away with the way he had her arched back into him, utterly at his mercy. I do not want it any other way, she realized. Never again will I find another man like Fenris. No one could compare to him. No one. I would do anything for him. Anything…

"Shall I release you?" Fenris asked, his concerns growing as he felt her fingertips nudging against his hands. He slowed in stroking her, then came to a stop. Now I do not want to let go, he thought, just as he had when he had finally worked up the nerve to take her hands the night she stayed at his mansion. But…

This feels so good, Hawke thought, sliding her fingers along his to urge him back on again, but if I say yes, would he find somewhere else to touch me? Or would he stop? Perhaps he wants to stop… Hawke decided she would be content to leave herself entirely in his hands.

"Anything you want, Fenris."

Fenris's caress paused again as he took in her tantalizing response. Hawke swallowed hard and he felt it against his palm, suddenly picturing how her throat had worked to drink down the Agreggio at his mansion during lunch just a few days ago. The arousing thought tore a soft groan from his own throat, and he leaned further forward, sliding his face through her hair to growl quietly into her ear. "Anything, Marian?"

Hawke felt herself go even more weak as he said her name. Oh Maker, maybe he doesn't want to stop at all… She gave the barest movement of her head, unable to nod with the way he held her bowed back and captured. "Yes. Anything," she whispered. "Ask, and I would give it freely, I promise you."

Fenris could feel his entire body surge with temptation and longing, though mentally he maintained some semblance of control. "That… is a reckless promise to make," he murmured, half scolding, half warning. This woman is entirely too fearless. Her recklessness will rub off on me if I am not careful… but I wonder if I might come to enjoy it.

Aching for him to take her up on her offer, Hawke thought, He is so cruel to tease me like this… And I could swear the markings on his hands are humming more strongly — he might be doing that on purpose, too. Curse him, I cannot take much more of this… But the only sound she could muster to answer his teasing was a resigned, agonized groan of assent, frustration, and need.

Always she slips under my guard… As vulnerable as she was in his grasp, Fenris realized he would never have any defense against the sweet whimpers Hawke made just for him. Holding her as he was by her throat, he could not only hear the sensual sound, he could also feel the hum of it in his hands. The vibrations shot up the lyrium markings on his fingers and palms, along his arms and all through him, merging with the aching tightness already roiling deep within him.

Yes, Fenris thought, momentarily giving in to the visceral feeling of Hawke's eagerness for him. To think that she wants me, to think that she would freely give me anything I might ask of her. So many things I have wanted, but never thought to have. A slave has nothing, takes nothing, but a free man… and a free woman, giving freely of herself… Yes. This feels right, Marian. Yes…

Surrendered to the moment and suddenly powerless in the face of the overwhelming passion that had built up between himself and Hawke, Fenris could not even resist as his lyrium markings suddenly fired off. As had been his experience earlier that morning, before he could open his eyes, he could see the dazzling blue-white light through closed lids. The sound of the lyrium lines charging up in his flesh filled his ears with a quick, wildly ascending whir that rose out of his range of hearing almost as soon as it started.

"Oh, Fenris…" Hawke moaned, feeling the distinct change as his touch thrummed with the raw power of fully-fueled lyrium. She could see the burst of light and hear his ragged gasp in her ear, but it was the strong, no longer imperceptible feel of the hum in his hands that alerted her to what was again happening with his markings.

I… I wasn't just imagining it, she thought, enraptured as the sensation of his touch changed and intensified. This isn't like it was two nights ago. It is, but it isn't — this feels… natural. Better. Right. Where she had been startled and in awe the first time it had happened, and Fenris had fled the second, this time both he and Hawke were already too far gone to do anything but just let themselves fully experience it. With Fenris's face buried in her hair, her hands on his, and his hands fully enveloping her neck, she could feel him and the lines of lyrium along his palms and the backs of his hands more than ever before.

Her eyes slipped shut to concentrate on the feel of it, and she found his lyrium talent both deeply familiar and utterly strange, strongly reminiscent of being near someone using magic, but more muffled, muted, and somehow just… different. Hawke knew enough about lyrium to guess that its presence in his skin connected him to the Fade more strongly than a normal man, though less than a mage, and she knew enough about magic to recognize there was indeed something truly magical about his touch.

Hawke had often sat in her father's lap while he cast little spells to amuse her and make her unafraid of magic as a small child, and after Bethany's magic manifested, Hawke had often helped her little sister practice, covering Bethany's eyes or holding her hands behind her back so she could learn to cast magic regardless and defend herself properly.

Thus intimately familiar with the swell of mana being channeled, shaped, and released, Hawke easily identified the distinctions between it and the steady thrum of Fenris's markings. Where spells differed slightly depending on the person and the forces being manipulated, his lyrium talent seemed fully-wrought already, as though the vining tattoos shaped it and held it permanently to whatever purpose they had been originally intended.

Despite not knowing with certainty, Hawke wanted to believe his powers were similar to what she already knew, hoping to understand him better. She also wanted to believe that the hint of strong emotions she sensed was from Fenris himself, much like how she knew strong emotion could bleed over into a mage's spells. Hawke had become very close with Bethany in part because of her deep, unique understanding of her sister's reactions, strengths, weaknesses, and fears, from years of helping her practice.

And until her father's untimely death, Hawke had almost thought him completely infallible and immortal, for his magic always seemed so careful, controlled, and confident. The feel when he cast even the simplest spells seemed so unwavering and indomitable that she could easily believe his wildest tales of adventure, the sheer, resolute calm of the power he wielded belying his otherwise easy-going, ever witty and jesting demeanor.

The emanation of power from Fenris had a similar feeling of careful control and deep strength, even reminding her of the closeness, trust, and delighted awe she'd felt with her father's magic. Despite Fenris's own mistrust of mastery over his markings, which she had observed and now could swear she felt, Hawke found she could not find anything to fear about his powers or Fenris himself, apart from the constant nagging worry that he would push her away or flee.

With the reassuring grip his hands kept on her, however, she was also soon reminded of feeling magic from without, like when a healing spell washed through her or a shield settled on her skin. There was that palpable sensation of forces beyond her control enveloping her, changing her, moving through and across her, accompanied by the instinctual quickening to her pulse that even she, with her lifetime's familiarity with magic, could never quite subdue.

And most strangely of all, she had a heightened awareness of just Fenris himself, for he was more there, then less, pushing against her then receding, making her strain to focus on him as his presence faded, then overwhelming her when he surged strongly back into her awareness. She felt as if she could just sink into him or he into her, that she could share not only his touch but mingle with the very essence of him.

Maker, what have they done to him? Hawke wondered in a daze, unaware of anything but Fenris.

All those memories, thoughts, emotions, and sensations flashed through her and blinded her as sudden and dazzling as his lyrium flare, as quick as the fluttering, tingling, pulsating pressure of his hands at her throat and his face beside her ear. His touch sharpened then faded against her skin more quickly than movement could allow, but then the tent grew dark, and it was gone, and he felt the same as before, before she could even fully register what had happened.

That was entirely too close, Fenris thought, quickly releasing her as he regained a hold on himself. Hawke straightened slowly, not looking back at him, and he had no way of knowing what her expression was. He had barely kept himself from fully phasing, the struggle leaving him spent and emotionally drained, but he was grateful that he had managed to rein in his lyrium talent without having to send her away again.

Still, as he slid her shirt back up onto her shoulders without looking at her, Fenris felt the need to apologize.

"Hawke, I…" Then he remembered that she had threatened to banish him from the tent the last time he tried to apologize for losing control of his markings. Trying harder to be attentive, and not wanting to test the veracity of her threat, he decided to take a slightly different tact this time.

"I have kept you too long. I forget that you still need to get ready. I'm sorry." He carefully stood, working the feeling back into his legs and discreetly shifting as he brushed off his leggings.

Damn his logic. I… I can hardly argue with that… Hawke slid off her own legs to sit on the stone cavern floor, rubbing at her tingling calves. She cleared her throat before speaking, trying to regain her composure. Fenris sounded guarded, and she figured he was at least as embarrassed about getting carried away as she was. At least he sounds less apprehensive about his markings; that is a good sign.

"There is no need to apologize, Fenris," she replied earnestly, keeping her eyes on her leaden legs. "I was at least half the problem, after all, and… well, I should be quite ready to go out and kill something now. Perhaps a lot of somethings." Maker, but I am wound tighter than one of Bianca's firing mechanisms.

More than content to leave off discussing the subject of his markings, Fenris silently walked around her to gather up the bedroll again. He also retrieved the water bucket to place it near where she sat. Before he could retreat however, Hawke quickly reached out and snagged his hand as he released the rope handle. He froze, still slightly stooped over her, barely able to bring himself to look at her, silently fearing that she was about to broach the topic of what had just happened after all.

I have no control. I cannot be trusted near her. This is getting dangerous. I should… go. But he could not pull away, blankly and obliquely looking down at Hawke, her hand on his rendering him unable to move or think of a destination, nor how long he need stay away. I did not want this to happen. I did not want these markings. I did not want… this. She cannot want this.

Smiling up at him reassuringly, Hawke brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek before kissing his hand. "Thank you. For… everything." Seeing the blank look on his face, she squeezed his fingers, smile deepening. "You're spoiling me today, you know. I cannot think of ever feeling better." His eyes flicked doubtfully to the side, but she could see one corner of his mouth trying to quirk up. Oh no, Fenris, no brooding just yet. It is entirely too early for that.

"I mean it," she urged, playing with the loose ring on his finger. She let her voice go playfully breathless, since flattery seemed currently the best way to cheer him. "The more I see of you and the more learned skills of yours I discover, the more impressed I am." Hawke fixed him with a meaningful look, arching an eyebrow and making the prettiest moue she had in her arsenal of charms.

Too fearless and reckless by half. How I envy her sometimes, how I wish her fearlessness would rub off on me instead. Fenris finally smiled a small, resigned crooked smile down at her, reaching to take her by the chin and brush his thumb across her lips. "I could say the same to you," he replied, tone deceptively even. Every time, no matter what I try…

Hawke knew that, with her flirtatious pose and with Fenris leaning down above her, he could see down her unbuttoned shirt, which was only loosely wrapped around her. She pressed her hands flat against the stone and leaned to nuzzle against his hand, pursing a kiss onto his thumb. The motion made her shirt slip off one shoulder again, giving him an even better view. "Well, instead of sitting here half-dressed, maybe…"

"What in the actual sodding Void is with you layabouts this morning? Are you all deaf? Did you all die in the middle of the night? And where is Varric? Varric! Andraste's shaven beard, someone check the bottom of the ale barrel, he probably drowned…"

Fenris rolled his eyes and straightened, gazing in the direction of the shouts with a shake of his head. Dwarves…

Sighing, Hawke pressed one hand to her forehead and shook her head too. There's always something. Why do I never have time for love?

"I will bring you your pack," Fenris said grimly, already moving to retrieve it. "It sounds as if he might start calling for you next, girly."

"And we don't want that, if it can be avoided," Hawke agreed with a heavy sigh, folding her legs under herself again and pulling the bucket over. "I'd better go check on Varric before breakfast. I hope he didn't drink too much ale again. I didn't bring that much elfroot…"

As soon as Fenris disappeared from sight, Hawke removed her shirt entirely and tossed it aside. Then she quickly tugged up on her breastband, looking down at herself and plumping everything together nicely. May as well make a good impression… she thought, patting, pushing, and smoothing everything into place before running her hands through her hair. It is the least I can do for him after this morning. And yesterday morning.

She began to think of Fenris shirtless, getting ideas and hoping the sight of her shirtless might make him get some ideas too. Then Hawke heard the sound of her pack jingling and began to panic, waving her hands and looking to where her shirt lay, too far to reclaim and put it back on. She forced a calm over herself, reasoning, Too late, Marian, too late. I just need to get ready, and my shirt was mostly off anyway. Besides, he's already seen most of it now, and I still have my breastband on. I could go swimming like this. I have gone swimming like this. No big deal, Marian. None at all.

She was still trying to figure out how to pose and what to do with her arms, in the middle of crossing and uncrossing them as Fenris rounded the corner. He halted, quickly and cautiously scanning the area outside the rear of their tent before entering and depositing her pack by her. He did not speak and Hawke found she couldn't meet his eye. So much for acting like adults…

"Thank you," she said airily, quickly pulling out her soap, washcloth, and a towel. Before she could bring herself to glance at Fenris's expression, he turned and walked a few paces off. She lost her nerve and looked down again by the time he turned back to stand by watching her. Taking his loitering as a compliment, however, and forcing herself to remain unconcerned and unhurried, she leaned down to splash her hands, face, and neck with the soothingly cool water. But even with her eyes closed, she could feel his weighty gaze on her. You did this to yourself, Marian… Andraste's knobbly knees, can't he just say something though?

"You know…" Hawke said conversationally, droplets of water dripping from her eyelashes and nose as she picked up her soap and started to lather her hands, "I at least had the courtesy to pretend I wasn't ogling you yesterday, Fenris."

"You do admit you were, though," he retorted dryly. She sagged down a little, realizing she had rather given herself away by chiding him. Unable to defend herself, she instead rubbed at her face, then used her washcloth to cursorily scrub her neck, chest, and behind her ears before rinsing. They both remained silent while she finished washing.

She is like no woman I have ever known, Fenris thought, growing distracted again, devouring the sight of Hawke and memorizing every exposed contour of her. No one but desperate whores and Hadriana had ever so exposed themselves to him, though he had on occasion glimpsed rather more than he wished to of Danarius's pleasure slaves. Fully appreciating the opportunity before him, Fenris found he could think of little to do but simply watch as he got his first taste of what a true woman looked like.

He relived the moments of the night before as his eyes traced the curves of Hawke's waist, imagining how his fingers must have looked trailing along her slender stomach. As she leaned over the bucket, he imagined her instead crouched above him, poised for any number of delightful activities, much like something out of his dream of kissing her in bed once they returned to his mansion.

And when she finished washing and straightened, he willed the sight of her generous, banded breasts to banish every hateful memory he had of Hadriana's. That bitch would be jealous indeed, and she would have every reason to be, he decided, reaffirming his belief that Hawke was far superior in every way to the scheming, foul woman who had plagued him for years.

She forced her attentions on me when I wanted nothing to do with her. Everything about Hadriana was what she wanted. And like Danarius, what she wanted more than anything was to own me completely, to enslave me utterly and bind me to her by every means possible.

But Hawke… Marian. She offered me anything I wanted. Given freely. Anything. I wonder…

As she patted her face dry, Hawke finally looked to where Fenris was standing quietly near the rear of the tent. His face was impassive as ever, and she didn't quite know what to make of it.

"What?" she finally asked, feeling a little defensive and as ever unused to the scrutiny she felt under his piercing gaze — especially given that she was shirtless. Andraste's double chin, I would almost prefer a poor reaction to none at all. Did I make him feel like this yesterday? He seemed so unconcerned. How very like him though, as he seems utterly unaware of how devastating he is. Terribly unfair man. Cruel, even.

Fenris advanced just far enough to lean down and pick up her bucket. Keeping his gaze on it instead of her, he said hesitantly, "I was just wondering if… you were serious. About… what you said… earlier."

Hawke pressed her towel to her chest, immediately knowing what he meant, remembering what she had told him in her unguarded moment of ardor. Her mouth went dry, so she cleared her throat before responding. "I, uh… was."

He stood very still, eyes looking everywhere but her. "I… would not keep you to it, of course. It was a very reckless thing to say, after all." His attempt at levity fell a little flat, however, since he both wanted her to mean it and hoped she would rescind it. To think that she wants me… and with such a promise, such an invitation…

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. But no, it would be too tempting. No. She cannot have meant it, not like that. Though he had thoroughly enjoyed the morning, except for his markings flaring, Fenris knew he was more confused than ever about what Hawke was to him.

Hawke stood, setting aside her towel before going to him. Placing one sweet-smelling hand against his cheek, she leaned nearer to murmur into his ear as he'd done to her several times that morning. "Reckless I may be, but I rarely make promises, Fenris," she explained seriously. "Because when I make a promise, I always keep it."

Fenris remained quiet for a while, staring mutely down at her toes, her legs, her waist, her snug breastband, then finally taking in the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. Anything? I would not even know… where to begin. I barely know myself, I do not understand so much about her. I know nothing of… any of this.

"Hm." He finally just grunted, shaking himself out of his trance, knowing Bartrand would undoubtedly start yelling again soon. Even if she meant it, I do not have to accept her promise. There is nothing more she could give me now, regardless. Not with my markings. Not with the lingering pain, the memories of torment and agony… of Danarius and Hadriana using me as a pet and a plaything…

Fenris thought of his dreams, how Hawke's offer meant he could ask her for any of the comforts, delights, and experiences he longed for — yet all of them things he found himself unable to do out of fear, shame, and guilt.

Even if she gives it freely, I do not deserve anything. She knows nothing about what I am truly capable of. I do not even understand her. And the memories… the pain. He cringed inside from the years of unwanted, painful contact with Danarius and Hadriana, from the long stretches of his short memory that were filled with endured torments or lingering agony. Though he dreamed often of Hawke and wanted much, the prospect of actually taking what he wanted was too daunting, too fraught with the possibility for disappointment, too overwhelming for him to understand in the face of all his other uncertainties, hesitations, and confusion.

No, it is too much. Too much for me and too much of a promise. I should make her take it back. It is too dangerous, too tempting for both of us otherwise. I cannot hold her to it. I will not allow her to make it. Not when she values promises as highly as I do.

"I… will have to think on it," he found himself saying instead.

Hawke smiled softly as she pushed a few locks of his hair aside then released him. "Take all the time you need."

Fenris left to empty the bucket as she began to dress. He fumbled to close the rear flaps of their tent as she began to slip off her soft, sleep-wrinkled pants, refusing to torture himself further with glimpses that would only serve to fuel his frustrations and dreams. Instead, focusing on the long day ahead and on ways to beat Varric at a rematch of Wicked Grace, he went about finishing getting ready for breakfast.

After returning Hawke's empty bucket to the side of the mess tent, which was indeed notably absent of most of the hirelings, Fenris returned to the tent to put on his armor. Hawke, freshly and once more fully dressed, had just finished lowering her travel sack into the back of Bodahn's wagon. She leaned against the side of the cart, waiting and watching as he approached.

Tsking and shaking her head ruefully, she gestured up and down at him. "For all your getting up early, you are the last one to finish getting ready, Fenris."

Fenris responded to her teasing with a flat look as he retrieved his belt, settling it on his hips before cinching and buckling it without releasing her gaze. "I cannot help it if you dawdle, woman."

Hawke feigned shocked disbelief, but soon could not help but laugh. He himself began to smile, pleased overall with his redoubled efforts and their results, even if he was still reeling from everything that had happened. It is not even breakfast yet and already she has given me more to think about than everything from the last three years combined…

As Fenris shrugged into his chestplate and pauldrons, Hawke left off gazing appreciatively at him to peer over his shoulder as Anders backed slowly out of his tent. "Oh, looks like Anders made me a liar," she observed. "He isn't quite dressed yet either. Probably this heat in here." She pressed her fingers against her lips, stifling a giggle as Anders began to drag his coat, feathered pauldrons, and the broad rough-spun scarf he tied under it out from his tent and pile them together. "You know, I never noticed how many layers he wears…"

Scowling, Fenris did not bother to agree or turn around, instead tending to buckling his armor's straps. As he experimentally flexed his arms as he always did once they were secured, Hawke made a small, appreciative noise, drawing nearer. He froze, half remembering his dream of her squeezing and admiring his muscles, and half afraid she would start stroking the rest of his armor as she'd done with his vambraces. He'd purposefully left those tucked in his pack to avoid temptation for both of them. Though things could hardly get more distracting after earlier this morning, he observed.

Hawke just peered up and over the metal guard at the peak of his chestplate, observing the slightly dried out embrium that was still tucked there. Fenris had been careful to wedge the stem in where the metal met with leather, and it had stayed quite securely put, though its fragrance had waned.

She sniffed, smiling up at him as she drew back. "I'm glad it still has a little scent left at least," Hawke said. "And I'm glad it hasn't gotten lost."

"I will do my best to keep it safe, Hawke," he promised. Then he thought of the afternoon they had found the embrium plant. "But… if something should happen to it, we could always climb the tree and get another before returning to Kirkwall." She smiled privately at that, and as he looked at her curving lips, he thought of his desire to kiss her in some special, meaningful place. In a sunny, high tree branch…

"Perhaps we should get another one regardless," he suggested, searching for some practical reason to do so. "You could… give it to your mother."

Hawke cocked her head at him and lightly poked one finger against his metal chestplate. "Aren't you just full of thoughtful ideas this morning?" He shrugged wordlessly, avoiding looking at her curious, bemused expression to scratch behind one pointy ear. She looked over his shoulder again, straightening and turning apprehensive. "Uh oh. We'll see about it once the expedition is over. For now, we'd better get moving. I think I see Bartrand headed this way."

The surly expedition leader came stomping across the cavern, face even redder from the heat than his usual anger could account for. "VARRIC! I know you're in there," he bellowed, heading straight for his brother's small tent. "I sodding told you yesterday I'd come over there and drag you from that tent if I had to! Ancestors below, ya think we're playing around down here? You… feckless layabout! You're not going to like this… not one sodding bit!"

There was a hint of rustling and movement from inside their dwarven companion's tent, and as Hawke and Fenris watched, keeping discreetly out of Bartrand's line of fire, first Bianca and then Varric's head popped out from the rear of it. Just as Bartrand stooped to throw himself headlong through the low, closed flaps out front, Varric stood and quietly straightened his coat, then crept with surprising stealth around front.

"Sod it all, where is that blighter," Bartrand grumbled from inside the tent, angry voice muffled by the canvas. "I would have bet my beard that that nughumper was still in here…" Varric put a finger to his lips, and Anders, Hawke, and Fenris all stood by mutely as he crept off a few paces then walked back loudly up to his tent.

"Were you looking for me, brother?" he asked in a theatrically loud voice, Bianca held easily in his hand as if he just came back from scouting. Hawke flashed him an amused look of warning but he just opened his mouth in a silent cackle and pointed as Bartrand's wide bottom backed furiously out of his tent. By the time his brother straightened, Varric's face was utterly schooled into an expression of pure curiosity, helpfulness, and concern.

"Where in seven sodding blazes have you been?" Bartrand howled, his big hands making fists as he stepped menacingly close to his younger brother. "Didn't ya hear me calling for you, Varric?"

Varric didn't look the least bit phased, however. "Why, I was checking the bottom of the ale barrel, of course. I didn't see myself in there, but hey! You'll be happy to learn I didn't drown." He smiled and shrugged, as if to indicate he too was pleasantly surprised to be found alive.

Bartrand's arms began to quiver and his neck went a sort of dangerous purple color, so Varric held up a placating hand, beguiling smile of utter serenity plastered on his face. "No need to get uglier, brother, I was just kidding. I was over at the hireling's camp, motivating them all out of bed." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and they all looked to the mess tent. Coincidentally, the tables were beginning to swarm with grumpy, sweaty hirelings. "Bianca likes to say good morning to lazy hirelings, don't you, Bianca?" he cooed, petting his crossbow as he so often liked to do.

Anders and Hawke looked back at Varric with raised eyebrows, and Bartrand just gave his brother a hard, beady-eyed stare. Fenris's eyes flicked up in resignation. It is no wonder I have difficulty beating him at cards. He is a better liar than anyone I have ever seen, and he has the luck of three dwarves combined. He paused at the last thought, shaking his head. And now he has me multiplying everything by threes…

As a still-suspicious Bartrand started in on a litany of things for Varric to look into, check on, and take care of, the rest of them hurriedly made their way to the mess tent to get breakfast. There was a lot of grumbling and dissatisfied faces among the hirelings' tables, most everyone having slept poorly in the sweltering cavern and also still feeling tired from yesterday's very early start and relentless pace to make up for lost time.

"Nothing like piping hot porridge on a ghastly, sweaty morning," Hawke said with feigned cheerfulness. She added a drizzle of honey to her breakfast and vigorously stirred it, trying to bring the temperature down from boiling.

"I can make it cold for you if you'd like, Marian," Anders offered. He placed one hand on his steaming bowl and one on his cup of tea, concentrating for a moment and casting an ice spell to turn his breakfast chilly. Then he gestured for Hawke to slide hers over, which she did with delight after a moment's hesitation.

"Oh, all right, just don't use too much of your mana on it." She watched excitedly as he chilled her porridge and turned her tea slightly icy, leaning in to peer as a sheen of frost blossomed across the contours of the wooden dishes. "That's pretty 'cool,' as Varric would say." Anders snorted, sliding her breakfast back over to her. Fenris just kept his head bent to his meal, perfectly content to simply be eating food, temperature notwithstanding.

"I used to have Bethany freeze our brother's lambchops solid," Hawke said with a chuckle, pressing her cool tumbler of tea to her cheek before taking a sip. "He'd go to cut into them and bend Mother's good silverware all out of shape. Then I would say, 'For someone named Carver, you are terrible at cutting your meat…' It never really got old." Anders guffawed, almost spitting out a mouthful of iced tea.

Fenris's mouth flattened in dissatisfaction as he started in on his second hot bowl of porridge. Magic… bah. She is entirely too comfortable with it. But I suppose it is hardly surprising, growing up around apostates as she did. She is fortunate that her sister and father were not weak. He glanced up at Hawke, watching her for a moment. Her eyes slipped closed as she savored a spoonful of cold porridge, and he was struck by how beautiful she could look doing something as ordinary as eating.

If she had grown up in Tevinter, he thought, looking back down before she caught him staring, she would have been as good as a slave to her more powerful family members, would have been made to serve her little sister from the moment her magic manifested, regardless that she was the elder. The magisters may not actually enslave their own kin — usually — but no normal person would ever give up the advantage of having a magister in the family.

She would have been expected to serve them even more dutifully than a slave, and her father would have used her as a pawn to gain alliances with other great houses. She would have long ago been wed to another powerful family, bred like fine horseflesh in the hopes of producing scions with even stronger magic in their blood. Regardless of whether her more powerful relatives actually bestowed any wealth or favors upon her or not, she would be utterly at their whims and mercy. But magisters do not have mercy. Not for long.

His thoughts of Hawke in the Imperium disturbed Fenris enough to start disrupting his appetite, so he put the idea aside and focused back on his food. No, she will never go to the Imperium if I have anything to say about it, he decided. She wishes to help me against Danarius, but I am satisfied to await him in Kirkwall. I told her when we first spoke that I would go to him if he did not come back. But why should I, risking capture by some other magister when I know he will eventually come for what he believes is rightfully his? Until he is dead, his pride will not let him rest. That he came to Kirkwall himself is evidence of that.

No, he will return, especially if I stay put.

In the meantime, let him sit around Minrathous waiting, being mocked by the other magisters when he is seen to be still without his leashed elf trailing him after three years of being asked what happened to his precious investment, of posting bounty after bounty for my capture, of boasting that he will soon be dragging me behind his palanquin again. Let him sweat as he wonders if his hired guards can protect him from his numerous rivals without the benefit of lyrium fueling their strength and prowess. Let him sit out the magisters' bloody contests of battling in Seheron because he's too afraid of being cut down, without me there to turn a Qunari blade aside for him. Let Hadriana find some other way to stab him in the back and try to usurp him.

They know where I am. They know what I am. Let them come, if they find the courage.

Hawke leaned forward, ducking her head to peer up at Fenris's face as she caught a glimpse of his dangerous expression. "You're looking awfully determined over there, Fenris… And you're being very quiet, even for you," she teased. He glanced up at her and she gave him a sly smile. "What are you thinking about? Are you coming up with ways to beat Varric at Wicked Grace?"

I told her I could see myself staying for the right reasons, Fenris thought, considering her, his enticing dreams, their enjoyable morning, and his plans for freeing himself once and for all. Assuming we ever get out of these wretched tunnels, I do not see why I need leave Kirkwall. Not anytime soon, not when staying could hasten Danarius's demise.

I have a place to stay, I can handle the ordinary dangers the city holds, I've been able to avoid the scrutiny of the nobles and the Guard so far, and for once, I have the aid of… allies. Hawke will be there and soon in Hightown, right near my mansion…

A slow half-smile lifted one corner of his mouth and he flashed her a wicked look. "As I told you earlier, Hawke, there are always many things on my mind."

Anders gave them both a sour, sidelong look, then quickly finished off his breakfast before leaving without a word.

Hawke spared his back a distracted glance, then turned to Fenris again. "Well, I do hope you take Varric on again. I have plenty of coin for a rematch, you know." He frowned and opened his mouth to speak in protest, not wanting her to risk more of her coin on him. But before he could say anything, Hawke added earnestly, "I believe in you. I know you can do it." She gave him her best smile and gently slid the toe of her boot alongside his foot under the table.

Fenris paused, taking in her words, the feel of her furtive, under the table nudge, her encouraging smile, and the ever-open look of tenderness in her eyes. Then he looked away to finish eating, testing out the feel of thinking of Hawke as an ally and wondering if that was what she was to him.

She is, but… she isn't. She is something… else. More? He refused to even seriously consider what Varric had mentioned the previous night, reasoning testily, Yes, she is a girl, but she cannot be a friend. If we were… friends, I would think I'd understand her better, that I would feel less uncomfortable around her. That I would be able to… talk to her more easily. Tell her things… Especially about my past.

Just the thought of speaking candidly with Hawke about any number of his past experiences left him feeling uncharacteristically panicked. No, it cannot be that either. To say nothing of how I cannot bring myself to bear her touch. Fasta vass, I cannot make heads or tails of any of this. It is pointless to think about it again.

He is always so worried about wasting my coin, Hawke thought with fondness, but he'll get Varric. Besides, I just want him to enjoy himself. Maybe I can help… She considered Fenris's look of uncertainty for a moment, then looked around conspiratorially, making sure Varric was nowhere nearby. She thought she spied him on the far side of the cavern standing in front of Bartrand's tent with his elder brother, and the distant sound of the expedition leader's ongoing rant confirmed it. She leaned over to Fenris again. "You know that earring Varric wears high on his right ear? The smaller one?"

Fenris pushed the last few spoonfuls of his porridge around, brow furrowing as he thought of the one Hawke meant. That dwarf adorns himself with earrings, rings, that thick strand of beads or whatever that is he wears around his neck… He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He wears almost as much jewelry as Isabela. So much… jingling.

Until he met Hawke, Fenris himself had never worn any adornment at all before, and he still was rather unused to the feel of the imbued rings, one on each hand, that Hawke pressed him into taking shortly after he started accompanying her. The pendant she had given him he was more accustomed to, since it usually remained hidden under his armor until he went to bathe or go to bed. Then he would finger it and stare at it, tilting and moving the pewter medallion so its cunning etchings would catch the light, and the scene of wolves howling would seem to come to life.

He rather enjoyed peering at the illusion of flowing water, the deceptively detailed trees, the realistic full moon, and watching the green eyes of the lifelike wolves glinting in the firelight. It invariably reminded him of Hawke, too — and so did his rings, lately. Every time he noticed the bands were loose and pushed them back into place, he thought of the way Hawke's fingers slid in between his and fiddled with them. Given enough time, you do get used to almost anything, he thought, distractedly twirling the ring on his smallest finger.

Suddenly he realized Hawke was still waiting for a response. Venhedis. Her distractions are becoming more numerous. I wonder if I will ever get used to that. "Yes, I know the one of which you speak," Fenris finally answered. "Why, what of it?"

"It's his lucky earring," she confided with one eyebrow arched meaningfully.

Fenris sighed, not seeing what that had to do with anything. "There is no such thing, Hawke. I know magical trinkets can enhance many things, but luck is not one of them."

She nodded her head sagely. "I know that and you know that. Yet Varric swears it brings him luck. I just… thought you might be able to use that tidbit of information the next time you play Wicked Grace with him." Hawke gave him a sweet, helpful smile.

Why is she telling me this? Does she think I am incapable of beating the dwarf on my own merits? "And what would you have me do?" Fenris growled, eyebrows drawing down deeply. "Steal it?"

Though in the past he had stolen far more times than he cared to count, he had not needed to do so recently, and he had no intention of resuming by pilfering something from an acquaintance and a friend of Hawke's. I will beat him with skill and tactics… I do not need… luck, he thought testily.

Hawke laughed, shaking her head and lazily waving a dismissive hand. "No, of course not! Varric's far too savvy for anyone to pull that off." Then she blushed and looked aside, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. "And even if you tried using your lyrium talent to lift it… Well… your touch is somewhat… distinctive."

Fenris raised an eyebrow at that. What does she mean, 'distinctive'? Is that… bad? He began sifting through his memories of her rather enthusiastic reactions from earlier that morning, but his thoughts were interrupted as Hawke glanced out into the cavern with a slight look of alarm. He followed her gaze and saw that Bartrand had finally ceased berating Varric, and their dwarven companion was fast approaching.

"All I am saying is, when he's playing and gets down on his luck, maybe he has a tell?" she whispered in a rush. "Maybe he, I don't know, tugs on his lucky earring or brushes it or something?" She gave a resigned shrug as Varric stopped by the table to drop off Bianca.

"You know, if Bartrand did half of this shit himself instead of just telling other people to do it, it would all be done already," the dwarf groused. His face screwed up into an imitation of his brother as he pitched his voice just like Bartrand's. "Varric! Go yell at yourself for me, I don't have time to do it! I'm too busy telling you to do it!" He wandered away to get his breakfast, muttering to himself.

Hawke gave his back a sympathetic look before she turned back to Fenris. "Well? What about it? Will you take him on again tonight? He'll probably be in fine spirits for you to rile him up, if his current mood persists."

Fenris considered it, never above using his opponents already rattled state to further unsettle them. His armor, his use of large, menacing weapons, his appearance and his demeanor were all meant to unnerve, and he felt confident he could find some tactic to accomplish something similar while playing Wicked Grace with Varric.

"If he feels up to the challenge," Fenris said slowly, "I suppose I am… game."

Hawke chuckled at his pun. "We'll see about setting it up after dinner again, tonight. Assuming nothing disastr… no, no, I am not going to even say it. No need to tempt fate, Marian…"

Fenris watched Hawke as she began stacking the dishes on the tray. I do not recall seeing the dwarf tugging at his earrings at all last night… he thought, finishing off the last of his now-cool porridge. But I did keep getting distracted by her and that insufferable mage. I could have perhaps missed it, I suppose. He placed his empty bowl on the tray and carefully wiped off his face just as Varric returned.

Their usually cheery dwarven companion sat down heavily, digging straight in to his breakfast, face wrinkled with a disgruntled expression.

"Any idea if yesterday got us back on schedule?" Hawke asked him, hoping to prod Varric into a better mood.

He shrugged. "Who knows. Those Carta scouts like to play things close to the vest, but all the rumors and stories agree, it's a week down from the surface." He scratched at his ear, and Fenris's sharp eyes caught the gesture immediately. "With luck, whoever told spread those rumors wasn't half the storyteller I am. I don't know if it'd be worth it to travel three weeks just to get there…"

It may have just been a coincidence, Fenris thought, replaying Varric's fleeting gesture in his mind. He did seem to touch the top of his ear though. Hmm. Still, I suppose it could not hurt to watch for it, when next we play.

Hawke patted Varric on the back. "I'm sure everything will work out just fine. It can't get much worse, right?" She waved a hand around to take in the steamy cavern, then fanned herself while smiling reassuringly.

"Don't say that, Hawke." Varric slumped forward, the hand holding his spoon going suddenly limp, almost flinging a blob of porridge up over the lip of his bowl. "Maker, I hate it when you say that. Nothing good ever happens when you say that…"

Not this again… She rolled her eyes, mouth flattening. "Everyone acts like I cause these completely random, catastrophic things to occur. But I don't do anything! I cannot help it if I am just there, then things happen!" Hawke looked to Fenris beseechingly, but he just shrugged, rather agreeing with Varric. She frowned, looking between the two of them and tsking at them both.

Varric's the one that persuaded me to come down here in the first place, she thought irritatedly, feeling rather defensive. And half the strange things we've been involved in were the products of rumors he brought to me! I don't go looking for trouble — it finds me! It always has.

And as for Fenris… well, shouldn't he be on my side, after everything? It isn't fair. Hawke frowned at him, but he just stared back at her, expression neutral as ever. I should do something 'reckless' just to put another look on his face. Then he'll learn what it looks like when I mean for something to happen…

She was feeling both rather stimulated and unfulfilled from her early morning massage from him, and she knew her frustrations were at least partially his fault. Cruel man. I cannot take much more teasing from him. He should have a care with me for a change, lest he find himself… I don't know, utterly ravaged or something. And what about this morning? I didn't start that; he did. Again, I was just there!

So why should he side with Varric in this? Is this because they're getting chummy, he thinks he has to side with his card partner? Hmph. Is Varric's chest more persuasive than mine? I don't think so! Perhaps I should remind him later… or perhaps I shouldn't! Maybe I should give him some time to think about what he's missing out on, since he's so fond of thinking. Maker… men!

"Andraste's unlucky left nostril," she swore under her breath, gathering up the tray of dirty dishes. "I almost hope we do run into lots of dangerous things today. I suddenly feel like doing a lot of stabbing." She gave them both another cross look before storming away to the mess tent.

"Heh. Women," Varric grumped, shaking his head.

I truly do not understand her. "Women," Fenris agreed, utterly confused as to Hawke's swift change in mood. His dwarven tablemate cackled amiably, smiling for the first time since narrowly escaping his tent that morning.

While Varric finished his breakfast, Fenris remained at the table in a companionable silence, deciding to wait for the dwarf to head back to their camp so he would not have to face Hawke's sudden ire alone. He did watch her, however, noting with an angry throb of jealousy that she headed straight to Anders to help the mage strike his tent and pack it away.

Well, at least I should be able to take out my frustrations in battle, Fenris figured, by now more than familiar with Hawke's tendency to both run afoul of danger and get what she wanted. We are bound to run into something today, now. I will just have to watch out for her daggers. And her distractions. And I need to think of some way to avoid being distracted by her and that mage if Varric and I play cards again tonight.

Once he and Varric went back to their respective tents, Fenris silently helped a grumpy Hawke pack the tent away. Focusing on planning and strategizing for later that evening, he gave her the quiet she seemed to desire rather than risk antagonizing her further by saying the wrong thing. She remained in a sullen silence herself, stalking off to go help Bodahn and Sandal carry things to their cart when he turned to place the rolled up tent into the back of the other wagon.

Fenris was a little taken back at her disappearance, disappointed that she didn't stay to help with his vambraces again. But he soon let it go, for the carts were beginning to swarm with hirelings and he wished neither an audience, nor to put on a display if his markings flared again. He did not even bother to puzzle out her behavior, knowing well enough how dark moods sometimes arose out of seemingly nowhere.

Fortunately, Hawke and the rest of the irritated expedition crew all seemed to improve in mood when they finally struck camp. Despite Bartrand setting an aggressive pace again due to everyone's tardiness, no one was sorry to put the hot, stuffy cavern well behind them. With an air of grim, if not exactly enthusiastic determination, they once more headed out to travel the Deep Roads for yet another long, sunless day.

---

4 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Evening

"So, what was the final count, Varric?" Hawke asked, playfully nudging the dwarf in the arm as she sat down to dinner that night. "Who was the victor of the day?" She leveled Fenris with a smug look as she set his bowls of stew and his stack of flatbread out for him.

Varric sighed. "Fourteen spiders for you, ten for the elf, eight for me, and I dunno, maybe six for Blondie? It's hard to keep count when he turns them all into ashes."

"Hey!" Anders said defensively, brow furrowing. "I counted at least twice that many."

"I told you before, Blondie," Varric explained, clearly trying to be patient though his tone frayed around the edges a bit. "Collateral damage doesn't count. If your fireball happens finish some off when someone else already has engaged them and has worn 'em down, it still counts for them. Otherwise it's called kill-stealing, and it's what rank amateurs do."

"It should count!" Anders cried. "If I literally killed it…"

"It doesn't count," Varric retorted, cutting him off with an air of finality.

Anders huffed. "Don't I get any credit for healing, then? Can't each heal count as a kill, or half a kill or something? It hardly seems fair that I lose out on kills to keep you all alive."

Varric sighed heavily, shaking his head and turning his attention to tearing his flatbread up into small pieces rather than trying to argue the subject again with the mage.

"But we do all agree," Hawke chimed in, with a broad, self-satisfied smile, "I had far and away the most kills." She looked triumphantly between Anders and Varric as they both gave wordless grunts of unenthusiastic agreement.

Fenris just flicked his eyes upward, wondering why any of it mattered — though he was a little frustrated that Hawke had gotten to engage more spiders than he had. I could have used more battle. I still feel entirely too… agitated. Yet it was all any of us could do trying to keep up with that woman today. She was in rare form, despite her protestations of wanting to sleep more when I woke her. Hmph. Well… perhaps giving Varric a drubbing at Wicked Grace will help me focus myself.

Everyone ate in silence for a few minutes, though Hawke hummed happily and quietly herself as she spooned up her stew. Fenris found himself glancing at her every few moments, for she kept shifting and fidgeting where she sat across the table from him, apparently unable to keep still. He found not only her humming and her movements a distraction, but also her jovial, distant expression.

Anders seemed to notice it too, for eventually he commented, "Marian, you seem in a rather fine mood this evening."

Hawke picked up her tumbler of water, saluting him with it. "Yes, I suppose I am," she admitted, smiling. "We had a good, productive day, this cavern is just the right temperature for a change, and, I dunno… I just feel… energetic."

Mmm, that massage this morning has my whole upper body feeling better than it has in ages. Even after this ridiculously long day and getting covered in spider goo, now I'm clean and comfortable and looking forward to whatever Fenris might have in store for me tonight.

She paused in lifting her cup to her lips, glancing over at him above the lip of it. If I asked, might he massage my front, a wee bit? He did tell me to show him where it hurt this morning, and I suddenly feel a stitch in my side… oh, definitely a stitch. She could almost imagine what it would feel like to have his hands on her bare waist and stomach, and the idea of it made her mouth go dry.

Hawke's distant look turned into a distant smirk and she wriggled a little before taking a long, thirsty drink. Fenris could feel Anders shifting on the bench beside him at the same time he himself shifted. Varric also gave his benchmate a sidelong look, then shot Fenris a glance with eyebrows upraised before turning back to his bowl of stew.

Fenris blinked a few times in confusion, wondering why the dwarf should look to him and what the expression on his face meant. Does he mean for me to tell her to stop shaking the bench for him? Does he want me to ask her why she is so… fidgety? he pondered. I do not understand any of this. Not Hawke, not Varric, and least of all my part in all of this.

Anders cleared his throat. "Shall we play cards again tonight?" he asked of Hawke, not really including Varric or Fenris in on the question.

Hawke, however, looked between their other companions expectantly. "Yes, are you two planning on having your Wicked Grace rematch? I left the cards in my pack, but I can go get them." I know he can beat Varric, but even if he doesn't, I'm sure I can find some way to cheer him up tonight. All I need do is remind him of the promise I made. He seemed… intrigued by that, if I recall.

Varric shrugged without looking up. "I dunno, elf. I'm up for it, but… I'll understand if you have something else you'd rather be doing." He pointedly did not look at Fenris, nor Hawke as her smile went a bit distant and predatory and she excitedly danced a little in her seat again.

"I think you should," she urged, smiling and nodding at Fenris as her attention stopped wandering. "I think you can beat him, and I would love to watch."

Mmm, I love watching him play Wicked Grace… the way his hands move, that intense look he gets on his face, the terribly dry, witty things he says that invariably make me laugh. She thought of how much she had enjoyed playing at his mansion, in his bed. Her thoughts once more became rather amorous as she recalled how the bed had been every bit as comfortable and cozy as she had suspected from her first visit to his mansion, and the only mystery that was left was what it would be like to share it with him.

Maker, maybe I shouldn't encourage them to play cards after all. Maybe I should have asked Fenris if he wanted to practice playing in our tent. She rubbed at her neck, her hand trailing absentmindedly down her chest and tugging on her necklace just thinking about all the flirty, grabby fun they could have alone together, though she knew full well it would hardly prepare Fenris for challenging Varric again.

Though he had been thinking up tactics, barbs and misdirections to use on Varric all day, Fenris was not sure he wanted to attempt playing against the crafty dwarf while Hawke was being so distracting.

"Do you think you actually would be able to sit still for it?" he droned, both frustrated with her and frustrated with himself for being unable to deal with her never-ending diversions. "You are acting very… unprofessional, Hawke." She may not realize it herself, but everyone at the table is staring, and so are the hirelings. She seemed very concerned about appearing professional the other day. What has gotten into her since then?

Hawke froze, halting her fidgeting. Really, need he use that tone of voice with me? What does he mean, sit still? I am! And unprofe… no. No, surely I misheard. She looked at Fenris and he stared flatly back at her, looking stern. She rested her hand back against the tabletop, fingers beginning to drum quietly. His eyes snapped to the motion then flicked up in consternation before holding hers again, so she stilled herself utterly.

Her face went dark, the bright, cheerful gleam in her eyes going rather flinty. Apparently I did not mishear. Well. Perhaps I was fidgeting a little, but that was only because I was in a fine mood. He fidgets all the time, and I never say anything. Especially not in front of anyone else. That would be unprofessional. And what brought all this on? What did I do to deserve his decidedly less-than-fine-mood?

Getting over the initial daze of his criticisms, her heart began to ache like he'd reached into her chest and raked at it. "I see," was all she could say, though she managed to say it rather coolly.

Anders and Varric both coughed and cleared their throats, turning away to discreetly resume a conversation they'd been having earlier about which would be worse, being a dwarf in the Grey Wardens or a human in the Carta.

Hawke just ignored them, feeling suddenly upset, embarrassed, and even more upset that she had been made to feel embarrassed. And by Fenris, of all people. Maker, and here I thought… But no, I suppose I do not understand him after all. Her confusion only fed into her insecurities, which only served to make her feel even worse.

Fenris went back to eating, not really sure what had just happened, but eager to take advantage of Hawke's relative stillness and quiet to finish his meal in peace. I used to be able to concentrate. I used to be able to focus, I used to have quiet. I knew my own mind, did not care what went on around me so long as there was no threat, knew what dangers to look for. But I do not understand her, or this. Any of this. Must I get used to this? How can I when…

His thoughts were interrupted yet again by her as she stood and left the table, her dinner half-eaten. Everyone glanced at her as she went, even Fenris, and almost the entire expedition crew followed her with their eyes as she stalked across the massive cavern they'd camped in for the night.

"Shit," Varric swore. "Twice in one day? That's no good." Anders shot Fenris a dark look but said nothing, while the dwarf just rubbed absentmindedly at his forehead. "Say, Blondie. How, uh… how long ago was it, the last time we played Wicked Grace with Hawke? You remember…" His eyes darted to Fenris, then he crossed his arms in front of his chest and slumped down on the bench theatrically, inclining his head in the direction Hawke had walked.

Anders gave Varric a quizzical look before it dawned on him what he might be referring to. "Ah… yes," he said slowly. "I do recall the night you mean, now. The last time she was in such a… fine mood." Varric nodded sagely. Anders's expression changed to one of distant seriousness, the look he often got on his face when healing or tending one of his patients. "No, we should be safe for at least another week and a half, if memory serves. Something else must have set her off." Both pairs of their eyes shifted to Fenris.

After shooting a sidelong glance at them and gleaning no information whatsoever about what they were referring to, Fenris gave up utterly on trying to understand anything for the day. Instead, he decided to be content with the simple pleasures of dipping flatbread into stew, which was something he could understand. Dwarves… mages… women. Bah.

Hawke returned after a few minutes, dropping her Wicked Grace deck and a single sovereign onto the middle of the table. She sat back down on the bench heavily and resumed eating in silence while the coin gyrated on the tabletop, twirling faster and faster before it settled down flat with a noisy clatter. Anders and Varric didn't say a word, soon following Hawke and Fenris's lead and eating the remainder of the meal in complete silence.

It didn't take long for Hawke to finish eating since she was not constantly pausing to make conversation or laugh, nor flirting with Fenris. She soon put her dishes aside and drained her tumbler of water, before sitting straight, still, and prim on the bench. When she spoke, she knew she looked the picture of cool professionalism — her hands were even folded demurely in her lap.

"Well, I think I will go find something to occupy myself for the evening, then. I trust you two gentlemen will have a good game." As Fenris peered over at her through a few errant locks of hair that hung in his eyes, Hawke lifted her chin a little, adding, "No doubt you'll find it much easier to think without me here distracting you."

She had put two and two together while she walked to her tent and back. That's what he said last night, wasn't it? He just kept getting distracted? And I suppose he thinks my wanting to be here to cheer him on will make him lose? I taught him this stupid game, and it's my coin up for wager… Does he think I made him lose yesterday, too? Is that why he sent me to bed alone? Of all the… Hmph, well, I won't be blamed again. It'll be his loss tonight, not mine. Men!

"Probably," he responded cautiously. At least she understands, even if she seems dissatisfied about not being able to watch. Then, it became rather obvious to Fenris that it had been the entirely wrong thing to say.

So I was right. "Oh, well, I see," Hawke said in a rather clipped tone, staring over at him for a moment before rising gracefully from the table. "I will go have some tea to calm myself while I think. About what to do with my evening. I shall also go ahead and say goodnight." She inclined her head to her assembled companions before tossing her hair and sweeping away from the table towards her tent.

Varric waited until she was out of earshot before giving a low whistle. "Maker, am I glad Bianca never throws fits like that. Sure, sometimes she gets jammed, but that's just her way of saying she wants a little attention." He let the hint hang in the air for a heartbeat before turning to his crossbow. "Isn't it, Bianca?" Then he leaned down to stroke it, murmuring unintelligibly.

Anders watched her go, then blinked at Fenris in disbelief for a few moments. Eventually unable to contain himself, he asked, "Aren't you going to go after her?"

Fenris stacked his dishes up in front of himself, not bothering to look at the apostate. "To what end? Clearly she feels she is not good company at the moment and wishes to be alone." It made perfect sense to him, for he often withdrew when he sensed he was making people uncomfortable with his presence.

Why should I go after her? She said she needed to calm herself, and she has seemed agitated all day. But… she also said goodnight, so perhaps she is tired and wishes to go to bed early. Though both scenarios made sense, he could see the contradiction between them and it gave him an uneasy feeling that there was something more that he wasn't seeing.

Well, whatever has gotten into her, I hope she has it sorted out before I come to bed. I get little enough rest these nights with her distracting me in my dreams. I hardly need her laying on her bedroll beside me… wriggling all night. Just the thought made his mouth go dry, and he knew any attempt he might make at talking to Hawke about her mood would invariably only leave him more confused and probably more frustrated. Perhaps I should wait for her to fall asleep again. It would be far easier than talking.

Anders continued to stare, expression going from incredulity to anger to very blank. Eventually he looked away in silence, apparently deciding it was in his best interest to remain out of it.

"So," Varric said, putting his dishes aside and dusting his hands off, "I guess we're doing this then, elf?"

Fenris inclined his head curtly, dropping his pile of dirty dishes onto the tray in front of Hawke's empty seat with a clatter. He wiped his hands on his leggings, putting all thoughts of her aside and settling into a focused frame of mind, though he was aware that Anders was sitting next to him still, still lurking while deep in thought. Venhedis… When will this mage leave the table? Yet another reason I look forward to returning to my mansion. No unwelcome guests.

Anders did finally stand, however, going around the table to set his own dishes on the tray just as Sandal came up to remove it and return the pile to Bodahn.

"Oooh, fluffy!" the simple dwarf said, craning his neck to stare up at the tall mage before he left again.

"Fluffy?" Anders looked down at himself. "What… what is that even supposed to mean?" he grumbled before he stalked away, feathered pauldrons looking a bit puffed up.

The rest of the tables had nearly emptied too, most of the hirelings already having returned to their camp in the farthest corner of the massive cavern behind a wall of stalagmites. Many of them still harbored fears of darkspawn, and now, too, giant spiders, after the ambushes of the past two days. So Varric had suggested to Bartrand to allow them to set camp where they felt safest, and had nudged Hawke's group to camp near the mouth of the cavern to act as a sort of guard station at the chokepoint into the area. It was all more for peace of mind than anything, for Anders had felt no nearby darkspawn presence and the spiders seemed to prefer lurking in darker, closer spaces than the one they hunkered down in for the night.

Varric and Fenris once again slid to the centers of their opposite benches. Varric, looking nonchalant and cheerful as ever, slid a gold sovereign over by Hawke's before he unbound the deck of cards. Fenris watched him closely, face already implacable, keen eyes boring into the unconcerned dwarf as Varric fanned out the cards face-up across the table for inspection.

"I'm feeling kind of beat tonight, elf, and we both know how the other plays, now," he said as his eyes cursorily scanned the cards. "Maybe instead of thirty-three hands, we make it a quick seventeen? I'm sure you've got better things to do than lose to me all night."

While he listened, Fenris stared at each card closely, intent on thwarting any trickery the dwarf might already be trying to pull. But though he looked for missing or marked cards, he found nothing of note. He gathered up the cards himself, purposefully claiming the first deal as he fixed Varric with a hard look.

"We can play as few or as many hands as you wish, but the outcome will be the same, dwarf. Tonight, I will best you. I will be the victor."

Varric smiled, chuckling with amiable good grace. "You've got confidence, I'll give you that. It's more than most people who play against me have." Then he tapped the two gold sovereigns.

"But hey, do I seem worried to you? I'm not even playing with my own coin tonight. Even if I lose, it just means I break even." He produced mug after mug of ale from somewhere under the table, lining six up in front of himself before quaffing half of one of them contentedly.

Fenris's eyes narrowed. He is trying to goad me already, reminding me Hawke is footing my wagers. And he drinks down his ale, as if to say playing me sober is not even necessary. Hmm, well… Little does he know that I barely got started last night before other things distracted me from concentrating fully on our game. This would have gone badly enough for him tonight, but he is going to make it that much worse for himself. And I have no qualms about exploiting his mistakes — in fact, I will enjoy it.

He gave the dwarf a predatory smile as he shuffled the cards, holding Varric's gaze to distract him as he kept his thumb discreetly on the angel of death. "Good luck all the same, and may the best elf win." As he mentioned the word 'luck,' Fenris kept a close eye on the dwarf's small earring, hoping to gauge the usefulness of Hawke's advice.

Laughing heartily, Varric saluted him with his ale, not making any discernible gesture regarding his lucky earring. "Whatever you say, elf. Either way, I get a few hands of cards in and a break from my brother. Taking Hawke's money from you is just gravy." After he drained his first mug, he pulled out his pencil and another piece of paper to make up the scorecard.

Fenris let his face go blank again as he dealt, though he was rather proud of how efficiently and neatly he handled the playing cards now. He also deftly ensured that the angel of death wound up in his pile, giving him all the leverage he would probably need to win their first hand. Best out of seventeen means I need only win nine hands and he will be unable to recover. The fire of competitiveness in him blazed, and he felt a surge of confidence that he would emerge victorious.

They played the first five hands in complete silence, Fenris indeed winning the first one, and all the rest, too, save the last.

"Oh ho, looks like the broody elf is infallible after all," Varric tutted, gathering up his full house and Fenris's three of a kind once he finally won a hand. "You're slipping already, elf, and now I'm coming for you!" He didn't even bother to look at Fenris, merely smiling distantly to himself and focusing on shuffling.

"Yes, you need only do that four more times in a row to take the lead," Fenris droned. "And then win another four in a row after that to win. You will forgive me if I seem unconcerned." Though in truth he closely watched the dwarf's small, quick hands for any sign of cheating, he pretended to sit languidly, with his face propped on one hand, fingers curled against his lips.

They both glanced to the far corner of the cavern as strains of a tune started echoing over the wall of stalagmites from the hirelings' camp.

"Hmph, guess the hirelings are in a good mood again," Varric grumped. "You wouldn't believe the bitching that was going on in their camp this morning. Between Bartrand's wake up calls and him marching us like Andraste herself is behind us with an exalted horde of bloodthirsty barbarians, there was some serious talk of dwarf-tossing." He quickly dealt the cards and the beginnings of a grimace appeared on his face as peeked at his hand. "And who does he send to unpiss them off? Why, me, of course! Who else?"

Fenris sorted through his cards, noticing that he'd been dealt two pair, songs and daggers, which wasn't a terrible hand to start with, but also wasn't very strong. He had also been dealt the angel of death, which surprised him, as he had assumed Varric would try to swipe it since it was his deal.

Should I go ahead and end the game right here, or does Varric have something stronger in his hand? He stared across the table, trying to read the expression on Varric's face. His grimace could be for an unlucky hand, or it could simply be for his brother. How can I distinguish which it is?

He thought for a moment, tempted to goad the dwarf about his brother. Yet he found he did not really wish to take side with Bartrand, even to prod Varric a little. "Hmm… It sounds as though your brother takes advantage of you even more than others who work for him," he finally said, watching for Varric's reaction.

"Tell me about it," the dwarf chuckled, a quick smile lifting his lips. Then he turned his focus back to his cards and grimaced again.

Fenris felt one corner of his own mouth draw up into a satisfied, knowing smile. So, he is used to his brother treating him poorly, and it is his hand that truly makes him unhappy. Very well — I will chance ending this right here.

"I was dealt the angel of death," he stated with feigned hesitation as he drew a card, which he had to do before discarding. It did not really help him, however. Fenris discarded the angel of death and lay down his marginal hand. "I fear your luck may indeed have turned."

Varric paused, looking in confusion at Fenris's cards. "Heh, I can't believe you'd admit being dealt the angel of death with a crap hand like that, elf."

"I was dealt it, so I played it. That is the rule, is it not?" Fenris kept his face neutral, waiting patiently for Varric to lay his cards down.

"It is, but… who the hell plays by the rules?" Varric pursed his lips unhappily for a moment before chuckling and setting his cards down. He had a pair of angels, but nothing else. "Eh, I guess even in Wicked Grace, honesty pays off every once in a while." He took a hearty swig of ale, thunking the mug back down after a moment. "Mores the pity for me, since I always lie about everything."

"Wouldn't… that be impossible?" Fenris asked, pointing out the contradiction. "For it would mean your statement about always lying would be true — which would mean you actually didn't always lie about everything?"

"Maker… No logic riddles, elf," Varric pleaded, sighing heavily. "You're worse than talking to that talkative guy at The Hanged Man, and I'm nowhere near drunk enough for that, yet…" He rubbed at his forehead for a few moments before finishing off his mug of ale in one long chug.

Fenris made no reply except to gather up the cards and deal. Four more hands, and I will have this won, he thought with a deep sense of satisfaction.

Then, three more hands later, Fenris had already won another two to Varric's one.

"I'd better step up my game," the dwarf mumbled as he updated the scorecard and saw Fenris's substantial lead. "Two more wins for you, and I'm screwed." He gathered up his next hand of cards, sorting through them rather seriously.

Rearranging his own cards silently, Fenris merely waited to see what the dwarf would try next. Undoubtedly he will bring up some uncomfortable topic or other soon, trying to rattle me… He attempted to steel himself against the eventuality, staying as focused as possible.

Sure enough, Varric took his turn in silence, then spoke as soon as Fenris started to move his hand towards the draw pile. "So, any idea what's going on with your woman today? It's been a while since I saw Hawke in a mood like that."

Fenris's hand fumbled with the cards, sliding a few across the tabletop. He had been hoping to swipe two cards and perhaps seize yet another win, but he had not been expecting Varric's comment.

What does he mean by calling Hawke 'my woman'? Venhedis! Fasta vass! I might have been able to use that extra card to win the last hand… His hand curled into a fist and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to put Hawke out of his mind and regain his concentration.

The dwarf's hairy, exposed chest shook in a silent chuckle as he extended one finger to slide a single card, the one that had been on top of the draw pile, over to Fenris. Then he gathered up and restacked the other cards neatly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have pried," he said unapologetically. "It's probably none of my business."

Fenris snatched the lone card up, gratified when he saw it that it was at least useful. "Hawke is her own woman," he grumbled. "If you wish to know her mind, I suggest you speak to her." He discarded a weaker suit, turning a hard glare on Varric.

Unconcerned as usual, the dwarf just shrugged and picked up the card Fenris had discarded. Fenris inwardly cursed at making another mistake, though he did not let his dismay show on his face.

"No need to get broody on me, elf," Varric said placatingly. "Every man has trouble with his lady every now and then. Even Bianca…" His advice was cut off by a warning growl from across the table.

"Hawke is not a weapon, nor is she my or anyone else's 'lady,' dwarf." One of Varric's eyebrows crept up, and Fenris's expression and tone both went dark as he added, "She is… Hawke. Is that not enough?"

It is more than enough. More than I understand, more than I can handle, more than I care to think about right now. Fenris looked away to stare down angrily at his cards. I do not know what Hawke is to me, so I hardly wish to discuss it with Varric.

"Geez, all right, I get it. Touchy subject," Varric muttered under his breath, finally discarding and ending his turn. "Guess I got the wrong impression about you two. My mistake…"

His mistake indeed. Though he did not respond to Varric's apology, Fenris felt a small surge of triumph as he picked up the card Varric had discarded, adding it to his hand and turning a strong four of a kind knights into an almost unbeatable five of a kind knights. He chucked away a song suited card and waited out the end of the hand in silence, winning just as he had expected.

"One more hand and the game is yours, elf," Varric grumped, adding another tick under Fenris's column on the score sheet. "Since it seems you don't have any, uh… pressing business to look into… we could go ahead and play thirty-three hands after all. What do you say?"

Staring flatly across the table with narrowed eyes, Fenris took in the hopeful expression on Varric's face. "You would like that, wouldn't you, dwarf?" he replied, mocking what Varric had said to him the night before, just prior to the start of their first game of Wicked Grace.

I think I would rather take my victory and leave off on any more conversations of Hawke for the night, Fenris thought pragmatically, already feeling his concentration slipping. 'My woman'? I may not understand this thing between us, but Hawke certainly does not… belong to me. Just the thought of anyone thinking he claimed any kind of ownership over Hawke made Fenris deeply uncomfortable, so he put it out of his mind utterly.

Varric sighed, shuffling and dealing a new hand. "Fine. I guess it's my own fault for suggesting a short game tonight, anyway. Not that I wouldn't have a lot of catching up to do, but… I could pull it off. Easy as pie."

Fenris gave a short, mirthless chuckle at Varric's dejected tone and lackluster boasting. He swept a gesture along the row of ale mugs, observing dryly, "At least you will be able to drown your sorrows after I win this last hand."

Varric shot him a suffering look before he picked up and fanned out his cards in his hand. Fenris watched his reaction carefully, trying to gauge what the dwarf had dealt himself and hoping to glean some information about what he was up against before he took his turn. Varric's face broke out into a broad smile, and Fenris's hopes of clinching victory with the current hand soured a little.

"Well, well. Looks like I might be down but not quite out yet, elf." He slid his cards back together and tapped them against the wooden tabletop. "Go ahead, take your turn."

Mind working methodically, Fenris tried to determine what kind of hand Varric might have gotten that would please him so. He himself held an angel, two daggers, a song, and a serpent — a terrible hand if he was forced into playing it too soon. Keeping his face completely blank, he considered Varric again.

The dwarf undoubtedly dealt himself the angel of death this time, he assumed, so I am likely fighting an uphill battle. He will use it the moment he senses weakness on my part. I may be able to use that to my advantage, but… I will have to be careful.

"What do you have?" he asked suspiciously, watching Varric, the consummate liar, closely for any signs of deception.

"Let's just say either the angel of truth or the angel of death would make me happy. Why? You feeling generous?" the dwarf asked with a chuckle. "Don't you worry about me, elf, I'll win this no matter what."

Fenris could not see any hint of lying on Varric's face, but didn't acknowledge that he held the angel of truth in his hand. Instead he drew, pulling a dagger and deciding to keep it. He discarded the worthless serpent. Three of a kind daggers… better, but hardly superior. And I should avoid discarding this angel. Varric may not be lying about it. He probably does not have four angels, but he may have lucked into three…

Varric ignored the serpent card, not wanting it either. He still looked smug, though Fenris noticed he scratched at his earring before he drew. Chuckling at the card he received, Varric remarked, "Hmm, doesn't really help me, but… I hardly need the help."

He placed a dagger down, and Fenris kept himself from looking pleased at the developments.

That dagger will give me four of a kind. Not a strong one, but… if Hawke was correct about his lucky earring… He decided to trust her intuition. He claims to have a strong hand, yet he is hoping to get lucky when drawing a card? Doubtful he has four of a kind anything, then, particularly angels. And I am positive he has the angel of death already.

Trusting Hawke's instincts and his own, Fenris pretended to hesitate before taking the dagger when it was his turn, discarding the song of courage. Then, wanting to trick Varric into ending the game, knowing he himself had the upper hand, he made a show of shaking his head in resignation. He even obligingly found some pretense to look away when Varric drew, pretending to angrily drain his tumbler of water so the dwarf could easily feign coincidentally drawing the angel of death.

Sure enough, Varric declared, "And that's the hand already, I'm afraid, elf," snapping the angel of death down on the discard pile. Fenris watched as he turned over three serpents and two angels. It was a modestly strong hand, and lucky, too, getting a full house for so early in the game, but nevertheless Fenris knew Varric would not have played it in all likelihood if he had not given him the perfect opportunity to cheat.

"Let me guess," the dwarf said, a knowing look on his face. "You've got one angel and three daggers and were hoping to get four, or at least make a full house better than this one."

Sighing and nodding, Fenris turned over his three daggers and the angel of truth. Varric began to cackle — then Fenris turned over his other dagger, and the dwarf's laughter turned into a swear.

"Shit. I thought you maybe started with one dagger, but not two." He frowned over at Fenris. "I should have taken that serpent you discarded and ended the game right there. But, Maker, your face… it's so damn unreadable."

"You were very convincing that you had at least three of a kind angels," Fenris admitted with a gracious nod.

Varric grumbled, gathering the cards up and tying Hawke's ribbon around the deck. "Well, at least you stopped hiding cards in your damn armor all night."

Fenris gritted his teeth as he realized Varric must have noticed his efforts at cheating the night before, suddenly glad that he had decided to forego deception in favor of strategy tonight since Hawke and Anders weren't around to distract Varric, too, from time to time.

It is a very interesting game. Enjoyable. With many different strategies, he observed. Hawke plays very different from Varric. Yet I have still bested both of them. Smiling cockily to himself, he found he looked forward to telling her about his victory — and using his new tactics on her the next time they played. Using honesty in a game of deception — I like the irony. She and I should play again. If she is not asleep, perhaps we could even play tonight…

Varric slid the bound deck and the two gold coins across the table. "Another fine game, elf. Though I'm sure if we'd played a full round I would have eventually overtaken you." He saluted him with a mug of ale and a smug smile, then began to slowly drink it down.

Fenris just shook his head, rolling his eyes a little at Varric's insistence that he could have won. "We can play again whenever you wish, dwarf. I will happily accept your coin to prove you wrong." Varric paused in drinking to laugh, shaking his own head. "But next time, I will use my own." Fenris picked up the two, weighty sovereigns in one lyrium-lined hand and closed them in a loose fist.

I am the victor. And I can return Hawke's coin. She gave it freely, and now I can freely return it to her. It felt right to him that he could reciprocate her gesture, and he could feel a palpable difference in doing it out of a desire to give something rather than a desire to owe her less.

Perhaps I am already understanding her better, he thought hopefully. And undoubtedly she will be pleased to know her advice about Varric's earring helped solidify my victory. She will be proud that her belief in me was not misplaced. A slow smile curved Fenris's lips as he looked at his loosely closed hand and found that he was actually rather proud of himself, too. Suddenly looking forward to retiring to the tent with Hawke, he was also glad he had wrapped up the card game early.

"We'll have to try Diamondback sometime," Varric said, scratching at his chin as he set down his ale mug.

"I… do not know how to play," Fenris replied distractedly, holding off on his thoughts of Hawke before looking over at the dwarf. "Hawke told me she was not good enough at it to teach it to me."

Varric held up a hand. "Already, you can't be any worse than Blondie. Or harder to teach than Daisy." Fenris just lifted an eyebrow, hardly thrilled about being compared to either the apostate abomination or the Dalish blood mage, favorably or no. "Maybe some other night I'll sit down and show you the basics, elf." He gave Fenris a knowing smirk. "But I'm sure you want to go find Hawke. Tell her the good news."

Fenris quietly sighed in resignation. I must remember to keep my card-playing face on around this dwarf. The way he pesters me about her… Still, I should not be surprised. He seems intent on chronicling her every step. "Some other night, then," he said tiredly but politely, glad he did not need to make any excuses to escape further scrutiny. "I will look forward to it." He gathered up Hawke's deck of cards and stood, inclining his head in respect. "Goodnight, Varric. You are a worthy opponent."

Varric snorted, a mug already halfway raised to his lips. "Yeah, yeah, same to you. 'Night, elf." As Fenris began to walk away, he added, "And tell Hawke I said goodnight, and to cheer up. Or… I dunno, cheer her up yourself." He cackled over his ale mug when Fenris's steps halted for a moment.

Nosy dwarf… Fenris thought wearily, stalking away.

As he headed in the direction of the cavern entrance, where their group's tents were located, Fenris noted that the noise from the hirelings' camp was still going strong. It made him glad that his own tent was on the far side of the cavern from them, in case their cheerful unwinding went on much longer into the night. He left the mess tent and the din of music behind and drew closer to their group's own quiet camp, satisfied to see that Anders wasn't lurking on any of the benches around their camp's small fire. He did not see Hawke on any of the benches either, however, and the lonely campfire burned fitfully with no one there to tend it.

Hawke must have indeed gone to bed already, Fenris thought with a small pang of disappointment, noting with keen eyes from a distance that the small kettle she always fetched to brew her nightly cup of tea was sitting out on their usual bench, already used. But it did not take very long to trounce Varric, he reasoned hopefully. She may still be awake.

He decided to peek into the tent and check on her before removing his armor. I suppose I could change in the tent regardless, since it seems nearly impossible to wake her. But perhaps if she is not yet asleep, we could indeed play Wicked Grace. I could… keep my armor on and practice hiding cards better. She is probably at least as observant as Varric. I… might even enjoy it if she finds me out. Cautiously, he wondered if perhaps his arms would also bear her touch as easily as his hands did, imagining her deft fingers running along and under the straps of his armor seeking out hidden cards.

Then he thought of the night before and that morning, not needing to imagine how running his fingers along her body had felt. He growled a quiet sigh to himself, wondering if she was laying there fidgeting even now. Perhaps she fidgets because she is… sore again. Or if she is simply tired, I can practicing talking by telling her about my victory. Perhaps she would enjoy falling asleep to the sound of my voice, as I enjoyed falling asleep to hers. Perhaps she might even dream of me then, as I…

Fenris paused mid-thought and mid-motion, one hand drawing aside the tent flap only to find himself still alone. Then he stepped fully into the tent and swept his eyes around. She is not here, he thought blankly, taken aback for a moment. Perhaps she just stepped away?

Then he noticed the bedrolls weren't even spread out. He crossed to the back of the tent and looked out the rear flaps, seeing both bedrolls laying there untouched. One of them shifted, for it had been sitting partly on the canvas, and the movement of opening the flaps disturbed it. She must not have even come into the tent. She said she would have some tea to calm herself, then think about what to do with her evening. But where…

Then, with a surge of hot jealousy, he realized why he did not see Anders sitting on the bench out by the fire, why the hirelings were playing such jaunty music and enjoying themselves, and why Hawke was not yet asleep or waiting for him in bed already.

"So, she is over there…" he growled to himself, squeezing his fist tight around her coins, which he still held. He stared at his fist for a moment before looking in the direction of the hireling's screened away section of camp. The whole reason I agreed to sharing this tent with her is to keep Anders and those hirelings from… pawing and leering at her. And now she is over there with all of them, alone. Even Varric is elsewhere.

His gaze shifted to her pack, noting with deep displeasure that both her daggers were sitting on top of it. "She is not even armed," he said to himself, voice grating even to his own ears. He glared at her weapons, holding himself rigid despite a flood of frustration that made him want to start pacing.

A faint sound of raucous laughter and clapping echoed across the cavern, bouncing off the stalactites and rocky walls thinly. Yet it was just enough to tip Fenris over the edge. He spun away, closing his eyes. "Venhedis! Fasta vass!" he growled, teeth gritting against the sudden anger that all his plans for the evening and for keeping Hawke safe had been undone.

He stalked to the very center of the quiet canvas tent, standing there and glaring at the empty, cold, stone floor. And what am I supposed to do? he thought angrily. Just go to bed and forget my promise to protect her? Go over there? I do not even know if I wish her company, if she is still in that foul mood for no discernible reason. I am certain I do not wish the company of hirelings and that mage.

Thinking of the greedy way the other men eyed Hawke and spoke of her made jealousy sing in Fenris's veins like he had never known it to before. I would think by now she would know better and have a care around men. But I know nothing of women. Perhaps she has gone there to that end, seeking attention. She always talks to everyone, is always making new 'friends.' She has been quick enough remain silent and to walk away from me today, however, despite how she supposedly does not wish me to go, does not want me to do the same to her. She is not acting like a woman should. I should follow her over there and tell her how reckless she is being, remind her of her ever so important desire to remain professional.

Then he grew bitter at the idea, imagining himself trotting all the way across the length of the massive cavern solely to seek her out. And what am I to actually say to her? Or will I just lurk in the shadows, watching her until it becomes clear she does not need or want my company tonight? She is her own woman. She chose to go over there. She can defend herself. If she was tired, she would already be asleep. Clearly she has made her own plans for the night.

He fumed, realization dawning that Anders likely left and went straight over to her after dinner. Doubtless he did not hesitate. I doubt she even hesitated herself before going off with that abomination. She seems intent on being blind to his true nature, to his true designs, and to the grave danger he brings to himself and all of us. Fenris's brows drew deeply, and he had to force himself to unclench his hand before the coins bit any harder into the flesh and bones of his hand.

"Dumat take them all," he spat, using the foulest swear he knew as his rage flashed. In a flurry of motion, he reached out of the rear tent flaps and dragged both bedrolls in, untying them and kicking with his foot to roll them out. Not really caring which was which, he dropped Hawke's two sovereign onto the left bedroll, the side she always slept on, then began yanking off his armor.

Loudly he chucked all the pieces aside in a haphazard pile, not taking his usual care to neatly place it in readiness for the morning. Then he stripped off his tunic and threw it on top before laying down on the slightly crooked bedroll on his side of the tent.

The distant echoes of clapping, music, and occasional laughter snuck under the edge of thick canvas, and Fenris tried his best to ignore it, instead clasping his hands together over his flat stomach and twiddling his thumbs furiously. He forced all his thoughts away, settling himself into a quiescent state of mind and trying to go to sleep.

I wanted to try to be more attentive, but how am I to do that when she is not even here? he thought, anger and jealously bubbling despite his relative stillness. The only reason I agreed to play Wicked Grace is because she wanted me to and so I could win back her coin. I did it for her. She wanted to prove her teaching skills to Varric so badly, as if she had taught me some trick, as if I was her…

The unbidden thought that she treated him like a pet threw him into an even darker mood. No, I will not think such thoughts. I am not myself. I do not understand this… anger, this jealousy. I do not understand why Hawke does anything, let alone what she is about tonight. It is not even worth thinking on. Sleep. He could feel himself clenching his jaw so he forced himself to stop, settling back against the bolster and trying to make his muscles relax. He closed his eyes, resolved to not think about it further.

But errant notes of melodies kept rousing Fenris every time he started to drift off. No doubt she is over there dancing with every single one of them. Letting them put their hands on her, letting Anders put his hands on her. I have seen the way people like to dance. They get so close, closer than I can bring myself to get to her.

He remembered touching her that morning, running his hands along her shoulders, arms, and back, then caressing her neck, his face buried in her hair. Fenris thought of the night before, when he had stroked his hand across her waist, how he relished sliding his fingers up into her hair, how he had wanted to press up against her, but could not close the gap. Not close enough, he knew. I can never get close enough. His hands clenched and fisted on his smooth belly for a moment before he forced himself to be calm again.

In the uneven gaps between the thinly carrying music, Fenris could almost hear Hawke's voice, thinking then of how wistful she had become when she spoke of her father stealing into a masquerade ball to claim dance after dance with her mother. The thought made Fenris even more morose. She called it… romantic. Does she find it romantic that Anders has stolen her away? Has he finally told her why it is he does not care for her sister? Is that why she doesn't return? The very idea made him sick, his once-pleasantly full stomach twisting beneath his entwined hands.

She wanted to dance with me before we left Kirkwall, he recalled darkly. She turned down that ass of a mage and she wanted me, instead — but I refused her, because I cannot bear to let her touch me. And now… He closed his eyes tightly, trying not to envision Hawke in Anders's arms the way Bethany had been that last night at The Hanged Man. She wants what I cannot give her, he realized. Talking, courting, dancing… the things she wants, the things she thinks important, I know nothing about.

It is no wonder I do not understand her. We have nothing in common. The thought hung darkly above him like a cloud, seeming to mute all the small sounds that his keen ears had previously picked up.

It is no matter. I wished for solitude, and now I have it. With that last angry thought, he gave up entirely on the day and the night as well. After a few more minutes of quiet, sullen introspection, he finally made himself go to sleep by sheer force of will, using the skill he gained as a slave to focus on his deep weariness and let it drag him into unconsciousness.

---

4 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Late Evening

"You never told me you knew how to dance the Remigold," Hawke snickered, trying to be quiet and not to cause any echoes as she led Anders away from the hirelings' camp later that night. The apostate had enjoyed several too many ales, and it had taken some doing to persuade him it was time to get some sleep. The cavern was big enough that she feared he would not make it to his tent in a timely fashion or perhaps at all, if left to his own devices. So, dutifully, she guided him herself.

"Luh… Lady Cousland," Anders hiccuped, poking one finger against the hand Hawke had resting on his forearm as she steered him across the cavern. "Er… I mean 'Warden Commander Queen Mrs. King Alistair Therein the First', may she reign forever… and may he trip facefirst into a bog, the lucky, damn bastard… literally… he's literally a bastard, you know that?" He paused, face screwing up in confusion as he tried to remember what he was originally talking about.

"Remigold," Hawke prompted with amusement, curiosity piqued too much to let the conversation languish.

"Right… Regimold. She uh… she taught it to me. How to dance it. Good." He began to list towards the right, and Hawke leaned heavily against him to push him back on course.

"Oh, well, then that explains why you do it so beautifully," she teased, remembering the way he had danced the woman's part of the dance, which left her trying to fill the man's role from memory. Thank goodness I do not drink ale. We probably looked bad enough, me dancing as a solemn nobleman while Anders spun around like a tipsy old dowager comtessse whose had too much champagne at her daughter's wedding…

"She danced it sooooo lovely-ly," he said, tone wistful as he gave an exaggerated nod. "She did everything so beautiful-like. Whyyyyy? Why did she have to go and be made queen, and just… just before I met her, I wonder?" He gave Hawke a grumpy look. "She is wasted… wasted, I say, on a life at court." He snorted loudly into her ear as they walked. "She should… should have stayed in the Way Gardens. Wag. Gay. Grey. War-dens. The. Grey. Wardens. There we go… With me." His head lolled back as he trudged listlessly along. "Her damn fault I joininged in the first place. Baaaaaaallsssssss…"

Anders began to sag down to the floor with each step, so Hawke hauled him back up bodily, picking up the pace as they neared their circle of tents. He needs to lay down, but he doesn't need to do it out in the middle of the camp…

"It's all right, Anders," she said, voice soothing but hushed, since she assumed Varric and Fenris were already asleep. "You've got lots of new friends and lots of adventure yet to come. And you have your clinic, and me, and Bethany…" She gave him a fond smile as he looked over at her, though he had to close one eye to focus on her and his head bobbled unsteadily on his neck.

"Thank the Maker for that," he said earnestly. "Meet… meeting you was the best ever thing. I'm justice sorry… No. Just so sorry you had to find out about Ju…" He hiccuped again. "Justice. Like this. That. Then." His head sagged a little further down with each word.

Oh dear, not this again. He doesn't need to be going on about that tonight, not in his state. The last thing I need is an inebriated spirit thinking we are all templars with Anders's magic harnessed to his will. Hawke had to pull Anders up short before he tried to plow straight into his low tent. She wrestled her arm free from under his, tugging every few seconds on his coat to keep him steady on his feet as he leaned to and fro, looking forlorn.

"Well, here we are. Time for bed," she murmured brightly, moving him away from the subject of Justice. "Do get some sleep now, and remember — no casting spells until you feel more… yourself, all right? There's no… You-know-who-lars down here. Just your friends. Yes?"

Anders gave another sad, exaggerated nod, almost falling into her. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady him and hold him upright.

"I'm sorry," he apologized again, face crinkling with grief. "Tell Bethany I'm sorry. Sorry for everything." He hung his head, rubbing at his face with one hand. "Maker, I should not have had so much ale tonight. And I should never have…" He looked back up again, expression utterly torn. "But you must know, I never meant for anything to happen. I didn't know, I didn't remember until it was too late…"

She lifted one eyebrow, trying not to laugh, since he was clearly distressed. "Nothing… bad has happened, Anders," she reminded him, not aware of anything worse than too many ales in too short a span of time and some rather silly courtly dancing. "It's not even that late. The hirelings just brought you a few too many ales for healing their… little problems." Maker, if we run out of ale halfway through the expedition, there is likely to be a riot. But, judging from the ale cart, I would guess that Varric perhaps had a hand in estimating how much would be required…

Hawke squeezed both Anders's shoulders gently, finally ducking down to smile reassuringly up at him. He lifted his weary head to look at her, nodding weakly. "Just sleep it off," she murmured. "You'll feel more like yourself in the morning, I promise." It is so cute when men get maudlin drunk — when I do it, not so much. Maker, I hate drinking so much that I start crying…

Anders soberly looked from side to side at her hands on his shoulders, then he looked back into her eyes. Before Hawke knew what happened, she was wrapped in a fierce bear hug with her face crushed against his chest, feathers from his askew pauldrons tickling her nose as she fought to breathe.

"Goodnight, Marian," he whispered, squeezing her harder and rubbing her back for a few moments before releasing her and crawling into his tent.

Hawke stood there slightly stunned, then she rubbed at her tickled nose and chuckled softly to herself. Oh, Anders. Varric is right, you truly are a hopeless romantic. He's still in love with the Queen of Ferelden, yet he wants me to apologize to Bethany for… whatever did or did not happen between them the night before we left Kirkwall. How adorable. Well, maybe there's hope for the two of them yet. She shook her head fondly, then crept quietly for her tent, thoughts turning fully to her own hopes and affairs.

Even though I got a bit angry at Fenris, I could not stop thinking about him tonight. As usual. I don't know if I should hope he is awake or not, though. I do not want to argue with him. She paused, listening for a moment for any sound of movement from within the tent, but she heard nothing. I will be quiet regardless, I don't want to bother him if he's already asleep. He says he does not need that much rest, and I might still be a little peeved at him, but that's no reason for me to go stomping around and waking him up.

Though Hawke had kept thinking about it in the back of her mind all evening, she still didn't know what to say to him about his earlier comments. I suppose I was a little… fidgety, but that is partly his own fault. Still, he needn't have said it like that, and in front of everyone. But… I did not exactly behave much better. After reminiscing with the hirelings while listening to songs both familiar and new, she felt a lot more relaxed and much less angry. I suppose I will figure out what say when it comes up. Knowing Fenris, he probably does not wish to talk about it.

The soft sound of music from the hirelings' camp finally waned as they, too, turned in for the night. I wish Fenris knew how to dance, she thought with a quiet sigh, drawing up before the tent. She stood there, staring distantly at the tent flaps as she recalled her dream of dancing with him. The hirelings played so many good dancing songs, but none of them had any desire to dance with me. Perhaps I intimidate them since I am a partner. She pushed away a self-conscious thought that perhaps she was just not that desirable a dancing partner.

Well, perhaps Fenris will let me teach him someday, she thought instead. I would much rather be in his arms than struggling to keep Anders from whirling into a campfire. He was so insistent about taking few turns around the hireling's camp, once he'd gotten enough ale into him, and I just didn't have the heart to say no. Despite his rather… lackluster performance.

As Hawke poked her head through the tent flaps, her resigned sigh turned into a quiet gasp, and she barely kept herself from swearing under her breath. Andraste's tattooed backside, he's not wearing his shirt to sleep! She closed the tent flaps and her eyes, sure she was imagining things. Then she peered in again, opening the flaps a little more and letting in some very dim light to better observe Fenris. He lay on his back, hands clasped over his stomach just above the waist of his snug, black leggings, indeed shirtless.

Fenris awoke without moving, without opening his eyes or even changing his breathing, roused from a relived nightmare of Hadriana without realizing he was no longer asleep. He was gripped with a sudden panic when he heard the sound of someone drawing close, half-convinced he dreamed on, half-convinced the nightmare was coming true. Instinctually using the habit born of years of torment and abuse, he remained utterly quiet and still, pretending to sleep on as he always had in the past, hoping that Hadriana would go away if he just didn't give her the satisfaction of showing his fear and revulsion — though it had never worked before.

Hawke's eyes swept slowly all over Fenris's body, never knowing he no longer slept. What I wouldn't give to be able to just crawl on top of him and… mmm. Her mouth went bone dry, and she stayed still for another minute more, just admiring the rise and fall of his smooth chest and trim stomach.

Her own breathing only seemed to speed up with each slow breath he took, and she soon breathlessly let her gaze tear across the planes of his chest and shoulders, racing along every twisting lyrium marking up, down, and across his naked upper body. Andraste's sodden knickers, how am I supposed to get any sleep tonight? First, this morning, and now this? She shifted, half torn between entering the tent or finding some hidden corner to explore away some of her swiftly escalating tension.

Struggling against his fear, Fenris kept telling himself he was not a slave, no longer in the Imperium and no longer in his tiny room across the hall from Danarius's suite — but with his eyes closed, the tent felt every bit as close as the stone walls of his old closet, and the all-too familiar feeling of being watched and the distinctive sound of a woman moving quietly nearby seemed indistinguishable from the dark dream he had just been having of Danarius's cruel, cold apprentice. Is it a dream? So many times I told myself it was just a bad dream, and it wasn't…

No, I can hardly go sneaking off for something like that, Hawke thought, though she ached with temptation and her mind instantly filled with any number of worthy fantasies. What if someone heard… or saw? Maker. No, I just need to get some sleep. I'll do something about this tomorrow… killing spiders or darkspawn or something… She reluctantly entered the tent, grateful for the relative darkness when the flaps fell closed behind her so she couldn't simply stand there gawking at Fenris.

No. I am no longer there, he told himself as he heard soft footsteps, mind searching frantically for a foothold even as he showed no signs of his distress outwardly. I am free now. Aren't I? It must be a nightmare. Perhaps it will change, perhaps she will go away and I will dream of something else.

Slipping off her soft shoes and tucking them into her corner of the tent, Hawke crawled along her bedroll. She smiled that it was overlapping Fenris's a little, and she settled down as quietly as she could, hoping not to disturb him from his slumber. Then she almost yelped as something cold and hard pressed against her side, and she reached under her hip to pull two gold sovereigns out.

Go away, please just go away, Fenris repeated to himself, the sound of her close approach immediately setting off the agonized chant he had always thought of whenever Hadriana interrupted his sleep. Be a nightmare… do not let me be awake.

Did he put these on my bedroll? Hawke wondered with a frown, trying not to clink the coins or click them against the stone floor as she set them above her bolster. Maker, he could have just put them in my pack or my belt pouch. I assume this means he won Wicked Grace tonight, though it rather feels like I'm being… paid or something.

Her face screwed up at the thought of being compensated, though she knew Fenris's feelings on whores — and of course she knew full well he'd just been returning her wagers. And unfortunately, we have done nothing quite so tawdry to be considered… services rendered, Hawke thought, barely suppressing a rueful snicker.

No, it is Hawke, Fenris finally realized as his panic reached a crescendo. Not Hadriana. This is not a dream. Hawke is truly here. I do not want her to go away. I want her to stay, I do not want her to go anywhere. I should not have gone to sleep, the nightmares have not come with her near. He tried to move, to open his eyes, turn to her, and speak — but he couldn't, his body refusing to trust his thoughts.

When still a slave, Fenris had told himself repeatedly that by serving Danarius dutifully and doing as Hadriana commanded, he would be safe. But despite his loyalty, he could never seem to do enough to please either of them, and the magisters had dashed his hopes and proved true his darkest fears over and over again. Eventually his body had seen fit to protect itself since his will was too broken to keep himself from harm. This night his instinct for self-preservation once more overrode his wishes, ignoring reason, since once it had been the magisters' own twisted logic that had governed his mind.

Looking over at Fenris after she set aside the coins, Hawke's eyes wandered up and down his body yet again. She began gnawing on her lower lip, thinking heatedly, I'd give him the 'two gold treatment' if he'd let me — no charge. Andraste's mink purse, it should be me paying him, in fact…

Propping herself up a little on one elbow, she strained her eyes against the darkness to get a good, close look at the tight skin of his muscular chest, the silvery markings that wound across it, the chain of his pendant snaking down between the tight mounds of his pectorals, the pewter medallion pressed against his skin, and a nice, long ogle at his nipples, which she found utterly fascinating for some reason. When did I become so completely lascivious? she wondered, absentmindedly licking her lips. Then she closed her eyes and pressed a hand over her face. Andraste forgive me, for I am but a weak, weak woman for this man.

I got jealous and angry that Hawke wasn't here, Fenris thought, trying to recount what had happened before he went to sleep to convince himself he was safe. I wanted her here. Why do I now I fear her presence? It is Hawke. It is. It is Marian. He tried to shake off the disconcerting terror that gripped him, but none of his thoughts or emotions seemed to make sense. Remembering falling asleep jealous and angry at her did not match up with how he now wanted her, and waking up terrified and confused was how he had been as a slave, not how he was now as a free man, not even when he was pursued. His body therefore continued to refuse to trust or believe, leaving Fenris to be held captive with his own thoughts and memories.

After taking a moment to get ahold of herself, Hawke quietly lowered her hand from her eyes. Behave, Marian… You should be going to sleep. Her gaze soon wandered down Fenris's abdomen, however, and she found herself watching him breathe again while staring at his strong, comforting hands. The thought of his hands did nothing to relax her now, however, reminding her more of the ecstasy of being at his mercy and arched back into him as he caressed her throat than the languid bliss of having him soothe her aching muscles.

Hawke rubbed distractedly at her neck as she watched him sleep. No. I should not do this. I am behaving like a… lusty camp follower. What if he wakes up and catches me staring? I should turn over and go to sleep. But… I wish I could get him to turn over. I would love to see his back… and rear. She groaned inwardly, aware that her efforts to resist already flagged.

Perhaps freedom was the dream, Fenris thought, growing despondent. Perhaps all of it has been some cruel illusion, another experiment. Perhaps that is why I cannot move. It is some magic, some spell my master is testing on me. He clenched his teeth at that, finally gaining some small purchase over his body as the thought of Danarius as his master jarred him. No. He is Danarius. He is no longer my master. Not anymore.

Hawke was too busy taking in Fenris's other sights to notice the tightness about his jaw. I can barely see his sides, and I never did get a proper, good look at his back. But perhaps it is for the best. My list is full to bursting at the moment. Look at me, devastated by a man's navel. Oooh, but it is such a fine, handsome navel… and the things I would do to it, given the chance… She paused, realizing she didn't actually know what she would do, had she access to it, then deciding with lusty confidence that she'd find something appropriate. She went back to admiring Fenris. And the way the markings over here along his waist wind down to his narrow hips and disappear into his leggings… rawr.

No, it couldn't have all been a dream, Fenris thought, struggling to get a firmer grasp on himself, trying to drive back the darkness that had welled up from deep inside to claim him. I have been running from Danarius for years. I am free. I'm free. He repeated this new, comforting phrase to himself, wanting it to be true.

Maker, don't tell me he prefers sleeping shirtless, Hawke suddenly thought. I remember how I used to think it so uncomfortable the way Father strode around shirtless first thing in the morning, and how Mother would get that girlish look on her face. Whenever Bethany, Carver and I started making disgusted noises at their antics, Mother would just say we'd understand someday.

She shook her head, straining against a desire to feel every last contour of Fenris that she could see. Well, now I suppose I do understand. In fact, I have half a mind to hide every shirt and tunic he owns, once I get him back to Kirkwall and his mansion… She looked down at his muscular, long legs, then looked away again. I cannot even handle speculating on his leggings right now. Andraste's quivering lower lip, no! I must get some sleep eventually, after all.

Calmly, Fenris made began to make convincing arguments about where he was, that he was no longer a slave, no longer alone, no longer pursued while in the Deep Roads. He was laying on a hard stone floor, not a hard, straw pallet; the reason he didn't have the thick, luxurious covers and blankets of his bed over him was because he didn't need any in the cozy tent, not because Danarius did not care enough about him to even think of neglecting to provide any.

Hawke imagined Fenris asleep in his comfortable bed, shirtless — then herself with him, both of them shirtless. Just to sleep in that comfortable, close bed, all pressed up against him, wrapped in those strong arms… that would be enough for me. Perhaps. Her imagination began to move well past simple shirtless cuddling, and the last of the unwinding she had done raising morale and laughing with the hirelings fled utterly. Then again, perhaps not. Andraste's rumbling pot belly, I honestly think I might explode. 'Boom,' as Sandal would say. She fought an urge to growl and wiggle, wryly remembering Fenris's own comments about her not being able to sit still. Then he comes in here and goes to sleep shirtless. Maker! Cruel, insufferable man… the way he teases me.

Fenris reminded himself he'd chosen to sleep shirtless because he had been too upset about Hawke's absence to go retrieve his silk shirt out of his pack, not because Hadriana had come by to strip his thin, short tunic off. Even as he assured himself, cringed inwardly, still half-expecting at any moment to feel Hadriana's cold, long-nailed hand rake down his front and along his leggings, seeking to arouse him through his clothes. She always found it amusing to bring him almost to completion, then leave him for the rest of the night with an admonition that he was not to touch himself further, not that he had ever wanted to after her loathsome abuse.

Hawke lay back on her side, fighting to keep her hands on her own bedroll. She eventually clasped them tightly between her thighs for good measure. I cannot even touch him! His hands are on his… utterly amazing stomach, and I do not want to startle him by trying to pull one over while he sleeps. She remembered his angry growling when she had tried to wake him up at his mansion, and she did not want to give him another reason to hesitate around her if he wound up reacting poorly upon awakening. No, let him sleep, Marian. Keep your hands to yourself. Look, but don't touch.

I am free, I am no longer there, no longer a slave, Fenris told himself over and over, trying to lock away the the foul memories, recurrent fear, and gut-wrenching hatred. Hadriana will never touch me again. She is not here. It is Hawke, and she is nothing like Hadriana. I want her touch. It feels right.

Tearing her attention away from his body and seeking less charged sights, Hawke looked at Fenris's face. Her eyes began lovingly tracing his sleeping profile, making up for the short amount of time she had spent not in his company. My Fenris… so handsome, so elven, so beautiful. I love everything about his face, from the tips of his pointy ears to the tip of his pointy nose. She sighed quietly to herself. He truly has no idea how attractive he is. But it only lends him that artless, effortless air that I so admire. I could watch him sleep all night…

If I just open my eyes and look at her, I will see Hawke, Fenris told himself firmly. I will see plainly that she is nothing like Hadriana. Even when we argue, there is always tenderness, gentleness, and… warmth in her eyes. She cares for me. She is right there. Yet he was still paralyzed by the old, insidious fear that it was Hadriana in the room, the fear Hawke had inadvertently triggered, that Fenris himself had assumed had faded, though he had let no one else close enough since his escape to know one way or the other. I should have gone to her. Or I should have waited to sleep until I could hold her. I should be holding her even now.

As Hawke smiled, gazing lovingly at him, she noticed the look on his face. He looks very… grim, even in his sleep. I hope I didn't spoil his mood when I stormed off. I would have loved to see a smile on his lips as he slept, tonight. Ahh, his lips. Fenris's delightful, full, kissable lips… She smiled even more deeply herself, thinking of how much she enjoyed his smiles, finding them all the more endearing for their rarity. Hopefully, I will soon have more reliable ways of making them appear, she thought, her imagination already tearing away from her, though she tried to contain it. You'll get there, Marian, he just needs to take his time, she reminded herself. But, for tonight, I hope he has sweet dreams that make him smile. I wonder what sorts of dreams he has? And I wonder if he ever dreams about me?

A growing part of Fenris strained powerfully against his instincts, wanting to move, wanting to turn to Hawke and feel for her even if he could not bear to open his eyes. He managed to shift slightly at the thought of holding her and getting as close as he could again, but then his fears latched on to even that desire, twisting it against him to hold him fast. What if I get jealous and angry with her again? If rage takes hold of me… What if I mistake her for Hadriana as I have just been doing?

Hawke saw Fenris move, and she froze for a few moments. His face seemed to go even more grim, and she suddenly ached to brush the hair out of his eyes and caress his face. I have not been able to do nearly enough of that. I shall rectify it in the morning, she decided, still too cautious of startling him awake with her touch to reach for him. I have been holding back after the past few days… but he did not seem to hold back this morning. Even though he was guarded about what happened again when we… got close, he did so much better this time. And I… I must confess his markings felt utterly wonderful. She shuddered a little just remembering the intense, almost passionate feel to Fenris's lit markings and the hum of power that had emanated from his hands. I probably made a fool out of myself calling out his name over and over again… Maker, but I am helpless under his touch.

No, I know her better now, Fenris told himself, trying to flex his fingers, hoping to move some small part of himself. I did not hurt her this morning. Even if I do not understand her, I know her and I would not hurt her. Hawke. Marian. Look at her. Look at her and see it is her. Or speak her name, and she will say mine. The way she says my name… But he could not make himself do anything, his despair growing and holding him faster the more he struggled futilely against his traitorous panic.

I wonder if I should ask him about his markings, Hawke thought. I know he does not like to talk about… well, almost everything — but I care about him. I just want to understand him better. Her eyes began fondly tracing the markings that branched up Fenris's throat. Right where the tattoo forked into two prongs of lyrium under his chin was where she longed to cup his face and pull him over, desiring to follow with her own lips the sinuous curves that wound upwards to kiss his lower lip.

Say her name, Fenris commanded himself, trying to move his lips. Just speak her name.

I love him, and I love his markings, Hawke thought resolutely, smiling as his lips twitched as she watched. They are part of who he is, and I trust him. If he tries to send me away again because of them… I will not go. There must be something I can do to help. I'll find some way to talk to him about it, to make him understand. Maybe he already wants to talk and just does not know how to approach the topic. She sighed fondly, thinking of how Fenris insisted he was a poor conversationalist, though she could think of no one she would rather talk to about anything.

I am too weak to go to her, too broken to understand her, Fenris thought in despair when he failed to make a sound. I cannot call out to her. I cannot look at her. I do not understand her enough to read anything into her gaze, to know why she speaks my name the way she does. I cannot do this. I cannot.

He has come so far, Hawke thought with swelling adoration, and through so much adversity, all on his own. He is intelligent, handsome, witty, and he tries to be polite and do the right thing, despite everything he has been through. She wished she could reach out and stroke his face, feeling a surge of pride in him. My brave, fearless, wonderful Fenris. You aren't alone anymore. And I cannot wait for morning… maybe then I can find some way to show you just how much you mean to me, how amazing you truly are.

No matter how far I run, Fenris thought at last, ceasing to struggle, no matter how many times I put my past behind me, it seems I will never be free. Never…

I love you and I want you, Hawke thought, even if you insisted on calling me unprofessional today, simply because you have me wound so tight I might pop and I can't help myself when I'm around you. She chuckled silently, thinking of their earlier tiff. But someday, I will return that favor… With a sly smile she lay back against her bolster, reluctantly letting her eyes drift shut as she tried to go to sleep while still gazing over at Fenris's profile.

As Hawke finished bedding down, it became completely quiet in the tent. In the silent, dark stillness, Fenris began to lose hope that he would ever be able to move again, that he would never be able to break free, that night or ever. This is probably what death feels like. Darkness. Silence. Loneliness. No future, just reliving your past life.

He thought then of all the countless people he had killed for Danarius, those whose lives he had unquestioningly cut short at the magister's bidding, wondering if he didn't deserve his torments. He thought of the Fog Warriors in particular, their deaths standing out foremost in his mind. I told myself after that that I couldn't be what I was anymore. That I had to do something. That there had to be something more to life, or what was the point of living at all?

The guilt he felt over their deaths stole away the last of his own self-pity. I cannot stay like this. I cannot. I do not want to be afraid, running, alone forever. There must be something more. They gave me everything, and yet I took everything from them. His fingers finally moved, curling into weak fists. This living in fear is a poor way to repay what they unwillingly sacrificed for me. It does not honor them.

Slowly and solemnly, Fenris began working his body loose, shifting his limbs and opening his eyes, making his escape from the prison of his own fears and past.

When he continued to move, Hawke's eyes came open again and she looked over at him, noticing he was awake. "Fenris?" she asked quietly. I hope I didn't wake him, but… I'm glad he is awake.

Fenris did not reply, did not look at her, turning his head away instead, feeling ashamed of many things present and past — his night terror, his jealous and angry thoughts over her absence, being unable to bear her touch, the Fog Warriors deaths, allowing Hadriana's ongoing abuse, being a compliant slave to Danarius, his general inexperience with life, and as always, his utter lack of understanding of what she was to him, though he continued to return to her despite everything.

Why does he look away? Hawke sat up a little, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to tuck Fenris's hair aside and brush the backs of her fingers along his cheek. He took a deep breath before looking over at her, and the drawn look on his face alarmed her. "What's wrong, Fenris?"

Fenris just shook his head, ignoring the tense feeling of the muscles in his neck, painful from being locked rigidly in place. I can't tell her. I do not want her to know. I do not want her to hate me. Or worse, pity me.

She scooted closer, but not too close, as she ran her fingers through his hair. Maybe he had a bad dream? Mother said Father would never cry out, he would just wake up in middle of the night sometimes, silent, terrified and exhausted.

Hawke had never seen her father awaken from a nightmare — only her mother knew as he was having them. Sometimes weeks, sometimes months apart, Hawke and her brother and sister would find their father sitting at the table in the morning, looking pale, drawn, and shaken. It often took him a few days to get back to his normal self, and he never once spoke of what his dreams had been.

"It's all right," Hawke said soothingly, smoothing Fenris's hair down. She ran her fingertips along his brow, just as he often did for her, now. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Fenris hesitated, then shook his head again, afraid she would ask what his dreams had been about if he was fully truthful. The nightmare of Hadriana may have started this, but… It was my own weakness, my own fear that held me. This fear the magisters put inside me… I thought I was rid of it. I should be rid of it, I should be free of it and them by now.

Not a bad dream? Hawke thought, worrying still. Then I must have woken him up despite my efforts of being quiet. She pulled her fingers away from Fenris's brow and reached to take his hand in hers. "I'm sorry, Fenris. I didn't mean to wake you." She gently worked her fingers into his loose fist as she kissed the back of his hand.

"It is I who am sorry," he said quietly. "You have nothing to apologize for." At least I can apologize to her, Fenris thought, always quick to do so since he had been left unable to make amends to the Fog Warriors. I have done this to myself. These are my burdens, not hers. He closed his eyes and pulled his hand away from her, rubbing at his face with both hands.

"I… I feel that I must, though." Hawke looked away, missing his touch immediately and feeling suddenly ashamed of her behavior, of storming away, of staying away too long, of staring at him while he slept and inadvertently waking him. I was going to wait until morning to do this, but since he's awake…

"You were so lovely to me this morning, and I've been acting like a fool since…" she explained apologetically. A lovesick, lusty, reckless, impatient fool for you, though either you are utterly unaware of what you do to me or the cruelest tease of man who has ever lived. Fenris lowered his hands from his face and she found herself staring at his lips, so had to look away again. Her gaze just wound up on his stomach, however.

Hawke shook her head and sighed in resignation, pushing forward with her apology."I shouldn't have been so moody at dinner. Of course you should feel free to play cards without me hovering around you. I should not have imposed myself, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did when you mentioned that I was behaving foolishly, because I was. Anders told me what you said after I left, and you were right… I was very poor company…"

As she delivered her lengthy, comprehensive apology, Fenris rolled onto his side facing her. Hawke lay back down too, keeping a respectful distance, still talking. Her torrent of words pushed back his somber thoughts, and he found he was too exhausted to do anything but listen. It is no wonder I have difficulty understanding her — there are just so many words. But… she needn't explain herself to me. She is her own woman and should do as she pleases.

"Hawke…"

"… Though instead of being alone to sort myself out, I went to raise morale with the hirelings. I remembered Varric grumbling about it earlier so I thought it both professional and helpful to try my hand at smoothing things over. I am a partner, after all. And, you know, most of them are Fereldan refugees, too, so it was nice to reminisce about home. It's hard to find someone besides a Fereldan who wants to talk about Ferelden, especially in Kirkwall… most people just think, 'Oh, it's brown and full of Fereldans, and smells like dog.' But I've lived near where some of them are from, since I lived all over Ferelden, and others are even related to a few of the miners from the Bone Pit — such a small world, no? And the ones who play music are surprisingly good at their instruments. They played so many good tavern songs and campfire songs and even some love songs… Ahh, It was lovely to listen to some music instead of that loud whooshing noise that is everywhere down here…"

Fenris's eyes began to slip shut as she rambled on. I must be too tired for this, for all I truly heard was 'Ferelden' repeatedly. I should stop her. I am a poor listener tonight.

"Hawke…"

His weary voice nudged her back on topic, though the sight of his bare chest heaving with a sigh nearly sent her off on a whole other tangent. Focus, Marian. You have enough apologies to make without adding throwing yourself on top of him to the list. She closed her eyes for a moment.

"…But I wish I had come back sooner — I just thought you and Varric would be playing for a while again. And… well, I must confess that I assumed you might want some time away from me since I was being a little insufferable… I missed you, of course, but I didn't really know what to say, and I know you like having space to yourself. And then I wind up waking you up, and now I'm talking your ears off. So… yes. I am sorry. For those all those things." As Hawke's apology wound down, she found herself staring distantly down between their bodies at Fenris's navel again. Maker, why must he be so endlessly distracting?

She missed me? Fenris thought, blinking his eyes open and looking aside as he tried to remember what else she had said. He sighed, having little luck recalling it all. He felt guilty all over again for not listening attentively to her earnest apology, so decided the least he could do was apologize properly himself.

"I am sorry you felt you had to go elsewhere tonight," he said, choosing the truest, best, and broadest apology he could think of. "But… I am glad you are here now." I should have waited for her or gone to her. My thoughts… my anger, my jealousy… they were unworthy of her. As I am.

Hawke tried to look over into his eyes, but couldn't. She felt rather bashful laying beside a shirtless Fenris when she still felt so amorous after their morning encounter and after gazing at him while he slept. "I'm… glad I'm here now too, Fenris," she replied weakly.

She sounds tired, he thought, feeling the weight of his own deep, quiet weariness. He took in the sight of Hawke, noting her lowered eyes and still form. She looks tired as well. She seems barely able to keep her eyes open, but at least she no longer seems as restless as she did at dinner. Fenris reached over and tucked a few locks of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trail down to her neck. The sensation of touching her skin seemed sweeter than usual for all his earlier, blind terror that it wasn't truly her.

She just feels so… right. How could I ever mistake even the sound of her for Hadriana? he thought reproachfully. I am a fool and a coward… Comforted by the familiar feel of her smooth throat, his fingers followed the edge of her soft shirt's collar, trailing across her necklace when the fabric dropped away into the modest V at her chest. Hawke. Marian.

Hawke felt a hot flush steal down her neck and chest, as if Fenris's fingertips seared fire across her skin. Is… is it hot in here? No wonder he took his shirt off. Maker, I wish he hadn't though. It didn't feel that hot before — not nearly as bad as last night. But… I have no idea what he wore to bed last night, since I was asleep the whole time… The thought that she might have already slept next to him shirtless made her want to fidget.

Though I do not deserve it, Fenris thought, I will relish the feel of her hands tonight. He found himself relaxing at just the thought of Hawke's touch on him instead of just his on her. Perhaps I will be able to rest now that she is close. "We should sleep, Hawke."

Yes, sleep, Marian. If we stay up much longer… Maker help us both. Hawke nodded, clearing her throat as his fingers slipped away from her neck. "That sounds like… just the thing," she agreed quietly, throat tight. "A lovely idea." She tried to slow her thudding heart while Fenris made himself comfortable on his bedroll, pressing her hand to her chest and taking a few deep breaths trying to calm herself.

Fenris watched her as she lay quietly waiting for him. Could I bear to have her press her hand to my chest like that tonight? he wondered. I slept so peacefully that night, with her other hand against my cheek as her fingers ran along my ear. He glanced down at himself, at his bare, lyrium-etched skin, thinking there would be no silk barrier between her and his markings, no thin buffer if the searing pain surfaced.

No. I do not care, he decided. I just do not want those… nightmares. I have had more than enough fear for one night. For a lifetime — or whatever part of my lifetime I can remember. Some unspoken part of himself felt he even deserved the pain, that it was a fitting punishment for what he had done, especially to the Fog Warriors.

How am I supposed to even close my eyes to sleep! Hawke thought, glancing at Fenris then looking up at the tent ceiling. She cleared her throat again and undid two buttons of her shirt, tugging on it to fan herself. Maker, but it is hot in here…

"I am tired, Hawke, so you undoubtedly must be," Fenris said, hoping she could settle herself in before his resolve could flag. It is Hawke. Her touch feels right. It will be nothing like her hateful touch. He refused to even think of Hadriana's name. I want this. I do.

He closed his eyes tightly and rubbed at his forehead, already driving back memories of Hadriana digging her nails into his bare chest. He refused to relive the feel of her perched nonchalantly on his stomach, scratching one sharp nail along his markings as he fought to breathe and not to antagonize her further, all the while listening as she told him all the secret things she had been doing with some other magister's apprentice out of some twisted desire to make Fenris jealous.

As if I ever wanted her, he thought with revulsion. How could anyone have wanted that sniveling, corrupted, hateful bitch? The only fantasies her attentions ever gave me were ones of her slow, agonizing death. He also refused to remember that the fantasies had only come later, when he was no longer a slave, that, at the time, he'd just begged Hadriana to leave him alone.

Hawke watched Fenris through the darkness, settling down as she realized how tired he seemed. I'm sure the last thing he needs is me fidgeting more tonight. "Sleep, Fenris," she said gently, reaching over to squeeze his hand. She smiled as he squeezed back, for she had been a little afraid he did not want any contact at all after releasing her hand before she apologized. "And sweet dreams."

I have done nothing to deserve her attentions tonight, but… I find I no longer care. Silently, Fenris guided their joined hands up to his bolster, unclasping Hawke's hand briefly to guide her fingertips along the side of his face. Sensing that he wanted just what she had been looking forward to doing more of in the morning, Hawke gladly slid her palm along his cheek, letting her fingers splay out to caress him. She could feel him relax against her hand as her thumb soothed his furrowed brow, then go utterly languid as her fingertips traced along his ear.

Hawke relaxed herself as his hand slid down hers to rub along her wrist and forearm, pushing back the sleeve of her shirt and stroking more lines of warmth into her skin. Mmm, I have been waiting all day for this. Maker, but his hands definitely belong somewhere at the top of my prodigious list. And they absolutely belong on me. I could fall asleep like this every night. But her relaxation fled almost immediately, heart beginning to race once more as Fenris's other hand picked hers up. His eyelashes brushed her palm as he closed his eyes, and she felt his brows draw down deeper as he began pulling her hand slowly to his chest.

I do not care if the pain comes. I want this, Fenris thought, holding the memory of his sweet dreams of no longer having markings in his mind as a ward against the memories of the ritual and its agony. Her touch is nothing like Danarius, nothing like Hadriana, nothing like the hunters who sought to hold me down, to bind me…

Oh yes, please, Hawke thought feebly, holding her breath as Fenris brought her hand closer. She could already feel his steady, reassuring pulse in his warm fingertips, but she ached for the feel of his heartbeat throbbing against his chest and under her hand. As fine as his silk shirt is, the feel of his skin is so much finer. Oh, how am I ever going to sleep again? Then he hesitated, stopping just as her hand hovered over the peak of his chest, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.

Fenris struggled against himself, redoubling his efforts. The way she looks at me, the way she touches me… Forget the pain. Forget the past. I want her touch now. No more fear. Still, he moved no further as part of him recalled the torment of the ritual, of having his markings touched over and over again with nothing but discomfort from it.

But Hawke could no longer hold back.

"Fenris," she whispered, closing the small gap and laying her hand directly over his heart. She could feel him stiffen and quiver slightly, his hand tightening over hers and clasping it to his chest. His lyrium talent, his aversion to being touched, his hesitations… not tonight, Fenris. I cannot bear to let you withdraw tonight.

I had hoped it would be like my hands, that it would not burn, Fenris thought with a grimace, trying to let the hissing pain and remembered agony pass through him. He did not fight it, afraid that it would build or linger if he struggled against it — something that had taken him long months to even learn, yet that he still hadn't mastered after many years of trying. Three years since anyone has touched me there with kindness, since the Fog Warriors tended my wounds… it hurt even then, but I was still more a slave, more an animal than a man.

"This morning…" Hawke reminded him soothingly, flexing her hand to softly run the pads of her fingertips over him, reveling in the silky, steely feel of warm flesh over lithe muscle over unyielding bone. Her other hand traced along his ear, seeking to relax him again, for she could feel the uneven, nervous breaths he took with the halting rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand. You needn't be guarded with me, Fenris. Even if your markings light, I am not going anywhere. You need me tonight; you need this. And I will do anything, if you just ask, she thought, promising it to him again in her mind. And this, I gladly and freely do without you asking. Because I've wanted it, too.

Fenris's searing pain quickly peaked and began to fade away as she caressed his chest, as gentle fingers ran across the winding lyrium lines with tenderness and no deliberate path. I… wanted this. It… it is bearable. It was so much worse with Hadriana, with the way she intentionally dug into my markings, he reminded himself, trying to keep his tightening thoughts moving and confident as the agony settled back down deep, not wanting it to be roused again by feelings of despair or weakness. The pleasurable feel of Hawke stroking his ear helped split his attention further, but Fenris still held himself cautiously against the possibility that memories of the ritual could surge back up.

He is so utterly desirable and he doesn't even know it, Hawke thought, biting her lower lip as she gazed over at Fenris. He remained silent, eyes still squeezed shut with his face half-buried into her palm. Though he still held her other hand firmly pressed to his chest, holding her in place with his warm and immovable grip, Hawke explored him with her fingertips, splaying them out and reaching as far as she could. Such soft, cool skin. What I wouldn't give to run my lips all over him. It would feel like… drawing a silk scarf across my face. I wager he would enjoy it almost as much as… She paused, feeling a small nub with her littlest finger. She swirled a circle across it, flushing furiously on her bedroll when she felt Fenris's chest rumble and heave with a quiet sigh. Andraste's pert pink… his nipple!

Yes… Fenris thought, sagging and breathing out a ragged breath. He was both relieved and increasingly aroused as the pain faded fully away leaving nothing but the deeply pleasant sensation of Hawke's caresses. The sensual feel of her seemed only heightened in comparison to the initial pain, and the agonies of the ritual slipped from his awareness much faster than usual. She is indeed nothing like Hadriana. She is nothing like any woman I have ever met. The way she touches me, looks at me, says my name… It just feels…

He shifted slightly and released his grip on her hand as her fingertip grazed his nipple again, more than content to let her explore a little more. …Right, he finished, sighing with a soft growl. As he had trusted, even without his hand to guide her, Hawke's hand remained just there, over his heart affectionately exploring only that one area of his chest. So mindful of me… to think that she cares, that she wants me.

Eyes still closed, Fenris reached across for Hawke, fingertips nudging her stomach then sliding up and under the hem of her shirt until his hand rested on the bare skin of the small of her waist. Though he could feel her sharp intake of breath as his hand slid under her shirt and across her stomach, Hawke made no protest, and he trusted that she did not mind his desire for close contact.

Fenris resettled his light grip on her wrist and nuzzled his face more comfortably against her hand. Perhaps by the time we return to Kirkwall… he thought, feeling his lips brush against her palm. But for now, to sleep. No more memories or nightmares. No more fear. No hunters, no Hadriana, no Danarius. Just… Hawke. Marian.

Though he didn't open his eyes, Hawke smiled over at Fenris, at the bold way he had placed his hand on her waist without hesitation. Mmm, the feel his touch on my stomach! Where was he last night when I wanted this? Maker, but I cannot complain today. It just feels nice to have his hands on me again. I am a lucky woman…

They remained silent, both of them wanting to get some sleep but neither wishing to hasten winding down the quiet moment of closeness by saying goodnight. Despite her excitement and the unending desire she felt for Fenris, Hawke eventually lulled herself to sleep as her fingers slowly stroked him into a calm slumber.

The rest of Fenris's night was comfortably and blessedly dreamless, as he received a rare reprieve from his usual deep, ever-lingering disquietude. After churning up and burning off so many buried emotions, letting Hawke refill the emptiness with the gentle reassurances of her presence and touch gave him the measure of peace he sorely needed to keep back the darkness for a time.