Here we go! This was a fun chapter to write - I hope you enjoy reading it, as well. Many, many thanks to Oleander's One for her detailed, thoughtful betaing!

"How much longer are they intending to hold us here?" Fenris asked, pacing across the little cell for the fifteenth time that hour.

"As long as they want to." Evelyn shared his frustration, but didn't see how pacing was likely to help. She was still feeling a little sore, inside and out, from their session with Keran. After all their years together, she wouldn't have imagined it would be possible for her to develop a greater appreciation for Fenris's abilities, but being on the receiving end of them had changed her mind. Danarius had been diabolical, but his methods had created a fearsome piece of equipment—a sentiment she wouldn't have shared with Fenris for any amount of coercion.

Fenris growled in response to her answer, and she smiled. Even testy Fenris was music to her ears.

"I'm glad you're here."

That stopped him. He paused at the door, looking at her over his shoulder. "As am I." One of his ears twitched. Evelyn found that fascinating, watching the movements of his ears. He'd always kept them covered by his hair, or at least obscured by it, and she'd never noticed how reactive they were. It was distracting, really. She was sure it must be more so for him, because his whole body jerked slightly every time one of his ears twitched. "They are coming," he said abruptly.

"How many?" Evelyn got reluctantly to her feet, still feeling twinges inside her rib cage.

Fenris pressed his face against the door, focusing. "Three? Possibly more. They will not be unprepared this time." He looked over at her. "Are you able?"

She knew what he was asking. Could she fight the Templars effectively, with a reasonable chance of survival? Hawke tested her muscles. She was weaker than she was used to, and still sore … but she was sure she could withstand a fight better than she could whatever Keran had in store for her next. As Fenris watched her with worried eyes, she nodded. "Able as I'll ever be, I suspect."

"I agree. We need to make our move now, before it is too late. I only hope it is Cullen who comes. I will enjoy feeling his heart beneath my fingers."

The venom in his voice startled her. "Cullen's just a man trapped in a bad situation."

He twisted his head against the door so that one green eye was glaring directly at her. "It is that foolish blindness of yours to the weaknesses of others that brings us into situations such as this one—or worse—time and time again."

She gasped, stiffening as though he had struck her. "You're blaming me for this?"

"Let us look at the facts, shall we? Who was it who allowed Keran to live, indeed, even championed his return to the Templars, despite the fact that we still cannot know whether he was infested with a demon during his time with Tarohne?"

"Anders said he wasn't!"

Fenris laughed derisively. "Yes, and he turned out to be such a trustworthy source. Nevertheless, as it turns out the demon lyrium was more than enough to send Keran over the edge, without any additional assistance that may or may not be present." His arm flexed, the lyrium in it shining, and he turned his glare on that briefly before looking back at Hawke. "Who was it, then, who led Cullen on time and again?"

"I never did!" Hawke cried, stung. Her commitment to Fenris had never been in question, not in her mind or in the minds of others. She was sure of it.

"You treated him as a friend, as a trusted associate. You were gentle with him. You never were blunt with him about your lack of interest. When a man feels that a woman is his last hope for anything good in his life, it is too easy for him to convince himself that anything kind is encouragement. Cullen clearly feels so for you. Why else do you think you are here?"

"Because—because Keran was—" Hawke stammered.

"Keran could have taken me alone. He had no real need to use you for bait."

"Now, that's just not true. You were in Tevinter."

"Before that? We have no way of knowing how long he was keeping track of us. Or how long he had Cullen whispering in his ear, begging him to bring back the Champion for him. You are blinded by your good nature, Hawke. Cullen's presence here is not accidental. Nor was the way he ever so solicitously helped you down after Keran had finished making me torture you. Open your eyes."

Evelyn flushed at his tone. She had done nothing to encourage any regard Cullen had for her—could he really have been behind all this just to bring her to him and attempt to woo her? Turning away from Fenris's hard stare, she rubbed a hand across her face, trying to clear her thoughts. She put her other hand on the cool stones of the wall, and fought to think clearly, to separate her thoughts from this jumble of Fenris and Cullen and Keran. "Does it matter?" she asked finally. "It makes no difference to how we get out of here, does it?"

"It could do so, depending on who comes to retrieve us from this stone box."

They were silent for a moment, Fenris's focus turning back to the hallway outside the room, listening for the approach of the Templars.

"Fenris?" she asked in a small voice.

He raised an eyebrow, removing his forehead from contact with the door to look directly at her.

"I never intended to lead him on."

"I know you didn't." Fenris's tense face relaxed a little. "You have never truly understood how strongly people are drawn to you, Hawke. That is among your many charms, and does you great credit … when it is not leading you into deathly danger." He flinched at a sudden noise outside—close enough that Hawke heard it as well. "Are you ready?"

Evelyn nodded slowly, her eyes on his. She had the dagger he had smuggled in tucked into the back of her pants, and he carried the other one hidden in a special pocket in his armor. It boggled her mind that the Templars had left him fully armored. In their eagerness to test all the things he could do for them, they apparently had not given enough thought to all the things he could do to them.

She could hear the heavy metal boots outside the door now, and the scrape of a key in the lock. The door swung open.

"Come on out, hands up. One at a time." It was a gruff voice and not one she recognized.

Fenris obediently put his hands up; Evelyn could see the tension in his body as he poised to move as soon as he had an opening. She let him go first. Although she couldn't see around the door, she could follow what happened by the gasp, the flash of familiar white light, the squelch, and the thud that followed. She got quickly into motion, sprinting around the door and drawing her dagger. Fenris had dropped the first Templar already, and was grappling with a second, holding him by the forearms to keep his shortsword at bay.

Evelyn didn't stop to think about what she was doing—pausing to think would have thrown her off and caused her to overcorrect. She threw the chunk of rock from the wall she carried directly at the Templar, striking him in the side of the helmet. The impact of the throw rang audibly against the helmet, sending the Templar staggering to the side as he frantically clawed at the strap holding the helmet on, which left his front unprotected. Fenris took advantage of the opening to do what he did, and the second Templar joined the first on the floor. While Fenris was occupied with the second Templar, Hawke turned to deal with the third, who was holding a crossbow. It was their good fortune not to have been skewered by a crossbow bolt, apparently, because the Templar was cursing under her breath as she tried to force the mechanism to work. Somewhere, Varric must be responsible for that—if anyone was likely to be the patron spirit of good crossbow luck, it would have to be Varric, Hawke thought as she closed the distance between herself and the Templar with three long strides, pulling her dagger as she moved. The Templar attempted to block Hawke's blow with the crossbow, but Hawke hadn't been friends with Varric all these years for nothing; she'd practiced these moves with him many a time. Of course, back then she'd been wearing armor, but the basic moves were the same.

She hissed with pain as the jammed bolt sticking out the end of the crossbow sliced across her forearm, but the wound was a shallow one and she could ignore it. She held the crossbow at bay with her right arm, shoving it hard upward, and used the Templar's distraction to slide the dagger home in the space between armor and helmet. Arterial blood sprayed into her face, and she sputtered, staggering backward and swiping at her face. That was one area in which clothing was better than armor—fully armored, she'd have given herself a concussion trying to wipe that blood away.

Behind her, she heard a gasp of a different sort. A fourth Templar had been behind the others and had waited until the first three were down before appearing out of the shadows; she turned to see Fenris clutching at his side. Bright red blood showed between his clenched fingers.

The Templar was utterly silent, no gloating or commentary, as he went in for the kill. It seemed wrong to Hawke—there hadn't been any indication up to now that the Templars wanted either of them dead, and of the two of them, she would have thought she was the most expendable. But it didn't matter; all that mattered was that as the Templar focused on Fenris, he wasn't paying any attention to her, making it very easy for her to wrap her arm around his neck, jerking him backward as she squeezed tightly. The edge of the bucket helmet was cutting into her arm, but the other edge must be cutting into the Templar's neck, as well, she reasoned. She listened instead for the Templar's gasps and wheezes. His hands scraped at her arm, the metal gauntlets further shredding the flesh there. But that didn't last long, because Fenris's lyrium flared and he sank his free hand into the Templar's chest.

The limp body was too heavy for Hawke to hold, and she dropped it onto the floor, stepping over it as she rushed to Fenris. "Move your hand; let me see." He did so, groaning with the pain. Evelyn took the tail of her shirt to wipe around the edges of the wound. It was still bleeding freely, but now at least she could see the cut. It was deep; too deep. Why hadn't someone thought to send him in with health potions? Even a handful of raw elfroot would have been useful, she thought anxiously.

Then a gust of wind went by the nearest window, causing it to rattle, and from below she heard the nightly chorus of screams begin. Of course! They were in a tower full of mages.

"Can you walk?"

He nodded slowly, his green eyes beginning to haze in a way that chilled Hawke to the bone. But there was nothing for it; he'd die for sure if they stood here in the hallway. She passed his free arm over her shoulders. For once, she was glad that he wasn't the type of man she used to find attractive, twice her size and half again her height—that kind of man would have been impossible to drag along the stone halls of the Aeonar. Fenris was just about her height and weight, so at least that helped. But he was stumbling along rather than walking, and blood had covered his hand and soaked its way down his leggings. They would be easily followed by whoever came to find out what was taking their Templar escorts so long—he was leaving a trail of blood behind. Her arm was scattering droplets along their way, as well, and would have to be looked at eventually.

Panic threatened to choke her, but she forced it down. She was no good to either of them if she stopped thinking; once upon a time, she'd been good at thinking on her feet. She'd been firm and decisive and in charge. Evelyn reached deep inside her for that Hawke, the one who had been the Champion of Kirkwall, who had been looked to on all sides as the person who knew what to do. So she didn't know where to find a mage in this Blighted pile of rocks; she knew what her own cell door had looked like, and the odds were good that if she could find another one, she'd find a mage behind it. That was enough for a start—time enough to worry about anything past that once they were there.

"Fenris."

"Mm?" He roused himself with an obvious effort.

"If you die on me, I'm coming into the Fade to get you, so save me the trip and don't, will you?"

He frowned, trying to follow her sentence. Coming out the other end, he gave a faint chuckle, but nothing more.

Hawke tried to move faster. By the Maker, she'd carry him if she had to. He couldn't weigh much more than a really good longsword, she told herself. One way or another, she was getting him to help.

They reached a wide set of stairs that curved down into the depths of the tower, and Hawke didn't hesitate. She drew Fenris closer so that he was half slung over her shoulder, lifting him from step to step as gently as she could. He muttered a little, but gave no other sign of awareness. Hawke was aware of something wet on her face, and with her free hand reached up to wipe at it, thinking it was blood, but her fingers came away clear—it was tears, rolling freely and unnoticed down her cheeks. If he died—

She wouldn't let herself think that way. "Fenris!" she said sharply.

"Mm."

"Stay with me." Evelyn fought to keep the pleading out of her voice as they reached the next floor. She turned in the direction her cell had been in on the floor above, hoping the layouts would be the same. They came to a door, and she lifted her free hand to work at the heavy iron hasp that held it closed, then gave it a hearty shove with her foot to open it.

"Stay back!" said a voice inside. "Don't come any closer!" It was a woman's voice, trembling and liquid as though she had been crying.

Evelyn dragged Fenris in and closed the door behind them, turning to look at the woman in the cell; she was an elf, with black hair shot with streaks of white tumbling down her back, and streaks of tears on her face under bright blue eyes.

"Can you heal?"

"What?"

"Can you heal?" Evelyn practically shouted the words.

The elf put her hands out in front of her, shackled with what Hawke recognized from her carriage ride with Keran as magic-reducing cuffs. "Fenris," she said urgently. "Fenris!" She shook him.

"Wha'?"

"Activate your lyrium."

It took a few moments, but she got him to understand what was needed, and between his lyrium powers and the dagger Hawke still carried, they got the cuffs off. She stood over the elf as the blue light of healing filled the room, praying to the Maker it wasn't too late.