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.

36. Interlude: Deeper and Deeper, Part 2

A/N: One whole Deep Roads day ahead! But seeing as how it was the one that was giving me trouble, I'll take it. I humbly hope that you, too, will enjoy it.

Songs I will pretend the hirelings are trying to play on their sad little homemade instruments! - http:/ bit. ly / nbaegX (remove the spaces) - I particularly recommend tracks 5 (Si Baeg, Si Mor) and 12 (Ashoken Farewell) for the sad/sleepy songs. (It is towards the very end of the chapter — you'll see!)

I will be going on vacation (whaaa?) next week, so I am not sure how long the next chapter will take, but rest assured I will be stewing on it even if I'm not able to actively write! As always, you can check in on me on my mah twitterz to reassure yourself that I didn't disappear forever.

Without further ado… Bioware owns all, and let's all hope they give us some good new Fenris bits in the DA: Legacy DLC on the 26th, shall we? Yay!

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Andraste's toasty toes, why is it so warm in here? Hawke rapidly fanned her shirt, then froze, shivering as Fenris ground out a quiet sigh against her ear. His deep voice rumbled directly into it and she flushed hot again, going utterly weak.

"You look very… hot, Marian."

"It… it is quite warm in here for s-some r-reason, y-yes," she stuttered, shivering despite the heat as his lips brushed against and followed the contours of the shell of her ear. Mmm, Fenris, the things you do to me… As his lips trailed down to her earlobe, she could feel the tip of his nose nuzzling her as well. Oh, Fenris, even your nose makes me want to melt…

"Hmmm… I am sure it is just you," he murmured, clearly amused from the tone of his voice at her lack of composure. "I feel perfectly content at the moment. But…" Hawke felt big, strong hands slide down her back, around her waist, and onto her stomach. Elegant, long fingers then grasped her shirt's lowest button, pausing. "Shall I… assist you?"

Complicity, she leaned back against Fenris's bare chest, head lolling to rest on his shoulder as he peered over her to unbutton her shirt. His muscular arms encircled her, flexing, squeezing, and brushing against her as he very slowly and deliberately undid each fastening of her soft, gray shirt.

I'm glad I didn't take it off last night, Hawke decided. It's so much better this way…

Sitting on the bedrolls between his long, outstretched legs, she stroked her hands along his thighs, occasionally raking her short nails into the fabric of his leggings. She marveled at the powerful feel of his thick, stone-hard leg muscles, distractedly envisioning the explosive, fearless way he charged into battle, always keeping an easy, low, menacing stance, always moving with effortless, graceful strides between their foes, sometimes leaping high to bring his huge, heavy greatsword down in a mighty overhand swing. His fierce power, his controlled rage, that lithe body… everything about him is amazing. She ardently squeezed his thighs, feeling his rippling muscles beneath her hands.

Hawke could only assume he approved of her attentions, for Fenris pulled his legs in even closer, pressing them up against her as she sat nestled cross-legged before him, now tightly caged by his unyielding limbs.

My Fenris, such a strong, fearless warrior, she thought passionately. He will make me a fine lover, and soon, I will be the only one who can bring him to his knees…

"Mmmm, hurry up, Fenris…" she murmured, plucking at his leggings impatiently. He stopped, however, releasing the third button he was on and dropping his hands to rest on her thighs.

"Are you rushing me, woman?" he asked slowly, tone incredulous. "Usually I am the one that has to keep you from dawdling. And whatever happened to taking our time?"

Without turning to look at him, Hawke slid one hand up Fenris's bare bicep, along his shoulder and over to his neck, fingers slipping past the lyrium markings there and up into his hair until she could tilt his head towards her. "We will take our time…" she promised, leaning up murmur into then nibble along his pointy ear. She waited until she elicited a shudder from him before adding, "… Once we get these pesky clothes off."

Fenris growled in appreciation and approval, and Hawke held on as his strapping biceps flexed in readiness. With one mighty, lustful motion, his hands pressed against her breasts, fingers hooking into the button gaps and pulling, ripping her shirt asunder as she gasped breathlessly against his neck.

"Oh Fenris, yes! You beast!"

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5 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Morning

Neither Hawke nor Fenris woke for Bartrand's shouting the next morning, for in the massive cavern, even the irascible expedition leader's thunderous, angry voice got lost in the vast space — especially given that he directed his shouting mostly at the hireling's secluded camp on the other side of the cavern.

Thus, making up for their own lost time from the night before, Hawke and Fenris slept on, unaware and untroubled — she, lost in the Fade among bodice-ripping fantasies of him, while he found restful solace from doubts and dreams alike. The dim awareness of the other's touch held them both fast, the time marked only distantly by the gentle rise and fall of their attuned breathing.

Fenris eventually awakened first, roused by someone attempting to knock at their canvas tent flap.

"Marian?" Anders croaked, sounding rather wretched. "Can… can I trouble you for some of your elf… ugh, elfroot?"

Eyes already alert — and narrowed — Fenris quickly glanced down at himself, then over at Hawke. She was deeply asleep as usual, but her hand still rested on his bare chest, dexterous fingers clinging stubbornly to him. In turn, his hands still held her firmly at the wrist and waist, tightly enough that his fingers protested when he flexed them.

We are just as I remember when I fell asleep, he thought, exhaling deeply and reorienting himself, unused to the feel of awakening to so much closeness and contact. He slowly lowered his face against Hawke's open hand again, distractedly deciding that the goosedown pillows at his mansion were only the second-nicest type of pillow he'd ever had the pleasure of enjoying.

Despite the events of the night before, and Anders's quiet groaning and shuffling out front of the tent, Fenris found himself surprisingly content. It is… different to wake up from nothing to the feel of her. It is usually the other way around. No dreams, but… no nightmares, either. In spite of everything last night, I feel… rested. A slight pang of the guilt he'd revisited the night before echoed through him, making him wonder if he even deserved restful sleep after the things he had done, but Fenris tucked the feeling deeply away again.

He looked back to Hawke instead, taking in her peaceful, sleeping expression. Can just being near her tranquility truly keep the nightmares away? Or is it simply because I am aware of her presence as I sleep, my mind focused somewhat instead of allowed to wander? His gaze wandered then, attention caught by the rise and fall of Hawke's breasts, the tops of which peeked out between the partially unbuttoned folds of her shirt.

Well… regardless, Fenris thought, shifting his gaze back to her face again, I could… see myself getting used to this. No weariness, no nightmares, no… He paused, suddenly realizing, No pain, either. He looked down at his bare chest again, where Hawke's fingers were pressed fully onto some of the markings that curved across his skin. She has been touching me like this all night, so I must not have felt any additional discomfort. I would have awakened otherwise, or moved her hand away.

It confused him, for the pain of his markings woke him sometimes even without any contact, particularly when he was feeling unguarded. As a slave, too, he often had to fight sudden surges of agony and an instinct to pull away from Danarius's touch, even if the magister had been in contact with him for long minutes or even hours. Using me as a stool, a pillow, or admiring his handiwork for the umpteenth time… Fenris thought disgustedly.

Thrusting away the discomfiting memories, he focused instead for a few moments on the sensation of Hawke's hands pressed to his skin, cautiously opening his awareness to it. Though he feared the agony that always seemed to linger too close just beneath the surface, he found that he was too puzzled to leave the situation unexamined.

Yet as he mentally surveyed his body, he felt nothing more than the pressure of her touch against his skin and the slight pulse in her fingertips. He felt no discomfort at all from either of her hands, except perhaps the slight damp stickiness from warm flesh pressed on flesh for long hours in the cozy warmth of their shared tent, and no unease except the constant feeling he always had that it was just a matter of time before his past would rise up to haunt him in one way or another.

Perhaps… Fenris began to think cautiously.

"Marian?" Anders called piteously. "Aren't you awake yet? It's time for… brea-huuugh… breakfast."

Fenris closed his eyes in resignation as he realized he had forgotten that the mage was outside of the tent. Venhedis…

"Actually… urp. Hold that thought," the healer added in a rush, sounding quite poorly. "I should not have spoken of fo… food. I've got to… Uhhh…" The sound of quick footsteps faded into the distance, and after a few moments, Fenris's keen ears could just barely make out the dulcet tones of the apostate retching somewhere.

"Wonderful…" Fenris sighed quietly. Hawke stirred a little when he spoke, making a soft, sleepy coo as her fingers twitched pleasurably against his ear and his chest. It made him shift, too, and he suddenly felt he could better understand her affinity for sleeping in, for despite how rested he felt, he could see how laying there indefinitely could potentially be enjoyable.

That insufferable apostate mentioned breakfast, however… Fenris thought, stomach already beginning to echo the growl he wanted to make just thinking of Anders. Perhaps we have overslept. That would better explain why I feel so rested. Hawke's fingers stopped twitching as she fully fell back asleep, and the satisfying feel of her caresses ceased. Yes, I should wake Hawke, he decided pragmatically. He began lightly kneading her side and released his grip on her wrist to reach over and stroke his thumb across her lips.

Though she responded to his touch almost immediately, her fingertips stroking him haltingly back, it took a few long moments for Hawke to awaken. Did he just call me wonderful, she wondered groggily, or was that part of my delicious dream of him, too? Ohh, but it wasn't finished yet… He was just about to take off his leggings…

"Mmm…" she murmured sleepily, licking her lips — and inadvertently Fenris's thumb. He paused at that, and she took the opportunity to try to drift back asleep, picking her dream up where it left off. Now take off those leggings and come to me, my gorgeous, elven god…

"Come, Hawke," Fenris urged, hand sliding toward her hip and gently jostling her, though he was careful not to cause her hand to slide down his chest. She is a stubborn woman, he thought wryly as her fingers clung to him even more. He found the feel of her short nails digging into him surprisingly pleasurable, but he was determined to see her up and getting dressed regardless. He began slowly exploring her lips with his thumb again, using a feather-light touch this time.

Hawke roused once more, unable to help but lick her lips and wrinkle her nose at the tickling sensation. "Fen-ris…" she quietly pleaded, shifting a little, but not enough to interrupt his caress.

Fenris steeled himself against the sound of her saying his name so beseechingly and tried not to be distracted by the fleeting feel of her tongue again. "Don't 'Fenris' me, woman," he said more sternly than he felt. "You have not even opened your eyes. Come."

Torn over whether to sleep more and continue dreaming of him undressing, or to wake up to him about to dress, Hawke consoled herself thinking, He is still shirtless, and I suppose before we get ready, I could pretend to have a stiff neck — and a stitch in my side, and a cramp in my thigh… Then she wavered. But in my dream, we were getting ready to do so much more… Then the fingers curled beneath her chin began stroking down the front of her throat, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, unable to think further.

Fenris broadly swept the pad of his thumb across Hawke's mouth, freeing her teased lip — only to find himself strangely aroused by the feel of her teeth. He put the thought away for later. "It is time to wake up," he urged. Yet he found he couldn't muster much urgency behind his words himself. Even in this she is starting to rub off on me, he sighed. "We have overslept again," he finally informed her, to remind himself as much as anything.

"Impossible," Hawke retorted, eyes screwing resolutely even tighter. "I could sleep for hours yet, and I haven't even heard Bartrand. It can't be morning. Maybe… maybe something just woke you up again. After all, how could you have overslept, Ser Lightsleeper?" Arguments convincingly made, she burrowed deeper into her bedroll as if that settled the matter.

But her fingers seemed unable to rest and continued brushing Fenris's chest and face in a slow, steady rhythm. Indeed, Hawke found herself rousing simply from the effort of holding herself back from shifting closer to Fenris and running her hands elsewhere. Maker, I cannot believe I still feel so… amorous, she thought, quietly sighing in frustration. I suppose that dream didn't help. Settle down, Marian — let him come to you, remember?

Fenris remained silent at the mention of his paralyzing episode, stiffening a little, though he knew full well Hawke had no way of knowing it was more than simply waking up in the middle of the night. She does not understand, but… I cannot tell her. Besides, it… it has been a long time since that last happened, he thought, trying not to cringe or remember the last time he had woken up to find Hadriana truly there.

No, I do not wish to think about it, he decided. Any of it. I will take steps to prevent last night from happening again. But for now, I should dress and eat. It is a far better way to occupy my time this morning. Both Fenris's discomfort and resolve to rise guttered, however, as Hawke's fingertips brushed up and down his ear and circled across the left side of his chest.

Ruefully, Fenris thought, She certainly seems awake enough, even if she pretends to sleep on. He nudged against her palm as he shook his head at her early morning defiance. She is just being… stubborn. He thought briefly of mentioning that Anders had been by wanting her to fetch him some elfroot, but then he jealously discarded the idea in favor of their usual early morning banter.

"You may sleep in if you wish, Hawke," he warned, "but it will look very unprofessional when I have to pack the tent away and you are left lying here on your bedroll."

Hawke furrowed her brow, finding his teasing a little too like the remark that had set her off during their dinner-time spat the night before. Her hands ceased their soothing motions and she opened her eyes finally to regard Fenris a little flatly.

"Perhaps let me worry about how professional I look from now on," she remarked coolly. Fenris simply regarded her in return, saying nothing, though one eyebrow began to quirk up in what Hawke found to be a little too disapproving of a fashion. "I see no need to act nor look professional in my own tent, Fenris," she added. "My tent, my rules."

"Your tent will soon be in the back of a cart, Hawke," he explained logically. "You would need to get up regardless to remain… well, under it, I suppose?"

Hawke groaned tiredly, removing her hand from his chest to rub at her forehead. "You and your early morning tent logic," she complained testily. This man drives me insane, in more ways than one. "Very well, have it your way…" She dislodged her other hand from under his cheek to rub grumpily at her eyes.

Fenris's hand pulled away from her lips, instinctually shying away from any accidental contact between their arms. I do not understand how she always manages to turn these verbal victories into feeling… less than victorious, he observed with dissatisfaction as he watched her wake up. His fingers stilled in massaging her waist, but he did not pull his hand away. So many things I find suddenly I do not understand… he grumbled to himself. Before he could ruminate any further on it, however, Anders finally returned.

"I'm… I'm back," the mage rasped, clearing his hoarse throat. "Maker, what a rough morning. Are you up yet, Marian? I could really go for some of your elfroot tea…" His voice trailed off with a sad whimper.

Hawke's traitorous eyes shifted away from drinking in the sight of Fenris's bare chest from between her fingers and over to the tent flaps. Every morning, it is always something, she thought, rolling onto her back. First my delicious dream is interrupted, then Fenris calls me unprofessional again, and now I have a hungover Anders waiting on me to mother him. Maker, is it any wonder I prefer to sleep? Even the feel of Fenris's fingers under her shirt laying against her stomach did not lighten her mood. "Grrrr…" she growled, feeling frustrated in just about every way she thought a woman could feel frustrated.

Fenris found the experience of hearing the low, animalistic sound from Hawke intriguing enough to ignore Anders's intrusion, especially since she seemed to direct her exasperation at the apostate for once. Perhaps now she sees how he uses her, he thought with satisfaction. She should send him away to tend to himself. He is a healer, he has magic — why does he not use it?

"I am awake, but… give me a minute, Anders," Hawke called wearily, still hoping for a few more minutes of lounging before starting the day.

"Oh… of course," Anders responded hesitantly. "I'll… just go wait on the bench, then."

Of course, indeed. Fenris yanked his hand away from Hawke and swiftly rose, leaning down to snatch his tunic up and pull it on. Ingratiating, sycophantic, whiny prig of a mage, he thought, jealousy and anger already flaring. And yet she falls for it each time. I do not know why I am even surprised anymore…

Damn my luck, Hawke thought as the fleeting sight of Fenris's bare back disappeared underneath his tunic with a quick shrug of his shoulders. "Anders is probably in pretty bad shape," she explained with a heavy sigh, sitting up slowly. "He had a lot of ale last night." Not looking forward to another sunless morning, she lingered on her bedroll, stretching her arms and back a little. She cheered herself a little by unabashedly watching Fenris while he faced away from her doing up the clasps of his tunic. Anders may be in bad shape, but Fenris's shape is quite… fine, she thought appreciatively, fingers curling, lips pursing, and eyes squinching as she admired his rear.

Fenris did not look back at her and made no reply to her explanation about Anders, leaving off on buttoning up his tunic halfway and silently leaning down to put on his belt instead.

Sweet Andraste… Hawke thought as he bent over, shaking her head in slow distraction. "Buckets or bedrolls?" she finally asked, tearing her eyes from Fenris as he straightened and trying to keep herself on task for the morning since he seemed to be in a hurry. "Which would you prefer me to take care of after I brew Anders his hangover tonic?"

Fenris's eyes flicked upward irritatedly at the mage's overindulgence and her solicitousness of it. "I don't see why he doesn't just heal himself," he growled. "Is he not supposedly some vaunted healer? Let him use his precious magic, then." That arrogant ass of a mage is always going on about magic, yet the first thing he does is come seeking Hawke to remedy the results of his own stupidity. And she, for all her trust of magic, wastes her herbs on him and lets him abuse her good nature.

What use she sees in that scruffy mage is beyond me, Fenris thought, tightly cinching his belt. But him? Hmph, no, I may not understand anything about her, but I understand everything I care to about Anders…

Hawke sighed quietly, shaking her head at Fenris's back. Anders is probably too drained and feeling too unsteady to properly tend himself right now. And he probably just wants someone to fuss over him a little, she thought, growing a little sentimental remembering the way her brother Carver had always moped, groaned, and slunk about the house piteously when he was feeling ill.

But of course Fenris doesn't think of it that way, she knew. Anders and he… they are like a cat and dog. She chuckled quietly to herself. Though I suppose cat and wolf might be more appropriate, given the meaning of Fenris's name.

"So… buckets, then?" she asked, deciding to avoid the topics of magic and Anders, and hoping to avoid another quarrel with Fenris so soon after their last one.

"As you wish, Hawke," he tersely replied, sitting back down on the bedroll, back still to her as he yanked on his gaiters.

She could hardly help but catch the undercurrent of his tone. Sounds like he's determined to continue his mood from dinner, despite my apology, Hawke thought with a sigh. I suppose Anders first thing in the morning is not how he wishes to start his day either. Still, I will not be party to his brooding. I am wound up enough without adding anger to the mix. Fenris will just have to work his way towards sullenness on his own.

"I won't be long, Fenris," she promised, forcing herself to sound more cheerful than she felt. Before moving towards the rear tent flaps, she paused to run her hand under his hair and release it from the collar of his tunic, then smooth a few errant strands down before ducking out of the back of the tent.

Fenris halted in pulling on his other gaiter, keeping his eyes closed for a few long moments after the feel of Hawke stroking her fingers against the back of his neck and through his hair faded. He pushed away a few guilty thoughts of how much he himself took advantage of her good nature in seeking comfort from her, not wanting to acknowledge the nagging feelings of emptiness and brokenness inside himself so early in the day, especially after the paralyzing trials of the night before.

No, he thought instead, pointedly not feeling hypocritical, and refusing to equate his own mysterious relationship with Hawke to Anders's, surely whatever this thing between us is, it is different from her 'friendship' with that apostate. Just as he acts as though he and all mages deserve freedom simply for being 'gifted' with magic, so too does he merely act as though he deserves her attentions — whereas I am trying to understand Hawke, trying to be more attentive, trying to give something in return for all that she has done for me. It is completely different.

He could hear her rummaging through her pack on the other side of the tent canvas, then her almost-silent barefoot padding as she walked away to tend to the hungover mage. Ignoring the feeling of loneliness that closed in as the tent became empty and silent save for himself, Fenris finished pulling on his other gaiter and moved off his bedroll to roll it up.

He kept his mind away from his dark, deep, nagging wounds and focused on his closer, hotter emotions, finding them much easier to deal with. There is no reason for this… jealousy or anger towards Hawke, he reminded himself sternly, not last night and not this morning. She is her own woman, and she can do as she pleases. He had to unroll the bedroll slightly and reroll it, for he had done it crookedly in his haste. Even if what pleases her was going off with that mage, and now tending him…

But though Fenris told himself he claimed no ownership over Hawke, his blood burned at the thought of her talking, dancing, then roaming around the massive cavern alone with an uninhibited Anders the night before, and now her fetching and carrying for him first thing upon awakening, still looking freshly tumbled out of her bedroll.

"Hmph." Fenris bound his bedroll up tightly, then moved to Hawke's, resolutely attempting to understand her once more to make amends for his inability to control his hot swells of emotion. Though I cannot stand him, she thinks of that scruffy apostate as a 'friend.' No doubt it is mostly because of her sister, he tried to reason. Hawke's heat and scent radiated up to him from the still-warm cloth of her bedroll as he rolled it up, but it calmed him little. Bethany and Anders both hide from the Templars, have no one but Hawke to rely on, and they are both… fond of her, he thought, though he soon grew irritated again. Though Anders is entirely too fond of Hawke, despite her assumption that he cares for Bethany. It is a pity that Hawke does not see it for herself, though truly, her sister is better off for it. Fenris carefully tied Hawke's bedroll up, pitying Bethany a little for the many unfortunate circumstances in her life.

Hawke probably pities Anders, too, because of her father's history, he began to surmise, thinking on pity. She said at The Hanged Man that she felt even that abomination deserved to be… 'happy and loved.' Hmph, well… she probably compares his apostasy to her father's. She seems to have a weakness for those who are in hiding, no doubt from her own family's experiences. Again Fenris did not extend the same rational to his own relationship with Hawke. Though a few questions flashed briefly in his mind, they were gone quickly for he was in no mood to ponder it, nor to compare his situation to Anders's.

But even if Hawke barely knew Anders, she would likely help him anyway, he thought with sour resignation. She is always getting herself involved in everything. Since I have met her, she has been constantly embroiled in the affairs of others. It made him grit his teeth a little just thinking about all the places he had followed her and the strange events she seemed to get involved in. No, her affinity for… adventure? Turmoil? That I truly do not understand…

As he brooded to himself in this fashion, Fenris distractedly went about getting ready for the day. Though by the time he heard Hawke returning a short while later he felt he had made no progress in understanding her at all, perhaps understanding her a bit less if anything, he had otherwise accomplished much. He had placed the bedrolls behind the tent, brought their packs inside, dug Hawke's coinpurse out of her pack and placed her two sovereigns in it, then had even put Hawke's shoes away for her.

As she lingered near the benches checking on Anders and giving him his tea, Fenris decided to pull out and neatly stack her armor, thinking it was only practical since he had needed to shift the contents of her pack anyway to return her coin and shoes to their proper places. It will speed up getting us to breakfast, he reasoned grimly. And it is… something I can do for her. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, then could not help but add, Since she is busy seeing to other matters. Then, sighing to himself over his inability to control his resentment, he hesitated for only a moment before drawing her armored skirt from her pack.

Straightening out the strips of leather that made up the skirt, he brushed his fingers across them and somewhat inadvertently revealed the short leather britches underneath. They came to just above mid-thigh when Hawke was wearing her armor, as he well knew. I imagine this would be very practical and comfortable for a woman, even in a climate as hot as Seheron's, Fenris observed, shaking the skirt out and watching the familiar way everything swayed and moved. Leggings would probably provide more protection but… if she prefers this, then what she finds suitable is what is more important.

He set the skirt aside and drew out her studded leather cuirass, holding it out to inspect it with a keen, critical eye. It is indeed wearing in nicely, and she keeps it reasonably well-maintained. It is a very close fit on her, which is… good, he judged with a nod. It does not impede her fighting like her old armor did. She was always fidgeting with it and tugging on it, so it was wise of her to find something less bulky to fit her… figure. His eyes traced along the sides of the cuirass, its rigid leather forming the same outline as Hawke's own shapely silhouette. Expensive, probably, but… a wise investment, he thought approvingly.

He set it aside too and gathered together the rest of Hawke's things, setting out her underpadding, vambraces, belt, sheathed daggers, gloves, and boots. As he undid the top few buckles of her boots for her, he felt his lips twitching with a smile as he thought of his vambraces — particularly their black feather ornamentation. Knee-high boots suit her well, though doubtless her knees could probably use a little extra protection… especially the sensitive backs of them…

"I know it's got a lot of honey in it, but drink all of it, Anders," Hawke called sternly, pausing out front of the tent. "The sugar will give you some strength. Then just… sit there and try to eat your porridge, all right? I will take care of returning your dishes to Bodahn and packing away your tent after I have my breakfast."

Fenris heard no reply from Anders, who he figured was too busy clutching his head and wallowing selfishly to be courteous to Hawke. I do not know why she coddles that mage, he thought again angrily, standing to face the tent flaps as Hawke entered. As she backed into the tent with their buckets of cool washwater, he indeed caught a glimpse of the apostate slumped on his bench doing exactly as he had thought. Fenris flicked his eyes up in contempt, displeased all over again despite his careful efforts get better control of himself while Hawke was gone.

A mage will always take advantage, he thought resentfully, especially that one. He wishes freedom for mages, claiming things will be different 'this time' — yet already he acts just as entitled as the magisters… He shook his head slowly. Hmph. It never ends.

A smile dimpled Hawke's cheeks as she set down the buckets and noticed the orderly assemblage of her armor laid out in the far corner. Fenris set out everything for me to dress? How sweet! she thought delightedly. Though now I feel rather badly for assuming he was determined to brood this morning…

She glanced up at Fenris and clasped his right hand between both of hers, beaming at him even though he still stared at the closed tent flaps."You've been busy while I was away. How very thoughtful." She squeezed his hand a little, smiling deeper when he looked down at their joined hands and squeezed back.

I could actually do with less thinking this morning, Fenris thought sourly, trying not to flex his hands into fists as he shoved away his jealous feelings again. I feel like a fool. Why can I not control this… anger? Though he made an effort to keep his dark mood out of his tone, he rather gruffly said, "I just thought this might help speed things along. We are running behind, and you are… busy this morning."

Aww, my ever practical Fenris… she thought. Hawke began to lift his hand to kiss it, but he was still looking away and pulled it from her grasp as he leaned down to move his bucket further into the front corner near his pack.

She backed away to give Fenris room to pass, regarding him for a few moments, her disappointment at the lost opportunity to kiss his hand giving way to distractedness for his chest. Since he still had his tunic halfway undone, pragmatically waiting to wash up first before doing up the remainder of the clasps, his wolf pendant dangled freely as he crouched. She also caught a glimpse of his chest markings, which made her sorry all over again that they'd had to get out of bed.

Maker, I will have to remember to encourage him to sleep shirtless again tonight, she thought, rather numbly standing there watching him. Perhaps that should be a new tent rule — yes, hmm, perhaps I could… even set the example. It has been getting warm in here lately… She began to positively abuse her lower lip remembering the sight of him laid out sleeping shirtless the night before and the feel of his hands massaging her bare skin from yesterday morning.

I really should get ready and go get breakfast, she scolded herself, but, Maker, what I wouldn't give for a second helping of those delights. These cravings are getting quite intense… Despite her actual hunger, she only snapped herself out of her reverie when Fenris glanced at her suspiciously over his shoulder.

She was quick enough to leave and tend Anders, he thought, jealousy flashing hot once again, yet now she simply stands here after I have set everything out for her in readiness? Is she not as ready to eat as I am? Need I remind her every morning that I am hungry?

Even though he growled an impatient sigh, Hawke admired the markings alongside his neck for a moment before his grim expression and disapprovingly drawn down eyebrows soon sufficiently sobered her. Hmm, perhaps he is still under a bit of a black cloud for some reason, she thought. His markings, or me waking him up last night, if I had to wager a guess. Or perhaps my apology was not enough? She sighed. Andraste's burned brown bonnet, I had thought last night to talk to him about all of that this morning, but… now might not be the best time, she decided.

Fenris turned away with another rather growly sigh, so hoping to mollify him a little, Hawke conceded, "I'm sorry, I guess I am dawdling again, just as you always say."

"Hmph." Well, at least she recognizes it, he thought, pushing his hair out of his face. He began to scrub up while trying yet again to shove down his ire.

Hawke cleared her throat as she went to dig through her pack for her soap, then kept her tone light, hoping to brighten Fenris's mood with a little humor. "Yes, I had better get a move on. After yesterday morning, I don't want Bartrand storming in here to drag me out by the ankle, calling me a 'nughumper…'"

She waited expectantly for Fenris to chuckle or comment or make any sort of a reply, splashing and lathering up her hands and face in the meantime. Then the silence began to stretch as she scrubbed behind her ears and neck, so she continued. "Though more likely, he'd send Varric to do it — if he can even find him this morning."

She quickly continued to wash up, soon glancing over her shoulder across the tent at Fenris, for he still did not respond. Not even interested in a little gossip about his card partner? Something must be on his mind indeed. "Varric's already awake this morning, hiding behind the mess tent," she nudged conversationally, rinsing her face off. "Swapping stories with Bodahn and avoiding Bartrand and all his tasks."

The tent grew silent once more except for the sound of Fenris's quiet splashing. I am acting little better than that mage, he thought darkly, thinking of how Anders had just discourteously remained silent when Hawke addressed him before entering the tent. I should be trying harder. I am better than this — and I am certainly better than that arrogant abomination.

Fenris finally replied, "Is he? I… see," attempting to go along with Hawke's efforts to engage him in polite conversation. Though they kept their backs to each other as they washed up and readied, he'd easily heard the eagerness and encouragement in her voice as she offered the gossip. He searched for a few moments, trying to think of what else he could say to make small talk, but his mind went disconcertingly blank. Fasta vass, I can hardly leave it at 'I see.' Yet 'Umm…' is little better…

He then recalled his own eagerness from the night before, when he had wanted to tell Hawke about his victory at cards. I suppose I could make the effort now, since last night I was… not at my best. And she was not here…

"I am surprised Varric is not worse off than… Anders," Fenris added slowly, only slightly bitter when saying the apostate's name. "The dwarf was quite intent on his ales last night… and he had plenty of time, once I swiftly bested him and left him to think on his defeat."

Delighted at the slight swagger in his voice and amused at his proud yet casual mention of his victory, Hawke gave a small laugh. "Oh-ho, so, you were the victor, then!" she said solicitously, hoping to flatter him into a better mood again. I'm so glad he enjoys Wicked Grace. And I love when he gets competitive… nothing is more alluring than a self-confident man, and Fenris is already quite something to begin with.

"Indeed, I was," he stated confidently. "He did not stand a chance."

The cocky smile Fenris had already started smiling to himself at thinking of his win deepened a little as Hawke giggled appreciatively in response. He did not have to hide his amusement, with his back to her and under his towel as he was, trying to wring out all the locks of hair that had fallen forward and gotten wet as he washed. I may have returned her two gold, but her laugh is a fine prize. I find I quite enjoy it when she… giggles. He was gratified that usually only he could elicit them from her, too.

Hawke smiled, shaking her head in fond amusement of him herself as she patted her face dry. "I admit, I kept wondering last night how your game was going," she said amiably, "though naturally I never doubted you." Then she paused rather pointedly and glanced over her shoulder at his back. "Despite your cruel dismissal of me last night."

Smile evaporating, Fenris thought irritatedly, Venhedis, why must she bring that back up? He did not want to revisit any of the disagreeable events of the evening before, struggling enough to stop thinking on them on his own. Have I not apologized already? Can she let nothing go? Women…

He made a disgruntled sigh from under his towel as he dried himself, so Hawke left it at that, content to have landed a teasing, glancing blow as a reminder to him against future slanders against her. "But then I came in here to bed down for the night," she continued, "and found someone had left me two rather cold, hard sovereigns in the middle of my bedroll." She had unbuttoned her shirt as she spoke, then hesitated.

Well, he did set my armor out for me, and I do need to get dressed, she reasoned. And his back is to me. And, well, so what if he sees my underthings? He has already seen my breastband, and we are both healthy adults in the privacy of our own tent, she thought with a sniff. Besides, I have gone swimming in nothing but my underthings — many times in fact. No big deal. She still glanced back at Fenris before shrugging out of her shirt and quickly donning her underpadding. You almost owe him a good long look, after all the ogling you did of him last night, Marian, she scolded herself as she leaned forward to gather up more armor.

Fenris remained pointedly silent on the matter of the two sovereigns, though he ran his thumb across the palm of his right hand, which actually felt a little bruised from the way he had savagely crushed the coins in his anger. I was taken by surprise, and I was not myself last night, he told himself, remembering throwing the coins down on her bedroll. There was no reason for my anger or jealousy, and situation has since been remedied. I apologized, and I even placed the coin into her coinpurse for her. There is no use dwelling on it further.

Hawke quietly pulled on her cuirass, wriggling into the close-fitting armor and tugging at the side straps to make it even tighter. "I remember thinking," she finally continued, "'Coin on my bed? That's odd, I do not remember losing all of my teeth. But I suppose the Tooth Spirit knows what he's about, and I do not have a pillow to tuck it under, after all…'"

Fenris threw his towel aside and began doing up the remaining frogs of his tunic, brow furrowing deeply as he looked back at her. He immediately looked away again as she stood and began sliding out of her rumpled grey pants. Festis bei umo canavarum… He firmly decided not to torment himself with the sight of her, and he knew for certain he did not wish to discuss the reason behind the coin being on her bedroll in the first place.

"What is… a 'Tooth Spirit'?" he asked instead, tone dubious as he spoke over the jingling of her slipping into her armored skirt.

Hawke paused thoughtfully before she strapped her belt on, suddenly realizing that slaves in the Imperium would not likely have any coin to give to their children when they lost a tooth. "It's… it's just a silly children's fable. Never mind," she hesitantly replied. She finished buckling her belt, then sat on the floor to pull on her boots. "But, do let me congratulate you on your win, ser victor. You should be proud of your achievement. I certainly am."

Her unexpected praise gave him pause. She is more gracious than I have been, he thought, frowning at himself. And I am hardly proud of the way I have been thinking and acting. Hearing her boot buckles and figuring that Hawke was now mostly dressed, Fenris turned around to his haphazard pile of armor and began putting on his chestplate and pauldrons.

"I could not have done it without your instruction," he said, trying to sound gracious himself. "And your information about Varric's lucky… earring did prove useful." He paused to rub at his own ear, face screwing up at the thought of a heavy, metal ring constantly pinching at it.

Hawke quietly smiled to herself as she finished dressing. I hope Varric didn't go easy on him the way he does with me. You can never tell with him… but Fenris is remarkably good at Wicked Grace, especially for a beginner. Who knows? Regardless, I am glad he seems to be enjoying himself a little for a change. "Just glad I could help in some small way, Fenris," she said affectionately, watching him do up the straps of his armor as she stood and began to brush her hair.

She has helped me so often, Fenris thought disconsolately, and in more than in just this, or in some small way. He adjusted his armor and brushed his hair out of his eyes, reminded then to retrieve his comb. He began to tug it distractedly and haphazardly through his hair, not bothering to dig his bit of mirror out of his pack.

Perhaps I should just apologize to her again, he thought, keen to make amends and put his uncontrollable emotions behind him. He faced Hawke, staring distantly at her boots as he tried to think of a better apology than the one he had already given. But he still felt unsettled, and after a few long moments of searching, couldn't think of anything appropriate. My apologies become… meaningless if I continue to say the same thing, yet repeat my errors, he grumbled. Then he remembered Varric's words urging him to tell Hawke of his plans and indebtedness to her. Yes, perhaps that would better to tell her, since my actions seem to reflect it so poorly, he decided. Until I have put this anger to rest, I can at least give her that, acknowledging the debt I owe her and giving her the assurance she seems to want.

Fenris continued to pluck at his hair, though he closed his eyes as he tried to find the right words for once. "You have helped more than you know, Hawke," he began. He hoped his tone conveyed he meant far more than just learning Wicked Grace from her. "I… do not know how to repay you," he admitted. "But… however long it takes… I will find a way." Then, despite himself, he found it impossible not to apologize once more. "And again, I am sorry for last night."

I know how you can repay me, Fenris… Hawke thought amorously as she watched him, unable to resist as a sudden heat flushed through her and drew her eyes down half-lidded. Between admiring his unassuming, casual grace, thinking of her dream, and remembering the sight of him the night before, she found herself feeling quite forgiving indeed. And I hope you aren't sorry about all of last night.

She quietly continued to stroke her brush, finding herself wishing it was his fingers raking through her hair instead, the first of many wishes she began to make. All of her frustrations seemed to fade away as she thought of finding ways the two of them could make up for the previous night later that night. I promise you, Fenris, she wanted to say, I will make it worth your while to put up with me. I think you will come to enjoy me being reckless and unprofessional at times…

Silence… he thought with a defeated sigh, blinking his eyes open to stare at her feet. I… must have worded it poorly. Or perhaps I cannot make her understand what I cannot understand myself. He began to wonder how to remedy this new conundrum and risked a glance at her — only to catch her gazing intently at him. His hand paused in combing as their eyes met. Yet… the way she is looking at me…

Hawke froze as well. Andraste's squirrely eyebrows, I have been caught… She scrambled to come up with a good excuse for staring. "Your… your hair has started getting a little long, Fenris," she noted, seizing on the obvious. She raised her hand to her own hair and turned her head to pretend she was still fussing with it, though she hoped the dimness in the tent could hide the furious blush on her cheeks.

Fenris blinked a few times, looking away too, surprised at the change in topic. "Umm… Yes, I… suppose it has," he admitted haltingly, running his hand down the back of his head. "I have not bothered to cut it in some weeks. It is somewhat… difficult to do on my own." And hardly a priority while I was being chased by my former master…

He rubbed his hand against his neck, feeling at the collar of his tunic and realizing that indeed his hair had begun to grow down to it. He was not used to anyone else noticing but himself, and he usually just hacked at it whenever it started to bother him, content otherwise to let it be. No one looks at me any differently regardless of the length of my hair, he thought. All they see are the ears, the armor, the sword… and, of course, the markings…

"I can do it, if you like," Hawke offered easily, tucking her brush away and moving over to take Fenris's comb from his hand. She was glad of something to distract him from her staring, distract her from fantasizing about him, and of course, to have an excuse to touch him. "I always used to cut Father and Carver's hair — and I have tried to cut my own, so… I know how hard it can be."

Fenris remained motionless, still puzzled — by the way she had stared, by her sudden observation about his hair, and by her coming over to assist him. He also found himself lingering to simply enjoy the scent and nearness of her. I truly am becoming used to this, he thought, curious about that as much as anything.

Seeing from the blank look on his face that Fenris was becoming successfully diverted, Hawke began to fuss over him a bit, placing her fingers on both sides of his jaw and turning his head a little. "Mother does not really have an eye for such things," she explained, "and Bethany was always too scared she'd make a mistake. So… it eventually fell to me to tend to everyone." She smiled fondly as she inspected Fenris's hair, finding it very attractive even though it had indeed grown shaggier over the past few weeks. Still so devastatingly handsome, though, she lamented, knowing her weakness for him was growing far faster.

Fenris's eyes went half-lidded at the feel of her fingers on his face again. I should not let her do even more for me, he thought. I do not feel as though I deserve what attentions she gives me already. "I… have always managed on my own before, Hawke," he said with resignation, though whether he was resigned to taking care of himself or already resigned to eventually giving in to her, even he did not know.

Hawke shook her head and began to comb his hair out, already envisioning where snips were needed to neaten his hair back up to a more comfortable length for the high collar of his tunic. "Just because you can do a thing for yourself doesn't mean you should have to, Fenris," she chided absentmindedly. She carefully cupped his ear as she combed his hair over it to check the length. His hair feels like silk, and it is so thick! she marveled. I am almost envious — but I suppose I do get to run my fingers through it now sometimes. "Besides… I, too, get something out of this," she added, smiling distantly and keeping her eyes on her delightful task.

"Oh?" he asked, curious but distracted by the feel of her entire hand caressing his ear. "And… what is that?" His eyes fully closed as she cradled his cheek while gently teasing out a few tangles. Her ministrations were both unexpected and unexpectedly tender, and he found he had not been prepared for them at all. Always she slips in under my guard…

"I find it immensely pleasurable to be of help," Hawke murmured, looking at his combed out hair for a moment before focusing on making him as perfectly handsome and presentable for the day as possible. "Besides, trimming hair is a good way to keep in practice with a steady hand when using my sharp scissors. I am a rogue, after all." She quickly patted at her belt pouch, where her small pair of shears for disarming traps was tucked away. Ooo, good one, Marian, she congratulated herself on her excuse. Fenris will think that very practical.

Her touch… her scent… her warmth, Fenris thought, mind wandering a little. I do not deserve her attentions this morning, not after continuing to think so unkindly towards her. She is her own woman… just as I am trying to be my own man. Yet, as always, I find I can no longer simply pull away. Giving in, he bowed his head as she continued to slowly comb around to the back of his hair. His eyes still closed, he was too preoccupied with the sensation of being groomed to dissemble that he did not need her assistance. Such tenderness, such generosity, such… affection, he thought, heart both straining and aching as he was reminded of the Fog Warriors' generous, warm and affectionate ways with one another, and how they had slowly started to include him before Danarius had returned to claim him.

She reminds me so strongly of them, he sighed, always reaching out to squeeze a shoulder or pat another on the back. Always looking to lend a hand, to help those around her persevere, all while trying to make others… happy. As she stroked him into a languorous calm, Fenris began to feel unsteady on his feet, so reached across and placed his hands on her waist to keep himself from falling into her. Though she now wore her armor and belt, he still found the feel of holding her familiar and steadying, in more ways than one.

With Hawke's soothing touch to keep the guilt and sadness at bay, Fenris found he was able to think fondly of the rebels he had killed instead of merely focusing on the horror of the end of his time with them. The Fog Warriors had enemies on both sides, so they did everything they could for one another, he remembered. Rather than let their struggles wear them down, they embraced it, laughed with it, used it to bring their band closer. Just as their ways were beyond my experience… so, too, are hers, he knew. Yet just as with the Fog Warriors, I feel I could… learn something from her, gain something rare and precious. They wanted nothing from me — they wanted for me to heal, to have my freedom, to join them if I wished it. But… I still do not know what it is that Hawke wants of me.

Hawke's pulse thrilled at the feel of Fenris's strong hands on her waist again, but she was cautious not to draw nearer after the incident with his vambraces from a few mornings past. Instead she tended him with his comb, cupping the side of his face with her free hand, content just to look at him looking so calm and peaceful. I remember buying this comb, she thought warmly, tucking it into his housewarming basket, then taking it to his mansion. That night, I would never have dreamed I would get to do this myself. And yet… here we are.

Fenris temporarily relinquished the puzzle that was he and Hawke again as her hand caressed his cheek, her open, giving tenderness brought to the forefront of his mind. But just as the Fog Warriors were, Hawke too is always so… free. Bold. Affectionate. I have at times called it recklessness, and I have pulled away from it so often, have even tried to warn her away from it, but… in truth, it is because I am too much of a coward to do half so much as she. She makes it look easy but… it isn't. Not for me. I suppose in the end, I was… not strong enough for the Fog Warriors either, though.

He felt suddenly inadequate and small as he stood before Hawke, the weakness of lacking courage and any semblance of normalcy threatening to bow him even further down and topple him as surely as the drowsy feeling of her tenderly combing his hair. I am a coward and a fool… he thought, slumping a little more forward as he felt Hawke combing the hair out of his eyes. I know much about some things, yet almost nothing at all about what truly matters. It is no wonder I feel that I owe her so much. Even as I try to repay her I am leaning on her, looking to her to teach me, wanting her to show me how to live, seeking her comfort, needing her…

The final thought brought him up short, jarring Fenris, and he nearly lost his balance save for his steadying grip on Hawke. I… I need her? he thought again, some piece of the puzzle of what lay between them fitting into place even as he numbly examined whether or not it made sense. She has said she needs me, and I can see how my assistance has helped her, but otherwise I take her at her word that she could not do just as easily with one of the others in my stead. But where would I be without her? I have no one else. Her assistance has assuredly helped me, but… could I have done without it? Could I now do without it? Could I do without… her?

But as he wondered about it, Fenris found he couldn't really think it through logically, since he saw no reason why he should have to do without Hawke. The Fog Warriors turned away no one who wanted to join their cause, needing whatever aid they could get. So too would turning Hawke away now make little sense, especially in light of what I feel I could learn from her, to say nothing of what I owe her already. But… is that need? I… I do not know. Again he began to feel inadequate and foolish, for becoming so easily confused, having so few answers, and having little to offer Hawke beyond his swordarm and so often, silence.

Since his eyes were closed and he remained quiet, Hawke unabashedly admired Fenris again as she slowly combed his hair, distantly daydreaming about being able to do far more for him soon. I would be happy to soothe away all of his cares, every morning and night, she thought lovingly, enjoying the feel of his cheek and the way he leaned on her. When he is ready, I will give him anything he wants or needs to be always content.

"I will always appreciate your help, Hawke," Fenris finally said, a little surprised at himself when he realized how earnestly he'd managed to say it. He hoped she could hear in his voice that he meant much more than just a haircut, since he did not feel he could adequately convey himself in words. He blinked his eyes open to look at her, wanting to take some bold action to prove he was still worthy of the brave Fog Warriors' memory and of her aid, despite his shortcomings.

But as his eyes found hers and Fenris saw Hawke's warmly adoring gaze, he suddenly felt more than worthy, the strength of her emotions clear to him even if he could not read or understand what they were. She halted mid-stroke in combing his hair when he caught her staring again, but they both ignored everything else as they continued to look at one another in the relative darkness for a moment. Then, distractedly letting the comb tumble aside to land in Fenris's open pack beside his feet, Hawke pressed her other hand against his cheek.

"I promise you, you shall always have my help, Fenris," she replied, just as earnestly.

Hawke stared up into Fenris's green eyes, struck once again by his weighty gaze, of the vast strength, courage, and determination it held, but also the pain, confusion, and doubt that ran deep within. I would help you with anything, she thought, willing her eyes to reflect it. Anything from a haircut to Danarius and everything in between, Fenris. I could do no less. I find myself more in love with you by the hour, despite our silly arguments and changing moods and being down here surrounded by everyone else in this dark, strange place…

At her deepening gaze, Fenris felt strangely paralyzed again in a way he found even more disconcerting than terror. The way she looks at me, the way she speaks my name, the way her words always slip under my guard… His normal urge to pull away was absent, but he was also growing too shaken to continue being pinned by her gaze. Is that… what I see? A desire to help? She said that she needed me, but… she wants to help me, too?

He broke their gaze and stared distantly at Hawke's lips as his mind turned her promise over and over, fleeting thoughts of the past, of how it could have been, of having Hawke beside him through any number of the trials he had faced alone before. Then they gave way to flashes of what his life could be. I would be at her side whenever she needed my aid, but… to have her at my side whenever I needed hers? He wondered again what kinds of things he might not be able to do without her, soon coming to the one thing he knew for certain he needed above all. She truly means to help me kill Danarius, Fenris thought. At my mansion, those were not just… empty words. He continued to focus on Hawke's lips, still unable to meet her gaze again, but he suddenly wondered if she had as earnestly meant all her other words, too, the ones he dared not think of or hope would be repeated.

"I…" Fenris looked aside, immediately forgetting what he was going to say even as he began to say it. Feeling too overwhelmed to continue, it was almost a relief when long, soft, untangled white strands of hair fell forward to shield his eyes. Yet Hawke's hands did not release his face as he turned it away — and he did not release her waist. Her promises have been direct, he thought, yet her other words have always been so cunning, so clever, slipping under my guard, aimed deep — and yet that is very like her. Truly, she is a rogue at heart. He briefly thought of his own warrior's style, blunt, fierce, controlled, and relentless, wondering if it, too, spoke to his own deeper nature.

I do not know what to say, he realized after a moment of silent introspection. So many words she has spoken, yet it feels as if I have none. And after her promise yesterday, after she said how highly she, too, values such promises, values keeping them… For her to make another promise, and one such as this…

"You… are very bold with your words, Hawke," Fenris finally said, still looking aside and down, staring distantly at the comb laying on his pack. He thought about how the pack and everything in it, aside from his armor, silk shirts, and bottles of wine, had been given to him by Hawke. She has given me so much already, and yet she continues to give more… and I do not understand. Not how she finds so much to give, not how she knows what to give, not how she finds it so easy, nor why she cares. Not why she needs me, wants me, nor why it seems I… I need her.

Well done, Marian, Hawke thought as she considered Fenris's words, regarding the quiet way he was looking away. You have embarrassed yourself again, and Fenris, too. She chewed on her lip for a moment, trying to think of a way to make her promise seem less ardent. Her thumbs continued to stroke his cheeks, though, and a declaration of love threatened to spill out of her regardless.

"Fenris, I… I…" She felt the need to speak and speak quickly, but she struggled, for once unable to think of something else to say, an apology to make, or any way to divert Fenris again as words of love tangled her tongue instead. So, she closed her mouth and convinced herself it was not an appropriate time, place, or occasion to tell him.

He is not even looking at me, and we are running late as it is, and I would probably wind up trying to throw myself into his arms, making his markings go off and forcing him to retreat again, she nervously rambled to herself. No, that would be a poor way to tell him. And I could not bear it if I pushed him away by telling him this, this of all things.

She fleetingly thought of all the opportunities she'd missed with John, neglecting to tell him how she felt until it was entirely too late. But Fenris… he is… not like most men, however, she cautiously reasoned. No, surely this… this is different. She felt a pang of guilt over the memory her first love, and in comparing him to Fenris, and it proved to be enough to sink her declaration back down deep. Oh Maker, I have been and still am such a fool…

"I… am not as bold as I seem, Fenris," Hawke finally said. She released his face and rested her hands against his chestplate instead, unable to drop her hands out of consideration for not touching his arms while he still held her waist. I cannot embrace him or kiss him, so how could I tell him that I love him? she thought, turning her head away and staring distantly in the opposite direction. I always say I do not want to rush him… but it would be rushing him to go and tell him something like that.

Is this why I have been so uncertain? Fenris wondered. Is it because I want her and I need her, where I have never wanted or needed another before? He searched his abbreviated memory, unable to find anything but the opposite, of wanting and needing to escape from others, fleeing from and hiding from so many, avoiding just about everyone else. How do I even know, he asked himself, when I can remember nothing of feeling this before, when I know nothing of this? I have relied on no one but myself for three years. And before, when I couldn't… when I didn't… I did not repay the Fog Warriors well. He felt the familiar fear that he would somehow wind up paying Hawke in kind, her kindness resulting in her death as surely as the betrayed rebels, her blood on his hands regardless of whether he himself did it or Danarius or the hunters did.

I don't want to be selfish, Hawke thought firmly, not with Fenris, not when he must have had nothing as a slave. He needs time to get over his aversion to touch, to figure out whatever it is that is going on with his markings, to realize that he should stay whether Danarius returns in a year or not. He doesn't need me pressuring him or rushing him, especially not by laying my heart at his feet! But, Maker, if I know all this, why is it so hard to stand by my resolve for long around him?

Fenris glanced at Hawke, hoping to find reassurance or answers in her eyes again, but he found her face turned away. He noticed, too, how she hunched inward and kept herself at a careful distance, even as he held her by the waist. Always so mindful of me, always so reluctant now, he thought, looking down as familiar regrets and disappointments washed through him. It is all because of me. Because I do not know what I am doing. This… this is too dangerous. I cannot do this, I am too broken to understand her.

Maker, Hawke swore, upbraiding herself, if there's something I truly need to say to Fenris, it's to ask how he is holding up down here, ask about his lyrium talent, tell him what it and his touch do to me, reassuring him that I trust him. I should be making sure that I am not making him uncomfortable, and finding out where he wants this… wants us to go — not running heedless into things and assuming he feels the same. Once again, her desire to spill out her feelings was squeezed off by competing strong memories, of Fenris's glowing, humming hands on her throat, of him trying to apologize for his markings going off, of her touching his bare chest the night before, and of him struggling to control his lyrium talent and sending her to away. She quietly stared into the distance, chewing worriedly and distractedly on her lip.

Yet if I am too broken, Fenris thought as he found he could not simply make himself release Hawke, then why do I keep returning to this? To her? If it is so dangerous, then why do I not have the instinct to leave it behind now? No, the reason I don't know what I am doing is because of Danarius. This is simply more of that fear and worthlessness he tried to instill in me to make me… compliant. Venhedis, would that I could rid myself of his influence, of these doubts, of all these twisted ideas those magisters planted inside me…

In his growing frustration and though he had been constantly fighting it since the previous night, Fenris began to grow angry yet again — only this time, he directed it all inward. How I tire of feeling these fears, this self-pity, this weakness! Did I learn nothing last night? Have I learned nothing these past three years? His face, still warm from the heat of Hawke's hands, seemed to burn hot as he reminded himself of everything he owed the Fog Warriors, Hawke, and the revenge he owed Danarius for causing him such miseries. I am no longer some cringing slave. Danarius wanted me to be a coward so I would fight only for him. But now I fight for myself, and for Hawke. Why should I let him influence me any longer? No — I said I would endeavor to be better than this — and I shall.

As the flash of rage evaporated away his fears, sudden determination flooded past in its wake. Fenris drew upon all the resolve he had built up for two nights, when he had decided to try harder, to be better, to shake off the shackles of fear, cowardice, and the magisters' influence, to fully honor the Fog Warriors' sacrifice and to use the reprieve he had been given in the Deep Roads from the hunters to try to learn how to live. Hawke has offered me much, and I have taken what she has already given, he reminded himself. Why should I not take more? It would all feel so right. It always does. His chest swelled and strained against the confines of his metal chestplate, aching for the feel of Hawke's touch without the separation of armor again, and he ran his fingertips over her armor, remembering the feel of her bare skin beneath his hands. Yes. I am a free man, and I should act as such. I am wasting precious time this morning. He looked back at Hawke, taking in her concerned profile.

Let him come to you, Marian, she thought firmly, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself. Just remember that we have nothing but time, that there is no rush. Especially not down here in the Deep Roads. Fenris isn't going anywhere… right?

The way she was looking at me… Fenris thought, growing heated and resolute. He tightened his grip on her waist, needing her to look at him again, wanting to catch her unguarded, ready to prove to himself and her that he, too, could be bold. Whether I understand it or not, I want and need whatever it is I see in her eyes…

Hawke turned her attention back to him just as he had hoped, and obliquely, they caught each others' gaze once more. Fenris looked intently this time, not flinching away from what he saw as he tried to decipher what was in her eyes — though he soon noted with dark pleasure how Hawke's expression suddenly went bashful. Her lowered eyes and hesitant lips… he thought hungrily. Despite wishing she need not make allowances for me, despite wishing I had not made her fear me, I find I relish seeing her like this, for no coward could ever make this fearless woman look that way…

Maker's breath, Hawke thought, frozen as she glanced askance at him, like a hare hoping to be overlooked by a prowling wolf. He looks so determined again. I… I didn't say something reckless out loud without realizing it, did I? She began blinking and looking around in uncertainty, catching her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from talking, just in case, as she tried to think back.

"You worry too much," Fenris said, trying to make his voice sound teasing, though he wound up growling it out a little dangerously. He began to smile deeply at Hawke's startled reaction as she released her teased lip, transfixed by whatever she saw in his gaze.

Andraste's great heaving bosoms, Hawke thought weakly, he sounds and looks almost as amorous as I feel…

I bore her touch on my chest all night without pain, Fenris thought boldly, arms already beginning to tense, and even what little pain I felt initially faded so quickly. He thought of his desires of the past few days and nights, of not wasting time, living as a free man does, and drawing her close without fear.

I have a far better mastery of my lyrium talent now, he convinced himself, and I can prevent what has happened before. Even if not, even if my markings light, yesterday she did not seem… phased by it. He found himself growing so resolved and certain that he did not wonder that he could make a joke of it, where in days past he would have found nothing amusing about his markings at all. She is rubbing off on me and I am growing used to her, he thought with a mixture of satisfaction and affection. She is different, and each day becomes easier. Surely with my armor on, with her armor on, with only our arms bare, we could… I could…

Even as his desire built to try to embrace Hawke again, the sounds of boots approached and there was another flaccid knock at their tent flaps. "Marian? Can… I trouble you for a lyrium potion now?" Anders asked. "I drank all my tea and I think… I think if I just had some mana, I could heal the rest of this away…"

Immediately and taking all his determination with it, Fenris's smile fled, turning to a scowl as his eyes slanted away to the tent flaps. Who does that mage think he is, coming to my tent repeatedly and addressing Hawke alone, as if I do not exist? he thought hotly. What if I were not here? What if she was alone in here, still dressing? Would he even stop at the tent flaps, or would he simply barge in? Arrogant, rude, insulting ass of mage!

"Of course, Anders," Hawke said distractedly, not able to look away from Fenris even as he looked away, still in a daze as she was from his heated glance and words. "Just… give me a moment, again… please."

"By all the Old Gods," Fenris growled under his breath, glancing back at her. Already knowing from her words that she tolerated the interruption, he dropped his hands away from her waist, making them into hard fists. And she? She lets him get away with it, every time, he snarled to himself. Body already tensed from working towards embracing Hawke, Fenris felt himself go even tighter, starting to quiver from the effort of holding himself back from charging out of the tent at Anders. I need to get out of here… but no, I refuse to leave him alone with her.

Hawke drew in a quick breath, shaking herself from her amorous trance as Fenris began to pace angrily around the back of their tent. The set of his jaw, those fists, the way his eyes are flashing, staring daggers at the tent flap, she noticed, half-alarmed, half growing further aroused. Maker, but he looks like he is about to go out there and throttle Anders for interrupting us. She realized suddenly that she was none too happy with the interruption either — she was just too taken in by Fenris's own reaction to react herself. As sexy as Fenris looks this dangerous, this could get ugly fast…

Hawke hastily held up a forestalling hand, murmuring only for his ears, "Let me handle this, Fenris." His narrowed eyes shifted to her, but Fenris did not say a word or stop pacing.

She poked only her head out of the flaps to speak to Anders, trying not to look as put out as she felt. "I will get you a few lyrium potions from my pack shortly," she explained. The mage was standing with his back to the tent, and he looked over his shoulder at her when she spoke. Then she heard Fenris growl quietly, so she urged Anders away before there was trouble. "Just… go wait on the bench a moment, all right?"

Anders half-turned and blinked, glancing at the tent, then nodded hesitantly after a moment. "All right, Marian…"

Is that her idea of handling it then? Fenris fumed, clenching his jaw hard at her words. Even now, here, with us alone together, she asks him to bear with her so she can deal with me, as if she needs but a moment to give me some order to be about so she can be left in private with him? The offhanded way she had addressed the situation reminded him entirely too much of the way Danarius always distractedly considered whether to send him away whenever someone came by to deliver a message or speak to to his former master.

Is that truly how she regards me, as some… afterthought? Fenris wondered indignantly. It would certainly explain last night. Going off with him, returning and waking me, causing me to relive… No, I refuse to think on that again. He stopped in his pacing and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the thoughts of his night terror and haunting memories away again.

When he opened his eyes, he was staring into the corner, at her pack. After all my attentiveness, this how she regards me? he thought, beginning to feel like a fool for setting her armor out for her. She thinks I am… what, at her beck and call? Serving her? Like a… a… Though he felt the hurt and anger of the accusation, he could not quite bring himself to spell out in his mind that he felt like he was being treated as a slave.

Still, even the vaguest notion of it was more than enough to prod the deep, festering wound. Is that what I am to her, then? Is that how she thinks of me? A pet to do for her, that she can groom, then send away when it is no longer needed? He shook his head ruefully, thinking with biting sarcasm, How could I, of all people, ever have had difficulty figuring out this thing between us…

Hawke waited for Anders to move off, then pulled back inside the tent. As she turned, she instinctively reached out for Fenris as he stalked over to her, hoping the determination she saw on his face was the same as before. He was not looking at her, however, his determination seemingly for the exit. I don't want him to go, she thought, feeling a little frantic. I don't want to fight, not again. Not after last night, not after the lovely morning we were having together, not after everything…

"Fenris, I…" she began to say, wanting to apologize for the interruption, to assure him Anders could wait, and to restate her promise. Both hands encircled his wrists, fingers already trying to soothe their way into his tight fists and work them loose.

"Don't touch me." Fenris shook her off without stopping, which turned her aside a few steps, then he halted as he reached the tent flaps.

Hawke backed further away and clutched her hands to her chest with a hurt expression, as if she had just been stung. "Fenris, don't-"

He spoke over her without looking back, the canvas absorbing his words, making them somehow sound even more severe for way they fell flat after leaving his lips. "Don't 'Fenris' me, either, Hawke. You clearly have… other priorities this morning. Go, take care of your 'friend.' I have wasted enough time — I do not intend to waste more."

He stormed out of the tent, resolved on finally getting breakfast despite how the hunger in his stomach had twisted into something decidedly other. As he passed the middle bench where Anders perched, he considered the peaky apostate with a menacing glare. Anders ignored him, remaining slumped forward and staring resolutely into the dead fire. Beyond all reason, Fenris found himself further enraged that the mage had dared take his and Hawke's usual bench instead of the one nearest both Anders's own tent and theirs. What she sees in him I will never know, he thought, bile churning. Dumat take him — and all mages. Would that I had never promised her to stay my hand…

"Andraste's blood-soaked pyre," Hawke groaned to the empty tent, looking up at the ceiling. Shaking her head slowly, she rubbed at her forehead. He really, truly is jealous of Anders? I would never… But I guess I can take some comfort that he cares. Still, is storming off like that any way to get more attention? Maker… She stood in the gloom for a few long moments, staring at the tent flaps. "Andraste's notched bedpost, I never acted like that when he carried on with Isabela! Men… But what in all of Thedas am I supposed to do now?"

After an unhelpful moment of introspection, Hawke quickly went to her pack and rummaged out few vials of lyrium, then went to Anders to deposit them in his hand.

"Here, Anders," she sighed. Then, brow furrowing as she considered him, she distractedly thought of asking what had happened his own stash of lyrium potions — but decided she didn't want to risk the conversation devolving into another sermon on the Chantry controlling the lyrium trade and how it suppressed mage freedom — not just at the moment.

This isn't his fault, Marian… she thought, trying not to blame Anders. Fenris was already in a strange mood, and it was all just… bad timing.

"Thank you," Anders replied, gratefully stowing in his belt all but one potion, which he quickly tossed back. He stoppered the empty vial and set it aside, peering up at her. "Is… everything all right?" he asked, hooking his head a little in the direction of the mess tent.

Hawke stopped staring in the same direction, the one Fenris had stormed off in, and glanced down to give Anders a thin smile. "Everything's fine," she lied smoothly. "Excuse me, though, I just need to tend to a few chores." She turned to head back to the tent, taking calm, slow steps as her mind worked.

What did Fenris call this morning? A waste of time? What did he mean by that? She forced her hands to remain at her sides, not wanting Anders to notice her agitation. I don't understand! Just before Anders interrupted, Fenris seemed so… affectionate. She smoothed a hand over her stomach, frowning at the queasy tightness she felt. I don't even know if I feel like having breakfast now… Maker, it seems like every day, something bad inevitably happens down here. I'm starting to see why everyone dreads the Deep Roads so.

Frowning in thought and trying to work off the uneasiness she felt, Hawke quietly loaded her pack and the bedrolls into the carts. She left Fenris's pack beside the wagon for him since he still needed to put on his gloves and vambraces, already hoping the small gesture might work towards reconciliation with him. There is no way I'm letting Fenris push me away again, she thought stubbornly, not over some silly notion he has — really, Anders, of all people? He's Bethany's… something — and I introduced them, for the Maker's sake!

While she moved around, however, she could feel Anders's eyes following her as she placed things first in one cart, then the other. No, Fenris is imagining things, Hawke thought without glancing back at the mage. Anders and I are friends, nothing more. Then, when she turned away from emptying the two wash buckets in a nearby empty corner, she caught him openly staring at her while he sat sullenly stirring his porridge rather than eating it.

"Do you need help, Marian?" he asked without sounding at all up to the task before she could ask him why he was looking at her.

Hawke tiredly ran one hand through her hair, waving the other at him before she stacked the buckets. "No, Anders, I'm fine. But thank you." He… was just wondering if he could help, that is all, she reassured herself.

Then she paused, realizing she had finished all the chores she could do. I don't think I can handle packing the tent away by myself… and Anders is not well enough to help me. She stared blankly down at the buckets. I suppose I should head to the mess tent and put these back, then have breakfast and try to talk to Fenris…

But Hawke just continued to stare down at them, finally sighing. What am I going to even say if I do go to breakfast? How do I tell Fenris not to be jealous without rushing things and confessing how I feel about him?

She looked askance at Anders, trying to think how Fenris could feel so threatened by him. Perhaps it is just his general mistrust of mages? Or is it because Anders and I act friendly? I'm friendly with Varric too, though… But I suppose I did get closer to Anders just by leading him back to camp last night than I've managed to get to Fenris by sleeping in the same tent with him these past few nights. But that is what Fenris himself wants… needs. And whatever contact I may have with anyone else… with Fenris it is just… different. Completely different.

Hawke groaned, hating having to do so much thinking so early in the day, hoping that she wasn't botching it in her grogginess. I know Fenris and I haven't really talked about… anything that's happened between us, but obviously he feels there is something there. So why in all of Thedas is he acting like this? Besides, he knows of my hopes for Bethany and Anders — if he cannot see past these things this morning, how am I supposed to set him right over breakfast? It's as if he… I don't know, wants to be angry!

Deciding to abandon the buckets and her thoughts for a few minutes, she finally asked, "Shall I pack your tent away, Anders?" As she looked over at him, however, her brow furrowed as she realized Anders had been staring at her yet again, a rather serious and dark expression on his face that fell away as soon as their eyes met.

"If it isn't too much trouble," he replied noncommittally, looking down into his bowl and taking a small, hesitant spoonful.

Hawke sighed in resignation, momentarily holding fretting in check as she walked over to him. He is so much like Carver with these sad little looks and hedgy answers when something is truly bothering him. She stopped next to the bench and peered at him in concern. "Were you able to heal yourself, Anders?" He gave her a tiny nod without looking up, and she sighed again. "What's wrong…"

He glanced up at her, expression guarded for a moment before he pursed his lips and shook his head. "I'm fine now…" He stirred his bowl a little more, and Hawke waited, sensing he was trying to find the words to say something. "I was actually going to ask you the same thing," he said slowly, without looking at her. "You look… upset."

Is it that obvious? Hawke thought tiredly. Fenris's brooding must be rubbing off on me… "I'm fine," she repeated, though her use of a somewhat shrill inflection rather gave her away. She rubbed at her brow, immediately knowing questions would be forthcoming.

"Why aren't you eating breakfast, then?" Anders asked, poking at his own still nearly-full bowl of porridge. When she shrugged, he fixed her with a flat look. "I saw your friend stalking away, Marian. And now you're not eating, not smiling, and you're doing all this work by yourself?" She looked away, but she could tell by the tone of Anders's voice that his expression reverted to the grim one she'd just caught him regarding her with. "He may think I am stupid, but I would hope you do not think me such a fool that I would not notice when my friend is upset."

"Really, I am fine," Hawke insisted. She walked away to take care of his tent, calling over her shoulder, "Nothing happened, Anders." Very little happened in fact, thanks to you, she grumbled to herself, before growing disconcerted and a little annoyed with herself that she could be thrown so deep into turmoil by Fenris's moods. No, it is unkind of me to take this out on Anders. I did mention to him last night that he'd probably wind up needing some of my elfroot tea, and he is right to take me up on it rather than languishing all morning, feeling ill. It isn't his fault Fenris and I slept in past Bartrand's warbling and were in the middle of… something. Whatever it was.

"Very well then," Anders said matter-of-factly, setting aside his bowl of porridge. He stood and crossed their small camp to stand beside her. She was already crouching to undo his tent ropes, but he shifted in front of her so she had to straighten again.

"What, Anders?" she asked, growing slightly annoyed with him despite herself. She crossed her arms as her already frayed patience and mood began to unravel at his continuing interruptions.

"I'm going to examine you, then heal you," he stated, taking her face in his hands, tilting it this way and that as he peered down at her. "Obviously there is something wrong, and if you claim it is not collateral brooding from your friend…"

"Stop calling him that, Anders," Hawke said angrily. She jerked away, just as his thumbs pulled down on her cheeks to open her eyes for closer inspection. She found she did not care whether he was examining her truly or in jest. "He's not 'my friend' — Fenris does have a name, you know." Maker, the last thing I need is both of them acting like children…

Anders's eyebrows went up, mouth opening slightly, though he did not speak. Hawke looked away with a scowl, moving back a step with her hands half-raised in both placation and warning. "I'm sorry. I just… I just don't need this right now," she said.

Anders's own hands finally lowered to his sides as his face went unreadable. "If he's not your friend," he said after a long, quiet moment, tone as inscrutable as his expression, "then what exactly is he, Marian?"

Is… is that how it sounded? Hawke wondered, thinking back on her words. Is… that how I meant it? She swallowed, looking down at her feet as she crossed her arms again. And yet, whether I did or not… she thought unhappily, it is a good question…

"I don't… I don't see how that matters," she responded coolly after a moment, though her voice was traitorously hoarse. "Nor how it is any of your concern."

Maker, I wish I knew the answer though. I thought Fenris and I had gotten past all this arguing, that we had become… friendly, and were moving towards friends and something more. But… She began to grow doubtful as she thought of the bitter way Fenris had sneered the word 'friend' at her. He makes it sound so terrible…

Anders stepped towards her and took her by the shoulders. "Of course it matters! And of course it is my concern. Maker, Marian, I am your friend. I care about you. Deeply."

Jostled by Anders's words and built up by her many frustrations, all Hawke's own questions began to spill over and fill up her mind all at once. Does Fenris care about me? Are we indeed friends? Will he even talk to me if I go to him? Will he stop sleeping in our tent? Doesn't he want me? Does he dream of me? When will he touch me again, where, and will he ever let me touch him more?

Hawke realized she was fidgeting, her fingers digging into her arms on their own as she thought of running them over Fenris, so she stilled herself. I notice that I did not even stop to think, 'Why is Fenris so angry?' or 'What is he thinking right now?' she thought guiltily, nor 'I should go reassure him rather than stand here talking to Anders, the very man he is jealous of — however ridiculous that may be.' She looked aside, barely able to remember what Anders had originally said as she burned with self-reproach at her selfishness.

No, I am so preoccupied with my own desires, I can only think, 'When will Fenris kiss me? When can I feel his lips, have his mouth on mine, taste him, savor him, devour him? When will I feel his arms around me? When can I press up against him? When will we get so tangled up on our bedrolls that it no longer matters who's is who's?' At her continued silence, Anders shifted her to look into her eyes, but she closed them, sure that her frustrated, shallow thoughts would be visible to him, plain as day. And most of all, I think, when oh when will Fenris just take me? I burn for him so badly, it is a wonder I can stand it!

She rubbed at her brow, face crinkling in embarrassment and confusion behind her hand. Maker, how can Fenris possibly be jealous of Anders when I want and need him so badly. Can't he see it? I am doing a very poor job of containing myself even now, and he isn't even here. We share a tent, for the Maker's sake! He is the last person I see when I go to sleep and the first person I see when I wake. I spend every moment I can with him, and I miss him terribly when we are apart. I have already promised him anything… anything he wishes. What more does he want? For me to beg? Hawke frowned, becoming utterly lost and more than a little self-conscious at how desperate she felt.

Damn him for making this so confusing! What can I even tell him? I can't tell him I love him. I certainly can't tell him I dream and fantasize of returning to Kirkwall and having him all to myself, about just locking that mansion door of his and stripping us both bare, then roaming over his body for hours, feeling him everywhere, unable to rest until I finally have him moving inside me. Hawke began biting on her lip just thinking about it, knowing she definitely would not be able to find the words to tell Fenris that over breakfast.

I have never even kissed his lips, nor even his cheek! she reminded herself, trying to regain a hold on her wildly running imagination. I've not even embraced him! Though I dream of all of those things and so much more, I'm lucky to get two hands on him at once. Andraste's studded red leather underthings, he has me so frustrated and pent up that I cannot even think straight, let alone talk straight, especially not when he so much as looks at me with his hands on my waist! This is hopeless. Hopeless!

She slumped a little, but Anders continued to hold her up by the shoulders, expression patient and solicitous. Feeling him peering at her, she was finally brought back to his original question. But all that aside, Anders is has a point — what are Fenris and I right now? I have named this love, but what do I know about anything except my own feelings in this? And most of my feelings seem to be… rather carnal. Ugh… what a fine mess, Marian. You really have outdone yourself this time…

"I do not know what he and I are, Anders," Hawke admitted, shrugging in defeat. She began to flush with chagrin, blinking and looking aside. "Friend… is not how I would choose to describe Fenris. And I doubt he would call me friend in return."

Not right now, for certain, she thought dejectedly. But no, he has always been rather disapproving of me. Even without our differences over magic, we always find something to fight about. Perhaps… perhaps I have been fooling myself. As she stared down sadly, she could feel Anders's eyes searching her face as he held onto her, though he remained silent.

Hawke swallowed past a lump in her throat and against her nagging fears that Fenris would simply push her away and not return. He said he wouldn't waste any more time. Did he mean… with me? Ever? she wondered, feeling the weight of his words crushing her heart. Maker, I wanted us to talk more, but sometimes when he does speak, it is… like being buried in an avalanche. There is such deep intensity in him, but it goes both ways — I just wish I wasn't so often on the pointy end of it.

Beginning to grow even more despondent, she realized, I don't even really know what Fenris wants from me. He rarely ever just says what's on his mind, not until it's too late — he just sits there in silence, thinking or brooding, leaving me to guess. Even at night, he is so quiet. He just… takes my hands and shows me what he wants. But now with the way he stormed out of the tent — he said didn't want me touching him. She tried to take a deep, calming breath, but it seemed to catch on her overwhelming feeling of rejection.

So… he doesn't talk, I seem unable to think of anything to say, and we can't just… wrestle around until we make up or something — Maker, don't I wish… She found she was too upset to even enjoy the tantalizing idea. So what am I supposed to do? Is it no wonder I'm standing here like some mindless statue? Anders probably thinks I am going to burst into tears at any moment… Not that one doesn't need a good cry now and then, but I hardly wish to face the rest of the expedition or Fenris looking all blotchy and… terribly girly. And I'd rather not have to cry on Anders's feathery shoulders, not if it can be helped… She glanced at the mage who still stood before her, grasping her shoulders concernedly.

Anders gave her a sympathetic smile when she looked at him. "Marian, I know you. You're like me — your heart cannot take this sort of thing," he finally said. "If he won't even be your friend, don't you think you deserve — better?"

But I don't want anyone else, Hawke thought stubbornly. Fenris just needs time to figure all of this out, surely. She stared down, shaking her head after a moment.

Anders took it as a denial, growing agitated. "Though Fenris may not appreciate everything you do for him," he said scornfully, "most men would count themselves lucky to have you." He released her, his hands going to his hips as he snorted, looking aside. "I certainly wish I could be half so lucky," he muttered bitterly.

Hawke felt suddenly uncomfortable at the declaration. "I… I don't know what you mean, Anders," she replied quickly, hoping to move off the topic entirely. "I have done little for him that I haven't done for the rest of you." She crossed her arms again and began digging the toe of her boot into the stone floor. "Besides, Fenris is hardly most men."

He is uncomfortable with attention — though last night I feasted my eyes on him while he slept like he was some kind of dessert. And he doesn't like being touched — though I've been constantly pushing the limits of his tolerance ever since we held hands at his mansion. Which was a very awkward visit, where most men would not have hesitated to try something — I mean, I certainly did… basically tricking him into touching me while we played Wicked Grace…

Her heart began to sink, seeing a disturbing pattern to her role in their relationship. And… Maker, when his lyrium markings went off yesterday morning, I didn't even think to see if he was all right. I just sat there enjoying it, moaning like some lascivious tart, when I know his markings have been distressing him lately! Hawke began growing increasingly morose as she thought of many legitimate reasons for Fenris to be upset with her.

I… I am not that shallow and terrible a person, surely… Am I? She stopped fidgeting and stared down at her feet. Being careless with a man is bad enough, but Fenris… he is not most men. To be careless with him… after everything he has been through… that would be so cruel and callous. It would make me little better than Danarius. And he hates Danarius…

Suddenly looking for something to busy herself with, Hawke brushed past Anders to begin packing away his tent again.

Anders finally recovered enough from his shocked incredulity to speak, though his expression was still agog. "You've done more for him than all of us combined, Marian, though I hardly know why!" he cried. "You saved his bloody tattooed hide from a battalion of bounty hunters, then followed him straight over into a dark, random mansion in the middle of the night to battle a bleeding blood mage, a blasted magister of the Imperium? All after he had already lied to us and nearly got us killed? Then you gave him paying work? After what he said about mages and magic not five seconds after I patched us all up?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "And you… put up with him," he added darkly, "though I do not know why… or how. No, any one of those things alone should have earned you his undying loyalty and friendship. He owes you, Marian. You don't owe him… anything."

Hawke silently reached into the tent and pulled out Anders's staff before collapsing the short poles. I thought I had Fenris's loyalty, though I seem to test the limits of it so often, she thought. Earning the friendship and winning the love of a man with Fenris's past surely cannot happen in one night, despite what Anders may think. But regardless, Fenris owes me nothing. I have given him everything freely, and he has helped me so much in return, besides.

Anders paced for a few moments when she made no reply, then turned back to her. "He doesn't even treat you well, Marian. How could he leave you like this this morning? And he flatly refused to go after you last night, too! He never agrees with you, doesn't trust you, he doesn't approve of you associating with mages at all, to say nothing of us apostates. Andraste's bloody pyre, the night he eavesdropped on our conversation about Justice, he grabbed you like… like some animal! He could have hurt you! He will hurt you."

I'm starting to wish I had stormed off with Fenris, Hawke thought flatly, reflexively defending him in her mind and growing irritated at Anders for disparaging him. And Fenris was not wrong in his assessment of me last night; I was rather poor company at dinner. Nor can I blame him for not trusting me, as often as we misunderstand each other. I am surprised that he has trusted me at all, for that matter, with everything he has been through.

She silently moved to the front of Anders's tent and collapsed those poles, too. And as for mages… Well, that he tolerates them at all for my sake is a wonder, with how strongly he feels about magic — though he has been very cordial to Bethany, at least. He even seemed worried about her, concerned Anders was not good for her. She looked askance at the pacing healer as she worked and found she was almost starting to agree with Fenris. And as for that night we argued in Varric's suite, I provoked Fenris into grabbing me… and I remember thrilling at his touch, even then. So strong, yet controlled… just enough pressure to hold me… perfectly. She paused, rubbing absentmindedly at her wrist. No… let him hurt me. I can take it. I think I'd rather feel something from him than nothing at all.

"Whether you agree with Fenris or not, Anders," Hawke explained quietly, "and whether he explains himself or not, he has good reasons for all of those things." She ignored his derisive snort. "Even if he and I don't always understand each other or see eye to eye, I… trust him." And love him, though it drives me mad, she added to herself.

"Oh, well, love really does conquer all, doesn't it?" Anders responded scathingly, throwing his hands in the air. While he paced even more furiously for a few moments, Hawke froze, wondering if she had truly spoken her thought out loud. "Marian, I cannot believe you would defend him, let alone trust him even though he would see all mages, mages like your sister, Merrill, and me put in the Circle or summarily executed on the off-chance!"

Hawke frowned, looking directly at Anders for the first time since starting the conversation. "Fenris has promised to work with all of you, and I trust his word," she stated tersely. "You have nothing to fear from him." When Anders made a mocking face, her own expression hardened. "And yes, actually, I do believe love conquers all. My father always taught us that love was more powerful than magic, that it was a gift the Maker gave to everyone. A superior gift, for, unlike mana, you needn't conserve love — you can never run out of it."

Anders expression went a little stricken at her sincerity, and he looked away. Then, after a long moment, he gave a soft, mirthless chuckle. "I… remember when I used to sound like that."

Hawke went back to straightening his tent canvas, trying not to pluck too hard at the cloth in her growing exasperation so she could fold it up neatly.

"Now?" Anders continued, voice thin and gaze distant as he spoke almost to himself. "Well… love is all very well and good for normal people. But unfortunately, just as with magic, there are some things love just… cannot do. There are some people and some things that are so broken, even love could never fix them."

Expression going dangerous, Hawke looked at him again. "And what or who exactly is so broken, Anders? If you mean Fenris, just say it." Maker, can he really not see past anything when it comes to him? It is no wonder Fenris is unhappy with him. Why am I even talking to him about this when I know he will never approve of us simply because he and Fenris disagree about magic!

Anders glanced at her, looking startled, almost as if he'd forgotten she was there. "Well…" It was his turn to look embarrassed and uncertain."I… I guess I mean a lot of things. Just as there are limits to magic — you cannot move between two places, cannot undo death, cannot undo possession by a demon… or spirit — so too can love not keep people from being torn apart from one another, from hurting one another, from… betraying another's trust." He looked away again, staring blankly, and Hawke paused once more in packing away his tent, feeling suddenly a little guilty and concerned as she watched him grow more grieved as he slowly continued. "I have seen love fail so many times, Marian," he said quietly. "The Circle… my clinic… my whole life; they are littered with broken people and broken promises." He sighed heavily, rubbing at his forehead. "These days, I wonder what the use of any of it is…"

Rather troubled by his sudden despondency, Hawke urged, "You mustn't give up, Anders."

He just shrugged and shook his head, then gave her a dejected, hesitant look. Quietly Anders begged, "Marian… give me some reason not to?"

Hawke paused at that, then searched for a moment, not wanting to simply put forward her sister since she did not know for certain where Bethany and Anders stood. Poor hopelessly romantic Anders, he is even worse off than me, she thought sadly. He just needs reassurance that things can get better, that there's always hope, something to keep fighting for.

"Love," she finally said. "Love is strength, not weakness, Anders. 'There are few things in this world stronger than a promise kept,'" she quoted, "and my father always added, 'especially one made and kept for love.' He said he'd thought about it his whole life and he'd been all over the Free Marches, and still could never think of or find anything stronger. It took time, but eventually he found Mother. So too will you find… someone. Just don't give up, even if things seem difficult or… ill-fated at the moment."

Anders just hung his head, shaking it slowly as he rubbed tiredly at his face, so Hawke added, "Just because something breaks does not necessarily mean it was weak — nor that it cannot be fixed." She hoped to sound reassuring, but he seemed almost not to hear her. He seems in even more turmoil than I, as upset as he was last night. I had thought it just the ale, but perhaps this truly is about him and Bethany, something to do with why he wanted me to apologize to her. Maybe he thinks they won't be able to reconcile? She sighed heavily. Oh Anders…

"No matter what happens, Anders… you and I will always be friends. I can promise you that," she finally said. Even if he and Bethany aren't right for each other, and even if he and Fenris can't see eye to eye, he needn't fear not having me as a friend. It might not be easy if he has to avoid both my sister and my… whatever Fenris is, but…

Anders stood staring at the ground for a time, silent. Then his hands curled into fists and he began to shake, growing increasingly agitated though he did not look up. "Promises…" he retorted finally, voice thick with derision. "I am sick to death of promises."

Utterly taken back by his unexpected response, Hawke froze as his icy tone washed over her, shivering and feeling as if all her hair stood on end.

Anders flashed her with a hard look and she flinched, not expecting to see such loathing and hatred on his face. "Do you know templars promise to 'protect' mages, Hawke?" he asked angrily. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, and his tone went eerily normal again. "It is… amazing how people can twist even a promise made to the Maker to suit themselves. Promises between two people really do not stand a chance. There's always some excuse, some justification, some clever loophole… if they don't just disregard it outright, conveniently letting it slip their mind…"

He opened his eyes to look down at his hands, voice bitter and full of abhorrence. "If you'd seen what I have seen, if you knew what I know, you would understand why I take no comfort in promises. Not anymore. By the time you discover they have been broken, it is already far too late to fix anything."

"Anders?" Hawke said, growing both confused and concerned at his rapid changes in mood. "If… there's something you want to talk about…" But he was already becoming irritated again.

"Your father was fortunate to escape the Circle," he said ruefully, leaning down and scooping up his staff, "but because he managed it so easily where countless others like myself repeatedly failed, I think it gave him some very… idealistic notions about the way the world works. I only wish he hadn't let you and your sister be so trusting. You are both far too naive about love and promises and the way this unjust world truly works."

"I… beg your pardon?" Hawke asked incredulously, beginning to draw herself up. "Who are you to speak of my father that way? We may be friends, Anders, but you are letting yourself get far too carried away with this Justice thi-"

Anders's eyes flashed again as he loudly smashed the end of his staff against the cavern floor, and despite herself Hawke jumped, finding she could do little but gape.

"Do not speak to me of justice, Hawke," he declared, jabbing a finger at her. "That elf has already begun to taint what you have believed your whole life, even if you refuse to see it yourself. This is why the injustices we mages face from people like him must be overcome by actions. The fear of magic spreads like a disease, and diseases require healing, not friendship or love or promises."

He pointed his accusatory finger in the direction of the mess tent. "Whatever Fenris is to you, remember this: he finds it so terribly easy to cast judgement on us all then just… walk away. And when in doubt, he just… rips someone's heart out. Isn't that just brilliant for him…"

Hawke swallowed hard, completely blindsided by Anders's cold rage and at the uncomfortable truth of his words.

"Actions speak the loudest, Hawke, not words, nor any promise that may or may not be kept," he warned. "Hope for your own sake there never comes a day when your naivety comes face to face with reality. Would that we were all so fortunate." With that, he strode away, not looking back at her.

Hawke let him go, too stunned to even watch him leave. Well, at least he seems to be feeling better, she thought blankly. Then as it grew quiet again, her anger built and bubbled, cascading hot over her. "What the fuck has gotten into all the men this morning!" she swore vehemently to the empty camp. She felt a scream rising in her throat and she shook her fists impotently, eventually pounding them against her own thighs. "Just… just… aaargghh!"

She took a few heavy breaths then hastily resumed folding the small tent into a haphazard bundle, and her mind soon began to seethe. Anders's interest in me seems to go about as far as drilling his viewpoints on magic into me. As if I don't know about the plight of mages, living my whole life on the run from the Templars as much as my father or Bethany! Damn his stupid, smug face for being unable to see past the end of his blighted nose over Justice and magic… Throwing my friendship back in my face right after going on about how terrible it is that I don't know if Fenris and I are friends? Maker, the nerve…!

She huffed indignantly. Well, Fenris certainly has nothing to be jealous of with Anders. Although if I could, I might crack the two of their heads together just to see if there's any brains inside either of their thick skulls. Andraste's sainted and puckered arsehole, I do not understand men and their ridiculous overprotectiveness. One calls me reckless and the other calls me naive, yet they both act like horses' asses to me and go tearing off, leaving me standing here like a slackjawed fool. Oh, thank you terribly for your concern, gentlemen…

She picked up Anders's tent and carried it over to the cart, throwing it in the back. I am going to go eat some breakfast. I'm not going to walk around all day with my stomach growling, though I may well do some growling regardless. Hmph, well… At least now I have something to tell Fenris to show him he has nothing to be jealous of without having to say anything to rush things. Though I am almost tempted to make him sleep elsewhere tonight. Maybe he and Anders should bunk together, since they have so much in common, ferreting out all my shortcomings. They could compare notes. 'Is she reckless because she's naive, or is she naive in spite of her recklessness? Discuss!'

Despite her simmering anger, Hawke stood near Bodahn's cart for a few quiet minutes, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself. I for one, am not going to act like a complete crazy person today. I am a professional. And naturally it will take a woman to show these men how things are properly done. Eventually, she just grabbed the empty buckets and Anders's dish, then headed for the mess tent. Chin up, she tossed her hair and strolled confidently, feeling more resolved and composed with each step. Act professional, ignore Anders, eat breakfast. At least those first two should make Fenris happy… as happy as he gets, anyway, she mused cheerlessly. But I swear, I will get a massage or something from him out of this… I could use something to relax me after this utterly stressful morning… Men…

---

Fenris nodded a quick, polite, but tight-lipped greeting to Bodahn, only claiming two bowls of porridge for his breakfast. I have been indulging too much lately, he decided darkly, forgoing his usual third bowl. I do not wish to grow soft. Hawke may try to placate me by seeing to my appetites, but unlike that mage, I do not need her coddling.

He shoved a spoon into one of the bowls before taking one in each hand from the tray already set out for Hawke, ignoring the rest. Then, turning with eyes firmly on their usual table, which he noted with grim satisfaction was unoccupied, Fenris stalked his way over to sit and eat alone.

He ignored the sparse smattering of hirelings that watched him pass, thinking of nothing, emptying his mind and letting a dispassionate calm settle over himself to drive away the last vestiges of his anger and any further thoughts of Hawke. Part of him knew much of his anger was directed at himself, at feeling weak and foolish over letting his new, strange feelings be so easily bruised and wounded by her tacit acceptance of Anders's intrusion — and of letting himself have tender feelings to be hurt in the first place.

Still, he flatly refused to think about any of it, determined to eat his breakfast in peace and solitude. He tried to force his stomach to unknot as he stirred at his porridge, trying to find some tranquility in the familiar feeling of being alone. However, both his hunger and isolation seemed to be ill-fated that morning.

"That porridge kill your whole family right down to the last dog or something, elf?" Varric asked, plopping down in his usual seat. "The way you're glaring and stabbing at it, it's likely to slink off and die soon. You may want to hold onto your bowl as tightly as you're gripping that spoon or you'll have to hunt it down to finish it off."

Fenris did not even lift his head, merely shooting a hard look across the table at the dwarf.

Varric pretended to stagger back, slapping a hand over his hairy chest as if struck. Then he straightened, inclining his head to the empty space on the bench to his right. "What, no Hawke? Again? Huh, she seemed fine when I saw her earlier. I figured she'd gotten over what got into her yesterday."

Fenris took a few slow spoonfuls of porridge, not bothering to answer, hoping Varric would go away since he had not carried any food to the table. But Varric just sat in companionable silence, setting Bianca on the table after a moment. He tugged an ivory-colored chamois cloth out of a pocket of his duster and began to shine the brass fittings of his crossbow.

Nosy dwarf… Fenris finally thought, poking at his porridge and setting his mouth in a line at the unsettled feeling in his stomach.

"Take your time," Varric said generously after a minute, eyes flicking over to briefly consider Fenris and his lackluster appetite. "I've got Bartrand on a wild goose chase, looking for me up the tunnel. He thinks I went with the Carta guys on their pre-breakfast scouting run." He chuckled to himself while burnishing Bianca's new rune. "I decided it would be in everyone's best interests to take it easy this morning — except for him. Mostly my own best interest, but… what can I say, I like to share — must be my heart of gold."

Sighing heavily at his lost opportunity for a quiet breakfast, Fenris forced himself to eat a few more spoonfuls of porridge. He grimaced with the effort of swallowing past the uncharacteristic desire not to eat, though.

"Damn shame about your face," Varric added, tone completely conversational, though he did not look up from his polishing. Fenris immediately schooled his expression back to blankness. "All the hirelings are in a good mood this morning," the dwarf continued. "Guess I must have accidentally picked the grumpy side of the cavern for our camp. Oh well. Can't win them all."

Fenris loomed forward, releasing his spoon with a clatter as he dropped his hands in fists to the tabletop. The bowls jumped a little. "Is there a point to your nattering, dwarf," he asked angrily, "or do you simply think me a captive audience since no one else is here to speak to?" As if I wished to speak to anyone. He supposedly has such keen eyes — isn't it obvious I wish to be left alone? Hmph. This dwarf and his never-ending prattle…

Varric just raised an eyebrow. "Whoa, whoa, easy there, elf." He waited for Fenris to glare at him again before holding up a calming hand. "First, I do not, nor have I ever 'nattered.' I blather — perhaps with a bit of occasional jabbering thrown in to keep things interesting." Fenris just regarded him flatly, but Varric was undeterred as always. "And second, you're hardly a captive audience. Why, you're as free as a bird!"

Fenris rolled his eyes before flicking them skeptically up at the stone ceiling, trying to imagine how any bird could feel free underground, even in the huge, vaulted cavern they were in.

Catching his expression, Varric waved his hand in appeasement and screwed his face up a little. "Okay, so that expression doesn't work so great down here. And it was supposed to be a pun because of your… you know, slavery thing. But whatever."

"My 'slavery thing,' as you call it," Fenris warned fiercely, "is not a matter for your unfunny jokes, dwarf." Is everyone against me today? he wondered hotly. He could feel a stream of Tevinter and Qunari curse words building inside him, filling his stomach with fire. It is no wonder I am not hungry. In fact I have half a mind to just head back to the surface on my own. This place… these people…

"A pun is more a play on words than a joke, but I'll let it slide," Varric muttered. "I've had a long morning, too."

"What, hiding behind the mess tent from your brother?" Fenris asked derisively, remembering what Hawke had told him when she returned with their buckets. "Surely you cannot be serious…"

He thinks to compare his trials to mine? he thought angrily. What does he know of anything but minor inconveniences? Is he haunted at night with foul memories? Does his very flesh torment him the moment he lets down his guard? His brother is harmless compared to that abomination, and Hawke does not ignore Varric and brush aside his warnings, flaunting her… her… recklessness before him in his own tent…

"It gets hot back there!" Varric replied defensively. "And Bodahn's boy kept wanting to hold Bianca and…" He leaned forward, casting his eyes around apprehensively. "… finger her rune socket." He shuddered and scrunched his eyes in disgust before frowning. "Heh, can you believe the nerve some people? It's like they've never heard of boundaries! Granted, the kid drilled it there… but still! Show a lady some respect!"

"Hmph." Fenris picked up his spoon and tried to finish his first bowl of porridge after making the terse noise. He only managed to get the spoon halfway to his mouth, however.

"Speaking of ladies," Varric continued, "word is Hawke and Anders cut a fine pair over at the hirelings' camp last night. Apparently that Remigold is a real skirt-whirler, and there was plenty of leg to be seen…"

Fenris froze with spoon hovering, turning his head slowly to regard Varric. "… And?" he asked scathingly. He patently refused to bring up the memory of seeing Hawke just before she took her bath at his mansion, standing in his room in her skirt, legs completely bare to the thigh, nor how the britches underneath her skirt were even shorter.

"And I thought maybe it'd cheer you up hearing about it," the dwarf said with a smile and a shrug.

"I assure you, it does not." So, she did go over there seeking attention after all, Fenris seethed. I was right about…

Varric interrupted his thoughts. "Ah. Well, I guess I wouldn't really want to think about Blondie kicking his big, hairy legs up and flapping his robe around while I was eating, either. Good point." He fell silent for a moment, nodding in understanding.

"But it's a shame Hawke didn't bring any gowns to remind Blondie that he's supposed to dance the man's part," he continued, "though she supposedly cut a stately, noble figure until she had to abandon the dance to keep Blondie from reenacting Andraste's dramatic demise in the hirelings' fire." The dwarf chuckled heartily. "Humans… they can be quite fascinating. We dwarves dance better when drunk — and a female dwarf would probably just laugh herself unconscious if someone fell into a fire. Great senses of humor, those dwarven girls, gotta love 'em…"

Fenris just continued to scowl, hardly mollified to be reminded that Hawke wore pants at night and that it seemed she had done nothing scandalous.

"Well, sorry if I uh… spoiled your appetite," Varric apologized, rather nonchalant about it all the same. He thrust his chin at Fenris's tilted, hovering spoon, which had been losing porridge at a slow but steady rate.

As if taking the words as a challenge, Fenris turned back to his bowl and raised the mostly-empty spoon to his lips, then quickly finished the last few remaining bites in quick succession. He didn't bother to scrape the bowl as usual, however, merely setting it aside before looking at his second one.

"At least Hawke found something to do with herself," Varric continued after a minute. "Sounds like everyone had fun, though the grapevine has it that, between her own reputation and yours, the hirelings were scared into behaving their best. Which probably isn't a bad thing, come to think of it, even if you two…" Fenris made what sounded like a growl of warning, and Varric cleared his throat, moving along off the subject.

"Well… the longer they see her as a captivating yet unobtainable heroine with nerves of steel, skilled beyond all mortal ken, the easier it'll be for them to swallow my stories about her, hook, line, and sinker." He smiled serenely over at Fenris.

Captivating? Unobtainable? Fenris thought scornfully, frowning back. He decided not to think too hard about why either of Varric's choices of words rankled him so. "What Hawke does with her evenings, and her mornings for that matter, is of no interest to me," he muttered darkly. He punctuated his statement with another hard, sideways glance at Varric, trusting that would put an end to the matter. Then he turned back to his bowl, finding the grayish sludge utterly unappealing when he stared down at it. Not even halfway through breakfast and already my day is ruined… he thought bitterly.

"I'm pretty sure you'd be very interested if she spent her evenings, say, lighting your tent on fire," Varric said with a chuckle. "Especially if you were in it."

Fenris rolled his eyes and looked at him again, face a mask of the barest forbearance. "Why would she ever do something like that?" he sneered. This… silly, odd dwarf. He has too much… imagination. Why must he inflict it on me?

Varric just cackled. "You don't know much about women, do you, elf?" he asked, smiling.

"No. I don't," Fenris replied in a clipped tone, trying not to clench his jaw. "For three years I have been trying to survive, staying one step ahead of the hunters and Danarius. I have far more important things with which to occupy my thoughts, even now." His dwarven nuisance did not seem the least bit surprised or put off the subject, however, which only made Fenris grit his teeth.

Venhedis, why am I even speaking to him? Nosy dwarf, always questioning, always seeking some new 'tale.' But he realized his only options were staying to finish his breakfast, going back to Hawke, or wandering the massive cavern aimlessly while camp was being struck, so he shifted on the bench and remained sitting at the table despite the continuing chatter.

"Some might argue knowing how to keep your head on straight around the ladies would be akin to survival," the dwarf offered amiably. "And, Maker, just try staying one step ahead of a woman scorned sometime!" He whistled low and shook his head gravely. Fenris just continued to hunch over his bowl, sullenly stirring and frowning at his porridge, though he began to seriously doubt he could even eat it.

"Still, nothing like learning by doing," Varric continued cheerfully, "…especially when it comes to women." He peered down at his crossbow, buffing diligently at some speck that only he could see. "Maker knows, it can get a little… iffy at times, though."

"I wouldn't know," Fenris said with finality, releasing his spoon then uprighting a tumbler before filling it with water. Since no one had been at the table before him and he had not brewed any tea, there was none to be had. She had plenty of time to brew elfroot tea for that apostate, he thought sourly of Hawke. Then Fenris remembered that it had been his decision to leave her behind and go to breakfast without her.

Varric just raised an eyebrow, sighing quietly to himself as he flipped Bianca over and began meticulously polishing her other side. There was silence for a time while Fenris tried to sip at his water to get his stomach to settle.

"You feeling sick, too?" Varric finally commented, though clearly he knew it was more a rhetorical question and was not expecting Fenris to actually answer. He nodded his head towards Fenris's untouched second bowl of porridge. "I sure hope nothing's going around — camps can be like that. Blondie woke me up with his bellyaching — I mean, he said it was just too much ale, but I know plenty about too much ale. He seemed too… woeful for just that. More long in the face than usual. You'd think a healer…"

"No, Varric, I wouldn't think," Fenris interrupted irritatedly, slamming his empty tumbler down. "I do not spend my time thinking about Anders, just as I do not wish to spend my time talking about him. Or anything else, for that matter." He angrily began whipping his porridge again, though he still did not begin to eat. "This is why I wanted a solitary breakfast. Perhaps I am sick — of him, of talk, of… this…" He made a peevish gesture, waving one hand around. "… place. Of all of this."

His tablemate considered him out of the corner of his eye for a moment, pursing his lips a little in thought. "Fair enough," Varric finally chuckled. "Dwarf or no, I can't say I'd want to live down here, myself."

Fasta vass, Fenris thought, raging in his mind, there clearly is to be no end to his words. His head is as thick as the stone above. I should finish this wretched meal and go find somewhere more peaceful. Unpalatable thoughts, unpalatable conversation, and unpalatable food…

Hoping there was some way to mitigate his last complaint at least, he reached across the table out of habit to retrieve the honey, pausing when his fingers met only empty air. It still sat in the center of the table, since Hawke was not there and had not moved it as usual. And he had not even thought to add any to his first bowl of porridge between his detached frame of mind and Varric's interruption.

Fenris looked across the table at Hawke's empty place setting, suddenly feeling a deep throb of something he could not name. The missing honeypot made him think of her and their usual mealtime rituals — unbidden reminders of all the considerations she made only on his behalf. She carries my bowls to and from the table, sets out my cup for me, hands me the honey each morning after she puts a little in her tea and rather too much in her porridge… Then she lets me eat in silence. Though when she does speak to me… when she look at me…

The deeply buried feeling of loneliness started aching in his chest again — only instead of the usual pain of not knowing or remembering who it was that he missed, Fenris knew that it was Hawke's presence that was lacking. He tried to shove it away with anger, thinking jealously, She has not even come. She would rather sit back at the camp with that mage than come breakfast with me. Will she try to go the morning without eating? That is reckless. If we got into any kind of extended battle, she would be weakened, for no doubt she has not had experience fighting while hungry, not as I have. She could get hurt, or worse. Does she think I can protect her regardless of her own folly? Such foolishness…

But even as he tried to keep himself detached, logical, and above reproach, he knew she had stayed away because he had pushed her away again. The thought that she was avoiding him, that she would rather go hungry than face him made him feel contemptible, knowing firsthand as he did what it was like to fear someone that much and not wanting to be anything like the magisters.

I… told her not to touch me, he thought, looking down to where his hands rested limply on the tabletop. He could remember the feel of her fingers wrapping around his wrists tenderly, her skin warm and soft. After many years of feeling the possessive, harsh grip of Danarius and Hadriana, Fenris knew he knew better, more than enough to be able to tell the difference between her touch and theirs. Slowly, he began to suspect his last accusatory thought of foolishness had possibly not been meant for Hawke at all.

The things she has done for me, the promises she has made, the feel of her touch and the look in her eyes… he thought, looking distantly aside and beginning to grow profoundly chagrined. His body seemed to agree intensely, heart squeezing, stomach twisting, eyes lowering, muscles feeling rigid and tense all, at once. I accused her before of using me as a slave, he remembered, thinking back to the day they had passed each other on the long stairs leading from Lowtown to Hightown.

She… she said she would rather die than see me a slave again, he thought, reliving her words. And there was no hesitation, no untruth in her eyes as she said it. It was unlike anything anyone ever said to me, even the Fog Warriors. I remember it… only too well.

He could recall the scene vividly with his acute memory, could envision the way she had pursed her lips after he accused her, how her cheeks had flushed a little and she had recoiled, as if slapped. But then she had searched his eyes for a few long moments before she spoke, her angry expression changing to one of grim determination even as something in her gaze softened.

Just as he had then, Fenris again felt a stab of regret as he looked at her in his mind's eye and heard her words echoing in his thoughts. As he resumed staring at Hawke's empty place at the table, some of the bitterness in his heart drained away — but it left only sore emptiness in its place.

I should eat, he thought to himself, deciding to fill the gap with food. Forgoing the honey and the effort of retrieving it, Fenris took a spoonful of the tepid porridge, deciding that he should be content with eating a second helping of bland food.

"Well, elf," Varric finally said after a few minutes of silence as he tucked away his polishing cloth, "I know how to take a hint. I'll leave you to finish your breakfast in peace." He stood, picking up Bianca and cradling the crossbow in the crook of his arm, careful not to leave any smudges on her gleaming brass embellishments.

"You see?" Varric said with a smile. "Talking isn't so bad. You tell me you want to eat alone, and I listen. Simple as that. Piece of cake, really." Fenris gave him a skeptical, resigned look, but the dwarf had already begun to expound. "That's why I love talking. Really is no finer way to communicate. When something or someone is bothering you, sometimes the best way to go about dealing with it is to talk. Just say it! Tell someone what you think. Better yet, go tell the person that's bothering you what's bothering you. You know, really… let it all out. Go right up to them and say…"

Varric cut off and stiffened, then crouched down behind the table. "Shit, Bartrand is back." He crept sideways so Fenris was between him and anyone looking towards the mess tent. "Gotta go," he muttered. "Hope your face doesn't get stuck like that… and if my brother asks? You didn't see me. We never talked."

"VARRIC! Where in sodding blazes…" Bartrand roared. "I hope for his damn sake he took a long fall down a short shaft!" Varric began to creep backwards, then made a hasty dash for the mess tent all at once. "GIRLY! Have you seen that half-witted, lying, no good brother of mine? I don't know what he's playing at this morning, but when I get my hands on him…"

In spite of the odd sensation he felt when he realized that Hawke must be nearby, Fenris continued to eat, not turning to see what was taking place behind him as Varric disappeared behind the mess tent and Bartrand continued to rail on about wanting to find him and wring his neck. But as he heard Hawke's voice, a strange, tense feeling tingled along Fenris's spine, an odd, anticipatory tightness taking hold of him that made it difficult for him to continue slouching and eating.

"I'm sorry, Bartrand, I haven't seen him in some time. But if I do run across him, I'll let him know you are looking for him."

Fenris continued to eat anyway, staring blankly at the tabletop as he wondered how Hawke could sound so calm and normal when he still felt taut, angry, and unsettled. Perhaps she simply does not care, he thought, then felt joylessly vindicated as she walked past without stopping, her boots softly announcing her passage on the outside aisle of the row of tables. Though he did not look up or follow her with his eyes, Fenris could hear her putting buckets away on the far side of the mess tent, then an unintelligible murmur of conversation as she evidently went behind it and spoke with Varric.

Fenris finally finished his second bowl of porridge and stacked the bowl with the first, pushing them towards the center of the table. He hoped it would keep Sandal from seeing the dishes and rushing over to gawk at him before carrying them away. Not that it matters. I should go, he thought. Then, calculating that the camp would probably now be empty and he could be alone, he decided he could return there.

No doubt that apostate will not hang about long since Hawke is no longer there, he thought jealously. Yet Fenris remained sitting on the bench, though he rested one forearm in front of himself on the table while he pressed his other hand to his thigh and looked down, as if readying to stand. He felt caught halfway between a desire to go and to remain, wanting to know what, if anything, Hawke would say or do, yet apprehensive at subjecting himself to anything further that morning. No doubt she has come up with some cunning, clever excuse… well, what care I? It doesn't matter. His posture reflected a man ready to stand, yet he continued to stare distantly at the table as he heard boots approaching again.

"May I join you, Fenris?" Hawke asked, standing beside the table with the mostly-empty tray. He truly has brooding down to a fine art, she thought, taking in the sight of him sitting at the table looking both lonely and dark. Andraste preserve me, no man should be allowed to look half so handsome when I am this angry…

Without looking up, Fenris scratched at his chin, then shrugged and made a dismissive gesture with his hand before dropping it back to rest on the table. "You needn't my approval." I do not know why she asks. She is her own woman, this is her usual table — what care I where she sits?

"I don't?" she asked with a mirthless chuckle, setting the tray down. "I… rather got the impression that's what this is all about." I may as well not beat around the bush… Hawke decided. Fenris will be vague and silent enough for both of us. He did not reply, though she was more than familiar enough with his appearance to notice the stiffness to his expression and posture, indicating she had hit the mark. She sat down, silently adding some honey to her cool bowl of porridge as she waited to see what he would do or say.

I do not know what she expects, Fenris thought, refusing to budge, physically or mentally. She is free to do as she wishes, as am I. I make no claim on her — and she certainly has no claim on me. I will be a slave to no man or woman. Never again. He began to scowl, determined not to even look at her.

"Do you want your last bowl of porridge? Shall I put some honey in it for you?" Hawke asked, stealing a glance at him. He didn't even finish his breakfast. He must be more upset than I thought. Her worry over his well-being trumped her anger as she considered him more closely from across the table.

"No," Fenris ground out sullenly. He closed his eyes against the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that still roiled. And I do not need or want her coddling, he thought again testily. I…

"Are you sure?" she asked, growing more concerned and less angry as she took in his drawn appearance. "Bartrand is probably going to have us sprinting through the Deep Roads today despite Varric's attempt to give everyone a break. You will need your strength." Yes, he must be in quite a state indeed for it to have affected his appetite, she thought concernedly. I have never seen Fenris look so unwell.

Fenris could hardly counter her argument after having made a similar, albeit more judgmental one to himself about her absence from breakfast. Festis bei umo canavarum…

"If you insist," he growled. He retrieved his spoon from between the bowls he'd stacked and set aside. "But I do not need honey," he insisted in turn. "It is fine the way it is." He seized the third bowl before Hawke could add any, then bent over it and forced down three bites in quick succession as if to prove his point.

Hawke sat the pot in front of him anyway, raising an eyebrow. "Just because it doesn't need it doesn't mean it isn't nice to have some," she replied quietly. "We both know you always like honey. Why not have some then?" Fenris just kept eating, ignoring the honeypot and not looking at her as she watched and tried to puzzle him out. This is more than just about Anders, she decided.

"What's different about this morning, Fenris?" she asked softly. I would understand far better if he would just talk to me, she thought with a sigh, trying to eat as she waited for him to speak.

The only thing I need is to survive. What I want is irrelevant, Fenris thought darkly, refusing to acknowledge what else he started to think he needed and wanted. He instead focused his awareness fully on the present, stubbornly disregarding all else. But then he could feel Hawke staring at him, the weight of her question hanging in the air over him, her quiet sigh seeming to prod at him. Despite his earlier resolve not to look at her, he glanced up, meaning to fix her with a menacing glare to get her to stop.

But he was fixed by her instead, by the open look of concern and tenderness on her face, her fear etched into the little wrinkles furrowed between her fetching eyebrows. It reminded him of the way she had looked on the road from Kirkwall, when she had asked if he wanted her to leave him alone and he had been unable to tell her to go. No… he thought again, though now it was because he was trying to push anything resembling tenderness away.

Still, her eyes made him remember how she had been looking at him in their tent just a short time ago, when she promised to always help him, how her gaze had made him feel worthy, stronger, better, and somehow more. With all the troubling disquiet he'd felt since storming away, Fenris began to want those feelings back, suddenly finding it difficult to maintain the barrier of pride, anger, and obstinacy he had put up to block her out. No…

Yet part of him insisted it was far more difficult to go back again, to admit he might have misjudged things, knowing it could be painful to reclaim the new feelings that had been inadvertently wounded, then left behind when he walked out.

"Let it go, Hawke," Fenris warned as he held her eyes, meaning more than just the subject of the honey. Hawke immediately looked away, obviously understanding as much.

Yet even as he said it, Fenris knew his words were an act of desperation, that he was making one last attempt to hang onto his old, simple answers, his neat, if cynical, explanation for everything, one that would easily clear up what he had been so confused about regarding her. Part of him hoped it would work, if only because believing that even she saw him as someone not to be trusted, a tool to be used, someone to be exploited, someone broken and dangerous, it would make everything simple again. No…

Still, another part of him was already despairing that he might finally succeed.

I had thought us past this, Hawke thought, staring out at nothing. I had thought I need not fear him leaving down here. And I had thought after what he said when we left Kirkwall, after everything that we have slowly built up between us since that he would not push me away, not like this, not again. He does one thing, yet says another. She swallowed, though her throat felt entirely too tight to manage it. Which am I to believe?

She searched quietly for a moment, reflecting on what Anders had just told her. 'It is his actions that will speak the loudest, not his words…' And yet this morning, both Fenris's actions and his words are that he wants little to do with me… Hawke frowned, growing disquieted. Anders thinks I deserve better, that Fenris will hurt me, that he doesn't appreciate me… She took a deep breath, wondering if she should even heed the mage's unsolicited advice, given how angry and prejudiced he had grown as their conversation had devolved into yet another rather one-sided debate on magic. And a heated one at that, she thought. Maker, he was right though. I have put myself through a lot of trouble over one broody elf…

Eventually Hawke shook her head, looking down at her bowl and poking at it instead of looking at Fenris. "No."

Fenris looked up and frowned. "What do you mean?" He'd been so caught up in his own doubts that he'd forgotten what he even had said.

Hawke set her mouth with determination. I'll be damned if I'm going to go through everything I have this morning, everything over the past few weeks, having come this far, letting him drive me this crazy just to let him off so easily. No, indeed Fenris. No.

"I cannot let it go, Fenris," she said with more confidence than she truly felt. "In fact, I will not. I may have promised to do anything you want, but… that cannot include breaking my other promises. They were mine to make, and they are mine to keep. I'm sorry." She finally looked up from her bowl, though she could only regard him askance, genuinely afraid of what he might try next. If I am wrong about this, they'll probably have to sweep little pieces of me up. He could shatter me with that voice of his with just a few choice words…

"I do not see how it would be breaking anything," Fenris argued immediately. He did not really understand what she meant, but the idea of something being broken raked sharply at a deep wound in his heart.

But though it had satisfied his instinct to protect himself, at once he regretted saying it. The despair in him began to grow and feed back in on itself as Hawke looked away again, chewing on her lip, her face a mask of deep uncertainty. I may be a poor conversationalist, he told himself grimly, but I certainly argue well. Everything began to feel more wrong to him the longer she remained silent, but he had nothing to say, even if he knew what it was that was needed to make things feel right again.

It is no wonder I am alone, he began to think as Hawke closed her eyes and lowered her head. I cannot stand for anyone to get near, not even her, not even when she speaks to me openly, kindly, gently, when she talks to me of selfless promises. Like some wounded animal, I push everything away, snapping at any hand that comes near, regardless whether it is aid or not.

He looked down at the markings on his arms and hands, spreading his fingers. I destroy everything around me, then I flee until I reach somewhere else — and then I destroy that, too. I am a living weapon, forged for one purpose, and it seems that I can know no other. What Danarius has done to me is unforgivable — but what I am doing to myself is… far, far worse. Even with my memories stripped, I already carry more than enough regrets for one lifetime. And yet I seem intent on claiming more…

How can I explain? Hawke thought, growing increasingly distressed. I can't tell him why leaving him alone would break my heart, why not being able to fulfill my promises to him would kill me as surely as if he reached into my chest and ripped my heart out himself. She bit her lip to keep the words in, afraid of what speaking them now would do to both of them given how close he seemed to ending things between them entirely.

I love him, yet I cannot tell him that, she reasoned fervently. Not here, not now, not like this, not when he is so angry and on the verge of doing… something. Not when it would seem like I was just manipulating him, tricking him, twisting him to my own desires again. It would be underhanded and cruel to spring it on him — I'd be no better than those hunters or Danarius, lying in wait for him to be caught defenseless. It would be… reckless. Selfish. Wrong. Still, as she looked back at him, she knew she had to say something.

"I… I don't think you truly want me to let this go, Fenris," Hawke decided to say, thinking it would buy her some time. She hoped her hesitancy didn't give her away, but she found speech remarkably difficult around him and was very unused to the feeling. "I don't think I would be helping you if I did. You are angry right now… and people do and say things they don't mean in anger. I… care too much about you let you do something you might … later come to regret."

She took a small, hesitant spoonful of porridge to keep herself from rambling. That was pretty honest without being too honest, wasn't it? she thought, wanting to sag tiredly after the careful effort of holding back. Andraste's quivering thighs, I never seem to have this much trouble talking to anyone but him… Hawke found she could not even bring herself look at Fenris to gauge his reaction, sitting with her head bowed as if waiting for the axe to fall.

Even as her words drove back his despondency, Fenris found them confusing once more. I do not understand, and I grow tired of it! he thought, anger fully shifting away from Hawke to his own frustrating disorientation. He knew her words were genuine by the tone in her voice, but he almost wished they weren't, so he needn't feel like a fool yet again. Every time, she keeps returning, no matter what I say or do, he thought, gritting his teeth. Yet I cannot keep doing this, I cannot continue to do… this. Whatever this even is. Bold, reckless, fearless… whatever she is, it is as unfathomable to me as this thing between us. Clearly, I need a new tactic. No, I will not continue in this manner any longer. I cannot. I will not. So, Fenris made the only response he could think to make.

"I see."

He began fidgeting as he tried to think of something else to say, the thumb of his left hand running across the pads of his fingertips as his mind worked against itself, both trying to refute her argument and wanting admit the truth of her words.

I don't think you do see, Fenris, Hawke thought, deciding to show him instead. She hesitantly reached out and ran her fingertips lightly up the back of his restless hand, knowing full well she was disregarding his earlier words not to touch him. Instead of telling you I love you, I have to show you, she reasoned, hoping her touch was not truly unwanted, that it would not drive him further away. She unconsciously held her breath when he looked at their hands and stilled his movements — but he did not pull away.

Her touch truly is nothing like Danarius's or Hadriana's, Fenris thought, growing even more uncertain and ashamed of his earlier thoughts of Hawke. And yet I pushed her away even so. He sat numbly, feeling little but the strokes of her touch and a profound sense of dishonor.

After a few moments, Hawke risked slipping her fingers into the loose fist his hand made, rubbing her thumb along the ring he wore on his index finger and gently caressing his knuckles. "Just because I fussed over Anders this morning doesn't mean I don't care about you too, Fenris," she explained quietly. "As the person who persuaded him to come, I have a duty to look after his well-being. And as a partner on this expedition, I should also make sure that our healer is well."

Her reasons are her own, Fenris thought sullenly, trying to convince himself to keep his jealousy in check. She needn't explain herself to me…

He stirred unhappily in his seat, frowning, but Hawke spoke before he could interrupt. "I know you think I shouldn't have brought him in the first place, but he is here and he is helping, Fenris." He just looked away with an unhappy look on his face. She sighed, but said patiently, "No one has gotten hurt or died, in large part because of his healing, and his Grey Warden ability to sense the darkspawn. It has saved all of us a lot of trouble." Fenris just continued to stare away, clearly disgruntled.

"Besides… even if I wish to," Hawke teased, "I can hardly send him back now, can I?"

"It was your decision to make," Fenris said indifferently, still looking to the side. He stubbornly tried to ignore the soothing feel of Hawke's touch on his hand, but found it difficult to keep from closing his hand around hers — and impossible to pull away.

Hawke chuckled at the hint of a pout on his lips. "It was. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry that I had no other choice." Fenris gave her a sideways, skeptical look, and his doubtful, sulking expression made her smile a little. "I wound up having a chat with him after you left. Anders is none to happy with me right now for whatever reason — nor I with him." She smiled a little more when Fenris blinked at that before he looked away again. "But, for good or for ill," she continued, trying to sound optimistic, "we are all stuck down here, now. So we may as well make the best of it. Right?"

Fenris wondered what words were exchanged between Hawke and Anders, but before he had a chance to obliquely inquire, Bartrand came storming past.

"VARRIC! You nughumping son of a goat's ass, I've checked everywhere in this sodding camp but over here! Ancestors below help your hairy hide when I find you… Ruining my blasted schedule so you can shirk. I'll shirk you, you shirker!"

Hawke's hand slipped away from Fenris's as she bent low over her bowl, speedily finishing her breakfast lest the irascible expedition leader notice she, too, was running behind schedule. Fenris took a spoonful of his own porridge, then added a drizzle of honey to it when it tasted flavorless to him. He ate quickly and mechanically, his thoughts detached from his meal once more, though this time it was again a jumble instead of determined blankness.

Hawke began stacking dishes onto the tray as soon as she finished, and she had just retrieved Fenris's first two bowls when he finished his meal and placed his last dish on the tray. Hesitantly she asked, "Will… you be coming back to camp to help me with the tent? I don't think I can pack it away on my own, and Varric and Anders…" She trailed off, shrugging and shaking her head.

Fenris ran a tired hand over his face, then rubbed both hands on his leggings, looking down for a moment. "Very well," he responded neutrally.

Hawke stood, facing him as she picked up the tray, smiling again in spite of things at the way his deep voice still rumbled captivatingly when he spoke so softly and reluctantly. Andraste help me, but I am a weak woman for this man. I truly have gotten myself into a fine mess indeed. "I… hope you'll still help me put the tent back up tonight, too," she added. "I don't think I can do it without you, Fenris."

Again Fenris rubbed his hands along his thighs, stirring a little on the bench. When she says my name like that… he thought, trying not to slump. The sound of it further shattered his fear that she thought of him as some kind of pet. Her need of me… and whatever she wants of me… it is nothing like anything Danarius or Hadriana ever wanted of me. Though it was still yet breakfast and he had gotten a restful night's sleep, Fenris found he was already too weary to properly recall the rationale of how he had arrived at the conclusion that Hawke was using him in the first place.

"Well… you did say you needed me," he replied, tone finally betraying just a hint of wryness, even though it was mostly for himself. Every time…

It was enough reassurance for Hawke for the time being, his noncommittal a far better outcome than the one she had feared. "I need you for far more than just helping with our tent, Fenris," she reassured him, trying to subtly emphasize the 'our' without overdoing it. Then she quickly went to return the dishes to Bodahn as the sound of overturning crates and calmly delivered explanations began emanating from behind the mess tent.

Fenris finally stood as she walked away, stretching out his back and limbs a little, cramped as they were from sitting hunched on the bench for so long. He rubbed at his tunic collar, scratching where the ends of his too-long hair tickled his neck as he waited for Hawke to return. Despite his pensive mood, he chose not to think about anything for the time being and to simply focus on getting through the day, not trusting himself to come to any logical conclusions after the morning's turmoils.

There will be plenty of time to contemplate all of this later, he decided as Hawke hustled her way back to him. She just barely avoided becoming embroiled in Bartrand and Varric's loud arguing as the brothers rounded the mess tent, trading barbs, excuses, insults, and explanations. Besides, it will be much quieter in the tent tonight, and easier to think, Fenris noted. He gladly left the noise behind as he silently fell in beside Hawke to return to the camp so they could prepare to leave out for another day's journey.

---

5 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Evening

The day was a quiet, uneventful, and long one. Because of Varric's efforts to give everyone a bit of a break that morning, Bartrand did his utmost to put things back on schedule — by setting a breakneck pace, keeping a hard, beady eye on everything in the expedition caravan, and squashing anything that looked, sounded, or remotely felt like wasting time. Everyone soon grew hushed, muttering a little and talking even less. The surly dwarf seemed to have eyes like an eagle, ears like a mabari hound, and of course, the temper of eight wet cats tied together, thrown into a sack, and swung about vigorously — with fists attached.

He was everywhere, and if he wasn't in the vicinity, he soon would be. As if to prove Varric's post-breakfast accusation that he couldn't do anything without his little brother, the elder Tethras stomped to and fro checking on everything personally throughout the long day's journey. Though it did tickle Varric to see his brother on a tear and he had to do little but walk and watch, it was less entertaining for everyone else. By lunch, there was an unspoken agreement that the hirelings preferred Bartrand's more removed shouting, and that they were far more content with his expectations that things be taken care of by Varric or someone else within prodigious earshot.

Hawke's group at the front, whom Bartrand left generally alone, stayed fairly reserved, too. Varric was quietly pleased to see his brother worked into a state of obstinate self-sufficiency enough that he did not want to overplay his hand by acting smug or talking too much. Anders, who appeared at the last minute from somewhere deep within the massive cavern just before the expedition moved out for the morning, had a sullen look on his face and barely spoke, despite seeming to have recovered from his hangover.

Fenris noted with a measure of satisfaction that the apostate left Hawke completely alone, and that she, in turn, rather pointedly did not bother trying to cheer him back up.

Instead, Hawke seemed to be content not to rock the boat, murmuring the occasional quiet joke or word of encouragement to everyone in general, but not striking up any individual conversations or trying to raise morale in the face of such overwhelming odds. Fenris repeatedly caught her considering him, however, though the wide variety of expressions on her face gave him no indication of what she was thinking or why she was looking at him.

For his part, Fenris spent the entire day in his usual quiet introspection, making the occasional effort at trying to untangle his thoughts and sort out his emotions about the morning and Hawke, before resigning himself once more to wait for evening — though what revelations he expected to discover in his tent, he did not really know either.

Still, by the time Bartrand finally called a rather late halt to the day's march, Fenris had managed to convince himself that his initial angry feelings and thoughts had simply been the product of misplaced frustrations, though he had worked out little else.

He had rather successfully spread the blame around, shifting it where he felt it most belonged. I should not have gotten upset with Hawke again. I was not myself, he thought repeatedly. He took a moment a moment to consider the dry, metallic air and discomforting staleness to the Deep Roads as he walked. It is just this place, and constantly being around so many strangers, he decided, glancing back at everyone else as if to confirm the rest of the expedition was just as averse to the wretched atmosphere. He wound up noticing Anders glaring at him. And Anders, he added darkly.

By the evening halt, Fenris had for hours refused to any longer think the unkind thoughts he'd had before storming out of the tent that morning, of Hawke treating him as a pet or a slave. That mage is the one I am truly angry at — I just took my anger out on her instead, he'd determined. Her touch merely surprised me, so I pulled away, and she does not know how Danarius treated me or how her words might distantly remind me of him. I have not told her… or anyone else for that matter. He clenched his jaw as he thought of what he owed Danarius for so utterly fouling his life, the perversion continuing even still, then he placed that anger aside, saving it for when he would get the chance to repay his former master.

When Hawke and Fenris pitched their tent that night in a companionable, if rather awkward silence, Fenris reasoned, Hawke is always near and I am not used to that. I lashed out at her because she was at hand… I meant only to point out to her how that apostate was taking advantage of her. As he folded the tent flaps open, he caught a glimpse of Anders forlornly trying to pitch his tent all by himself, throwing pitiful glances in Hawke's direction. Though she seemed to be purposely avoiding helping him, she was still slightly oblivious of his attentions all the same, as always.

Watching the healer's sad expression then turn to a hard, sullen glare at Hawke's unsuspecting back before shifting the same look to him, Fenris grew even more convinced he had done the right thing and had had good intentions in trying to take up the matter with Hawke — just perhaps lackluster execution. After everything Danarius has done to me, is it no wonder I word things poorly? he thought bitterly. He shot Anders a warning, menacing look, then went to retrieve the packs as Hawke stood from tying off the last support, then went to retrieve the bedrolls.

Hawke is well-intentioned and… kind-hearted, Fenris told himself as he hefted the packs out of the cart. I am just unused to such, and naturally suspicious after years of being betrayed by those around me whom the hunters pay off. But… she is not like that — I have seen as much, he reasoned, feeling calmer and more himself as he rationally thought everything out.

I will apologize to her and perhaps find some way to make it up to her. She is a woman — no doubt she will want to… talk, he reckoned. I can tell her then. If I can manage to control myself tonight. Or get a word in edgewise. Though he flicked his eyes up wryly at himself and Hawke both, he resolved once again that he would try harder, do his best to be attentive, and try to rein in his emotions that night.

Hawke had tried to settle the nervous flutter in her stomach when Fenris silently exited the erected tent and strode away looking grim and angry again. She found she could not watch where he was going, afraid that he wasn't going to be coming back. Just go get the bedrolls, Marian, she told herself firmly. Fenris is a grown man, and he can decide for himself where he is sleeping tonight…

Still, she went around to the back of the tent and left their bedrolls there before turning her back to the tent, not wanting to be standing around looking stricken if he deposited her pack, grabbed his bedroll, then set off looking for some quiet, secluded corner to sleep in alone.

If only Bartrand hadn't been in such a foul mood and a rush, making us all eat our sandwiches while we walked, I could have talked to Fenris at lunch, she grumbled to herself. Men and their need to control things. Maker, they wouldn't last a day as a woman… always something new popping up to take care of, something to worry about on your mind, sometimes being taken by random moods, everyone always looking to you for comfort or tending, as if you were their mother…

Then she began to chuckle, trying to imagine Bartrand as a female, with an apron and cap, waving a spoon around, haranguing the hirelings in a shrill voice — yet she could not imagine away his mustache and thick mutton-chops. Maker, you see? she thought, giggling to herself. I cannot even stay angry without thinking of something funny instead. Men and their one-track minds… I almost feel sorry for them, for truly it is women adventurers… no, all women who are far more resilient.

Fenris silently set down their packs inside the tent, placing Hawke's and his in their usual, opposite respective corners. Then he heard her laugh, so left his for the moment and crossed to the back of the tent again. He poked his head through the rear flaps, trying to figure out what she was giggling at, almost suspicious that Anders had finally cornered her while his back had been turned for all of a minute — but then he saw Hawke was alone with her back turned. He took a few steps out of the tent towards her, then stopped, casting his eyes around, trying to see what it was she was she had been looking and laughing at. But after a few moments he still saw nothing, though Hawke finally turned her head and noticed him.

To his amusement, she jumped, whirled, and and gasped all at once, though he had been standing there for a time and merely blinked at her when she looked at him. She has been in a strange mood all day, Fenris noted, thinking back to the many different looks she had been giving him. Then he began to feel a slightly cocky smile twitching his mouth up. But I suppose I should be flattered that so capable a woman considers me intimidating.

Hawke tried to catch her breath, both startled that Fenris had suddenly appeared behind her and surprised that he had indeed returned. "Maker's breath, Fenris," she said breathlessly, hand to her chest, "you have no right to sneak so quietly through the tent when I'm the rogue here."

"Is that so? Well… I wouldn't suggest making that a rule," he warned. "I think I would rather sleep elsewhere than have to wear iron shoes or a bell in there." Hawke blinked at him a little. "I am not a plough horse, Hawke," he said, putting a little more teasing into his tone.

Hawke just frowned. "Do they really put bells on plough horses in Tevinter? That seems like it would be very annoying during planting season." Thinking of plowing made her briefly think of John, and once more a small pang of guilt squeezed her heart. But she quickly tucked it away, knowing sadly there was nothing she could do about that relationship. Best take care of the present, I suppose, she thought, trying to focus.

Fenris inclined his head. "They do indeed. It is some ridiculous old Dalish superstition that has carried over to the elven slaves, I believe," he explained. "Now, the magisters use it instead to keep track of where their slaves are in the field, and none can escape with the horses without being easily tracked."

Eyebrow arching a little with intrigue but mostly in discomfort, Hawke tried to shift the topic away from the dark subject of slavery. "In Ferelden, we put bells on our cows, not our horses. Except sometimes in winter, to make it… festive, I guess."

It was Fenris's turn for raising an eyebrow. "Why would you put a bell on a cow?" he asked incredulously. "It is… a cow. They just… stand there or lie there in the middle of the field, do they not?" His face screwed up a little in irritation. "All they do is… chew. Constantly. And loudly. So much… smacking." Like Anders, he added silently, not mentioning it though as he held fast to his resolution not to ruin the evening.

Hawke laughed heartily for the first time all day. "Oh Maker, Fenris… the look on your face." He just stood there blinking at her, shrugging a little, and overall she found him too charming to resist. "But I will have to take you to a farm some day," she said with a smile. "You can try finding and chasing down a feisty cow first thing in the morning so you can have cream for your breakfast. They can find places to hide, and they are faster and more cunning than they look when they want to be, I can assure you."

She thought fondly of the cow her family had had in Lothering, knowing first-hand of what she spoke. They did not have a farm, not really even a small one like John's family or some of the other families he often worked for, but her parents had purchased a few animals for the sake of self-sufficiency when they settled in the small town. The twins had been eleven at the time, and Carver initially had grand ideas about learning to joust on the dairy cow, whereas Bethany couldn't stop giggling and mooing back when the cow mooed at her for the first time.

So their father had knighted the milk cow Ser Moo and charged her to patrol the knolls around their new home, chivalrously protecting them from the encroachment of weeds and tall grass. But her mother knew nothing of livestock and preferred it that way, and the twins teamed up on the chicken coop, one to feeding the fiercely protective hens while the other retrieved eggs. And, up until he died, their father was busy with all the heavy work of seeing to the morning fire and carrying water. Thus, despite the twins being initially utterly enamored with the cow, it had soon fallen to Hawke to tend, milk, and round up the deceptively crafty beast.

That all seems like a lifetime ago now, she thought, growing a little sad. Though she knew her family's prospects were looking better than owning cows and chickens again, it felt a little hollow with their numbers too diminished without her father or brother.

Fenris was still mulling over her idea. Going to… a farm, with Hawke? Even though he had been following her all around Kirkwall to odd places for weeks, the thought of going somewhere as mundane as a farm with her somehow seemed even more strange to him. But he also found the idea of traveling somewhere uneventful and outside of the city with her rather tempting after the mostly pleasant time they had had together on the road to the Deep Roads entrance.

"Hmph, well…" he replied slowly, "the only farms I ever saw were mostly from a distance, cutting through fields when traveling south. I found very little to recommend the work there, preferring what mercenary work there was to be had regardless of its scarcity." His tone soured a bit as he spoke of his hard life on the run, but then his lips quirked up into a wry smile. "But… it might be worth a closer look, just to watch you run after a cow, bells, smacking, or otherwise."

Hawke smiled deeply, immediately enchanted by the hint of a smile playing about Fenris's lips and already thinking how pleasant it would be to see him in a quieter, greener, more relaxed setting again. I was half joking, she thought, but perhaps I truly should consider taking him on holiday somewhere peaceful and cozy out in the countryside… He has certainly earned a bit of a break — we both will have, after this expedition is done.

As she moved towards the tent, Fenris anticipated her and held the flap open solicitously, and Hawke made a point of brushing past him close enough for her fingers to graze his free hand. "Anything you want, Fenris," she said evenly, giving him a mysterious smile, "even if that means me chasing cows."

Fenris remained quiet at the reminder of her promise and at her fleeting touch, following her into the tent after a moment. Then the two of them went about their usual evening ritual in silence, albeit a much more comfortable one, their small conversation having bridged over some of the awkwardness. Weapons were soon set aside, gloves and vambraces stowed in packs, and Fenris returned one of Hawke's crumpled handkerchiefs in exchange for a fresh, neatly folded one that she handed him even as he came across the tent to her. She set out her change of clothes and things for her wash, while he removed his belt, chestplate and pauldrons, then stacked them with his sword neatly outside the tent.

Hawke was removing her belt when Fenris returned, a thoughtful look on her face — but she glanced at him when he entered, just as he was trying to gauge her expression. They considered each other for a moment, then both looked away, each a little abashed and uncertain about the evening ahead in light of the rocky morning.

Hawke, as always, decided to let Fenris set the pace. Well, here we are, she thought a little nervously, fumbling with her belt buckle a little. Yes, at least he's here. That's something… even if I don't know quite what else to do besides be here myself.

Fenris, as increasingly was frequent, felt frustrated at how he continued to cause her to be reluctant despite his best efforts. She is being rather quiet again… especially for her. I had hoped she'd… I don't know, continue talking.

He stood motionless near his pack, looking distantly at her boots for a moment, realizing he had come back into the tent even though he had nothing left to do in there. Until it his turn to wash, at least, which he knew would be a while since Bodahn probably did not have any water heated yet — and Fenris always let Hawke go first regardless. He could not think of anything to say himself, but knew it would look a bit foolish to simply turn around and leave out again in silence. He made an effort at searching his thoughts for suitable small talk — however, the only thing Fenris could come up with was, Ummm…

"Did… you still want me to cut your hair?" Hawke finally asked, holding her belt in her hands and fingering the pouch where she kept her small pair of sharp scissors. We can hardly stand here awkwardly all night, she thought, feeling a bit silly for feeling so timid, but still worried that she might say or do something to make Fenris reconsider their unspoken reconciliation.

Fenris continued to blink quietly at her feet, considering for a few quiet moments. Not whether he wanted his hair cut or not, for he knew he needed it — rather he quickly got caught up remembering the pleasurable, drowsy feel of having Hawke comb his hair, her gentle touch along his ear and face, and the desire for closeness that had begun to overwhelm his reluctance just before Anders had interrupted them. He had not let himself think about it since he had stormed away, so when Hawke made her offer, and while he was standing almost in the same spot in their tent, in almost the same posture, even, it all came back vividly from memory in an almost overwhelming rush.

"I… would appreciate it, yes," he said a little numbly, roused by Hawke's nervous fidgeting.

Hawke began to smile in relief, sagging a bit before she nodded. "Very well, then. Let's see… I guess… put on your cloak, bring your comb, and we'll get you all sorted out in no time." She rummaged through her belt pouch for her scissors, then crouched to retrieve her own cloak from her pack, as well as her waterskin.

Rather confused at why he would need a cloak, Fenris wordlessly complied anyway. Carefully, he unwrapped and set aside the three bottles of wine he still carried bundled in it in his pack, then dug down to find his comb. He finally found it settled at the bottom, from how the pack had been jostled in the back of a cart all day.

Humming as she bustled out the back of the tent, Hawke spread her own cloak out on the stone cavern floor, patting it invitingly once Fenris followed her. He hesitantly swept the cloak she had bought for him when they had had to help Aveline hunt bandits in the rain over his shoulders, then sat cross-legged where she had indicated on hers. As he placed his comb behind himself near her, he cast his eyes around the area a little dubiously, but there was no one around to scrutinize him, Hawke, or their strange activities.

Bartrand had directed that everyone camp near to each other that night, so there would be no chance of anyone, mostly Varric, not hearing him in the morning, and so he wouldn't have to search as far if his brother took to hiding again. The considerably closer quarters meant it was louder than usual, certainly far louder than the night before when Hawke's group had been far on the other side of camp from everyone else. Thus despite there being no one but him and Hawke in the immediate vicinity, Fenris's ears practically thrummed with the noise of everyone else setting camp for the night.

Hawke had, as usual, requested the carts for supporting her tent be placed in something like a corner of the cavern the expedition had camped in, and the hirelings had long since retrieved Bodahn's supplies from them. Almost everyone wanted the mess tent up as soon as possible to speed dinner along, so Bodahn's crates often got priority each night. That often, as now, left Hawke's tent comparatively solitary, much to Fenris's satisfaction. He also thought back to Varric's statement at breakfast about how his reputation combined with Hawke's seemed to keep the hirelings on their toes, so with that final thought of reassurance, Fenris set his suspicions aside and settled into a more relaxed posture.

Hawke set her scissors and the waterskin aside by Fenris's comb and knelt on her cloak behind him, curling her fingers under as she took in his handsomely angular, elven profile. A sudden temptation to just wrap her arms around him and plant a kiss on his cheek surged through her, nearly overwhelming her better judgement before she caught herself. Focus, Marian, she warned herself. You'll get to handle Fenris plenty while you trim his hair for him… Behave otherwise, girl. Did you learn nothing this morning? Maker…

Keeping quiet and giving him space throughout the day had been difficult for her, especially given her increasingly frequent daydreams about him, but Hawke was determined not to mess up the evening by rushing things to make up for the lost time.

"All right, Fenris," she said in a pleasant, business-like tone, to keep herself professional more than anything, "what length do you prefer?" She hesitated only a moment before she sank her fingers into his slightly unkempt hair, easing out the minor tangles from the long day so he could properly show her.

As her hands brushed against the tips of his ears and her fingertips massaged his scalp, Fenris nearly sagged as all the tension of the day and the harrowing night before fled before her touch. The simple gesture was wholly unlike anything he could remember, and just the feel of gentle tugging here and there on his hair set his spine tingling. He found it difficult to even decipher what her question had been, let alone how to answer it as his mind went quite blank from the unexpected pleasure.

Hawke noticed how quickly Fenris began to relax, so she didn't rush him, content to take her time and just enjoy a quiet, close moment with him again. We have plenty of time — he isn't getting me to leave his side for anything tonight, she thought, picking up his comb. Well, except to wash… perhaps, she amended with a wry smile.

As she began to slowly pull the comb through his hair and took care to avoid raking his ears by gently placing her fingers alongside them, Fenris sighed quietly, for she caressed them softly as she did so. Already in a languorous daze, he thought distractedly, I should probably explain to her about elves' ears eventually, before she gets into any… misunderstandings with any other elves.

Soon however, she began to comb alongside his neck, and Fenris roused slightly, suddenly realizing she probably would need to touch him there while cutting his hair. He blocked out the feel of the comb and focused on the location of her hands, trying to gauge the feel of her touch as she neared his markings. He had not yet felt any burning pain from her touch there, despite how he had slept with her hand pillowing his face, which inevitably and pleasantly lead her to stroke the very bottom of his ear and along his jaw, just where the forked markings ended. Without pain to alert him, he could not say for certain if she had simply avoided touching his neck markings at all, or if perhaps, like his hands, she somehow did not rouse the sensation of searing and burning alongside his neck.

Even if it does hurt, I can bear it, Fenris thought defiantly, already steeling himself as she reached around to comb out the uneven fringe of hair along his forehead. The pain will fade, as it did last night. And then it will feel fine. He willed it to be the truth, holding the memory of her pleasurable touch on his chest from the night before like a shield in his mind.

"All right there, Fenris?" Hawke asked gently, pausing as she noticed his back stiffen. "Just tell me if you're uncomfortable."

"I am fine," he said stubbornly, sitting up a little straighter. Though he disliked that she so transparently saw through his nervousness and was quick to make allowances for him, he acknowledged that his irritation was wholly with himself. As he had resolved to try harder, he carefully kept it from tainting his enjoyment of Hawke's attentions.

"I usually just lop it off about here," Fenris continued, finally answering her question. He held his chin straight and indicated with his right hand alongside his neck a length equal with his jawline.

Hawke hastily swept his thick hair away from his face before pulling her hands back and leaning to the right. "I'm sorry, where did you say? I wasn't looking."

"Here," Fenris repeated, indicating again with a hasty swipe of his finger.

She combed his shaggy hair aside from his neck, holding it back with one hand and up over his ear with the other as she leaned forward a little more. "You'll have to be a little more specific, Fenris," she said with a chuckle at his vague gesture. "I need a proper reference if I'm to keep you from looking terribly crooked."

Fenris ground out an impatient sigh, reaching over his shoulder and plucking her right hand from his ear. With more boldness than he truly felt, he pressed her hand against his neck and placed it at the proper height.

"There," he said hoarsely, managing to keep his quivering to a minimum.

Hawke held very still for a few moments after Fenris placed her hand over his neck markings, just in case he changed his mind. He left his hand over hers, and she was reminded of the way he had guided her hand away from the markings the other night when he had first let her caress his face, as well as the way his hand had tightened over hers on his bare chest the night before. She was also still concerned enough from his morning outburst to be extra cautious not to take liberties.

Fenris felt an almost electric thrill twice over, from the feel of her touch and the fact that no pain accompanied it. Venehdis, he swore at himself, then began wordlessly chastising himself for continuing to be such a coward. He did not understand why his markings didn't burn as her hand continued to press against his neck, but he was beyond grateful for it and too tired of his seemingly constant state of bewilderment to let questioning it diminish his victory — or the feel of Hawke's touch. I could get used to this, even though I do not understand it, he thought a little distractedly.

Hawke eventually remembered to breathe as Fenris's thumb stroked her fingers for a moment. Then his hand slipped away, and he went back to sitting patiently on the cloak. She took a deep breath, then rather numbly thought, Well, I suppose this is a good sign.

After another moment, she swept her hand very lightly across his neck, trying truly to judge how short she needed to cut his hair while also savoring the new opportunity to touch him. "I see," she said quietly as she looked him over. Then she chuckled a little to herself as she realized she'd used the short, hedging phrase she'd noticed Fenris himself so often relied on. Hawke set the comb down and swept the hair back from his left side, hesitantly putting her hand on that side of his neck, too.

"So, about here, then?" she asked, gently putting pressure about the height he had indicated.

Fenris cleared his throat before speaking, not wanting to sound hoarse as yet again he surprisingly felt no pain and his mouth went dry at the possibilities. "Ahem. Yes, I think that would be… sufficient." He knew the length should give him at least a few weeks or more until he need worry about it getting too long again. With Hawke's assistance, however, he thought tentatively, it might need not be such a chore…

"I'm going to dampen your hair a bit so the trimmings don't get all over, all right?" she said, tone professional once more though she began more broadly sweeping his locks back, letting her fingertips trail where they may without worrying about his markings.

"Very well," Fenris replied slowly, eyes shifting around somewhat dubiously as he briefly worried Hawke was going to pour out her waterskin over him where he sat. He had never had a proper haircut before, left entirely to his own devices while a slave, when Danarius would merely declare he looked a slovenly wretch and command he do something about his hair. Though the magister always criticized his appearance and often punished him almost randomly for not looking more presentable, Danarius naturally never gave any thought as to how Fenris was supposed to accomplish any of it.

Fenris sat up a little straighter as he heard Hawke pouring a slow trickle from her waterskin, realizing she must be cupping it in her palm. Indeed, he soon felt her rubbing a small measure of water into his locks, and she repeated the gesture a few times until his mop of hair was sufficiently damp.

"There, that's not too wet now, is it?" Hawke asked brightly, massaging his scalp. She noticed that Fenris remained rather blissfully silent again as she worked her fingers through his wet hair, so she just continued for a minute. Then she picked up the comb and quickly straightened it all again, not wanting it to start to dry, letting it trail over his ears and hang down in front of his eyes so she could begin.

"It is fine," Fenris finally responded, once again reveling in the strange sensation of being groomed. Even though having wet hair hanging in his face felt a bit odd, especially when he was otherwise dry, he found he was more unused to the feeling of having someone else tend to him. I would probably take more care with my hair if it felt like this when I did it, he distantly mused, thinking of the way he reluctantly tugged at his hair with a few token strokes of the comb in the mornings before heading out for the day.

Hawke quickly tucked the hood of Fenris's cloak under, careful not to brush against his back. "There, we don't want hair getting into your hood, now do we?" she explained soothingly when he arched away from her a little, craning to look at her activities somewhat suspiciously. Then she chuckled at bit at how he looked somewhat bedraggled. It always looks worst just before it starts to look better, she mused.

Then she picked up her scissors and took him by both shoulders, squaring him off properly. "Sit just like that, Fenris. This won't take too long, I promise." He nodded in acknowledgment as she made a few more passes with the comb, which made her laugh. Patiently, she urged, "And no nodding or moving your head. Look straight ahead and keep your chin level — you don't want to come out looking all lopsided, trust me."

Fenris nearly shook his head at the complicatedness of the proceedings, then stopped himself. "As you say, Hawke."

She heard the heavy, unspoken sigh in his voice, so his terribly tolerant response made her giggle a bit. "We'll get through this together one way or another, Fenris. No worries."

He sat quiet and very still as she began to snip, his eyes blinking and flicking around as he felt her movements and wondered what was going on behind him. He could feel her warm touch, the fleeting press of her metal scissors against his skin, the occasional steady strokes of the comb pulling his hair outward, then the cold dampness as shortened locks fell back into place and loose snippets of hair fell away and stuck to him.

"This feels… much more involved than what I usually do," he carefully observed after a few minutes as Hawke worked her way around to his left side.

She smiled fondly, keeping her eyes on her task. "You deserve a bit of pampering after everything, Fenris. Just enjoy it — I am."

He nearly turned to regard her, then remembered himself, merely raising an eyebrow instead. "… Pampering?" It sounded too much like coddling for his liking, reminding him of Anders.

"Yes," she said airily, combing out his hair again and holding the straight edge of the comb alongside his jaw to check the length. "Even terribly fierce warrior adventurers deserve to be indulged a little bit from time to time, don't you think?"

"It is just a haircut, Hawke," he pointed out, grumbling a bit. I do not need… pampering. What am I, some willowy Orlesian noblewoman? Next she will be spraying me with… perfume… he thought dourly.

"It is," she agreed solemnly, raking her fingers through his hair a few times before moving to his other side. Then she leaned down to murmur in his ear. "But I will ensure that is the finest haircut you've ever had."

He chuckled at that, since it was in essence his first haircut ever and thus the finest by default. "I have no doubt that it will be," he said evenly, smiling crookedly to himself at his own irony.

Hawke trimmed up the back of his right side, alternately humming and tutting to herself as she fussed to get everything even and straight. "Yes, that looks much better already," she said after a few minutes of leaning to and fro, eyeing, combing, and trimming here and there on both sides until his hair was evenly well above his collar again, just where he wanted it. "And now for the rest of it…"

Fenris continued to hold still as Hawke paused to sweep bits of hair off of his neck, though he shivered a little when she leaned down and blew sharply at a stubborn snippet that would not budge. "Be sure to scrub well when you wash," she instructed. "In fact, you go first tonight. I don't want you to have to sit around feeling all itchy."

He flicked his eyes up in resignation at her allowances, but Fenris decided to humor her. "As you wish." In truth, he found the evening going easier than he had expected, his mood much improved from her attentions, and he realized he felt almost as content as he usually was upon first awakening lately. Her touch indeed feels… right, he noted. Hawke soon moved to sit beside him, facing him, and he shifted his gaze over to her as she began tugging at the hair that lay over his ear. Fenris was slightly amused to note out of the corner of his eye that the tip of her tongue poked out between her lips, just as it usually did when she was disarming traps.

It reminded him for a moment of the fleeting feel of her tongue licking his thumb that morning, before he caught ahold of himself. Always so mindful of me, he mused instead. Perhaps it is because she treats me as though I am some kind of explosive mine? Wryly he wondered if it wasn't a little too fitting an analogy, especially after his behavior that morning. She is rather fearless in the face of such dangers… though I suppose she would just say, 'Well I am a rogue, Fenris.' His lips curved up into a slight smile, for he could almost hear her voice and teasing inflection in his head.

Hawke carefully cut the hair around his right ear, trimming it so it could be tucked behind without leaving it shaggy. "What are you smiling about?" she asked with amused suspicion as she caught the hint of movement about Fenris's lips.

"Nothing," he said, voice teasingly neutral. "Just… enjoying my pampering."

Snorting softly, Hawke leaned over to smile at him. "Good," she said firmly, smiling even more deeply when he smiled back.

Then she returned to her work and began snipping her way forward from his ear again, evening out the somewhat jagged edges from his previous haircut while still keeping the overall attractive sweep of his hair. He looks terribly handsome as it is, so I see no need to change anything. I will just neaten it up so he looks even better, she thought with deep satisfaction. After a few minutes, she was leaning around to his front again, reaching out to brush a few bits of hair from his face, then plucking at his thick fringe of hair to check her handiwork. "This half of you looks perfectly handsome, anyway," she announced with aplomb, thumb brushing along his cheek for a few lingering moments.

Fenris could feel his face start to flush, so he stirred and inclined his head to the left, clearing his throat sternly. "Well, what are you waiting for, woman?" he said, tone mock severe. "Surely dinner will be ready soon. You know how I starve."

Hawke's smiled until her cheeks dimpled, and she let her fingers slowly trail along Fenris's jaw and over to his neck. "As you say, serah. Right away, serah," she cooed solicitously, letting her voice go a bit breathless. She pretended to check the length of his hair and brush a few loose snips away one last time as she stroked his long, graceful, elven neck with the backs of her fingers.

"Hmph." Fenris stared straight ahead after making the mockingly impatient noise, trying to keep his face blank though her caresses made him want to close his eyes and lean into her touch. No, it did not take long to get used to this, he thought with satisfaction and contentment, pleased with the evening thus far and rather proud of his self-control. Everything goes much better for me without mages around, he observed wryly.

Hawke shifted to Fenris's left side, repeating her careful attentions and tidying up the rest of his hair. She was confused to find the hair on his left to be quite a bit shorter than the right, then imagined that since he was right-handed, he had simply reached overhead and hacked at it, resulting in the unevenness with which she now fussed. And yet it works for him, she sighed, once more envying his naturally striking, attractive hair. The last time I tried to cut my own hair like that, I wound up looking like Carver by the time I got it evened out… So how does he manage to look so good? Men… it is so unfair how easy they have it, even with their hair.

Fenris began to stir a little and scratch at his neck, so she finally decided she could be satisfied with the left and moved to kneel in front of him instead. He gave her a look of slight reluctance as she leaned over his lap, his eyes flicking up to watch her hands as she combed through his fringe and parted it the way he usually did, pushing most of it to the right. It almost looked too neat that way, so she set the comb aside after making a few final snips. Then she used her fingers to tousle all of his hair a little, smiling distantly at how a few stubborn pieces seemed intent on laying in the wrong direction leaving him looking adorably unkempt and delightfully rumpled even as he looked much tidier.

"Andraste's purple curly wig, Fenris, you have quite a head of hair," she said admiringly, even as she cast one last critical eye over her work. "Hmm, but, I guess that should just about do it."

He rubbed at his brow, then tugged a length of hair out, eyes straining to look up at it. "It feels… right," he said with a shrug. "And better. Thank you, Hawke, I am sure it looks very… um…" He searched unsuccessfully for an appropriate word for a few moments.

She reached out to undo his cloak clasp so most of the loose hair would be contained before he stood up. "Fine?" she suggested with a smile. She knew it was the word he often retreated to whenever thanking her for anything.

His eyebrows went up and he smiled a little as he eyed her arms, which were very close to almost embracing him as she brushed off his neck and shoulders. "Yes… fine," he said with a quiet chuckle. It had indeed been the word that he had finally settled on. I suppose she is getting used to me as much as I am getting used to her, he thought.

He stretched his back and loosened his neck once Hawke sat back on her heels, working out the stiffness of sitting still for so long. Then, growing itchy and grateful that she would let him wash first, Fenris tilted his face down, brushing bits of hair up and away from his tunic collar. He could feel that the length of his hair felt right indeed, and he found he was very grateful for Hawke's help in making the historically odious task of seeing to his hair so easy and painless. Once again, she is being far kinder than I deserve, he thought with a small sigh, especially after my unworthy behavior this morning. She does not know what her assistance truly means to me. I should thank her again, properly.

"Hawke, I…" He glanced up through the somewhat shortened curtain of hair that still hung in his eyes, only to notice that Hawke was staring at him warmly again. When their eyes met, Fenris once more was struck by the depth of the open tenderness in her gaze, and the memory of their morning encounter washed through him. He soon forgot what it was that he was going to say, remembering only his desire to pull her close.

Oh dear, caught again, and with no excuse this time, Hawke thought. "I'll go bring you a nice hot bucket of water," she said, thinking quickly as she brushed his hair aside once more. "And just leave the cloaks, I'll take care of those too."

Diverted, Fenris rubbed his hands against his leggings, looking around futilely and growing a little embarrassed as he realized how unused to all of this he was. I did not think about the mess. I should not let her do even more for me. She has already helped me much — too much, in fact. "I can take care of it myself, Hawke," he said. "You have done enough already."

She was already standing, however, shaking her head. "Remember what I said this morning? Just because you can do something for yourself doesn't mean you should have to. Really, it would be my pleasure." Maker's breath, what was I thinking, making Fenris look even more desirable, Hawke groaned inwardly as she looked down at him. This will not help matters at all. And neither would watching him carry buckets. In spite of her distraction, she gave him a teasing smile. "Better go get your things ready before you starve."

Fenris remained sitting for a few moments after she headed around the carts towards the mess tent, trying to fathom what he already knew he found unfathomable. Still determined to make the best of things though, he decided, If this is truly how she wishes to spend her evening, then I should go along with it. I said I would be more attentive, and she says this brings her pleasure… And it costs me nothing to graciously accept her favors — on the contrary, in fact. It all felt much more reasonable and rational than things had felt for the better part of the day, so he did not question it further.

Content with Hawke's desires, Fenris stood and brushed himself off thoroughly before heading into the tent, hoping he wasn't leaving a trail of itchy white bits of hair in his wake. Just in case, once inside he unbuttoned his tunic and carefully slid it off, reaching his arm out of the rear tent flaps to shake it out vigorously. Then he went to rifle through his pack, carefully avoiding knocking over the wine bottles that sat nearby. As he pulled out a change of clothes, though, he gave the wine a second look.

I should offer to open a bottle for dinner, he thought, immediately noting how the idea seemed right to him. I did bring it intending it to be something familiar and comforting to share with Hawke in this wretched place. A plan of having some wine and polite conversation, reverting to what he and Hawke had so often done at The Hanged Man, seemed a very fitting and practical way to Fenris to make things up to her.

He easily could see how some wine would be ideally suited for ensuring their evening would be far less angry than their morning or the night before had been. Yes, I will ask Hawke. She asked after it the other night, and she often talks about 'smoothing things over' with drinks. He shook his head, chuckling a little at all her little quirks and mannerisms that were becoming familiar to him. It has not even been a week since we last shared a bottle at The Hanged Man, yet indeed it feels like much longer.

He was still crouched in the front corner of the tent smiling to himself and rummaging through his pack when Hawke returned, slowly backing her way in with two steaming pails.

"I brought you an extra half-bucket just for your hair," she explained with a distracted smile, keeping her eyes on her task as she tried not to spill. She had heard Varric buttering up Anders around lunchtime to use his ice spells to top off the water barrels, so decided it would be all right to indulge Fenris a little. Still, best not to mention the details, she decided, not wanting to speak of the apostate around him after his dissatisfaction with Anders that morning.

"Thank you," Fenris replied easily, watching her slow, careful movements over his shoulder, entertained by the care she took. He decided that even if she did slosh, however, he would not tease her about it — too much.

"But I picked a good day to do this," she added, setting the buckets down for him without spilling a drop, "for it isn't such a long walk to see Bodahn for water today. Rather feels like cheating, actually, after you walked all that way yesterday for me." Then she brushed her hands off and straightened, smiling over at Fenris.

She froze however when she realized he was shirtless, and she looked away again before her eyes began greedily scouring his back. I wish he would stop doing that, she thought, lamenting her weakness for him. Then she shook some sense back into her head. Wait, no, I don't! I just wish… this wasn't all so awkward… Or in a dim tent, for the Maker's sake…

"I'll… leave you to it," Hawke said, glancing sideways at him and trying to sound cheerful while still respectfully not staring. She hooked her thumb over her shoulder at the rear of the tent. "I'll uh… just go take care of shaking out our cloaks."

Fenris remained crouched near his things, decidedly not huddling. He ignored the way the markings on his back seemed to prickle with anticipation, reasoning the itch was from his haircut and not Hawke and a desire for her touch. "A good plan," he responded slowly.

Hawke began to back away, figuring from his tone that he had to be feeling as awkward as she. "You needn't worry about setting a guard on me," she joked, trying to lighten the mood again before she left — though she did steal one long glance at his bare back once he turned back to his pack. "I'll be quite… um… busy." Probably gnawing my knuckles off, but at least I won't be peeping… she thought wryly.

As the tent grew quiet, Fenris gathered up his things. Then he noticed the wine again and stood, turning to the back of the tent as he remembered he had intended to ask Hawke if she was agreeable to the idea of sharing a bottle. He paused as he realized she was still standing there, then forced himself to unconcernedly continue his activities.

"I was wondering…" he said as he went over to the wash buckets, halting Hawke in her tracks even as she resumed edging her way out the back. He somehow managed to keep his voice normal as he noticed the way she was eying him. "Would you like some wine with dinner tonight? It has been some time since we shared a drink. I just thought… perhaps…" He met her eyes when he shrugged, quietly taking in her dazed expression. Even as it unnerved him a little, he once again felt more confident and worthy under her gaze — perhaps even a little cocky.

Hawke nodded, straining not to overdo the movement, for her body wanted to rather badly to be moving and doing anything other than just standing there. "That sounds excellent, Fenris," she said smoothly, clinging to her last shred of calmness as she tried to avoid being reckless. "Brilliant, in fact. Thank you. You are too… generous." I almost said gorgeous. Maker, I need to get out of here…

It is hardly generous, he thought, since I, too, enjoy drinking wine. Especially with her. Still, it is something I can do for her. A gift I can give to her in return… freely. He inclined his head and smiled at her, raising a hand to scrub through his hair meaningfully, to indicate he was merely reciprocating her own kind gesture. Then his smile began to deepen as she fidgeted more, seeming to be somewhat struck by his simple motion. Just as he had discovered that morning, Fenris found he rather liked how she was not put off yet still was not wholly unaffected by his appearance. I could see myself wanting to be looked at like that… on occasion, he mused a little heatedly.

Andraste's sweet ass, yes, Hawke thought fervently, both at his idea and his artless allure. I definitely could use a drink tonight. Several, in fact. If ever a day called for wine, this has been it, she decided firmly. "Well, I had better go before your water gets cold. I'm sure you've got to be as… hungry as I'm getting." Almost another slip… damn my tied tongue… She hastily backed out of the tent before she utterly lost control of her mind and body both.

Despite the strangely satisfying feeling of flustering Hawke in her own tent, Fenris waited until the sound of flapping cloaks and her booted footsteps faded into the distance before he stripped off his leggings to quickly bathe.

After taking care of their cloaks, Hawke went to perch tensely on their usual bench, the one set up directly across the fire from their tent. Anders and Varric were nowhere to be seen, but she was content to wait alone, truly determined to spend as much time with Fenris as she could that evening. After missing him last night, then getting to wake up to him shirtless, only to have no time at all to even lunch with him today… she thought as she folded their cloaks. Then his utterly… divine display in there, running his hand through his hair, all bare armed, bare chested, with those… those warrior's muscles of his, and his… blasted navel and every other delicious bit of him…

She shook her head, trying to recover. Maker, fifteen shoed and belled Tevinter plough horses could not drag me from him tonight. It is no wonder I was rather stunned when he got jealous this morning, after all that… touching he let me do last night. Still, he seems to have understood what I said at breakfast, she thought with both relief and nervousness. I had feared I wouldn't be able to make my point at all, let alone without overdoing it, but perhaps I am not as much of a basket case as he makes me feel.

She suddenly realized her leg was bouncing rather rapidly, and she pressed her hand to her thigh to still herself. Then again, she thought, smoothing out her armored skirt, I still rather feel like I am about to go off like a smoke bomb. Boom, poof, then just… dissolve. 'Where's Marian?' they'll ask. 'Just gone. She exploded because of an elf, you know.' Her other leg began to bounce, so she pressed both her hands on her thighs, staring sternly at her lap. Her armor only reminded her more of Fenris, however. Insufferable man, the way he teases me, she thought. First he gets angry last night, then this morning he is extra-lovely and sets out all my armor for me, then when I realize he isn't going to leave and I get up the nerve to change in front of him, he doesn't even watch!

The sound of splashing water caught her attention, and her thoughts scattered again. And here I thought staying at his mansion was difficult… she remembered distractedly. It was barely a warm-up for this expedition. I keep plotting about how I'm going to take Fenris up on his hospitality and invite myself over there when we get back to Kirkwall, but I can hardly stand even this.

She began drumming her fingers against her legs. Then again, I'm sure a nice, long, hot bath would help relax us both… and I distantly recall him offering more Agreggio, too… Her lower lip got a good thrashing while she envisioned sharing both with him at once. Yes, just need to make it into the tub, and the rest may very well take care of itself. Nothing like drinking in a hot bath to wash away all one's nervousness, reluctance, and cares…

She realized then that she was attempting to stare holes through their tent's canvas and looked away, letting both her legs bounce freely as she sat on her hands. Andraste's fidgety fat fingers, I will need to be careful not to be this energetic at dinner, lest I be called out on it again. Going over to raise morale with the hirelings is not going to be an option tonight — and besides, it only worked until I returned to the tent. She did her best not to think of what sorts of things would be able to burn away her excess energy.

If only Anders hadn't interrupted this morning, she grumbled to herself with a frown. Everything was quite nice this morning until that point. I thought for certain Fenris and I were about to make up for arguing the night before… She sighed, remembering the feel of his hands on her waist and the heat of the determined look in his eye. Then she began to wonder what he'd been working himself up towards doing, but soon decided not to torment herself.

Then he tore off in a pique and Anders was hovering right outside the tent, waiting for me. I couldn't even take advantage of the solitude to… ahem, 'be alone,' because Anders could have come bursting in at any moment. She let out a frustrated, throaty growl and slumped forward with her chin propped in her hands. Men! Is it no wonder I am going crazy, surrounded as I am by nothing but men? They are utterly oblivious of everything! No chance for privacy around them… Then she snorted. Well, except for Fenris, who is not most men and gives me rather too much privacy.

She ran both her hands through her hair in frustration. Maker… What was I thinking, bringing both him and Anders along? The two of them together make wrangling Carver seem like sitting beside a choirboy. At least he was just one man — and my little brother, so I had some good dirt on him. But either Fenris or Anders on a bad morning, least of all both of them? I would not be surprised to see some gray hairs in my brush in the morning.

She let herself have a good, agonized sigh over it all. Well, unlike most of Carver's antics, at least Anders's intrusion was unintentional, she told herself. Though when he went stomping away from his tent after our talk, it did rather look like he wished he could go tattle on me to Mother or something. And I still do not know what that was all about… though I am still quite cross with him, I will give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it has something to do with Bethany — and there is nothing I can do about that, since neither of them seems to want to discuss it with me.

Well, perhaps it is for the best. All couples have their share of little quarrels they don't wish to discuss with others, she thought, smiling wryly to herself. At least Fenris and I have a head start on that score.

A bright flash of light from inside her tent caught her attention, and Hawke's eyes snapped to it in concern. Fenris's markings again? she thought with dismay. Then he nudged his pack out front of the tent, with only two wine bottles poking out of the top of it

Wine, she suddenly remembered, feeling relieved. I had almost forgotten about that. He must have used his lyrium talent to uncork the bottle again. Maker… I am entirely too wound up tonight and my mind is becoming overtaxed. She rubbed at her neck and looked down again, trying her best not to think too hard about his markings, how they shone through his clothes, or the feel of raw power in his touch when he used them. Damn, I wish I could have watched… but perhaps it is for the best.

Hawkes sighed heavily in resignation. Let us hope the wine will relax me. I will have a cup as soon as we sit down to dinner to calm myself. And then I will fill up on stew, and it will make me delightfully content and sleepy. It smells like Bodahn is making some kind of sausage and potato stew. Very hearty and filling and relaxing, no doubt. Just the thing. Mmmm, sausage… Then her mind shot off in all the wrong sorts of directions at that, and she slapped a hand to her forehead.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, Hawke, whatever it is," Varric said, plodding tiredly into camp.

Hawke looked over, grateful for the distraction, then gave the younger Tethras brother a sympathetic look as he pulled up in front of her with his face screwed up in a dark grimace. "What's Bartrand done now, Varric," she said wearily, not even needing to ask who was behind his misery.

He flicked an impatient gesture into the air. "He spent the better part of the last hour stomping around the hirelings' camp, grousing about everything from the amount of firewood they use, to how they tie their tents down, to how their burping is half a note off from E sharp." Hawke chuckled as he continued on his rant. "I was just over there, trying to keep the talk of shanking him to a dull roar. I don't even know why I bothered. Now I want to shank him myself, and they could have saved me the trouble of whittling down a bench leg."

Patting his shoulder, Hawke made appropriately soothing coos. "Awww. Do you want me to stab him a little for you, hmmm?"

"Yes. No. Maybe… Ask me later." Varric smiled distantly as he pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "I had hoped he'd run out of things to bitch about after his busy day today… but no, apparently he's as full of complaints as he is of shit."

Hawke patted him again. "There, there. Everything will be fine. And what's the worst that can happen if it isn't? You'd probably rather enjoy seeing Bartrand being dwarf-tossed around."

Varric snorted at that, chuckling and laughing until he began to full-on cackle. "He would kinda look like a big, round, red leather ball sailing back and forth through the air, wouldn't he? A loud one, but… Maker! It would be worth the temporary hearing loss."

Fenris listened in on their conversation with keen ears while he dressed, trying to imagine anyone throwing Bartrand anywhere with the fists the expedition leader had and was not shy about using. I suppose I am fortunate to be working more with Hawke and Varric than with Bartrand, he thought, slightly amused that for once he wasn't the worst one off on a job.

He looked down at himself, taking uncharacteristic care with his appearance, brushing, adjusting, and tugging at his clothes. He had decided he would probably get some scrutiny for his haircut regardless, so figured he might as well look presentable while enduring it. He also somewhat hoped his efforts would please Hawke. It is only right after the care she took in trimming my hair, he reasoned, not wanting to diminish her handiwork by looking disheveled.

"The hirelings seemed in decent enough spirits after a little unwinding last night when I was over there," Hawke said once Varric's laughter quieted a little and he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Maybe you should go back over there once they've had their dinner tonight. If they were content with my lackluster stories about growing up in the middle of nowhere in Ferelden, I'm sure they'd really perk up for your storytelling, Varric."

Anders came striding into camp from the other direction as she spoke, pulling up short of where Hawke and Varric conversed, staying instead nearer to his bench. "Oh no. No. I am not going back over there, not for a good long while," he said, joining the conversation with a vehement shake of the head. "Just the thought of having more ale poured down my throat makes me want to lie down for a week."

No one asked you, Anders… Hawke thought grumpily. She just gave him a rather cool look, however, and kept her thoughts to herself. I will need to speak to him eventually but… not tonight, she thought a little flatly.

Varric rather ignored him too, scratching at his stubbly chin, eyes already gleaming at the thought of an audience. "That might not be a bad idea, Hawke…"

She smiled encouragingly over at him. "I'll pass on returning tonight, myself. No doubt they want a break from hearing about what it was like being a little girl on the bannorn, and I'm not sure what Fenris…" She trailed off into a stunned silence as the elf himself exited their tent. Sweet benevolent and merciful Andraste, what have I done to deserve this?

She blinked as she took in the sight of him, freshly washed, freshly cut hair perfectly tousled, wearing a clean pair of leggings and his fine silk shirt, holding a loosely corked bottle of wine, and best of all, seeing how his green eyes focused on her. I am definitely not leaving him alone tonight, she thought, mouth going dry. In fact, he might need to beat me off with that giant sword of his…

Fenris felt the corners of his mouth curving up in uncharacteristically shy satisfaction as Hawke looked at him. I suppose I did not waste my time, then, he thought, striding over to their bench to retrieve his cloak and set down their bottle of wine. He ignored the way Anders scowled at him as he passed, but he actually chuckled when Varric made a low whistle.

"You get a haircut, elf?" the dwarf asked.

"I had most of them cut, in fact," Fenris replied evenly.

Varric cackled. "An old joke, but a good one — guess I walked right into it. But who would have thought I'd ever see you, of all people, wearing black?"

Hawke glared and smacked Varric's bare chest with the back of her hand. I swear on a mountainous stack of Chants, if he makes Fenris self-conscious enough that he changes out of that delicious silk shirt, I will dwarf-toss this short little man myself…

Varric rubbed at his chest with a wince, then cleared his throat. "I mean… black is definitely your color. Goes with your brooding." Hawke's eyes narrowed and her mouth screwed up tightly. "Just kidding. It, uh… suits you, elf. Very slimming." He gave Hawke a helpless look, eyebrows going up as he shrugged. "And it brings out your eyes, or… some shit," he added in a mutter.

She shot him one last warning look with a hint of forbearance before turning back to Fenris with a smile. "You look very nice tonight, Fenris," she said as amiably as she could, trying to keep the raw heat out of her voice. If not for his warrior's appetite, I would almost suggest skipping dinner altogether and just sticking with wine in our tent, she thought heatedly, holding herself rigid on the bench so she wouldn't fidget.

"I'm sure it is mostly thanks to you, Hawke," Fenris said graciously, gathering up his cloak. He glanced at her before turning away. "I will just see to my pack and the other wine bottles, then bring you your water."

Hawke smiled broadly up at him, rather forgetting about their audience. "You are far too good to me, Fenris, thank you."

"Always a pleasure," he said quietly.

Anders made a quiet noise of disgust then snorted softly, which Hawke chose to ignore for the moment as Fenris returned her smile with a small one of his own. Then she watched him walk away, praying fervently, Maker give me patience, but I am having equally sinful if opposite thoughts about these two men the moment. Andraste, keep me from throttling one and throwing myself onto the other, I beg…

As Fenris crouched to wrap the remaining two bottles of wine in his cloak and tuck them away again, she turned a hard, narrow stare at Anders, wondering what was still eating at him. But the mage was already heading off to the mess tent, swinging his staff rather vigorously as he strode away again.

Hawke watched him suspiciously until Varric nudged her in the arm. "Who kicked Blondie in the balls?" he asked quietly when she turned to him. She raised an eyebrow, but he just pursed his lips and thrust his chin after Anders. Seeing his expression was genuinely concerned, she turned back to watch the mage slump down alone at their usual table, though Bodahn did not yet have dinner ready.

Hawke shrugged tiredly, waiting until Fenris disappeared into the tent before she spoke, keeping her voice low so as not to risk upsetting him with more talk of Anders. "I haven't the foggiest," she whispered. "Anders got in quite a mood with me this morning, well after his hangover was mostly gone, but I have no idea why. Normally, I would say maybe it was just the Deep Roads and his Warden thing… but then, didn't I overhear him tell you near lunchtime that the darkspawn all feel surprisingly distant?"

"Yeah. I don't get it either." Varric look disappointed. "Oh well… I was kinda hoping there'd be some interesting story behind it, like last night he broke down in tears pining for milady Sunshine, or maybe got fresh with you while he was drunk." Hawke just gave him a look of resigned incredulity, and he shook his head, rubbing tiredly at his brow. "There's just no good gossip to be had down here," he complained. "It's all who doesn't go far enough from the camp to use the privy in the middle of the night, and who said what about his favorite male whore in his sleep…"

Hawke sighed heavily. "Truly it is the lack of gossip that will kill us first down here if we are not careful," she noted wryly. "Forget darkspawn, dehydration, starvation, cave-ins… and of course, your brother…"

"I know!" he agreed immediately. "Apart from that day when Bodahn's kid took off and we stuck it to Bartrand finding a way around that collapse, I don't have anything interesting to say at all about this expedition so far." He huffed in disgruntlement, frowning, and Hawke just rolled her eyes a little.

"Our poor, gossip-less Varric…"

They both looked over as Fenris left to empty his buckets and retrieve Hawke her hot water. Hawke smiled at Fenris again when he glanced at her, and she couldn't help but wrinkle her nose as she watched his backside retreating. I might not mind giving the expedition something to gossip about, she thought, biting her lower lip a little.

Varric began staring too, only up at the ceiling. "I am getting truly sick of staring at stalagmites. Or are they stalactites? Shit, I don't know," he grumbled.

"Hmmm?" Hawke asked absentmindedly, not shifting her gaze.

The dwarf chuckled, glancing over at her then following her line of sight. "Never mind, Hawke. See you and the elf at dinner. Or not, as the case may be."

"Right… Dinner, Varric…"

I had better take a very quick scrub, else I risk getting very carried away with myself once I am alone in our tent, she thought distractedly as she kept her eyes glued to Fenris. The last thing I need is him out here alone, waiting for me, looking like that, while I'm in there… well. She cleared her throat and stretched a little, trying to loosen the tension she felt throughout her body. She glanced at the bottle Fenris had left on the bench beside her. Thank the Maker he decided to bring wine. Needless to say, I could really, really use some about now…

---

As planned, Hawke hurried through her evening wash and was dressed and ready for dinner just as Bodahn started dishing up the first bowls of stew. Fenris seemed content with her wish to immediately get some food, though usually they waited for the hirelings to thin out a little before heading over to the mess tent. He did, however, ask her to carry the wine and collect their bowls while he took care of her bucket and rolled out the bedrolls, which she considered both a very good trade and terribly sweet of him.

As they settled in across from each other at the table, Hawke was a little curious to note that Anders was once more absent, despite seating himself at the table earlier. She decided it was probably better for everyone involved, however, and found she did not wish to expend more energy on puzzling out his poor mood.

Instead, she happily went to pour herself some wine, but Fenris reached across the table and gently caught her wrist, shaking his head.

"Just drink from the bottle, Hawke. The wine might taste more dry than usual, but I doubt these wooden tumblers would improve the flavor of it either." He eyed his own rough-hewn tumbler skeptically before filling it with water and taking a sip. The unlacquered cups imparted a slightly wooden taste to even the cool water, and Fenris knew that there would be no vintner worth his salt in all of Thedas who would buy wine stored in barrels made from whatever sort of wood had been used to make the travel cups, sturdy though they were.

Hawke eyes flicked from Fenris's lips to the bottle, a smirk spreading slowly across her face despite her best efforts. I suppose I could be contented with sharing a bottle with him in lieu of kissing those generous lips… for tonight. She toasted Fenris with the heavy bottle just as Varric arrived at the table with some stew and as many ale mugs as he could carry. "To the victor of last night's Wicked Grace," she said breathily, winking at Fenris and then saluting Varric with a grin.

Fenris hesitated for only a moment before he smiled cockily and raised his cup of water, inclining his head. Varric just pursed his lips and blew out his breath in a huff, making a rude noise as he set his ales in a row. "Pffft. He got lucky, Hawke, that's all. If he had gone a full round like I suggested, skill would have won out eventually."

"You are the one that suggested an abbreviated game," Fenris reminded him before accepting the wine bottle from Hawke and having a hearty sip. "It was a wise decision," he declared as he lowered the bottle. "Better to get the experience of me besting you over with quickly." He placed the wine back down between himself and Hawke then began hungrily digging into his stew.

Varric and Hawke both just chuckled, and Fenris was once more struck by how much finer things went for him without mages around. If Varric is going to the hirelings' camp but Anders has refused to go along with him, perhaps I should encourage Hawke to retire early tonight, he thought, eager to avoid having the apostate ruin his carefully thought out evening.

The three of them each supped contentedly and quietly, filling up a little before they started in on any companionable mealtime banter. Hawke savored a few bites of Bodahn's fine, savory stew, then drank some more wine, smacking her lips appreciatively. "Maker, it has been too long since I had a drink." She smiled gratefully when Fenris glanced at her as he tore up some flatbread to wipe his first bowl of stew clean. I love the happy look on his face when he's enjoying his food, she thought warmly as the wine already began to melt away her tension.

"You are very thoughtful, you know that?" she added suddenly, wiggling her toes against his foot under the table. Since the camp was so crammed together and the floor was remarkably smooth, as it was in most of the Deep Roads, she hadn't bothered to put on her shoes. Fenris's feet, as usual, were bare too, since he rarely bothered to pull his gaiters back on after he washed up.

Fenris's eyebrows went up a little at her sudden candor and tingling nudge, but he just shrugged in response and went back to eating his food. I still have one more bottle, as well as a bottle of the Agreggio, he thought, remembering how particularly keen he had been to bring the expensive, deceptively potent bottle of wine along. Better to save it for a special occasion, he decided, not actually acknowledging his sudden desire to retrieve the bottle.

"I don't know why you two insist on turning your noses up at ale," Varric mused, slurping the foamy head off one of his many ale mugs. "Then again, more for me, I guess."

Hawke looked over at him, her face going deeply ponderous and suspicious as she considered him for a long moment. She took another long sip of wine before she spoke.

"Varric?" she finally asked.

He didn't look up from his stew, but he did not seem surprised when she addressed him either. "Yeah, Hawke?"

"With all this…" she waved her hand around searchingly for a moment, "expedition stuff to carry down, how is it that you convinced Bartrand to bring so much ale?"

Varric finished tearing up his flatbread into his bowl then steepled his fingers as he gave Hawke an enigmatic smile. "Hawke… this is an adventure," he explained smoothly. "What do the details matter? When we're fabulously wealthy and sitting around in our plush golden chairs being fanned with purple ostrich feathers while we tell the tale of how we became so insanely rich, no one is going to ask for mundane details like 'But how'd you carry all that ale?' or, 'Did you wash your socks out every night or every other night?'"

Hawke rolled her eyes, snorting loudly. "Fine. Keep your secrets then." Then she poked him in chest. "But I'm on to you and your crafty ways of getting things done all… underhandedly."

He held his hands out to her, palms up, shrugging. "There's nothing underhanded about me, Hawke. I'm a simple storyteller, a feckless layabout, and sometimes I smuggle ale under my own brother's nose. And every morning, I put my priceless, mystical, enchanted pants that were given to me by a Nevarran princess who wove them out of moonlight and dragonhair on one short leg at a time, just like everyone else."

Not everyone else, Fenris thought, retrieving the wine bottle and taking a pull as he thought about the way he usually put on his leggings, which was to simply lie down and haul the snug garment up both legs at once, hips raised. He found it rather difficult to do standing, with his own long legs and the tight fit of his pants. He knew he could do it standing, and had often had no choice as a slave, but once he was his own man, he much preferred the easier and less precarious method.

"I wear a skirt though," Hawke said, protesting as well. "Well, usually. It's what I put on in the morning, anyway. Both legs at once, even." Hawke looked under the table, happily stretching her legs out, though still mindful of Fenris's, smoothing her hands over her thighs as she spoke. She was, as usual, in the gray, cropped pants of her comfortable evening attire, and it was getting a bit rumpled from constantly sitting in her pack.

Fenris leaned slightly to peer under the table, curious at her behavior. Then he judged that the wrinkles she was fussing with hardly diminished how well her clothes flattered her. As he straightened, he thought instead more closely on her comment about her skirt. It reminded him how she'd put her armor on that morning while he sat in the tent with his back to her, suddenly imagining that her shimmying into her armored skirt all at once would be the most practical way of putting it on, having inspected it himself that morning.

That would also explain all the… jingling, he realized. He shifted on his bench a little, leggings feeling even more snug than usual.

"I like how you ignore the part about my Nevarran magic pants and go straight to how I put them on," Varric groused. "I must be getting rusty. Good thing I'm going over to dazzle the shit out of the hirelings tonight… Apparently I need the practice."

"I'm sure I'll be getting a mixture of horrified and awed looks at breakfast, Varric," Hawke said consolingly. "I have the utmost faith in you, my official biographer."

"Aww, thanks, Hawke," Varric said, sounding cheerier. "That coming from a woman who sweet talked the Witch of the Wilds into flying her to the Free Marches means… well, it means a lot to me."

Fenris stiffened and gave them both an apprehensive look, but Hawke waved him off. "I didn't sweet talk her, and she didn't fly me to the Free Marches. I just delivered an amulet for her," she explained. He didn't look very comforted by her clarifications. "I'll tell you about it some other time, Fenris," she promised, not wanting to talk about witches, mages, or magic with him and ruin his mood again.

He let it go for once, and they all fell silent again as they finished eating, Fenris not having much to say as usual, and Hawke focusing on her food and not fidgeting. A very pleasant evening so far, she decided, and I intend to keep it that way. But I really should remember to compliment Bodahn on his cooking. That he can whip up such a good stew down here is a marvel. She and Fenris both seemed to enjoy how well the wine complimented the good meal, too, and between them, they finished the better part of the bottle rather quickly.

By the time they all deposited their dishes on the tray, Hawke felt pleasantly languid and was growing more content with the day overall. It wasn't all bad. Waking up this morning was very good, she thought fuzzily, smiling. Right up until Anders showed up. Her face crinkled into a pout, and she found she was indeed glad he had not come to dinner. I cannot believe how much he distrusts Fenris. My Fenris is a wonderful man. She snorted as she tried to stand, keeping one hand on the table and scooting her way free of the bench with a little difficulty. My Fenris… awww, doesn't that sound nice.

Fenris eyed Hawke suspiciously as she stood, watching her slight wobbling and how her face rapidly changed expressions. Then he eyed the bottle of wine, feeling a bit flushed and warm under the collar himself. Well, at least for once I understand the reason for her behavior, he mused. He himself felt perfectly controlled when he stood, however, so he decided she probably felt the wine because she'd had far less food than he. And she is a woman, he thought, a lopsided smile quirking one corner of his mouth as he thought of her nights of brandy and how quickly the Agreggio had affected her during the lunch at his mansion. Fortunately, she has me to protect her and keep her from doing anything reckless, he thought with a rather confident swagger as he retrieved the wine bottle.

"Come, Hawke," he commanded, gesturing when she continued to stand there, smiling distantly to herself. She started, then nodded and moved to his side. He turned and lead her the short distance back to their camp, trying to look menacing despite the fine figure he suspected he cut that evening.

She followed closely, rubbing at her stomach a little and yawning behind her hand. Then she looked around smiling at the hirelings, soon growing puzzled that none of them waved or smiled back, despite how the Fereldans she had spoken with the night before had seemed to enjoy her conversation. "Everyone is in such a strange mood tonight," she whispered loudly to Fenris as they left the mess area behind.

"It is just this place, Hawke," he explained, waving his hand around. "We have been down here for five days. It is undoubtedly starting to take a toll on everyone."

"Oh. Yes, you are probably… ah, right," she said, yawning again. "Sorry, dinner has made me a bit tired." She perked up then as if remembering something, then slowed a little, looking around herself and down at her empty hands. "Where's the wine?" she cried, a little more desperately than she meant to. She peered in front of and behind Fenris as she caught back up to walk beside him, making a silent 'oh' face when she observed the bottle in his hand as his arm swung.

Fenris chuckled. "I have it, Hawke, never fear." This woman worries too much…

Hawke stopped when Fenris stopped, then looked up, blinking a little as she realized they stood in front of their tent. "I'm not that tired you know," she explained, trying to look more awake. "We don't have to go to sleep yet." Maybe I shouldn't have rushed us to dinner. And filled up on delicious wine and stew. She pressed a contented hand over her full belly, then considered Fenris's. Hmm, unless he plans on stripping that shirt off and letting me rub his chest again, she thought suddenly, her slightly fuddled mind working a bit to consider his motives.

"Unless you want to," she quickly added, giving a loose, very casual shrug. "Up to you, really. I'm fine with… anything." Hawke hoped she didn't overdo her sly emphasis on the word, though she rather heatedly thought, Hint, hint, Fenris…

Taking in her coy expression and meaning, Fenris thought, It is good that she drinks with me. She has a tendency to become rather… brazen. He found himself smiling indulgently nevertheless. Yes, perhaps she cannot hold her wine when she drinks it that fast. Or perhaps she is already losing her tolerance after less than a week. She is just a woman, after all…

Still, he felt a slight need to be cautious around her."I thought perhaps you would want to… talk," he explained solemnly, holding open the tent flap for her and gesturing politely for her to proceed. "While we finish this." He tilted the wine bottle, which he held inside the tent, to and fro, and the remaining wine sloshed noisily and tantalizingly.

Hawke's face perked up. Look at him, mister ready to talk! Hmm, perhaps the wine has loosened his tongue a little. Then she began to wonder just how loose it could get. Tent plus wine plus Fenris? Maker, yes…

"You know me only too well, Fenris," she said with a dimpled smile. As she brushed past him to enter, she boldly dared to lay her hand on his chest, giving him a quick, affectionate pat before letting her hand slide away. She continued to smile as she plopped heavily down onto her bedroll, for she had clearly felt the chain of his wolf pendant through the silk. It is so adorably sweet that he doesn't take it off, she thought, sighing sentimentally. Hawke settled into a comfortable seated position on her bedroll, stretching her legs out and propping herself up with her arms as she leaned back.

Fenris closed his eyes and sighed quietly at her touch, marveling at how the thin silk blocked the pain he had felt the night before while still letting the heat of her hand through to warm his chest. I am growing used to much. And to have her touch me without hesitation, for there to be no reason for me to hold back… The possibilities began to swim lazily around in his mind. My shirt covers even more of me than my tunic — I need not even worry about my arms. Perhaps we truly could…

He heard footsteps and became instantly alert again, opening his eyes and casting a cautious glance around. His immediate suspicion was unwarranted, however, for it was just hirelings and not Anders. Fenris found himself unused to and uncomfortable with how they had to walk right past their group's small campsite, though there was no helping it with the way Bartrand had demanded camp be laid out that evening.

Varric passed by leading a rather eager-looking audience of humans and dwarves alike, saluting him with a nod. "Night, elf. See you in the morning."

Fenris nodded back cordially, then quickly disappeared into the tent when the hirelings started gawking a little, trying to peer in as if looking for glimpses of Hawke. Yes, he decided protectively, it is good that I decided she should have some privacy. It would not do for her to become overly familiar with those other men. She is too kind-hearted, and it is just a matter of time before someone else takes advantage, like Anders already does…

"You and Varric seem to be getting along well," Hawke observed with a smile as Fenris took a quick drink of wine.

"He is much better than his brother… and a decent Wicked Grace opponent," he offered casually after lowering the bottle. He handed it to Hawke and she accepted it, taking a quick pull herself as he sat cross-legged on his bedroll, facing her. His shirt tugged uncomfortably at his neck as he sat, so he tugged the tail of it out from beneath him, then undid a few of the top buttons that he had done up solely because he didn't want the others scrutinizing his markings at dinner.

Hawke remained uncharacteristically silent, and Fenris caught her quietly considering him yet again when he looked up from pushing his shirt collar open and adjusting his sleeves. "What, Hawke?" he asked, tone a little bit exasperated, both curious about and slightly disquieted by her frequent stares throughout the day. Perhaps like brandy, the wine will pull some truth out of her and it will help me get to the bottom of this… thing between us, he thought with a small measure of frustration.

"Just admiring your shirt again, Fenris," she said coolly, setting the wine bottle above their bedrolls. "It's not every day a poor Fereldan refugee like me gets to be near such finery. Can I help it if I am somewhat overcome with awe?"

He shook his head, chuckling resignedly at her sidestepping but not willing to press her on it. If she wants to keep her little secrets a bit longer, I can continue to play this game. "You have been near my shirts for a full week," he pointed out, goading her a bit with his mock serious tone. "Five days down here, camping outside of the Deep Roads, the night you stayed at my mansion. Are you truly still that fascinated with them? If so, perhaps I should just give you one to avoid all this scrutiny…"

"You and your silk shirt logic." Hawke just snorted and waved him off, the wine offering her a measure of petulant immunity to his quick-witted maneuvering. "A week. You usually put them on just before I go to sleep. And you didn't even wear one last night." Then she paused, remembering how she had wondered if he'd slept shirtless the night they camped in the humid cavern, when she had been asleep both when he came to bed and when he rose. "Or the night before that," she added slyly, waiting for him to correct her.

"True. You have me there, I suppose," he conceded, amused and impressed that she took on his challenge and matched him. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps she is not as intoxicated as I thought. Then Hawke's head suddenly lolled back and she started drumming her legs before crossing and uncrossing her ankles in a manner he found a little distracting. Then again…

"Terribly unfair…" she muttered under her breath, trying to control herself. I knew it. Insufferable tease of man, teasing me insufferably in my own tent when I don't even know it… He's lucky I don't set fire to his shirts and make him go bare to the waist for the rest of the expedition…

Fenris absentmindedly rubbed his sleeve along his forearm as he considered her while she settled down again. "If you are truly that curious, you may… borrow one if you wish," he added with a shrug. The sudden thought of seeing her in one of his shirts was intriguing enough that he didn't hesitate to offer as the idea occurred to him.

Hawke's eyes shifted over to him speculatively. "Hmmm… I just might take you up on that, Fenris," she said, rather provocatively. I'll even let you warm it up for me a bit first…

Fenris shifted a little, feeling a slightly urgent need to lighten the mood again. "But… only if you let me borrow your fine silks," he added, trying to keep a straight face. "Once we return to Kirkwall and you become a wealthy noble."

Successfully diverted, Hawke began to laugh, imagining him in an Orlesian gown, or worse, a skirt like he had been so keen to suggest to her. "All that talk the other day of Varric in a low-bodiced dress has you envious, does it?"

Fenris shrugged, distantly remarking that he felt pleasantly loose. "I don't know. 'You never know until you try' — is that not how the saying goes?" He smirked a little as he relaxed into a comfortable slouch, propping his forearms on his knees. Yes, a little wine and easy conversation with a beautiful woman is indeed a much better end to this day than I could have imagined after being awoken this morning by that mage, he thought, feeling rather proud and cocky for successfully turning things around.

Hawke looked into the distance for a moment. "Varric may look good in blue, but I will likely stick with lovely red silks," she said wistfully. Then she sat up and leaned towards Fenris, taking the open edges of his shirt between thumb and forefinger, feeling the silk. "Are you sure you'd be comfortable borrowing something other than black?" she warned with a chuckle.

Fenris lifted his chin and turned his face aside to give her access as her fingers slid up and brushed along his neck as she straightened his shirt collar — which he knew full well was fine from the earlier care he took when dressing. "It could be orange with green stripes and it wouldn't matter," he responded dryly. "I could hardly be any more conspicuous, especially in Hightown."

Hawke frowned at him, then pressed the tip of her finger against the tip of his nose and wiggled it. "None of that, now, Fenris," she scolded warmly. "Who cares what those dandies in Hightown think of you, me, or the price of butter, for that matter?"

Slightly in a haze and taken by surprise at her gesture and her zeal, Fenris tried to look at the end of his nose, her hand, and her expression all at once, straining his eyes a little. He rubbed at them, sighing. "I think you will find the price of butter increases infinitely when shopkeepers notice you are a strange elf who looks rather… sticks out. You cannot buy at any price when they refuse to even have you darkening their stall, Hawke."

"Pssh, their butter is all overpriced anyway," she said scornfully, turning to sit fully facing him. "Besides, we have all your things delivered so you needn't worry about dealing with the likes of them. And the Lowtown merchants buy straight from the nearby farms, and it's all so deliciously… mmm, country-fresh."

Hawke wriggled slightly, clasping her hands together before staring off into the distance again. "Oh, I cannot wait to get back to Kirkwall and have some fresh-baked bread just utterly slathered with sweet, creamy butter." She sighed heavily. "I do like Bodahn's food, but eating essentially the same thing every day down here gets a little old."

"Hmph," Fenris grumped with a measure of amusement, not doubting that she would indeed pursue her craving since she so often doggedly pursued whatever it was she wanted. "Well, I will not say that bread and butter does not sound appealing, but… food is food. Having two hot meals a day on this expedition is certainly more than I am used to, anyway."

She reached a hand over and began to run her fingers over his. "Ahh, I had almost forgotten the sad, sad state of your rusty kitchen. I'm sorry — of course, you are right." He kept his eyes down on their hands and just shrugged a little, so she gave his fingers a light squeeze. "Naturally, once I have my family's estate back, you will have to come to dinner. Very, very often," she offered sweetly. Then stay for breakfast, she added in her head, feeling delightfully scandalous.

Growing warm with wine and genuinely touched by her invitation, Fenris reached over and cupped her chin in his hand, brushing her lips with his thumb for a short moment. She is entirely too giving and kind, he thought, feeling all the more affection for her since he knew she likely had no idea how much simply being well-fed meant to him. I do not deserve any of this, he thought, though as she smiled against his thumb he knew he was growing used to it all the same.

Still as he pulled back and rested his arm on his leg again, he chided with a chuckle, "Surely you will not be so rich as to spend all your coin seeing to my warrior's appetite. Besides, I doubt your sister and mother would appreciate me… always showing up and lurking about."

Not needing much emboldening in addition to the wine, though she was inspired by Fenris's gesture, Hawke leaned forward and pressed a finger to his lips. "Hush," she replied with fond sternness. "You may call upon me and visit my house as much as you please. And you know I enjoy seeing to your appetites." She let her fingertip graze his lips a little as she talked before pulling away, wondering when Fenris suddenly looked down if even that small token of affection had managed to fluster him. Wait, what did I even say? she thought, memory a bit cloudy from her warm relaxation.

Soon she will be always near, he thought, staring down at his lap, and with such an invitation, and her promises… Though thinking about the future had never been his strong suit, Fenris felt both flush and flushed with the possibilities.

Hawke did not think on her words for very long, instead squeezing Fenris's hand again as she brushed his hair out of his eyes. So there would not be an awkward silence if she had indeed said something that embarrassed him, she began rambling amiably as she continued to run her fingers through his hair.

"It is very sweet how you always worry about my coin, Fenris, but you needn't worry about eating me out of house and home. I enjoy our little talks over dinner, and besides, you can always bring some wine. You have a fine eye for wines, and no doubt it will take me some time to stock my own cellar. Oh, but you might have to help me with that! And as for Mother and Bethany, well… Mother has said nothing but nice things about you, and of course Bethany quite adores you. Besides, when Bethany cooks, she still tends to make entirely too much food, as if Father and Carver… were… were…"

Hawke didn't realize what she was saying until she had already said it, and her voice trailed off hoarsely as the weight of recalling her family's losses hit her rather suddenly and hard.

Fenris looked up, though her hand was still lodged his hair, gripping it tightly — but her face was already turned down and away from him. He could still make out enough of her expression to see that indeed she looked saddened and stricken, her bottom lip trembling alarmingly. He pulled her hand free from his hair and squeezed both her hands in his, growing concerned things would lead to tears. "I am sorry," he said, keeping his voice calm, hoping it would lend her some measure of composure. "I didn't mean to bring up unhappy memories."

Hawke shook her head, sniffling a little before she looked up, smiling at him wanly. "No, it's all right. They aren't unhappy memories, just a little… sad, that's all." She sighed, slumping down as she began working her fingers gently between his. "I have been too busy to think on it much lately, but… even if we don't get the estate back, any house we live in will always be far too empty."

I suppose I can understand that about her, at least, Fenris thought. I know only too well how empty even a full common room at an inn can feel. And she and her family… they undoubtedly have memories to constantly remind them what I only distantly feel is missing. He looked away quietly, feeling acutely the vague emptiness that always seemed to pervade him, then eventually stared down at their hands again.

Fenris had left his fingers pliable, allowing Hawke to do as she wished, but as he watched her nimble, supple fingers tenderly ply his own, he began to touch her back, turning his hands palm up and running his fingertips along her hands. It suddenly dawned on him how close they were, knees and toes nearly touching as they each sat cross-legged on their bedrolls facing each other. Their closeness only seemed to be intensified by the dim and muffled interior of the cozy tent, the sounds of Varric's storytelling and hireling chatter outside seeming very distant.

"Listen to me going on…" Hawke groaned quietly, rousing herself out of her reflections and thinking back to how selfish she had felt when examining her role in causing Fenris's earlier jealousy. "But what about you? All alone in that big mansion. What of your family, Fenris?"

He stayed quiet for a while, feeling grieved himself, though he kept his fingers moving, focusing on Hawke's closeness to drive back a little of the lonely ache in his chest. "You worry too much," he said more easily than he felt, though he spoke quietly. "Do not concern yourself about me and my squalid mansion."

Continuing to wait patiently for a proper response, Hawke remained silent, though she began to smile distantly down as she traced the lines of lyrium on his fingers and palms. I sometimes forget how little he talks about himself, she thought as focused on his hands. I truly should make more of an effort to draw him into real conversations and find out more about him. How else can we expect to understand each other better?

Fenris said nothing for a few moments, just feeling everything, both without and within, distractedly wondering how it was possible to still feel alone with Hawke in front of him, touching his hands more intimately than he had ever let anyone touch him. I had not expected her to ask. I had not expected anyone to ask. I had not expected anyone to care.

"As for my family?" he finally said to break the silence. He still searched for something to say on the subject, not wanting to talk about how he could remember nothing of them, not even if there was anything to remember, but knowing he could not just stay silent — and he did not even consider lying to her. Still, he did not want to dampen the evening further with his missing past, nor did he want Hawke's pity or to trouble her thoughts when she was already carrying her own grief.

"The less said about that the better, probably," Fenris finally said, though he did try to soften the dismissal. "It is a subject for… some other evening, perhaps."

Hawke stayed quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I understand," she replied. Well, I will continue to the make the effort, but I still must remember not to rush him. I am sure he will tell me when he is ready. She found it easier to let her disappointment go as she reminded herself, We have plenty of time. I am not going anywhere, and it seems like neither is he. We will get there eventually.

They sat in silence for a little while, just twining and untwining their fingers aimlessly while muted sounds of Varric's storytelling and the hirelings' awe filtered in through the canvas. Fenris hoped that Hawke's hearing was not good enough to make out that Varric was telling the story of how she had killed an ogre as she fled Lothering, since he knew that was when her brother had died.

"At least you still have your mother and your sister," he pointed out reassuringly, wanting to fill the silence for her just in case she could hear. He gazed down at nothing in particular as he kept an ear out for Varric's tale while also still wondering a little about his own family.

"Yes, of course. You're right," Hawke agreed quietly. Then she added with a chuckle, "And thank you for not including Gamlen. It was very astute of you not to run afoul of my tender loathing for my dear uncle."

Fenris felt a palpable sense of relief at her laugh, for once grateful of her less acute human senses. Still feeling enough warmth from the wine to augment the sudden loosening of his tension, he found he was gladdened enough that he tickled her palms lightly with his fingertips, hoping to keep her small smile from fading.

"I try not to run afoul of anyone," he explained proudly, "especially a woman with daggers who knows both how to use them and where I sleep." He began smiling a little as Hawke couldn't help but giggle softly and recoil to scratch her nails into her itching palms.

"Someday I am going to find out where you are ticklish, and you are going to regret all these heartless assaults on me," she threatened amiably, poking him in the chest before leaning over to retrieve the wine bottle.

Again reminded there was no pain from her touch, Fenris rubbed at his chest and absentmindedly adjusted his pewter wolf pendant through his shirt as he watched Hawke take a long pull from the wine bottle. He rather unabashedly watched her throat, thinking back to the morning before when he had massaged her and felt her swallow as he caressed her neck. We were very close indeed, and she seemed to enjoy my touch then… Between the wine he had already drunk and the wine he was watching her currently drink, Fenris began to feel rather bold, wondering if he might be able to get closer now, and what her touch on him might feel like.

"I am almost tempted to let you try," he replied smoothly, though he noticed his voice sounded a little deep even to his own ears.

Hawke made an appreciatively sultry noise and handed him the bottle, and he considered his next move carefully as took a long drink himself. We are running low on both wine and time this evening… I… should probably not delay any further, he decided. We should both be suitably at ease by now. Fenris looked appreciatively at the bottle when he lowered it, very satisfied with himself that he had decided to bring it along and had thought to offer it tonight.

"We… were interrupted this morning. Twice, in fact," he began, going straight for the heart of the matter. His noticed his voice sounded a little hoarse, then attributed to the dryness of the wine. He rotated the nearly empty wine bottle in his hands, pressing on. "That is why I though perhaps… we should speak tonight."

Hawke grew attentive, hands resting on her knees as she listened, gazing at Fenris's face as he spoke without looking at her. "I always enjoy talking with you, Fenris," she said encouragingly. "This morning… the interruptions… It was just… one of those mornings." She shrugged helplessly.

"Hmph. Was it?" Fenris grumbled, mostly at himself for allowing the events of the night before and the morning to get to him. He clasped the wine bottle in both hands, holding it in his lap as he stared down into it. "Well, regardless, I did not help matters — quite the opposite in fact. I should not have said what I did. I was not myself, and I spoke harshly to you in anger. I… did not mean it. It was… just as you said at breakfast."

Hawke tilted her head, smiling at him as she reached out to caress his downturned face. Aww, he listened to what I said at breakfast? He didn't say much then, but clearly he has been thinking about this. She felt like the warmth of the wine she had drunk was overlaid and enhanced by a glow of adoration for him.

Fenris felt the fire of his wine simmering in his stomach as much as the heat from Hawke's hand, and it helped him keep his resolve. He looked up at her and determinedly met her gaze. "Though I should have given it to you far earlier today, I hope you will accept my apology now. I am sorry."

Hawke patted his cheek easily, feeling very relaxed and gracious. "Of course I accept your apology, Fenris." Then she looked down and began prying his hands loose from the wine bottle, more hesitantly adding, "I only hope… you will accept mine."

Fenris relinquished the wine to her, giving her a confused look as she raised the bottle to her lips. "I don't see what you have to apologize for," he said, brows drawing down. "You are your own woman, Hawke. What you choose to do… who you choose to aid…" He shrugged tightly, trying not to let his tone belie the disgruntlement he still felt towards Anders. "You are free to do as you wish."

It had taken him the better part of the day to convince himself all over again that his jealousy and anger had been unfounded, and the better part of the evening to work up to apologizing, so he was rather unsettled that she thought she had need of his forgiveness. Unless there is something she did not tell me, he began to think darkly, or unless I do not understand this after all. Fasta vass…

Hawke took a slow, small sip, letting the red wine coat her tongue as she tried to keep her composure so she wouldn't say anything too revealing. I might be a little teeny tiny bit tipsy, and I don't want to say something reckless, she thought, trying to think soberly about what reassurances she could give him as she handed back the nearly-empty bottle.

"Perhaps what you say is true…" she said carefully, "but, I never meant to give you the impression that I cared less for you than… Anders." Fenris swirled the last of the wine around in the bottle as she talked, staring at it with an inscrutable look on his face. "He's… no threat to you, really, Fenris."

Fenris looked up sharply, scowling. "He is dangerous, Hawke. His willful ignorance about the dangers of magic and that spirit inside him makes him a threat, and a very grave one at that. He is a danger to himself and to all of us. Moreso because he insists he is not. Do not be fooled by him."

"I, um…" Hawke tried not to laugh, scratching at her forehead, then rubbing at her eyes. He thinks I meant some kind of magical or physical threat. Maker. How am I supposed to get him to understand? "I do understand your concerns about him and Justice, Fenris, and I have taken them to heart. In fact, I ran afoul of his… single-mindedness about it all just before breakfast. It is why he is unhappy with me today, and why I am none too pleased with him either."

Fenris set his mouth in a flat line. "Hmph." Well, at least perhaps now she takes it seriously. Though now I wonder what it is that he could have said to her that caused her offense. If he has insulted her…

Hawke sighed, waving her hand. "But enough about him. I was talking about you." She looked down rather shyly and her hands began fidgeting in her lap. "Us…"

Though she spoke rather softly, Fenris could hear the weight of the word as it fell from her lips. It gave him pause, then made his mouth go a little dry. He decided to alleviate it by draining the last of the wine, but he felt rather drained himself as he lowered the empty bottle, slumping forward while tightly grasping it as he rested his forearms on his knees again.

Us? he thought, numbly puzzling over their relationship again as he waited for her to continue. Hawke and I. We. Alone but… together. Us. Very logically he knew the words made grammatical sense, so he wondered that it had pulled his thoughts up short when she said it.

Hawke struggled to find the right words to say, trying to think back to what she had been hoping to tell Fenris that morning before things had begun to unravel. Then, taking in the sight of his guarded posture, she shifted herself, folding her legs under her and sitting facing him more squarely. I need to tell him something after this morning so he doesn't continue to have so much uncertainty about this.

"Just know that I do care… very much," she said with more confidence than she truly felt, a little fortified by the wine. "And I meant what I said earlier this morning. You will always have my help. I didn't just mean a haircut, of course. I meant… well, anything." She ran both hands through Fenris's hair, letting the neatly trimmed strands slip through her fingers.

Fenris sagged even further down at her words and her touch, the last of his reservations washed away by the combination of wine and tenderness. "I do not understand why, Hawke," he ground out with a sigh, finally vocalizing the question that had been plaguing him for days. He found he was no longer able to keep it in, Hawke slipping unexpectedly under his guard as she so often did.

Hawke let her hands press against his jaw, her fingertips lightly brushing his neck as she tilted his face up to look at her. "Does there need to be a reason?" she asked with a quiet chuckle, still holding firm to her decision not to rush him with declarations of her love before he was ready. "You've helped me lots, right? In fact you've helped me even when you disagreed with me, though you didn't have to."

Her vague answer made Fenris grit his teeth, for he had been hoping that she would clear up at least some of the questions and confusions that had been plaguing him. He was also dismayed that she did not understand the reasons for his own help, despite what he had tried to convey to her that morning. Fasta vass, I feel as though I have wasted my time all over again. Can I not accomplish anything today?

Hawke let him go when he looked aside with a vexated growl of a sigh. Then Fenris stood to discard the empty wine bottle before he wound up shattering it in his tight grip.

"As I told you this morning, Hawke," he explained again, trying to restrain his frustration, "and as I told you the first night we met — I will find a way to repay you for all you have done. I do not know how yet, but… I am trying. I cannot not abandon my debt to you. I will not." He placed the empty bottle into the rear corner then straightened, reluctantly turning back to face her. "The hunters… arranging things for me… asking Aveline to overlook my borrowing a mansion, and… everything else," he said with a defeated shrug. "No one… no one has ever done half so much for me."

As he stood in the corner of the tent looking aside at nothing, Hawke felt a deep sorrow, thinking once more at how alone Fenris had been through all his adversities. It reminded her of her father's life as a mercenary, of her own past year struggling to keep her family afloat, of Anders, the hirelings, and so many of the refugees and people in Kirkwall she'd met who seemed to be fighting just to make their way through life. Everyone feels so alone in this world, and would that I could help them all… she thought soberly. But above all, I am here for Fenris. I am not leaving his side, especially not tonight.

Hawke stood and went to him, gently resting both hands against his chest. She smiled as he looked down at her hands, then up at her face. "You aren't alone anymore, Fenris," she explained. "You needn't be. I will help you when Danarius returns, then with anything else you want or need to live your life as free and happy as you deserve."

Her words coiled around Fenris's heart, making his chest both squeeze and swell at the same time, the slowly throbbing pressure as palpable as that of her hands gently rubbing him. He thought of the possibilities, of a life without his past and Danarius's influence constantly hanging over him, of truly gaining his freedom, of reclaiming things he wanted and needed yet could not even remember ever knowing. He found the idea of happiness was as alluring as the sum of all his best dreams combined — yet part of him just could not bring himself to believe he deserved any of it. Not after the things I have done, he thought, shaking his head. There are reasons why I cannot set aside my debt to her. I could not live like that, not with even more hanging over my head… I can barely live like this. But he knew he could not explain to her why.

"If there is one thing I have learned well, Hawke," he said instead, "it is that very few get what they truly deserve."

Somberly, Fenris thought, The Fog Warriors deserved better than what they received from me in return for their help. And Danarius and Hadriana and countless other magisters deserve to die, yet they live in luxury and continue to plague this world with their very existence. Hawke deserves… far more than I can give her, yet I can barely remain civil with her, even at the best of times, it seems. He looked at her again, then down at her hands pressed against the silk of his shirt. No. I think I already have more than I deserve, and yet I do not appreciate it even still.

"Everyone deserves freedom and a chance at love and happiness, Fenris," Hawke urged quietly. She paused, realizing she'd slipped and inadvertently mentioned love, but she pressed on anyway. "Sometimes… sometimes I think the reason this world is so full of ills is because so many people are denied a fair chance at those things, and men and women often react poorly or desperately when they lack something vital. Then they inflict things on others, and the problem only multiplies…"

She sighed, rubbing her hands over his chest for a moment before she gave him a roguish smile. "Usually those problems keep going until they find me, and I wind up having a fine mess on my hands. But I always try to set things right." Then she gave him a meaningful look. "It's just sort of what I do." I would work tirelessly to see you had everything you needed, wanted, and deserved, Fenris, she wished she could tell him.

Fenris looked back up at her, feeling the way she scrunched his shirt in her hands, and he wondered if she thought he was one such mess. She would not be far off the mark, he thought, feeling rather resigned, cornered and pinned in the corner as he was both physically by her as well as by her gaze. "I suppose I can see the truth in your words," he admitted, placing his hands over hers and rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her fingers. "Even those who live without chains are still bound: by fear, by tradition, by honor. Slaves dream of freedom, but… I have found free men dream of it even more."

"Very wise words," Hawke agreed. She searched his face for a moment and began to feel even more dazed than she had that morning, between the wine, the long day, Fenris's touch and his steady gaze. Still, she was careful not to lean into him, trying to be content to feel his solid chest through sheer silk under both hands with his hands pressing hers so warmly to him.

"But… what do former slaves and soon-to-be fully free men dream of?" she asked curiously, her earlier inquisitiveness finally getting the better of her lack of inhibitions. Maker! I should not have even bothered asking something so personal, she scolded herself immediately. If he asked me what I dream about, I'd pretty much be honor-bound to lie. It must be the wine. Oh Marian, must you always open your big mouth…

"You, actually," Fenris answered truthfully, the potent combination of wine, warmth, and closeness pulling the honest truth from his lips. Then he added wryly, "Probably to ensure I know who to seek to help me with this… 'fine mess,' as you call it." He let his hands slide down her arms as he spoke, memorizing the feel of having her so close. She looked away rather bashfully as his fingertips brushed the peaks of her elbows, and he smiled as he remembered kissing her injured one the first night they pitched their tent.

Hawke didn't smile or laugh at his candor or his teasing of her propensity for trouble, however. "You um… you dream about me?" she asked in quiet surprise, still looking away and beginning to chew on her lip as soon as she finished speaking. Maker, why did I drink so much wine so fast? I can hardly think, hardly breathe… this man already makes me feel weak enough! It is no wonder I feel light-headed.

Fenris shifted where he stood, growing a little embarrassed himself as he realized how rather telling his revelation was. "Sometimes," he said, trying to hedge his answer a bit. "I have always had frequent and vivid dreams, ever since receiving my markings…" He shrugged, trying to make it unconcerned. "I haven't really spent this much time with anyone in the past three years — and following you has been… an experience. I suppose I need all the time I can get, just to think things through."

Hawke's shyness gave way rather quickly, and she looked back to fix him with a frank look. "Getting to know you has been 'an experience' for me too, you know."

"Has it? I see," Fenris responded with a quiet chuckle. "Well, when I first offered you my assistance, I never claimed to be very… companionable."

Hawke smiled slowly at that. "And yet… here we are," she pointed out. To think that he dreams of me… even if it's just going back over our day, she thought. It must mean he cares for me.

Fenris inclined his head in agreement. "Here we are," he agreed. I would not be here otherwise, he thought a little wryly, but there are certainly worse places I could be…

"I suppose," she added, "it must just be that we complement each other so well." She slid her hands up to his shoulders and swept her thumbs against his neck, meeting his eyes. We were interrupted this morning, but perhaps…

Without her arms to rest on, Fenris placed his hands on her waist. "Indeed, we do," he agreed again, his voice dropping deeper as her touch and her look kindled something within him. So bold, so free with her affections, he thought, both envious of her and gratified that she needn't make allowances for him at present. Her gaze is warm like her touch, and once more today I find both quite enjoyable…

As he rather intently drank in the sight of her, Hawke looked aside shyly, and once more Fenris found her downcast eyes and hesitation even more deeply alluring for the contrast to her fearlessness, and for making him in turn feel like the bold one. Even in this, even without meaning to she gives me something that I wanted… he thought, a heat beyond wine burning in his stomach. She is a remarkable woman… unlike any other I have ever met. It is no wonder I do not understand her, but… perhaps I need not fully understand a thing to relish it.

In a warm trickle, Fenris's earlier determination returned, still fully-formed from their encounter that morning. It continued to fill him unabated, flowing freely after wanting to pull her close for days, after trying to several times and failing for one reason or another, and after dreaming about it so often and for long weeks.

He thought about how her touch on his neck had not made his markings burn, how his silk shirt covered even his arms and seemed to be enough of a barrier against the risk of feeling pain, how he had not felt the threatening tightening of his emotions in his mind despite his earlier desires or even his jealous anger. But mostly he thought about how he simply wanted and needed to feel normal, to have something that day make sense and go right for a change, to show Hawke what her care meant to him, and to explore what could not identify, let alone find the words to convey.

They stood quietly like that for a few long minutes, tension building almost palpably; Hawke looking aside with her hands on his neck, and Fenris gazing over at her with his hands on her waist; Fenris rationalizing his desires and steeling himself, and Hawke feeling both resolute that she would receive some kind of reconciliation for their earlier quarrel yet certain that something would happen, just as it always seemed to around her.

They could both distantly hear Varric telling the hirelings the story of the dragon they had slain at the Bone Pit, but eventually Hawke's focus wandered as the time crept by and Fenris was soon thereafter after distracted from his thoughts by her indelicate snort.

"I may have had a lot to drink the night we killed that dragon," she said suspiciously, "but truly I don't remember you throwing me onto its back where I beheaded it with one fell blow from my daggers."

Her wry comment was so unconnected from his other serious thoughts that Fenris found himself laughing. "No, I don't think I could throw you that far. I could barely haul you into that tree." A little glad of the distraction from his careful process of working up his nerve and figuring it also good practice, Fenris slowly dug his fingers into Hawke's waist, giving her sides a few squeezes, smiling crookedly when her face screwed up into an attractive pout.

"I know where you sleep, remember?" she warned, brows going up. "Marian Hawke? Rogue? Proficient with daggers, and beheader of dragons, apparently?" She narrowed her eyes a little. "It isn't polite to tease a lady about her weight, Fenris."

"What should I tease you about, then?" he asked, letting his voice go serious. "How poorly you drew that picture of killing the dragon? Or perhaps how you cannot hold your celebratory brandy."

"I never claimed to be an artist, Fenris," she replied airily, "and I though I did have rather a lot of brandy, I do remember that night quite well, thank you."

Fenris remembered the night very well himself, for it had been the night Hawke had rather unguardedly gazed over at him, then remarked on how well they fought together. But when she had asked him to promise to stay by her side, he had been unable to promise anything more than to be there if she needed him — and he had assumed at the time that she truly didn't, and soon would realize it herself. His debt to her then had already been great simply from having her help with Danarius and the hunters. Yet despite his efforts to contain it, it had only grown since — as apparently had her need of him, until he now no longer could think far enough into the future to envision himself leaving Kirkwall or her side — though Fenris admitted to himself that thinking of the future was not his forte.

"Do you even remember what I told you that night before I left?" he asked, realizing he had a chance to give her what Varric thought she would want to know, some reassurance that he would not simply disappear. He did not even wonder that he could not just tell her outright — he accepted that it would probably be more reassuring for her to come to it on her own than for him to try poorly to explain it again.

"I uh… hmm, let me think…" Hawke's fingers began running along the collar of his shirt as she looked down, face creased in deep thought. "I remember drawing that picture… and laughing that Varric was short. And then there were my stabby spirals… And after that…" She delayed, not wanting to admit that currently she was slightly inebriated and thus was finding it doubly hard to recall that rather drunken night.

Fenris shivered a little at her light caresses, his hands tightening on her waist. "You… said that we worked well together," he hinted. Hawke looked up and regarded him a little blankly, so he continued after a moment. "You asked me to promise to stay." He purposely did not repeat the exact wording of her promise that they stay together forever, graciously attributing her dramatic turn of phrase to the brandy, and somewhat embarrassed by it himself.

"Did I?" Hawke looked away, brow creasing as she began biting on her lip. Maker's breath, I said that to him how long ago? Two weeks at least? It is no wonder he kept a wary eye on me all his time. Just goes to show I was right not to go blabbing my feelings for him today. She glanced up at Fenris, who was waiting with a rather expectant upraised eyebrow for her to speak. Andraste's weaving wobbling walk, I really need to never drink brandy again. I wind up saying the most ridiculous things… even more ridiculous than my usual, which is pretty bad.

"All right, I admit…" she said frankly, "I do not remember that." She cleared her throat, trying to turn the conversation back around to her favor somehow. "So, what did you say before you left, since that was your original question?"

Fenris looked into her eyes, feeling a dark satisfaction already welling with in him. He suspected his words would fluster her, and as he already knew from that morning, from just before his wash, and from the way she had lowered her eyes not long ago that he would undoubtedly relish it. The anticipation, plus a slight nudge of wine, seemed to make enough of a difference as he repeated his words for her, putting as much earnestness into it as he could muster. "I'll be here if you need me, Hawke."

"Oh…" Hawke swallowed against a sudden dryness in her mouth, his tone unmistakable. "Well… and I do need you, so…" she added lightly, trying to chuckle. I was not expecting this, she thought, stomach fluttering a little nervously as he looked at her.

"It is a promise, Marian," Fenris said, not relenting in his hunt to see her thoroughly undone, finding he enjoyed the pursuit of her blush, her downturned eyes, and her hesitant lips too much to let fear or cowardice or doubt restrain him further. "So here we are. Us."

He said my name, she thought dazedly, and he has promised to be here if I need him? He had already promised that two weeks ago? Her mind worked through the haze of wine as she thought of all the times she had worried he would leave Kirkwall, only to wonder why he remained. He has stayed… will stay… for me.

As he had anticipated, Hawke quickly lowered her gaze, too affected to even begin chewing on her lip.

Fenris felt the surge of determination, want, and need flare within him again as he looked down at her, and decided he would not let her silence, his lackluster way with words, or anything else interfere this time. So there could be no further misunderstandings on her part or self-doubts on his, he took a small step towards her as he drew her closer.

Even as he was unsure that there might not be obstacles after all, Fenris's arms slid without hesitation around Hawke's waist as he advanced, silk sleeves sliding quickly against the soft fabric of her shirt. And while she had gone rather motionless as he leaned towards her, Hawke's limp hands easily brushed past Fenris's collar until her arms began to dangle around his neck. Then, too firmly resolved not to continue, no matter his concerns or her reluctance, Fenris came to a halt before her and determinedly tightened his arms, pulling her bodily to him when she simply stood there. Hawke offered no resistance, and he had no cause to hold back, so sheer momentum carried them the rest of the way.

Then Fenris was indeed overwhelmed, just as Hawke finally looked at him and he pressed her fully against himself, feeling himself slipping, but still determined not to let go.

But it was her gaze, her scent, the heat of her body, and the sound of her quiet intake of breath that made him feel as though he was losing his careful control, the things he did not fear that proved to be what he could not resist or overcome. With no pain, or memories of lingering agony, or flaring of his lyrium talent, despite the challenges of his past and the present, and before he even fully knew it himself, Fenris had Hawke just as he had wanted her, just as he had wanted them, alone but together, and enveloped finally in a close embrace.

"Oh, I… see," Hawke said dumbly, rather limp and blinking in shock at Fenris as he looked back at her. She thrilled at how very near he was now, but was also very surprised by it, suddenly not knowing what to do, remaining loosely and awkwardly draped on him as if she had never hugged anyone before in her life. Distantly she worried that he would pull away immediately, or his markings would flare, or darkspawn would attack, Anders would barge in, and the Maker would decide to return, and all simultaneously, given her luck. When none of those things happened, however, she began to fear she would simply breathe wrong and mess everything up that way, but soon enough had to remind herself to continue to breathe regardless, if only so she wouldn't faint and most assuredly spoil things.

But above all Hawke just couldn't get beyond the feel of it, the feel of a true embrace, almost not believing it was happening to her even though she recognized it immediately after so long. Though she could hardly believe it, she knew what was occurring, knew it was more than just a hug from her family or a hug from a friend, held instead closer, tighter, longer, and in much stronger arms. That they were Fenris's arms, the arms of the man she'd wanted to be held by so badly, but the arms of a man she thought she might never touch — that was what made the experience that much more stunning.

Fenris remained wordless, trying to keep himself from hesitating or retreating as he struggled, working to figure out the mechanics of an embrace all on his own, all with Hawke still motionless and a bit leaden in his arms. He refused to back down however, determined to see it through, knowing that it could be done, and thus he could do it too, then soon move on to mastering it. He took solace as he explored that she at least didn't pull away, and he knew as he shifted her that he was more than capable of supporting her weight indefinitely, despite his teasing of her. And, as he continued to look at her face, he also decided to take it as a compliment that he indeed could so thoroughly unhinge such a normally formidable woman, even though he conveniently gave no thought to his own earlier moment of defenselessness since he had already recovered from it.

Hawke stood stiff as a board for a moment, still reeling and mind a little blank while Fenris's arms rubbed against her sides as he tried to figure out where to place his hands. The feel of him breathing out of rhythm from her drew her attention first, to the feel of his chest and flat stomach pressed against hers. Their bare feet touched as he shuffled against her more, and she noticed that next — then, in quick succession, his taut thighs pressing against hers, the bumping of their hips, and the nudge of their shoulders. His hands drifted across the small of her back soon, roaming upwards and bunching her shirt a little before settling into a gentle if halting rub that gradually drew her notice fully, as if reeling her back in.

Fenris found his place and settled into it, and Hawke's rigid back relaxed under his soothing touch, their awkward embrace quickly easing into a more comfortable one as they both began to give into it. Hawke tucked her arms between them again and pressed her hands against his chest, then turned her head and rested it against his shoulder. Feeling intoxicated in more ways than one, she realized she was already beginning to lean heavily into Fenris, though he seemed to not even notice, bearing it easily like an unyielding, immovable wall of stone. Still, she began to pull away to readjust her stance, but he squeezed her tighter, the muscles of his arms and shoulders flexing even more strongly than she had imagined. She instinctually relented, clutching at his chest and closing her eyes, and the two of them started to twist a little, rocking each other as they fell into a well-earned, long, silent moment of closeness.

I cannot remember ever experiencing this before, Fenris thought with a heartaching mixture of mournfulness and deep contentment. What has Danarius done to me that I could forget ever feeling like this? Surely at some point in my life before I must have embraced someone? He almost started to try to remember, then stopped himself cold before he ran against the mental wall of the ritual and the agony that trying to delve beyond the memory of it always brought up.

He forced himself to focus on the present, not the past, letting Hawke's presence fill his awareness and drive back everything else. With his hands pressed against her back and his arms enfolding her, he mentally placed her in the center of everything even as his body did the same. As always, he tried to memorize every detail of the experience, using the habit born out of losing so much of his memory to fully claim this moment of victory that he had earned. Feeling how right it felt to have Hawke so near, to be able to take her into his arms, to simply be close to someone else without pain or fear or hate eating away at him, Fenris began to realize it was one of the many unknown things he had been struggling towards in his bid for freedom. Yes. This is right, he knew, as certainly as he knew anything.

Hawke sank further against him as he sighed, wanting to sigh, too. It has been well over a year since anyone held me like this, she thought, grief and guilt tinging her sweet thoughts as she remembered the last time John had held her, before she had left for the army and the arms of other men whom she had embraced much more casually. Too casually, she mourned, the wine threatening to amplify her sadness and undo her even further. She quickly got ahold of herself and tucked the sad feelings aside for more respectful reflection later, thinking it poor to let herself be maudlin when John and Fenris both had given so much to make her happy.

She tried to concentrate on the present and Fenris instead, experiencing him more acutely with her other senses since she felt rather too far gone to open her eyes. She inhaled his scent, nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder and the silk of his shirt, then smiled when he turned his face and sniffed her hair. His breath stirred it, sending a tingle through her entire body, and she could feel both his gaze and his cheek brush against her as he looked down at her. Finally letting out a quiet, contented little sigh, she pulled her arms further down and freed them, before wrapping them around Fenris's narrow waist, pressing her hands lightly against his back.

Fenris closed his eyes and rested his head against hers as she fully embraced him back, feeling as if, with the circle of her arms complete around him, yet another piece of the puzzle of what lay between them fell into place. Whatever we are, this is a part of it, he thought, though he knew he still found everything a rather confusing jumble, as unfamiliar with it all as he was.

But it was more curiosity and wonderment than frustration and bewilderment for once, and he decided he saw plenty of merit in puzzling out how he felt and why. This I want to get used to, he thought as Hawke shifted in his arms. He enjoyed the feel of having her pressed against him so sweetly and innocently far more than he ever thought he would. As much pleasure as he derived from any of the intensely intimate dreams the Fade seemed determined to taunt him with regarding her, in reality, embracing Hawke was fraught with far less danger of brushing against some memory of mistreatment or abuse, since he could not remember anyone, especially not Danarius or Hadriana, ever treating him with anything like the tenderness he felt from Hawke now.

After a few enjoyable minutes, Hawke straightened and pulled Fenris closer to her, her hands pressing against his back, wordlessly urging him to lean into her. He let her be his guide, resting his forehead against her shoulder when she tilted her head aside invitingly. As he began to sag against her, he thought, Perhaps I truly do need this, as all of the strength seemed to go out of him at once.

Fenris suddenly felt very tired and worn, like he had just prevailed in a hard-fought and narrowly-won battle, or had finally stopped running after a long, exhausting, and arduous chase. He stopped rubbing Hawke's back, just wrapping his arms fully around her and letting his hands settle on her sides. Hawke seemed to bear the weight of him leaning on her easily, so he just let himself remain, thinking he would need only a moment's rest to recover from the long day, the wine, and the emotional drain of deciphering, controlling, apologizing and making up for his behavior and moods.

But instead they stayed like that for long untold minutes, not listening as Varric concluded some tall tale about Hawke and the Arishok, then started in on another one about her saving the viscount's son. Even when he finally finished that story, too, loudly declaring he needed an ale break, Fenris was still slumped wearily and wordlessly against Hawke as she firmly held him close. The quiet that surrounded them in their tent was hardly disturbed as the nearby hireling camp became abuzz with activity as everyone murmured, stretched, and got their own ales, Hawke and Fenris seeming to be the only two people in camp who were satisfied to remain just as they were.

The musicians among the hirelings took the opportunity to break out their simple instruments, a fiddle, some flutes and drums, a lute or two and even a harp, and they began to play a few simple but jaunty drinking songs. The music Hawke and Fenris paid no heed either, despite how the tunes jarred a little against their quiet, affectionate moment. Soon enough, the hirelings got through about three or four rounds of 'You Got My Wife, But I Got Your Whiskey' before most of them starting sorely missing both their wives and whiskey and started calling for slower songs to quietly drink and reminisce to anyway.

Hawke began to sway with Fenris to a slow, wordless melody that set the rest of the camp into a pensive silence. Pulling one arm free, she ran her fingers through his hair, stroking through the neatly trimmed ends. He moved even closer to fill up the small gap her arm had left, and she could feel him stir against her shoulder, burying his face against her neck as she caressed his ear and temple. She couldn't help but smile when he quietly sighed, for it was possibly the most contented sound she could ever remember hearing him make.

"We can go to bed if you wish, Fenris," Hawke murmured, resting her head against his as the hirelings' song and her and Fenris's stationary dance began to lull her. "Surely you must be getting tired. It's been a very long day."

"I am fine," he said quietly without lifting his head. "I do not tire easily, nor do I need much sleep." I do not want to let go, he thought stubbornly as he was roused out of his languorous daze.

Hawke chuckled softly, rubbing his back. Once he finally does a thing and decides he enjoys it, he is quite tenacious about it. I do love that about him though. "What about me, hmm?" she teased. "I do not have your fortitude, remember? I'm growing quite dead on my feet over here, you know."

Fenris quickly pulled away and straightened, though his hands still rested on her sides, and Hawke still held onto his back and his arm. "I-I'm sorry. Forgive me, I didn't think." He looked aside, blinking a few times as he tried to focus and recover himself. "Of course you are tired. It must be getting late… and tomorrow will be another early start."

Always so practical, Hawke thought with a fond smile, shaking her head as she lay her hand against Fenris's face. "No doubt we will sleep well, between your fine wine and the hirelings' playing. Let's just hope they don't go on to playing dirges and start sobbing, shall we?"

Fenris gave her a bit of a blank look, then nodded slowly, thinking her serious, and she chuckled as she released him so she could go retrieve her waterskin. As she took a long, thirsty drink to dilute all the wine she'd drunk, she furtively watched him continue to stand in the corner of the tent. He looked down at himself, rubbing his chest, then looked at his arms, running his hand down first one sleeve then the other, before finally scratching at his hair and his back while yawning.

Hawke nearly snorted out her mouthful of water, struggling not to laugh at his adorable bedtime mannerisms, especially in light of his statement that he wasn't tired. It is very sweet that he enjoyed our first hug that much, she mused, proffering the waterskin to him. Well, he got a nice, good long one. As epic as anything Varric could have spun a tale about, I'd wager.

Fenris came over and accepted the waterskin, nodding wordlessly in thanks as he took a long drink himself. I should not have let myself lose track of time, he told himself a bit drowsily. But… it was good to have some moments of… peace.

Hawke remained standing on her bedroll, looking down at it as she chewed on her lip and wondered if Fenris would be amenable to resuming their close embrace once laying down. Andraste's twinkling squinty winking, is that truly how this day could end? With cuddling Fenris? she realized with a jolt. Yes, please! That would almost make all the stress worth it. It would be even better than a massage! She had been a rather blank daze the entire time they had embraced, focused completely on the present, so her sudden bedtime realization was an additional pleasant surprise.

Hawke began pushing up her shirtsleeves, then brushed her hair back and began rubbing her hands against her thighs as if she was about to attempt something difficult, dangerous, and slightly inadvisable, like jumping off a cliff or juggling knives again.

Fenris set the waterskin above their bedrolls, then walked to the front of the tent. "I will return," he said, without glancing at her.

Hawke frowned, pausing halfway through lowering herself onto her bedroll. "What? Where are you going?" she asked, a little more shrilly than she intended, in a slightly wine-enhanced panic.

He paused and sighed, looking back at her. "We drank a lot of wine, Hawke," he explained meaningfully, eyes flicking up. "I would rather not have to get up in the middle of the night and find my way through a packed campsite littered with snoring hirelings."

"Oh… yes, of course," she stammered. "I see." Maker, he still has me so jumpy after this morning, despite everything. Insufferable, cruel tease of a man…

Fenris took in how her expression went from worry to blankness to somewhat embarrassed, and he began to smile. "You worry too much," he kidded. "I said I would return, and I shall. I should teach you to listen, just as you teach me to talk." I suppose I should be flattered that she does not want me to leave her side. Still, she will thank me when I do not have to rouse her in the night with my comings and goings. Then he remembered that it seemed almost impossible to wake her even once she had had enough sleep. Still, perhaps I may not want to get up, he thought with a small smile.

Hawke stood back up and crossed to the back to the tent. "I suppose I should go too. It wouldn't do for me to go wandering around in the middle of the night either. I do not have your keen eyesight, and I hate trying to go back to sleep. And I might run into darkspawn. Or Bartrand. I swear, Varric's brother never seems to sleep…"

Fenris shifted a little impatiently and urgently while she rambled. "Yes, well… I will meet you back here, then."

Hawke laughed, feeling a little heady from so much wine and affection. "Yes," she said, letting her voice go mock breathless as she pressed a hand to her chest. "Rendezvous with me in five minutes. I will wait for you on my bedroll if you will do me the same courtesy, serah — but mind you tell no one." Fenris just flicked his eyes up, one eyebrow raised in confusion as he left, and Hawke figured he must have never read any sort of romance novels.

I must be getting old, she thought, for I do not remember any of my other love affairs seeming this… quaint. She snorted as she left through the back of the tent, though she smiled to herself. Ah well, can't be young forever. Nor can you hold half a bottle of wine forever. At least this way once I get myself wrapped up in Fenris's arms, we needn't move until morning. He truly is not like most men, but his practicality is useful, I suppose… and the rest of him? Maker…

The hirelings were still quietly sitting around their campfire nursing their last cups of ale, water, or tea, listening to the sweetly meandering music that their more musical fellows were still playing. As Hawke hurried in the opposite direction to attend to her call of nature, she realized she had utterly forgotten about having her nightly cup of moon tea between too much wine and never enough Fenris. I will have some first thing in the morning, she told herself as she yawned and searched. I feel sloshy already, and ready to drop off sound asleep, besides. It will be fine.

By the time she returned to her bedroll after first stopping by the mess tent to wash her hands, Fenris was already laying on his back with his hands on his stomach and eyes closed.

Hawke cursed her luck inwardly, creeping quietly, not wanting to wake him regardless. Men… it isn't fair! They needn't walk halfway to Orzammar and back just to use the privy. She quietly knelt on her bedroll and plumped up the slightly squashed bolster a bit, pouting her ill fortune. Bastards. They have no idea how easy they have it. Just one day… one in a woman's body and they would go mad. Absolutely insane. Would never be able to handle it.

Fenris opened his eyes and looked over at Hawke with a raised eyebrow as she continued to thump her bolster into submission. "Problem?" he asked dryly.

Startled a little, Hawke looked over at him with one limp fist half-raised. "Oh. I thought you had fallen asleep already."

"Even if I had, I do not think I would have stood a chance of remaining so," he remarked. Hawke just sighed and rubbed tiredly at her brow, so he reached over and patted at her bedroll before folding his hands on his stomach again. "Come, Hawke. You are clearly… overtired. Sleep."

Hawke considered him obliquely for a moment before laying down, disappointed that he seemed content to continue laying all by himself on his own bedroll. Sighing, she flopped down on her back too, though she doubted she could fall asleep like that with the stone floor so hard beneath her.

"The first thing I'm going to get when I'm rich is definitely the finest bed gold can buy," she grumbled with a heavy sigh, rubbing at her eyes before yawning again. "Oh well, at least we are one day closer to that now — even if the stone somehow seems to get harder each night the further along we go."

Fenris glanced over at her, letting himself notice his own discomforts more fully. Discounting his usual insignificant aches, he supposed the stone did seem a little harder than the night before. The familiar hum of the Deep Roads seemed somehow less noticeable through the ground, as if the rock beneath was thicker and did not allow it to penetrate as easily, leaving only the sensation to be felt indeed that of cold, unyielding hardness.

Then he also considered his desire to sleep closer to Hawke — he had still been trying to work out how to accomplish that when she had returned — and a very logical solution occurred to him that would solve both problems at once.

"If you are uncomfortable, we could… simply stack the bedrolls," he suggested slowly. "It would double the thickness of the padding." He shifted his eyes over to gauge her reaction, adding, "If you wish. And if you don't mind… sharing."

Time is precious, he had already reasoned, and if my markings are not going to trouble me tonight, I should not squander what chance I have at experiencing the freedom I have so long sought. Besides, Hawke seems to enjoy the closeness too, and it is something I can easily give her tonight for all she has done, and a comfort after the pain I did not intend to inflict on her today.

Hawke blinked a few times, looking around and trying to see if she noticed anything shifting oddly to indicate she was in the Fade, dreaming. Gauging that she was well and truly still awake, she turned onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to frown down at Fenris. "Aren't you already comfortable?" she asked carefully, more concerned that he might be made uncomfortable if she agreed. "I'm not so bad off as that, so there's no need to… go rearranging everything on my account."

Fenris closed his eyes for a moment and managed to keep his growl to a quiet sigh. He remained on his back staring up at the tent ceiling as his expression flattened, though he tried his best to remember her hesitation was probably overly tenderhearted concern and likely not just a simple rejection.

"I would not have offered if I thought it too much trouble, Hawke," he explained, hoping his patience didn't sound as strained as it felt. She only does this because I so often forget myself around her. I told her myself to have a care with me, so I can hardly fault her when she does…

Hawke ran her eyes down the length of his body, taking in his becoming appearance and thinking of the fine, strong muscles beneath his clothes, though she needed little in the way of additional motivation after so thoroughly enjoying their embrace. "Well, in that case… yes, all right," she agreed.

She scooted off her bedroll as Fenris sat up on his, and together they quickly rotated Hawke's and slid it beneath Fenris's before crawling back onto the twice-thick stacked bedrolls. It was far too narrow for either of them to sleep on their backs, though neither seemed to have any inclination towards that despite how they had been laying previously. Fenris slowly stretched out and reclined rather stiffly, laying half on his side and propped up on his elbow as Hawke knelt facing him on her edge of the bedroll.

They both eyed their new, narrow bed with a measure of hesitation and reluctance, but eventually Hawke decided to take charge.

"Here, you're bigger than me, so you lay down first," she murmured, pointing along the length of the bedroll as if drawing a line down the center. "That way I don't wind up on the floor while you move about, getting comfortable."

Fenris, feeling rather dubious about the entire thing now that he was faced with the particulars, hesitantly complied anyway. Though it had been his idea and he had just gritted his teeth over Hawke's reluctance, he seriously considered calling a retreat as he tried to situate himself on the extreme edge of his side of the bedroll, facing her. Perhaps I have overreached, he thought apprehensively, dreading the thought of laying awake all night or waking up feeling cramped and uncomfortable as he always had as a slave.

Despite her instructions, Hawke soon sighed and lay down on her half of the bedroll beside him while he was still trying to figure out where to place his outstretched arm. Men can be so hopeless left to their own devices, she tutted to herself. Just as Fenris stiffly lay his head against the bolster, she took charge of him too, wordlessly tugging and urging him further towards the center of the bedroll until he had her back pressed to him. Then, using his arm as her pillow, she brought his hand to her chest and began to settle in in earnest.

"There, how is that?" she asked, turning her head slightly, trying to look at him. "Not too bad, is it?"

Made much more comfortable by both her careful arrangement and her closeness, Fenris thought, Not as bad as I initially thought, no. He chastised himself a little for his reluctance and cowardice as he smoothed a few errant strands of Hawke's hair down to keep them from tickling his face. Then he slid his arm around her waist, next to where her arm was folded against herself. His hand lightly grasped her forearm, the same way her other hand held his bent arm, pressing it over her breasts and against her chest.

"Nothing I can't get used to," Fenris finally conceded. Still, he made a few small adjustments to get even more comfortable, though as he straightened his long legs, he kept nudging his feet up against the bolster that was now at the end of the stacked bedrolls. Hmph, it is all much more complicated than I imagined, he thought. Yet… I suppose most things worth doing require some effort.

Hawke smiled and nestled down against his arm, rubbing her cheek against the silk of his shirt. "Perhaps not as comfortable as a bed with lots of pillows, I grant you, but still…" She shifted a little more, trying to get her legs comfortable, and her heart nearly seized up with the rest of her as Fenris's bent leg slid between hers.

"Does that bother you?" Fenris asked with concern when Hawke froze.

"No, no… Do as you see fit," she replied quickly. "There is only so much room after all. Ahem. May as well make the most of it…"

Hawke quietly thrilled at being so completely entwined with Fenris, feet, legs, and arms all a cozy tangle as they finally relaxed down to sleep. The solid feel of him at her back and the smell of him surrounding her was all very comforting, and she loved the way he held her so securely in his long, muscular arms. She only wished that his silk shirt covered less, missing the feel of his warm, smooth skin which she found far finer and silkier than any fabric could ever be.

Growing more determined to seek more of his direct touch as she thought about him shirtless, Hawke nudged the hand he had pressed to her chest underneath the V neckline of her shirt and along her bare skin. Once his fingertips rested over her heart and his palm was mostly in contact with her chest, she sighed contentedly and finally let herself begin to drift off.

It is probably best that I don't have my journal, Hawke thought sleepily. I'd be up for hours trying to write all of this day down… "Goodnight, Fenris," she soon murmured, already finding sleep beckoning to her, the sublime contentedness of the evening and of being held sinking her swiftly down after the long, trying day.

"Sleep well," he replied quietly.

Fenris took much longer to fall asleep, deliberately surveying and examining every sensation he could, memorizing the feel of what he had wanted for so long. Though truly the extra padding of the stacked bedrolls wasn't as comfortable as he had assumed it would be and it still felt a bit too narrow for the two of them even to him, used to tight sleeping quarters as he was, he decided it a more than acceptable enough tradeoff and as good a way as any to end the arduous day.

As he tried to relax against Hawke and shifted to mold himself around her, Fenris thought about his markings, wondering if, with being used to Hawke's touch and having the protective layer of clothing between them, his lingering agony could to remain undisturbed indefinitely. Yet, that does not really explain my neck, or the markings along my chin and throat, he thought, thinking back to how Hawke had brushed or pressed against him almost everywhere as they embraced. Why did it not hurt as my chest did, as I was prepared for it to do? I do not understand yet again.

He lay there cautiously thinking about it for a time, but soon gave up. Who knows what Danarius has done to me, he thought with a resigned sigh, deciding he was too tired to puzzle anything else out and not wanting to risk rousing the lingering agony by dwelling on it. Last night was full of dark memories, so it is no wonder that the memory of the ritual would surface even once I was no longer in the grips of something I could not control. But tonight…

Hawke began to go rather supple in his arms and Fenris relaxed even more against her, sniffing the berry and honey scent from her hair as he looked down at her. But tonight, I am in control. I knew what it was that I wanted, what it was that needed to be done. And I did it. For once, I saw it through, without letting fear dictate my actions, without backing away to reconsider, or running away entirely.

He took a deep, calm breath, letting his chest expand as he felt a swell of self-assurance that he too often lacked. Perhaps I should not wonder that my markings did not interfere, that my lyrium talent remained controlled, then. Perhaps I am mastering myself. Perhaps I truly have gained something even as I thought to give something to Hawke to make up for my actions.

As if tacitly agreeing with his thoughts, Hawke wriggled against him before going limp once more. I may have started the day poorly but… surely I have had a victory in setting things right, he thought, a small, confident smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He felt further rewarded as Hawke moved again, her rear pressing against his hips. She truly is like none other, he thought, perhaps a little wryly. And she has taught me much, even if sometimes all she does is simply be there, both for my mistakes and my triumphs.

Fenris boldly gathered her closer and squeezed a little, feeling as quietly content himself as the happy, sleepy sigh Hawke let out. His nose remained buried in her hair as relaxed his grip a little, and he closed his eyes. I have been telling myself for three years that I am no longer a slave. But tonight, I feel as though I have truly proven it, even to myself. All men are free to make mistakes, but unlike a slave, a free man may judge for himself what he has done and decide how to remedy it. I have done so, despite the difficulties and the obstacles, both of my own making and the doing of others. Distantly, he once again observed that it seemed to be mainly mages who caused him strife, but he was too tired and decided not to brood on it or Anders again so close to sleep.

Instead, for once he tried to think of the future, what the possibilities meant, and of everything that was within his grasp. I am my own master now, he thought defiantly. Not Danarius, nor anyone else. I will not let him, or these markings he forced on me, or this fear he put inside me dictate my actions. For now, there is no Danarius, no Hadriana, no hunters — no one but me and Hawke. Us. I have promised her aid, and she has in turn promised me hers. Once Danarius is dead, I will still remain — and if by then this thing between us is not clearer, then I will enlist her help with that as well.

Outside the tent, the hirelings began to groan and complain as the music stopped and Varric gently prodded everyone to retire before Bartrand got involved. But he rather quickly relented to tell one final story about Hawke before calling it a night.

With his keen ears, Fenris could have listened to Varric's dramatic retelling of the fight between Hawke, Fenris, and Arvaarad, who somehow now had an entire battalion of qunari warriors at his back and dual-wielded flaming axes, but he felt no desire to dwell on the battle despite his own hazy memory of it from the blind instinct that had taken him over that fight.

Hawke and I have defeated many great enemies together already, despite both our shortcomings and missteps and our differences, he thought. But the longer I follow her, the more we learn from one another, the more we find we complement one another, the easier it all becomes. She is very persistent, and I have promised to remain at her side as long as she needs me. I have little doubt that, given enough time, nothing will stand in her way — little enough already does, Fenris mused, thinking how he himself had not been able to discourage her over and over again, despite his own, sometimes counter-productive, relentlessness.

Then sobering, knowing his tranquility that night would invariably not last, he thought seriously, Perhaps looking to her to help me resolve my past is indeed the best way to get rid of it… though it truly seems we must stir it all up again and again in seeing it settled once and for all. He thought back to the morning, knowing his inability to leave the past behind him was as much because it could not seem to leave him alone as is it was own mental struggles to get beyond its influence. I wish it were not so, and I wish I could be certain that tonight I have put at least part of my past behind me, but… I dare not hope after so many times of finding I am wrong, after so long having it continue to dog me. Hawke shifted and nodded against his arm, and he was reminded, Yet even a small victory is still a victory. It is more than I had before, and my efforts have surely not been wasted. Perhaps… perhaps that can be enough for now.

With a final, quiet sigh knowing he would undoubtedly have even more to think about going forward, but a small, affectionate smile for the unfathomable woman who had taught him as much that day with her boldness as with her hesitation, Fenris finally let himself go to sleep, leaving the pretense that he and Hawke had any idea of what they were actually doing to Varric's distant, ongoing storytelling.