She'd given Anders the key to the cellar entrance. It made it much easier for him to come check on her, and she'd told him to use it if he ever needed a hiding place when the Templars came calling. He was a friend of the Champion, which apparently meant something, but she wasn't sure if that offered him more protection or less when he was alone in his clinic at night.

The better Hawke felt, the harder it became to stay in bed. She chafed under Anders' insistence that she take things slowly. First there were walks, short ones in Hightown to start with, then slightly longer ones, gradually stretching as far as Varric's quarters in Lowtown. But she kept nagging at him, and after weeks of slow activity, he finally gave in.

Hawke went to visit Fenris immediately with the news. "I've been cleared for sparring practice, thank the Maker. I've been going crazy."

"It will be good for you, I agree," said Fenris with a small smile.

"So consider this a formal invitation," she said. "Tomorrow in the courtyard?"

He looked bemused and a bit concerned. "You are just getting back into practice, and you want to start out against a broadsword?"

"Who else would I ask? You have the most control of any of us."

"Most... control?" he seemed to choke on the word. "Are you sure you're completely recovered, Hawke? Perhaps there was a head injury that went undetected?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm talking about weapons training, Fenris, what are you talking about?"

The tips of his ears grew slightly pink.

"You have the most extensive training and the most physical precision of any of us," she continued. "Let's face it, we're pretty much a gang of scrappy fools who make it up as we go along. The only other exception is Aveline, and as someone who has sparred with her before, I can tell you that once her blood is up, she doesn't care who you are or what injuries you have, she is out to win. If you don't believe me, ask Donnic. Anders would have to patch me up all over again."

"And you think he won't after sparring against me."

"I trust you to remember who you're fighting, and to not kill me by accident. I'll just have to be careful not to offend you, so you don't decide to kill me on purpose." She winked at him, and he frowned again. More seriously, she added, "I also thought I might ask you to use a longsword to start out with. I know it's not your preferred weapon, but it will be a lot lighter when you inevitably swat me with it."

He resisted the idea for a while, but in the end he agreed on the condition that they borrow wooden practice weapons from the guard, which would be lighter and safer than steel. Aveline was happy to lend them some, though it cost Hawke a lecture on not trying to push her recovery too fast.

Lighter weapons or no, the first time Fenris and Hawke started to spar, she went into autopilot. Twisting away from the elf's attack in her usual style, she felt a shooting pain from the still-healing muscles over her stomach, which spread in either direction toward her chest and down her thigh. She let her weapons fall as she slid bonelessly to her knees, unable to speak for a moment. Fenris was down next to her in a flash, his hands hovering close to her midsection.

"I told you this was foolish. Are you alright?"

"I will be, I just... oof. Not ready for that kind of twist yet, apparently." She looked up to find his face disconcertingly close. They blinked at each other for a moment, then Fenris rose, rubbed his hand along his thigh to dust it off, and offered it to help her to her feet.

"That's it for today," he told her, as she carefully pulled herself up. "I should have had you go through forms first." Once she was standing on her own, he dropped her hand abruptly, as though it burned him, and turned to retrieve his sword.

Hawke covered her discomfort with a laugh that came out more like a grunt. "You're assuming I actually know any. I told you, I never trained formally. Carver and I picked up what we could, where we could, and practiced by beating on each other."

"Then that is where we will start," he said crisply. "Next time, after you rest. The mage will curse us both if you rip any of your wounds back open."

She glowered at him.

"Anders, then. Either way, there's likely to be cursing. Go rest, Hawke."

She complied, but only with a great deal of grumbling.