Everyone seems to want a female mage first! But we're divided by the race of mage. Human? Kossith? Elf? All three? Who knows!

"I watched you sleeping quietly in my bed
You don't know this now, but there's some things that need to be said
And it's all that I can hear, it's more than I can bare.

What if I fall and hurt myself,
would you know how to fix me?
What if I went and lost myself,
would you know where to find me?
If I forgot who I am,
would you please remind me?
Without you, things go hazy."

"Hazy," Rosi Golan

33. Heavy

I tapped on the crusty wooden door, knocking dust from it in the process. I waited patiently – the lantern was lit, but I didn't want to barge inside and startle him. A few moments passed me by – I heard someone crying somewhere in the distance and shivered.

Darktown is creepy.

Not wanting to bait fate, I budged the door open, parcel in hand; the rusted hinges creaked, echoing in the dreary hole at the end of Darktown.

"Anders?" I whispered, casting my gaze around the clinic. All the beds were empty, even though the day was still fresh. I pushed the door aside and tread beyond it, managing to shut it mostly behind me. Curious at the lack of the other mage in the clinic, I continued timidly stepping forward, suspicious of my surroundings.

I held back a sigh when my eyes finally found him, tucked behind a large, stone pillar in a back corner of the clinic and sprawled out on a very uncomfortable-looking chair. His mouth hung open and his ponytail had fallen out of its holding, haphazardly sticking to the wood of the chair.

"Anders," I breathed through a sigh, holding my parcel tighter. I looked around, not wanting to stare at him while he was sleeping – there was a table not too far away, so I approached it and released my small, boxed burden onto it. I cast about for paper and ink – I found thin parchment and a quill and inkpot and pulled them over, writing out a note for him when he awoke:

Anders,

I've heard that beds are softer than chairs. Perhaps you haven't. Should you need a soft place to rest, my estate is full of such indulgences and is open to you at any time, granted that Aveline doesn't run you off.

The package is for you. Please don't give it to any urchin boys.

Hawke

I retired the quill and took a few steps away from the table – and collided right into another low table, sending an iron pot that sat atop it quivering before toppling down on the other side, making a racket.

I flinched at the harsh sound and Anders flailed awake, vaulting to his feet.

"Templar?" he shouted, digging around on his back, groping for a staff that wasn't there. His eyes were bleary and wild. "Who? What?"

I fisted my hands in an attempt to keep myself from running out of the clinic. "Just me," I said quietly, through clenched teeth, but caught his attention. Anders' honey-colored eyes landed on me and the relief seemed to overcome him – he sat back on his chair and rubbed his face with both hands, stretching. My brief fear drained.

"Maker, Hawke," he groaned, straightening his ponytail. "You scared the life out of me."

"I'm sorry," I said, wringing my hands. "I was just leaving-"

"No, by all means – sit down. I'm definitely not going back to sleep any time soon."

"Sorry," I apologized again, dragging a splintery-looking wooden chair closer to Anders to sit on.

Anders waved me off, stretching again. "I haven't had a scare like that in a while," he said, ending his sentence with a short laugh. "You know how to get the blood pumping, don't you?"

I waited for him to situate himself.

"It's good to see you up and around - and talking. Do you feel all right? Any dizzy spells or periods of lethargy?"

I shook my head, smiling at the inevitable concerned questions from the healer.

"Well, that's good, at least. I heard about what happened at the coast and worried there might be a relapse from the stress. Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

I nodded; I felt healthy – if not quite mentally whole.

Anders peered at me, disbelieving of my response. But after a few moments of him inspecting the surface of me, he seemed to agree with my claim of being "all right" and continued with his line of thought.

"What is it you wanted from me?" he finally asked, looking slightly more awake than he had a few moments ago.

"Nothing," I said quickly, cutting my eyes to the parcel on his table. He didn't notice. "I – actually – " I held my tongue, wondering if my request would be too much to ask.

I hadn't planned to ask it of him when I set out to deliver my "care package" of cutlets, bread and cookies, but now that I faced him and he was lucid, it seemed the most prudent thing to request.

"What is it?" he asked, sitting straighter and looking adequately concerned. "Is it about what happened? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yes?" I replied, unsure. "No. It's more of… a side effect."

It's not like I can ask Merrill, I reasoned, staring at his feathery pauldrons. She wouldn't know where to begin – and would probably just get me into trouble again.

He raised his eyebrows – an action that seemed out of place on a face that usually crinkled in sorrow or worry.

"Will you help me?" I blurted, averting my eyes to the floor.

"Of course, Hawke," Anders said smoothly, without pause. "Anything you need. Within reason. Would you just tell me what you need? It isn't like you to beat around the bush. It's making me nervous."

"Sorry," I repeated myself, feeling stupid. "Would you mind helping me…with my magic?"

Anders considered the question. "Your magic?" He looked around me, at the door – checking to see if it were shut. Looking back to me, his face clouded with intensity as he realized the implications of such a request. "Can you not…control it?" he asked, voice quiet.

I bunched my hands on the fabric of my finery, having left my house in what I had worn the night before. When will I get my life back together? "It's…difficult. And different. Ever since…it happened, I've been scared."

Anders immediately knew what I referred to. "Scared? Of your own magic?" I could he was bewildered but reining in his automatic reaction in order to help me feel more at ease.

Grateful for his discretion, I nodded, feeling slightly bolder.

"I thought it was odd," he said, rubbing his fingertips against his lips. "How you responded to my magic after you woke. Like it physically harmed you just by being activated. Is that why? Did the magic hurt you?"

I shook my head – it wasn't exactly a lie. "It only startled me. Its presence still startles me." Feeling the Fade after so long, remembering the sparks of magic that injured me, caused bodily harm, permanent scarring… I absently touched the side of my face, ran my hand over my head, feeling the vibrant, clean and lengthy hair, remembering the burning, the scars… "I know that it isn't safe for me to fear it this much and I wanted your help to… grow accustomed to it again."

Anders looked at me for a while; I shrank beneath his heavy, butterscotch gaze. "Whatever happened in the Emporium – it really did hurt you, didn't it?"

I didn't answer.

Anders sighed and stood. "I'll help you." He smoothed out the wrinkles in his robe and tucked a feather on his pauldrons back into place. "Of course, I will. I would be a rubbish friend if I didn't – especially after all you've done to help me over the years."

I stood hesitantly with him, confused – but he walked past me to the door, opening it slightly to reveal a dirty elf boy on the other side. Scrawny and short, the elf only came to chest height on Anders and was about a fourth of his width.

"Hello," Anders said, smiling. "I noticed you have been hanging around my door – is there something you need?"

"M-my sister," the elf stammered, intimidated by the mage.

"Where is your sister? You can't bring her here?"

The elf stammered out a reply and Anders reentered the clinic to grab his staff and a mana potion.

"I'll show myself out," I said, though I doubted Anders listened. I moved towards the door.

"Oh, right – sorry, Hawke. I'll help you – just come in any time, really. I'm usually doing some kind of magic in here, so whenever you feel like it – really, it's no problem," Anders kept speaking quickly, seemingly doing a checklist in his head of necessary items to bring to help the boy's sister.

I smiled, feeling far away. "I'll be back, then." I left the clinic before he could; retreating towards Hightown, back to home. I turned when I reached the far stairs, watching as the lantern switched off and Anders locked the doors. I worried about my friend – we had a habit of walking into traps – but he was a capable man and didn't need to be coddled.

I sighed and pushed onward, to the lift that would take me away from the dreary lands of Darktown.

-H-

The world felt less real within the walls of my estate.

I wandered around my home, drifting from object to object, never settling in one place. Unable to find comfort in the walls, the floors, the books or statues.

I hadn't eaten all day; I knew that I should feel hungry, but the only thing I felt in my stomach was unease. Nothing felt quite real enough to me.

I sat in my library, staring up at the thousands of books that I had no recollection of acquiring – but I wasn't satisfied for long; I fluttered around to two statues that marked two different occasions that meant a lot to me, touching the stone, guessing the weight and how long it would have taken to make such pieces.

I wondered if I had even experienced those memories – had I ever even been to Orlais?

I inhaled slowly, wondering if everything were a hazy dream – my entire life, my existence, my presence in the estate.

Who said any of it was real? Why did anything in my life have to have substance if what I considered to be an important part of it didn't actually happen?

Being aimless left me without stability. I needed to return to doing odd jobs for the lazy people around the city – but the majority of those jobs required violence and magic casting; two things I couldn't trust myself to perform in my current state of mind.

My hands ached to be useful in an environment where I was rendered useless.

And then I had a thought – Fenris is gone today, isn't he?

Struck with an idea, I felt giddy as I gathered a few necessary supplies for my plan – a foolish, but well-intentioned plan that I would probably regret later. However, as I knew it would immediately end my endless pacing around my house, I didn't fight against my new purpose as I selected my supplies and bound them together. Before leaving the house, I donned an old set of clothing that I had worn when I had smuggled for Athenril – it was ratty and riddled with rips and old blood stains, so I didn't feel bad about abusing it further.

I slung the larger supplies over my back – the mop, the broom, and dustpan – while I carried a bucket full of lye and lard in one hand and a bucket full of rags in the other. My feet were still bare – I caused a stir in the noblemen whom I passed, but I paid them no heed as they stared, guffawing at my lack of taste and the instruments I bore.

I didn't knock on his door; even if he were home – and I doubted that he was - I didn't wish to alert him to my presence. So I snuck in, tiptoeing for good measure, wondering where I would begin.

I wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, staring at the dusty fixtures on the walls, the toppled statues around the corners – then berated myself. If I merely wanted to pace around, there had been no need to leave my own house.

So I picked a room on the opposite end of the mansion – a room full of dusty bottles of wine and ancient-looking barrels. I sighed when I saw the dead bodies – little more than skeletons and cartilage, at this point.

Really, Fenris? You couldn't be bothered to dispose of the bodies after three years?

I was disgusted, yet oddly amused at the same time. I released the mop and broom from my back and set down my buckets and went to work removing the dead bodies.

I had no idea where unidentified dead bodies were normally dumped – I certainly was never in charge of cleaning up the messes I created when I killed people – so I began at a disadvantage. I wasn't disheartened, however; I started by piling all of the bodies together. Any valuables they may have been wearing had been obviously stripped off them long ago, as I found no coin or enchanted rings or even weapons as I kicked them all onto a pile.

"I'll deal with you later," I murmured to the pile of three bodies, now in the hallway.

I took up my broom and, smothering a smile, set to work.

-H-

Hours later, with tired, aching bones, I had made it through two entire rooms – I had dusted every wine bottle, polished every candelabra, and blown out every cobweb. I had a large pile of bodies to contest with, but the rugs were beaten and the cold stone floors that had pained the arches of my feet were swept.

Success blossomed in my weary bones – I had done something productive without harming anyone or myself, and Fenris would never know. Or, perhaps he wouldn't know immediately. I had been careful to clean rooms that I knew he didn't frequent and doubted the likelihood of him appearing to darken any of the doorways.

The sun began its descent as I stood and stretched, hearing my joints pop. I still had two or three things to do in the room; I was unsure of when Fenris would return, so I didn't know if I could take my time or if I had to rush and leave to avoid being caught.

I sat on a chair with a cushioned bottom – a luxurious thing, really, with a winged back and beautiful upholstery that had been ruined by moths and oils. I sighed when I rested fully against the chair's back, feeling content and accomplished, happy to have spent my time doing something instead of just pitying myself.

This, at least, felt real to me. With each stroke of the broom or mop, I felt somehow less frightened. Perhaps I felt less likely to be punished if I did my duties?

I sighed, not wanting to believe that – but I couldn't argue with how I felt. I rested my head against the back of the chair and tried not to think about it as I took a short rest, staring up at the ceiling.

Looking at the dull color of the ceiling as it darkened in the falling light of the day, I began feeling terribly…homesick.

Not for Tevinter, or the mansions, or - Maker forbid – Danarius – no. I didn't miss any of the work or the places.

I missed Fenris.

I missed the Fenris I had loved – the Fenris who made me love him; forced me to tumble head-first into a losing battle against fates. A little hardened with a dash of naïveté; calm and caring, joking and tough – a boy with no idea of the hardships that awaited him in the future.

"Even if I were branded, wouldn't I be fated to meet you in the future?"

I curled my knees into my chest, tucking them under my chin as I remembered the hopeful thought he had shared with me in the forest.

Even if we fail now, won't we eventually end up together?

The Fenris I had known in the past wouldn't have understood the differences between him and the Fenris of the present. He loved me in his time, but – it could never be the same. Fenris was too hardened; too jaded, too untrusting.

I couldn't imagine my memories of the branded Fenris ever fading – the kicks, the commands, the pain – but there was a sharp dissonance, as I craved his presence as hard as I feared it. Because I knew how blissful being at his side could be, now. I knew how well we fit together, how caring and passionate he could be with no bars to hold him.

He needs someone. I thought of Fenris spending his days holed up in the dreary mansion with no comfort outside of a dusty bottle.

I covered my face with my palms. I can't. I ran a nervous hand through my hair, feeling for the rough scars with my fingers and letting my hand drop when I felt none.

Maybe Isabela should have stayed with him. I couldn't be that someone for him; I didn't trust myself with myself, let alone Fenris – who had a real reason for being pained.

But the thought of his arms wrapped around me again – holding me tight, chest to chest, naked and warmed by his skin and the light of a fire made me shiver and ache. To emulate the feeling, I wrapped my arms around my own waist, grabbing fistfuls of fabric with my fingers.

My arms and legs ached; my neck was sore from craning it and holding it drooped over floors all afternoon. I relaxed, trying to forget it all – forget everything but the feeling of those strong, warm arms wrapped around me.

-H-

I awoke in an abrupt panic, sitting up, disoriented. The only light was across the room – a roaring, merry fire.

I blinked and rubbed my eyes blearily with a yawn – I held my breath mid-stretch, frozen in place.

I didn't remember lighting a fire.

I took in my surroundings and realized that I hadn't made it to a bed, either.

I turned my head slowly, to the chair that I knew would be beside the bed. There Fenris sat, in full armor – though his blade rested against the wall. After my brief glance at his face, I noticed that his eyes were tired and his skin dirty.

I quickly moved to leave the bed – feeling wrong, so wrong, sitting in his bed while he was forced into the chair – I flung the ratty cover off and frantically scooted -

"Hawke," Fenris said with a scratchy voice. I froze. "You don't have to leave."

Does he want me to stay?

I fought the urge to run – or to fling myself to my knees and beg forgiveness for intruding.

"It's already well past midnight," he said. "If you plan to leave, let me escort you home." He leaned onto his knees with a sigh, pressing both hands against the bridge of his nose. After a few quiet moments where he rubbed his angry, tired eyes and face, he spoke again. "You didn't even bring a weapon. I thought – there was a broom and a mop, but no staff." Fenris exhaled deeply through his nose, a sardonic smile on his face. "You realize that there could be slavers here at any moment? That there is never a moment when I don't expect Danarius to tear down my door?"

My heart bounded at his small confession – thinking of Danarius breaking in while I was sleeping, looking for Fenris – compiled with the reality that Fenris was mildly upset with me - made me jittery.

He sighed again – a long, weary affair with a snort trailing at the end. "Thank you for cleaning. Though this isn't technically my mansion, I am living here… You and buckets of soap was the last thing I planned to find when I reentered the mansion this evening."

I stared at the bed, still warring with myself over whether or not to rise off of it.

Disappointment crushed my chest as my lips trembled – I had been doing so well; with one sudden appearance from Fenris, my entire world careened into confusion again.

Fenris noticed my silence. Of course he did.

"Why won't you speak to me?" he asked. I heard him shift – but I had looked away, focusing my entire being away from the man not five feet away from me. "You speak to everyone else – Varric said you brought him a box of cookies earlier this morning and carried on decent conversation. Why not me?"

I could understand why he was put out. I spent the better part of four years just trying to get him to speak with me – of trading jokes and stories – and now I couldn't summon a word.

My lips trembled. He was asking for words; my words, and I couldn't give them to him.

What does it matter, anyway?

Nothing I could say will ever be enough.

My chest splintered as my head dropped. No explanation rose to my lips; no sound would make it past them even if one did arise.

He sighed again at my continued silence – and muffled a yawn directly after. "I'm sorry, Hawke. Whatever misdeed I have performed against you – whatever it was that I have done, I apologize. Please, tell me what I have done so that I can atone for it."

I covered my face with a hand, still facing away from him.

It wasn't you.

It's all my fault – I'm stupid and selfish; I expected you to automatically care about me, even though I knew absolutely nothing of the reality of the horrors you endured.

But that wasn't true – I could almost feel the hatred, the bitterness I held for him.

Why is he okay?

Why isn't he broken like I am?

Because he can't remember what it was like to be without his pains?

The pressure built too high; I wanted to say something, wanted to reassure him – reassure myself – or bite out a scathing remark or witty retort – something, anything -

"None of this is like you," he bit out suddenly, sitting up, drawing my attention. "The fear, the cowering, the lack of chatter. In the span of two days, you completely changed." His face formed a snarl and I inched away, one foot touching the stone floor on the other side of the bed as my heart resumed a quick pound. "You can't tell me that it wasn't the magic. Whatever you picked up in that Emporium," he spat out the world like one of his Arcanum curses, "cast a spell over you that has made you this way."

Fenris.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from it."

It wasn't your fault.

I looked at the skinny windows and the door, feeling nervous. I could no longer look in Fenris' direction – with the threat of Danarius looming over the mansion, the situation felt too real, with him nearby.

I fidgeted, inching closer to the opposite side of the bed.

"Will you at least give me a hint of what's wrong? What I've done?" Fenris asked, standing.

I wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault – I wanted to tell him that I could make everything better, I just needed time.

And then a crash and a loud curse from downstairs and I bolted for the door, hearing loud, bare footsteps behind me.

The notable difference between my footsteps and his were that mine didn't halt when we entered the room and spotted Isabela, looking miffed and righting a fallen statue. I ran straight out of the door, my heart pounding, hot tears squeezing from my eyes, feeling more stupid and selfish than I ever had before.

-H-

I sat in one of my cellars, the hot, musty air clouding in my lungs. It was as far away from the main area of my estate that I could get – one of the last places anyone would bother looking for me.

My knees were drawn to my chest and my back was pressed into a corner as I waited, waited for Danarius to come.

He has to know.

I wondered if Fenris felt this way all the time and hugged my knees tighter to me.

I thought that I could forget the fear of the inevitable – we were both free, both fully capable of defending ourselves from slavers. I wasn't even being hunted at all.

I knew this.

But the fear, the panic was so hard to release or forget.

I couldn't sleep that night. I didn't know how long I waited down there – dreading the moment when I would be recaptured.

Never free. Even when we thought we were, we had no chance.

My stomach rumbled; dust collected on my skin, making me feel grimy and filthy, but I still couldn't move. I cowered, waiting, dreading the moment I would be found.

The longer I sat, the more foolish I felt as the fear slowly drained and reality began to swell.

No one is coming for me.

I'm a free woman. I've always been free.

I unfolded myself, stretching out my legs and taking a deep breath of musty air. My head swam – I needed to eat.

But I didn't want to move just yet. I felt safe deep in the cellar, the four solid, unthreatening walls around me.

So I stayed – just a few hours more, until the hunger pains evaporated and my head fogged.

Stop being so afraid, I told myself, coercing my body to form a position that wasn't cowered.

I had to go see Anders; I had told him that I would. I needed to go.

But I remembered that I never finished cleaning the third room in his mansion…

That was the thought that perked me up – unfinished work that needed to be done; work that made me feel better, that got me moving and gave me purpose.

So I rose, my joints cracking, my bones weary and my eyes tired, making a stop in the estate's kitchen to polish off a roast that someone – most likely Bodahn – had prepared for a meal.

I noticed stacks of paper on my work table as I tread through the great room, but ignored them all in favor of the door.

I'm sorry for the wait, but I'm so done with this chapter. Really, I wanted to add onto it and make it longer, but adding more to right here just feels awkward and I'm tired of trying to edit it and of Hawke being all bleh so I'm saying it's done for now but will possibly be (heavily) edited later when I have a mind to return to it.