Over the next two days, Hawke spent most of her time in Alistair's company. It was still difficult to reconcile allowing herself to be anything other than miserable with the weight of her conscience, but she was determined that even if she couldn't do it for herself, she'd do it for him. She hadn't even realized how worried Alistair had really been until she saw it lift off of him. She apologized to him for keeping so strictly to herself, which he of course waved off. But she could tell that he appreciated the sentiment regardless.

Fenris was obviously relieved to see her leaving her cabin on her own and talking to people other than himself and Noodle. Her nights were still difficult, but she'd gotten much more sleep and had even repeated the daytime nap in the sun with Alistair, completely unexpectedly. She'd laid down to enjoy the breeze and the sun and woke up to early evening, Alistair beside her. She wouldn't admit to it if asked, but upon realizing he was there she shifted slightly so that her side brushed up against him and then pretended to sleep again. She didn't miss the way he pressed back and then stayed there or the way his finger brushed down her arm before settling again.

The dark purple marks under her eyes were beginning to fade and she found herself able to focus on the here and now more easily than she had in months because there was finally something worth focusing on. While Isabela's company had provided her a distraction and distance, Isabela was all too eager not to push her to talk or to deal with anything. What should have been time to have a cathartic release; time to deal with feelings that welled in her and then leave them behind, moving on, instead the quiet and Isabela's squeamish nature about emotions let them fester. She was still angry in a bone deep way that frightened her if she dwelled on it.

Her body, too, was recovering. She didn't feel quite as weak as she had in the days after she'd been taken to the healer and nearly all her bruises were gone except for a few on her legs that had been exceptionally deep and brutal. She tried stretching and some light slow motion sparring with Fenris here and there to try to stay active but was quickly exhausted by the exercise, making their bouts rather short and perfunctory. It was frustrating to her, to feel weak. Fenris and Alistair both insisted she needed to eat more but they were both plying her with so much food all the time that she felt like a prized goose being fattened up for feast day.

But looking at Alistair, talking to him, being able to simply reach out and take his hand or lean back into his chest as they stood together at the railing had been like a storm clearing. His presence didn't make everything magically better, but it at least made her feel like she might get beyond this all somehow. And perhaps more importantly, made her sure that she wanted to get beyond it. Those few months at sea when she'd gone invisible, gone mute… she hadn't been so sure that she had the desire to be anything other than a ghost. Ghosts don't so much as stir the air. They have no needs and no one needs them. It was all too tempting of an idea to simply… disappear.

Alistair didn't push her to talk about what was on her mind, though she knew he wanted to. He would clench his jaw or his fingers would twitch just slightly when he was trying to school himself into patience. In moments like that, seeing him restrain himself for her benefit, it was difficult not to just let it all pour out. But she was scared that if she did, she'd never stop. She wanted to tell him everything, but she was sure he would be frightened by it in some way or that the rage she was still walking around with would push them apart. She couldn't stand the thought of that, not when she felt like she had just come to realize how much he meant to her. So she focused on the easier parts.

They talked through all the details they could think of from the kidnapping and Alistair encouraged her to write them down and add to them if anything else surfaced. Her diary had become a dissection of the events of that month. They had begun talking about Kirkwall, tentatively, safely, focusing on what happened before Anders intervened and made everything go right to the Void. Alistair felt it would be crucial for him to understand all the events that led up to it and what Hawke's role had been and why she'd made the decisions she'd made. Some part of her was sure there would be judgment at the end of these discussions, but there never was. Alistair claimed he understood and that he wasn't sure that he would have done anything differently in her stead. She knew that wasn't true, though. Alistair was far nobler than she was. He was more honest, more forthright, more worthy. For all of Hawke's attempts to keep the peace, she was not what most people would call a "good person". Good people didn't often survive the kind of life she'd had. Good people became victims more often than not and she had people to protect. She couldn't afford to be a good person most of the time. And after enough years of that she discovered that she was sometimes simply unwilling to be a good person. Some people just didn't deserve it.

They were making their way into the port of Rialto city as they were going over details and bits of information once again. It seemed that every time Hawke recounted something, Alistair took a different tact and focused on a different portion of the questioning. It was a little like being interrogated by Aveline. Hawke was sure there was a specific thing he was looking for here and that he was just finding his way around to it.

"Alistair, I get the impression that you're… preparing for something. Do you mind telling me what that is?"

Alistair smiled at her with a guilty sort of slant to his features. "Figured that out, huh? Well, I assume that once we're back in Denerim there is going to be some sort of discussion with the Chantry. I'd prefer it if I was able to deal with the Grand Cleric on my own, but I know that may not be the case."

Hawke tensed at the thought of having to face any of the officials from the Chantry "You really think they'll bring me in for questioning?"

Alistair shrugged "I think it would be wise to assume so, at least. The Divine seemed to think Kirkwall warranted having one of her envoys present and they wasted no time in setting a bounty on you. I don't think either of us should expect that they'll simply let it go. You're too well known to keep you hidden in Denerim unless you go hide out at a tavern the whole time."

"Well then why don't I go hide at a tavern? I certainly don't want you getting any more mixed into all of my issues, Alistair. You've done… far more than I ever expected already."

Alistair's jaw clenched as he stood and came around the desk they'd been sitting at. Leaning against it, he looked stiff, annoyed. "Marian, I realize that you are stubborn and independent and that you can take care of yourself. But you are also incredibly stupid if you think I'm going to throw you to the wolves."

Hawke blinked up at him. That certainly was not the response she'd been expecting. "I… I never said you'd do that, Alistair, just that you didn't have to put yourself – your country – in harm's way for me."

Alistair sighed again, and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet "For a woman as intelligent as you clearly are, you are stunningly dense sometimes." Alistair cupped her face in both hands and leaned in closer, noses nearly touching, "If you accept nothing else before we get to Denerim you must accept this: I'm doing this because I… care about you, and because if you are in harm's way then so am I." He hadn't yet said that he loved her. He was sure it was obvious in everything he did, every gesture and expression. But he hadn't said it. He'd simply begun showing in every way he could without actually kissing her and spilling forth confessions, which he sort of desperately wanted to do. Especially kissing her.

They simply stood there, Hawke's hands at Alistair's waist, his hands cupping her cheeks, staring at each other as if they could communicate through that look alone. And perhaps they did. Hawke found herself closing her eyes and stepping in to the circle of his arms, resting her head against his chest, even as something in her head rebelled at the idea of being weak and seeking comfort she didn't think she'd earned.

She must have scoffed aloud. Alistair's hands continued making circles on her back, but he pulled his chin away from the top of her head "What is it?"

Hawke shook her head "Some days it feels like I've got my own personal version of Justice in my head, arguing with me. " At his concerned look she smiled up at him "It's fine. I'm just… conflicted. As usual, right?"

The concerned look on his face did not go away at her lame assurance. "You're conflicted about me?"

Hawke placed her hands against his chest. "No. I'm conflicted about myself. What I … deserve."

"Ah, well then," Alistair smiled back at her, closing his arms around her again "then why don't you just stop thinking about it and rely on me to decide what you deserve? It's part of my job, you know, making decisions, meeting out rewards and punishments. I'm pretty good at it, too. I have a crown and everything."

Hawke chuckled "I'll try, Kingy."

"That's all I ask, Marian." Alistair placed a kiss on the top of her head and then leaned his cheek there as they stood, rocking slightly in their embrace. Hawke realized just how familiar his arms had become in such a short time. While hugging him or touching him still sent a quick thrill through her, a fluttering in her stomach, a tightness in her chest, it was accompanied by a strong sense of rightness. A bang on the door from a guardsmen letting them know that they were in-port pulled them apart from each other, but only reluctantly. Knowing the ease with which they reached for each other was reassurance enough that she wasn't fooling herself about how she felt; She knew that this was enough for now.

"I have a sick pup to check on. I'm going to very nicely ask Fenris to go into the city to get some more herbs for me and see if anyone in the city might know a bit more about settling the stomachs of Mabari." Hawke shook her head "Not that I think they really will. In Llomerryn it took longer to explain just what a Mabari was than I would have liked. It's no wonder nothing we got actually works. And the herbs I know work seem to be called different things."

Alistair leaned his forehead to hers for a moment and then breathed out, clasping her shoulders. "Alright. I don't think we'll need to wait in port for long. I'm sure Zevran will find us soon enough. If he gets here by tonight we'll leave on the morning tide."

…

It was several hours later that Hawke and Alistair sat on the deck together, leaned back against a few crates with a deck of cards between them. Noodle was curled at Hawke's side, head in her lap. His pitiful whining had eased finally as he dozed, but he was still clearly an unhappy dog. Just about everyone on the ship had attempted to give Hawke advice on what to do to settle his stomach – everything from peppermint and ginger teas to extensive massages of his belly and the tips of his ears. While most of those suggestions were scoffed at openly, as the poor beast continued to suffer, Hawke had tried everything in private, secretly hoping that some sort of Ferelden folk cure was indeed the thing she needed to do – but nothing had worked. The marketplace in Llomeryn hadn't had the herbs she needed to concoct the cure they'd found along the way and she desperately hoped that Fenris would be able to procure the last few items, using some sort of inherent "give me what I want" look that he seemed to have when her own powers of persuasion failed.

"So, explain this to me again – the whole point of this game is to cheat?"

Hawke snickered quietly "Sort of. The point of the game is to win. And it's very common to cheat while playing. So in order to win, you should know how to cheat. And if you catch someone else cheating, their hand is forfeit."

"And you play this a lot?" Alistair looked at her suspiciously, watching her hands as she dealt the cards but honestly, he couldn't tell if she did anything devious or not.

Hawke smiled at him again as she arranged her hand "Actually, not for a while. Since people expect cheating in Wicked Grace it's more for fun among friends. I play Diamondback more often since you can actually make some coin."

"And do you cheat in Diamondback?"

"Not always." Hawke made a show of studying her cards, looking as if she were deep in concentration.

Alistair narrowed his eyes at her, clearly not buying her act of concentration.

They played several hands and Hawke easily beat him each time, but he never caught her doing anything out of the ordinary. "I can't catch you cheating, what are you doing?"

"I'm cheating in the best way possible, Alistair." Hawke grinned at him "I'm not cheating at all. You're so wrapped up in watching me for slips you aren't playing the game."

"Would you actually tell me if you were cheating, though?" Alistair's voice was filled with humorous suspicion. Truthfully, he'd been watching her hands like a mabari watches a kitchen the whole time they'd been playing, but it was more so that he didn't let himself start watching other things, like her eyes or her lips, or the flaps of her shift where the breeze occasionally lifted and separated them. His cards had been a distant after thought. Her hands weren't much better of a distraction though. She had a strange, easy dexterity in everything she did and watching her hands as she shuffled and dealt only lead him to thoughts of having those hands do other, very dexterous things.

"For the purposes of teaching you the game, yes, I would tell you. Wicked Grace is one of the few card games where it's allowable to accost your opponents as well." At Alistair's amused look, she continued "If I were to see you palming a card, I could reach across and grab your wrist, revealing the move. You'd lose the hand and no one would draw blades over it. Do that in a game of diamondback when you aren't playing among friends and you're liable to leave something more significant than coin on the table."

As Hawke began gathering the guards to shuffle again, Alistair leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out in front of him. "So you're saying you have played cards with people who would chop off bits if you so much as touched them?"

Hawke shrugged "If the stakes are high enough and the people are mean enough – sure."

Catching the cards that expertly slid to a stop in front of him, Alistair picked up his hand and began rearranging his cards. "And how about you? Have you ever gotten violent over a card game?"

"Once. One of the dockworkers in Kirkwall was a little bit better of a player than I was expecting and I lost a few hands and a significant amount of coin to him. I was still trying to fund the Deep Roads expedition at the time and it was a big chunk of money to me. I tried to bow out of the game and cut my losses but this guy… I guess he was new in town, had no idea who I was and just assumed I was some silly little girl he could push around. He insisted I could regain my coin in other ways, I declined, and he pushed it."

Alistair leaned forward, intrigued despite the fact that he could easily imagine a dozen different things she could have done "Well? What did you do?"

Hawke shook her head "I don't think you want to know, Alistair. I'm… not a very nice person."

Realizing that he'd stumbled onto something unintentionally, and cursing himself for the sudden turn in her demeanor, which had been rather playful up until that point, Alistair tried to salvage it "It doesn't seem to me that being nice in that situation would have been appropriate anyway."

Hawke was eyeing him in that weighing way, that way that Alistair always felt could lead to knowing more or to her opening up and telling him something, but she shrugged instead, saying noncommittally "Maybe."

They played the rest of that hand in silence. Alistair wondered if there would continue to be these conversational swamps with her and where exactly they were coming from. He had no illusions that she had lived a life of Andrastian ideals. He'd seen her fight and kill and seen that there was no remorse in it. If he were really truthful with himself he'd have to admit that her skills in battle were extremely appealing. She made him understand Zevran's repeated claims about how appealing "goddesses of battle" were. Thinking about it made him a little uncomfortable. Not because she was who she was – but because it made him examine exactly who he had become since being crowned. Alistair sighed to himself, realizing that he probably had just as many conversational swamps as she did – they just hadn't gone traipsing through them yet.

He didn't realize that anyone had boarded the ship until he noticed that Hawke had shifted her legs slightly and was inching out the dagger she kept in her boot as she watched over his shoulder. Noodle had also raised his head, though he didn't bark or growl. The poor mabari was still far too ill feeling for that. Glancing around, he saw a slight figure in a full cloak, hood up and obscuring their face standing at the top of the gangplank.

"There is no need to skewer me where I stand, my Champion. I assure you, I was invited." Came Zevran's drawl as he pushed back his hood.

The intervening years had changed him little, as far as Alistair could tell. He hadn't seemed to age much, though his skin was slightly darker than it had been when he'd seen him last. He also wore dark black leather armor that stank like those ridiculous boots Solona had given him – it smelled like all Leather smells just more… pungent. Alistair began to rise, but Zevran sauntered toward them and took a seat, completing the circle. Looking down quizzically at the cards, he quirked an eyebrow at Alistair "Wicked Grace? I didn't think you were the type, Alistair."

"Hawke has been trying to teach me, though I'm apparently terrible at it."

"Well it takes many years to master, I'm afraid." As Zevran pulled off his gloves he finally addressed Hawke, "Deal me in?"

Hawke didn't reply, and Alistair saw that her demeanor had changed yet again. She was smiling in that benign, open way that he had come to learn meant that she was feeling anything other than benign or open, but there was something about the way she looked at Zevran that seemed… off. She simply inclined her head and reshuffled, dealing out stacks of cards for all three of them.

As they each took up their hand Zevran kept up a steady stream of conversation, but never actually said why he was in Rialto instead of Antiva City and why he wanted to accompany them to Denerim. He was babbling about the weather and the sea air and his love of fish stew. Alistair wasn't sure if it was just his imagination or not, but the game seemed to take on a completely different tenor and while Hawke didn't seem any more tense or concerned than she had been when it had been just the two of them, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was some kind of undercurrent that he was missing going on between the two rogues.

Noodle seemed to sense the tension, though, and had shifted so that he was located in front of Hawke, causing her to have to play around his massive head.

"I think your Mabari is trying to prevent me from seeing your cards." Zevran said with an amused little smirk.

"Noodle knows better than that." Hawke replied, voice untroubled and light.

Zevran kicked back his head and laughed "Your mabari is named Noodle? Truly?" The huge beast looked directly at Zevran then, and grumbled, low in its chest. "I meant no offense, noble beast. I have just become accustomed to mabaris with ridiculously pompous or historical names. Fereldens seem obsessed with naming their pets after their heroes."

"I realize you aren't native and so probably don't realize this…Mabari aren't really pets. And I also think a Mabari named "Shartan" would have raised more than a few eyebrows." Hawke smirked at Zevran as she replied.

He chuckled "True enough, my dear, though I doubt many elves have mabaris among them."

Hawke nodded at him. "Ah, so only elves can admire Shartan. I see. I appreciate you disabusing me of the notion that a human may find worth among the several other races that comprise Ferelden. Nearly as much as I would appreciate you putting back the last two cards you palmed from the discard pile."

Alistair was surprised to see that Zevran almost sheepishly laid out all his cards and there were indeed two extras in his hand. "You have bested me, my dear. Though I will claim that I was distracted by the presence of your fearsome warhound in order to save face, yes?"

"As you wish," Hawke shrugged as she gathered up the cards and tucked them into a pocket. "I'm going to see if Fenris is near the docks. Noodle, stay here with Alistair, okay?"

Noodle grumbled as she rose and she stopped to scratch at his ears before heading away. Alistair caught the eye of a guard and gestured toward Hawke as she descended the gangplank and the guard quickly followed behind her.

Zevran and Alistair both watched her leave. "I have a feeling your friend does not like me very much, Alistair. I do not remember her being quite so put out by my presence before. I wonder, what horrible things have you told her about me to warrant such an icy reception?"

Alistair shrugged "Nothing at all, honestly. I was going to ask you what that was all about. Though you did refer to her Mabari as a pet – which they are not – and implied that someone she holds in high regard is someone her race isn't connected to in any way."

"Now that was just seeing how far I could push and what the reaction may be. I was referring to everything before that."

Alistair sighed "She's… been through a lot. Let's go talk."

Zevran's eyebrows rose at that, but he simply followed the King into his cabin.

Alistair explained and Zevran, for once, simply listened. He shared the basic outline of what happened with the kidnapping and how the Viscountess had come to be in Rivain in the first place. It was generally known that she had left, but the various rumors surrounding why were extremely varied. The most fanciful cited a burning need to join the Qun, the pedestrian tended to imply that she was with child. He did let Alistair know, however, that most of the whisperings about the Champion's involvement in the destruction of the Chantry in Kirkwall were convinced that she was involved with the mage who caused the explosion and most imply that the involvement was more than friendship.

Alistair shook his head "Why is that always the assumption? They said the same thing after she killed the Arishok – that she was some sort of spurned lover. I can tell you beyond a doubt that there was nothing going on between her and Anders beyond a very broken, one sided friendship."

"I have no doubt of it, my king, but you should be aware of what is being said nonetheless, yes? I am sure those rumors and probably many more have made their way back to the Divine at this point." Zevran paused for a moment "Might I ask what your plans are when you reach Denerim? Why have you come to the rescue of our beautiful Viscountess and what do you hope to gain by taking her back with you to your palace? She hardly seems the damsel in distress type, if you don't mind my saying so." Zevran smirked at him as he finished.

This wasn't exactly a conversation that Alistair wanted to have with Zevran. But he chose to be honest nonetheless, knowing that trying to lie would only lead to more questions. "I care about her, deeply, Zevran. And I believe she feels the same for me. I would see her safe, even if it means she chooses not to stay with me."

"But it is your hope that staying with you is exactly what she will do." Zevran stated.

"Yes, of course."

"As your… mistress? Surely not your wife."

Alistair was prepared for this line of questioning but it didn't stop his ire from rising "And why not my wife?"

Zevran laughed "You have changed a great deal, Alistair. There was a time when you would not have even deigned to sleep in the same camp with a cold blooded killer – not without a great deal of argument if I remember correctly – and now you seek one out for your bed and to share your crown?"

Alistair shook his head "She's not a cold blooded killer, Zevran. And you'll remember that she didn't try to kill me the first time I met her, unlike you."

"True, but killing you from your bed would have been preferable – for several reasons." Zevran allowed the lecherous implications to play out for a moment to see what reaction he could get, but Alistair had long grown immune to that particular type of prodding from the elf.

"She's not an assassin, Zevran."

"No, she is not. She is worse and more dangerous. She does not kill by contract or for money, she kills for personal reasons. If she chose to see you dead, your guards would not be able to stop her. I have learned enough of her from seeing her fight my own former guildmates and from Isabela to know that she would not hesitate to cut down anyone in her path should she decide she had a reason to."

"And why are you telling me this? You seriously think she's going to try to kill me? She could have done that a hundred times over by now if that was her goal. In Kirkwall alone there were many opportunities without my guards around and even in the midst of fights when she could have denied any wrong doing at all."

"I tell you this, your majesty, because if you truly want to have her as yours – your mistress, your wife, or even as a dear friend – you must acknowledge the truth of what and who she is. Remember I met her before you did. I am well aware of who she is - perhaps more aware than you from what you've said."

Alistair sighed and stood "Look, I trust her. I trust her as much as I trusted Solona. You weren't one of those making the claims, but I can't count the number of times during the blight I was pulled aside by well-meaning people who poured poison in my ear about the so called obvious threat of trusting a mage."

Zevran had stiffened at the mention of Solona's name and Alistair almost felt sorry that he'd mentioned her at all. But it was important to him that Zevran did not continue this baseless line of questioning. He needed to make it clear that Hawke at this point was more of a threat to herself than to anyone on this ship. The elf remained quiet as Alistair stopped his pacing and turned more fully toward him.

"Look, I would like you to try to talk to her as we head to Amaranthine. She's given me details of the kidnapping and of what's happened in Kirkwall, but I've questioned her about it so many times that I'm sure we're both losing the details. It's very important to her that she find the man who was obviously in charge there. We caught only a glimpse of him, but from the way he dispatched the guards he is surely well trained. And from what Hawke has told me of him and the way he spoke to her, I can't shake the feeling that there is more to this person, certainly more to his motivations than simply snatching someone for a ransom. Or… well it became more. "

Zevran looked intrigued by that "And why do you say that?"

Alistair sighed and leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. "I just have my reasons. I don't want to say anything in case I'm simply overreacting. I just… would you just talk to her?"

Zevran shook his head "Of course, Alistair. But, I must ask - are you sure you would not be happier with some plump, bossomy Bann's daughter? It would be far less complicated and you wouldn't have to concern yourself with her past beyond worrying that she got herself with a stable boy's get before you had your chance."

Alistair shook his head, smiling "Zevran, you're beginning to sound like one of my advisors."

He laughed at that as he rose "You wound me, my king! Please, if there is a bed and a place to wash, lead me to it. I will speak to your lady when the moment presents itself."

As they exited his cabin, Alistair almost immediately ran into Noodle, who was wiggling his whole body and wuffling happily at the site of him. Scratching the Mabari behind the ears, Alistair glanced over to where Hawke and Fenris were sitting together on a crate, "Someone is feeling better, I see."

Hawke smiled "Thanks to Fenris, it seems we finally found something that works." Noodle responded by running off down the length of the ship, stopping to get affection and attention from every guard and crewman he passed. "He's going to be a menace the rest of the trip, you know. He has a lot of seasick time to make up for."

Fenris slung his arm across Hawk'e shoulder and she slid hers around his waist, hand grasping his side in a sort of one armed hug before as they turned their heads toward each other and fell into a nearly whispered conversation, completely ignoring Alistair and Zevran.

The next two days went similarly. Noodle tore up and down the ship like a puppy whenever he wasn't rolling around on his back sunning his belly. Fenris and Hawke were often on the main deck of the ship, but nearly always in each other's company, whether they were sparring with Fenris barking orders at her about her form and her strength and how she was doing everything wrong as if she were a recalcitrant squire, or they were simply standing shoulder to shoulder at the rail. If Alistair didn't know otherwise the view of the two of them so close, so clearly focused only on each other might have appeared as two lovers. Hawke had continued to talk to him, and they occasionally played games of cards but there were none of the causal brushes, the quiet moments when he would catch her looking at him. Alistair attempted to teach her chess, but she had no patience for it. Even after explaining that it was a game of strategic actions that could simulate war, she argued with him over seemingly pointless things – Why can't the rook move diagonally? Why is the King the most important piece and not the Queen? Why does taking the King end the game instead of the game ending when the board is cleared of the opponent's pieces? "Because that's just how it works" was never a good enough answer for her and they soon went back to cards. The mixture of skill and chance was much more to Hawke's liking and it seemed easier for her to talk while they stayed occupied with the cards.

Today they sat together across a narrow table in his cabin, playing Diamondback. "So, have you spoken to Zevran at all?" Alistair tried to sound like he was just making conversation, and failed miserably.

"You mean, have I consented to his interrogations yet?" She cut her eyes up at him from her cards, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "No, I haven't. Though he certainly is persistent. He showed up at the door of my cabin last night with a bottle of wine. He didn't realize Fenris was still sleeping in there though so was greeted by a glowering Mabari and a glowering elf and wisely decided not to press his case."

Alistair chuckled at that and decided to change the subject "How are you sleeping, by the way? You don't seem as exhausted."

Hawke shrugged "It's better, I think. I was thinking of letting Fenris move back into his own cabin. He doesn't sleep well in the room with me. I don't know if I move around too much or if he's just on edge, not being alone. It's not fair to him to keep forcing him to watch over me."

"Do you think you'll be okay by yourself?"

"I'm going to have to get used to it sometime, Alistair. I can't have someone watch over me while I sleep for the rest of my life. No more waking up in the dark sure I'm back in that room. At least not for the last week."

That was the first time that she'd admitted out loud what some of her sleeping issues had been. Maybe she was actually getting better. And maybe it was simply stubborn bravado. "I'll put a guard on your door at night. They've already been asking me why I haven't done it before."

Hawke laughed "The guards are requesting to protect me now? That's unexpected."

Alistair smiled at her "They like you."

"They like keeping their king happy. I don't think it has anything to do with me at all." Her tone was dismissive, but she was smiling at him playfully.

They sat smiling at each other, knees nearly touching under the narrow table they'd been playing at. It was one of those moments that was simply lovely just as it was, perfect in that balance between what was and what could be, like a held breath. And it could unravel in all sorts of directions.

Zevran, unfortunately, chose the path before Alistair could, entering without knocking. Hawke's smile did not fall from her face, but the tenor of it changed to something more merely polite. "Ah, I was hoping to find you here, my Champion. Would you mind talking to me a bit about this mystery man Alistair mentioned to me?"

Apparently Zevran's new tact was to corner her with Alistair in the room where she may be less likely to dismiss his questions. "What would you like to know?" Hawke unceremoniously tossed down her cards and crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair and giving Zevran a look of completely sarcastic rapt attention.

Zevran smirked at her. "Well, anything at all that you can tell me. Alistair assured me that the man was very skilled with a blade from what little he saw. Would you agree?"

Hawke shrugged at him "I never saw him fight. With the fighting in the hall I saw that he had sheaths on his back that were either part of his vest or very well hidden to blend in. But the blades were blackened, only the hilts had any hint of a metal sheen. I had the sense that… " Here she took a breath, looking at Zevran for a moment before letting it out and then shaking her head slightly, "He was just dangerous. That was obvious."

Zevran cocked an eye brow at that "Interesting. And when he spoke to you, he never used a weapon?"

"Unless you count colorful turns of phrase and his hands as weapons, no." Hawke's fragile veneer of impassivity was waning and her responses were becoming more tightly clipped. Zevran pretended he didn't notice and continued his questions.

"And what sort of things did he question you about?"

"Everything. Sometimes it was my family, sometimes it was Alistair, sometimes it was Ferelden in general or Kirkwall in general. Still other times he simply talked about random things like I was there for tea and we were chatting." Hawke looked down at her hands as they rested in her lap. "But I think calling it questioning is the wrong term. He already knew everything he wanted to know. He was just… letting me know that he knew."

Alistair didn't like the sound of that at all. He and Hawke hadn't discussed in any detail what had happened with the one she called "The Punching Man" – he just knew that he'd talked to her a great deal. He thought that perhaps the man had been trying to get information from her but hearing the way she described it, it seemed more like he was just toying with her.

Zevran looked at Hawke thoughtfully "Alistair has described the man, but he did not get a very good look. How would you describe him?"

"Human, maybe approaching his middle years – somewhere in his mid-thirties perhaps, older than me but he was very fit. He was tall, not as tall as Alistair, but close. About half as broad with a slight build – I'd say he was a little broader in the shoulders than Fenris. His hair was a little shorter than yours, but a light brown color and pushed back from his forehead, slicked back a bit. His eyes were dark, very dark, with only the slightest hint of brown to them, though it could have been the poor light."

Hawke looked down at her hands as she talked, but her eyes were focused far away, remembering. "He had a light scar – either well healed or very old – that fell just below his ear and canted along his throat on his left side. A thin blade… a razor perhaps… a glancing blow, but it would have nearly taken his head off. No other blemishes, tattoos, or marks that I could see. He wore three rings on his right hand, all in gold metal. One was carved like a dragon's head with tiny emerald eyes. One was comprised of a large red stone – I don't think it was ruby – something denser, more opaque, cut into a broad square with a flat surface. The third was a simple band, very thin and he wore it on his pinky almost as if it wasn't meant for him and he was just wearing it. It seemed… sentimental."

"What makes you say that?" Zevran didn't seem surprised at all by anything she'd said but Alistair was vaguely stunned at the level of detail she was able to remember.

Hawke furrowed her brows and finally looked up at Zevran "The other two were status symbols of some kind. He wore them because they looked impressive. They were heavy and expensive. The third… it was like a ring a father would give a young girl or a poor man would give his wife. It was gold, but battered. With his other jewelry and the fine fabrics he wore – all obviously tailored just for him – it didn't fit. It reminded me of my… My mother, really."

Zevran nodded, indicating that she should go on. Hawke shook her head "When she was pregnant with my brother and sister, her hands would get swollen. But she didn't want to wear her wedding ring on a chain around her neck. So my father would wear it on his pinky, next to his own wedding band. It may not mean anything at all it's just… what it put me in mind of."

"And this man – how did he sound when he talked?"

"You mean his accent?"

"That, and his mode of speech. Was he educated?"

"He was very well spoken, but that doesn't mean anything. I saw him with notes and letters so I assume he could read. His accent was… frustrating. He seemed to have bits of every accent I've ever heard tucked into his speech. Sometimes he sounded Antivan, sometimes Orlesian. He never sounded Ferelden – that's about all I can say for sure."

"I think I may have a few ideas of where to start looking, or at least who to start asking questions of. I am… intrigued, to say the least."

Hawke smirked at him without a bit of humor in it "Well I'm glad I could provide you with some diversion." She rose to leave the room, nodding at Alistair as she went and Zevran simply stayed where he was. When the cabin door was closed, Alistair shook his head.

"Are you sure you didn't do something to cause her to react that way? She clearly dislikes you."

Zevran put up his hands in mock surrender and shrugged. "This time, I am at a complete loss. I had no idea that I had so thoroughly lost my charm." But his tone was not so easily disguised… not to Alistair. Zevran was a little stung by her reaction. Perhaps even more than a little.