What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?

The words had echoed when Fenris had said them. Maybe that was her imagination, but she still heard them, following her back to Kirkwall from the coast. Anders had, of course, taken the opportunity to question Hawke, again, about her attraction. Maker, was she obvious about it? She thought she'd learned to hide things better, in her time at the circle. How did the mage even know?

"You'd think your dalliance with the Knight Captain would have taught you something. People like that will never see us as anything but mages," he was saying as they walked through the gates to the city, "Dangerous things to put down or enslave for their own false sense of security. He'll turn on you. I'm surprised he hasn't already."

Hawke had been listening to this for the last two hours, "Anders, the only person in our merry band of misfits that has ever pointed a weapon at me, is you." That was technically true.

"That was Justice. Besides, Fenris doesn't need a weapon." Also technically true.

"Neither do you, Anders," she sighed, stopping in the middle of low town, turning towards him. She didn't want to fight with the mage. He was a friend, even when he was glowing blue and waving his magic around. She reached up to adjust his jacket in that way that always made his gaze soften and a smile appear, "We'll just have to change their minds."

It wasn't working this time, and Anders just frowned at her, "How did the honorable, noble, upstanding mage act work out for you, Hawke? I don't think they're listening."

"You're right," she said softly with a frown of her own, straightening a few out of place feathers around his shoulders and not meeting his eye, "They don't listen to anything but fear in this city. But that doesn't mean we stop trying. They have to get tired of fear, eventually."

"I think you're confused about the nature of fear, Hawke," the mage said, though he did finally smile at her and squeeze her shoulder. Back to being friends just that easily. He and Varric peeled off for the Hanged Man while Hawke continued the climb up to Hightown.

She hadn't always been a rosy-eyed optimist, but what was the alternative? Make a deal with Fizzgig?

She finally found the elf, waiting for her in the little courtyard of her estate. She stopped in the street, seconds before he turned and noticed her. He'd be here to apologize. Not for his thoughts on magic (What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?) but for yelling at her while he said it. She wasn't sure she was up for that, just yet.

"Fenris," she said softly as she stepped into the courtyard, walking past him to the door, "You don't need to say anything. I know you were upset and didn't mean…"

"I meant every word, Hawke," the elf cut in. He followed her to the door, "But I should not have taken my anger out on you. You… didn't deserve that."

"I appreciate you making that so clear," she muttered, her voice low and tight with anger as she tried to get the door open. Fenris narrowed his eyes and stepped towards her and she stumbled backwards, pressing against the wall. She hadn't meant to do that.

The elf stopped, his face stricken, seeing her fear. Andraste's butt cheeks, why had she done that? Now everything was unimaginably worse, "I would never hurt you, Hawke," Fenris said, his voice soft.

"I have your word on that?"

His jaw tightened and he took a step back, his own anger rising, "You know nothing! I couldn't let her slip out of my grasp! I wanted to let her go, but I… Couldn't"

Hawke's hand tightened on the doorknob and she took a deep breath, "Can we not do this? Not… Not on the street." She lowered her chin and studied the cobblestones underfoot, "Look, just… Just come inside, mother will want to show you her battle axes."

Fenris just stood there and stared at her while she opened the door, then held it open for him, not entering, "She decorated them in pink ribbon and hung them over the fireplace. You have to see it to believe it."

Fenris watched her for a moment longer before he took a couple of steps forward, stopping again before he entered the doorway, reaching out to touch her arm with gentle fingers. He couldn't quite meet her eyes, "I would not harm you," he insisted in a near whisper.

What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?

"I know," Hawke said. And she did know. He would never hurt her. He would never love her, either.