"Fenris, this is important." Violet had let herself into Fenris' bedroom and taken a seat on his bed uninvited. Varric said he had a few things to take care of before they started out, and had left the house immediately after breakfast. They had a little time, and this conversation was overdue. "I need to know I'm not hurting you every time I pass the salt. I want to understand how this works."

"I do not know how it works." Fenris' tone was curt.

"That's why I have to try some things," she said gently. "I promise, my goal is not to siphon any lyrium from you. If I concentrate, I'm pretty sure I can touch you without… making you flare."

Fenris paced in front of her, scowling.

"This will help us," she said quietly. "I'm not… making assumptions about the future. This is for everyday life. I don't want to hurt you. It's really hard never being able to touch you, not even to… to help you off the couch."

"I do not need help off the couch," he snapped.

"You know what I mean." Violet's voice remained calm. "Fenris, the longer we argue, the harder it is for me to maintain the appropriate… attitude for this."

He stopped pacing and lifted an eyebrow. "Have you ever had an appropriate attitude?"

"Ha ha, very funny. I didn't study in a Circle, I don't know the proper terms for these things."

It was true; she knew how to make things happen with her magic, but she had never understood how it worked. Her best theory now was that when her emotions were high, her magic was more activated. She also suspected that she had always subconsciously reached when she was making love, but because she'd never been involved with anyone else so sensitive, she had no way to know for sure. Maybe if she could stay calm, she and Fenris could interact normally, at least most of the time. But she was anxious to test that theory.

She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Let's try," she said. "Give me your hand."

He looked at her for a long moment before placing his hand over her outstretched palm. For a moment, they stood silently. Nothing happened. His markings did not pulse or glow. There was just the warmth of his calloused fingers against her own.

"There," she whispered, and smiled at him.

Fenris shifted his weight, and his mouth twisted with something like regret. "Violet, I hate to… it does not hurt to touch you, most of the time."

"It doesn't?" She blinked. "What do you mean?"

He pulled his hand away and began to pace again. "When you draw lyrium, yes it is painful. It is also… uncomfortable when you use magic on me. But those are the only times." He pushed his hair back from his forehead. "I have kept a distance from you because it was easier not to touch at all, than to be casual. I am not good at moderation. It is too hard to just… pass the salt, as you say. And not want more. But it is a lie by omission, to let you think it was because of the pain. I am sorry."

"Oh." Violet was stunned. Every time he'd sidestepped her hand, or slid something across a table rather than pass it to her; every time she wondered if he disliked living with her, or if she had caused him some unintentional hurt, it was only this. He he thought it was easier.

"You should have told me," she snapped. She felt hurt and relieved and angry, all at once — emotions swirled in the pit of her stomach. "Do you have any idea how lonely it was? Only one person in all of Thedas knew where I was — knew I was alive — and he wouldn't so much as brush hands? No clap on the shoulder — 'hey, you figured out how to re-shingle a roof' or 'the pirates didn't manage to kill us, here's a handshake?' Just… nothing? With no explanation?"

His lips moved, but no sound came out.

Of course, it wasn't that simple. It always came back to his history. No one respected the wishes of a slave, or allowed him to have space. It made a horrible kind of sense that he'd never thought he could ask for what he needed. So now she felt guilt, on top of everything else. Her temples began to throb, and she rubbed them with cold fingers.

"Okay," she said finally. "Fine. You have to take care of yourself, no matter how I feel about it. I get that. You needed space. I just wish I had known. I would have given it to you, it wouldn't have hurt every time you… I can't read your mind, Fenris."

"That's why I thought… when Sebastian came, it would be—" he began.

"This isn't about Sebastian," she interjected fiercely. "This is about before. Why didn't you just go, if it was so hard?"

He avoided her eyes. "I could not."

Violet waited a moment for him to elaborate, but he seemed intent on studying the floor.

"So here we are," she said. "I can't get rid of my magic any more than you can change what happened to you. I guess it's always going to be this way. At least I know." She stood up. "I apologize for yelling."

"You did not. At least not more than I deserved. I'm sorry I never told you how I felt."

You still haven't, she wanted to say. But what was the point?

She turned toward the door to leave, only to find Sebastian standing wide-eyed in the hallway. Violet sighed. Here was another set of feelings to manage.

But she was wrong.

"I think Varric has returned," said Sebastian, "but something is wrong."

#

Violet stepped into the hallway. Somewhere a door slammed, followed by the sound of running footsteps. In her experience, Varric did not run unless something very large was chasing him. She dashed down the hall to meet him, wishing she had her staff.

Varric swerved around the corner, slowing to a stop when he saw her. "You need to leave now," he panted.

"What happened?" Fenris said from behind her.

"The Seekers are back in town, and I hear they're looking for me. We've got to get you out before they arrive. I'm happy to tell them the whole tale, start to finish, if that's what it takes to give you enough time to clear out. But get your things and go down through the cellar."

Fenris disappeared toward the bedrooms, and Sebastian followed him. Violet hesitated.

"Come with us," she urged. "I don't want to lose you to some pack of fanatics."

"Me? What are they going to do to me? I'm just a local businessman." Varric patted her arm. "It's you they want, and it's my job to make sure they don't find you. Get going, Hawke. It will be harder to convince them you're long gone if you're still standing here when they arrive."

Violet kissed Varric's rough cheek, and dashed down the hall after Fenris and Sebastian.

A few minutes later, Varric was shoving a bag of food into her hands and barring the cellar door behind them.

"Take care, Hawke," she heard faintly from the other side as they stumbled down the cellar steps in the dark.

#

As they stumbled through the winding passages of Darktown, Violet told herself that Varric was right. If simply knowing her were a crime, the Seekers would have to interrogate half the city. And if they were so interested in all her known associates, why hadn't they spent more time with Aveline the last time they'd come through? They'd ask him some questions, he'd spin them a story, and the whole thing would blow over. Someday they'd be back, sitting around his table and laughing about it all over again.

Eventually they emerged from the tunnels, blinking in the sudden sunlight that bathed the beach at the Wounded Coast. Violet led the way up the rocky hill toward the coast road.

She stopped to look back. It was the kind of clear bright day you only get after a good hard rain. Puffy clouds raced across the sky, over a field of clear blue. The sun danced off the water, glaringly bright, and the wind smelt strongly of salt. Fenris scanned the rocks ahead, his hair whipping in the wind. Sebastian had turned to look at the sea, his eyes bluer than the sky. For a moment she put aside what lay ahead and what lay behind, and relished the rush of sea air and the feeling of freedom.