To all of you who had to confront my last chapter, (and haven't read the replacement) I sincerely apologize. I posted the wrong version, a version I produced while I was in some state of feverish delirium due to the flu and then forgot to delete. I reposted the chapter, the right one I mean. I won't ask of you to read it all over (although it would explain the start of this one, perhaps you could read the end) but please believe me when I say I'm terribly sorry.

Well, with that off my chest, we can proceed.

Part 15: and thus continues the never-ending saga of what long ago apparently started with a kiss.

It took quite a time before Fenris was able to pull himself together. All the while Hawke had sat next to him on the wooden bench in the entrance, saying nothing at all which was very unlike her. But it was obvious something had happened to the elf that went beyond the crushing experience of simply hearing his given name, as far as you could call that simple anyway. She suspected it had triggered another flash of his memory. It had happened before on a few occasions, that was inevitable with all the lovemaking they had done, although, apart from the first time, it hadn't upset him this much. And at this time there had been no lovemaking involved. She deemed it better to withhold from comment until he had somewhat come to his senses. And so she had just taken his hand in hers. She had put the contract on the desk and decided to leave it there for Fenris to choose what to do with it.

Fenris leant his head against her shoulder. He held his eyes closed, trying to catch the image that had popped up in his mind when she spoke his name. It hadn't returned in full, but different from that night he had made love to Marian for the first time, and lots of times thereafter for that matter, it kept shimmering in the background of his inner vision. His mother. Somewhere he could still see, or picture, or perhaps recall but with more clarity this time, a cascade of bright red curling hair and a spark of smiling green eyes. And being able to recall anything before his markings happened, or better to hold on to it, be it still remotely, was a wonder in itself. Somewhere he could still hear the echo of a warm, well-loved voice. Slowly realisation dawned that this meant he had one of his lost memories back, that it hadn't slipped out of his fingers as always had been the case before. He wasn't sure how he had imagined it was supposed to feel because up until now being able to cling to such a memory had been so inconceivable he had as a precaution cast the possibility aside. And now it had happened against all odds he still didn't know how to feel about it. It was heartening, frightening and unsettling at the same time.

The first time it had transpired, the first time his memories had coursed through his existence and had vanished immediately after, he had gone rigid; it had almost forced him to leave the woman he loved. He had felt utterly cold while holding her warm body in his arms. It had been devastating. This time he felt totally different and the thought of leaving her didn't even cross his mind, no matter how dazed he was. When he asked Marian to tell him his real name he hadn't expected something like this would happen. He had tried to steel himself because he had damn well comprehended it would be a shock, one way or another. But he never had foreseen it would lead to this.

He remembered Danarius had asserted, on several occasions, names had power. That they carried weight. Names meant something, were important. Without a name a person was – without an identity. Not just someone without a name but a nobody. A nameless person was a non-existent person. He might walk and talk and draw breath but he wasn't really – real; he could as well wander aimlessly in the Fade. Soulless. On the other hand, the Magister had claimed with solid conviction, names could be manipulated. He followed and supported an old Tevinter philosophy that taught a name wasn't picked randomly; even simple peasants didn't choose a name, it got delivered to them. Instinctively parents knew which name fitted their offspring. Names and persons were inseparable. And thus you could turn it around, so to say. One could benefit from that knowledge and use it for their own profit. "Take a person's name away," Danarius had stated more than once, "and they fall at the mercy of the one who withdraws their personality. Give him a new name, a carefully chosen one, and perform a ceremony with the proper rituals, and that person will be bound to you forever." It was close to blood magic. Actually it was a form of blood magic as Fenris was given to understand. And he knew very well his former master had wanted him to know it. Had wanted him to know he would always be his Little Wolf and the act of binding was irrevocable. He still remembered clearly the smug smile that went with the statement. It wasn't for nothing he had been so scared during those nights on the run; it wasn't for nothing he had killed ... He refused to complete that thought. Involuntarily he shivered.

No wonder the bastard had deprived him of his real name and had given him a new one. Even with the loss of his memory Danarius wouldn't have been able to fully hold him in his power. Not even as the slave he had been at that time. He would always have had his name, his true being. But by giving him his new name he really had become Danarius's possession.

It was one of the things he hadn't told Marian yet; or, come to think about it, it was the only thing. Probably because the theory was so hard to explain to a free spirit as hers. He was still amazed he had been able to muster the courage to tell her about the Fog Warriors, although a few bottles of wine had been a big help back then. And the fact she had been so understanding and even comforting hadn't made it too difficult either. And during the short time they had been allowed to stay on Sundermount he had shared with her his experiences of the frightful nights while he was fleeing from Danarius. It hadn't been easy but he had promised himself he would plunge into the deep and he hadn't been disappointed with her reaction. Again she had been understanding. Of course she had been, he should have known better than to fret up forehand. He should have realized she herself had been on the run with her family for years, that she knew all too well what it meant to be hunted. He had even mentioned Hadriana although he had not elaborated and to his gratitude she hadn't pushed him to tell more. She had just listened. He smiled inwardly. She could be some kind of raging hurricane but on other occasions turn into the eye of the storm. No, that didn't do her credit at all. The eye of the storm indicated the next outburst was waiting around the corner and she wasn't like that. She was supportive and considerate and most of all a well of love and warm dedication in which he could wash away his hurt and anguish. And yes, now and again the still well became white water rapids. But he had learned to hold on to the oars and, if necessary, to the board and wait to float back to the warm well when the peace of the gentle bubbling spring had returned.

And now he had learned his true name. Leto. He was a person again. It was as if a bright sunbeam lightened a small but significant spot in the dark vastness that was his history from before the lyrium markings. He knew this didn't mean total freedom of mind but it was another crack in the imaginary shackles he still dragged behind him. A very important one.

'Thank you,' he whispered.

'For what?' croaked Marian.

He realized she was, if possible, even more tense than he. He tentatively touched her wrist with his fingertips. 'For giving me my name.'

There was a short silence. 'I didn't give you your name. Your parents did. I only recovered it. By chance.'

Slowly he lifted his head from her shoulder. His mind was still reeling but not any longer out of confusion. 'I'd like to believe it wasn't by chance.' He had to hold on to that, it was a beautiful thought. For years his subcutaneous simmering anger, and since recently his flourishing love, had enabled him to keep the fear for his former master at bay. The fear he would come for him and with just uttering his name, his second name, his false name, would bludgeon him back into submission. Would force him once more to leave carnage in his wake. And now, with that warm husky voice of hers, she had told him his real name and with that had summoned that splash of light and chased away a piece of the darkness laying over his past.

Unknowing of Fenris's thoughts Hawke already opened her mouth to say, 'Since when do you believe in fate?' but changed her mind at the same moment. This was no occasion for flippant or snappy remarks. 'You think so?' she instead reacted rather lamely. Although, she silently promised herself, if he would keep this up she would sooner or later shake his shoulders and rattle his brain. She appreciated he was astounded and baffled, as indeed she was, but he wasn't one to roam along the lanes of supernatural thinking.

Something like a smile flickered around Fenris's lips. 'Frankly, I'm not certain what exactly I am thinking at the moment,' he said, 'but I want to believe since you are the one who gave me back my name that must imply something extraordinary.' He rested his forehead against hers. 'I can hardly believe Chance would bother with a Dalish elf destroying the very wall in which my name lay hidden.'

Hesitantly she returned his smile. 'Oh, I don't know,' she hazarded now his mood seemed to have lifted, although he still was acting too strangely to her taste, 'maybe the Lady of Fortune got bored and decided to concoct a booming plan.' She thought it was a good start to lead him back to rational thinking. It got through to her he hadn't even used the word "witch" to indicate Merrill. It became creepy.

'Even in that case it wouldn't have been mere chance,' Fenris said with a chuckle. 'But the fact remains; Danarius took my name away and you returned it to me.' He could feel her frown against his brow. She probably thought he had gone completely crazy and he couldn't blame her. At this very moment he was close to assuming the same. 'I think I would like to have that drink right now.'

Silently Hawke agreed. Perhaps a dram of strong liquor would return his sound judgment. She still recognized he had had to manage with quite a lot this afternoon, but her straightforwardness began with the inflexibility of a glacier to collide with her will, strong as it might be, to be lenient with his odd behaviour.

They walked into the library and Hawke poured two generous measures of whisky after she had shooed a disappointed Tempest out of the room. She had sent her hound home after the discovery of the strong-box and he had, as the obedient pet he in fact wasn't by far, to her astonishment done her bidding and had played the role of the good dog, patiently waiting for their return. More like a child waiting for a bedtime story, she thought with tenderness when she took in his cocked head, drooping ears and pleading expression. But apparently Tempest sensed the mood and he hadn't put up a fight. He had just let out a hardly audible whine and had given her the classic performance of the hurt puppy eyes before she had determinedly closed the door behind him.

They sat down on the couch before the hearth. Out of custom Bodahn had lit a fire although summer still blessed them with warm weather. 'So,' she said cautiously while she handed him his glass, 'what exactly happened?'

Fenris took a sip. 'One of my memories returned, again.' Hawke wasn't surprised, after all she had expected this. 'But this time it stayed,' Fenris went on. 'I now know my mother had long, red hair and green eyes. I know what her voice sounded like.'

Marian almost dropped her glass and her eyes flew wide. 'No wonder you are so upset,' she murmured. She put the vessel on the side table next to the couch and pensively bit her lip. She started to comprehend why he was acting so out of character; this had never happened before, no wonder it had this impact. On the other hand it was so not like him it made her feel uneasy. And she could also sense there was something bothering him he didn't tell her. She didn't mean to be rude but her common sense took over. Or rather she simply couldn't help herself. And so she blurted out, 'And you think this happened just because of hearing your name?' She looked sceptically. The last thing she wanted to do was insulting his feelings, especially after what happened. She recognized he was vulnerable and without doubt confused and stunned. She could understand that. But she knew him as a steadfast person. Or perhaps it was better to say he would sooner burst out into anger than into tears; his present behaviour brought her off balance.

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose. How to describe this to a level-headed daughter of Ferelden who didn't even believe in the importance of the name of Andraste? 'Names have significance,' he started an attempt to explain the old rather sinister Tevinter philosophy, 'they carry a piece of a person's essence.' He was damn well aware he had to choose his words carefully if he didn't want her to revolt before he even had the chance to finish.

Hawke listened to him without any interruption though with growing annoyance. 'With all due respect, my love, but I think this is a load of bullshit,' she stated forthright when Fenris was done, 'in my opinion it sounds like something a certain kind of superstitious people try to accomplish with fingernails and human hair.' She sounded outright contemptuous.

'Danarius believed strongly in it,' Fenris said, somewhat taken aback by her reaction. He had expected resistance, incredulous anger even, not this disdainful sneer.

'Did he really? Or did he simply want you to believe it?' Hawke asked brusquely, 'so he could dominate you even more? And let's face it: in the end he failed gloriously to keep you in control. You ran away anyhow.'

Fenris flinched and then flared up. 'But not after he spoke my name and ordered me to slaughter my saviours and I obeyed him and murdered all those Fog Warriors that had protected and trusted me!' he said savagely.

Abruptly Marian snapped her mouth shut. Oh yes, very clever to come up with that one, you moron, she chastised herself, you know how guilty he still feels about that, what a sensitive subject it is and will be for the rest of his life. She took a moment to gather her calmness. 'I'm sorry,' she said meekly, 'that was uncalled for. It's just –' she let out a sigh and rubbed her eyes, 'you're such an intelligent and rational man. It's hard to see how you of all people can fall for that idiotic mumbo jumbo of names being some magical devices with which you hold sway over others.' When Fenris kept silent she carried on, 'Were you present at that so called ritual of your name-giving? I mean, were you conscious at the time?'

'No. Or at least I don't remember it.'

'Did you hear Danarius talk about it with other Magisters?'

'He talked about it with his apprentice.' Although Marian knew about Hadriana there was no way he would pronounce that vile bitch's name in this delicate situation. Cautiously he glimpsed at Marian from the corner of his eye. What was she aiming at?

'Of course he did.' She had got the picture by now. Bloody hell. That fucking Magister was even more cruel than she already knew. With all her might she tried to reign in her steaming fury. She sounded unnaturally strained when she said, 'So wouldn't it be more likely he played a cruel mind game on you? That he applied psychology rather than philosophy? You have a very strong personality, I imagine Danarius would have wanted to use every means available to keep you in check.' She clenched her jaw to prevent she would burst out in a string of curses. That wouldn't bring the message home.

Fenris rested his forearms on his thighs and stared into the crackling fire while he absentmindedly waltzed the whisky around in his glass. He let her words sink in; her statement came so unexpected and sounded so alien he had sincere difficulty with letting the grave significance get through to him. But he couldn't deny it held a certain appeal. Reluctantly he acknowledged it could even hold the truth. Finally he volunteered, 'You might be right.' He turned his head and shot her a crooked smile. 'After all you have been right about a lot of other things as well.' He got a sudden flashback of their first night together, or better of the morning after when she had given him a good piece of her mind and filleted him with that gravelly voice of hers. He shuddered at the memory. But just like then she now also succeeded in helping him to order his swirling thoughts and feelings.

Hawke knew very well what that little smile meant. 'At least I didn't yell at you this time,' she said a bit ashamed.

His smile broadened. 'You didn't yell at me back then either.'

'I'm glad you think so.' Hawke let her fingers wander down his back and up again and stroked the exposed skin of his neck. 'Fenris, I know names are important and I even agree they are important for your identity. Besides that I can imagine it´s hard to live with a name like a property-label. But I refuse to believe in their magical influence. Think about it: if that were true and if it were that simple half of Thedas would walk around like automatons!'

He couldn't help laughing if only at the image. He shook his head, sat up again and made an effort at pretending to be indignant. 'Do I look like an automaton to you?! Danarius may have taken away my memory, he didn't remove my brain!'

'He may not have removed your brain, he damn well washed it,' Hawke mumbled without thinking. 'Till a certain degree,' she added hastily when she saw Fenris's hurt look. And again she wanted to punch herself. 'Sorry, that came out all wrong. It's just so hard to grasp that an intelligent and erudite and normally logical reasoning person like you would fall for the nonsense of name magic, or how you should call the bloody stuff.'

'I've heard that "nonsense" as long as I can remember,' said Fenris softly. 'I never implied I condoned it, I said I accepted it as true.' He raked his head to come up with an example that would make it clear. 'If you had been taught all your life that tranquillity is the only way to handle mages, wouldn't you believe it?'

Hawke bowed her head. 'You have a fair point,' she had to admit.

Fenris pulled her in his arms and rested his head on her hair that smelled of rosemary. He inhaled the scent like a nearly drowned person gulped in oxygen. 'Can we please drop the item for the time being?' he pleaded, 'it's becoming too much. I promise I will think about what you said. No, even better, I promise I will try to see the truth of it. Because, as I noticed before, you can say very sensible things.'

With a little sarcastic chortle Marian kissed the crook of his shoulder. 'So generous of you! I take it you mean between all the blathering and the silly things I blurt out.'

Fenris had a hard time not to burst out laughing. 'I didn't say that,' he managed.

'No, I did and you thought it.' Before he could utter a protest she heaved her head an inch and murmured sensually in his ear, 'I have an offer for you: we are going to take a long relaxing bath and I'll give you a wonderful neck massage to chase away all the tensions. And for a blissful while we're going to forget everything about blown-up mansions, whether or not by chance returned names and especially everything about depraved Magisters and their evil scheming.' And I never ever want to hear the word "name" again in relation to magic or misuse of psychology, she thought but not said aloud.

Fenris strengthened his embrace, at the risk of crushing her. 'I think I'll take that offer.'

To be honest I have been thinking about this name issue since in the game Aveline asked Fenris if he couldn't change his name. Indeed, why couldn't he? I promise next chapter will be about the attempts of repairing the damage that has been done. All the damage. Starring Varric and others. With guest roles.

Thank you for staying with me all along this story that's getting hugely out of hand!