Almost Sunrise, Inside the Amell Estate

As soon as he heard Tevene, Fenris rushed in.

"Elf, if you wanna keep those feet I wouldn't take another step," Varric said.

He looked down and barely noticed the pressure plates.

Then the slaver looked down at Varric and barely noticed the blue wraith crushing his neck.

It was all very satisfying.

"Let's get out of here and take this to Mother," Carver said when they found the will.

"Not that way. I'd like to see how it feels to get out of the house as a fancy Amell," Hawke mused and headed towards the main entrance.

They went out and she turned to look at the two rusty red family crests on each wall. She thought that might have spurred some kind of wholesome feeling inside her, but they were just two rusty old crests on a rusty old mansion. It didn't feel like her house, so to speak, it just felt like a house that belonged to some rich, out of touch, dead people who would have definitely thought of her as the help.

"Well, that was fun," Hawke muttered, turning to the group.

"Let's not do that again anytime soon," Varric said amicably.

"At least tonight wasn't a total fuck up," she said, looking at Fenris, who looked quite titillated ever since cleaning house. "There we go, we turned that frown upside down!"

A rosy sun was rising between the drab buildings.

She caressed the manuscript theatrically. "It's reading time."

"And eating time," Varric suggested.

"To the slums!" she orated, and starting heading towards the stairs.

"Why are you saying that as if we're about to go to Hawke's Incredible Fun Palace of Fun?" Varric asked as they followed.

"Because Hawke's Blood Magic Sex House was taken," she said, tapping the book under her arm.

As Varric chuckled at the old reference, Fenris looked like he was about to murder her.

Varric slowed down to walk with Fenris. "Easy, kid, it's just an inside joke," he said. "You'll need to meet Isabela to understand."

"Who is Isabela?" Fenris asked.

"She's a filthy, filthy girl," Hawke said.

"Why? Doesn't she wash?" Fenris asked.

Everyone cackled.

"She's filthy in the sense that's she's... offensive," Carver explained.

"Not in the way you're offensive," Hawke told Fenris. "She doesn't hate mages. She just wants to fuck them."

"Regular people, too," Carver added.

"You wish," Hawke teased him.

"I don't hate mages," Fenris said.

They stopped in their tracks and looked back at him.

Fenris took a second to understand he was being audited, so he shrugged innocently. "I did not say hate."

"You didn't have to... I think that's the point," Carver said.

"I am weary of them, on account of my experience," Fenris said. Then he went on to briefly summarise the delightfully horrific things Danarius did to him.

"Whoa," Varric said grimly. "You know, I'm a writer. Are you at all interested in publishing your memoirs?"

"I'm not that interesting," Fenris said tiredly.

As they went down the stairs that were leaving Hightown, Fenris didn't seem to follow. He remained behind, a statue, as if there was an invisible barrier he couldn't cross. Varric nudged Hawke to look back up.

"I'm sorry, are you above this?" she teased him.

"I am above," Fenris said flatly.

"He takes things very literally, doesn't he?" Varric whispered.

"It's his second language; be nice," Hawke whispered back.

"He sounds very educated though, maybe he's just eccentric," he offered.

"What, and we're not?" she said scoldingly, then stopped whispering and said loudly to the elf, "You wanna come eat with us at my place?"

"I, uh..." Fenris mumbled awkwardly.

"There's hot soup and stuff. Probably tastier than... you know... demon spit," she suggested.

He chuckled uncomfortably. "Good point," he said shyly, and descended down the stairs.

"Holy shit, it can laugh," Varric whispered. Hawke elbowed him hard. "Ouch! Jeez. He's the bigot, and I'm the one being hit!" he complained to Carver.

Sunrise, Outside Gamlen's House

"Easy, Junior," Varric said fatherly as Carver tripped. "You still have a few obstacles to your bed, like the stairs... the door... the table..."

"Shut up, dwarf," Carver muttered.

"Just don't trip on the iron spikes, please," Hawke said.

"Can you two stop babysitting me?" he lamented. "This is why I have no luck with women here. You're making me look like a fucking child."

"I think you manage that all on your own, kid," Varric said.

"There, the kid thing!" he protested.

"He calls everybody kid," she said.

"Yeah, I'm an old guy."

"You don't call everybody Junior."

"It's short for Hawke Junior. Do you want me to call you Hawke Junior?"

"No, I want you to call me Carver."

"Ah, sorry kid. I don't do names. I do terms of endearment."

"Well, what's her term of endearment then? And when does this guy get one?" he said, waving dismissively towards Fenris.

"She's Chuckles. Possibly also Pantaloons," he said towards Hawke, who gestured that it seemed fair. "He's..."

"Mr Reality?" she offered.

"Mr Bigot?" Carver suggested.

"Big Daddy Slay Mage?" she counter-offered.

"B.D.S.M.?" Carver chuckled.

"What? He seems the type," Hawke said, and winked at the elf.

Fenris noticed that, and looked away nervously.

"No..." Varric said, disappointed. "Don't worry, kid, we'll find you a nickname," he said reassuringly to the elf.

"Mkay," Fenris mumbled. "What is... B.D.S.M.?"

"It's like... when you... let yourself get stepped on by someone in stilettos," Carver explained, and also illustrated.

"Or someone lets you spank them for being... bad," Hawke said with a sultry finish.

Fenris blinked. "Huh?"

Varric patted him on the back of his vest. "Don't let him meet Izzy," he said to Hawke, sounding serious.

"She's gonna looove him," Hawke said, chuckling.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Varric said.

"I still don't understand B.D.S.M.," Fenris said.

"Now we have two things to debrief after breakfast," she said, chuckling.

"Oh my Maker, not in front of Mother, you hear?" Carver said as he opened the door.

"And to think," Varric chuckled, "the drama was supposed to start inside the house."

"My babies!" Leandra exclaimed as she rushed to hug the little Hawkes, whose embarrassment was palpable. "Where have you been?!" she demanded, changing tone. "I expected the worst!"

"It was her fault," Carver said.

"Mhm," Hawke said, rolling her eyes. "We found the will."

Leandra immediately snatched it from her hands and moved to the candlelight to read it.

"By the way," Hawke said in a low voice to Carver, "that kind of comment there, that is why you come off as a child," she said, and went on to direct Varric and Fenris to the dinner table.

Carver stayed behind and grimaced at her meanly.

In the meantime, Varric was wetly greeted by a huge mabari, who didn't take too kindly to the new guest. He wanted play time, but he was also growling. Fenris remained a statue.

"Mojo, Fenris; Fenris, Mojo," Varric offered.

Mojo sat down and waved his front leg in the air towards the elf.

"He wants to shake hands, dude," Varric told Fenris.

"Oh," he replied, and cautiously touched the dog. "Good... uhm... dog."

"Who's the good boy? Who's a good boy?" Varric went on, which Mojo clearly preferred.

When the doggo got bored of them, they remained awkwardly at the table while the Hawke family drama unraveled before their eyes. In the meantime, the elf decided to repetitively fidget with the cutlery. Well, not just any cutlery; the dinner knife. Varric was uncomfortable.

"So..." Varric said nervously, "that uh... thing you do with your hand..."

Fenris continued to spin the knife in his hand.

"I bet that makes pickpocketing easier."

Fenris stopped spinning the knife and looked at his hand.

"I'll try it sometime and find out," he said, and then resumed the knife spinning.

Varric rubbed his forehead, and then took a risk and grabbed the knife out the elf's hand and gave him the spoon instead. Fenris didn't say anything, and proceeded to spin the spoon.

Just in time, as Leandra came to them. "So sorry for the scene you had to witness. I didn't even have the manners to greet you; please forgive me," she said, and shook Varric's hand.

"No worries, we've kept busy," he said amicably. "So, do you need me to grease some palms at the Viscount's office? I'll find a way."

"You're sweet, Varric, but I want to do this the right way."

"Alright, alright, just know my offer's there if you change your mind, young lady."

"Oh, you," Leandra teased him, then looked at Fenris and extended her hand. "So sorry, I don't think we've met before."

Fenris shook her hand and awkwardly stood up. "I am Fen—"

"Mum, what have you done with my scale vest?" Hawke's voice came shouting from the other room.

Leandra made a silly cringe towards Fenris, as if not to out her. "I don't know what that means, love, but look in the laundry basket!" she shouted back.

"—Fenris... thank you for allowing me into your home," he finished, but forgot to stop shaking her hand.

"No need for that, everyone's welcome in my home," she said. "I'm Leandra."

"A pleasure to meet you," Fenris said. They continued to shake hands.

"My, you're quite the handshaker," Leandra teased, and he finally stopped. Varric was biting his lip. "Where are you from Fenris? You don't have that Marcher twang."

"I'm from Tevinter," he said, as he sat back down.

"Oof," Leandra said, wincing. "What's that like?"

"Not good," Varric said, at the same time as Fenris said, "Not great."

"Understood," Leandra said warmly, and pointed at him. "You'll get extra soup."

"Lucky," Varric said with resentment.

Hawke took a great deal of time looking for her vest, while Leandra kept feeding the others. At some point they held their tummies in pain, but came back over their bowls all the same.

Fenris kept thinking about his mother. Leandra was such a warm person, he wondered if his own mother was like that. Then the thoughts flew into a doom spiral of where she might be, was she even alive, would she ever recognise him, would she take him back if they ran into each other on the street, was this train of thought good for his health, and other such painful conjectures.

Something was licking his hand. Oh, right, the dog. Well, thanks for breaking me away.

"I thought he didn't like me," Fenris said, confused.

"You're the new guy, which means you're the unwitting humanoid who might give him food he's," Carver said, and reiterated to the dog, "not allowed to have."

Fenris tried to scratch the dog's head, which worked. "Smart boy."

Hawke, on the other hand, had a much more pedestrian problem. She was finding any excuse to get some brief space to think, because she had met an elf whom she somehow found painfully beautiful, and she had never expected to feel that way about a guy. Women were deeply, painfully beautiful and she had made her peace with that, but men were attractive in that... "you want me and I find that sexy" kind of way. Also, let's not forget, she told herself scoldingly, that he was a chest-thumping partisan to her kind's oppression and outright demonisation. Bitch, let's not get academical about it; he's a hateful bigot, plain and simple, another part of her said.

If Isabela were here, she'd have said to just get hers and hate-fuck him (that's exactly what she ended up telling her).

She tried to remember the last time she had sex. It was way before the Blight. Way before. It wasn't great, either.

At some point she realised she had been holding the laundry and staring into empty space for longer than probably appropriate. She put it back in the basket, and sighed. "I know, laundry, no one's doing me either."

She just needed to get it out of her system. Find a smart and open-minded person (preferably with no sperm count), fuck for nine hours, and get back to normal. Or just open-minded, really, she was quite desperate.

After a great deal of time, Hawke returned wearing a chainmail vest, and searched for the boots she had violently scattered around their kitchen/dining/living room.

"That's a much better choice of armour for your fighting style," Fenris said suddenly. "Scale mail is too inflexible because of the tight lacing format of the plates and, on the common market, can rarely be found in good quality."

Hawke looked at him, boot almost on foot, and said, "Why are you explaining armour to me?"

"Yeah, why are you explaining armour to her, kid?" Varric egged on, crossing his arms in delight.

Carver bit down his urge to chuckle, and crossed his arms too, waiting for his answer.

"Because he has a cock," Gamlen surprisingly intervened. He looked behind him to make sure his sister wasn't in sight, and continued in a tired, all-knowing voice, "so he has to show you what a very smart boy he is."

"Oowooooooo," Carver vociferated mockingly. "Teacher got schooled."

Fenris crossed his arms, also. "I just find armour interesting."

"No, you find her interesting," Gamlen said ungenerously. "He's the brother, that's the friend, and you're the suitor," he said, pointing at them one by one. "Why else would you be here, eating my soup?"

"Your soup? Now, now, Uncle, that's enough stuff you've just claimed as your own for this century, don't you think?" Hawke intervened condescendingly.

Gamlen sneered at her. "Well, I'm right about the other thing," he mumbled, and left.

Hawke smiled teasingly and shouted after him, "Believe it or not, there are plenty of reasons other than sex that people hang out with me!"

"Can't imagine what!" Gamlen's voice came from the other room.

"Charming fellow, isn't he?" Varric said to Fenris.

"What's wrong with liking armour?" Fenris asked, confused.

Hawke rubbed her forehead patiently. "Nothing. There's nothing wrong with liking armour."

Aveline will eat him alive, Varric thought to himself.

"Dessert?" Leandra came in with excitement, and a big plate of cheesecake.

The guys looked at each other and sighed. "Yes, please," they all said.

A cheesecake and a half later, Carver was sulking in front of the fireplace.

"Hello, Lord Carver," Hawke vociferated.

Meanwhile, Varric was starting to sweat and breathe like he was dying. Fenris nodded off at the table. In some bloated, painful logic, Varric wanted to use the elf's shoulder to lean on.

It would have been a nice little end stage of the visit, had not Hawke's voice surged across the living room.

"Don't you dare use that against me! I gave everything!" she shouted.

Fenris flinched and opened his eyes, and gave the leaner a murderous look. The leaner agreed it was a mistake.

"Question me, Mother, yourself, but not that!" they heard.

"You're such a hypocrite," Carver retorted, chuckling. "I happen to remember perfectly clearly a certain someone lecturing us on why being emotional is a dangerous state for a leader, and they should step down during that time. Those were your words. Your words! And yet, you still took the lead, and Bethany died for it."

"We were all emotional during the Blight. There were no more rules," Hawke sustained.

"Yeah, I know, you broke a lot of them towards the end. You were unhinged," Carver said with accusatory subtext, "and it damn near got you killed, too, were it not for me and Bethany breaking you out. And that's how you repaid her..." he finished, widening his arms with contempt.

Breaking her out? Fenris and Varric kept their ears peeled.

Hawke's eyes were double in size, and she was breathing unsteadily. "You have no right to use that against me," she repeated, whimpered. She was about to cry. "No right!" she said, slashing the air with her index finger.

"You know what I hear? I hear a bunch of excuses," Carver said. "You had no right to take the lead that day, and I hope, for your sake, that you start reflecting on your past mistakes."

She bit her lip on the outside, hard, and said, "Feel better getting that off your chest?"

"Yes," he said decisively.

"Good," she said calmly, but the tears were already on her cheeks. "Because I keep every death with me. If you want to share that weight, be ready to take it."

The way she said it gave shivers to everyone. Even Carver seemed devoid of comeback.

"Well," she said, turning away. "Good talk."

Carver inhaled deeply, and looked regretful. "Sister..." he said after her, "I feel... I don't know. It's like Mother's taking it out on us. She was just afraid... But I have no place in the life she's trying to give us here."

Hawke turned back to him, crossing her arms. "So... those weren't your words? They were Mother's?"

He looked down. "Don't think you're the only one she blames," he mumbled.

She sighed heavily, uncrossing her arms. "If Father were here, she'd blame him too. And he'd blame us. I think... I think we've lost enough. I don't want to lose you too, okay? We need to stop letting the parents divide us with shame and guilt. You don't have to be anything you don't want to be..."

Carver sighed too, and looked away as he widened his arms. "Come here."

She came into his arms, and he stroked her hair comfortingly. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry, too," she said, and wiped away her tears in his shirt.

"Oh, come on," he said meanly. "Mum!... Do I have a clean shirt?" he shouted.

Leandra's voice came from the other room, "What happened?"

"Nothing..." Carver said, and mumbled as he stroked his sister's back. "The... booger monster came."

Hawke chuckled and cried.

Noon, City Slums

Hawke was sitting on the stairs outside the house eyeing the iron spikes with a fierce urge to break them down. Then she directed her gaze at the cold-blue sky, feeling the subtropical breeze of the Waking Sea. She despised the humid and hot weather of Kirkwall in the deep autumn season. At this time in Ferelden the horizon would be splashed with purple pigment of the autumn clouds and the trees would form a wild pallet of red, yellow and dark green crowns. Maker she missed it...

Varric and Fenris came out, waiting awkwardly for Hawke to say something.

"Well… if you weren't hungover, I'd have offered to buy you a pint now," Varric said amicably.

"You know that actually treats the hangover, right?" she said grumpily.

"Oh no..." the dwarf said fatherly, and squatted next to her. "No more yahoo juice for you. You need some sleep."

"We all need some sleep," Fenris said flatly.

"Yeah," Varric said. "Come on, we can go for the maps tomorrow. The kid's still gonna be there."

"You don't know that," she said, still a bit emotional. "What if the Templars decide to raid Darktown today?"

Another mage? For the love of... Fenris thought.

"I'll keep my ears peeled, don't worry," Varric said, and stood up, dragging her up with him. But she was a deadweight.

"What do you need in Darktown?" Fenris butted in.

Varric looked at Hawke, who was too down to offer anything, so he went on, "We're organising an expedition in the Deep Roads, and there's a kid there who may have some maps."

"The Deep Roads?" Fenris said, impressed. "Is that why she doesn't sleep?"

"There are multiple reasons," Hawke head muffled in her lap.

"Come on, Pantaloons, just come sleep at my place if this is too hard," Varric urged her, a little frustrated now.

"I can't sleep, okay?!" Hawke said angrily, her head coming back up. "I can't sleep. I'm done tossing and turning alone with my thoughts. I need to do something. Can we do something?"

They shook their heads. She had a problem.

"Maker, I'm not good with depressed people," Varric said, and looked to Fenris. "You seem bitter and sad. Can you say something?"

Fenris had no idea what to say. He tried to think, and sat down next to her. "When I can't sleep, I try to plan my next move."

"Yeah," Hawke said miserably, rubbing her crossed arms.

"Seriously? That's all you've got?" Varric said judgmentally from behind. "I thought all that shell shock from Tevinter might have taught you something useful."

Fenris looked up at him flatly. "Do you have shell shock?"

"No," Varric said nervously.

"Then shut up," Fenris said, and turned his back.

"Yeah, you tell him," Hawke drawled unconsolably.

"This Deep Roads expedition..." Fenris continued. "I can help with that."

Hawke seemed to wake up a bit now. "You would?"

"I would," Fenris said calmly. "I have fought darkspawn before in Tevinter. I can pull my weight."

Hawke nodded, a little contained, but she seemed happier. "Cool, cool."

"Theeeere we go," Varric said, and pat her head.

She smiled crookedly. "Thanks."

"This was a very strange morning," Fenris said.

"That's how the Hawkes get ya," Varric said. "They drag you into a crazy situation, make up for it with great food, everyone suddenly delights and aches from the same digestive strife, and before you know it, we're sharing horoscopes."