Dragon Hall, Day 5

Fenris still needed a minute. But he caught her eyes again and they looked… lost.

"Guys, I think I need to sit down," Hawke said in a shaky tone. She crossed her legs on the floor and held onto her head.

Anders rushed to her and squatted down. "What's wrong? Describe it."

"Sis?" Carver said, coming down next to her. He looked visibly anxious.

"I don't know… I'm…" she said, her eyes sinking as she held on to Carver. "It's like I'm in another dimension."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Varric asked as he limped his way to them.

"I need to sit down," she said.

"You're already sitting down," Anders said patiently. "Did you take anything?"

She didn't answer.

"Dragons don't have mind-altering powers, I hope," Varric said, worried.

"Probably not," Anders said.

"Lyrium," Fenris said, still groaning, unable to get up.

"How many potions?" Anders demanded. "Check her belt."

"She's out," Fenris said, looking at the empty pocket. "She had two to heal me, and I don't know… three, maybe four in combat."

"Are you insane, Hawke?" Anders said to her.

She looked completely out of it. "Who invited the King of Ferelden here?"

"I'm trying to help you!" Anders said, annoyed.

"Some help you are. You didn't even send a boat back for us in Kirkwall!" she said, all suddenly furious.

"Wait, does she really think you're King Alistair right now?" Varric said, more worried.

"Not. My. King!" she shouted, raising her fist in protest.

"Alright, she has lyrium poisoning," Anders said, rubbing his forehead.

They looked at him all confused.

"You can't have that many lyrium potions in such a short span of time. It has all sorts of nasty side effects."

"Hallucinations being one of them?" Varric asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Psychosis, mania, fatigue, hypocalcaemia, liver failure, heart failure—" Anders started enumerating.

"Whoa, whoa, why would you do that, Hawke? I thought you knew your magic," Varric said.

"Aaaaaave magiaaaaaaa!" she started singing loudly.

"Stop that! You're gonna get us killed!" Carver said.

"Aaaaaave—mmmph!" Her brother covered her mouth.

"It's not about magic, it's about mana," Anders said disapprovingly. "Mana is like a muscle. If you don't use it, it will start to atrophy. Then you do too much too quickly and you hurt yourself. I wager she's got a shit mana pool or she can't regenerate at a normal rate, so she feels the need to re-dose too fast so the magic won't start digging into her life force."

"You mean blood magic," Fenris said.

"Yes. You can do blood magic without even knowing it if you overexert yourself on an empty mana pool," Anders said.

"So, her abstinence from magic is putting her in danger," Fenris said.

"Absolutely!" Anders replied.

"Ok, stop diagnosing and tell me— will she be alright?" Carver said angrily.

"Probably... We need to get back to camp. Grab one shoulder," Anders said to him, then grabbed her other shoulder and made her stand up.

"I will go ahead… finish off whatever remains," Fenris said. All of a sudden, he was on his feet.

"I'll join you," Varric said, scratching his head uncomfortably.

Lyrium Camp, Day 7

"Maker's breath, that smell!" Hawke muttered as she woke up. "Is that me?"

"Hawke!" Varric shouted and rushed to her side with Carver. "Are you alright?"

"Please don't ever do that again," Carver said.

Mojo came to lick her all over.

"Look who decided to finally wake up," Anders said with a pleased tone. "Never do that again."

"Do what again?" she said, closing one eye so it didn't get licked.

"Overdose on lyrium," Anders said. "You're cut off."

"Oh…" she said, hiding behind Mojo as if she felt exposed. She looked up. "Where… where are we?"

It was a grand, mysterious place, sprawling with the beautiful light of lyrium veins. It would have been almost romantic had it not been located in the world's deadest sphincter.

"This is what the dragon was guarding!" Varric said happily, holding his arms wide.

"Caching!" Carver said with a toothy smile.

"Holy fucking shit," Hawke whispered, enchanted with it all. She tried to sit up. Her muscles ached. Which reminded her… "Where's Fenris? Is he okay?"

There was a collective sigh of frustration.

"He is by far the worst patient I've ever had," Anders said, covering his forehead. "Makes me miss Isabela…"

"What's he done now?" Hawke asked tiredly.

"Where to begin? He's depressed, he's irritable—"

"How's that different from any other day?"

"Ok, more depressed, more irritable. He's got myalgia all over and he's hypomobile—"

"Whoa, whoa, speak common," she said.

"Widespread pain and struggles moving," Anders said, then went on angrily. "And yet he resists my every attempt to look at him and gets downright aggressive!"

"Oh boy."

"He said he'd let you look at him, but obviously that hasn't been possible."

"Great. Playing doctor again," she said, standing up. "Where is he?"

They all pointed at a bed in the distance, a bit too eagerly. Mojo was already back there, sitting by his side.

"One more thing," Anders said, blocking her path. "I've prescribed you three lyrium potions a day. Take one with every meal, and under no circumstances take extra during battle. You're compromised."

"But I don't want to do blood—!" she almost shouted, and contained herself.

"When you feel you're done… just stop."

She looked at him blankly. "Thanks, I'm cured," she said sarcastically.

Fenris had had a terrible few days. Not only did he almost die to a dragon, but he was hurt by his teammate's own healing. Then in a weak fit of insanity, he let Hawke heal him and somehow it didn't damage him further. Even so, the impact was unavoidable. It triggered that strange post-traumatic response in his body again once he reached the camp. He saw a bed, went in it, and couldn't get up anymore. Everything hurt. And in such moments, he hated himself more than words could describe. It felt like the most unforgiving dark grey presence enveloped and smothered him. He hated his thoughts, his feelings, his body. If it wasn't his skin, it was his muscles. If it wasn't his muscles, it was his heart. What good was he, in the final analysis? He felt like a huge disappointment, and not just to himself anymore.

"Hey," a soft voice came behind him. Like a small coat of sunlight creeping through the grey clouds that orbited his useless body.

"Hey," he said. He lay there; didn't turn around to face her.

"I'm not gonna ask you if you're okay, because I know you're not," she said, sitting down by his bed.

"What a blessing," he murmured.

"You've got shell shock in your body again, don't you?"

He closed his eyes. "Correct."

"I heard you gave Anders a hard time."

"I tire of repeating myself," he muttered.

"It must have been very frustrating, on top of your illness."

Exactly. She gets it, Fenris thought.

"I'm… I'm really glad you didn't die," he heard her say.

"What's common tongue for 'idem'?"

He heard her chuckle. "Ditto."

"Ditto," he drawled.

"I'm gonna touch your hair now. That doesn't hurt, does it?"

If that hurt too, he would probably just kill himself. "No," he said.

He felt her hand go through it, petting him. It felt oddly nice.

"Let me know when you're ready, and I'll fix you," she said. "I'll even avoid your business this time!"

He chuckled and it made his belly hurt. "An erection would be nice right about now."

"Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves," she said, amused. "We haven't even had dinner."

If only for a second, it felt good to be a little vulnerable, a little devil-may-care.

He tried to turn around on his back, struggled to. Their eyes met. It was weird. Something had changed.

"I'm ready, I guess," he mumbled.

"Anders said the pain is everywhere, right?" she said, scanning him.

"Not on my head," he said.

"Which head?" she said, standing up and smirking.

"Neither," he said, smirking back up at her.

It's good they could joke about it. It was so incredibly mortifying before.

She looked around to make sure no one was looking, then rubbed her hands and blew air on them, as if that was going to do anything. A million little vibrations went through each of his limbs. It's good she had to avoid his chest too. It was by far the most sensitive part.

Perhaps someday we will have irony for dinner, Fenris thought.

He came up in his bed, massaging himself all over.

"How's the pain now?" she asked.

"It's still there, but I can move at least."

She looked like she was thinking. "I think I know of another way that could help. Come see me after everyone's asleep."

His frown dropped deeper than the very Deep Roads. "I'm… sorry?"

"It's not like that."

"It sounded like that."

"Oh, please," she said, smirking and crossing her arms. "You could never handle me."

Interesting.

"Thank you again," Fenris said, avoiding her gaze. He had too much intimate eye contact for a day.

"No problem, man," Hawke said. "We have to look out for each other."

He didn't want to say anything. It was too much to process for now—this camaraderie, this uncoerced word, the whole receiving help and relying on others. It confused and embittered him.

"I'll heal you in combat from now on," she said quietly, preparing to leave him be.

"I thought you didn't like using magic," he mumbled, massaging his legs.

"I don't," she said in a normal tone. She cleared her throat. "But this is bigger than me."

"How Qunari of you," he said, amused.

"Let's not exaggerate. It's just some heals. It's not like I'm going to become a full on you-know-what," she said, leaving.

And why not? It would have been so much easier, wouldn't it?

"Why not?" he said after her.

She looked down, but didn't turn around. "It's complicated," she said, and made her way to Bodahn and Sandal.

Starlit Cavern, Day 7

"Where are you taking me?" Fenris asked, concerned.

They walked in the dark for some time, only the faint light of lyrium veins as their torches.

"Sandal told me of a nice spot for a bath," Hawke said.

"In here?" he said, as if that was madness.

They went into a little cavern where the ceiling was lit up by what looked like myriad of blue-green stars. Some sort of beautiful fluorescent metal. There was a crater on the ground, which Hawke filled with ice, then melted into a little lake. So, Sandal didn't discover a spring, but a place with pretty stars, which she then thought she could shape to her will.

"Clever," he said. He could see it now. A hot bath for aches and pains. Something previously thought unthinkable here.

"To be honest, it just came to me because I smelled myself," she said in amusement.

"You think on your feet," he said, giving her a little smile.

She smiled back. "Well, I'll stand guard outside," she said, giving him a little pink bottle and a half-drunk bottle of wine. "Enjoy yourself."

And boy, did he.

He was prepared to say it was the best bath he'd ever had if not for the craggy vessel that poked his posterior. But the fascinating ceiling made it compete with that one blessed and blissful week in Vyrantium when Danarius had such a consuming dalliance with a merchant that he barely saw him at all. Fenris had the villa almost to himself, and he'd spent every day in the bath house just drinking and day dreaming. Too bad the nightmare came back, when its boyfriend finally had enough. Danarius went through quite a lot of them, all of whom had enough after no more than a few months. Fenris would have had pity for his wife, if not for the fact she was as insane and narcissistic as he was.

Yet all that just seemed like a distant dream right now. The starlit ceiling, the hot water and Hawke's surprisingly enjoyable bubble shampoo quieted and softened him.

Except for one part of him, which was too preoccupied with why she claimed he wouldn't be able to 'handle her'. Inconsistently, he flirted with the curiosity and found the curiosity was flirting back. He followed it, let it take him places. Unexplored places. In fact, for a moment, he felt himself bombarded with surprisingly naughty feelings about her, all of which confused him. He had always just had itches. Meaningless itches.

He knew there was something wrong with him in that respect, and he had made some peace with it over the years. But why would his peace be broken now, and here, of all places?

Clownish aura aside, Hawke was a beautiful woman. She had big greenish-hazel eyes that only slightly tilted downwards, she had nice hair, wide cheekbones, cute freckles and bow-shaped lips. She also had a slight bicep and thick thighs, which he had always found quite aesthetically pleasing. But he had seen a thousand beautiful women, and he didn't want to sleep with any of them. He also didn't want to sleep with any of Danarius's very out-of-his-league boyfriends, no matter how much they might have propositioned him after he was asleep. He thought women were more beautiful than men, but did that really mean anything?

What was he doing, thinking these thoughts? He was thinking so hard the water had gone cold.

"Hawke!" he shouted, feeling a little satisfaction that a human mage was at his beck and call for an hour.

Hawke came in with a hand covering her eyes. "You called, my dear?" she said sarcastically.

"The water has gone cold," he said nonchalantly, resting his elbows wide on the solid surface. "You can uncover your eyes, by the way; your weird bubble shampoo has conquered 90% of this crater."

"It's great, isn't it?" she enthused, uncovering her eyes. She cleared her throat a bit too hard, and started steaming the water. "Say when."

"When," he said, looking up at her. And the thighs. He too cleared his throat.

"How's the pain?" she said. She was strangely determined not to look in his direction.

"Better," he said. "This was a very good idea."

"Cool, cool," she said, her eyes glued to a wall that didn't spend nearly as much time caring for her appearance. "Hurry up then, so I can have my bath, too."

Something was happening to him. He was enveloped in some bizarre desire and confidence. There was no brooding about beauty anymore, but fawning over flesh. What in the Void was in this wine? He felt almost desperate and impatient.

"Why don't you join me?" he said, watching her.

She finally looked at him. Her eyebrow was reaching for the sun.

"Not like that."

"It sounded like that."

"There's plenty of room over there, on the opposite side," he said, gesturing with his head.

"You're joking," she said.

"I'm serious," he said, looking up at her.

She just stared at him for a good minute, as he waited patiently.

"I suppose… that'll save time," she drawled with narrowed eyes.

She walked, quite slowly, to the opposite side, while he watched and bit on his index finger. When she turned around, he let his head fall back on the edge and covered his eyes. "Say when."

Metal clinked, boots thudded, then the water rippled. "When."

She was just a dark red head in a sea of bubbles now. She didn't look in her element. She wanted to sit the way he did, with her elbows on the edge, but couldn't. She put one arm on the edge and awkwardly brought a towering clump of bubbles to herself.

"Well, so much for keeping our distance."

"You are uncomfortable in your femininity," he said, ignoring her, watching her.

"I am uncomfortable with those who think they have femininity defined," she said, blowing through some bubbles.

"Then what is your discomfort? It's a little odd for a girl who has no issue jumping on a table and grabbing herself."

"I was covered up then, wasn't I?"

"You're covered up plenty now," he said, his head falling back as if he looked down on her.

It was almost like they'd switched personalities.

"How come you're not feeling uncomfortable?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Did that dragon do some brain damage?"

Fenris smirked to himself. "I suppose I've been more vulnerable with you than this."

Hawke's eyes flickered, thinking about it. Her very pretty eyes.

"So what? You feel closer to me now?" she said disbelievingly, a dash of sarcasm in her tone.

"Don't you?" he said flatly. He didn't even question where the eagerness for eye contact came from.

"No," she said bluntly, frowning.

He tried to repress his grin, bit his lip on the inside. "Come closer, then."

Her mouth came open slightly; her frown didn't yield. She had a look on her face as threatening as it was tempting. "Fine," she said sharply. "Show me what you've got."

He no longer repressed his grin. He swam to the middle, welcoming her with his eyes. It was almost as close as they could get.

She looked at him, looked amused suddenly. "Do you do anything other than smoulder?"

He huffed and smirked, and pressed his forehead into hers. "I could make you smoulder."

He saw her eyes double in size, and they looked away. Looked down. Inhaled.

"Demon," she said.

"Ditto," he said in a deep tone.

"No, Fenris, there's a demon!" she shouted and swam backwards.

He looked down. The horned head of a Desire demon was staring at him beneath. It made the water explode in front of them as it came to the surface.

"Back away. Back away now!" she commanded him. He did as she said, and the demon got encased in ice.

They both swam in opposite directions. Ice cracked away violently. He barely pulled up his trousers before the demon was upon him. He phased through the creature and punched it from behind. As it turned around angrily, it became encapsulated in the cold once more.

Fenris took his sword from the floor and swiftly decapitated it. The head rolled down into the water.

"Ewwwwwwww!" she exclaimed, slapping the water all over.

"Are you alright?" he said.

"Void's bloody bells, Fenris, just turn around so I can get out!" Hawke shouted aggressively.

Right. He turned around and looked for his vest and armour, and pocketed his smallclothes. "Say when."

Water rippled, boots thudded, metal clinked. She didn't say when.

He turned around, and she was sitting on a rock with her face in her hands. He went to her and became extremely awkward. "I… apologise for my behaviour."

"It wasn't really you," she grumbled through her hands. Was that a flake of disappointment in her tone?

It must have been the demon. Never before had he been this brazen, this shameless. But was it all the demon? On a normal day, he would have abundantly concluded his sudden urges were a demon's influence. But corrupted Fenris had made some very excellent points. He couldn't decide. But he looked at her, how disturbed she was with it, and concluded it must have been the demon.

"Nor you," he said, sighing.

Her hands went over her nose and she breathed. Hesitated? "No," she said.

"How come you didn't sense it?" he asked, his tone surprisingly patient even to himself.

She closed her eyes. Breathed again. "The Veil is already thin in this thaig. I… I couldn't sense a difference!" But she was scolding herself. There was no point in adding insult to injury.

"Ah," he said, thinking. "We should go back then. This was a bad idea."

"A bad, bad idea," she said, standing up. She wouldn't look at him.

"Mortifying," he agreed.

He looked back at the lake. Unbelievably mortifying.

"Fish that out and I'm going to obliterate your ribcage," Hawke said aggressively.

"Fish it out? Please. I wish to bury myself somewhere!" Fenris said, frowning.

"Come on. Let's go. It's fine. It's nothing," she said, softening at the last word. She walked out.

Is it?

Lyrium Thaig Camp, Day 8

If one suspected they would avoid each other after this, one would be entirely correct. It was just rather tricky to achieve that in a camp. The wait for Bartrand's specialists to bombard the ancient sealed door continued.

So, there she was, in line for pea stew, letting other people go in front of her so she wouldn't have to wait with him.

"How's it going, Pantaloons?" Varric asked her.

"I really want to be anywhere else," Hawke said, sighing.

"I know what you mean—you…" he said, but interrupted himself and sniffed her. "You smell nice."

"Really? 'Cause I need a bath after what you just did," she said curtly.

"My bad… it's just…" he said, and cleared his throat. "Anyway, what do you think we're gonna discover next? My money is on an Archdemon. If we get out in time, we could make a fortune selling the info to the Grey Wardens."

"It is very curious that the darkspawn couldn't enter this place..." she said. "I don't know. I have a bad feeling."

"We're clear of darkspawn and now you have a bad feeling?"

"Well, yeah. The Deep Roads are completely infected by darkspawn. That's their normal, right?You've got to wonder what fucked up thing might be behind door number two."

"Well , Bartrand's saying we're not in the Deep Roads anymore. This place isn't on any dwarven map, which means it's not in the Shaperate either."

"So, what, we've discovered some ancient thaig made by a potentially extinct race?"

"Let's hope they're extinct."

"Yeah," she said, looking down. "Well, so far, so good. This place alone will make us a fortune."

Varric came in front of her to shake her hand. "I told you I had a good feeling about you."

"There's no one else I'd rather be stranded in the Void with," she said warmly, shaking his hand.

"Don't tell Junior that or you'll never hear the end o—"

"Guys, I found a demoness head in a cave not far from here!" a miner shouted excitedly.

Everyone in line ran to him except for Fenris, Hawke and Varric. Great, Carver also joined them. She physically hurt, and she felt so mortified she wanted to peel her own face off. "Wait for me before I—" she shouted, then mumbled to herself, "find those troglodytes taking turns fucking its head or something."

Varric approached Fenris. "You're not going, oh, Lord Demon Hunter?"

The elf seemed hesitant. And weirdly shiny. "I've no interest in whatever garbage is going on there."

Varric came nearer and sniffed him. "You smell nice," he said, very suspicious.

Fenris looked in every other possible direction. The statement hung there for a second, after which he became visibly tense. "Varric, I'm flattered, but I have no interest in—"

"That's… not what I was going for," the dwarf said awkwardly, looking away too.

"I mean I have no problem with—"

"Yeah, no, that's… fine."

"I mean it's all… fine."

They cleared their throats. Varric's eyes were coming out of his sockets as he perused an interesting wall.

"I mean Hawke's… uhm… and I'm fine—"

"Please… stop talking," Varric said, and sauntered away.

Lyrium Thaig Camp, Day 8

It was all well and good when they could do recon and fight. That's what they were mainly there to do. But now the miners and the various specialists had the spotlight, while they were sitting on their arses growing antsy by the minute.

At least it gave Fenris time to gain back his strength.

Anders was watching Hawke like a… well, her, doting on her every move and checking on her state of mind. She would have kicked him had his presence not become the perfect shield for avoiding Fenris. He was also pretty hilarious when he wanted to be.

"How's your head?" Dr Anders asked, his question chafing against her just a little.

"Still on my shoulders, just like five fucking minutes ago," Hawke said rather calmly, writing some notes.

"I'm sorry, I…" he said, sitting down next to her at the table with a book. "You're a great fighter, but you're a shit mage."

"Thanks?" she said, looking up.

"You know what I mean," he said, reading his book. "You just need more practice. And before you say no, just remember my offer's always on the table."

She sighed and pet his shoulder. "I appreciate it, Anders." She smiled with one corner of her mouth, and went back to writing.

"You had me scared there for a minute."

"I think Fenris had us more scared than I."

He chuckled. "Well, that's Fenris," he said, reading. "Besides, I don't care about him."

She paused writing for a second and glanced at him sideways. "Where are you going with this?"

"I'm not going anywhere with this," he said, chuckling nervously. "I'd… rather follow your thoughts on the subject."

"The subject being?" she said, flailing the pencil between her fingers.

"The subject of…" he said, tapping on his book, "… a couple of separate subjects potentially…"

"Anders, I'm flattered, but I'm not interested in—"

"Men?" he said quietly. "'Cause that's okay."

"You know I'm bi," she said, frowning.

"Yeah, I know, but not everyone who says they're bi is really bi, you know—"

"Wait, so you just assume that if I'm not interested in you, it must be that I'm lying about who I am?"

"No!" he said, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm not a bigot. I'm…" he whispered, looking around, "… bi, too, okay? But I'm not going through that headache, so shush."

"Cool," she said, unsurprised. But then she frowned and shook her head. "Wait, that doesn't make any sense. If you really are one too, why would you cast doubt on your fellow bi's?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Because I know how incredibly hard it is to be openly… just one thing," he whispered, "and I've known… people, who prefer to maintain they like both."

"You mean Karl?" she said in a normal voice with half-lidded eyes.

He pursed his lips. "Now who's jumping to conclusions?"

"Sorry," she said, and kept on writing.

He went on reading. "Well, you're not wrong but you did jump to conclusions," he said eventually.

"I don't know. He just had a vibe."

"Well, you have that vibe too."

She looked at him. "Well, you have that vibe, too."

He grimaced. "I suppose we just have that vibe no matter what alternative cake flavour we like."

"Probably best to just wing it then," she said, smiling, and kept on writing.

He chuckled and continued reading his book. "Right on, sister."

"Right on, brother!" she joined in clownishly.

A minute passed.

"Is it the Justice thing, then?" he pressed.

She looked up from her notes and pushed her tongue inside her cheek. "That… is also the problem."

"And…?"

She looked tiredly at him.

"Oh, come on. I'm sure you were rejected by the rare fellow queer, too. It's just curiosity."

She did get rejected by the rare fellow queer. Sometimes before, sometimes even after, but still. It hurt. It wasn't just about the same sex; it was also more broadly about the shared struggle, that common understanding and values on the subject. The open-mindedness towards all of it. The straights just didn't get it.

Her inner brows sloped upwards in discomfort. "You look like my dad, okay? If you had redder hair and freckles, you'd basically be him. It's just…"

"Icky," Anders said, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"Exactly," Hawke said, pointing her pencil at him. "You also kinda look like King Alistair, and I'm on the fence about him."

"Ohhhh, that's why you thought I was King Alistair when you got lyrium poisoning."

"I did?" she said, and went on writing. "Well, thank the Maker for that. If I went psychotic and called you daddy in front of everyone, I'd never recover from that."

He face-planted the table laughing. She let him have his moment. Then they went back to their reading and/or writing.

"So, your mum's single then?" Anders said jokingly.

She elbowed him hard, and they both broke into laughter.

Further away, sitting on a couple of boxes, Fenris watched them and sharpened his sword. They were goofing off, laughing, she was touching his shoulder. It must have been the demon. Why did he care? Because he doubted it was the demon for him. He suspected that came later, after he had unlocked… whatever sex brain was hiding under his regular brain. The demon must have been drawn to that surge of emotion, and drove it to a hundred once a nice potential vessel stepped in the cave.

Little did he know that she had a similar theory. That the demon had little to do with her actions, and a lot to do with his. He was not acting like himself. And as for her, the demon didn't need to put dirty thoughts into her head because she had been having them since day one. And she was terrified that once he came to his senses, he would figure it out. He was a very perceptive man. A sensitive man.

Meanwhile, she felt like the biggest creep. What if she'd never noticed the demon and she just went with it? It wouldn't have been innocent. It would have been non-consensual. It would have been the most bizarre and irrecoverable experience.

But since Fenris couldn't read her mind, he resolved to his own inner perceptions. He brooded about it some more, and, despite that cavern experience not going… anywhere, concluded that he was fucked.

He stared into empty space, tapping his nails on his sword and overbuilding momentum.

"Wicked Grace?" Carver's voice came amicable to his right.

One last hard tap. "Yes, please," Fenris said, standing up.

Carver took him to a little table where Varric, Bartrand and two other dwarven women were finishing a game. Fenris met eyes with Varric for a second, and it was still awkward.

"Helga, Bianca—Fenris," Carver said.

The elf frowned as he sat down.

"Unrelated Bianca," Varric clarified. "Or is she?"

Helga had brown hair and blue eyes and Bianca had dark hair and green eyes.

"Pleased to meet you," Fenris said.

"Interesting tattoos," allegedly-unrelated-Bianca said. She traced her finger on her throat. "That fish skeleton schematic reminds me of how guitar-string tattoos look on old Dead Legionnaires when their skin starts to wrinkle and melt."

She managed to offend everyone in that sentence.

"Thanks?" Fenris said, raising an eyebrow.

Varric collected the cards from people and started shuffling them quietly.

"Bianca studies weird shit and thinks the Deep Roads are like a library-spa," Carver explained.

"Hey, I'm the brains, not the muscle," she said, raising her palms.

"What do you do, Helga?" Fenris asked.

"I also study, but I would have to be hit in the head to see this as a spa," she said, as they started to play. "I'm with the University of Orlais."

"Top of her class and soon to have a portrait in the Hall of Alumni," Bartrand said proudly, tapping her back.

"Studying what?" Fenris said.

"Physiology," Helga said. "Right now, I'm researching the effects of prolonged light deprivation on surface dwarves and comparing it to humans and elves."

"So, you're studying us," Fenris said.

"Only if you consent, of course," Helga said. "If you let me interview you at the end, you'll get a 30-silver voucher to use at Korval's Blades in Hightown."

"But there's nothing at Korval's that costs as low as 30 silver," Fenris protested.

Helga shrugged. "Better than nothing."

"Well, I suppose academics do struggle with finding willing participants."

"Have you participated in any studies before?"

Varric cleared his throat hard. "Fold, Helga."

"Stop peeping at my cards!" she whined.

"How can I when you're waving them around? You get carried away when you talk about science."

"Yes, I've been subjected to interminable and unethical experimentation," Fenris said flatly.

And that was the bad vibe Varric was afraid of. Those girls would be all over him in a minute trying to study him, and the idiot wouldn't see it.

Helga elbowed Bianca to stop whatever inappropriate question she was surely going to ask.

"That's… very not okay, and I'm sorry you had to go through something like that," Helga said compassionately. She looked at the bed he once vegetated in for two days and seemed to put two and two together. "If you have any medical questions, I'd be happy to discuss in private."

Fenris didn't know what to say. He suddenly regretted opening his mouth.

"That empty glare means 'thanks' in his language," Varric said sardonically.

People laughed, but he went into his thoughts. Did he even want to know?

As people went about their nightly routines, Fenris approached Helga. She was just reading a book by candlelight.

He cleared his throat. He had been clearing his throat so hard these past few days he probably needed a new one.

"Ah, Fishy Face," she said comradely.

"Weird… Nerd Girl?" he saluted her back.

"How can I help?" she said, closing her book and crossing her legs.

He sat down at a distance and looked around to make sure people were busy and ignoring him. Hawke was still laughing and kumbaya-ing away with the mage. Good, in a way.

He sighed. "I suppose I'd like some kind of… diagnosis."

"Ah, I'm afraid I may only do hunches, since I'm only packing a travel-sized lab," she said, lightly kicking her bag.

He groaned as if the whole idea was putting him off. "You seem too intelligent for your own good. Can you offer an educated hunch, but in a way where you don't touch me or force me to talk about my past?"

She whistled in amazement. "That's a tall order. I'm actually tempted now."

"Lovely," he said grumpily. He needed a minute. "I'm having some pain issues. No, that is insufficient. I'm having a clusterfuck of pain issues."

Helga grinded her teeth. "Sounds awful."

"Quite," he said, shifting in his seat. "So, care to venture a guess?"

"Does it have to do with your tattoos?" she asked. "Or is that too personal of a question? 'Cause in that case, I'm working completely blind here."

"Yes, they are very painful. But I have a feeling it's more than that." He looked at that bed. "Like widespread shock in my body."

"From the unethical—"

"I'm not going to elaborate."

"Right," she said, thinking. "Well, people do get quite nasty post-traumatic effects from things like that. Also from war, torture, asylum seeking, plagues, illnesses, imprisonment, other forms of abuse—"

Hawke did say as much. "If you have a list, I could probably check all of them," he said, to spare himself the interview.

"Yikes."

He pursed his lips. "I suppose I am concerned I have an actual illness as a result."

"And if you do, that would make it easier to understand, maybe even control."

"Exactly."

She nodded, thinking. "Well, it could be shell shock. But that's extremely under-researched. Nobody cares about mental health right now."

"Great."

"It could also be a pain processing disorder, or an autoimmune disease."

"Those don't sound fun."

"Not for the patient, no," she said, smiling at him with a kind of pity. "How does the pain present itself?"

"Like… a ball-shrivelling, soul-sucking, face-peeling, wish-I-was-dead sensation that just keeps on giving."

"Then your muscles knot like hell?"

"Quite."

Helga narrowed her eyes. "Do you have photophobia?"

He thought in Tevene. "Fear of light?"

"Intolerance to bright light," she clarified.

"I do prefer to be in the dark," he said. But he also had other reasons to keep the curtains closed.

"Interesting. Very interesting," she said, thinking. "On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in right now?"

Fenris inhaled and closed his eyes. "Five."

"How much was it when you were down?"

He shook his head, frustrated to come up with an exact answer. "Eight and a half."

"And on a regular day?"

"There is no such thing as a regular day," he said flatly.

"What about sleep?"

"Insufficient."

"What about mood?"

"I refer you to my previous answers," he said grumpily.

"Okay, fair enough," she said, chuckling. "Food?"

"Adequate."

"Sexual function?"

He groaned in annoyance. "Unnecessary."

"I… don't know how to process that," Helga said awkwardly.

"Next question," Fenris said curtly.

"No, no. It's a relevant question," she said, doing some advanced mathematics on how to reword it. "If the mood struck, are you able to?" She made a raising gesture that she very mistakenly thought was helpful.

He gave her a death glare. "Yes," he said sharply.

She snorted and contained her laugh.

"So unprofessional," he said, shaking his head.

"Sorry, it's just," she said, trying to stop the snickers. "You all give me that menacing look."

"Perhaps you should lose the hand gesture," he said crossly.

"Noted," she drawled, and went on thinking. "And you've got no internal damage as far as you know? You are very fit, so I suspect there isn't."

"I would be dead if there was," he maintained. "I'm fighting dragons for Maker's sake."

"And no other illnesses?" she said.

Mental illness, probably. "No," he said.

"Does the pain get worse with exertion?" she asked.

"With touch, with exercise, with stress, with lack of sleep. With all the exertions."

"Ah, that explains the word 'unnecessary'," she said, containing herself.

This had gone way longer and more personal than he thought.

"Were you a little sensitive to touch before the… unethical things," she drawled awkwardly.

Great. And there was the obstacle. He was just wasting his time and hers. He shouldn't have done this. But for the sake of not leaving things undone, he tried to think of what Danarius would say about him. He was very dismissive of his questions, and avoided the subject like fire. But sometimes when he got very mad and unloaded his wrath on him, he'd mock him with variations of "You were always such a fucking sensitive boy!".

"I guess," he simply said.

"How much sleep do you need, if you could get a good night's sleep?"

"I don't know. Sixteen hours?" he said, laughing at himself.

"Okay!..." Helga exclaimed, unconvinced and uncomfortable.

"I think I've had enough now," Fenris said sourly. "Your conclusion?"

"I mean…" Helga said. "It's just a hunch, but I'm not too convinced about the autoimmune thing, since it would need other significant symptoms."

"So, pain processing… thing?" Fenris said, a dash of hope in his tone.

"Coupled with chronic post-traumatic stress," Helga said, nodding. "I'm not an expert in these things. I'm more of a general physician. But I'd put my money on that."

"That's a long name to remember," he said, thinking to himself.

"Some just call it fibromyalgia," she said.

He translated in his head. "Muscle pain?" he said in a disappointed tone.

"I know, they all sound fancy but they're actually quite dumb," she said, chuckling. "But I wouldn't go to a doctor saying that name. They'll just treat you like you're crazy."

"Why?" he asked, frowning.

"I don't know…" she said, sighing. "It's about feelings. Pain is a hidden thing. You can't see it, you can't measure it. Not objectively, anyway. And with all such invisible things, doctors just don't like to bother."

"Because it's too challenging for them intellectually," Fenris said a little crossly.

Helga laughed, even waved at herself. "You're… not wrong."

He felt like chuckling too. It was refreshing to see a person of high status admitting to their flaws.

"Well," he said, looking down. "I suppose this wasn't a complete waste of time."

"Only partially, as promised," she said with a little smile. "Oh, and—camomile. Brew it and it may help you sleep."

"May?" he said tiredly.

"I choose my words carefully. Dwarves don't like getting sued."

Then they would certainly hate Tevinter.

"Thank you," he said, and prepared to stand up.

"That'll be three sovereign," she said, holding out her hand.

He gave her another death glare.

"You should see the look on your face," Helga said, way too entertained.

He had to go for a walk. This was a lot to process. But the conclusion was the same as before he met the dwarf. He was fucked.

Back at the sleepless socialists' table, Anders had been telling Hawke about all the mages he had met in Darktown and which ones to avoid. If Fenris were there, his head would have exploded.

"Larry never keeps his word. He's such a conniving fart, will rip you off without so much as a how-do-you-do," Anders went on. "Hey… you still there?"

But she had started to lose her attention, because she was secretly watching Fenris and a dwarven woman talk for quite a long time and even share a laugh. What was that about? She couldn't help but feel jealous. At least there didn't seem to be chemistry. Her body language was, on the whole, edgy and inelegant. And as for him, Edgy and Inelegant was his middle name.

"Yes… Larry rips farts and you don't know what to do," she tried.

"Not… what I said."

But then it looked like a black tar bomb fell on Fenris's head, and he stood up and walked in a bound sort of way.

"Hold that thought," she told Anders.

"M…kay?" he said, watching her leave.

She announced her presence and caught up to him.

"You… okay?" she said, looking worried. "You look a bit, uhm… fucked."

"I am fucked," he said bluntly. But it didn't seem like he planned that line, and he rubbed the front of his hair. "I'm sorry… I need to be alone."

"As long as you're not planning to do something stupid," she said, concerned.

Like flirt with an abomination? Fenris thought irately. He'd almost said it out loud. He was really not in a good place.

"I'll hold you to that," he said vaguely, and ambled away.