Nighttime, Fenris's Mansion

He woke up to see her still staying there, on the bench next to the fireplace, deep in thought and trying to brush her hair. The red mass of thick and beautiful hair that she almost never dared to wear loose. Did he fall asleep so quickly? Why hadn't she just left?

He had never asked of her for favours. To be honest, he couldn't afford to. But it was a particular delight to see her still staying there after he had fallen asleep, as if she watched over him. Therefore, nothing seemed more appropriate than that he should ravage her.

He rose from bed and went to her, almost hearing that distinct, lovely sound of her heartbeat in the ghostly silence of the house. There was nothing in that moment for him than that delightful sound and his certainty that he would ensure it continued.

"Let me comb your hair out for you," he said, feeling insolent that he even dared to ask.

She said nothing, only turning her big and childlike eyes. She faced him with a telepathic smile of agreement, giving him the brush and turning back to watch the fire. Although it seemed surreal, he finally swallowed his defences and dared himself to touch it, hold it in his hand and brush it slowly. It felt just as soft as it looked.

"Why didn't you leave?" he asked her calmly.

"I wanted to, but I couldn't. It's so peaceful here," she said with an almost guilty voice.

"I'm happy you didn't," he said warmly, feeling his mouth draw out the natural, as of late incontrollable smile he only allowed her to see.

"Oh? You suddenly enjoy my presence? Alert the Chantry," she said sarcastically.

"I do enjoy it," he said in a deep, serious voice. "And why? Strong, yes, quick-witted, yes, beautiful, yes, and inside you, the burnt-up relics of a saint."

"Fenris, what are you even saying? I'm not a saint."

"No, you're wrong. You could not be more wrong," he said flatly, shaking his head at how little credit she could give herself. It had occurred to him that he didn't need to demean her, and he didn't want to anymore. She did it all on her own. It was frustrating to think that while she was the only mage he regretted being hostile with, she would not cease to be hostile with herself.

"Oh, you're adorable. Somehow it's strange, but I find it delighting to be helpless at your mercy." Her words suddenly angered him and he stopped the brush.

"Stop mocking me," he said firmly, feeling guilty of how aggressive he sounded.

"But I'm not," she said. She turned to face him and took the brush out of his hand. "I want to speak the truth. I want to be a fool for the truth, a fool for—well, I want to be a fool for you."

Preposterous. "No, you do mean to mock me. You mean it. And you don't realize the absurdity of it."

"So negative," she said tiredly.

"You fail to see your effect," he said with a grin, calming himself. But it was not a calmness that he understood; it was a rather curious calmness, of understanding. He did not know. He did not care in that moment.

He pulled her up by the hand and she kept her unperturbed look, waiting. He couldn't help but look at her peach-soft lips that opened in a vague wondering expression. He looked at that beautiful red hair that seemed like a crown of sorts, the only crown she dared to wear. She wrapped her arms around him and he kissed her, his hands in her hair. It's as if he knew exactly what to do. Nothing in the world could have tasted so sweet. She held onto him tightly and placed a hand on his heart and he could feel it beating against her hand. Whatever brain he had, it was gone and there was only her and her touch. For shame, if it would end now.

He threw her down on his bed and suddenly he felt her fragile and defenceless under him. He bent down and kissed her again, maddened by the whole thing. He took her hands that were wrapped around his back and swung her left wrist over with her right, entrapping both her hands in one so that he was free to rip open her sweater.

She stopped him, held his face in her hands and searched for his look, maybe his reason. Maybe he frightened her. But she was smiling at him and brought his lips to hers again. She wrapped her legs around his back and swung him on the side until he was under her command. She trapped him this time and bent over, showering him with her bewitching kisses, as if he deserved them. As if they were only his.

He was maddened by them and pushed through the wrist lock. He escaped her grip and sat up and wrapped his arms around her because she was only his and he had to hear that heart beating if it killed him

"Fenris?" a voice slapped him and he opened his eyes in terror.

"Kaffas," he growled.

"Kaffas to you too, now let's go," Varric said sarcastically while his arms were crossed.

"For the love of all the existing or invented gods, don't you people EVER knock?" Fenris half shouted ferociously as he rose from his back and placed an arm over his covered lap.

"I knocked like twenty times, elf. Common courtesy ends when my large and reasonable patience does. Now come, you gotta see this!" Varric said in excitement.

"What is so important that you had to break into my house?" Fenris growled in annoyance.

"Hawke's gonna walk blindfolded over booby traps. And then some!" Varric said in amusement.

"Aren't you done torturing her for your own amusement?"

"Most of what I'm telling her to do are things she would do voluntarily on a dare, so, nope."

"Get out of my house," Fenris said angrily.

"Someone woke up with their ass on the pillow, jeesh," Varric muttered grumpily and proceeded to walk out of the room. "If you're not coming, then at least Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man?"

"Never miss it," Fenris said grumpily and rolled his eyes.

Sunset, The Hanged Man

"Can I take it off already?" Hawke asked Varric as she had been wearing a green troll mask for hours now.

"Nonsense," Varric said charmingly. "You're so pretty now, just look at you," he said and brushed the fake black swamp hair from the mask.

"I'm going to kill you when this is over," Hawke muttered grumpily.

"You're learning your lesson not to flee from my wing without consequences next time, Asschabs," Varric said confidently and discarded a serpent.

"What was my other punishment again?" Hawke asked, rolling her eyes, even though nobody could really see it through the mask.

"If you stop subtly giving me the finger under the table, I'll tell you," Varric said assertively without looking at her.

"How did you-", she stuttered, "Fine."

"After we go take care of that shipment business at the Docks tomorrow, you're going to rinse yourself with fish grease and stand still in the sun for the seagulls to come and stand on you like on a statue. Unless they bite you, you can't move."

"Oh, that's much better than when you made me run into Lowtown and scream at people 'I lost my voice, please help me find it!'" Hawke said in annoyance.

Varric chuckled, "Oh, that was a good one. Seriously, I'm a genius."

"Beware of his Majesty, for he doth not know that he is the King of Fools," she recited courteously.

"Do you want me to make you kiss a chicken breast passionately for 90 seconds again?" Varric asked cunningly.

"I'll make you kiss something soon," Hawke said aggressively.

"That gives me another idea," Varric said confidently, caressing his maxillary. "You have to choose from either humping someone's leg or picking your nose and eating it."

"Suddenly I'm taken aback by the thought that I'm the sanest here from the two of us," Hawke said and sighed.

"Ugh, do I really have to go with you?" Isabela asked in annoyance.

"Yes, Riviani, you're the only one who knows the guy," Varric said insistently.

"Why can't I just give you a pair of panties or something so he'll know I'm sending my regards through you?" Isabela asked charmingly.

"I'm not touching that even if the Knight-Commander tortures me into it," Hawke said while frowning. "It's enough that you're scratching dirty stuff on my walls every time you visit. You're coming to the Docks with us and that's final."

Isabela sighed like a child and crossed her arms, "Like a slave, I'm being dragged by my ruthless masters to the dark pits of the earth."

Fenris gave her a silent homicidal frown and suddenly everyone remained stunned and prepared to tackle him from jumping at her throat.

"Oops, I forgot you were here," Isabela said awkwardly.

"Are you seriously comparing having to go to the Docks with slavery?" he asked angrily, his one big vein pumping and boiling out of his forehead.

"In my defense," Isabela said hesitantly and frowned, "I thought you weren't here to hear it."

Fenris got up and spat on the ground, then rushed out of the tavern angrily. Everyone looked back at Isabela and she scratched the back of her hair awkwardly. "What? I honestly didn't notice he was at the table."

"Smooth, Isabela," Hawke said sarcastically and shook her head.

Outside the The Hanged Man

Fenris pressed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, trying to push down the rage, but that innocent comment was nothing for him if not utterly impertinent and outrageous. He had spent years, years... No. Some things one does not want to remember. Like being damned, denied your food, playing bodyguard by day and being shackled up in chains again by night. Danarius getting his delight from having him watch how the other slaves were whipped and kicked in the middle of their work if they took a break. That malignant, ruthless filius scrofae, brushing his filthy hand in his hair and whispering to him, "Remember how lucky you are, my little wolf." That was no luck. Certainly, having nothing to remember but his time with him, not knowing if one from the thousand cries of tortured souls he used to hear by night or the slaves that were being beaten by day was his mother or father or sibling. Danarius told him he didn't need to worry about that, as if his family didn't exist or was not under his command. But how could he be sure?

He didn't care if Isabela's comment was "innocent"; he didn't care if she had some compassion in her soul for slaves. She had no idea what it meant to be him.

A delightful voice crept up from behind, like a soothing electric shock that made the memories go away in an instant.

"You know I had a coat like yours at the ball," she said from behind. "Beautiful black tail coat it was. You know what happened to it?"

"What?" he asked calmly, without looking at her.

She came next to him smiling and pointed at the metal spikes, "I took a clumsy jump there and the tail got stuck in them. Worst part was, the material was so thick that it didn't rip. So I kinda remained suspended in the air with my ass up and hung there for a good fifteen minutes."

A soft, sorrowful laugh came about him and she chuckled too, "I'm an idiot, I know."

"Yes you are," he said calmly and looked at her. He couldn't help but feel confused, although appreciate that she didn't prod him about his past or his feelings. It was his business and if he did not permit it, she wasn't going to force him into speaking about it. Neither did she come about to him and ask if he was alright or anything. She didn't have to and it was pointless. It was impressive how many fields and meanings she could cover with only one sentence. It was as if she told him 'I don't want to intrude in your thoughts, but you're a free man so suck it up, stop moping and let's do something fun.'

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "You have to be hungry."

"What if I am?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Mother asked me to convince you to come by for dinner, 'again'," she said. "I'm sensing you visited her a few times."

"I did," he said flatly. "You have a wonderful mother, Hawke."

"I know," she said warmly. "Oh, she can be frustrating sometimes, but she means the best. So are you coming or not?"

"Very well," he said knightly.

Hawke's Estate

"Oh, thank the Maker, I thought I had to come drag you here myself," Leandra said warmly and welcomed him inside the main room.

"I told you you should have just done that in the first place. It was just dumb luck on my part," Hawke said nonchalantly and walked inside.

"There was no need for dragging," Fenris said flatly and nodded knightly.

Hawke went into her room, probably to change from her unicorn-looking dragon Warden robes. Leandra laughed softly at his being a statue again and reminded him he just had to sit at the table and wait. She pointed the chair at the foot of the table. A seat of honour. When Hawke came back, she was just wearing a simple white shirt and dark pants, clearly not at all aristocratic. Even with her present noble status, Hawke still dressed as the old rebel, ordinary, commoner woman he first met. At least in that respect, he didn't feel that inappropriate in his clothes. Once they started eating, Hawke watched the two talk so effortlessly about current affairs and comment on the nobles, as if they had known each other forever.

A sudden rush of guilt and sadness came about her as she realized Fenris's few visits might have actually been a weekly routine and that he, who had no sorts of experience with socializing or proper bonding, kept to a sense of honor and watched over her, or maybe even found a friendly company in her mother. Of course she would make him feel comfortable and convince him to visit, her mother was certainly the sort of presence that simply exuded security and warmth, just like Bethany. She felt a bit envious of them for a long time, as in turn, she was inappropriate, impulsive and ordinarily anything that came out of her mouth was in a sarcastic or mean tone. Nothing ladylike or soothing, nothing that inspired trust. She felt at ease with convincing herself she did not need these traits to function, for she didn't give two spitting coopers about proper human conduct or relationships. What was productive and functional was her ability to do things, to fight, defend and work hard. Through those efforts she got this estate back and made her mother happy; not through sweet talk or delightful manners.

Her train of thought got interrupted when her mother started to talk about her.

"Oh, when she told me she was at the ball watching after me, I couldn't even be mad at her! It was too astonishing for me to hear that this little soldier had the patience to wear something humanly decent and pretend to mingle with the high classes," Leandra said in amusement. "I expect you will not accompany me to parties in the future, will you?"

"Damn right I will not," Hawke said assertively, combining courteous words with Lowtown vocabulary in a way that was most entertaining.

"Here you are, a noble woman in a huge mansion and all I see is that little girl covered in dirt and swinging that big sword from dawn til dusk and screaming at me not to disturb you."

"Well, I guess that hasn't really changed," Hawke said awkwardly, scratching the back of her head.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Leandra said warmly, brushing her messy ponytail. "I wonder what you got from me, love."

"The insufferable trait of not accepting no for an answer, that's for sure," Hawke said sarcastically.

"And the nose," Fenris said nonchalantly. The two women looked at him in surprise, as if hejumped on the table and started juggling the plates. Suddenly he felt inappropriate and stuttered. "I mean -"

"Yes, that's true. We do have the same nose," Hawke said perceptively and narrowing her eyes. "What a pity."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Leandra said in soft outrage.

"Nothing, Mother, you're pretty," Hawke said sarcastically and rolled her eyes. "Kind of like Mojo here," she said in amusement and threw a wing at the dog.

"You're comparing me with the mabari?" Leandra said sadly. "Ugh, you really haven't changed."

"It wasn't exactly an insult. At least not an insult that wouldn't count me in it, too."

"See what I have to live with, Fenris?" Leandra said, shaking her head. "I don't know how you cope with her in your little group."

Fenris laughed softly, "She's certainly not a leader for the faint-hearted."

"That's a polite way of saying she's perfectly rude and insufferable, right?" Leandra chuckled.

"Hey!" Hawke said and frowned. "I'm delightful."

"Keep telling yourself that," Fenris said in amusement. "Once you convince yourself maybe you will manage to convince us, too."

"I don't know how you'll find a husband with this attitude," Leandra said warmly. "The softer arts are really not your thing."

"Maybe I don't need to learn the softer arts to land a husband because for one, I don't want one, and two, if I did wish to, I certainly don't want a noble wimp that pisses his pants at the sight of a dagger."

"That's not what I meant, love," Leandra said calmly. "I simply meant that-"

"I know what you meant," Hawke said and rolled her eyes. "And apart from not caring for it, I am utterly incapable of it as it is."

Leandra shook her head, "Maybe Fenris should teach you how to be more courteous and respectful of others."

Hawke snorted in amusement, "What?"

"I would need about a decade or two," Fenris said sarcastically and tried not to laugh.

"Why do you people always gang up on me? What did I do to you?" Hawke asked in outrage.

"Easy with the paranoia," Fenris said calmly. "Nobody is ganging up on you."

Hawke gave an arrogant "Hmph" and decided more wine was in order for this extremely ridiculous conversation.

"I'm just concerned for you, love. You're delightful in your own 'I hate you all! Leave me alone' way, but certainly you could at least try to be nicer to others," Leandra said and looked at Fenris with a warm gaze. "If I had a son-in-law like Fenris-"

Leandra stopped as Hawke choked on her wine and coughed heavily. "A son in what?" she asked awkwardly.

Fenris had to try, with his deepest strength, not to burst into laughter at the sight of Hawke being so clumsy and awkward and deeply uncomfortable. The sight was a perfect distraction from him tensing up and choking on his wine himself, for what her mother implied was nothing he would have expected in a thousand years.

"What?" Leandra asked innocently. "I ran away from the noble life with a fugitive apostate. You don't see me judging something that is also legal, lest you have forgotten," she said assertively and smiled warmly at Fenris." Who knows what might happen?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Hawke asked again, clearing her throat. "Could you cut it with your inappropriate motherly badgering? If Fenris flees the city because of you, I'm kicking you out of my house and you can chase him all the way to the Wilds."

"Before or after you remember to put the estate in your name?" Leandra said in amusement.

"Mother," Hawke said aggressively.

"No need, I was not offended," Fenris said calmly, trying not to laugh.

"I knew you wouldn't be," Leandra said warmly. "Plus, it would be a nice opportunity to visit Ferelden again, if you do flee the city."

"Mother, cut it out, please," Hawke said pleading. "If I lose my evading tank warrior, I'm gonna be doomed to scream pointless commands at fragile rogue princesses and mages. You don't want me to die on the field, do you?"

"I don't know what that means, love, but I don't think you should be worrying about that, does she, Fenris?"

"She does not," he said calmly. "She gets recklessly cornered too many times not to have another warrior there to distract the foes."

"Yes, what he said," Leandra said in amusement. "Forgive me a moment, I will bring desert."

As Leandra walked into the kitchen, Fenris tried to contain his amused smirk, but finally snorted.

"You're seriously loving this? Oh, I get it, 'cause the joke's on me," she said meanly.

"As I said before, if you find it hard to laugh at yourself, I'm happy to do it for you, Hawke," Fenris said while grinning in entertainment. "Besides, like your mother said, who knows what might happen?" he said nonchalantly.

"Oh, piss off," she said angrily and crossed her arms. "You stole Varric from me, now my own mother, too. You're such a snake."

"Well, it's good that I have a viper at my side that understands," he said in amusement.

"You're walking into dangerous territory, Fenris. You don't know who you're messing with," she said assertively.

"What can you do? Scream, bite, propose?" he said and smirked at the last bit.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she said and he lifted his eyebrows in fright. Was she really that crazy to do a stunt proposal in front of her mother just to make him lose at his own game? Of course she was that crazy, who was he kidding.

"I suggest you think that through," Fenris said and frowned.

"Oh, but you know you can't refuse me in front of her, right? It would be incredibly embarrassing, no?" she said cunningly and smirked.

"Fine, you win," Fenris said grumpily.

"Aaand?" she said mischievously.

He rolled his eyes, "And I'll convince Varric not to make you dance the remigold in a dress tomorrow."

"That's what I like to hear," she said confidently.

"I still have my punishment, though," Fenris said cunningly and smiled.

"Wasn't this dinner enough?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"Nonsense," he said calmly and grinned sensually. "I will have to put my imagination to good use."

"You have imagination?" she asked mockingly. "Shit, where was I when you started being so artsy?"

"I'd go with getting recklessly cornered by thugs somewhere on the Imperial Highway."

"Ha. Ha," she said meanly. "I did. And they're still dead. See? I don't need you."

"That's not what you said a minute ago," Fenris said in amusement.

"There are many voices in my head. Don't listen to everything I say," she said defensively. "I can say the weirdest things sometimes."

"Of course," he said calmly and grinned. He couldn't admit it just yet, but she was so delightful when she was defensive and childish. He remembered his 'Knight trumps Queen' comment. She was a dignified warrior, a fighter with a knack for keeping her ground only by herself, so positively unshakable, it was rather endearing. She was too proud to be a queen.

"Here you go," Leandra said motherly, coming back with a plate of cake. "Dig in and don't let a scrap of it uneaten, before Mojo figures out it's cheesecake."

A week later, Morning, The Blooming Rose

As much as Hawke wanted to curse her eyes out at Varric's latest punishment, she wasn't one to back down and mope. She had to clean the sheets in the Blooming Rose for one morning and when that morning finally ended, she was going to have a drink. Or twenty.

As she finished the dirty work under Isabela's keen supervision (she just couldn't understand why Isabela paid for a full year of golden membership and where she even got that kind of money), she saluted her and got the hell out of there.

When she exited the Rose, a million clowns dressed as elephants were still not as shocking and impossibly ridiculous as the sight of Fenris who seemed to be either coming in or going away from the place.

"Fenris, what are you doing here?" she asked from behind.

He flinched and turned his back and was suddenly enveloped in shameful look with an awkward lift to his eyebrows.

"I-," Fenris stuttered and his eyes wondered in different directions.

Hawke suddenly felt betrayed, as if the whole sense of logic she held on to and that included the whole of her perception of Fenris had suddenly been shattered to a million pieces. She kept an aura of nonchalance and laughed, "Thought to give the Rose a shot but then gave up at the last second and decided a whore wasn't worth it?"

"No," he said hesitantly and scratched the back of his head. "I was –"

"Shopping for dirty sheets? What?" she asked insistently, but keeping her cool, unperturbed look.

"I could ask you the same thing," Fenris retorted confidently.

"I had been punished to clean the sheets of this place for a whole morning. I wonder who gave Varric that idea," Hawke said grumpily and rolled her eyes.

"The pirate, no doubt," Fenris said flatly and crossed his arms.

"Well you're not being punished for anything. Well, maybe you want to be punished? No judgement," she said awkwardly and became aware of how tense she became.

Fenris sighed and looked down, as if he was a dog with the tail between his legs that was caught eating the family stake.

"I thought I'd look for that inappropriate elf you said that fixed your back," he said in an ashamed voice.

Hawke eyes widened and she tried not to breathe in relief, "Oh, ooooh…"

"But I decided not to," Fenris continued.

"Yeah, I was about to ask if you were sure it was a good idea to make a defenceless little person take on such a high responsibility, for lack of a better word."

"That's what changed my mind," he said in false calmness. He looked in different directions, obviously being tense.

Hawke looked down and frowned, but then said, "You know, I can take on that kind of weight, if you prefer," she said and hesitated, "I mean, if your back really bothers you that much." He lifted his eyebrows and hesitated to answer, so she continued with a smile, "I had half a year to learn from the best."

"I-," he stuttered. "No, I don't want to burden you with this."

She laughed, "What burden? So I might get a fist in my heart. Accent on the might. It's kinda hard to sweep me off my feet, as you may have noticed."

"Yes, I suppose you're not so defenceless," he said calmly and looked away. "But-"

"Look," Hawke sighed. "I know you're seemingly self-sufficient - and that's just a polite way of saying that you're insufferably pseudo-independent – but I know what it's like to have a giant bitch of a back problem from greatswords. I understand."

He was incapable of asking. They both knew it.

"You know I won't accept no for an answer," Hawke said confidently.

Fenris sighed, "As you wish."

The Hanged Man, Varric's Room

"They're going at it again," Varric said to Isabela as she came into the room.

"What? I thought they made up," Isabela said bewilderedly.

"No, not her and the elf, her and Choirboy," Varric said in annoyance.

"I heard barking all the way from the market," Fenris said as he came into Varric's room, too.

They looked at Varric's giant table where Hawke and Sebastian were arguing with each other in a very civil, courteous way that just silently screamed murder.

"I'm sorry, but your sect holds on to a logic that supersedes the supernatural. Not only that, my dear, but most of all I am baffled at how viciously your zealots shuffle the amazing with the completely banal, the miracle with necessity. It's just a perfect means to justify something that is not even meant to be discovered and rationalized, yet how many deaths have there been in the Maker's name, I'd need millions of fingers to count that high," Hawke scowled at Sebastian determinedly.

"The past is the past, Hawke and they were only human. War was the only way to fight evil," Sebastian said calmly.

"What evil? Oh, you mean mages. You know something, Sebastian? To be a man is a drama; to be a mage is another one added to the list. A mage has the cruel privilege of living the human (or elven) condition twice. It's a double-sentence. He's always going to be aware of his singularity, his being separated from the rest of the world only by that one factor. And from there comes all this ill-at-ease airs that you see in mages. He never forgets about it, not for one moment can he just forget about what he is. No roots, no nothing, only the tyranny of the scenery that surrounds him everywhere he goes in your Andrastian lands. He cannot be a stranger to himself like non-mages have the privilege to and he can have no bonds. He will never just be the man from here or a man from anywhere. He'll be the one who cannot speak without being a suspect in the name of the land, in the name of everyone, right?"

Sebastian hesitated, for her speech was too passionate and he was lost for words.

"He can never, I don't know, be a representative of a people or be a speaker – if he tried – what a mission that would be! He could never stir, raise or lead a mass. He will always be held accountable for his own being, let alone the parents that he couldn't bury, the whole stock of ancestors he probably doesn't even know, far away, maybe in a different continent even. He has no graves to profit from, no family seal to hang in a glass case or be some kind of herald of the graveyard. He doesn't represent anyone, but himself."

"You're exaggerating, Hawke. It's not like other people don't face this kind of tyranny," Sebastian said in a slightly heightened tone, for she already angered him with her speech.

"I'm not talking just about mages, the subject we're on is your Andrastian religion."

"Then go back to that subject, because you're not making any sense so far," Sebastian said grumpily.

Something stirred in Hawke and everybody was watching her as if she was an explosive that would detonate at any second, but didn't look it quite just yet. "Ok, how can I tone it down for your clearly limited intelligence – you Andrastians just seem so proud of your "crisis of conscience", you're so grateful that someone else suffered for you; you simply live on the fat of the land in the shadow of plain calvary. You just have these shameful airs of profiteers, you swell in the Chantry like peacocks and when you get out, you can hardly control your grin – a grin given by the truth obtained without any labor on your part."

"Excuse me?!" Sebastian shouted.

Hawke got up from her seat and placed her hands forcefully on the table, looking Sebastian straight in the eye. "This blessing of yours – it's fun isn't it? This cheap blessing right in your backyard," she said and pointed somewhere forwards, as if she was pointing at an invisible Chantry, "that just spares you from the effort and labor of finding out the truth yourselves, SEEING with your own sodding eyes. You're "delivered", "saved" by this ridiculous carnival of false purity, braggarts and windbags of redemption in the eyes of a Maker who has abandoned you anyway, you're just horny sensualists of the virtue of serenity, of sin and of the Void! If you ever fret over your conscience, you only do it to give yourselves a few new sensations and then some. And to add them to the pile, to add the CHERRY ON TOP OF THE PILE OF BULLSHIT, you torture the conscience of others, too. It's enough to just sniff a bit at some scruple, some laceration, some obsession over a sin or a mistake. Maker those poor souls you hound on – they are probably expected to scream out their guilt in front of you people. Just a bunch of sadistic spectators to others people's confusion and misery."

"She's drunk, isn't she?" Isabela asked and shook her head.

"Yep," Varric said sweetly. "So what's been going on with you?" he asked awkwardly.

Fenris couldn't help himself, he had to control himself colossally not to laugh at how Hawke graphically described the Chantry people. For all her flaws, again, Hawke was such a spit in people's faces, going straight for the weak spots and remaining bone-hard in the way she explained herself. Though why she had to explain herself to this man, he did not know. Perhaps when she was drunk, she wouldn't care who she argued with, fool or no fool.

Hawke shouting.

"Oh, poor bastards, cry your eyes out if you can – it's what you Chantry folk can't wait for, impatient to get drunk on their tears, bathe in them if you could, relentless in their humilities. You can't wait to feast on their torment!"

"We don't feast on people's torment, Hawke, we help them get past it and embrace Andraste. It's the way of the good."

"Your 'good' is imprecise. Which is extremely shameful. Good is just good, righteous is only just righteous. But you have to stretch it out until it breaks, stretch it so it could excuse whatever thing you don't like about it, to your own favour. You twist the words of a dead woman and YOU SPEAK FOR THE MAKER, as if you have the right to. Bah. One thing I know for sure is that Andrastians are far from being obsessed with the TRUTH. An Andrastian just baffles himself at his "inner conflicts", of his vices and virtues, of the power of intoxication. He dances like a fool around the statue of a dead woman. He's just a sensualist of the macabre, that's what he is, of the deeply horrible and utterly monstrous. He finds pleasure in sensations that have nothing to do with pleasure, that's what's worse."

"What exactly are you saying?" Sebastian shouted and got up himself.

"I wonder. Wasn't the Andrastians who invented the orgasm of remorse? Behold, how you can always turn out to be a winner…"

Sebastian gasped at Hawke's deeply graphic way of accusing the Chantry. Everybody looked at them in silence, stunned, and wondered just when the bomb exploded, for it was clear now that it actually just imploded when Hawke managed somehow to put "orgasm" in a speech about religion.

"I have nothing else to say to you Hawke. Perhaps when you come to your senses, we can debate this in a serious manner. Goodbye!" Sebastian said angrily and went for the door.

Hawke shouted after him, "And by the way, since you said mages were the chosen ones to be unnatural, I can tell you this – this plight of being "chosen" has indeed been imposed on them as a challenge, NO! A punishment! And that's why mages' prayers are ever more valuable and deserving, as long as they are being addressed to an apparently ruthless and unforgiving god."

Sebastian turned around and frowned at her, but didn't seem to be able to retort anything. Hawke was really a spit, apparently, in a magister and in a Chantry boy's face. He turned his back on her and saluted the others, then he was gone.

"Uh, Hawke," Varric said awkwardly. "Hawke?" No answer. She was petrified in her vertical, hands on the table position and staring at the wall as if it killed her mother. "Ok, no more Antivan brandy for you, EVER."

"You can't cut me off now, Varric. It was a punishment. My punishment is due," Hawke said knightly and bowed.

"It was a punishment a good four hours ago. Your sleep is due," Varric said angrily.

"No!" Hawke shouted childishly and crossed her arms.

Varric shook his head in outrage and gestured for Fenris to listen to him. "Elf, I know this is a lot to ask, but can you take her back home somehow? I have an appointment in the morning that really won't go well with a hungover apostate, if you get my drift."

"You're meeting with Templars now?" Fenris asked in suspicion and raised an accusatory eyebrow.

"Nothing fancy, I assure you. Now get her out of here," Varric demanded angrily.

"Fine," Fenris said grumpily and uncrossed his arms.