So anyway, I woke up in the brothel and –

You are not telling this story.

Back off, Fenris. You might still be angry, but I came with the idea first to barge into the story.

I don't care. Your vision of how things went is corrupted and you're ruining it.

You mean I'm ruining your reputation of being such a good and fine lad.

Hawke.

Yes, Fenris?

Get out of this narration. I am not going to repeat myself.

Psht. You already did! And I don't care one bit for your threats, Sir. I am telling this story!

You are like a child.

Fenris… with every time you say that comes this extremely disturbing image to every reader that you are a paedophile.

…

Yeah, now you get it.

I am not.

You sound like one.

You are putting this image in their minds.

And I'll keep putting it if you don't let me take over this narration.

Vishatta. Where is that damned author when you need them.

Obviously drunk out of their mind in a gutter somewhere.

That is you, Hawke… And that's exactly why you shouldn't be telling this story.

…

…

Hey, behind you! A giant fish!

… Alright, he's gone now.

So anyway… as I was saying. I went out of the brothel, remembering all of this.

Nighttime, was it? Staying near the inn with a very long name… Casa della libertà eterna e gli eroi sacri del nostro paese or something like that. Yes, yes that was it. I can't believe I remembered it. I had no idea what it meant.

Shit. Shit, shit, utter damned sodding shit. I hallucinated the Warden and ran from my group. How could I be so… out of my mind. Maybe I was obsessed. At least I knew now that I was in mana withdrawal. I couldn't remember how I got to the brothel however, but it didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that it was night again, which meant I had disappeared for at least a day… and I was screwed. Oh, I was going to get killed. Only thing that I wondered was who would get to me first – Varric or Fenris.

WHY. Why would I… Ah.

I couldn't concentrate, I knew I had to get up and right into the inn. I stumbled heavily and held onto the walls, went for the stairs and almost fell on myself and rolled all the way back. Fortunately somehow, every stranger ignored me. I made haste and went straight for the first room I remembered was inhabited by a companion of mine.

I spun around, or the hallway did, and when I opened my eyes again I stood in a familiar room. Long red curtains settled in front of me. It was warm here. In the shadows I saw the glinting outline of a silver greatsword.

"Fenris!" I said in fear and revulsion, that I should come like this into his room, without so much as a word after my impertinent disappearance.

The cold wind swept into the room from the open window before he slammed it shut, such a fearless creature, and he reached out with unerring accuracy, raising the wick of a nearby lamp. The flame rose and I saw Fenris in his old armour, staring at me in terror and anger, as I had probably left him for days in my giant gap of time.

His dark, haunted face was quick with questioning and alarm and he rushed towards me with a piercing scowl, only to stop because I very much did the same thing. I rushed forward, but only to be stopped brutally by his right hand, and with his left he took a hold of my face with such firmness it almost frightened me. He rested this hand on me as if either he was going to quickly behead me or he were a priest giving a blessing.

"Kevesh," Fenris swore bestially, squeezing at my arm as if to viciously crush it. "Festis bei umo canavuram."

I breathed heavily, still taken aback by his sudden outburst of brutality and in-between panting I frowned and said, "I- I… what?"

"It means," Fenris pressed aggressively, "You will be the death of me."

"Such rude necessity, Sir, all of it," I said unperturbed. "What choice after all did I have?" How brave he must have thought me to be, to stare into the eyes of the tiger, strong like fine silver suffused with steel and reckless like poking a dragon with a large bat, for making such a mocking statement even now. "Call me your oppressor all you want, I am not threatened."

Fenris scowled at me and quickly growled, then with the colossal little frown I had always found so fiercely provoking, he sharply contoured every word, "I am growing so viciously tired of your constant need for mockery." He let go of my hand, more so, shoved my hand down and let go as if it were nothing. I turned my head in confusion, but didn't yield to his barbaric shouts. In between so, I quickly forgot why I was even here.

"I do not mean to mock," I almost shouted desperately. "And being overly dramatic really doesn't suit you, Fenris."

His fierce eyes remained fixed and tense. He reached out to me again, cruelly taking me by the elbows and turning me around to throw me on the bed. So savage was he, that my head recoiled ever deeper against the headboard, my hand only vainly reaching out for the crimson red drapery as if that could save me. "You will tell me where you've been," Fenris commanded me mercilessly with dark narrowed eyes and in a fit of murderous rage to mask his concern. My instincts could only fight him back, but he shoved me back on the bed with no mercy and I hit my head against the pillow with eyes tightly shut.

"Tell me when you're done killing me," I said confidently, in-between the pain. "Then maybe I can tell you, if you still have the courtesy to leave me alive for a few more seconds. At least to make a list of my last regrets on my deathbed, no pun intended."

"Oh, I can think of a few regrets you will so desperately wish to amend for after I strangle you to death," Fenris growled cold-bloodedly as he grabbed me by the throat with no seeming bit of pity.

"Perhaps we can make it a sex bed, then? To amend for one of my last regrets?" I played sarcastically with a grin, because for some cruelly dumb reason, that was my nature, even while staring death right in the eye.

Fenris sighed violently through his flared nostrils. "You are the Fiend from Hell itself," he whispered harshly.

"Then let me go," I demanded commandingly, looking straight into his bloodthirsty green eyes, "You don't want to hurt me."

"Like hell I don't," he shouted deeply and his lyrium markings starting glowing blue.

I widened my eyes and quickly caught his scowling face in my hands, "I'm sorry, this was unworthy of me, please calm down," I pleaded with control, soothing his face as I did so.

"Liar," Fenris hissed at me. "You're never sorry. You lie through your teeth like a –"

"A viper?" I asked confidently, but with deep control, "Yes, a viper I am so. And I am at your mercy."

"Don't mock me," Fenris growled heartlessly and shoved my hands away from his glowing face.

"I am saying the truth," I said calmly. "If you wish to kill me for that, have at it. I am content and a bit proud that my death will be at your hand."

"So very poetic, is it not?" Fenris said ruthlessly as he sunk his spikes in my throat. "So fitting."

Too much of a rush came upon me, the sounds grew deaf and I flinched and inhaled quickly. "Snap out of it! This isn't you, Fenris."

"I wish it weren't, but it is," he said in bitter anger. "I so wish it weren't so."

I shut my eyes tight and put a hand over his throbbing chest, then opened them in pain with fear bulging out of them as I started trembling so violently. He felt my terror spasms under him, maybe even my honest, but in his eyes, petty attempt to reach out for his cold heart. Then as if struck by lightning, the lyrium glow faded away and suddenly his face changed entirely, replaced by one of utter astonishment and sorrow on his part. "I-… I'm so sorry."

I sighed in relief within and caught him by the back, wrapped my arms around him and made him fall on me, his head over my shoulder breathing monstrously. I could have sworn for a moment I heard him make some strange, weeping or gasping sound, but I didn't really hear it properly. No, maybe it was all in my head. Regardless, I pressed tightly with him in my arms and with one hand reached for his soft, messy hair. "It's alright. Calm down."

"I'm so sorry," he kept whispering hoarsely. "Forgive me, Hawke, forgive me."

"I forgive you," I said firmly and brushed my fingers in his hair reassuringly. "But it was my fault."

"No," he hissed through his teeth. "No."

"Yes," I contradicted harshly. "Yes, I provoked you. I should never have done it and we both know it."

"No," he pressed as his self-loathing voice whispered in my ear.

For a long time, I said nothing. I merely held him as tight as I could for fear he would break. Only gradually did I realize I was frightened. For one moment it seemed that fear would obliterate the warmth of the moment, the soft glory of the radiant light swelling in the curtains, of the polished plains of his face and his ivory hair, the sweetness of his scent on me. Then some higher, graver concern overruled the fear.

His skin was very hot, and I knew in an instant his mind had stroke the fever.

I could see now it was hopeless. His mind would never be opened, never truly changed. I him brought to me and laid him down on the pillows once more and sought to better understand what I could. His had been a punitive world of austere devotion. Living, fighting, breathing, for him, had been joyless. And indeed all of life itself in far-away Tevinter had been so rigorously cruel that he could not give himself over to the pleasure that awaited him now at every turn. Or to the simple fact that was indeed, just a good man.

He was silent but I knew he was thinking. I turned and tried to read his mind. It seemed chaotic, and full of wandering thoughts and guilt. He was a warrior almost entirely at the mercy of those who took him, but he had made himself supreme by virtue of the particularities that I cherished in his way of doing things. He was never one to take delight in killing. He was never one to cherish the death of others, unless of course they were truly evil. Even in the face of the Arvaraad who wanted to kill Ketojan, a mage of all things, he intervened and screamed that they had their captive and there was no need to kill him. Nowhere were his talents more fully expressed than in battle and he knew this though he couldn't put it into words. He thought hard on how to tell me about his way of discharging of fear or hate, but he simply couldn't do it. And I would not press him. It would be a wicked thing to do.

With him was an easy intimacy which he had denied all those who had tormented him, so dazzled and confused was he by my simple kindness, and the words I whispered in his tender ears. I brought him quickly to know the pleasures which he had never allowed himself before. He was dazed and silent; but his prayers for deliverance were no more. Yet even here in the safety of this bedroom, in the arms of one he came to see as his equal, nothing of his old memory could move from the recesses of his mind into the sanctum of reason. Indeed, perhaps these frankly carnal embraces made the wall in his mind, between past and present, all the more strong.

How can I describe him? His beauty did not depend on his facial expression. It was stamped already on the face and in his soul. It was all wrought up with his fine bones, serene mouth, and his messy white hair. And he's had no experience with it except in cruelty. In Fenris, I saw the sunny skies of the northern wilderness, eyes of steady radiance which rejected any outside color, perfect portals to his own most constant soul.

As for this soul, his soul, there were simply so many words one just couldn't bind to him and that could be it. No, he was so inconceivably different than anything and anyone I had ever known, that I found myself taken aback and immersed into his words and perspective in such a ravishing, effortless way, it felt almost unnatural, simply because it was natural.

Yet in his mind, unbeknownst to the others in any material way, Fenris perceived himself, at least how I felt it, at my behest, as secretly belonging to me. It was for me a great and terrible contradiction. For him no doubt as well. I feared and feared, day after day, that his mind would become overwhelmed with such shocks that his soul couldn't take them and I was right, because I could see the weakness in his eyes, desperate and striving to deny me, to annul me as if to make me a little point in the air and crush it. He did not mean to hurt me, he did not mean to kill me. He meant to annul me. Because I had struck such great fear and concern in him with my disappearance and all I could account for was how much of a comedian I could be in such inappropriate moments. I regretted it as soon as I realized it, but it was natural to me to defend myself through such acts, as his was to convert his fear into anger. And such a grand fear this was, I could see it now.

A cruel fancy of love – it involves the cruel thought of killing the object of love, so that it may be removed once and for all from the mischievous play of change. For love is more afraid of change than of destruction.

As for me, I had never experienced such pure intimacy with someone, except with those I meant to kill. It gave me chills to have my arms around this man, Fenris, to press my lips to his cheeks and chin, his forehead, his tender closed eyes.

I loved him instantly and impossibly from about the time before we went into the Deep Roads, I had to admit.

I grabbed him firmly and pulled him up and away from me, giving him an angry look. "I DID MOCK YOU. I am the Fiend from Hell itself. I'm a big fucking bitch, is what I am. Understand?"

He panted and looked at me with half-closed eyelids, then finally said in a deep voice, "You said it, not I."

"Good," I approved confidently. "Now that we've established that, how about we calm ourselves down?"

But his face was still dark and haunted, his body was trembling heavily next to me and I thought he would break right then and there. I couldn't take the sight, and quickly dragged him back into my arms, holding him tight, to which he did not oppose. He needed time to cool off from this sudden outburst of converted hostility. But I knew it in my heart that he would never do it. If only he could see it too, between the terror I'd caused him, and for him to become. I saw my blunder, my utter stupidity in my ways, and regretted it deeply. Yes, on my sudden deathbed, I had one clear regret now that pierced me like spears, but I had to stay strong, for him.

His breathing was heavy and he was somber. He shivered still, and when his hand found me it was unsteady.

I turned him to the side and lied on my own side too, still embracing him protectively and he quickly, as like a child in terror, clutched at my back and buried his face against mine as our foreheads bumped and his heavy breathing blew heat on my chin. I didn't know what to say, but wasn't my act enough, perhaps? I still felt the need to say something.

His dark eyes pierced at me pleadingly to forgive him again, so I sighed in annoyance, for I felt as if I was deliberately trying to calm a hysterical child. Vividly remembering the shadowy outlines of his face as he would contain his smile whenever I would say a joke, as well as his persecuted face as he sometimes looked like he wanted to say something, but killed the thought in his mind and went on just to listen to me, not to mention the times when I would lash out in my anger and tell him I wanted to die because I was so sick of being a mage and I would see his controlled discomfort, appearing as if he was ready to slap me… well… I buried his face against my chest. "It's alright. I promise you, I'm not mad. I understand and I know you would have never done it."

He didn't answer. He didn't agree with me.

"I know you won't listen to me, but it needs to be said," I said firmly, brushing his soft and overgrown hair. "You're not a beast. You are not."

"Oh, but I am," Fenris whispered bitterly. "I am my master's creation."

"Former master," I pressed insistently. "Former."

"It doesn't matter," Fenris whispered in a soft voice, and I felt his head shaking in refusal at my chest.

I sighed in desperation. "Dear lunatic, please pay attention. It does. It does and I see it," I pressed in frustration and squeezed at him tightly. "You're not a bestial creation." I shut my eyes forcefully and kissed his forehead. "You are Fenris."

My chest pulsated as he chuckled against it. "That's exactly it," he said with a dark voice, ignoring my affection. "Fenris, the wolf. Fenris – the parvus lupus who knows nothing but how to take a life and is all the more dangerous because he knows he will not die."

I didn't know how to plead more than that because he was not so. As if I had to graphically bleed my heart out for him to understand such simple words, to show him how wrong he was. I quickly remembered something Father pestered me with, thank the gods for his soul. I searched my mind for words I had learned from him in Tevene so the sentence would be all the more impacting, words propelled out of the forgotten present, "Lupus non mordet lupum."

He paused his loathing in an instant. Utter, soul-breaking silence. Then he lifted his head up to look at me in awe. "A wolf does not kill a wolf," he translated instinctively in terror, more for himself. "How did you-"

"You didn't know me when I was younger," I said honestly. "I would lash out in blind rage at my failures, ready to snap my Father's throat. He'd say that to me every time, - not in Tevene - instead of disarming me, to train my control. And I would calm down."

He raised his head to catch my eyes. He locked those persecuted green eyes on me and listened to me quietly, "People such as you and I, while their burden of conscience is terrible and their mind might seem wolfishly cruel and depraved, they are afraid to be kind. And they are afraid to receive kindness, just as well. We are not meant to be loners, Fenris, as natural as it seems, we are not meant to go through it alone. Just as the lone wolf hunts in the night, but cannot truly survive without its pack. "

He looked at me with a sorrowful frown, then shut his eyes tight. I caught his face and stroked it gently, "You can ramble all you want that you are what that son of a bitch made you, but you are not. I see it in you, every day, as I watch you – I watched you grow by my side, by our side, and you've indeed grown so much and well. Much more than I can say for myself," I said bitterly and looked away for a second, but turned my eyes back to him, who seemed to be breaking inside. I pressed further, "You are immensely good-hearted and I dare even say, selfless sometimes. Trust my words, I am not lying to you. I never did. You are a good man."

I could see a short sigh of relief within his eyes, that he did not dare to express on the outside. He looked sad, glanced just for a second at the our swords leaning against the wall. Finally, he almost whispered, in a deep voice, "You are terribly kind." I gave him a broad smile and watched his wondering eyes. "For someone who almost had you at their mercy, for me who was on the verge of bringing you untimely death."

"I would not let that happen," I said firmly. "But I sought to show you just how much I trust you, deliberately stripping myself of all defences."

He shook his head bitterly, "You're so deeply, terribly crazy, Hawke."

He trembled, fearing to let go of me, his head hanging heavily, his luxuriant hair soft against my hands.

"I am what I am," I said in amusement. "I am evil, yes. Yes, I am."

"You are quite the contrary," he said almost warmly, finally, finally, giving me a short, painful smile. "Why do you let me do this to you, Hawke?" he whispered with deep sorrow in his breath. "I can't-"

"Because I'm the only one crazy lunatic who can bump horns with you and resist," I said firmly. "And what doesn't kill you, just as well, what you don't and can't kill, only makes you stronger."

And it was true. I had made it my unconscious duty ever since that first night in the courtyard, to bump heads with him whenever he wanted to, because we both knew I wouldn't disappoint him. He could ramble, scream, howl, call me names. It didn't ultimately matter, because I was offering him support either way. I didn't want to make it my mission to demonstrate I was not like the mages he was accustomed to and I didn't want to impress him. The jokes, the rants, the arguments, they were personality-driven and quite frankly, they never had anything to do with mages. However, he did listen to me and my theories, just as I offered to listen to him. Taking him seriously was just the first step, the second being not to try to prove myself, but simply go on and show him I welcomed him in my world without much thought that he hated my kind. I didn't need to prove myself, but he needed proof that I could be trusted. So I did that. As in, nothing.

His eyes filled with gratitude, "I can't… I can't thank you enough."

I snorted. "Oh, pssht. It's my pleasure to face you and make you discharge of all this hate."

"Without even the faintest chance of giving up," Fenris finished with a soft, kind-hearted smile.

"Take it out on me, I don't mind," I said confidently. "A worthy opponent, that just turned out to be my dearest friend," I said warmly, stroking his cheek, then corrected myself, "With whom I don't want to sit in these horizontal positions every now and then without thanking him."

He turned and took me in his powerful and ever careful embrace.

He laid his head against my head, and he held tight to me. "I don't deserve you, Hawke," Fenris said hoarsely, looking sorrowful with his green eyes onto mine.

How knowing, how clever was his expression! HOW full of secret triumph he seemed suddenly in his silence and patience, because I didn't fear him. How utterly damned.

I shook my head disapprovingly. "What a modest idiot you are."

He grinned at me ever so warmly with fierce determination, "If you grant me this honor, I will be your modest idiot," then quickly said in a deep voice without further ado, "I am yours."

My eyes flinched, but I didn't hesitate at his honest demand. Such a firm statement, and much to really take remark on, for possessive terms one would never expect from a former slave. There were no words. No, no words in the world could describe this, so I didn't make use of any.

Although, I do believe I hesitated, but that I don't recall. What is vivid still is that we stood there in peace and that, though I failed myself morally, I did not fail him at all. I did not fail the two of us as a woman and a man who could strip almost whole of their soul to each other in their curious friendship, expressing hidden vulnerabilities almost without effort, and there was afterwards both a drowsiness and a sense of exultation that left no room for shame.

Though I remember… I smiled warmly, and in the most common human way he lowered his eyes as he did, and he smiled too. His generous lips parted, and I saw last only that hauntingly beautiful smile of his. He put his hands beneath my arms, lifted me and kissed my lips, and the shivers paralyzed me. I clung to his shoulder and kissed him back. There was a stronger, more virile intimacy due to my crude act of hours or days ago. I closed my eyes and felt his fingers on top of them, and heard him say into my ear, "Sleep as I take you home."

Ok… maybe he didn't say that. I think it's high time I left this scenery though, for I made abuse of my first-person narrative privileges and I think I got the story a bit not that correct on that last part. Don't blame me, I'm so out of it!

I told you that you would ruin it.

Oh, hey… uh… where did you come from? Finally caught that fish?

That is none of your business.

Let me guess… someone's grumpy again.

How can I not be? Look at what you did. Sleep as I take you home… who in the Void says that?

You did say that once… I think … just not this time. Ugh! Sue me, I can't put everything in the right place.

Thank the Maker you stopped. Who knows what other theatrical abomination of words your highly disturbed imagination might have spewed in between those "heartbreaking" monologues.

Bugger off, Fenris. They needed to understand my way of thinking.

Your way of thinking…? Bah. What does it matter if you use I or she?

… Exactly.

… Not to interrupt your charming arguments but, we are kind of having a moment here.

Right.

When she smiled, it ended all misery. The thought of her slipping out of his hands again was no more, as she peered into his eyes with such sweet frankness that she became irresistible to him. She wrapped her arms around him and he lifted her back up with haste to kiss her. As she did so, Fenris desperately wanted to tell her everything; he felt it was his duty now to come clean about his demons and regrets he had never forgotten. He needed to tell her. She of all people was wholeheartedly there for him and deserving to know of everything. But her kiss was so firm and willing, he gave in to his weaker senses and grabbed her face with strong warmth. He kissed her with the whole of his heart and soul. Nothing in the world could stop him from loving her. He didn't care for the word though; it was much more of an immense feeling than that, one that would linger undying forever, as far as he was concerned.

There was a great noise around them, as of the flapping of the wooden doors and of draperies billowed and snapped. The colder air coming from the window that magically opened on its own surrounded them. He set her down. He could hear the water of the canal near them, lapping, lapping, as the summer wind stirred it and drove the sea into the city, and he could hear a wooden boat knocking persistently against a dock.

He let slip his fingers, and she opened her eyes as he lay on top of her, watching. How graceful she was, how devoid of pride and bitterness. How these horrors were cast aside.

She slipped her arm around his neck and kissed his forehead. He kept his eyes on her. The pleasure moved all through him, and helpless, he let the air escape his lips in a rosary of sighs.

He wanted to kiss her again as he had done the very first time in the common room of her mansion. No more angry intents, no more sudden drive out of displaced feelings or some battle to see who gives in first. He had her there under the wholeness of his strong physique like any common man overshadowing a fragile woman in the firmness of his hold. Quietly, he lowered his head and placed his lips onto hers, moving them softly only to the limit of her permissions. At least for a while, they would have been enough. As though accepting that concealed ardent moving of his lips, she bit them playfully. A moment he paused, inhaling quickly like a saint pondering and crucified between peace and temptation. But just for a moment. He rose decisively, throwing his gauntlets away without a care and turned his eyes back to her all alight with fire. He needed to feel her whole. He came back down, brushing his fingers against her face. Locking it into his gentle grasp, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She could feel his fingers burning against her cheek. And there came the old rampant shower of his kisses, not the mock of a passionate man, but his affection, petal soft, so many tributes laid upon her face and hair. She loved his way of coming off softly and ending up more stronger with affection, feeling him tremble, feeling him thrill to it, feeling him shudder, feeling him whip the threads from inside her soul, quickening her heart and making her nearly cry out, feeling him love it, and stiffen his back and let his fingers tremble and dance as he writhed against her.

It seemed he was quite undecided as to what to do. But then she saw his seemingly thoughtful face grow blank with hunger. She watched him with the back of her eye, losing all the grace of a contemplative elf, appearing to be driven and close his lips against her neck. No glimpse of teeth, no moment of cruelty. Merely a calm final kiss.

Fenris suddenly saw himself as if in a smoky mirror, no longer a boy clumsy and fearful, but more a man who knew exactly what to do. Seated on the pillows under him, he rushed to prove the honesty of his statement, displaying his unreserved affection with this curious drive that he had thought so many times in the past he would never bear or allow. Let alone to be touched, no. This he thought he'd never do. But now he was ever ready to be completely aroused by her tender lips and her small graceful white hands.

Up around his neck, she slipped her arms. He enjoyed that little feeling, that she needed to hold on to him for safety. She saw a delighted grin painting up on his face, as he leant his weight against her and kissed her reddening cheeks, and then her tender throat, and caught her girlish smile and gleaming glance as she played on, her head tilting back to brush against his hair. He was thinking, would he have even dared. He felt her shoulders moving against his snug embrace with her darting fingers. Only in whisper-soft tones with sealed lips could he ask her of more. Though is mind and his mouth were in control, his body was not. Suddenly rushing, he clasped her waist. She gasped quickly and her breath stopped, understanding that his body was surely demonstrating the urgency that it had had with her in the past. He wanted to touch her all over, as a blind man might touch a sculpture, the better to see each curve of her with his hands.

She reached for the back of his neck, held his head as firmly as she could. She stopped him in place and snapped him out of his maddened state of passion. Only in a whisper he seemed to growl in annoyance and watched her. Hawke's mouth remained open but words didn't seem to propel out of this forgotten present.

"I don't want to do this now, in this way," she finally said, as if frightened, but firm in her statement.

Fenris almost stopped his breathing and stood there paralyzed rising only on his arms and still on top of her, seeming as though he realized something as he snapped out of his passionate drive. "Neither do I," he almost whispered before he finally breathed again.

He broke loose and lay to the side.

Hawke rose on her elbows and looked at him anxiously, as he brushed his hair away from his forehead and lay there as if he was embarrassed by himself. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Fenris fired back calmly, turning his head on the pillow to look at her.

He rose quietly and sat on the edge of the bed, pondering something. Then he looked to his left and came up completely to sit at the table near the window.

Hawke came up too and approached him quietly from behind, catching the ends at the back of his hair. "Your hair is longer."

"Is it? I haven't noticed," Fenris said calmly, playing with the blank pages of the journal on the table.

"You know long hair doesn't really suit your nose," Hawke said in a warm tone, playing childishly with his hair.

"I thought I'd cut it all off," Fenris replied with a hint of discomfort in his sighs.

"Nonsense," she fired back. She went for her old sword that leaned on the wall next to his. She stopped and looked at it as if something was wrong.

Vishatta. Where did he put it…

He looked into his pocket and sighed in relief within that he hadn't lost the red band. As Hawke turned back to look at him, he held her lucky charm with a raised hand a chivalrous nod, "I found myself in need of luck."

"Did it work?" she asked with a silvery grin, grabbing her sword and the ribbon to wrap it around the ring of her pommel again.

Fenris smiled shortly. "It seems that way."

"Well now," she said confidently and put the sword back next to his. "Don't they look positively charming like that."

"I meant to ask you," Fenris said calmly, as she came back behind his chair and drew out a knife.

"What did you want to ask me?" Hawke smiled as she started cutting the overgrown ends of his fastidiously white hair.

He played with the pages again, letting her cut the hairs with no protest. "Does it have a name?"

"My sword?" she asked. "Why would you think it does?"

"You seem like a Qunari with your sword. In fact, save for this particular incident, I have never seen you part with it."

She chuckled in approval, "I bet you wanted to throw it in the gutter when I went all crazy runaway clown mage."

He grinned shortly, "For a few seconds, it made all the sense in the world that I should do so. But then again, if I did, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Because I would have been the one to turn crazy homicidal? Yes, you are quite right about that."

Seconds passed in the quiet wind, but he didn't want to let himself go in the soothing trance she was putting him in. He pressed, "So what is her name?"

"What makes you think it's a her?" she mused lightly.

"Isn't that the usual way one addresses to a sword?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't talk to mine," she said in amusement. "But I guess I understand. The narrow blade, the sharpness of the edges, the technical finesse and agility one requires to wield it."

"And do not forget the grace with which one should strike," Fenris said.

"But I should forget that they're phallic-shaped objects which men like to compensate with?" Hawke chuckled. "Seems to me swords are simply hermaphrodites. Agility aside, you need strength. Add that to the equation and what do you get?"

"Well we won't know until you say what it is called," Fenris mused back.

She sighed in amusement, "Fine. I call it Red Rain. Rayne, for short."

Fenris quickly chuckled. "Why? Is it raining blood?"

"You might think that, but no. Thought I'd put together my two favorite things in the world."

"So that's why you like to make it rain," he said, more for himself.

She went in front of him to shorten his bangs and examined his face. "Shocking, right? You thought there'd be more theatrics to the tale."

"I was hoping for some, regrettably," Fenris said calmly, trying not to flinch as she trimmed the front of his hair.

"Well, did you get to name your sword?"

"I haven't thought about it."

She grinned. "Think now."

He looked away and pondered on it. "Hm. This will sound foolish."

"What can sound dumber than Red Rain?" Hawke asked in amusement.

Fenris arched his eyebrow. "Gwendolyne, for instance."

"Gwedolyne?"

"I named my old sword for Varric's amusement."

Hawke laughed and went back behind him to finish up. "Well, be serious this time, dear man."

"Alright… Let's see," Fenris said and pondered on it for a while. He smiled shortly and sighed, "The Sword of Truth and Roses."

"For the Knight of Roses… and truth, apparently. Good choice," Hawke said in amusement. "Might not want to tell Varric though, else he'll never stop with the 'He's a tiger in heat with a rose in his teeth' jokes."

"You're right. I trust that you shall keep my secret," Fenris pretended innocently.

"You're secret's safe with me, oh mighty Calenhad," she said mockingly. "This asks for a quick baptism."

"With wine I hope. I'm not eager to spill any other red liquid anymore," Fenris said with a grin.

Hakwe sighed. "Ah, you're no fun."

"I think that's for the best," he said with a little smile.

As she finished cutting his hair, bringing back to its original length, she put the knife back in her pocket and ran her fingers through his hair to tidy it up. "There you go. Now you're pretty."

"What a relief," Fenris replied grumpily. "Now maybe the mirror won't break when I look into it."

"Well, let's try out the theory. Don't look at me like that, get up." She grasped his hand and dragged him to the high mirror behind them.

He flinched when he saw himself in the mirror. Flinched. He appeared to look at himself curiously as he stood there with Hawke behind him letting out her childish grin. For a moment, it seemed as though he was trying to capture that image in its fullness and preserve it. Perhaps he went through too many shocks these past few days and was not all that eager to ignore the possibility of loss.

He indulged himself then. He took full measure of their portrait, other images propelled out of time. He saw the components in him as a man: an immense soul, fearless, yet half in love with despair. Perhaps that is what she saw in him that first night in the courtyard. Without trying, she had given him her courage, her cleverness, her cunning and her honesty; perhaps she managed to transport an armory for him through their endless battle of wits. A mage of all things… She had done well. Her strength was complex and obvious. It was this first issue he took up with Hawke, his curiosity overwhelming him, for to scan the world for knowledge is often to rake in such tragedy that he abhorred it. He banished all this. He focused his gaze only on her beautiful tapering eyes.

She studied him, not suspiciously but in fascination, as she stood quiet behind him in front of the mirror. Mesmeric, but tired green eyes, skin slightly tanned from his travels, fastidious white hair stripped away of its natural colour, but still – it gave him a strange appearance of a "bad boy" in an intellectual way. He looked too serious for his frequently sarcastic demeanour. But the contrast it made with the green of his eyes and the black of his armour brought more focus and life to every short grin or grumpy face he made. It shed more light onto his rarely-changing expressions. It made them rich expressions.

He studied her too. Her clownish red hair gave her an aura of irresistibility. Of strength and cleverness, doubled upon by her general feistiness. Her lips were not rouged in any vulgar manner but deeply rosy by nature, and her long lashes looked like the points of stars around her radiant brave-child eyes. Somehow it was perfect, this portrait. Somehow the Maker did have a good sense of humor, wedding them to one another intentionally, to teach each other what trust meant, and the difference between good and evil in all forms. That they lay beyond that difference.

They held to a way of life which did not involve rituals, prayers, magic, well, not superficial sorceries. Virtue was embedded in character. That was the inheritance of true warriors, which Fenris and Hawke shared.

May I take over?

May I punch you in the face?

Changing pronouns did not really help. Let me take over for a moment.

Why? You're not angry anymore.

And you're not drunk anymore. Let me take over.

Bah. Fine.

How come you yielded so easily?

Thought I'd take Zevran's advice and let you be right once in a while. You know, so you won't cry inside like a little snowflake.

Remind me again why I fancy you. Right now nothing comes to mind. Perhaps because of the irritating noise that makes up the whole of your persona.

Because… I'm delightful? … Fenris? Hello? … Where did you – Oh damn you.

But she'd already gone deep into her own thoughts. I couldn't bear the invisible barrier she had set between us. I turned away rapidly, undeterred, lifting her hands until she stood beside me, and then I took her warmly into my arms. I kissed her lips, her old familiar perfume rising to my nostrils, and I kissed her forehead. And then I held her head tightly against my beating heart. For several long moments we remained locked together, and I covered her hair with small sacred kisses, her perfume crucifying me with memories. I wanted to endow her with protection against all things as sordid as myself. She backed away from me, finally, as if she had to do it, and she was a little unsteady on her feet.

I felt a wave of my own anguish of the long night before, when the utter vacuity of all religions and creeds could not help me as I waited and waited and flinched at the sight of every woman walking down the streets below. It struck me hard, that I couldn't find her, and the sheer effort of a good life seemed a fool's trap, and nothing more.

To see her now, alive and here with me, it gives architecture to a trivial moment, and seems so dire a confession. The words came out of my mouth with no reserve, "Trust in me, and I shall see that you never come to harm."

Hawke suddenly closed her arms around me, surprising me, holding me firmly and rubbing her cheek gently against my hair, and kissing my head. Silken, polished, gentle beyond words. She rested her head against my shoulder. "Fenris," she said. "There's no need to make haste with such promises."

I broke into laughter, rather than anger. "Hawke, you're deliberately taunting me. Why? Why do you do this?" I asked, as she lifted her head and finally looked at me.

"Now why do you ask questions you already know the answer to!" she said confidently, giving me a little smile. Why tell me and spoil all the fun. Of course. I held this hard effigy of the most spectacular and singular woman I had ever known or seen: I held it and this time heard the beating of her heart, the distinct rhythm of it. She was never one to put her trust in people who lived beside her only half-heartedly. She welcomed people, but did not truly let them in, not carelessly, not blindly. Ah, damnable little woman, seeing right through me, through my reserved and private anguish. Hers was perhaps bigger, barricaded by her confidence, her bone-hard posture and words. But how would I know? It would have spoiled all the fun.

"You are infuriating," I said rather calmly.

"Oh, I am," she laughed. "Maybe now you wish I had made that stunt proposal in front of my mother so you'd be forced to marry me and I would be forced to be stuck with you."

"No doubt if I had, you would have put me in an early grave," I said in amusement. "I would have been spared of all this."

"All of what?" she asked.

I shook my head and broke into soft laughter, only faintly touching her cheek and pulling away. "Never mind."

I went by the window and gazed at the midnight violet sky. "Oh, how spectacular is the simple night," I said.

"Do go on," she said, coming beside me. "I can never turn down a chance to hear your internal monologues."

"They're not very impressive," I murmured grumpily.

"I don't think you intend them to be," Hawke mused beside me. "Which makes them impressive."

"It seems an insult to the night to speak of purpose and intent, when this common moment is so brimming full of blessed design and tranquillity," I said contemplatively. I turned my head to her. "All things follow their course."

"Care to follow me to the bed?" she asked with a devious grin. "My eyes are falling into my chest."

I turned around. It was lust shining in my eyes. Yet I checked it. In a soft voice, I confessed with a little smile, "Perhaps I should attempt to investigate before they are lost in there forever."

The colour flared in her face. She took delight in my blundered little joke. I looked at her, at her breasts, at her hips and then at her face. Ashamed and trying to conceal it. Lust.

"You could try, but I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. It's a big and complex maze. Beware of it, for it will drive you mad!" she said with plain confidence, rejecting me with no shame.

"You're right," I murmured in defeat, careless. "It seems now that it's better if I explore the lengths of this pillow; otherwise I'm ill-equipped at venturing into the unknown."

"Well now. Maybe I should go then," she said, couldn't-care-less posture. She turned around and went for the door.

I caught her hand, feeling like a child, but banishing all perceptions of this vulnerability. "Don't go."

She turned around with a scandalized frown. "What? You want to cuddle?"

Such rudeness. Careless masked femininity. I shook my head and sighed, "You're right. What was I thinking?" I grinned through my teeth. "Begone."

"Oh, fine, since you asked so nicely, I'll stay," she said defensively. Armand had been so right –she needed freedom of choice, she couldn't bear obstructions from liberty of thought, of actions, of anything. What I lacked was patience, driven by my own maddening force of desire.

This was not the case, my eyes said. This is what she understood.

Mine was more truthfully a need to drag her by the hand and sit her on the bed because she was such an infuriating defensive child. But I had already done that once tonight and it almost didn't end well… I banished this thought, swallowing my shame, and gave her an arrogant smirk as I gestured towards the bed, "After you."

"Let me guess. You do not mean to mock," Hawke said grumpily, as she sighed and walked towards the bed, sinking it, half-dead.

"Me? Never," I said arrogantly. I lay beside her, keeping the civil distance, devil that I apparently am. I sought to seem careless, though cunning attempts aside, I would not forget my manners.

Her eyes were closed. The lamplight was soft. What a lush and passive being she seemed to be, her hair cascading over the pillow, her skin flawless, her mouth half closed. I sat down beside her. I looked down at her as she slept there, easy at last, breathing as though she were safe. Slowly her eyes opened. She looked up at me. There was no fear in her. Indeed, it seemed that she was questioning something that wouldn't let her drift off to sleep.

"Out of your element, Fenris?" Hawke finally said with lifted, unimpressed eyebrows, as she turned to her side and watched me lay carelessly.

"Quite on the contrary," I said calmly. "I'm perfectly content at the moment."

"Hm. It's like you're drawing the distance from my homeland to yours," she said as she brushed her hand between the colossal space I intended to keep between us.

"You can come closer if you wish," I said carefully, turning my head to look at her. She shyly looked away. "No one is stopping you from venturing into foreign lands."

She turned and with the slowness of a dazed person, reached under the heavy pillows at the head of the bed. "So I should perhaps withdraw the dagger from under the pillow?" she asked mockingly.

"I am too tired to hurt you, even if I wanted to," I said wearily, my eyes half-closing.

"Well don't fret on account of me! Sleep!" she said carelessly.

I frowned shortly, protest and inconvenience alight all over my face. Ah, whatever. I had enough triumph this night to hold dearly without pressing anything further. I wasn't going to beg for affection. "Good night, Hawke."

"Good night," she whispered, amusement in her tone.

And so we went to our separate sleep, but not a minute passed and I felt her moving closer, clutching at my chest. She wrapped one arm around me and laid her head on me. I didn't say anything, pretending to be already sleep, but I did ignore my restraint and placed my right arm across her back, pressing her further against me. I heard her slow breathing like a murmur in the night. I opened my eyes for a second to remember this, lest I ever forget. I could hear my own heart. I could feel it beating against the richness of her red hair, and as I closed my eyes I feared only one thing in the whole world—that this bliss should not last.