TW: Misogyny, racism, homophobia, transphobia, bad parents

Fade Time 1÷0, Dreamwalk Village

The residents gathered outside for watching time. The moving pictures showed Hawke's hands painting in a quick impressionist style what Fenris called a black sicklebill.

Crowley sat on his sofa, alone, yet again, stealing glances of Ravena in her Armchair of Solitude. She hadn't been in that armchair for what he understood to be years. Before that, she hadn't even been that invested in watching anything. She mostly staid in her house of horrors, doing Mythal knew what—probably just steaming with hate. She came to about five of his classes, each more disastrous than the previous. She gave up, but he never stopped trying to get her out of her dark nest. There simply had to be a bespoke, smooth equation to her spiritual evolution and he was the man to crack it. To his building dismay, however, it seemed that the thing that got her out was mostly the pain of others. She proved to be extremely resistant to baiting and switching, leaving the situation as soon as it got in any way chummy. He resolved that with her it was a matter of small incremental change. Boiling the Ravena frog.

But when Fenris came in the pictures, she was the woman about town. It made Crowley very jealous, of course, but at least she was out and coming closer and closer to sitting on the sofa with him. It wasn't that Ravena actually had a crush on Fenris. She found him quite tedious, in fact. Rather, it was Hawke's desire being so formidable it penetrated even the most apathetic of desire demons. It gave her more life, and she started indulging in her own desires for once; twisted and painful desires, that is. Crowley was all for it. He pitted elves against each other for centuries. He deserved punishment!

But as the years went by, he started forming another theory. That she watched because she saw something broken in him like she saw in herself, and it comforted to her to see someone like that out there, living, continuing. Perhaps capable of change, because she wasn't.

Though in a way, each of them had a relationship with the people on the outside. They spoke to them, in different ways. For Crowley, Fenris was a prick that needed a good, hard think. He was also a lost member of the People, but then again, Crowley stopped giving a shit about that since Lothering. Since then, he was interested in people, not the People. Once you got out of centuries of echo chambers saying humans are evil and dwarves eat babies, it turned out—they were alright. So, perhaps, to him, Fenris was more like a lost member that didn't need to be found. But the closer Hawke became to him, the more Crowley started feeling Fenris's shame. He couldn't put his finger on why. The channels were, as always, quite blocked, even when Fenris was inside their realm. The feeling merely became stronger and stronger; at times, even painful.

He looked at Ravena, who didn't give a shit he existed. Was that… it? That they both had shame and pain? Why did he suck so badly at getting her to see the light then? Shame was intrinsical to pride. He thought he'd worked through quite enough of his own problems. But… maybe he did have blind spots. Like Fenris pointed out—the prick—that Crowley had replaced racial pride with erasure, not wisdom. Was Ravena right? Was it his own pride that stood in the way? Maybe he felt so ashamed of his failure to make her happy, he couldn't help her with her own shame. He was just… another problem to her. He sighed.

Hawke was done with the bird, and she handed it to Fenris. A light shimmered in his eyes.

"Majestic bird. He knows what to do. Practice, practice, practice," Bucky said, glued to the pictures. "True discipline there."

Bucky had been exercising some military grade empathy as of late, and consequently, could at times read the elf's thoughts. It made Crowley jealous.

"Huh-hush, dear. I can't hear what they're saying," Murmur said softly.

Fenris's hand went beyond the picture, to her face perhaps. His face was all wrong. It was warm and soft. Crowley looked at Ravena, who probably didn't care if he lived or died. He was filled with jealousy.

"He does his own thing and he doesn't need anyone," Bucky went on, their head falling back in a trance. "I want to be like him. I want to fly away in the jungle and be myself."

Crowley crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. At this point they were just showing off.

"Shush, it's about to get actually interesting," Ravena said, as Fenris took his jumper off.

But Bucky was getting some serious vibes. "Rhys showing me beauty, not war. I hate war. I'm tired. Respect and protect Mother Nature. She has more wisdom than any ancestor."

No one that cared about the topless elf cared anymore. Eyes were all on Bucky. They weren't getting off this carousel so easily.

"Rhys is nice, not like my papa. I hate Papa. He hates everyone, especially me," Bucky said, sadness filling their voice. "'You will never be a mage, only a dishonour to the family'," they said in a venomous tone. Then their voice softened. "I hate my step-papa. He hates everyone too, especially me." Their voice deepened, intensified, devoid of any empathy. "'Are you going to let the robes step all over you? You will never be a man! You are a pussy! Show me your war face!'."

"I do not like that tone on you," Murmur said, frowning.

"Rhys loves everyone… even me," Bucky said, softening again. "'So what if you're different because you're this and that and not the other thing? You are a child of the World. You have a light, burning bright inside. Don't let anyone put it out'. Why can't he be my papa?"

"What in the Void is happening?" Ravena said, signalling Crowley to look up at the tree.

The pictures were gone. Instead, the vague impression of an elven man and a boy formed inside the leaves, and the long bird was far behind them on a perch.

"Do you… do you hate anyone, Rhys? Are you even allowed to?" the boy asked.

"I am… merely mortal. I hate, just like anyone else," Rhys said.

"Who do you hate?"

"I hate Elgar'nan."

"Whoa. You hate a god? Aren't you afraid?"

"Not anymore. Now I'm just afraid for the world. Men like him disgraced nature, made a mockery out of the warmth of the sun, stained the meaning of fatherhood. I'm not afraid of him. He should be afraid of me!"

"What will you do?"

"What I already do. Right the wrongs his memory left behind."

"Peace, not war?"

"Exactly."

"Don't tell your mother I said that. Of her I am afraid." He stopped to think. "Don't tell her that either."

"Whoa. That's a lot of daddy issues," Ravena said, sniggering. "He always struck me as more of a mummy issues kind of guy."

"Probably both. Sounds like Mama chose some questionable specimens," Crowley said. "Malcolm could be a hardarse sometimes, but he usually owned up to his moments. He didn't like being mean. It was not his colour. It made him feel ashamed."

"'If you don't take this seriously, you will end up in the Circle, and there will be no life for you there. You will be made Tranquil, do you understand me? No, girl, look at me. Do you understand me?'" Bucky shouted suddenly. "'You have no idea the shit I had to do to build us a life here! Show some Maker-damned respect for what I've been through to get you here, you ungrateful brat!'"

"Yeah," Crowley said, crossing his arms. "And she didn't, so he slapped her. He was so scared by himself, he didn't come out of his room for two days."

"Leandra was hard on her too," Bucky said, going back into a trance. "Mummy hates me. She always thinks I'm being bad. 'Straighten your back!', 'Don't chew your nails!', 'Always wear a smile', 'You will never get a husband with that attitude!'. I hate boys! They can slouch and chew and roll in the mud and do whatever! I don't want a husband! I don't need a husband! I need Mummy to love me like she loves my brother."

"Malcolm loved her more, to compensate," Crowley said, crossing his arms, his eyes in the distant past. "Maybe his mother did the same. Otherwise, why did the young spirit assume her form?"

"I still love her…" Bucky said softly, staring into nothingness. "Mama tried to protect me. She failed, but at least she tried. I could never—"

Thud!... Thud-Thud!... Thud!

Dreamwalk Village started to shake with slow, ominous thumps. The twilight became perpetual night, swallowing the rainbow with it. The vague impressions in the dying leaves distorted and reformed themselves into a black wolf with crimson eyes.

"Enough!" it said, its voice that of Fenris, but deeper and thicker. Overbearingly masculine.

Murmur covered her ears, annoyed and unimpressed. Bucky was silent, quivering with awe.

"Whaaat the fuck?" Crowley said, looking up. He didn't even see it when he rushed in front of Ravena's armchair.

"I…" Belleth said, his eyes doubling. He became smaller and smaller in his seat. They'd never seen him do that before. Even Hawke had to wear him down. Belleth respected authority, and bowed to her by sheer principle, but he was still flippant about it. What he truly respected was strength and fear. It just wasn't her style.

"Not a lesser spirit?" Crowley asked.

"I don't know about spirit…" Belleth said weakly, "…but certainly not lesser."

"No," the Wolf said, like a low, vibrating piano note. "You are lesser. Little peones in a deranged and lonely mind, not even important enough to be parts of it. You are weekend parasites. Pathetic little mosquitos mooching off a mortal's lived experience. One day, there will be no more life for you to suck on. No more heart to use and peruse in this fragile little reality; no more eyes to paint whimsical stories for your bored, deteriorated existences as you sit on your pretend couches, pretending to be people. There will only be a throat, into which the world will vanish."

This upset the youngest of them greatly. Ruelle was in tears, hiding behind Ravena's armchair.

"Get the fuck out of here, you hear?" Ravena suddenly roared, standing up.

The Wolf's laugh was cold. "Be calm, little girl." He was speaking to Ravena, not Ruelle. "You are not in danger, because you are not a threat to me."

"Then why are you here, oh Far Out Son of Fen'Harel?" Crowley said flippantly.

"I am here to give you a simple instruction," the Wolf said professorially. "You are tied to me now. If you know him, I know you. There is no escaping it. You've become very cosy here, doing absolutely nothing. If you do not wish an event of world-ending proportions, you will do well to cease with your curiosity and hold your tongues."

"What… are you?" Crowley said, his thoughts filled with advanced Fade mathematics.

"I am nothing and everything," the Wolf said with an air of certainty and detachment. "Everything you wished you could get your corrupt hands on, and nothing you will ever, truly understand."

"I need to understand," Bucky said suddenly.

"What is this alien display of androgynous sexual maturity?" the Wolf said, flashes of a different voices overriding themselves suddenly. "The form you stole betrays your degeneracy. The elves were once a powerful and noble race. You disrespect their memory with this caricature of a body."

"Believe or not, Far Out Son of Nothing, we don't get down with racism here," Crowley said gruffly.

"Nor any other prejudice powered by your personal little insecurities," Ravena said firmly.

"Sit down, children…Your ascent to the Fade summit has halted," the Wolf said calmly, almost fatherly, tilting his head. "You are obsessed with sad and frivolous ideals, and it will move nothing and no one."

"A King spirit," Belleth whispered. "We must obey him."

"He can't be a spirit. There are too many emotions there," Crowley said quietly.

"Rage," Ravena said flatly.

"Fear… and sadness," Bucky said softly.

"Pride and shame," Crowley said firmly.

"Apathy," Murmur whispered. "Nihilism."

The Wolf kept his head up, looking in the distance, as if he were being read his honours.

"Jealousy," Belleth said, crossing his arms.

"Desire," Ravena said resentfully. "Immoral desires. Foolish desires. Desires never to be satisfied."

"Hunger…" Ygdag said darkly.

"Regret," Ruelle said, still hiding.

"Hatred," Bucky said in a deep voice.

"Pain…" Ravena finished, closing her eyes.

"A confluence of psychic energies?" Murmur offered, holding her chin. "Strengthened by vying spirits, no doubt."

"I am in no need of consolidation by random spirits," the Wolf said, looking back at them, indomitable in his attitude. The way he said 'spirits' sounded synonymous with 'garbage'. "I am real, like you will never be."

You will never be a mage, only a dishonour to the family, Crowley remembered. Fenris's connection to the Fade was weak. A deep childhood wound. An unavoidable reality strangled by Tevinter values. There was shame there. Whatever that thing inside him was, wanted to protect him from that hurt. The Fade rejected him, then the waking world rejected him. But there was strength in reality. The Wolf took pride in it.

"Then who are you?" Bucky said, approaching frustration.

"Enough with this begging," the Wolf commanded. "Leave the channels between us with dignity, or prepare for all-out war," he threatened deeply, looking down at them. "Bring your castrated imaginary vessels to my land, and I will pulverise you." He raised his head, looking over them with half-lidded eyes. "When you are gone, I will build a museum for you. The walls with be lined with caricatures of mortal emotions—your favourite drug. Inside, I will store the odes to homosexuality you call Dreamwalk Village, and your unconvincing little people costumes."

Gone…

Hawke was now cracking her neck in front of the Keep, trying not to listen to Merrill and Sebastian exchange religious blather about their gods abandoning them until they proved themselves worthy.

"Well, shit," Crowley concluded.

Noon, Fenris's Mansion

Fenris… did not know how to relax. He knew how to check out of reality. He brooded. He analysed. He mind-travelled. Where? Everywhere, especially away from the worst of his problems. Like his pain. He just wanted to get used to it, forget about it, move on. He'd sunk in the unforgiving abyss of his own pain before, overanalysed, overcompensated, overfelt, and ended up discombobulated. The pain in his body too became worse, made him so very tired. It only brought more misery and stress. He wasn't a master of pain. He was a master at avoiding it.

Otherwise… he would just end up drowning. In his own… shit.

If Hawke ever truly saw how closely he could teeter on the edge of the abyss, it'd have probably scared her. She hadn't had the chance to, of course. He'd barely had a problem as of late. He was up and active and at times downright manic. It's as if she breathed life into him, and all he wanted to do was breathe it all back into her. Show her how alive she made him feel. He rather enjoyed it for a change. It gave him a sweet illusion that he was 'cured'. He was okay. At the very least, capable of happiness. He could see all the colours, and they were beautiful. But now alone again and devoid of work, with little sleep and a massive hangover, he was worried. How long before he dipped back into familiar patterns?

Maker, can you be any more melodramatic? Just take a bloody bath or something, an unfriendly voice of willpower offered, blotting out the brooding process.

His muscles softened and his skin suddenly felt unbearably dry. The message was clear: Listen to that guy. He knows what he's talking about.

So, he did. He parted with his clothes, took off his red band fastidiously. That mere symbol proved more useful than he realised. Not just to ward off unwanted attention, but the way it spoke to him. It didn't really speak to him, of course. It was merely his imagination. And it had interesting things to say, such as:

How about some bubbles?

He landed softly in the bubble bath. There were no birds today. Usually there were at least two ravens. He named them Jake and Judith, because they were Kirkwallers. Jake always bowed to Judith. It wasn't about submission. It was a gesture of love, and of wanting preening. He brought her all sorts of gifts from the city, too. Ravens mated for life and lived in family units. Sometimes they'd bring their babies to the fountain on the roof, under the window. It was all very heart-warming. But no one came to see him today.

He felt nice and lonely, and so, so tired.

Alone with his thoughts in the tub. Well, somehow that was easier than alone with his thoughts outside the tub. He started to realise how completely dependent he'd become on Hawke. There was pain in that thought, if he wanted some. Did he? He looked at the red band on top of his clothes on a nearby chair.

You can take this! Blossom like a pain-flower! it said.

He let his head fall back on the tub and closed his eyes. Images started to form. His former master. The last person he was completely dependent on. He was filled with rage and disquiet, but he tried to keep on going. He couldn't get the smell of sandalwood and vetiver out of his nostrils. He hated it. Hatedhatedhatedhated—but then something happened. He tried smelling Hawke's shampoo to take himself away, and instead of whatever berry tart fragrance it used to have, he smelled juniper and oranges. What… who was that? A feeling of tenderness washed over him—a longing, even. A gentle tragedy.

He didn't like it…

He submerged in the water, and when he came out, as the water fell off his face, he was wrapped in another smell. Iron and… coffee?

No… not iron… blood.

It felt like something was bad in his heart. In the past. It was a feeling. Serrated and crawling with doom. Chameleonic. Invisible. Deadly. It was everywhere.

It hurt.

Love is terror, he felt. Sheer terror. Panic and screaming.

He looked at his hands. His fingers were pale and wrinkled. For a moment, nothing seemed more appropriate than if they were covered in blood.

Now… that was enough pain-blossoming.

What are you—a fucking whale? Get out already, an authoritarian voice said inside him.

He got out in a hurry, realising he could barely breathe. He looked at the red band. I'm sorry, he thought, I just can't do it.

Can't you? I think you did well, the red band said. It's not a race to the end.

Fuck my intuition, he thought. It leads nowhere but to pain.

You know that's not true. And you are a master of pain, the red band insisted. Think of me now. I've got you.

So, he did. Hawke. Smells of various desserts. Looks like autumn. Shines like the light of a thousand candles. Sounds like an absolute dream. Feels like freedom, strength and home. True and total. Love her forever. Make her the best caramel cheesecake. Taste it on her lips. Hold her in your arms.

ENTER her… a hard-up grinning lunatic said in the mirror, still in the tub. The way he said 'enter' was disturbing. Primal and possessive. Temptingly aggressive.

That mirror was supposed to be for seeing behind him if an intruder entered, not for… animalistic bullshit. Go away.

No, the hard-up grinning lunatic said firmly. Why are you so afraid of me? He put an arm on the edge and held his chin in a little grin. What could I possibly do that's so awful? A flash of teeth. It was sharp.

You could turn me into the thing I hate, Fenris thought.

That boring band-aid of a guy who suggested the bath… he was right, the hard-up grinning lunatic said, brushing his chin. You are melodramatic. How about you regain some… control? You like that, last time I checked. Another sharp tooth.

Fine. So what if I do? Fenris thought curtly.

Exactly, the hard-up grinning lunatic said, coming forward in the tub, resting his elbows on the edges. So… fucking… what?

He made a good point. An anti-pain point. A happy point. He went back in the tub.

You're not controlling… the boring band-aid bath guy thought. You're overfunctional. Too many years of—

Less intellectualising, more masturbating, the hard-up grinning lunatic commanded.

An hour passed, and the rosy effects were long gone. He didn't want to go outside just yet. He still had a massive headache. He didn't want to do anything. A knock came on the door.

"It's only me," Aveline's voice came from afar.

He mouthed a 'thank you' beyond the ceiling.

When he opened the door, Aveline looked past him. "Is Hawke here?" she said, a little activated.

"No," Fenris said matter-of-factly.

"Do you know where she might be?"

"Have you tried Kirkwall?"

"Funny. Can you think a little harder? This is impor—"

"Do you have a date for the next inspection?"

He wasn't listening to her. She scanned him up and down. Trembling hands, wobbling feet, dry mouth, heavy eyes, beginnings of dark creases. He was hungover, tired, dehydrated. Of course. Hawke had him on a childish scheme to make nice with Anders. No wonder he looked like shit.

"Not yet. Can you focus—"

"I need to know, so that I can think of an alternative hide-out."

"What?" Aveline said, frowning. "Just stay with us."

"I wouldn't want to… impose," Fenris said, rubbing his neck and looking down.

Aveline rolled her eyes. "Relax, will you? It's just for a night. We're not fucking animals."

Fenris smiled nervously and looked away. He cleared his throat. Translation: I guess I'm a fucking animal?

"Cute," she said insincerely. "You really don't know her schedule? What in the Void do you talk about?"

"Actually interesting things?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

She grunted and moved past him. "Do you have any booze?"

"It's… noon."

"Did I ask what time it is?" Aveline said indignantly.

Fenris closed his eyes, lost himself in some thought, then sighed. "Fine."

"Ugh, what fresh Void is this?" Aveline said in an armchair, disgusted with the beverage.

"Guess…" Fenris said, folding his hands in his own armchair.

"Some bullshit liquor."

"Warmer."

"Coffee liquor."

"Warmer."

"Coffee and… vanilla liquor?"

"Eureka."

"I… don't know what that means."

"It means I thought you knew your best friend."

"Don't patronise me," Aveline said curtly. "She drinks everything under the sun. And why did you give me her drink and not yours?"

"I don't have any drink," Fenris said, shrugging.

"Why not?"

"I drank it all."

"What? In one go?"

Fenris shot her a look. "Why are you here?"

Aveline sighed. She put her legs up on the bench, crossing them. "I'm… upset, and… I guess you could do."

"What an honour," Fenris said sarcastically.

She sighed again, her face buried in her hand. She drank.

"What happened?" Fenris said.

She was silent for a while, biting her lip nervously, thinking.

"He said…" Aveline said, slashing the air slowly, primly. "He said 'I love you'. And I said…" There was another, even slower slash. "'Thank you'."

"Thank you?" Fenris said with a raised eyebrow.

"Thank you," Aveline said quickly.

Fenris brooded. It was as if three dots and a question mark appeared one after the other, over his head.

"Well… at least you said something," he concluded.

"Don't make this about you," she said, rolling her eyes.

He chuckled. "I did not disguise that very well, did I?"

"Not. At. All."

"Duly noted," he said softly, thinking. "Why… did you say 'Thank you'?"

"I don't know. What was I supposed to say?" she said, shrugging aggressively.

"I… love you too?" Fenris offered.

She looked away quickly, smacking her lips. "It was too fast." She drank.

"I agree. You've been going out for two minutes."

Aveline sighed, rubbing her forehead. "It's… not really like that. We've been doing this dance a long time. But still…"

"Just… bad timing," Fenris said, shrugging. His attempt to be comforting.

"I wanted to say it back, I just…" Aveline said, sighing. She looked at him. "Why haven't you?"

"I thought this wasn't about me," Fenris said, raising his eyebrow sharply.

Aveline shrugged.

"Uh-uh," Fenris said, shaking his head. "Whatever I say, it will go straight to her ears."

"And whatever I say, it'll go straight to his ears, will it not?" Aveline said, frowning.

"Believe it or not, Aveline," Fenris said sarcastically, "I do not consider private conversations anyone else's affair."

"Alright then…" Aveline said hesitantly. "But this stays between us."

Fenris nodded.

Aveline sighed deeply, looking in the distant past. "You know I was married before."

"To Wesley," he said matter-of-factly. "I remember."

Suddenly she realised she had no idea where she was going with this.

"I… thought you were ready to move on," Fenris continued.

"I was. I am," Aveline said, thinking. "I just… I don't know."

"Heart over head?" Fenris said.

"Something like that," Aveline said, staring out the window. "In the moment, it just felt like I was… betraying him."

"He'd want you to be happy, would he not?" Fenris pushed.

"What he wants no longer matters," Aveline said crossly. A touch of sadness softened her. "He's gone."

Fenris inhaled deeply. "The desire demon disturbed you greatly."

"It just seems like whatever I think doesn't matter," Aveline said, scowling. "Like I was just deluding myself." She tried to stop the pain from taking over her expression. "I'm stuck. Possibly forever," she said resentfully, drinking.

A flash of pain came over his face. "One cannot dictate to one's heart when it is ready."

She frowned at him, signalling with her head to elaborate.

But it seemed he didn't know what else to say. He looked at his banded wrist. "You have a duty to your heart, first."

"A duty to my heart? What is this, a dumb children's play?" Aveline said curtly. What did her heart know? Her heart wanted all of it, especially the impossible.

Fenris grimaced, and looked at his wrist again. What was this new tic? It made him look even more eccentric than before. "I do not think tending to one's heart is childish. If anything, it is a sign of maturity."

"I don't know if I should be taking maturity advice from the man who wanted a kill a dwarf for looking at his 'maiden' the wrong way," Aveline said mockingly, air quotes and everything.

"Fake Varric news," Fenris said indomitably. "I did not consider her 'mine', and as for the killing, it only happened in here," he said, pointing at this head.

"I stand corrected. Very mature indeed," Aveline said sarcastically.

"What do you want from me? I was a confused and jealous idiot," Fenris said curtly.

"As opposed to now when you're…" Aveline said, chuckling.

"Just confused," Fenris said flatly.

Aveline scoffed, drinking. "Some would disagree."

"Some?" he said crossly.

"She is 'yours' now and you're still threatened."

Fenris crossed his arms. He seemed calm, but his words said otherwise. "What the fuck did Donnic tell you?"

"He doesn't tell me anything," Aveline said with high, nonchalant eyebrows, drinking.

Fenris's eyes widened for a second. "Wait…"

Aveline waited.

Fenris looked at his wrist again, grimaced in pain and brushed up his bangs.

"You're not as mysterious as you think you are," Aveline said, chuckling.

"I am not threatened. I'm annoyed," Fenris said suddenly. He looked away. "Was."

"Oh?" Aveline said, amused. "What changed?"

"I decided… I am above this," Fenris said nonchalantly, slouching back in his armchair.

"How… actually mature of you," Aveline said, squinting.

"See? You should listen to my advice," Fenris said, a little smugly.

"Alright…" Aveline said, shrugging. She looked at the fireplace, drinking. "I'll just not say it back until I'm ready."

"Excellent," Fenris said.

"Even if it takes months."

Fenris shrugged with one shoulder. "Whatever."

"Or even years, really…" Aveline said, scoffing in dark humour.

A crack in his mask. "Sure…"

"Even if the more time passes, the harder and more awkward it becomes—"

Fenris suddenly, but slowly, buried his face in his hands, bending forward in his seat.

"Are you… okay?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"What are you doing?" his voice came muffled through his hands.

"I guess I'm not as mature as you," Aveline said, smirking with the bottle near her mouth.

But it didn't take long for her to realise her mistake. She had no more part-time whining buddy. What she had was a crumbling, catatonic mess.

"Hey, look… Fenris…" she said awkwardly, coming forward in her seat. "You have nothing to worry about."

"Don't I?" he said sternly through his hands.

"Hey, look at me," she commanded.

The digital curtains parted, barely.

"She knows how you feel. Void, I knew before she knew. She doesn't need to hear it."

A wave of relief in his upright body. The curtains opened. The dots under his eyelids shook.

"It would be nice, of course. Who doesn't like hearing nice things? But that's just, you know…" Aveline said, shaking her hand, trying to remember the expression.

"Blowing bubbles?" Fenris said.

Aveline snapped her fingers and pointed at him. "Exactly."

"Then why is it only I who needn't worry?" Fenris insisted. "Donnic is a perceptive man."

"Because—" Aveline said in frustration. She softened her tone deliberately, looking into the fireplace. "I don't know if I can talk about…"

"Well, if you can't talk about whatever you can't talk about with him, then this conversation is surely doomed," Fenris said tiredly.

Aveline closed her eyes, inhaling aggressively. "It's… fine. I'm pretending you're Hawke. Or… an extra, less helpful limb of hers, at any rate," she said, waving dismissively.

Her words hurt him. The look of sadness in his deep green eyes was as sincere as she'd ever seen. It made her feel like an unbelievable arsehole.

"Sorry… I worded that poorly. I'm just upset," Aveline said.

"Let's get this over with," Fenris said, crossing his arms.

"Fine," Aveline said sharply. She breathed out. "Do you know the story of how Hawke and I met?"

"You met during the Blight, as she was escaping the destruction of Lothering with her family. Then you all flew to Kirkwall on a dragon," Fenris said with carefully masked sarcasm. He didn't believe it for a second.

Aveline chuckled. "I wish," she said, drinking. Her head fell back against the armchair, watching memories of a painful time past.

"I take it the witch didn't provide taxi services," Fenris said mockingly.

"What's a taxi?"

"A… quick travel service in Tevinter. It originated indoors. Some buildings are too vast to walk on foot."

"Wait… what? They built buildings so big they needed inside carriages?"

"Indeed."

"But the horse shit everywhere!"

Fenris scoffed. "There are no horses. There are slaves."

"I will never understand Tevinter, I swear," Aveline said, rubbing her forehead.

"I understand it very well," Fenris said. There was no pride in his voice, only bitterness.

"Well, this particular witch only breathed fire to save us from the darkspawn. Nothing more."

"In exchange for the amulet thing."

"Indeed. But she couldn't save us all. Bethany had no more pulse, and…" Aveline said, looking up, so the tears wouldn't come out. "Wesley was infected."

"Oh," Fenris said in a deep tone. He thought Wesley had already been gone. Perhaps simply killed by darkspawn. "I'm… sorry."

"Hawke was such a fucking arsehole about it," Aveline said, suppressing anger. "It was just one more death to her; one more thing in the way."

"You were in the middle of a horde," Fenris insisted, a flash of defensiveness in his shoulders.

"Not anymore. The witch took care of all that," Aveline said, raising her voice. "Hawke was just being an overbearing arsehole. About her own sister, no less."

"What else could you expect?" Fenris said curtly. He looked away, aware of the distasteful way he put it. "In hindsight, I mean," he said softly. She didn't come from Lothering. She came from Death Town. Death Avenue. House no. 2 Family Members Dead, plus a hundred casualties. There was no more sympathy left.

"I know. I forgave her already. She's not the point I'm trying to make. It just… it really didn't help," Aveline said, glaring at him. "We're safe in an abandoned house in Kirkwall. How about you feel some sympathy for me?"

"Fair enough," Fenris said, glaring back at her. "She was an arsehole while you were losing the love of your life."

"Exactly," Aveline said, her head falling back on the chair. "And she had the nerve to harass me about my decision, and was about to decide for me. Just do it, you know, instead of me. Just… get it over with," she said bitterly, waving her hand dismissively in the air.

Fenris didn't answer. She thought he simply listened, but when she looked at him, it was strange. He tried his best to look unnerved, but there was a rigidity in him, as if trying to conceal something. Why now, after he already purported himself to be Mr It's Okay To Be Unfeeling In Dire Times, Actually?

"I didn't let her," Aveline said, looking at him. His chest expanded, behind the crossed arms. "I did it myself." She looked in the fireplace. "I just put the sword right through him." Silence followed. "No cut could ever, ever hurt like that one did," she said, shaking her head. "It cut straight through my heart. I felt like I was going to die."

Silence filled the room; painful, yet somehow comforting silence.

"I think I regret not letting the unfeeling arsehole do it," Aveline concluded. "I think… it messed me up."

But her monologue had to wait, interrupted by an unexpected sound. Sniffling. It was coming from the unfeeling Tevinter. He was holding his forehead, underneath his bangs, looking down, trying not to cry. His other hand was in a fist along the arm of the chair.

She had no idea how to respond to that. It was the last thing she expected from him.

"I'm sorry," Fenris murmured. "This is not about me."

"No… err… thank you… for the… floods of sympathy," Aveline said awkwardly. She didn't do well with crying people.

"Please don't tell Hawke," Fenris said, clearing his throat, gathering himself.

"Why? Because men can't cry?" Aveline said, raising an eyebrow.

Fenris exhaled deeply, rubbing his eye. "Because I'm all over the place lately and I—" he said quickly, tersely. A quick grimace of pain passed over his features, but he immediately regained control. His face was a dispassionate mask again, like usual. "I don't want to worry her."

"Hey, man, it's okay to feel things," Aveline said awkwardly, scratching her head. "But uhm… yes. Like I said, this stays between us."

Fenris nodded.

"Thank you for listening, Fenris," Aveline said, smiling. "I think I just needed to say it out loud."

Fenris nodded again. He had no more left to say. This conversation took a lot out of him.

It made sense to her. It was like the other day, when she asked him if he felt he belonged in Kirkwall. "It feels," he said. "That itself has been a surprise." She couldn't help but agree. A surprise that just kept on giving. Feelings did not wait for the uninitiated to get their bearings.

But something… didn't feel right.

Afternoon, Ramsey's Place

Fenris went through the blue door. Mosaics of colour bombarded his vision. Thousands of clothes, fabrics, unfinished projects hung around the room. It was dimmer now, the sun already leaving this side of the building. An older elven gentleman sat at a table, doing a crossword. The plum coat on him was interesting. There was a loud cat clock above his head. In the other room, the one filled with light, a younger man walked from rack to rack. A boy, really. No older than twenty.

"Yes?" Ramsey said, not looking up from his crossword puzzle.

"Hawke sent me your way," Fenris said, approaching the table. Myriad of designs were scattered over the surface, both male and female bodies. Some merely in grey pencil, others with splashes of colour and flair. A familiar feeling came over him.

"Ah, Hawke," Ramsey said, looking up now. He didn't expect him to be an elf. Fenris hadn't either. "You must be that bloke she always talks about. Forest… Formula…" he said, snapping his fingers.

"Fenris," he said. The word 'forest' suddenly felt warm. So did he, on account of being talked about.

"What's that you got there?" Ramsey demanded.

Fenris held the paper up. "I need a birthday suit."

The boy in the other room chuckled. Ramsey simply perused the illustration with his monocle. "You want a bird costume?"

Fenris pursed his lips. "I want a man's suit, inspired by this."

"And just to clarify," Ramsey said, looking up at him and letting the monocle down. "An elven man's suit."

"Yes…" Fenris said.

Ramsey didn't take a second longer. He went into the light room, Fenris following him awkwardly. He went to another table, gave Fenris one look, and started making broad strokes with his pencil without sitting down. "This is my assistant, Asher," he said, not looking or pointing to his assistant.

"Very human names," Fenris commented, his eyes scanning the room for the assistant, who was buried behind some racks.

"Elven names don't attract clients," Ramsey said matter-of-factly.

The window here was very big, and the sunlight unexpectedly warm. He felt oddly at home here.

"Sorry about that. Good afternoon," Asher said, fishing himself out of the abyss of clothing. He had short blond hair, grey eyes, his mannerisms nearly feminine. But as soon as he saw Fenris, the boy's smile died. "Oh… it's you."

He was used to that reaction… but from people who already knew him. "Do we… know each other?"

"Oh, I know you, Fen'Harel's Pissfaggot," Asher said, very calmly. Not hurtfully. Merely as if that was supposed to mean something to him. But there was animosity in his posture.

Ramsey looked up at Fenris immediately, and made a big loud, "Ha!" and went back to drawing.

"Excuse me?" Fenris said, scowling.

"No? Don't remember?" Asher said, sneering at him. "A year ago? At the Piss and Quiet?"

"At the what?" Fenris said flatly, with half-lidded eyes.

"Bar in the Alienage?" Asher said, raising his eyebrows tiredly. "You broke our dove statuette?"

Uhm…

"None of this rings any bells," Fenris said. All his muscles contracted in defense.

"Ugh, typical," Asher said, crossing his arms. "You were easily the worst patron I've ever had, and there's nothing but arseholes in the Piss and Quiet. I had to quit after that."

This sounded nothing like him. Why would he go to a bar and talk to people? Go to the Alienage? Cause a scene? Break a BIRD?!

"Yes, but then you ended up here, in a promising position, with… mostly sober clients, so, jolly good," Ramsey said, not looking up from his drawing.

"I suppose," Asher said tiredly. He bent forward flippantly. "Thank you for making me leave."

"I…" Fenris said in a deep voice. "When was this again?"

"A year ago," Asher said. He tilted his head. "Almost exactly. Happy anniversary, I guess." Nothing about his voice was happy.

Oh… no…

"I broke a bird?" Fenris said, very affected.

"Yeah, you threw it on the ground," Asher said unhappily. He was attached to the bird. "Said it was 'giving you shit' ever since you got there," he said with mocking air quotes.

Fenris rubbed his painful forehead.

"Then, instead of apologising, you told me to beat you up."

He had to sit down.

"I said no, and you kept saying you're a liar and a betrayer and you destroy everything you touch."

He buried his face in his hands.

"The other bartender told you to get out because we don't welcome Fen'Harel energy in there."

This was starting to become really familiar.

"And you said you're not Fen'Harel. That you're a nobody, and you have no energy. That if anything, you're a pissfaggot. You're Fen'Harel's Pissfaggot and you need to get kicked to the ground."

Everything started to hurt. A bitter cringe inside.

"Then you kept trying to give me money so I'd beat you up. Said it was all 'okay' and that it 'calms you down'."

Like a sad jelly, he was falling down the chair.

"Then these teenage punks overheard and took your money gladly and—"

"I remember now…" Fenris said, his whole body screaming to run out of there. "You can stop."

"The… end," Asher said, smirking.

Ramsey was laughing with his mouth closed, still not looking up from his drawing. "That's Lady Hawke's bloke. Fen'Harel's Pissfaggot."

"Oh… right…" Asher said, biting on the inside of his lips. "I get it now."

"What?" Fenris said, frowning.

"It all makes sense now. The lying, the betraying, the homophobia. I get it. My friend says being a sugar baby is not as easy as it may seem."

"I'm not a sugar baby, nor am I a homophobe," Fenris said unhappily.

"Internalised homophobia is bad for your health, baby," Asher said mockingly.

"I—" Fenris said, rubbing his forehead. He groaned as he sighed. "I don't need to explain myself. I apologise for my behaviour. That was… certainly an awful night I caused."

"Spectacularly awful," Asher corrected.

"How can I make it up to you?" Fenris demanded. He reached in his pocket.

Asher held his palm up. "This is only giving me flashbacks—"

"Here we are," Ramsey interrupted in a sarcastic sing-songy tone, letting his monocle fall and coming next to him to show his work. "Is this what you had in mind?"

An eerie feeling rose in Fenris's chest, as he held up the paper. The vague impression of his hair and silhouette, adorned by a long black coat with a narrowing tail in purple and turquoise piping. The shirt was purple, and over the breast pocket of the coat there were two feathers. There were high-waisted trousers and long black boots. It wasn't all how he pictured it. He'd have preferred a black shirt with a vest and certainly no boots, but Ramsey caught the vibe he was going for. The problem was it made him sad. It was like a feeling of childhood innocence washed over him, and after that, just sadness. He suddenly felt he'd pictured this before, that it was an old wish. An old promise, in fact. That if he ever got married, that was what he'd wear.

"I changed my mind. I want a different suit," Fenris said, giving him the paper back. "But… keep this in my file. If you keep files."

Ramsey looked at him as if he were crazy. "I don't understand—"

"It is not yet time," Fenris said firmly. "What else could you see for me? Something less… ceremonial."

Asher snickered from behind, shaking his head. That little know-it-all, thinking he knew him just because he had a meltdown once. This had nothing to do with internalised anything. Only internal, sentimental reasons.

"Well…" Ramsey said, scanning him up and down. "You strike me more as a little black suit kind of fellow."

"Add some thin grey stripes to the shirt, maybe," Fenris said.

"And no colour at all?" Ramsey said, suddenly disappointed.

Colour? What colour? Apparently masochistic moron was his colour.

Come on now… Everyone loses their shit sometimes, the red band commented. Remember when I castra-decapitated a naked man statue?

He glanced at the red band, suddenly warm again. And then she told him she loved him… Told was a strong word. Slip of the tongue and fist, more like. But there was no going back, and he'd felt like he shot out of his body and then crashed back inside, and his fever went to a hundred. He felt true and total, for two whole seconds. They were a good two seconds. Then his dick distracted him.

"I could use this?" Fenris said, untying the band.

"Hmm," Ramsey said, taking it from him with great speed. It annoyed him a little. He wasn't treating it nicely. He tied it around his neck, making a bow with loose strands. "Voila."

Fenris looked in a mirror. He looked like some kind of person-shaped gift.

"I look like a bloody gift," he commented grumpily.

"Oh, yes," Asher said sarcastically, crossing his arms. "A total gift to mankind."

You're a total gift, the red bow said.

Afternoon, Lowtown

"I still don't understand what you need from me," Donnic said, following Fenris through a hallway of apartments.

"Just standing there will suffice," Fenris said calmly.

Oh? Just shut up and look pretty? He had someone to scare then. Maybe he wasn't sure how many someone's there'd be inside.

"But why though?" Donnic pushed.

"This is not your concern."

"I'm not going to help you if I don't even know what I'm agreeing to. I'm in official Guard capacity. This is serious."

"Fine…" Fenris said. He looked over every door number, and kept on walking. "There is a young elven man who lives here, and a human neighbour is harassing him. The landlord doesn't care."

"What kind of harassment?"

"He's a gay elf in a human apartment complex. What do you think?"

"Why didn't he report it?"

"He did."

"Oh," Donnic said, rubbing his neck. "We're uhm… very busy, you know… Lots of… murder and stuff…"

"Just stand there and look ominous," Fenris cut him, stopping at a door.

Donnic squinted, hard.

"What are you doing…?"

"I'm being ominous."

Fenris sighed. "Nevermind…"

"I'm usually the good copper," Donnic said, chuckling nervously.

"Evidently," Fenris said, knocking at the door.

A tall, well-built, dark-haired, bearded man opened the door. "Not interested."

Fenris stopped his door. "Are you Victor?"

"Who are you?" Victor said curtly.

"Your worst nightmare... if you keep being a bad neighbour," Fenris threatened.

"Serah, we've received complaints that you are harassing other tenants," Donnic intervened. He wasn't going to shut up and look pretty. He was a motherfucking guardsman.

"Says who?" Victor said gruffly.

"That's confi—"

"None of your fucking business," Fenris said.

"Basically," Donnic said, shrugging.

"Shiiit," Victor said, grinning at Fenris. A shit-eating grin. He spat away from them. "It's that little knife-ear on the seventh floor, isn't it? You his faggot boyfriend?"

"Problem?" Fenris said curtly.

"No problem," Victor said nonchalantly. "Just don't like it in broad daylight, see."

"Serah, I don't care about your personal philosophy," Donnic said. "Kirkwall's law is clear. There is no prohibition on people's preferences, at any time of the day. Harassment, however, is not permitted."

"Do you even have evidence?" Victor said, scoffing.

"You've spouted racial and homophobic slurs in front of an officer, and you've basically confessed to your motivation for the alleged harassment. That is enough evidence," Donnic said sternly. -Ish. But what a copper said, went. Even when what they said was word salad. "This is your warning."

"Your one and only," Fenris said, lighting up his markings. He held his claw up languidly. "You do not wish to see what this does."

"I'm sorry, officer, but isn't this harassment?" Victor said, chuckling and waving towards Fenris. He was not impressed with any threat. He must have worked for someone important.

Donnic looked at Fenris. Something spoke to him. His integrity, then a kind of cruel creativity.

"You're right," Donnic said, wrinkling his nose as he breathed in. "This is textbook harassment. And I'm a very by the book kind of guy. Technically, I should be throwing both of you in jail right now."

Fenris's eyes widened, his chest expanding. Donnic looked at him for two more unnecessary seconds, so he'd get he had to play along. Victor however, thought this meant the copper wasn't doing his job and he was scoffing.

"And the cells are preeetty much full now, what with the troubles here," Donnic said, narrowing one eye. "I think you'll have to share a cell."

Fenris smiled. A disturbing, evil smile. Victor's shit-eating grin waned a little.

"Oof, I don't like being locked up. It gives me flashbacks," Fenris said. His face continued to make unnerving expressions. A glower and a smile all at once. "I don't know what I might do if I lost control… being a faggot and all…"

"Look, fuck you," Victor said curtly. "I'll leave him alone, okay?"

"Good human," Fenris said arrogantly.

"Well," Donnic said, crossing his arms and smiling. "I think we all learned a lesson today."

"I'm guessing you're not two-timing Hawke with a gay twink," Donnic said, scratching his head as they went out the building.

"No," Fenris said flatly.

"Another one of your good deeds?" Donnic said, smiling.

"A favour, I suppose," Fenris said. He scanned him up and down. "Are you… alright?"

"Me? Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" Donnic said, rubbing his neck. There was absolutely nothing wrong, absolutely not. He was going to have risotto at The Pink Door. With his favourite lady. That was… so, so grateful. What could be wrong?

"Just making conversation."

"Since when?"

Fenris sighed. "Can't you shut up and be grateful?"

"You shut up."

Fenris looked at him tiredly. "Mkay. Bye."

Donnic scoffed. "Now who's being ungrateful?"

"Thank you," Fenris said from afar.