Night time, Fenris's Mansion

Hawke woke up in the middle of the night. It was becoming a thing, really. Sleeping next to Fenris wasn't always a bed of roses. He'd groan unhappily if she accidentally spooned him asleep; he'd thrash randomly and inconsolably; or, when shit really hit the windmill, he'd wake her up screaming. She was becoming a light sleeper—prepared for all of it, all the time. This time it was merely a whiny groan that said: That's nice… but maybe don't.

She made a little fort with the blanket, but couldn't go back to sleep. She stood up and wandered around. She'd brought some of her stuff and got out a fluffy deep purple bathrobe. She saw herself in the mirror next to the closet, in the robe and a black top and shorts and thought: Fuck. I'm getting fat.

The world would have slapped her too. She just put on a little weight. It was all the damn desserts Fenris started making her ever since he temporarily 'moved in'. He had passion and skill, and she had no self-control. There was no more light six-pack. It was becoming a one-pack. She had to stop before it turned into a two-sack. She took the takeaway dessert to the kitchen and froze the Void out of it with magic under a tea towel.

"Stop staring at me!" she said to it. "It's not going to happen!"

The dessert continued to be a dessert, and did not care.

"That's better," she said grumpily. She raised her index and middle finger and pointed them from her eyes to the dessert. "I'm watching you!" Wait a minute… "I mean… no. I am not watching you. You do not exist to me!" she said, covering her eyes and bumping into the door.

She went back in the bedroom with a mug of tea and tried to rearrange the flower pots so she could hop on the windowsill. All went well, except she forgot about the mug and kicked it to the ground.

Fenris immediately gave a long grumpy groan. "That better not be my flowers…"

"No, just a mug," Hawke said, cleaning up.

"Oh… Well… I don't care about that," he said morosely, brushing it off. His arm thumped back down. He didn't really seem all that awake.

As she picked up all the pieces and stood up, her eyes were immediately drawn to his memory shelves. A demon eyeball, a black feather, a pressed rose in Shartan's book. There was an arrow from his hunting trip with Aveline, and a fluorescent gem from his times with Varric co-managing the Bone Pit while she was away. There was the final writing test she gave him, which he got a big fat 100% on, circled three times in red for good measure. There was the libretto from the opera in Val Chevin and the tickets to Les Catacombes de Fleurs. There was the last bottle of the Aggregio, empty. There were some pressed leaves and flowers as well, from the funeral pyre on Sundermount, inside his own new copy of Crimson & Clover.

He wasn't exactly happy with the ending of that book…

Mary went on soul-searching for years and sank into a depression, while Belle left court and wandered aimlessly and eventually joined a mercenary band. She ran into Mary years later on a job and they reconnected. Mary felt deeply inconsolable about the way she left things with Belle, about the way she never amounted to anything good in her life. But Belle told Mary she'd inspired her to leave behind her meaningless life at court and live authentically, and that would not have happened if not for her. The book ended with Mary sitting along her round windowsill, making room for Belle. She sat down and took Mary's hand, and pursed her lips in a bittersweet smile.

Fenris's reaction was pacing around in a long series of mutters and grumbles in his mother tongue. Hawke told him to be patient because the story wasn't over, that another book was coming out, but he just fixated on the vague cliff hanger and wouldn't let it go. It was both cute and incredibly frustrating.

Then there was the merula, beaming with colour and soundless melody. She was filled with love and an inexplicable sadness. The 'correct' black sicklebill was also on display. Something about it made her sad. She couldn't put her finger on it. It was like the past was playing a bittersweet song; on out-of-tune strings of a much too fragile present—

"Are you alright?" Fenris said suddenly. She flinched and looked in his direction. He could barely keep both eyes open.

"Just can't sleep. I'll be fine. Go back to your dreams," she said, smiling.

"Well… now you're just sending mixed mess…" He fell back asleep.

She went back to her thoughts, but the bed creaked suddenly. He sat up.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know…" he said, rubbing his eye, his voice sweet and raspy. "You stay up with me."

Immeasurable warmth shot out of her heart straight to her extremities.

"Because you have night terrors. I just have insomnia."

"Good point…" Fenris said, looking up at the ceiling, his eyes… closed. He raised a finger. "Or do I merely think it's a good point because it means I can go to sleep?"

"You're brooding out loud," Hawke said, laughing. "Go to sleep."

He groaned softly and let himself fall. "Fine…" He did a weird motion with his arm.

"What was that?"

"A flying kiss."

She laughed. "That looked more like an arm spasm."

"Alright. Have an arm spasm," he said, doing it again.

"Thank you, Fen Fen. I feel very cherished," she said half-sarcastically.

"Good," he mumbled, falling asleep.

Hawke went to the kitchen and attempted Tea #2. She couldn't stop thinking of the perfect ways in which to create happy memories for him. Her brain was burning out from overthinking.

How about… don't try to fix it? she remembered Fenris saying.

He was right, wasn't he? He had this. The memory shelves were growing. He was growing. He was trying to show her how he felt. He was trying to look on the bright side of things. He started helping others all on his own. He even helped Anders with his love life, although that was probably out of pragmatism (why hadn't she thought of that?). Lastly, that little conflict they had at the dinner table tonight—it was over and resolved in like two minutes. He'd come a long, long way.

I'm not going to fix anything, Hawke thought. I'm just going to make him happy.

Yeah, but you're obsessing over how to do that, which sounds to me like trying to fix something, a voice inside her said.

I think the problem is me, she thought.

We're shocked, a sarcastic voice said.

Hawke groaned and put her mug on the railing, looking out over the main hall. She tried to 'fix' things before, and look how well that turned out. She surprised him with a small 'conceptual' make-over of the main hall, and he surprised her with a big tantrum. Lesson violently learned—do not give Fenris surprises or big gestures of any kind. With this man, it was all in the small things. In being in control of what came at him. In doing things together, also, as it turned out.

He might have been more mature than her.

She sighed and looked down at the tapestry of cobwebs on the walls. He made her levitate all the new shit downstairs in a random room, where he didn't have to think about it. At least he didn't want the big-ass golden Tevinter statues back. She melted and sold them and gave him the money back. He was hesitantly grateful.

She wasn't proud of that. She didn't even know why she really did it. The… good spirited debate they had didn't solve the mystery.

Three years ago, she thought the whole dark, abandoned mansion thing was badass. He was cool. Two years ago, when she started going there more often, she thought it was kind of cool, but also kind of depressing. A few months ago, she thought it was just depressing. The only way the mansion changed was the volume of broken shit piling up from him throwing things into other things because it 'calmed him down'. That and the growing number of hidden traps and escape routes he'd been installing with equal parts passion and paranoia.

Other than that, it was a sad, ancient, broken mess. An industrial sad-spill. She thought he was enabling his depression.

What about his bedroom? That has never stopped changing. It just kept getting nicer and nicer, and now it's like a fucking romance room for introverts, a part of her insisted.

You're right, I suppose… Hawke thought. But locking yourself in your own bedroom doesn't exactly spell health—

Then it hit her.

She felt so incredibly dumb.

The big sad-spill downstairs wasn't harming his mental health. It was helping it. The throwing, the breaking, the crass display of extravagant wealth just being left to dust and insignificance, the way he wryly bragged that these were quite luxurious conditions for a former slave—all the pieces came together with a satisfying snap.

This was a mansion with no help. It was a Tevinter house with no slaves. It was what it all looked like, without people like him having to bear the upkeep on their shoulders. He was not going to tend to it. He was going to let it all rot. Wood and stone and gold alike. What did it ever really amount to? Nothing. All that human money and culture and glamour just lining up an elf's rage toilet. It amounted to nothing but a sad-spill that made a former slave smile.

It was his anarchy. It was his very own art piece.

Damn. He was good.

Night time, The Fog Dream

Fenris couldn't find the theatre anymore. The Patriarch had eaten the two-headed rooster, and without it, the forest just kept repeating and repeating. He couldn't find a way out, and it was more torture than jump scares and quick beatings. He was losing his mind.

He thought he saw a loose tail of red hair behind some bushes, but they were only flowers. Spina-coronas as he knew them, or crown-of-thorns. Tall, incredibly thorny stems rising up into beautiful red flowers. Pain flowers.

He looked at his red band. You can take this! Blossom like a pain flower! he remembered it saying.

"I did say that!" the red band said out loud.

"Wait. You're talking to me," Fenris said, looking around.

"Of course I am. I'm you!" the red band said, giggling. "Or am I?"

"You sound like Hawke," Fenris insisted. He had a vague sense he was dreaming. "But… which one?"

"Must we argue over semantics?" the red band said, sighing. "Let's find your way."

He sighed. "Very well."

He followed the pain flowers through the dying rainforest, and it finally started continuing rather than just repeating. He could hear the Patriarch's growls echoing, and he didn't care. He kept on going. The trail of pain flowers stretched for miles and miles, he felt. Finally, it congregated around one enormous pain flower. It was as big as a tree, its blossom towering the neighbouring canopies.

Monumental and lonely…

"The only way is up," the red band said.

He inhaled deeply, and started climbing up the thorns. The Patriarch barked loudly from afar, and the thorns started thrashing, and crushed him into other thorns.

"Accept the pain", the red band said.

Fenris cried and resisted, and it only made it worse. It became just like in the iron maiden. Spikes everywhere, biting into his skin.

"It's all in the past!" the red band shouted. "Accept it! The only way is up!"

"I accept it!" he shouted, looking up.

The thorns stopped encasing him, and he continued climbing, his hands going straight through them. He was bleeding, but the pain was strangely tolerable. It was all familiar and dull and unimpressive.

A big violent growl was nearing.

"Yeah, yeah," Fenris said, grunting as he climbed. "I hear you just fine, asshole."

Varric brought the idea to them. An 'arsehole' was just a mortal that mainly suffered from a case of chronic living. An asshole could help it.

When he reached the petals, they moved around gently and shaped themselves into stairs. He reached the top and…

It was a sprawling mass of green and fog, the dark spiky tower of the theatre visible from a distance, and over the ocean, beyond the rocks, beyond the huge and fatal waves, beyond more fog—the tops of glass towers, gleaming… refracting the sun on his face, behind them all.

"See?" the red band said. "You will always find your way."

Fenris took a minute, feeling that honied warmth on his face. It was so incredibly good. "If only I had wings…"

"Don't you?" the red band said.

"Do I?" he said, looking over his shoulder. He most certainly did not.

"Just—" The pain flower started shaking, and he heard growls and whimpers down below. "There's no time, Fen Fen. Fly!" the red band said.

"I can't!" he shouted anxiously.

"You can!" the red band retorted.

The pain flower quaked tumultuously, and he fell, catching onto a petal.

"Fly, damn it!" the red band said.

"I can't!" he cried. "I don't even have wings!"

"Just let go! Trust it!" the red band insisted. "And whatever you do, don't look down!"

But… he did look down. And what he saw was a dark mouth of bloodied fangs, shooting up and eating him.

Night time, Fenris's Mansion

Hawke's second mug of tea did not survive the night either. It joined the happy sad-spill downstairs when she heard Fenris scream.

She rushed in his bedroom, and he was hugging himself, cold and silent.

"I'm here!" Hawke said, jumping in bed. She took off her fluffy bathrobe and wrapped him in it, rocking him. "It's alright. You're okay."

"Fuck, it hurts!" Fenris said, his voice breaking. "I'm all knots."

He hadn't had a case of the 'knots' for a long time. She forgot about it, but not the solution. Magical massage. Force-wave vibrations. "Be ready," she said, and shot out mini-vibrations into his muscles. He started softening.

"I hate this… so much," he growled lowly.

"I know," she said softly, rocking him. "What got you knotted up?"

"I tried to blossom like a pain flower, but-but… he just ate me!" Fenris said frantically.

"Blossom like a… pain flower?" Hawke said, confused. "Wait. Who ate you?"

"The Patriarch!" he said angrily.

"Who?" she said again.

He was making no sense.

Fenris grunted, his head falling back. "I'm too tired…"

"Okay, let's get you back to sleep."

"No! That asshole will just eat me again."

"No, he won't. This never happens twice in a night. It's time to rest. Come on," she said, trying to pull him down.

"Okay…" he said weakly, child-like.

"You'll be okay," she said, cuddling him. "Here, have my pillow."

"Okay…"

She sighed, looking down at him in that mass of purple. He was calming down. He closed his eyes, his head half on her fluffy pillow, half on her chest. "Great pillows," he mumbled.

"Thanks," she said, laughing. She rested her head on his. "Things are terrible, but… I am here."

"Things are terrible, but… you are here," he mumbled sleepily.

"Always," she said, smiling a little.

She kept staring at the fire place, full of thoughts. This is what she was trying to fix. Who in the Void wouldn't? She thought… if she could honour the process, not interfere, but do her part on this side… maybe it would help. Wasn't that what they've been doing to begin with, albeit by accident? But maybe trying wasn't honouring the process. Maybe—

"You said you'd sing me a lullaby," he mumbled.

"Okay," she said, laughing. "I'll sing you my favourite lullaby."

"Let's hear it."

So she did, quietly, softly. It wasn't a real lullaby. It was Malcolm-nonsense, but she liked it.

Soft puppy, warm puppy

Yawning on the floor…

Happy puppy, sleepy puppy

Snore, snore, snore…

"Everyone's obsessed with puppies…" he grumbled.

"In Ferelden? Uhm, yeah," she said, chuckling. She sang it again.

"Well… it's not so bad…" he grumbled. "Again."

"Okay," she said, laughing. She sang it again, then made up her own.

Soft Fenris, warm Fenris,

Hero I adore…

Grumpy Fenris, happy Fenris

Snore, snore, snore…

He groaned sulkily.

"Hey, I called you a hero."

"Fine…"

Sunrise, Fenris's Mansion

Hawke woke up, and Fenris wasn't there. She got herself ready, but too much time passed. She knocked on his bathroom door. "Are you… alive?"

"I'm dying," he whined.

"Dying like I should come in or—"

"No!"

"What's wrong?" she said nervously, scratching her head.

"I've been here for two hours and I have nothing!"

It was a little soon for cute bathroom reports like that. She cleared her throat. "Uh… Stay strong!" she said weakly. "I… believe in you…?"

She heard him grunting unhappily. "It's not that…" There was a silence. Her eyebrows were up and nervous and waiting. "I can't pee."

"Oh!" she said, laughing. "You've got cystitis."

"From what?!" he said angrily. "I am as clean as a…" He sighed. "What's something clean?"

"A cat?" she offered.

He gave a long unhappy groan. "Soap," he said grumpily. "I am as clean as soap."

She should have said something before. "It's from cumming and not going to the bathroom soon after."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I should've said something…"

"You think?" he said sarcastically.

"It's fine. I get them every other month. If you ask Bodahn, he'll give you my potions and some good painkillers."

"I'm not asking Bodahn for potions for my dick."

"It's not…" she said, face-palming and suppressing her laughter. "Just say cystitis, for Maker's sake."

"Which will immediately make him think of my dick."

"Well, you seem to make a lot of people think of your dick lately. Why not Bodahn too?"

He laughed. "Fair enough."

"Take three a day, one every six hours, for a week. You'll be fine."

"Great…"

Who would have thought that, all this time, he was holding back on his grumpy voice?

"Fun always comes at a price."

"Evidently…"

"Boy, I gotta say, I'm kind of happy I don't have to work with you today," she said, laughing.

"I'm not."

Shocker.

"I really want to hit something," he said grumpily.

"You can… hit the hay," she said, snapping her fingers and pointing at the door.

"Funny," he said sarcastically.

"Are you coming out for a kiss goodbye or have you married that toilet?"

"I'm on my honey moon. Go away."

"Rude," she said, laughing.

"Sorry… I'm in pain."

She clicked her teeth. "I know… You've had a rough time," she said compassionately, her head leaning on the door. "I'll come by for lunch and check on you, okay?"

"Yay…"

"Take care, Fen Fen. Hope you feel better."

"Thank you…"

Morning, The Gallows

"I have six meetings happening all at once, Knight-Captain. What do you want?" Meredith said curtly.

Great. Things were spiralling right when the Knight-Commander was having a bad day, Cullen thought. The Maker had a sense of humour.

"Why do you have… six meetings in overlap?" Cullen said nervously.

Meredith sighed, and kept writing. "Because I have posted a notice at the Chantry that we are making ourselves more… accessible… to the public."

Public relations was a nightmare.

"I can take over some of—"

"No," Meredith said firmly. "You are tossing the place today. All of it. Staff quarters included."

Cullen sighed. "That… is a good idea. Right away, Knight-Commander. But… first—"

Meredith shook her hand so he'd go faster.

Cullen inhaled and gathered his bravery. "You must cease with this petty back and forth with Lady Hawke and visit her." Meredith looked up at him from her papers, peering over her monocle with silent deadliness. "She has gathered a great deal more plaintiffs. It is becoming a class action lawsuit and we cannot stop it. The Viscount's hands are tied and he sends his apologies."

Meredith's fist formed slowly on the table. "Have you spoken with Magistrate Vanard?"

"He said he is upholding the law and this is fully allowable," Cullen said, rubbing his forehead. "He… made a cursory suggestion we settle before all Chantry coffers go to the plaintiffs."

Meredith exhaled deeply. "This woman has been nothing but a pain in my arse."

Swearing was never a good sign with her.

"M-maybe we can take this as an opportunity, Knight-Commander," Cullen suggested. "To effect some changes and restore our reputation."

"Our reputation is untarnishable, Knight-Captain. This city is nothing without the Templars."

"Exactly. Who better to take responsibility and set an example but the Templars?"

"Your loyalty is coming into question, Knight-Captain."

"My loyalty is nowhere but to the Order, Knight-Commander. I firmly believe we are doing the Maker's work. But I also believe Andraste would look down on us for letting down the Maker's children, be they human or—"

Meredith's eyebrow rose. "More elven plaintiffs then?"

"Humans too. Three nobles, as well," Cullen said, his shoulders curling. "It does not look good for us."

Meredith sighed, looking down. She shook her head. "You're Fereldan, Knight-Captain."

"I am."

"Are they pro-elves back there?"

"Uhm… it's uh…" he said, laughing nervously. He cleared his throat. "Complicated."

"I wonder where her obsession comes from," Meredith said, leaning back, chin in hand.

"Unclear," Cullen said, rubbing his neck. Then something lit up in his head. "Her elven servant was quite rude and outspoken."

"Servant?" Meredith said, frowning. "I thought she was 'progressive'."

"His rudeness did have something to do with me calling him that, now that I think about it," Cullen said, laughing nervously. "I wasn't… thinking."

"Employee? Lover?" Meredith insisted.

"She has quite a diverse group of employees," Cullen said. "Everyone knows that."

"But this one was in her house."

"He could be a lover. It would make sense."

"Tell me about him."

"Male, age unclear, possibly late twenties, tall for an elf, slender build, tan complexion, very white hair but dark eyebrows, indicative of trauma, Dalish tattoos but not on the face, and he did not sound Dalish."

"Kirkwaller?"

"No. Maybe a northern March. Or… Tevinter."

"Tevinter?" Meredith said, laughing. "What's she doing fraternising with Tevinters?"

"Well… he is an elf," Cullen said, shrugging. "I doubt he misses his homeland, if that's the case."

Meredith was thinking. It was a good, long think.

"Don't tell me you're thinking of sending him back."

Meredith shot him a chilling look. "Knight-Captain, I find it very insulting that you would think me that cruel."

Cullen involuntarily looked through the window, at the slave statues down below.

Meredith tilted her head condescendingly. "Do you know the Rooftop Rumpus Room, Knight-Captain?"

"I don't… I don't frequent entertainment venues," Cullen said softly.

"They have this gargantuan portrait of me," Meredith said, her arms drawing widely in the air, very proud of herself.

"Good? Good for them," Cullen said, coughing.

"Very good," Meredith said slowly. She looked towards the window and stood up. "It's all a farce, of course. They have comedians and strippers and an expired liquor license."

Cullen had no idea where she was going with this.

"But they have had little to no incident for five years," Meredith went on, crossing her arms and looking at him. "Can you venture a guess how much they spend on security?"

Cullen did some quick math. "A hundred—"

"Zero," Meredith cut him. "They spent fifty sovereigns on my portrait, a one-time payment, and now they have no need for security. The mere idea of the Knight-Commander watching them keeps people in line."

"Clever," Cullen said, chuckling. "But I fail to see your point."

"The point of the presentation is this, Knight-Captain," Meredith said, going to the window with her hands tied behind her back, "Art is powerful. Art also saves a lot of coin and labour. In our case, it saved all the coin, since it was already there."

"But isn't it a little—"

"What?"

Cullen gulped. He attempted to find a better word for 'brutally hypocritical'. "Uncharitable?"

"It is highly charitable," Meredith insisted. "It reminds them we are very charitable, compared to who was here before us. And as long as the mages remain charitable, loyal servants of Andraste, they don't have to worry about a thing."

"Wouldn't it be better if we replaced them with depictions of Templars watching?" Cullen offered.

Meredith looked at him as if he were stupid. Refurbishment costed money.

"Enough debating, Knight-Captain. I don't pay you for that," Meredith said sternly. "Do a full sweep and report back."

"What about Thrask?"

"What about him?"

"Am I relieving him of his duty?"

Meredith sighed. "Despite his… soft methods and… 'opinions', he has a way with the mages." She looked at the window again. "But someone needs to pay for his silence on the stand. Find me someone."

"I think I have just the person in mind," Cullen said, pursing his lips.

"Knight-Captain."

"Knight-Commander."

He opened the door, and a black human man with brilliant long braids was standing tall with a stern expression. "Can I help you?"

"I have a meeting," he said flatly.

"Welcome, serah," Meredith said, putting on her nice face. "Have a seat."

"I will stand," he said flatly.

"I insist you take a seat," she said, sitting down and staring at him.

The man perused the room, and took a seat on a distant chair, behind her desk.

"Would you like something to drink? My assistant Helena—"

"I am Tiberius Lemnus, of Seheron. Former freedom fighter and disgrace to the Imperium," he said, crossing his arms and legs. "I would like to see my daughter, Lucretia Lemnus. And yes, I would love a drink."

"I am Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard, of Kirkwall," she said, bowing her head a little. "And I'm afraid that will not be possible, serah."

"L-u-c-r-e-t-i-a," Tiberius said sharply, staring her down. "Lemnus."

"Again—"

"I have not received a single letter from her," Tiberius said, receiving his drink. "She is of Harrowing age. I demand to see if she is alright."

"Correspondence is not permitted, serah, and though it pains me to say it, you no longer have parental rights."

"Since when?" Tiberius said, scoffing.

"Since the Loyalist administration," Meredith said, very self-possessed. Since my administration.

Tiberius shook his head with a disgusted expression. "Loyalist, shmoyalist. I demand to see my daughter. Once I see she is alright, I will leave."

"There is a new support group at the Keep for parents—"

"I demand to see her."

Meredith inhaled deeply. "No."

Tiberius fished out a letter. Helena took it and gave it to Meredith. The writing was done in their non-dominant hand. Most of it was downright messy and incoherent and stained all over with ink, except for Tiberius's name and honorific, which was written with much care.

DEAR DOMINUS LEMNUS,

YOUR DAUGHTER LUCY [all strikethrough] IT CAME TO ME IN A *VISION* THAT YOUR WONDERF [strikethrough] KIND DAUGHTER, LUCY, IS IN DANGER. I CANNOT SAY MORE, THOUGH I WOOD [strikethrough] WOULD CHERRY [strikethrough] CHERISH THE OPPORTUNITY IF IT WERE POSSIMBLE [strikethrough], POSSIMBABLE [strikethrough], POSSILBLE. ANDRASTE WATCH OVER YOU, TIBERIUS LEMNUS. I'M SORRY.

YOURS TRULY,
THE GLOAMING

"The… Gloaming?" Meredith said, raising an eyebrow. The letter smelled like alcohol and cigarettes, which narrowed it down to half of Thedas.

Tiberius shrugged, not one muscle moving on his face. "Is The Gloaming right?"

Meredith sighed. "Hoax letters like these go around all the time."

"I would like to verify the validity of these allegations myself."

"Serah, it is not—"

Tiberius took out some chains and cuffs from his backpack—

"Serah, put those down now—"

But the former freedom fighter was simply too dexterous with it. He chained himself to Helena and swallowed the key.

"I am unclear how to proceed," Helena said monosyllabically.

"Do not proceed," Meredith said, face-palming.

Morning, The Hawke Estate

Begins here, new sun segment of agent Mojo, house of Hawke, city of Kirkwall, time unknown for clock numbers swirling. Too much of not enough outside. Agent Mojo sad dog supreme. Has infection. Partner Hawke away again. Smells of perfect. Left list of missions—remember:

One of: Boop agent Bodahn for sustenance.

Two of: Boop agent Sandal for fun time.

Three of: Protect agent Mother Leandra.

What else…? Can't of remembering.

"Time for your snack, messere," smile of agent Bodhan barking. Smells of paper and ink.

Smile of agent Mojo, can't contain himself! Breathing. Await. Snack tasting weird in middle.

"Rowf, rowf," smile of agent Sandal barking. Smells of ham and boom dust.

Happy bark of agent Mojo. Fun time! Jumping! Tongue of agent Mojo lick, licking! Taste of ham! Yummy-yum-yum! Give! Give!

Smell of sad elven boy outside. Smells of partner Hawke and sweet tree bark. Door barking now too. Mojo bark back. Agent Bodahn opening door. Mother Leandra coming to bark. Smells of flowers.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite son-near-law," smile of Mother Leandra barking.

What is 'son-near-law'? Agent Mojo ready to investigate. Remembering Mother Leandra's son. Agent Brother of Carver. Smells of sweat and mating fluid. Kind of a prick. Missing him, though. Wait, no good. Son-near-law. What law? Law for tying agents together? Remembering many, many sun segments ago. Ferelden—smells of trees and mud. So good. Missing agent Father Malcolm, agent Sister Bethany, happy puppy Holly, grumpy puppy Devon, dog agent sister Anna and dog agent brother Sif. Maximum sadness… Oh, balls! Husband of Andrei! No agent! Smells of smoke and coin and betrayal! Total prick. No balls of nothing. Sad elven boy near being prick agent husband? That of why allowed in bed? Third of bed occupant possibly forever. Hope partner Hawke knowing of what she's doing. Mojo can't take another idiot.

"I'm… your only 'son-near-law'," angsty smile of sad elven boy barking.

"And out of them all… you're my favourite," joke of Mother Leandra barking.

Sad elven boy laughing.

Oh, balls! Remembering!

One sun segment ago, House of Hawke

"I need you to be an emotional support mabari for Fenris, okay?" warm smile of partner Hawke barking in bedroom.

Mojo tilting head confused. What is 'emotional support'? Agent Mojo ready to investigate. Emotional when things go good or bad. Support when helping. Helping when things go bad. Possible help sad elven boy smile?

Eyes of partner Hawke narrowing. "Do you understand the concept of deception?"

Mojo barking of understanding. Ready to prove himself. Going out. Door closing. Paw-slap! Ka-pow! Run away!

Door opening. Partner Hawke sighing, petting Mojo. Happy boy. "Alright, you understand the concept of being a little shit. Close enough."

Mojo never does little shits! What? Tone suggesting of prick. Mojo never a prick. Mojo good boy. Tilting head confused.

"I need you to act as though Fenris is your partner."

Mojo growling forever. No stop.

"Even though…" partner Hawke insisting, hugging Mojo, sad face, "… we both know the truth is you will always be my partner, forever and ever and ever!"

Smile of Mojo barking. Lick, licking! Happy boy. Partner Hawke forever. No stop.

"Consider him a side partner that needs help if he smells too much like sad," partner Hawke explaining. "Pretend you're sad and you need pets or a walk. That will make me happy."

Make partner Hawke happy. Enough bark! Where is sad boy?

"Good boy," laugh of partner Hawke barking.

Best boy. Ready to prove himself.

Morning, The Hawke Estate

Agent Mojo smelling sad elven boy for level of sad. Eight out of ten sad. Hurt, hurting. Supressing whimpers. Emotional support mabari ready.

"I am here…" possible future agent Fenris barking. Suspicious looks at agent Mojo. "…to survey the premises for your… project."

"Ah. He finally acquiesces!" smug smile of Mother Leandra barking.

"I'm just taking measurements," no smile of tense Fenris barking, holding pad and taking out pencil. Investigating area. Licking wounds with right front paw. Hurt, hurting.

"Well, it's a start…" singing smile of Mother Leandra barking.

"It's a pre-start, Mama. Don't push it," smirk of Fenris barking.

Sad boy calling agent Mother Leandra 'Mama'. Checks out suspicions of future agent of clan Hawke. Anxiety.

"Bodahn, be an absolute dear and get our star contractor a refreshing beverage," Mother Leandra barking and leaving.

Pursing lips of sad elven boy, concentrating.

"Right away, messere."

Agent Mojo awaiting. Good boy. Patience. Going for beverage too.

"Here you are, messere!"

Sad boy maximum tense. Leaning down. Whispering. Ha! Has infection too. Sadness level mystery solved. Agent Mojo best detective.

"I like your red sash," smile of agent Sandal barking.

"Thank you?" raising eyebrow of sad boy barking.

"What does it mean?" smile of agent Sandal barking, suppressing growls.

"It means… I'm important."

"To Hawke?"

"Yes."

"How important?"

"The… most important?" nervous smile of Fenris barking. Head scratches. "Actually, no. That will never be possible."

"Why?"

Mouth clicking. Tense boy. "Shall we say… the most important unrelated person."

Agent Sandal suppressing growls. "Okay," smile of him barking softly.

Agent Mojo a person? Unsure. Feeling like a person. Ready to investigate. Eats, drinks, poops, sleeps, loves and whines. Totally a person. Sad elven boy wrong. Agent Mojo most important. His collar shiny leather, special made. Maximum bling.

"May I come in?" Fenris said, knocking on Leandra's door.

"Do come in," Leandra said. She was doing her make-up.

"Just a quick look around," Fenris said, testing out the strength of the walls.

"No worries."

"Can I go into the other bedrooms?"

"Of course."

He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, knowing this was not his first time inside.

"All good," he said, clearing his throat and moving past her.

"Byeee," Leandra said, singing. "No wait," she said, and threw a key at him. "For the other bedroom."

He could almost skip Hawke's room. Wall strength was tested plenty. He had a very quick look around, then went into the third bedroom.

He was not prepared.

It was a child's room, filled with books and toys and quite a dark colour palette, save for the walls, which were all sprawling with colour—flowers, trees, dogs, birds, squirrels, bugs and more birds. There was a robin, a blackbird, a pelican, a starling, a raven, a… flamingo, a… Major Mitchell's cockatoo, and one enormous great blue heron bowing and looking at him upside down in the grass. It was geographically insane, but incredibly beautiful.

He was filled with sadness suddenly, with longing, and a sense of ancient jealousy. Vast, lukewarm and unknowable. Flowing in out of sight.

He inhaled deeply, and let go of that feeling. Another one was knocking at his heart doors.

It must have taken her a long, long time to paint all this. Everything was in pristine order too. All nice and ready. It was all she could do.

So as not to go insane… the red band said bittersweetly.

He sat down at the incredibly small desk, his legs not even able to fit in, and poked the toy raven. There was a book on the desk, or a diary of some sort, surrounded by candles. It was already open, so he didn't feel completely guilty.

It was a messy draft, an illustrated book in the making, with fantastical stories and made-up characters based on the people in her life. Hawke was Burning Love, Leandra and Malcolm were Great Mother and Great Father Oracle, Bethany was Lady Sunshine, Carver was Emperor Thundersticks, Mojo was Champion, Bodhan was The Mysterious Merchant, Sandal was Boom McCoy, Aveline was Lady Knight Valiant, Varric was Your Boy Charming, Merrill was Princess Cupcake, Sebastian was Sunny Son Of A Seventh Son, Anders was… missing, and Isabela was… also missing. There was a messy draft of Thrask with the caption under 'The Good Templar?' and one of an old woman he didn't recognise, 'The Good Witch?'.

Then there was him… Lord Knight Formidable. She could have gone with Grumpus Maximus, The Gloomy Gladiator, or any number of funny quips at him, but no. He was Lord Knight Formidable, in a black tunic and onyx armour and a dark metallic green cape.

"Rowf, rowf, rowf!" he heard Sandal shouting, followed by Mojo's barks.

Maker, he had no time to read this, but he really wanted to. No. No time. Not his business, either, damn it.

He sighed heavily, and tried to sit up without breaking the desk or the chair. He looked at the book again, and went back awkwardly to leave it open at the page he found it.

It was just… nice—to know he made it in the book, that he was a role model of sorts. He'd never thought of himself as a role model of anything. Not a good one, anyway.

Many sun mini-segments going. Sad boy coming back, investigating main hall again, stopping drawing. Agent Sandal pencil stealer, but agent Mojo sees everything.

Mojo booping sad boy. Smells seven out of ten sad. Whimpers, whimpering!

"Do you… need something?" nervous boy barking.

Agent Mojo going around sad boy, pretending to be sad boy too. Give pets! Easy pretend. Most of truth.

"Alright," soft laughter of Fenris barking, petting agent Mojo. Mission almost success.

Agent Mojo jumping for outside. Tail wagging at maximum.

Eyes of near-agent Fenris narrowing. "You don't even need someone to walk you, do you?"

Funny boy. Agent Mojo can do anything. Deception.

"You just want the attention," bitchy eyebrow of near-agent Fenris barking.

Agent Mojo always happy getting attention. No deception.

"Fine…" sigh of grumpy boy.

Mission success. Who's the best boy? Agent Mojo. No stop.

Morning, Hightown

"Yo, Happy Fists!" Varric shouted from behind.

"Tethras," Fenris said, turning around.

Mojo took a minute to assault Varric with his love. Fenris crossed his arms and waited.

"You got a minute?" Varric said amicably. "I've been wracking my brains on what to get you for your birthday and I… think I may have it."

"And you're telling me now?" Fenris said, holding back an approving smile.

"I'd rather see you fake a smile of surprise at the party than see your sour face again," Varric said tiredly.

"Smart man," Fenris said, uncrossing his arms. "What is it then?"

"Come on," Varric said, smiling. "I'll show you."

Morning, The Hanged Man Back Alley

"Why are we here?" Fenris said, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I just repainted my walls and I'm not taking any risks," Varric said, fishing out a device from his coat.

It looked like… nothing he'd seen before. A dark metal fingerless glove of some sort.

"Put your hand in there."

"Mkay."

"Now be careful. Make sure your fingers are definitely not touching your palm."

"Okay?"

"Now sliiightly push your pinky—"

It was a grapple. It was a long-ass, spiky grapple, clawing into the sad wall. Nice.

"Nice," Fenris said, smiling.

"You like it?" Varric said, exhilarated.

Now for a real test. He shot it at a dangling iron spike, and caught it just in time. He stabbed the air with it. "Take that, government property."

Fuck yeah, the red band underneath said.

"Good riddance," Varric said, scoffing.

"It's perfect," Fenris said, smiling and taking it off. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, serah," Varric said casually, putting it back in his coat. He fished out his magic pen and a notepad. "Uh… can you help me with this? I think it's broken."

"It's not broken," Fenris said, insulted.

"It's writing gibberish. See?" Varric said, letting the pen levitate over his notepad. "I made Happy Fists smile and it was unnerving."

The pen started writing. Varric turned the notepad around. It said: Leto Pugni risus feci et me fecit incommodus.

A sudden gust of dizziness made him almost fall back. His vision blurred, and he kept blinking. What did it say? He couldn't remember. He read it again: Felix Pugni risus feci et me fecit incommodus.

"You okay?" Varric said.

"I'm fine," Fenris said. He took the pen and let it levitate. "Lingua communa." The pen lit up and clicked. "Now try again."

Varric sighed, took the pen, and let it levitate. "I made Happy Fists smile and it was unnerving."

Fenris went behind him to see what the pen wrote.

"See? Verbatim," Fenris said. "It was just set to Tevene by default."

"Okay," Varric said, laughing. "Funny language."

"I wouldn't call it funny."

"It's… quite funny… if by funny you mean unnecessarily long and pompous."

"Then it's hysterical."

"Thanks, man," Varric said, holding out his fist.

Fenris pursed his lips. Why did people keep air-fisting at him? He cupped and shook it, so this nightmare would be over.

Varric laughed. "Now that's hysterical."

"What?"

"What was that?"

"I don't know. You were holding out your fist like some kind of psychopath."

"And you thought cupping my fist was a response in tandem with sanity?"

Fenris grimaced. "I don't know what people want from me," he said, looking away. "And for a long time, I did not care."

"Alright, kid," Varric said, laughing. He held out his fist again. "Bump your fist into mine."

So he did.

"Congratulations," Varric said sarcastically. "You are now ready to be a fully formed social being."

Fenris scoffed and rolled his eyes. "No, thank you."

Late morning, Fenris's Mansion

Near-agent Fenris wanted Mojo going back, but nuh-uh. Stuck on you, sad boy!

"Ugh," whiny boy barking.

Shake, shake, shaking! Maximum fail! Emotional support mabari, no stop. Must smell of four out of ten sad. No negotiation.

"Fine…"

Mission continuing success. Following sad boy to his house. Looks of war zone. Smells of too much dust. Stopping to sneeze. Following sad boy in food room. Food! Give!

"No," mean near-agent barking. Making food. Licking wounds with right front paw again. Back and hind right knee hurting.

Emotional support mabari lick, licking knee of pain! Leave sad boy alone! Engaging happy times. No tyranny when agent Mojo around.

"Why are you licking my leg?" grumpy boy barking, drinking potion.

Agent Mojo pain-stopper. Full stop.

"How many sixth senses do you have?" mouth-full of hungry boy not sharing his sandwich barking. "A hundred?"

Funny boy. Mojo seeing through fabric of reality. Supreme smart and handsome. Whole package.

Wait! Engaging ears—

Agent Mojo detecting enemies. Run, running! Growling and barking at air-borne intruders! Needing back-up!

"That's Jake and Judith," grumpy boy barking behind, front legs crossing. "Be nice."

Air-borne friends. Agent Mojo ceasing fire. Sitting. Good boy.

Sad boy going to window, giving air-borne friends head scritches. Mojo whimpering at maximum. Give head scritches.

"You are so needy," laugh of near-agent Fenris barking. Scritch, scritch.

Mojo high-maintenance agent. No apologies.

Longing for bird smelling.

"Slowly…" stern finger of grumpy boy barking.

Mojo rising slowly to windowsill. Stealth smelling. Maximum rogue. Air-borne friends flying away on sad boy's shoulders. Stealth mission fail.

Little smile. Voice breathe whisper to shoulder friends, "He's not that bad."

Mojo best boy. Bird boy knowing of nothing.

Deep bark from friend Jake. Sounding of near-agent Fenris. Wordy bark now, "Whossa goo' boye?"

Deep bark of friend Judith. Sounding just like him! She barking words, "Whossa goo' gull?"

Funny birds. Mojo best boy. No competition.

High-pitched bark of friend Jake, "Fuck the Imperium!"

Agent Mojo not knowing, but… knowing. No tilting needed. Strange inner feeling of agreement. Happy barks.

High-pitched bark of friend Judith, "Fuck the patriarchy!"

Laughter of sad boy. Cute.

Mojo tilting head confused. What is 'patriarchy'? Ready to investigate. Patriarch sounding fancy word for father. Father Malcolm good boy. Maximum tilting.

"It's a society where males hold the power, while females are largely excluded," professor Fenris explaining.

Oh, balls! Remembering! Gratitude.

Agent Mojo raging feminist. Happy rage barks! Tail slapping the patriarchy! Smash! Smash!

Laughing of sad boy. Six out of ten sad. Mission continuing success.

But Mojo continuing confusion. Whimpering grumpily at Chantry out the window. No patriarchy. Girl power. Chantry maximum power, no?

"It's not as bad as in the Imperium, and the Chantry is a matriarchy… but even here, once you're a Sister, you cannot own land, hold titles, mate, marry or have a family. It's all about purity," professor Fenris explaining.

No wonder partner Hawke rolling her eyes at this here subject.

"And a female Templar is a rare sight."

Mojo tilting head confused. Queen of the Templars is a female. Maximum girl power.

"If you're thinking of the Knight-Commander, then that is, again, a rare sight. After all…" sad boy barking and thinking. "She rose to the top because she displayed traditionally male dominance."

Mojo barking of understanding. Tradition overrated.

"You have to do what you have to do," apathetic sigh of grumpy boy. "I don't think she's that bad, mind you."

Mojo growling forever. No stop.

"Agree to disagree."

Agreed. Good vibes all the way. Sadness not going down. Strategy change needed.

Deep bark of friend Jake, mock, mocking.

Shut up, stupid bird. Follow Mojo, sad boy. Launching operation Nap Time. Good pain-stopper.

Grumpy Fenris following agent Mojo. Sleepy boy staring at bed. Falling down horizontal. Dragging pillow smelling like partner Hawke. Make room, sad boy. Sharing is caring.

Noon, Fenris's Mansion

Fenris didn't answer the door. Hawke broke in, minding her head this time. The bedroom door was open. Inside, Fenris was dead asleep sideways on the bed on her purple pillow, while Mojo was behind him smiling widely at her and wagging his tail at minimum velocity.

"Awwww," Hawke said quietly. "You didn't want him to wake up?"

Mojo nodded, and let his tongue out again.

"Good boy," she whispered. "He's tired," she said, sighing and looking at him. "And fucking adorable."

She went to the kitchen, grabbed a sandwich and a drink, and went to his desk. An enormous mass of blueprints, plans and maps kept piling up on the wall over the years. Newly, there was a doodle too. A raven scratching under its wing with a speech bubble that said, A year ago, I joined a support group for anti-social people. It's great. We still never talk sometimes.

She broke into silent chuckles, and started drawing. Taking out another bite, drinking, drawing. She was having a grand time.

Mojo whimpered at her food.

"Shhh," she said calmly.

Mojo grumpily let his head fall down.

She drew a part of the bed and Mojo and Fenris's body, and left his face for last. Precision was needed. She looked at him again. There was a spit bubble. Too adorable. She grabbed the eraser and added that in. She signed it with a pink heart that said F+H, put it gently next to him, and sent a kiss in the air.