Late morning, The Hanged Man

Hawke went in, the temperature suddenly rising through her Amell armour and dark leather jacket. The Hanged Man was dead, torches still ablaze from the night before. The drunks were asleep in various corners, and their queen was face-down at the central table.

Hawke walked over to Isabela, and pulled down her chair. She fell backwards, waking up. So did the rest of the drunks.

Hawke stood over her, legs apart, reached for the pouch on her belt, and started dropping coins on top of her.

"Here's your cut," Hawke said calmly, dropping a few more coins on her face for good measure.

"Thanks," Isabela said with a closed eye.

"What in the Void is happening?" Varric said suddenly, coming down.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," Hawke said with a cold smile. "She just kissed my boyfriend."

"One-sidedly," Fenris clarified.

Varric made a violent roll of the eyes. "Come on, Rivaini! Just for some fucking money?"

"Shut up, dwarf," Isabela said curtly.

"No, no," Varric said, shaking his hands. "I'm done shutting up. My back is fucking killing me!"

"What?" Hawke said, very contained.

Varric gave a big, loud sigh. "Hawke, you need to watch it with Blondie. That shit's messed up. Also, Rivaini placed a bet on when you and Broody break up."

"What?" Fenris said, torn away from his brooding.

"What?!" Hawke erupted.

"Her bet was next month. Looks like she really wanted to win," Varric said, looking down at Isabela. "Which is fucking cheating, by the way."

"I'm sorry. You're participating in this bet?" Hawke said, crossing her arms.

"No. No," Varric said, showing his palms. "No. I just sat on the info for a day," he said, grimacing as he rubbed his back, "and now my ass hurts like it's being chewed up by a lion. Lesson learned."

Fenris smiled. It was a sadistic smile.

Isabela was cringing like she wanted to disappear.

Hawke bent down to her, hands on her knees. "Why are you such a shitty friend?" she shouted sternly. "That is your essay question. Think about it carefully, and report back to me on Monday, 6PM, at our usual place. If you don't follow these simple instructions, you and I are done. I don't want to see your face again. Do you understand?"

Isabela inhaled, and nodded.

"Jolly good," Hawke said, standing straight and leaving. "Bye, Varric. Get some aloe vera for the back."

"She could use some, too," Fenris said.

"You didn't punch her," Fenris said outside the Hanged Man.

"I didn't have to," Hawke said, devil-may-care. "She got shit-faced and fell asleep at the table."

"So?" he said.

"So, she was too sad to fuck anyone," she said, walking away. "She was already punishing herself."

"Huh," he said, brooding.

On the stairs back to the Hightown Market, Fenris stayed back with his arms crossed.

"What?" she said.

"I'm still waiting for your apology," he said flatly.

"Right," she said, looking down. "I'm sorry I called you that. I didn't mean it. Well…" she said, going down a step and scratching her head. He looked up at her, waiting. "I meant it in the moment, because in the moment you were acting so diametrically opposed to me it felt like the only explanation," she said, thinking and holding on the stone railing. "I was wrong."

He nodded slowly with a little smile. "Thank you."

Simple, honest. That's all he wanted.

The shocker was him, having verbalised his feelings; calmly even. She felt a little sense of superiority in that department, but superiority was fragile. It came with responsibility. With all that had happened, she was too depleted to do the emotional labour for him. It was nice when he surprised her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him while he touched her cheek.

"Come on. We've got lots to do today!"

"Do we?"

"Yeah, we've got to shop for the trip and pack and we need to do something with the party scene!" Hawke narrowed one eye. "Unless you're really attached to your floor mushrooms."

Fenris laughed. "Fine. The mushrooms can go."

"Do you even have a caterer?"

"I'm the caterer," he said, offended.

"Bartender?"

"I have Asher," he said, brooding. "He was not cheap..."

"I can cover costs," she offered.

"Shut up," he said, pulling her into a kiss. "I'm my own man," he said, going up the stairs.

"Alright, then," she said with a chuckle.

He stopped suddenly, deep in thought. "I have to pick up my suit today."

She looked up, suddenly dizzy with something she'd forgotten too. "You need to come with me today to Magistrate Halberd's house."

"Why on earth would I do that?" he said with half-lidded eyes.

"To see your birthday present," she said with a happy smile, going up a step from him. "Well, one of them. Well, one possible birthday present! But if you want it, you can't have it until after!"

Fenris brooded. "What?"

"Isn't this exciting?" Hawke said, grabbing his shoulders and jumping. "We're going on a trip tomorrow! With couple friends! It's almost your birthday! And you know what else?"

"What?" Fenris said, smiling.

Hawke went close to his ear. "When we're back, I'm gonna fuck you out of existence," she whispered.

Fenris swallowed, then looked at her. "So romantic," he said sarcastically, shaking his head with a smile.

Noon, Hightown Market

Fenris knew he made a very large omission when he didn't mention the deja-vu. But… he was afraid. Afraid of what it meant, and afraid of Hawke's reaction. Even he knew saying 'I was having a deja-vu' sounded like a major cop-out and bald-faced lie, even if it was the truth. The truth scared him more. What would he say? That through the darkness he thought he saw someone for whom he had inexplicable affection, and yet he couldn't even remember their face? That he smiled like an idiot, and forgot where he was?

He had enough trouble as it was being in love with Hawke. He didn't have the time, capacity nor desire to think about a mystery woman.

It had become increasingly clear to Fenris that he did not wish to know about his past. He could have been another person, with another life, with Maker knows what else. His deja-vu's brought him nothing but anguish, and as much as the asshole inside his brain thought he was helping, he wasn't.

After all, hadn't he been haunted by the past enough for a lifetime? He just wanted to leave it all behind.

What do you do when you stop running? he remembered asking Hawke once.

You take a breath and look around… and start anew, Hawke answered.

Fenris did take a breath, and looked around. But he didn't care about the view. His eyes were on Hawke, as she was looking for a warm coat for him. She'd said she was done with him getting colds every winter because he refused to dress for the season. The sneezing wasn't helping his case. He could feel the debate on boots was coming, and he didn't care.

"Found something!" Hawke shouted, very concentrated.

Fenris smiled. Hawke was the one who made him smile despite himself, day after day.

He looked at the mundane tapestry of the city behind her. A city he did not expect to feel anything for. But Kirkwall, for him, was it where it all began.

It was time to start anew.

"What do you think?" Hawke said, holding a fur-lined hooded cloak.

Fenris's smile died.

"It's black," Hawke said, shrugging.

"It's hideous," Fenris said with a raised eyebrow.

She chuckled. "Alright. Keep looking."

He went on looking. Some sneezing, mostly brooding. A joyful part of him thought if they could get over a fight like that and move on, they could get over anything. But another part alarmed him to abandon such foolishness. Shit was hitting the windmill in his inland empire. If he couldn't work through the war inside his head, he sure as shit couldn't bare it out to her.

He was terrified of what was inside.

It was time for an old-fashioned push-down of the feels; oiling of the happy wheels.

"This is great," Fenris said, holding up a black diamond-quilted jacket with five asymmetrical buckles instead of buttons, and another one on the turtle neck.

"It looks great…" Hawke said. He could feel a 'but' coming. "But those buckles are a safety hazard in battle, and it's so tight your chestplate won't fit underneath."

Fenris scoffed. "Like I'd ever close a jacket."

"That's even worse," Hawke said, chuckling. "Someone could hook on those buckles and imbalance you and then I'll have to fight the Templars for months while your corpse rots in my house. Do you know how many elves are buried in the Kirkwall Cemetery?"

"I will be the first," Fenris said aloofly, turning his back on her. "Two question marks under my name," he said, holding two fingers up as he continued browsing.

"Maker, you're such a little shit," her heard her say.

Fenris laughed, very proud of himself.

But his throat tightened, and he felt dizzy. Another fucking deja-vu. He closed his eyes, holding on a random coat, and he searched inside for willpower.

"Oh, that's nice," Hawke said, coming to him.

"What?" he said, back to reality.

"The coat?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh… yes," he lied, taking it off the rack. It was a longer black irregular coat with a nice baggy hood, and lined with grey and white fur. "No safety hazards," he said, putting it on. "Just style," he said smugly.

"You can't even see yourself," she said, chuckling.

"I see your pupils are dilated," he said with a grin, passing her to get to the mirror.

The coat was longer in the front, going down in a V. It was tight around him, but looser at the edges. He put his hands in his pockets. Very warm, large pockets.

"Alright," he said, leaving for the queue. "Let's get this over with."

"Jeez, you haven't even bought it and you're already bored," she said with a laugh.

"I don't like shopping."

"Nobody likes shopping."

"Tell that to your mother."

"I have several things to tell my mother…"

Fenris snorted in the queue.

"It's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

"I could have a step-father that's younger than me!" Hawke complained loudly, while passers-by stared at her. "Hey, how are you doing?" she said to them with a fake smile.

Fenris broke into laughter.

"It's not funny!" she said, hitting his arm.

"I mean…" he said, hands in his coat pockets going wide apart. "It's really funny. If you think about it."

"Kiss your two question marks goodbye," she said with a mean squint of the eyes. "I'll put 'Annoying fuckface' instead."

Annoyingly sexy, the hard-up grinning lunatic said, waking up.

"How about… 'Annoyingly sexy'?" Fenris said nonchalantly.

"'Sometimes annoyingly sexy'. Now isn't it," Hawke said with crossed arms.

Let's show her, the hard-up grinning lunatic said.

Fenris didn't speak, but he stepped into her personal space with a piercing, languid stare. He put his hand on her waist. It tightened and brushed down. "Isn't it?"

Her eyes trembled, and she looked away. "Shut up."

Hawke treated him to a sandwich, and they sat on the balustrade above the market.

"Ah, memories," he said.

"What?" she said, looking around.

"Do you not remember this spot?"

"It's a good spot. I got drunk here once. Or twice."

Fenris laughed. "Well… glad that's over with."

"Absolutely," she said with confidence. "I don't have time to be a sad drunk. I'm a happy, functional person!"

"You were very sober when you held Ninette's husband upside down on this very balustrade."

"Oh, shit, yeah," she said, looking down and widening her knees apart.

"You forced him to apologise for being a shitty husband," he said, eating.

"Ah, memories…" she said with a diabolical smile.

"I enjoyed it," Fenris said, brooding. "Equally the thought of being married to you filled me with dread in that very moment."

"You were thinking about that back then?" Hawke said with a smug smile.

"Well…" Fenris said, chewing and brooding. "The joke started early."

"Are you thinking about it still?" she teased him.

He contained a smile. "I am thinking that your rage against the Orlesian was justified," he said, looking at her.

"Oh, my rage against the Orlesian was justified!" she said, holding on his shoulder and pretending to swoon. "So romantic!"

"But it was," he said with a chuckle. "The bar was set disturbingly low."

"You think you can do better?" she said, smirking.

He scoffed, looking at the market. "I'd be the king of husbands," he said. He looked back at her. She was very amused. "Next to that idiot," he said with a shrug.

She laughed. "Well, good husbands listen to their spouses and wear boots in the winter. Great husbands do it of their own accord."

Fenris looked down nonchalantly, then back at her. "Well, it's good you're not my wife then."

"Oh, come on…" Hawke said sweetly, head on his shoulder. "I got you a sandwich and everything…"

"I knew something tasted funny…" he said, holding up his sandwich. "Manipulation sauce."

She chewed on her thumbnail, thinking. "Yeah, but I'm transparent about it."

"Putting lipstick on a pig here."

"I'm putting boots on your feet! You'll get hypothermia!"

"You can't nag me. We're not married yet."

"I'm preparing you. Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag!" Hawke barked in his ear.

Fenris rubbed his ear. "Good luck getting a husband with that attitude," he said, grabbing another bite.

"You're not twenty anymore. You'll get hypothermia. Or pneumonia. Or consumption. Or super-consumption—"

"I'm getting a headache."

"What is it with elves and bare feet? Do you get a sixth sense or something?"

"Well… yes. They help me tune into the environment. I can feel people coming at me from behind."

"And they're all coming for your feet."

Fenris shrugged, chewing. "Bait, then stab. Right in the face."

Hawke squinted at him. "Are you sure you're not just making that up to get your way?"

"Humans can't understand. Your feet are all numbed out from all the socks and footwear."

"And yours aren't? You've been scraping against rocks and dirt your whole life!"

"I have tough feet, not your weak-arse human skin. You cry every time you get a bloody blister."

"Alright, fair. But every New Year Anders gets a load of elves on the brink of death with hypothermia."

"That's different. The Alienage is a shitty place to live in the winter. Or they could've been homeless."

"You've worn boots before, and you didn't die."

"That was also different…" he said, thinking.

"How was it different?"

He brooded. "It completed my ensemble."

She snorted. "Oh, did it?"

"I was trying to impress you," he said flatly.

"Oh," she said, laughing. "As opposed to now when you're… what?"

"I've got you now," he said, watching the market. "I don't have to try anymore," he said, a shit-eating smile building up on his face.

She looked at him, unimpressed. "Good luck getting a wife with that attitude."

"I have other qualities," he said with a grin.

"You know what a great quality is in a man?" she said with mock excitement.

"Being alive?" he said with half-lidded eyes.

"Exactly," she said, very pleased with herself. "It's so sexy."

He chuckled, counting on his fingers. "So, I'm not allowed to die. I'm not allowed to get sick. I'm not allowed to get lazy—"

"You're not allowed to get fat."

He shook his head, his eyes widening into nothingness. "The list just keeps going."

"'Tis," she said sternly, coming off the balustrade. "And I hold myself to the same standards."

"Equal hardship," Fenris said, coming down too.

"Equal effort," Hawke corrected, lighting a cigarette. "Human, elf, whatever," she said, resting her arms on the balustrade. He mirrored her. "We're not like your dancing birds. You can't just do one big dance, then scratch your arse and call it a day."

"No?" he said aloofly, watching the market.

"Nuh-uh," she said. "With us, it's got to be an ongoing dance…"

He felt a hand on his crotch. He didn't react. "Want to go back to my place?"

"Hold this," she said nonchalantly, giving him her cigarette and going in front of him. She gave the market a quick look, then her back brushed down on the stone balustrade.

The muscles on his neck tightened.

"You're not serious," he said, his eyes ping-ponging around the public.

"Shhh," Hawke said, unbuttoning his trousers.

Fenris inhaled. This was insane. At the same time, refusing such a wild thing felt truly mental.

After all, to say he didn't want this was a lie. The blood was rushing through him piping hot. He was a man on the scene, and she could be so obscene.

Her cold lips were already around his cock, and he slowly exhaled. He contained himself, pretending to smoke. But it was so incredibly hard.

He looked down for a second. Her long, loose hair was shining crimson against her black outfit, and she had taken off her gloves. Her soft hands were rubbing the base of his cock slowly, and the top was drowning in blissful agony against her tongue. She was looking up at him with her beautiful, naughty eyes.

He was so incredibly hard.

He couldn't, simply couldn't stand it. Mind was watchful; matter was wild. It howled with need. He scanned the public once more, and took a shot when no one paid him any heed. He looked down, pulling back a little. He bit his lip and fucked her mouth.

Just a little. Wild currents shot through his veins, turning him into an animal. He was hot all over, and in the next second, willpower pulled him back into a respectable citizen. He thought, if these nobles knew the elf in the market was balls deep inside one of their own, they'd start a fucking riot.

What power, what danger. What a cruel, unbelievable game. He almost wanted to stop, but he couldn't. He was enjoying himself too much. She was having a ball. Two, in fact, rubbing them through his trousers.

But there was a jackass Guard looking at him in the distance. He took a real drag out of the cigarette and waited for the guy to leave. He wasn't. He was profiling him.

He exhaled deeply, almost angrily. There were moments, flashes of feeling like a mindless animal, and he was caught between the need to fuck his naughty girl and rip the Guard to shreds for being in his way.

Finally, the Guard failed his racist perception roll and went on with his day.

He pulled back slightly, looked at her again. Her eyelashes rose to meet him. He rammed his cock down her throat, and crossed his arms back on the balustrade. Every cell in him had to stop there, or else.

A grunt escaped him as she kept it there in her tight little throat, which merely spurred her on. Her hands coiled tightly around his cock, her wet tongue going into a fury. He flicked on the dying cigarette, trying so very hard to keep his eyes from going into the back of his head.

He kept his mouth shut. He tried to. He couldn't… He exhaled through his nose unevenly, losing the thread. He took a real, much too intense drag, and a big cough escaped him through the orgasm. He kept on coughing, emptying his balls inside her mouth. She licked him dry, a shudder escaping him.

Did they just… do that?

She buttoned him up nicely.

"You're fucking mental," he said with a smile, shaking his head.

"You love it," she said, correcting her lipstick with a compact mirror.

He did.

Dance o'clock was done, and the bell tolled for bloody boots. He couldn't decide if Hawke was depraved or devious. Either way, he found himself suddenly agreeing to what he had spent an hour fighting her against.

He took his sweet time testing out boots by smashing Olaf's throw-away wooden shield. Hawke sat down on a box and started micro-sleeping through the racket. A few people came to watch, and wanted to buy combat boots too. Olaf thanked him for the free advertisement.

"Wakey-wakey," Fenris said, brushing her bangs.

Hawke woke up, jaw in hand. She looked down at his black combat boots. He had made a very careful decision to win on two fronts—maximum impact and maximum irritation. He bought ankle boots with the thickest, toothiest platform. When she stood up, and had to pull her neck back to look up at him, he put his hands in his coat pockets. It was Victory o'clock.

"Problem?" he said, unable to hold back his smirk.

Hawke cleared her throat. "You're not going to die now," she said. Her pupils were as big as eclipses. "Jolly good," she said, leaving.

"Annoyed, horny?" Fenris said after her, chuckling. "Make up your damn mind."

She held up her middle finger.

Afternoon, The Halberd Residence

Back in the Chantry district, Hawke knocked on the magistrate's door.

"I'm still confused," Fenris said.

"You will be less confused in a minute," Hawke said.

Halberd's elven servant opened the door. "Come in, Lady Hawke," Yrneha said in her imposing voice. Her amber hair was up in a barrette with smoky eyes and dark blown lips. She wore a fine navy button-up dress with balloon sleeves.

"Do we know each other?" Fenris said, frowning.

"Not personally, serah," Yrneha said solemnly. "I am Yrneha Boval, Head Housekeeper of House Halberd," she said with a slight bow. "And you are?"

Hawke was busy trying to say her full title five times faster in her head.

"Fenris," he said flatly, revealing the crest on his belt. "Guardian of House Hawke."

"He's my boyfriend," Hawke said candidly, taking his hand.

"Ah, so he is real," Yrneha said with a little smirk. "Follow me," she said, leading them up the grand stairs.

"How is her ladyship holding up?" Hawke said.

Yrneha shook her head glumly, hands folded at the back. "It's not looking well."

"I'm sorry, Yrneha."

"Thank you, my lady."

The head housekeeper led them into an ornate and cosy room. Fenris's potential present was waiting on a dark green sofa, chewing on a little box and dropping it on the floor. A salmon-crested cockatoo.

"This is Ozymandias Willoughby Halberd III," Yrneha said soberly, sitting down on the sofa arm closest to the pinkish white cockatoo. Like cute little collars, his lordship's neck plumes started blotting out his beak in defensive shyness. "He responds to Oz or Ozzy."

Fenris stared frozenly at the bird for a long half minute, hands in his coat pockets.

Hawke waved in front of his face to check he was still in this plane of existence.

"What?" he said, his voice cracking suddenly. He cleared his throat. "I should hope so. Five ponderous syllables are a lot to bear."

"Indeed," Yrneha said, handing him a piece of carrot.

"Go on," Hawke said with a smile.

Fenris shyly kneeled in front of the sofa, Ozymandias ballooning up for war. His crest and wings went up, revealing pink and yellow plumes underneath.

"Magistrate Halberd is a lover of birds. She wishes Lord Ozymandias to go to a dedicated connoisseur when her time comes," Yrneha said, folding her hands over her crossed legs. "Lady Hawke suggested you were a strong candidate?"

Ozymandias was already eating out of Fenris's hand, his feathers friendly and flaccid.

"Dedication and knowledge aside, the magistrate would entrust this to an elf?" Fenris said.

"Magistrate Halberd does not harbour such old-fashioned prejudices," Yrneha said sternly. "Her late husband was an elf."

"Huh," Fenris said. "First I've ever heard of an interracial marriage."

"Ramsey's married to Lady Demetra," Hawke said.

Fenris blinked. "Ramsey's straight?"

"Straight up bisexual, thank you very much," Hawke said, crossing her arms. "So is Demetra by the way she keeps touching my hair."

Fenris scoffed in amusement, waiting for Ozymandias to decide if he had the courage to go on his hand. "You just go around collecting all the bisexuals in town."

"I'm very good at it," Hawke said with a proud smile.

"You are aware of his lordship's high-maintenance, I should hope," Yrneha said sternly.

"Yes," Fenris said, watching the cockatoo hold the carrot with his dark claw and biting into it.

"Maker, he's too cute," Hawke said, bending down a little, but keeping her distance. "Hi!"

"Hi-y!" Ozymandias said in a high-pitched, adorable voice, making a pirouette.

Fenris chuckled. "Hi."

"Hi-y!" Ozymandias said again, making another pirouette. He'd twist his head down and spin himself, like it was a tic. A twinkly, heart-terminating tic.

Hawke hit her chest, because it was exploding with love.

"I need to know everything about him," Fenris said, very self-possessed. "Routine, diet, toy preferences, tantrum triggers, sleeping patterns, everything."

"I shall send a detailed letter," Yrneha said. She petted Ozymandias gently. "He is very loving, but difficult. Magistrate Halberd rescued him from a bad home. It will become apparent when he starts cursing."

"Everyone curses in my house," Fenris said. He looked up, Yrneha raising an eyebrow. "In a… tender and loving manner."

"In a non-abusive manner," Hawke added helpfully.

"Duly noted," Yrneha said.

"He's older than you, by the way," Hawke said in amusement. "Thirty-one in Wintermach, isn't it?"

"Indeed," Yrneha said.

"Doesn't the magistrate have heirs?" Fenris said.

"None of the magistrate's heirs proved disciplined enough to care after his lordship," Yrneha said. "This house will go to her eldest, who is too sensitive to his riotous melody."

"You are attached to the house more than the bird, then?" Fenris said.

"My… attachments are neither here nor there," Yrneha said solemnly. "I have a duty to House Halberd. I have a duty to her eldest, who has her own care needs."

"I see," Fenris said, standing up with Ozymandias on his arm. The bird was guarding his mouth and staring at him. "He will be in mourning for a while."

"I expect he will be at his most difficult," Yrneha said, nodding. "He is already low. He can tell something is not right with her ladyship."

"Aww, poor boy," Hawke said, approaching carefully. "Don't worry," she said, pointing at Fenris. "He's kind of a sad sack too."

Fenris smacked his lips, looking at her with a stern, disappointed expression.

Hawke showed her tongue through her teeth and brushed his jaws.

"You had better put on your happy face, Serah Fenris," Yrneha demanded, crossing her arms. "I will not have him turn into a melancholic bird. It is not within his nature."

"I have enough reasons to smile," Fenris said softly, smiling in Hawke's direction.

Yrneha watched them, smiling too. She pointed at them, shaking her finger. "Am I invited to the wedding?"

They both cleared their throats and looked in different directions.

"Have you not discussed this yet?" Yrneha said with a sadistic grin.

Fenris pretended he didn't exist, while Hawke chuckled nervously.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Yrneha said, proud of herself.

"Yes," Hawke said, scratching her ear.

"Incredibly so," Fenris said.

"Well," Yrneha said, standing up with crossed arms. "Either way, his lordship requires a lot of attention. It would behove you to have that under consideration in your…" She raised a faint, flippant eyebrow. "…unofficial household."

Afternoon, The Chantry District

"By the way, they think you live with me, so just play along—" Hawke said outside.

But Fenris wrapped his arms around her before she could finish, and gave her one hell of a kiss. His lips were cold, but he felt so warm, and she was parched.

When his mouth broke away, she smiled with half-lidded eyes, delighted and surprised.

He had a strange look on his face. She could see his Adam's apple going haywire. His hands trembled on her back.

"You don't have to say it," Hawke whispered, shaking her head softly. "You don't have to say anything."

Fenris kissed into her the words he needn't say. "Give me permission, and I will show you," he said, eyes fixed on hers.

She could punch her uterus right now.

"Soon," Hawke said, pulling him back to her.

Sunset, Fenris's Mansion

Hawke couldn't let go of trying to see his party suit, while Fenris couldn't let go of trying to show her all the things. Amidst the tumult, he came up with a grand solution.

He stripped her considerably at the edge of the bed, tied her hands up together, and rolled up his black sleeves.

"Ready?" he said, standing tall in the candlelight.

"Ready," she said, closing her eyes.

She couldn't. She opened one eye. The markings came alight along his veiny arm and red wrist. Her legs trembled like mad. His index and middle finger rubbed on her clit through her black panties, and she gasped. They began to pierce through, his eyes very concentrated. She felt nothing, absolutely nothing, and then, out of nowhere, something moved and sparkled electric.

"Holy… shit…" Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. It felt so incredibly weird, but she was all for it.

"Eureka," Fenris said with a grin, pulling out. She hated him, but his lips made it all better. His left hand came on her chest, pushing her down. "Now be a good girl and stay still."

"Yes, Fenris," Hawke said, not even caring anymore.

There was nothing in it for him. He needed full concentration, watching her reactions. Some were fearful, most were favourable.

"Enjoying yourself?" he said with a smile, looming over her, kissing her neck.

Her wrists grated against the rope, screaming to take his handsome face, grab his arse, pull him inside her. What had been plenty a minute ago suddenly became not enough.

"Too much," she said, biting her lip. "You're an artist."

He grinned with delight, grasping her breast, brushing down her waist tightly, watching her. She thought he was going to say something witty about art, but instead, he said, "You like it when I take care of you?"

"I love it when you take care of me," she said, smiling with all her teeth.

He smiled, looked in his element. He opened his mouth slightly, staring into her, and her eyes became big when she felt the materialised finger tip doubling in length. It pushed along something that made her sweet spot shine below.

He pulled out his hand, turning off his markings, and he took her face. He kissed her like the Orlesians, his hands grabbing her all over. "You deserve all of it," he said, biting her lip. "And more." He grasped along her thighs, wrapping her legs around him. He was hard as stone, sucking on her nipples. So close… just… so, so close.

Then he stood tall again, very self-possessed, and spread her legs. His markings came ablaze again, and he went in with a duel-wield. His index and middle fingers on both hands went inside, under the sides of her clitoris, and he was pushing the inner wings together. The dam was breaking down with pleasure, and her vision blurred.

"How do you even know—"

"Shh," Fenris said softly.

She couldn't close her mouth anymore. The sparks weren't coming in flashes, but in a formidable flood. Her head came up, her eyebrows sloping upwards, her eyes big. He pushed his bangs into hers, his eyes fixing into her.

She moaned loudly, her head falling back, feeling the honied detonation. She wet herself all over, and her whole body trembled.

She couldn't open her eyes. The pleasure encased her like a sweet tomb.

"I just… I need a minute…" she said.

She felt him pulling her further down the bed, untying her and turning her on her side. His hands wrapped around her tightly.

"Take all the time you need," he said softly.

She smiled to herself, enjoying the silent embrace. He could give her the most divine orgasms in the world, and it still couldn't a hold a candle to this. The finest feeling was in the after-glow.

Fenris wanted to be alone when he packed, so Hawke went downstairs and commenced the visual calculus. There were five mushroom clumps that needed to go, myriad of cobwebs, and there was so much random shit. There was a mountain of trinkets, and possibly curtains, semi-existing in a corner with an old turquoise hat on top.

She narrowed one eye. If she brought out all the nice stuff again, he may have a tantrum. She pushed off all the random shit off the table in the main hall and levitated it next to the left-hand flight of stairs. That could be the buffet. She went further in the mansion, and found a bar. She forced-magicked it in the main hall, also on the left-hand side. She brought in a vintage velvet sofa with deep buttons on the right-hand side, then another longer, plum one, then the forgotten armchairs, and finally, a coffee table.

"Done," Fenris said at the top of the stairs.

"So quick?" Hawke said, raising an eyebrow.

"It's a weekend, not a month," Fenris said, shrugging.

"Fair," she said, looking around. "What do you think? As a concept."

"It's good," he said, resting his hands on the top banister. "Bring out the bookcases too. And the Antiva City painting."

"Anything else?" she said.

"Hmm," he said, disappointed. "Something's missing…"

"By the way, who's that douchebag?" she said, pointing at the painting on the wall above his bedroom. It had a few holes in the face.

"Flavius Augustus II," he said without so much as a glance in its direction. "He revolutionised the slave industry."

"He gave you more rights or something?" she said.

Fenris snorted. "No. He instated chattel slavery."

"He needs more than holes in his face," Hawke said, frowning.

"He also 'saved the economy' by taking female slaves out of the house and into the field," Fenris went on. "They worked harder and longer and did not require as much food."

"This is just getting worse and worse," Hawke said, rubbing her forehead.

"He did only one thing right," Fenris said.

"Dying?" Hawke said, raising an eyebrow.

"Two things," Fenris said with a smile. "That and he instated the matrilineal system. But only for slaves."

"Oh," Hawke said, disappointed.

"Seheran natives and northern Rivainis still use the matrilineal system," Fenris said. "But do not think it had anything to do with culture for slaves. It was just logic and convenience. Slave fathers have no title, no value. The mothers are the source, the bodies that the children are tied to."

"And don't you forget it," Hawke said passionately.

Fenris chuckled. "Well, now it's a mixed system. Some houses use the patrilineal system, some still use the matrilineal. It depends on the master."

"And you never found out your ties? Not even from a chatty slave?" Hawke said.

"Chattiness was reserved for the suicidal," Fenris said, sitting outward on the balustrade.

She joined him. "Aren't there slave rebellions all the time though?"

"There are," he said, scanning the room. "When I left, the political climate was very unstable. There were protests going on everywhere, against slavery, against sexism, against the war."

"But you couldn't join them, could you?" she said.

"I tried to… once," he said, his eyes ponderous with the past. "Out of curiosity, if anything."

"Did Danarius catch you?"

"He should have. I was his bodyguard. He did not trust his own staff. Where he was, I was. It was inescapable," he said, his voice becoming glummer by the minute. "I took an opportunity when a meeting of the Magisterium overextended. Slaves were not allowed inside the amphitheatre, and the protests were going on right outside the building. But…" he said, inhaling deeply.

"What happened?"

"I realised then and there that I had almost nothing in common with those slaves, and they saw me the same way. They thought I had everything, because I was the favourite. They were fighting for their families, while I had no one. They were organised labourers, while I was a house slave belonging to nothing but my master. The cooks in the castle could have organised if they wished to. They could just walk out, and let the magisters starve. The concubines could have walked out and leave them with their dicks in their hands. They had… community. They had power. They had power they made each other recognise. But I was a one-man team, and he kept me separate from the rest."

"No wonder you couldn't see at the time," Hawke said softly, touching his shoulder.

Fenris brooded for a while, his eyes devoid of any pleasure. "I do not wish to revisit these memories anymore." He looked at her, brushing her hair. "I want to make new ones."

"Happy days," Hawke said with a smile.

"Happy days," Fenris said, nodding with a blink.

"Holy shit, you know what we could do?" she said with sudden big eyes.

"What?"

"We could take all this junk and make some art. Like that hat over there. Wouldn't that hat look dashing on a mannequin made out of useless, decadent crap? Then when the party's over and you want to unwind, you can make a game out of it and smash them to pieces."

"I like how you think."

Fenris sat up with his feet on the balustrade, grabbed two rails and tumbled down, then let his hands go and fell on his feet on the ground floor.

"Since when are you an acrobat?" Hawke said, going down the stairs.

"I am full of surprises," Fenris said flatly, ready to make some art.

By the end of it, Hawke and Fenris had made a few fancy junk mannequins leading the guests to the dance floor. Hawke had bought a lot of fairy lights for the place, and it illuminated the dark mansion hall like the night sky. They celebrated by drinking wine and making a sport out of throwing cheese into Flavius Augustus's portrait. Then Hawke had the idea to paint over his portrait with a bad drawing of a dick near his mouth, so the droopy cheese looked like the magister had cum on his face.

She finished by painting in big fluorescent letters above, SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL WILL HAPPEN.

"What'd you think?" Hawke said, climbing down the ladder.

Fenris lifted her in his arms and kissed her. "It already has," he said, letting her legs touch the ground.

Evening, The Hawke Estate

It was time for Hawke to pack, and Fenris got incredibly bored. She was taking fucking forever. He sat on the bed, reading his Divine Age book. Not long after, he somehow found himself caught up in an argument between Hawke and Leandra.

"Calm down, love, it's not like I'm getting married!" Leandra said after her.

"Like Void you are!" Hawke said, going back in her bedroom to pack. "I'm not having a twenty-five-year-old step-dad! And to think what Carver would say!"

"Carver is not to hear about any of this, young lady!" Leandra said, coming inside.

"Oh, oh! So, Carver, precious boy, gets to stay oblivious, while I get bloody pancake duty!" Hawke said angrily, stuffing clothes in her bag Fenris knew she did not want.

"I thought you made scrambled eggs," Leandra deflected.

Fenris snorted, eyes still in the book. "She… tried."

"It's weird! It's just… it's not right," Hawke said in annoyance, taking out the clothes she had just put in. "Isn't it, Fen Fen?"

"What?" Fenris said, breaking away from his inner world.

"Oh, please. As if your pairing is common or logical," Leandra said with crossed arms. "He should know better than anyone you can't help whom you fancy."

"I… uhm…" Fenris said.

He just wanted to read his book.

"At least we're in the same bloody generation," Hawke mumbled.

"You are so close-minded!" Leandra said, offended. "Can you even call yourself progressive with an attitude like that?"

Fenris was in the doorway. "I am going to tear some walls down."

Hawke heard him, but ignored him.

"Install a state-of-the-art security system."

They kept on arguing.

"Do I have your permission, Hawke?" Fenris said.

"Yeah, do what you want," Hawke said in a rush, and recommenced intergenerational battle.

"Happy days," Fenris said to himself, leaving.

Half an hour later…

Hawke and Leandra continued arguing, when banging and clanging came from the hall.

"What in the Void are you doing?!" Hawke said, coming down the stairs.

There were a million tools and some plans on the floor. Fenris had cut inside her front walls. He came in the doorway, topless and sweaty. "I could… put it back if you wish," he said, scratching the back of his head.

"Shut up…" Hawke said, transfixed. She sat down in an armchair by the fire. "Keep going."

Night time, The Fade

Malcolm Hawke sighed and gestured for a chair in Hawke's main hall. He put his hands on top of his walking stick. Everyone was there, watching. There was silence and dread in the air.

Fenris inhaled and came forward. Malcolm, hearing his footsteps, raised his walking stick towards him.

"If you came here to say what I think you want to say, dear boy, and trouble my house, you inherit nothing but the wind," Malcolm said.

"I will say it anyway," Fenris said flatly.

"And what could that be? Mind you," Malcolm said, putting his cane over his lap. "I am prepared to take this stick and beat you to death."

"I am prepared to give her the world," Fenris said.

"The world," Malcolm said, as if he was hearing empty words. "And what world is that?"

That gave Fenris pause. "Whatever she—"

"Is it," Malcolm cut him, "a world where people like her and myself have no real place?"

"No—"

"Where your children will have to wear a mask of normality lest they be hunted and hated and holed into a prison?"

"No one is enslaving any of my own, mage or no mage."

"Ah," Malcolm said, hands atop his walking stick. "And why not?"

"Because they are mine," Fenris said sternly.

Malcolm clutched his walking stick. "Really?" he said sarcastically. "Do you think you're special?"

"No. She is."

"Ah," Malcolm said professorially. "So, the rules don't apply to her. How convenient."

"They didn't apply to you, either."

"Someone broke the rules for my sake. Rules that should never have existed."

"They exist for a reason. I am that reason. I and every other person that was hurt by a weak and selfish mage."

"And yet, people like her, people like me, do not hurt people like you, despite our freedom."

"You don't take freedom for granted. You should see how mages act when they do."

"So, the problem is not magic, but power. The problem is not freedom, but freedom from consequences."

"Magic is power," Fenris said. "People flock to power, to mages. And the more power you have, the freer you are from consequences."

Malcolm went into a fury. He rose to his feet, clutching his walking stick.

"You disgrace my daughter with your hypocrisy!" he shouted. "And now you come wanting to play family with a mage? The Hawke Family? You? Who do you think you are? If I weren't dead, I'd kill you! Nothing would stop me from it! I would kill you with my bare hands, and bury you beneath this house! Thank you, Maker, that I am dead, and gone, and I can't tear your heart out! As it is, I order you out of—"

"Wait, wait, wait…" Witchy Hawke's voice came from the side. Malcolm froze in his outburst, the cane coming at him. "That's not how that would have gone."

"No?" Fenris said.

"No," Witchy Hawke said, chuckling. "Are you kidding me? He was a devout Andrastian. Freedom remained a complex dilemma for him until the day he died. Try again," she said, snapping her fingers.

Suddenly, Malcolm was sitting again. "The world," he said, unconvinced. "And what world is that?"

"Whatever she—"

"Are you prepared to die for the world she wants?" Malcolm cut him.

"No," Fenris said, looking down. "But I am prepared to die for her."

"Why?" Malcolm said, laughing. "Why would you die for a mage? A mage with power and capital and a political agenda, no less?"

"Because…" Fenris said, his eyebrows twitching up in sadness. "Because I've met hundreds of mages with all of those things, and they did not make one iota of a difference in the world. I've been at her side for years. She cares about people. She cares about people she's never even met and will never meet. I know she makes the world better, however much I disagree with her. Whatever world she's trying to bring, it is not one of the past. It is not the world I lived in. Of that much, I'm sure."

Malcolm scanned him, shifting in his seat. "You will continue to question her decisions?"

"Probably," Fenris said.

"And you will continue to push her to master her magic."

"Absolutely."

"Good," Malcolm said. "And if you have children, how are you going to raise them?"

"With respect to other people's lives, the earth, and to the memory of Andraste."

"What if they become atheists like their mother?" Malcolm demanded, unimpressed.

"Then I will have company in the Void," Fenris said flatly.

Malcolm chuckled, then Witchy Hawke paused the scene. "That's how you wish it would have gone."

"What do you want from me?" Fenris said, annoyed.

"Why do you care how it may have gone?" Witchy Hawke asked.

"Because," Fenris said, shrugging in frustration. He looked down, thinking. "I don't know. Because he's a complicated man. He made her into a complicated woman. Person. Whatever. An exemplary mage and a bleeding heart all the same."

"You're a complicated man," Witchy Hawke said with a proud flash of the eyebrows.

"I am no example of anything other than tragedy," Fenris said, shaking his head.

Witchy Hawke sighed in disappointment. "Would you like me to make him banish you again?"

"No…" Fenris said, sighing. "It doesn't matter what he'd think."

"It matters what you think," Witchy Hawke said. "Do you think you'd make a good patriarch?"

"No," Fenris said, laughing. "I am no tyrant, and no leader, for that matter."

"Why must you be a tyrant? You could be a fair leader, a co-leader, for that matter."

"A co-leader?" Fenris said, raising his eyebrow.

"Oh, come on. You know this story already," Witchy Hawke said, grinning. "How many times did you want to correct Danarius about his improper understanding of alpha wolves?"

"A million."

"And yet he's not important. You have yet to correct your own self."

Fenris sighed. "Wolves are wolves. People are people."

"And all roles are bullshit," Witchy Hawke insisted. "But that doesn't mean we should have no roles. We should just make up better ones."

"And you think wolf hierarchies are the solution?"

"No. I just think… you have your alpha female. You're scared of her power, admire it too. But… what about your own?"

"The only 'power' I have is over her insatiable libido."

And she was going to recognise, if she hadn't already, that his libido could have given her a run for its money. He was going to lose that power too.

"Tsk, tsk," Witchy Hawke said, crossing her arms. "You put yourself down so much, Fenris. Aren't you tired of it?"

"A little."

"You have way more power than you realise. It's all inside you, waiting to be used," Witchy Hawke said. "And the longer you stay away from the theatre, the longer you stay away from yourself, the longer you will stay a victim."

"I…" Fenris said, gulping.

"I know you have changed your mind," Witchy Hawke said, watching him.

"Perhaps," Fenris said, looking away.

"You can't run from yourself," Witchy Hawke said, shaking her head. "The Patriarch wants you to. He encourages disconnection and hardship, rewards it even. You look to Malcolm Hawke because he presented a different example of manhood, of fatherhood. Because it made Hawke different too as a mother and a leader. But who's the real wise person in this room?"

"You?" Fenris said, shrugging.

"My mother," Witchy Hawke said, showing her off. "What did she say to you once upon a time?"

Leandra started speaking, "Children have a duty to outgrow their parents. Be better than them."

"And…" Witchy Hawke said.

"Love is all that matters," Leandra said with a smile.

Fenris exhaled deeply.

"You must be better than the Patriarch," Witchy Hawke said. "You must love."

"I do," Fenris said sternly.

"You love her," Witchy Hawke said, shaking her head. "You do not love yourself."

Fenris looked down.

"Take to the stage," Witchy Hawke urged him. "Be your own man. Be whole. Be free."

Night time, The Hawke Estate

Fenris woke up in the silence of night. Everything was... fine. Hawke was asleep in his arms.

Be your own man. Be whole. Be free, kept resounding in his ears.

He hugged her tighter, head on her shoulder with a sigh.