FENRIS

Moonlight filters in through the nearby windows the next I wake.

Serena lies passed out on the mattress beside me, curled up close to my side, one of my arms still draped about her waist. I stare at her sleeping face in a trance. A part of me still shocked that this is real. That what happened earlier was not just a dream.

But then movement sounds on the opposite side of the room, disrupting that peace.

I peer over my shoulder with a jolt.

Zevran's partaking in another drink over by the unlit fireplace. A near emptied bottle of agreggio resting on the bench beside him.

"Why are you up?" I groan, propelling myself to sit up.

Every muscle of mine aches in protest. An unanticipated but satisfying consequence from our prolonged . . . activities together.

The nude assassin turns towards me with a wicked smile, a mischievous glint flickering in his golden eyes. "Oh, I could go all night." He gives me a confident leer. "But I will not subject you to witnessing such prowess this first time. I think she's had quite enough for the moment."

He winks at me, then glimpses at Serena; and as much as I want to roll my eyes at his shameless actions and statement, I'm going to have to agree.

We did not go easy on the warden.

But I suppose that is to be expected, after years of forced suppression, on all fronts.

In truth, I would continue, even now, given the chance. But she needs rest, and I need some time to process a few things on my own as well.

"Tell me, what is on your mind, my dear scowling friend?" Zevran lifts a curious eyebrow. "You simply seem so . . . unhappy. I thought you would be ecstatic by this progress, no?"

"I would have thought so." I lower my gaze.

I should be dancing for joy.

This is everything I could ever want.

And yet . . .

I hesitate, uncertain how to proceed, to explain my reasoning for why I'm not. For it is not as though I am unhappy by the development itself. What happened here . . . it is far better than anything I could have dreamed. More than I could have ever hoped for or imagined.

However . . .

"When we were . . . together . . . I began to remember. My life before. Just . . . flashes," I admit. The sensation still there, though its contents out of reach. "I've never remembered anything from before the ritual. But there were . . . faces. Words. For just a moment, I could recall all of it. And then it slipped away."

I sigh and clench my fists.

Frustration and contentment eat away at me. Both battling for supremacy, over the same situation. Waging a war I fear may never end.

"Hm. I see." Zevran passes me his goblet, and I finish its remainders, gratefully. "Well, I cannot say I blame you for this confliction of yours. But what matters is the future now, yes?"

He sits down in a nearby arm chair and pauses, scrutinizing me carefully.

"You love her, do you not?" he asks.

I stiffen, and just gawk at him. Speechless.

He smirks at me like he always does. The depth of his knowing possessing no bounds. "You never said it, but actions speak louder than words, my friend. I should know."

He flashes a tender glance at Serena. The likes he only reserves for her and no other.

I look at her as well. She is still snoozing soundly at my side. Completely out cold. Unaware.

I brush a stray hair out of her eyes and smile.

Hmm. An interesting thought.

Perhaps it is time to move forward. To focus on something beyond the past, with her.

But where does that lead?

What does what happened here tonight mean?

"I'll confess, I always assumed you would be sticking around." Zevran leans all the way back in his seat, crossing one leg on top of the other. "You and I, we are not so different after all. We are not ones to cling so tightly to convention or tradition."

"Hm. Perhaps . . . But what does this entail going forward?" I ask.

If there is to be anything at all, or if this is simply the end to a dream. The part where I, once again, wake up.

"Nothing needs to change." Zevran shrugs, casually. "Just continue caring for her in the way you always have, and I will do the same . . . However, I must insist on a few ground rules, for serenity's sake. One: we must be mindful of each other's space with this newfound arrangement of ours. Serena is a very independent woman, and though she does not voice it often, she can get overwhelmed quite easily. It is our job to make sure we do not contribute to that. And rule number two: it is important, in that same regard, that we both remember that we share from now on. Neither of us should interfere with the others business. In this, respect is tantamount."

His focus drifts over to Serena's sleeping form again.

"I suppose we should look into buying you a larger bed, however." He sighs. "It is a bit too snug for three at the moment."

I chuckle, the heaviness in my heart lightening at the comment, recognizing its significance. "Yes, that may be wise."

Especially if this is going to be common occurrence, as his words imply.

And if it is, so be it. If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at her side.


HAWKE

"Well, now that that's taken care of." Varric plops down in his usual seat, next to mine. "How are you doing, Hawke?"

He glimpses up from his fresh mug of ale at me.

The two of us are currently relaxing in his 'palatial suite' together, after cleaning up most of Danarius's mess. No thanks to Zevran and the others sneaking off. Although, Serena and Fenris I at least granted.

"Other than worrying over Fenris's state of mind, and craving a hot bath, better," I answer, taking a well-deserved gulp from my drink, then setting it down again on the table, momentarily. "Now if only Meredith and Orsino weren't such a pain, then everything would be going swimmingly!"

Varric laughs. "Good luck with that. Those two fight worse than cats and dogs! I doubt they'll suddenly start playing nice together any time soon. Unfortunately."

I sigh.

Yeah, I thought as much, too.

But a man can dream, can't he?

Varric pauses and purses his lips. A skeptical look twinkles in his ruminative, amber eyes. "Are you . . . really alright, Hawke?" he asks. "With . . . you know," he waves his hand in an expectant, circular motion, as if I'm bound to catch on.

And I do.

The two of us have only been friends for how many years now, after all? Plus, it's not like there are too many topics to choose from. Fewer yet he'd struggle to bring up without typical company present, and even less he'd refuse to even name.

"I'm fine. Really, Varric," I insist. "These past two months have been . . . difficult. I'll give you that. But I believe this was all for the best. For now, I'm just trying to focus on moving forward, so I can try to save this city. Somebody has to."

Varric chuckles at that and shakes his head. "You truly are the Champion Kirkwall never knew it needed."

He sighs, sinking back deeper into his chair, lifting his mug.

"I'm warning you, though." He points at me. All serious now. "Don't get any ideas of turning yourself into a martyr. If you do, Twinkle Toes and Broody would probably find a way to bring you back, just so they can throttle you themselves."

I laugh. "Oh, I'm aware. But don't you worry your pretty, little head, Varric. I don't plan on becoming a martyr. If I did, who would bathe Titan for Mother?"

Varric raises both his eyebrows at me.

"No one plans on becoming a martyr, Hawke," he says. "Not unless they've got a twisted sense of purpose guiding them, anyways. And although I'm confident you know better than that, I've told far too many stories to know where this path of yours is headed. My only hope is that you land somewhere out on top."

"Can you imagine me doing anything less?" I smile with tease, bringing my drink back up to my lips for a sip.

"My imagination isn't the problem," Varric scoffs. "Our enemy's is the one I'm worried about."

"Well then. I'll just have to make sure their imaginations stay just that. Imaginings! Should be easy enough." I hum. "We've taken care of enough of their problems as it is. I wonder if sending them imploring letters, asking they cease and desist, might help?"

"With your penmanship, that might just make things worse . . ." Varric grumbles, rubbing one hand across his temple.

"Hey! I've got marvelous penmanship!" I smack a palm onto the table. "And besides . . . do you think things honestly can get any worse?"

Varric stares straight up at me again. No pleasantry left in his narrowed gaze.

"Don't tempt fate, Hawke. Don't tempt fate."