Hawke heard a faint knock on his door, like the Maker himself had realized how lonely the mansion was for him. Who could it be, though, at this hour?

He put his robe on, and strode to the front door. He opened it, and immediately tensed from seeing the ominous, dark, hooded and armed figure standing in the snow, before he blinked and realized it was his friend. He immediately sobered, knowing something must have gone down with her and Fenris when they left the Hanged Man so early. She raised her eyes to meet his, and he saw extreme exhaustion in them.

"Hawke, forgive me, it is so late. But I don't think I'm able to walk home right now."

He blinked before quickly ushering her inside.

"Of course Lyra, get in here, it's freezing."

They stepped into his entry room, and he took Lyra's bow and arrows for her as she removed her hood and snow covered cloak. He watched her, seeing her shoulders slumped from fatigue and not knowing what she needed, but ready to offer her food or the couch if she needed it. She removed multiple knives from her leather clothing, and she slumped against the wall to rest for a moment. I've only seen her this exhausted once before; when she overused her magic.

"Tea?" he asked, and she nodded before closing her eyes. He led her to the sitting room and she collapsed onto the couch. He went to the kitchen and put a kettle on to boil. He returned, took a moment to stoke the fire, and sat next to her. She met his concerned gaze with her deepened eyes, an air of seriousness sharpening her tired gaze.

"Thank you, Hawke. You've only ever been a supportive friend, and I don't think anyone ever thanks you for it."

He brushed her words off humbly with a smile. "I wouldn't be able to do half the things we do without our crazy bunch keeping me in check."

She smiled and nodded, but it didn't reach her eyes. He looked at her meaningfully.

"Would talking about it help?" he asked softly, and she met his eyes with a tired smile.

"It would, thank you, Hawke. I am just beat after healing broken knuckles and wrists, and then carrying a heavily armed warrior up two flights of stairs."

Hawke looked at her seriously and waited for her to explain. Her eyes welled up, but the tears didn't fall. She seemed to sink into the couch cushions, the defeat in her eyes painful for him to look at.

"I followed him, when he asked me not to, and forced my apologies and excuses onto him. I made him run from me, punch the wall of his mansion until he broke his wrists, and then he passed out, probably from the pain."

They sat in silence for a few moments as her tears fell quietly. He got up and grabbed the quilt hanging on the back of the couch, draping the blanket around her gently, her shoulders shaking and her head bowing. He sat right next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders gently, and she leaned into him and hid her face into his robe. He felt her silently shake through her sobs, and he just held her firmly as she rode through this wave of grief.

"What's your favorite tea?" he asked quietly after a time that she had settled, and she wiped her cheeks before meeting his eyes. He blinked at how bright they were as she smiled at him appreciatively.

"I have some on me, actually," she said as she reached into a small pocket on her belt. She pulled out a small drawstring leather pouch, and when she opened it, the smell that wafted to him smelled like a dense forest after rain, with a hint of flowery mint. He inhaled heavily and leaned towards her, and she chuckled at his display.

"That smells heavenly. Is it Dalish?"

"Yes, I just dried some herbs, so this batch is fresh. May we brew it?"

"Oh, definitely," he said, and they got up together, Lyra tightening the quilt around her shoulders, and they headed for the kitchen where the water was heating. Lyra placed a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced over to her to see her worried.

"You don't mind the late hour? Were you going to sleep soon?"

"No, I was just thinking I would like some company. You came with wonderful timing, however sad the circumstances."

She nodded and averted her eyes, a little of the brightness dimming. But as she prepared the tea leaves, he watched her shoulders relax from the tension she came in with. When the tea was fitted into a filter, she turned to him and leaned her hip against the counter, meeting his eyes with her soft, inquisitive ones.

"We spend our time talking about my troubles. May I ask about yours?"

He looked at her and smiled slightly, then nodded. "You may. I…" he looked away and leaned against the counter as well. "I love and care for her, as a fighter, as a friend. But not as a partner."

He paused and frowned, but continued. I'm not used to being able to talk about this. "I guess I'm feeling old, or, tired, after these years here. I admire her way of keeping things light, of not taking anything too seriously. But I think I need something more serious." He sighed. "We no longer give the other what we need. She needs flexibility, while I need stability."

Lyra closed her eyes and nodded. She sighed heavily, and he saw the pain return in her expression. "It is a terrible feeling, to be something that cannot satisfy what the other needs."

"You are what Fenris needs," Hawke said without thinking, and she met his eyes with her pained ones. "He is just too afraid to believe it."

She ran her hand through her hair, before absently staring at the tea. Her voice was weak, like a strained whisper. "I've never hurt anyone, like I hurt him."

Hawke closed his eyes, feeling her words compress his chest so that breathing in was harder. "Pain is not the only thing you've given him." he opened his eyes and met hers, the blue-greens bright and watery. "His old wounds, have finally started to heal. We all see it."

Lyra gave him a weak smile, and clutched at her stomach. "I'm afraid I may have slowed that down, now."

Hawke sighed and shifted closer to her, still leaning on the counter, next to her. "No one escapes a relationship unscathed. Maker knows I wasted Isabela's time like no one has before."

Lyra blinked up at him and Hawke gripped the edge of the counter. He met her eyes after a second, seeing her brows together. She shook her head gently. "No time spent with you is wasted, Hawke. You of all people."

He gave her a weak smile back. "I didn't give her what she needed. Even when I knew, I knew she wasn't asking for much, she only wanted me to show her that I care about her more than the bare minimum…" he sighed and looked to the side, shaking his head slightly. Lyra took in a slow, deep breath next to him, and then she took another. He glanced down at her to see her breathe to herself, and he could see the calm enter her expression as her eyes fell closed.

"We will always care for them," she spoke softly, like she wouldn't disrupt the calming field of energy emitting from her. "We will only care for them differently, now?"

He blinked down at her quiet question, at the simplifying notion. Yes, I will always care for her. But caring for her in that way, was not the way.

He nodded to himself, finding calm in her sentiment, and he glanced down and smiled slightly at the tired elf next to him.

They stood in silence, but not an uncomfortable silence. Hawke really looked at his friend, like he was searching for something. He saw the slight sag in her shoulders from her exhaustion, but the strength in her eyes when she felt and met his gaze. He breathed in heavily, and exhaled through his nose, copying her breathing technique, and releasing some of the tension he carried every time he talked about his previous partner. Lyra seemed to relax some as well, the lines on her face leaving and making her seem content just to stand in his kitchen with him, waiting for the tea.

She probably doesn't realize how rare these moments are for me. Where I can just… be still. And smell the tea.

"It's not just Isabela," he began, voice halting, unused to speaking about his worries and troubles without any abandon. "These last months have been… the hardest of my life," he looked away, turning and fidgeting with the kettle handle.

He chewed the words in his mouth for a moment, and Lyra just waited patiently, giving him the time and space to voice his thoughts. He shook his head, crossed his arms, and leaned against the counter, looking off into the distance.

"The Viscount had me in a meeting for three hours yesterday, mitigating the officials, keeping the politicians in charge from declaring outright war against the Qunari." He felt an immediate weight being lifted from him just saying this out loud. "I have to alleviate the tensions between the qunari and the damned human elitist zealots, all while the Templars continue to tighten the noose around every mage they can find with a new and easier way to perform the rite of tranquility, and my own sister…"

He stopped and clenched his jaw, his brows coming together. The avalanche of overwhelming emotions he had been suppressing for months were suddenly too close to the surface, and he felt the familiar itch in his throat and heating of his face prelude the tears in his eyes. It's all so much. He stood very still in his kitchen, next to his companion, and whispered, angrily.

"I just can't believe I couldn't protect Bethany."

Lyra turned to him, and he felt her small hand rest on his upper arm. He blinked his eyes quickly, struggling to keep himself composed, and kept his gaze averted from hers. She suddenly spoke with a voice that sounded like all traces of exhaustion had been wiped clean from her spirit, replaced with a strong and firm conviction that made him turn and blink at her with wide eyes.

"You will not blame yourself." she looked back and forth between his eyes, her gaze sharp and keen as she waited for him to hear her command. "I know, that you know, that you did everything within your power to help her. You help Bethany every day by fighting for mage rights, by fighting for peace within this city's government and this city's streets. Your service to the people of Kirkwall inspires me every day, Hawke."

I, inspire, you?

Hawke blinked at her, noting how her hand had turned to a resolute fist resting lightly on his arm, how her blue-greens regarded him with a ferocity that reminded him of who this woman is. The Hero of Ferelden. Of course, she understands this stress. This legendary woman, this compassionate friend, is inspired by me?

He stared at her dumbly for a moment, and like water rushing over jagged rocks, her expression smoothed into openness, her fist relaxed to a gentle hand holding his arm. Her voice lowered, her brows came together, and she quieted with the color of sincerity.

"The burden you carry, is one that is increased by how much care you have for the people." her eyes seemed to flash with memories in her past. "Many lessen the burden, by caring less. But you don't run from it, Hawke. You hold the grief, the suffering of our people here in your arms and in your heart, and you rejoice in the privilege of sharing their experience and fighting for their lives, however weary it makes you." she broke into a small smile, nodding to him meaningfully. "I am so proud, to follow you."

Oh, Maker.

His chest felt like it had been compressed into thick honey, threatening to seep apart and melt onto the stone of his floor. His tears overrode his will to remain collected, and suddenly his shoulders were shaking with the force of his overwhelmed heart.

He bent over his aching chest to clap a hand over his mouth, as if he could contain the tsunami of tears waiting to be released. A sob escaped him and Lyra was there in front of him, reaching up to hold him as his pieces fell apart one by one. He leaned over her smaller frame as her arms came up to encircle his neck, and he buried his face into the top of her shoulder, like a tall, shuttering engine struggling to stand.

He wept into her embrace, unable to call forth his commanding mask, eased to release from her kind honesty. She shushed him quietly and she stroked the back of his head, and his body was wracked with shuddering waves of his intense emotion.

Suddenly a high pitched whistling shattered the profound space like cold water, and they both flinched and froze, Hawke realizing it was the kettle. Lyra retracted her arms and Hawke raised his head, chuckling awkwardly and wiping his eyes, turning to take the kettle off the stove and cease the whistling. He caught his breath quickly, and Lyra moved smoothly to help set the tea leaves.

Dear Andraste. He blinked, hiding how flustered he was.

"This tea shouldn't need to steep for longer than a few minutes," Lyra mentioned, glancing up and meeting his gaze. She smiled at him, a twinkle in her eye, and he sighed heavily, nodding and returning her smile.

"Here we are," Hawke set the tea infuser into the kettle, the smell already wafting forth pleasantly. He sighed again and spoke without turning to her.

"I hate for others, to have to see me…" he shook his head, smiling to himself. "...weakened. I'm… I'm sor-"

"If I remember correctly," Lyra interrupted him, raising an eyebrow and giving him a smile. "I quite literally barged in here not too long ago and fell apart myself on your couch over there."

Hawke blinked at her as she chuckled, and he watched her shake her head and mind the tea. I suppose we both have cried onto the other here, in this short time. He readied two mugs, smiling to himself.

"I probably figured, the Hero of Ferelden is allowed a moment or two after all that's happened, whereas my troubles seem so insignificant in the grand scheme of things."

"Hawke, please," Lyra gave him a look, crossing her arms but giving him a half smile. "I am just a woman, who makes plenty of mistakes and is trying to find a place in this world like anyone. Your troubles, your emotions are not in the least bit insignificant." she looked off, staring at the fire in the room over. "It is a gift to show someone your weakness. For it is when we own and acknowledge our pains that we can begin to work through them, and overcome them." she glanced over to him, pulling his blanket tighter over her shoulders like a shawl. "It is a trust that I do not take lightly. And a strength that I quite admire."

Her gaze found the fire again, and Hawke watched her for a moment, chest warming from her validation. Watching her smile absently into the fire helped him find calm again. He turned and poured the tea, and handed her one while holding the other.

She does have that way about her, he thought, cocking his head slightly as he regarded the quiet elf, closing her eyes and smelling the tea. A subtle…contentment. I felt it earlier today, when we fell asleep under that oak, just a relaxing aura. Her inner calm can be contagious.

They both sipped at their tea, their eyes meeting, and her smiling from behind her mug from his reaction. The warmth seeped into him like a hot bath on a cold day, and the scent brought his mind tumbling through the wild. So exotic and fresh, and yet… a feeling of belonging.

"This is...really good, Lyra."

Lyra bowed her head, shielding her smile with a curtain of red, holding her cup in both hands to warm them. She met his eyes and he watched her cheeks gain some color from the warmth. "Thank you. I can write the recipe down, if you'd like."

"I'd much rather you just come over more."

Her eyes met his with raised eyebrows, and he blinked before she smiled.

"I'd like that."

He felt his cheeks redden, and he frowned to himself. She turned and walked back to the couch, his blanket like a regal cape trailing behind her bare feet, and he followed, joining her as she relaxed into the cushions. They settled into the soft couch, the tea so pleasant and the fire in front of them warming them.

If I had seen myself like this 5 years ago, I wouldn't believe it. Sitting in my own mansion, sipping Dalish tea next to the Hero of Ferelden. He closed his eyes and sunk a little deeper into his couch. Things will be alright. I'll make it through these hard times by taking little moments like this, next to people like this.

They sat silently for a few moments, sipping their tea, and listening to the cracks and pops from the fire. Later, Hawke felt her eyes, and he looked down to meet her blue-greens, soft and tired.

"I feel many times better than when I first got here," she murmured softly, her eyes blinking slowly and her head resting back against the couch. He blinked at her, and his face broke into a smile, feeling a similar pull to sleep.

"I feel many times better than when you got here as well, Lyra." He finished his tea, and he fully relaxed into the couch, letting gravity pull his limbs and his eyelids down. He felt her rest against his side, her frame shifting to mold with his, and she rested her cheek against his shoulder. His empty teacup rested against his thigh, but he barely noticed it; he focused more on the sound of the fire, and the soft sounds of his friend breathing right next to him. Such a relaxing sound.

He felt her shift slightly, and she murmured softly, like she was falling asleep. "May I crash here tonight?"

"Of course." he murmured back.

She nodded, her head rubbing against his shoulder. "Thank you."

He smiled and rested his cheek against the top of her head, and they settled together, much like they had just earlier in the day, except now they were on a couch, in the warmth, instead of under a giant tree in a neighborhood.

I hadn't thought I could feel more comfortable than that. I was mistaken.

O

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The sound of birds chirping roused Hawke from his deep slumber. He slowly came to consciousness, without rush, for he felt very comfortable, and very safe. Though my neck is a bit sore.

He sighed lazily and opened his eyes to see the ashy remains of his living room fire, the only source of light the sun coming in from the high windows in his mansion, casting the room into a cool blue atmosphere. He felt something tickle his chin, and with a start he realized he was resting on a person's head.

Ah, Lyra. He carefully turned his head to look at her, still sleeping soundly on his shoulder. Her face was completely lack of any tension, the full weight of her body resting against his. He smiled to himself.

He looked up at the window, and to his shock, realized they had slept in pretty late. I have a lunch meeting with the Viscount.

He looked at his friend once again, noticing a stray strand of hair had escaped from behind her pointed ear. He reached and gently pushed it back in place, marvelling at how bright the red color was, even in the dimmed light. He sighed lightly, knowing he would have to wake her, even though she looked so content.

Hawke reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. She roused slowly, her eyes blinking lazily while she shifted, and she raised her head and looked around. She met his eyes with widened ones, and she blinked at him, before cocking her head and smiling.

"Did I… I seem to be making a habit of stealing your shoulder."

Hawke nodded. "I passed out last night, where is…" he picked up his empty teacup next to him and placed it on the coffee table in front of them. "I feel very well rested."

She met his eyes. "I do too."

He watched her eyes smile at him unguardedly, and he shook himself, remembering his duties.

"I have to meet with the Viscount for lunch, if I remember correctly."

"Ah, I have to meet with Keeper Marethari soon as well." her eyes seemed to light up, and she perked up slightly from the relaxed position they were still in. "I think I can get her support in supplying the alienage with work, since the farming season is approaching."

"That's good news. I think the Viscount just wants to complain to me about something or another," Hawke mentioned, and Lyra chuckled.

"Warrior by day, counselor also by day." she sat up and reached her arms up, stretching, reminding him of a cat. He looked down and collected their teacups, running a hand through his messy hair. He stood up and stretched as well before taking the dishes to the kitchen. When he returned, Lyra had already fetched her cloak and hood, and was strapping her quiver and her bow to her back. She met his eyes, an excited light in them.

"Hawke, I had almost forgotten to mention, but today is the Spring Equinox!' she busied herself, tightening straps on her leather boots. "I plan to celebrate in the alienage the way the Dalish do; with food and festival. Merrill must already be preparing; I must run to the mountains to gather fresh game and ingredients." she paused to meet his eyes, her brows slightly worried and her smile small. "I wish I could have offered to make you breakfast in thanks for letting me crash."

Hawke chuckled and waved his hand, charmed by her enthusiasm. "Don't mention it. You are always welcome."

"Thank you, Hawke. Will you come and join the celebration? I do believe Merrill talked Varric into coming," she asked, light hope in her eyes. He nodded, smiling.

"Absolutely. I get to look forward to it, during my captivating lunch with the Viscount."

"I will see you tonight, then. Don't get too enthralled by the Viscount's intriguing conversation," she waved to him as she made her way to the front door, shrugging her shoulders to make her quiver and bow sit on her back more comfortably. Her blue greens flashed as she glanced at him behind her shoulder, and he caught her smile. "Thanks again, Hawke."

O

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Lyra was on her way back to Kirkwall, carrying a bag of the freshest food; freshly killed rabbit and fox, and a variety of wild vegetables and herbs, along with the array of spices she always made sure to find. Oh how good it feels to hunt again, she thought, enjoying the last few moments of quiet before entering the giant city full of thousands and thousands of people. She passed through the city gate leading to the outskirts, waving to the guard on duty. I'm thankful for Aveline; being friends with the guards is certainly wonderful. She slowed as she passed the man in city armor, cocking her head and thinking he looked awfully lonely.

She stopped in front of him, and stuck her hand into her large sack as the guard raised his eyebrows at her. She handed him a green apple, freshly picked from a tree deep in the secluded mountains. The man's face lit up and he accepted it from her, smiling as she winked to him goodbye.

She headed into the city, stepping into the clean cobblestone of Hightown, looking out of place in her leather, carrying a large sack among the finely dressed noblemen. She lugged her findings through the streets, and slowed as she approached a certain mansion. She looked up, a coldness gripping her stomach.

I wonder how his wrists healed.

Images of his broken and bloody hands filled her mind, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the dried blood splatters on the wall to the left of the doorway. That was where, after I provoked him, he punched it so much he broke his…

She shook her head, willing herself to not get consumed with guilt. Deep down she felt a responsibility. A duty to check up on him, and crying her eyes out did nothing to help him.

A deep breath in, and she knocked on the door. She waited a minute, and then put her ear up to listen against the door. She heard the faintest sound of footsteps retracting, and she nodded to herself. Without thinking much, she walked around to the back of the mansion, left her bag behind a bush, and lightly scaled the wall, holding on to the windowsill to a room three stories up.

She pulled herself into the room and lighted on the carpet, glancing around and immediately finding him lying on the couch in a corner. He had an arm lying over his eyes, and she could feel the tension in the room. Knowing he was awake, she cleared her throat.

He sat up quickly, and looked at her, his surprise turning immediately to pain. He stared at her for a few seconds, the only emotion showing on his face as frustration, before he looked to the side and spoke with formality.

"What do you want."

Lyra clasped her hands together. "I just wanted to check in."

"It's not your place to do that." he met her eyes, the frustration in his greens turning to anger. "Leave me."

Lyra did her best to keep her face passive, though the words stabbed her heart. She spoke softly. "Please let me check on your hands first, or see Anders. I am unpracticed in healing."

He scoffed. "I'll worry about my hands. You worry about your healing, away from me."

Lyra closed her eyes and nodded, in a daze but utterly regretful. Her chest was so constricted, but she got words out with effort. "I apologize. I will not intrude again." With that she swiftly leaped onto the windowsill, and prepared to climb down the wall. Before she did, she glanced back at him, and immediately stilled.

He was glaring at her, but his greens were welled with unshed tears. He stood then from the couch and faced her, and she saw so many questions flit across his expression. He spoke aggressively, the pain in his voice stabbing her.

"Why did you hide your magic?"

She blinked at him, but responded. "I had to, from the start. When I became a grey warden, I had the responsibility to negotiate with the leaders of many different factions, nations, and races, and being an apostate would have only made that more difficult. I didn't have time to come out and learn the skills from my burden, people were dying every day all across the land, there was a war going on, and I was a leader in it." She sat on the windowsill cautiously. "After the war, I fled. And I was already so adept at hiding my magic, why change? When I met you, I was not about to sign myself up for the circle, and I had planned on telling everyone, one day." Lyra felt her cheeks were wet, and hadn't realized she had been crying. "But I did not tell you, when I should have."

She stopped herself, knowing she was prone to ramble when upset. He was still standing in front of her, and she could see the effort he was putting in to keep himself stoic.

"When should you have told me?" he asked quietly.

Lyra blinked at him, and her brows came together and the pain in her chest doubled, the dread felt like heavy metal in her gut. She wanted to run away. She wanted to get on her knees and beg his forgiveness. She forced herself to speak. "I should have told you...before...before we…"

Gods please, don't make me say it...

Her tears became thicker, and she watched the first of his fall as he closed his eyes. "I don't know if I still would have, if you had told me before."

Pain, sharp, like a thin stiletto, stabbing into her heart over, and over, and over again, through her rib cage, with every heartbeat. She felt like she had finally broken, knowing that she had fully, taken advantage of him. She covered her mouth, and closed her eyes in defeat. Her voice came like a whisper, she had no breath support.

"I am full of regret, then. I had not the strength to come clean to you when you deserved it, and in by continuing dishonestly, I used you, however way I spin it."

She heard him sit down heavily on the couch, and he looked off into the distance. "You regret it, then? That night?" He looked defeated, his shoulders sagging, the light in his green eyes, gone. Her damaged heart lurched, her ears warmed. That night.

"I do not regret what we shared," she said firmly, and he glanced to her, meeting her gaze. "I will never regret what we had together." His eyes seemed the least guarded they have been ever since him finding out. She continued. "But I do regret, making you unsure, making you uncomfortable, I regret manipulating the way you saw me." She wiped her nose, her eyes still streaming. "I regret lying to you, because while it may have brought me temporary safety, it has brought you pain, and nothing was worth that."

He stared at her for a moment, the eye contact the long, the anger slowly draining. She stayed silent, just wishing she knew what to do, what would bring him the least amount of pain at this point. He stood, and walked over to her slowly, keeping his eyes averted. His tears had stopped, and his face had taken on a deadened grimace.

"You may inspect them," he said quietly, holding out his hands to her. She looked down at them, and a new host of tears blurred her vision from how overwhelmed she felt. She quickly composed herself and concentrated her mana into her hands, and she hovered her hands over his, engulfing them in her soft yellow light. She watched him stiffen, as he always does around magic, but he stayed still, allowing her to push her senses deeper into the inner mechanisms of his hands. His bones were set right, as well as his muscles, and the skin on his knuckles were only slightly scarred.

"Do they hurt anywhere?" she chanced, and he just shook his head. She nodded and removed her hands, glancing up at his face. "They are healing well. Thank you." He dropped his hands. They stayed there for a moment, her still perched on the windowsill, him standing, before he met her eyes.

"I'll let you know if I get any word on Danarius." he said before turning away and returning to sit on the couch. Lyra blinked at him, hearing the subtle dismissal, but feeling thankful he would think to tell her still.

"I'll keep an ear out, too." she said quietly, watching him. He nodded, but kept his attention on the fireplace, his eyes unfocused. She turned and lowered herself from the sill, dropping down the side of the building, landing lightly on the cobblestone. She grabbed her bag, and glanced up once more at the window, wiping the last tears from her cheeks. She breathed in heavily, and then turned, heading to Lowtown. The pain remained in her chest, but it was a little bit easier to breathe.