A/N: sorry, my dears, that it's been so long since I've updated. My Muse was a naughty boy and ran away from home. I suppose it was my own fault, giving him free reign and all that :B This past week, however, he's been sneaking back into my life, coming up behind me to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, tickling my imagination, and then spinning away and running off before I can reach around and wrestle him into submission! Not that I would do that, because he gets pouty when I force him to inspire me. And besides, when he does it of his own free will, he's so very good…

*ahem* Anyway, he's back now, sitting behind me, rubbing my shoulders as I type, filling my thoughts with all sorts of yumminess…

But then I went and sliced the side of my thumb, right where I hit the space bar. I hope you appreciate the pain I've gone through these past few days, finally feeling inspired to write, yet every word hurting (and every sentence twice as much).

Chapter Six: The Lair of the Wolf

The door closed behind Hrodwynn with a solid thud, the heavy echo ringing out to be swallowed by the darkness before her. She tried—and failed—to resist the urge to swallow, apprehension making a tight knot in her chest. She had been fine up to this point, walking between Aveline and Fenris in the growing evening shadows, but now that they were here at his mansion, now that Aveline had left her alone with him, now she was…

Not scared. No, whatever it was she felt whenever she looked at Fenris, it wasn't fear. She knew he was a powerful and ruthless fighter, but she also knew he wouldn't harm her. It was more… wariness? Nervousness? Concern?

Maybe she was simply tired? She paused her steps to scrub at an eye, blinking away the fatigue, fighting to stay alert. It had been a long day, after all, and even that arrogant arse Hawke would have to admit to being a little weary if he gone through all she had…

Picking a lock that could kill her if she made even the slightest error…

Racing through the Docks and then Darktown, through the chokedamp, trying to give her pursuers the slip…

Hiding in her loft…

Losing one of her kittens…

Hawke acting nice towards her—thought that didn't last…

Walking all the way to Hightown…

And she hadn't had a bite to eat since…

She dropped her hand away from her eyes with a startled gasp. Fenris had disappeared. She had been following him, his white hair bobbing before her even in the dank and dusty mansion, but when she had stopped to rub at her eyes, he had slipped from sight. All around her were dark shadows falling across darker floor tiles, slipping around darker corners, fading into darker doorways. She had a brief notion that the mansion might be haunted, that the ghosts of the shades they had fought were still here, waiting for the night, waiting for her return, waiting for…

A light bloomed into being off to the side and above, highlighting Fenris' face in a golden glow. She jumped at the sudden light, a small squeak escaping her. She clamped her lips together and told herself to stop acting so childish. Yes, the mansion was dark, and oh-so-very-empty with only Fenris living here, but that didn't mean there were ghosts waiting in the shadows.

Do shades even have ghosts? Weren't they sort of ghosts themselves?

Fenris had noticed when she stopped following him, but he didn't comment. The whole way here he had sensed her exhaustion through her stumbling steps, her murmured responses, her general inattention. She had barely acknowledged Aveline's departure, mutely waving a good night and falling into place behind him. When she paused to rub at her eyes, he had left her alone in the main hall, climbing the steps to the upper balcony. He reached his chamber, slipping inside just long enough to light a splinter of wood from the fire in the hearth, before returning to the hallway to light one of the lamps.

As he turned up the wick, flooding the area with light, he heard a startled squeak from below. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, standing there with a hand pressed over her mouth, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed, her limbs trembling with exhaustion. He turned to face her, and to his eyes at first she looked so small, so vulnerable, so alone in the gloom of the main hall. Then the light shining behind him set off her vibrant, indefatigable colors—the dark red tunic so perfectly matching her hair, the locks falling haphazardly across her forehead and temples. Her green eyes glittered, the moisture caused by her exhaustion making them sparkle like finely cut emeralds. Even the paleness of her skin seemed to glow, to push away the black surrounding her, making her shine like a beacon on a dangerous cliff.

Or a siren, one who called sailors to their doom, considering the self-destructive impulse he felt to take her in his arms and…

"Sorry, I, ah," she spoke, mercifully breaking into his thoughts, "I guess I took a wrong turn, didn't see you head upstairs…" Her voice trailed away in the brunt of his silence. She cleared her throat before heading over to the base of the steps, taking them as quickly as she dared. Her feet stumbled, the tip of her boot catching on the ledge of the top step, sending her head first into…

…into his arms. She got a face-full of his cuirass, but it was preferable to the floor. He held onto her while she got her feet beneath her and strengthened her knees, his gauntlets tight but careful around her limbs, the lethally sharpened tips held carefully away from her. Once she felt steady enough, she turned her attention to him, slowly lifting her gaze upward, thinking to herself how the lyrium on his neck reminded her of a cage, or the two lines marking his chin seemed to imitate an unearthly goatee. She looked up towards his eyes, a timidly thankful smile on her lips, but the expression she found made her smile fade into the shadows.

He barely registered the slow lifting of her face, his meditative focus on the struggle going on within his soul. He should be discouraging her, pushing her away, for her own protection, not holding her in his hands, his muscles twitching from the effort of resisting the compulsion to pull her closer. It felt good—felt so damn selfishly good—to touch another person, to feel warm skin beneath his, soft and smooth and pale. To have someone near, someone to share a conversation with, someone whose eyes sparkled when she felt mirthful, someone whose face turned heart-shaped whenever she smiled.

Unbeknownst to him his expression darkened. Venhedis, he swore under his breath, wondering what he was he doing. He had invited her to spend the night with him, just the two of them in the mansion. He told himself he hadn't extended the invitation for any other reason than the repayment of a debt. She had come to him one night, to tend a wound he didn't even know he had, and had asked for nothing in return. His invitation this evening, his offer of protection for one night, was only a repayment of that debt. Nothing more. It couldn't be anything more.

"Sorry, again, I, ah, I guess I'm a bit tired. Long day and all."

Her tone was apologetic, embarrassed, her cheeks turning pink even before she could drop her gaze. Quickly he realized he had been staring, and tried to think of an excuse for his scrutiny. Carefully he brushed a sweat-matted lock of hair behind her ear, mindful of the sharp tips to his gauntlets. "Yes, I imagine it has been tiring." He let go of her and stepped aside, trying to remain aloof, formal, the perfect gentleman.

Hrodwynn barely kept herself from flinching while his taloned fingers brushed the hair from her cheek. She had felt it earlier—the trembling of his muscles—when he had caught her and kept her from tripping, and decided it was due to pain. It had to be torture for him, the lyrium etched into nearly every part of his skin, tracing every finger, so no matter what he touched it caused him agony. She felt those hot tears returning as she tried to distract herself from the sympathy welling up inside her. She knew the proud elf would only resent her for showing him pity. "Been nonstop since before noon. First the job for Brekker, then the chase through half of Kirkwall, the worse half, then having to hide while they searched Anders' clinic, then Hawke and this all-important job of his. And to top it off, I lost one of my kittens!"

To her horror, the tears spilled past her lashes, leaving incriminating trails down her cheeks. She tried to brush them away quickly, not wanting him to see her cry, not wanting to give him even the slightest cause to suspect they could be in part for him. She sniffed and looked away, hoping to spy something to distract her, distract him…

"Have you eaten yet this evening?" He had inferred how tired she must be feeling, but hearing how incoherently she babbled her words, and seeing how quickly the tears came, he began to have more suspicions. At his question, her stomach rumbled, causing her cheeks to redden even further.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, "I, ah, no, I haven't had the time. I had meant to grab a bite of something at the Hanged Man, but I didn't end up staying there long enough."

"Trust me; it was for the best. Tonight's mystery meat was fish." He gave a shudder, making a disgusting sound, almost like he had vomited. She half expected a puddle of sick at his feet. "Hardly palatable."

She nodded, thinking it was expected of her, not really sure where this conversation was going, but glad that it gave her time to get the tears under control. She made one last swipe at her cheeks before facing him again.

He watched her turn back around, saw her lost and vulnerable expression, and felt the need to get some air. "I'm afraid I don't have anything to offer you here. I usually eat at the Hanged Man myself, but I couldn't stomach it tonight. Why don't I head out and pick up something for our dinner?" He didn't wait for her answer, but started down the steps as if she had already agreed.

"I could go with you!" she offered eagerly, coming up behind him, both hands gripping the railing as she leaned against it.

Her words stopped him, the keen tone making him turn back. He took one look at her bloodshot eyes, her pale and sweaty face, her trembling hands, and knew she wouldn't have the strength. Yet he hardly doubted that she would accept that for a reason; she was too spunky and determined to prove herself capable. "No, you're not supposed to be seen, remember? Pick a room for your use tonight, make yourself at home, I won't be long."

He turned away before he could see her face fall.

Hrodwynn stood at the top of the stairs, watching his white hair fade into gray as he strode away, his form quickly swallowed by the shadows of a doorway. A moment later, she heard the main door open and close, and she realized she was all alone in the mansion.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, gripping the railing and staring at the place where he'd disappeared, but she knew she would eventually have to move. Giving herself a little shake, she spoke aloud to try to banish her silly fears. "Well, Hrodwynn, don't just stand there acting like a twit. You've got things to do, so stop wasting time."

Though talking didn't make much progress towards dispersing the unease she felt, she nevertheless lifted her chin and turned on the spot, heading towards the only lighted lamp in the hallway. It was just outside Fenris' room, and for reasons she didn't want to name, she felt it would be best if she stayed in one of the rooms next to his. She picked the nearer one, set her hand on the latch, and opened the portal.

The sight that greeted her did little to calm her nerves. "Oh, perfect, just… perfect," she sighed, seeing nothing inside but more shadows. Of course it was pitch black in the room. Fenris wouldn't have the shutters open, not wanting the neighbors to see an elf—a former slave—squatting in a mansion in the middle of Hightown. She could make out some furniture within, but they were nothing more than indistinct shapes and lumps that made no sense to her. She cast about the hallway, hoping to spy a table with candles or something equally helpful, but the area was unsurprisingly void of anything useful or convenient.

"Suppose it makes sense," she groused, "Since he doesn't use any room but his, everything useful like a spare candle would be kept in there, right?" She looked at the door in question, and feeling a little like she was spying on him, she opened his door and slipped inside.

As she suspected, Fenris' room was nothing like the rest of the mansion. It was warm and bright, thanks to a well-stocked hearth and a recently stoked fire. It was also in a lived-in sort of disarray. There was a table, cleared except for her bulging pack and a few chairs tucked around it. Beyond that was his bed, the bedclothes rumpled and slightly off-center. A greatsword leaned against the bedpost with a cleaning rag draped over the hilt. A half-finished bottle of some sort of wine sat forgotten on a bench in front of the hearth, an empty bowl near the edge. Bits of butcher paper lay crumpled in front of the hearth, as if after finishing whatever food had been wrapped inside, he had meant to toss the empty paper into the fire, but missed. There was a bookshelf in the corner, crammed haphazardly with an array of items, among them a couple bottles of healing potions mixed in with several bottles of wine, an empty scabbard—probably for the greatsword, and a satchel with an odd shaped lump within. She half expected to see some spare tunics bunched in a corner or the like, but she doubted he owned any clothing other than his dark, leathery armor. The room looked… well, compared to the rest of the mansion, compared to the first time she had been in here, the room easily looked quite homey.

She snapped herself out of her reverie, suddenly thinking what Fenris would say if he came back to find her snooping in his room, her heart quickening a little at his imagined ire. She grabbed a splinter of wood from the pile beside the hearth, lit the end of it, and with her satchel in hand she headed for the door.

In the hallway once more, she stopped long enough to close his door and drop her pack beneath the lighted lamp. Then, with the splinter supporting a single and rather large flame, she entered the dark room. She left the door opened behind her, wanting every bit of light she could scrounge, and lifted the splinter up above her head, casting soft and flickering light around her. She turned on the spot, her mouth opened with amazement, as she began to make out what was in the room.

"No wonder there's no windows," she murmured, spying the chamberpot behind a screen, a large copper tub off to the side, a stack of towels on a small cabinet in the corner. "It's the water closet."

The next moment happened too quickly for her to follow. The splinter burned down to her fingertips, the flame going out as she gave a small cry of alarm and dropped the splinter to the floor. Without the flame, the room was thrown back into pitch darkness, the same darkness as the rest of the mansion, the mansion where she had helped fight sinister shades and hungry demons and arcane horrors…

Unable to think, only able to feel and feeling only fear and the undeniable need to run, she spun on the balls of her feet and raced for the door. Unfortunately, in her heedless and headlong pelt, her aim was off—or rather it was too good. She hit the door squarely with her face, the force of the impact sending it crashing closed and her bouncing backwards to land heavily on the floor.

For several seconds she lay there, unable to tell if her eyes were open or closed, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Yet the longer she lay there, the longer nothing happened, and she eventually began to realize there were no more shades or horrors in the dark. The room was just the same as it was when she could see it. Other than her own form sprawled across the floorboards.

"Hrodwynn you ninny," she said to herself. "Stand up and find the bloody door."

She wiped the tears off her cheeks and sniffed into her sleeve as she scrambled around to her hands and knees, and then pushed herself to her feet. Carefully, cautiously, her arms extended before her, she took little shuffling steps until her hands came into contact with the wall. A few moments casting to either side, and she felt the doorframe.

When the golden light from the hallway burst round the door, she couldn't stop the single grateful sob swelling upwards from her chest. She took a moment to blink in the light, before stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind her. Maybe a little too firmly, but she chose not to notice. She sniffed again and got back to business.

She walked past Fenris' chamber to the door on the other side, straightened her shoulders, and shoved it open. This room was a little better; even without any lighted candle or lamp, it wasn't as dark as the other room. The shutters were open, one drape pulled back to allow light to shine through the window, moonlight painting the floorboards with silver, as torchlight from the streets cast flickering gold across the ceiling. There was a bed off to the side, a wardrobe with a chest on one side and a dressing table on the other, even a hearth already stacked with kindling, wanting only a flame.

"Much better," she said with a short nod and set about making the room livable, at least for one night. She set her sack on a nearby chest and picked a candle from mantle. She lit the wick from the lamp in the hallway, and returned to coax a fire into life within the hearth. She pulled closed the drapes, shook out the linens on the bed, and sat down on it to unpack and repack her satchel.

She had stuffed items in there at random, not knowing what Hawke expected to find other than 'trouble.' She wanted to take the time, now that she had some, to repack it carefully and thoughtfully, with the items she was most likely to need towards the top—like healing potions, and the more potent or less useful items beneath—like the salve for burns. She also placed a few rolls of bandages at the very bottom, to help protect the bottles and jars from breaking. It wasn't any lighter or less cumbersome than before, but it was more efficiently packed.

"You were in my room."

The tone wasn't as accusatory as the words, but Hrodwynn gave a guilty start regardless. Fenris was standing in the open doorway, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest and an amused sort of smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. When she lifted her face towards him, however, his expression grew concerned. She watched, alarmed, as he pushed himself off the wall and stalked over to where she sat on the bed. She couldn't help the flinch this time as a gauntleted hand extended towards her.

He froze, confused by her reaction, his hand hanging in the space between them. He had taken longer than intended to find them some food, deciding he should use the opportunity to get a little extra air, clear his head, cool his blood. It had seemed to work; by the time he got back to the mansion his mind was focused once more, no longer distracted by images of emerald eyes and apple-red hair. Even when he came to her room and stood in the doorway, watching her finish tying her satchel closed, he felt collected, confident, even to the point of teasing her a little.

She had lifted her face at the sound of his voice, and he had seen the blood. He had to touch her, to make sure she was alright, to find out how she could have hurt herself in the short time he was gone. When she pulled away from him, when the apprehension flared in her eyes, he couldn't understand why she would fear him.

Then he noticed his metal-incased, taloned-tipped fingers. With a muttered curse, he pulled his hand away to remove the offensive item. "Forgive me. I forgot I was still wearing my gauntlets. But… what happened to you?"

She sniffed, watching him warily as his free hand pulled her to her feet. "What do you mean?" she asked, staring at lyrium-laced fingers, long and lean, reaching out to tentatively dab at her upper lip. She winced, feeling the bruise she hadn't noticed yet, and stared at the red staining the tips of his fingers as he pulled away. "I…" she sniffed again and wiped her upper lip on her sleeve, trying to get a look at how much blood was there, but the dark red fabric had been hiding the evidence. "Oh, bloody Void."

Hrodwynn grimaced, remembering her little mishap in the water closet. She must have broken the skin of her upper lip against the edge of the door.

He didn't speak again, but took her hand and led her into the hallway. The door to his room was open, a delicious aroma drifting out towards them, making her mouth water. "Is that," she paused to sniff, thankful she was able to do so despite the bruising and bleeding, "Chicken?" On the table was a lumpy satchel, the source of the smells. Her feet tried to go there despite his grip on her hand.

"We'll clean up your lip first," he steered her past the table towards the bench in front of the fire, "Then dinner."

She gave in, reluctantly, allowing him to set her on the bench. She even stayed put while he rummaged around for a clean towel and some water, though her eyes remained gazing at the table. She only looked away when he broke into her line of sight, sitting in front of her and taking hold of her chin, tilting her face towards the light from the fire so he could see better. "Well?" he prompted, dabbing gently at the half-dried blood around the small cut. "What happened?"

She risked a glance at his face, and saw only the same warmth and compassion, and mild curiosity, that was in his voice. Her cheeks continued to burn, however, as she sputtered some sort of explanation, while trying not to move her lips too much. "I, ah, went looking, for a room, and found the water closet, but it was dark, and when I turned to leave, the door was sort of there…" Her voice trailed away, deciding to leave out the part of her falling flat on her arse, or her fears about ghosts of shades and demons.

"Didn't I tell you not to use your face as a shield?" He meant it teasingly, and she gave a little tremble that might have been part laughter, but it wasn't quite. Fenris took a moment to study her carefully, noting the redness of her cheeks as well as the moisture from unshed tears clinging to her lashes. There was undoubtedly more to the story than she was telling, but seeing as how she was only a little hurt—and greatly embarrassed—over what actually happened, he decided to let the matter go. He finished cleaning up the blood and pointed towards the shelf in the corner. "There are some healing potions on that shelf. Just a sip should be enough."

"It's not that bad, is it?"

"It will be by morning," he predicted. He didn't wait for her acquiescence, but stood and headed back towards the table. He began removing items from the satchel and setting out their supper, confident that she would do what she had been told.

And she was going to do as she was told, but she couldn't help feeling a surly impulse to stick her tongue out at him. His back was to her, however, so he wouldn't have noticed it if she had acted childishly. Giving in she trudged tiredly over to the shelf, picked up one of the bottles of healing potions and uncorked it. She was about to take a sip when she spied the satchel. She had seen it earlier, and the strange lump inside it, but something new had attracted her attention… the lump was moving!

Fenris heard the bottle drop followed by a muffled shout, like a call for help stopped by a hand to the mouth. He was instantly alert, spinning and lunging towards her, expecting danger or trouble or slavers or…

…anything but what he found. She was standing with her hand over her own mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she struggled not to cry. He followed her gaze towards the bookshelf and an extra satchel he stored there, and finally understood when a brown furry head poked itself out of the opening. It was his kitten, the same one he had taken home after that night in the Hanged Man. He reached out to pick up the ball of fur, the animal purring loudly and gripping his fingers tight.

"I forgot, Cassia likes to hide and jump out at me. It's a game she plays. I should have warned you, but I had no idea she was hiding there."

Hrodwynn shook her head , somewhat in control of herself once more. "No, it's alright. May I?" she reached out for the kitten, and he willingly placed her in Hrodwynn's hands. She smiled, forgetting her tiredness and fright in the force of the kitten's purrs. "Hello, there! How are you? You look fit. Been finding a lot of mousies, have you?" she cooed, holding the kitten to her face.

"She's kept herself fed, whenever I've been unable to provide for her," Fenris admitted, picking up what was left of the healing potion. It would be enough for Hrodwynn's lip, but he'd give it to her later; the kitten was doing her more good than a potion could. "You were right; she's a very good mouser."

"Her mother's the best in Darktown."

"So you've claimed," he agreed dryly. "She's even shared her bounty with me on occasion."

She smiled privately at that, finally composed enough to meet his eyes over the top of the kitten's head. "She likes you."

Some sort of twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth, and for a moment his pale green eyes showed a little light of… something, something living and warm. "Indeed." He reached out to stroke the kitten's cheek, the purring increasing at his touch.

"What did you call her?"

"Cassia," he answered, leading them back to the table. He already had a small platter prepared for the kitten, which he set on the floor off to the side.

"Cassia," she repeated, allowing the kitten to squirm out of her grasp so she could get to her supper. "That's a beautiful name. What does it mean?"

He reached down to stroke the kitten, and she lifted her face from her little feast to acknowledge his attention. "It's a Tevene word for cinnamon. Her color reminded me of the spice, and she seems to like it."

If the thunderous vibrations were anything to go by, Hrodwynn believed him. She sat down at the table with a heavy thump. "I lost one of my kittens today."

He looked at her closely when she suddenly spoke, the words abrupt and harsh and full of emotion, and remembered she had said something similar earlier that evening. He saw her eyes try to fill with tears again, and the brave way she lifted her chin, as if daring him to mention the dampness. He allowed her what pride she could salvage, yet passed her the healing potion and asked, "What happened?"

She sniffed, though from suppressed tears this time, and took a sip before answering, "When those guards followed me home, and were searching for me, I hid in my loft over the clinic. I can lift the ladder up behind me and close the ceiling tile, and no one can tell I'm up there. Only I forgot to bring my kittens with me. They kept crying around where the ladder should be. And one of the guards saw them, and asked Anders if he could buy one, because his sister has a mouse problem in her shop."

"And Anders sold your kitten." He managed to put a lot of anger and contempt into the name. Now he understood why she was overly emotional tonight, and who had caused it.

"It's not like he had a choice, or any excuse to refuse the guard. He had to, before they figured out why the kittens were upset. Really it's my own fault for not remembering to take them with me…" She finally managed to stop the flow of words, but only because her emotions were choking her voice. She downed the rest of the bottle, hoping he would let the matter drop.

He didn't like the way she defended the man—the abomination—but considering she lived with him, or rather he had given her a place to sleep, Fenris supposed it was natural for her to feel some loyalty towards him. He dropped the subject, not wanting to cause her more upset tonight, but he promised himself he would find a way to discourage her from liking Anders, if only to save her from his insanity. But that would be for another time.

Hrodwynn had turned her attention to the food on the table. Her eyes locked onto the chicken which he'd already carved, the skin covered with rosemary and sage and a deep golden color that told her it had been cooked with lots of butter. There was also a small apple tart, three vegetable pasties which were quite cold, several rolls hardened from sitting out all day, and more than a few apples. She immediately grabbed a drumstick and took a bite, too hungry to wait for manners, and said around the mouthful, "Pretty lucky you found a shop open this late."

"The shop wasn't exactly open," Fenris reluctantly allowed.

"You stole it?" she asked. Already the healing potion was helping her to feel better, relaxing her and relieving her anxieties as it healed the small cut. "You. Fenris. You broke into a shop to steal some food."

Fenris held himself stiffly, his posture straight, his expression set with dignity. "I assure you, there was no breaking involved. Stealing, yes, but no breaking. When the owners arrive in the morning, there will be no sign I was there, other than some missing groceries."

"How'd you manage it?" she asked around a mouthful of pastie. "I can't help but to leave a scratch or two when picking a lock, and I'm good. I know what I'm doing. You're a fighter; you're not supposed to know how to pick a lock—unless there's more to you than I thought." She leaned forward and asked, "Are you a thief, too?"

Fenris thought for a moment that she might be teasing him, but remembering the potion she had just taken, he figured that was more likely to be affecting her actions. He set aside the roll he had been chewing to answer, "I used my special talent to reach inside the door and pick the lock."

"You mean," Hrodwynn paused to swallow the last bite of pastie, wanting to give him her full attention, "That thing you do, with your hand, the pushing it into a man's chest. You can do that with other things, like doors and locks?"

"Of course," he spoke like it should have been obvious.

"Oh, I thought… never mind." She dropped her gaze, going back to the chicken, picking at a large chunk of breast meat.

"What?"

"I only thought… I mean… that thing… what d'you call it?… your talent…" she glanced up at him, and saw he was watching her passively, not judgmental at all, simply waiting for her to come to a point. Feeling a little less silly, she found the courage to admit her ignorance, "I thought that you could only do it to people."

"I can do it to anything," he stated in a mild tone, "Animal, vegetable, or mineral." To prove his point, he passed his hand through the chicken and the table beneath it.

She watched the markings glow, the lyrium an eery blue-white that was stronger than the lamplight. She could also see other lines glowing, deep within his flesh, besides those on the surface of his skin. She could imagine the lyrium, running through his limbs like veins, some even going bone deep, or twisting between his organs. And he had admitted the markings hurt.

She got a little more of an insight into his existence than she wanted.

"What about your armor?" she asked, trying to distract herself. "How come, when you use your talent to pass through stuff, you don't pass through your own armor, too?"

"It was made specifically for me," Fenris responded. "Called Grafted Spirit Hide, it was infused with lyrium in a ritual similar to what I endured, so it phases through objects with me. Any other clothing or armor would fall away."

"Oh," she made the shape of the sound with her lips more than voiced it. "Still, that's a useful talent, I mean, picking a lock without leaving behind any scratches, just reaching in there and…" she made a little hooking motion with her fingers. "I'd love to team up with you sometime."

He could see her eyes were beginning to glaze, undoubtedly due to the healing potion. It had been too potent for her injury, leaving her dazed and talkative, though at least she had managed to eat something. "From what I gather, you do quite well without me." When she tilted her head, somewhat confused, he added, "The Siggerdson earlier today." He watched her cheeks fill with color yet again.

"Oh, that, well, I, ahem, that wasn't…"

"That wasn't you?" he finished, one jet black eyebrow lifting skeptically.

She knew he knew she had broken into the safe, but after the day she had, the elation she should be feeling after a successful job was perversely missing. Actually, everything was kind of removed and growing fuzzy around the edges. "Ah, well, yes, it was me. I did it. I broke into the Harbormaster's Office and picked the Siggerdson lock on his safe."

"I assume there was a reason?" he asked, curious despite his earlier resolve to keep out of her life, and keep her out of his.

"It's… rather complicated," she hedged. She left the chicken for him to finish and picked up an apple in her left hand. "I, ah, there are some people I work for. Very private people, so don't ask me any questions about them. And, yes, the work I do is illegal. So what? So's half the jobs in this city. I bet even Hawke's done a few illegal acts."

Fenris didn't comment, knowing the truth of her words.

"Anyway," for some stupid reason she couldn't stop talking, the words spilling out of her mouth, threatening to take every little secret of hers with them, "I was supposed to only open the safe, not take anything, make it look like I had just picked it when someone happened to 'discover' me in the act. I'd run, he'd give chase, but I'd get away."

"Only you didn't get away."

"No," she sighed, "I didn't. Got spotted by some guards other than the who'd been bribed to let me get away." She finished her apple, and disconsolately tossed the core onto her plate. "It was my own fault. I took too long, because I stopped to try to find something in the safe."

"What?"

She tried pressing her lips closed in an effort not to speak, but was still unable to help herself. "Something about a ship a few years back, I guess, some sort of name or date or… something. Doesn't matter. It was a stupid thing to try, anyway."

"Why?"

"Because I can't read! So even if I did find something, I wouldn't know it, would I? I'd just… I was hoping… I don't know!"

She pushed away from the table, feeling those tears returning, hating herself for how emotional and childish and… and… everything she acted. She wanted to run away, to get out of that room, away from him, away from the way she kept talking. Anders was nice and proper, never asking questions about her activities or her past, but Fenris kept asking and she kept answering and…

In her haste to leave the table, she had knocked it hard enough to rattle a few of the dishes. One bottle in particular fell to the floor, the healing potion, drawing her attention, and some of the fuzziness around her thoughts began to clear. She should have recognized the taste. It was a potent potion, meant for serious injuries. It also had the tendency to make a person talkative before knocking them out. She supposed it wouldn't normally matter for Fenris, who lived alone and therefore had no one to hear him talk. But she had taken the potion, and she was babbling, and she knew very soon she'd be asleep. Thankfully there hadn't been much left of it, but she should leave now for bed, or she might not make it. She truly intended to speak her excuses and leave, but Cassia took that moment to decide she wanted some more attention. With the kitten mewling at her ankle, she couldn't resist and scooped the warm little body up into her arms. Burying her face in her fur, a strange thought popped into her head.

Fenris' mind had been on a different tact entirely. After her little outburst, he had been sitting quietly, chastising himself for having thoughtlessly hurt her feelings. He knew how painful and awkward it could be, trying to make one's way in the world, unable to read. He could easily imagine her shame and embarrassment, as he shared it. He had gathered every single scrap of paper he could find in this mansion, saved and tucked them away in a chest, thinking that perhaps somewhere on one of the pages was a message or a note stating where Danarius had gone, or when he would return. And every time he spoke with Hawke, he tried to find the courage to admit his shortcomings, and find the strength to ask for his help.

And every single time, his throat would tighten and the words would dry up.

Yet he felt he could admit his illiteracy to her, if only because she shared it. She understood the shame, the awkwardness, the inhibitions. He truly meant to speak, to tell her he was also unable to read, to ease them past the uncomfortable moment.

But she spoke first. "Fenris, can I ask you a question?"

He blinked at her. She had started back towards the table, Cassia in her arms, her steps beginning to grow unsteady. The potion was having its final effect, and she would undoubtedly be asleep inside a few minutes. He stood to take the kitten from her before she dropped her, and answered, "Yes?"

"Are you… um… what's the word… bi…?"

He couldn't speak right away, unable to believe she was asking what she was asking. It was no doubt due to the potion, but he had no idea how to answer her. Or if he should answer her. Or what the answer would be. Instead he took her arm and steered her towards the door, stalling while he tried to think of what to say.

"Um… I can't think…" she murmured, more than willing to walk with him while her brain focused on muddling through what she was trying to ask, "It's… when you speak more than one language."

He stopped out in the hallway, but she continued for a few extra steps, not realizing he wasn't there. Three full seconds passed before he could find his voice. "Bilingual."

She twirled around to face him, gave a little smile and snapped her fingers. "That's the word. Bilingual. Are you bilingual?"

Again he took her by the arm, and again she didn't resist his guidance. "I, ah, yes, I've learned the common tongue spoken here in the Free Marches," he managed to maneuver her around the doorway and into her room, "But Tevene is my mother tongue."

She nodded, "It must be hard, trying to remember what language to speak. Is that why you say things like Benefaris? What does it mean, anyway, Benefaris?"

"It's merely a toast, a wish for health and good fortune."

"Benefaris," she repeated again, allowing him to set her down on her bed. "Then what does Venhedis mean?"

He coughed, making her lie down while he tugged off her boots. "It's… ah… a curse word… I'd rather not…"

She made a dismissive motion with her hand. "That's fine."

He pulled a blanket up around her shoulders, and tried to get away before the conversation got any more uncomfortable. He got as far as the doorway when he heard the bed creak behind him. "Hey, what's a good Tevinter name for a boy cat?"

He looked over his shoulder to see her, propped up on her elbows, blinking at his distant form. His only thought was to get away as quickly as possible, so he gave the first answer that came to mind, "Felinus."

"Felinus," she repeated, nodding to herself. "I like it. Felinus. I'll see if he likes it when I get back to the clinic. Thank you, Fenris. Good night." With a bemused little smile, she laid down on the bed and closed her eyes.

Fenris stood for a long while, half in the hallway and half in her room, watching her quickly drift off to sleep, wondering why he had given her a word that simply meant 'boy cat.'