A/N: sorry it's been so long since the last update, and I know I was supposed to have updated this before the end of the year. My only excuse is: I lost a lot of time spending the holidays being violently ill D:

But I'm back now, so let's get back to Fenris and Hrodwynn. Let's see, the last time we left them, they were in bed together…

Chapter Seventeen: Despite

Despite his best efforts, he dozed off.

Fenris woke with a blink, a small and silent movement. He didn't move right away, taking the time to assess his surroundings, sending his senses outwards to penetrate the entire room. He was not alone.

Obviously. Hrodwynn was where she had fallen asleep the night before, her head on his chest, her arm around his waist. Her weight was heavy and unresponsive, and he knew she remained in a deep and peaceful sleep despite the pale light of dawn slipping past the crack in the drapes. He also knew that would change, if she woke to find the two of them in bed together. She may or may not remember her nightmare last night, or tangling herself in the blanket and falling off the bed, or even the way she inarticulately communicated her need for companionship. But she would remember his hurtful actions over the past three years. One evening of kindness would not erase those sins.

It was getting harder and harder to remind himself that he didn't want to erase the hate. For her own good.

He did have to get up, however, and not just because he didn't want her to catch him. Carefully he eased her arm off of his waist, shifting his hips away and trying desperately to ignore the tightness in the front of his leggings. Free of her arm, he worked on sliding his chest out from beneath her head, slipping a pillow into his place. The bed creaked a little as he backed away and stood, never taking his eyes off of her, ensuring the blanket remained warm and snug across her shoulders. She hummed a little, but her eyes stayed closed, her features at peace, and he knew she was still asleep.

His cat, Cassia, had given up her protective perch sometime during the night, probably after Hrodwynn's nightmare, and was currently nowhere to be seen. He didn't worry about her, knowing she had full run of the mansion, and of the mice that liked to roam in the unused rooms. He left her to her own devices, and focused on his own, pressing needs. He set aside a couple of leftover pasties to warm by the fire, before he padded out of the bedchamber.

He made it to the water closet at the end of the hall and entered with a sigh of relief. He belatedly remembered to close the door behind him, in case Hrodwynn woke up and came looking for him. It wouldn't do, to have her walk in on him while he was indisposed. Last night, he had come to the conclusion that a lot of his habits were going to have to change—and not just leaving the doors open to private areas. After she'd first fallen asleep, he had taken the opportunity to clean his armor, leaving it to hang here in the water closet. He had gotten almost all the way back to the bedchamber before realizing he wasn't wearing anything. At all. Not something he normally concerned himself with, as he was the only one living in the mansion and he rarely if ever had visitors, but if Hrodwynn was going to be staying with him for any length of time…

Lucky for him, his grafted spirit hide armor was easy to clean and dried quickly, allowing him to wear his leggings—at least—last night.

Still, he didn't fool himself. He had tried to, yesterday, thinking about selfishly indulging in the forbidden dream while he had the perfect alibi, allowing himself to care—to love—without putting her in any danger or creating within her any reciprocating feelings. But he realized this morning, in the full light of day and with a fuller bladder, that there could never be anything between himself and Hrodwynn.

Despite the obvious fact that he wanted it.

"Venhedis," he swore softly, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing a fist against the wall. This was difficult, getting control of his emotions—of his body—even just long enough to take a piss.

He managed it for the most part, despite the morning wood, though it had taken longer than warranted. He grabbed his tunic from where it had been hanging all night and left the chamber, his thoughts on breakfast and wondering if he should wake Hrodwynn or let her sleep. Suddenly he heard the sound of the front door opening. He backtracked a few paces and twisted until he could see down the stairs. He didn't fear an attack, not at this time of day and not so boldly from the front entrance, but he didn't know who would be visiting him. Not until he heard the practiced, pouty and petulant tones of Isabela.

"I can see your feet on the landing, Fenris. Come down here and take this greatsword off of my hands."

"Good morning, Isabela," he acknowledged, sounding almost cheerful as he shrugged into his tunic. He didn't bother to fasten it closed as he strode down the stairs. "What brings you here so early in the morning."

"Just what I said," she grunted as she thumped the heavy sword against the railing. Immediately it teetered, as if moving in slow motion, threatening to crash to the floor.

With reflexes honed from years of danger and hardship, Fenris skipped the last few steps and jumped over the railing after the sword. It smacked into an old dusty table, the struck metal ringing loudly in the empty mansion. His fingers wrapped around the hilt, catching it on the rebound, wrestling it upright and keeping it from making any more noise.

Isabela went on as if a near catastrophe had never happened. She sauntered away, calling back to him over her shoulder as she did so. "I got tired of staring at that thing. At the tavern. In my room." She sounded cross, but the pout on her lips was insincere.

Fenris wasn't impressed by her act, though he decided to remain cautious until he knew what she was after. "Thank you for bringing this by," he effortlessly lifted the greatsword and set it down more securely across top of the table before turning back to her. "I know I should have picked it up last night, but I had my hands full with Hrodwynn. I was going to collect it today when she and I returned to the Hanged Man."

She gave up the pout to smirk, taking the time to get a better look at the opened front of his tunic, and at the bulge in his leggings that had remained despite his hardest efforts. Her eyes swept back up to his face, but he refused to allow any sign of guilt to mar his features. "It's alright. I was just in the neighborhood, and thought I would save you a trip."

"Bull shit."

She laughed, dark and sultry, neither one of them fooled.

"Alright," she sighed, her bosom moving provocatively, her eyes sparkling with dark and private enjoyment, "Let's say, I thought I'd stop by and see how your babysitting job was going. She is such an innocent child…"

"She's not an innocent chi…" he defended, not seeing the trap in time.

"Oh, she's no longer innocent, is she? That was fast." She tsked her tongue, wagging a finger beneath his nose. "And what will Anders say, when I tell him you deflowered his little Wynnie?"

Fenris let out a low growl, playful, sensing Isabela was only teasing, but her words hit closer to the truth—to his secret desires—than he wanted to admit. He had to distract her, before she got it in her head and started goading him—or Hrodwynn—mercilessly. Luckily, he knew exactly how to do that. In half a heartbeat he was right in front of her, taking hold of her upper arms roughly, adding a little shake that tilted her head back invitingly. He bypassed the full and rosy lips in favor of the vein throbbing on her neck.

Her skin was smooth and firm, warmed by her heated blood, and with a hint of salt that reminded him of the sea, something he always found laden with unsavory undertones. He buried his nose in her hair, caught up within her brightly colored scarf, and discovered an undercurrent of embrium. Much better, something lightly floral and surprisingly feminine, reminding him of a sunlit summer meadow.

When he pulled back, her cheeks were slightly flushed. "Not the response I expected," she grudgingly admitted, feeling how her body responded so readily to his rough and tender treatment. She had come all the way here to satisfy her curiosity, however, and wasn't about to allow herself to get distracted… yet. "This little job must be more trying than one would think."

"You simply cannot imagine," he answered honestly, leaning forwards once more, trying to distract her with more suggestions of sex.

"Ah," she patted his cheek, a little placatingly, freezing him mid motion, "My poor baby. Where is she, by the way?" Her eyes scanned the room as she turned away.

"Upstairs," he let her go with only a token amount of resistance. He wanted her to think he was interested in her, but not that he was desperate or feeling frustration over Hrodwynn. The less she suspected that he had feelings for Hrodwynn, the less trouble—or embarrassment—she could cause him—them. Venhedis, this was getting complicated. "Still asleep."

Isabela idly walked across the main hall, her hips swaying as if she was on the deck of a ship. She stopped when she reached an old dresser sitting against the wall. Resting her backside against the piece of furniture, she hummed, a sound that was more growl than purr, "So, essentially we're alone then?"

She was playing a game of hot and cold, of cat and mouse, of acting inviting before turning him down. "For all intents," he couldn't help the way his voice sounded hoarse and gravely and slightly out of breath, "And… purposes." He deliberately started for her, his hands out at his sides as if he was trying to catch a stray cat.

She laughed, low and soft and far more masculine than her bosom would suggest. "Oh, I am tempted. But," she slipped past him before he could put his hands on her, "You and Hrodwynn are supposed to be an item, and I wouldn't want to be the one who blew your cover. Or hers. I do like her."

"We all do," he agreed, wondering whether or not he should give chase again. Her body and actions kept saying she wanted him to pursue her, but her mouth and words kept bringing up Hrodwynn. Isabela wasn't usually this confusing, frustrating yes, a damnable tease always, but not contrary and confusing.

"Don't lie to me," she spun on her heeled boots, shaking that finger at him again. All teasing had been set aside, her expression serious, her tone stern. "I know how you feel about her; we ALL know how you feel about her."

Venhedis, he swore to himself yet again, resisting the urge to swallow guiltily. If she knew how he felt… if she wasn't teasing him… He began to wonder where he had misstepped, how he could have allowed his true feelings to show. "You… do?"

She crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom. "Of course, you've made your feelings towards her plain enough over the past couple of years, with the way you treat her so poorly. But you can't let that interfere now."

He stopped. Apparently she didn't know how he truly felt towards Hrodwynn. Before he could register the feeling of relief, her words continued.

"Too much is at stake. Even if you care nothing for Hrodwynn, even if you'd rather see her dead, you have to keep up appearances—for Hawke's sake. I know you feel something towards him," she sidled up to him, since he was currently frozen with indecision and shock, "Or, you did, once."

She slipped her hands inside his tunic. The burn of her touch against his chest, his markings, knocked him out of his stupor. With lightening fast reflexes he grabbed her wrists, not to pull her off of him, but to keep her fingers from wandering further. "I still do," he admitted, back to teasing now that he'd determined there was no danger of Isabela discovering the truth. He waited for her surprised expression before clarifying, "Friendship."

She laughed again. "Fair enough."

"Who put you up to this?"

She tried to widen her eyes innocently, but he only tightened his grip on her wrists. The strength in his fingers teetered on the edge where pain could be enjoyable, and where it could not. Isabela moved closer to him, pressing her front against his, trapping their hands between them, trapping the bulge in his leggings against her groin. She was again distracting him, but he didn't rise to the bait. He leaned forwards as if he was going to kiss her, but instead repeated his question, "Who put you up to this?"

She pouted, disappointed she couldn't throw him off the scent, and answered, "Merril. After Varric explained to us all last night why the two of you were pretending to be together, Merril got a little… agitated. She, too, knows how cruel you can be, in both words and actions. She's faced your ire regularly enough."

Fenris was immune to the sting of the reprimand, sure of his convictions in ways others refused to even consider. "Merril boldly embraces blood magic…"

"We're not talking about Merril right now," she reminded him, not wanting to get off subject. She knew she shouldn't have brought up Merril, but he had asked. She pouted again, despite knowing that their little game wasn't going anywhere, and continued. "We're talking about Hrodwynn. Though I suppose there's very little difference in your eyes. What did happen, by the way, that put you off to her? I thought, at one point, you might have liked her. Was it because she threw you over for Carver?"

It was a sore topic, and Carver had been involved, though not in the way she supposed. He didn't want to admit to it, however, not to Isabela, not if he couldn't even admit it to the woman in question. So he borrowed a page from Hawke's book and lied. "I never liked her, not the way you're insinuating. She was cute, yes, but in a childish manner. It was so sweet, it made my teeth ache."

Unknown to either of them, they had an audience.

A few moments earlier, when the greatsword had struck the table, the noise had been loud enough to carry upstairs.

Hrodwynn had been dreaming, a dark and indistinct dream, something where her body felt like it was in two sections, the top half free though lost within a deep darkness, the bottom half tangled and held fast. She thought she was back at the abandoned wharf, her head and shoulders slipping into the sewer opening, and the entanglement around her legs was from Fenris trying desperately to keep her from falling. When Fenris' greatsword had fallen downstairs, the loud clang crashed into her dream, sounding like the sewer grating falling on her waist, cutting her in two, slicing her from Fenris' rescuing hands…

She woke with a start, sitting up in bed, her arms flailing at nothing while her legs seemed to be held fast. A soft cry escaped her lips as she looked around, blinking away the nightmare in the brunt of the morning light. Despite the adrenaline that still coursed through her veins, despite the fact that she found herself in Fenris' bedchamber—in his bed!—despite the restrictions around her lower extremities, she felt relief for one very simple reason. She was alone. The evil elf who had been tormenting her for years was no where to be seen.

Hrodwynn took a deep, shaky breath. The anxieties from the dream faded further as she saw her legs were only tangled in the blankets, not within Fenris' grasp. And the noise that had woken her, that had penetrated her somnolent vision and sliced through her ethereal form, had died away and was now unremembered. She threw back the blankets and pushed herself out of bed, hunting around for her boots while she began to plan her day.

Despite all she had been through yesterday, despite all the emotional upheaval over her near brush with death, despite all the food Anders had pushed on her, her stomach growled with emptiness. Her first concern, after finding her boots, would be to fill that void. She smiled to herself, amazed that she could still be hungry, as she shoved her feet inside. Then the smell hit her, a timid wafting of savory and pastry, and her eyes hunted the room for the source of the delicious smell.

There, in front of the hearth, as if in answer to her needs before she had known of them herself, were a couple of pasties. Briefly she wondered if Fenris had set them out purposefully for her, knowing she'd be ravenous this morning, trying to anticipate her needs. She knew it had to have been him; there was no one else who could have set them beside the fire to warm. But, then again, he would probably be hungry as well, so it was safe to assume he had set them there to warm for himself as much as for her benefit.

Adversely feeling better believing that he had done it for himself and not just for her, she picked up the pair of pasties and started for the door. After all, if he had warmed the food for both of them, the least she could do would be to bring him one, wherever he had disappeared.

Out in the hallway, she caught her first sound of the voices. The tones were dark and playful, male and female, sounding like they were acting out some sort of ritual. She crept over to the stairs, curious and nervous, wanting to know who was there but not wanting to interrupt. At the top of the stairs, Isabela's voice became discernible, though most of the words remained indistinct. Hrodwynn caught one or two words here and there, something about a woman and Carver. Fenris' voice, however, carried better, perhaps on a lower frequency, the gravely tone somehow easier to understand than Isabela's sultry and pouty lilt. Halfway down the stairs, she paused to listen, spying the two of them standing on the other side of the main hall.

"I never liked her, not the way you're insinuating. She was cute, yes, but in a childish manner. It was so sweet, it made my teeth ache."

Hrodwynn might have been blushing when she realized Isabela was talking about her and Carver, but she turned positively livid at the way Fenris so readily dismissed her as being… childish? Her? Childish? Sweet? Cute? The heat in her cheeks turned from slight embarrassment to full ire. Too easily the memories came to mind, of Hawke taunting her, calling it a babysitting chore every time he had to take her with on a job. She had never realized that Fenris had felt the same way, but in looking back now she supposed it made sense. The way he used to hold her hand wasn't out of some silent acknowledgement of friendship; it was more as if he was leading a small child down a busy street and didn't want to lose her.

Babysitting. Childish. Cute.

The impulse to throw one of the pasties at the back of his head was almost too strong to ignore. She might have indulged herself, if reason hadn't prevailed, telling her that such an act would only reinforce his impression of her. The bloody git!

She had missed the next few moments of the conversation, but she didn't think she would have wanted to hear it anyway. Instead she cleared her throat and resumed her steps, making sure her boots made enough noise to announce her presence, encouraging them both to shut it.

"Good morning, Hrodwynn," Isabela called out to her, lifting her eyes over Fenris' shoulder. Her voice was entirely too cheerful and bright for the morning.

He strongly resisted the impulse to spin on his heels or give a guilty start, instead slowly turning around. He meant to include Hrodwynn, now that she was awake, giving him the perfect excuse to change the topic of conversation. Not that he didn't like the sexual nuances between himself and Isabela, but it was obvious that it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Isabela must have also had the same thought. She sauntered away from him, letting him catch a glimpse of the way the corner of her mouth curled just a little, before she continued to talk with Hrodwynn. "Did you sleep well? I came by, wanting to make sure you were alright after your ordeal yesterday. And to make sure that someone," she stressed the word, thumbing over her shoulder at said elf, "Didn't take advantage of your distressed state."

Hrodwynn wasn't sure if she meant Fenris might have killed her, or something else. "I'm fine, Isabela," she refused to look at him. There was something about last night, something that nagged at the back of her mind, but it was fuzzy and indistinct and refused to become clear. Yet that notion told her he had done something to her, something… considerate? Thoughtful? Nice? She shook it off and extended one of her hands. "Pastry?"

Hrodwynn knew full well that there had been only two pastries set out to warm by the fire, and undoubtedly one of them should go to Fenris, especially by the way his eyes locked on to the end of her outstretched arm. Yet she deliberately took a bite of the one while offering the other to Isabela.

The lady pirate shook her head. "No thanks. I've already had breakfast. Coming to the Hanged Man later?"

"Of course," Hrodwynn mumbled around a mouthful of pastry. She should have left them to warm a little longer, judging by the way the bits of food inside were cooler than the gravy. But she was hungry, and briefly thought about taking a bite out of the second pastry, purely out of spite. "Still have to help Hawke with that secret passage he wants."

"Ah, yes, he and Anders were supposed to come by here this morning, weren't they?"

"Any moment now," Fenris agreed, trying to get into the conversation before Isabela managed to bring up anything embarrassing or teasing that would put him in even more hot water with Hrodwynn. He didn't know why, but he could tell she was already mad at him this morning. Not that it should matter to him, he tried to remind himself, but he rather hoped he could snag that second pastry from her hands before she devoured it, too. Cautiously he started his approach.

"Anders was going to bring Felinus, too." She finished off her pastry, licking the tips of her fingers for any crumbs or gravy she might have missed.

"Felinus?" Isabela asked, sounding a little confused, not ever having really paid attention to all of Hrodwynn's stories.

"Her cat," Fenris answered. His fingers wrapped around the pastry, and Hrodwynn's fingers. She looked at him sharply, her eyes narrowing briefly, but seeing that he was only after his breakfast, she decided to let him have it.

"You shouldn't tease a tiger," Isabela mumbled.

"What was that?" Hrodwynn asked, not having quite heard her.

"I said, you shouldn't have long to wait, then. I don't think I need to hang around, not if they'll be here soon."

"You don't have to leave on my account," Hrodwynn protested. "You and Fenris sounded like you were having a, um, personal conversation."

Isabela laughed. "Oh, my dear girl, you have no idea…" Her ample bosom sighed. "No, I only came by this morning to make sure you were alright. And I think I can leave, knowing you won't be unsupervised for too long. At least," she glanced down at Fenris' groin, at the bulge that remained, "Not long enough for any damage to be done."

He refused to let the heat steal across his cheeks.

"Fenris isn't going to hurt me," Hrodwynn assured her, completely missing the sexual implication, "Not while Hawke needs me to find out why the Coterie is after him, at any rate."

"Then I'll see you two later," Isabela beamed at the elf, knowing the discomfort she was causing even if he wouldn't show it, "At the Hanged Man. Goodbye, Hrodwynn." She leered at Fenris one last time, her eyes sweeping the whole of him, from his mussed hair to his open tunic to his obscene bulge to his toes gripping the floorboards. "Fenris."

Hrodwynn waved in answer, walking off a pace or two, not wanting to watch Isabela leave. That woman could make her body do the most convolutional motions, almost to the point where Hrodwynn was sure she should teeter off balance and fall flat on her face. Yet she always kept her feet. Grudgingly she admitted, that might be why Isabela walked that way, to hold every man's attention, making them think she just might fall, and they would have to race up and catch her. Curious, she peeked over her shoulder. Unsurprisingly, Fenris was intently watching Isabela leave, his eyes glued to her swaying form. The bloody git!

The front door closed and he finally turned to face her, catching her staring at him with narrowed eyes. She cleared her throat, thinking she should say something. "Look, er, I'm sorry, I really am, that this whole pretend-relationship-thing is cutting into your personal life." Not really, she added to herself, but he didn't need to hear that. In fact, he probably didn't care to hear any of this, but the words kept vomiting out of her mouth. "I mean, I saw, the other day, you and Isabela, um," she waggled her fingers as if they could convey more meaning than her words, "You know, coming out of her room, kissing and, er, all that touching." Damn, but her cheeks were beginning to feel hot. She should stop talking, she really should. "I realize that the two of you have this thing going, and with the timing and all of my troubles, it's got to be inconvenient for the two of you, and I just wanted to you to know, I never meant to interfere, with the two of you, um, you know…" Again with the fuckingly stupid hand motions.

"Are you…" he paused to swallow, halfway through his pastry, "Are you…?"

"I'm apologizing," she ground out between her teeth.

"I was going to say, jealous," he countered with a nonchalant shrug, followed by a disinterested bite at his breakfast.

"You…!" The heat flooded her cheeks once more, and this time it would not be denied. "You fucking bastard!"

"Language," he chided her.

"I'm trying to be nice," she continued, "I'm trying to apologize for the mess I'm making of your sex life, and you just…" she thrust her hand towards him as if presenting him to an eager crowd, "…stand there chewing…" her fingers wiggled and waggled, "…like you're some fucking lord of the manor…"

"There's nothing between Isabela and I."

She went on at first as if she hadn't heard him. "…like you've been expecting my apology, like of course I should apologize for…" she finally sputtered to a halt. "What?!"

"Oh, I admit, Isabela is a nice change," he took his final bite of pastry, chewing slowly and enjoying the look of incredulous rage on her face. Venhedis, but she was beautiful when she was angry, the way her eyes glittered like emeralds, her cheeks flushed with life, her Agreggio Pavali lips hung open and inviting. "She has certain… shall we say, appetites… that keep matters interesting. They definitely ward off the boredom. But I do not care for her, not they way you are implying. It is only sex."

Her expression changed, the anger dissipating and being replaced by something else, something strong, something that made her blush turn green. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Stop acting like a child," he snipped at her. "Just because I sleep with someone, does not mean I love her. You should understand that."

He took his eyes off of her, now that his breakfast was finished, and began closing the front of his tunic, his concentration on the fastenings, so he missed the deadly turn her expression was taking. "What are you saying?"

He also should have paid attention to the tone in her voice, but he continued to allow his focus to remain elsewhere. "You and Carver. I know you didn't love him; you told me so yourself, right after his death in fact." He should have stopped talking, he should have looked up at her face, but instead he brushed crumbs off the front of his tunic, frowning at spot he had missed cleaning last night. "Yet the two of you were sleeping together. Surely, you can't think that's any different than Isabela and I sleeping together. At least we both know there's no love involved. Carver never learned the truth, did he?"

"You… you…" she shook her head, unable to find the words, but he wouldn't stop.

"Besides, what Carver did was truly immoral. At least Isabela and I are two consenting adults. You were still a child when Carver slept with you. What did that make him, hm?"

He finally glanced at her, but it was too late. The sound of her hand slapping his face was just as loud as the sound his greatsword had made earlier that morning. Instinctively his head turned with the blow, bleeding off some of the force, but not enough to prevent the blood from rushing to the surface of his cheek, forming a perfect, Hrodwynn-sized handprint.

Slowly he brought his face back to hers, his green eyes dead, his ebony brows flat. He was half a heartbeat away from striking her back, from grabbing her shoulders and shaking her hard. But he knew, if he did that, he wouldn't stop there. If he touched her, if he took hold of her, he'd have to continue. He'd have to yank her body towards his, hold her fast, crush her mouth beneath his lips, force his way into all her secret places.

"You bastard," she whispered, yet the words were so fierce she might have been shouting. "You have no idea. You have no fucking idea! Carver and I never—NEVER!—did that. He was a perfect gentleman, unlike some people I know."

One of those ebony brows twitched, lifting just a little bit with disbelief.

"He never… we never…" she hugged her arms, as if trying to offer herself some comfort, a soothing balm against the deeply painful memories she was unveiling for Fenris' scrutiny. Yet despite the anguish, she felt compelled to defend Carver's good name. "I wanted to. I felt I was ready, and old enough. But Carver… he wanted to wait, wait until we were sure I was an adult. He wanted things to be perfect for us, to be just right. Sure, we kissed, and messed around a little, but he never… we never did… that…"

A tear escaped, a single salty drop that held every pain, every regret, every lost opportunity. It would be the only tear she shed that day.

"Ferelden!" he suddenly exclaimed, the stinging on his cheek forgotten in the face of the realization. He ignored the shocked look on her face, too absorbed in his discovery, trying hard not to laugh over the absurdity. "Every time he said he wanted to take you to visit Ferelden, he really meant…"

"Shut it!"

She meant to slap him again, to hit him so hard it would knock that smugly triumphant expression right off his face, but he was prepared for her this time. His fingers gripped her like a vise, holding her wrist tight enough to bruise. When her other hand came up, thinking to attack him from the other side, he caught that one as well. She couldn't retaliate, she could only stand there and stare and hate and bide her time.

Despite the danger, despite the razor thin line he was dancing between anger and arousal, he bent her arms, leveraging her body closer towards his, his face leaning in near enough to brush her lips with his breath. "You're still a virgin, aren't you."

Despite the truth to that statement, she knew what that lump was that she could feel through the tight leather of his leggings. It wouldn't be too hard or even all that awkward of an angle for her to strike him with the top of her thigh, swift and sure. Who knows, she might even hit him with enough force to raise his voice an octave or more out of that gravely pit he usually spoke.

"Fenris! Wynnie!" a pair of voices called out, even before the front door finished opening, with Hawke adding, "It's us. Hawke and Anders."

"And Felinus," Anders finished, knowing that would get Hrodwynn's attention, and make her feel better despite whatever kind of morning she had been having. And he was sure she was having a bad morning, for the simple fact that she was stuck with that moral-less, self-serving, ignorant and close-minded elf!

By the time the two newcomers passed through the foyer into the main hall, Fenris and Hrodwynn had managed to disengage and put a good six feet of daylight between them. Hawke wasn't fooled, noting the redness in her eyes, as well as the redness on his cheek. Like his namesake, he watched intently as Fenris started moving towards the stairs, and as Hrodwynn sniffed and started for them. "Felinus!" she cried, trying to sound happy as she reached for the gangly cat clawing his way out of Anders' grasp.

"Wynnie?" Anders noted the moisture in her eyes when she got closer, and immediately assumed the worst, which wasn't too far off the truth. A gentle hand touched her cheek, but she refused to lift her eyes to his. "Are you alright? Did he…"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice subdued, her face buried in the fur of her cat. "Everything's fine, now that you're here."

Felinus gave a loud purr of agreement.

"What…"

"Anders, love," Hawke touched his arm, which was securely wrapped around Hrodwynn's shoulders, "I'd like to get to the Hanged Man before lunch, if possible. Why don't you and Hrodwynn make sure Felinus likes his new home? I'm sure there's lots of, er, cat-things one needs to do to feel comfortable in a new environment. There certainly was last night with Mr. Snuggles."

Now it was Anders' turn to sniff. "That's because you have a dog."

"Mabari."

"Whatever," he waved off the difference. "Felinus—I'm sure—will be fine in his new home. His sister lives here, after all, doesn't she? Or was she eaten one night after her new owner couldn't be bothered to make a run to the grocer?"

"She's around, somewhere," Hrodwynn interrupted. The last thing she wanted right then was yet another altercation between Fenris and Anders. Not for Fenris' sake, certainly, but for Anders' sake; the deadly look in Fenris' eyes right after she had slapped him was still fresh in her mind's eye, and she didn't want that ire directed at her friend. "I saw her just last night. Sat on my lap and purred like we'd seen each other the day before. So, did Hawke's dog not get along with Mr. Snuggles?" She grabbed Anders and started leading him towards the disused kitchen where she was sure she would find the other cat, Cassia.

"Mabari," Hawke paused on the stairs to correct her. Quickly he noted that Hrodwynn and Anders were already deep in conversation, and well on their way in their search for Cassia. He shook his head and let them be, knowing he had enough on his plate at that moment. He finished climbing the stairs and tracked Fenris down by the sounds of armor clinking coming from the water closet.

Hawke leaned against the frame of the doorway, knowing he had been noticed even if the elf didn't turn around. He stood for a moment and watched Fenris put his armor on, tightening straps and fastening buckles with long-practiced ease. When he didn't speak, Hawke sighed and scratched at the back of his head. "One bloody night, Fenris. You couldn't be civil for one Maker-damned night!"

"I was civil," he growled, low and dangerous, securing his belt around his hips, "She was the one who slapped me."

"I'm sure she had her reasons." When Fenris didn't respond, Hawke knew he was right. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut tight, not wanting to deal with this but knowing he had to—he was the only one who could, thanks to Varric's brilliant plan. "Bloody shite, what did you say to her?"

Fenris didn't want to admit it, couldn't, not to Hawke, not where Carver was concerned. It may have been three years ago, but he knew Hawke still felt an emptiness at his side, a hole in his heart, a lack of an annoying little brother tag-along. "It doesn't matter."

"Fenris…"

"It doesn't matter," he repeated. Finished with the last of his armor, he turned and faced Hawke fully. "We had a bit of a misunderstanding, exchanged a few words, she slapped my face. That was when you and Anders arrived. Now it's over. Leave it be."

Hawke wouldn't move from the doorway, not even when Fenris approached with enough momentum that it appeared he wasn't about to stop. He did, though it was only a fraction of an inch from hitting Hawke. "I wish I could," Hawke said softly, his amber eyes searching Fenris' face, "But too much is riding on this. Her life. Anders' life. My life. My mother's life, for Andraste's sake!" He leaned in even closer until he felt Fenris suppress the impulse to pull back. "The Coterie threatened my mum. I won't let them get away with that. I can't. I've lost too much family already." He pulled back, a little, but enough to let Fenris catch his breath. "I don't know how I can stress this enough. I NEED Hrodwynn. I need her whole and healthy and on good terms with this Brekker character. I need YOU to help her get back into their good graces. Please, Fenris, I'm begging you," his amber eyes pleaded, "Help me. All you have to do, is be nice to the girl. How hard can it be?"

"You know," he moaned softly, unable to meet those imploring amber orbs, "You know how hard it is… how dangerous… my past… it could come back at any time… she could get hurt…"

"It's been three years, Fenris," Hawke rolled his eyes. "Danarius has given you up. Cut his losses. Moved on. You should, too. Besides, whatever dangers you imagine your future might hold, is nothing compared to the dangers her present holds. All our presents." He stepped out of Fenris' path. "We should get going. The morning's already half past, and I do want to get to the Hanged Man before lunch."

"Hawke, I…" His steps stopped, his head turned, his eyes lifted to Hawke's face. "I will do better."

"See that you do," he scolded, not willing to take Fenris at his word. He started down the stairs and let the elf catch up on his own.


"It's Coterie," Hrodwynn confirmed their worst fears. "Not Jaxon, certainly, I don't think he'll come for me with Fenris around. But the large woman across the street standing in front of the alley, she's one of Brekker's men, er, women."

"Fuck," Anders breathed. They had just left the area near the clinic, where Hawke wanted to put in the entrance for the secret passage, and were heading towards the Hanged Man. He and Hawke walked shoulder-to-shoulder, and instinctively his hand sought out Hawke's, fingertips lightly brushing skin, searching timidly for comfort.

"It'll be alright, Anders," she tried to assure him, seeing the gesture as she and Fenris walked behind them. "I won't be hurt, not as long as Brekker thinks he can use me. Besides, Jaxon's the one to watch out for, and he's not here. Go on to the Hanged Man and order me a pint; I'll be there before you know it."

"We shouldn't keep them waiting," Fenris spoke his first words since they left his mansion.

"You don't have to come…" Hrodwynn was more than willing to start a fight, but found her words drowned out by Hawke's quiet yet commanding tone.

"Anders, love, don't turn around," Hawke took his elbow, preventing him from turning around and adding his two coppers worth, "We have to pretend we don't see the Coterie thug. Hrodwynn, Fenris is right, you shouldn't keep them waiting; and he is going with you. Fenris, we're counting on you to keep her safe. We'll meet up again at the Hanged Man. Now, go."

He hastened their steps just a bit, just enough to put a little distance between them, to allow Fenris and Hrodwynn to fall back and slip away that much easier.

"Hawke…" Anders started and stopped, his voice quiet. His strawberry blond hair hung forwards over his stubbled cheek as he stared at the ground passing beneath their feet. "Hawke, please, tell me she'll be alright. Tell me everything will be alright."

Hawke took a deep breath, hating himself before he spoke what felt like a lie, "Everything will be alright."

Hrodwynn and Fenris did their best, dropping back slowly, waiting until the two in front turned a corner before doubling back into a doorway. "I am serious, Fenris, I don't need a babysitter." She pushed dark red hair out of her eyes, feeling angry and tired and trapped.

"You did yesterday," he reminded her.

"I only got hurt yesterday because you showed up," she countered.

"Hrodwynn," he grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face him. He could see she was on her guard, the defensive wall in place once more, and two heartbeats away from kicking him in the groin. He softened his harsh and gravely voice as he tried again, "Hrodwynn, whatever it is between us, it's complicated."

"There's nothing between us," she hissed quietly. "And careful, she's coming."

"Then let's not argue, not right now."

"For once, we agree." She brushed his hand off of one shoulder and slipped around him. She looked straight at the thug who had been watching them and was now walking up to where they were standing. Hrodwynn put on her spunkiest smile and asked, "You here for me?"

The large woman narrowed her eyes as she came to a stop, but didn't answer.

"As talkative as ever," Hrodwynn quipped under her breath. "Well, I know it would be stupid to try to run off, so, if you'd care to lead the way…"

"I'm coming as well," Fenris took hold of her hand.

The thug turned her silent gaze onto him.

"Fenris," Hrodwynn growled warningly.

"No," he tightened his grip on her hand, turning his side towards the thug to face her fully. "I let you go off yesterday, on your own, and you were nearly killed. Whatever is going on, whatever trouble you're in, we'll face it. Together. I…" he had to take a moment to clear his throat, "I love you. I can't bear to see you hurt."

It was true. It was entirely true. And it would probably be the closest he would ever come to saying it. He cupped her cheek with his other hand, mostly to hide her surprised expression from the thug's discerning sight, but partly to satisfy the desire to touch her.

Hrodwynn had to take a moment, had to remind herself that Fenris was lying, playing a part, pretending to care for her… But, damn him, he almost convinced her that he did love her! She got herself under control, put a gentle smile on her face, and reached up to pull his hand away. Then she looked at the thug, who had been standing impassive the whole time, and asked, "Any objections if he comes along?"

The large woman stared at her, simply stood there and stared, doing her best impression of a wooden post.

"You'll have to forgive Bernice," a masculine voice sounded from the side. Hrodwynn jumped, startled, and found herself leaning into Fenris. He in turn moved slowly, deliberately, placing Hrodwynn behind him and to the side, carefully protected between himself and the doorway. "She's not known for her elocution."

"Brekker," Hrodwynn confirmed Fenris' suspicions on the identity of the newcomer. "This is unusual."

"You mean, meeting out here in the street, instead of some secluded alley or deserted building?" he smiled knowingly at her. "Your, er, friend here forced me to take certain precautions. I figured it would be harder for him to gain the upper hand in the middle of a crowd; using his 'special talent' would cause too much of a scene out in the open."

Fenris' glare was deadly, and spiteful, knowing Brekker was right.

"You did surprise me, Wynnie," Brekker continued, coming up to stand beside them both, "I was under the impression that your reluctance for my little job was due to certain reasons on someone else's part. I had no idea it was because you took a knife ear lover."

Hrodwynn tensed when he used her nickname, but she could still feel Fenris tense when he used the racial slur. A soft, bluish-white glow rippled over his skin, flowing from head to toe before it dimmed. Brekker was right, Fenris couldn't use his lyrium markings, not without attracting too much attention—even the brain-dead people of Darktown would have to notice a glowing elf. She was hard pressed to hide the smile, however, when Fenris' hand slipped to his belt and drew a dagger.

"I don't have to put my fist through your chest to kill you," he grumbled, allowing the blade to be seen.

"Point taken," Brekker backed off a step. "Let's keep this civil, shall we?"

"I suppose we could," she agreed, putting a hand on Fenris' arm and signaling him to back down, "Since you didn't bring Jaxon with."

Brekker laughed. "You two really hate each other, don't you. Doesn't matter," he clapped his hands and made a motion, as if dusting them off, changing the topic of conversation, "I want to talk with you about another little job I have for you. For… both of you, in fact."

"Leave him out of this," she warned, but Brekker was unimpressed.

"I think not." Brekker took a moment to glance up and down the street, his eyes searching. He was uncomfortable standing there, out in the open, and trying hard not to show it. "The two of you are lovers, after all, and I have no assurance that your pillow talk hasn't included any personal business of ours. As far as I'm concerned, he's as much under my employ as you are. Besides, I find myself intrigued by this unique ability of his. I'd like to see it in action."

"He won't kill for you…"

"Unless the price is right," Fenris broke over her objection.

"No," she hissed, grabbing his elbow and yanking him around to face her. "Fenris, please, you don't want to cross that line. Not with these people."

Brekker unconcernedly buffed his fingernails on his jacket. "Relax, Wynnie…"

"Don't call her that!"

It was hard to say who was more surprised by Fenris' outburst, Brekker taking an involuntary step further out of his reach, or Hrodwynn's hand slipping numbly from his arm. Even Bernice blinked.

Brekker recovered first. "As I was saying, I don't want you to kill for me. I have something more subtle in mind. As I understand it, you can, what's the term, phase through people? Can you also phase through walls? Doors? Locked doors?"

Fenris waited for a count of three before answering. "It's been known to happen."

Brekker smiled, an amused and genuine smile, chilling Hrodwynn to the bone. "Excellent."

Less than an hour later, Hrodwynn and Fenris walked into the Hanged Man. Wordlessly they took their seats, saved for them by Anders, two mugs of flat and tepid swill waiting for them.

"Well?" Hawke prompted, slightly irritated over being made to ask.

Hrodwynn took a long swallow of her ale before she could find her voice. "We're in."