A/N: I have finally finished my Skyrim fic, so I have only my two DA stories to distract me. Yay! Also, IRL seems to have stabilized for now, so hopefully I should be posting chapters no more than a month apart. Hopefully. Still trying to get used to my new schedule and fit in time for writing…

Chapter Twenty-Three: Consequences

Hrodwynn shoved her head through the neck of her tunic, a bright red that complimented her Agreggio Pavali lips. She was dressing a little hurriedly, not out of any urgency, but because Fenris was way ahead of her and already stalking down the stairs. He only had to pull on his leggings and drape his vest-like tunic over his shoulders; she had to race to her bedchamber to find a fresh tunic, not to mention finish putting on her other boot. And then there was her hair…

They had been in his bedchambers, spending the evening talking about what little they knew of his sister, and trying to organize a plan of how to search for her. Out of the blue, there had been the sound of the main door opening, and Hawke's sardonic voice announcing both his presence and his hope that he wasn't interrupting anything. The two of them had looked at each other, realized they were both still, er, under-clothed after their afternoon of lovemaking, and had begun to dress in a rush. And Fenris, of course, had been able to make himself presentable and started for the stairs long before she could find something suitable to wear.

She sighed, finger combing the short strands of her hair into what she blindly hoped was an acceptable style, and tried to tuck in her tunic as she started down the stairs to see what Hawke wanted.

"…came across it in Lowtown a while back and, well, I thought you might like it."

"That's, er, very thoughtful of you," Fenris answered Hawke as Hrodwynn reached the base of the stairs. She spied them at the far end of the hall, just in front of the foyer, Fenris and Hawke and…

Bloody shite, her steps nearly froze, her hand gripping the railing to anchor herself. Of course Anders was here, too; he never left Hawke's side nowadays. Yet she refused to let his presence intimidate her. After all, it wasn't as if one look at her and anyone would be able to tell she was no longer a virgin. Nor would it be any of their Maker-damned business. She lifted her chin and resumed her approach, trying to unobtrusively tuck the last bit of hanging fabric into the waist of her leggings. She even managed a smile as she came up to them and said, "'lo, Hawke. 'lo Anders. What brings you here?"

"Good evening, Hrodwynn," Hawke inclined his head towards her, but barely spared her a glance. "Hope you don't mind the interruption, but we were on our way to the Hanged Man, to divvy out everyone's shares from this latest job. Thought we'd stop here, first, and give you two your shares. And a little something extra." He kept his eyes on the elf, a slightly eager look on his face as he all but bounced on his toes, watching him turning a somewhat heavy and large, wrapped parcel over and over in his hands.

"I wasn't expecting any cut from that job," Fenris reminded him. "I wasn't with you when you killed Brekker."

"Oh, I'm not talking about just Darktown," Hawke waved aside the lessening of his role. "I've got loot from all the way back to that little ambush we suffered soon as we left Kirkwall. And don't look so upset; I'm not blaming you for that. If anything, it lined our pockets quite nicely."

"Then… I'm glad I could help…?" Fenris wasn't too sure how to respond, but it seemed the correct response.

"Here, this pouch is your share from the rest of the adventure," he handed over a leather purse, "Oh, and this is yours, Hrodwynn," he added as an afterthought, shoving her purse her way. His eyes remained on Fenris, however, as he finished, "The gift there is from… well, it's because… oh-just-open-it-already!"

Fenris was uncomfortable. Instinctively he knew something was off, something beyond his ability to deduce from the current facts in evidence. It might simply be because Hawke was so eager for him to open the gift, it might simply be because Hawke had given him a gift—but Anders' face was growing darker and colder by the moment. He decided the best thing to do was to simply open the gift and get the awkward situation done and over with as quickly as possible. He pulled at the knotted twine enough to loosen it, and tore open the paper wrapping.

"It's, er," he looked at the heavy block of leather and parchment, feeling his throat tighten up with bitter and shameful anger.

"A book, yes," Hawke finished for him. He saw Fenris' rather lackluster reaction and felt the need to explain himself. "It was written by Shartan, an elf who fought alongside Andraste. I thought, well, perhaps you might enjoy it, as the two of you have so much in common. Both former slaves, both from Tevinter…"

Fenris couldn't lift his eyes up from the bound volume; he didn't want Hawke to see the rage and hurt in the dead green depths. "If he was a slave," however, he couldn't keep the emotions out of his voice, "How could he have written this? Slaves aren't taught how to read or write!"

Hawke finally realized why his thoughtful gift wasn't getting the reception he had hoped. His amber eyes batted as he quickly searched for a way to alleviate the hostility. "Maker's breath! Of course! Your trouble with those papers inside the Siggerdson. I'm sorry, Fenris, I hadn't realized that's what you meant, that you couldn't read, and believe me I never wanted to offend you. And, well," he took half a step forward, softening his voice, trying to convey the intention of the gift, "I'll admit I'd never given it much thought, how Shartan wrote the book. But perhaps he had been taught for some reason. Perhaps he had been a scribe for his master. Or perhaps," he gently reached towards the tome, his eyebrows curving seductively, "Perhaps he learned to read, later in his life, after he became free. Perhaps you can, too. It's not nearly as hard as one might think. And… I could help… if you wanted." He placed his hand over Fenris's shaking one, covering the white knuckles, praying the elf wouldn't throw the tome across the room.

Or phase his hand through Hawke's chest and rip out his heart.

There was a dark silence for a full three count, and then…

"It would be useful," Hrodwynn's light voice was slightly strained. She also tried to ease the suddenly awkward situation. She knew Fenris' warning signals better than Hawke, and the reasons behind his reactions—she had her own bitterness when it came to condescending gits who looked down on you and pitied you because you couldn't read. As if it was a given that of course a person would want to read. As if there was something wrong with you if you couldn't read. As if everyone was supposed to have this magical 'opportunity' to learn, and if you missed yours, it was your own fault and you were tsk'd at and sighed over and… She swallowed a heavy lump past her choking throat and managed an almost normal tone, shrugging her shoulder nonchalantly as she walked around to Fenris' side and leaned her hip against a disused table. "Might even make a few things easier for us. We could write letters first, narrow the search, before we'd have to risk going to Tevinter ourselves."

"What's this?" Hawke's head snapped towards her, as did Fenris, but each for different reasons. "You two are planning to leave Kirkwall?"

She saw the darkening, life-draining storm cloud swell inside Fenris' eyes and knew, though she may have deflected his anger from Hawke, it was now aimed at her. "It was just an option," she shrugged again. "And I know, Fenris, it's personal; you don't want others to know. But maybe Hawke could help us. At least, teaching us how to read and write would be a help."

There was a lot to process in those few words.

"Personal?" Hawke repeated, still lost.

"Us?" Fenris repeated, equally lost.

She ignored Hawke. "In case it's slipped your notice," she finger combed a lock of hair that had been tickling her cheek, right in front of her ear, trying to get it to tuck neatly out of the way, "I can't read, either. And, as Hawke was so kind as to bring up, the fiasco with the Siggerdson has made me stop and think that… well… maybe learning my letters isn't such a bad idea." She refused to look at Anders, who had been gently pressuring her to learn for the past several years. If she had looked at him, she might have been able to head off the next disastrous turn of events. Instead she maintained eye contact with Fenris, lifting her chin stubbornly, daring him to back away from a challenge she herself was willing to tackle.

He didn't disappoint. "Alright. Fine. We'll learn to read." He turned towards Hawke and managed an uncivil, "Thank you for the book."

Hawke wisely took what he could get. "You're welcome." His lips remained parted beneath his perfectly trimmed beard, and she could hear the unasked questions on his breath—the need to pry into Fenris' personal life—but he let the matter drop with a slight inclination of his head. He looked at her next, changing the subject, and offered, "Shall we head to the Hanged… Man…?"

She had no idea why his words suddenly trailed away. Or why he was staring at her, shocked, as if she'd grown a second head or had turned a shade of green. "What? Is there something in my teeth?" she asked calmly, almost humorously, continuing to try to lighten the mood, that nagging fear creeping into the back of her mind that, yes, somehow, someone could tell just by looking at her that she and Fenris had…

"How could you!" Anders' finally found his voice. Startled, her eyes swept past Hawke to find Anders no longer staring at her, but boring into Fenris. He had been holding himself back a bit from the others, probably because he didn't want to be associated with giving Fenris a gift. But he was dangerously focused on them now. She watched in trepidation as his eyes quickly left their normal gentle brown and burned with a lightning blue.

Justice.

"I don't know what you are taking about…" Fenris' denial was automatic, instinctive, and trite.

And Justice was not a patient spirit. "You used her!" His voice turned deep and hoarse, not as much as Fenris', but enough to show just how far Justice's control had expanded. He took a step forward, lips pulling into a feral snarl. "You took advantage of her!" He took another step, fingers curling like talons.

Fenris allowed the tome to swing down at his side, held tightly in one hand, as he took a step back.

Maker but she hated breaking up fights between the two of them. "No one took advantage of me…" Hrodwynn hummed dangerously, shoving herself off the table and following the two.

But Justice couldn't or wouldn't hear her. Nor would he allow Anders to hear her. He finally had the perfect excuse to take care of the condescending, ignorant, judgmental elf once and for all! "You moral-less, lecherous cad!" he continued, the power rushing through his limbs like blood, the aura of magic glowing in his hands. "You preyed on her innocence and forced yourself upon her person!" He began to lift his arms, taking his time, savoring the moment as he carefully assessed the distance between them. "For your depravity, you shall pay…"

Everything happened at once.

Justice/Anders threw a magic spell straight at the center of the elf's chest.

Fenris threw the tome with deadly accuracy at the mage's face.

Hrodwynn simply threw herself between them.

Hawke shouted an impotent warning—to everyone in general.

The tome arced perfectly through the air, its trajectory true. It slammed into Anders/Justice's face with enough force to slash through skin, shred blood vessels, shatter cartilage. Its heavy momentum snapped his head back, straining neck muscles, making him reel off-balance. He staggered for two steps before he found he could no longer keep his feet. Heavily he dropped to the floor, slapping the tiles hard enough to bruise his tailbone, legs spread awkwardly and limply, dropping to one elbow, all before the tome hit the ground just a few feet away.

Anders and Justice struggled for control, each entity gulping down lungfuls of air to try to clear their head. But they were uncoordinated; though their actions and motives were the same, they worked at cross-purposes with one another. In the end, only one of them could remain in control—the blood and the pain settled that dispute.

Anders groaned when he came to. The front of his face was on fire with a skull-penetrating ache beneath it that pulsed with each and every single heartbeat. There was a mild soreness around his tailbone and a stinging in his elbow that would have been very annoying if his face didn't feel like it had been smashed halfway in. He opened his eyes, the soft brown orbs slightly confused—and hurt—to find a growing puddle of his blood beneath him on the tile.

"Wha' habbeded?" he slurred, the hand at the end of the hurt arm holding the front of his face while his good arm tried to push himself off the floor.

Hands grabbed his shoulders, holding him fast, keeping him from rising up while at the same time keeping him from falling back to the floor. Then a voice sounded, its familiar sardonic drawl warm and comforting. "No, don't get up, not quite yet."

He looked up and into the warm amber eyes of his love, and knew everything was alright. "Garred?"

Hawke visibly relaxed, seeing that Anders' eyes had returned to normal. He signaled to Fenris, not that he was sure Fenris was watching them but just in case, and kept his attention on Anders. "Anders, love, your nose is broken. Can you heal yourself?"

"Dad's bod all dad was broked," he muttered, shifting his ass into a more comfortable position. He was able to manage the simple spell, a soft blueish-white light suffusing the area between his hand and his face. After a moment the blood stopped trickling. Another moment and the spell had suffused his whole body. He took a deep breath and looked up at Hawke, his expression cleared of any pain or disorientation. Hawke pulled Anders' hand away and gingerly, tenderly, with a lover's care, his fingers explored Anders' face and made sure the features he loved so much were as they should be.

"Thank the Maker," he sighed, bringing out a handkerchief and wiping away the mess.

"What happened?" Anders' words were still muffled and slurred, this time from the fabric rather than battered flesh. "How did I end up like this?"

Hawke glanced off to the side and spoke a single word, "Justice."

Anders followed his gaze, his heart nearly stopping when he saw them. Absently he flapped his hands, pushing Hawke's ministrations away, trying to get his feet under him, struggling to reach them, to reach her, unable to accept or process what he was seeing. "Wynnie…?"

A few paces away, Fenris sat on the floor, Hrodwynn's limp body in his arms. He held her, cradled her, rocked her as he would a small child. He ignored the other two and kept his eyes on her face, his expression impassive, as his fingers tenderly tended a bruised and bloodied cheek, gently lifting wayward strands of hair from the injury.

"She's not dead," Hawke assured him, trying to help him to his feet so he could reach them. "She caught just the edge of the spell, not the full force, so it only knocked her out, thank the Maker."

"What spell?" he dropped to his knees beside the two, too weak and wobbly to continue to stand. He was lost, adrift, unable to fathom, unable to cope. Instinctively he fell back on what he was sure would be the root of all his troubles. "What did you do to her!" Anders hissed at the hated elf.

"It wasn't me," Fenris answered, his voice even darker than normal, his gaze never straying from her face. "It was Justice who did this to her!"

"I…" Anders was shocked, had been shocked, far too often in far too short a time. He couldn't comprehend, he simply could not accept the stark reality despite the evidence that lay bare before him. "He… no… he wouldn't… not Wynnie… he knows how I love her… how I care about her… he'd never harm her…"

"'He,' 'he,' 'he,'" Fenris repeated, his sneering voice oozing with sarcastic petulance. "So typical of a mage. 'It's not my fault I performed blood magic. The demon made me do it.'" He finally looked up, barely able to keep control of himself, to stop himself from invoking the lyrium and ripping through the chest just within arm's reach. Yet he did control himself, if only because Anders hadn't done so. "This IS your fault! You allowed Justice to possess you! You gave him purchase in your soul! You have granted him unrestricted access to your magic, your power, your abilities! For once in your life, stop screaming victim and take responsibility for your decisions! You chose to let Justice in. He could never have done this, if you hadn't." His voice took on the darkness of the grave, his green eyes just as devoid of life. "Mark my words, mage, you'll be the death of her."

Anders stared in horror, in rage, in denial…

But Hrodwynn was lying unconscious in Fenris' arms.

"Heal her," Hawke emotionlessly stated into the silence. "Heal Hrodwynn. Then let's step back for a moment."

It was easier, however much Anders might have hated it, at that moment it was so much easier to do as someone else commanded, than try to think of a course of action for himself. His hand reached out to her but hesitated, unsure if Fenris would allow it. It appeared, however, that the elf was also willing to follow Hawke's command, if only because Hrodwynn needed it. Anders finished reaching, brushed lightly against her cheek, and released the gentle spell of healing.

The ugly dark red bruise faded beneath her porcellanous skin, the cut knitting itself closed, leaving behind only the blood, which Fenris was quick to begin wiping away.

"Come on."

Hawke didn't wait for Anders, but took him by the elbow and yanked him to his feet. They walked away, back towards the foyer, Anders watching her the whole time until it at last looked like she was beginning to come around.

"I'd never hurt her," he affirmed, more out of his own need for assurance than any real conviction. "Justice would never hurt her. How could this have happened?"

"You lost control," Hawke answered. He wanted to be gentle—Maker knew how much he loved this man, how much he wanted to protect him and care for him and never ever harm him—but he was also afraid. He'd seen disturbing signs recently, signs that Justice was growing stronger, that Anders was suffering black-outs more frequently and for longer and longer periods of time. He didn't know exactly what effect Justice was having on him, or how devastating and permanent their unconventional co-habitation could be, which only served to overfill his heart with even more fear and dread. He had to try to reach Anders, to try to convince him that his pact with Justice was hurting them all—and, just maybe, a scare tactic might make it through Anders' stubbornness. "Justice accused Fenris of raping Hrodwynn. He was going to kill him. He cast a spell directly at Fenris, but Hrodwynn jumped in the way. She saved Fenris' life, but the spell struck her a glancing blow, knocking her out."

"What?" Anders felt like his brains were mired in thick mud. But Hawke's words, as blunt as they were, did have an impact. Bits and pieces of memory came back to him, heavily filtered and screened by Justice first. The mark on Hrodwynn's neck. Her mussed hair and passion-bruised lips. Fenris' state of being half-dressed and his confident swagger. Yes, it was obvious what he had done to her—no, Anders shook his head, not wanting to think about THAT.

Across the room, Fenris watched with baited breath while Hrodwynn's eyes batted open. They were unfocused at first, glazed, but after a few healthy blinks they settled on his features hovering above her. "Fen?" she breathed, feeling safe and calm and at ease within his embrace.

"Amatus," he breathed, "How do you feel? Does anything hurt? Are you dizzy?"

She shook her head, lifting her hand up to his cheek. "I'm good. You?"

Her cool fingers, petite and quick and dextrous, felt heavenly against his skin. He turned his face, pressing his lips against the palm of her hand, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he mouthed against her skin, "I'm fine, now that you're alright."

The way his lips moved… the warmth of his breath… Oh, Maker, how he could make her blush!

Anders stared at them, unable to believe what he saw, unable to accept the truth. Yet he couldn't pull his eyes away, couldn't turn away and deny their tender interaction, Fenris talking quietly to her, Hrodwynn gently shaking her head, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek, his lips turning to kiss her palm….

"Bloody shite…"

Hrodwynn didn't hear Anders' curse. Her vision, her hearing, her whole being was currently overrun with the man holding her. She could feel that blush heating her cheeks, which only served to deepen her embarrassment and darken the blush and… She had to change the subject, and the first thing that came to mind, was the one thing that wasn't coming to mind. "So, um, how did I end up like this?"

Venhedis, but he had been given a scare, when she had jumped in front of him and taken the spell for herself. His first—and only—concern had been to make sure she was still breathing. Now that she was alive and whole once more, he felt the need to bleed off some of the tension with a bit of levity. "You tried to use your face for a shield again," he gently teased her.

"Oh, no," she moaned softly, "Not my nose."

"No, not your nose," he assured her. "That's fine, nothing's broken. Your cheek was a bit banged up, but it's fine now, too." The pad of his thumb brushed off the last bit of blood.

She caught the drop of red out of the corner of her eye, and trying to make light of the situation as he had done, flashed him a smile and quipped, "At least I'm wearing a red shirt this time." When she saw him roll his eyes, she managed a small giggle and reached up to kiss his cheek. "Help me stand up, would you?"

He nodded, keeping his arms around her as she made to stand.

"He loves her."

Anders' blood boiled at Hawke's words, his hand clenching into a fist and shaking. It couldn't be true. It simply couldn't be true. Fenris hated Hrodwynn. He ridiculed and belittled her at every chance. It must be some trick. He must be coercing her in some way, or brainwashing her, or setting her up to be the butt of some sort of obscure, colossal joke…

Fenris was helping her to her feet, his whole attention on her needs, his hands holding her fast until he was sure she would remain standing.

Anders could feel Justice inside him, raging, struggling towards the surface, demanding control once more, vowing to take care of the situation. He knew he couldn't give in, he knew he had just done so and that's how Wynnie had gotten hurt. Yet how could he endure such vile and disgusting behavior?! "Bloody shite!" he cursed again, too loudly it turned out, as both Fenris and Hrodwynn turned to look at him.

"Anders!" she exclaimed, memory returning in a flash, the tome flying at his face, the spell shooting towards Fenris. And her foolish attempt to protect them both.

No, she realized, that wasn't quite true. She hadn't done anything to save Anders from his fate, trusting that Fenris wouldn't have delivered a killing blow. She hadn't trusted Anders, however—or, rather, she hadn't trusted Anders under control of Justice—and had placed herself in a position to save… Fenris… because she…

"He's using you!" Anders called out from across the room, breaking off her train of thought.

"To what purpose?" Fenris challenged. She felt him take a step forwards to face Anders, and she placed herself in front of him to vainly try to block his path.

"To hurt me," Anders answered, shifting his attention from Hrodwynn to Fenris. Since the elf spoke up and obviously wanted to finish their fight, he thought he would oblige him. He shoved off Hawke's restraining arm and took his own challenging step forwards. "You're using her, manipulating her feelings, trying to turn her against me, trying to drive a wedge between us."

Hrodwynn felt Fenris pushing at her shoulder, trying to maneuver her off to the side so he and Anders would have a clear path to each other. But she, and Hawke, were having none of it. She didn't escalate the situation, didn't shout, didn't raise her voice, but stated clearly, "Stop this right now."

"I won't have to do that," Fenris countered Anders, easily ignoring her. "You're doing such a wonderful job yourself already. It was your spell just now that struck her."

"I was aiming for you!"

"And she got caught in the crossfire!"

"That wasn't my fault!"

"Always the victim. Always misunderstood. Always unable to take responsibility…"

"Like there aren't times from when you were a slave, times when you conveniently claim a lack of responsibility for your own actions…"

Listening to them argue while being constantly poked and shoved was wearing her temper paper thin, and she lost control. "Shut it!" Hrodwynn practically screamed to get their attention. "Both of you!"

"Why should we?" Anders unthinkingly, childishly demanded.

"Because I love you both!"

A stark and solemn silence followed her words. Yet she couldn't take them back; she couldn't pull the sounds out of their ears and into her mouth and swallow them whole.

And neither did she want to. Though the declaration came as much of a surprise to her as to everyone else, she knew—dear, sweet blessed Andraste and all her virginal handmaidens—she knew the words were true. How… When… Why… That all escaped her. But she could see it clearly; she loved Fenris.

She turned to him first, standing so close to her they were nearly one, her bright emerald orbs holding his dull green gaze, refusing to waver, refusing to back down, refusing to let him go. "Please, Fenris," she began gently, all her heat evaporating before brunt of her personal epiphany, "For my sake, don't fight. I'm not asking you to like Anders or even give up your hatred of him, but please understand, I care about him. It hurts me to see the two of you at each other's throats," she moved her hand from his chest to his cheek. "So, for my sake, to spare me pain, would you pretend to get along, or at least not openly fight right in front of me?"

Fasta vass, but Fenris could not deny her. However wrong he felt she was, however ignorant of the danger of mages, however blind to the doomed path Anders was walking—she had said she loved him. He would fight an entire Blight single-handedly if only to hear those words grace her wine-red lips again. "I promise you, I won't start anything where you can see."

It wasn't quite what she had asked for, but she took what she could get. "And you," she turned to Anders, letting go of Fenris and trusting him to keep his word. "Anders, I love you like a big brother, or some favorite uncle, but please try to understand—I love Fenris, too. In a differently way, of course. But I can't bear it anymore when you two fight. Please, Anders," she took a step away from Fenris and towards the tormented mage, though it was only a single step, her proximity to the elf speaking volumes, "For my sake, no more."

Anders was torn apart. He had seen her eyes grow wide in shock, and perhaps a little fear, earlier over her initial admittance of her love, but that had been quickly replaced with assurance. Even now, the love she felt for them both suffused her features, though the fact that she remained beside Fenris cut him to the quick. He couldn't face her, couldn't look her in the eyes, couldn't see the expression on her face, not after what had just happened. He turned away, blindly groping for the door, mumbling, "I need a drink."

Hawke started after him a few steps before he stumbled over the forgotten book. He stopped and turned to look back at Fenris and Hrodwynn. "Er…" he stalled, trying to find the words, but there were none for this situation. Instead he reached down to pick up the book and handed it to Fenris. "Try to give him some time. It is quite a shock. And quite sudden. And… well… we'll see you at the Hanged Man later," he ended in a rush. In the blink of an eye he was out the door and after Anders.

Hrodwynn stared after them, feeling the sting of tears threaten at her eyes. "This… is not how I wanted to… well, you know…"

"…Tell your best friend that you're in love with his mortal enemy?" he bluntly finished for her. He set the tome on a nearby table, noticing that Anders blood had stained the binding. He allowed himself to feel a bit of satisfaction over the mark, since he was behind Hrodwynn's back where she couldn't see.

She sighed, holding her arms as if she was feeling a chill. "Something like that."

Fenris heard the melancholy in her voice and felt a small amount of remorse. "Amatus," he breathed, coming up behind her, placing his hands over hers, giving her a slight squeeze. Maybe, after today, after what had just happened, maybe he could finally make her see what was so painfully obvious to him. Maybe the truth, the whole awful truth, might help ease her uneasiness. "I know it's hard for you to accept, but you can't ignore it any longer. You can't tell me you don't see it."

"See what?" she lamely tried to deny.

"See how much he's changed," Fenris turned her around to face him, sensing her weakness. "See how dangerous he is. Justice is a demon, a demon that is possessing Anders' body. Such a thing…" his voice trailed away, growing darker with the heavy weight of experience. "Well, it's an abomination, the same as blood magic. Can't you see that?"

She wanted to deny it. She clamped her eyes closed, turned her head to the side, tensed her muscles beneath his touch. Yet she knew Anders had allowed Justice to take control this evening, and so quickly, so thoughtlessly, even to the point where it put her in danger—her, Hrodwynn, his Wynnie. If he could let her come to harm, even inadvertently, what would stop him from allowing innocents to become collateral damage? But… "…He wasn't always like this."

Her voice was small, like that of a girl, as if she was once more that shivering, half-starved waif stealing into Anders' life just a few years ago. "When we first met, that very first night," she gave a breathy sort of laugh, opening her eyes over the memory. "It was one of the coldest nights I'd ever known in Kirkwall. I picked the lock on his little shop. I didn't think anyone was living there, and I just wanted someplace quiet and disused to spend the night. I don't know who was more surprised, me to find someone actually living there, or Anders to find himself suddenly with a visitor." She laughed again, leaning forwards to rest her head against his.

"We spent that first night talking. Just talking. He was such a mild man, timid, almost fearful. He explained why it looked like no one lived there, how he was hiding from some bad people and didn't want anyone to think the shop was occupied, so they wouldn't think to look for him there. But I saw him, Fenris, I saw him for who he was. I saw his gift, his compassion, his empathy. He wanted to help people. He wanted to do what's right. He wanted to be a good man. I have to believe, he still does."

She pressed herself even closer, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso, burrowing into him as she would burrow beneath a comforter for warmth. "Because I'm responsible for what he's become. I encouraged him to open the clinic, to help the sick and injured of Darktown. I encouraged him to come out of his shell, to open up, to make friends—other than his cat. If I'd left him there, in his little hideout, safe and alone and anonymous…" her words trailed away into a hiccough.

"It's not your fault, amatus," he stroked her back, softening his voice from a growl to a deep purr. "You are not responsible. What happened to Anders, what is happening to him, started long before the two of you met. It started when he allowed Justice to share his person. From that moment on, he was doomed."

"But…" her voice trembled, her shoulders convulsed, "But… he has to be saved… there has to be a way… to help him… there must… I love him, too… I can't let him… just…"

Fenris had seen far more of demon possession that Hrodwynn ever had, hopefully ever would. He knew how futile it would be to try to save Anders. But she was clinging to him, begging him for help, unwilling and unable to give up on a friend—one of the qualities he loved about her so much. Hating himself, he tried giving her false hope, stalling for time. "It's… possible to help Anders, I suppose, if the demon leaves willingly. Or perhaps we could find a way to force it out of him, force it to release its hold over him. We can try to think of something. Or ask Hawke for help. He loves Anders, too; he would fight to the death to save him."

"He would, wouldn't he," she sniffed, pulling back a little bit. "And Hawke does have a way about him, of finding a way to do the impossible. If anyone can help Anders, it's Hawke." She nodded, trying to convince herself. "He's in good hands. That reminds me," she took Fenris' hand in one of hers, wiped her eyes with the other, and started for the door, "We need to get to the Hanged Man."

"Are you sure?" he hedged, pulling his hand free, but not to stay behind. He kept pace with her, only he wanted to be able to use both hands to close the front of his coat. "Anders will probably be there, drinking; it is the only place in Kirkwall to find a decent drink. He might not want to see me right now. Or… you…"

She stopped, and he took the time to finish straightening his clothing. "Maybe so," she allowed, "But you and I are in a relationship. I won't hide that from him. And the sooner he gets used to the idea, the better. By the way, how did he figure it out?" she resumed her course, and he was glad he had left his belt and weapons near the foyer. He grabbed what he could and jogged a few steps to catch up with her.

"Sorry, I missed that," he muttered, fumbling with his accessories as he followed her outside.

"How did he know we'd slept together?" she repeated, feeling a little cross, and more than a little embarrassed when she realized she had spoken a little too loudly, and the streets were still bustling with evening traffic. She ignored the stares of any passers-by, dropped her voice, and slowed her pace, offering to take his gauntlets while he fiddled with his belt. "It's not like there's a sign on my forehead or something that says, 'My cherry was just popped by an elf!'" She took one look at Fenris, his hunched shoulders, his ducked head, his far too deep concern over his buckle, and had to wonder, "Is there?!"

When he didn't answer right away, she grabbed his elbow and turned him towards her, her tone exasperated as she begged, "Fenris!"

He sighed, knowing he couldn't not answer her. He shook off her hold, took his gauntlets, and started them both back down the street. "It could have been any number of things. Your tunic, for instance, isn't tucked in neatly. And your hair is mussed. And, there mighthavebeenamarkonyourneck."

His words were hasty, slurred, answering her and at the same time hoping she wouldn't understand. He could feel her eyes boring into his skull from the side, and knew her stare would not diminish until he gave her an answer she could comprehend. "What was that last bit?"

Fenris cringed, wanting to crawl into a dark corner and hide. He remembered giving it to her, how he felt over marking her creamy skin, secretly enjoying the fact that he was giving her a blemish, branding her as his own, staking his territory. Now, the idea didn't seem quite as fun. "There was a love bite on your neck. One I gave you. It's healed now, but it was quite large. And prominently placed."

She turned to look down the street, not half as upset as he had feared over the love bite. "And from some silly little bruise, he deduced that we had…"

"As I said, there were other factors," he added. "They came by unannounced, and it was fairly obvious that we—both of us—got dressed very quickly. It was a logical assumption to make. Also," he leaned in close to her ear, his hot breath tickling the sensitive skin, "You have a certain… glow… about you that wasn't there before. A certain… confidence in a new ability… or joy over a new discovery…"

Her cheeks felt as hot as the sun. "You're teasing me!"

"Am I?" he challenged. Seemingly unconcerned, he straightened up and continued walking down the street, whistling a little tune between his teeth, this time forcing her to have to keep up with him.

She got her answer as soon as they reached the Hanged Man. Though the tavern was crowded, though the music was loud, though there was plenty to distract her, Isabela's gaze zeroed in on the two of them from the moment the door opened. The lady pirate's shrewd eyes swept them both from head to toe, twice, as they walked up to the table. Then she flicked over to Anders, who turned his shoulder to them and resolutely refused to acknowledge their presence.

"Maker damn it!" she pounded the table.

Varric leaned back and chuckled, idly shuffling cards in his hands. "Pay up, Rivaini. Three gold coins."

"But you haven't even dealt the cards, yet," Merril protested. "How can she pay, if we haven't played the hand? Besides, she usually wins."

"Not today, it seems," Isabela gave Hrodwynn a huge, and good-natured, wink, "It's Button's turn to 'win'."

"I'll get us something to drink," Fenris offered quietly, and very quickly, leaving Hrodwynn to face the music on her own.

"Sit down," Isabela patted the bench next to her. "You're making a scene, standing and staring like that, all by yourself. You know he'll be back. In the meantime," she leaned her ample bosom across the table, her eyes flashing with mischief, "You and I can have a little chat. Compare notes. That sort of thing."

"Oh, wait, I get it," Merril snapped her fingers, "This is something dirty again, isn't it."

"Now why would you think that, Daisy," Varric tried to deflect her, if only for Hrodwynn's sake. The poor woman was looking uncomfortable, shuffling from foot to foot, not really wanting to sit next to Isabela but the only other space that was large enough for her and Fenris was next to Anders…

"Oh, it's just a guess," the Dalish elf admitted, "Every time something is said or goes on that I don't quite understand, I just assume it has to be something dirty. And it usually it is, so it saves time. Like tonight, I just assume that Hrodwynn and Fenris had sex…"

"Fuck me!" choked Hawke, startled by Merril's bluntness. Anders, too, was choking on his drink.

"I offered," Isabela droned, piercing him with a pout, "But you declined, remember."

"Declined what?" Sebastian asked, coming up behind Hrodwynn. He arrived with Aveline, the two of them taking the empty spaces next to Anders. "Is it another job, Hawke? I'd be willing to take her place, if you're offering. I know I'm more of an archer than a knife-fighter, but…"

"I didn't think you'd have the time or a need to hire yourself out for mercenary jobs, being a Choir Boy and all," Varric's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I'm not here for the money," Sebastian denied. "I'm here to help people. And Hawke continually presents opportunities to do so. He's like an artesian well of goodwill and outreach. I can't even imagine the number of people I will be able to reach with the love of the Maker, just by…"

"Alright, alright," Varric held up his hands in defeat, "I'm sorry I asked. No, there's no job; we just finished with one. Tonight's all about cards. Should I deal you in?"

Hrodwynn quietly took the spot next to Isabela, praying all the while that Fenris would hurry up. The conversation seemed to be sporadic and wide-ranging, flitting from subject to subject like a bird. But sitting right next to Isabela, there'd be too many opportunities for the lady pirate to quietly whisper some suggestive comment or intimate question.

Fenris did return with two tankards, saw Sebastian and Aveline had joined them, and saw Hrodwynn sitting next to Isabela looking like she'd was facing the Orlesian court again. He seemed to do some quick mental athletics, because before Hrodwynn could call him over, he set the drinks down in front of Sebastian and Aveline and went back for more.

She wanted to curse under her breath, but Merril chose that time to lean over and quietly ask a question. Or rather, she meant for the question to be quiet, starting out with, "So was I right?" But of course the music chose that precise moment to pause between songs, and everyone heard, "Did you and Fenris sleep together? Oh! Excuse me. That was supposed to be private."

Isabela chortled, her bosom bobbing with the force of her laughter. Varric, too, was hard pressed to keep a straight face, though he tried his hardest for Hrodwynn's sake. Aveline rolled her eyes and sighed, much like a mother would have, and Sebastian tsk'd his tongue with chaste disapproval. Anders did his best to hide behind his mug, then decided it would work better if he upended it over his open mouth. Hawke looked as uncomfortable as Hrodwynn, who was seriously considering sinking beneath the table herself.

Fenris chose that moment to return again, two more mugs in hand, and immediately knew he had come back too soon. He cleared his throat as he settled himself down between Hrodwynn and Isabela. "So, er, what are we playing tonight. Diamondback?"

"And here one would think you'd be up for something a little wicked," Isabela cooed into his ear.

He leaned away from her, not wanting to encourage any such thing, but that made him lean far too close to Hrodwynn. He thought he should pull back a little bit, keep things proper and chaste in front of the others, but that would mean leaning back into Isabela. Hrodwynn settled his wobbling by putting her arm around his waist, keeping him at her side, and daring anyone to make fun of the blush darkening her cheeks to match her hair. "Wicked Grace sounds good, too," she lifted her chin. "But it's usually dealer's choice, isn't it?" she nodded to Varric, who had been absently shuffling the cards this whole time.

"But that's not fair; I never get to shuffle," Isabela pouted.

"Because you always stack the deck," Fenris countered.

"Speaking of stacks…"

"No, Isabela," he held up his hand, gauntlet and all.

"What? I was just going to ask how things stacked up…"

"Don't go there!"

"With your cuts from our latest adventure, comparing your stack to Hrodwynn's." She picked up her cards, "I imagine hers is bigger than yours," she shifted a few around in her hand, "Nearly as big as mine."

Merril leaned over towards Varric and asked, "She's still talking about something dirty, right?"

Varric sighed, "Just look at your cards, Daisy. That's a good girl."