A/N: A great big shoutout to EkoCentric for her review via PM! :D

Anyway, here's the next chapter. I originally intended this to focus more on the actual wedding, but the end result was much different from what I pictured when I was starting out. That's why this one took a little while to write, but I'm just glad I got this one out quicker than the last one. At any rate, happy reading!

Aveline's wedding was a really big day for me.

Honestly, I can remember next to nothing of the wedding itself.

I don't want you to think I'm some sort of god or something, like Varric might convince you to think. I've already given you a few examples of my weakest moments, but those are nothing compared to this period in my life. I was miserable: upset by Fenris rejecting me, half-dead from the Qunari attack, mourning from Mother's death, and just overall surly and pathetic. I won't give you the boring, painful details of that particular length of time, but I'll tell you how it all changed.

This took place in autumn, sometime after the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall.

-Hawke

Reconciliation

Hawke entered the Chantry on Sebastian's arm. Her trusty white cane, her now-constant companion, was in her right hand; her left arm was threaded through Sebastian's right. She leaned on him surreptitiously, grateful for the help. Her mass of black hair- which had grown out since the fight with the Qunari- had been arranged into long, beautiful, thick curls. The bottom layers tumbled over her shoulder like a curly, black waterfall; the top layers were drawn into a sort of messy bun above her neck.

The gown Orana had helped her choose was much too elaborate for Hawke's taste, but there was little she could do about it. The dress itself was a mixture of gold, blue, and cream, which brought out the colors of her already vivid icy blue eyes. It brushed against the ground by her feet as she moved, and the sleeves ended at her wrists. Tiny gold beads threaded the neckline as well as the ends of her sleeves, and circular, golden patterns swirled around over the creamy color of the entire dress. Blue fabric, once again embedded with gold beads, could be found circling her biceps and acting as light shoulder pads. It also circled her waist like a belt, separating the bodice from the skirt. The bodice hugged her form, but the skirt bloomed out from her waistline, thankfully hiding the dagger strapped to her calf... and the twisted, mangled mass of muscle that was her hip.

As planned, Merrill approached them when they stopped in the doorway. Dressed in a pretty pale green dress, the elf wore a large grin, but she managed to maintain her composure; she took Hawke's cane and leaned it against the wall, in a shadowy corner where it was hard to find, before returning to the rogue's side. Sebastian expertly guided Hawke through the throng of people gathered for the wedding, with Merrill acting as an undercover bodyguard. Since she wasn't at the top of her game, as it were, all the others had agreed that she wasn't to be left alone, especially now. As Champion, she was now an important figurehead within the city, and since she was weak and in public for the first time in a long time, it wouldn't be a bad time for an attempted assassination. If she were caught alone... well. She was about as helpless as Ser Pounce-a-lot.

Unfortunately, even with Sebastian's help, it was impossible to avoid the grateful well-wishers among the crowd. Every few feet, some noble or other would step right in Hawke's way, forcing her to a painful halt, and declare that they were glad she had saved their lives from the scary Arishok and congratulations on her new title and would she like to come over for dinner sometime?

More than ever, she wished Fenris was at her side to scare off the annoying nobles, or at least Isabela and her disconcertingly flirtatious ways. As it happened, they were both otherwise occupied.

By the time Sebastian finally helped her into her seat, her cheeks hurt from smiling and her stomach ached with disgust for the puffy, conceited nobles.

"I hope there's a trashcan nearby. I think I might barf," she remarked dryly to Sebastian. Naturally, Merrill overheard and misinterpreted.

"Oh, no! Should I fetch Anders?" she demanded worriedly, wringing her pixie-like hands. Hawke snickered, and Sebastian only shook his head, although she could've sworn she caught a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Don't worry about it, dear. I was just being metaphorical," Hawke assured her, patting the elf girl's hand.

"Ohhh." Merrill relaxed instantly, and Hawke hid another smile.

"Hawke, I'm going to assist the Grand Cleric in her preparations. Fenris should be joining you soon, and Anders and Varric are around somewhere if you get into trouble," Sebastian told her, his sky blue eyes reflective and concerned.

"I'll be fine," she replied, flapping her hand in her usual blasé manner to disguise the way her stomach leaped at the elf's name. "You go ahead. I can't really go anywhere, anyway." She watched as the archer strode away before sighing and straightening. Her hip ached from just the short walk from her manor to the Chantry, but there was little she could do for it. Damn those Qunari.

The fight with the Arishok wasn't going well at all. Already exhausted from fighting her way through Kirkwall, Hawke could feel her strength flagging, despite the healing and stamina potions she had taken upon entering the chamber. Fenris had suggested a duel, and how could she refuse? She didn't want anyone else to be hurt. When Anders had expressed doubt, Fenris had again spoken on her behalf.

"Hawke will be our champion in this fight. With so many lives at stake, she will succeed." His words, while pragmatic and realistic, were comforting, and his simple trust propelled her forward now.

She raced away from the towering kossith, sliding into place behind a column. His heavy footsteps rang through the room and betrayed his position as he ran toward her. Gritting her teeth, she waited until he had drawn close enough before she turned and sprinted past him to a column on the other side of the room. The Qunari roared angrily, skidding to an ungraceful halt and then turning to start for her again. This went on for a while; Hawke, dripping with sweat from the effort, had long since lost track of time. The nobles and even her companions at the edges of the room were shifting with obvious concern and uncertainty, and even scorn on the parts of some of the nobles. She forced herself to forget about them, the people she was fighting for; instead, she focused on her own sense of self-preservation. Finally, when she made to run across the room once more, her foot hit a puddle of blood (leftover from the previous battle) and she slipped. The Arishok, having evidently heard the 'smack' of her body hitting the floor, roared with triumph and turned back to face her. When she attempted to struggle to her feet, he brought his own foot down hard on her hip. She could hear the bones shatter, and the loud cracks and pops could be heard around the rest of the room. A cry slipped past her lips, but, glowering defiantly at the Arishok, she slammed her jaw shut against any more sound. He leaned over her, his expression oddly soft and almost regretful.

"I am sorry, Hawke. I will kill you now, so you will not have to endure the eternal humiliation of being a cripple."

He lifted his sword, its point aimed right at her heart. Now she began to despair; still pinned down by his foot, she couldn't move. Her dagger lay only a few feet away, just out of reach. Her friends, bound by honor and horror, stood at the far end of the room. Except for one- no, two of them. The edge of her sight glowed blue. A brown blur erupted at the other corner of her vision.

Fang hurled himself at the Arishok. The Mabari, an efficient and well-trained jumper, clasped his jaws around the Qunari's forearm. The Qunari roared angrily and stumbled backward.

Hawke took this opportunity to lunge for her dagger. Crying out with rage and pain, she leaped at the Arishok, driving her dagger right into his eye. He shouted again and fell backward, Hawke clutching the front of his armor. When he hit the ground, she almost surgically removed her dagger and planted it into his other eye.

She was glad she couldn't see the light of consciousness fade from his gaze. If he uttered any words with his last breath, she didn't hear them.

Taking a deep breath, she sidled off the dead Qunari and hit the ground ungracefully. Allowing only a low hiss as pain erupted in her hip, she placed her left foot flat on the ground and attempted to shove herself up on one leg. She felt a furry warmth under her right hand, and she gratefully threaded her fingers through Fang's fur as another arm wrapped itself around her torso and hauled her up. Without releasing the Mabari, she leaned into the elf at her side, hopping around to face the remaining Qunari.

"Right, then. You guys can go." Without speaking, they filed out of the throne room. Feeling oddly detached, she watched them leave. She heard a faint rushing sound in her ears, and her vision began to blur. She glanced toward Fenris, offering a small, watery smile. His expression was pinched with concern, his brows drawn together and his leafy green eyes narrowed. He didn't return her smile.

"I did it. Just like you said," she told him before she collapsed into his arms.

Hawke shuddered at this memory. The pain had been overwhelming; to this day, she had no idea how she had managed to remain so composed. Shock, she assumed. Later, Anders had informed her that she had been very close to death, and then suggested cryptically that she not try something like this again. The mage had remained with her every day of her recovery, to her dismay. Luckily, she was never left alone with him; Varric and Merrill would sit with them as well, and once she had even awoken to see Bethany at her bedside, having been sent from the Circle to check on the new Champion's healing. Aveline visited a few times, but the guard was busy with returning order to the city and planning her own wedding, which Hawke was currently attending. Noticeably absent from her weeks of recovery were Fenris and Isabela, the latter of which she hadn't seen since the battle and the former since she had first woken after her injury. Even then, Fenris hadn't spoken to her. However, according to Sebastian, she was supposed to see him again that day. She wasn't sure how she felt about this; excitement and apprehension both mingled within her. It hadn't been easy, being with him after... after, well, being with him, but they had come to a silent agreement. They didn't speak about their night together. It hurt worse than the pain in her hip, but she could forget about it when he was nearby.

And, since he hadn't been around her recently, she had spent the past few weeks agonizing over it. Wondering what had gone wrong, what she could have done differently, what he had been thinking. She would ask the others about him, but she would only receive vague answers: "He's around" or "He's busy" or maybe "I saw him at the Hanged Man, he asked about you". Feverish with pain as she had been, it hadn't occurred to her to send him a letter.

"Hawke, how are you feeling?" A masculine voice- not the one that she'd been hoping (and dreading) to hear- broke her out of her reverie. She mustered up a beaming smile; judging by Anders' expression, it was very off.

"Why, positively amazing, thank you for asking," she informed him brightly. "I mean, I feel like I'm back to normal already! That long walk across Hightown was very invigorating!"

"Wow, what a miracle!" Merrill exclaimed, grinning jubilantly. Her radiant expression faded at the look Anders and Hawke both shot her.

"Well, you're clearly back in your usual mental state, at least," Anders remarked dryly. He reached into the pouch at his belt (even in nice robes, he wore that ugly leather thing) and proffered a vial full of a pale red potion. "This should help temporarily with the pain." She accepted it and eyed it distastefully for a moment before remembering her manners.

"Thanks," she responded grudgingly, lifting it to her lips and downing it in one swallow. She grimaced and shivered. "Ugh, now I really do feel like I'll throw up."

"Vomiting is a common side effect of these potions," Anders informed her seriously. She rolled her eyes.

"Go away, Anders. Aren't you supposed to be, like, standing over there and watching everybody suspicious?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were doing well," he told her, drawing himself up rather haughtily.

"Thanks, Anders. I appreciate it. Really, I do. I just want to be alone." Except not really. Her gaze flickered around, searching for him.

"No, you don't," Anders replied, his tone surprisingly bitter. Startled, she lifted her head to examine his expression, but he had already begun to walk away. She just shook her head. It was rather odd; over the years, Anders just seemed to be growing more satirical and mocking, as if Justice was corrupting him and not the other way around. She shook her head, grimacing at these gloomy thoughts. Soon she would have to face them, but today was supposed to be a happy occasion. Screw Anders and his drama.

"What's wrong with Anders?" Merrill wondered, blunt as always.

"Dunno. Guess something put those skirts of his into a twist." While Merrill craned around to see what was wrong with his robes, Hawke felt another presence at her side, and she glanced up in time to see Fenris fold his long frame into the pew next to her. She met and held his steady green gaze, and for the first time in weeks she felt a real smile dawn on her features. His expression barely changed, but it did seem to soften slightly. "Merrill," she said, without breaking their shared look, "you can go mingle or something. Fenris is here now." She did turn then, albeit reluctantly, to see that the elf girl followed her request.

"What- ohh," Merrill realized, watching the pair. She gave the rogue a knowing smile and rose to her feet. "I understand, Hawke. You just want to have a private conversation with him." Because this much had been obvious to the other parties involved, Hawke couldn't find it within herself to be mad at the petite elf, so she gave Merrill a secretive wink.

"You called it, Merrill. Now, if you could-?" She tilted her head meaningfully toward the gathering of people in the middle of the Chantry.

"W- oh, yes, of course! See you, Hawke!" Merrill turned and pranced away. Hawke hid a snicker as she turned to face Fenris, moving more carefully than usual so as to avoid jarring her hip.

"I envy you the company you keep," he remarked with dry sarcasm, watching the mage stride away. A hint of distaste colored his expression.

"Come on, you have to admit it's entertaining, at least," she pointed out cheerfully, skillfully masking the way her heart skipped a beat at his deep, sensual baritone. It had been too long since she'd last heard it. He only offered a shrug before descending into silence. She searched for something to say before it got awkward, but he beat her to the punch.

"You look like a mess." In his own way, Fenris, too, was very blunt, but whereas Merrill's bluntness was born from innocence, his was pure pragmatism. He didn't believe in beating around the bush, something that the rogue appreciated very much. Unfortunately for him, she enjoyed playing with words.

"You don't say! And I worked so hard to look nice today. Pity. I'll have to tell Orana that we need to do a better job next time," she sighed, her words lighthearted and airy to disguise the stab of pain in her chest. She caught his gaze and lifted her brows suggestively as she lifted her hand, running it slowly through her thick mass of curls. A few of them sprang out of place and landed in her field of view. His own eyes followed the movement, and she thought she caught in odd glint in them before he spoke again.

"I don't mean this," he said quietly, reaching forward and, as if without thinking, brushing the stray locks out of her face. "I mean the fact that you can't walk without help because of your damaged hip." Again, as if without thinking, he gently touched the affected area with the tip of a long pointer finger. She shut her eyes briefly, at the same time wanting him to both continue and to draw away. "And you look exhausted." Now he lifted his hand, laying his palm against her cheek and brushing with his thumb the circles underneath her eyes. So he's going to play this game. For some reason, his casual touches were more painful than the silence she had been forced to endure during her recovery. It was rather odd; she enjoyed the feel of his hand, but she also resented it fiercely. Her mouth opened and furious words, borne of hurt and pain, spilled out.

"You're one to talk," she remarked acidly, drawing away. Her heart twinged at the flash of hurt in his jade green eyes, but she willed herself to ignore it and continue. Her words grew more heated as she spoke. "Coming here and feeling me up like nothing in the last few months happened, like you haven't been ignoring me for weeks when I needed you most. Like we aren't here at our best friend's wedding. Dammit, Fenris, I don't know what your fucking problem is!" She was on a roll now. Her blue eyes were wide with fury, her cheeks flushing red. "You were probably hanging out over there, holed up voluntarily in your mansion, moping about the life you don't have and the life you couldn't have and the life you could, if you bothered to try! You force yourself to leave me alone out of some misguided notion that maybe it will keep me safer, but you are wrong! Every morning I wake up with Anders or Varric or Merrill by my bedside when you should be the one there, and every day it hurts so bad because the man I love more than anything is ignoring me. But then, when you are here, it hurts almost as badly because you refuse to let me love you." Her tone changed, became pleading. "Tell me what I should feel, Fenris. This little dance we're doing is agonizing, it's killing me, and I'm sick and tired of it. I love you; it's too late to go back on that now. So tell me: do you love me, or is all of this for nothing?" He remained silent throughout her tirade, but she could sense the raw emotion gnawing at his insides. His eyes had hardened in that characteristic, emotionless facade of a slave, which let her know that he was reacting strongly to her words; whether it was pain or anger he was feeling, she wasn't sure, but she had a sneaking suspicion that it was the former rather than the latter. His eyes widened in plain shock at her blunt admission of her feelings for him, but once again, the mask slipped back over his features. She immediately felt awful for her declaration, which had been unexpected to them both. Her own blue eyes mirrored his surprise, which was followed instantly by chagrin.

He eyed her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he began to rise to his feet. She flinched as if he had hit her; she extended a hand, intending to stop him. Her outstretched fingers were mere inches from his wrist when she hesitated and lowered them slowly. This was enough to catch his attention, however, for he turned to face her, lifting his oddly dark brows.

"Fenris, I'm sorry. That was rather uncalled for," she told him quietly, ducking her head and looking up at him from underneath her lashes. "But... please, don't leave now." Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard. She waited anxiously for his answer. He hesitated before sinking back into the pew beside her.

"I suppose we shall discuss this later, then," he said quietly, just as the rest of the people gathered began to file into their seats at some unseen command. Hawke shifted closer to Fenris, making more room for the others to join them.

Varric seated himself beside her and shot her a cocky smirk and then offered Fenris an oddly expressionless nod of greeting. Hawke could do no more than glance curiously at the dwarf before someone out of her field of view began playing traditional-sounding music on an organ. She bit her lip, steeling herself for pain, and then she twisted around in her seat to see Guardsman Donnic striding slowly up the center aisle formed by the rows of pews. He was looking handsome enough in his suit, Hawke supposed, but he really wasn't her type. She snuck a sideways glance at the man who was most definitely her type; as if sensing her gaze, Fenris dropped his emerald eyes to meet hers. His lips quirked upward into a rare, charming smile, and her heart faltered as she offered her own, unusually tentative one in response. She glanced back toward the aisle as a few more people, presumably Donnic's family, walked up it. Finally came Aveline. Hawke knew that her friend would prefer to wear armor to her own wedding, but she wore a fairly modest, long, white dress, which Hawke herself had helped pick out. The dress was cut in a way that emphasized some of the guard's curves without revealing too much, yet it still looked graceful and beautiful on Aveline's muscular figure.

When the redhead passed their pew, she glanced sideways at Hawke and the rest of their party. Hawke offered Aveline an encouraging smile and a subtle but enthusiastic nod. Aveline smiled slightly in return, although hers didn't seem to last too long. The skin around her eyes was tight with obvious nerves, but Hawke envied Aveline her otherwise stolid demeanor. The rogue sighed quietly, her gaze flickering to Fenris once more. As a child, she had dreamed- as all young girls do- of marrying a kind, gentle prince. It was a dream that had changed much over the years, but the basic premise was the same: fall in love, get married, maybe even have kids. It seemed simple, but in her youth Hawke had been unable to imagine how complicated life could get. She had to bite back a dry chuckle now.

She forced herself to abandon her musings and listen to Donnic and Aveline's vows, which were overseen by none other than the Grand Cleric herself. It was really a beautiful ceremony. Hawke would later admit to remembering next to nothing about it.

"Are you crying, dwarf?" she teased Varric afterward when she spotted his hand going to his face. The rest of the crowd was rising to their feet and beginning to exit the Chantry. Hawke herself, unwilling to fight through the crowd, decided to wait for a few minutes.

"No... there's just something in my eye," he insisted, scrubbing at his eye.

"Varric, you and I both know that that's the cheapest excuse in the book," she told him cheerfully.

"I got stabbed in the eye by my brother when I was a little boy, and it never stopped hurting. Yet, somehow, it healed miraculously so I can still see out of it," Varric amended his story with a grin.

"Really? Ouch!" Merrill exclaimed sympathetically. Human and dwarf exchanged amused glances behind the elven mage's back. Merrill turned to Varric for an explanation, leaving Hawke and Fenris to sit next to each other in silence. The lean elf, brow furrowed, appeared to be contemplating the statue of Andraste.

"She is quite beautiful, isn't she?" she remarked, leaning against him and tilting her head back to peer at the statue. She acted as if her previous outburst hadn't happened, and he seemed to be humoring her for the moment.

"Not nearly as beautiful as you are, Hawke," he told her quietly. Her cheek, pressed against his shoulder, rose into a smirk before she lifted her head up. She could feel her companions on the other side of the pew standing, and she decided it was time for her to get moving, too. She didn't want to miss the reception.

"Help me up?" she inquired plaintively, looking up at him with her bright blue eyes. He rose to his feet with an easy grace that Hawke envied; she'd had it before, less than six months ago, but her dealings with the Arishok left her broken and battered.

He extended his hand- bare, as he'd left his armor at home- and she accepted it, like a noble accepting her lover's help. However, she relied on his support much more than any lazy noble would. He let go of her hand once she was standing and balanced. He then proceeded to offer her his arm, as Sebastian had done before the wedding. She slipped her arm gratefully through his and tried to look like she wasn't leaning heavily on him as he led her through the Chantry. The rest of the crowd had drawn ahead of them, even the rest of her little flock. She guessed they had decided to leave her alone with Fenris, something that she wasn't ungrateful for.

"Sorry about having to drag you down like this," she said after several moments of silence as he began to help her down the stairs in front of the Chantry. Darkness had fallen during the wedding ceremony. The rest of the guests seemed to have disappeared into the night, undoubtedly making their way to the after-party.

"Don't apologize. I owe you much more than this." His words were low and somewhat hoarse. She contemplated this quietly for the span of several heartbeats before she spoke up again.

"Fenris..." She glanced sideways at him, her brows drawing together with mild concern. She descended the final step and stopped, tilting her head back to look up at him. Nearby was a post with a lantern connected to it, lighting up a small patch of ground. She could see the gentle flame of the lantern reflected in his steely emerald gaze. "You don't blame yourself for what happened, do you?"

His silence was her answer.

She swore quietly and began to draw away, then paused, realizing she'd forgotten something.

"Shit," she hissed, turning back to look up at the Chantry with a scowl on her features.

"What?" he asked, his dark brows furrowing as he eyed her anxiously. "What's wrong?"

"I left my cane in there," she replied, scowling. "I guess I can ask Sebastian to grab it for me tomorrow, but I really can't walk without it..."

"I'll get it," he said without missing a beat. He was halfway up the steps before she had the time to say "okay".

Hawke sighed quietly. The darkness seemed to muffle everything around her, dulling all her senses except the pain in her hip, which was as sharp as ever. She eyed the lamppost nearby, considering the best way to reach it; she couldn't stand on her own for long. She leaned heavily on her uninjured leg, but it was difficult keeping her balance. Her features twisted into a pained grimace as she limped ungracefully over to the pole. It was with relief that she wrapped her arm around it, clutching it tightly. She shifted, leaning her back against it so she was facing the courtyard in front of the Chantry.

"Serah Hawke." Her name was a sneer in a cold, nasally, masculine voice, and she shivered inadvertently.

"Technically, the title is 'Champion'," she corrected, her tone cool and nonchalant. She didn't have cause to fear- yet. The shadows in front of her shifted, and she caught the silhouette of several people.

"My mistake," the voice replied in a mocking tone. Her antagonizer, accompanied by no fewer than half a dozen men, stepped into the gleam of the lantern above her head. She didn't recognize these men, but their clothes were rather tattered; she guessed they were simply garden-variety thugs. Not assassins, perhaps, but nearly as dangerous.

"Yes, it was," Hawke agreed with no trace of regret. "Now, I suggest you turn around and go on your merry little way and I'll go on mine, agreed?" Her words were her first mistake. Her second was lifting a few silver pieces out of her coin pouch and showing them to him when the man didn't move. When the man who had spoken stepped forward, wearing a sneaky, possessive grin, she only then realized that it wasn't her coin he wanted. Her words had revealed that she didn't want to fight; her actions, when she didn't try to move away, revealed that she couldn't fight. Her skin prickled as she silently cursed her naïveté.

"Or you could have the whole thing," she persisted, offering her entire coin pouch in a last-ditch attempt to get the men to leave. At the same time, she reached down with her other hand to the knife that was strapped to her calf...

"I don't think so." Moving swiftly, the man knocked the coin purse out of one hand and grabbed her other wrist. He stepped forward, holding both of her wrists and pinning her against the pole. She could smell the stale whiskey on his breath. Her heart rate picked up, and fear such as she hadn't felt in a long time sped through her body. She opened her mouth to scream, to shout for Fenris, but the man wouldn't have it; he let go with one hand and clapped it to her mouth, slamming his body against hers and using his weight to keep her there. Tears sprung to her eyes when the movement jarred her hip.

"There, now. Just stay still and do I tell you, and this will be over quickly. Well, once the rest of my men have had their turn," he added with a shout of laughter. He leaned closer, one hand going to caress her waist, and he began to peel his fingers away from her mouth. Hopelessness engulfed her then; she couldn't do anything, weak and injured as she was. This man had the upper hand, and even if she could break away from his grasp, there were still others who would grab her, do unspeakable things to her. This man, who she could have killed in less than a second only months ago, was going to torture her in the worst way possible, and she couldn't do a thing to stop him. She was utterly powerless. She sagged in his grip, uttering a choked sob as he ripped his hand away and lurched forward.

Suddenly, there was a blue glow behind the man and then it was within the man. Fenris stood there, his lips drawn back into a snarl; she had never seen such dark fury, such hatred within her elf's expression as he yanked the man away from her and tossed him onto the ground some yards away. She collapsed to her hands and knees, trembling. Her chest heaved as she took great gulps of air, trying to remain calm; her head whirled, the fear and relief combining to make her dizzy. She could hear, as if from far away, the faint sounds of Fenris dispatching the rest of the thugs, but she didn't watch. This only took a few seconds; Fenris was at her side a the moment the final sounds of battle dissipated into the cool night air.

"Hawke..."

She didn't realize she was sobbing until his bare, bloody thumb brushed the tears away, and even then, the tears didn't stop. She felt him sit next to her, and he drew her into his lap. Shuddering, she buried her face into his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her, and she leaned into his comforting embrace. Neither of them spoke until she was finally able to get a hold of herself and force the tears to stop falling. At that point, she drew away, but only enough to free up her own hand. She brushed it against her cheek. It came away bloody; he had accidentally smeared blood on her features when he had touched her. She sighed quietly, feeling at the same time drained and dizzy. It was then that he broke the silence.

"Did he touch you?" His words were surprisingly tender and full of touching concern, yet there was an undertone of seething fury that would have made the bravest man quail in fear, were it directed at him.

"He didn't make it past my waist," she assured him with a hint of her usual vaguely amused nonchalance, but the tremor in her words betrayed her. She leaned into him again, pressing her cheek against his chest and gazing at the ground so he couldn't see her expression. "I was so scared," she confessed. Rarely did she speak with such raw truth; it made her feel vulnerable, but somehow it was also comforting. "If you hadn't shown up when you did..." His arms tightened around her, and she knew he was imagining the same thing she was. They lapsed into silence again.

"We should get going," he said at last. "I need to get you home."

"Hopefully Aveline will forgive me for missing her reception," she agreed with an unsteady chuckle. They still didn't move. She felt as if she were half-asleep, and her head still spun. Her heart refused to slow down, and her breathing was quick and shallow. A breeze rustled through the street. She shivered unconsciously.

"It's really cold out here," she mumbled. Fenris was on his feet almost instantly; her hands, draped around his neck, tightened with surprise, but he was carrying her, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. She couldn't find it within her to complain, even when he paused to kick something out of their path- probably a body. The gentle swaying motions of his sure, confident step lulled her into a half-doze. She broke out of her reverie when he spoke in his low, growly voice.

"Give me your key."

She reached into another pouch that hung at her belt and withdrew the key to her mansion. She handed it to him and watched as he inserted it into the lock. He nudged it open with his shoulder and used his bare foot to shut it behind them, moving easily as if he held nothing heavier than a basket of laundry. Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana were nowhere to be found upon entering the estate. Fang, however, lay dozing in front of the fireplace, which contained only a few dying embers.

Fenris carried her past the dog and the fireplace and up the stairs. She shifted to allow him free use of his hand so he could open the door to her room. Orana had left a small fire in the fireplace in this room, but it was dying quickly; Fenris set Hawke down on her bed and turned to drop a few more logs on top of the current fire. She watched him silently, her expression oddly pensive.

"You've got blood on your hands," she told him quietly, breaking the still silence.

"Excuse me?" He glanced back at her, lifting a dark brow. The firelight was caught and reflected by his pale hair, so it seemed to glow like a halo. A half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips at his bemused expression.

"I meant it literally," she replied, gesturing.

"Oh." Even in the dim room, she could see his ears turn pink as he glanced down at his hands. She watched him for another moment before rising to her feet- well, more specifically, her foot- and wrapping her hand around one of the bed posts. He rose to help her, but she flapped her hand at him in a silent gesture that meant 'stay there'. She limped over to the wash basin in the corner of her room and lifted a wet rag out of the lukewarm water. She rung out the excess drops and shuffled back over to Fenris, maneuvering herself into the armchair in her room. With her good leg, she nudged the footstool over to him, and he obediently sat down. She reached for one of his hands and began to wash it gently with the rag. Her movements were slow, precise, and loving, every stroke of the rag filled with infinite gentleness. Every so often, she would glance up at him before brushing her fingers along his hand, his palm, his fingers, just enjoying the feel of him. She was encouraged when he didn't protest.

"You know," she mused, reaching for his other hand, "you never answered my question." She glanced up at him from under her dark lashes. He was watching her ministrations with a thoughtful air, and his expression was unusually soft. She longed to reach out and cup his face with her palm or run her hand through his hair or stroke his dark eyebrows, but she didn't want to ruin this tentative peace between them. His response to her words was a noncommittal grunt which, inexplicably, brought an amused smile to her lips. By then, she was finished washing the gore off his hand, but she didn't let go of it. The rag fell to the floor; she simply clasped his hand between both of hers, but loosely, so he could break her grip if he wanted to.

He didn't.

"Fenris, I..." she began, her voice cracking slightly. At her suddenly serious words, his pensive gaze lifted to her face. Now she was the one who chose to stare at their hands. She cleared her throat before speaking again. "Thank you for rescuing me back there. I was being stupid, I should have shouted or something when I saw them. I... I just forgot that I can't defend myself like I used to. It was... I've never frozen up like that. I just choked."

"I would never have forgiven myself if that man had laid another hand on you," Fenris growled. Now she lifted her gaze, watching him with her sapphire blue eyes. She finally did allow herself to extend a small, slender hand and cup his cheek with her palm. He didn't move, for which she was grateful. Their gazes met; hers was soft and openly loving, while his had an odd mixture of longing and sadness.

"It's not for nothing," he told her suddenly. She was so startled and confused that she actually pulled away.

"What?" she asked, her brows furrowing. He caught her hand as she began to pull it away and he held it, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

"The answer to your question," he elaborated. "You asked me if your love was for nothing."

"Oh." She felt a blush heat up her cheeks and her neck. "I am sorry about shouting at you. It was just... I hadn't seen you in so long, and we haven't been on good terms lately anyway, but I... I wish we were... I can't stop thinking about that night, Fenris. Every day I remember it, and I wish we could spend more nights like that together. But I understand if you don't-" Suddenly his lips were on hers, silencing her nervous words. She exhaled softly, feeling her heart lift with hope that she hadn't felt in ages. The kiss was amazing; their lips and tongues danced together in a way that made her heart speed with joy and desire. Her hands tangled in his hair and his hands were on her neck and her back, pulling her closer. When she began to reach for the buttons at his suit, however, he caught her wrists gently and broke the kiss.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes rather wide as she leaned back. "That was rather presumptuous of me."

"It's okay," he soothed, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. "But I think that would be a bad idea right now."

"It's okay, I understand," she replied quietly, gently tugging her wrists free and running her own hand through her hair to disguise her hurt.

"I don't think you do," he persisted. "It's not that I don't want to; but after what happened a little while ago, with that man..." She shuddered, and he rested a hand comfortingly on her knee. "I don't want to take advantage of you, not while you're in this state," he continued in a low voice. "And especially not while you're injured. I don't want to hurt you, Hawke."

"Fenris..." The plea slipped out, but she understood and recognized the truth behind his words. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose before continuing. "Alright, just... don't leave me alone tonight. We don't have to... do anything, but I don't know if I could handle being by myself. And... don't go running off and ignoring me again. Please."

"I won't," he promised, rising to his feet. He bent over her, planting a simple yet loving kiss on the crown of her head before he slid his arms around her torso and helped her up.

That night, he shared her bed. She slept soundly for the first time in a long while, curled up against her elf's body. Nothing happened, yet everything changed that night. Hawke and Fenris grew close again, their relationship chaste yet somehow as intimate as any lovers'. Nothing sexual happened between them... until the night Danarius returned. But that story has already been told.