The two of them were doing well as a team, being hired as mercenaries, and with Hawke being seen as the leader; outside of mercenary jobs, they did any other work that headed their way, excluding anything involving animals and small children after what the two agreed to refer to as the incident, leading to a growing sum of coin.

Unfortunately, this success meant that they were starting to get a reputation, and that reputation involved knowledge of them never staying for more than a week in any given locale, and that was on a long stay. This meant that people decided that they were hiding something, which in turn meant that the bloody Templars in every town was more suspicious than the last.

Dane shook his head, trying to clear his head of that; so far they hadn't been approached by any Templars, which was a good thing. He saw their contact for payment for the last hunting trip, and nodded to Fenris before going over to the man.

"Ah, Serrah Hawke, I take it?" the man smiled, tone oily. Just because profits were lucrative didn't mean the people were pleasant.

"Yes." He kept his tone neutral.

"Here is you payment, with a bonus from the client for efficiency." The man held out a pouch, and he reached out for it, taking it as the man continued, "There is another matter if you have the time…"

Hawke looked back and froze when he saw Fenris and a Templar all but snarling at one another and responded, "No thank you."

He was at Fenris's side in an instant, asking, "Is something wrong Ser?"

The Templar stared down at him then stated grudgingly, "I was… investigating a rumor."

"About…?" Dane prompted, playing the fool.

"…The possibility of one of you being an apost-" the man was cut off as woman in Chantry robes stormed over.

"Matteus, I specifically told you not to pursue this!" she chided, stopping near them, scowling at the man.

"But Mother Sandra-" the man began to protest, sounding remarkably like an eight year old, only to be cut off by the Mother.

"None of that! We cannot simply pursue every rumor of someone being a mage or all of Thedas will be at each other's throats! Now, return to the Chantry, and I mean it!"

The man really looked like a child now, shoulders slumped and walking away, and Hawke found himself trying to not burst out laughing at the fact that she had just sent a full grown man, essentially, to his room. The woman gave an exasperated sigh, shaking her head before turning to them, expression softening.

"I apologize. Matteus is an older Templar, and the lyrium poisoning makes him paranoid, so we have to limit how much he goes off alone or he winds up chasing rumors. I hope he's done no damage?"

"A senile Templar. Grand." Fenris snorted derisively, under his breath too low for anyone but Dane to hear.

"Not that I can see. Thank you for stepping in when you did, but are you sure he'll let this be?" the human asked, playing the part of an ordinary person who has come to the attention of a Templar; because as far as she knew, that was precisely what he was.

Mother Sandra sighed, "Unfortunately, no. He tends to pursue these whisperings as if they are the true thing. Thus, it may be best if you leave within the next week."

They nodded, and she left after a brief, "Maker watch over you."

That evening Fenris turned toward Hawke, pulling on breeches the mage, to question him about why they hadn't left, and paused briefly, irritated that the mage had changed so quickly, and by the fact that over the last two months, he had never seen the man change. Then he began mentally scrambling for a reason as to why he was irritated by that, interrupted when Dane asked, "Something wrong?"

"I… am simply wondering why we have not left town, considering the Mother's warning." He replied, looking away.

"We have that job here tomorrow, and skipping out isn't exactly our best option. We'll leave the next day, I promise." The man seemed just as anxious as him, now that he paid closer attention, running his hand through black hair repeatedly.

"…Very well."

Despite his concern, Fenris was relieved when the job (raiding a slaver den to free the slaves and kill the slavers) went without problem, as did departure the next morning to the next town a week away.

XXXXX

Hawke swung his staff up blocking the downswing of the greatsword, metal ringing as his muscles strained to keep the metal rod there, before he had to break position, lunging to the side, pushing Fenris's blade to the side. He used the momentum from the dodge to swing the bladed end toward the other's ribcage, making him off balance when the elf turned away from the blade. He found himself on the forest ground, a tree root digging into something rather uncomfortably, for the third time that afternoon, Fenris's great sword inches off his abdomen.

"Still not good enough, I guess." Dane sighed as Fenris pulled his blade back and stepping back for him to get to his feet.

"Why do you insist on practicing like this?" the elf finally asked, confused as to why a mage would bother practicing fighting with arms, even if it was just with a bladed staff.

The mage hesitated, thinking the answer over, before replying, "I can't always rely on my magic; what if we get in a fight with Templars around again? Or if one find out I'm a mage and blocks off my magic again? Or we could simply be somewhere that there's no room for me to cast spells. There are a lot of reasons."

Fenris blinked, surprised by the amount of forethought, then nodded. He took in the lack of light, and frowned.

Hawke evidently guessed what he was thinking, or was getting better at reading him, as he muttered, "Getting dark already, huh? We should probably set up camp…"

He nodded back at the human, and the two settled into a routine that had been established at some point, but when he could not say. Hawke set up the campsite while he would try to catch some small game to add to the trail rations they made sure to keep stocked up on, a routine that meant that they usually had a timeframe of either silence of mindless chatter as the game cooked.

Thus as the hares he had managed to catch sat over the fire cooking, he found himself watching the man as he patched a hole in one of the long sleeved tunics he had, staff carefully propped up nearby him. Usually, he preferred the quiet to the chatter that was empty of meaning, but for some reason, he wanted the man to talk to him; perhaps because they had traded little talk the last week? He began searching for something to talk about, before settling on something that was relatively 'safe'.

"That staff…" he began, waiting for the man to look up at him, before asking, "Where did you obtain it?"

"It's actually an ancestral weapon from my father's side, 'The Staff of Parlathan'," Dane stated, frowning at the father part, continuing, "Who the ancestor was, I don't know. But there are two major stories that are given as the possibilities of its' origin. The first, more honorable one is that it belonged to the mage Parlathan who fought alongside King Calenhad to unite Fereldan, before disappearing and leaving the staff with his family. The other is that it belonged to a Tevinter Magister who was sent to end a slave rebellion in Kirkwall and disappeared in route."

The smile on his lips had a slight tilt to it as he added, "I prefer thinking it's the first, if you're wondering. Why do you want to know?"

Fenris shrugged then stopped at the look that Dane gave him, admitting, "We haven't spoken much this last week."

"Ah. That would be my fault, I've been distracted lately. I keep thinking that the Templar from three towns back has been following us. Which, now that I've said it, still sounds very paranoid." The black haired man sighed, shaking his head ruefully. Fenris pulled his eyes away from the hair he most certainly was not staring at, leaning back against the tree.

"If he is, I do not know much else that could be done to rid us of him short of killing him." Fenris admitted.

Hawke frowned, then sighed, poking the half-cooked rabbit, obviously unhappy about the idea, before stating, "I don't really want to talk about that. Is there anything else to talk about?"

Fenris found his eyes on the red sash around the other man's waist, and asked, "Does that sash have a personal meaning?"

"Actually, yes." The admittance was sheepish, and the man paused for a moment, then explained, "It was my mother's favor to my father when they were courting. My father gave it to me for some mad reason on his deathbed. I'm actually glad that it wasn't ruined by the salt water when I got knocked overboard."

Fenris blinked at the last part and, in a flat tone asked, "What?"

Dane grinned sheepishly, explaining, "I got knocked overboard during a storm when I was on the ship on the way to Kirkwall with my family when someone attacked me. Then I was rescued by Tal-Valshoth pirates. They dropped me off at the town I met you near the first time."

He stared at the man, wondering how he could so easily speak of something like that as if it was nothing. Then he remembered that this was Hawke, and, for the sake of his sanity, chalked it up to that

XXXX

The good news, Hawke thought, twisting against the ropes binding his hands behind his back, wincing at the pain that shot through…well everything, is that I'm not crazy. The bad news is everything else.

'Everything else' including the three Templars around him, including the one that had accosted them at least ten villages ago, the fact his hand were bound, the fact Fenris wouldn't expect him for at least two hours, and the fact that, through a hole the blindfold, he could see the Templar's eyeing him in what was an unmistakably hungry manner. That aside, he tried to figure out when he had screwed up so badly that he would wind up in this position; surrounded by Templars, unarmed, beaten, hands bound, fighting against the fog from his separation from the Fade, in a back alley.

And for the life of him, he couldn't. He was just supposed to be meeting a contac-

That bitch had betrayed him hadn't she? The woman who was supposed to tell him the specifications for the slaver camp had betrayed them. His blood burned in his veins before he forced it down; anger was of no use in this situation.

One of the Templar's moved towards him, gripping him by the hair. He gritted his teeth, when the man spoke, "Think we should give this one an introduction to the concept of 'obedience'?"

Shit, he thought, realizing what they meant, his father having told cautionary tales to he and Bethany, that, now, seemed far too accurate for them to be second hand has his father had claimed they were.

"Do what you want, I don't care as long as the apostate is punished." That was the bastard Matteus.

"Shouldn't we save that until we're out of the city? Since he had the elf following him-" the second Templar began cut off by the first one.

"They obviously split up, or else he'd have come to aid his 'friend'. Do you want to or not?" he snapped.

There was a long pause, then he saw the second nod slowly, the first one gripping his hair, pulling him back by it, pushing a calloused thumb against his mouth until he was forced to open. At the same time the other, more nervous one, began weakly tugging at his robes, eyes locked on the fingers the other Templar had in his mouth. Hawke considered biting, thought against it.

He heard his tunic sleeve begin to tear, and he was pushed back, facing against the wall, hard, more confident hand beginning to yank at his breeches, when a low snarl went through the alley, the fingers in his mouth, and the nervous hands abruptly gone, replaced by a howl of pain cut off by a gurgle. There was the sound of metal clashing,

The silence, combined with his lack of sight meant he had no clue what was going on, which was more unbelievably more frightening than when he had an idea of where they were going. Then he felt hands tugging at the ropes around his wrists. Hands unbound, he nearly scrambled away, but was stopped by a grip on his arm –Ouch- followed by a hiss, "Hawke, would you hold still."

He nearly slumped in relief as recognized Fenris's voice, obeying as the elf untied the blindfold, then turning once the other had backed away.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what are you doing here?" Dane asked false lightness in his tone.

"The woman apparently regretted her actions; she came to me and told me- how can you treat this so lightly?" The elf broke off from an explanation into a demand.

He smiled, a bit tiredly, explained, "Some things you have to make light of. But I do understand the weight of what just happened. Most people, not just mages, will abuse power if they are not regulated; that means Templars too, since most of the Mothers and Clerics that are supposed to monitor them are too afraid of them too, and the Knight-Commanders usually don't have the time to control all of them."

He watch the elf's expression, and could see…something that disappeared when Fenris spoke, "We should probably return to the Inn, gather our supplies and leave."

Dane nodded, looking for his staff, and finding it behind several boxes, covered in muck, and frowned, before following Fenris, despite the ache, back to the Inn. He could heal himself later.

XXX

Later came, and found them once again camping out of the town, Fenris watch Hawke like a…hawk, as the other man finally began to pick off his tunic to heal himself- and saw a line of dark red going up his shoulder, from his forearm that he almost mistook for blood, until he saw how precise a line it was, he found himself following it until it disappeared over the other man's shoulder.

"Fenris, what are you staring at- Oh the tattoo?" It sounded like a question, and he nodded, waiting for the explanation. Hawke arched an eyebrow and then began to explain, beginning to heal the bruises, starting with what looked like finger marks-"I got them with my brother Carver, just over six months ago, back when he was preparing to go to Ostagar."

There was a rueful, if brief laugh from the man before he continued, "If you asked him, the whole thing was planned, and for him, it was, me… not so much. I had been drinking, unhappy I was going to be stuck with Bethany and Mother, and he made an offhand suggestion I get one too. Being drunk, I said yes, and woke up with the tattoo, and had to ask Carver how I wound up with it.

"I managed to hide it from Mother for about a week, then she saw it and we had a row about it. The my sister ratted out Carver getting one- a Mabari- and she was even angrier, blaming me for being a bad influence. Then Carver told her that on both counts it was his idea and she didn't know what to say about it. I don't regret it though, which is rare enough."

He looked up, and frowned muttering, "Too much information?"

Mutely, Fenris shook his head, then, after a few minutes, asked, "Where… Where does it go?"

"I can show you someday, but not right now." Was Hawke's smile mischievous there, or was he simply losing his mind?

The mage finished his healing, and yawned, looking all the world like he was going to fall asleep on his feet, so he said he would take the first watch, while the other slept. Despite that, it was easy to tell he would still be tired come morning, the way he twisted and jerked in his sleep; Fenris waking him more than once, arcane energy sparking in the air.