Thank you reviewers... and thank you also for pointing out that Fenris is not a stoner. You're all right; he's not in the least. As my professors tell me all the time, every action has motivation and consequence- you can't just know it in your head. Give the readers what they want!

So here we have both motivation (why did Broodmaster Glow decide to upgrade from wine to weed?) and the consequences (swordfighting while baked... not good). Not as hilarious as you'd think, but realistic enough. I do promise to redeem Isabela, but this is also a point in the game where she sort of goes full-blown with the downward spiral.

Warnings: references to drug use, language, and a dirty story of Isabela's as well as some rather graphic dead people. And a damn tease of an author, of course.

"I'm here if you need me."

-Aveline

VI.

As Aveline led them back to Lowtown and that damned pirate, Fenris found himself walking alongside Hawke, his head spinning worse than wine with the Spindleweed. He didn't dare glance at her profile, still confused and distraught by the fact that he had almost kissed her just as much as it bothered him that he had lost his chance to go through with it. After the first foul-flavored lungful he'd regretted stealing the Spindleweed from Isabela, but in his determination to vindicate himself on the pirate without crushing her throat he had forced himself to smoke it all.

Now the brisk jog Aveline set made his head and chest ache. He wanted to sit down, to pull Hawke with him and try to explain that he hated Isabela because she had portrayed his feelings for as cheap and scandalous. Not that some of it didn't appeal—like that bit about pressing Hawke against a wall or the description of a drop of sweat dribbling from her collarbone to the space between her breasts— but Fenris wanted every moment between them to be theirs, not some Lowtown tavern filth.

"Are you alright?" Hawke asked beside him, and he felt her stare on his face long before he turned to meet it. "You look a bit ill."

He stared at her like a fool, the way the starlight reflected off her face and hair and glowed in her eyes. Fenris wanted to recite poetry to her, but he only knew Tevinter poems and obscene limericks, courtesy of Varric and Isabela. Without words he just stared, stumbling as Aveline led them down a flight of stairs and righting himself a moment before he could land on his face.

Hawke caught his arm and held him back as the guard captain snorted and continued without pause. Her fingers fit through the spikes of the armor he had struggled to put on before they left, turning him to face her for a moment. "Do you trust me?" she said.

Fenris blinked bleary eyes at her and nodded after a long moment. She lifted her hand over his face, the palm so close he could smell Dog and that faint perfume of embrium and magic on her wrist though she never touched his skin. Green light flashed and he felt his head clearing of the Spindleweed torpor and even the wine he'd tried to wash it down with.

"What did you do?" he asked her, staring with wary eyes. She could not pretend it wasn't magic and the urge to grab and shake her had never been stronger.

Hawke narrowed her eyes at him and turned, jogging after Aveline. He had no choice but to follow and found that for the moments he trailed behind her his eyes fell to her swaying hips and the staff bumping against them in hypnotic rhythm. Though he knew it happened every time she moved ahead of him, Fenris felt an unusual surge of irritation tonight.

He lengthened his stride to catch up with her, glaring as she turned a corner to follow the flash of Aveline's armor.

"You used magic on me," he accused. The betrayal tasted bitter on his tongue and as he watched her he saw the sudden hurt flashing in her eyes as she turned to meet his gaze.

Never before had she dared to use even a healing spell on him, instead opting to treat his wounds with poultices and careful stitches when necessary. He had suffered few wounds since meeting her, because she believed that prevention was better than a cure and had an uncanny ability to destroy any enemy that got close enough to hurt him.

Her sure steps faltered for a moment and she bumped against his side as they rounded another corner, trailing further behind the guard captain. "Why would you do that," she murmured, glancing up at him through the pieces of dark hair that hung forever in her eyes. "What would possess you to further break the law by using Spindleweed like that? It's something I would expect from Isabela, even Varric, but not you."

A shock of guilt filled Fenris, all the worse because he was a free man. He made his choice of his own accord and disappointed her as a result. Her soft scolding, the gentle nature that prevented her from condemning him, twisted his heart until he had to look ahead, letting his hair shadow his face.

"I stole it from Isabela," he admitted into the night. "She started reading and at first I simply stole it, intending to taunt her with it in exchange for the destruction of the story." As talented a mage as Hawke was, it seemed she hadn't managed to get all the traces of intoxicant from his system, because he kept talking. "By the end, though, I wanted to kill her. I have heard Spindleweed calms the nerves somewhat, which is true enough."

"Why did you wait until she finished?" she asked him.

He hesitated. A good part of the reason was his fascination with the story, with the images it conjured of Hawke's naked body against his. But he had also watched her as the pirate read, trying to decide if she looked away with flaming cheeks because she felt ashamed or disgusted.

"Why did you?" he responded, daring to glance at her. He saw blue eyes widen, startled, and heat rise to her face before she turned her gaze ahead and pulled her staff from her back.

A massive crowd of rioters stumbled through the streets, most of them unarmed and drunk, stampeding because the others were, too. They were easy enough to scare away and the more belligerent fools he slapped with the flat of his blade or smacked with the hilt to hurry them along. Just as the bulk of the swarm dissipated he heard a guardsman cry out, 'Undercuts!' Fenris realized as shadowed forms dropped from the rooftops that the crowd had grown thanks to interference from the multitude of Lowtown gangs, each trying to scrape a piece of loot or territory for themselves.

As he slashed through a cluster of thugs he heard Hawke's voice snapping the word 'incinerate' and rolled out of the way as fire rained from the sky. After that the remaining Thrifters hurried off and those that didn't manage to escape refused to stop fighting until they died. The gang would have to be investigated another night; they left no prisoners.

He saw Aveline yelling, pointing a metal-encased finger at the pirate's furious face so close that it looked like she might jam it straight up Isabela's nose. For her part, Isabela could do nothing but swear and scream; a guard held each of her arms and her weapons lay discarded on the ground a few feet away.

"Someone stole the best bits of the story I—" Isabela protested.

"I don't bloody care! If you steal from everyone, someone's going to get you back one day.

"—Worked my ass off—"

"Don't think I don't know where the elf got that Spindleweed—"

"—only to have Hawke and Fenris go all broody and bitchy on me!"

A pause, and drunken Isabela seemed to absorb Aveline's words. "That bastard elf stole it," she cried. There was a metallic crash as Isabela kicked one of the guards in the groin. Fenris saw the man release her and drop to his knees. The pirate made a break for it, but the other guard held fast and Aveline lunged forward. The guard captain's armored gauntlet shot out, her fist striking the back of the ship captain's head. Isabela slumped, unconscious.

"Take her to the brig," snapped Aveline. She turned to the man that Isabela kicked and put a hand on his shoulder. Fenris' sharp ears still heard her murmur, in an almost gentle voice, "Are you all right, Guardsman Donnic? I'm sorry about that bloody pirate. You can take to the barracks for the rest of the night; I'll fill in your patrol."

Fenris turned away from the scene and stumbled over one of the charred corpses that Hawke's firestorm had destroyed. The smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils, and though Hawke had cleared most of the Spindleweed and wine from his head, the scent of cooking meat reminded him that he was hungry. His eyes fell on the cooked armor casing of the Undercut Thrifter against his toes and the shriveled blackened flesh within, and his stomach turned. Fenris staggered into a corner and retched, bracing his hand against the wall, his sword loose in the grip of his other hand.

Gentle fingers pressed against his back and he knew the touch for Hawke. Through the grafted leather armor he felt her hand rub circles and then, when he least expected it, those fingers dug into his hair, combing through the tangles and smoothing the sweaty strands out of his streaming eyes.

He coughed and spat the last of the bile up, taking deep breaths and straightening. He hadn't vomited in years, not since Hadriana tested a mild poison intended to humiliate a rival apprentice on him. It had been a terrible month and vomiting now reminded him of the constant cruelty they inflicted upon him. The difference now was that instead of delivering a sharp kick to his ribs, Hawke soothed him with her tender touch.

Fenris turned to face Hawke, seeing her pale face glitter in the moonlight, her brilliant eyes glowing with concern. She pulled a small red handkerchief from somewhere in her robes and he saw the Amell family crest embroidered in the corner as she lifted it to dab his chin and cheeks, cleaning the traces of vomit away from his face.

"Do you feel a bit better?" she asked him, brushing a corner of the silken cloth across his lower lip. He shivered at the touch. A worried frown knotted her brows. "Can you make it back home, or do you need to stay at the Hanged Man tonight?"

"I…" he said, trailing off and staring at her. His gloved hands caught her wrists and drew them downward from his face to his chest. Perhaps it was the lingering Spindleweed or the way she had cleaned him up in spite of his wretchedness or the fact that Aveline had robbed them of their moment. In either case, his hands shifted to her shoulders, seizing them and drawing her closer, leaning in to kiss her.

But her hands against his chest grew resistant and she turned her face aside before his lips could reach hers. Fenris drew back, startled, hurt, and confused. She showed him such tenderness, but was it just friendship after all? Moments ago in the mansion she had seemed prepared to kiss him, to receive his affections.

"I'm sorry, Fenris," she said, backing away a step. "It's just… the vomit on your breath..." A flush colored her cheeks, brighter for the sputtering animal-fat torches of Lowtown, and she trailed off.

He felt his brows rise and his emptied stomach knot. How could he forget such a thing? She must have thought him vile, an uncouth brute, unfit for the attentions of a noblewoman such as herself. He backed away, further into the corner, feeling as if he could hear Hadriana's high, cold laugh ringing in his ears.

"I apologize," he said, unable to meet her eyes. Still, he saw the concern filling her features and she stepped forward, smoothing a piece of hair away from his eyes, her chest against his.

"Look at me, Fenris," she murmured, tucking the strand behind his ear. Her fingers brushed the tender cartilage and he shivered, gripping his fists in an effort not to reach for her again. With reluctance, he lifted his eyes to her earnest face. "I hope one day you will kiss me. But I want it to be your choice and I want it to be me you're kissing, not just a poor judgment call you've made because you're intoxicated."

He blinks. "I know who you are. I certainly didn't intend to kiss Aveline."

A surprised laugh broke free of her, failing to reassure Fenris. Her vivid blue eyes bore into his, that kind expression he at once longed for and feared. "I know a first kiss can't be perfect, and I know it is childish to say, but I suppose I always wanted it to take place somewhere private, away from prying eyes and whispering lips. Maybe in the rain, or in front of your fireplace." Her arms wrapped around her torso and she hugged herself, her cheeks coloring as a wistful expression filled her gaze.

Fenris shuffled his feet, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, and watched her face as she spoke, incapable of looking away from her. After she fell silent he just stood before her, aware of the guards disappearing back to their posts or into the tavern, of Aveline passing them by with a brief glance and a small smile, Guardsman Donnic a step behind her. For all that the world moved around them, Fenris felt as if he and Hawke were halted in their own space.

"Do you require assistance getting home?" he asked her, before wishing he had thought of a cleverer way to make his request.

She smiled, that slow blooming of her lips that remained gentle and tender, the smile he craved. "I would not mind the company," she answered, motioning to the street that led back to Hightown.

Fenris fell in step beside her, unable to think of what he should say. The silence between them stretched all the way to the bridge, and it was Hawke, not him, who broke it.

"Now that Aveline took care of Isabela for us, we can enlist Varric's help in getting rid of that bloody awful story before anyone else hears it," she said.

He nodded, feeling his stomach knot again. "Do you think the dwarf will aid us in destroying a precious story?" he asked. Of course Varric would want to include the story in all of his epic tales of Hawke. What better than some filth to draw in the lowlifes that haunted the Hanged Man?

But she shook her head. "No. It would… de-romanticize me as a heroine, I think," she replied. "He'll drag it out as long as he can, to ensure that in the retelling my virtue was preserved until I found a man truly worthy of it."

Fenris swallowed. He wanted to ask her if she thought him worthy, but still felt the tumultuous doubts swirling and feared her answer. They walked through the empty market and turned toward the Estates, quiet once again. Neither made any sound as they walked, their movements the whispers of ships passing in the night.

When they reached the front of her manor they paused and she stared at him for a long moment. "I have found someone worthy. Perhaps not tonight, but maybe someday," she said to him, meeting his gaze with steady blue eyes.

His heart wrenched and he felt his brows contract. "Who?" he demanded, unable to hide his anger at the idea of her being with someone else.

She shook her head, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "You already know the answer to that," she replied, turning and walking up the path to her mansion. He stared, watching her slow steps, as she turned to glance at him over her shoulder before disappearing through the door.

Fenris walked all the way back to his mansion before he realized she had been talking about him. At once he forgot to be angry with her for using magic on him. For the first time in memory, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The door banged open and he thrashed out of his bed, grabbing his sword and hovering in a corner, waiting to see the intruder. Plate metal clanked through the hallway and he heard a familiar Fereldan voice call his name.

"Fenris, I know you're in here," Aveline called. "I'm bloody tired so none of your shit today." She entered the room just as he lowered his sword and slammed a scroll onto the desk.

"What is that?" he asked, raising his brows toward the parchment, still clutched in her metal gauntlet.

The guardswoman sighed. "An order to search. There have been too many complaints in the neighborhood. You need to disappear for a while," she answered. Fenris felt his heart sinking through the floor. Hawke had just told him that she might share his feeling for her.

"Where am I to go?" he responded, unable to hide the sullen note in his voice.

Her lips compressed into a tight line. "I've found you a spot as a hired blade for Arl Eamon as he journeys from Kirkwall to Redcliffe," she answered. "You'll be paid well and you'll be gone for a few months."

"Must I go? Can't you simply… rearrange your patrols?" he asked. It was a request he made too often and he knew it.

Aveline confirmed his fears when she folded her arms and said, "I know you don't want to leave, but it's for the best. There's no other way."

"And if Hawke requires me?" he said. He couldn't help himself; if anyone might understand his predicament, it was the Captain of the Guard.

She bowed her head as if in understanding and Fenris felt a surge of gratitude for her competence and wisdom. He had no reason not to trust Aveline, but he prayed she didn't intend to separate him from Hawke in any permanent fashion. "Go say good-bye, then. But be quick about it."

Fenris darted to gather his meager belongings and hurried toward the Amell Estate.

Sorry! But you know it's not supposed to be too easy. But Act II comes next, and everyone knows what that means. ;-) Will update as much as possible around my finals.