Dragon Age and its characters belong to Bioware. Any OC though, belongs to me :) After this chapter, there will definitely be more Fenris. Just have to finish staging the suitors. Enjoy!

"First Bethany, then Carver, and now this," Leandra sobbed as she hovered over Hawke's resting form. "Is the Maker punishing me for running away with Malcolm? Is this His form of justice?"

"That is absurd, Mistress Hawke," Aveline said from the doorway of Hawke's chambers. "Your daughter acted on the will of the Viscount and provided her service to Kirkwall's security."

Leandra brushed her daughter's hair out of her face. "And why is it that my family, the Amells—nobility!—should actively participate in combat for the betterment of Kirkwall? I believe we have guards for that purpose."

Aveline stiffened and took in a deep breath to settle her nerves. "I assure you that this matter was far too delicate for the city guard to handle by themselves."

"'Too delicate'," Leandra whispered. "Bethany was 'too delicate' and had her body destroyed by that horrible ogre. And is my Marian not 'too delicate' to rampage about, casting spells this way and that? She is of high-born class and is expected to behave like it. I can't have her mucking about with Kirkwall's inferior. What would society think of us then?"

"What would society think of Hawke if she stayed cooped up in this estate, not reaching out to Kirkwall's defenseless and downtrodden?" Aveline dared to ask.

Leandra's eyes hardened and she narrowed them at Aveline. "At least she would be kept away from this city's influences. That apostate tended to her wounds, did he not? That's just what this family needs: more magic fluttering about, causing more problems." She caressed Hawke's cheek and let out a deep sigh. "Look at my little girl. She looks so peaceful, doesn't she?"

Aveline moved closer to mother and daughter. "Hawke risked her life by breathing in that poison to protect Kirkwall."

"And you accompanied her, did you not? I don't see you condemned to a bed, Guard Captain. Oh, why does my darling have to suffer the most out of all of us? Why would she do this to me?" She sobbed and brushed her knuckles against her cheek. "She looks so much like her father—what would he say if he saw her now, like this? Sleeping for two days, not even waking up for meals. Pale as a corpse."

"Anders's magic nullified the poison's effects on her," Aveline stated, hoping to lighten Leandra's somber mood. "He says she will make a full recovery, but to rest for the remainder of the week."

"The rest of the week?" Leandra gasped. "Why, that hardly leaves her enough time to prepare for dinner with Raydin Bran!"

"If I may, Mistress Hawke. I think she'd be better off not attending the dinner, until we're certain she is in top condition."

Leandra clicked her tongue and placed her hands on her hips. "And what good would that do? The people of Kirkwall are familiar with seeing my Marian out and about; what would they think if she didn't make any appearances? It might draw the wrong conclusion and attention as to exactly why she is bed-ridden."

"It will make the people realize that your daughter means business when it comes to Kirkwall's safety," Aveline said shortly.

"And why exactly is she in this condition, Guard Captain? She was defending the Qunari."

"She was defending Kirkwall!" Aveline's cheeks flushed with frustration and anger as Leandra shook her head.

"By serving the Qunari. Do you think the Amells need people to think we're Qunari-lovers? It's bad enough that the Viscount knows that my daughter is on speakable terms with them. Any chance of her finding a suitor would be squashed if they thought she supported them!"

Aveline opened her mouth to defend Hawke, but Leandra shushed her with a wave of her hand. "I've heard enough, Guard Captain. I am responsible for my daughter's future, and I plan on cementing it. Any words you have to say only tear at this old lady's heart."

Aveline offered a curt nod, her blood boiling. She stormed out of the Hawke Estate, not sparing Bodahn or Sandal a glance. Orana jumped when Aveline slammed the door closed behind her.

Leandra knelt by the bed and tucked her daughter's hair behind her ear. "Don't worry, my little girl. Mother will take care of everything."

It was three days before Hawke woke up, and it was hardly a pretty awakening.

She had gorged herself with oatmeal, courtesy of Orana, and had bathed immediately afterward. Dried blood still coated her hair, and knowing that it had been like that for five days made her stomach churn. Her side and calf still stung from the mercenary's blade, but the wounds had healed well and only left faint scars.

Despite her mother's prodding and insisting that she stay in bed, Hawke refused. There was not a chance in all of Thedas that she was going to stay in the estate with her mother clucking at her with dear, precious Thomas there to encouraging her.

It sickened her that Thomas was the first sight she saw after opening her eyes. He was lurched forward in a chair by her bedside, staring at her with eyes that were too concerned to be genuine. He immediately took her hand in his and brushed aside her hair.

It sickened her. There was only one man allowed to treat her like a daughter, and that man would forever be Malcolm Hawke, not this Thomas fellow. He didn't even look like a Thomas.

Hawke sighed and descended the staircase once she was clothed in her casual finery. There was a racket coming from the kitchen, and from hearing Bodahn's voice above the clangs of pots and pans, she could only guess that Sandal was once again trying to help Orana cook.

"Now, Sandal, let the nice lady bake for Lady Hawke," Bodahn said to his son. Sandal beamed at Orana and clapped his hands.

Hawke turned the corner into the kitchen, Orana's second favorite part of the estate, the first being her private quarters. She soured when she saw her mother standing over the dwarves, her arms crossed and an annoyed frown etched into her brow. And Thomas was there with her.

She tried to slip past the kitchen unnoticed, but Leandra chose that exact moment to turn her head to the entryway. Her frown deepened when she saw her daughter.

"And just where do you think you're going, Marian?" she demanded.

Hawke took in a breath and steadied her nerves. "To the Viscount. No doubt he would like to know what the Qunari wanted of me. I should report my success in stopping the criminals who stole from them."

Leandra shook her head. "I won't have you traipsing out and about. You need your rest—Maker knows you do."

"Mother, I'm a grown woman and have been in that bed for five days now. I think my body has had enough rest."

"Your mother's right, Marian," Thomas said. He put an arm around Leandra, and both of them wore concerned expressions. "She's been sick to her stomach over you. Can you find it in your heart to listen to this one simple request? We can send Bodahn to report to the Viscount. You shouldn't strain yourself."

Hawke looked at her mother, then at the dwarves and Orana. The poor elven girl was hunched in the far corner, a plate hugged to her chest as she fearfully eyed Mistress Hawke.

Or should I call her Mistress Amell? Hawke absently thought.

Hawke looked back at Thomas, noticing for the first time a cold tinge to his light blue eyes that she hadn't seen before. She capitulated. "Only for today. But tomorrow—"

"Splendid," Leandra said. She and Thomas shared a grin. "Tomorrow evening is your dinner with Seneschal Bran's son. I've finished hemming your dress, Marian; please try it on so that I can make any final adjustments."

"Tomorrow I need to report—"

"And Orana," Leandra said as she walked over to the girl, "fetch the Orlesian parcel that was delivered to us yesterday. I believe the heels have finally arrived."

Hawke stared in disbelief as Leandra shooed Orana out of the kitchen, shortly followed by Bodahn and Sandal. Once it was just Hawke and Thomas left, he gave her a grin that he thought was reassuring, but it died when Hawke glared at him.

"Your mother is only looking out for your well-being, Marian," he said. He cleared his throat when Hawke's face didn't soften a bit.

"And I'm sure I'm completely unable to fend for myself," she said, giving Thomas a sour look.

"Your bed-ridden condition spoke for itself, Marian." He smiled when she didn't have any words to spit at him. "You have nothing to fear. Leandra has already made all the preparations tomorrow—marvelous woman, isn't she?—and we will both be there at your side to support you through this. Raydin Bran seems like a fine fellow."

Hawke grunted. "Thank you for already making my opinions for me, Thomas. It means so much to me, knowing that you're concerned about my life."

He sighed and folded his arms across his chest. "I just don't want to see your mother upset. She means a lot to me, and it would be most unfortunate to have a frown mar her face. That beautiful face..."

Hawke frowned at the distant look in his eyes. She cleared her throat, bringing him out of his reverie. "You should know that there is more to my family than mere looks, Thomas."

He smiled and inclined his head. "I am sure that Raydin Bran will be swept off his feet by your charming personality."

Hawke quietly slipped into her robes and holstered her staff on her back. It was early enough in the day for the rest of the Hawke Estate to still be asleep, but late enough that a certain dwarf wouldn't be. She sent a silent prayer to the Maker that her prison time in the Hawke Estate was at an end.

While Leandra said that she had to dine with Raydin Bran in the evening, she never said that she couldn't be out and about before then. Hawke smiled and adjusted the collar of her robes.

Last night had been torture. Again, she had to endure dinner with Thomas. If he wasn't wearing those fake smiles directed at her, he was staring at her mother. Maker, she wanted him and his steely, beady eyes gone already.

What does Mother even see in him? He's nothing like Father.

Quippie looked up from the tangle of sheets on the bed. He whimpered and wiggled his stubby tail when Hawke pat him on the head. They both had slept soundly after dinner, and Hawke had to admit to herself that she was still a little weak in the legs. But staying one more day in Leandra's prison was not an option.

"And having one more night with Thomas as company would be dreadful, wouldn't it, boy?" She smiled when he growled and bared his teeth. "Even you don't like Thomas. Good boy." She scratched him behind the ears before sneaking out of her house. He whined and clambered off the bed to follow after her.

She looked back at him and sighed. "Oh, alright, you can come with. But shh." He lolled his tongue out and gave her hand a lick. Together, they tiptoed out of the Hawke Estate and made their way to the Hanged Man.

"Well, I'll say that it's a relief to see you still alive after these six days of absence." Varric snorted and took a gulp from his tankard. "I'm surprised your mother hasn't killed you with boredom yet."

"As if house arrest wasn't bad enough," Hawke sighed as she slouched in her chair. "Now I'm to finally meet the seneschal's son. After tonight, I will officially be ruined."

Varric laughed and shook his head. "You could always scare him away, Hawke. Maybe roast one of his Orlesian's boots? It'd be such a tragedy."

She rolled her eyes and frowned when Quippie trotted over to Varric with a deck of cards in his mouth. The dwarf chuckled and took the slobbery deck from the dog. "It's too early, my friend." Quippie whined and sat back on his haunches. His ears fell and he nudged Varric with his nose. "But, if you're up for it later tonight, I'm sure Rivaini would love to join us."

Quippie barked and wagged his tail.

"I'm not sure if I should be horrified that you taught my dog how to play cards, or if I should be impressed," Hawke said. She shook her head when Quippie lied down and contented himself with chewing on the leg of the table. "But I think Quips will have to decline."

Her dog growled from beneath the table.

"I need him at the estate. Having him with me will give me some encouragement. And I'm sure Quips would love to chew on Raydin Bran, wouldn't you, old boy?"

He barked happily and slobbered on her shoe in response.

"A shame," Varric said. "Even Broody said he'd be down later for Wicked Grace. About time, too. Haven't seen him since the poison incident. But, I suppose we could make some time later for your dog."

Hawke frowned and picked at the table. "He... he's been in his mansion for six days?" Not surprising, in fact.

Varric nodded. "Rivaini's been checking up on him. Don't you worry, Hawke. Our favorite brooding elf is still brooding and elven. If he wasn't, well. That would be something, wouldn't it?"

She hummed and inhaled. "I'll check up on everyone after I report to the Viscount. I still have to thank Anders for curing the poison and see if Aveline's alright."

"And the elf?"

Hawke bobbed her head up and down. "I'll check on Merrill, too. Maybe pay that old elven couple a visit while I'm at the Alienage."

Varric sighed. "Not that elf, Hawke. Fenris. Broody. Whatever you call him."

"Bane of my existence."

He held his hands out. "All I'm saying is that maybe a 'thank you' is in order after he rescued your hide from those mercenaries? Maybe even get him to come out of his mansion more?"

She frowned and tilted her head to the side. "I'm not sure me invading in his privacy is a good idea. Not if I don't want a fist sticking out of my chest, thank you."

"Just consider it, Hawke. You may not think so, but I think it's high time to smooth things over from what happened in the Holding Caves. You know, break the ice, form an agreement of some sort. And one that doesn't involve both of you hating each other."

Hawke stood and patted her thigh for Quippie to follow her. "I'll consider it," she said over her shoulder before leaving the Hanged Man.

The Viscount had been pleased with her success to stop the culprits responsible for the saar-qamek outbreak, but distraught at the news that his own people were trying to take matters into their own hands to stop the Qunari. He had thanked and dismissed her looking every one of his years, and she had pledged that should he ever need her services again, she was only a message away.

She hadn't a chance to speak with Aveline. When she entered the barracks, she saw her busy instructing her guards in combat training. Aveline had seen her and nodded at her with a smile before waving her away.

Hawke moved through the Hightown market, weaving her way through the early shoppers. She moved to the side of the stairs leading to Lowtown as a small group of merchants hauled their wares. She grabbed Quippie's fur to make sure he wouldn't go bounding after a scrumptious cake or pie. Slowly, she made her way past the merchants, periodically having to stop and wait for more of them to pass.

Just when she snaked past the last of them, she stumbled backward as she collided with someone.

"I'm sorry—"

"I beg your pardon—"

Quippie nudged her back and leg to keep her from falling, and she murmured a promise to buy him a nice juicy bone later. She looked up at the person she had run into and was shocked to see the spitting image of Seneschal Bran standing before her.

He seemed equally shocked as well, but was the first to recover. He smiled and eyed her up and down once he realized who she was. "Serah Hawke. What a pleasure it is to see you so soon before our planned dinner."

"You must be Raydin Bran," Hawke said with a smile just as fake as his. Quippie growled quietly and rubbed his neck against Hawke's thigh. "It's a... delight to finally meet you."

"I've heard many things about you, Serah Hawke. My father has told me much. I do hope that you'll be able to enlighten me during supper."

Probably told you how much he despises me, Hawke thought. "I'm sure that will not be a problem, Raydin. Until then." She smiled and tried to walk down the stairs into Lowtown, but he moved in front of her so that he cornered her against the railing.

Quippie snarled and bared his teeth, his hackles rising as he waited for his mistress to give him the command to rip this fool apart. All he needed was one word...

"May I just say, Serah Hawke," Raydin said as he gripped the railing on either side of her. She wrinkled her nose and tried not to sneeze at the obsessive amount of cologne he wore. "It has been my honor to have met such an enchanting woman on this fine morning." His eyes trailed down her face to the neckline of her robes, and beyond that to her bosom. She rolled her eyes. Of course the son would be just as vulgar as the father.

Raydin Bran opened his mouth to say something, but yelped as something heavy stepped on his foot. He hopped away from Hawke, cursing beneath his breath and cradling his ruined Orlesian boot. He scrunched his face up at the muddy paw print on the polished leather.

Quippie panted smugly by his mistress. Raydin glared at the dog. "Oh, you have a mabari," he spat.

Hawke nodded. "Don't worry, he doesn't bite." Raydin gave the dog a doubtful look. "Unless I tell him to, of course."

"Of course," Raydin hissed. "I take it he won't be joining us tonight?"

"That depends," Hawke said sweetly. "My mabari is very good at finding and stopping distractions. We wouldn't want your attention to wave or your eyes to wander, would we, Serah Bran?"

Raydin Bran flushed pink before straightening himself. He cleared his throat and lifted his chin. "Of course, Serah Hawke. Such qualities are admirable, doubly so in a dog. Good day." He hurried off, daring only once to look back at her.

She wiggled her fingers at him and huffed when he was out of sight. She knelt and held her mabari's face. "I think you will join us at dinner. You can sit right next to Raydin, how 'bout that?"

Quippie barked and slobbered her cheek. She smiled and pat him on the head before looking down. She frowned. If Raydin Bran was enraptured by her curves, then she knew someone else's cleavage that would entirely enchant him.

"But what's wrong with the sheets, Isabela? Oh, wait, I know. It's the stains, isn't it? I never know where they come from or why this roof keeps leaking. Maybe I have termites."

Isabela plucked at the sheets on Merrill's bed. "Kitten, sheets are very important in a woman's bedroom."

"It isn't the color, is it? I wanted a pale green, but all they had were four different shades of grey."

"There are three things about a woman that men pay attention to, sweet thing. One: her pretty face. Two: her curves. Three: her bedsheets. Bedsheets describe a woman in more ways than one, you know. They tell if she's modest, playful... seductive."

Merrill's face went red and she clasped her hands to her mouth. "But I'm none of those things and I can't ever see myself having sheets like that—"

"Oh, but I know a certain Templar who would love to see you in playful, seductive bedsheets," Isabela purred.

Hawke raised her eyebrow as she let herself into Merrill's home. "All I heard was 'Templar' and 'bedsheets'. Please don't tell me you're stuffing Merrill's brain full of nonsense about my brother."

"Hawke!" Merrill gasped, blushing even brighter. "N-n-no, there are no thoughts of nonsense about your brother in my brain—at least I don't think there are."

"Mmm, once my job is over, there will be plenty naked Carvers frolicking in that innocent mind of yours, Kitten."

"Pretending I didn't hear that," Hawke said. She rubbed her forehead and shook her head. "Anyway. I'm glad I found you here, Isabela."

"Most people say that," the pirate said with a lewd smile.

"Yes, well, I need your help with something."

"Almost all of them say that, too," she purred.

Merrill looked back and forth between the two women. "Is this... this isn't something dirty, is it? I'm afraid I don't follow."

Hawke shook her hands. "No, Merrill, nothing like that."

"Oh," Isabela pouted. She smiled and sauntered over to Hawke. "Now what could Hawke want from Isabela?"

"I actually need a favor, Isabela..."