[ AN: Scene takes place in Act 2, directly after Fenris' first romance scene. Context for non-Fenrismancers: Fenris always leaves after sleeping with Hawke, saying he started to remember his life before while they were together and that it's too painful for him to continue. ]

"All I wanted was to be happy…" Fenris said, voice strained. "Just for a little while. Forgive me."

Hawke could do nothing but stare as he turned away from her, and slowly but sadly walked out her bedroom door. She felt as though she couldn't quite comprehend what was happening. Everything has been going well, they'd finally kissed, the sex had been good, and now he was apologizing to her and walking away.

When she finally managed to break her silence, only one word came to her. "No."

She stood, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and grabbing her robe from where Fenris had thrown it. She tugged her arms through the sleeves, already walking toward the balcony over the foyer.

"No. No, he can't." But he could. He was already gone by the time she reached the banister, and she slammed her hands against the rail's thick wood in frustration.

A worried Leandra poked her head out of her room. "Is everything okay?"

"It's fine!" Hawke snarled.

Leandra blinked at the words and the tone that absolutely refuted them, but knew her daughter well enough not to get involved when Hawke was like this. She gave Hawke a worried frown, but nodded and pulled her door shut behind her once more.

Alone once more, Hawke glared at the front door again, as though intensity of gaze alone would summon Fenris back to her. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that," she said quietly. "I did everything right this time. It was supposed to work."

She wasn't sure if she was mad at Fenris for leaving, though she would admit that his reasons for doing so were understandable. She might be mad at herself, for screwing up yet another relationship, but this time unintentionally. Maybe neither of them were at fault, and it just wasn't a situation that was meant to work out. That last possibility was the most frustrating, because the only thing she hated worse than being angry, was being angry without a good target.

Not really thinking about what she was doing, Hawke walked to the staircase up to the roof, a passage she'd had little reason to use in her time since moving into the mansion. The men who'd had possession of the building before them had left a lot of junk and ruined furniture behind when Hawke had flushed them out. Quite a bit of it had been moved up here, perhaps with the intention of selling later, but the truth was, it was little more than oversized debris that no one wanted to deal with so long as it was out of the way.

Hawke shoved the door open, pushing a few broken boards out of the way as she stepped out onto the stone patio and into the chill Kirkwall night. She'd felt she needed air, she supposed, though why she'd moved upward instead of heading toward the street for a walk, she couldn't say. The small roof space was cluttered, but there was some room to walk. She kicked at a dismembered chair leg in her way, and unintentionally channeled telekinetic force behind the motion, making a wide swath of junk scatter and tremble.

She didn't have control of her temper, and she knew that was a dangerous state for her, but that cool rush of magic felt good. The destruction had a certain catharsis to it. Tossing splinters wasn't quite satisfying enough, however. Not fully conscious of what she was doing, she called flames forth, letting the fire lick its way up her arms as she clenched her fists. With a wordless yell, Hawke sent a blast of fire toward a particularly tall pile of trash, feeling some of her aggression bleed into the loud fwoosh of fabric and wood coming alight.

"I did everything correctly this time!" She didn't know who she was yelling at. The Maker, perhaps? She didn't even know if she believed in the Maker, but if he did exist, she supposed she had reason enough to be pissed at him.

"I was ready to commit to something! I was going to do this correctly! It wasn't going to be like Anders, okay?"

A decrepit table was the next to suffer the immolation for her anger. Her staff was still downstairs, but she didn't need it. Staves helped her control her spells, they let her focus her magic into something precise. Control, focus, and precision weren't ideas she was interested in right now. Mindless destruction was a much more appealing idea.

Bethany had always preferred ice and frost, but Hawke was always better with fire. Fire was powerful, it was full of life and motion and heat. Sometimes she felt as though she was constantly surrounded by things going wrong, like fire destroying everything around her. It felt good to be the one doing the destroying this time.

"Is this punishment for Anders, then? Like I deserved this for what I'd done? I pushed Anders away so I have to lose Fenris as a result?" The breath of her shouting puffed visibly in the cold air, like smoke from a fire burning deep within her. "I messed that up, I know, but I was trying to do better! I didn't want to break his heart! It's his fault for trusting me with something like that, not mine!"

An explosion burst behind her, and she realized she wasn't simply throwing fire from her hands anymore, but calling it into being around her as well. She should stop, before she really lost control and did something she regretted, but she was lost in the heat of the moment. Thoughts of neighboring nobles calling for the templars to come take care of the rogue apostate stayed at the back of her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She'd almost like to see a squad of templars try to take her away right now. Let them come. She'd give them a fight worth remembering.

"Why is it always my fault? Why is it always my responsibility to fix things? I'm supposed to help the mages, help the guard, help Merril with her mirror, figure out how to get the Qunari to stop doing whatever they're doing, make things better than the other Fereldens. 'Fix it, Hawke! Hawke, I need your help!' Why me? I don't care about this stupid, awful city and its problems, but for some reason it's become my job to solve all of them!"

The pyre around her surged suddenly, stretching into the air with a brightness that made her squint. She was immune to its heat, feeling only a comfortable warmth despite being in the midst of an inferno. She stood for a moment, breathing heavily while surrounded by the blaze, realizing, as she'd known all along, that shouting at the sky and burning things didn't actually solve anything. Whatever temporary satisfaction she'd gained from her actions was overshadowed now by an angry embarrassment for her childish, destructive tantrum.

The roof patio was made of stone, but there was still a danger of her setting the rest of the house on fire if she wasn't careful. That would be a fine way to top off this whole mess. With a disgusted bitterness, she threw frost over the roof, pressing the flames down until they were extinguished. The smoldering wreckage still smoked when she was done with it, but at least there weren't any embers in danger of catching alight again.

Feeling perhaps more conflicted than she had before, Hawke headed back inside the house, slamming the door behind her as she went.