Hey yall! Hope you guys are having a kickass March. I am kinda. XD My job is getting kinda crazy since the warm months are coming, and I've been busy with that, plus I've been playing Tales of Graces, which came out earlier this month, so that game kinda sucked in my personal life. Haha. Just as a sidenote, for anyone interested in playing TOG, it's not a bad game, it's pretty fun actually, but I wouldn't say it's the Tales Series' best game. I liked it better than Abyss, but I didn't like it as much as Symphonia or Vesparia. Also, the plot remindes me a lot of FF7. Anywho; back on track!

So the word for this movement was "silent", and I gotta say, I had trouble trying to figure ofut what to write for this word (which is another reason, sans Graces and work, why this is out so late). Until I heard this magical song by the talented Ingrid Michaelson, and inspiration struck! The song has more to do with the foundation of the plot than the meaning of the word. This one shot is connected to the first one in this series that I did for the word "apart", but it is not connected to "romance" or "beauty", those are stand-alone's, for now. They don't have to be read in any particular order though. They can all be read separately, which is what I intend for this collection, unless I decide to do linking one-shots, which I'm not ruling out. :)

The path I took for this goes along with the theme that when friends decide to date but then break up, they have that moment of awkward silence between each other until tension builds too high and they just have to talk about it or the friendship is just screwed. Plus a bit of "keeping all your feelings inside will eventually make you explode." I went through similar situations in high school and I wanted to play around with them; to see what it would be like for Hawke and Fenris. Still haven't named this Hawke; don't know what to do about that. I'm taking song requests, plot requests and What-To-Name-Hawke requests, so drop a line if you wanna!

I'm parched for reviews! Please quench my thirsts! And enjoy, too! ;)

Fourth Movement: Silent

"If you are chilly?

Here; take my sweater.

Your head is aching?

I'll make it better."

- Ingrid Michaelson, "The Way I Am"

"Hawke!" The booming voice of the guard captain resonated throughout the rooms of her estate.

Hawke inhaled, making sure the air reached into the deep crevices of her lungs. She was beginning to think that, while she had been the appointed leader of their band of eight free spirits, she was starting to assume that they were listening to her less and less. Could she not have been clearer that today was their day off? Unless Aveline didn't comprehend the meaning of the term, which Hawke found to be a completely believable explanation for Aveline's presence in her humble abode. That, and it meant Aveline had a reason for showing up in the first place. It was a secret code; a way Aveline asked for help without having to say it outright. For some reason, she found it demeaning to admit that she could not conquer the world with a wave of her hand.

Letting her lungs deflate at a snail's pace, Hawke closed her journal and set it down with a kind of gentleness reserved for small children or injured animals, then bounded out of her room into the main hall. Dressed to the nines in her shiny, spiky armor, Aveline's hands were folded across her chest, and she was pacing. Harsh lines cut her cheeks and forehead, and she could see that the left side of her face was distended somewhat; a sign that her tongue was pushing against the wall of her mouth. This took Hawke aback. It wasn't often that someone as sturdy as Aveline was pushed to such an edgy point. But Hawke knew the visage the captain wore when on official business, and this was not it. Whatever was bothering her had nothing to do with the guard, the Qunari or ne'er-do-well mages.

It was something else entirely.

And that thought had Hawke's mind reeling.

Hawke hurried down the stairs to stop Aveline's senseless movement.

"You seem a bit flustered, my captain," Hawke tried to inveigle a smile from her. "Shall I eliminate a problem for you?"

"There's an emergency," Aveline gripped Hawke by her bicep and pulled, dragging her towards the exit. "You need to come quickly."

"There's always an emergency, Aveline," Hawke said slowly, attempting to calm her wild heart. "Is this one really that serious?"

Aveline gave Hawke a sideways glance, but did not release her.

The captain chose her words carefully when she did speak, as though planning out a strategy for a successful search and rescue mission.

"Sebastian and Anders are already there, so he's in good hands, but he's not responding. He won't eat or drink, and when he does, he just tosses it back up again. He's shaking from fever. We don't know what's wrong."

Hawke stilled her feat to halt them both. Aveline did not, and she jerked her forward with a force reserved for combat, and Hawke barely caught herself in time; she almost got thrown right into her front door. Dusting her pants and sleeves, Hawke spun in Aveline's direction, giving her a solemn and frustrated glower. Aveline returned it with a will that could anything from stone to steel.

"Aveline, what in the name of the Maker are you going on about?"

She didn't answer Hawke's question at first. She huffed through her nose and shuffled a foot across the floor of the mudroom. Her eyes would lock with Hawke's for half a second, and then scuttle to a space somewhere around her, remaining for a time. Her uneasiness did not help to assuage Hawke's fear, and the fact that she wasn't being direct about the true nature of the situation was not the best of signs for her. Whoever she was talking about was in serious trouble.

"Aveline, out with it!" Hawke's exclamation was exceedingly loud

Aveline squared he shoulders and stoned her countenance before replying.

"Fenris is ill Hawke. Very ill. It's bad."

Hawke felt the whole world crumble around her feet. Fenris…sick? That wasn't feasible. Fenris was invincible; indestructible. He fought like a feral beast and endured wound after wound and had not once vacillated. But disease? A threat that could not be fought with a sword? Her certainty was greatly impaired. She had no knowledge of his biological vitality; any elf in general for that matter. Any common sniffle could be a terminal malady to them for all she knew. Fenris was suffering. He could be dying.

And she couldn't let him. Not after all that she had went through.

Her parents. Carver. Bethany…

Hawke would not let another loved one slip away.

"Tell me what to do." Hawke's voice broke mid-plea.

"Keep control, for starters." Aveline tenderly patted her shoulders. "I know you and Fenris have—"

"Had," she corrected.

"—an intimate relationship, and you, above all others, need to support him; to make sure that he knows everything will be all right."

"Aveline," Hawke murmured, tone quaking. "Is it really…that bad?"

Aveline bit her bottom lip. "I saw him this morning when I went to talk to him about my patrols around his home. He was lolling in bed, white as a sheet, drenched in sweat and shivering. He was conscious, but he wouldn't respond to anything I said. I found Sebastian on my way here, and we went to fetch Anders together. I stopped here when we got back to tell you. Isabela, Varric and Merrill don't know."

"Are you sure it wasn't something he ate? He spends a lot of time at The Hanged Man and I have no idea what kind of food he—"

"If it was food, he'd be vomiting, and he's not. It's a high fever."

Hawke ran her tongue over her teeth, enjoying the grating on the soft flesh. Aveline was right. Food poisoning, though it did cause fever, would not take the lead from nausea. And, going by the guard captain's account, all of Fenris' symptoms indicated that he had a climbing fever that was cooking him from the inside out. The thought of Anders by his side was enough to subdue a fragment of her apprehension; the bulk of it was not mitigated, though. Fenris was sick, and he was not getting better. And if he didn't even react when spoken to, there was a chance that he had been overwhelmed by the torture of the heat that was plaguing him.

He needed help. He needed her. And she loved him far too much to cast aside his torment, even if he did walk out on her after their lascivious night in her bed. If there was anything she could do to ease his agony, she would with no questions asked.

Hawke nodded doggedly to her friend.

"Let's not delay any longer. Hopefully Anders and Sebastian have already done something for him."

"I know you love him, Hawke, and I promise that I'll do everything I can for him and you."

Hawke felt a blush creep to her neck. "That's a little forward, don't you think, captain?"

Aveline lowered her brows. "Don't play dumb, Hawke. I've seen the both of you. One of you is always watching while the other is looking away. And don't you look at me like I'm full of it, because I'm not the only one who notices. Go ask Varric or Isabela. They'll tell you the exact same thing."

"Just because I stare doesn't mean—"

"It's not the staring. It's the way your face fell when I told you he was sick. It was as though your life had ended in that moment. I know it better than anyone Hawke, don't you think?"

Hawke wanted to argue, wanted to tell her she was seeing things that weren't really there, but she couldn't. After all this time, the two women could remember when they had first arrived in Kirkwall; remembered the grave loss Aveline suffered while fleeing the Blight and Ostagar. She had seen the devotion in her companion's eyes when life had oozed out from her husband Wesley. She looked at his old shield that hung on her office wall just like that, but less now that she had begun seeing Donnic, her guardsman. Now it was used more on him than the armor. Keeping her raw emotions from someone who knew them better than Hawke herself was pointless and rather spiteful.

Hawke kept her eyes to the stone floor as they walked through the posh section of Kirkwall, busying her thoughts by counting how many weeds had sprouted out through the cracks from the earth that they roofed. Her love for Fenris was un-eclipsed by any other amorous sensation that had welled up within her in this lifetime, and seeing him every day only made that yearning dilate. However, it was during critical moments like these where she had to summon a much more powerful restraint. When he was grieving, angry or bedridden, all she ever wanted was to gather him up in her arms and sooth his malaises with kisses and soft contact. To be a caregiver, a healer and a lover.

And this was her first opportunity to show Fenris how profound her affections were. To show him that the love she had wasn't like the rolling tides; it did not flux with time. It was something eternal and ethereal in a world where nothing like it existed. Moreover, she wanted him to understand that she would come to his side at any moment, no matter what his condition may be.

When Hawke and Aveline crossed the threshold into Fenris home, the vigorous stench of sweat and decay invaded her nostrils. Fenris' commandeered mansion being in a constant state of disarray did not strike them as odd, but the reek of perspiration coming on so strongly was a different matter. There were no lit torches or fires in the mansion; had it not been for the sun pouring light in through the windows, Hawke wouldn't have been able to guide herself through the spacious home. Over the clanking of their footsteps as they made their way towards the master bedroom, Hawke and Aveline could make out a series of grunts and exasperated shouts; the closer they got, the easier it was for them to hear.

"Fine, then!" Anders snapped as they entered, throwing staff to the floor. "You might as well put yourself on a rotisserie! How stupid can you be?"

Hawke caught the sight of Fenris, and she was finally able to comprehend the severity of Aveline's claims. Fenris looked awful. His top half had been stripped of armor, which made her blush, and he had a blanket covering everything below his waist. There was a sheen coming off his body, and Hawke knew that it had to be either water or sweat, and, if the smell in the air was any indicator, it was the latter. The elf's skin, normally tan, was now wan with a weak yellow tint, causing extraordinary lyrium lines, once bright and glowing, practically disappear. The only part of him that seemed to have any color at all was his cheeks, which were tomato red from the fever that had drained the rest of him. One arm, gangly, yet toned, had flopped off the side of his bed and dangled limp, making Fenris appear feeble. Inexpressive and breathing light, she felt as if a breeze were to blow in through an open window, it would turn him to dust and gather him up in it. She had never seen him so exposed; so helpless.

Hawke then pushed her attention back to Anders.

"What's wrong, Anders?"

Anders stuck out his bottom lip irately at Hawke.

"He won't let me touch him. Every time I try to place my hands on him, he starts to struggle. It's only making that fever worse."

"He's stopped trembling though," Aveline said, gaging Fenris.

"You can thank Sebastian for that," Anders motioned to the door they walked in through. "Sebastian helped him out of his armor, which was half the problem, at least I thought so. But I can still feel the heat coming off of him. He's in nothing but a blanket, and he's still sweating. He needs magic, but he'd rather roast than be healed by me."

"He's stubborn to the point of idiocy, I suppose," Hawke groaned, casting her gaze back to her former lover. "Where's Sebastian now?"

"I sent him after water. If I can't heal him with magic, we'll have to do this the old fashioned way."

"Are you going to dump ice on him?" Aveline let a smile toy with her lips. "That would be an interesting sight to see."

If Fenris took offense, he showed no signs of it.

"Maker, no," Anders shook his head. "If his body comes into contact with cold, it'll shock his system."

"What do you mean, 'shock his system'?" Hawke asked, shifting her weight between her feet.

"Ever put a hot coal into snow?"

"No."

Anders stroked his stubble. "Ever stuck a hot pan into cold water?"

"…No…" Hawke chewed her fleshy cheek.

"I have," Aveline piped up. "It starts to steam."

"I like picturing it that way. Something hot meeting something cold always causes a reaction. If I were to cover him in ice, his body would react to the extreme drop in temperature. He won't steam like dishware, though. His body will want to heat up, and that'll feed the fever, which we don't want to do."

"So why the water then?" Hawke's head tilted.

"Lukewarm water is actually the best when dealing with a fever. It's not hot or cold, and because he's already heated enough, it'll feel cooler to him without the negative side effects."

Hawke smiled affectionately at her friend. "You are the best healer I've ever met, Anders. Honestly."

Anders offered her a wink. "Well, I won't say 'no' to a compliment. I appreciate your kindness, Hawke. I hope I can repay the gesture someday."

"No," Hawke said vehemently. "After everything you did for Bethany…"

Anders sobered. "You've no need to feel indebted to me for that, Hawke. I did what I knew needed to be done to save her. Besides, it was her choice in the end to go with the Wardens. She could have refused Stroud. All I did was open the door."

"But if you weren't there…" Hawke's eyes caught the floor, then his own. "If you hadn't been there, she could be dead, like father, my mother and Carver. You…kept me from losing everything."

Anders' face became inflamed. "You…you must know that I did it— the reason why—"

Before Anders could finish, a gravelly snarl broke apart the tender exchange.

"…You…bastard…"

Fenris had sat up in bed, sweat cascading down his chest, staring daggers at the former Grey Warden. A minute radiance was leaking out from his markings, and the rise and fall in his chest as he took in air became palpable, as though it was a struggle for him. He ran his tongue over his hard dry lips, and raked a hand through the disorganized white clump he called hair. Hawke felt tingles rush down her spine at the titillating scene. Even in such a cloying state, Fenris still had the swagger of a sexy tiger prepared to pounce on his designated prey. With such a smolder in his eyes, Hawke would be lying if she said she didn't want to be his target of preference.

Keeping herself in check, Hawke marched over to his side and tried to press him back down into his bed.

"Your feverish, Fenris," Hawke said softly, like a caring mother. "You need rest. You need healing magic."

"I…need no…such thing…" Fenris panted.

"Yes you do," Hawke persisted.

"Is…is this a dream? Are…you here, Hawke?"

Hawke backed up slightly. "Why…would this be a dream…Fenris?"

Anders chimed in. "He might be delusional. High enough fevers can make someone feel as though reality has been distorted."

Aveline spoke up also. "That happened to my father once…when he was ill."

"Fenris," Hawke said tenderly. "You aren't dreaming. You're awake. You're sick."

Fenris' milky eyes scanned the room, stopping for a few seconds when he reached Anders, and he nodded upon completion.

"…Yes. I…must be awake. If this were a dream…you would be naked…and he would be dead."

Hawke's eyes bugged from his bluntness. Aveline laughed, but Anders pouted.

Did he really want to see her nude? Did that mean he…?

No. This was not the time for that. Fenris was unwell, and he needed her. All her petty emotions could wait.

Cautiously, Hawke placed the back of her slim hand to the right side of his face. He was hot indeed; it reminded her of a time when Bethany had begun to learn fire magic, and she thought it was a good idea to pat her elder sister's nose just after the ball of flame had fizzled out. Fenris was not as hot as that, but it was close. To him, her skin must have felt cool in comparison, and he leaned into it with an expression of intemperate ecstasy; Hawke felt relieved, yet frightened.

"Fenris, you're burning up," Hawke sighed.

"And you are as cold as…a Seheron winter wind," Fenris trembled for a second.

"If your hands are too cold, you shouldn't touch him, Hawke," Anders said evenly. "You'll make his body produce heat."

Hawke yanked her hand back, and Fenris whined.

She had never heard him whine like that before.

"How can I tell if my hands are cold?" Hawke turned to Anders.

"Check her hands, Anders," Aveline threw her head in Hawke's direction. "You don't have a fever. If they're cold to you, then Hawke shouldn't touch Fenris."

"That might work," Anders' gaze went to the ceiling, and he bobbed his head.

Hawke held out the hand that had chilled her elven friend and the hand that she had kept by her side for Anders to hold. Leisurely, he seized them by the fingers, and it gave her a delicate impression that he was considering placing a chaste kiss upon her knuckles. But he never did; he just moved his jaw up and down in a chomping motion, his amber eyes flitting around in a crazed dance.

Abruptly, he let them go.

"They aren't cold to me. They're room temperature. They're just cold to him. In fact, it might be a good idea for you to put your hands on him until Sebastian comes back with that water."

"Your hands were the same temperature as mine," Hawke added. "Maybe we both should touch him, to break his fever."

"If that mage comes anywhere near me, he is losing his fingers." Fenris' eyebrow twitched.

"You know, stubbornness will get you nowhere in life, Fenris," Hawke chided.

"I am…not being stubborn," Fenris insisted, lying back down. "I did not object to you."

"That's not what I mean," Hawke grumbled, but his comment did bolster her self-esteem. "What I mean is that Anders could get rid of your fever much faster with magic. You can't hate being healed with magic. I've seen Bethany heal you before."

Fenris put an arm over his forehead, stretching the muscles along his torso.

"That is because Bethany was not an abomination."

"Well, at least it's not because I have bad breath or something," Anders roughly rubbed his neck. "Where in the Maker's name is Sebastian anyway? It can't take this long to get water, can it?"

"I'll go look for him," Aveline's volunteering sounded eager. "I'm useless here, anyway."

"As am I, it seems," Anders concurred with Aveline, then switched to Hawke. "You should stay here with him, since you're the only one he'll let within arm's length. Aveline and I will find Sebastian. With our luck, he's probably lost."

"Or he has no idea where to get water from," Aveline said while walking out the door, leaving Anders behind.

"Find me if you need anything," Anders said sympathetically, then rushed behind the guard captain.

Hawke waved goodbye curtly, then switched to Fenris, who was smiling up at her as though she were Andraste herself, come to save him from his infection and fill his world with sweets and sunshine

"Thank you, Hawke," Fenris closed his eyes. "I feel much better knowing you are at my side."

Hawke rejoined with loving sentiment. "Of course. I'll always be here when you need me."

Fenris opened his eyes; they were full effervescent-green adoration. "Do you know why…I thought you were a dream?"

Hawke shook her head, keen on hearing his explanation.

"Because…I have dreamt of you every night…for a long time."

Hawke felt a powerful density on her chest lift, and she inhaled. She had gone so long without him; his passionate love-making, the feel of his silken hair through her fingers, the suave urgency of his kiss. Each piece was a drug, and she was addicted to it like a lyrium-starved templar. And here he was before her now, delicious and ripe for the picking like a Fereldan apple from the bough. Hawke could tell him her innermost desires now; how she longed for him every morning when she woke and every evening when she laid her head down to sleep. Or, she didn't have to breathe a word of it. Capturing his lips with hers would have been a suitable substitute, and just as effective. And then he would be hers again, and she could be happy.

But…it was a dangerous gamble.

Fenris had said when he cut her off from him that they had moved too fast for his tastes, and if she let herself be windswept by undying love while Fenris this state, not to mention it had not been very long since that chat, the declaration could be steered in the same direction, which warranted an outcome where they both would be melancholy. Hawke would not walk on that thin line at such an unpropitious circumstance. She had decided earlier today that curing Fenris of this uncustomary fever was the most important of her tasks, and that was what it would remain. There was plenty of time for that beast to be confronted.

"I must be playing hide-and-seek with you in the Fade," Hawke laughed. "And it looks like I'm losing horribly."

"No," Fenris said lightly. "I believe you are the one finding me."

"Then I must be the best hide-and-seeker in all of Thedas. I should put a challenge up on the Chanter's Board. See how many actually try and do it."

"I would accept," Fenris sighed with mock disappointment. "But it seems I've lost too many times to even bother."

Hawke grinned at him, and they shared a pregnant silence.

A few minutes passed, then Hawke banished the quiet.

"Fenris?"

Fenris sat up in bed, two beads of sweat running down his solar plexus.

"Yes, my somnium virgo?"

Hawke wavered at the terminology unknown to her.

"Is that Tevinter? What does that mean?"

"The language spoken in Tevinter is called Arcanum," Fenris smirked slyly, wiping at a damp spot on his pectorals. "What the word means…is my secret to keep."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "As long as you aren't making me the butt of your joke, I suppose I can let this one go."

"I promise you, Hawke, I would never insult you in Arcanum. Any teasing will be done in a language you can recognize. I won't be able to get a reaction out of you if I'm speaking in tongues."

"You must be feeling better," Hawke snorted. "Our witty banter is back to normal."

"I felt better as soon as I knew you were here," Fenris said, his tone distant.

"Is it because I'm magic?"

"You are no mage."

"I have mage blood in me. On both sides!"

"Yet I do not see you casting any healing spells on me."

"My magic works in different ways."

Fenris pursed his lips as though he were trying to keep something inside his mouth from falling out.

Hawke tensed. "What is it?"

Fenris considered the question, and spoke slowly. "I could cleverly retort to your assertion, but I'm too afraid of insulting you."

"He who claims that teasing me will be done in a manner in which I can comprehend? You've gone far enough to call me an ignorant human, you might as well spit it out."

Fenris overlapped his arms on his bare chest, and Hawke admired the flexing of biceps as he did so.

"Promise me you will not be cross."

"Now you sound like my mother."

"I am serious, Hawke. If you wish such frankness of me, I deserve to have your word that you will not penalize me for it."

"And if I say no?" Hawke inclined her head toward him.

Fenris copied her, and there was only a hair's breadth between them.

"Then I will not tell you, amasiuncula."

"Why don't you tell me what that means, first, then I'll promise?"

"It means 'she who is sharp of tongue, but dull of mind'." Fenris was glib.

"I knew you were lying to me!"

Fenris simply waved her comment. "That is not what it means, Hawke. Can you not hear sarcasm?"

"I'm fluent in sarcasm. What I'm not fluent in is Arcanum, Dwarven, Elven…and pretty much every language that isn't common."

"Oh? Then perhaps I should only speak to you in sarcasm. If it's easier for you to understand, at any rate. We would not want to miscommunicate in combat, now would we?"

"Just tell me what the word means!" Hawke groaned playfully, burying her face in her hands.

But before she could uncover it, Fenris reacted.

"It means 'sweetheart'. I suppose another correct translation would be 'darling'."

Hawke drew up her head. "So when you said you would tell me what you were thinking…"

Fenris winked. "My complete sentence was, and still is, 'then I will not tell you, sweetheart.'"

Hawke's blush was raging. And she knew that he could see it, too, and it augmented the uncontrollable coloring.

"Cute. Okay, promise made, Fereldan's honor"—Hawke saluted—"so what were you going to say?"

Fenris' statement was the kind of riposte that made Hawke believe that there was a sadist hidden somewhere inside him.

"I was going to say that I, in point of fact, do believe you have magic. You have the clout to make even the most virtuous of men covet you. And I was a willing victim."

Hawke swallowed. "What do you mean by 'willing'?"

Fenris's hot thumb traced her bottom lip. "I was the one who carried you off to bed."

Though Fenris' skin was searing, the sensation of it on such a sensitive part of her sent a sinuous stream of sparks all throughout her system. In a desperate attempt to savor the moment, Hawke endeavored to close off the rest of her senses—gustatory, olfactory, and visual—in order to heighten the pleasure of physical contact. It was ideal; more so because it was Fenris and not some other man who had haphazardly grazed her. Not for the first time, Hawke longed to possess the abilities of her sister, that she might shape the love convulsing in her heart into a shaft of light and shoot it like an arrow straight towards his own, using the spot where their two bodies met as a conductor. In addition, Hawke couldn't help but speculate his own reasons for his intimate actions. If he had any, he was not vocalizing them.

As soon as the thought left her, Fenris pulled back, and Hawke assumed for a few blinks that he had read her mind.

"I'm…sorry," he said, the words sounding hollow to her.

"Why?" Hawke found herself asking.

"I shouldn't have—I didn't mean…It was inappropriate for me to do such a thing. Forgive me."

"I…" Hawke trailed off, but thrust past her doubt and continued. "Don't be sorry."

Fenris' hair swayed when he moved his head back and forth.

"I…do not want you to get the wrong idea…"

"What idea is that?" Hawke's tone hardened.

"Please hear me out, Hawke," Fenris beseeched. "Do not think it isn't because I do not care. That is untrue. I care for you a…great deal."

Hawke's glare tapered.

"…I just…" Fenris gave a frustrated huff, and put his bare back to his bedframe. "Hawke…you should be with someone without…someone who isn't…like me."

"'Like you'?"

"...Someone who doesn't have my kind of past."

"So what are you saying? That I should avoid every runaway slave I find like the plague?"

"Absolutely not," Fenris bit. "The only former slave in question is me. Do you truly not see what I'm trying to convey?"

"Oh, I see it crystal clear, Fenris," Hawke said snidely, rising from his bed and taking a handful of steps to the left. "You're trying to tell me that you have too many issues for me to handle. That I should find a man to love me who is so perfect and untroubled that butterflies perch on his shoulders and rainbows fly out his ass."

Fenris grimaced. "Save your sharp tongue for someone who can appreciate it, amasiuncula."

"Don't you ama-ka-whatever me," Hawke tossed her hair. "You have no right to tell me what I should do!"

"When did advice become a command? I am not here to order you, Hawke. Has it not occurred to you that I said what I did to save you from heartbreak? From me?" Fenris stood up himself, tying his thin blanket around his waist in a makeshift skirt. It sagged on his form, and Hawke refused to let him see her gawk at his suggestive, improvised attire and lack-thereof. "I saw your face; do not try to deny what was obvious. I hurt you beyond measure, and I suffered because of it. We both suffered. But I cannot be your lover, and it is for reasons that stem far back into my life under Danarius' thumb. It is something that I cannot confront at this moment, and my languor would not help to contribute to a romantic relationship. I could not assist you or satisfy you."

"'Satisfy me'? Who do you think I am, Isabela?"

"I am not speaking of sex. If sex was all you wanted, I would happily oblige."

Hawke's lashes fluttered in shock. "That's not something you tell a woman whose feelings you already hurt, Fenris."

"I am a man, Hawke, but I am no fool. You want something more than physical liaison. You want compassion and companionship. You want to fall in love, amasiuncula. I can see it; I can feel it. But falling in love with me…it is a mistake. I am far too broken to ever be pieced completely together…and you—you should have someone who is whole. That is why I would give you my body and nothing more. How could I offer you a heart that is tattered beyond measure?"

"Here's something for you to think on, ama-you-know-what-I-mean," Hawke closed the gap between them, their chests bumping. "Have you ever considered that, just maybe, I don't give a nug's ass about how shattered your heart is or how crazy and convoluted your life used to be? That no matter how much pain you cause me, you can take it all away by just being near me? Maybe you should consider that I'm already in love with you, that I fell in love with you willingly, and you can't do a damn thing about it!"

The taut air in the room dispersed and reformed in one quick pop, and it was so stagnant that she could hear Fenris' bone creak as he twitched from her breakneck candor. His huge, verdant eyes probed her down far into her soul, rifling through it like the punctilious elf he was, with a rosy flame flickering behind them. Hawke knew the purpose for his examination instantly. Fenris wanted to find pretenses in her somewhere; proof that she had been exaggerating or purposefully deceptive in order to lead him into a false sense of security. He was trying to make sure that her testimony wasn't going to cause destruction to his mind or his heart. He was hunting for a reason not to fall in love with her.

And, if she judged by his lack of decorum, he had come up dry.

"I should make you leave...tell you that you can fall in love with someone else; that the night I had with you means nothing to me. That you mean nothing to me. I should reject your affections. I would be the better man for it, and you would move on in due time. The pain we would experience might last long, but it is something that can be overcome. We would be happy again. I could run right now and know it."

Fenris lips brushed hers when he said: "But I cannot. Even when I did run, my damaged heart clung to the memories of you."

"Why did you try in the first place?" Hawke breathed.

"Because I put you on a pedestal," Fenris said gruffly.

In one swift movement, he took her by the wrist and swung her around, her back hitting the wall with a ricocheting thud. Her frame bounced on contact, but he kept her in place by bracing one arm on the same wall, his hand inches from her left ear. He rid them of the space that kept the two apart by linking their foreheads and aligning their noses. From his lack of fluids and fever, Hawke had expected his breath to be foul, but it smelt of nothing, just normal air. But the rest of his body was coated in the rugged perfume of sweat, which brought her mind back to her life in Lothering, when her father and Carver would come home from helping the villagers after a long day under the summer sun. His free hand clutched the knot that he had tied to keep the blanket covering his nudity, and Hawke could only guess that his hand was there to prevent any wardrobe malfunctions. What made her stomach want to leap out of her throat was the fact that the situation was not frightening her, but seemed completely natural; like a half-naked Fenris pinning her to a wall was an everyday occurrence.

'…Well…it had happened once before…'

Fenris' next words careful and measured. "I…compared us, and found myself…unfit. I…convinced myself that I wasn't worthy of you, and, when you chose me, I was…afraid that you would have…regrets."

Hawke listened to the light rhythm of his breathing. "You thought I would leave you? After sleeping with you? After everything we went through?"

"I was wrong," Fenris eyes saddened. "I was wrong about your feelings, and I lied to myself about what I felt. You were right, Hawke. I should have been open with you. I should have asked you about our…relationship…before jumping to conclusions. And now, I…"

Fenris' hand slid down the wall, making it parallel with her chest. There was an amorous fog in his vision, and he would part and close his lips in a cycle, as though speaking through code that he had invented just for the two of them. The silence lasted what Hawke thought must have been a lifetime, until she couldn't take it anymore. Problem was, she had no idea what to fill the void with. She was at a loss for words, too.

Finally, like a ghost's cry in the wind, Fenris mouthed something.

"Forgive me."

Hawke beamed.

"You are such a man," she mock-groaned, placing her palms on his chest, which was moist, but not as wet as it seemed to be. "Always thinking the world is going to end. Women are much more resilient then you give us credit for. Especially me."

"I—"

"I wanted an apology, Fenris," Hawke cooed. "I'm not going to say that I didn't want you to come back to me, because I did, but if you didn't, I would have fought through it. What I really wanted from you was just to know why. Why you gave my heart back the day after I gave it to you of my own accord. I just wanted this silence between us to end. It was killing me, more so than you walking away. And now I know, with the added bonus that you reciprocate my feelings."

Fenris' Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "And…?"

"And…I'm happy?" Hawke laughed, resisting the urge to throw her arms around him in a hug.

Fenris' gave her a lightning-strike bright smile.

"That is a relief, my somnium virgo."

"So," Hawke's eyes darted to the left, then backward. "I guess this must be the part where you kiss me…right?"

Chuckling low, Fenris whispered something that sounded very suggestive and blunt in her ear, but she didn't understand a word of it due to the sentence being in his native Arcanum.

"That sounded dirty," one of Hawke's eyes squinting.

Fenris nibbled on her earlobe. "It was."

"Okay, so I'm implementing a new rule," Hawke tapped his heart. "You have to tell me what you say in Tevinter when you speak it. Not knowing every flirtatious thing you say to me is going to get absolutely torturous."

Fenris moved from her ear to her neck, his lips hot against the tender space. Torturous indeed.

"You take the fun out of it," He mumbled absently. "Is it not more stimulating when you have to wonder what I've said just by the tone that I use?"

"Yes, but you could be saying anything from 'Let us make passionate love until the sun comes up.' or 'Hello, have you seen my cat?', and I would be none the wiser."

Fenris bit down gently near her collar bone. "How fortunate for you that I am not fond of cats."

"Don't let Anders hear you say that."

"Let him hear. I fear him not.

Hawke shuffled her feet. His constant kissing was starting to make her ache for him.

"Is—um—is that why you called him—is that—"

Fenris pulled his head up from her shoulder to lock their eyes. His face was a tranquil sea, but his eyes held a maelstrom of mischievousness.

"Am I distracting you?"

Hawke flushed and rolled her eyes, hoping he wouldn't notice her knocking knees.

"You are asking why I called him a bastard, correct?"

Hawke nodded, her body becoming somber.

"Because he was flattering you, and I am not without jealousy."

"That's…cute…in a juvenile kind of way."

It was Fenris' turn to blush this time.

"Rule Number Two," Hawke flashed two fingers. "You have to be nice to Anders."

Hawke didn't think Fenris could look sicker than he had been earlier this morning, but it was possible.

"Are we allowed to discuss loopholes to these rules?"

"Depends on the loophole. What did you have in mind?"

"That I'm given some leeway on the second rule. Can it be changed to something a little less strict? I am only nice to him in the mornings, perhaps?"

Hawke mouth tilted up, but the opening and closing of Fenris' front door kept her from repudiating him. The two jolted from their precarious position, Fenris nestling himself in his large, wine red bed, while Hawke stood casually leaning on the bedpost near his feet. Clanging footsteps rang like a Chantry bell; Aveline had returned, in the very least. Their eyes met, and Hawke and Fenris shared one final private wink before Aveline entered the room, Anders and Sebastian, lips pursed and neck rubicund, who was lugging a heavy looking wooden bucket that could only be the water he had promised to retrieve.

"You found him!" Hawke threw her arms out.

"About damn time, too," Aveline pinched her nose. "I swear, we ran around all over Kirkwall looking for this man, only to find him at the most obvious of locations."

"He was getting the water blessed by Elthina in the Chantry," Anders' face pinched; he was trying not to laugh.

"A blessing from the Maker through Grand Cleric Elthina is a way to ensure Fenris' illness is cured with divine hands," Sebastian grumbled.

Fenris regarded the exiled prince. "I welcome your kindness, friend."

Each of Hawke's companions inspected Fenris, but Anders did a double take.

"You aren't pale anymore."

At his statement, Hawke made her own assessment. Anders was right. The pallor that drained his skin had dissipated, restoring the suntanned brownness that was run-of-the-mill for him. Some liquid loitered on his body, but it was obvious to anyone who got a close enough to him that it was dehydrating at a fast pace. There was no longer a haze in his eyes. Combing through her memory, Hawke recalled that he had not once shuddered during their flirtatious and obtuse dialogue. Fenris had not complained or fainted, but acted as though he had woke up that morning feeling just the way he always did, not a hair away from becoming elven barbecue.

Fenris sat up. "In truth, I am feeling much better."

"Check his forehead and neck; see if they're hot," Anders said to Hawke. "Do your best to describe to me the temperature; is it warm, lukewarm, or if it's burning."

Hawke poised herself, but Fenris held up a hand to stop her.

"He can check himself, if it's easier for him to tell."

Anders, Hawke, Aveline and even Sebastian gaped.

"What did you do to him?" Anders asked Hawke skeptically at the same time Aveline said "Are you sure he's not still ill?"

"You might find that I can be very persuasive," Hawke examined her nails in a coquettish fashion, emulating Isabela.

"Something tells me I don't want to know what you mean by that," Anders' ears went pink.

"I would not use the word "persuasive"," Fenris gave Anders a meaningful glance. "Perhaps 'skillful' or 'practiced'. Yes, that fits like a glove."

"Quit teasing, you two," Aveline reprimanded.

Fenris and Hawke stared at each other sheepishly.

Anders touched Fenris in a way that made Hawke think of a child putting his hands on a dog for the first time; unsure, yet outright intrigued. He kept his hands on him for as long as necessary, hurrying away once his diagnosis had been made. If Fenris was bothered by his closeness to Anders, he did not show it. He was cordial, much to Hawke's surprise, and displayed respect to the healer upon concluding the test.

"He's…fine," Anders smirked. "No fever. No chills. Amazing! I don't know what you did Hawke, but whatever it was, it worked like a charm."

"You know, Anders," Hawke said brightly, folding her arms over her chest. "I think that all he really needed was a healthy dosage of tenderness. That…and for someone to knock some sense into him."

Fenris then said caringly "And someone to talk to."

Sebastian's nose wrinkled. "Are you telling me that I ran around Kirkwall and brought back blessed water for no reason at all!"

Everyone but Sebastian cackled until they cried.