Dragon Age 2 isn't mine. It belongs to Bioware. So is Fenris and my version of Hawke and all the wonderfuness of the world of Thedas! 3

I blame all written works on the bioware community for inspiring me to write about the stuff in between the years for Angel Hawke and Fenris. Much love to be had by all. Be kind!

Bridged

"You know how my mother feels." Her words echoed in his mind as they walked, the apostate's staff clicking against the stone. It worried him, that almost a year after the death of Leandra, that Hawke continued to refer to her mother as a living person. Anders, in all his thinly veiled hatred, had explained it once.

The basic theory, was that combined with Hawke's abilities as a Spirit Healer and Force Mage, she was bound to the fade in a way that only Anders and the half-elf lad, Fayneral, had been able to understand. To Hawke, magic was never something evil, never something to be used for gain of power. It was a gift, and her faith in the maker was all wrapped up around it, intertwined in her use of it.

To have seen what Fenris knew only to well what magic could do in the hands of the weak... well, it had broken her. He didn't want to remember the look of utter devastation he had seen on her face, so raw and powerful that even her thickest layer of applied wit could cover it. She had seen countless bloodmages, and always told herself, and he, that it was desperation. Not evil.

It had just been easier for Hawke to think of her mother as a ghost, her sprit to strong to depart and leave her alone, then destroyed by the very thing that defined her whole existence. He supposed he could sympathize, even if he couldn't himself remember his own mother. He knew what it was like to love something that had so much potential to distroy.

The click-clack of Hawke's staff as they walked brought another image to his mind. Isabela, with all her curves and deep skin tones and sexuality, leaning suductively over Hawke. Whispering unheard things to Hawke. Leaning in for a kiss. The images boiled in his head, the temper of someone else touching her nearly spilling over and out .

"Isabela? Really?"

Hawke froze in place, the clack of her staff hitting the stone bricks a little harder then necessary. "I didn't think you cared." She said beneath clenched teeth. A fine tremble had broken out in the middle of her stomach and spread quickly over her was quickly flying into a rage, and needed to gain control before she accidentally set his stupidly sexy white hair on fire. "Should it matter?" she said, and took a slow breath of the cool air in.

Fenris closed his eyes. He wished he could tell her just how much he did care. How he had always cared. It had been something he promised himself he would never reveal to her. He hadn't imagined that it would bother him this much. He could feel her anger, but he was just as furious. The cold ball of rage forming quickly in his chest threatened to lash out at the apostate. Isabella. Isabella. That was almost worse then the thought of Anders. "So its true then?"

The woman's golden eyes blazed as she stared at him. "No, its not true. I'm not that kind of a woman, though you could hardly tell!" The barely held anger dripped through the wit she had always protected herself with. She couldn't explain how very much it hurt, white hot, to have him think she was able to be with anyone else the way they had been. She gripped her staff with both hands to control the urge to send him flying. How dare he, how dare he! For all the ach to be held by him she had felt earlier, now all she wanted to do was break the beautiful face glaring at her.

Her words hit him in the stomach like a crossbow bolt. He had expected her to move on after.. that night. Assumed that after breaking her heart that she'd have run off to Anders to soothe the wound. He wasn't even sure why he was mad at the idea of Her and Isabela. He knew it was a joke. He had seen for himself that she had turned the abomination down and danced just out of reach of the Pirate Queens advances.

He stood, with her glaring daggers, or perhaps magic, at him. He was rooted to the spot. For her to admit how very much he had hurt her with that simple accusation...

She continued to breath. It was easier then thinking, and right now she had all she could do to contain the power threatening to explode out of her fingertips. It was why she was always so aloof, easier to be sarcastic and light then get angry and lose control. She wanted to hurt him, just then. Break and tear and set him on fire. Do to him what he had done to her that night.

"I can't. I just can't" his words echoed through her as she stood, trembling with anger and longing. He had left, the memories had been to much, and he'd gone. He'd been given the only gift she had to give in this life, her love, and he had thrown it away like so much garbage.

Even after her mother.. had gone to the makers side, and he had come to awkwardly comfort her, and she had sat in his arms and sobbed, it had been as much about what had happened, as her need for him. For her soul that was raw and bleeding from the sheer loss. Not even carver's death had broken her so very much.

She knew he still cared, but the pain of being accused.. by him, of letting anyone else but him touch her. How could she keep this inside of her and continue to be sane? How could she continue to love someone who clearly held her in such contempt? He hated her magic, hated her cause.. and the very idea that she would.. What had happened to her best friend?

She stood, gripping her stave, twisting the red scarf she used to keep her grip on the thing mid-battle. She was completely unaware that he had moved closer. burried in her own thoughts, trying to control her breathing to keep the magic from exploding out of her. She wasn't aware of how close he was, untill she felt his fingers move through her hair.

"I'm sorry." Two simple words. That was all it took. She was shaking, crying, losing control. Falling, her cool demeanor shattered like a broken window pain, tinkling around her in slow motion as he rose to catch her. His strong arms winding around her, giving her somewhere solid to land.

"I'm sorry", he'd said it again, his voice thick with emotion. She leaned into his chest, sobbing. Raw, bleeding, painful sobs full of all of the stress of the last year. The duel to save the city from the Quiniari, the murder of her mother, the broken heart that refused to heal. All of it came pouring out, right there in the middle of the bridge between Lowtown and Hightown.

They sat, though she wasn't sure how they'd ended up on the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around hers as she cried into his chest. He held her tight, as if he were afraid she would break. She would have, had he loosened his grip for even a moment, she was sure. She felt his warm mouth on her forhead, and her heart broke all over again. It caused a whole new wave of painful sobs, and she clung to him.

"I can't be what you need. I'm sorry. That doesn't mean I wouldn't die for you." The anguish in his voice was only a portion of what he felt, holding this strong woman in his arms as she broke. Nothing could make him let go of her, not ever again. He knew he couldn't be what she wanted, what she needed, but he would be there, for her. There was no one else.

He continued to kiss her forehead gently, smelling her hair, feeling the softness against his cheek. Never, would he let her go again. Even if she eventually moved on, to find someone who could give her the things she longed for.. he would love her, forever.

He shifted his weight slightly, long enough to unty the red cloth from the staff of this mage, the irony of it all, that he loved so fiercely. "As long as I wear this, you will know how I feel." He said, and tied it around his wrist.