I apologize for all the mistakes I make but please keep in mind English is not my natural language and I don't have a beta. So I just soldier on, blundering along the way.

And, yes, I ought to die because I crossed my heart and so on and still this is not the last chapter. Forgive me, but it would go on too long. (By now you should think I know my flaws!) I apologise for the ones who were looking out for the smut. Next time, I do promise.

Nevertheless, enjoy ... I hope

Give me an answer part 3

Despite Isabela's encouraging words Fenris ambled with legs that seemed to be made out of lead through the gloomy corridors of the Grey Warden fortress. The distance between his quarters and Hawke's wasn't that far but her rooms seemed miles away while he was trying to cover the space. And not only because he feared the encounter that awaited him. The second with her this night and undoubtedly an even more trying one. What the hell was he supposed to say to her this time? What had Isabela done? Had she really accomplished to calm Hawke down, make her compliant, perhaps just changed her ridiculous hallucination about losing him? He wished he had taken the time to ask the pirate queen for more details than "the lady is all yours, just be gentle", but she more or less had pushed him out of the door. Probably eager to throw herself at the First Warden, he thought sourly, not that he doubted the man would be more than eager to give in to her blunt exposure.

The exercise with his sword had been a welcome diversion but only now he realized it also had brought up a considerable amount of adrenaline. To his dismay the side effect was he now felt wound up which rapidly was growing into nervousness and even anger. Although he was well aware of the fact the anger just disguised his insecurity. He was scared. Scared. Damn. He almost stumbled and instinctively his hand shot out to the wall. He hold on to the rough masonry while he tried to even out his ragged breath. He attempted to keep his dark memories at bay but failed. Oh Maker, Gods, those blasted memories ... it seemed his whole existence rotated around the ones he couldn't recall and the ones he fervently wanted to forget. And that night, that one insane night represented both.

He had been struggling for three precious years to work up the courage before he was able to tell Hawke how much he cared for her. He had distrusted and again trusted her the very moment they met; it had been an overture of an – extremely complicated relation to say the least of it. Yes, that probably covered it all: the combination of trust and the always lingering distrust even though during the passing time the latter feeling had shifted from how he saw her to doubting himself. He had been consumed by his fear of giving himself without a second thought, the fear of making a mess of it, the fear of turning against her like he had done with the Fog Warriors, and most of all the fear of losing her. He had been certain, back then, it would be a matter of mere time until she would find out he was useless, that he could offer her nothing but his broken past and mangled mind and she would reject him. And yet he had gone to her because he hadn't been able to hold back any longer, because his longing for her had overruled the call of common sense, the warning it would become a disaster. Because he had snapped. It had led to –

To that one brilliant magnificent night, that night he finally gave himself to her, that one night he was able to forget the predicament of his life of slavery that had depicted him as a nobody with always simmering feelings of anxiety, hate and fury just below the surface. That very night was still stamped in his mind as a memory to treasure, even after he went and ruined it all. After that significant night, and he still carried a pallet full of very colourful and very conflicting emotions about what happened, even now, it had taken again three even more strained years before the suffocating shackles finally had been broken. It hadn't come easy. Even killing his former master hadn't at first given him the peace of mind and inner freedom he so desperately had desired; after it was done he had felt like a brittle shell filled with hatred and gone sour revenge and finally remorse, ready to shatter into pieces. Until she walked into his room and told him he wasn't alone and, to his infinite happiness and astonishment, told him she still cared deeply for him and hoped they would stay together. To his own amazement he only then had found out his self-image had unnoticeable but considerably changed over the past years and slowly but certain had turned into confidence and self-esteem. Not in the least because she had never left his side and in her own silent way had shown and convinced him he was an unique and wonderful person with lots of great qualities who had much to give and share. After that had got through to him he had let go of all brooding thoughts and bitter reasoning and had plunged into a warm bath of pure bliss. She had been more than willing to take his hand and jump with him. For the first time in his life he had truly been relaxed and had experienced real happiness. And then disaster struck; Kirkwall got torn apart, he got injured and she disappeared and all the warmth and brightness had dissolved into despair once more. This time she had left him, ironicallyfor the same reason he had left her that night, and by now he knew how much it hurt to be the abandoned one. In his consuming desolation he had very hard tried to convince himself she had acted like a spoiled girl that had been craving for a trinket and got bored with it the moment she finally had it in her grasp. Especially when the trinket broke not long after, he had thought with grim sarcasm.

Then again he had been the first to admit the picture of a spoiled girl didn't suit Hawke at all – she had gone through great efforts and worked hard to achieve her goal and worked even harder to gain his trust. Even after he had shattered her she had supported him with all the love and patience she could muster; hardly the behaviour of a spoiled girl. Besides that she had known about loss and grief. And had shared her own grief with him. So many she held dear were lost to her. Was it any wonder she was crushed by his seemingly inevitable death?

But then he straitened his shoulders. No! That was no excuse to leave him – to leave him devastated. If she really loved him, as she insisted, she should have stayed. Especially after all they had gone through together. He drew a deep breath to calm down. She had told him she still loved him, he had to believe that was true; it was the only hope he could cling to but it was a strong one.

Nevertheless he only reluctantly crossed the threshold of Hawke's suite, not knowing what kind of situation he would stumble upon. He found her standing at the same window where he had been waiting for her not an hour before. She avoided his scrutinizing eyes and fumbled aimlessly with the hem of the elegant silk tunic she wore over a pair of loose linen trousers. But even in the dim light he noticed she looked insecure if not frightened; in fact she resembled a cornered animal ready to flee at the first hint of danger. He felt as awkward as four years back when he had been about to break her heart and just like then a pang of guilt hit him like the merciless steel of a crossbow bolt. Say something, you jackass. He took a step forward. 'I apologise,' he said softly, 'I put too much pressure on you. I never should have -'

'No,' she interrupted him in a small, timid voice, 'I am the one who has to apologise, not you. You have done nothing wrong but I've been acting like, like,' she made an impotent gesture with her hand. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered. She started fumbling again, this time with a loose thread hanging from the cuff of her sleeve. If she keeps fiddling like that she will unravel the whole piece of delicate lace in no time, he couldn't help thinking absentmindedly. 'I hope you can forgive me but I'll understand if you can't,' she continued in that same disarming tone. He didn't doubt for a second she didn't comprehend how disarming she exactly was at this very moment. To make things worse she now looked up and gave him a sad fleeting smile. The streaks in her face made clear she had been crying; in fact she looked at the end of her tether. 'I'll accept your verdict.'

The last derivate of his worked-up anger dissolved in an instant. He crumbled and for a moment wanted nothing but to rush over to her and haul her into his arms. But he restrained; she had hurt him and although he didn't want her to pay for it, he did want her to recognise what she had made him endure. And to be honest at the same time he was still afraid for her reaction. She made such a devastated and distressed impression she might as well panic or get a fit of hysterics if he approached her. And thus he kept his distance albeit with difficulty.

Verdict, what an ugly word. What was she thinking?! That he was some kind of stern emotionless judge – or worse, a cold cruel Magister?

Instead of embracing her, he tried to set her at ease and even made an attempt at humour. Though the moment the words left his mouth he knew she would interpret them wrong. 'You already heard my verdict,' he replied, 'I've sentenced you to become my wife. And I told you before you have till tomorrow to give me an answer to that – request.' She flinched and he wanted to slap himself. Stupid reaction to her tentative and meek remark. And then she spoke words that almost spooked him.

She hung her head again and uttered the expression that had occurred to her a while ago and had stuck on since then. 'I'm not worthy of you. I will only put you into danger.' He already was composing an answer when she added, leaving him thunderstruck, 'I'm an angel of death.' In her dumbness she sounded so sincere she frightened the living daylight off him.

'You – what?' With shocked bafflement Fenris stared at her. What kind of rubbish had Isabela been feeding her?

But before he could react coherently she started some kind of monologue in a flat tone that couldn't hide the pain deep down. 'I witnessed my brother being smashed into a bloody pulp by an ogre without me doing anything about it, my sister died in the Deep Roads because of my ambitions, my mother was – desecrated by that monster and I came too late to prevent it because I had better things to do; the whole of Kirkwall ended up in an awful mess –'

'Stop that,' he interrupted her hoarsely, 'you're uttering but a load of gibberish.'

She didn't heed his words but droned monotonous on. 'So many people died at my hands, because of my deeds, my decisions; you almost died due to my failures. Even the current disaster is my doing; I freed Corypheus from his prison and set it all into motion. Where I go death and destruction follow.'

'I said, stop that!' Fenris repeated vehemently but she still didn't listen.

'And even though I left you I couldn't shelter you from danger,' she went on, 'because I left you, you ... you tried to kill yourself. Again a wrong decision.' Her words were nothing more than a whisper by now, accompanied by a small sob.

'What makes you think ...'

'Isabela told me what you went through.'

Inwardly he cringed and then wanted to explode. He would strangle that pirate bitch at the first opportunity. 'And we all know how she likes and intends to exaggerate.' To his own amazement he managed to sound perfectly calm. 'So, will you now listen to me for a change instead of trying to convince me you're the most dangerous and deadly woman in Thedas?'

She looked up again, a mix of misery and hope in her eyes. 'Haven't you heard what I said?'

'I heard every word and every single one was plain nonsense.' He looked intensely at her and continued, 'I will spare you the details of our history for you are as familiar with them as I am, but, for heaven's sake, do apprehend you are the one who pulled me out of the swamp of self-pity, self-loath, self-doubt and a lot more selves with negative additives and made me into the person I am today. A person with,' he smiled briefly, 'self-confidence and self-esteem and above all the capability to love unconditionally without any worries whatsoever, to love you.' He paused for a moment and took her in. She stared breathlessly back. 'And you of all people must know that is no small feat. Hardly the work of an angel of death.' Again he allowed himself a short smile. 'You're the most wonderful woman I ever met and I'm not the only one of that opinion.' He heaved his hand when she tried to speak. 'No, let me finish. I don't know where you got that ridiculous idea you are responsible for all the chaos and madness in the world but it makes no sense at all. Yes, I can understand it is difficult to cope with the deaths of your family, but, for the love of the Maker, stop blaming yourself because there is no reason at all to do so. You forget you saved more persons than you let perish. And about the situation in Kirkwall, you could as well have tried to prevent the sun from rising or the wind from blowing. Between the determined way both Meredith and Orsino were set on destroying the peace and wipe the city away there was nothing you could have done. Quit. Feeling. Responsible,' he ended his tirade with emphasis.

His words washed over her as a cleansing shower but she wasn't ready to give in just like that. 'Corypheus,' she mumbled as some kind of feeble though stubborn protest. Because that experience still lingered along as some very nasty uninvited skeleton in the closet.

At this time Fenris almost combusted with impatient anger but he reined in the worst of his heated emotions. 'What about him? We all agreed he had to be put down. And for all we knew we slew him; it's no-one's fault he rose from the apparent death to pester the world. Let alone yours.'

'My father –'

'Yes,' Fenris scoffed, 'it runs in the family to unleash monsters upon the world. Undoubtedly that was the next nonsense you wanted to blurt out. Your father had his own, in my eyes very legitimate reasons to oblige the Grey Wardens, and the only thing you can hold against him is he didn't tell you about it. But then again, how could he have known you would be confronted by his deeds.' He paused to take a gulp of air and to smother the uprising sudden flare of fury. 'We all thought we made the right decision.' He scowled at her as to challenge her to waylay him.

'He told me you would die,' Hawke murmured nearly audible, 'I mean, when I was in the Fade, Corypheus, he, he said you would die like all the others I wasn't able to protect.'

'And you fell for that?' Fenris reacted incredulous.

'He was very persistent. And with that mocking arrogant voice ... he convinced me.' She shivered at the memory.

'Marian, everyone dies one day,' Fenris said with a sigh, 'you can't even state he wasn't right. He made only use of your fear. Did he mention when exactly I would draw my final breath?' She didn't answer. 'That's what I figured.' Her confession made a lot of things clear; not why she had left him, but at least why she made that impulsive decision to sacrifice herself in the Fade. At that time she really was convinced everyone she cared about was lost or, in the case of Varric, would benefit from her action. He couldn't even start to imagine what kind of ordeal she had gone through. He didn't know what to say anymore. He felt drained. He looked at her and decided he would leave it to her. If she didn't understand him now, he would give up.

Hawke leant against the window-sill, trying with all her might to consume Fenris's heated arguments. To make an effort to deal with all his words; her head was reeling with the attempt to work out the information he had given her. She was quiet for several minutes, letting it all sink in; and then she felt her mind finally clear. One piece stuck out like a glittering gemstone in grubby mud. The capability to love – to love her no less. Even after all the misery she had put him through he still loved her. And had made the effort to travel all the way to Weisshaupt to tell her so. Corypheus could go and choke on his own harsh prophesy on her account. Fenris wouldn't die; at least not now and not because of her. He had given her a lot to think about. As a matter of fact, he had given her space to breathe freely; he had lifted the unbearable weight of guilt from her shoulders. It was as if his words were a bright refreshing breeze, chasing away the dark looming clouds and allowing the sun to warm her with radiant beams. She looked at the past months and wondered why she had been such a blind wandering idiot, drowning in her self-made bleak reality. A reality that had been just a dark nightmare of her own doing.

She left the window and took a small hesitant step. There was one more issue to deal with.

'About your proposition ...'

Fenris cocked one eyebrow. 'My proposition?'

'Your, er, proposal.' She gave him a dithering smile. 'I don't have to wait till tomorrow with the answer. I will be proud to call myself you wife. If you still will have me.'

He shot her his trademark lopsided smile in return. 'Do you think I'm that fickle? There's nothing I want more than to have you back in my life and in my arms.'

She wanted to run to him, wrap her arms around him, to crush him, to feel his presence as close as could be, but he stilled her with just one word, spoken in such a hoarse, rough near shredded velvet voice she couldn't but obey.

'No.'

She gasped, paralysed for the moment; she couldn't reconcile this reaction with the one not moments before. After all the things he had said to her to lift her from the deep black pit she had fallen in did he now reject her? For some heavy heartbeats icy cold fear threatened to overwhelm her. Was this his revenge for all she had let him suffer? But then she realized his expression had nothing to do with revenge but everything with warm dedication.

'Don't move, just stay still,' he said quietly, 'let me.'

He walked over to her while she stood silent, unable to stir.

He let his hand hover not an inch from her face, she could feel the warmth radiating from his palm and fingers but he didn't touch her. 'I want to savour this moment,' he whispered, 'I've been hungering for you for so long. I want to have all of you but I want to take it slow.'

'Please don't,' she croaked pleadingly, 'we have all night to take it slow. Right now I want you so badly.'

A short smile flashed along his lips. 'No,' he repeated, 'this moment is too important. Too sacred.'

He let his hand drop and just looked at her but in such an intense and captivating way it made her shiver. 'Fenris,' she whispered.

He smiled again and reached out to the ribbons that held her silk tunic together. Without taking his eyes from her he slowly unlaced them until the fabric pooled around her shoulders. Gently he dragged the tunic down her arms and unfastened her breast band in the same smooth motion. She expected him to take possession of her but instead he stepped back and took her in.

And still she was unable to move or even utter a word. She just stared at him. Mesmerized.

'You're so beautiful,' he murmured. Again he approached her. He closed his eyes and let his hands move in the air, trailing the outsides of her body, again not an inch from her yearning skin. She, in response, also closed her eyes and let the strange but tantalizing sensation take hold of her. This time his markings lit up faintly and she underwent the electric marvel of his adoration so close by. She could feel his touch though he never once even let the tips of his fingers make contact with her body. She could feel his warmth, the enticing soft radiation of his lyrium just a hairbreadth away from her tingling skin, caressing her through the small space but never touching her, driving her insane with ecstasy and desire. He just followed the curve of her shoulders, moved down along her arms and cupped her naked breasts. Eventually he pulled the tunic down her hips, to let the garment pool around her feet, still without touching her. His nimble fingers unfastened the belt of her loose linen trousers and let the fabric slide down. His hands ghosted along her legs and slowly went up, gliding over her inner thighs, closing in on her thirsting centre but spiralling away at her involuntary gasp.

'I want to worship you,' he said silently, 'you are worth every second of my attention, every breath I take, every beat of my heart.'

Hawke was unable to reply; her vocal cords seemed to be caught up in a knot.

Then his fingertips finally brushed her face in the lightest of touches; it brought such a forceful thrill through her body it almost gave her an orgasm.

'I failed you,' she was close to tears by now, 'I hurt you. I don't deserve your love.'

And suddenly, without warning, he took her in a breathtaking embrace and swept her away with a devastating kiss. 'You are worth everything,' he uttered huskily, leaving her completely enthralled.

Alright, no real smut but an overture I guess.

Thank you for reading!