A big thanks to wickexdgames, csorciere and to those who are following this story. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. And please don't be shy and share your thoughts with me. I would love to hear your opinion about Aaron. I also want to tell you that this is no longer a Hawke/Anders story, and hopefully you'll understand why after reading this chapter. :)

A big thank to my beta - Kira Tamarion. I love what you did with this chapter. :)

Chapter 1

Kirkwall

9:31 Dragon

So, how is it working with Meeran?" Varric heard himself ask, while taking a sip of his drink in his favorite bar - the Hanged Man. "I heard he and your father were acquaintances."

Fayne shrugged. "He worked with Meeran for a year. It was the best disguise he could find, being a mage. Then, he decided to work alone."

"Were you very fond of your father?"

"He was my idol," she replied..

The rogue took a long sip of her ale. The drink burned her throat as it slid down to her stomach; she squeezed her eyes shut, trying hard to luxuriate the strong drink. In truth, drinking wasn't something she was used to, but in the last months she found that alcohol brought her a rarely felt sense of serenity.

A servant girl, bearing two bowls of stew, arrived next to them.

"Something on your mind, Hawke?" Varric asked, now with the two bowls of stew in front of them. The dwarf knew very well how to read someone's expression and Hawke didn't take long to figure that out. She looked up and stared at him; struggling with the answer that was caught in her throat. Of course, Aaron was the reason for her sudden feeling of extreme unease. Her mind frequently replayed her last conversation with Aaron, just as it was doing now.

She shook her head, and finally replied, "No, I'm just... dizzy from the drink, I think."

Varric laughed and shook his head. "You're a very bad liar, Hawke. Not typical for an assassin, though," he jested.

The rogue forced a smile as she reached for her spoon. While taking a bite of the stew, a thought occurred to her. Meeran told her that Varric was very good at getting information about other people's habits, whereabouts, family - you name it. And now, she definitely needed some insight into her old friend.

"I heard that you have many useful contacts throughout Thedas," Fayne said, without looking at him.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards when he realized her tone suggested that she needed his help. "What a nasty rumor about me," he mocked.

Fayne stared at him and arched a perfect brow. "Well?"

"Did you ever doubt I'd help you?"

The impatient rogue took no pains hiding her relief and amusement. "I need you to find someone for me," she explained, taking another bite of stew.

Varric did likewise and motioned the patron to fetch them another drink. "Who's the lucky fellow?"

She stirred her stew with her spoon, her thoughts inevitably straying to Aaron's face. "I need you to find a man - a templar, I think," she added, remembering every detail of their last conversation. She realized now how perfectly that kind of life suited him. After all, there is no more perfect a templar than one who hates mages as deeply as Aaron.

Varric's brows widened with surprise. "A templar? You're asking for a lot, Fayne. Why do you want to find him anyway?"

"Because he is looking for me," she replied as if the answer was obvious.

"You share a past?"

"Yes. Though I wish we didn't," she answered sternly.

The dwarf took a sip from his mug, and considered her words. "I'm going to need a name," he urged after a long pause.

"Aaron Coste." Her tone was flat, devoid of emotion.

He stroked his chin thoughtfully - the name wasn't completely unfamiliar. But where has he heard it? And why?

"I've heard that name before," he admitted, a little bemused. He searched his mind for some hint about this Aaron, but his thoughts led to nowhere. Now he was, without a doubt, intrigued. In fact, this would play out to be an exciting story to tell, a book even.

Fayne shrugged. "I just want to find him. Can you do that?" Her eyes were fervent, probing.

"I'll try, but it will take weeks. A templar is not that easy to find."

She sounded determined. "That's not a problem. All I want is to know where this bastard lurks."

Varric stared at her with a bit of admiration, and couldn't help but to credit that to her stubbornness and resolve. She was one tough woman. A roguish smile spread across his face as he played out his take on this - this will definitely become a story worth telling.

xxXxx

That night, Fayne found it to be a tremendous effort to sleep. When she did, strange, blurred images were playing fervent in her mind, causing her whole body to wince, convulse, and twist. The sheets were unkempt, wrapping themselves around her body, dampened by her sweat.

Nightmare was a personification of all that was Aaron.

"No... no..." She twisted once more in her bed, her face wincing in pain as she tried to wake up. Fragments of memories of Aaron's cruelty and vicious anger overwhelmed her. It made it hard for her to breathe. Dreaming about him was a different kind of punishment - silent, impetuous, agonizing, and equally as painful as actual physical punishment.

Yet this dream was different from any other of her dreams that involved Aaron. It portrayed a love/hate relationship. Aaron was kissing her naked body, telling her she was a both a regret and a blessing. He loved her and hated her, he wanted to make love to her and kill her. A thrill of wild, electrifying energy spread through her body, making her skin tingle. In her dream, their relationship was wrong, yet felt so right to their bodies. It allowed them to release the tension they felt, attenuated their pain, and made them forget the outside world.

Alone, panting heavily and sweating, Fayne was breathing his name. Her body squirmed under the invisible body of Aaron, her nails dug into the sheets. Her dream was still holding her, not letting her pull away from it. It was castigating her, showing her the difficulties of getting involved with such a complicated, dark, sick, enthralling man. Aaron was a sin, but a delightful one. He was the kind of man many women would break the rules just to have a taste of him. Lust, anger, rage, every feeling that could be twisted to satisfy a human's desire, meld until one can no longer distinguish love from hate.

A long while passed, until Fayne felt her whole body being pulled away from the dream. She woke up, breathing heavily and sweating as if she were burning with fever. She felt like all of her energy was drained, leaving her almost loose-limbed.

Where am I?

She looked around she realized she was in her room and that there were no signs of Aaron. It was all just a dream. She threw the blankets and the sheets off of her, and quickly sat on the edge of her bed. Fayne tried to find some logic to the dream, though it seemed impossible. Even the air in her room seemed to be filled with Aaron's scent as if it was a faint, distant haze and his image was still burned vividly in her mind.

It was indeed a twisted dream, one that would surely keep her awake for the rest of this long, painful night.

xxXxx

It had been nearly a month since Fayne asked Varric to trace down Aaron and still no sign of him. Either Varric was doing a terrible job trying to find him or Aaron was doing a brilliant job hiding. After all, the point was for him to find her, not the other way around.

She found herself growing accustomed to the Hanged Man; she even enjoyed the place. The alcohol wasn't much and the food was just terrible. But it was peculiar how in a place like this an uncanny sense of peace could be found. Perhaps because half of the costumers were passed out on the table, and there weren't any curious eyes watching her, or maybe because all taverns look the same everywhere you go. Taking a long sip, she decided the latter assumption was probably the most logical one. After all, all taverns are supposed to make you forget all of your problems, and this one was surely no exception.

Fayne sat alone at a table, almost invisible in the shadowed corner. Her thoughts strayed to Fenris. He offered his services to her just a week ago, after she promised him to help him find his master. The tough rogue did not know what to make of the elf. He was hidden in a haze of mystery, clearly struggling with the invisible chains that were once real and were a small portion of what was once the life of a slave. But Fenris had to be the most enticing elf she'd ever met. His eyes were green, ardent and twinkling with both ire and hope. His hair was snow white, almost like hers, his lyrium marks glowed. His appearance was merely threatening to some and bone freezing, to other, but he was indeed ruggedly handsome. Even his voice was vibrant, virile and arresting. Yet Fayne was sure he was as handsome as he was dangerous, and that inevitably reminded her of Aaron. Indeed there were similarities and even their hatred of mages was no exception. But Aaron's hate was eerie, and inexplicable whereas Fenris' made perfect sense. He had never met a mage who was kind, humble and not trying to buy him, as if he was an object. That, consequently, gave him a distorted view of mages.

As if on cue, when Faye looked at the door, she saw Fenris enter, making her eyes light up with both surprise and delight. It was clear the elf managed completely distract her.

"It is always a pleasure, Fayne," he said, as he sat next to her and smiled heartily. He motioned the bar maid to fetch him a drink and took a seat in Fayne's table.

"How are you?" Fayne asked, showing her concern.

Her voice was soft, tender, and soothing. It has been a long time since the elf had the pleasure to listen to such sweet symphony. He sat back in his chair, his green eyes never leaving hers. "I'm still trying to adjust to this...freedom."

"It will take some time," Fayne said.

"Freedom is difficult to achieve when your past haunts you."

Fayne flinched at such words. In truth, she too knew the feeling of having the past crushing her breath, weighing on her shoulders and haunting her like a ghost.

"Tell me," Fenris urged, catching her attention. "Have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?"

The rogue considered his question for a long while, long enough that Fenris' drink had arrived. Fenris gave the bar maid a polite nod and then turned his attention to Hawke. He didn't rush her, but his eyes were definitely probing for his answer.

"Ferelden is my home. It is where I grew up, but... I don't know..."

"The Blight is over, Fayne. You can rebuild what you've lost."

"I lost a lot of things in Ferelden. Some of them cannot be rebuilt, Fenris."

He immediately recognized that he hit on an open wound, and understood that he was not the only one dealing with troubling memories from their past. Thoughtful, he took a sip of wine. He knew he was not very skilled with words, he knew he could be abrupt sometimes, but this was indeed a woman who stirred a certain curiosity in him. In truth, he wanted to know everything about her.

"Tell me. Why did you want to become an assassin? It is not exactly an honest way of earning money." There was no malice in his tone, only an untiring curiosity.

Faye's lips twitched upwards in a roguish smile, clearly not offended by his statement. "Tell me an honest way of making money in this unforgiving world? We survive the best way we can, Fenris. Your master may think you were dishonest and disloyal when you ran from the Imperium, yet here you stand, thinking that it was the best thing you ever did in your life. Am I right?"

The elf was unable to reply for a moment. There was indeed a certain truth underlying to her words, as painful as it was to admit.

"There is a fine line between good and evil, between what's wrong and right," she continued. "I've become what I am today to save my family. As you know, both my sister and my father were mages and we were always being chased by templars. I had to defend them, protect what was dearest to me. You would have done the same, right?" Fayne asked, cocking her head, watching him curiously.

"I... I don't have a family," Fenris replied sadly, his gaze dropping.

"Your family died?"

"I don't remember, actually," he corrected.

The statement caught Fayne with such surprise that her lips parted in disbelief. "What do you mean?"

He looked down at himself, eyeing his marks. "These marks... They are the first memory I have - the lyrium being carved into my skin, burning like the fire, marking me as a slave. Whatever life I lived before it, it is gone."

"Doesn't it bother you that you can't remember your past?" Fayne was intrigued.

He shrugged. "Sometimes. There are days when I find myself wondering about my real name, about my family. But sometimes it occurs to me that perhaps some things should stay in the past and away from my mind."

"So Fenris is not your real name?"

"No. Fenris was the name that my master used to call me."

Fayne smiled a little. "I rather like that name. It's intriguing."

He chuckled. "Is it now? In Tevinter that means 'wolf'. It meant that I was my master's wolf - his bodyguard."

The rogue finished her drink. "Well, you're nobody's wolf anymore. You are free."

Free. The concept was an abstract one. It was an idea, a goal to be reached, though he never really thought that someday he would be allowed to taste it. He was still a bit reluctant when it came to accept that he had indeed run from Tevinter and that his wrists were freed from the chains that caged him for so many years. Yet the absence of metal, rusty chains around his wrists made him believe that he was living a dream, and that eventually he would wake up to find that he was still serving his master. But then he looked at the rogue seated before him. Her unequally beautiful face told him he was not dreaming. This was real, and he will make sure to enjoy this life with every breath and every beat of his heart.

xxXxx

An opened window in a fine, large room let in a gentle and mild breeze. The curtains rippled, moving with the wind. The room was decorated with red velvet walls, and the furnishings were made of fine, expensive woods. A large bed stood out, with white satin sheets, and in them there was a man. He was twisting in his bed, taking a great effort to shake the load of images that were haunting his mind. Fayne was in all of them. He couldn't hate her, only admire her. There was an unmistakable intensity, beauty and strangeness about her... Her almost white hair was a beacon, luring him into such a delicacy. They were running in a forest, her laugh rang in his ear. He reached to touch her, but she flinched with cat's grace and an impish smile.

The images in his head shifted and his eyes were pulled toward an almost magical waterfall before him. Fayne was naked, sitting on top of a large boulder, combing her long, pale hair with her delicate fingers. It hung like a think curtain over her breasts, hiding them. She had one leg crossed over the top of the other, hiding her sex. He felt like he was being pulled towards her, as if he was bound by a spell. But when he drew next to her, he saw her crying. A stream of tears coursed down her cheeks. Behind those pearly, green eyes, lurked sadness. He realized that he was the cause. Her right cheek - where he slapped her - was flushed from the hit, and the arm where he dug his fingers was covered in bruises. He couldn't feel hate anymore, instead, he felt repulsed by what he had done to her. He sucked in his breath, as a desire to caress her face stirred inside him.

"I loved you, Aaron. Why did you do this to me?" She asked, her voice carried an otherworldly grace, though still deeply colored by sadness.

Aaron felt his stomach twist in knots, and sorrow gripped his heart so hard it felt like someone thrust a sword through his chest. What his eyes were seeing was an agonizing picture. It was jarring, and before he could have time to bite back his words, he found himself pleading his love to her.

"But I still love you, babe. I still... love you." The last two words were pronounced as he woke up. He was breathing heavily and sweating. It took a long while to catch his breath. He scrambled from the bed, trying to make sense out of the dream. He looked briefly out the window in his room, noticing that the sad, faint light of the moon lighted the room. He didn't know how long he had been dreaming; though the dream felt real enough to keep him awake for the next several hours. He strolled towards the window, only dressed in his trousers. The warm breeze brushed his face, while he contemplated the view of Orlais. Buildings of all sorts stretched into the horizon in every direction. Orlais was as beautiful as it was deadly. He was not very fond of the Orlesian nobles or their lifestyle, yet he needed to be there.

He ran his hands through his hair, considering his dream - considering Fayne. A tumult of feelings took over him, leading to anything but a conclusion. In truth, he loved that woman - once - though he never thought he could still be in love with her.

Was he?

Or was he still delusional from the dream?

He heaved a sigh. Maybe this dark, deadly templar still had love hidden inside of him. Maybe it is because what we love follows us, and does not leave as easily as we thought it would.