A big thanks to csorciere, wickexdgames, and to those who are following this story. I hope you like this chapter. And please share your thoughts with me. I would love to hear what you think, and it only takes a few minutes of your time.

A big thank to my fantastic beta, Kira Tamarion. You're awesome! :D

Chapter 2

The mirror that stood before him reflected a strikingly elegant but weary looking man. Aaron, no longer in Templar armor, wore a fine, linen white shirt, pitch-black trousers and boots made of imported, expensive leather. But as well dressed as he was, his reflection appeared also reflected his inner turmoil, a struggle with sudden realizations and deeply held beliefs. Fayne was in all of them, it made his heart palpitate, and colored his pain with a bitter taste of regret. He slept very little over the last three days.

A knock on his chamber's door woke him from his thoughts.

"Come in," Aaron allowed.

The door opened to reveal an Orlesian female servant. She was far from pretty, according to Aaron's standards, though he couldn't deny that there was an undercurrent of foreign beauty about her. Her hair was rusty brown, cascading past her shoulders and her eyes were hazel, though they lack the special spark that filled Fayne's.

She wore a polite expression, even though she was enchanted by him. He was utterly handsome, and the more she stared into his eyes, the more she blushed. She couldn't deny that there was something deep and eerie about him, but she was so lost in his striking good looks she didn't give it much thought. Unnerved and embarrassed for staring at him for so long, she cleared her throat. Her voice was low, soft, and humble, as it would be expected from a simple servant.

"Monsieur, there is a man here to see you. He says he is interested in your proposal."

Aaron's eyes lit up with delight. "Bring him here," he replied, eagerly. The servant matched his amusement with a polite nod, and parted.

He licked his lips, waiting and anticipating. This should be indeed good news.

A moment later a man stepped inside, unlike the servant, he was neither humble nor timid. His footsteps echoed with determination, and he walked towards him almost as if he owned the place. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief. He was without a doubt a rogue, skilled with arrows. Aaron respected the agile rogue, though he was sure he would beat him in a match. Aaron always won his matches.

"I'm glad you decided to reconsider my offer," Aaron told him, his lips already twitching upwards.

"You ask a lot, yet you offer me a lot," the man countered, happily. He sauntered through the room, scanning every little detail, slightly ignoring Aaron. The Templar did not like the rogue's insolence, but in reminding him that man was here for a good caus, he calmed.

"Of course, how else would I make you accept my proposal?"

The man's face grew tight and he turned sharply at Aaron. His voice was curt. "I accepted your proposal willingly, not because you made me do so."

Aaron didn't like his words. In fact, he didn't like this man. The blood in his veins flowed faster, and he found himself trying to keep his composure. "Either way, you're here because my offer pleases you. I am a prudent man, and I know that my offer matches my proposal."

"Of course," the man replied, brusquely, "So, elucidate your terms again."

"Your task is simple, my friend. You must go to the Kirkwall and find a woman - Fayne Hawke. Then, you will keep me posted of her habits, friends - everything. I want to know everything about her. Are we clear?"

The rogue nodded and smile wickedly. "And if I do this...?" He asked, waiting for Aaron to finish his question.

"And if you do this, I will help you avenge your family's murder."

"Good," the man replied, taking no pains to hid the joy that flowed through his veins.

"Inform me when you arrive at Kirkwall. Last time I checked, she had long, silver-blonde hair and green eyes. She shouldn't be hard to find. A woman like her doesn't go unnoticed."

The man stared at him, and Aaron meet his gaze with seemingly equal intensity. He felt that every time he looked at the Templar, he was looking right back at him. The rogue understood that there was more underlying his words than a merely wanting to know where this woman lurked. The rogue recognized the grievous, deep sorrow in the Templar's eyes - Sebastain believed that despite his pain, the Templar's determination to find her seemed to add an edge to his expression. The man knew that, to the Templar, this woman was a lost relic, and he wanted to retrieve her. However, he wasn't fool enough to go after her himself, which left unspoken reasons hovering in the air as mystical haze.

"I will depart for Kirwall right away," the man replied, very conciliatory. He turned to leave, licking his lips at his newly given task.

But Aaron was not quite done with him.

"Oh, I forgot to add something to our little contract," he spoke, stopping the rogue at the doorway. "Do not raise a finger to her, unless you would like to join your parents. See that you treat her well, but not well enough if you know what I mean. She is too precious to have your hands laid upon her. Do I make myself clear, Sebastian Vael?"

Aaron knew his words resonated through the room with a unique intimidation. Sebastian's expression grew very guarded - too much so for Aaron's liking - though the Templar knew he had managed to convey the fact that he would move mountains, if necessary, to kill this man if ever dared to touch Fayne – his Fayne.

"That wouldn't be my intention," Sebastian reassured him.

Aaron laughed at his words. He was a long way from beginning to trust this man. "I would have expected you to understand the weakness of our kind, Vael. We may be tough, ruthless warriors, but we are weak. I'm warning you, as a friend, to not give in into your weakness or I'll thrust my sword trough your chest."

Only when Aaron finished his threat did Sebastian notice the flicker of anger in his blue-violet eyes. This man's words were severe, firm, and bold, making the rogue wonder vaguely what kind of woman Fayne was to be so worthy of such protection and devotion.

"May I remind you that I am devoted to the Chantry? I do not dwell on such carnal pleasures."

"The Chantry doesn't feed your hunger, does it? Don't tell me that when you lay your eyes upon a woman you do not feel, not even a tiny, sense of lust coursing through you? Or a little voice inside your heard whispering wicked, unspeakable things?"

Sebastian was about to answer, but found no words to match the truth in Aaron's words. He clenched his teeth, furious that this man managed to read someone's mind in such a frightenly quick manner.

Aaron stood face to face with Sebastian. "Your faith can only provide spiritual peace, but it won't ease your lust, Vael. However, the right woman can feed your desire, can bring you mental and spiritual peace. Trust me, my friend, one day, you'll succumb to your hunger. Just try not to do that with Fayne."

The rogue stiffened. "Are these the words of a Templar? You too vowed to - "

"I make vows to no one, only to myself," Aaron countered before Sebastian had the time to finish.

"Is that why you're looking for this woman, then? So you can be at peace with yourself?"

"I… I don't expect you to understand, Sebastian," Aaron replied.

The Templar's voice was surprisingly quiet and soft, as if for a moment he had changed into another being. But, Sebastian could sense that remorse and sorrow colored his voice. But in truth, Aaron was right. Sebastian could not understand the depth of such feelings because he never had the pleasure, or the agony, of loving a woman, only to lose her to foolishness. He couldn't begin to understand the depths of the bitter, unforgiving sorrow.

Aaron battled to stem the flow of strong memories that flooded his mind. He remembered when he told Fayne he was going to become a Templar. But he was just fooling himself with half-truths, for the life of a Templar brought him anything but peace. His hatred of mages didn't vanish, no, but maybe it has been dampened, possibly asleep in the back of his mind. He wished that he could be alone with his memories, but Sebastian was still in the room.

"Now Sebastian, please leave. See that you don't break our agreement, and inform me when you arrive in Kirkwall." As he motioned him to leave, his voice carried an undercurrent of authority. The ambitious, cunning, determined Aaron had returned.

Sebastian obeyed, wordlessly, and exited the chambers swiftly, leaving Aaron alone with his memories.

XXXXX

The grisly, grim scene of undead corpses around them didn't stop Fayne from admiring the landscape of Sundermount. Dark, heavy-looking clouds filled sky, and the rogue and her companions trembled slightly when a single forked lightning bolt rippled before them. There was something, dark, old and sinister about this place, as if Soundermout was shrouded in a mysterious haze that prevented them from seeing what really lurked in the corners of this mountain. Yet, Fayne found it to be fascinating.

She licked her lips. They were standing before an altar.

"We should not keep her waiting," Merrill remembered.

"Of course," Fayne replied, stepping aside.

Varric shot her a doubtful look, but the rogue glared at him telling him to trust her. The whole scene made cold shivers reach his spine. But then he reminded himself that if he managed to survive this encounter, he would have a good addition to his book.

Merrill spoke in Dalish, old, and cryptic words, or in Varric's opinion, gibberish. After a moment, a powerful, whitish light lit the sky bringing along what they soon discovered to be Flemeth. The Witch of the Wilds emerged from the strange light that rippled around her, and in her lips was the most wicked, eerie smile they had ever seen. Her smile hummed quite literally with both power and danger. She was certainly as dangerous as she was beautiful. And it wasn't a common beauty -no, it was an uncanny beauty. She was a woman who could freeze one's heart with just a look.

"Well, well, we meet once again." Her voice cut through the air.

"We made a deal," Fayne replied.

The Witch nodded, conciliatory. "We did. Though I half expected that you wouldn't fulfill your end of the bargain."

"I'm wounded, particularly because that was said by a Witch who did not inform me that she was in the damn amulet."

Her clever tongue was something Flemeth admired, it even amused her. In fact, Fayne reminded her of her daughters. They were beautiful, enthralling, yet their words cut deeper than a pointy sword. Though they were skilled with those, too.

Wicked Flemeth laughed at the top of her lungs. "I see that you still have your smart tongue with you - a useful weapon. But wounded? Oh girl, you don't know what pain is. But you will. Someday."

"You don't know anything about my pain," the assassin hissed.

"I know more about you than you think."

"I highly doubt that," Fayne replied, crossing her arms.

"Do you now, child? Hmm, I always thought there was something different about you, but now I know what it is - you like to deny the undeniable, and to avoid the inevitable. Interesting trait," Flemeth remarked to herself.

"And you like to speak in incomprehensible words," Fayne countered, refusing to accept the undercurrent of truth in her words.

"Just because you don't understand that doesn't mean they are gibberish, child."

Hawke stared at her, oblivious puzzled, but that only evoked a laugh from the Witch's lungs.

"But have no worries, girl. It takes a strong woman to deny what's right in front of her," she poked her long, but surprisingly delicate finger, against her chest. "Or in your case - what's in your heart. You are strong, but that it's also your weakness. It blinds you, and makes you want to deny what you can't deny."

"I'm not denying anything," she replied, though the words didn't come very easily.

"Oh yes you are. You just don't know it, yet." But the Witch cocked her head, slyly, as something occurred to her wicked mind. "Or do you?"

Fayne didn't respond, nor did she blink. A puzzled state seemed to come over her, coursing through her. Flemeth's word were cryptic, even opaque, yet she was sure there was something of great meaning behind them, only she didn't know how to decipher it. With the rogue still bemused, Flemeth smiled, slyly as always, and turned back to stare at the mountains that hung to an unseen, vast horizon.

"I must leave, girl."

"Where are you going?"

"To places you can't even imagine they exist. But before I go - a word of advice," she said, turning to regard the lithe assassin. "We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment...and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly."

"And what is that suppose to mean? That I should throw myself from a cliff? Or turn into a dragon like you?" The indifference in her tone added to the sarcasm that filled her voice.

Flemeth laughed. "Oh, I don't think I'll ever get tired of your clever tongue. It almost makes me want to stay a little longer. But have no worries, child, for we will meet again."

XXXXX

Fayne stood in a place that was far from familiar. It was a large hall that expanded beyond her sight and was too extravagant, colorful, rich, and imposing. She was dressed as if she was to attend a royal ball. A crimson, silk gown covered her shapely legs, and her cleavage drew the attention of the male guests.

Her hair was falling in opulence over her shoulders, breasts and ending at her lower back. It was white, it was shimmering and it was a beacon for every guest in the room. Some eyed her with suspicion, others with an undisclosed interest, and some with lust. Yet, there was something strange about these people... they wore masks, Fayne realized as the images in her mind became somewhat clear. Some of those masks were fancy, colorful whereas some were uncanny and mysterious. And indeed there was something peculiarly, alluring about masks - it almost seemed like they have come to life.

Fayne passed further more through the ample room. A line of mirrors appeared on each side and ran the length of the room. Music was being played somewhere, probably a harp, but the sound was distant. The rogue touched her face, and realized she was too hiding her face beneath a mask. And it made sense, since everyone was hiding their true identity.

Her eyes wandered; she was in awe of liveliness. Then, there was a particular person that stole her attention - a man. Behind her mask, Fayne sensed that the man was glaring at her, as if he was attempting to see through her eyes and beyond. The rogue stopped in her tracks, flummoxed by his stare, but also captivated by him. His mask didn't fully cover his face, leaving his lips and jaw visible. The man's posture hummed with power, elegance and charm. His lips twitched slightly, and in distinctive steps, he moved towards her.

Fayne noticed his lavender, bold, and arresting eyes. He gave her a slight bow, smiling. "Will you dance with me?"

She nodded without thinking, though she was surprised that she literally wanted to dance with him.

He smiled, and put his arm around her waist, leading her through the room.

"You have beautiful hair," he whispered against her ear.

"T-thank you." Fayne's voice was small and trembling.

"Your hands are shaking."

"I-I'm sorry, but I don't dance very well."

"Perish the thought, my lady. You just have to let your body - and your mind - guide you. Like this." he swiftly lowered her back so that he could lean against her. Hawke was overcome with the sensation of falling, but he held her tight. He inhaled sharply her floral scent and Fayne's eyes widened when she saw him coming near her lips. Their lips almost touched - almost. He smiled, and brought her back on her heels.

"See? Easy." He ran his surprisingly gentle hand through the length of her spine, touching and caressing her slim and elegant body. Her spine blazed as he made his way down to her derrière, stopping just above. Hawke looked profoundly at him - there was something oddly familiar about him. She tentatively reached for his biceps, and then she stared back into his eyes.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

The man laughed, but didn't reply immediately. They danced a bit more.

"I know you," he replied with lavender gleaming eyes.

Fayne stared at him for a long time, as though she couldn't see much more than just faint outlines of his face.

How does he know me?

"You know me?

In an unexpected move, he reached for her mask, exposing the soft, delicate lines of her face. It surprised her that she felt so naked without it. They stopped dancing, evoking a low murmur of surprise from the other guests. The mysterious man palmed her face. Fayne suddenly felt a familiar warm sense flowing within her. She flinched a little, but didn't stop him.

"Has it been so long that you don't recognize me, Fayne?"

The rogue hesitated, overcome with a sense that she has met this man. That sense was more pronounced, her eyes gazed down from his eyes to his lips. Those lips... she has kissed them, taste them.

What do they taste like?

No, no, it can't be... Fayne tried to block an unsettling realization. She looked up at him, and there was a smile of impish desire in his eyes.

That look... That flaming, desire-filled stare... It's familiar, yet vague.

"You don't recognize me?" He asked again.

And before she could answer, he took hold of her hand, leading her fingers to his mask.

"Take it," he ordered softly.

Fayne hesitated, her willpower being consumed by this enigma. But the man gripped her hand again, and this time he helped her remove the mask from his face. It sank to the floor, leaving his ruggedly handsome lines exposed.

Shock came into her eyes. "...A-Aaron?"

There was a surprising tenderness in his eyes. He brushed her lips with his fingers, and she shuddered slightly. "We were apart for too long."

The rogue seemed not to understand him. "Too long?"

"Let's not fight again. Stay with me, Fayne. Forever - for an eternity," he pleaded so softly.

Yet again Fayne didn't understand him. "An eternity? With you? You said you would kill me." Her voice seemed to be so far away.

Aaron smiled and pulled her closer to him.

Faye woke up with the feeling of Aaron's lips brushing softly against hers.

So went another night tinged with strong images of Aaron. They refused to leave her mind, and they seemed to get more real each night.

XXXXX

Upon Sebastian's arrival in Kirkwall, he inhaled the fresh, salty air of the harbor. He examined with purpose at the architecture, the people, the haze of a faith once lost. It was no mystery to him that mages - willful, untamable mages - lurked within the city walls.

The arctic breeze of the night brushed his face, cutting like a sharp blade, making his breath steam under the moonlight. He would have to find a place for the night. Sebastian heard about a very infamous tavern, and at the lack of any better alternatives, he was making his way towards it.

Fayne Hawke. Her name is Fayne Hawke. He kept repeating that to himself, as he trotted through the streets. He shouldn't - and couldn't - forget her name. His bones were almost frozen, for the cold air was unforgiving during the winter. But a sudden, and welcome, flood of warmth embraced his body when he stepped inside the Hanged Man. He walked to the counter, slapped some coins onto the surface, and ordered a drink. He examined his surroundings, thoughtfully. It occurred to him that if this woman didn't go unnoticed around here, then maybe the patron knew something about her. Also, he needed a room for the night, and a way to send Aaron a message informing him of his arrival.

"I'm looking for a woman," Sebastian said, as the patron poured his drink on a mug.

The man laughed. "Aren't we all?"

"You misunderstand me. I'm looking for a specific woman."

"And does this specific woman has a specific name?"

"Fayne Hawke," the rogue replied, though he missed the stares upon him that pronouncing her name triggered.

"Are you looking for trouble, boy?" The patron asked, frowning.

"I need to find her. "

"Then you are looking for trouble," the patron insisted, slamming the clay mug onto the table.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, and his face grew tight. "I don't care about the trouble. I need to know where she is."

The man rolled his eyes, and heaved a sigh. But just in cue, Varric showed up, coming from his room.

"Ah! There he is," the patron called to him. "This boy here is looking for Fay. Why don't you give him some directions?"

Sebastian noticed that Varric's smile was as sly as his bearing. He eyed the dwarf, warily.

"You're looking for Fayne?" Varric asked.

"Yes. Do you know where I can find her? I promise I won't take much of her time."

Varric laughed. "Do we look like guides?"

His words evoked a collective, genuine laugh from all the tavern's costumers. Sebastian found that uncomfortable, even embarrassing, for he had just been mocked by a dwarf. Though for the sake's of his contract, he steeled himself. He remembered that Aaron told him she had almost white hair, and it occurred to him that a woman with such features could be easily found. They might even bump on each other during the day and, of course, the idea pleased the rogue.

He finished his drink in one gulp. He geared up to leave, but Varric caught his arm. Sebastian noted that the roguish smile never actually left his lips, and something told him that the dwarf was plotting something.

"Well, well, it's seems like this is your lucky day," Varric said, pointing to the doorway.

In a blink, Sebastian spun to look at the doorway. His lips slightly parted in disbelief. At the threshold stood Fayne Hawke - or at least, he thought it was her.

Her silver-blonde hair was the first thing he noticed. It gave her an almost celestial aura, and her stare was intense, as if she were looking right through him. She wore high, brown leather boots that accentuated her shapely legs, beige leggings, and a white blouse. The cut of her blouse was not low, though he could clearly see that he had been blessed in that area. Her hair of unique color cascaded past down her shoulders, almost down to her bottom.

"Hey!" Varric called to her. "There is someone here looking for a Fayne Hawke," he shouted mockingly.

As she advanced up to him, Sebastian noticed a shinny, exotic, dagger on her belt. The blade was wickedly sharp and powerful, as if it was made to please her refined taste.

Fayne licked her lips. "Is he now? Then let's not disappoint him."

Sebastian found her voice colored with cynicism, very much to his surprise, given that her appearance was graceful and uniquely beautiful.

"Who are you?" Fayne asked, cocking her head. Her eyes were studying him pointedly.

"Sebastian Vael. Are you Fayne Hawke?"

"Who's asking?"

"I am. I've heard a great deal about her skills as - "

Faye shot him a cold look. "I doubt that's why you're here."

Her fingers played with her dagger, while she considered him. He was lying, and he was very bad at it. She leaned against him so that he could feel her hot breath. Her malachite colored eyes were sparkling, and in a heartbeat, she flashed her dagger near to him, so that his throat met the cold tip of metal. Sebastian gulped, wreathed in fear.

"Who's looking for me? And if you tell me that it's you again, I will lose my patience."

In truth, she had little time for errand boys like him. And it didn't take a very bright person to understand that someone sent him to go look for her.

Her ardent, stormy eyes stole the breath from his lungs and the words from his mouth. He was never a good liar, he couldn't tell her that it was Aaron, but he couldn't kill his way out of there either. Aaron made it very clear he wanted Fayne alive, and preferably untouched by Sebastian. The rogue found himself cornered, running out of options. He needed more time to find a way out of this mess.

He shrank, holding up his hands in defense. "Perhaps we can speak somewhere private."

Fayne cocked her head, and shot him a shrewd look. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"No, no!" The rogue almost screamed, when he felt the tip of metal sting in his throat.

"Then who sent you?" She burrowed in the tip just a little more. A small stream of blood ran down his throat from where the point of her dagger had stung him.

Varric noticed that there was something uncanny about Fayne. Maybe this was the assassin hidden within her – make this man experience a torturous pain, pressuring him until she pried the words from his mouth, without killing the poor prey. The dwarf licked his lips – he liked this hidden side of her.

Her face took a feverish, stormy look - her patience was at the very limit. And to match that, a look of panic took over Sebastian's face.

"Give me a name!" Fayne urged.

"A-Aaron! Aaron Coste!" Sebastian blurted out, before he had time to bite back the words.

Fayne's dagger fell to the floor, as she was taken aback by his confession. Varric looked at her, and saw her eyes wide with horror.

It takes a strong man to deny what's right in front of him. – Spec Ops: The Line