I'd just like to say thank you to all of you that have alerted or favourited this story, and especially to those who have taken the time to leave a review. Lovelyducking80, I did try to reply to your review to thank you, but got a message telling me that private messaging was disabled for you. So I'll say it here: Thank you! :-)

~o~O~o~

"What's wrong with you two?" Anders asked Fenris and Hawke in an annoyingly chirpy voice. "You'd think someone had died!"

Hawke groaned and rubbed his right eye, which twitched; Fenris, stifling a yawn, ignored him. "We're tired, Anders," complained Hawke with a scowl. "You're far too jaunty for this time of day, or night, or whatever it is; stop it immediately or my staff is going to have an argument with your arse, and believe me, the staff will win."

Anders and Fenris's insistence that they waste no time in seeking out Feynriel had resulted in almost a three-hour journey from Darktown to the Wounded Coast, where they'd learned the boy was being held.

"But look at that sunrise over Sundermount!"

"Exactly; sunrise," Hawke grumbled. "I should be in bloody bed!"

"Justice thinks it's beautiful," Anders said, stopping to admire the sight, taking a deep lungful of the slightly-damp morning air.

"Does he?" asked Hawke, intrigued. Fenris huffed and continued on.

Anders rolled his eyes and he and Hawke caught up to the elf. "Justice appreciates things the rest of us take for granted. Like that," he said, pointing to a small shrub at the side of the path.

"He likes plants?" Hawke asked.

"No…" Anders squatted down and pointed to a spider's web among the branches that glistened with beads of dew. "…That. Isn't it wonderful?"

In spite of the way he felt, Hawke couldn't help but laugh at the look of wonder on Anders' face. "I suppose it is."

"We waste time," snapped Fenris from up ahead. "If the boy has been transported to Tevinter to begin his life of servitude already, will your spirit find that beautiful?"

"All right, Mardy-Arse!" Anders grumped, straightening up. "We're coming!"

"Look on the bright side, Anders; he's no longer referring to Justice as a demon," Hawke said quietly.

"True!" Anders and Hawke resumed their trek behind Fenris, who had insisted on scouting ahead. "Hawke," whispered Anders. "You've been very quiet since we left Darktown, and don't tell me it's because you're tired. Is everything all right?"

Hawke felt his heart sink and he groaned. "No…everything's not all right, Anders. I-I need to talk to you about something."

"Uh-oh. Am I in trouble?" Anders asked, only half-joking.

"Trouble? No!" He scratched his thin beard and sighed. "Although I might be…"

"Spit it out then, Hawke. It doesn't do to dwell on these things."

"Not here," Hawke mumbled, not meeting Anders' eyes. "Not in front of Fenris."

"Fair enough," replied Anders, secretly pleased that Hawke was willing to confide in him over the elf. "Maybe when we get back, then? When we've had some sleep."

"Definitely when we've had some sleep." Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, defeat evident in his sagging shoulders.

"Come on, Hawke," Anders said, slipping an arm around his friend's back and giving his arm a squeeze. "It can't be that bad, surely?"

"Oh, Anders…"

"Actually, I think I already know," Anders said in a grave tone, removing his arm from around Hawke.

Hawke halted and looked at him anxiously. "You do?"

Anders grasped his chin and nodded sagely. "Well, you're only human, Hawke. If you're going to admit to me that you've finally given in to the craving, then I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you: you're just not my type. Although I suppose I could manage a pity shag; just the once, mind, and I go on top."

Hawke's body shook, his nervous energy expended in an explosive burst of laughter. "Oh, all right, then. But I have to insist on being top!"

"Well, in that case, forget it!" Anders chuckled, although his laughter didn't quite reach his eyes as he watched Hawke with concern. He sighed. "Whatever it is, my friend, we'll work something out, yes?"

Hawke didn't answer and stared straight ahead, his eyes glazed over. "Fenris," he said a moment later with a nod of his head.

The elf was crouched behind a large rock further up the path, and he beckoned to the mages. They quickly made their way over to him, stooping, and ducked behind the rock.

"What is it, Fenris?" Hawke asked.

"Over there."

Hawke peered over the rock, looking to the shore, and immediately ducked behind it again. "There's a ship," he said to Anders. "Looks like they're loading cargo."

"Living cargo," Fenris clarified.

Hawke looked over the top of the rock again and watched for a moment. "You're right," he whispered. "There are…half a dozen…most of which are elves. Their hands are bound. They're being led onto the ship."

"More preceded them," explained Fenris, frustration in his voice. "There are far too many for us to engage, and we may risk harming the abductees if we try."

"Have you counted the slavers?" asked Hawke.

Fenris nodded. "By my reckoning there are at least twenty crew members, but there could be more on board." He shook his head. "We must aid them, but we will be of no use if we are slaughtered in the attempt."

"We could do with Justice's help," Hawke suggested.

Anders shook his head. "Justice is dormant; either he doesn't believe an injustice is being committed here, or…"

"How can you say that?" interrupted Fenris, his green eyes cold with fury. "Innocents are being abducted against their will! Or does his brand of so-called justice only apply to humans?"

Anders' eyes flashed and his expression hardened. "As I was going to say before you interrupted me, he may also be exhausted! It takes a lot out of him to manifest himself, you know! He can't just appear when someone snaps their fingers!"

"I'm sorry, Anders, I didn't mean to suggest that Justice is at our beck and call," said Hawke.

Ignoring him, Anders continued berating Fenris. "And don't you accuse him of favouring one race over another! Justice acts for all!"

"This is getting us nowhere!" hissed Hawke. "I have an idea. Fenris, keep counting." He got onto all fours and started to crawl behind the rock face, heading closer to the ship.

"Where are you going?" asked Fenris.

Hawke looked back over his shoulder and grinned at the elf. "I'm going to give our slavers a little something to occupy them; they look bored, to me."

Anders grinned and bounced on his haunches as he squatted next to Fenris, excited to see what Hawke was going to do.

Once Hawke was satisfied he was in range, he paused for a few moments, watching the movements of the crew. Some of them appeared to be standing guard, but instead of paying attention as they should, they chatted among themselves, clearly not expecting any interference so early in the morning, and at such a remote location.

Taking a deep breath, Hawke slowly stood up and held his staff aloft, opening the Fade and calling flame into existence. In one fluid motion he thrust his staff forward, sending a huge fireball hurtling toward the ship's hull; it connected and the resulting explosion rocked the vessel.

Hawke threw himself down to the ground and glimpsed Fenris and a snickering Anders peering cautiously over the edge. He crawled back to them and crouched next to Fenris.

"They all just gawped for a second, and then their leader started barking orders at them!" Anders giggled.

Even Fenris looked amused. "Ha! See as they scurry about like ants!"

Hawke grinned, glad for a moment of levity. His eyes lingered on Fenris for a moment, noting how much younger the elf looked when he smiled; his eyes shone and the care he wore so heavily on his brow seemed to lift, softening his features. Fenris's eyes quickly flitted to Hawke's, having noticed his scrutiny, and Hawke immediately diverted his gaze back to the ship, feeling something stab at his gut.

"They're bringing the slaves off the ship," Anders announced, oblivious to the exchange.

"Of course they are," replied Fenris. "They are too valuable to be left to perish."

The three men watched as the ship's crew fought to extinguish the blaze. After the initial panic, the crew organised themselves and seemed to be winning the battle.

"Looks like we'll need another one, Hawke," said Anders.

"No…wait!" Fenris said with a note of excitement. "Look; one of the slaves has freed himself from his bonds!"

As Fenris pointed him out, sure enough, one of the male elves had loosened the rope around his wrists and let it fall onto the sand; he then moved to the elf in front of him, whispered something, and began to untie his bonds. The men who had been assigned to watch over them were far too engrossed with the burning ship to notice.

"Looks like we may have some allies," said Hawke, waggling his eyebrows.

"Look! They're all untying each other!" Anders held his breath as the elves discreetly aided each other, his eyes darting anxiously between them and their slaver guards. "Don't turn around…don't turn around."

As the blaze was finally put out, one of them did turn around toward the elves. Immediately, the elves' hands went behind their backs and some of them shuffled, kicking sand over the ropes they'd let fall to the ground.

"What are you waiting for?" Anders whispered impatiently. "Batter them!"

"They await an opening," Fenris answered him.

Hawke shot a glance at the elf. "Well, why don't we give them one?"

Fenris returned Hawke's look and the edge of his mouth quirked slightly. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I think that Anders and I should give those poor men something else to occupy themselves?" he suggested.

Anders grinned delightedly and crouched down on all fours, following Hawke as he crawled toward the shore once again. "Be ready, Fenris," Hawke quietly instructed the elf.

"I am always ready." Fenris hefted his sword from his back and followed the mages, moving as silently and elegantly as a cat.

Once at the bottom, Hawke held his hand aloft, signalling for Fenris to halt, and he beckoned Anders over to him. "Ready?"

"Ready, Hawke," Anders answered with a grim smile.

Hawke brazenly stepped out from the cover of the rocks, and, placing two fingers in his mouth, issued a high-pitched whistle. Several of the slavers spun round at the sound, and Anders laughed at the look of outrage of their faces as Hawke cheekily waved to them. Before the stunned slavers had had time to react, Hawke and Anders were already casting, and two further fireballs slammed into the ship.

Panic ensued and the slavers, not quite sure whether to attack the vandals or save their ship, scattered in disarray. The enslaved elves took immediate advantage and surged forward, some of them grabbing a fistful of sand and throwing it in their captors' faces. They still had the disadvantage of being unarmed, however, but Hawke immediately saw to that, placing a strong flame enchantment on the slavers' weapons, causing the men to shriek in pain and drop their swords and daggers.

A blue blur passed the two mages as they cast from a distance, and Anders gawked in astonishment. "That's…Fenris! Look at him!"

The glowing elf darted between the slavers, the shrill whistle of arcing metal piercing the morning air as several heads were cleaved from their shoulders in quick succession. Hawke watched, entranced, for a moment, until something else caught his eye: a blond elven lad, no older than eighteen, had become surrounded by four of his captors. Hawke pointed his staff toward them but didn't have time to act: the lad placed his hand over his eyes and the slavers were immediately sent hurtling several feet backwards.

"I think that's our boy, Anders."

As Fenris and the elves, with the aid of the young mage, seemed to be handling things on the ground, Anders and Hawke ran toward the burning ship and scrambled up the gangplank, where they remained, picking off those who remained on board and adding another couple of fireballs for good measure. When they were certain no one else remained on board they left the ship, which, as it was of poor make, was by now consumed by flames.

They grinned at each other at the sight that greeted them: the surviving slavers were now restrained with the same rope that had previously bound the elves. Several of the liberated elves approached them, offering their hands, and their thanks. Fenris stood far apart from them, and waved off any attempt at a handshake. Hawke noted this, having previously thought that Fenris only recoiled at his – a mage's -touch. As they neared the warrior, Hawke's face fell; Fenris was bathed in sweat and his normally-bronzed skin had taken on an ashen hue. His breathing appeared laboured and he occasionally winced.

Hawke quietly walked up to Fenris, leaving Anders to revel in the plaudits of the freed slaves and to taunt their captors.

"Fenris…are you feeling all right?" he ventured cautiously.

A flash of irritation crossed the elf's face and he closed his eyes, pushing one of his palms out toward Hawke. Hawke stopped and watched Fenris anxiously, once again feeling a pang deep in the pit of his stomach.

"Do you need healing?"

"No," Fenris answered abruptly, panting, his head snapping up. "I do not need, or want, your magic." Noticing Hawke's crestfallen expression, he hung his head and sighed. "It-it would not do any good, anyway. I just…I need a moment."

"Take as long as you need," said Hawke softly. He returned, frowning, to where Anders stood with the laughing elves and the scowling slavers. Anders had given some of the elves directions to the camps in Darktown, promising them a meal, if not plush accommodation, while some others decided to take their chances elsewhere, and they slowly departed, but not before Hawke had called the young mage over to him.

"You're Feynriel, aren't you?"

"How-how do you know that? Who are you?" the boy demanded, his arrogant bearing and hands on hips doing nothing to disguise the fact he was terrified.

"Your mother sent us to look for you; she's very concerned about you."

"Huh!" snorted Feynriel. "That cow wants to turn me over to the Templars; I suppose that's what she's sent you to do?"

Something dangerous flashed in Hawke's brown eyes and he stalked forward, causing Feynriel to back pedal. "If I'd spoken about my mother in that way when I was your age, I'd have got the belt, and deservedly so!"

"Easy, Hawke," said Anders. "He's clearly frightened."

Unwisely, Feynriel did not back down. "And you set fire to the ship, and just came charging down; you could have hurt us!"

"You ungrateful wretch!" Hawke stormed, cuffing the boy around the head. "I ought to teach you some manners!"

As Feynriel cowered, Anders stepped in between them. "Hawke…" he hissed. Hawke glowered at the ingrate and turned away. "It's all right, you're free to go," Anders told the boy.

"Wait…" Hawke turned back. "I didn't say anything about him being free to go."

"What?" asked Anders, surprised. "Wasn't this the whole point? To find him and make sure he's safe?"

"The point was that his mother, who had kept him a secret up until now, suddenly decided he needed to go to the Templars," Hawke argued. "There must be a good reason for that."

"I hope you're not saying what I think you're saying, Hawke!"

"Feynriel," Hawke said. "Why does your mother want you to go to the Circle?"

His pride wounded at being slapped about the head, Feynriel pouted. "I don't see why I have to tell you anything!"

"If you don't tell me," threatened Hawke, tired of this cheeky whelp's attitude, "I'll take you to the Gallows right now!"

"You're bluffing!"

Hawke grabbed Feynriel's arm and pushed him forward. "We'll see about that."

"Hawke!" Anders protested.

"All right! I'll tell you! Just let go of me, you ruffian!" Feynriel shrugged off Hawke's hand and stepped away from him.

"Talk," Hawke growled.

Feynriel took a further step back as Fenris approached and stood a few feet away from Hawke. "I-I've been having dreams," admitted the boy.

Anders nodded. "It's all right; all mages have the occasional dream. You were offered something by a demon? That kind of dream?"

Feynriel nodded.

"All mages have these dreams?" Fenris asked. "You are tempted by demons on a regular basis?"

"Not regularly, no," replied Hawke. "Just once in a while. It's not the dreams that are a problem; so long as the mage resists any offer made, the demons give up and go after someone else," he explained, his words feeling hollow as they left his mouth.

"I-I know that," Feynriel said. "The problem is, I'm having these dreams every night, several times a night."

Hawke's eyes widened. "Well, that's not right at all."

"And that's not all," Feynriel continued, genuine fear in his eyes. "I hear them whispering to me…when I'm awake."

"What?" Hawke shot a horrified glance at Anders, whose expression remained impassive.

"He must be delivered to the Templars immediately," insisted Fenris with a disgusted look at the youngster.

"No!" argued Anders. "This is not his fault! We should be helping him, not abandoning him!"

"Bloody hell," Hawke muttered under his breath, his head pounding from lack of sleep. The last thing he needed was these two arguing, and he had no wish to act as mediator.

"It is only a matter of time before the boy succumbs to the demon's influence!" Fenris argued with passion. "He must be contained! He is a danger to himself, as well as others!"

Anders folded his arms and huffed. "So, we've just fought to liberate these elves, and you want to go and bang him up in a prison? That makes sense, doesn't it?"

"It is the only sensible or sane choice! You profess to detest blood mages, and yet you would allow this plaything for the demons to wander around, unchecked?"

"I'm not a blood mage!" Feynriel cried.

"Not yet," snarled Fenris. "It is but a matter of time."

"Hawke?" Anders asked. "Don't you have anything to say? Care to back me up, here?"

Hawke rubbed his eyes and groaned. "He's not going to the Circle," he began.

"I should have known another mage would back up his reckless plan!" Fenris accused.

"But we can't release him, either," Hawke finished tersely, waiting for the inevitable retort from Anders; he wasn't disappointed.

"So what do you suggest we do, Hawke? We can't return him to his mother; she'll call the Templars again, and when they find out about him, they'll make him tranquil!"

"That is the only viable solution!" Fenris barked.

"Don't I get a say in this?" Feynriel moaned.

"No!" snapped Hawke, highly irritated with the whole business. "Everyone just shut up for a minute! I'm trying to think!" He paced along the sand, rubbing his temples in an attempt to hold back the pressure that pushed against his skull. "Wait…what about the Dalish?"

"The Dalish?" asked Anders, his brow wrinkling.

"Yes…Keeper Marethari is obviously a powerful mage, Merrill's a mage…I've heard that all Dalish know a little magic. Maybe they can help him?"

Fenris shook his head in dismissal. "The girl is a blood mage. For all we know, this 'keeper' could also practise forbidden magic. He must go to the Templars."

"He is not going to the Circle!" Hawke insisted.

"Yes, that could work," Anders mused. "That's a good idea, Hawke. They know old magic, and it's said they have a stronger connection to the Fade than other mages. I think they could help him."

"And if they cannot?" Fenris questioned. "If he wreaks his demonic influence upon their clan, then what? Will you take responsibility for that?" he asked Hawke.

"He's going to the Dalish," Hawke asserted, his eyes locked with the elf's.

"You are a fool. This in unwise and irresponsible."

"You're not the first person to call me a fool, and you won't be the last."

Anders sighed as he watched the two of them but was relieved that Hawke had backed him up. "Come on, Feynriel; let's get you to the Dalish camp."

Hawke shook his head, feeling invisible hammers pound at it with every movement. "No; I need to rest, first. My head is killing me. I need to shut my eyes for a couple of hours."

"Have you tried healing yourself?"

"I did earlier, and it made no difference."

"You wish to sleep?" asked Fenris. "And where will you do that?"

"Here, on the sand, for all I care. You lot can carry on, if you like."

"I'll take him," Anders volunteered. "I don't feel too bad. What are we going to do with this lot?" he asked, pointing to the slavers.

"The City Guard will be coming for you," Hawke told them with a glance at the rapidly-disintegrating ship. "I'm going to have to talk to bloody Aveline. Great," he spat as he walked away. "Thanks, Anders," he called out.

"Wait," said Fenris. "You would trust him to deliver the boy to the Dalish? He will release him the moment our backs are turned!"

Hawke wheeled round. "I've had just about enough of you, Fenris!"

"So, I am here merely as a lapdog, one that will fawn and agree with everything you say, as he wags his tail?" Fenris asked with venom in his words.

"Go with them, if you're so concerned!" barked Hawke, stomping away.

"He is not coming with us," Anders insisted as he led the boy away.

Fenris stood, alone, as the mages went their separate ways. He felt heat creep along his skin and glanced down at his arms, upon which his markings flickered. Irritated at the chatter and moaning among the incapacitated slavers, he felt anger flare within him and turned sharply towards them.

"Stop talking!" he snarled, his markings flaring violently.

Instantaneously, an eerie silence fell over the beach as the terrified criminals ceased their noise.

Fenris growled under his breath and reluctantly began to follow Hawke.

He eventually found him tucked behind a sand dune, his legs pulled up to his chest with his eyes closed. As Fenris approached and sat on the sand a distance away, Hawke's eyes opened.

"Come to tell me again what a fool I am?"

"What purpose would that serve? We both know it to be true," said Fenris, placing his sword at his side and bending one leg to examine his foot.

Too tired to argue or care, Hawke sighed and closed his eyes.

Sometime later, his eyes opened; looking up at the sky, he noted that the sun had climbed a little higher, and guessed that it was mid-morning. Fenris was slumped against the opposite side of the dune, approximately twenty feet away; his head rested against his chest, forming a tiny double chin, and his body twitched occasionally.

Hawke watched him for a little while, feeling guilty for being so snappy earlier on. Of course Fenris wasn't going to agree; he'd even warned Hawke of that. Hawke cursed himself for being such an irritable shit at times, and wearily pushed himself to his feet.

"Master…please…"

Hawke froze and glanced at Fenris, whose face wore an expression of anguish, fear.

"Please…not tonight."

Hawke's eyes narrowed and he carefully sat back down on the sand, watching and listening intently.

"No! Please, Danarius! I'll do anything you want! Please, not that!"

Hawke placed a hand over his mouth as a tear trickled down Fenris's cheek and his body trembled, his lyrium markings flaring into life.

"Please…" Fenris sobbed, and Hawke jumped to his feet, meaning to wake him, but stopped, fearful of Fenris's reaction if he did. He stood helplessly as the elf continued to plead with the master he could see only in his dreams.

"Fenris," he called. "Wake up!"

"I cannot take anymore!" Fenris yelled and his eyes snapped open to find Hawke standing over him.