Hawke held his hands up in front of him as a startled Fenris sat up quickly, and then froze, ferocity in his eyes as he pinned Hawke in place with a look.

"Sorry," Hawke mumbled. "You were…you were calling out in your sleep. I was just…"

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, Fenris's eyes eventually moving downwards to the sand. "You…heard me?"

"Oh, erm, not much," lied Hawke, his mind still reeling at Fenris's utterances, and what they might mean. He turned his back on the warrior and walked over to where he'd slept, and began to collect his belongings.

Fenris, realising that one of his cheeks was damp, quickly rubbed at it and pushed himself to his feet, not once taking his eyes off Hawke. Upon hearing the mage's ragged exhalation, his body stiffened. "What exactly did you hear?" he asked, his voice brittle and cold.

Hawke pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. "You weren't making much sense," he said with his back to the elf. "It was all gibberish. Don't worry; I've been told I talk crap when I'm asleep, as well. And awake, come to think of it," he joked, although he felt far from jolly.

Silence hung in the cool morning air, punctuated occasionally by the distant screech of gulls and the swell of the sea as it crashed against the rocks. Hawke stood and half-turned toward Fenris. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to go home and have a proper sleep."

"I dislike being lied to, Hawke."

"Eh? What do you mean?" he mumbled with feigned nonchalance as panic scalded his insides. He wiped his sweaty palms against his robe and brushed it down. "Bloody sand," he moaned.

"Tell me the truth," demanded Fenris, who had not budged one inch from his original position. "What did you hear?" he asked curtly.

What am I supposed to do? wondered Hawke, his mind racing. Tell him the truth and make him feel ashamed and uncomfortable, or lie? I'm obviously not very good at that. He turned to face the tense elf. It was obvious Hawke had broken into a sweat, and his belly fluttered.

"I…I heard you mention Danarius," he mumbled, unable to meet Fenris's penetrating gaze.

He saw Fenris pick up his sword and slip it through the strap on the back of his chest plate. "I am ready to depart," he said quietly, and began to walk away from Hawke.

"Fenris…" The elf stopped but did not turn around. "Are you…"

"I do not wish to discuss it."

"All right," Hawke said, relieved and yet still anxious. He walked after Fenris, keeping a short distance away but making sure the elf could see him. "Would you like a drink?" he offered, placing his hand on his water skin.

"No, thank you."

It would be a long trip back to Kirkwall; Hawke did not relish both he and Fenris feeling uncomfortable for the duration of the journey, and decided to give Fenris the opportunity to be alone, if that was what he wanted. "Would you like some company on the way back?" he offered, trying to keep his tone light. "I have to go to Hightown myself, to see Aveline…"

Fenris continued to walk ahead of Hawke, the tension in his posture still evident. "I will make my own way back," he said firmly, but without anger, and hastened his pace.

Hawke dropped back and eventually stopped, uncorking his waterskin and draining it. Once Fenris was out of sight, he slowly continued, first ensuring that the slavers were still secured.

~o~O~o~

Deciding he couldn't face Aveline without a bracer, Hawke trudged into The Hanged Man, and, not seeing anyone familiar in there, made his way to the bar. "Cooked breakfast, please, and a mug of tea," he said to Corff.

"Sorry, Hawke, we stopped serving breakfast two hours ago," the bartender informed him.

"Eh? What time is it, then?" mumbled Hawke blearily.

"It's after lunch."

"Crap."

"We have stew," Corff offered apologetically.

"Stew again? Is that all you ever serve in here?"

Corff shrugged and laughed. "We don't get much call for anything else."

Hawke huffed and rubbed his eyes. "Well, how about a bit of bread and cheese? Pickles? Anything like that?"

"Aye, I think I can stretch to that," answered Corff. "You want tea or ale with that?"

"Ale. Thanks, mate. Varric around?"

"Over here, Hawke!" Varric called from the other side of the bar.

"Of course you're here!" Hawke said wryly and made his way round to the other side of the bar, where he found Varric chatting to a tall, dark-skinned woman with pendulous breasts, barely contained by her skimpy outfit, which bordered on the indecent.

Hawke raised a stern eyebrow as he approached, and Varric laughed. "Always the protective big bro', I see." He gestured to the woman. "Hawke, this is Isabela. She may have some business opportunities for us, if you're interested."

Hawke glanced at her and nodded curtly, before turning back to Varric, leaving a nonplussed Isabela to wonder why he hadn't immediately gawked at her breasts, as most men did.

Sensing that Hawke wasn't in a sociable mood, Varric took Isabela to one side. "We'll talk again later, ok?"

"I'll be around," she replied, and sauntered past Hawke, who completely ignored her.

"Maker's breath, Hawke!" exclaimed Varric as he stepped closer. "You look like death warmed over!"

Hawke managed a thin smile. "Yes, but you should see the other guy," he quipped humourlessly.

"Have a seat," invited Varric, taking a chair at the nearest table. "Blondie's here," he told Hawke as they sat down. "He told me all about what happened with the slavers. Nice work! Although you could have plundered the ship before you set fire to it; that's a schoolboy error right there, Hawke. Just imagine what could have been on board!"

"I know; I was lost without my favourite dwarf," Hawke said with a grin as a serving girl brought over a plate of bread, cheese and piccalilli with two apples and a tankard of ale; Hawke nodded in thanks.

"Your favourite out of me and Bartrand," replied Varric, placing his hands over his heart. "I'm deeply touched."

"So you should be," answered Hawke. "Did Bethany get home all right?"

"Sure did, Hawke."

"Thanks. You said Anders was here?" Hawke asked, cramming a chunk of bread into his mouth.

"Yeah." Varric nodded toward the rear of the pub. "He was gonna go back and sleep at that rathole, but I told him he could crash on my bed. Do all mages snore like that?" He reached over and pinched one of Hawke's apples, and polished it on his coat before taking a bite. "So…you kinda look like you lost a sovereign and found a copper, Hawke."

Hawke shrugged and took a gulp of ale, setting his tankard down. "Just a few things on my mind. I'm sure I'll feel better after a kip."

Varric took another bite of his apple and observed as Hawke picked at his food. Hawke knew that Varric was watching him, and that he was waiting for him to speak up. He sighed and sat back in his chair.

"Varric…what would you do if I told you I was a blood mage?" he asked quietly.

"Me, Hawke? I wouldn't do anything. Should I?"

Hawke shook his head. "See, I knew you'd say something like that."

"So, are you?" asked Varric. Hawke stared at his plate and nodded. "Does Blondie know?"

"No," Hawke said heavily, resting his head on his hand and pushing the food around his plate. "I need to tell him, though; I wouldn't want him finding out by accident."

"And the elf?"

Hawke smiled grimly and looked up at Varric. "I like my head where it is, thank you very much." His eyes returned to his plate and he fell quiet, wondering where, and how, Fenris was.

"Is that all, Hawke?"

"Is that all?" Hawke repeated, once again glancing up at Varric. "Did you see the way Anders changed toward Merrill once he found out about her?"

"No, I meant 'is that all you have on your mind', but don't worry about Blondie. He'll come round. Besides, he's known you for a lot longer than Daisy; he's gotten to know the real you beneath the evil death powers and all that."

Hawke shook his head and laughed. "Always know how to cheer me up, don't you, Varric?"

"Always!" Varric leaned forward a little and grabbed a piece of cheese from Hawke's plate. "You want me to talk to him?" he asked casually.

"Oh, no, Varric. I appreciate the offer, but…this needs to come from me." He glanced anxiously in the direction of Varric's room, his gut twisting at the thought of Anders' reaction. He sighed and pushed his plate toward Varric, having lost his appetite. "Here. I've got to go and see Aveline, now; won't that be fun?"

Hawke hated Aveline. He hated her deep, harsh voice; he hated the fact she was taller than him. He hated her stupid freckles and bright orange hair, and constant righteousness and moralising. He hated the very idea of her. Beside his mother and sister, Hawke had no experience of women at all, and had no idea of how they worked. He found women who tried to be men especially confounding.

If he was honest with himself, though, the real reason he hated her so was that she had not been quick enough to save Carver, either. She'd made such a big show of being brave and protective when her husband had been injured, and yet, when the Ogre had appeared, she'd hesitated just as Hawke had. The only person who hadn't quailed had been Carver. He'd pushed his mother and sister aside and had charged in without a thought for himself. Stupid, brave Carver!

He also hated Aveline's husband for getting injured, thus diverting all the attention from Carver as his brother had lain dead in his mother's arms. What had Wesley done to deserve such care? Oh, yes: he'd courageously told his own wife to kill him. What a hero! And Aveline had done so without a second thought, without shedding a single tear. What was wrong with her? Did she have no heart?

The truth was, Hawke hated Aveline, and blamed her, as much as he hated and blamed himself. Every time he laid eyes upon her, he was instantly back in Lothering, the sound of Bethany's sobs ringing in his ears, his mother, drenched in Carver's blood, rocking her broken son against her bosom. His mother blaming him. He couldn't hate his mother, so Aveline was just as good a substitute as anyone. He needed to hate someone; Carver's death had been so senseless and could easily have been prevented. At least having someone else to blame made some sense out of it, or so he told himself.

"Hawke?"

"What?"

"I was saying that I have some things to take care of in Hightown, and I need to see Aveline as well. Why don't you let me tell her?"

Hawke eyed Varric with scepticism. "Do you really have to go to Hightown? Isn't that quite a walk for those little legs of yours?"

Varric chuckled. "I was as tall as you when I was younger, Hawke; it's the trips up and down those damned steps that've worn my legs away to stumps. Anyway, it'll give me plenty of time to think up a good story." He stood up, having polished off the last of Hawke's meal. "Stay here and wait for Blondie. I'll take care of Carrot-Features."

"Does she know you call her that?" Hawke asked with a snigger.

"Not a chance," muttered Varric out of the side of his mouth. "I like my head where it is as well, thank you very much." He hoisted Bianca onto his back.

"You're too good to me, Varric," Hawke said quietly.

"Ach," said Varric with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh! Before I forget, this was hand-delivered to me this morning." He produced an official-looking letter from his pocket and handed it to Hawke.

Hawke looked at the letter warily as he took it. "You want me to read this?"

"It's for you," Varric told him. "Well, us."

Puzzled, Hawke frowned as he opened the letter and began to read.

Messere Varric Tethras,

I commend you and your companions' actions in returning Ser Keran to us and for remanding the blood mages securely until my men and I were able to reach them; they are now safely contained at The Gallows.

I extend an invitation to you and Messere Hawke to come and see me at The Gallows when you are able, to receive your reward, and perhaps to discuss future ways in which we may work together. I apologise that I am unable to visit you in person as most of my time is taken up here.

I am aware of Messere Hawke's status and would ask that he wear civilian attire and to come unarmed, or at least without his staff, so as not to draw attention to himself while here. I will personally guarantee his safety if he follows these recommendations.

Thank you once again, and I look forward to receiving you.

Knight-Captain Cullen.

"What did I tell you?" asked Varric as Hawke read the letter again. "We do a favour for the Templars, they 'employ' us to do things on the side. And that reward he mentioned will be big. Or, if it isn't, we can remind him that we averted a crisis within the Templar Order; a recruit possessed by a demon would have been a massive embarrassment to them."

"Can we trust him?" Hawke asked.

"I think so; he seems a pretty decent guy, and he knows you'll be pinched the instant you walk in there dressed like a mage, so he's recommended that you don't. I've acquired a 'nose' for people over the years, Hawke, and I think he's all right."

Hawke nodded thoughtfully. "All right, then. Actually, I'd quite like to see The Gallows."

"Don't get too excited, Hawke; it's not the cheeriest of places. There's no rush, anyway; I guess all you young 'uns will want to catch up on your sleep today. How about tomorrow?"

"That's fine." Hawke stood up and shook Varric's hand. "You're a good dwarf, Varric; I don't care what the rest of them say," he joked.

"Stop it! You'll get me all misty-eyed," Varric joked back, wiping a non-existent tear from his eye. "I've gotta look after my favourite investor, haven't I?"

"Your favourite out of me and Bartrand. I'm deeply touched," Hawke said drily.

"So you should be." Varric released his hand and headed for the door. "Blondie: he'll be fine," he told Hawke with a reassuring nod before departing.

Hawke slumped back into his chair and called for another ale, which he downed in one as he stared glumly at the rear of the pub. "No time like the present," he said to himself, wiping the froth from his mouth. He took his empty plate and tankard back to the bar, something which Corff found curious, as nobody else bothered, and paid for his meal.

"Corff, there might some shouting coming from Varric's room," he warned. "Just leave us to it, all right?"

"What you do in there is your own business," answered Corff, looking slightly embarrassed as he busied himself polishing the counter.

"What…? No! I meant an argument! Maker's breath!" Hawke walked away, shaking his head.

Arriving outside the door to Varric's room, he paused and pressed his ear to the door; he certainly couldn't hear snoring, and hoped that Anders wasn't asleep, or, at least if he was, that he wouldn't be too pissed off at the interruption.

Making a fist, he brought his hand up to the door and closed his eyes, sighing heavily.

Apart from Varric, Anders was the only friend Hawke had made since his arrival in Kirkwall. They'd hit it off immediately; they were both Fereldan apostates, and had much to talk about. At first, Hawke had appreciated Anders in a physical way, and had initially been attracted to him; Anders was a handsome man, after all, in a raffish sort of way.

Wisely, he'd kept those thoughts to himself and had soon realised that Anders wasn't really his type, particularly after finding out about Justice. Any fantasies he'd entertained of bedding Anders had quickly evaporated with the thought of the spirit tagging along, watching, maybe even joining in. Could spirits even do that? He certainly wasn't taking any chances. And, although Hawke and Anders still shared some flirtatious banter, which Hawke enjoyed, Anders's preference seemed to be for women, as demonstrated at The Blooming Rose.

Hawke liked Anders. He liked the fact that they understood each other and that each brought a unique perspective to their lengthy conversations: Hawke, who had lived as a free apostate, and Anders, who had been locked up and had spent most of his adult life either on the run, or planning his next escape.

Anders made Hawke laugh when he was feeling glum, and Hawke did the same for him. When Hawke didn't feel like himself, he became snappy and irritable; when Anders was down, he'd be quiet and would take off somewhere on his own. The two men understood, and accepted this about each other. Anders was also very affectionate, and liked to touch people when he spoke to them: on the arm, the shoulder, the back. He always hugged Hawke when greeting him, and, although Hawke no longer felt physically attracted to Anders, he'd missed that physical contact with another man, and looked forward to it.

In the time they'd known each other, Anders had come to mean a lot to Hawke, and they spent much of their free time together, either doing jobs together or socialising. He knew deep down that Varric was right; that Anders was a decent man and that he probably would come round to the idea eventually, but he knew that Anders would be hurt and angered by his revelation, as well as disappointed, and that was probably what Hawke dreaded the most.

His fist made contact with the wooden door several times, and he listened, hearing shuffling from inside the room.

"Come in, Varric; you don't have to knock," Anders called out.

Hawke wiped his palms against his robe and opened the door a little. "It's me, Anders. Are you dressed?"

"Oh, yes, come in, Hawke."

Anders pushed himself up on the bed as Hawke entered and yawned, stretching his arms.

"Did I wake you?" asked Hawke.

"No, I was just dozing. Nice room, this, isn't it?"

Hawke smiled and nodded as he found a small chair not far from the bed. "How did you get on with Feynriel?" he asked, sitting down.

"Oh, fine. That keeper seemed very interested in him and said they'd begin looking into his problem immediately. I think he'll be ok with them."

"Good." Hawke sighed and stretched his own arms, hoping to pull the knot of anxiety out of his belly, but failing. "You want some tea?" he offered, thumbing toward the direction of the bar.

"Ooh, yes please, Hawke. You sort that out while I have a shit, yes?"

"Charming!" Hawke laughed as he stood and headed for the door.

"Even the King of Ferelden has to shit, Hawke," Anders chirped, following Hawke out and heading for the latrines at the back of the building. "Although his latrines are probably made of solid gold, and his turds probably smell like flowers or something. Instead of shit."

"You berk!" Hawke laughed again and headed to the bar, while Anders headed out back.

"Race you!" Anders challenged.

"Please, Anders, don't rush on my account."

Hawke won the impromptu race, and waited in Varric's room with two steaming mugs of tea. Anders sailed through the door a short time later with a huge grin on his face. "Ahh! I feel about a stone lighter, now!"

"Good to know, Anders." Hawke passed Anders his mug, who plonked himself down on Varric's bed.

"So, what's on your mind, Hawke?" he asked as he took a sip.

"On my mind? What makes you say that?"

"Well, you didn't come here just to bring me a cup of tea, as much as I appreciate it."

"No, I didn't." Hawke winced as he took too much hot tea into his mouth. "Anders…oh crap, this is hard." He placed his mug on the floor and rubbed his forehead.

"Just spit it out, Hawke," Anders said with a shrug.

Hawke sighed and placed his hands in his lap, looking Anders in the eye; that was the least he could do. "Anders…I just want you to know that I consider you to be a good friend, and what I'm about to tell you may change that. I hope it doesn't, but…" He wrung his hands together and hung his head. "There's something I need to tell you. Something I'm not proud of."

"Go ahead, Hawke."

"Anders…I'm…a blood mage."

"Yes, I know."

"You…what?" Hawke's head jerked up and he broke into a sweat. "What? I-I…Anders, I don't understand."

"I knew it the very first time we met," Anders explained, his face expressionless. "Well, rather Justice knew, and therefore I knew."

Hawke stared at him blankly. "Why didn't you say anything? I don't understand any of this."

Anders let out a long breath and leaned back on his hands. "To tell you the truth, I didn't care what you were at first. I needed someone to help me with Karl, and you happened to come along just at the right time. I used you, Hawke; that's the truth. At first, anyway." He took a sip of tea and set his mug down. "Then I did a few jobs with you, and we got on well, but I was still wary."

"So…what changed your mind?" Hawke asked.

"Nothing's changed my mind, Hawke; I don't approve of it for one second, but Justice told me that your connection with your demon was very weak, like you'd never used blood magic at all. That got me thinking that maybe you'd regretted learning it."

"I do, Anders. I regret it more than anything. I only used it once, and I was very young and stupid when I did. I've not used it since, and I have no intention of ever doing so again." Hawke pulled up the sleeves of his robe and showed Anders his scar-free arms.

Anders sighed. "You don't need to prove anything to me, Hawke. What happened, then? Did the demon come to you in your dreams?"

Hawke nodded and slouched in the chair, feeling his headache return. "I was fifteen. A Desire Demon came to me; she knew exactly what I wanted, and, like an idiot, I accepted without a thought. I actually thought that blood magic would make me…mysterious, alluring. Fuck."

"What did she give you, Hawke? What was it that you wanted so much?"

Hawke blanched and fidgeted in his seat. "I-I'm sorry, Anders, I'm not ready to tell you that. Just know that something happened that I will take to the grave with me. I have to live with it every day."

"Did you kill someone?"

"No! No…not exactly. I…I'm sorry, Anders, I just can't tell you. Not-not now."

"All right," Anders said briskly. "Well, at least you realised your mistake, and I'm glad you finally told me; I've been waiting for you to, considering you know my feelings about blood magic."

"I've wanted to tell you, Anders…I was just afraid that you'd, well, not be friends with me anymore. Or kill me. That probably would have been worse," he said with a rueful half-smile.

"Don't get me wrong, Hawke; I'm not happy about this at all," Anders said in a stern tone, and then he sighed. "I'm glad you don't use it anymore, though. So, what bargain did you make with the demon?"

Hawke covered his eyes with one hand and shook his head. "I…I said she could come for me on my fiftieth birthday."

"What?" Anders shot up from the bed and placed his hands over his face for a moment, and then removed them. "Hawke! How could you be so…"

"Stupid? Yes, I already know that, Anders! Look; I was fifteen. Fifteen! Fifty seemed so far away…I mean, old men are fifty, aren't they? I was a young kid and I thought it would take forever to reach fifty. I also thought, in my cockiness, that I could somehow wriggle out of the deal at some point. How wrong I was. She visits me in the Fade every now and then to remind me. Time's going fast, Anders; I'm twenty-six, now. My life is half-over."

"And when she does come for you, Hawke, a Desire Demon in the body of a mage is going to be unleashed upon Thedas! Do you any idea of the devastation she could wreak?"

"Anders," Hawke said quietly. "Do you think I haven't thought about that? I have no intention of reaching my fiftieth birthday."

Anders's hands fell to his sides and his head fell back.

"There's no other way, Anders; I made the deal, and I have to live with the consequences. Or not, as the case may be."

"Bloody hell, Hawke…" Anders slumped back onto the bed and he picked up his mug of tea, swirling the brown liquid around. "I think we need something a bit stronger than this, don't you?"

"You'd drink with a blood mage?" Hawke asked hopefully.

"I'd drink with you. I'm going to try not to think about the blood mage bit," Anders answered.

"Well, you can forget about it, because for all intents and purposes I'm not a blood mage. Not a practising one, anyway."

"Does anyone else know?"

Hawke nodded. "Varric knows; I told him before I came in here, because I was, well, shitting bricks about telling you. He didn't bat an eyelid."

"Figures," Anders said with a soft snort. "What about Bethany?"

"Bethany's known from the start."

"Did…" Anders began, and then paused.

"Did what?" Hawke asked.

"I was just wondering…tell me to mind my own business if you like, but…did Carver know?"

Hawke stared at a wall for a while, and Anders thought he wasn't going to answer. "Yes, he knew," he said at last. "That was the very reason he hated me. That was the reason he hated the fact his brother and sister were mages. My father knew as well, but he was a mage and was understanding, if disappointed. My mother has no idea; she'd only fret."

"Sorry, Hawke; I didn't mean to bring up bad memories for you."

"It's all right, Anders."

"What about Fenris? Does he know?"

Hawke stood up and stretched, then rubbed his temples. "No…he really would kill me. His…his master was a blood mage." Hawke fell silent, again pondering Fenris's dream, and his stomach knotted. "Well!" he said with false cheer. "Let's get that drink."

Anders walked toward the door, and Hawke stood behind him as he opened it. "Anders," Hawke said, placing a hand on Anders' shoulder, who turned around. "Thank you for, well, not killing me." He wrapped his arms around Anders and hugged him tightly, and then let go of him quickly, stepping out of the room.

~o~O~o~

After his drink with Anders, Hawke headed to Gamlen's house; he couldn't quite call it home, but it was somewhere to sleep.

Thankfully, Gamlen was out. Bethany was up, having caught up on her sleep, and, although she and her mother were relieved that Fletcher was safe, they fussed over him, dismayed at how tired and dishevelled he looked.

After a hearty meal and several cups of tea, Leandra insisted that Hawke go to bed, and made up a cot for him in the back room where she and Bethany slept; as Hawke usually slept on with floor in the same room as Gamlen, he didn't protest.

Although the cot was comfortable and warm, and even though he felt drowsy after the heavy meal, sleep did not come easily to Hawke: he was greatly relieved that Anders had not rejected him, but their conversation had stirred up some unpleasant memories for him, ones that he'd pushed to the back of his mind, but were now played out in perfect clarity.

He thought of Fenris, too; Hawke had no doubt that his master had not treated him well, and, in his dream, Danarius could have been asking Fenris to do anything, but there had been real fear, real vulnerability in Fenris's voice, and Hawke's gut twisted again at the thought of what that might mean.

"Please…not tonight."

Was Hawke no better than Danarius? He'd cajoled someone to do something against their will, after all. Was it the same thing that Danarius had done to Fenris? Was Hawke a monster?

Finally, fatigue overwhelmed him, and his eyes closed. He did not wake until the following morning.