"So, Fenris…these tattoos of yours…"

"They are not tattoos," he answered wearily.

Isabela shrugged her shoulders, undaunted. "Well, whatever they are, then. Do they cover all of your body?"

Fenris sighed. He'd tried to evade Isabela's questions, had attempted to walk away, and had even been quite abrupt with her, but still she persisted, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort. "Yes, they cover my entire body. Why do you want…"

"Really?" Isabela's eyes lit up and travelled up the length of Fenris's body. He shivered and increased the distance between them, only for it to be immediately closed again by the tiresome woman. "Even on your…you know?"

"On my what? Oh…no. No!"

"Good to know," she whispered with a waggle of her eyebrows.

"Have you hurt your eye, Isabela?" Merrill asked the pirate. "It's just that you look like you're winking at him all the time."

"That's because she is winking at me," Fenris grumbled. "I wish you would desist!"

"Well, what do you expect?" asked Isabela. "Walking around, looking the way you do…"

"Looking the way I do? What do you mean by that?"

"Ha! Well that's fishing for a compliment, if ever I heard it!"

"I am not fishing for a compliment!"

Merrill giggled. "That's what women say all the time, Fenris. It doesn't fool anyone."

"Do I look like a woman to you, Blood Mage?" Fenris snarled.

Hawke growled under his breath and quickened his pace, taking himself even further ahead of the rest of the group. He was beyond irritated with his companions' constant prattle; the part of him that did feel irritation seemed to have shut down, apparently having exceeded its daily limit. He felt weary, but it was a mental weariness, and he regretted his decision to leave Varric and Bethany behind; they would have provided much more soothing company.

He then thought of Anders, and, immediately, his weariness left him, his jaw and hands clenching tightly. Anders knew that Aveline wouldn't be able to travel, and Hawke had wanted a healer to stay behind with her. The only reason Hawke had left Aveline was because he didn't know what they would face in Lowtown, and would need to be on hand to tend to any injuries. How could Anders be so selfish? Was he going to run off every time someone disagreed with him? Even Fenris hadn't abandoned him when he'd decided to take Feynriel to the Dalish.

And would Anders really have killed Thrask? Anders's compassion, so evident in his handling of the refugees, did have limits, it seemed; obviously a templar's life held little value to him, but, as far as Hawke was concerned, that attitude was not compatible with being a good healer.

Or was he being unfair on Anders? Was Hawke's anger, which sat so easily on Anders's shoulders, really directed at himself? Anders, after all, had not abandoned his principles back in the cave. Had Hawke? Was he so obsessed with getting the money together for the expedition that he'd forgotten, or had chosen to ignore, everything Anders had told him about life in the Circle? Had Hawke forgotten all those times he and his sister had had to hide from the Templars while Carver had spun them yet another story, hating himself for doing so? Had he forgotten how easily he could have lived the life that Anders had?

And now Hawke was working for those very same templars, taking their coin for imprisoning mages. Perhaps Anders had good reason to be angry with him. How far, though, would Anders go for the sake of his principles? Would the death of an innocent templar have been justifiable to him? Hawke shook his head. Clearly, his and Anders's principles were very different. Would that fact affect the friendship they'd built? Would Hawke ever to be able to look at Anders in the same way again?

"Hawke?" called Isabela, and he blinked, halted and turned around.

"Yes, Isabela?"

Isabela and the others caught up to Hawke, and she pointed at Fenris's face; he flinched and edged away from her. "I think that Fenris would look much more distinguished with a beard. I like beards. What do you think?"

"Elves do not grow beards," Fenris told her morosely. "How many more times…"

"Well, perhaps you should," urged Isabela.

"No," laughed Merrill. "Elves are not hairy, like humans are. We have hair on our heads, oh, and our eyebrows, as well, and that's about it."

"You mean you don't have any…" Isabela's eyes dropped to Fenris's groin, and the elf cast a pleading look at Hawke, who coolly met his gaze for a second before he turned away and continued walking. Fenris then remembered his conversation with Hawke earlier that day, and watched him for a moment, once again feeling a pang of guilt. Perhaps he shouldn't have let Hawke down so abruptly; that had been discourteous of him, if nothing else.

"Fenris? I'm talking to you! Do you have pubes or not?" Isabela demanded.

"Why must you persist with this line of questioning?" asked Fenris irritably, not without a mite of desperation in his voice. "Is that all you ever think about? Men, and their…appendages?"

"No, of course not!" answered Isabela with mock indignation. "I do think about other things, sometimes…right now, I'm struggling to remember what they might be, but I resent the implication that I'm obsessed with willies!"

"Then perhaps you should cease mentioning them with every sentence that passes your lips," Fenris rebuked. "It is said that one who speaks of something incessantly, is not getting something."

"Ooh…is that an offer?" Isabela purred, stepping closer to Fenris.

"What…? No, it is not!" exclaimed Fenris, once again moving away from her.

"Maker, you're a tough one," she groused, folding her arms. "Oh, don't tell me…do you bat for the other team, as well?"

Fenris's brow creased in confusion. "What other team? I do not understand these colloquialisms of yours!"

"My, that's a big word!" chirped Merrill.

"Yes, and you know what they say about men who use big words…"

The conversation continued much in this vein until the sun set and the group reached the outskirts of Kirkwall. Hawke was relieved beyond words to set foot in Lowtown, knowing that soon his companions would have to shut up while they laid in wait for Donnic's would-be attackers.

"I'm popping home to speak to my mother," he told them as they walked through the slums. "If any of you have anything you need to take care of…"

"Oh, I'd love to see your house!" Merrill squeaked excitedly. "I bet it's dead posh, and big, as well."

Hawke rolled his eyes, unable to stop his laughter. "I don't know what your definition of posh is, Merrill, but this isn't it, trust me. Come on, then." He led them up the steps to Gamlen's home and took out his key, pausing at the door.

"Isabela, you're about to meet my mother. Do you think you could keep the penis comments to a minimum? Or not say anything at all?"

"Yes, I can, Hawke. Like I said, I'm not obsessed, just…enthusiastic, that's all."

Fenris snorted. "Prodigiously so."

Hawke opened the door and ushered the two ladies through. "Mother?" he called, turning to face Fenris, who remained at the threshold. "Come on in, Fenris; don't stand out in the cold."

Fenris nodded diffidently and entered. "Thank you."

"Oh, hello, dear!" said Leandra, who walked over to Hawke and embraced him. She then looked at his three companions. "You've brought some friends home? How wonderful!"

"Yes, this is Fenris, Isabela and Merrill." To his relief, the two ladies nodded respectfully, and Fenris bowed. "I'm not staying for long, Mother; we have some business to take care of. I just stopped by to let you know that Beth won't be home tonight."

"Oh?" Leandra asked, and Hawke explained his sister's absence, leaving some details out. "Well, you'll stay for some tea, won't you?" she offered, gesturing toward the dining table.

"Yes, I suppose we have a little time," answered Hawke. "Take a seat, everyone."

As Leandra went into the kitchen, the four of them settled themselves at the table. "It's nice and cosy in here," commented Merrill, looking around.

"Not posh, then?" Hawke asked with a grin.

"Not exactly," Merrill answered diplomatically, "but those posh places are so big and draughty. Not that I've ever been in a posh place, mind you, so I wouldn't know. I'm guessing. It's lovely and warm in here."

"Well, it has a roof; that's the main thing," answered Hawke.

Leandra brought the tea in a short time later, with a plate of biscuits, which she placed at the centre of the table before taking a seat next to Hawke. "There is some shortbread for you there, Fenris; Fletcher told me you like it."

Fenris, who was sat opposite to Hawke, smiled shyly. "I very much enjoyed your shortbread, madam; that was a thoughtful gift, for which I was very grateful."

"So polite," Leandra said to Hawke, who nodded, watching Fenris closely. "Well, do help yourselves."

A chorus of thank-yous rose around the table, and they all began to tuck in. Fenris waited until everyone else had taken a biscuit, before reaching for a piece of shortbread and taking a small bite out of it.

"Never before have I seen such excellent table manners," Leandra remarked with a sidelong glance at her son. "And yours seem to have improved all of a sudden, Fletcher."

Hawke groaned. "Is this the part where my mother embarrasses me in front of my friends?"

"That is part of a mother's duties, yes," answered Leandra, and Isabela and Merrill laughed while Fenris quietly choked on his biscuit, taking a sip of tea to remedy his predicament.

After a pleasant, if slightly embarrassing chat, Hawke rose and helped to clear the cups away. "Thank you for the tea, Mother. We should get going, now."

"Well do put on something warm, Fletcher," she advised. "There's going to be a frost, tonight."

"Mother, I'm fine," he insisted through gritted teeth, suddenly grateful that Varric had not accompanied them; the dwarf would never have let him hear the end of it. "Don't get waiting up for me. I may not actually be back until the morning; this could be a long job."

"Please be careful, dear," said Leandra, kissing Hawke's cheek.

"He will be kept safe, madam," Fenris assured her, and Hawke shot him a confused glance.

After saying their goodbyes, they left the house and walked down the steps. "Thank you all for behaving yourselves," Hawke said.

Isabela pretended to wipe sweat from her brow. "That was difficult. May I start talking about cocks, again, now?"

"No, you may not," growled Fenris.

"I'm joking! No, Hawke, thanks for inviting us in. Your mother's a nice lady."

Merrill nodded. "She's lovely, and she makes nice biscuits."

Hawke noticed Fenris's eyes dart between the two women, and sensed that the elf had something to say, but didn't want to say it in front of the others. Hawke dropped back a little, as did Fenris; a few minutes passed before the elf finally spoke.

"Thank you for inviting me into your home, Hawke."

"It's a bit of a comedown from your place, isn't it, Fenris?" commented Hawke.

Fenris shook his head. "I live in a large, cold mansion that does not belong to me. It is not a home. You have a home, Hawke, and many would envy you that."

The two men walked on quietly for a moment, and, once again, Hawke was struck by the thought that Fenris must be terribly lonely. Why, then, did he insist on pushing everyone away? Why had Fenris been so rude to him when he'd gone to check on his leg?

"Thank you for being so polite to Mother," Hawke said eventually. "She's not used to manners, what with me and Gamlen around."

"Who is Gamlen?" asked Fenris.

"My uncle."

"Oh."

"You've always been very respectful of Bethany, as well. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it."

Fenris inclined his head, and then cleared his throat. "Perhaps my manners need work in other areas?"

"Perhaps," replied Hawke.

As they neared central Lowtown, Hawke realised again that Fenris was watching him, and turned to face him.

"Hawke…" Fenris began.

"Yes?"

Fenris looked at the ground and frowned. "Nothing; it doesn't matter." He moved a little ahead of Hawke, his eyes still cast upon the ground. For a moment, Hawke was tempted to ask Fenris what he'd wanted to say, but, as his stomach began churning, a confused Hawke thought better of it.

Following Aveline's directions, Hawke's group found a set of blind alleys that lay directly along Donnic's patrol route; she'd guessed that this would be the most likely spot for an ambush. Hiding behind barrels and crates, the four companions settled themselves in and waited.

They were not disappointed: after half an hour or so, a gang of roughs, eight in number, entered the first alley, looked around, and disappeared around a corner. Hawke smiled to himself. He and the other three were in the perfect position to not only catch the thugs in the act, but also to quickly leap to Donnic's aid.

Before long, Fenris, who was nearest to the entrance to the alley, spotted a heavily-built guard matching Aveline's description of Donnic striding towards them, a bulging leather satchel slung over his shoulder and hip.

"He's here," he whispered to Hawke, who then signalled over for Merrill and Isabela to make themselves ready.

Donnic entered the alley and stopped dead as he heard the sound of a weapon being unsheathed. Isabela grimaced and paused, her hand stilled on the hilt of her dagger as she removed it from her back.

"Who's there?" asked Donnic in a gruff, authoritative voice, unsheathing his own sword.

For a few tense seconds, nothing happened, and then everything seemed to happen at once. The gang of thugs charged around the corner, two of them slamming into Donnic and knocking him to the ground, while four of them sped to the entrance to the alley, keeping watch as Donnic was dragged around the corner.

A quick change of tactics was in order, however, as Merrill, Isabela and Fenris emerged from their hiding places; the two women went after Donnic and his attackers, and Fenris went for the four men standing guard. Hawke ran across the alley, from where he could see both groups, and began to cast spells that would protect the women and Donnic, although he didn't cast anything on Fenris.

Isabela and Merrill seemed to be holding their own, assisted by Donnic, who, although having sustained a blow to the head, fought ably in the tight space of the narrow alleyway.

A blue glow lit the main part of the alley, and two thugs fell to the ground, blood gushing through holes in their chests. Fenris vociferated in rage and pain and launched himself at a third thug, not noticing as one of the others had crept behind him.

"Fenris! Behind you!" shouted Hawke, emerging from his hiding place.

Too late to hear his warning, Fenris was grabbed from behind and slammed against a pile of crates. Thrashing his arms and growling, Fenris was helpless as the thug tightened his grip around Fenris's waist and straightened the elf up, ready for a beating from his friend.

Then, everything seemed to stand still. Hawke watched helplessly as Fenris's sword clattered to the ground, his body limp and sagging in the thug's arms.

The man's grip around his waist tightened and would not let go. Hot breath against his ear, stubble scratching against his neck, a gravelly voice, the smell of sweat and musk and sex…

Lights exploded in Fenris's vision as a fist connected sharply with his cheek.

"Get your hands off him!" yelled Hawke, breaking from cover and smashing his staff across the back of the thug's head, breaking it in half. The thug crumpled to the ground, and, as Hawke readied a spell, the other thug released Fenris and tackled Hawke to the ground, breaking his concentration.

Punches rained down on Hawke, dazing him momentarily, and, as the thug reached for a dagger, Hawke gasped and tried to wriggle free, but his arms were pinned in place by the thug's knees as he sat atop him. "Fenris!" Hawke called out in desperation.

"The elf can't help you now," sneered the thug, the tip of his dagger pressing against Hawke's throat.

Hawke spat in his face.

Suddenly, the thug's dagger fell from his hands and he looked into Hawke's eyes, his breathing quickening as a look of absolute terror fell across his face. "Wh-what…?" The thug hastily got to his feet, slowly backing away from Hawke and then falling to his knees. "Please! Please don't h-hurt me!" he begged, tears spilling from his eyes.

At that moment, Merrill rounded the corner, her arm outstretched toward the terrified thug, who promptly slumped to the ground, fast asleep. He then began to tremble violently, and screamed as unimaginable horrors came to him in his dreams. Merrill knelt down next to the thug. "Shut it, you!" she commanded, and the thug quietened, softly whimpering in his sleep.

"Thanks, Merrill; for a moment there, I thought I was a goner!" Hawke pushed himself to his feet, rubbing at his windpipe, and immediately looked around for Fenris; he was gone.

Isabela, who was covered in blood, then walked around the corner, propping up a dazed Donnic. Hawke ran over to them and assisted the battered guard to sit on a barrel.

"Guardsman Donnic, my name is Hawke; Aveline sent us."

"A-Aveline?" Donnic clutched his head and squeezed his eyes shut as Hawke placed his hands on the guard's head.

"You have a concussion," Hawke told him. "I'm a healing mage. I'm going to use magic on you; is that all right?"

Donnic grunted and nodded, and felt his strength and clarity return as Hawke sent calming energy into him.

"Isabela!" Hawke exclaimed, noticing the blood on her dress. "I'm sorry, are you hurt?"

She laughed. "Don't worry, handsome; it's not my blood."

Hawke nodded and smiled in relief, and then glanced at the entrance to the alley, wondering where Fenris had gotten to.

"What's going on?" asked Donnic. "How did Aveline know about this?"

As Hawke explained Aveline's suspicions about Jeven, a grim look befell Donnic's face, and he shook his head angrily. "That bastard! I always knew he was bent, but there's been no proof, up until now, that is." Donnic stood up and placed a protective hand over the satchel. "I'm going straight back to the barracks to sort this out!"

"Wait," said Hawke. "This was Aveline's idea; I think she should be the one, don't you?"

Donnic sighed. "Yes, you're right; I shouldn't deny Aveline the pleasure of having that bastard arrested."

"And won't it be fun to make Jeven sweat a bit when his hired thugs don't report back?" added Isabela.

"That it will," agreed Donnic with a sly smile. "Hawke, you say?" he asked the mage, who nodded. "Yes, Aveline's mentioned you. Says good things about you, she does."

"Does she?"

"Yes. Where is Aveline, anyway?"

"She was injured," explained Hawke. "We had to leave her…"

"Injured? How badly? Where is she?" asked Donnic, concerned.

"She's all right, she just can't travel tonight," Hawke replied, and Donnic exhaled. "My sister and my friend are looking after her. I'm going back for her in the morning."

"I'll go with you," Donnic insisted.

"That's fine. Are you going to continue with your patrol?"

"Yes, I only have an hour or so left, and it's best that nothing seems untoward. I'll get some of my colleagues to clear away this refuse," he said with a nod at the dead or unconscious thugs that littered the alley.

"You probably shouldn't go back to the barracks after your shift," Hawke advised. "Is there anywhere else you can stay for tonight?"

Donnic shook his head. "No…my family all live outside Kirkwall."

"There's a room at The Hanged Man," offered Isabela, and Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Not mine!" she protested. "There's an empty one. Tell you what, I'll go and see to that now. You coming, Merrill?"

"All right, then," chirped the elf, and Donnic gave them his sincere thanks as they went on their way.

"Are you going to be all right?" Donnic asked Hawke. "Where do you live? I'll escort you home."

"No, that's not necessary, but thanks all the same," answered Hawke. "I, erm, I need to look for someone."

"Need any help? It's the least I can do," offered Donnic.

"No thanks. I think I have an idea of where he might be."

Donnic nodded and extended his hand to Hawke, who shook it. "Keep yourself safe, Hawke. Shall I wait for you at The Hanged Man?"

"Yes, I'll be there early tomorrow morning."

"All right; I'll see you then. Thank you for everything you've done. I hope you find your friend." Donnic glanced at the thugs again, shook his head, and left the alley.

Hawke sat upon a barrel, taking a few deep breaths. What had happened to Fenris during the fight? He'd just relinquished control of himself and had seemed to go into a trance, almost as though he'd been somewhere else.

Somewhere else.

As Hawke remembered Fenris being restrained from behind and being bent over the shattered crates, a feeling of cold dread crept over him and he stood, but then hesitated. Should he go and check on Fenris? Would he get the same icy reception the elf had given him before, or worse?

Perhaps that didn't even matter; Hawke knew he wouldn't be able to get a wink of sleep until he knew that Fenris was safe.

He walked over to the entrance, determination in his steps, and, just as he was about to depart, he caught a glimpse of white from behind one of the crates. He stopped, his heart slowing almost with uncertainty, and he quietly walked over to the crates, peering over them.

There, on the ground, sat Fenris, his knees drawn up to his chest and his hands covering his face.

"Fenris?" asked Hawke gently, and the elf started, but did not move his hands. Hawke moved one of the crates away and squatted down next to him a few feet away. "Fenris…it's over; they're all dead or knocked out…"

"I placed you in danger," Fenris said, his voice unsteady.

"No, Fenris, it doesn't matter; everyone's all right."

"There are no excuses!" snapped Fenris, and Hawke could see from beneath Fenris's hands that his face was contorted. "You relied on me to protect you, and I failed you all!"

"Fenris…"

"Go! Leave me be!" ordered the elf, a fine tremor in his hands.

Hawke stood up. "No. I'm not leaving you like this. Come on; I'll see you home."

Fenris moved his hands away from his face and fixed Hawke with a wild look, unshed tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "Why must you always be like this? Why will you not leave me alone? Have I not made myself clear? I do not need you, or anyone!"

"I beg to differ, Fenris," Hawke said quietly, and Fenris once again covered his face, his body slumping against a crate. "Come on; the Guard will be here soon. Do you want them to see you like this, as well?"

Fenris howled in frustration and scrambled to his feet, muttering to himself as he pushed past Hawke.

Hawke struggled to keep up with Fenris as he charged through Lowtown and sped up the hundreds of steps leading to Hightown. Before he was even halfway up, Hawke was out of breath.

"Fenris! You're not going to leave me to die here, are you?" he called plaintively.

"Heal yourself!" Fenris barked in reply.

"I don't have an out-of-breath spell…" Giving up, Hawke stopped and braced his hands on his knees, gasping for air.

Fenris turned and also stopped, shaking his head. "You are the one who insisted on following me! It is not my fault you cannot keep up!"

"Yes…you're right…" Hawke sat down on the wall and glanced up at the elf. "I need a minute. Carry on if you like."

Fenris folded his arms, his mouth set in a hard line, but he remained where he was. "Are you ready now?" he asked after a few moments.

Hawke stood up and grinned. "Yes, I think so," he answered, and started to laugh.

"What is so funny?" asked Fenris shortly.

"Nothing."

Fenris huffed and resumed his trek up the steps, while Hawke, still laughing, followed behind. For all his bluster, Fenris was a decent man who cared for others, Hawke had decided, no matter how hard Fenris tried to conceal that fact with his aloof manner, cutting remarks and swearing in Arcanum.

He was worth the trouble.

Arriving at the mansion, Fenris took out his key and watched Hawke warily as he opened the door. "I am fine, now," said the elf.

"Aren't you going to offer me a cup of tea?" asked Hawke, sensing that Fenris was not going to allow him to enter.

"What?"

"A cup of tea. I walked all the way up those steps for you."

"I did not ask you…!" Fenris stopped himself and sighed, and walked inside, leaving the door open for Hawke. "The tea is in the kitchen. I am retiring. See yourself out." Fenris headed straight for the stairs.

"No, I think I'll be staying here, tonight," Hawke announced, and Fenris came to an abrupt halt on the stairs.

"That settee will do nicely," said Hawke, pointing to a large couch next to the fire.

"There is no need for you to stay here," Fenris spluttered. "I do not require company."

"I just thought you might feel better knowing someone was here."

"And how do you know how I feel?" Fenris descended the stairs and stopped a short distance away from Hawke. "You know nothing about me!"

"I'm beginning to," replied Hawke gently.

"So, you feel pity for the poor slave, do you? You think you can wave your hands, or cast a spell that will make everything better? Well, some things never get better, Hawke!"

Hawke said nothing, and looked at Fenris while the elf took a deep breath. "Go home," uttered Fenris, who then turned and once again headed for the stairs.

"I'm staying."

Fenris's body tensed, and, without facing Hawke, he once again muttered something under his breath. "You are the most…!"

"Your act doesn't fool me, Fenris. I'm staying."

With another growl of frustration, Fenris stomped up the stairs and up to his room, slamming the door behind him. Hawke then heard a click as the door was locked.

After collecting his thoughts for a few minutes, Hawke made his way to the kitchen, where he made a cup of tea and some salted porridge, into which he mixed a few dried vegetables and meats. Not thinking much of his concoction after tasting it, he tipped it away and made another cup of tea, which he drank in the kitchen, before washing his cup and bowl.

He made his way back to the vestibule of the mansion, and, using his hands – having broken his staff – he got a fire going in the hearth, and turned to the settee, frowning and cocking his head to one side.

Upon the settee were two neatly-folded blankets and a pillow.

Hawke walked over to the settee, a huge grin lighting up his face, and he glanced up at the door to Fenris's room, which was closed.

"Thank you, Fenris," he called out, and made up his bed for the night. He then removed his boots and settled down on the settee, quickly drifting off to sleep.