Through half-closed eyes, Hawke could barely discern the dim glow of the dying fire. He rubbed his eyes, wincing as his hand touched a tender spot on his cheek. Oh, yes…the fight. He sighed and closed his eyes again, yawning loudly. He really would have to get into Fenris's good books and do a deal with him for this settee, he thought; it was more comfortable than his bed back in Lothering had been, and infinitely better than sleeping on a draughty floor next to a snoring and farting Gamlen.

At the sound of a throat being cleared, adrenaline coursed through him and his eyes snapped open, slowly focusing on a slight black figure next to the fireplace. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes again.

"Fenris?"

The elf stood next to the fireplace, dressed in a thin black tunic and his ever-present leggings. Hawke wondered for a moment if he slept in them, before pushing himself up a little and reclining on his elbow.

"I heard you moving about," Fenris said from the shadows in a slightly awkward tone. "I remembered that you wished to rise early."

Hawke squinted and looked over to the windows; the drapes were open but it still appeared to be night-time outside. "But the sun isn't even up yet, Fenris."

"It will be, shortly. I am accustomed to rising at this hour; I apologise if I awakened you prematurely."

Hawke slowly sat up and pushed his blankets aside, smoothing his robe down to cover his legs. "No, it's all right; I suppose I do need to make an early start. We used to have to get up this early back at home; working on the farm, you know? I can't say I ever became accustomed, to it, though." He once again yawned and sat back on the settee, closing his eyes for a moment. Hearing the soft padding of Fenris's feet moving away from him, he opened them.

"You're always up at this time?" he asked Fenris. "Don't you ever have a lie-in?"

Fenris paused, snorting softly to himself. "I was always required to rise early; I had to draw Danarius's bath and lay out a choice of clothing for him. Then…I had to wake him."

Hawke detected terseness in Fenris's last few words. "Didn't he have servants to do that for him?"

Fenris shrugged. "He required that I did it."

"Well, you don't have to do that anymore, do you?" asked Hawke. "Why don't you treat yourself now and then, and get up late?"

"I cannot," he replied, shaking his head. "I am unable to remain in one position for too long."

"Is that because of the markings?" Hawke asked, by now sitting on the edge of the settee. "Because they hurt you?"

Fenris sighed and cleared his throat, turning slightly toward the fireplace, a soft orange glow falling across his face. "If you wish to bathe, there is…"

"Oh, Fenris!" Hawke exclaimed, standing up and walking over to him. "Your eye!"

Fenris placed a hand over his very swollen and bruised left eye. "Yes, it is swollen."

Hawke tilted his head and leaned a little closer for a better look; as he did so, he caught the scent of wine. Fenris immediately took a step back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare," said Hawke, also stepping back. "Shit, I could have done something about that last night, if I'd thought; now, it'll take about a week for that to go down. I'm sorry, Fenris."

"There is no need to apologise," answered Fenris, looking at the floor. "I did not exactly give you the opportunity to examine it."

Hawke chuckled. "That's very true. I should probably tell you now that there's no point in arguing with me, ever, because I'm always right: I'm a stubborn git."

"…So I noticed," Fenris said hesitantly, glancing up at Hawke. "Your…your face is also bruised."

"Oh, I'm sure it is." Hawke once again touched his cheek, smarting a little. "Well, look at it this way, Fenris: nobody's going to mess with us, looking the way we do, are they?"

"I suppose not," replied Fenris with a thin smile. "Well, I am going to bathe. There is another bathtub in the scullery, should you wish to use it."

"How do you heat your water?" asked Hawke.

"I don't."

"You bathe in cold water?" asked Hawke, and Fenris nodded. "I could heat it for you, if you like," he offered. "I would…have to use magic, though."

"No, that is not necessary, but thank you. I prefer it cold."

"Fenris," Hawke ventured, "does hot water cause you pain?"

Fenris shrugged.

"I see," said Hawke. "You know…perhaps I could do something for the pain? If-if you would let me examine…"

"No thank you," Fenris said brusquely, and then sighed. "I…have already sought the services of a healer, when I first fled Minrathous. She told me that there is nothing to be done."

Hawke nodded slowly, stroking his beard. "Is the pain severe?"

"I have learned to live with it."

"That's not answering my question," Hawke chided.

"It is…I suppose it would be akin to…" Fenris paused as he thought of a suitable comparison. "Have you ever been sunburnt?"

"Several times, yes," answered Hawke. "Is that how it feels?"

"It is similar, yes."

"You mean you feel that way all the time, all over your body?"

Fenris shrugged again. "As I said, I have learned to live with it."

Hawke blinked a few times and felt his stomach sink.

"I will return shortly," Fenris said, heading for the stairs.

"Fenris, will you go back to the coast with me this morning?" asked Hawke.

Fenris stopped and turned around slowly. "I was not certain you would want me to, after last night…"

"We've already been through this; you didn't place anyone in danger. We're all fine."

"But…should it happen again…"

"Then we'll deal with it. You're very important…you're a very important part of our little gang, now, and I want you to come with me."

Fenris considered Hawke's words for a moment, before nodding. "As you wish, Hawke."

"But only if you want to," added Hawke.

"I do." Fenris turned and started up the stairs, and Hawke watched him as he entered his room and closed the door; he then made his way to the scullery.

After bathing, Fenris strapped himself into his armour and left his room, finding no sign of Hawke downstairs, although the blankets had been folded, and the fire rekindled. Just as he began to take the blankets and pillow away, Hawke entered, carrying a large tray.

"Oh, bugger," Hawke muttered, glancing around the room. "It would have been a good idea to find a little table before I made breakfast."

"The dining room is just through there," said Fenris, striding across the room to open a set of double doors which led into another, pitch-black room. Hawke waited outside while Fenris opened the drapes, before entering and setting the tray down on the large, polished dark wood table. By now, the sun had started to rise, and a pale, hazy light seeped into the room, illuminating countless particles of dust that drifted lazily around, eddying around Fenris as he took a seat.

"I'm afraid it's porridge again," Hawke said apologetically, passing a bowl over to Fenris. The elf nodded and watched quietly as Hawke began to pour them both a cup of tea, wondering why Hawke was being so gracious after the way he'd acted the night before, both in Lowtown and at the mansion, and braced himself for the catch that was sure to come.

"It's made with milk, this time," Hawke told him, taking his own seat. "There's honey in it, too. Oh, and a bit of nutmeg, although Maker knows how long that's been there for; it probably tastes like dust, now." Hawke immediately began to shovel porridge into his mouth, slurping at his tea between mouthfuls, while Fenris slowly sipped at his tea, allowing his porridge to cool.

Hawke burped and slapped his hand over his mouth, laughing. "It seems that Mother was right; my table manners do leave a lot to be desired!"

"I have seen worse," Fenris commented.

"Where, at the Imperial menagerie?"

A flash of teeth accompanied Fenris's sudden laugh, before he quickly covered his mouth with his hand. "As I have never visited the menagerie, I am in no position to comment."

"You should have been at the farmhold when Carver, Father and I came in for our supper after a day in the fields. Mother always joked that one day she would bring one of the pigs in to teach us some manners." A wistful look came over him then, and he gazed out of one of the windows. "Look at that sunrise, Fenris."

Fenris turned in his chair and looked behind him. "Yes, I often watch it from my room."

Hawke regarded Fenris for a while as he looked out of the window, averting his eyes as the elf turned back and began to eat his porridge. "Fenris, what do you do with yourself all day, when you're not out with us, that is?"

Fenris waited until he'd swallowed his mouthful before answering. "I eat, I train, and I wait."

"You mean you wait for…"

"Yes."

Hawke's heart rate quickened slightly as he decided to test a supposition. "You have a fine library here; I saw it on the way back from the kitchen. Do you read much?"

He immediately noticed the fine lines around Fenris's mouth tighten, and prepared himself for a reaction. Instead, Fenris nodded and took another spoonful of porridge.

"What's your favourite book?" Hawke asked.

Once again, Fenris swallowed his porridge before replying. "There is no particular one."

Hawke nodded silently and noticed from the corner of his eye that Fenris's posture had stiffened. After several minutes of silence, Fenris sighed and set his spoon down.

"I cannot read, Hawke, as you well know. I saw the look on your face when you passed me that bill of sale for the young mage. You knew I could not read it. I do not see the need for this…pretence."

"I'm sorry," sighed Hawke. "You're right; I did guess…"

"Then why all the questions about my favourite book? Why not just ask me directly?" Fenris's voice had acquired a brittle edge, and Hawke rubbed his eyes, angry with himself for disrupting the fragile accord they'd seemed to have established.

"I'm sorry, Fenris," Hawke said again. "It's just that…well, I never know how you're going to react. I didn't want to be deceptive, but I didn't want to offend you, either. I wasn't sure how to broach the subject."

Fenris fell quiet, his eyes fixed on the table.

"I shouldn't have asked, anyway," said Hawke. "It's really none of my business." He stood and gathered his bowl and cup. "Have you finished with yours?" he asked.

Fenris nodded and pushed his empty vessels across the table. Picking them up, Hawke turned to leave.

"You were right, Hawke; it is better with milk."

"What is?" Hawke asked, turning back to face him.

"The porridge. I enjoyed it; thank you."

Hawke chewed his bottom lip, his eyes crinkling. "There's some more left; you want another bowl?"

"I don't think I could manage another, but thank you."

"Well, would you think me a pig if I had another bowl?"

"Probably."

Hawke laughed, relieved that Fenris no longer seemed angry. "Well, as you said, Fenris, no more pretence. You may as well know the truth: I am a pig, and I fully intend to polish off the rest of that porridge."

"I appreciate your candour," Fenris said drily as Hawke made for the kitchen, still laughing.

When he returned with an overflowing bowl of porridge, a fresh pot of tea and two clean cups, Fenris was still in the dining room, but stood next to the window.

"How's that sunrise?" asked Hawke, setting the tray down.

"See for yourself."

Hawke walked over, ensuring he didn't stand too close to Fenris, and they both watched for a few minutes as the fiery red globe rose over Sundermount in the distance.

"Hawke," Fenris said after a while, still looking out of the window, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance. "I was…discourteous to you last night."

"It doesn't matter," said Hawke quietly.

"No, it does. I have…" He sighed and shook his head. "I have become…accustomed to fending for myself. I am not used to relying on others. I do not like relying on others." His eyelids closed as his gaze dropped lower. "I have been quite rude to you several times since we met, and yet you have taken it with good grace and humour. My behaviour has been inexcusable. I-I do not…"

"I wouldn't say I've always taken it with grace and good humour, Fenris; I was pretty rude to you a few times myself, especially on the first night we met."

Fenris shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps at first, yes." He moved away from the window and placed his hands on the back of a dining chair, his eyes on the table. "I do not find it easy to trust others. Every person I have come across both before and after my escape has always had an agenda of some kind. Some have come in the guise of a friend, but have quickly proved to be anything but."

"Do you trust me?" asked Hawke, still standing next to the window.

"No," answered Fenris immediately, "but that is more a fault of mine, than yours. You have given me several reasons to trust you, and yet I cannot."

"When one has been abused and belittled for so long, trust must be a rare commodity, indeed," Hawke opined, and he glanced out of the window as he felt Fenris's green eyes bore into him. For a second, he considered asking Fenris why he hated physical contact, why he shrank from his touch, and why he had frozen and lost control of himself during the fight in Lowtown, but there was no need. He knew, and, as Fenris's gaze once again returned to the table, Hawke realised that Fenris knew that, also.

Hawke cleared his throat and straightened his posture. "Well, with your permission, Fenris, I'd like to keep giving you reasons to trust me. Maybe you'll never trust me, but perhaps that isn't even important; it's the journey, and the effort we put into that journey that are important. I know what it's like to be alone, Fenris, and it's not a place I'd like to revisit." He turned away from the window and took a few steps toward Fenris. "Do you think we could start again?"

Fenris's gauntleted hands gripped the back of the chair tightly as he turned to face Hawke. "Start again?"

"Yes, you know, start from scratch. Forget everything that's been said. Wipe the slate clean."

"You are a mage," Fenris said quietly. "That is something I cannot forget or wipe away, as you would wipe a slate."

"I'm not asking you to; that's what I am. Either you accept me, or you don't, but I think we should give it a try, don't you? You never know; I may surprise you, yet. Perhaps I'll become the first mage you've ever trusted? Stranger things have happened, I'm sure."

"You are persistent," Fenris said as a smile ghosted across his lips.

"'Vexatious' is probably used more often to describe me, but I appreciate your tact," quipped Hawke.

Fenris's lips quirked into a half smile, and he nodded. "Very well. This 'journey' you speak of should prove to be interesting, if nothing else."

"For both of us." Hawke extended his hand toward Fenris, and the elf glanced at it, pondering its significance. Why was the touching of hands necessary to cement a deal? Was that really what Hawke had in mind, or would he do as Danarius had so often done, and take his hand and place it on his-

"Fenris, my arm's starting to ache."

"Put it down, then."

Hawke shook his head.

Fenris gulped and, uncertain of what to do, he bunched his hand into a fist. Perhaps a show of trust on his part was warranted? He opened his hand and raised it, although every fibre of his being screamed at him not to. His stomach twisted and he held his breath as Hawke's hand moved closer. What would he do if Hawke tried anything, tried to…touch him? What else could he do? His other hand, which hung at his side, formed into a claw, ready and waiting.

Hawke smiled easily as the cold steel of Fenris's gauntlet pressed against his palm. He shook Fenris's hand once, and then released it. "There; that wasn't so bad, was it?" asked Hawke.

Fenris felt his body go limp, and he shook his head.

"Thank you, Fenris," Hawke said.

"For what?"

"For trusting me."

Those words rang hollow in Fenris's ears, as he hadn't trusted Hawke at all, and had in fact expected the worst. Hawke was clearly someone who found it easy to trust others. Perhaps it was about time Fenris reciprocated some of that trust, but he had no idea of where to start. Could he ever trust a mage? Was Hawke just like all the others, with a sinister agenda concealed by smiles and kind words and deeds? Or would Hawke truly prove him wrong?

"Well, shall we have one more cup of tea, and then get going?" suggested Hawke through a mouthful of porridge, already pouring the tea.

"Yes, I would like that."

Time would tell.

~o~O~o~

Fenris and Hawke took their time on their walk to Lowtown, knowing that The Hanged Man's doors would not be opened for a little while yet. They paused at the top of the huge flight of steps, and Hawke took a deep breath, a smug grin plastered across his face.

"I love going down these steps," he chirped.

"But not going up them so much?" guessed Fenris with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"Well, no. Going up them always carries a slight risk of death, particularly if I'm running," he added with a sly glance at Fenris, whose expression remained neutral.

"Perhaps you should resolve to travel up them at least once a day," suggested the elf. "That way, you may become accustomed to them."

"Yes, I could do that, theoretically…"

"But, as you stated, you are a shiftless...you are shiftless."

"You have a long memory, Elf."

"Indeed I do, Mage."

"Race you to the bottom," challenged Hawke.

"I would not advise that, attired as you are," counselled Fenris with a glance at Hawke's long robe, "but do as you wish. I, myself, would prefer to remain upright."

"Suit yourself," sniffed Hawke. "But I win by default."

Fenris smiled softly and shook his head. "If it pleases you."

"It does."

To Hawke's delight, this banter continued much of the way down the steps and through Lowtown. They passed several merchants and traders on the way, all preparing their stalls. As The Hanged Man came into view, both men stopped in their tracks, immediately tensing.

Anders was waiting outside.

Hawke placed a hand over his mouth, feeling his light mood become leaden as a headache nibbled at the apex of his head.

"Should I leave the two of you alone to talk?" asked Fenris, his trademark scowl darkening his features.

"No, Fenris; you're with me." Hawke began to walk forward, and Fenris followed.

Upon spotting them, Anders plastered a broad grin across his face, which quickly disappeared upon seeing the bruising on both men's faces.

"Blimey, what happened to you two?" he exclaimed.

"We had the shit beaten out of us last night, that's what," Hawke said shortly. "Thanks for sticking around, Anders; it's not like we needed you or anything," he added with biting sarcasm.

"Yes, about that…I, um, I may have overreacted a bit last night. Sorry."

"We all overreact sometimes, Anders; I'm no exception, but what I don't do is run out on everyone else when we have an injured person and a band of thugs to deal with! I wanted one of us to stay behind with Aveline; remember her?"

Anders hung his head and sighed. "How is she?"

"I have no idea, Anders; like I said, I was too busy almost getting killed to notice."

At that moment, the doors to The Hanged Man were opened, and Corff, the proprietor, greeted them all as he placed a piece of slate, advertising the day's menu, against the wall.

"I will check on the guard," said Fenris, stepping inside, shooting Anders a look of disgust as he passed.

Anders's amber eyes followed the elf as he entered the pub, and then moved to Hawke, uncertainty in them as his friend folded his arms and turned away.

"So…did you and Fenris meet up on the way here?" asked Anders.

Hawke's head turned in Anders's direction, but his arms remained folded. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Nothing, I was just wondering."

"If you must know, I spent the night at the mansion." Hawke watched Anders carefully for a reaction, and could tell that the strawberry-blond mage was working hard to contain himself. Eventually, Anders nodded, and once again changed the subject.

"Look, Hawke; I know things became…unpleasant between us. I've been thinking, and perhaps you were right about those mages. They did attack us, after all."

Hawke turned a little, and, although his expression was unchanged, his mind raced; where was Anders's passion now? Where was his unwavering commitment to his cause?

"I didn't expect you to agree with me on that, Anders. You know me; I like a good argument, and I respect people who stand up to me. What I didn't expect was for you to piss off in a huff."

"I know," Anders said with genuine contrition. "That was wrong of me."

"I still want us to be friends, Anders, but do that again and we're finished. I need people I can depend on. I need to know that you're not going to throw a strop when we disagree on something, because there will be times when we disagree. Look at Fenris; he's against pretty much everything we stand for, and yet he's still here."

At the mention of Fenris, Anders's expression hardened briefly, before it was blinked away, replaced with a bland smile. "You're right, Hawke. I won't let you down again, I promise."

Hawke exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. "All right. I don't know what you have planned today, but Fenris and I are going back to the coast with Donnic."

"Oh," said Anders. "Well, I'm going to have my hands full at the clinic today. I just wanted to see you and make things right. I'm sorry, Hawke. Friends?"

Hawke nodded, and Anders wrapped his arms around Hawke, slapping his back several times. "Come on; I'll buy you a drink," Anders offered as he released him.

"That's a good start," said Hawke with a weak smile. As he entered the pub, Anders grabbed his arm.

"Hawke…are you sure you know what you're doing? With Fenris, I mean."

"I slept on the settee, Anders," Hawke replied, a little annoyed. "Not that it's any…look, let's just have a pleasant drink, all right?"

"Yes, of course, Hawke. Wait…where's your staff?"

"It had an argument with a thug's head."

Anders's face lit up with a gleeful smile. "Now this I've got to hear about!"

Upon entering, they spotted Fenris sat in the very far corner of the lounge, from where he could see everything, and he watched the two mages as they approached; Anders now appeared in a jovial mood, but he noted with some satisfaction that Hawke was rather more reserved.

"The guard will be with us shortly," announced Fenris as they took their seats.

"Breakfast, lads?" called Corff from behind the counter.

"The works for me, please," replied Anders.

"Me too," Hawke said more quietly, and, spotting the look of disbelief on Fenris's face, winked and grinned at him. A strange look came into Fenris's eyes, then and he smiled awkwardly, shifting in his seat. "No, just tea for us, if you have any ready," Hawke said in a louder voice.

"Aye; I've just got the pot on. Give us five minutes," answered Corff, disappearing into a room in the back.

"So, come on, Hawke; tell me all about last night," prompted Anders, resting his head on his hand to block Fenris from his sight.

As Hawke recounted his tale, Donnic entered the lounge and bade them good morning as he walked over to the bar to settle his bill and order breakfast.

"So that's what happened to your staff!" exclaimed Anders.

"Yes, so I don't have a weapon, now, and neither does Fenris. He left his sword behind in that alley."

"You lost your sword?" asked Donnic, walking over and taking a seat next to Anders. "It might be in the lock-up at the barracks, or, if I know some of the guards, it's probably been swiped or sold by now. Was it valuable?" he asked Fenris.

"No. It was just a sword," he answered.

"Looks like we'll have to dig into our funds a bit," sighed Hawke.

"No, wait…" Anders stood up. "I'll see if Lirene has anything new in. She said I could take my pick of her stock."

"Oh, thanks, Anders," said Hawke. "Don't forget a sword for Fenris, if she has any."

With a nod, Anders turned to leave. "Don't get pinching any of my bacon while I'm gone."

"I won't," answered Hawke.

"Things are well between you, now?" asked Fenris as the door closed behind Anders.

"Mm," mumbled Hawke distractedly, still looking at the door.

"Things are not well, then?" asked Fenris, and the three men moved aside a little as two cooked breakfasts were placed on the table by Norah, who promised to return with their tea.

"No, they are, it's just…I dunno. I expected more of an argument from him. Instead, he's falling over himself to be nice. Maybe I have a suspicious mind," Hawke mused, reaching for one of Anders's sausages.

A rumble of laughter sounded through Donnic's chest. "Didn't I hear you promise not to touch his breakfast?"

"Bacon," Hawke corrected, his voice muffled by half a sausage. "He said nothing about sausages."

"Where do you put it all?" asked Fenris incredulously.

"In my tank, here." Hawke patted his belly, and frowned heavily as it undulated at his touch. "Hmm. Maybe I should do something about that. It's a good survival tactic, though; what if we get stranded on the coast, eh? What would you do, Fenris, with only half a bowl of porridge in your belly?"

Fenris shook his head. "I doubt you would expire through lack of sausages."

"Then you have much to learn about me."

Once again, Fenris shook his head and snorted. "I give up."

"That seems best to me," chortled Donnic.

"Shit!" Hawke spluttered, cramming the rest of the sausage into his mouth as Anders sailed through the door.

"You should not have done that," counselled Fenris with a soft chuckle. "You should have concealed it."

"Rit's roo bruddy rate row, ibbn't it?" He slammed his mouth closed and watched, wide-eyed as Anders approached the table.

"We're in luck!" announced Anders, presenting a basic, but sound wooden staff to Hawke, who took it and nodded. "And a sword for you, Fenris. It's a bit notched, but it'll do the job until you can get a better one."

"Thank you," Fenris said politely, examining the sword carefully.

"What do you think, Hawke?" asked Anders as he took a seat next to him. Hawke smiled and gave him a thumbs-up, his smile waning slightly as Anders's eyes narrowed. "What have you got in your mouth, Hawke?"

"Mm?" He pointed ahead as Norah arrived with their tea and set the mugs down on the table.

Anders's eyes darted from his plate to Donnic's, comparing the two, as Hawke hastily chewed on his sausage.

"I said, what have you got in your mouth?"

Hawke cupped his hand over his ear and swallowed, clutching at his chest and grimacing as the inadequately-chewed food stuttered its way down. "Nothing," he declared, opening his mouth for all to see. "That Corff's getting a bit stingy with his sausages, you know. You want to complain."

"You thieving bastard," accused Anders, moving his plate further away from Hawke. "Guard," he said to Donnic. "I want this man arrested."

"Sorry," chuckled Donnic. "I'm off duty."

"I should have known better," grumbled Anders. "He's like a dog around food; he can never be trusted on his own with it."

Having finished his breakfast, Donnic sighed and pushed his plate away. "I need a walk, now. When you're ready, we'll set off."

"Are you ready, Fenris?" Hawke asked the elf, who nodded as he drained his mug. "I'll stop by and see you later," he promised Anders as he stood up. "Thanks for the staff."

"No problem," answered Anders, holding his hand out to Hawke, and smiling as he shook it. "Now, go and walk some of that flab off."

"As I've already explained, this is fuel," Hawke insisted in defence of his paunch. "I'll be the one laughing when you two are shivering and crawling on your hands and knees when we reach the coast."

Donnic laughed at this. "I've had a much bigger breakfast than you," he declared.

"No you haven't," Fenris muttered drily as they departed.

"See you later! Have fun!" Anders called over, and Hawke nodded, rolling his eyes.

Anders watched them leave, and cleared his throat as the door closed. "You were right," he said quietly. "I should keep them all on side, especially Hawke." He stared at his plate for a moment, and then nodded. "I can't pretend to be friends with the elf, but, all right, if you insist. I'll be civil to him, for Hawke's sake."

He took a sip of his tea, and his eyes moved to the entrance as a few traders walked in. "Yes, all right; even the blood mage."

Finishing his breakfast, he pushed away from the table and walked over to the bar, settling up with Corff. He then left The Hanged Man, whistling to himself as he made his way to the clinic.