"Ah, here it is: 'Recipe for Traditional Gravy'."

Hawke ran his finger down the page of the dusty book, screwing his face up as he reached the bottom. "I've got to make some stock? Oh, I can't be bothered with all that. Fenris, what kind of meat did you buy?"

"Beef."

Hawke's frown transformed into a smug grin as he snapped the book closed. "I know what we can use for stock. Any of that wine left?"

"There are several bottles in the cellar."

"Well, when it's convenient for you, would you fetch one, please? We don't need it straight away, though; not until the meat's done."

"I will go now," said Fenris with a nod.

"Bring two up, actually," suggested Hawke. "We can drink the other one."

Fenris looked puzzled. "Will the wine in the gravy not suffice? If we drink two bottles between us we will become inebriated, and we had planned to visit the Keep."

Hawke laughed. "No! The alcohol in the gravy will burn off; it's just for flavour. We can't get drunk on it."

"Oh, I see." Fenris sighed. "You must think me quite…benighted."

"Why would I think that? You don't cook very often, so how would you know that? I only know because Mother told me. If she hadn't, I'd be drinking gravy all the time instead of wine to get drunk: gravy tastes a lot better, and slips down nicely."

"You…drink gravy?"

"Certainly not," Hawke replied quickly; a little too quickly, Fenris suspected. "I don't drink custard or pickle juice, either. I mean, why would I?"

"Why, indeed?" asked Fenris, raising an eyebrow sceptically.

"I don't lick the bowl when Mother's made a cake, either. And I've definitely never eaten flowers while drunk; that would be stupid, wouldn't it? If I had done any of those things, you would be quite right to look as disgusted as you do about now…"

"…Flowers?"

"Oh, only nice ones; no weeds or anything like that. I think it was nasturtiums. Not that I ever did eat them, of course; these are hypothetical nasturtiums, you understand."

"Yes, I believe I do," answered Fenris drily. "I will fetch the wine, now. Two bottles."

"Red wine, please. I'll meet you back in the kitchen," said Hawke with a slight grimace. Fenris nodded and left the library, and Hawke fancied he heard a quiet snort, but couldn't be certain.

"Maker, Fletcher!" he hissed quietly to himself. "Stop talking crap, or he'll think you're a complete arse!"

Glancing down at the book, his stomach flipped over. Somehow, he had to slip the subject of reading into their conversation, and had to offer to teach Fenris to read without offending him. A tall order at the best of times, but Hawke was not exactly at his urbane best today: more like a nervous wreck. He tucked the book under his arm and headed for the kitchen, where Fenris had left his groceries after Hawke had offered to cook, saying it was the least he could do, considering he'd eaten most of Fenris's oats.

Fenris arrived in the kitchen a short time later to find Hawke peeling potatoes while the joint of beef sizzled in a skillet he'd suspended above the fireplace. Fenris placed the two wine bottles on the counter and glanced at the fireplace.

"Shouldn't a joint be roasted or boiled?" asked Fenris.

"Oh, I'm just sealing it," Hawke replied, dropping some of the peeled potatoes into a small cauldron. "Keeps the juices in."

"Do we not need the juices for the gravy?"

"Oh, some of them will still come out, don't worry," Hawke answered with a bright smile.

Fenris nodded and watched as Hawke began to add some herbs to a small bowl of flour. "This is to coat the potatoes with," Hawke explained. "When they're half boiled, I'll roll them in this, and then stick them in the oven."

"You have prepared a similar meal before, then?"

"Oh yes," answered Hawke proudly. "I always used to do the Sunday roast at home; in Lothering, I mean. I know it's not a very manly thing to do, but I don't care: I enjoy cooking. It gave Mother a rest, as well. Bethany always helped prepare the veg and she made the gravy; that's why I had to look it up."

"'Sunday Roast'? That is what you call this meal?"

"Yes; I know it's not Sunday today, but that's generally what it's known as in Ferelden." He pointed to the open cookbook, feeling a flutter in his belly. "That's what it's called in here: Sunday Roast."

"Then it is fortunate you are here; I would have boiled everything," Fenris confessed.

"It tells you in the book how to prepare the meat and the potatoes and everything," said Hawke, crossing over to the fireplace to turn the meat over. He walked back to find Fenris looking at the illustrations in the book. "Fenris, have you ever considered learning to read?" he asked nonchalantly, doing his best not to cringe as he spoke.

"I have never needed to."

"Have you ever wanted to, though?" asked Hawke, scratching his nose with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of flour behind.

Fenris shrugged. "I do not see a need for it," he replied, evading Hawke's question.

Hawke turned his back on the counter and leaned against it, crossing his legs at the ankles. "You're missing out, you know: there are so many wonderful stories out there. I find reading's a good way to relax at the end of the day. I often fall asleep with a book in my hand."

Fenris smiled softly, but said nothing.

"Being able to read could save your life, as well," Hawke added. "Let's say…let's say you wanted to take a shortcut across a field but you couldn't read the sign that warned of the bull, or the vicious dog. You'd need to be a bloody fast runner in that case."

"I can run," countered Fenris.

"What if you slipped on a cow pat?"

"That seems unlikely," scoffed Fenris, still smiling.

"You never know," warned Hawke, waggling his index finger.

"Well, I will ensure I do not take shortcuts across fields from now on."

"That was just an example, Fenris." Hawke moved over to the fire and wrapped a cloth around his hand, removing the skillet from the fire and placing it in the oven. He turned back to Fenris.

"There is flour on your nose," observed Fenris.

"Oh." Hawke rubbed his nose with his fingers.

"Now there is more," Fenris told him, amused. "There was flour on your fingers, also."

Hawke gave him a mock-stern look, and, for a split second, he was sorely tempted to smear Fenris's nose with flour. Instead, he reached for his cloth and scrubbed at his own nose, turning his head from side to side for Fenris to inspect.

"Gone?"

"Gone."

"Anyway," resumed Hawke, realising that Fenris had changed the subject, "I can't imagine not being able to read. You know, reading a story is a great way to escape from everyday life. I can get lost in a book and forget everything else that's going on. Sometimes hours fly by without me realising it."

"I am too old to learn," Fenris argued, also leaning against the counter a few feet away from Hawke. "I am an adult, not a child. Besides, I do not have the coin to hire a tutor. I am glad to hear you derive such pleasure from reading, but I do not think it would be possible for me to learn, now."

"That's nonsense," Hawke insisted. "You're never too old. And you wouldn't need a tutor…I mean, um…" Hawke cleared his throat and started fiddling with his fingers. "If you wanted…well, I could teach you to read."

Silence, punctuated only by the spitting of the joint in the oven, descended on the kitchen. Hawke didn't dare look up from his hands.

"You would…teach me?"

Hawke nodded, still not looking up from his fingers.

"Why?"

"Well, because I'd like you to experience the pleasure of reading, as well. Also, I'm a bit of a bookworm, and it would be nice to have someone to talk about books with."

"Does Anders not speak with you of books? He always has a tome of some kind under his arm."

"Those books of his are in Arcanum, and I can't read that," Hawke explained, raising his head to look at Fenris. "Actually…that didn't even occur to me. Would you want to read in Arcanum or the common tongue? I can't help you with Arcanum, I'm afraid."

"I have no wish to read anything written in Arcanum," Fenris said shortly, anger creeping into his voice. "All of Danarius's books were also written in that language."

This time, Hawke did cringe. "Oh. Erm…maybe this wasn't a good idea, after all. I-I just thought I'd offer. You're pretty much the most intelligent person I know, and it seems a shame you can't read, that's all."

"I am the most intelligent person you know?" scoffed Fenris. "Clearly, you do not know many people."

"Stop that," Hawke said irritably.

"Stop what?"

"Stop putting yourself down. My brother Carver used to do that all the time, and it drove me mad. There are plenty of people in this world who are willing to put you down, without you doing it to yourself." He turned away from Fenris and began tidying up the counter.

Fenris stared at Hawke's back, lost for words, the horrible gnawing sensation in his stomach returning. Hawke had just offered to teach him to read, something he'd always dreamed of but had never thought possible, and Fenris had done his best to push him away. Why did he always do this? Why could he not just see the gesture for what it was, and accept it gratefully?

Was it too late to do that, now?

"I'm sorry, Hawke," Fenris said quickly, sighing. "I seem to be acquiring a habit of apologising to you." He watched as Hawke's movements slowed a little. "I am very grateful for your offer, which I gladly accept, if it is still open."

Hawke turned to face Fenris, a look of uncertainty on his face, his stomach roiling. "Well…of course it is."

Fenris took a step forward and held his hand out to Hawke, who stared at it pretty much in the same way that Fenris had once stared at his. He reached over and gently shook the elf's hand, which was unclad, a warm hum travelling upward from the base of his spine as Fenris's skin touched his.

"I will set the table," said Fenris, releasing Hawke's hand and leaving the kitchen without another word, leaving a slack-mouthed Hawke to stare after him.

He glanced down at his palm, and then looked through the doorway and down the corridor; Fenris had gone. "He touched me," he whispered. He looked down the corridor one more time, walked over to the far side of the kitchen, and punched the air.

~o~O~o~

A little later, and, after showing Fenris how to make gravy, Hawke dished up and they carried their plates through to the dining room, where Fenris had done a fine job of laying the table. Hawke placed his plate down and rubbed his hands together with glee as he took his seat, his stomach rumbling loudly in anticipation.

"I'd like to propose a toast," announced Hawke, picking up his already-full wine glass, and Fenris, taking his own seat, did the same. "Erm…actually, I'm rubbish at toasts. Can you think of anything, Fenris?" Hawke was actually quite good at toasts, but wanted to give Fenris the opportunity.

"To fine food, and fine company," the elf declared, and Hawke repeated the toast as their glasses clinked together.

As they ate, Hawke told Fenris of his plans for the following day. "I'm going over to The Gallows, and then I have a job to do with…oh, wait, you don't know him. His name's Sebastian, and apparently he's a prince." Hawke nodded as Fenris's eyebrows rose in surprise, and then continued. "His family were unfortunately killed and he wants a few of us to help him find the culprits. Fancy coming? You won't need to go far; we're to meet him at the chantry."

"Yes, I will come," Fenris agreed, and pointed to his plate with his knife. "This is...very nice."

"Oh, good; I'm glad you like it. Better than everything boiled, eh?"

"Indeed," answered Fenris. "You are a man of many talents, Hawke."

"Not really; we all had to pitch in at the farm. All the men in the house knew how to cook, and the women sometimes worked in the fields at very busy times. We never let them do the really backbreaking work, though."

Fenris nodded and took a sip of wine. "Why must you visit The Gallows?"

"Oh, to collect the reward for turning those mages in," he said quickly, not wishing to linger on the subject. "I'll get your cut to you when I find out how much the reward is."

"No rush," Fenris said.

"Actually, I'm thinking Justice should get a cut from that job instead of Anders, seeing as Justice saved our arses and Anders sodded off. What do you think?"

A warm smile lit up the elf's face and he shook his head. "How would one compensate a spirit?"

"I dunno," mused Hawke with a shrug. "Maybe Anders has a little coin slot on his belly or something? That way, I could pay Justice directly."

"Wha-" Fenris's face crumpled, and his knife clattered against his plate as he covered his face with his hands, his body trembling.

Hawke gasped, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. "Are you laughing or crying?" Hawke asked, laughing himself. "Please don't cry; it wasn't that bad, was it?"

Fenris shook his head, still covering his face, and Hawke could see that beneath his hands, Fenris's face had turned red.

"Do you think Justice would give me change, Fenris?" Hawke joked, and, as Fenris bent forward and clutched at his stomach, wailing, Hawke began to snigger, overjoyed at the sight.

"Stop it!" Fenris commanded in a cracked whisper. "I-I cannot breathe!"

"Perhaps it's best if he doesn't give change," Hawke mused casually. "I dread to think where it would come from."

Fenris pushed his chair back and strode out of the dining room, and Hawke, creased up with laughter, followed him out. Fenris was leaning unsteadily against a wall in the vestibule, his hands braced on his knees, his rich, deep, beautiful laughter like music as it reverberated off the walls. "Don't-don't come any closer!" He warned Hawke, holding a flattened palm out. "I cannot take any more!"

Hawke covered his mouth with one hand and bit his bottom lip in utter delight as Fenris fought valiantly to regain his dignity. Once or twice, he appeared to have succeeded, but, as soon as he looked at Hawke, he turned away, his body once again trembling.

"I cannot do this if you are watching me, Hawke!"

"All right, Fenris; I'll have mercy on you. I'll go into the dining room." With one final glance at the elf, he walked back into the room where they'd shared their meal, and took his seat, chuckling to himself, his insides glowing.

Listening carefully, he heard Fenris clear his throat several times and take a deep breath. The sound of bare feet padding against the stone followed, and Hawke became aware that Fenris was standing in the doorway behind him. He heard another sharp intake of breath, and Fenris slowly walked back to the table, taking his seat with consummate elegance and poise.

"Do not look at me," Fenris commanded, his own eyes fixed firmly on his plate as he picked up his knife.

Hawke, however, did look at him; his face was blotchy and his eyes red. Hawke also noticed that Fenris's eyebrows were pushed together in deep concentration.

"You're dying to laugh," Hawke guessed.

"I am not."

"Are too."

"If you continue to…" Fenris paused as an almost pained expression came over him. "Do not persist with this…"

"You're right, Fenris," said Hawke in an apologetic tone. "I won't persist. That wouldn't be just, would it?"

Fenris swivelled in his seat, turning away from Hawke, and once again his shoulders began to tremble. "Stop it! My-my stomach hurts!"

Hawke, also laughing, resumed his meal. "Come on, Fenris; your dinner's getting cold," he teased.

Fenris took several deep breaths and slowly turned back. "Please, Hawke; I really cannot take any more."

"I promise," said Hawke. "No more."

Fenris nodded and very cautiously began to slice his meat, expecting Hawke to break his promise at any moment. "You do realise that I will not be able to look at him from now on without…"

"Without laughing?" ventured Hawke. "That'll go down a treat, especially with…a certain spirit, who shall remain nameless."

Fenris bit his lip, suppressing his laughter, and finally glanced at Hawke, who flashed a brilliant smile at him. "Hawke, I have not laughed like that since…in fact, I do not ever remember laughing like that."

"Well, if my terrible sense of humour makes you laugh, you'll be doing it a lot more from now on," Hawke promised him.

Fenris nodded and took a bite of meat. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Hawke took up his wine glass and raised it toward Fenris. "To friendship, and to making Fenris laugh."

Fenris picked up his own glass and tapped it against Hawke's. "To friendship, and to making me laugh."

"I'm going to remember this moment the next time we have an argument," Hawke said mischievously. "Which probably won't be too far away."

"As will I, Hawke." He once again tapped his glass against Hawke's, and they shared another laugh before finishing their meal.

~o~O~o~

Agreeing to start Fenris's reading lessons the following day, after dealing with Sebastian's problem, the two men cleared away the dishes and washed up. Some beef was left over, which Hawke recommended Fenris use for sandwiches with a spot of mustard.

Feeling pleasantly full, they headed for the Keep to check on Aveline. On the way, Hawke noted that fewer nobles were staring at Fenris, and, with a sneaky glance at the elf, he surmised that perhaps it was because Fenris wasn't scowling today, and allowed himself a satisfied smile.

Upon entering the barracks, they were greeted by Donnic, who appeared to have assumed Aveline's role, and was issuing orders to some of the guards.

"Ah, there you are," he said cordially, walking up to them both, and shook Hawke's hand. "Is your hand better, Fenris?" he asked the elf.

Fenris quickly glanced at Hawke before extending his own hand to Donnic. "It is, thank you."

Although Fenris now wore his gauntlets, Hawke felt he would burst with pride as they shook hands. "Hawke," said Donnic, nodding over to Jeven's office. "Aveline wants to see you. She's in there with Bran."

As Hawke nodded, one of the other guards, spotting Fenris, walked over. "Ah, so you're the one who thrashed Donnic's arse, are you? Well done, mate!"

Watching in bewilderment as the laughing guard walked away, Fenris turned back to Donnic. "You…told him I defeated you?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I?"

"You see no shame in being bested by an elf?"

"Sorry, Fenris, I don't follow you," Donnic replied with a frown. "There's no shame in being beaten by a better man. Being an elf has nothing to do with it."

Fenris hung his head modestly. "I…well, I am honoured."

"I'll leave you to it," said Hawke, smiling. "You can talk about swords, or something."

"We certainly will," answered Donnic. "Come on, Fenris, I'll show you around the barracks."

"No trying to recruit him!" Hawke warned.

"Damn!" Donnic snapped his fingers, and Hawke laughed before turning to enter the office.

"Ah, Hawke, you're back," Aveline said as he entered. "Bran, this is Hawke, the one I told you about."

"How do you do?" asked Hawke.

Bran looked Hawke up and down, nodded once, and turned back to Aveline. "I will take my leave." With that, he departed.

"You know, I'm sure I've seen him somewhere before," Hawke mused, his eyes following the seneschal as he glided out of the office. "Ah, I know: Anders's clinic. Caught the clap off some whore down at the docks, I think."

"Shhh!" Aveline sniggered, rushing over to close the door. "You must be mistaken, Hawke. Bran wouldn't lower himself."

"No, I'm telling you, it was him. I think I've seen him twice, actually." As Aveline leaned against the desk, Hawke glanced around the room. "This is Jeven's office, isn't it?"

"No, Hawke; it's mine."

"But…" Hawke scratched his head. "Since when have you had an office?"

Aveline groaned. "Since I was made guard-captain, Hawke."

"Uh?"

"Jevens is out," she told him. "Apparently, he was up to his eyeballs in debt, and decided to make some quick coin by selling confidential documents from the Viscount's office. And by selling, I mean arranging for the guard who was carrying the satchel containing those documents to be pummelled, and the documents 'stolen'."

"Well, we'd already figured that out," said Hawke.

"Indeed we did, and now we have proof." She pushed herself off the desk and took a step closer to Hawke. "The Viscount rewarded us by giving me Jeven's post, and promoting Donnic to lieutenant. We couldn't have done this without your help, Hawke. I won't forget it."

"So…you're guard-captain, now?"

"That's what I said, Hawke."

"Wow," Hawke mumbled. "Aveline from Lothering, eh?"

"Well, I wasn't originally from Lothering…"

"Now, don't ruin my chance to say that I knew Guard-Captain Vallen back in the day," joked Hawke.

"All right," laughed Aveline. "I owe you that much, at least."

"I'm proud of you," Hawke said sincerely. "If that…means anything, that is."

"Of course it does, Hawke; it means a lot."

Hawke turned away from her and sighed. "Aveline…I've been…I've been a real prick to you."

"No you haven't," she protested. "You've been a great help to me."

"When we first got here, I mean," he said, turning to face her. "I…"

"Neither of us were at our best when we first arrived, Hawke. We'd both lost someone very important to us."

"I blamed you for that," Hawke confessed. "For a long time I blamed you for Carver's death; you were distracted because Wesley was injured."

Aveline lowered her head and nodded. "I thought as much."

"That was…terribly wrong of me, Aveline," he said, his voice wavering. "All I cared about at the time was Carver. No, actually, all I cared about was me. How I felt. You lost Wesley, as well, Aveline. "I'm-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry about Wesley."

They stood in silence for a few moments before Hawke spoke again.

"I don't blame you now, Aveline. I was wrong. I blamed myself, as well, but I don't even…" He shrugged. "It was the darkspawns' fault. They took Wesley and Carver from us; no one else."

"I appreciate you saying that, Hawke. For a long time, I blamed myself for both of their deaths, but time is a great healer, as they say. I don't feel that way anymore, either. Not a day goes by when I don't think about Wesley, and I'm sure it's the same for you with Carver, but neither of them would want us to stop living our lives."

"I should have told you this sooner, Aveline. I've had a chip on my shoulder that Carver would have been proud of, but lately…I don't know. I feel…more at peace. Do you understand that?"

Aveline smiled thinly. "I do, Hawke. Apology accepted, although it does seem strange that you made it on the day I was promoted to guard-captain," she quipped.

"Didn't work, then?"

"Not for one second, Hawke."

"Come here," said Hawke, and they embraced.

Aveline pulled away and sighed. "Now, get out of here before we both start blubbing."

"As you order, Guard-Captain." Hawke laid his fist across his chest and bowed.

"If you need me, Hawke, you know where I am," she said.

"Same goes for me, Aveline."

"And leave the door open when you leave," she instructed him. "Jeven always kept the door locked. I want everyone to know that there are no secrets in this office from now on."

"You're going to do very well, Aveline," he told her, and departed, leaving the door open.

~o~O~o~

After Fenris's tour of the barracks, during which Donnic did unsuccessfully try to recruit him, he met up with Hawke, who offered to buy him a drink at The Hanged Man. Fenris accepted, and Hawke made sure they took their time getting there, wanting to make the most of their pleasant discourse.

Upon entering the pub, Fenris hesitated at the door after noticing that Anders and Isabela were sat with Varric and Bethany.

Sensing his reticence, Hawke turned back a little and whispered, "Don't worry, Fenris. If Anders gives you any lip, just think of the coin slot."

Hearing a quiet snigger from Fenris, Hawke grinned and walked over to the table, noticing Anders whisper something to Isabela before he leapt out of his chair.

"Hawke! There you are! We were just talking about you."

"Oh?" Hawke intoned as Anders swallowed him in an enthusiastic hug.

"And if it isn't my favourite elf," drawled Isabela, sauntering over to Fenris.

"Isabela," Fenris said with a curt nod.

"Come and sit down, Hawke," invited Anders, and Hawke took a seat, saying a quick hello to Varric and Bethany. "Your sister told me you have a trip to The Gallows planned," Anders said brightly, plonking himself down next to Hawke.

"That's right," answered Hawke, glancing at Fenris, who had been led over to the bar by Isabela.

"When? Tomorrow?"

"What? Oh, yes. Do you want to come?"

"Definitely," answered Anders. "I'd be very interested to have a look at that place."

"Well, don't forget you need to wear something…unmagey," Hawke reminded him.

"Oh, I know; I already have an outfit ready."

"I wouldn't have expected you to be so enthusiastic about that place, Blondie," opined Varric.

"No, me, neither," mumbled Hawke, somewhat distracted by the fact that Isabela had slipped her arm through Fenris's and was stroking his hair. Although Fenris was clearly uncomfortable with her attention, there was no hint of the terror Hawke had seen in the elf when he'd touched Fenris.

"Well, you know what they say," chirped Anders, "you keep your enemies close. And I'm not too big to admit that I could be wrong about the place. I won't know until I've seen it, will I?"

"You've changed your tune, hasn't he, Hawke?" asked Varric.

"Yes," Hawke muttered, wondering if he should step in and rescue Fenris, but then deciding against it, suspecting Fenris may not appreciate such a gesture. He continued to watch as Isabela ran a manicured finger down Fenris's arm, and felt his stomach drop when Fenris forced a strained smile.

Of course. How could he have been so stupid? It all seemed so clear, now. Fenris was attracted to women. Why in the world would he be attracted to men, anyway, after what Danarius had done to him? Feeling like a complete idiot, Hawke felt an unpleasant fluttering in his chest and he swallowed hard.

"I'm, erm…I'm going home," he announced, standing up.

"But you will meet me here, tomorrow morning?" pressed Anders.

"Yes, of course."

"Brother?" asked Bethany, concerned.

"I can feel one of my headaches coming on, Beth; I'll be fine. See you later." With a nod to Varric, he quickly made his way out. As he did so, Bethany's eyes wandered over to where Isabela and Fenris stood by the bar.

Hawke quickly made his way through the stalls of Lowtown, ignoring the merchants' calls to sample their wares. He knew he'd been rude to leave like that, but he didn't care; he felt like a fool. His afternoon with Fenris had been so wonderful, and had given him so much hope. Why hadn't it ever occurred to him that Fenris may not be interested in men, in him? And he was a mage, as well. Perhaps he would have to settle on Fenris's friendship and nothing else; he should be grateful to have that, at least, he told himself.

"Hawke?"

Fenris's voice.

Hawke slowed his pace a little, wondering if he could get away with pretending he hadn't heard, but that idea became moot as Fenris arrived in front of him.

"Fenris."

"Why did you leave?" asked the elf, clearly confused.

"Sorry, Fenris, I should have let you know I was going," replied Hawke, his eyes wandering around the market.

"What's the matter?"

"I, um, I have a headache," he claimed, rubbing his forehead for effect. "Probably the wine. I thought you were busy with Isabela, anyway; I didn't want to interrupt you."

"More like she was busy with me," Fenris muttered grimly.

"But I thought…you didn't seem to mind." Hawke paused, giving himself a warning not to sound too concerned.

Fenris sighed. "I did not wish to be impolite. My true thoughts were not suitable for a woman's ears."

"Oh." Hawke nodded, his shoulders sagging. "I apologise, Fenris; I did say I'd buy you a drink."

"That is unimportant," said the elf. "I was…hoping we could discuss my first reading lesson; what it will entail, but, if you are unwell, I will not trouble you further."

"Oh, well, it's…not that bad, now I've had a bit of air," Hawke protested weakly. "I'm certain you must have a lot of questions. Well, let's go back, then. We'll have to sit at a separate table, though; that is, if you don't want anyone else to know."

Fenris shook his head. "I have no desire to be pawed again by that woman."

"Erm…we could go to my house; it's not far, and there's all the tea you can drink."

One side of Fenris's mouth curved upward. "Will there be…shortbread?"

"I'm certain I could find some," Hawke answered with a gentle smile.

"Then lead the way, Hawke," prompted Fenris.