Even the hard, draughty floor of Gamlen's bedroom could not keep Fletcher from blissful sleep that night. The previous evening, Fenris had stayed for supper at Leandra's insistence, and, with Bethany home as well, a very pleasant meal was had by all. Fenris had been quiet but achingly polite throughout, but, as he'd relaxed a little, the occasional quip or witty comment had left his mouth, and by the time Fenris was ready to depart, Fletcher noted he'd never seen the elf so at ease with himself. That thought was what gently lulled Fletcher to sleep that night, pushing the niggling thought of how long this happiness would last firmly to the back of his mind.

As his eyes flickered open the following morning, however, that niggling thought was now the only thing on his mind, and the lightness of body and spirit he'd felt the day before was long gone, his limbs leaden as he reluctantly pushed himself up.

Trudging into the main room, he was greeted by Leandra, who was laying the table for breakfast.

"Good morning, dear; did you sleep well?"

"Mm," Hawke mumbled, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "You?"

"Fairly well, dear. What would you like?"

"Whatever's easiest for you, Mother," replied Hawke, slumping into a chair at the small dining table. "Do you need a hand?" he asked lethargically.

"No, I'm fine; Bethany's helping out. Tea?"

Hawke nodded wearily, and Leandra's gaze lingered on him for a second before she entered the kitchen.

"Bethany, my dear," she said to her daughter, beckoning her over. "Fletcher doesn't seem himself."

"Well, that's surprising," said Bethany with a frown. "I would have thought he'd be in good spirits after last night."

"So would I," answered Leandra thoughtfully. "Go and find out what troubles him, Daughter; he always confides in you."

Bethany placed a hand on Leandra's arm. "You know that's only because he doesn't want to worry you."

"Yes, I know, dear," said Leandra with a sigh. "Do go and talk to him, won't you?"

"I will." Bethany ladled some porridge into a bowl and poured a mug of tea, taking them through to the main room.

"Good morning, Brother," she said brightly, placing the bowl and mug in front of him.

"Morning, Beth. Aren't you having anything?"

"I've already eaten." She took a seat next to him. "Well, last night went well, didn't it? It seems that Fenris ended up having a meal with us after all, like I suggested."

Hawke nodded and picked up his spoon, but, instead of eating his porridge, he stirred it and sank back in his chair. "Yes, it was a good night," he said blankly.

Feigning ignorance, Bethany frowned. "Did things not go as you'd have liked last night?" she asked. "You don't seem very enthusiastic about it."

"Sorry, Beth," he said heavily, his head falling back. He stared at the ceiling for several moments while Bethany waited for him to continue. "I…had a visitor during the night," he said quietly.

"A visitor? Oh…do you mean…Synia?" she asked in a whisper.

Hawke closed his eyes and nodded.

"And what did she have to say?" Bethany asked sourly.

"Oh, the usual, you know. She has a new reason to torment me, now; she went on and on about Fenris. How he'd butcher me if ever he found out I was a blood mage, that sort of thing. Fucking bitch loves it, doesn't she?" He threw his spoon into the porridge and stood up, walking over to the tiny window at the front of the room.

Bethany slowly followed him and stood next to him, taking his hand. Hawke looked down at her hand and then glanced back out of the window, not looking at anything in particular.

"How does she even know about Fenris?" asked Bethany.

Hawke took a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh. "Probably because I've…I've had a couple of dreams about him. And, no, you don't want to know what happened in them." He released her hand and walked back over to the table, leaning on it and shaking his head.

"How long has it been since she last visited you?"

"Not since…while we were on our way here, when we were on the ship. She got a kick out of…oh, it doesn't matter." He didn't think Bethany needed to hear that Synia, the demon he'd made a deal with so long ago, had taken great pleasure in reminding him of how much pain Carver must have endured before he'd died.

"Do you think I should tell him, Beth?"

"Oh, I don't know, Fletcher," she groaned, once again arriving at his side and pulling a chair out for him; he sat, as did she. "It's not up to me; only you can make a decision like that."

"I want to tell him, Beth; I don't want to keep something like this from him, something so…big. I know something about him that…" He took a deep breath and straightened up in the chair. Bethany quirked an eyebrow but didn't press him for details. "I can't tell him though, can I?" he continued. "Not if there's ever to be a chance of…"

"…Romance?" Bethany finished for him, and he shrugged. "From what I've seen of his reaction to blood mages, you could be right. I hate to say this, Fletcher, but perhaps it would be best if you didn't pursue a romance with him at all; it could save you both a lot of heartache if ever he did find out. I know how much you like him, but maybe it's better that you feel a bit bad now, instead of being heartbroken later on."

Hawke slumped onto the table and rested his chin against his folded arms. "I-I don't even know if he likes…men. I mean, how do you ask someone something like that? It's so much easier for men who are attracted to women. If they try to chat a woman up, the worst they can expect is a slap or an ale bath. If I were to chat up a bloke, I'd risk a knife in the ribs for my trouble, or a beating at the very least."

He sat up and turned to Bethany. "The thing is, Beth, I don't know if I can just forget about him. He's so different to everyone else. He's so…I don't know. There's just something about him. I can't stop thinking about him."

"Then you can never tell him, and he must never find out. Who else knows?"

"Well, you, of course, Varric, and Anders. Justice knows, but he doesn't seem inclined to tell anyone. Varric, I trust completely, and he couldn't care less, anyway. It's Anders I'm the most concerned about. Under normal circumstances, I do trust him, but he has a tendency to run his mouth off when he's het up about something."

"Well, you need to keep Anders away from Fenris, then."

"You mean not take them on jobs together?"

Bethany nodded. "That's exactly what I mean."

Hawke considered this, and then frowned. "I could do that most of the time, but there will be a problem in the future. Anders is a must for the expedition, as is Varric. I wanted to take Fenris, as well; I think we'd be quite vulnerable without him."

"Do you think it's likely you'll encounter any demons or blood mages in the deep roads?" asked Bethany.

"Probably not, no."

"Then hopefully Anders won't get worked up enough to shoot his mouth off. And you could always take Aveline in place of Fenris, if she's free."

Hawke sighed. "You make a lot of sense, Sister. She just…rattled me, that's all."

"That's exactly what she wants, Fletcher. She can see you're happy and she doesn't like it. Ooh, I wish I could enter your part of the Fade and kill that bitch!"

"I wish I could, as well," growled Hawke. "Only, part of our agreement was that my powers are suspended whenever she visits me. I'm not stupid at all, am I?"

"You were young, Brother."

"That doesn't excuse what I did."

"You don't know that was your fault, Fletcher," Bethany said firmly. "You seem to be the only one who blames you for what happened."

"Why else would he have killed himself, Beth?"

"There could have been any number of reasons!"

"Bit of a coincidence though, wasn't it? The very next day? After…" He stood up and pushed his chair back. "I don't want to talk about this. I'm going to get dressed."

"Fletcher…"

"I'm sorry, Beth."

He entered his and Gamlen's shared bedroom and closed the door, leaning against it, his mind wandering back to one of the darkest episodes of his life.

Fletcher had been fifteen and Carver and Bethany eleven when one day, over breakfast, a clamour had erupted outside their farmhouse. Fletcher recalled as he and his family had ventured outside to see what all the shouting was about, and the first thing he'd seen was his neighbour, Mrs. Bradshaw, falling to her knees and screaming hysterically.

By now, half of the village had gathered around the barn that the Hawke and Bradshaw families shared, and Fletcher's father, Malcolm, had joined the small crowd, wanting to know what had happened. As Mrs. Bradshaw was carried off, still screaming, by some of the villagers, an ashen-faced Malcolm had returned to his family, placing a hand on Fletcher's shoulder.

"Son, I have some bad news about your friend, Dalton. You should prepare yourself."

"What is it, Malcolm? What's happened?" Leandra had asked.

"Mrs. Bradshaw's son was found…hanging…in the barn. I-I'm sorry, Fletcher."

"He was my friend as well, in case you'd forgotten!" Carver had snapped, his face reddening.

"We know, dear," Leandra had told him softly, placing her arm around his shoulders, and her other around Bethany, who was crying. "It's just that he and Fletcher were especially close."

"They were bloody close, all right," Carver had sniped. "Where did you two go off to last night?" he'd asked Fletcher accusingly. "What did you do to him?"

"I…I…Carver, don't…"

"Come on, Fletcher; let's get you inside," his father had said briskly, seeing that Fletcher was trembling. "It won't do to weep, here. You can do it inside, in private." He'd turned to his wife. "Leandra…I need to go and find Tom; he's out in the fields. I think I should be the one to tell him."

Leandra had nodded, and released Carver, holding her hand out to Fletcher. "Come on, darling."

"That's right, give him all the attention!"

"Stop it, Carver!" Bethany had pleaded.

"All of you stop it," Leandra had said firmly. "We mustn't make a show of ourselves. We must be strong for the Bradshaws; they're going to need us."

"Tell him that, then," Carver had said as they'd gone back inside the house, turning to the stricken Fletcher once they were inside. "I hate you. This is all your fault. Everything's always your fault!"

~o~O~o~

If Hawke hadn't already arranged to meet Anders, he wouldn't have bothered going to The Gallows at all, much preferring to find a rock to crawl under and die, but he finally managed to dress himself in a tunic and trousers that he'd bought second-hand. They didn't feel any more comfortable than Gamlen's clothing had, but at least they didn't look like they'd come out of the dark ages.

He'd left the house silently, leaving his staff propped against the wall to let Bethany know he'd gone. He didn't remember walking to The Hanged Man, but would never forget the sight that had greeted him when he arrived. Anders was already waiting outside the pub for him, wearing a doublet and shirt, boots, and breeches that looked like they'd been painted onto him. His hair was loose.

"Going riding, Anders?" Hawke had asked drily, his eyes wandering to Anders's groin. "Blimey, they don't leave much to the imagination, do they?"

Anders shrugged. "Not my fault that a pair of trousers hasn't yet been made that can contain The Beast."

"You'll be giving those templars ideas, you know," Hawke snorted as they made their way to the docks. "That Cullen seemed a bit uptight, to me. Probably missing out on something."

"Cullen? You must be joking! He used to turn into a drooling wreck if one of the apprentices so much as winked at him. Which, of course, only made them wink more," he added with a wink of his own.

As they reached the docks and waited for the boat that would bear them across, Hawke felt glad he'd decided to meet with Anders, after all. Anders was in a chirpy and sarcastic mood, which always cheered him up, and he felt a slight pang of guilt as he glanced at his ebullient friend.

"Anders…I'm sorry we haven't seen much of each other, lately."

"Not your fault, Hawke. I've been busy at the clinic lately, and…well, after what happened…our argument, I mean, I thought I'd better lie low for a bit. I am sorry about that, you know."

Hawke sighed. "Me, too, Anders. Do you need any help at the clinic? Is it getting too much for you?"

"Things are slowing down now, Hawke. I only got busy because of that ship that arrived from Ferelden. I should be more available from now on, though I do have a few things to do after we've been here."

"That's all right. Have you considered getting some help at the clinic? I mean, I'll help out when I can, but couldn't you get someone to help you regularly?"

"Maybe I should ask the Templars if they have any healers to spare," Anders quipped as the boat arrived from across the harbour, and they embarked, Hawke slipping a few silvers to the boatman.

"Or I could advertise," Anders continued. "Let's see; what do you think of this? 'Apostate healers wanted. We offer long hours, filthy conditions, no pay and the constant fear of being captured by the Templars.' I should be inundated!"

Hawke finally laughed, the first time he'd done so that morning. "I think you need to work on your sales pitch, Anders."

"You're probably right. No, it's a nice thought, Hawke, but I don't exactly have healers breaking down my door. I'll manage."

"Actually, Anders, I've been thinking," began Hawke.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that; are you feeling all right?"

"Piss off."

Anders burst out laughing, as did Hawke, finally feeling the knot in his stomach loosen. "No, I, erm, I was thinking of maybe becoming a full-time healer, once the expedition's out of the way. I know I'm not as good as you, but maybe I could work at the clinic with you? Learn from the best," he added with a cheeky grin.

A dazzling smile lit up Anders's face, and he looked genuinely touched at Hawke's offer. "Well…that would be great! And you're a perfectly good healer, Hawke; you just didn't get the education I did. I'll teach you, all right. I'd be happy to."

The two mages shook hands, and Anders wrapped his arm around Hawke's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "That is, assuming we don't get eaten by the darkspawn in the Deep Roads."

"They…eat people?"

"Oh, yes. Most of them carry a little cruet set and a knife and fork, just in case."

"Idiot," growled Hawke, shrugging off Anders's arm.

By the time they'd been rowed across, Hawke's disturbing encounter during the night was all but forgotten, and he quietly resolved to make more time for Anders from now on, although he realised that could be tricky, as he also wanted to see more of Fenris.

"We're here to see Knight-Captain Cullen," Hawke told the templars outside the gate. "I'm expected."

"Name?"

"Hawke."

After a short wait, Hawke and Anders were escorted to where Cullen was stationed at the foot of the steps leading up to the old prison. As they approached him, Anders plastered a broad smile across his face.

"Cullen! Been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Anders," Cullen said tersely, folding his arms.

"Told you the Tower couldn't hold me, didn't I?"

"You have your friend here to thank for your continued liberty, Anders," Cullen told him laconically. "Were it my choice, you would reside here."

"I see you've grown a stick up your arse since the last time we met, Cullen; good for you!" retorted Anders sarcastically.

"Anders, why don't you go and visit some of the stalls?" Hawke suggested, knowing that Anders wanted to look around, but also hoping to avoid any unpleasantness.

"Yes, I think I will," chirped Anders. "I can do whatever I like!" With a mocking grin at Cullen, he turned and headed towards a group of Tranquil merchants.

Cullen sighed heavily. "It was not easy to convince my fellows to leave him alone. I would recommend he curbs his…exuberance while here."

"You have a reward for me?" asked Hawke, getting straight to the point.

"Indeed I do," said Cullen with a nod. "Wait here."

Cullen walked up the steps and went through a gate, disappearing around a corner. A short time later, he returned with a small coin purse, which he handed to Hawke.

"Your work is appreciated, Messere Hawke," said Cullen with a glance over at Anders. "That is the only reason Anders walks free. You would do well to remind him of that. Now, I must go. Until we meet again." With a nod, which Hawke returned, Cullen headed back up the steps, still watching Anders, who now stood in the middle of the square.

As Hawke turned toward Anders, he opened the coin purse and allowed himself a small smile: it contained ten sovereigns. As he neared Anders, however, he recalled that they had turned ten mages over to the Templars. Was that the value the Chantry placed on one mage? A sovereign?

Slipping the bag into his pocket, he glanced at Anders who stood a few feet ahead of him and appeared to be having a quiet conversation with himself.

"Anders? Are you talking to yourself?"

Anders started before quickly assuming a smirk. "Of course; it's the only way I get an intelligent conversation."

Hawke nodded, ignoring a slight shiver that travelled down his arms. "Well, I'm ready to go; are you?"

"Yes; I think I've seen all I need to see."

"What do you make of the place?" asked Hawke as they made their way to the boat. "Was it what you expected? Anything like the Circle Tower?"

"It's worse than the Circle Tower," Anders answered, anger flashing in his eyes, and then he took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "Anyway, I need to get back to the clinic. Thanks for bringing me over, Hawke."

"All right," Hawke replied, his eyes narrowing a little as they embarked the small vessel.

In sharp contrast to his ebullient mood on the way over, Anders was very quiet on the way back, and, after a few attempts on Hawke's part to engage him in conversation, he gave up, and they travelled back to the mainland in silence.

"Might see you at The Hanged Man later, Hawke," Anders said once they'd arrived back in Lowtown.

"Yes, probably. Anders…are you all right?"

"Me, Hawke? Always!" Anders offered his hand, and Hawke shook it. "Have a good day."

"You too, Anders," answered Hawke as he watched his friend walk away, whistling to himself.

Hawke made his way home to change, finding that, on the way, Anders would not leave his mind, although he didn't know why. Something… Hawke shook his head, hoping to dismiss the feeling of vague unease that lingered on the periphery of his thoughts.

When he arrived home, he was relieved to find that no one was there, and he quickly donned a robe, took up his staff, and headed for Hightown.

~o~O~o~

Hawke met up with Varric and Sebastian at the chantry just before lunchtime, and, after a few pleasantries, they walked down the steps and waited in the square for Fenris, who had also promised to meet them.

"Does the elf know what time he was to meet us?" Varric asked Hawke after they'd waited for a while.

"Yes, we arranged it last night. I told him we'd meet him here at twelve bells. What time is it now?"

Sebastian glanced up at the bell tower atop the chantry. "By my reckoning, it's close to half past twelve."

"It's not like Fenris to be late," muttered Hawke, frowning a little.

"Perhaps we could call on him?" suggested Sebastian. "Where does he reside?"

"Hightown Estates," answered Hawke.

"Well, that's where we need to go, anyway. Shall we?" Sebastian walked ahead, and Hawke and Varric followed him up the steps.

"This is where Fenris lives," said Hawke, pointing to the first building on the left.

"That old place?" asked Sebastian, raising his eyebrows. "I'm surprised anyone lives there; it's a little dilapidated, isn't it?"

"It does him just fine," Hawke snapped, annoyed at Sebastian's apparent snobbishness, but more troubled at the hot fluttering in his chest that told him something was wrong.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by it, Serah Hawke," Sebastian replied pleasantly. "My apologies."

"Right, erm, yes…sorry," mumbled Hawke.

"Want us to carry on, Hawke?" asked Varric, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, I'll erm…we'll catch up to you."

"The Harriman estate is the second on the left, around that bend," Sebastian told Hawke, pointing the place out to him.

"Right."

"Let's go, Choirboy," Varric instructed Sebastian, who laughed softly.

"Choirboy? My, that's a new one!" he chortled, following the dwarf.

Hawke waited until they were out of sight, and approached the front door of the mansion. He knew that there could be several reasons why Fenris was late; Fenris, however, had never been late in all the time Hawke had known him, except once: the time Hawke had found him in unconscious in his room.

Releasing a long breath, Hawke made a fist and rapped hard against the door. If Fenris had collapsed in a stupor again, Hawke had no idea of how to enter the mansion now that a lock had been fitted on the door, unless he ran after Varric and asked him to pick it.

He felt his heart start beating again as a quiet shuffling sound came from behind the door, and then a click. The door was opened by a pale, bleary-eyed Fenris, who was clothed in a long, white nightshirt which was obviously human-sized. Under any other circumstances, Hawke would have laughed at the sight.

"Yes, Hawke?"

"You're not dressed, yet?" Hawke asked in consternation. "We were to meet at the chantry, remember?"

"Oh," Fenris mumbled, slurring his words. "Is that the time already?"

"Have…have you been drinking?" Hawke took a step closer to Fenris, who backed away, and sniffed at the air.

"Of course I've been drinking," protested the elf. "Drinking is vital to one's survival."

"I meant alcohol," Hawke said angrily. "I can smell it on you!"

Fenris closed his eyes for a moment, bracing his hand against the door when he swayed slightly. "I'm terribly sorry, Hawke. I will be out shortly." Fenris went to close the door but Hawke pushed it back and stepped inside, firmly closing it behind him.

"What's going on, Fenris?"

Fenris shook his head and turned away. "You…you would not understand."

"You're right; I don't. I thought…I thought we'd had a good day yesterday. What's changed since then? Has something happened?"

"No…" Fenris's shoulders slumped, and Hawke noticed how delicately Fenris was built without his armour on, feeling like a lumbering giant next to him, even though he was only a few inches taller than the elf.

"Allow me to dress," mumbled Fenris as he trudged up the stairs.

"Have you eaten?" asked Hawke.

"Yes," Fenris lied, not wanting Hawke fussing over him. "I will not take long."

Hawke watched as Fenris disappeared into his room, closing the door softly behind him, and he took a seat on the settee upon which he'd previously slept. Panic, confusion and anger in combination assaulted his thoughts. When Fenris had left his home the night before, it had been with a smile on his face. He'd been happy, relaxed, at ease. Had something happened to Fenris on the way home? Hawke had offered to walk him home but Fenris had declined, telling him a mage was much more at risk on the streets at night than he was. Why hadn't Hawke insisted? He quickly stood up and began to pace. If anyone had so much as touched him, by the Maker…

After a short while, Fenris emerged, fully-clad in his armour with his sword at his back. "I apologise for my tardiness, Hawke," he said as he made his way down the stairs with great care, pausing once or twice when he felt dizzy. "Let us go."

"You're not going anywhere in that state," Hawke told him.

"I can fight. That is why you wished me to accompany you, is it not?" argued the elf, although there was no heat in his words.

"I wanted you to come with me because…because you're my friend, and I like having you around, that's why," Hawke replied, frustration creeping into his voice. "And, because I'm your friend, I'm concerned about you. Talk to me. Did something happen to you on the way home last night? Did someone attack you? Insult you?"

"No…nothing like that happened," said Fenris quietly, staring at the floor.

"Then I don't understand. Last night…you seemed so happy when you left. We had a nice day, didn't we? Or…am I wrong?" Hawke wracked his brain, trying to recall a moment when he'd slipped up and had said something to offend Fenris. "Did I do something wrong? Please tell me, Fenris, because I'm really having a hard time figuring this out."

"You did nothing wrong," Fenris told him, his eyes still firmly on the floor.

"Then, what? Was I…was I a bit loud last night? Or was it when I told Donnic he wasn't allowed to recruit you? I was only joking, you know. I wasn't trying to speak for you, or anything. If you want to join the Guard, then you go ahead. I can't tell you what to do, nor would I ever try. It was just a joke."

"I do not wish to join the Guard, Hawke." Fenris raised his head and, as his eyes met Hawke's, the sadness in them almost stole Hawke's breath away.

"Fenris…what's the matter?" Hawke asked in an unsteady voice, and cleared his throat as the elf slowly walked over to the settee, removed his sword from his back and sat down, meshing his fingers together in his lap.

"I am not certain you would understand, Hawke."

"I don't understand now. I-I'm confused. I thought…I thought we had a good day yesterday."

"We did." Fenris closed his eyes and forcefully released his breath. "Yesterday was…probably the best day of my life, Hawke; at least, that I can remember."

"What…?" Utterly confused and devastated that such a seemingly-mundane day would mean so much to Fenris, Hawke turned his back on him and rubbed his face hard, feeling a hard lump in his throat.

"I…" A brief, humourless laugh escaped from Fenris and he took a deep breath. "I know that you and I quarrelled briefly, but after that…when I defeated Donnic and we went back to the barracks…he introduced me to all of his friends, who lauded my abilities. And then, you and I dined together, and we laughed, and then you invited me to your home and I dined with your family…never before have I felt so…welcome, so accepted."

Hawke, having taken a few deep breaths, turned around to face him. "Then, what's wrong?" he asked softly.

"It's…it's all a fantasy, isn't it?" asked Fenris, his voice taking on a harder edge.

"What do you mean by that?"

Fenris stood up, a scowl darkening his features, but he did not look at Hawke. "I am an elf, a former slave and a fugitive. I…yesterday, I believed, just for a short time, that…I forgot all of that, Hawke. I forgot what I was. Yesterday, I was a warrior who was admired by the city guards. I was a former slave who would learn to read; such a thing is unheard of in Tevinter. I was a friend to someone. I dined with a family and felt for a short time that I was part of that family, so welcoming were they."

"Fenris…"

"But none of that belongs to me, does it? The family is not mine. Even this house is not mine. This life is not mine. What is the point of teaching me to read? Sooner or later, Danarius will come for me and this…this fantasy of mine will crumble. And sooner or later, Hawke, you will pay the price for considering me a friend."

He turned and sat back down on the settee, his head in his hands. Hawke cautiously neared the settee, standing at the side of it. "May I sit with you?" he asked the elf.

Fenris made a fist with his hands and rested his chin against them. "If you wish."

Hawke took a seat on the settee, leaving as much space between the two of them as he could, not wanting to make Fenris feel crowded. "What do you mean when you say I will pay the price?" There was no accusation in his tone.

"I…when I escaped from Danarius, I was taken in by a group of Kossith rebels who called themselves Fog Warriors. They were good to me, and before long I became…attached to them. I even started to believe after a time that they felt the same about me. I remained with them for a few months, and life was good. I admired them; they were strong and answered to no one. And then…" His voice broke with his last word and he fell silent, staring at the far wall.

"Let me guess. Danarius found you?"

"He found me, but the rebels would not let him take me. There was a fight."

"What happened?"

The sadness returned to Fenris's eyes and he glanced at Hawke briefly, before his gaze returned to the wall. "Danarius was wounded by the rebels. He-he knew that he could not prevail against them, and so he ordered me to kill them."

A sickening feeling came over Hawke, then, but he did his best to keep his voice steady. "And…did you?"

Fenris's body slouched, and his hands fell limply into his lap. "I did…I killed every one of them."

Hawke blinked several times, and the rustling sound as Fenris fidgeted on the settee became almost deafening against the absolute silence that had fallen.

"Why?" Hawke asked after a while. "Why would you do that?"

"It felt inevitable. My master had returned, and this-this fantasy life was over. Just as this is a fantasy. Danarius will come for me, eventually, Hawke, and when he does, I do not want to think of what will happen."

"You're not a mindless puppet, Fenris; you have free will. You don't have to obey him anymore."

Fenris shook his head. "Danarius is…charismatic, persuasive. Perhaps it is a magical ability of his. I…find myself compelled to obey his commands." He once again looked at Hawke, his eyes wide. "I would not wish harm upon you, Hawke."

"I don't believe you would kill me," answered Hawke.

"Why not? I am a killer; that is what he made me."

"We're all killers, Fenris, and there's a lot more to you than just that. And when Danarius does come for you, I will be here. That bastard deserves to die twice, especially after what…" Hawke huffed and glanced over at the fireplace.

"After what?" asked Fenris.

Hawke stood up, moved over to the fireplace and stood with his back to Fenris, stroking his beard. "I…I know what he did to you."

Silence hung between them again, and Hawke heard the creak of the settee as Fenris stood up. "Perhaps we should depart. This…Sebastian is in need of our assistance," said Fenris, hefting his sword onto his back.

"I'm sorry, Fenris; I shouldn't have…"

"It does not matter," Fenris replied, and walked over to the door, holding it open. "Are you ready?"

Hawke slowly turned to face him and nodded. "Will you be all right?"

"Speaking of Danarius is curiously sobering," said Fenris flatly. "Let us go."

"Fenris, when we've finished with Sebastian, we are going to start your reading lessons," Hawke said firmly. "I won't take no for an answer. And that's not me ordering you to do anything; it's me being a stubborn arse."

"You are that," Fenris replied quietly, and walked through the doorway, leaving Hawke to follow. Once outside, Fenris locked the door.

Hawke walked a few feet in front of him, and, as they rounded the bend that led to the Harriman estate, Hawke said under his breath, "Taunt me all you like, bitch; I'm not letting him go. Not now, not ever."