From this point in the story, I'm lucky enough to have the incredibly talented author, Shakespira, on board as beta reader. If you haven't checked out her works so far, I urge you to do so. You'll find her on my favourite authors list. Thank-you to Shakespira, as well as to all of you for lurking, alerting and for your kind reviews and PMs.

~o~O~o~

By the time Fenris had returned to the mansion, the sun had begun to set and the property was in semi-darkness when he entered. Locking the door, he let his head fall back and rotated it several times, allowing his tense muscles to relax. He then proceeded to perform a sweep of the mansion, as he did each night before retiring, starting on the lower level.

When Varric had fitted the lock to the front door, he'd taken a tour of the mansion with Fenris and had offered several suggestions on improving security. The windows in several rooms that were not currently in use were firmly locked, Varric smearing the catches with an acidic coating which would badly burn any intruders coming into contact with it, even when it had dried. Another suggestion that Varric had made was to coat all of the door handles with a fine dusting of flour, and to leave a small line of it outside each internal door; that way, it would be obvious if any doors had been opened without Fenris's knowledge, and the flour would leave a trail of footprints.

Thankfully, none of the flour had been disturbed, and, after completing his check, Fenris walked over to the fireplace in the main vestibule of the mansion. He always kept a fire lit there; not for warmth, but to save him the task of constantly having to rekindle the fire for candles, which was a time-consuming and sometimes painful process: the constant striking together of two pieces of flint made his hands hurt and sometimes caused them to seize up.

He took a few candles from atop the mantelpiece, lit them, and set them down again before throwing a few faggots of wood onto the fire. He then began to close the drapes around the mansion; first in the dining room, then the vestibule. Finally, he took one of the candles up to the room at the top of the stairs where he spent most of his time and closed the door, setting the candle down on a small table.

In one corner of the room sat his bathtub, towels and soap; he'd already drawn water from the well and filled the tub before he'd begun his training session earlier, and the water was as cold now as it had been then.

Removing his sword and breastplate and setting them down, he moved to the window and looked out over the square, as he also did each night. Routine was important to Fenris: not only did it keep him disciplined, but it also helped him to remember. The thought that all traces of his life up until three-and-a-half years ago were gone forever was something that Fenris did his best not to dwell on, as the very thought of it troubled him deeply. Without his memories, he had no identity besides that of being a slave. What kind of a person had he been before he'd received his markings? Had he been a good person? Had he been evil or cruel? Had he ever loved anyone or had anyone loved him? Did he have a family?

His new circle of – acquaintances? – spoke of their past so easily, so casually. Anders often told of his time at the Circle in Ferelden and his life on the run; Hawke and Bethany reminisced about when they were children and their time on their farm in Lothering. The only person he didn't really know anything about was the dwarf, Varric, but then, nobody seemed to know anything about him. In some ways, the dwarf was the person Fenris felt most at ease with; the others had no idea how difficult it was for Fenris to hear them speak of their families, their friends, their past. Although Fenris always listened to their tales politely, he found he had nothing to bring to those conversations, which only exacerbated his feelings of isolation and of being at odds with everyone else.

He found Hawke to be easy company as well as Varric, but in many ways, Hawke made him feel more confused and lonely than anyone else did. Although he and Hawke didn't always see eye-to-eye, Fenris had to admit that, during the few weeks he'd known the mage, he'd laughed and smiled more than he'd done in the preceding three years. Hawke was a very confident person – or at least he appeared to be – who made friends very easily. Fenris wasn't, and, although he admired Hawke's ability to fit in with most people and into most situations, he also found that very quality a little intimidating.

Hawke was also a very generous man who took care of his friends and family. That much had been evident from their first meeting, although Fenris had at first suspected Hawke's motives. And now, only a short time later, Hawke was teaching him to read, and bringing him small gifts of food; he'd also been behind Varric improving the security of the mansion.

Hawke had also listened to Fenris's confession about the Fog Warriors without judging him. That had been the first time Fenris had spoken of it to anyone. Fenris found Hawke very easy to talk to, and that was no doubt one of the reasons Fenris had confided in Hawke, although if he was honest with himself, he'd also wanted to gauge Hawke's reaction. Surely all of this generosity on Hawke's part must mean he wanted something in return? So, he'd decided to tell Hawke one of his darkest secrets, fully expecting the mage to show his true colours and react with the disgust that Fenris felt he deserved.

Hawke, however, had not shown his true colours. Or had he? Was this kind, thoughtful and understanding Hawke the real Hawke? When Hawke had listened to his tale earlier that morning, the answer had been so clear; Hawke's soft voice and kind eyes had convinced him, albeit for a short time, that Hawke understood and accepted him. And, when Fenris had called Hawke a friend, he'd meant it. When Fenris was with Hawke, everything seemed clear, straightforward.

It was when Hawke wasn't around, though, that Fenris felt confused. It was when Fenris returned to the empty, chilly mansion each night that uncertainty would settle over him. Hawke was no longer there, and his comforting words seemed a distant memory. Fenris had been alone and had learned to do without others for so long that he wore his loneliness as a shield, something that would always be there for him and would never let him down. Lately, though, that shield had begun to feel uncomfortable, cumbersome, like it no longer fitted properly.

Something else that Hawke had said had given Fenris pause. Hawke had vowed to stand at Fenris's side and help him put an end to Danarius when the time came, despite the fact they were both mages. Had Hawke really meant that? Didn't all mages stick together? Fenris then cast his mind back to the time at the coast when Hawke had turned the blood mages over to the Templars, despite fierce opposition from Merrill and Anders. Perhaps Hawke really did judge others by their actions, and nothing else? Was it about time Fenris did that? Could he do that?

Although Fenris now had a friend – at least someone who appeared to be a friend, Fenris still felt out of place pretty much everywhere he went. How could he not feel out of place, when he had no identity, when even he didn't know who he was? Would he ever feel settled? Would he ever find somewhere he could call home? Would he ever really be free?

With a sigh, he closed the drapes and began to undress. Until he'd met Hawke, the shirt and pair of leggings he wore had been the only ones he'd owned. Now, though, thanks to his regular earnings, he'd been able to buy a few more from a trader in the alienage, and could now afford to pay a woman in Lowtown to launder his clothes: a small decadence he allowed himself.

Although his clothes were dirty, he still folded them carefully, placed them on the back of a chair, and walked over to the bathtub. He eased himself in, hissing as his bottom made contact with the frigid water. Slowly, he lay down in the tub and let the water lap over him, shuddering until he became accustomed to the temperature. He still felt an echo of Hawke's magic lingering along the edges of his markings, which the water eased a little. He reached for the soap and worked up a thin lather in his hands; not an easy task in cold water. When he'd finished soaping himself he splashed cold water over his body and heaved himself out, shivering as he wrapped a towel around his shoulders.

After drying himself, he sat on the foot of his bed and placed his right foot on his left knee. This was the foot he had the most trouble with for some reason, and, as often happened, the heel had cracked and was bleeding; thankfully, the skin on the soles of his feet was so hard he felt little pain. Although all clothing he wore caused him some discomfort, he'd found it impossible to wear boots or any kind of footwear since receiving his markings; it was just too painful for his feet to be confined for long. As a result, he was forced to go barefoot, and had to check his feet constantly for cuts or scratches.

Lying down on the bed, he reached over for a small jar of ointment he kept on his night stand. He sat back up and opened the jar, scooping out a little of the gloopy substance and smearing it on his heel. He used a lot of this ointment, which had antiseptic properties and stopped the bleeding; he'd learned the formula from the Fog Warriors, and was now able to make his own.

He allowed himself a wry smile. Hawke, who always travelled with a veritable apothecary of potions and ointments in his pack, would no doubt find it ironic that Fenris made his own ointment. He then looked down at the small jar and thought of the Fog Warriors, as he did frequently. Allowing grief and shame to wash over him, he sighed, stood up, and looked down at the bed.

Ever since receiving his markings, Fenris hadn't slept for more than an hour or so at a time. Either his markings would begin to hurt after a while, or he'd be woken by nightmares; well, memories, really, of his time with Danarius and the Magister's apprentice, Hadriana. Also, he'd been conditioned to rise early, and, no matter how tired he was, he could not get back to sleep after a certain time. He both welcomed and dreaded bedtime; sometimes his slender body felt close to collapse, and he'd want nothing more than to crawl into bed, but, more often than not, the very act of sleeping was exhausting in itself.

He looked at the bed again, and decided he couldn't face it just yet. He walked over to his dresser and retrieved a clean shirt and pair of leggings, and, once dressed, he strapped his breastplate on and picked up his sword. He then made his way to the front door of the mansion, hesitating for a moment. With a glance up at his room, he thought of his bed again, shook his head, and opened the door, locking it behind him.

~o~O~o~

Fenris paused outside the Hanged Man for a few minutes and nodded to some of the regulars who greeted him on their way out. Although they didn't know him, they were sure they'd seen him somewhere before so erred on the side of politeness, as did Fenris.

When they'd gone, Fenris, still not really sure what he was doing there, took a deep breath and entered the pub, lingering in the doorway as he scanned the room. To his relief, he couldn't see Isabela or Anders anywhere, but neither could he see Hawke or Varric. Realising he was in the way of a few more punters who were on their way out, he turned to leave.

"Fenris? Did you change your mind about coming?"

He turned to see the archer from the chantry approaching him. "Sebastian," he said with a nod.

"Are you coming in?" asked Sebastian, arriving beside him.

Fenris smiled awkwardly and glanced around the packed room. "I, um…perhaps not. I am not certain why I came."

"For a drink, I assume," said Sebastian with a chuckle. "Come on; my shout. What do you drink? Ale?"

"No," Fenris replied quickly, remembering what had happened when he'd sampled Bethany's ale. "What is that you have, there?"

Sebastian raised his mug. "Oh, this? Ginger beer. A real man's drink," joked the archer. "This'll put hairs on your chest, Fenris."

"That is unlikely," Fenris answered with a smile, feeling a little more at ease.

"Are you here to see Hawke?" asked Sebastian, leading Fenris over to the bar. "He's over in the corner with Varric; I think they're discussing something private, so I left them alone. I've been getting to know some of the regulars in here; they're quite an interesting bunch."

Fenris nodded, his eyes wandering over to a small table in a corner where Varric and Hawke appeared to be having a serious discussion.

"What'll it be then, Fenris?"

"Um, red wine, please," replied the elf.

As Sebastian ordered his drink, Fenris continued to watch the dwarf and mage at the table, wondering what they were talking about. He then turned away and shook his head, scolding himself. It was none of his business.

"Here you go, Fenris." Sebastian passed Fenris his wine, who nodded in gratitude. "So, tell me a little about yourself, Fenris; we didn't have an opportunity to talk earlier, except during our game of 'I spy'."

"There is not much to tell," Fenris said modestly. "I am not very interesting."

"I understand from Hawke that you're a former slave who escaped from his master," said Sebastian. "I'd say that was very interesting. You must have quite a story to tell."

Fenris hesitated, and Sebastian shook his head. "Forgive me, serah; I did not mean to pry."

"No, it is all right…you are not prying. It's just…"

"I understand," said Sebastian with a small bow. "You came here to relax. My apologies once again, Fenris. I will not speak of it again."

Feeling a little guilty, Fenris was about to tell Sebastian that he didn't mind discussing it, just not here, when his attention was diverted by someone calling his name from the entrance. Fenris turned and nodded as Donnic squeezed his way through the crowd to the bar.

"Fenris! Don't often see you here of an evening," said the guard, reaching for Fenris's hand and shaking it.

"Good evening, Donnic." Fenris turned to Sebastian. "This is Donnic, of the city Guard, and this is Sebastian…" Fenris paused, not knowing Sebastian's family name.

"Vael," finished Sebastian, reaching for Donnic's hand. "Good to meet you, serah."

"You, as well," replied Donnic, quirking an eyebrow. "Vael, you say? You're not one of the Starkhaven Vaels, are you?"

Sebastian laughed easily, but didn't answer Donnic's question.

"Have it your way, then," said Donnic good-naturedly. "Have either of you seen Hawke? He's the one who asked me here."

"He's over there with Varric," Sebastian explained as Donnic called for a pint of ale. "They shouldn't be much longer. Why don't we see if we can find a table?"

Fenris and Donnic nodded their agreement, and, drinks in hand, they made their way through the throng.

~o~O~o~

"So, let me get this straight…" Hawke put on his sternest expression and folded his arms. "You want to take my sister, my baby sister, to that stretch of the coast where all the canoodling couples go?"

"Oh, Hawke, you make it sound so sordid," protested Varric. "I just wanted to…look; the only places I ever take her are on jobs where we wind up killing people – lots of 'em – or here. I just wanted to take her somewhere different, that's all. And don't all the girls go in for that moonlight and stars crap?"

"Why are you asking me? What makes you think I know what girls like?"

Varric rolled his eyes. Although he knew Hawke was teasing him, he played along. "All right, then, smart ass; you must know what your own sister likes."

Hawke shrugged. "I suppose she would appreciate that. What I want to know, Ser Dwarf, is what your intentions are."

"Get outta here! You know me better than that, Hawke."

Hawke's lips twitched into a half-smile before he affected a solemn expression. "Very well; you have my permission to escort my sister to the coast. Just…don't take her on a Tuesday, that's all."

"Why's that, Hawke?"

Hawke grimaced a little and leaned forward on the table. "Tuesday is…men's night. And they don't go there for the moonlight and stars, I can tell you. Just something I…heard."

"Heard, huh?" Varric asked knowingly, and Hawke started to laugh. "Gotcha, Hawke; Tuesday nights are out, then." Varric took a deep breath and also leaned a little closer to Hawke. "Well, now we've gotten that out of the way, I wanted to ask you something else; something serious."

Hawke frowned a little and took a gulp of ale. "All right, Varric, what's on your mind?"

"Well, with all the money you've brought in lately, the kitty's getting pretty full; we have thirty-five sovs, now, Hawke, so it won't be long before we can take it to Bartrand. Ha! I can't wait to see the look on his face when he sees you've gotten the money together, after he rejected you!" Varric then sighed and his face dropped slightly. "What I want to know, Hawke, is…are you planning on taking Sunshine along?"

"No," Hawke answered immediately, and Varric exhaled, easing himself back into his chair. "We've discussed this with Mother. Bethany wants to go, but it's too risky for both of us to go. We don't want to put Mother through the worry, and we just don't know what we'll find down there. She's disappointed, but she understands.

"I've already decided who's going; well, sort of. You and me, obviously; Anders, as he's a warden, and Sebastian. I'm hoping Fenris will come as well, but I haven't asked him, yet. I'm not asking Isabela or Merrill; I don't want any women going into the deep roads. Anders has told me a few stories. I wouldn't let Bethany go down there irrespective of her being my sister."

"I'm not sure I want to hear those stories, but…thanks, Hawke. I know you didn't do it for me, but, well, thanks, anyway. I didn't want her going down there, either."

Hawke stood up and grabbed their empty tankards, knowing that prolonged conversations of a serious or emotional nature made Varric uncomfortable. "My round, then. Get the cards set up; I'll even ignore your cheating, tonight."

"I don't need to cheat, Hawke," Varric chortled. "Even a blind man wouldn't need to cheat against you."

"All talk, these dwarves," Hawke shot back, shaking his head. "I thrashed you last night, and I intend to do so again tonight."

"That was a fluke," Varric muttered as Hawke left the table, grinning.

Hawke pushed his way through to the bar, and, while he waited for his drinks, he took a look around the lounge, wondering when Donnic and Aveline were going to show; if Aveline was going to show, that was. He also wondered where Sebastian had got to; he knew that Anders and Merrill had left after having a couple of drinks, but as far as he knew, Sebastian was still here.

It didn't take long for Hawke to spot him; his distinctive armour made him stand out. Paying for his drinks, Hawke carried them over to the table where Sebastian sat with two other people. As Hawke emerged through the crowd, his heart jumped in his chest as a shock of brilliant white hair caught his eye.

Firmly suppressing an idiotic smile, Hawke forced a casual expression and plonked himself down at their table. "Fenris? You changed your mind?" he asked.

Fenris, who was by now much more relaxed, shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you did say you would hold me to my promise. I thought I would save you the trouble of goading me," he said with a hesitant smile.

Hawke's face lit up before he reminded himself where he was, and, leaving the tankards on the table, he stood up. "Hold on, I'll bring Varric over. We're getting a card game set up, and it'll be better with more people; you have a bigger table, anyway."

"Erm, Serah Hawke?" asked Sebastian, touching Hawke's arm. "Will you be playing for money? If so, I'll sit this one out; I don't gamble, you see. I'd be quite happy to watch."

"Well, we usually play for money, but we don't have to," he replied with a shrug, "although I daresay Varric will have something to say about that. I'll be back in a sec. And stop calling me 'serah'."

Sebastian smiled and dipped his head, and the three men shuffled their chairs along a little, with Donnic taking an empty chair from a neighbouring table for Varric.

When Hawke arrived with Varric, the dwarf grinned wickedly and rubbed his hands together. "Ah, fresh meat for Tethras to feast upon!"

"We're playing for fun tonight, Varric," Hawke told him as they took their seats, Varric sitting next to Sebastian, and Hawke in between Varric and Donnic. Fenris was sat between Donnic and Sebastian.

"Fun?" the dwarf spluttered. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Look at it this way, Varric," said Hawke, "this way, you won't be skint at the end of the night."

"Ha!" scoffed Varric.

Hawke briefly glanced over to the entrance, by now convinced that Aveline wasn't going to show. "Do you all know how to play Brag*?" he asked the others.

Sebastian nodded, and a slightly evil-looking grin appeared on Donnic's face. Fenris glanced around at the others and fidgeted in his seat.

Hawke stood up again. "Donnic, swap seats with me. Fenris and I will play together. I'll not have you bastards fleecing him."

Donnic burst out laughing, got to his feet and changed seats with Hawke, so Hawke now sat next to Fenris.

"I see Hawke's started trash-talking already," Varric observed.

"Yes," agreed Donnic. "Sign of nerves, that is. Who's going to deal?"

"Sebastian," Hawke said, passing the deck to the archer. "I don't trust you two," he told Donnic and Varric with narrowed eyes, and the guard once again laughed.

As Sebastian began to deal, Hawke quietly explained a few basic rules to Fenris. "We'll get three cards. Don't show them to anyone else. The aim of the game is to get the best combination of cards, but that doesn't necessarily mean you'll win. You also have to outwit your opponents. Just watch a few hands being played, and I'll explain as we go along."

"We need something to bet with, Hawke," said Varric. "You can't teach him the game without him learning the intricacies of placing a bet."

"Hmm," mumbled Hawke, reaching into his pocket. "All right; I have two sovereigns in change, here. I'll share it out, but I get it back at the end of the game."

Varric also reached into his pocket and removed some change, sharing it out amongst the others, so each player had a total of eighty silver. "Same deal for me," he told them.

"Are we going to have a pot?" asked Donnic. "How about five silver?"

The others nodded and each placed five silvers at the centre of the table.

"This is the pot," Hawke explained to Fenris, pointing to the small pile of coins. "We all put a little money in, which will increase the amount that is won at the end of the hand."

Fenris nodded and watched as the others examined their cards. Hawke picked up their cards and showed them to the elf. "I'll explain the value of the combinations at the end. What you must not do is let the others know how good or bad your cards are. If you get a good hand, don't smile, and if you get a poor hand, don't frown. Just look at those beautiful faces," he said with a grin, waving his hand around the table. "Completely inscrutable; even jolly old Sebastian."

"I believe I understand," Fenris said quietly.

"We're going to destroy them," boasted Hawke, and Fenris laughed briefly, looking around the table for a sign of laughter from the others, finding none. This was clearly a serious business.

"I'm in for five," said Sebastian, throwing a coin into the pot.

"We're in." Hawke also added a silver to the pot.

Donnic shook his head. "Pass."

Varric grunted and added a silver of his own to the pot.

"Can we pause for a minute while I explain this to Fenris?" Hawke asked the others, who nodded. "Everyone except Donnic has placed a bet. Why do you think Donnic passed?"

"Perhaps he has a poor hand?" guessed Fenris.

"That could very well be the case," Hawke agreed. "On the other hand, he could have the best cards out of all of us. This is what I meant by outwitting your opponents, Fenris; Donnic may be bluffing."

"So, he could have a very good hand, but is attempting to convince the others that it is poor?"

Hawke nodded. "Or, it could be a genuinely bad hand. Isn't that right, Donnic?"

Donnic's eyes briefly flitted over to Hawke and Fenris, but his expression remained unchanged.

"This is an intriguing game," Fenris said, leaning forward slightly.

"It certainly is," Hawke concurred. "Ready when you are, Sebastian."

"Ten," Sebastian said confidently, placing his bet.

"Now, this is interesting," Hawke told Fenris. "Sebastian has increased the amount of his bet; he's upped the ante. If someone has upped the ante, no one is allowed to pass in that round. If we want to stay in the game, we'll have to match the bet." Hawke picked up ten silver and placed them into the pot. "I'll see you, Chantry Boy," he taunted humorously.

Donnic growled and threw his cards onto the table. "I'm out."

Fenris glanced at Hawke and smiled. "Donnic was not bluffing."

"No, he wasn't," laughed Hawke.

"I'll see your ten," said Varric, "and I'll raise you five."

"A very confident showing from the stumpy-legged one," Hawke teased. "He's upped the ante even further."

"But he may be bluffing, also," guessed Fenris.

"You're getting the hang of this," Hawke said brightly, before he was distracted by Aveline entering the pub. Their eyes met briefly, and then Aveline shook her head, making a hasty exit.

"Shit," Hawke muttered. "Fenris, I'll be back in a minute." He stood and leaned down, cupping his hand over Fenris's ear, catching the scent of soap on his skin. "We have a really, really, terrible hand," he whispered to the elf, and, as he reluctantly pulled himself away, his hand briefly brushed against Fenris's hair, which really was as soft as he'd imagined, and he hoped Fenris couldn't hear his heart battering against his chest.

Fenris nodded, keeping his expression as blank as the others', as Hawke handed him the cards and made a dash for the exit.

As Hawke burst through the doors, he spied Aveline disappearing around a corner and went after her. Fortunately, she was wearing her armour and so couldn't run very fast. Hawke quickly caught up to her and grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Hawke, don't," she said tersely, coming to a halt.

"Aveline, what's going on? I asked Donnic along as you wanted; he's in there, you know."

"I know. I-I just don't have time tonight, Hawke; I'm needed at the barracks."

Hawke folded his arms and snorted in disbelief. "Do me a favour, Aveline. If you were that busy you wouldn't have had the time to walk here from the Keep, would you?"

Aveline's shoulders sagged and she hung her head. "I can't do it, Hawke. I've been thinking about it, and…it's too soon. After Wesley, I mean."

"But it's been almost eighteen months since Wesley died," Hawke said softly.

"Sixteen months and four days, to be precise," she replied. "That's no time at all."

"Says who?" argued Hawke. "Is that really how you feel, Aveline, or is that how you think you should feel?"

"Does it make a difference, Hawke? You're still grieving for Carver, aren't you? You still miss him, don't you?"

"Of course I do, but that hasn't stopped me from living my life. Neither of them would want us to stop living, Aveline; your own words."

She moaned softly and leaned against a wall in the alley where they stood. "When I walked in there, Hawke…I saw him. I saw Wesley on the face of every single man in there. I just couldn't do it."

Hawke went over and leaned against the wall beside Aveline, and the two of them were silent for a short time.

"Perhaps it is a bit soon, then," ventured Hawke. "Give it time. Donnic will still be there when you're ready."

"Unless he gets snapped up by someone else before then," whined Aveline.

Although Hawke had suspicions to the contrary, he didn't voice them. "There are plenty more fish in the sea," he counselled. "I'll do a deal with you: if you and I are both still single when we're old and grey, I'll marry you. You'll just have to do without the sex bit, that's all; although we'll probably both be too knackered to even think about that."

"Careful, Hawke," she warned. "I might take you up on that."

"Just come in for one drink," he gently urged.

"No, Hawke. I'd better get back." She faced him and smiled. "Thanks for…well, for putting up with me."

"I've got to look after my fiancée, haven't I?" he joked, and she laughed.

"Is…Donnic all right in there? He's not twiddling his thumbs, is he?"

"Actually, he's being thrashed in a game of Brag. Speaking of which…" His eyes widened. "Shit, I've left Fenris on his own in there! That Varric's a real shark. I've got to go and rescue him. Are you going to be all right getting back?"

Aveline cocked her head and gave Hawke a mock-stern look.

"Of course you'll be all right; you're Captain of the Guard. Fiancée. Looking after," he muttered as they walked back to the Hanged Man.

"You're a good sort, Hawke," she told him with a smile, and she sighed.

"You'll be ready one day, Aveline, and when you are, I'll be right there to challenge Donnic to a duel for stealing my bride." He clasped her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.

Aveline waved him off. "You'd better get back in there and make sure Fenris hasn't been swindled."

"Crap! I forgot about that!" Hawke spluttered, hastening toward the entrance. "Talk to you soon!"

Aveline shook her head and began the long walk back to the barracks, smiling softly to herself.

By the time Hawke stepped back inside and reached the table, the game was clearly over, as Sebastian was shuffling the cards, and his friends' previously-stony faces had reverted to normal.

"Who won?" he asked, taking his seat.

"I did," Fenris declared with a twinkle in his eye.

"What? How did you manage that?" exclaimed an overjoyed Hawke. "Our hand was bloody terrible!"

"I…out-bluffed the dwarf," Fenris said quietly, doing his best to look modest, but failing badly. Hawke had to steel himself not to sling an arm around Fenris and plant a smacker on the top of his head, so proud was he.

"Beginner's luck," groused Varric sourly.

"Nonsense," Donnic argued, turning to Fenris. "You, my friend, have the stoniest face I've ever seen, and the wits to go with it. You'll have to come down to the barracks on a Friday night, when we play."

"Oh, no you don't, Hendyr," Hawke asserted. "You've already tried to recruit him. You're not having my lucky elf!" He stopped himself then and shot a nervous glance at Fenris, and was immensely relieved to see that Fenris was laughing.

"You do realise, Elf, that the rule Hawke and I have is that the winner buys the next round?" Varric teased.

"Is this true?" Fenris asked Hawke.

"I'm afraid so," Hawke answered apologetically.

"I do not mind," said Fenris, pushing himself to his feet. "I am a gracious victor." Hawke stood and allowed Fenris to squeeze past him.

"I'll give you a hand," Sebastian offered, also rising, and he walked over to the bar with Fenris. "You must be glad you came in, now, Fenris?"

Fenris leaned against the bar and glanced over at the table, just in time to see Hawke, who'd been watching the elf with a smile on his face, turn away and start talking animatedly to Varric.

"I am glad, yes," he answered with a smile of his own. "Perhaps I will do so more often."

*Brag was a card game that originated in medieval Britain, the rules of which are similar to modern-day poker. I may, however, have taken a few liberties with the rules. ;)