Fenris and Hawke had sat together, staring at the fire in silence, for a long time. So long, in fact, that Hawke had eventually fallen asleep. Whether Fenris had or not, Hawke didn't know. He woke just as the sun was starting to rise; the drapes had been opened and the fire refreshed. Fenris was gone, the blanket he'd had wrapped around his shoulders now draped over Hawke's legs. The tea Hawke had made for them both sat, untouched, on the floor.

Hawke stood up and stretched; he then pulled up his breeches and smoothed down his night shirt. A glance up at Fenris's room revealed that the door was open. Hawke went up the stairs and quickly ascertained that Fenris was not there, although he had been earlier, as his bathtub had been used. Hawke then checked the dining room and the kitchen, still not finding Fenris. Although Hawke knew that Fenris probably had things to do around the mansion, he couldn't help feeling a little concerned. After briefly considering and ultimately rejecting going to search for Fenris, he gathered together the remaining ingredients he'd brought and started to prepare another dose of Fenris's medicine.

As Hawke wrapped the prepared ingredients in muslin ready to be steeped, he heard the creak of a floorboard from above. Fairly certain it was Fenris moving around up there, Hawke wondered what he was up to. After another internal debate, Hawke's curiosity got the better of him, and he left the kitchen, headed up the stairs and walked to where he assumed was above the kitchen.

It didn't take long for Hawke to find Fenris: he followed the sounds of doors being opened and closed, and eventually spotted the elf, who was fully-armoured, stalking along a corridor with his sword drawn. Hawke watched him from a distance for a minute or two, not knowing whether to announce his presence or not. Instead, he cleared his throat softly. Fenris immediately tensed and spun around.

"Sorry, Fenris; I didn't mean to make you jump," said Hawke, staying where he was at the end of the corridor, although he wasn't so far away that he didn't notice Fenris's pallor. "What are you doing?"

"Investigating." Fenris turned his back on Hawke and continued to open and close doors as he went along.

"Do you need a hand?" offered Hawke.

"No."

Hawke took in a deep breath through his nose. Fenris had retreated into his shell; today was not going to be easy, it seemed. "Well, when you've finished, I'm afraid I have another dose of medicine for you. And I need to look at that foot." With a glance at the elf's feet, Hawke noticed that Fenris was wearing his slippers.

"I will be down shortly," said Fenris as he disappeared around a corner.

Nodding, Hawke turned back and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Having prepared the medicine, Hawke took it through to the reception hall, where Fenris sat waiting on the settee. He'd removed his slippers and his sword rested against the wall.

Hawke sat down on the settee and passed the cup to Fenris, who noticed that Hawke held a second cup in his other hand. "Must I take two doses?" asked the elf in a flat and weary monotone.

"Oh, no; this is water, to take the taste away," Hawke told him. In the daylight, Hawke noticed that Fenris's skin had taken on a slightly grey hue and that the elf's hands shook as he held the cup. It was clear to him that Fenris's infection was advanced, and he hoped that the medicine would be sufficient. If not, Hawke would have no choice but to use magic on Fenris, although he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Fenris eyed the cup with suspicion and shot an angry glance at Hawke. "I drank some of this last night, and I feel worse this morning. Does this actually work? What exactly have you put in this?"

Fenris's words cut into Hawke like a knife, but he did his best not to show it, even though he felt heat stir in his blood. "That is the nature of an infection, Fenris; you'll feel worse before you feel better…"

"'Worse before I feel better'? Just what sort of medicine do you practice? Do you actually know what you're doing?"

Hawke stood up, his own anger coiling tightly in his stomach. He took a deep breath, knowing deep down that Fenris's hostility was not directed at him. "Actually, Fenris, I could use magic to treat the infection, but I'm trying alternatives first, as you've told me that magic causes you pain. This treatment does work, but it takes a while, that's all. You have quite a severe infection. Personally, I'd much prefer to treat it with magic, but I didn't think you'd appreciate that."

Fenris fell silent and continued to stare at the cup. Hawke snatched it from the elf's hand and took a gulp of it, pushing it back into Fenris's hands, wincing as he forced the vile concoction down his throat. "There. Convinced I'm not trying to kill you, now?"

Visibly shocked, Fenris looked up at Hawke with wide eyes. "I didn't…I wasn't implying…"

"Just drink it," ordered Hawke, placing the cup of water on the floor. "I'm going to make some tea."

As Hawke left the room, he didn't see Fenris stand up and take a few steps towards him before stopping himself. Hawke, livid with himself for reacting to Fenris's sour mood, wanted to put as much distance between the two of them as possible, feeling a burning need to set something on fire. Both men were angry and upset, that was obvious, but while Fenris seemed to turn his distress inwards, Hawke's manifested itself in a more tangible way, as cutting remarks and the desire to harm something.

He slumped against the counter in the kitchen, feeling furious and guilty and out of control. Fenris and Hawke weren't really angry with each other, but, until they'd discussed what had happened the previous night, they would continue to use each other as verbal and emotional punching bags.

Hawke was now certain that Fenris had called out to him during the night. Last night, when Hawke's mind had been fogged by sleep, he'd been unsure, but now, in the cold light of the morning, Fenris's voice played out in his mind with perfect clarity. It had been Fenris's voice, but as Hawke had never heard it before: there had been a strident, urgent quality to the elf's voice, as though he was in fear of his life or his sanity.

Hawke suspected, though, that if he raised the subject, Fenris would either retreat further into himself or would lash out verbally. Perhaps, though, that was exactly what Fenris needed to do. If Fenris continued to take his anger out on Hawke, though, would Hawke be able to contain his own frustration? His own hurt?

He would have to. This wasn't about Hawke and his ego and bruised feelings.

"Get a bloody grip!" he scolded himself.

Leaving the kettle untouched, he quickly left the kitchen and walked along the corridor leading to the main hall, stopping dead as he spotted Fenris walking toward him with his head down. Hawke noticed that Fenris was limping on his right foot.

"Fenris, I-"

The elf's head jerked up. "Hawke-"

They slowly walked closer to each other, both of their sentences unfinished. They stopped a few feet apart, both looking at the floor.

"Fenris, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I know you didn't imply…that was me being an idiot."

Fenris shook his head sadly. "No…it's not your fault. As usual, I have expressed myself inappropriately…inadequately. I have projected my anger onto you, when you did not deserve it." Fenris's eyes, full of desperation and panic, slowly travelled up to meet Hawke's.

"Fenris…it's…" Hawke took a step closer to the elf, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and pull him close. "I think we need to talk, don't we?" he asked gently.

"What about?" asked Fenris uncertainly.

"About what happened last night."

"But nothing happened last night."

"That's what you're so upset about, isn't it?"

"I am not…" Fenris's eyes fell to Hawke's chest, and his posture slackened.

"Let's just stop pretending, Fenris. Both of us."

Fenris turned away and Hawke followed as the elf made his way back to the reception hall. He watched in concern as Fenris sat upon the settee, but quickly rose again, walking to the windows.

"So, what happened, Fenris?" began Hawke, who stood next to the settee but did not sit. "Did you…have a bad dream?"

A sigh came from the window, but Fenris didn't answer. Hawke took a few steps closer. "I heard you, Fenris. I heard you call my name. That was why I came up to your room."

Hearing a shaky exhalation from the elf, Hawke took a few more steps towards him; he now stood next to the fireplace, not far from the window. From where he stood, he could see that one of Fenris's hands was fisted at his side, and the other clung to the drapes. Hawke knew there would be trouble if he pressed Fenris, but that didn't stop him.

"What did you dream about?"

"I do not wish to talk about this. It is done. Leave it at that."

"You may not want to talk about it, Fenris, but I think you need to."

The drapes moved as they were pulled taut by Fenris, the elf's shoulders rising and falling quickly, the tension in him almost tangible. Slowly, Fenris's head turned toward Hawke; his eyes were no longer filled with uncertainty and pain, but with fury, bright and fierce.

"Do not presume to know what I need, Hawke," the elf growled.

Hawke's stomach flipped, knowing that Fenris was on the edge, but he didn't back down from his questioning.

"Did you dream about Danarius?"

"What?" Fenris released the drapes and turned fully to face Hawke.

"I'm-I'm just assuming, as you wouldn't really remember much else."

"You are overstepping the boundaries of being a 'friend', Hawke," warned Fenris, his voice thick and broken, his posture stiff and tight. "You assume much, yet you know little."

"Then tell me, and I'll know," said Hawke.

"Must I repeat myself? Did you not hear me when I said I did not want to talk about this?"

"I think you're desperate to talk about this."

"Do you?" Fenris's upper lip curled, revealing gritted teeth. "Do you never get tired of knowing what is best for everyone, Hawke? Do you not get tired of always being right, of being the beneficent champion of the downtrodden, the oppressed? Of people like me?"

"And don't you ever get tired of being a martyr, Fenris? Of being a victim?"

"You know nothing!" Fenris yelled, charging forward towards Hawke, almost knocking over an occasional table. "You know nothing of the life I have lived, of the things I've had to do, of-of…" He leaned on the small table, panting heavily, a suggested illumination of his markings imbuing his skin with a blue tint. "You need to leave, Hawke," he urged, his voice softer but with a dangerous edge.

Hawke shook his head. "No."

With alarming speed, the table was hurled through the air, smashing against the far wall. "I said, get out!"

Although Hawke was startled, he knew deep down that Fenris wouldn't hurt him, but he decided he'd pushed Fenris far enough. Putting a little distance between them, he moved over to the settee and took a seat, saying nothing more.

Fenris stared at the ruined table and raised his trembling hands up to his face, the glow of his markings having waned. "Hawke…" He turned to face the mage, who sat quietly on the settee, looking at his own hands which were clasped together in his lap.

Hawke glanced up at Fenris and shook his head. "No more apologies, Fenris. You have nothing to be sorry for."

At a loss for words, Fenris closed his eyes, his arms hanging at his sides. How many more times would Hawke tolerate this behaviour before deciding he'd had enough? Before he deserted him? Although Fenris knew it was inevitable that Hawke would abandon him eventually, still, he couldn't stop himself from testing Hawke at every opportunity. One day, he knew, Hawke would fail one of his tests and would leave, which could only be for the best. Fenris had come to depend on Hawke far too much, and refused to admit to himself how important Hawke had become to him.

Slowly, Fenris walked over to the settee and slumped down next to Hawke. "Hawke…what Danarius did to me…I-I cannot speak of it. I…cannot."

"Why?" asked Hawke softly. "Because you think it was your fault?"

"It was," Fenris answered immediately.

"No, it wasn't," Hawke said angrily.

"I was not strong enough, Hawke. I could have, I should have…resisted, fought against him, but I did not. I…allowed him to…to…"

"Fenris…"

"He intimated that there was a time when I was complicit in…" He shook his head.

"Well, of course he'd say that! He could have told you anything; how would you remember?" Hawke sat up straight, his hands tightly clamped together. "That has nothing to do with it, anyway, Fenris; let's say that was true, at one time. The fact is, there came a time when you didn't want it, and he just continued, regardless. At least, I'm assuming that's how it happened. Is that how it happened?"

"I do not remember ever welcoming his…attention, Hawke, and yet he would seem hurt when I spurned him; I do not understand. If that were true, if I had indeed…consented, then I am no better than him. Sometimes, I feel so confused, so angry, and yet without those feelings, I have nothing. They are the only things that make me feel alive, Hawke; they are all I have."

Hawke, deeply touched that Fenris was finally opening up to him, kept his own wrath firmly in check and glanced beside him, where Fenris sat. Unclasping his hands, he reached over and gently took one of the elf's hands in his. Fenris started slightly, but otherwise didn't move, keeping his gaze fixed firmly ahead.

"They're not all you have, Fenris."

He knew he'd done it now; he'd shown his feelings. He and Fenris had shook hands before, but this was different. Male 'friends' didn't hold hands. He waited for Fenris's hand to be snatched away; he waited for what seemed like ages, but Fenris's hand remained where it was, not gripping Hawke's hand, but not pushing it away, either.

Hawke eventually released Fenris's hand and stood up, pushing his hands through his hair with a sigh. "Well, Fenris; let's take a look at that foot of yours. I noticed you were limping."

He heard the quiet clearing of Fenris's throat, and turned around. Fenris had sat up straight and held his right foot up. Hawke got down on one knee and supported Fenris's ankle with one hand, resting Fenris's foot on his knee.

"Oh," Hawke mumbled as he examined the elf's foot.

"Oh?"

A large, pus-filled lump had appeared in the crack on Fenris's heel. "This will need to be incised and drained," he told the elf. "I'd feel a lot better if Anders did this. I've never had to do it before."

"But…you know what must be done?" asked Fenris.

"Yes, but…"

"Then I would have you do it, Hawke."

"All right." Hawke placed Fenris's foot back on the floor and stood up. "I'd better warn you, the procedure will be quite painful without magic, but you should see a huge improvement once it's been drained."

"I understand," Fenris said with a solemn nod.

"I need to go and see Anders, anyway; I'm out of a few ingredients for your next batch of medicine. If he's not at the clinic, I'll have to go over to The Gallows and see Sol instead, so I may be gone for a while. Oh, and Varric and I have to meet Javaris Tintop; he said he'd wait for us at the Qunari compound. I need to speak to Varric anyway," he muttered quietly.

"I will go with you," Fenris said, pushing himself up, stopped by Hawke's outstretched palm.

"No; you need to rest. I'll make you something to eat, and then I'll go."

"I cannot just sit here and do nothing," Fenris protested.

"That is exactly what you have to do," Hawke said sternly, and Fenris sat back on the settee. "And no training while I'm gone. Promise me."

"Very well, Hawke," Fenris said with a groan. "I will remain here and do nothing."

"See that you do," said Hawke with a small smile. "I'll be back shortly."

When Hawke returned with a pot of tea, a plate of toast and a bowl of porridge, Fenris was still on the settee and had elevated his right leg on a foot stool.

"Is it throbbing?" Hawke asked, setting the tray down on the floor.

Fenris shrugged, reluctant to admit he was in pain.

Hawke walked over to the far wall, gathered the pieces of the small table that Fenris had broken, and threw them onto the fire.

"You enjoy this, don't you?" Fenris asked him.

"Enjoy what?"

"Looking after people. You are very good at it, Hawke."

Warmth tickled Hawke's stomach, and he bowed to the elf. "Thank you." He cleared his throat and walked over to the door. "I'll be off, now. Erm…Fenris, I need to ask you something. Just tell me this one thing, and I'll never mention it again. Unless you want to talk about it, that is."

"What?" Fenris asked with a frown.

"I need to know…what does Danarius look like?"

Fenris's frown deepened into a scowl. "Why?"

"I need to know what he looks like if we're to find him, Fenris."

"You are…serious about this, then?"

"Deadly serious."

Fenris's scowl faded, replaced with a look of uncertainty, and he toyed with his hands. "He is…a little over six feet tall, of medium build, with long, grey hair which he wears in a ponytail. He has a beard, which is also grey, but no moustache. I do not know his age, but he is perhaps in his sixties. Pale blue eyes."

"Thank you, Fenris. I'll see you later." He turned and opened the door.

"Hawke…for how long will you be gone?" asked Fenris, looking up.

"Hopefully I'll be back by lunchtime, as you need your next dose of medicine then, and I have to sort out that foot of yours. I'll be as quick as I can," he promised, and Fenris nodded. "Make sure you lock up after me."

~o~O~o~

The lantern outside the clinic was lit, and Hawke entered, but there was no sign of Anders within. He walked over to the far end of the clinic and called for Anders through the door. After a few minutes, Anders emerged, clutching some papers.

"Hawke…I didn't expect to see you, today. Everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm sorry to disturb you, Anders." He glanced at the stack of paper that Anders held. "Busy?"

Anders placed the papers down on the ground and handed one to Hawke. "Tell me what you think of this, Hawke."

"What is it?"

"Just read it."

Hawke began to read. It was a list of actions that needed to be taken to secure the freedom of mages throughout Kirkwall and Thedas. Hawke skimmed over it and went to hand it back, but Anders told him to keep it.

"You're getting pretty involved with the underground movement then, Anders?"

"Of course I am, Hawke; somebody has to, don't they?"

Hawke wondered for a moment if that was an accusation; Anders had asked Hawke many times to assist him with helping apostates, but so far Hawke had resisted, knowing that he couldn't give his family a better life if he was locked up in The Gallows.

"Good for you, Anders," he said dispassionately.

Taking the hint, Anders nodded and folded his arms. "Something you wanted me for, Hawke?"

"Actually, yes; I'm out of a few ingredients for Fenris's medicine and was wondering if I could borrow some? I'll replace them."

"Oh…not a social call, then?" Anders asked with that undertone that Hawke had heard before.

"Look, Anders, if you don't want to give them to me, I'll go to The Gallows. No skin off my nose."

"No…no, it's all right," Anders replied, a little taken aback. "What do you need?"

"A pinch of powdered silver, if you have any, and some concentrated elfroot."

Anders nodded. "Yes, I think I can stretch to that."

"I'll pay you for the silver; I know it's expensive," said Hawke.

"No need." With a sigh, Anders went down the stairs leading to his private room, appearing again a short time later with a small phial and a larger one, which he handed over to Hawke.

"Thanks," Hawke said, and he eyed Anders for a moment, waiting for him to say something.

"What's the matter, Hawke? Did you want something else?"

"Aren't you going to ask how Fenris is?"

Anders's eyes hardened and his jaw clenched. "And why would I do that, Hawke?"

"Well, because he's ill. It's obvious that you don't care, as you disappeared pretty quickly last night, but I thought you might at least pretend."

"Fuck, Hawke!" Anders turned away and clasped his hands together behind his neck before he turned back. "Do you want to know where caring got me? You may not be aware of this, as you were unconscious due to having been stupid enough to overdose on lyrium, but I tried several times to help your friend. He made it very clear to me that he didn't want me anywhere near him, so don't come in here accusing me of not caring, Hawke!"

"You know he doesn't like being touched, Anders…"

"He doesn't mind you touching him, though, does he?" snapped Anders.

"That's because I've made an effort to get to know him."

"No! I have tried, and I've had enough! I tried to treat him last night and I protected him while he was fighting, and then he told me to keep my filthy hands off him!"

"You used magic on him? That's probably why he was angry with you, then," said Hawke. "Magic causes him pain. His master used it as a means of control."

"And how was I supposed to know that?" Anders exclaimed, and then his eyes narrowed a little. "Wait…are you sure about this, Hawke? He could just be telling you that, you know; it doesn't sound very plausible, does it?"

Hawke folded his arms, his own expression hardening.

"Well, you seem ready to believe everything he tells you," Anders went on. "Shouldn't you just step back for a minute and think? It would be a perfect excuse for a mage not to touch him, wouldn't it?"

"I have touched him," Hawke replied, knowing full well that his answer would provoke Anders. "Several times, in fact."

"Hawke…" Anders pushed back a few errant strands of his hair and folded his arms again. "Don't you think…what are you getting out of this? From where I'm standing, you're doing everything for him. He just seems to be taking from you without giving anything back. What's he doing for you?"

"Is that what friendship means to you, Anders? Feeling obligated to return a favour someone does for you? That's not friendship: that's business."

"You know that's not how I feel, Hawke. You and I…well, I think we're still friends. I just never see you anymore."

"Hang on," Hawke argued. "You're the one who told me you were so busy at the clinic! I told you to let me know if you needed any help, but I haven't heard from you! Don't try and put all the blame on me!"

"And why do you think that is, Hawke? Every time I see you, you're with him!"

"What?"

"I know when I'm not wanted, Hawke!"

"This is ridiculous!" Hawke fumed. "Can you hear yourself? I'm not as if you and I are lovers, is it? If I were, maybe your reaction would be understandable! You need to accept that I'm friends with Fenris. It pains me that you don't get on, really it does, but there's nothing I can do about it, is there?"

"I'm wasting my time, aren't I?" Anders said in exasperation. "Can't you see he's using you? He despises everything you are, but you're useful to him. He knows I can see him for what he is, so he's latched on to you. If you can't see that, then I guess there's nothing I can do about that, is there?"

"You're right, Anders," Hawke said with a nod, reaching into his pocket. "You are wasting your time." He grabbed Anders's hand and pressed a few coins into his palm. "That's for the silver."

"I don't want any money, Hawke!" Anders objected as Hawke walked out of the clinic.

"Use it to buy supplies," Hawke called back.

Anders watched him leave and covered his face with his hands, before kicking a nearby crate in frustration and stomping down to his private room, slamming his door.

~o~O~o~

Hawke almost sent the door of the Hanged Man flying off its hinges as he entered and made a beeline for the bar. "Whiskey," he barked at Corff. "And don't water it down, either."

Seeing that Hawke was in no mood for banter, Corff quickly served him and discreetly sent one of the barmaids to go and knock on Varric's door. Although Corff knew and respected Hawke, he didn't want any trouble.

Not long after Hawke had sat down, Varric joined him and shook his hand as he sat down. "Didn't expect to see you here this early, Hawke," he said, his eyes wandering down to Hawke's empty tumbler. Raising his arm in the air to attract the barmaid's attention, he called for two more measures.

"How's the elf, Hawke?" enquired Varric, and Hawke snorted at the fact it had been the first thing Varric had thought of, a far cry from Anders.

"He's not brilliant, but I think I can help him," answered Hawke. "I'll tell him you asked about him. I've just been to the clinic to get a few more ingredients for his medicine. He hates it," he said with a grin.

"Poor sod," chuckled Varric. "And how's Blondie?"

Hawke's eyes dropped to the table and he shrugged. Without having to ask, Varric could see the source of Hawke's tension.

Their drinks were brought over, and they toasted each other before knocking them back. "So, ready to go to the compound, Hawke?" asked Varric. "Or do you have other stuff to do, first?"

"No, I'm ready when you are, Varric," Hawke answered, staring into his glass thoughtfully. "I do want to talk to you about something first, though."

"Sure, Hawke; what is it?"

Hawke put his glass down and sat up straight. "You know a lot of people, don't you, Varric? Here and further afield?"

"I do," answered Varric. "What do you need?"

"I want Fenris's master found. I want to know exactly where he is, and what he's up to."

The usually-unflappable dwarf raised his eyebrows in surprise and leaned forward. "That's no small thing you're asking, Hawke; these Tevinter mages are usually very heavily guarded, you know; wasn't the elf his bodyguard? If he has any more like him, we won't be able to get near him."

"I don't want anyone going after him, Varric; I just want to know where he is, where his lackeys are, if he's planning on sending anyone after Fenris, that sort of thing. Anything would be helpful, Varric. If you need bribe money or anything, let me know."

"That won't be necessary, Hawke. A lot of people owe me. Does the elf know you're doing this?"

Hawke nodded.

Varric exhaled and rested his head on his hand. After a few moments of thought, he nodded his head. "I think I know just the person," he mused. "Leave it with me. Just be aware this may take some time, Hawke; this…Darius? Could be anywhere."

Hawke reached over the table and shook Varric's hand again. "Danarius." He passed Varric a piece of paper. "That's his name and a physical description. He hails from Minrathous, but, like you said, he could be anywhere."

Varric read the note, nodded and slipped it into his pocket. "It's a start, Hawke." He stood up. "I'll put this somewhere safe in my room. Your round."

"Varric, if you manage to locate Danarius, I'll buy every round for the next year," he promised.

"I want that in writing," Varric chuckled as he left the table.

"You'll have it," said Hawke, his smile disappearing as his friend left the lounge.