Anders stomped down the stone steps leading to his small private room where he sat on his hard wooden bunk, head in hands. He knew he'd angered Hawke, perhaps irreparably damaging their friendship, but he was equally irate that Hawke couldn't see Fenris for what he really was: a brutal, capricious killer who also happened to despise mages. Instead, Hawke seemed to be going out of his way to accommodate Fenris, and, Anders suspected, had started to develop feelings for him. Had Hawke taken leave of his senses? Had he forgotten that he was a blood mage?

Anders squeezed his eyes closed and imagined the moment when Fenris would inevitably discover Hawke's secret, and pictured the elf's fist driving through Hawke's flesh and crushing his heart.

"I will not allow that to happen, Anders."

"How could you possibly stop it?"

"The elf always stands at my side during battle. I have encouraged him to do so, and he complies because he distrusts me. We can use that to our advantage. I will observe him as he observes me. I will not permit him to slay Hawke."

"But I don't understand, Justice. You have no more love for blood mages than I do."

"Hawke has renounced his powers and his connection with the demon he treated with. I have watched them in the Fade; he bitterly regrets their deal and will have no part of her."

"You've watched them? Can you interact with them at all?"

"I could, if I so wished, but I do not."

Anders sat up straight and frowned.

"I know what is in your mind, Anders, but it is inconceivable. Hawke chose to deal with a demon and it would be unrighteous to slay it without just cause."

"But you could slay it if you wanted to?"

"I could, but there is no reason for me to do so. Only when a demon attempts to beguile or harm an innocent will I intervene. If a deal has already been brokered, it is not my place to interfere."

"Do you know what the deal was?"

"I do not."

"Could you find out?"

"That is not my affair. Why do you not ask Hawke?"

"Oh, come on, Justice. He wouldn't tell me the time of day at the moment, would he?"

"Anders, you must make things right with Hawke. We have few enough allies as it is; it is imperative you do not allow yourself to become disjunct from those who will aid our cause. Hawke has already made a name for himself within your realm and I believe that one day he will rise to a powerful and important position. Would you have one so eminent as your foe?"

"No, I suppose not. I just…when I see him with that elf…"

"Trivialities, Anders. Let him have his fun with the elf. I will remain vigilant. Hawke will not be harmed. On that, you have my word."

Anders sighed and the image of Hawke and Fenris in an embrace flashed through his mind.

"Have a care, Anders. I suspect there is more to your dislike of the elf than the concern of a friend. Your heart must be hard and your resolve unbreakable, your temperance irrefutable. The road before us is long; do not lengthen it further still. You must put these thoughts aside."

"I'm sorry, Justice. I know you're right; it's just…well, I'm-I'm lonely. Sometimes…"

"The path we have chosen is a lonely one, Anders, but I concede that mortals have urges that demand to be sated. Fornicate if you must, but I impel you to sever all emotional ties. You agreed to this, Anders, when we resided in Amaranthine. Do not waver now."

"Sever all emotional ties? Like I did with those at the Keep? With Nate? Oghren? They were my friends, Justice. It wasn't easy to leave them."

"We discussed this. You agreed to leave Vigil's Keep, never to return. You have known Hawke for much less time than you did the Grey Wardens."

"Yes, I know. It should be easier, right?" Anders stood up and paced back and forth. "When I escaped from the Tower, I missed my friends, but I knew it had to be done. When I left the Keep, I missed everyone there; I still do. I know what we have to do, Justice, but I've never been any good on my own. I need a friend, I need a…companion."

"I am here. You are also surrounded by the people of Darktown."

"I don't expect you to understand this, Justice, but it's possible to be surrounded by people and still feel lonely. None of those people are really my friends. It makes me feel good to help them, but sometimes they take me for granted."

"They are all potential allies, Anders. When the denizens of this realm are forced to choose sides, there are many who will rally behind you."

"That's not why I do it, Justice!"

"Reasons are of little import. I understand that you feel a need to help others, and I would do nothing to hinder that. What you must start considering, Anders, is how the ones you aid can also aid you. It is only just that you are fairly requited for your efforts."

Anders sat back down and released his breath in a short burst. "I wish I could see things in black and white as you do, Justice."

"Do not despair, Anders; clarity of thought will come, in time. Now, go to the surface and find a vessel with which you can satiate your base appetites. Find Hawke and make amends. You will feel better for it."

"A vessel?" Anders chuckled in spite of the way he felt. "You still make me laugh, Justice, even after all this time."

"How so? I do not understand what you find so amusing."

"Never mind. Come on, then. Let's go and find that vessel."

~o~O~o~

As soon as the door closed behind Hawke, Fenris padded over and locked it, as Hawke had told him to. He then paused, his hand still resting on the key in the lock.

As Hawke had told him to.

With a deep frown, he walked over to the settee and sat down, just catching sight of Hawke through the window as he left the grounds of the mansion. Fenris's gaze fell to the floor as he recalled his and Hawke's first meeting and how things had changed between them since then. If Hawke had told him to do something only a few weeks earlier, Fenris would no doubt have reacted fiercely. Now, though, he did as he was told without a thought. Since when had he allowed himself to take directions – orders – from a mage? Hawke, though, was unlike any mage he'd ever encountered; in fact, Fenris was forced to admit, there were times when he forgot that Hawke was a mage at all.

The abomination, Anders, wore his status as a mage like a badge: with almost every sentence he uttered, Anders reminded everyone of his status and the struggles and inequalities that came with that status. Even when the abomination was silent, he exuded an aura of arcane power.

There was something about Anders that made Fenris uneasy; something unwholesome, degenerate. He had observed, on occasion, that when Anders had smiled, his expression had twisted into a forced grimace when the mage believed no one else was looking. Where Anders's friends heard the warmth and mirth in Anders's voice, Fenris heard only the barely-perceptible hard and jagged edge.

Fenris had seen the wickedness and corruption of mages first-hand, and he recognised these latent qualities in Anders; they had not yet fully emerged, but Fenris knew a day would come when Anders's jovial and caring façade would no longer be able to contain them, and Fenris was resolved to protect his new friends when that day came.

Hawke was one of those friends, and the one he had become closest to. Although Fenris had at first suspected Hawke of having a sinister agenda, he no longer felt that way; Hawke's unremitting generosity and patience had finally convinced Fenris that not all mages were inherently evil. Hawke elicited in Fenris none of the feelings that Anders did; in fact, Hawke inspired feelings of a different kind entirely, although as Fenris had no experience of those feelings, he couldn't quite make sense of them.

Fenris had not allowed anyone to physically touch him since he had fled Minrathous, not even the Fog Warriors. As Qunari, physical contact was unimportant, even unwelcome, to them anyway, so it had never been an issue. To humans, however, making a connection to someone in that way was important; vital, even. Hawke shook the hand of everyone he met, kissed his sister and mother on the cheek, ruffled the hair of the children of Lowtown who begged him for a silver, before slipping them two. He was a man who gave freely without asking for anything in return; indeed, Fenris knew he could never repay Hawke for everything he'd done for him, but he also knew that Hawke neither expected nor required any such recompense.

When Hawke had clasped his hand, for the briefest moment, his old fear had returned, but had quickly faded. Fenris was, despite his best efforts not to show it, in a weakened state. If Hawke did have unsavoury intentions toward him, Hawke could easily have overpowered him. Hawke knew that magic harmed and incapacitated Fenris, and yet had gone to great lengths to avoid using magic on him when treating his foot. Hawke had pressed him firmly to talk about his dream, but had known exactly when to stop.

Then, in a seemingly simple gesture, Hawke had held his hand. He had not forced his proximity upon Fenris: he'd kept his distance, but had still initiated physical contact. The holding of hands, though, was something that Fenris knew was not a common practice in the Free Marches between friends, particularly male friends. There had been more than simple friendship and comfort in that gesture; in fact, Fenris had suspected for some time that Hawke wanted more than friendship from him. Fenris was a very observant man who watched people constantly, and, on occasion, he'd caught Hawke's eyes lingering on him for just a moment too long, and had noticed the light in them when Fenris had made him laugh, as well as the hurt when Fenris had lashed out at him.

Hawke had had ample opportunities to take advantage of him, to make his dreams of Danarius's abuses once again a reality, and, when Fenris had first suspected Hawke's feelings, that fear had been very real to him. Now, though, he no longer felt afraid of Hawke, nor did he fear his touch. When Hawke had taken his hand, Fenris had flinched for a second because never before, in his memory, had he been touched in such an intimate way. Danarius's touches had always been in far more personal and private places, and yet there had been no feeling of intimacy in them.

When Hawke made no further attempts at touching him, however, he'd relaxed a little and had wanted so much to squeeze Hawke's hand, to sanction his touch, but there had only been one reason to do that – to put Hawke at ease – and so many reasons not to.

Even if Fenris was capable of returning Hawke's feelings, the thought of which caused panic and confusion to rise in his gullet like bile, Fenris knew that he was completely unsuitable for someone like Hawke, and would only cause him pain, or worse. Fenris was broken and damaged, and, thanks to Danarius, disgraced and sullied. Hawke had given him so much, and, as much as Fenris wanted to return Hawke's kindness, he felt he had nothing to give; he was empty and devoid of feeling anything other than hatred and bitterness, and driven by nothing but his need for retribution.

Hawke was full of life, laughter and love, and even if Fenris was capable of ever returning any of the feelings he suspected Hawke had for him, Hawke deserved better. Fenris knew that he should continue to push Hawke away, but he could no longer stand to see the hurt in Hawke's eyes when he did so. Fenris had startled even himself when he'd thrown the table against the wall; an action born out of his own frustration and confusion, and one last attempt to drive Hawke away, but Hawke had not taken the bait, and somehow, Fenris had known that he wouldn't.

And now, Hawke planned to hunt Danarius down before he found Fenris, something that Fenris found both comforting and unnerving. He had not been surprised at Hawke's desire to protect his friends, but the thought of Danarius being actively sought, and perhaps eventually lured into a trap – if he could even be found – made Fenris's insides turn to liquid. What would happen if and when he came face-to-face with his former master? What would the consequences be to Hawke?

Walking over to the window, Fenris sat on the window sill and gazed outwards, allowing his attention to wander. His eyes closed as the memory came to him of the Fog Warriors, who lay bleeding and dying at his feet, their eyes full of admiration and respect for their former friend-turned-killer. Stoic and dignified to the end.

He then forced himself to picture Hawke alongside them, but the Hawke in his mind was not as accepting of his fate as the Qunari had been. He thrashed around in agony, blood pumping out of the gaping wound in his belly, and screamed at Fenris to end his suffering, his own eyes full of horror, confusion, hurt and so many questions that he was unable to give voice to.

Why, Fenris?

Fenris rubbed his eyes and blinked, willing the image to disappear, but it was still there even when he opened his eyes. Now that he had seen it, it would never leave him.

Could he really do that to Hawke, even if Danarius commanded him to?

Fenris didn't know what the future would bring, but it was thanks to Hawke's efforts that he even had a chance of a future. Whatever it took, he would protect Hawke, even at the cost of his own life. He would fully co-operate with Hawke and would do whatever he suggested.

Whatever Hawke told him to do.

~o~O~o~

After Hawke and Varric had visited the Qunari compound, and, after Hawke had picked his jaw up from the ground long enough to actually speak to the fearsome Arishok, the two friends left the compound ten sovereigns richer, thanks to the Qunari leader, who had commanded the slippery Tintop to pay them if he wanted to leave with his head attached to his body.

"Well, Hawke," said Varric gleefully as he received his cut. "After this is shared out, we'll only be about ten sovs away from what we need for the expedition. I tell you, I've been having wet dreams over the look on Bartrand's face when we take the money to him."

Hawke pulled a disgusted face and sidestepped away from the dwarf. "That's a mental image I could have done without, thank you very much."

Varric chuckled and pocketed his money. "You coming for a drink?"

"Just a quick one, then. I need to get back to Fenris; he'll be dying to take his medicine," Hawke answered wryly.

"Well, tell him I said hello," Varric said. "You going to join the game tonight, or will you be too busy playing nursemaid?"

"I'm not sure, Varric; I need to perform a procedure on Fenris's foot when I get back, and I think I'd prefer to keep an eye on him." Hawke paused and stroked his beard, thinking. "We could have the game at the mansion, actually; what do you think?"

"Would the elf agree to that?" asked Varric.

"I think he's really restless," Hawke answered. "He can't train, and, when I've finished with his foot, he won't be able to walk much for the rest of the day. It might be nice for him to look at an ugly mug other than my own."

Varric nodded. "Sure, Hawke; if I see that Donnic guy around, I'll invite him, too."

"Great, and I'll ask Sebastian if he wants to join in as well," added Hawke.

"Does that mean we'll have to play for fun again?" groused Varric.

"I would have thought you'd be relieved to be playing for fun, after Fenris completely humiliated you the last time."

"Mage, I told you, that was beginner's luck!"

"He held his own against the men at the barracks, as well," Hawke said with pride in his voice. "I think you should be very scared."

"Let's hope your 'lucky' elf can back up your cockiness, Hawke," said Varric with a sly look. "How about Blondie? You going to invite him?" he asked casually.

It was a loaded question, and Hawke knew it. "I think he's busy at the clinic," he answered shiftily.

From the corner of his eye, Hawke could see that Varric was watching him. They walked on in silence through Lowtown for a few minutes before Varric spoke again. "Tell me to mind my own business if you like, Hawke, but what's the deal with you and Blondie? The two of you used to be good friends, but lately…I dunno."

Hawke came to a halt and sighed. "I don't know what the 'deal' is with Anders, and that's exactly what the problem is," said Hawke. "It's almost like there are two sides to him. On one hand, he's a very caring man who sacrifices all of his spare time to heal people for free, and yet on the other, there's a very narrow-minded, petty side to him as well. He also has quite a ruthless streak; you weren't there at the time, Varric, but he was perfectly willing to murder an innocent templar in order to free those blood mages at the coast. I think it was at that point I started to wonder about him. I just don't know what to make of him anymore."

"You think Justice could be influencing him?" Varric guessed.

Hawke shrugged. "From what I've seen of Justice, he's a pretty decent and moral spirit. Yes, he's narrow-minded and inflexible in a way, but there's no way he would have condoned murdering an innocent man; that was all Anders, from what I could tell. How can someone who has dedicated his life to healing the sick have such disregard for the life of someone who happens to be at odds with his beliefs? I know he had some bad experiences with templars when he lived in Ferelden, but…" He sighed and shook his head. "There's something about him that just doesn't add up. I can't put my finger on it." Hawke then remembered the time he'd observed Anders talking to himself during their visit to The Gallows, but decided not to share that with Varric.

"Do you think he'll still go into the Deep Roads with us?" asked Varric.

"I think so; at least, I hope so," Hawke said distractedly with another sigh. "We do need him. I guess I'll try and be a bit nicer to him, eh?"

"You worried about him, Hawke?" Varric asked astutely as they walked on.

Hawke glanced sideways at Varric and nodded slowly. "I am. He's been so serious lately, and he's spending a lot of time on his own. I'd love to invite him to the game, but he and Fenris together would just be asking for trouble."

"Maybe they need to get rat-faced together, break the ice?" Varric began, but Hawke laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head.

"No; they hate each other. Well, actually, Fenris doesn't trust him and Anders is resentful of that. I just wish I could make them see how much they have in common; they've both been victims of an oppressive regime, and have both sacrificed a great deal for their freedom. If only the two of them could put their heads together, they could accomplish so much…as things stand, though, I'd be worried about them being together in the same room."

Varric nodded and again glanced up at Hawke. "That's a real shame, Hawke, but don't get expending too much energy worrying over it. They're both grown men, and if they don't get on, they don't get on. You have enough on your plate as is it. You need to do what you've gotta do, and let them do the same. Nothing you can do to change it."

"You're very wise for a dwarf, you know," Hawke said with a half-smile.

"Don't let it get around, whatever you do," Varric mumbled out of the side of his mouth as they reached the Hanged Man. "When you've had your drink, I'll start putting the feelers out on this Danarius asshole."

Hawke reached for Varric's hand and shook it, slapping the dwarf's shoulder with his other hand. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Varric. I'll make it up to you somehow."

"Just make my wet dreams a reality, Hawke; that's all I ask."

Varric laughed as Hawke hastily released his hand. "You make me sick," Hawke muttered, and entered the Hanged Man, shaking his head, also laughing.

After a quick drink and a further talk about Danarius, Varric arranged a time to call at the mansion, on condition that Fenris agreed; Hawke promised to let Varric know if there was any change to their plans. Hawke rose to leave, but was quickly stopped by Varric, who grabbed his arm and pushed him back into his seat.

"What's the matter?" asked Hawke.

Varric nodded toward the back of the pub, where Isabela had a man, just out of their sight, pinned against a wall, nuzzling his neck.

"Am I meant to be surprised?" Hawke asked with a shake of his head.

"Take a closer look, Hawke," Varric said quietly.

Hawke craned his neck as Isabela threw her head back and laughed flirtatiously, and she and her male companion emerged into the main lounge of the pub, adjusting their clothes.

Immediately, Hawke's face turned to stone. "You must be joking."

"Maker, woman, what have you done to my back?" joked Isabela's temporary consort.

"You're a healer, aren't you? So heal yourself," she drawled, throwing a wink at Varric and Hawke as she sauntered past them towards the exit.

Anders's eyes darted over to the two friends sat at the table, and his fleeting look of apprehension was quickly replaced with a self-satisfied grin. "What are you having, fellas?" he offered, approaching the bar.

"Nothing. I'm just leaving," Hawke said standoffishly, rising from his seat.

"Come on, Hawke, just the one, to show there are no hard feelings, eh?" Anders cajoled as Varric also rose, sensing that trouble was imminent.

Hawke stopped dead in front of Anders and fixed him with an icy glare. "What are you doing, Anders?"

"What am I doing? Having fun, that's what. Is something wrong, Hawke? Something you want to say?"

Hawke folded his arms and remained silent as Varric positioned himself between the two mages, smoothing down several strands of hair that had lifted away from his head. "That's a great idea, Blondie. Let's all have a drink. I'm buying."

"You knew we'd be here," Hawke continued, not taking his eyes off Anders. "Are you expecting me to tell you that Isabela isn't good enough for you? So you can then call me a hypocrite for not heeding your advice about Fenris? Is that what your game is?"

"My game?" Anders spluttered. "I don't have a game, Hawke; as I just said, I was looking for a bit of fun. You never seem to want to go out anywhere lately, like we used to, so I guess I have to make my own entertainment, don't I?"

"You fucked Isabela to make a point, Anders? Why didn't you just ask me if I wanted to go out?"

"Well, do you? Come on, Hawke; we'll have a night at the Rose, like we used to. Remember the last time?" Anders laughed at the memory. "We had a lot of fun, didn't we? Angus has been asking where you are, you know."

Hawke's head fell back and he huffed. "No, not the Rose. I don't really feel like it."

"Well, here, then," Anders suggested, his smile leaving his eyes but staying on his lips. "How about tonight? Let's get pissed and forget all this silliness. What do you say?"

Varric's eyes flitted between the two men as a brief moment of silence took the conversation, and, feeling the hair on his arms stand on end, he noticed the line of Hawke's mouth harden.

"You know I can't go out tonight, Anders; I'm looking after Fenris."

"Tomorrow, then!" Varric exclaimed with false cheer, clapping his hands together, and Hawke was relieved that Varric made no mention of the card game they had planned that evening. "The elf should be on the mend by then, huh, Hawke?"

"He should, but we'll have to see. I'm sure I can pop in for an hour or two, though," replied Hawke with a sigh, suddenly unsure of himself. Had he misjudged Anders? Why had he been so quick to accuse Anders of point-scoring?

"That's settled, then," Varric declared with some relief, eager to separate the two mages as the air inside the Hanged Man had become muggy and saturated with static, the same sensation that heralded a thunderstorm. "You go and see to the elf," he instructed a now-quiet and uncertain Hawke. "Blondie, as I said, I'm buying."

Without looking at Anders, Hawke nodded at Varric, silently communicating that he would see him later, and left the pub without another word.

~o~O~o~

Hawke had to wait for several minutes before the door to the mansion was opened.

"My apologies, Hawke," said Fenris, waving his hand to invite Hawke inside. "I was in the kitchen, and did not hear you at first."

Hawke entered, and, as Fenris closed the door, he sniffed at the air. "What are you cooking?"

"A leg of lamb. I have sealed it, as you showed me."

Hawke looked at Fenris sternly. "You didn't have any lamb before. Have you been out? I thought I told you to rest?"

"You told me not to train, Hawke," Fenris explained with a wide-eyed look. "You did not forbid me to leave the mansion."

"Fenris…did you just make puppy eyes at me?"

A lilting smile brightened the elf's pale face. "Elves do not make puppy eyes."

"Oh, really?" laughed Hawke. "You could have fooled me. Look, I'm not telling you what to do or anything, but you really should be resting."

"I had to do something, Hawke," Fenris protested. "I am not used to inactivity."

"Well, I'm an expert at it," quipped Hawke, taking a small knife and a bundle of rags out of his pack. "When I've seen to your foot, you're going to rest, even if I have to tie you to the settee. I need to sterilise these," he said, heading towards the kitchen.

"I will go with you," said Fenris, following close behind. "I should prepare the vegetables."

"I can do that," Hawke began.

"Let me do something," Fenris argued. "You are already doing so much for me. Just…let me do one thing for you."

Still facing away from Fenris as he walked to the kitchen, Hawke smiled and felt warmth flood through him. "Oh, all right, then. Anything to avoid the puppy eyes again. I don't think I could stand it."

"As I told you, Hawke…"

"Yes, I know. Elves don't make puppy eyes. My arse," he muttered.

Laughing, they entered the kitchen, where Fenris checked on the meat and began to chop vegetables. Hawke put a large pan of water on to boil, into which he dropped the knife and the small bundle of rags. They conversed pleasantly, and Hawke mentioned the card game, making it clear that if Fenris did not feel up to it, Hawke would call it off. Fenris, however, liked the idea and readily agreed.

It wasn't until Fenris enquired if Hawke had seen Anders, or instead had needed to travel to the Gallows for his ingredients, that the conversation lulled. It did not escape Fenris's attention that at the mention of Anders, Hawke made a very brief reply and then changed the subject, telling Fenris that he'd stopped by at the chantry and invited Sebastian to join them later.

The tone of the conversation changed after that. Although still polite and pleasant with each other, there was no more banter, no more teasing between the two men. Fenris watched Hawke carefully and discreetly, determining that he was distracted at the very least, if not outright troubled.

Having boiled the rags and knife for a short time, Hawke was satisfied that they were sufficiently sterilised and placed the pan in the sink, fishing them out with some tongs that had also been boiled. He then added some cold water to the pan and washed his hands thoroughly in it before squeezing the excess moisture out of the rags.

"I'm going to hang these over the fire to dry," he told Fenris. "It shouldn't take long. Are you ready?"

With a nod, Fenris followed Hawke out of the kitchen, his curiosity burning brightly, and he wanted to ask Hawke what was troubling him, but by the time they reached the reception hall, Hawke was all business.

"Sit at the far end of the settee, please, Fenris. I need you to be able to put your right leg up on it," he said, walking over to the fire, where he draped the damp rags over the mantelpiece.

Fenris complied, and Hawke then walked over to the settee, sitting at the opposite end, where he placed a clean cloth over his thigh and removed several small bottles from his pack.

"Would you put your right leg on this cloth, please?" Hawke asked, and Fenris raised his leg, allowing Hawke to help a little.

Hawke took up the small knife in his right hand and held Fenris's foot with his other hand. "I'm going to cut into your heel," he explained to the elf. "That shouldn't hurt too much; in fact, you should feel an immediate easing of the pressure you must feel in your heel. I'm afraid it will be painful, though, when I clean it afterwards. I'll be as gentle as I can, I promise."

"I know you will, Hawke. Please proceed."

"Here goes, then." Hawke took a deep breath and carefully sliced into the large yellow lump that had formed on the elf's heel. He then set the knife down and gently squeezed and massaged around the incision. Fenris winced slightly.

"Sorry, Fenris. I have to make sure all of the pus is out."

"It is fine, Hawke. You were correct: I can feel the pressure easing already. I am very grateful for this."

Hawke smiled thinly and dabbed at Fenris's foot with the cloth as he continued to squeeze his heel. Fenris watched him as he worked and did not interrupt him as he concentrated, but when Hawke reached for one of his bottles, Fenris broke the silence.

"Hawke…you appear to be unusually pensive. Is something troubling you?" he asked.

Hawke glanced up briefly before turning his attention back to Fenris's heel. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

"I did not think you rude, Hawke; I merely noticed that you have been rather quiet since your return."

Sighing softly, Hawke coated a clean corner of the cloth with the contents of one of the small bottles. "Just a few things on my mind, that's all. Nothing important."

Fenris considered dropping the subject for a moment, feeling that Hawke's business was his own, but his concern got the better of him. "I would not consider the fact you are perturbed to be unimportant, Hawke. If you wish, you may discuss it with me. If, that is, you are prepared to share it with another. Perhaps it will ease your mind?"

Hawke smiled genuinely this time. "I doubt you'd be interested, Fenris; it's to do with Anders. But I think you've already guessed that. Hold still for a moment; I'm going to clean the wound. This is going to hurt. I'm sorry."

"I understand," said Fenris. As Hawke pressed the elfroot-saturated cloth against the wound, Fenris grimaced but bore the pain well.

"Nearly done, Fenris. I just want to clean it again, to be on the safe side."

While Hawke folded the cloth and again coated a clean part of it with elfroot extract, Fenris pushed himself up a little.

"Anders does not approve of our friendship, does he?"

Surprised, Hawke again glanced up, but this time held Fenris's gaze. Sinking back against the settee, he shrugged. "There is that, but he's…acting strangely. I'm concerned about him."

"Strangely? How?"

"I can't even explain it," Hawke admitted with a sigh. "He's just…different." He shook his head. "I know what you'd advise me to do, Fenris; stay away from him," he said with a strained smile.

"No, I would not advise that," Fenris replied, and Hawke frowned in confusion. "My opinion of him is irrelevant. If he is your friend, and you care for him, then you cannot be expected to simply 'stay away from him'."

Hawke's frown deepened; that was the last thing he'd expected Fenris to say.

"If I may offer…" Fenris paused and shook his head. "No; it is not my place."

"No, please, Fenris; speak your mind."

Fenris exhaled through his nose and clasped his hands together. "I would only counsel that, while you should of course care for your friend and steer him away from peril, that you do not become too involved in his troubles. You are strong, and he is weak, and he may take you down with him. That is all I will say on the matter. Heed or disregard my advice as you will."

Hawke's mouth gaped open, stunned at the difference between Fenris and Anders's attitudes. Anders's advice to renounce Fenris seemed to have originated from his own ignorance, selfishness and apparent jealousy. Fenris, on the other hand, who had myriad reasons to distrust mages, particularly a possessed mage, did not expect Hawke to abandon Anders at all, knowing that Hawke cared for him. Furthermore, he had advocated that Hawke should do his best to protect Anders, but without losing himself in the process. In spite of everything Fenris had endured at the hands of mages, his wisdom and generosity of spirit moved Hawke deeply, leaving him speechless for a moment.

Noticing Hawke's expression, Fenris's face fell. "If I have spoken out of turn, Hawke…"

"No," Hawke answered quickly. "It's not that…no, I'll…I'll think about what you've said, Fenris. Thank you."

Fenris nodded once, and Hawke sat up straight, clearing his throat. "Right; one more time, Fenris, then I'll strap up your foot."

After cleaning Fenris's foot for a second time, Hawke gently set the elf's foot aside and went over to the fireplace, where the rags were almost dry. He then dressed Fenris's foot, and instructed him to keep his leg elevated. Fenris thanked him sincerely for his care.

"I'm going to the kitchen to clean up, and I'll check on dinner," he told Fenris. "I'll prepare some of your lovely medicine, as well," he joked.

"I cannot wait," Fenris answered with a smile.

"Just relax, and I'll be back shortly," said Hawke, and he left the room.

By the time Hawke had made the medicine and tidied the kitchen, more than half an hour had passed, and he returned the hall, medicine in hand, to find Fenris dozing on the settee. Slowly and quietly, he walked over and crouched down next to the elf, placing the mug on the floor.

"Fenris?" he whispered.

When Fenris didn't stir, Hawke gently placed his hand on the elf's arm, but stopped short of shaking him. Instead, he looked closely at Fenris's face, marvelling at how young and free of care he looked. There was no scowl, no frown, no sneer. He looked quite beautiful.

"Fenris?" he whispered again.

Still, he did not wake, and Hawke watched Fenris's chest rise and fall, his eyes moving to a lock of hair that had fallen over the elf's left eye. His stomach in knots, his hand moved of its own volition and gently pushed the stray piece of hair to the side.

"Maker, Fenris, do you have any idea…" Suddenly aware that he would not want Fenris to catch him looming over him if he awoke, Hawke sprang to his feet and released a shaky breath. He then turned and headed back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner, unaware that his every step was followed by a pair of moss-green eyes.