Apologies and thank-you to amanda0293 and Aynslesa; for some reason the site is not letting me respond to reviews at the moment!

Thank you to all of you for reading, and a very happy Thanksgiving to those of you across the pond!

The words to Hawke's song were shamelessly ripped off from Lil Wayne's 'How To Love'. Don't bother suing me: I'm broke :P

~o~O~o~

Sebastian led Fenris to a small store room that contained some wooden furniture, stacked in a corner, and closed the door. He then pulled a small table into the centre of the room and found two dining chairs, placing them next to the table. When satisfied with the arrangement, he sat down and bade Fenris to join him.

Fenris, however, remained standing, one hand covering his mouth as he stared at the door. Sebastian was silent, allowing Fenris to speak in his own time.

"Are you certain you have nothing else to do? No other duties?" Fenris asked after a pause. "If I am keeping you…"

"You're not keeping me from anything, Fenris," answered Sebastian in a slow and deliberate voice. "Why don't you sit down?"

Fenris glanced uncertainly at Sebastian, and, not wishing to be rude, took a seat. For several moments he squirmed and fidgeted, before giving up and once again standing. "I…don't know where to begin," he said quietly, still facing the door. "You…you don't even know me. I don't know why…I should not be burdening you with this."

"Sometimes it's easier to confide in someone with whom one is not emotionally involved," Sebastian opined. "Is that not why you came to me, instead of…Hawke, for example?"

At the mention of Hawke, Sebastian noticed Fenris's shoulders tense. "Emotionally involved?" asked Fenris, still facing away. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, it's clear to me that you and Hawke are quite close, and sometimes it's hard to share our feelings with someone we're close to, as contradictory as it sounds."

Fenris released a heavy sigh and turned toward Sebastian, slumping onto the chair.

"If I may…" Sebastian sat up straight and meshed his fingers together on the table. "Is it Hawke you wanted to talk about, Fenris?"

Fenris's eyes quickly flitted over to Sebastian and then moved to the floor. Sebastian nodded but said nothing.

For the next few minutes, Fenris picked at his fingernails, which Sebastian noticed were bitten down to the quick. Now and then, Fenris opened his mouth as if to speak, but faltered each time. Eventually, he stood up and walked over to the door. For a moment, Sebastian thought he would leave, but instead he leaned against the wall, this time facing Sebastian. He took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"Kirkwall is a strange place to me," Fenris began, his eyes fixed on the far wall. "Its people…they are nothing like the people of the Imperium."

"How so?" asked Sebastian.

Fenris released another breath and his voice grew quieter. "In the Imperium…nothing is done without payment, reparation, compensation, whatever you wish to call it. Here, though…so many people…" A pained expression came over Fenris, then, and he took in another breath, straightening himself up. "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

Fenris shook his head. "Since I arrived here, many people have…gone out of their way to help me, while expecting nothing in return. At first I questioned their motives, but now I just don't…" He shrugged his shoulders. "The dwarf, Varric, is actively searching for Danarius. Donnic helped me secure a position in the city Guard, risking his own position in the process. You are giving up your own time to…to hear the woes of a man you hardly know. And Hawke…"

Sebastian sat back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and waited.

"Hawke…knows things about me," Fenris said in a subdued tone. "Things I am…ashamed to speak of. And yet, he has constantly and selflessly…" He once again took a deep breath, and decided that Sebastian may as well hear the worst. "I have…killed. So many…" He glanced at Sebastian, his eyes wide, expecting to be censured or judged harshly, but Sebastian's expression remained impassive.

"Killed at your master's behest," Sebastian reminded him.

"That is no excuse." A harsh note had crept into Fenris's voice, and his breathing quickened.

"You were in fear for your life," said Sebastian, uncrossing his legs and sitting forward.

"I could have defied him. Yes, he might have put an end to me, but what is my life weighed against the countless innocents I have slaughtered?" Fenris's lip curled, and the bridge of his nose wrinkled in disgust. "It was nothing but self-preservation that drove my blade into their flesh, my fist into-" he muttered darkly, raising one of his hands up to his face and staring at it.

"I don't believe that, Fenris," Sebastian said calmly. "Last night, you told us of the poor children Danarius kept as slaves, and how you suffered to protect them. It's my belief that you preserved yourself in order to continue in your role as their guardian. You must have known that, if Danarius had ended your life, another slave would have taken your place. The children would no longer have you as their defender, and those innocents you speak of would still have been killed."

Fenris raised his other hand and glared at them both. "It was still these hands that ended their lives. No amount of excuses will change that fact!"

"You were used as a weapon, Fenris," Sebastian said in a slightly firmer tone. "You were the sword, yes, but it was Danarius that wielded you. You are not to blame."

Exasperated, Fenris began to pace back and forth. "I do not understand why…" He halted and his posture stiffened. "How can you say that?"

"I'm not surprised you find Kirkwall so strange," said Sebastian. "You say that your memories began three-and-a-half years ago, and that your first memory is of receiving your markings, and of Danarius's brutal regime. That is the benchmark against which all subsequent memories of yours have been measured."

Sebastian rose, went over to where Fenris stood, and leaned against the wall a few feet away.

"As your life in the Imperium is the first thing you remember, that life seems normal to you, when, in fact, it is abnormal – grossly so – to most others. The people of Kirkwall are good, on the whole. Their behaviour, and way of life, is my benchmark, Fenris. The kindness of Varric, Hawke and others, is normal to me. That doesn't mean I don't appreciate acts of charity, but I am not surprised by them."

Fenris stopped pacing and turned to face Sebastian. "Why are you being so…you are the same as Hawke. I do not understand. How can you not judge me? How can you not hate me?" Fenris laced his fingers together on top of his head and resumed pacing.

"I judge people on who they are now, Fenris, not what they were. I was once a very different man than the one you see before you."

"And did you murder those who had done nothing to merit it?"

"I was a scoundrel, Fenris," Sebastian said candidly. "I was a drinker, a gambler and a womaniser. I frittered away my parents' money on loose women and a life of debauchery, when I could have used that money to do good…"

"That is hardly the same!" Fenris bit out. He turned his back on Sebastian, covering his face with his hands. Sebastian gave him a moment to collect himself.

"I…forgive me, Sebastian," said Fenris unsteadily. "You do not deserve my anger."

"Let us sit down, Fenris," Sebastian implored softly.

Sebastian once again took his seat and waited for Fenris, who, after a long pause, eventually went over and sat opposite Sebastian, his eyes fixed on the table.

"What is it?" Fenris asked quietly. Sebastian frowned and waited for him to continue. "Is it pity you feel for me?" Fenris asked, slowly raising his head so his eyes met Sebastian's.

"I don't pity you, Fenris."

"Then why…" Fenris went to push himself up and then sat back down. "How can you be so magnanimous?" he questioned, scorn lacing his words.

"Why did you come here, Fenris?" asked Sebastian. "Did you expect me to tell you what a monster you are? That you're evil and wicked, that there is no place for you in decent society? Did you hope that I would confirm what you already believe to be true?"

Fenris's gaze once again fell to the table, and he didn't answer.

"Or did you come here seeking forgiveness, absolution? I could certainly give you that, Fenris; we could pray together and you could do penance, but would that really change anything? Would it change the way you feel about yourself?"

Again, no answer came from Fenris, and Sebastian sat forward a little.

"True absolution can only come from within, Fenris. You must accept that the past has already been written and there is nothing you can do to change it. Only once you've forgiven yourself can you reclaim what was taken from you."

"Forgive myself? And how do you expect me to do that?" demanded Fenris, his voice once again taking on a hard edge. "How am I meant to do that when the people I have killed haunt my sleep, and their screams wake me? When each time I close my eyes I see their destroyed bodies, their dead eyes staring back at me? Just how am I meant to forgive myself?" He pushed himself to his feet and glared down at Sebastian. "I do not deserve to be forgiven."

"So long as you believe that, you'll never stop being a victim."

"What? How am I a victim? The ones who died at my hands are the victims, Sebastian!"

"You were a victim of Danarius's insanity, Fenris." Sebastian also stood up. "You were a victim; you no longer need to be, but as long as you blame yourself for Danarius's crimes, you will never be free."

"They were also my crimes!"

Sebastian shook his head. "No. You were as much a victim as they were. You may no longer be a slave, but you are still a victim. So long as you reside within the prison of self-hatred you've made for yourself, you will remain so."

Fenris's eyes darted around the room as uncertainty and panic gripped him. "I-I don't know…I don't know how to..." He closed his eyes and hung his head.

Sebastian came round to Fenris's side of the table and touched his arm. "Start today, Fenris. The past is the past and there is nothing you can do to change it, but the present, and the future, are yours. Stop living as you lived yesterday, and live how you want to live. Be the man you've always wanted to be." He placed his other hand on Fenris's other arm. "The man that I see; the man that Hawke sees."

After a moment of silence, Fenris's breathing slowed and Sebastian felt the elf relax a little. Gently guiding Fenris back to his chair, Sebastian brought his own chair around and sat next to Fenris.

"Hawke," Fenris began, and shook his head, once again looking at his hands. "He…" He sighed and looked up at Sebastian. "He…I think he…"

"He has feelings for you."

Fenris's eyes widened. "How did you know that?"

Sebastian smiled fondly. "The way he looks at you; the look of sheer joy he has when you smile. He cares for you a great deal, that much is obvious, but there is something more in his eyes; I can see it."

Fenris's brows knitted together in a heavy frown. "You see it? I did not see it for a long time…only recently have I suspected. How could I have not known? I am a fool."

A look of sadness came into Sebastian's eyes, then, but he quickly hid it. "Have you…since you fled Minrathous, has there been anyone?" he asked. Fenris shook his head. "Then how could you have known?"

Fenris stared at the floor, seemingly lost in thought.

"I hope you won't mind me saying this, Fenris," Sebastian ventured, "but in many ways, you're like a child."

Fenris looked up, his frown still in place.

"You lived in this small world that Danarius created, seeing and experiencing only what he allowed you to," Sebastian elaborated. "You knew nothing else. And now, you're in a completely different world, having to make your way in a place where you're at odds with everything and everyone. Hawke…the way he acts toward you must be completely alien to you. Of course you didn't know how he felt. How would you? You've had no prior experience of such things. And perhaps there's an element of you feeling you're not worthy of his attention."

Having no answer to that, Fenris started fiddling with his hands, and, for several minutes, they sat in silence.

"How do you feel about this, Fenris?" Sebastian eventually asked.

"I…don't know." Fenris shook his head. "He is a mage. I did not think it possible that I could even befriend a mage, but Hawke is…different. I enjoy his company. When…when I am not with him, I…" He sighed, unsure of how to verbalise his feelings.

"You miss him?"

Fenris thought of Hawke, and his stomach twisted, an ache blooming in his chest. "Last night," he said in a whisper, "he and I slept together." His head snapped up. "I mean-just slept."

"I know what you meant," Sebastian replied with a faint smile.

"I…enjoyed the feeling of being close to someone," Fenris admitted. "To him. And yet, once he was awake, I did not have the courage…I-I fear being close to him." He shook his head and sighed. "I am making no sense."

"You're afraid of showing your feelings?"

"I do not know what those feelings are. I feel so conflicted. Never before has anyone inspired such uncertainty within me. And yet, he is also like an anchor. When I am with him, everything seems…normal?"

Sebastian's smile broadened. "Everything seems right?"

Fenris nodded slowly. "I think so. But…"

"But?"

"But, I-I'm not sure I can give him what he wants."

"If you don't reciprocate Hawke's feelings, Fenris, then you should let him know. It's only fair."

"Yes, I know that, but…" Fenris released a heavy breath, and stood up. "Sebastian…you have given me much to think about. I want to thank you for your time."

Sebastian rose, and Fenris held his hand out.

"Fenris, I have plenty of time, if you want to discuss this further."

Fenris shook his head. "I have some thinking to do. You have been…I am grateful beyond words."

"I am always here, Fenris; you know that." Sebastian took Fenris's hand and shook it firmly, and placed a hand on the elf's shoulder. "I will pray that you find the answers you seek, Fenris."

Fenris released Sebastian's hand, and placed his own hands on the archer's arms, for a moment feeling an urge to embrace him, but he refrained. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "For being a friend."

"Of course, Fenris. You're more than welcome. I'm not sure if I've been any use, but sometimes it helps just to talk. Let me see you to the door."

"No, I will see myself out. You have been more helpful than you realise, Sebastian." Fenris released the archer's arms and bowed to him.

Sebastian bowed back. "Remember what I said, Fenris; the Maker walks at your side. May He guide and protect you always."

Fenris opened the door to the store room and paused for a moment, before a small smile briefly appeared on his lips. "You, as well, Sebastian." With a nod, he moved away from the doorway.

Sebastian waited for a while, thinking about their conversation, and then he started to put the furniture away.

~o~O~o~

After their investigation had led them to the wedding ring and remains of the unfortunate Ninette, Hawke, Anders and Varric returned the ring to her husband and accepted his paltry reward without complaint. Feeling rather sombre, Hawke decided they needed cheering up. After stopping by at home, where Leandra made the men a snack, Hawke and Anders discussed where to go for a drink.

"I'm bored of The Hanged Man. Let's go somewhere else," Hawke suggested.

"Anywhere particular in mind?" asked Anders.

After a moment of thought, Hawke's eyes lit up. "I know just the place! Anders, you'll love it. It's just outside of Hightown: The White Swallow."

"Sounds nice," Anders said with a nod. "All right then, Hawke, we'll give it a go. You fancy coming, Varric?"

"Uh…no. Think I'll stick around here for Sunshine, if that's all right with you, serah?" he said to Leandra.

"Oh, yes, of course. And do call me Leandra," she answered. "Bethany will be home shortly."

Hawke folded his arms and scowled at his mother. "You haven't invited me to call you Leandra."

Leandra laughed and started to clear the dishes away, assisted by Varric.

"Idiot," muttered Varric as Hawke and Anders rose and took the last few pieces of cutlery through to the kitchen.

"We'll be off, then," announced Hawke, kissing his mother's cheek. "Remember, I'll be staying at the mansion again, tonight."

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Anders asked Varric.

"Uh-uh. It's not my kind of place, Blondie, but you boys have fun."

"Oh, we will," chuckled Hawke.

After thanking Leandra for the meal, Anders and Hawke left and took a stroll through Lowtown.

"This is nice, Anders," said Hawke. "Just us two, eh? Or is it us three?"

"No, just the two of us," Anders laughed. "Justice doesn't approve of me drinking, but he knows I need to let off steam now and again."

Hawke glanced at Anders and nodded. "How have you been, Anders?"

"How have I been?" asked Anders, puzzled. "You only saw me yesterday, Hawke!"

"I know, but…we don't really talk any more, do we? Not like we used to, except to bicker. That's…kind of my fault, Anders. I've been leaving you out, and I'm sorry for that."

"Hawke, it's…"

"No," Hawke interrupted. "I've been wrapped up with Fenris and various other things. You were one of the first people in Kirkwall I became friends with, and I've been neglecting you." He stopped and turned to face Anders. "Look; things are a bit crazy at the moment. When the expedition's over and done with, I'm still going to come and work at the clinic with you. If you still want me to, that is."

"Oh, of course I do, Hawke," Anders said contritely. "I haven't exactly been fair with you, either. I have to admit, I'm still…concerned about Fenris, but you're a grown man. I'm not going to keep on about him. I know you like him, and I'd like nothing more than to be proved wrong."

"Really?"

Anders sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I've been thinking. Justice had a bit of a word with me as well, if I'm honest. It's just…well, sometimes I feel a bit isolated down there in the clinic. My imagination runs away with me. I'm…I'm sorry, Hawke. I don't want us to fall out."

"Well, neither do I," replied Hawke, smiling.

"Just being away from the clinic for a few hours has perked me up, and I've been looking forward to us going for a drink," Anders told him.

"We'll make it a regular thing, Anders," Hawke promised. "You're right; you do need to get out of that clinic now and then. Now, let me take you to my favourite pub. I'll even buy the first round."

"You're on!" Anders chirped, and they picked up their pace, eager to reach Hawke's favourite pub.

~o~O~o~

As promised, Hawke bought the first round when they arrived at The White Swallow, and they found a small table not far from the entrance.

"There are a lot of men in here tonight, Hawke," Anders remarked with a frown as they took their seats. "Where are all the women?"

"I think I saw one behind the bar," Hawke mumbled, firmly suppressing a snigger.

"What? But I don't…" Anders's words died on his lips as a well-built man with a large moustache sashayed past and winked at him.

"Are you feeling well, Anders? You look awfully pale," asked Hawke casually.

His expression resembling that of a suffocating fish, Anders wheeled round to face Hawke. "You…you sneaky bastard! You've brought me to a…?"

"Really, Anders?" laughed Hawke. "Didn't the name give it away?"

"The name? The White S…oh, shit!" With a groan, Anders buried his face in his hands.

"This is the best pub in the Free Marches," Hawke declared. "Varric hasn't quite gotten around to visiting, yet, so I thought I'd bring you, instead."

Anders looked up from his hands. "So, what, I'm supposed to sit here all night like a prat while you cop off with some bloke named Lance?"

"No! I'm not here to cop off with anyone. This is a really fun place; I've brought Beth here a few times. She loves it."

"Bethany?"

Hawke nodded and supped at his pint. "Of course; she gets drinks bought for her all night, and tons of compliments, all of which are genuine, and not just a pathetic attempt to get into her smalls. Plus, she doesn't have to dodge wandering hands all night. Varric's quite happy for her to come here; he just won't go with her," he added with a laugh.

"But I might have to dodge wandering hands!" Anders wailed.

"No, they'll assume you're with me," Hawke reassured him, and both men looked up at the sound of raised voices from a nearby table.

"Looks like there's going to be a fight," Hawke surmised.

"Maybe we'd better be on standby, in case anyone needs healing," Anders recommended.

Hawke laughed and sank further back onto his chair. "I doubt we'll be needed."

"You never compliment me anymore!" an indignant voice piped up. "You always used to tell me how handsome I was, and how nicely I dressed, and now all you do is grunt and nod at me! Do you even look at me anymore? I mean really look at me?"

"We are not having this discussion here, Tarquin!"

"Oh, yes we are! Why don't you just admit it, Simon? You don't fancy me anymore!"

Anders placed a hand over his mouth and looked at Hawke, who was sniggering quietly.

"And what do you expect?" Simon retorted. "You're so bloody needy, lately! It's not attractive at all, you know!"

"Oh! How could you!"

A chair was pushed back and a distraught-looking man flounced past them, and through the exit.

"I love this place," Hawke chortled. "There's never a dull moment."

Anders watched with both awe and delight as Simon also left the pub in haste, slamming the door behind him. "So I see, Hawke! So, what else is there in terms of entertainment?"

"Well, Beth and I play a game when we're here called 'Full House'. We give marks out of ten to anyone who walks past. A perfect ten is a Full House. Want to play?"

Anders folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at Hawke. "You want me to give men marks out of ten for…what, their looks?"

"Not just their looks; the whole package," explained Hawke, his eyes wandering around the room. "Take your friend with the moustache, for example. Me, I'm not into facial hair, although I realise that I actually have facial hair, but there you are. So he loses marks for the 'tache. His bum was quite nice, though, and I liked the cut of his jib. I'd give him a six. Fair?"

"You are not getting me to rate men out of ten, Hawke!" exclaimed Anders, laughing in spite of himself.

"We'll see," sniffed Hawke. "Just wait 'til you disagree with one of my scores."

"You'll have a long wait, then," insisted Anders, suddenly finding the ale in his mug fascinating.

"How about him?" Hawke drawled, nodding over to a tall, blond-haired man who leaned against the bar.

"Mm," mumbled Anders, not even bothering to look.

"Blond hair and…please let them be green, please let them be green…yes!" he cheered as the man at the bar looked vaguely in their direction. "Blond hair with green eyes is an automatic eight points, before anything else is even considered."

"Got a thing for blondes, then, Hawke?" asked Anders, sneaking a quick look at the man. "Or is it green eyes?"

"Both," leered Hawke, turning his attention back to the man at the bar. "Now, let's see…tall, but not too tall; a little pudgy, but…"

"Ha! You're a fine one to talk!"

Hawke grinned, pleased that Anders had started to relax. "This is not about me," he scolded.

"So, what would you mark yourself as, Hawke?"

"Eh?"

"What would you mark yourself as?" repeated Anders.

"Ha! You're so transparent!" Hawke laughed. "This is going to lead to 'and what would you mark me as, Hawke'?" he teased in his best impersonation of Anders's voice.

"No, it's not!" Anders asserted unconvincingly, his cheeks turning pink from the ale. "Come on, answer my question!"

Hawke clasped his chin and looked upwards, deep in thought. "Well, I don't have blond hair or green eyes, so that's not a good start. Facial hair automatically knocks off two points. Podginess, another two. So, I'd say around a five or a six. On a good day."

Anders nodded and took another sip of ale, setting his mug down, and then sat back in his chair. Both men sat in silence for a few minutes, and, as they did so, the edges of Hawke's mouth began to curve upwards.

"Just ask me, Anders."

"Ask you what?"

"You're dying to ask me."

"I'm not…although I am curious to know how many points blond hair scores on its own?"

"And why would you want to know that?"

Anders shrugged. "Well, because I have bl…"

"No you do not!"

"Er…what does Varric call me? Blondie."

"You can piss off with that. You told Varric that was a stupid name, and that your hair was red!" Hawke declared, waving a finger at Anders before taking a huge swig from his mug.

"All right, then…how much does red hair score?" Anders also drank deeply and belched.

"One point docked for burping."

"What? That's not fair! What does that have to do with the way I look?"

"I told you, it's about the whole package," Hawke reiterated. "Haven't you been listening?"

"So I've lost a point, have I?" Anders demanded. "Well, let's make it worthwhile, then!" He raised his leg and broke wind, before dusting his hands off in self-congratulations.

"You dirty bastard!" Hawke shot up out of his seat. "That's a million points deducted! I'm going for a walk. Good luck with this lot!"

"No!" cried Anders, giggling uncontrollably as he grabbed Hawke's arm. "Please…I'm too pretty. They'll eat me alive!"

"You should have thought of that before you farted against my leg!" spluttered Hawke, a fine mist of his saliva coating Anders's face.

"Now, now, dears," said a punter who was passing by. "Don't get having a lovers' tiff."

Anders's face fell and he squirmed in his seat. "But…we're not…"

Hawke plonked himself next to Anders, ignoring the stench of rotting vegetables that hung in the air, and slung his arm around him. "He's right, Sweet Cheeks. Let's not fight."

Anders burst out laughing and playfully pushed Hawke away.

"All right, Anders, just to make you happy. Red hair and…" He moved his face closer to Anders's and scrutinised his eyes. "…Orange eyes?"

"Orange? These are honeyed amber, if you must know!"

"Orange," repeated Hawke. "Your face is the shape of a wedge; your nose is just…a disaster. And stubble," he added with a shudder. "You do have nice hands, though: nice hands get you an automatic seven points."

"Yes! I beat you!" cheered Anders, and then a deep line formed between his eyes. "Wait…what did you just say about my nose?"

Hawke swiped their mugs and stood up. "Another?" Without giving Anders a chance to answer, he scurried off to the bar.

After another few rounds, 'Full House' was abandoned as both mages had lost their ability to count higher than five. Instead, they sat in a corner, sniggering and dispensing damning critiques of all who passed by.

"Wha…wha 'bout him?" slurred Anders with an unsteady nod toward a blur that moved past them. "Would you d-do him?"

Hawke squinted at the man and snorted, sending ale dribbling down his chin. "I wouldn't ride that into f-fucking battle, mate," he squawked loudly.

Another blur appeared in front of their table, but instead of moving past as the others had, this one stayed still.

"Your tur, Nanders," Hawke blathered, his mouth slack as he gazed up, with half-closed eyes, at the hazy silvery shape.

Anders leaned forward and prodded what appeared to be an arm attached to the blurred form, making contact with something hard and smooth which gave off a metallic clang.

"Is that your face?" Anders asked, looking up at the metal man, "or is it your neck being sick?"

Both men spluttered and collapsed into fits of laughter.

"All right, lads, it's time for you to leave," said a deep, rough voice. It sounded very serious.

"Eh? Wha' for?" Hawke asked.

"There have been complaints," the gruff man explained. "Loud and raucous behaviour, and insulting and demeaning comments towards the clientele," he added, sounding bored.

"Are you sure?" scoffed Hawke. "See, Nanders? I told you this place was a shithole!"

"We've done nuffin' wrong," insisted Anders, prodding the table with his finger but missing it, prodding his leg instead. "Wh-who are you to tell us to leaf? I mean leave. Leeeeave."

"Guardsman Diarmund," said the man, folding his arms. "Ser, to you."

"Fenris z'going to be a guardsman," Hawke said with a soppy grin, imagining the elf wearing shiny armour, in a heroic pose on the crest of a hill with the wind ruffling his hair. "An' Donnic. Well, he already is. A guard, I mean. You all do a bloody good job," he stated emphatically, waving his finger at Diarmund.

"You know Donnic?" asked the guard sceptically. "What's his family name, then?"

"Hendyr. An' he's got the biggest sideburns I've ever seen. Bloody good bloke. He's my mates. Our mates, I mean," he said, looking mildly confused.

"Mate," corrected Anders.

"What he said. Mate. An' soze Fenris. I'm his personal fizzi…fizzish…doctor." Hawke's daft smile faded, quickly replaced by a look of horror as he sat up straight. "Shit…wha' time 'zit?"

"After eleven bells. Time for you to go home. If you leave now, without any trouble, I'll let this one go," said Diarmund.

"Eleven?" Hawke blinked several times, repeating the number over and over. "But I-I need to get back for ten bells!" he said in a panic, grabbing Anders by the arms. "How long will that take me?" he asked the rapidly-resolving image of Diarmund.

"Wherever you're going, you're already late," Diarmund told them, the edges of his mouth twitching slightly.

"But I can't…I mustn't be late!" Hawke shot to his feet, clutching the edge of the table to stop himself from swaying. Closing his eyes, he realised that, in fact, the room was swaying, and he opened them.

"He's got you on a tight leash, hasn't he?" Anders joked.

"No, you don't understand…I promised…I-I don't want to let him down…"

"Where are you going, lads?" asked the guard.

"Hightown."

"Darktown."

"Darktown? I'm not going that way," said Diarmund. "You can sleep it off at the barracks. Come on."

Anders also shot to his feet, and both men crowded Diarmund, clutching at his arms.

"But we haven't done anything wrong!" protested Anders.

"Please don't put us in the cells," begged Hawke. "I have to get back to t-treat Fenris. He'll be worried…"

"You're not under arrest…yet," Diarmund told them. "We're going to have a nice walk to Hightown, where you," he said to Hawke, "can see to your patient, and your friend can sleep it off in a cell. Like I said, you're not under arrest, so long as you don't cause any more trouble. Count yourselves lucky you know Donnic."

"Oh, thank you!" chorused Anders and Hawke, who would have hugged the guard had it not been for his stern expression.

"Now, come with me," he ordered. Not needing to be told twice, the two mages fell into line behind Diarmund and followed him out of The White Swallow.

As they left, they spied Tarquin and Simon, who had obviously made up, as Simon had Tarquin pinned against a wall, kissing him ferociously, their ragged moans punctuating the still, quiet night air.

"Maker!" Anders exclaimed. Diarmund merely rolled his eyes, clearly no stranger to such displays.

"I told you this place is brilliant, didn't I?" Hawke asked Anders, who chuckled in response, and the two friends slung an arm around each other for support as Diarmund escorted them to Hightown.

~o~O~o~

When Hawke finally arrived at the Hightown Estates, having said goodnight to Anders, it was almost midnight. Adrenaline alone carried him up the steps to Fenris's abode, and all kinds of things ran through his mind as he stood outside the door. He'd let Fenris down. Would he be concerned? Angry? Would he be distant, aloof? Which would be worse?

Scrubbing his face with his hands, he took a deep gulp of cold air, which sent him dizzy, and knocked on the door. Immediately, a curtain twitched, and, after a minute, the door was opened.

"Fen…I'm so sorry," Hawke blurted out, holding his hands up, blinking several times as the elf blurred in and out of focus. "I know I said ten, but I, erm…no. No. It's nobody's fault but mine. I lost track of time. I'm s-sorry. Are you all right?"

"Come inside, Hawke," Fenris said, stepping away from the door. His face was in shadow but his voice was calm. That was good, wasn't it? Maybe it was too calm, though.

Hawke stepped inside and Fenris closed and locked the door. The sudden change from the cold air to the warmth of the reception hall made Hawke feel woozy, and he swayed.

"You had better sit down," recommended Fenris.

"Erm…right," mumbled Hawke, needed no further persuasion. He staggered over to the settee and almost fell forward onto it, saving his dignity at the last minute with a dextrous twist of his waist, and he landed more or less on his bottom with a thud.

"You are inebriated," Fenris observed with a mite of mischief in his voice.

"Aw, Fen…leave off the big words tonight, eh? Er…I-I just called you Fen, didn't I? Do I normally call you that?"

A faint chuckle was heard from somewhere, and Hawke wasn't sure if it was him or Fenris who was laughing. Hawke touched his mouth; he wasn't smiling, so it must be Fenris. Fenris was laughing? That was good, wasn't it?

"Oy…how did you get on at the barracks, Fen? Are you a guard, now?"

"We will discuss it tomorrow, when you are more…perspicacious."

"Fen! Stop with the big words!" Hawke moaned, clutching the sides of his head. "You did that on purpose!"

Remain here," Fenris instructed him, laughing softly. "I will return shortly."

"I'm not going anywhere, mate," Hawke told him with a giggle. He watched as the black and white shape grew smaller, and finally disappeared through a doorway. Black and white? That meant Fenris was dressed for bed and wasn't wearing his armour. A delightful shiver travelled down Hawke's arms. Fenris was naked under those clothes. Naked, by the Maker! He giggled again, closed his eyes, and stretched the shivery feeling out of his muscles, feeling warm and silly. Feeling like he'd come home as he snuggled against the soft fabric of the settee.

When Fenris returned a short time later carrying tea and biscuits, Hawke, predictably, was snoring. Fenris moved quietly and set the tray down on a small table next to the settee, and sat down, gritting his teeth as the settee creaked. Hawke stirred and his eyes opened just a crack.

"Fen…Fen-Fen. C'mere."

"Hawke?"

"Yes, Fen-Fen?"

"Never call me that again."

Hawke made a sound that Fenris suspected was a laugh, but sounded more like a braying donkey. Hawke sat himself up with exceptional difficulty and his head lolled back, Fenris noticing the twinkle of his brown eyes beneath his half-closed lids.

"Oh, Fen…" Hawke crooned, slapping a hand against his chest.

"Are you…singing?"

"Fen," Hawke continued tunelessly. "I just want you to know that you deserve the best…you're beautiful…"

Fenris covered his eyes with one hand and shook his head, a silent snigger vibrating through his body.

"You're beautiful…and I want you to know…you're far from the usual…far from the usual…"

"Hawke, have some tea. You should eat and drink something."

"You're a Full House, Fenris," Hawke babbled.

"A…'full house'?" Fenris cocked his head and an eyebrow shot up.

"The first one in the history of the game," Hawke told a puzzled Fenris, sidling closer to him. "You're a ten, Fenris. A perfect ten."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Fenris answered with a hesitant smile.

"You do that," Hawke whispered, laying his head on Fenris's shoulder and slinging one of his arms across the elf's chest. "It's all right, I'm not going to do anything…you're just so warm and lovely, like a huge elven pillow."

Fenris burst out laughing, the rocking of his shoulders causing Hawke's face to wobble.

"I love your laugh," Hawke murmured against Fenris's neck, his lips lightly grazing Fenris's skin, and the elf felt a thousand pins prick at his skin all at once. He shuddered.

Hawke felt it, and raised his head a little, opening his eyes as wide as they'd go. Briefly, he caught a flash of green, before Fenris averted his eyes. He did not, however, move away.

"Fenris? Maker, Fen…" Hawke moved his arm away from Fenris's chest and lightly brushed the elf's face with his fingers. "Fenris…" With the last of his strength, Hawke gently turned Fenris's head towards him and pushed his lips against Fenris's, which were just as soft, warm and inviting as the settee.

Losing himself utterly, and finally overwhelmed by fatigue, his hand fell away from Fenris's face, and his lips slid down the elf's cheek, his eyes fluttering closed as he slumped against Fenris's shoulder.