"Ensure the trap door is secured, Varnell. We do not want anyone to follow them."

"It's done," replied the templar.

Petrice took one final glance around the main room of the small house and nodded. "I think that's everything, then. Let us leave without further delay."

Varnell walked over to the door and opened it, and then took a step back, holding his hands up in front of him.

"Varnell? What is…"

"Going somewhere?" A large sword appeared in the doorway, followed by the white-haired elf, who backed Varnell up against a wall as the rest of his group entered.

"Ser Elf…" Petrice began.

"Surprised to see us, are you?" Anders cut in, his face red with indignation.

"What do you mean?" Petrice asked, her voice and face betraying no emotion. Varnell's expression, however, told a different story entirely.

His sword pressing against Varnell's windpipe, Fenris's cold gaze fell on Petrice. "The corpses of your…Ketojan's karataam led directly to us. But you already know that, do you not?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're…" Petrice's words were cut short as Fenris's sword bit into Varnell's throat, drawing blood.

"Urk! P-Petrice…!"

"All right," she said calmly, seemingly unconcerned for Varnell. "I will explain. Just lower your weapon; there is no need for such...uncivilised behaviour."

"No deal," Fenris spat as blood trickled down Varnell's neck, much to Anders's satisfaction. "Start talking. Quickly."

Petrice took a deep breath and slowly paced the room. "I must confess, I did not expect you to return. The fact that you did, unscathed, is a testament to your skills…"

"Insincere praise won't get you out of this, lady," Bethany interrupted, before Varric touched her arm and shook his head, not wanting to get too involved. She sighed and ventured a concerned glance at Hawke, who so far had not spoken.

"The mage is dead," Anders added. "Do you even care about that?"

"That is regrettable," replied Petrice, shaking her head. "Especially now that, when the vanquished Qunari are found, there will more sympathy for them."

"You planned all of this to turn people against the Qunari, didn't you?" Fenris asked sourly. "You intended for us, and the mage, to die."

"You heartless bitch!" Anders exclaimed.

Varric grabbed Anders's arm and pulled him back a little, taking a step forward. "I think we should be fairly compensated for our trouble, don't you, sister?"

Petrice exhaled and waved her hand at Varnell. "Pay them."

Varnell, his eyes locked with Fenris's, slowly reached into his pocket and produced a small purse, which Fenris snatched from him and threw it over to Varric. The dwarf examined the contents and showed it to Hawke.

"Oh, no," Hawke muttered darkly from the rear of the group. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that."

"But we-we have no other funds," Petrice claimed unconvincingly.

Fenris moved his sword away from Varnell and pointed it at Petrice, but did not touch her with it. "Do as he says," he commanded.

"You would not harm an unarmed sister of the Chantry," she said confidently.

"I would," Anders threatened, readying his staff, as did Hawke.

"Now, come on, fellas; there's no need for this," Varric said. "Let's just take our money and go."

Fenris felt a faint thrum along his markings as arcane energy radiated off the two mages, and then, another sensation, which he was unfamiliar with, also crept along his skin; similar to magic, but not quite the same. Whatever it was, it was powered by lyrium, there was no doubt about that.

Before anyone could blink, Fenris's hand was at Varnell's throat, and the templar was lifted a few inches off the floor. "Sneaky," Fenris said malevolently to Varnell, who could only gurgle in reply as his legs thrashed and his hands grabbed desperately at Fenris's.

Petrice, finally realising that they meant business, hastened over to a small lock box that had been placed on top of a pile of belongings. She quickly unlocked it and handed it to Varric, who, upon opening it, let loose a long whistle.

"You have what you want; now, unhand him!" Petrice ordered.

Fenris tossed Varnell to the floor like a rag doll and finally retracted his sword. "You had better pray to your Maker that we do not meet again," he told her menacingly. "Now, get out."

Petrice helped the gasping Varnell to his feet, and they quickly gathered their belongings, making a hasty exit.

Varric closed the door behind them and shook his head in admiration. "Elf, I think I'll be praying to the Maker that I never get on your bad side! You scared the crap outta me!"

"You were great, Fenris," Anders added quietly. "It's nice that someone else stood up for Saarebas."

"I did not do it for the mage," said Fenris. "The templar was about to attack you and Hawke."

"I know; I could feel Justice stirring," Anders replied. "I'm glad that you reacted so quickly," he said to the elf. "If Justice had attacked in such a confined space…well, things might have become…unpleasant."

Several pairs of eyes flitted around uncertainly, and a few uncomfortable looks were exchanged. The only person who did not look surprised was Fenris.

Varric noisily cleared his throat and held up the lock box. "Well, Hawke, it looks like we'll be paying Bartrand a visit tomorrow," he declared enthusiastically. "There are fifteen sovereigns in here, and, with the six in the purse, let's see…two each, ten for the kitty and one left over. What say we go back to my room and celebrate?"

"You three go," Hawke replied. "Fenris has missed out on two doses of his medicine. If we're heading to the Deep Roads soon, we've got to have our hero at his best," he added with a wan smile at Fenris, who rolled his eyes.

"Ooh, rather you than me, Fenris," chirped Anders, who knew exactly what went into such medicine. "We'll have a drink for you both; won't we, Varric?"

"Just the one, Blondie? You underestimate me."

They stepped outside, and Varric pocketed the key that had been left in the door. "Well, I think it's safe to say that this place has been abandoned. Maybe I'll find a use for it."

"Have fun, you three," said Hawke. "Beth, let Mother know you're safe."

"I will," she promised, and gave her brother a peck on the cheek. "Are you all right?" she whispered.

He forced a smile and nodded, and the five of them said their goodnights.

Fenris and Hawke took a slow walk back to Hightown, during which both men were quiet. Fenris knew that Hawke had been affected by Saarebas's death, but decided to give him the space to speak in his own time, if he wanted.

When they reached the top of the steps, Fenris broke the silence by remarking that Hawke was now able to travel up them without needing to stop. Hawke allowed himself a small smile, and rifled through one of the pockets in his robe, producing the amulet that Saarebas had gifted him with. Fenris stepped closer as Hawke thumbed the irregularly-shaped pendant.

"I wonder what this is?" Hawke pondered.

"May I see that?" asked Fenris.

"Of course." Hawke passed it to him, and Fenris examined it carefully, running his fingers along the rough surface.

"I would surmise that this is a piece of the creature's horn," Fenris guessed.

"Really?" Hawke reached over to touch the pendant, his fingers brushing against Fenris's. Both men paused, looked at each other and smiled. "Any idea why his horns were removed?"

"The reason for the practise is not commonly known," said Fenris. "I would estimate that the removal of their horns is a way of emasculating them, as they are considered dangerous…'faulty tools', as they are known."

Fenris released the amulet to Hawke, who nodded thoughtfully and placed it in his pocket. "You seem to know an awful lot about Qunari culture, Fenris. You knew that Petrice was up to no good, didn't you? That she was setting us up? I should have listened to you."

"I did not know of her plans, only that her motives were questionable," Fenris answered.

"How?"

"When I queried the location of the creature's karataam and Arvaraad, I expected to be asked for clarification of those terms, but she knew exactly what they meant," replied Fenris. "And yet, although the creature could not speak, she declared that he desired his freedom. How would she know such a thing? Her knowledge of the Qun rivalled my own, but I knew that the creature's hours were numbered: he was destined to die, either by his karataam or by his own hand. She would also have known that. That was her mistake."

"So, she would have known that Saarebas would die at the end of it, one way or another?"

"Precisely," answered Fenris. "But she claimed that he had a chance of freedom among the Tal'Vashoth. Even they would not have accepted an unleashed saarebas, and would have put him to death. She hoped to play on our ignorance of their ways, but was unaware of my knowledge of the Qun."

Hawke stopped walking and Fenris also halted. "Why didn't you stand up to me?" Hawke asked without accusation. "You knew what was going to happen. You knew I was wrong."

Fenris sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted him to make his own choice. While he was under Petrice's care, that was not possible. Perhaps a small part of me also wanted him to claim his freedom, though I knew that was unlikely to happen. He was strong at the end, and his convictions and belief in the Qun gave him courage. Do not doubt, Hawke, that he made the right decision: the right decision for him."

Hawke and Fenris resumed their walk. "You sound like you admire the Qunari, Fenris," said Hawke.

"I do. They are staunch and single-minded, and conduct themselves honourably. It is easy for me to see why many non-Kossith convert to the Qun: they are known as Viddathari. I also see, though, how their ways are baffling to those who have no experience of them."

Hawke shook his head and sighed. "I just can't fathom why, once he'd gained his freedom, he opted to end his life; but, then, I'm not really a religious person. Perhaps I underestimate the strength faith can give someone."

Fenris nodded and glanced up at the chantry as they passed it. "Faith is a powerful notion, but it can be abused. It can change someone's entire outlook on life; take Sebastian, for example. He told me, quite freely, that he was once a philanderer, a man of poor morals."

"What, Sebastian?" Hawke exclaimed.

"Yes, but his faith in the Chant has made him a stronger man, better able to channel his baser urges into doing good. He is a fine example of a person of faith. Then, there are those like Petrice, who take their faith and its teachings and contort them to fit their own purposes. She is not a moral person, yet would claim to be while using the Chant to obnubilate herself."

Hawke glanced at Fenris admiringly. "I've never really thought about it in that way. You know, Fenris, I really enjoy our conversations. Even if you do use big words, sometimes. Ob…Obnuli…?"

Fenris, relieved that Hawke's spirits had lifted a little, smiled. "To conceal oneself. I will do my best to keep the big words to a minimum, Hawke."

"Liar," Hawke accused with a laugh, and then stretched his arms and yawned.

"Let us make haste," Fenris said through a yawn of his own, and they headed for Hightown Estates. "You will need your rest, Hawke, if you are to meet Varric later this morning."

"I need to prepare your medicine, first," Hawke said with an impish smile. "Bet you thought I'd forgotten about that, didn't you?"

"Not at all," Fenris replied, firmly supressing his own smile, before a frown darkened his features. "Must I take two doses?"

"Three," Hawke deadpanned as they reached the mansion. "Your third dose will be due in a few hours, so you may as well get it out of the way."

"The Wise Woman with her leeches is sounding more appealing by the minute," Fenris grumbled as he unlocked the door.

A quiet snigger escaped Hawke's mouth and he clapped a hand over it. Fenris's eyebrow, apparently recovered from its recent exertions, flew upwards. "Is this…mage humour?" the elf asked.

"I see the eyebrow's back with us," Hawke chortled, closing the door. He then reached for Fenris's face and pushed his other eyebrow up to match the other. "You should exercise them both at the same time, you know."

Hawke's belly flipped over as Fenris grinned, and he felt the eyebrows relax. He ran one finger down Fenris's cheek and stopped at his mouth. "You know, Fenris, I'd really like to kiss you right about now."

Fenris tilted his head slightly. "So, what's stopping you?"

Hawke clamped his lips together and his body rocked as he held in a goofy laugh. "You-you make me come over all shy, do you know that? Nobody has ever had this effect on me before." He felt his cheeks burning, and the sensation intensified as Fenris took the initiative and stood on tiptoes, softly pressing his lips against Hawke's. He then stood back and scratched his chin, the soft firelight illuminating his face.

"Fenris…what's that on your face?" Hawke asked, gently turning Fenris's face toward the fire. "You have a rash."

"My face has been itching all day," Fenris replied with a shrug. "Perhaps the sea air irritated my skin? I am not concerned."

Frowning, Hawke ran a finger along the affected parts of Fenris's skin, which were mainly around his mouth. "I'll make up some balm for you when I go back home. I wonder if…?"

"You wonder what?"

"Oh, nothing, it doesn't matter," Hawke replied, idly stroking his beard, though his frown remained in place. "Well, I'll go and make up your medicine. And some tea?"

"Thank you. I will check around the mansion."

"You want me to come with you?"

Fenris shook his head. "That will not be necessary. I would prefer to have the tea made quickly."

"You're just dying for your medicine; admit it!"

"It would seem you are onto me," Fenris remarked with a soft laugh, and Hawke headed for the kitchen.

"Medicine coming up. One dose."

"You are too kind," said Fenris with a small bow. He then hefted his sword from his back and proceeded to conduct his sweep of the mansion.

When he returned, he went to his bedroom and removed his breastplate and gauntlets. He then went downstairs, where Hawke had made up a bed on the settee, refreshed the fire and lit a few candles, which sat on the mantelpiece next to three steaming mugs. Fenris wondered for a moment where Hawke was, and then guessed that he'd gone to fetch some food; it had several hours since they'd last eaten. Deciding to get his medicine out of the way, he reached for the mug, blew on it several times and then drank it with a grimace. Taking the other two mugs, he walked over to the settee and placed them on the small table. He then sat on the settee, covered himself with the blankets and brought his legs up, bending them so that Hawke had ample space in which to sit.

A short time later, Hawke entered, carrying, naturally, a tray full of food. "Everything all right, Fenris?" he asked, and the elf nodded. Reaching the settee, he passed the tray to Fenris while he also got under the blankets. The tray was then placed in between them, and they helped themselves to the cold chicken, bread and pickles that Hawke had piled onto a plate.

"It's good to see you're buying decent food," Hawke remarked. "You've come a long way from biscuits and porridge, haven't you?"

"Indeed I have, Hawke. It would appear that you also are eating well; unless I am mistaken, you have lost some weight."

"Oh, you noticed?" Hawke flashed a dazzling smile, which he quickly subdued. "Not that I've been…trying, or anything," he claimed.

"Of course not," Fenris replied quietly, a mischievous gleam in his eyes that sent a shiver through Hawke.

Hawke cleared his throat and reached for his tea. "Would you like to come with me in the morning?"

Fenris shook his head. "I should attempt to get as much sleep as possible; I will be on duty tonight with Donnic."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten about that! Your first shift as a proper guard," said Hawke proudly. "Will you be wearing your new armour?"

"It will not be ready for a few days," Fenris answered, smiling. "You will be among the first to see it, I assure you."

"How are you going to get on wearing heavy plate?" asked Hawke.

"I will not be wearing heavy plate. The armourer at the Keep is fashioning a special light tunic and greaves for me, and will be adapting the cuirass of the Guard to better suit an elf. Also, I will not be required to wear boots, but will wear my slippers, instead. I am quite looking forward to seeing what he comes up with."

"So am I. I'm sure you'll look very handsome." Hawke sighed and placed the tray on the floor, moving closer to Fenris, who laid his legs over Hawke's lap. "I'll miss this, you know."

"As will I, Hawke." Fenris also scooted a little closer, and Hawke snaked an arm around Fenris's shoulder.

"If the offer's still on, I think I will have this settee," said Hawke.

"Take what you wish; you should make your family home more comfortable for your mother and sister."

"The way Varric's talking, I'll have enough money to buy back the family estate once we leave the Deep Roads," laughed Hawke. "But, just in case I don't, I'll take you up on that offer. You're very generous."

"I am not generous. None of this belongs to me."

"I think you'd give it to me even if it did," Hawke said softly, once again running a finger down Fenris's face.

"I…like it when you do that," Fenris said in almost a whisper.

"Do you?" Hawke's belly tightened, and he took a deep breath, moving his hand to stroke Fenris's hair. "How about this?"

The elf nodded and raised his own hand, resting it against Hawke's cheek, and inclined his head. Hawke gulped and his heart hammered in his chest as he leaned in, feeling Fenris's warmth as their lips touched. As they found a slow rhythm, Hawke was very conscious of not moving his hands below Fenris's neck, at least not until Fenris indicated that he was comfortable with Hawke doing so. After a few moments, Fenris slowly pulled away and placed a hand over his mouth.

"Forgive me, Hawke…my breath must smell atrocious after the medicine."

"I happen to like garlic," Hawke grinned, and yawned before placing a soft kiss on Fenris's chin and laying his head on his shoulder.

"Liar," Fenris quipped, and Hawke chuckled softly. "You should get some sleep," Fenris advised, breathing into Hawke's hair.

"I'm way ahead of you," mumbled Hawke. "Night night."

"Goodnight, Hawke." They both shifted and settled against each other, finding warm nooks to tuck their hands and arms into, and each fell asleep wearing a gentle smile.

~o~O~o~

That night, Hawke discovered that Fenris fidgeted in his sleep. A lot. Once the sun had risen, Hawke took advantage of one of the elf's restless spells to get up. Fenris mumbled something and reached out a hand, but Hawke tucked it back under the covers and whispered to him to go back to sleep. He arranged the blankets around Fenris, and, catching a glimpse of his face, noted with consternation that that the elf's rash had worsened.

"Shit," he muttered, once again stroking his beard. After going to the kitchen and preparing Fenris's medicine, he ate a light breakfast of tea and toast, and left a snack with a glass of milk for Fenris. He then departed for home, where he bathed, changed and gathered together the money he'd saved for the expedition, before setting off for the Hanged Man.

When he entered the pub, Varric, who was leaning against the bar chatting with Corff, did a double-take when he saw Hawke. Hawke cleared his throat and strode nonchalantly over, also leaning against the bar, and ordered a pot of tea.

"Hawke," Varric greeted with a slight inflection in his voice.

"Varric." Hawke nodded once and casually looked around the lounge, which was empty.

"There's something different about you, today, young Hawke, and I can't quite put my finger on it," said Varric, pointedly staring at Hawke's face.

"Different?"

"New robes?" Varric guessed, and Hawke shook his head. "New staff? No?" Hawke folded his arms and once again let his eyes wander around the room.

A teapot and mug were plonked down on the bar beside Hawke, and Corff joined in with the staring. "You gone and shaved your beard off then, Hawke?" asked the barman, and Varric snapped his fingers.

"Of course!" exclaimed the dwarf. "What happened, Hawke? Lose a bet, or something?"

"No," Hawke replied, squirming a little. "I just fancied a change, that's all."

"Has the elf seen it, yet?"

"No."

Varric burst into laughter and slapped his knee. "Beard burn, huh?"

"What?"

"Happens all the time in Orzammar, or so I'm told. Never had that problem myself," he said, stroking his smooth chin. "Well, Hawke, if you have everything, let's go and find that nug-humping brother of mine. He'll probably be hanging around Hightown; he thinks it'll make him classy by association."

"Will I need to stand clear when you give Bartrand the good news?" asked Hawke as they left the pub, having had a quick cup of tea. "When you see the look on his face?"

"Might be a good idea, Hawke," Varric advised, chuckling at Hawke's disgusted expression. "A word to the wise, Hawke; my brother…well, he's a bit of an asshole."

"I know; I've met him, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, just don't take anything he says too seriously, that's all. He doesn't have our charm or tact. Poor bastard can't help being such an insufferable oaf."

"I'm sure I've met more obnoxious people in my time, Varric."

"Wanna bet on that, Hawke?" asked Varric hopefully, spitting on his palm and offering it to Hawke.

"Er…no," Hawke replied, looking disparagingly at Varric's hand. "Something tells me this is a bet I'd lose."

They eventually found Bartrand berating a merchant in Hightown for short-changing him. They stood and waited patiently for the haranguing to stop, and, when after several minutes it didn't, Varric cleared his throat and stepped closer.

"Oh, Bartrand?"

"What?" snapped Bartrand, who wheeled around to face them. "Oh, it's you," he grumped.

"Have you missed me, Brother?" Varric teased. "Family reunions are always so touching, aren't they?"

"Whadd'ya want?" demanded Bartrand, and the merchant closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping in relief that Bartrand's ire had been directed elsewhere.

Varric grabbed Hawke's arm and pushed him forward a little. "Brother, I'd like you to meet our partner in the expedition."

Bartrand gawked at Hawke for a moment, and then moved directly in front of him, looking him up and down. "This streak of piss? Take a hike, Varric. I'm not in the mood for your practical jokes."

"Hawke?" prompted Varric.

Hawke removed a large purse from beneath his robes and handed it to Bartrand. "Fifty sovereigns. Count it, if you like."

Bartrand grabbed the purse and did indeed count the contents.

"He has maps of the Deep Roads as well, Bartrand," Varric added.

"Here you go," said Hawke, passing him the maps that Anders had given him.

"Well…I'll be a nug's hairy-backed, fat-assed uncle!" proclaimed Bartrand loudly, and Hawke scratched his head while Varric groaned. "I told you this kid had potential, didn't I, Varric?"

"Whatever," muttered Varric.

"So, what are you going to do with this money?" asked Hawke. "When do we set off?"

"Woah! What's with all the questions? Kid's making my head spin!" Bartrand said to Varric.

"I am an investor," Hawke said sternly, "and I think I have a right to ask questions. Now, what's this money going to be used for?"

"Sheesh! Touchy little sod, aren't you? All right, all right…put together with mine and Varric's money, this'll pay for workers, food, safety equipment, you know, boring stuff like that, plus a few entertainments."

"Entertainments? Such as?" Hawke demanded.

"Well, we'll be taking a bunch of men into the deeps, so we'll need a little something to keep them from going crazy, what with being trapped under miles of sodding rock. I'll hire a couple of girls to share among the men; leave it to me."

"Girls?" exclaimed Hawke in dismay. "Oh, no. Oh, no."

"What?" spluttered Bartrand. "What's your problem?"

"We are not procuring girls to keep the men entertained," Hawke insisted.

"What is he, some kind of faggot?" Bartrand shouted at Varric, who slapped a hand over his eyes.

"Bartrand…"

"My sexual orientation has no bearing on this conversation whatsoever," Hawke declared, nonplussed.

"You could have fooled me, Twinkle-Toes."

"We are not taking any women into the Deep Roads. A Grey Warden will be accompanying us, and he has provided compelling reasons for their exclusion."

"I couldn't give a rat's tits what some fairy-ass Grey Warden thinks!" Bartrand shot back. "Those girls are coming, and that's that! How else do you expect the men to let off steam?"

"They can use their hand, like everyone else," Hawke retorted. "As an investor, I have an equal say. If you don't like my ideas, you can find another investor, and I'll just take my money and spend it on prostitutes. Male ones," he said menacingly.

"I knew you were a sodding shirt-lifter the minute I set eyes on you!" Bartrand growled accusingly, moving away a step and keeping his back firmly facing the wall.

"I think you'd better take him seriously, Brother," advised Varric, sounding uncharacteristically irritated. "The only other choice we have is Dougal Gavorn, and, if you have him as a partner, you can count me out."

Bartrand threw his arms up into the air and began to pace back and forth. "Of all the bronto-fucking sons of bitches…!" He continued cursing for several minutes, and Hawke and Varric again waited patiently, exchanging the occasional bored glance, until he was through. "All right, damnit!" Bartrand conceded at last. "Just you keep your limp little hands to yourself when we're down there, got it?"

Hawke moved closer to Bartrand, who scooted further back, pressing himself against the wall. "Bartrand," Hawke whispered seductively. "You're quite safe, trust me."

Bartrand squeezed his way around Hawke and stomped over to Varric. "All right, now I've got the money, you can take off, and take Fruitdrop here with you."

"You're not getting rid of us that easily," Hawke declared. "We'll be back every day to check on your progress. I want detailed and accurate reports on how my money is being spent. If I get so much as a whiff of impropriety, I'll withdraw. Nice doing business with you…partner."

"Partner, my hairy balls," Bartrand growled under his breath. "Fine. Now piss off and let me get on with my work."

"See you tomorrow, Brother," Varric promised in a sing-song voice, and he and Hawke walked away, feeling Bartrand's eyes burning holes in their backs. "Hawke, I gotta hand it to you: you dealt with him beautifully. I'm guessing he's not your biggest fan in the world right now, but you put him in his place. I'm proud of you, kid."

"Oh, stop," Hawke teased. "I'm filling up, here!"

"Well, if you're gonna get all weepy on me, I think I'll do the manly thing and disappear. I'm guessing you have an elf to show off your new look to, huh?"

Hawke's eyes widened and he reached for his face. "I'd forgotten about that. How do I look?"

"Weird," Varric answered. "But, I guess it'll grow on me. Or not, as the case may be."

"Thanks, Varric. I can always rely on you to boost my ego."

"That's what I'm here for." Varric held out his hand and Hawke shook it. "See you for lunch?"

"Maybe. If not, I'll see you tonight."

"Gotcha," Varric replied. "Hope the elf appreciates your new look."

"So do I, Varric."

With a nod to each other, the two friends turned and went their separate ways.