I'd like to say hello and thank you to david9999 and amanda0293 for your amazing support and PMs :-) Also, thank you to everyone following the story, and special thanks to Shakespira, without whom this story just wouldn't be the same.

~o~O~o~

As Hawke's right hand rapped at the door, his left moved up to his face. He knew that Fenris would have to look at him sooner or later, but, at this moment, he felt like a teenager about to have his first kiss, and his cheeks blazed red just as they had done all those years ago.

A shadow skittered along the edges of his memory, then, but he quickly dismissed it. His first kiss, or, rather, what had come after it, was not something he cared to remember. He thought of Fenris, instead, and felt heat creep back into his face, clumsily clearing his throat as the door opened.

"Hawke-"

"Hello, Fenris." Hawke breezed past the elf, obscuring the left side of his face with his hand, hoping he'd made a good job of pretending to scratch it. He walked over to the settee, and then, not quite knowing what to do once he was there, fiddled with the vase on the small table to its left.

The door closed, and Hawke felt a pair of sagacious green eyes on him. The eyebrow was there, as well: Hawke couldn't see it, but could feel its presence as surely as he felt Fenris's.

"Catch up on your sleep all right, Fenris?" he enquired, his feigned nonchalance destroyed by the cracked, high-pitched timbre of his voice. He cleared his throat again and inwardly cursed.

"Mmm," Fenris intoned languorously, and Hawke felt a snigger rise from his toes, catching it just before it rushed out of his mouth. Hawke cleared his throat for a third time and walked over to a window, keeping his back to the elf.

"And what have you been up to?" asked Fenris. There was a smile in his voice, and Hawke knew Fenris was on to him, but played along, nevertheless.

"Oh, this and that." There was more than a smile in Hawke's voice; there was laughter, barely contained and threatening to burst out of him. "Went to see Bartrand. Interesting character, y'know. Nothing like Varric at all."

"Mmm."

Hawke bit his bottom lip and squeezed his eyes closed, a treacherous snort escaping through his nose. Fenris's shadow, cast across the floor, slowly darkened and shortened in length, and, although Hawke couldn't hear his approach, he knew he was coming up behind him. Hawke quickly left the window and walked to the next one, realising that soon, Fenris would have him cornered.

"And what else have you been up to, Hawke? I…see you've changed your robe," Fenris observed casually, his shadow once again darkening by an infinitesimal amount. "You have also washed your hair."

"Well, aren't you the observant one?" Hawke twittered, pretending to brush dust off the drapes. "Good for you!" He caught sight of a pale reflection of Fenris in the window, and could see that the elf's head was cocked, and his stance that of a cat stalking its prey.

"Turn around, Hawke."

"Hm?"

"You heard me," said Fenris, his tone warm.

"I don't think I'll bother," sniffed Hawke. "I'm rather enjoying looking out of the window."

"At a wall?"

"Yes, it's rather interesting, as walls go. You don't see craftsmanship like that, anymore; it's a bloody shame, I tell you."

"What are you hiding, Hawke?" They both knew the answer to that, but they were also enjoying the game far too much to stop.

"Eh? What would I possibly be hiding?"

"I…could…make you turn around," Fenris uttered, an intimated threat carried on a honeyed whisper, and adrenaline flooded into Hawke's belly. Remembering how easily Fenris had manhandled a fully-armoured templar, he didn't doubt that his assertion was true.

Although Hawke's lip was starting to swell from all the biting, he didn't want this feeling of exhilaration to end, and decided to see how far he could push Fenris, finding the thought of being manhandled by him powerfully arousing. The adrenaline cascaded through his body, searing his belly, causing his head to swim and his heart to thud an erratic tattoo.

"Go on, then," he challenged in a husky whisper.

"Are you certain, Hawke?" asked Fenris, his voice a tide of velvet lapping over jagged, perilous rocks.

"Quite certain."

Hawke's breath was forced out of his lungs as slender hands tightly grabbed his arms, twisting them behind his back; not quite hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to render any attempts at resistance useless. The fact Hawke offered no resistance whatsoever helped matters considerably.

"Are you still certain, Hawke?" Fenris's voice, still behind him, was quieter, but nearer.

"Maker," Hawke breathed raggedly, his laughter finally liberated in a nervous burst.

He was spun around and softly pushed against a wall, his arms still held behind his back. Fenris's eyes rose to meet Hawke's and a smile, half wicked and half playful, but wholly sublime, illuminated the elf's face.

"You appear to have acquired a chin since the last time I saw you, Hawke."

Hawke, out of breath and dazed, could only nod in reply.

Fenris's head tilted slightly, and his eyes roamed over Hawke's fuzz-free face. Hawke felt the elf's grip on him loosen a little. "Why have you removed your beard?" asked Fenris.

"Well, um…" Hawke hung his head, a furious blush scalding his cheeks. "Your-your rash. That's-I think that's what caused it."

The smile melted away from Fenris's face, and he tilted his head the opposite way. He released Hawke's arms but rested his hands on them. "You…removed your beard…for me? For my sake?"

"I wasn't that attached to it, anyway," shrugged Hawke. "The only reason I grew one in the first place was because I can't be bothered to shave every day. Not shaving gives me an extra two minutes in bed. But I think you're worth the sacrifice," he teased.

Fenris eyed Hawke uncertainly, trying to determine whether he really was joking. "Are you sure? You…will not miss it?"

Hawke, propelled by nothing but the adrenaline in his veins, stepped closer to Fenris, their chests barely touching, and nodded. "We can't have Guardsman Fen-Fen reporting for duty with a kissing rash on his face," he uttered softly.

Fenris's finally released Hawke's arms and folded his own. "I thought we had discussed this, Hawke," he said, smiling puckishly. "You were not to call me that again, and yet you persist in your folly."

"I never agreed to that. You decided that, Fenris, and, in doing so, completely removed me from the decision-making process. I was quite upset by that," Hawke proclaimed, affecting a hurt expression.

"Really."

"Yes, really." Hawke leaned a little closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "What are you going to do to me?"

"I will surprise you, when you least expect it."

"Promises, promises, Fenris."

This time, they sniggered together, and Fenris raised a hand to Hawke's face. "…May I?"

"You don't need to ask."

Fenris rested the back of his hand against Hawke's cheek and slowly stroked downwards. Hawke sighed and leaned into his touch, his eyes closing, adrenaline once again surging through him. He found Fenris's other hand, which rested at his side, and gently clasped it. "What-what do you think, then?"

"I think…I like it," murmured Fenris, believing Hawke had never looked so handsome. A sensation, unfamiliar, but sweet and wholesome and real, bubbled up inside him and warmed his chest and face. While Hawke's eyes were closed, he allowed - for a brief and perfect moment - his walls to recede, and his heart to open to possibilities that had never before presented themselves; that he'd believed were never meant for someone like him.

Hawke's eyes slowly opened, and, as Fenris's head dipped, he caught a tantalising glimpse of bright eyes, wide with the innocence of a man untouched by Danarius's foulness, before long, dark lashes lowered.

Hawke's hand moved to the slender one that rested against his cheek, and he brought both of Fenris's hands against his own chest, his larger hands covering them, and, not remembering how, his lips found the elf's. He felt Fenris's hands turn and grip his own, before slowly snaking up his arms and around his neck. Hawke's hands went to Fenris's waist, his touch gossamer-light, painfully conscious of not forcing his ardour upon Fenris, afraid of unearthing some long-buried memory. Longing, trepidation and joy warred within him, and, as Fenris pressed himself against Hawke, urging him deeper in, Hawke felt his control slipping, spiralling, careering...

A split-second image coruscated through his mind: bare skin, sweat, hands tangling through white hair, fingers sinking into flesh, licking, biting, sucking, scratching, moaning, pleading, panting-

Gasping, Hawke broke the kiss and clasped Fenris by the shoulders, holding him at arms' length.

"Hawke? What's the matter?"

Hawke blinked and swallowed hard. "Nothing…nothing's wrong, I-I…I don't want to…" He raised his hands to Fenris's face, caressing his cheeks, and placed a soft, almost chaste kiss on his lips, ensuring that their hips didn't touch: Hawke didn't want Fenris to know just how close he'd come to losing control.

"Hawke…you do not need to…I know what you are trying to do. There is no need. You are…you are not him." His last words came out as a whisper, and Hawke, first twisting his hips to the side, pulled Fenris against him, his nose resting against Fenris's forehead. They stood there, warmed by the sun that streamed through the window, for several minutes, listening to the other's breathing, hands gently resting against arms, thumbs slowly stroking.

"Hawke," Fenris said eventually, his words humming against Hawke's chin. "Do you remember when you boldly proclaimed that one day you would be the first mage I've ever trusted?"

"Yes, I remember that," Hawke whispered, lowering his head a little.

"Well, Hawke," Fenris raised his head and looked into Hawke's eyes. "You are. I trust you, Hawke."

A warm glow, and then a cold, hard slap across the face were elicited by the elf's words, and Hawke forced a smile. Fenris trusted him, and yet there was something he didn't know; something that Hawke hadn't had the courage to share with him. He pulled Fenris close again and stared over his shoulder as Fenris curled against his chest, breathing onto his neck.

"Fenris, I-" He pressed his mouth against the elf's temple, breathing in his smell, his warmth. Not so long ago, those things were out of his reach, held back, but were now freely given. Fenris had made a leap, taken a huge risk, and had decided to trust someone. Could Hawke take that away from him, destroy it, and, with it, the possibility that Fenris would ever trust again? Could Hawke do without his touch, his friendship, his trust?

But could Hawke continue lying to him? It was a lie; for all that Hawke told himself that he was merely withholding information, and that wasn't the same as a lie, he knew that by believing that, he was also lying to himself.

"Fenris, I-I need to…" He sighed, his mind split into two opposing forces. On one side, the right thing to do, and, on the other…the right thing to do. The question became: the right thing for whom?

"Yes, Hawke?" Fenris looked up, his expression already accepting of whatever Hawke would say.

I can't give you up. I can't.

"I…trust you, as well, Fenris. With all my heart."

But one day I'm going to break your heart. Or you'll break mine, figuratively or literally. The difference is: I'll deserve it.

But I can't give you up.

"That is good to hear, Hawke."

A shadow passed across one of the windows, and Hawke's breath was released in a gust. "Someone's here." Almost glad of the interruption, he released Fenris and headed straight for the door.

"Wait," Fenris said in warning, and walked over to one of the windows, pulling the drapes aside. Hawke waited behind the door and noticed a confused frown on Fenris's face. "…A child?"

"Shall I answer it?" asked Hawke. Fenris nodded but took up his sword and went over to the door, standing just behind it.

Hawke opened the door to a young lad, maybe thirteen or fourteen. He was poorly-dressed and his hair hung in lank strands. A bumfluff moustache graced his upper lip.

"Pardon me, ser, but are you Hawke?" the lad asked. Before Hawke could answer, he went on. "It's just that I've been sent with a message. I was told to try the Hanged Man and the slums, but that you might also be here. At least…I think I have the right address."

"Who sent you?" asked Hawke.

"Anders, ser. You are Hawke, aren't you? I've seen you at the clinic."

"Wait…I know you, don't I?" Hawke asked the boy. "You were on my ship. Yes, I remember now. Cricket, isn't it?"

"No, ser. Cricket's my brother. I'm Walter."

"Yes, of course!" Hawke snapped his fingers and shook hands with the young man. "Well, Walter, what's the message?"

"Well, Anders asked me to find you because he's heard another refugee ship's just docked. He said he was to let you know if he needed any help. Oh, and when I asked after you at the Hanged Man, Varric said he also wanted to talk to you, and that it was important."

"Oh, yes, of course," answered Hawke. "Well, tell Anders that I'll be along soon. I just have my own patient to see to, first. I'll talk to Varric on the way to the clinic." He reached into his pocket and produced a few coins, which he passed to Walter. "That's for your trouble."

"Oh, but ser, Anders has already p…" Walter stopped himself and glanced down at the money in his hand.

"I don't think I heard that, Walter," Hawke said with a wink.

Walter slipped the coins into his own pocket and grinned sheepishly at Hawke. "Thank you, ser! I-I'll tell him right away!" With that, he took off across the courtyard.

Hawke closed the door with a sigh, in time to see Fenris laying his sword against the wall. "Bugger," muttered Hawke. "And there was me hoping that we could spend the afternoon together; I won't see you tonight, will I?"

"You might; it all depends on how long you are needed at the clinic," answered Fenris.

"Oh, that's right; you'll be in Darktown, won't you? What time do you start?"

"I am to report to the barracks at six bells. Shortly after that, I would expect."

Hawke nodded. "Well, you get a break, don't you? Maybe we could have supper together at the clinic? Play cards with Donnic?"

"I look forward to that, Hawke, assuming it will even be possible."

"Oh, I'll make it possible," Hawke laughed, and then his face fell a little. "Would, erm…would it be all right if Anders joined in? It's just that, well, I think he's a bit lonely. I know that you two don't-"

"No objections, Hawke."

"Thank you, Fenris." Hawke walked over to him and placed his hands on the elf's shoulders. "As a reward for your generosity, I may have some good news for you."

"Oh?"

"Let me have a look at your foot. I think the dressing can finally come off. And that means…"

"No more medicine?" asked Fenris hopefully.

"No more medicine."

Fenris grinned lopsidedly and went over to the settee, sat down and elevated his right leg. Hawke took a seat further along, and, after removing the dressing, began to palpate Fenris's heel. "Any pain?"

"None, Hawke."

"Are you certain?" asked Hawke, his eyes narrowing. "You're not just saying that to get out of taking the medicine?" Hawke pressed his thumb hard into Fenris's heel, but the elf didn't flinch.

"I am of the Kirkwall Guard," declared Fenris. "My word and honour are beyond reproach."

"You're a guard, Fenris, not the grand cleric!" laughed Hawke. "Maker, this is going to your head already!"

"No, it is not," chuckled Fenris. "Aren't you supposed to be examining me?"

"I was, until you started getting delusions of grandeur," Hawke teased, and set Fenris's foot down. "Well, I think you're in the clear. There's one more batch of medicine left, and I'd like you to take that, just to be on the safe side, but we can make it your last one. Start looking after your feet," he added sternly. "Wear your slippers, and tell me if you feel unwell again."

"I will," the elf promised, reaching for one of Hawke's hands. "I cannot thank you enough for your care, but also for seeking alternatives to magic. You went to a lot of trouble, Hawke. I will never be able to repay you."

"I don't want repaying, silly," smiled Hawke. "Actually, I'm glad that your foot got infected. If it hadn't, you and I would probably still be bickering. That, or we'd have killed each other."

"I had not thought of it like that," answered Fenris with a smile of his own.

"Everything happens for a reason, Fenris." Hawke scooted a little closer to the elf, keeping hold of his hand. "You know, there is something you could do for me."

"Yes?"

"Well…you could call me Fletcher, instead of Hawke. Everyone calls me Hawke, which is fine, but you're…you're different from everyone else."

A soft smile graced Fenris's lips. "Not everyone calls you 'Hawke'. Your mother and sister use your given name."

"Which is?" prompted Hawke.

"Fletcher," chuckled Fenris. "But…your mother and sister are your family. They should use your given name…Fletcher, I mean," he added.

"Not just my family, Fenris, but people who…well, people who…mean something to me. They get to call me Fletcher."

Neither man spoke for a short time, and their eyes wandered over to the window. Briefly, Hawke worried that he'd come on too strong, but his fears were allayed when Fenris squeezed his hand.

"You honour me, Hawke."

"Sorry…didn't quite catch that," said Hawke, cupping his ear.

"You honour me…Fletcher." They smiled at each other, and Hawke leaned closer, placing a soft kiss against Fenris's cheek.

"I suppose I'd better get to the clinic, before I forget," Hawke said, releasing Fenris's hand. He patted the elf's thigh and stood up. "Oh…" Hawke scratched the side of his neck and grimaced.

"Oh?" Fenris repeated.

"Well…you know how you said I could have the settee, and maybe a few other things, for the house?"

"Yes?"

"I, um, sort of mentioned that to Varric in passing. Erm…he wanted to know when you're moving to the barracks."

"Ah, yes; he plans to place traps around the mansion, does he not?" asked Fenris.

"Yes, that…and he also sort of has a team of men standing by…to clear the mansion out."

Fenris shook his head. "Hm. This is…awkward. As a member of the Guard…"

"I mentioned that, and how it might make you feel ."

"And what was his response?"

Hawke laughed nervously. "Well, he said that you're the one squatting in a mansion that doesn't belong to you. Varric's words, not mine."

"Squatting is legal in the Free Marches…technically," Fenris added with a rueful smile.

"Believe me, Fenris, Varric will come up with some reason why it's also technically legal for him and his friends to swipe anything that isn't nailed down. Besides…you're not officially a guard until six bells."

Fenris sighed and pushed himself to his feet. "Quarters have already been assigned to me at the barracks. I suppose I could stay there from now on." He glanced around the main reception hall and then looked at Hawke. "This place, and its contents, means nothing to me. What happens after I have vacated the premises has nothing to do with me." He took a few steps closer to Hawke. "The only thing I will miss is your company, H…Fletcher. I enjoyed the evenings we spent together."

Hawke tapped his temple and grinned devilishly. "Don't worry about that; I have plans."

"Plans? Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not." He wrapped his arms around Fenris and pulled him close. "Hope your first shift goes well, guardsman. I can't wait to see you later."

"Neither can I."

Hawke leaned down and their lips met in a brief but firm kiss. Not wanting to get carried away again, Hawke pulled away, and brought his hands up to Fenris's face, resting them against his cheeks. "I suppose I'd better go, if Varric wants me as well. He probably wants to talk about…what will happen once you vacate."

"Not listening, Hawke," Fenris said mischievously.

Hawke released Fenris and scampered over to the door. "I knew we'd make a bent guard out of you," he joked.

"Only until six bells, Hawke…Fletcher. This will take some getting used to."

"Well, you can practice, during quiet spells on your shift," said Hawke. "Just walk around, muttering 'Fletcher' under your breath. Shouldn't get you too much attention – not in Darktown, anyway."

Fenris folded his arms. "Don't you have to see Varric?"

"Ah, good morning, eyebrow!" Hawke laughed, and Fenris immediately relaxed his expression. Hawke walked back over to him and pushed Fenris's brows up with his thumbs. "What did I tell you about exercising them together? The other one will get fat, if you're not careful."

"Dolt!" Fenris dissolved into quiet laughter, his shoulders trembling.

"Aw, Fen…I do love to see you laugh," Hawke said softly. "I wish I didn't have to go to the bloody clinic. I should have kept my big gob shut."

"You will enjoy it," Fenris stated. "You are a healer; it is what you do best, and I have seen first-hand that it is what you were born to do."

"Well, that means a lot to me, Fen. I'm glad you understand. Do you…mind if I call you Fen?" he asked cheekily. "I have invited you to call me Fletcher."

Fenris rolled his eyes and sighed softly, one edge of his mouth twitching. "If you must. But not the other one."

"The other one? You mean Fen-Fen?"

"Yes, Hawke. That one."

"Fletcher. And it's a deal," declared Hawke. "I'll…try to remember."

"See that you do," warned Fenris, and the fact that his eyebrow rose was not lost on Hawke.

"There he is again! I think I'll give him a name…Bill? Yes…I think that quite suits him."

"Hawke…"

Noticing Fenris's eyes moving to his sword that rested against the wall, Hawke relented. "I'm going," he sniggered. "And it's Fletcher." With one last peck to Fenris's cheek, he sailed out of the door, leaving Fenris smiling and shaking his head.

~o~O~o~

It was a sombre-looking Varric who was waiting at the Hanged Man for Hawke, and he quickly ushered the mage into his room.

"All right, Varric, what's so important?" a concerned Hawke asked as he closed the door.

"Siddown." Varric pointed to the chair next to the fireplace, and Hawke sat upon it while the dwarf perched himself on the edge of the bed. "Hawke, I've just had some news. It might not mean anything, but I thought you should know."

"News?"

"My man in the Vinmark Mountains sent word to me not long ago: a large group of people arrived last night and have holed up somewhere on Sundermount. He was pretty sure they were slavers: they had that look about them, and there were several mages among them."

Hawke stood up and stared at the fireplace, a hand covering his mouth. "Did he get a good look at them? The mages, I mean?"

"There was no one among them matching Danarius's description, Hawke. I was very specific about that."

Hawke exhaled and nodded, but said nothing.

"They're not necessarily here for the elf, Hawke," Varric tried to reassure him. "These creeps make forays into the Free Marches a few times each year. They don't come more often than that, because of the length of the journey, and they'd have to travel across the Silent Plains, which I can't imagine is pleasant."

"A few times a year, you say?" asked Hawke. "How many's a few, Varric?"

"I dunno," said the dwarf with a shrug. "Two or three? If that."

"Two or three a year?" Hawke repeated, and Varric nodded. "And yet this is the second group of slavers that have arrived in Kirkwall in as many months. We saw off the first lot the night we met Fenris."

Varric slowly pushed himself up and poured them both a snifter of whiskey. "That's unusual, Hawke, but not unheard of," he said, passing Hawke his drink. "There…was something else, though, which could also be considered unusual."

Hawke paused as he brought the small glass up to his mouth.

"This group was led by a woman," Varric elaborated. "The Tevinters are a patriarchal bunch, what with all the Kossith and Magisters running around: most of the Magisters are men, and I'll be darned if I've ever heard of a female Kossith, let alone seen one."

"Was she a mage?" Hawke asked, and Varric nodded his head slowly.

"Still doesn't mean anything, Hawke," he said, "but it might help if the elf could give you a description of that woman he told us about? The one that used to beat on him?"

Hawke downed the contents of his glass in one, and passed it to Varric for a refill. "You say they're on Sundermount? Is that unusual?"

"Nuh-uh," replied the dwarf. "They usually set up a base there before they waylay the poor sods that travel up the mountain path. They've been doing it for years. I'm still amazed at the stupidity of people who go rambling up there alone." He shook his head and passed Hawke another snifter.

"Don't the Dalish have anything to say about that?" Hawke asked, dismayed. "Aren't they in danger?"

A brief flash of irritation flickered across the dwarf's face, before his features returned to their usual placid state. "The Dalish don't own the mountain," he explained. "If I were a betting man, Hawke, I'd say there's an arrangement in place, there: the Dalish leave the slavers alone, and vice versa. The Dalish have only ever looked after their own kind." He shook his head again. "I can see it from their point of view, I guess, but it does kinda leave a nasty taste in the mouth."

Hawke turned away from Varric and stared down at his drink.

"You gonna tell him, Hawke?"

Met with silence, Varric moved to Hawke's side. "Look, they're not going anywhere at the moment, Hawke; I have a couple of guys keeping an eye out. I would recommend that the elf moves out of the mansion sooner rather than later, though."

"He's leaving tonight," Hawke said quietly. "His first shift starts at six bells, and he won't be going back, so the place is all yours after that. Are you sure that none of the slavers have left Sundermount? He's on his own at the mansion, and I'm supposed to be helping Anders out at the clinic, but I…you've got me thinking, now."

Varric nodded. "Fifteen came through the mountain pass, and fifteen are up on the mountain. They're going nowhere, for now. Six bells, huh?" he mused. "Well, I think I'll pay him a courtesy visit. Give him the honour of being whupped at Brag again. After all, if he's on night duty, I guess he won't be joining our game for a while."

"Thanks, Varric," Hawke said through a shaky sigh. "For everything. Just…don't mention this to him, yet. Like you said, it might be nothing."

"You don't seem to think so, Hawke."

"I just…if we were to tell him, he might take off into the mountains. I don't think we'd be able to persuade him otherwise. I don't want anything jeopardising his position in the Guard. From what Donnic has told me, Aveline took a lot of convincing to accept Fenris. I want him to turn up on time for his shift. I want him out of that mansion. I want him to be safe before anything else is considered."

"All right, Hawke, but if he finds out you knew and didn't tell him…"

"I'll deal with that if and when the time comes," Hawke said resolutely. "When he goes after them, which he will, I want us to be with him, and Anders as well, if he'll come. That just isn't possible, today: a refugee ship has just docked and Anders needs my help. And you have a mansion to booby-trap."

"I'll get the place cleared out as soon as the elf leaves for the barracks," Varric promised. "I'll even walk him there. Now, you'd better go and see to your patients."

"Varric…" Hawke extended his hand, and the dwarf shook it. "One day, I'll find a way to repay you."

"Hey, forget it! You already made my wet dreams a reality, remember?"

"Oh, did you have to?" Hawke complained, snatching his hand back.

"Get out of here," Varric told him with a chuckle. "I've got an elf to humiliate."

Hawke nodded and slapped Varric's arm before departing, a heavy feeling settling in his chest as he headed for Darktown.