Fenris slept for a long time.

He dreamed endlessly of the Bone Pit, searching through the dark tunnels for Hawke. And when he awoke in the clinic, confused and delirious and lost, he asked over and over, where is she?

Did he dream it, when they had pulled her from the pit? Hawke was alive? Hawke was here? She was still all right? She had not died in the night? She had been so broken when they brought her back; it pained him to think of it. Was she better?

He was not well. Getting better, but still weak, and by nature such weakness made him anxious. Feverishly this fear, the fear for Hawke, returned over and over again.

He needed to see her with his own eyes, needed it physically, like water, like air. Death had been so close and he was frightened for her.

The healer, meanwhile, grew more and more annoyed with him. Yes, Hawke was alive, she was recovering, do not trouble her. She cannot walk yet, and neither can you. Stop asking. Be quiet and rest.

Aveline came once, her brow knit together with concern. Weakly he implored her to check on Hawke, tell him how she fared. She too grew angry, but, it seemed, not with him. Instead of chastising him she disappeared into the clinic proper.

Shortly afterward he heard shouting. He thought he heard Hawke, and though he knew she should be resting, and that he should be furious that someone would upset her now, it gladdened his heart to hear her voice again.

Then it was quiet, and he lay awake.

He imagined Hawke would be on her feet soon, hopefully soon, and go home to Hightown.

As would he, as soon as he could. He hated this place and hated Anders and wanted to return to his own manor, where no one would bother him and he could really rest.

And then maybe, in time, Hawke would come to see him the way she used to. They could sit together and talk, and he would drink in her presence like a man dying of thirst. For this he would thank every deity in turn, to be with her again after he had almost lost her forever.

He pictured Hawke alive and well, and smiled to himself. Perhaps the beauty of the world was not always destined to be crushed. Some of it would endure no matter what horrors it encountered.

This she had taught him, and he would be able to thank her for it after all.

Night, and quiet. The healer had long ago left the clinic, extinguishing the lamp that typically burned through the night while he scribbled away at his desk. No candle burned in the window either this night, and without it nothing else illuminated the ramshackle space, not even moonlight.

Fenris dozed in his bed, tucked away behind a partition of boxes and junk that blocked him from the healer's other business. Until a creaking noise alerted him.

It was the door to the one private room in the clinic, the one he had been listening to all through the day as visitors poured in to see the Champion. He had thought all her visitors long departed, but apparently at least one remained. Perhaps it was the healer himself, returning to spend the night with his love. Whoever it might be, they hesitated at the threshold, the wood groaning as they leaned heavily against the rotten door frame.

He heard a voice asking a question to the room. Something about that voice pulled him fully out of sleep, but he couldn't quite place it.

He blinked groggily and watched the flickering glow of a candle dancing along the ceiling.

"Fenris? Are you awake?"

Hawke. It was Hawke.

What in the world was she doing out of bed?

"Fen?" she hissed again, a little louder. "Where are you?"

Then he was listening to himself reply. "Here. I am here."

The light on the ceiling moved, as she held it aloft in every direction, seeking him.

"You're in the quarantine?"

Hawke coughed several times after that, the angry pitch of her voice irritating her throat.

Much as he wanted to see her, he found her coughing alarming. "Go back to bed. Everything is fine."

"I'm coming over."

"Hawke - don't! You should stay in bed!"

But he could already hear her clamoring across the room.

Hawke had been thoroughly unable to sleep. Even once she had forced herself to stop replaying her argument with Anders over again in her mind, stopped refreshing it with new complaints and worrying over how she would mend this rift between them - even without that, still she could not rest.

Anders had left a candle for her, and as it burned down she grew increasingly anxious. She could not stop thinking of Fenris hurt, in pain, somewhere close by. The thought was yet another wound paining her. It felt like a hole in her chest, one that burned whenever she remembered it.

She hated to think she had caused him pain. He had enough of pain and suffering already; she had long ago willed herself never to add to it. But she had, without even trying.

The thought of it would not let her be, and eventually she knew that she would be unable to rest until she saw him and spoke to him. Sadie needed this, and she needed it right now.

Hawke slid her legs over the side of the bed and dropped to her feet. Although her legs should work fine, she had a surprising difficulty just crossing the room. It felt like walking on stilts. She had to move very slowly and check her balance. Very quickly she tired, and looked around for a place to sit down.

This would be why Anders had told her to stay in bed.

Too late now. She pushed against a makeshift door that lead from her more private space into the rest of the clinic. She meant to do it quietly, but the door creaked outrageously.

"Fenris?" she said softly.

She didn't want to wake him if he slept. But she had no idea where to find him, and she was clearly not up for searching the whole place.

"Fenris?" she tried again, a little louder. "Where are you?"

A sound of movement, and a reluctant groan. "Here. I am here."

She peered around the room. All the beds appeared to be empty. Which left - "You're in the quarantine?" she said indignantly, and coughed.

"Hawke - don't! You should stay in bed!"

Hawke eased herself away from the doorway with agonizing slowness. Unfortunately she would have only one hand for this task, her left arm still bound up in a sling. She set down her candle on a shelf next to the door, to give some semblance of light.

Her back stooped and her balance uncertain, Hawke very slowly stepped from one bed to another, grimacing at the effort. Her wounds were largely healed, but her body was still terribly sore. She stopped to rest at every bedside, furrowing her brow in determination.

"Hawke, go back to bed."

"I climbed out of the Bone Pit with these same injuries, I can certainly get myself across one room," she insisted stubbornly.

It was shockingly difficult. All of the strength she had gotten out of her bed with had sapped away. Privately she wondered if it would be terribly undignified to lie down on the floor for awhile. Stubbornness won out, and Sadie pushed forward.

She stopped at the last bed, her hand upon it an anchor to the rightness of the world. There was only one more length, around the corner, to where Fenris was. But there was a decent chance she would tip over in the process. Which would hardly be a good impression right now. Blast it.

"Maker, I'm going to need a cane to get out of here," she laughed ruefully. "You should see me; I'm an old lady already."

With one last lunge, she stumbled over to the wall, collapsing against it with her good shoulder. Not exactly graceful, but it would do the trick. Before even catching her breath she lunged for the bed where Fenris was pushing himself up to a sitting position, and dumped herself face-first over the end of it, laughing at her own clumsiness.

With his help, she got turned around to sit properly. His hands at her shoulders steadied her.

"I think that's... all the adventure I can handle today..." she wheezed.

Oh, she was stupid to try this; she was already making a fool of herself. She wanted to explain that she'd already talked so much through this very long day that now her throat was raw, that her chest still ached where her broken ribs had constricted her lungs, and that's why she was sitting here like an idiot clearing her throat and saying nothing. That the angry shouting of a few hours ago and the bitterness like a lump in her throat ever since were as much a hindrance as her injuries. But really, despite all appearances, she was fine; in fact, to her surprise, she was wonderful. Just now, when she sat down next to him, she finally believed in her heart that she had come home.

But for now she couldn't get any more words out. She could only stare at Fenris's silhouette, looking for some sign of his own illness. But he seemed steady, and his hands on her shoulders were strong. And they stayed there, reluctant to let go.

Oh Hawke. For a smart woman, you can be really incredibly dense.

Author's note: we are very nearly done with this particular story. There will be a follow-up story, however! So hang on for one more update and then we're on to new territory.