Time went by fast, without anything actually happening. Because he did not want to risk getting injured again, Fenris followed Hawke's advice and waited until he felt fully recovered before he accepted his first mercenary job. He worked as much as he could to earn some coin. Only the reading lessons with Hawke and the occasional meeting at the Hanged Man he visited to play cards, formed interruptions of his living pattern of sleeping, eating, leaving to do a job, and returning to the mansion. At least it was a relief not to have to sleep in Hawke's bed anymore. Lying in the dark, knowing Hawke was so nearby, just behind another door... it had not been helpful when he tried to fall asleep. Not that he actually spent less time thinking about Hawke when he was farther away. He still could not comprehend this unwanted... he kept shying away from giving it a name. Obsession probably came closest. His current life seemed to consist only of obsessions. Obsessed with finding his sister, obsessed with killing Danarius. Obsessed with Hawke. None of those he could let go. He got up with them and went to bed with them. He had given priority to finding Varania, but the others constantly kept warring for his attention.

By now Fenris had enough coin to hire Varric's last recommendation, but he had been postponing the trip to Cumberland, hoping to hear something from Pete. But he had received no message, and he grew tired of waiting. Within a few days he would leave Kirkwall again. Then it would not be long before he could finally meet her. Face to face. His stomach clenched in excitement at the thought. They would have so much to talk about. He had so many questions. Perhaps she would too. She hadnot heard from her brother in years. What would be the first thing to say to her? Fenris rose from his chair and started pacing. If Eddy found her, he would have to give her a letter from him, with the request to meet. She would have to come to Kirkwall, because going to Tevinter was not an option. But how should he write that letter? And not just how as in what he should say, but also how as in... how? He could manage a little reading and writing now, but he was not able to write a real letter without making mistakes. If she read a message from him filled with spelling errors, she would think him an idiot. She might believe someone was pulling a joke on her. Or she would simply refuse to meet with her illiterate fool of a brother. He stopped his pacing and ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. He wanted Varania to be as happy to hear she still had a brother as he had been when he had discovered he had a sister. He would practice until he had written the perfect letter. Determined he sat back down at the desk and took a piece of parchment. Hawke had given him several, plus a quill and ink, to practice at home. He dipped the quill in the ink and held it above the parchment.

Dear Va... Wait. How did you spell Varania? Was it with a V or an F? With two r's or one? Angrily he tossed the quill on the desk, leaving a black spot on the otherwise nearly clean parchment. That's just great. The second word of the letter and he was already stuck.

At the end of the afternoon Fenris headed to Hawke's estate for another lesson. He was still in a sour mood because of his stranded attempts to write the perfect letter. It would have been a lot easier if he could write it with Hawke, but that was ruled out by his desire to do this all by himself. When he had made an appointment with Varania, he would tell Hawke. He would ask him to come along to meet his sister. She would like Hawke; for some reason it was difficult not to like the man. Or at least to hate him. Yes, that was how it should go. But then he had to write that cursed letter first.

As usual, Bodahn answered the door. Hawke had once told Fenris he had tried for a while to go to the door himself when visitors arrived, but the dwarf, who considered it his duty to perform this task, kept sprinting past him to do this for him. After a while he had given up and relied on his servant to open the door. This time, however, Bodahn did not give him his welcoming smile, but looked a bit uncertain.

"Good day, serah."

"Good day, Bodahn. Is something wrong?"

Surprised to be confronted so directly, Bodahn blinked at him. He looked over his shoulder before his eyes went back to Fenris. "Ah... I'm not sure, really. But messere Hawke is upstairs."

Fenris frowned at the dwarf. "Upstairs? Is he ill?"

Bodahn shook his head. "I don't think so. He's been there for hours though. Said he didn't want to be disturbed. Perhaps you should go see him."

Still not understanding Bodahn's hesitance, Fenris walked through the hallway and the living area and eventually up the stairs. Hawke probably thinks it is funny to read in bed, even though I have recovered. Well, he can forget about that, I'm not going to... He had reached Hawke's bedroom, but a quick look inside revealed it was empty. Confused, Fenris turned around. Bodahn had said Hawke was upstairs. Perhaps Hawke had gone downstairs without the dwarf noticing? Fenris already wanted to descend the stairs again, when he saw that the door on his right was open as well. As far as he knew, that door was always closed. Not certain whether he was allowed to look inside, he stepped closer to the door to peak around the corner.

A bed, as large as Hawke's bed, was placed against the far wall. Instead of red, the sheets were a light purple, further decorated with a pattern of small flowers. An elegant dressing table stood in a corner. Two paintings hung on one of the walls, or - more precisely - one painting and one drawing. The painting portrayed two children and one teenager who Fenris immediately recognized as a young Damian Hawke, although the young version had no beard yet and shorter hair. The children, a boy and a girl, were undoubtedly Carver and Bethany. Of the three, Bethany showed the brightest smile. Only the word 'innocent' came to mind to describe that smile. Carver looked the way he had still looked when Fenris had met him: not content with what life threw at him, and Hawke had one corner of his mouth lifted up in a skewed, forced smirk. It was easy to see when Hawke's smile was real and when it was fake.

The drawing was a rather rough sketch, simple black lines on a white background. At first Fenris thought it was a more recent picture of Hawke, but the man on the sketch looked older, and not quite like Hawke, although the similarity was strong. Fenris guessed this was actually Hawke's father.

He knew which room this was.

Hawke was standing next to the bed, in front of the nightstand, with his back towards Fenris. On the nightstand was a glass vase. In the vase were long-dead flowers. The petals had withered away; many had fallen on the nightstand or the ground. Hawke stared at the dead flowers as if he suspected they could jump out of the vase to strangle him. Fenris lingered in the doorway, vividly recalling the last time he had tried to comfort Hawke in his grief. Although Hawke must have heard him enter, he did not turn around or even look over his shoulder.

For a few minutes they simply stood like that, Hawke staring at the flowers, Fenris staring at Hawke's back. Eventually Fenris broke the pressing silence by saying Hawke's name. Hawke glanced at him before returning his gaze to the remains of the flowers. "Hey. Sorry, I didn't intend to be here by the time you arrived. I must have... lost track of time."

Fenris took a hesitant step into the room. "What are you doing?"

Hawke answered without looking at him. "I wanted to clean this place up a bit. Get rid of some clothes... I thought I could do that... How long has it been? Eight months? But..."

Letting go of his last reluctance, Fenris crossed the distance to Hawke. "You saw the flowers," he said.

"Did you know flowers have a meaning? Different species, different colors... you can send a message with it. Mother knew the symbolism of most flowers. Red roses, for example, say 'I love you'," Hawke gestured at the flowers in the vase, "White lilies say 'you're going to die. I'm going to kill you'."

Not knowing what to say, Fenris remained silent.

Finally Hawke looked at him again and gave him a smile. A forced smile. "Don't worry. I'm not going to cry again." He sniffed. "Not really."

The sadness in Hawke's eyes hit him. At that moment he only wanted to take that pain away from him, add it to his own if needed. Just to see Hawke's smile turn genuine again. That he was not capable of doing that frustrated Fenris more than being unable to write a decent letter to his sister. He had no comfort to offer, even though he wanted to.

Hawke apparently sensed that inability too, but misinterpreted it. "I'm sorry. I know you don't want or need this. I really didn't want to be here this long. It's just I... I somehow always end up talking to you, because it feels like I... can. I know it's silly, because you don't want to talk to me anymore, but you're the only one who seems to understand anyway. And I need that. So.. uh... thanks for listen to me rambling. Now it's time for your lesson. We'll go downstairs. But first..." Hawke faced the dead lilies once again, holding up one hand. Small flames lit up around his fingers. He brought his hand to a lily that had managed to hold on to its withered petals and let the flames lick on it. As soon as the fire tasted the dry flower, it swallowed it whole. Within a few seconds the lily had been reduced to ashes. Hawke set fire to the rest of the lilies, one by one, until all the remains in the vase had been burned up.

"There," Hawke said. He turned his back to the nightstand in a definitive manner. With a face that looked like it was made of stone, he said: "I never want to receive flowers. Mother knew the meaning of most, but when a madmen decides they symbolize he is going to murder you... then it's useless. If someone makes up their own meaning, you have no idea. So I prefer words. No bloody symbols."

Fenris' fingers went to red sash around his wrist, but he withdrew them before they touched the fabric. "Waste of time."

He stopped Hawke, who was already walking to the door, and pointed to the drawing hanging on the wall. "Is that your father?"

Hawke nodded. "Yes, that's him. Malcolm Hawke. That ugly painting is of me, Carver and Bethany, but you probably guessed that." He studied the painting, then added: "I think I got better. I don't know what was going on with that hair."

"You don't look happy."

Hawke frowned, wrinkling his brow. "What do you mean? I'm smiling."

"That's not one of your real smiles." He had barely said it when Hawke's mouth curled in a grin he tried to keep down. "What?"

"Careful, Fenris, or I might start thinking you actually know me. I'd hate to think I'm an open book to you."

"I think I'd have more trouble reading a book than you," Fenris mumbled. Hawke burst into laughter at that.

"Okay, wrong choice of words. Come, let's see if we can improve your readings skills a little more then."

While they walked the stairs, Fenris realized with surprise that he had just managed to make Hawke smile. Really smile. How had he done that? He had wished it, and then it had happened. Somehow. Had he really made things a little bit better for Hawke? Perhaps he did have it in him to provide comfort. Perhaps he really could be more than a living weapon. With Varania's help it would be possible.

Bodahn was waiting for them and looked relieved to see that Hawke seemed fine.

"Bodahn, go to Mother's room and clean it up," Hawke ordered. The dwarf did not seem happy with the request, but he nodded nonetheless.

The first half of the lesson they read, the second half consisted of writing. Hawke read the sentences of a book to Fenris, and he had to write them down. In the beginning Hawke had spelled every word, but now he only did that for the longer ones. It was encouraging to notice this sign of progress. Eager to learn, Fenris always did his best to stay focused during the lessons, despite the always distracting presence of Hawke. This evening though, he grew more frustrated while he wrote down all the words he did not want to write. At the moment he only wanted to know how to spell one thing. While Hawke continued to read the next sentence, Fenris put down the quill.

"And then he went to the - oh, this is a difficult one: k-i-t-c-h-e-n, to..."

"How do you spell Varania?"

Hawke looked up from his book to stare at Fenris. Fenris had expected to see suspicion creep on Hawke's face, but Hawke maintained a blank expression. After a pause, Hawke answered with a soft voice: "V-a-r-a-n-i-a."

Fenris picked the quill up again and fixated his eyes on the parchment that lay in front of him. "Thanks."