Another restless night followed. Fenris' mind kept racing, circling around the events of the past day. Hawke, Danarius, Varania, Hawke. They kept appearing, refused to let him be. After a few hours of lying on his back and staring at the shadows on the ceiling, he gave up and got dressed again. He wandered through the dark mansion and caught himself still scanning dark corners before he walked past them. It would take some time before he was used to his freedom, before his survival instinct accepted that he no longer needed to keep an eye on his surroundings. Perhaps he would never lose the habit completely.

He lost track of time. When he found himself in the hallway once more, he noticed light creeping through the creak under the front door. He unlocked it. He knew Hawke would come by today. Or he expected Hawke would visit. Hoped.

At the same time he dreaded the prospect. He would have to say something, ask for forgiveness for acting like an idiot for so long. And then... Hawke could turn him down. Mock him. Laugh at him some more. How much that would hurt... Would it be worth it to hurt even more? But then he remembered the feeling of Hawke's hand on his neck as he examined the wound the undead had inflicted there. The care and concern that had been in such a simple touch... and then he felt Hawke's hands everywhere, spreading their delicious fire. His face still grew hot when he was confronted with those memories.

Fenris still did not understand how somebody could have such a hold on him. The only one who used to have that was Danarius, but that was different. Hawke did not order him, and yet he followed and cared about what Hawke thought about him. Nobody could elicit so many feelings from him as Hawke could. Often the man was infuriating, a mage who thought he knew everything best, who refused to admit mage's freedom would inevitably lead to magister's tyranny. Despite this difference in their views, Hawke could look inside him, at the ugliness that was hidden there. But Hawke seemed not to see ugliness. Perhaps he looked past it. Fenris did not know. It might be the same the other way around: when he looked at Hawke, he did not see a mage willing to do everything for power. In fact he tended to forget about Hawke's magic when he looked into his pale blue eyes, as if it did not matter. He could never do this when it came to the abomination, or the blood mage. With them, he sensed their magic and kept his distance. With Hawke, he tended to look back only to discover his intended position had disappeared over the horizon.

Fenris returned to the room he lived in. There he placed some firewood in the hearth, more to do something than because he was cold. When a fire was burning, he went on with his pacing. When would Hawke come? Would he come at all? What would Hawke say? What should he say? I want you, please forgive me? I need you, don't leave me on my own? He scowled at those pitiable ways of saying it, though it was awfully close to the truth.

Hours passed. His heart jumped when he finally heard the door downstairs open and close, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. As soon as he saw Hawke appear in the doorway he felt vulnerable and afraid, and that made him mad.

"Festis bei umo canavarum," he muttered under his breath, turning away to face the hearth.

Hawke was unimpressed with his angry tone. "Am I supposed to understand that?"

Rolling his eyes at this first hint of mockery, he looked back at Hawke. "It means, "you will be the death of me"," he growled. "Six years ago I decided to stay with you in part because I owed you, but I also thought you could help me. And you did. Hadriana is dead. Danarius is dead. I am finally free." Every word was a bubble of frustration. He tried to stop himself from sounding so angry, sounding as if he was blaming Hawke, but he could not stop. After hours of being alone with silence and the echoes of his memories, he had to get it out. He needed someone to hear it, to listen. Hawke needed to hear it. He continued. "But none of it feels like it should. This freedom tastes like ashes." So bitter...

Hawke raised an arm and let it fall back to his side. "I didn't tell you to do any of this," he replied.

"And yet you led me, each step of the way." Without Hawke, none of it would have been possible. But it was still not Hawke's fault. It was not Hawke fault Varania had revealed the truth about the markings after Fenris had told her to get out. He could not blame Hawke for things he had brought upon himself. He sighed. "You are not responsible for my misery. Why am I angry at you?"

Hoping it would diminish his agitation, he sat down in one of the chairs. Hawke followed his example. When he spoke again, he was calmer. "I thought finding Varania would open up a new world, one that was lost forever. But it's gone, and I can't get it back," he tried to explain, wondering if Hawke would understand why he had wanted to find his sister so badly. Hawke's ideas about the meaning of family were probably different from his own. "What do I do now, Hawke?" I only know one thing: being with you. Following you. He had asked Hawke a similar question when they had just met. "Tell me, what do you do when you stop running?" Hawke's answer, building a life, did not say much to him. Build it with what? You could not build something with nothing, and nothing was what he had. A lot of nothing. A lot of cold hatred and emptiness.

Hawke shifted in his chair. "Change your clothes, join the Chantry, I don't know," he said.

The response elicited a chuckle from Fenris. For a moment he had feared Hawke was going to say he should leave. Get his complaining ass out of Kirkwall now that all his problems were solved. But instead Hawke dodged the question. It was not the most useful answer, but at least it was not the worst either.

"I don't think I'll go that far." Was he imagining that Hawke looked relieved at his laughter? He focused his gaze on his lap. Talking was easier when he did not immediately see Hawke's reaction. "Perhaps it is time to leave this hatred behind," he mused. "It's poison, yet I continue to swallow it. There is no one left to blame. What I have done I have done to myself."

"You wanted it. You competed for it." It was still hard to hard to believe, hard to accept. It still hurt.

"Danarius isn't exactly blameless, you know," Hawke reminded him.

"Perhaps, but he is dead now." Fenris paused. It was time to do what he should have done years ago. He had to face the last truth before he would have the chance to move on, with or without Hawke. He had to know, had to come clean. Hesitantly, he spoke. "We... have never discussed what happened between us three years ago."

One moment, no more than a second, Hawke looked as if he wanted to throw something. Then he wrestled his face back into a more emotionless expression. "You didn't want to talk about it." The way he said it made it apparent he felt that was an understatement. Fenris could not blame him.

"I felt like a fool. I thought it better if you hated me - I deserved no less." Please don't hate me. "But it isn't better." He could not do this sitting. Sitting felt too powerless. He needed more muscles at work to ease the tension that was building up inside him. Fenris stood up while he continued to speak. "That night... I remember your touch as if it were yesterday." He briefly looked at Hawke before his eyes darted away. "I should have asked for your forgiveness long ago. I hope you can forgive me now."

Hawke's expression seemed to mirror what Fenris was feeling, and that surprised him. He recognized the insecurity, the pain. Could this mean...

"I need to understand why you left, Fenris." Hawke's voice sounded smaller than before, timid almost. As he looked up at Fenris, who was towering above him, the advantage of his height lost, he was far less intimidating. No longer the mighty Hawke.

"I've thought about the answer a thousand times." And regretted it just as many. "The pain, the memories it brought up... it was too much. I was a coward." He averted his face again, the bitterness of the word 'coward' on his tongue. "If I could go back, I would stay. Tell you how I felt." He almost wanted to close his eyes then. What reason had Hawke to forgive him?

Hawke's voice forced Fenris to look at him. "What would you have said?"

Fenris did not need to think about the answer. Since he had realized what Hawke truly meant to him, it was so obvious he could not believe he had not understood it sooner. Two years ago, he had admitted to himself he was in love, hoping it would be easier to move on after that. It had not helped, because he had still refused to accept the true meaning of it. The word love itself had scared him already, and so he believed it a huge step when he had allowed the word in his mind. But without accepting the meaning of the word, it was just that: a word. A word alone could not change anything. Now, the confession rolled over his lips without hesitation. "Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you."

As if he were struck by lightning, Hawke stared at him. Fenris had never seen him this perplexed. What surprised Hawke so much? That Fenris admitted his life was far worse without him? Or that he even dared to ask this, after everything that had happened? As the silence progressed, Fenris became more and more convinced it was the latter. Hawke simply did not know how to react to this stupid notion, this pathetic desperation. He silently cursed his own foolishness. At least he knew now not to expect anything from Hawke...

Hawke opened his mouth and closed it again. He licked his lips. Fenris braced himself for the rejection he was certain was about to follow.

"Oh, I don't know..." Hawke said, a hint of amusement vibrating in his voice. "It might be fun to hold this over you a little longer..."

Now it was Fenris' turn to stare in bewilderment. He had been so sure Hawke would turn him down. But this almost sounded like...

Still doubting his own ears, he bent down and brought his face close to Hawke's. "If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side," he said hoarsely.

Hawke got up so fast Fenris almost had to jump back to avoid hitting their heads. Before he could say anything else, Hawke's mouth was upon his. Every coherent thought fled from his mind immediately. There was only room for the kiss. The taste of Hawke, his scent, now clean and fresh, the sensation of his moustache and beard against his upper lip and chin. It was all he needed. He brought one hand to Hawke's head. His gauntlet got stuck in Hawke's hair, which was tied back in the usual braid. In response Hawke wrapped his arms around Fenris' waist to hold him close. This was enough for Fenris to awaken his arousal. He tightened his hold on Hawke's hair, eliciting a small gasp from Hawke, and pulled to undo the braid. He wanted to see it loose; he liked it that way. In the meantime, Hawke deepened the kiss, his tongue hot and eager.

Three years without this. How had he lasted? Hawke's hands burned through the leather of his tunic on the small of his back. Fenris felt himself grow hard. The possibility to take this slow and enjoy every moment went out of the window. Slow was for later. Now the buildup of three years of yearning had to find release. His free hand, the one that was not tangled in Hawke's hair, went lower, searching for something to hold, to squeeze.

After some time he became aware of Hawke holding back. Wherever Fenris' hands roamed, Hawke's hands followed eagerly, mirroring the movements on Fenris' body. But his hands did not take initiative, did not travel on their own to parts Fenris had not yet explored. Frustrated by this, Fenris pinned the larger man against the nearest wall.

Breaking the kiss, he growled. "Hawke, stop holding back."

Hawke turned his head away. "D... don't say that... I... I won't be able to stop if I..."

Fenris pushed himself on his toes, pressing his hips against Hawke so that he could feel the bulge in his trousers. Hawke's eyes rolled back in his head when he felt Fenris' erection against his own hardness. A tormented groan rumbled in his throat.

Fenris knew what was on Hawke's mind, but he would not have it. He would not allow Danarius' shadow on this. He let go of Hawke's hair and closed his fingers around Hawke's face, forcing him to look his way. The sharp ends of his gauntlet dug into Hawke's cheeks.

He leaned his forehead against Hawke's. "I don't want you to stop," he breathed, increasing the pressure of his hips.

He saw the flicker of doubt in Hawke's eyes go out. For now. Desire took over. Hawke forcefully claimed Fenris' mouth again, at the same time grabbing his ass to pull him even closer. Their breathing sped up as they kept moving, trying to make as much contact with the other one's body as possible. Robes and armor became a barrier more and more and soon Fenris' chest plate was the first to go.

They were still standing when they were both undressed, not patient enough to stop their kissing. But Fenris wanted more. The soft groaning of Hawke was no longer enough. He wanted to hear him cry out, see and feel him writhe in pleasure. He would show Hawke how much he had longed for him. He withdrew from Hawke's mouth and started kissing a trail from his neck to his chest, from his chest to his stomach. He exhaled deeply when he reached the center of Hawke's arousal, already wet and dripping at the tip. For a moment Fenris took it all in, enjoying the fact that he could turn Hawke on this much, reveling in the knowledge Hawke was - against all odds - his now.

Teasingly he ran a finger through the hair on the inside of Hawke's thighs. Then he curled his tongue around Hawke's tip, catching the pearly bead that was about to drop to the ground. Hawke's knees nearly buckled as Fenris closed his lips around him and his tongue slid down his shaft. A large hand pulled at Fenris' left ear. He looked up to see what was going on.

Hawke was leaning with his back against the wall, his eyes half-closed. "Fenris... I'm going to fall over if we do this here."

Fenris nodded. Despite his eagerness he realized Hawke coming down with his full weight on his head would not end well. In a fluid movement he got up from his crouching pose. With the taste of Hawke's first seed on this tongue and lips he leaned forward to kiss Hawke, long and deep. They continued their kiss while they shuffled to Fenris' small bed in the left corner of the room. Luckily this was the corner they had been closest to, so it was not long before Hawke dropped heavily on the mattress with Fenris on top of him, one hand in that long, thick hair. Hawke lifted his hips in an attempt to find friction against Fenris' body and moaned when Fenris gave him what he sought.

Fenris started kissing and licking his way down again, taking extra time at Hawke's nipples before he went lower. A shudder of expectation coursed through Hawke when Fenris' warm breath fanned over his erection. Surprisingly tender Fenris wrapped the fingers of one hand around it before he took Hawke in his mouth as deep as possible. He realized he had not done this the first time they had been together. Hawke had pleasured him with his mouth, but he had not returned the deed. He had been so overwhelmed that he had done little more than completely surrender to Hawke. Now it was the other way around. Now he was in charge, and he tremendously enjoyed Hawke's helpless groaning as he moved his hand up and down, followed by his mouth. He varied the movements of his tongue, sometimes sucking around Hawke's member, then simply engulfing him as much as possible, all while his hand kept up its pace. He echoed Hawke's moans at the back of his throat, knowing Hawke would feel the vibrations.

He felt Hawke grow harder. At first Hawke had caressed Fenris' cheek with one hand, but eventually he lost control of his movements and instead grabbed the sheets underneath him. He tried to prevent his hips from moving so that he would not thrust violently into Fenris' mouth. His whole body was shaking from the effort. Fenris did his best to block out the contrast with Danarius that his mind forced upon him. Danarius had never bothered with holding back. He enjoyed it deep, often hitting the back of Fenris' throat and nearly making him gag. Danarius is dead. This is Hawke. I want this.

When Fenris growled encouragingly, Hawke's hand pulled at his hair to warn him he was on the edge of his climax. Fenris, refusing to be pulled away, held steady and circled his tongue over the soft skin of Hawke's tip.

Hawke cried out as his orgasm pushed out jests of semen, filling Fenris' mouth with the bitter, salty fluid. Though he did not find the taste pleasant, he let it flow over his tongue and swallowed it all. To him, it represented the freedom to choose what he wanted in life, the freedom to finally be with Hawke. It was immensely preferable to the foul taste of ashes that had clung to his tongue earlier. He continued to suck carefully while Hawke came, making sure Hawke completely emptied himself. Hawke whimpered at the continued stimulation.

Fenris felt his own cock throb in need for more. He released Hawke's slinking erection and began to kiss the area around it while he listened to Hawke's ragged breathing. One hand massaged Hawke's balls before exploring what was behind them. Fenris' ability to think was fogged with desire. All that mattered now was to get what he wanted, needed, craved so desperately. He wanted to feel Hawke, from the inside out, be surrounded by him, claim him. He wanted to have him.

Hawke went very still when one of Fenris' fingers brushed over his closed entrance. It made Fenris hesitate. Suddenly doubt found its way inside him. Did Hawke want this? Would he submit to an ex-slave, allow Fenris to take possession of him so completely? Perhaps he found it offending Fenris expected him to be submissive to him... Hawke was always the leader, the one in control.

He raised his head to look at Hawke, one hand still between the cheeks of Hawke's buttocks, uncertain how to proceed. Hawke propped himself up on his elbows, keeping his eyes locked with Fenris'. His hair was a disheveled mess, a few locks stuck to his sweaty temples. His beard was in no better state. Fenris could not read his expression. Paralyzed by insecurity he dropped his gaze. He could hear Hawke move and feel the mattress shift. Then a big, rough hand caressed his neck. The markings reacted to the touch by glowing softly and spreading their heat through the lines. Because he was looking down, Hawke's kiss surprised Fenris. Suddenly his mouth was there, his tongue probing Fenris' lips, begging them to open. Fenris complied, offering Hawke a taste of himself. The taste of Hawke's seed was still present on the back of his tongue.

"One second," Hawke said softly when he withdrew from Fenris' mouth. To Fenris' horror, he got up from the bed and picked up his robes from the floor. Believing he had messed up already, he closed his eyes.

They shot back open when he felt something cool and hard being pressed in his hands. He stared at the small glass bottle while Hawke returned to his spot on the bed.

"It's a concentrator agent," Hawke explained at Fenris' surprise. "I intended to give it to Anders so that he could use it to make health poultices, but I forgot. So..." Hawke's face colored. "You... we can use it for... you know."

"Does that mean you want to..."

As an answer Hawke spread his legs. Fenris' member twitched at this clear invitation. For a moment he had feared his desires had ruined everything all over again, but apparently Hawke was willing. Hawke truly was his.

He bent over to kiss Hawke before he uncorked the flask and poured some of the agent over his hand. He shot one more glance at Hawke, then placed a slick finger against the circular muscle that guarded the entrance. Slowly, carefully he moved his finger inside. With this act he had no experience, not from this position... Despite the need that roared inside him he did not want to hurry in fear that he might hurt Hawke.

When he added a second finger he hit a spot that made Hawke gasp and squirm. Startled Fenris held still. "Did I hurt you?" he asked concerned.

"N... no. That was... go on."

One corner of Fenris' mouth crept up. He curled his fingers upward. "Like this?"

Hawke moaned, then realized he had been asked a question and nodded. "Ye...ss," he hissed. "That."

Fenris' fingers kept working, steadily stretching Hawke's hole, while he watched how more beads of sweat formed between the dark hairs on his chest, how Hawke's breathing became deeper, how his shaft - still wet from Fenris' mouth - was beginning to grow hard again under the continuous stimulation of that spot inside him. When his third finger was inside Hawke, he started to rub his own erection with his other hand to make sure he was stiff enough to take what he wanted. He did not need much work.

He poured more lube on himself so that both he and Hawke were slick with it. A faint protest bubbled up in Hawke's throat when Fenris removed his fingers, a protest that was silenced as soon as Hawke felt Fenris' tip press against his entrance.

More impatient than he should have been, Fenris thrust to enter. He stiffened immediately after, overwhelmed by the sensation of being completely buried inside Hawke. Every lingering thought was effectively wiped away in that single thrust. The lyrium on his shaft pulsated and launched a scorching heat along the markings over the rest of his body, until he could feel the sensation of being inside Hawke in his toes and ears. It hurt and was delicious at the same time. He had Hawke. Hawke was his. He had always believed Hawke had power over him, power Fenris had not wanted him to have and had made him feel helpless. But now he saw it was the other way around as well; it was an equal thing. After three years of being pushed away, Hawke still took him back. Somehow Hawke cared about him and wanted him too, no matter how impossible that seemed. He was Hawke's and Hawke was his. And now the mage lay under him, legs spread, fully aroused, looking at Fenris with silent anticipation.

Hawke did not give Fenris much time to recover. After a pause, he rolled his hips to let Fenris know he wanted more. Fenris' breathing hitched at even this small stimulation. It created room for one new thought: so. Tight. Hawke's heat pressed against every part of his member. Fenris feared that if he started moving, his senses would overload.

And yet that was what he did. He made one experimental thrust, a bit unsure what movement to make. The first movement was followed by stronger one, one that made his toes curl. Then his body knew what to do and took over. He went faster and faster, harder and harder, until he was pounding into Hawke with all his might. He threw his head back as Hawke picked up the pace and began to move in synch. His fingers dug into Hawke's hips to find a good grip and enable him to move even harder.

His orgasm neared quickly. Fenris growled as he spilled his seed inside Hawke. Hawke's breathy groan when he came for the second time was even louder than the first. At the back of his mind, a girl giggled.

The wall that blocked the memories of his early life collapsed.

He was running, chasing someone. A little girl with flaming orange hair. She tripped over a loose tile and fell down. Out of breath, he reached her just as she started crying. Both her knees were skinned, blood already welling up from the scratches.

"Varania! Are you okay?"

He was being led to a dark room he had never been before, deep down in the mansion. His master was bent over a collection of books and loose sheets of parchment filled with complicated scribbles. He waited silently, his back straight, stomach clenched with pride and expectation until his master finally turned around to look at him and gave him an approving smile.

His master drew intricate patterns everywhere on his body, every now and then casting a glance at his parchment before he continued. When he was done, his master took a step back to admire his work.

"This will make you strong, a warrior without equal," he promised, while taking a silver dagger from the folds of his robes.

He did not understand how these pretty lines would make him strong, but the answer required no thinking. "Yes, master."

Two other slaves placed his ankles and wrists in chains. The razor-sharp point of the dagger cut through the line that was drawn under the left side of his jaw.

Hawke's voice, panting, came from far away, barely audible through the buzzing of his ears. "For the love of... I'm not twenty anymore, Fenris!"

He came back to the present with a shock. Fenris inhaled abruptly, hoping it would help against the feeling he was going to choke. His head was sweaty and he felt almost feverish, his body trembling uncontrollably while Hawke's chuckle resounded in the background.

Fenris rolled off Hawke until he was lying with his back to him, facing the wall. So it was as he had feared then. Being with Hawke meant regaining his memory... and losing it again. Already what he had remembered was becoming vague and blurry, despite having recalled everything a few heartbeats earlier. He curled up in a ball without realizing it.

This was not fair. Why could he not be happy for more than a single moment? Why did his curse insist on tormenting him every time his life threatened to be good? And now he knew it was his own fault as well... This was his own doing. He would pay the price the rest of his life.

A hand brushed the sweaty hair from his forehead. A beard prickled against his shoulder. For one confused, panicked moment Fenris thought Danarius was lying beside him, but then he recognized Hawke's concerned voice. "Fenris... don't turn away from me. Not this time. Please. Talk to me."

Reluctantly he rolled back to look at Hawke. But he could not speak. He knew no words.

"Your memories again?"

He nodded.

"What did you remember?"

"I... don't know. Varania..."

Cursing softly under his breath, Hawke put an arm around the small of Fenris' clammy back and pulled him close. His stomach was sticky from his own seed. "I'm sorry," Hawke said. "I can't imagine how..." His voice trailed off.

With his face buried in Hawke's neck, Fenris spoke. "I'm not sure I want to remember anymore, after what Varania told me."

Hawke tightened his embrace. "It can't all be bad. You said you saw Varania. Do you know what she was doing?"

"No... we were children, I think... I... I don't know. As soon as I remember, it slips away."

"Perhaps it is like with dreams," Hawke suggested.

Fenris frowned, though Hawke could not see that. "What do you mean?"

"Well, we always dream when we sleep but often we don't remember it when we wake up. But you can train yourself in remembering them. Perhaps you can train to hold on to the memories. They are not gone, that much is clear. You also recognized Varania when you saw her. You remembered your name: Leto."

Fenris looked up. "That is not my name," he snapped. "I just... why are you doing this to me?"

"I'm not doing anything! I have no idea what might trigger those flashbacks. I wonder if it has to do with your markings and my magic. You were glowing again, bright like the sun - if the sun would be blue. You almost blinded me."

Fenris glowered at Hawke's poorly restrained grin. "I meant why it could be connected to you. I am not blaming you for it. But apparently these ugly markings are just amusing for you anyway."

"Woah, you can't be serious," Hawke let out. "You were..." He withdrew his hand from Fenris' back to stroke the line of his jaw. "You looked good. More than good. You still do. Don't look like that, it's true. I know you hate your markings, but they don't make you ugly. They have something magical - oh, that's not the right word of course. I... it's not that I would only want you with the markings, or that I want you to have something to do with magic... Oh, how do I say this... You..."

Fenris silenced Hawke's stammering with a short kiss. "I thought a blue glow did not turn you on," he teased.

Hawke smirked back at him. "I never said that. I don't believe I'd do blue in general, but with you... well, you can handle the color."

"Right..."

"But don't go thinking you're irresistible now, serah. I happened to be completely over you."

Fenris arched an eyebrow. "Really."

"Yes, absolutely. Right until you came up with your puppy eyes and begged me to take you back."

"There are no..." Fenris' protest broke off. "Hold on. That was a few years ago in the Hanged Man... You heard that?"

"Of course I did! Everybody seems to think I'm hard of hearing, the way you guys go on behind my back. But my ears happen to be excellent."

Fenris wrinkled his nose. "I wouldn't say I begged you, though."

"'Nothing can be worse than the thought of living without you'," Hawke imitated in a low voice. "You know you are going to hear that the next time we have an argument."

"I did get you speechless with that."

Hawke chuckled. "True. I never saw it coming." He turned more serious. "What are we... what do you want to do about the memories?"

"I don't know," Fenris replied with a sigh. "I don't believe there is much that can be done about it."

"If you don't want to do this anymore, I understand. You don't have to do it if it makes you miserable afterwards. Or... do you... do you want me to leave?"

Fenris shook his head in bewilderment. "I think I missed something in this conversation. What are you talking about?"

"I mean... do you regret you decision? About us."

He ran his hand through Hawke's hair. "I meant what I said, Hawke. I want you. I am yours."

A shudder went through Hawke at Fenris' last words. "But your memories... it's why you left the first time."

"It... it was more than just that. I was afraid... of so many things. I thought Danarius could come back and ruin everything; I believed you would be better off with somebody else." The doubt in Hawke's eyes did not escape him. "Do you doubt my words?"

Hawke shot him a careful smile. "No... but you did stomp on my heart on your way out."

Fenris' eyes dropped. "I told myself it was just your pride I was stomping on," he whispered.

"Sure, pride got hurt too. But that was not the biggest casualty."

Fenris raised his head. "I won't leave you again," he swore. "I know better now. Only Death could take me away."

He did not expect Hawke's face to crack the way it did. Suddenly, he seemed on the edge of panic. "Don't say that!" he hissed, his large hand squeezing the back of Fenris' neck. "Please don't say that."

The ghosts of the family he had lost floated behind his eyes, reminding Fenris of the night a broken Hawke had mourned his mother. He was not the only one who had suffered losses.

Because there was nothing to say, he pressed his lips on Hawke's. His tongue easily found a way into Hawke's mouth: Hawke was eager to answer the kiss. Fenris knew this was why he could not stay away. The sex might feel good, and he could not deny his desire for Hawke had plagued him, but in the end he could do without if he had to. No, what he needed was this, the understanding, being able to care, knowing that somebody cared as much for him. The possibility to find complete surrender in each other's arms.

After a while, he felt Hawke's hand wander down, reaching for Fenris' half-hard shaft. If he had to sacrifice his memories repeatedly to be with Hawke, he would do that. It was not such a big loss as he had believed three years ago. He could find completeness and acceptation in this instead.