Thank you to all for your reviews, fav, alerts and for reading! Lots of power outages have given me the chance to write. Now for some fluffy stuff. Thank you!

Chapter 6: Forever a Virgin

"Oh look at those ears!" Grace heard her grandmother say. "She is simply darling."

The door to the parlor was ajar enough to see inside without opening it further. Grace peeked into the room. Standing next to her grandmother were two Elven women, one of them she knew to be Thalia, the maid, the other she did not recognize. The unmistakable sound of a baby cooing and grunting grabbed Grace's attention. She had been destined to visit the garden with her mother and drink afternoon tea. But this... an Elven baby in the parlor being held by her grandmother was too interesting to miss.

"Why, I remember when Grace was this little." Madeline said, the pride in her voice quite unmistakable. "She was such a pretty baby, but quite plump. I never could quite understand why, considering her father was..." The sentence was never finished. All heads had turned towards the door where Grace stood eavesdropping. She had huffed at being named a plump baby and at the mention of her father... well that was something that both interested and hurt Grace. No one ever spoke of her father, and when they did, it never made sense.

"Grace?' Madeline asked. "Are you there, dear?"

Grace interlaced her fingers and marched quite primly into the room. Her head was held higher than usual, which reminded Madeline of a peacock strutting, and she deliberately did not acknowledge the presence of the Elven women.

"Yes, I am here grandmother," Grace said. She looked down at the swathed bundle in Madeline's arms. A tiny Elven girl with the brightest olivine eyes, the same color as her own, Grace noted, stared up at her with the innocence of new life. "Did you require my presence?" she asked, her voice cold and withdrawn.

Madeline gestured for Grace to take the baby. The young woman was shaking her hands and her head in protest, determined not to hold it. But, Grandmother Madeline prevailed and Grace brought the baby into her arms, albeit with the reluctance of a mule.

"Ah Grace, isn't she beautiful?" Madeline asked. "Her name is, Mona. It means "little noble one."

Why am I standing here holding a knife-ear's child? Grace wondered. And why for that matter is grandmother insistent I do so? Uh, Maker, please do not tell me she is wishing for great grandchildren.

"Noble one?' Grace inquired. "That is a... creative name." Grace moved her nose away from the baby and scowled. "Mona smells rather pungent, noble or not."

Madeline shook her head. "Hand her back to her mother, and come sit with me for a moment."

Mona's mother gently removed her daughter from Grace's arms, and with a nod to Madeline, she and Thalia walked from the parlor and into the gardens.

"It was such a blessing to hold that baby today," Madeline said and she sighed. "What I would give to be a mother again." Her tongue clucked. "Mind you, your mother was quite a fussy baby. I guess some things never change."

Grace covered her mouth as she laughed. "Mother is special," she said and a small giggle was shared between granddaughter and grandmother. The mood swiftly turned serious once the laughter died down. "Grandmother, I was listening at the door and I apologize, but I could not help but hear you mention my father."

"Yes dear, I did," Madeline said. She would not lie and do Grace a disservice. "It is a matter you must discuss with your mother."

The comment silenced Grace. She looked out into the garden where her mother sat sipping her tea and her eyes welled. Being the noblewoman that she was, Grace quickly blinked the tears away. "This story that you have requested I read," she quickly changed topics, "I have to admit it has rather shocked me that you, a renowned lady of Starkhaven, would read such... I shall just say it, vulgarity."

"Oh?" Madeline said, rather amused and not at all surprised by her granddaughter's words. "Grace, my darling," Madeline leaned forward and clasped her ganddaughter's hands. "Propriety is overrated."

Grace's eyebrows rose. "If that is the case then why do we sit in this mansion conforming to the social rules of nobility? Why do we not," she gestured towards the door, "sell our luxuries and live in the wilds?"

"Because," Madeline smiled with all the warmth of sunshine. "A very special woman and man wanted us to have a better life."

The comment alarmed Grace. It was fringing on something she had always known, some secret that her family had long ago buried. According to Tess Lefébvre, the young countess of Val Foret, every noble family had skeletons in the closet. Why should hers be any different?

Grace quirked an eyebrow and then she smiled a perfectly impish smile that delighted her grandmother. "Would you like me to read more of this... high literature to you?"

Madeline sat back in her overstuffed chair and laughed. "Marian Hawke is a bad influence."

Grace placed the old leather bound book in her lap. "She is intriguing; I will admit nothing more."

And Grace began to read:

Day 1

Marian and Fenris turned their minds to the practical; food, sleep, hygiene, as could be had in a cave, and entertainment. They had enough essentials to live comfortably for five days, if they carefully rationed their food. Marian scouted out the flattest spot in the cave and started to create a place to sleep. Fenris watched, intrigued and convinced women had an inborn trait that dictated practicality when life was harsh. At least, Marian had that trait. The same could not be said of Hadrianna, the pet pupil of Danarius, and the nastiest bitch to ever walk Thedas.

He followed her example, and set about creating his own sleeping space. Fenris was satisfied when his body was busy. The physical excursion gave him an outlet for his anger and pent up frustration and it allowed his mind the opportunity to work through problems in a positive way. It also explained why he often used his sword, rather than his words to prove a point.

After Hawke finished making her bed, she began to strip away unnecessary pieces of armor. Fenris pretended to be focused on ironing out the wrinkles on his blanket, but he watched her every move. It was not a perverse need to admire the female form, rather, it was a character study. Fenris was a keen observer of people; he had to be in order to survive. When she laid her leather archer's vambraces carefully down beside her pack and folded her chain mail into a neat square, it told him that this was a person who valued her armor and took pride in keeping it in good condition. That was something he could respect. She was not flippant, everything had value. Perhaps, she also values my company, Fenris thought. Maybe... no, if she truly knew me I doubt she would consider me a friend. The only person who finds me valuable is Danarius. If I forget that then I forget my purpose.

Fenris decided after Marian was seated on her makeshift bed that he could no longer feign tidiness. Do I... strip away some of my armor or do I sit? What does etiquette dictate when one is trapped in a cave? Fenris smiled at his own thoughts. He slowly removed his gauntlets and steel vambraces, just as Marian had done, and laid them gently beside his pack. Next, he removed his steel breastplate and his sword. Marian pretended to be extremely interested in a hangnail instead of Fenris's exposed arms and hands. Sweet Maker, I love you, Marian thought. You could have made me spend my dying days with Varric or a man who loves cats more than I am certain is healthy, but instead you have graced me with this vision. She watched the muscles in Fenris's arm flex and bulge admirably as he began polishing his sword. I need to do a task, - anything- before I am caught staring, or before I spontaneously erupt on the spot.

Fenris peeked at Marian as she rummaged around in her pack. His curiosity grew when she pulled out fifty shafts of wood and a pile of feathers. Marian grabbed her shaping knife and one of the wooden shafts. Fenris watched almost without blinking as she created an arrow in less than a minute. When it was finished, he leaned over, "May I?" he asked.

Hawke inclined her head. "Of course. It is always a good idea to inspect the work of a Fletcher, especially one who helps protect your life."

The oak shaft was straight as it should be and the bone arrowhead was sharpened to a fine point and firmly attached. He studied the fletching closely, for he knew the slight twist in a bird's feathers made the arrow rotate in flight, which increased accuracy. If they were sloppy, the arrow could end up in the back of his head, but it was perfectly constructed. Fenris discovered that he envied her talent.

"Why the bow?" Fenris asked. Weapons were a safe topic. A topic he could both appreciate and expand upon without feeling inadequate. "You were obviously attracted to it. Do you know why?"

Marian smiled a beautiful uninhibited smile, the type that made a man twitch to Fenris's shame and hidden delight. The subject was one that was close to his heart, a place he had not consciously sought but was glad to find. It soon became obvious that they shared a love of weaponry.

Marian tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture that Fenris found oddly sweet. She smiled at the wood she carved and not at Fenris. There was a shy side to Marian, when it came to intimate conversations and settings. Responsibility to her family had always come before her personal desires and needs. Malcolm, her dead father, had charged Marian with ensuring the family's continued survival. That meant work and it left little time for personal pursuits, such as men.

"I used to watch my father shoot fire from his hands when he trained with my sister, Bethany. I was in awe." Marian's smile brightened. "I wished," She was almost lost for words. "I wished I could do it. Unfortunately, the closest I came to flaming fingertips was to have Bethany catch my arrows on fire and then shoot them. Not really the same level of drama except... hmmm," she said thoughtfully. "There was that one time when I caught the garden shed on fire."

"Your father was an apostate?" Fenris's relaxed posture had stiffened and the lower part of his body wilted.

"He was my father," Marian corrected and then she sighed and laid her arrow shafts aside. "I have had enough disappointments for one day must we go here?"

When was she going to tell me? I am surprised her brother did not mention it by now considering how disconnected his mind is from his mouth. Fenris studied his feet for a moment, an internal war raged through his mind. It was about trust. Could he trust the daughter of an apostate? When he looked into her eyes he saw a mirror of what he often felt: I will be judged, though a person may never know me, what I am defines me, and he wondered if Marian and he were really so different.

Fenris bowed his head. "I apologize," he said in truth. "I realize that not all mages are the same, but it is difficult for me to overlook what I have been subjected to in my life."

"I would say I sympathize to be polite, but that would be a lie," Marian said and she restrained from showing pity out of respect for Fenris. "I do not understand what it must have been like to be at the mercy of such a cruel man. My experiences with magic are quite different."

"But surely you have seen the abuses of magic," Fenris said and he looked down at his markings. "Am I not a good enough example?"

Marian followed the white tendrils from his bicep up to his face, imagining the missing pattern under his armor. "You are a fine example of many things, Fenris and yes, I have seen the abuses, but I have also seen the templars do the same to mages and elves." She sighed. The day was wearing on her, draining her patience dry. "My father was not a blood mage nor did he ever practice that vile art to my knowledge. My sister…" The memory of Bethany dying at the hand of an Ogre haunted her thoughts. It was a never ending nightmare that had plagued and chained her in guilt every day since it had happened. "Well, I will not hear a cross word spoken about that sweet girl."

"Perhaps, if I had been fortunate enough to meet more mages like your father and sister my opinion of magic would be less malevolent," Fenris said, as a peace offering. "It was not my intention to upset you… Marian."

The sound of her name from his lips brightened her mood. He is making the effort to be amicable, Marian thought. I do not blame him for how he feels. Maker, I am certain I would have the same misgivings if I had spent one day in his nonexistent shoes. But this is my family we are discussing perhaps… A thought occurred to Marian, one she had not considered. Slavery was a foreign concept. She understood what it entailed, but to actually be a slave... no she could not fathom. The best she could do for Fenris was to try and see things from his perspective.

"Fenris," she began carefully, "Do you have family in Tevinter?"

"I do not know," he whispered. "If I do it was taken from me." He threw a pebble across the cave. They watched it bounce off the stone pile and ping away. "We should eat."

That was a bit cryptic. I guess my personal Fenris quota has been used up for today. Still, it is more conversation from him than I have ever received.

"If we had wood for a fire I would make a simple stew, but I am afraid we are limited to salted meat, smoked fish and raw vegetables," Marian said. Even if she could make stew, whish she couldn't, she was certain he would not enjoy it. Her cooking skills were limited to boiling water, melting butter and pie. She could make a damn good pie.

Fenris's lip curled. "I do not like fish."

"Okay," Marian said in two distinct syllables. "Fish is completely out until we begin to starve to death."

"Marian." Fenris objected. He was starting to like the sound of her name. It was personal, but in their current circumstances it hardly seemed to matter. "We may yet be rescued."

"How is it you have become the optimist and me the pessimist?" Marian asked. For as long as she could remember, the family had required that she be positive. Bethany was a mage and Carver was immature. It was up to Marian to set a good example. Being offered support was strangely refreshing.

"I am an expert at survival," Fenris said. But even I have my doubts we will live through this. He gestured to the gap in the rocky ceiling. "At least we can still see the sky."

Marian eased down onto her bed and stared upwards to the fading sun. Carver, Varric, and Anders were on her mind. Were they dead? Seriously hurt? Bleeding to death or were they seeking help? She may never know the answer to those questions. The reality was she may die in a cave lying next to Fenris. She looked over at the elf, who had also decided to lie down. He was staring at the sky, towards the west, perhaps thinking of someone special. If she had been granted the power to stop time it would be here. Never had she seen a man look so content and carefree and she could not help but admire his natural Maker-given beauty.

At least he will die free. That thought comforted her as the light began to fade, perhaps a symbolic sign of what was to come of her own life. Either way, she would make the best of the time she was given before it ended.

"Are you ready to eat, Marian?" Fenris said. He rolled his head to the side and a slim smiled escaped when she looked back at him. "Because I am."

Marian laughed. "I forgot about our fish dinner." Fenris's disgusted face made her laugh harder. "And..." Her cheeks blushed. "I appreciate that you are using my given name. It makes a nice change to be reminded that I am human instead of a bird of prey."

"Your name is quite lovely for someone who eats fish," Fenris replied and he smirked at her reaction. In the failing light he studied her silhouette while she lay flat on her back. Her hair was tussled now, it had completely fallen out of the confines of the tight bun. She was covered in a fine layer of dust, but her lips were red and full like a small berry. Why he had not noticed it until now, he was unsure. Even beneath her leather he could see that her breasts were an ample size and they were heaving. His eyes sought Marian's and he noticed that she had noticed him noticing her.

"We should eat," she quickly said and sat bolt upright. "Pork?"

Fenris coughed. "I'm sorry?"

"Do you want pork with your vegetables?" Marian asked. What did he think I was asking? "It is all I have to offer besides fish and I know that is not an option."

I have allowed myself too much freedom. I need to remain alert and focused, Fenris thought. Even in this hole, it is still possible we could be found by hunters or even Danarius. And then it hit him like a broadsword: freedom. He was allowing his mind to think like a free man; at least, he guessed that was what he was doing when he ogled Marian. To openly admire her without fear that his master would notice and kill her or lash him out of jealousy was a new concept. He could do what he wanted without being on a tight leash. But, how do I know? Fenris wondered. As soon as I believe I understand the meaning of freedom, I feel it has eluded me yet again. Who am I to admire a beautiful woman and think there is some possibility that she would do the same, that she would want to be with me? I am not free. I will probably never be truly free.

"Fenris?" Marian said. She had set his plate down in front of him and waited for him to begin eating. But when she noticed the distant look in his eyes, she realized he was mentally away. "Here is your food."

He bowed his head. "Thank you."

His voice had lost some of the warmth and familiarity, Marian had experienced earlier. It was as if a different man sat before her, brooding over his carrots and scowling at his peas. What was it that always brought him to this place? She knew the answer and had understood from the outset why he struggled to keep his anger in check. But to see the internal battle firsthand was, she had found, heartbreaking. One minute he was joking, perhaps flirting, at least she desperately hoped, and the next he had withdrawn and the dark Fenris emerged.

"Fenris, I have been thinking," Marian said. She waited, expecting a retort along the lines of: 'That is a dangerous pastime for you Marian,' but nothing, not one sardonic word. "If we get out of this cave you and I should get very drunk together."

Whatever dark thought had pulled him under, into his pool of despair was completely forgotten. "Drunk?" he asked as if he had not heard her correctly. "You want to get drunk together?"

She smiled. I think I am finally starting to get the hang of flirting. "Yep, extremely drunk, alone, in your big mansion." Marian munched on her carrot and made certain not to look at him. She was afraid to see his expression. "I will provide the drink and you can provide the company."

"I..." I am starting to question whether she is sober now, Fenris was amused by her behavior. "I suppose there would be cause for celebration. But surely it would be best to celebrate with your friends at the Hanged Man."

My flirting skills have not improved, Marian sighed. I am starting to wonder if any man would even notice if I ran through the streets of Kirkwall stark naked. I could just hear them say: Was that a naked woman? No, it was just Marian Hawke. Maker's balls and Andraste's pert buns, I am going to remain a virgin the rest of my life.

"The Hanged Man is overrated," Marian said. Fenris noticed the change in her voice. It was no longer playful, if that was the correct word, but had wilted into apathetic melancholy. "I am sorry."

Fenris laid his salted pork lightly down onto his tin plate. "For what?"

"For suggesting we get drunk at your mansion," she said, certain he had taken it as an insult. "It was forward and inconsiderate. Maker knows if I had a place of my own I would have my fill of peace and quiet before I allowed anyone to intrude" She shivered. "Gamlen's snoring makes me want to rip my hair out. Do you know," Marian started to laugh before she had finished the sentence. "One night Carver and I were so fed up we put him inside a crate in the storage room. Of course, uncle Gamlen was too drunk to care at the time. He did not even question why he had awoken in a crate the next morning."

"You were serious?" Fenris asked.

"That's nothing." She waved the question away like a pesky fly. "We once found Gamlen passed out and dressed like a whore."

Fenrish shook his head. "No, I guess I did not make myself clear, though hearing tales of your uncle's drunken escapades is amusing, I was referring to..."

"Oh!" Marian said. The enthusiasm did not mask her surprise. "About getting drunk at your mansion?" Fenris nodded. "I meant every word of it," she said, deadly serious.

Fenris felt the heat creep into his cheeks. She was serious and wanted to be alone with him, and drunk. Why? Why would she... No, I will not allow these silly notions to plague my mind. At best, we may become friends. She is lonely and frightened and not thinking clearly and I am... in denial, he finally concluded. A night in the company of a pleasant woman was not something he could fully fathom, but he now desperately wanted it to happen. I will wait and see if she changes her mind. I am certain she will once we are rescued.

Dinner finished in silence. Marian decided it would be best to stop embarrassing herself with attempts at painfully inadequate flirting and die with some dignity. When it was obvious Fenris had finished, she grabbed their plates and scraped them in the furthest corner from where they slept. She used her small camping shovel to cover the scraps with the cave dirt.

Fenris had retreated to his bed. He was staring once again up at the sky, this time the clear night sky. Marian walked quietly to her bed, not wanting to disturb him since he looked at peace. She stripped away the rest of her armor until she was left standing in her silk undershirt and trousers.

"Goodnight," she whispered.

"Goodnight, Marian," Fenris said. "I hope you rest well."

I won't and it will be your fault, Marian thought. Little naked versions of you will be dancing through my head, taunting me with rippling muscles and sexy voices.

"Thank you," Marian replied. "You too."