In the three days since he'd woken, bedridden and remorseful, he'd seen Hawke only that first, brief time, when he'd been too tired—too pained and trapped between worlds—to do anything more than blink at her. Mostly, he slept, and did not remember his dreams. Sometimes strange recollections came back to him in the place between dreaming and waking—fear, and sorrow, and an unbroken Kirkwall; Amelle Hawke, Anders, a demon of Vengeance wearing the Grand Cleric's face; a child with his own eyes, but sad, impossibly sad—but though they left him unsettled, they were only dreams. When he wasn't sleeping, he lay staring up at the canopy of his bed, half-formed thoughts and wishes and regrets running circles through his mind. He thought, perhaps, even haunted by abominations and demons as they were, his dreams were the more restful.

When the door opened, Sebastian had no reason to expect anyone save Amelle, or perhaps Orana, though it wasn't a mealtime. No one else visited. Not that he blamed them.

It wasn't Amelle. Or Orana. It was Fenris. And Sebastian knew the elf's expressions well enough to understand this one. Of all Hawke's companions, Fenris was the only one Sebastian truly considered a friend. The others tolerated him for Hawke's sake—and Isabela certainly enjoyed teasing him—but it was not friendship. Not truly. Fenris, prickly as he was, at least seemed to occasionally enjoy Sebastian's company. Or he had. Before. Even the brief tension in his gut made pain sing through his breast, but he forced himself to meet Fenris' gaze unflinchingly. Pain was replaced by a strange hollowness, and the realization he'd been expecting such a visit.

"I would have left you in that alley to die," Fenris said without preamble.

Sebastian nodded. "Part of me believes you'd have been right to do so."

"The part that still intends to do them harm?"

This time the pain had nothing to do with the wound still plaguing him. "Fenris, I would never have—"

"Had anyone asked, I'd have said I thought you the least likely to turn on Hawke," Fenris interrupted, his tone almost conversational, except for the unmistakable undercurrent of danger running just beneath the surface. The elf stepped over the threshold and closed the door tightly behind himself. He had no key, but he wedged a chair underneath the knob before turning back to Sebastian. The hilt of Fenris' greatsword peeked over his shoulder, but Sebastian thought the elf could just as easily have come unarmed.

The sword was too distant for what Sebastian had done. The sword was for slavers and spiders and spirits: impersonal death meted out to impersonal enemies.

Sebastian knew how Fenris dealt with those who'd betrayed him. He knew what had happened to Hadriana and Danarius and Gascard duPuis.

What Fenris intended required no sword.

"Does Hawke—do they know you're here?"

Fenris shot him a scathing glance. "Of course they do not." He shook his head, his white hair catching the firelight. "Neither of them would wish me to kill you, I think, but in this I will not risk their lives. They are too forgiving. It has served them ill in the past. As you are perfectly aware."

"I don't think either has forgiven me."

"Amelle risked her life to go into the Fade for you. She risks her life to pour so much energy into healing you. You are a traitor. You left. When Hawke needed you most, you left."

"Fenris, please…"

Rage, sharp and furious, flashed in the elf's green eyes. "Do not. Friendship counts for very little in the face of what you have done. Hawke trusted you. I trusted you."

"I know."

Fenris muttered a curse under his breath, stalking from one end of the room to the other. Sebastian didn't think he was imagining the faint glow emanating from Fenris' markings. "If you think I shall stand idly by, if you think for a moment I will allow you to attempt to bargain or plead with me—"

"I won't," Sebastian said softly. "I understand why you're here. I cannot and will not claim I would behave any differently, were our positions reversed."

"Venhedis, Sebastian! Be silent!"

Sebastian watched as Fenris opened and closed his fists, slowly, finger by finger. For a long time, Fenris made no other motion save this slow opening and closing, all the while staring at the ceiling. Then, so swiftly he hardly had time to react, Fenris was at his bedside, his left hand grasping Sebastian's uninjured shoulder too tightly, his right glowing as it hovered over his breast. The wound already there ached, as if in sympathy for what was about to happen.

Still Fenris hesitated. Sebastian forced himself to look up, to meet the elf's eyes. He willed Fenris to read the truth of his intentions there, willed him to see his regret, to see… to see the truth, no matter what that truth revealed.

If the elf should find his contrition lacking, Sebastian willed Fenris to kill him.

He said nothing, for he knew there were no words equal to the task of proving himself.

"I am satisfied," said Fenris, releasing him even as the white glow faded. Sebastian fell back against his pillows with a thump and a unintended moan of pain.

When Amelle arrived half an hour later, toting a tea-tray, the chair at the door had been returned to its proper place, Fenris' sword leaned against the wall, and they were so deep in conversation they almost didn't see her enter.

"Oh," she said, clearly startled to see anyone other than her patient in the room. "I'll, uh, go get another cup, shall I?"

"Do not trouble yourself," Fenris said, rising to take the tray from her. "I will go myself."

Amelle blinked at the elf twice before rolling her shoulders in a shrug. With Fenris gone, she settled down to work, clucking over his wound as she did every time she pulled back a poultice to find it not behaving the way she would have wished it to behave. "It's, um… nice to have visitors, isn't it? For a change?"

Sebastian winced as her gentle fingers found a particularly tender spot. A moment later, he felt the thrum of her healing magic infuse the spot, bringing a surcease of pain along with its hotcold tingle. "Indeed."

"He didn't try to… well. It's Fenris, you know."

"He didn't," replied Sebastian, his voice not quite wavering on the not quite falsehood. "He was—is—justifiably angry. Disappointed. We… talked. I believe we… have come to an understanding."

Amelle narrowed her eyes, too astute by half. "This isn't the kind of understanding that involved death threats and glowing tattoos, is it? Because I think Fenris should know I will be very put out if he undoes all my hard work."

Sebastian pretended to wince again, more to distract her than because he felt any genuine pain in the area she was tending. Bowing her head, she fussed over him for a few moments, muttering half to herself, "If Fenris can be civilized, I wish my sister would pull her head out of her—"

"Well," Sebastian interrupted, attempting lightness, attempting to echo her earlier tone, "it's Hawke, you know."

The healer worked quietly for a few more moments before answering, "She… you're not seeing the best side…"

"She doesn't owe me anything. None of you do."

She gave him a look. It so precisely mirrored the look Hawke would have given him he couldn't help the slight pull at the corners of his mouth, even as he marveled at how many varieties of pain it was possible for a man to feel.

You brought this on yourself, Vael.

"Right," Amelle retorted. "Because your arrows have never once saved any of our hides in the past Maker-knows-how-many years."

The ghost of a smile faded. "My arrows weren't there when it counted, Amelle."

The look turned into a grimace he was beginning to think was entirely Amelle. Amelle-when-irritated-by-disagreeable-patient, perhaps. "At least your arrows weren't turned against us. They were just missing."

"In thought, however—"

"Oh, Maker hang your thoughts. You think I've never considered, oh, I don't know, blasting Kiara off the face of Thedas when she pushed one button too many or vexed me half to death? Thoughts are thoughts. They aren't deeds. And unless you are intending to gather an army and come marching down on us the second I manage to bully this wound into behaving—"

"He is not," Fenris said firmly, once again standing in the doorway, this time with empty teacup in hand.

"I didn't think so," Amelle said, flicking him lightly on the shoulder. "So enough talk of thoughts."

"Amelle, I'm only trying to—"

The grimace became an Amelle-definitely-irritated-by-disagreeable-patient full-fledged glare, and Sebastian subsided, sinking back against he pillows and accepting the cup of tea Fenris offered. "I just don't expect Hawke to… come around quite as easily as… as you seem to have done."

"Easily, he says." Amelle huffed a long-suffering sigh. "Maker, Sebastian, if you only knew."

"Hawke will come to understand," Fenris added. Sebastian felt his eyebrows twitch. For a man who'd been near enough as made no difference to putting a fist through his chest not an hour earlier…

"She will," Amelle agreed.

Sebastian noted that the sister, however, did not sound quite so secure in this belief as the friend.

###

Kiara Hawke loved cards.

It wasn't so much the winning and losing (or, playing so often with Isabela, the cheating) she loved, but what the cards brought out in the people around her (even the cheating, she had to admit. It was… so Isabela). She loved the way usually-inscrutable Fenris' eyes widened when he was dealt a particularly good hand; the way Varric told stories as a diversionary tactic no matter how good or bad his cards were; the way Isabela—apart from the cheating, even—had real tells and fake tells, but she mixed them up so often she hardly had any tells at all. Kiara loved that her sister had been known to occasionally singe her cards in excitement… or despair.

Kiara loved cards. She loved them because they were the catalyst that brought all her friends around a table, and no matter how horrible the day or the battle—blood mages, darkspawn, high dragons—all was at least temporarily forgotten when the cards came out and the bets were laid.

This night she loved cards even more than usual. Instead of the stench of piss and vomit and bad ale, it was fine wine, good food, and the faint lemony scent of the cleaning soap Orana favored. No drunk, well-meaning or otherwise, barreled up to—or on to—their table, looking to speak with or insult or admire the Champion.

And if she couldn't quite erase the reasons they were here and not The Hanged Man, a least the liquor and the laughter and Wicked Grace helped. Isabela was even letting others win for a change. Anders would have—

Kiara shut this thought down hard, but hadn't caught it quickly enough. Of course his face was missing. At her feet, Killer lifted his head and gave a concerned whine, but no one else seemed to notice anything amiss. She reached beneath the table to give her mabari a quick scratch behind the ears. "It's okay, Cupcake," she whispered. "I'm okay. It'll pass in a minute."

But it didn't, of course. The poison spread rapidly, until instead of the pleasing scene around her, all she could see were the omissions and the missing faces. Anders should be sitting next to Varric, leaning on one hand and bemoaning the state of his cards. He would accuse Isabela of dealing him a bad hand on purpose, and Isabela would wink, the way she always did, neither admitting nor denying. Aveline and Donnic had come earlier, but even Kiara could see how ragged Aveline looked, how run down. They stayed only a couple of hands, and left before the joyful drinking began in earnest. Merrill had never been a regular at the card table, but she certainly wasn't present tonight. The way Varric had sighed and said, "Daisy couldn't make it," had been heavy with "Daisy knew she wouldn't be welcome" subtext.

And upstairs Sebastian was recovering slowly from a wound that had very nearly been the death of him.

As if reading her thoughts, Isabela threw down a coin to raise the bets and said lazily, "Where is the Princess, anyway? Couldn't be arsed to drag himself from his boudoir to join us?"

It was Amelle who looked up from her cards and Kiara could see her sister trying not to sigh too heavily at the pirate, replied, "He's not well enough for much company, Isabela."

"Takes a lot of nerve," Isabela observed mildly, "staying here after he buggered off the way he did. You know, if I ever did something like that—"

Varric arched an eyebrow, doubling Isabela's bet. "You did, Rivaini."

"And it's not as if he came here under his own power," Amelle added mildly, but Kiara detected a certain tone in her voice. It held the breath of censure without being a full-blown warning. "Or of his own volition. He was bleeding a bit too much for that."

Isabela grumbled and dealt herself another hand. "I still say you're being too soft on him, kitten."

Fenris regarded the pirate from across the table. "Some would say, Isabela, Hawke was too soft on you."

"But at least I'm charming. Maker knows why she puts up with you."

Amelle ducked her head as she tossed in her bet, but not before a tiny snort of a giggle escaped, her shoulders convulsing with it. She overshot the pile of coins slightly and sent one rogue piece of silver rolling leisurely toward Varric, who rolled it right back toward the pile.

Isabela glared at them both. "I am so charming. Tell them, Fuzzy."

One of the side-effects of Isabela having shared a roof at The Hanged Man with Varric for so many years was her eventual inclination toward nicknames. Thankfully, she hadn't veered away from calling Kiara Hawke. And with nicknames like Fuzzy in the world, Kiara was just as happy being relegated to a surname.

"It's hardly going to sound genuine if I extol your virtues on command, Rivaini. It might even sound rehearsed. We can't have that."

She arched a dark eyebrow at him. "It's not my virtues I want extolled. We're talking about my charm, here."

Amelle narrowed her eyes in mock puzzlement and looked at Kiara. "I'm confused. Are we talking about Isabela's charm, or her bosom?"

From Amelle's other side, Fenris' smirked.

Kiara shot a grin at her sister over her cards. "One and the same, maybe? Or perhaps one is lost in the other?"

"Now that I would believe."

"Oh, by the Maker's swinging balls, can we please play cards?"

Varric waved one hand with a flourish at Isabela. "And may I present to the nonbelievers one hearty dose of Rivaini charm, free of charge."

"I can see where we might have missed it," murmured Fenris in an undertone. Amelle snickered and leaned back in her chair, reordering her cards one way and then another. Then she pursed her lips and looked over at the deck of shuffled cards on the table.

"Need a new hand?" Kiara asked, nudging Amelle with her knee.

"Like I'm going to tell you," she riposted. Then she tossed away one card and plucked a new one from the deck. If the look she shot at it was any indication, it was far, far from the answer to her prayers. And if the look hadn't been enough, Amelle's irritated sigh certainly was.

"I can't even pretend to let you win when you have tells like that, kitten," Isabela remarked mildly, exchanging one of her own cards for a new. She didn't bother looking up from her cards, and so the pirate missed Amelle sticking her tongue out at her. Isabela's own expression never shifted—which was sometimes a good card tell and sometimes not. On this particular occasion, Kiara suspected not. It didn't stop the pirate from upping the ante yet again.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate this game?" Amelle groused. "And I hate all of you for making me play it. All the bloody time."

"Must be a really bad hand," Varric remarked, ostensibly to Fenris. Amelle glared. Fenris smirked. "Little Hawke only hates us when there's no chance of winning."

"No," she said pertly. "As it happens I also hate when you call me Little Hawke."

Varric clapped a hand to his breast. "You wound me."

"Actually," Amelle said, "you wound me."

She groaned when the betting came around to her again, and tossed her cards on the table. "It will be surprising to no one that I'm going to sit the rest of this one out."

"You're right, kitten," Isabela said. "It is surprising to no one. Make yourself useful, why don't you and see if you can't dust off a few more of the nice bottles. These are getting dreadfully low and I'm not drunk enough to start letting Broody win."

Fenris squinted at her (ahh, thought Kiara, a good hand) and raised the pirate's bet. Isabela grinned, leaning over the table in a way that made her cleavage all-too-noticeable (could be a good hand, could be shit).

"Do you mind, Mely? I left the cellar door open."

Amelle gave them a baleful glare. "Really? I'm relegated to playing barmaid?"

"It's a tough job, kitten, but someone's got to do it."

Varric grinned. "We have the utmost belief in your abilities, Little Hawke. Sorry. Amelle."

"You're the one who didn't want to play the hand," Kiara remarked, gesturing toward Amelle's abandoned cards. "You know the rules. First one to fold has to get the wine."

"That is so not a rule."

"Is now," Varric agreed. "Good one, Hawke."

Fenris said nothing, but the look he gave his nearly-empty wine glass was a mournful one. Amelle flung her hands up in the air and her scowl took them all in. "Oh, fine. But I'm going to check on the patient—" Isabela snorted. "—first. Your headlong rush toward drunkenness will have to wait until I'm finished."

Once Amelle's footsteps faded away up the stairs, Varric shook his head and laughed a little, tossing away two cards and sliding two more from the top of the deck. "She's going to take her time about it, isn't she?"

Kiara snorted and took a card as well. "Why Varric, it almost sounds like you know my sister."

The dwarf waited for Fenris to toss his coins into the pile before answering. "You know, I thought I did. She doesn't like being called Little Hawke? Since when?"

"She's always hated it," Fenris replied, never looking up from his cards.

"Despised it," chirped Isabela with a grin, though it was hard to tell whether her grin was at her cards or the conversation.

Varric looked to Kiara. "Hawke," he said, setting his cards down heavily. "Say it ain't so."

Kiara only shrugged. "Would that I could, but my mother taught me never to lie."

This appeared to be a revelation to Varric, who took up his cards again, looking wholly distressed. This time Kiara was almost certain it was the conversation and not the cards making Varric react this way. She looked across the table and saw Isabela eyeing him as well and Kiara wondered if the pirate had come to the same conclusion she had.

"So come up with a new nickname for her, Fuzzy," she said, giving her cards a cursory glance and raising the bet one more time. "Just not kitten. That one's mine."

"You call everyone kitten, Isabela," remarked Fenris.

"That's not true. I don't call you kitten." She fluttered her lashes at the elf. "But I could if you wanted me to."

Fenris didn't look up. "I do not."

"You're no fun," muttered Isabela as she sank back against her chair in a sulk. Still, Fenris didn't look up. Kiara decided he must be in possession of an excellent hand.

"So I have been told. It's your bet, Varric."

"This is really disturbing me here, guys," Varric said as he added to the pile, upping the ante, which made Kiara wonder how disturbed the dwarf truly was. "I've never had anyone hate their nickname before."

That was enough to make Fenris look up."I have told you on a number of occasions that I do not brood. Your nickname for me is inaccurate."

"But do you hate it?"

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Varric, but said nothing.

"Okay, okay, so you don't like it. I get that. But you heard Little— dammit. You heard Amelle. Hate. She used the word hate."

Kiara chose a card from the deck and added it to her hand. "Then name her something else."

"But she's Little Hawke!"

Isabela gave a disdainful sniff. "You must admit it's hardly your most creative attempt, Fuzzy."

"Says you. To whom everyone is kitten."

"Except Broody."

Varric's eyes widened, "Which you stole. From me."

"I do not brood."

Kiara snickered. Fenris glanced over at her and amended, "As much as Varric thinks I do." She knew she ought to stop betting, because the sparkle in his eyes was most certainly not wine-induced. With a benevolent smile, she raised. Isabela smirked, and Kiara hoped Fenris appreciated her sacrifice as the pirate fished more coins from her purse.

"Is there really no more liquor up here, Hawke?" Varric asked. "I need a drink. Badly."

"Because of the nickname?"

He sighed, and the expression on his face was one she might have thought to see on the face of a child whose puppy had been kicked. Repeatedly. "I've been calling her that for seven years and she never thought to complain about it? It's like I don't even understand this world anymore."

Kiara raised her eyebrows. "It's the nickname that's done it? Not the epic clash of mages and templars that may or may not result in holy war that will dissolve everything we've ever known?"

"It's definitely the nickname."

With a smirk, Kiara drew another card from the deck. "So what you're saying is now would be a really bad time for me to tell you that I'm not fond of Haw—"

Varric looked so mortified that Kiara relented. "Hawke's fine, Varric. I'm just kidding."

"Just angling to give me a heart attack."

Kiara rescued one mostly-full bottle of wine from the sideboard and topped up Varric's glass. "Better?"

"Infinitely."

Fenris won the hand. Isabela griped so loudly and so vociferously that Kiara was certain the pirate hadn't been throwing that hand. They played another, and drank until even the backup liquor bottles were empty.

"She's been gone an awfully long time, hasn't she?" Isabela asked plaintively. "Do you suppose she had to go clear across town to find booze? Maybe she thought she actually had to go to Tevinter to find that bloody swill Broody likes so much?"

Fenris frowned, and Kiara felt a pang of concern—surely they'd have heard if anything had happened upstairs?—but just as she rose to go check, the door burst open and in rushed Amelle, up to her elbows in blood. One red smear marred her cheek, the other, her forehead.

Oh, Maker. Sebastian.

Instantly, she regretted not talking to him. Her stomach twisted painfully, and the sickness she felt had nothing whatsoever to do with wine. Now it's too late.

And then Amelle grinned.