Fenris was awakened by the restless movements of the woman next to him. He needed both hands now to count the blissful nights he had spent sleeping at her side, but even at that he had yet to become accustomed to there being another person in the room as he slept. The smallest out-of-place sound served to startle him out of even a deep sleep.

Evelyn tossed restlessly, murmuring under her breath, and then she sat up abruptly, crying out. "No! Mother—"

The heartbroken voice brought a lump to Fenris's throat. He reached for her, stroking her arm. "Evelyn. Evelyn, wake up. It's a dream, nothing more."

"Mother!" Her voice cracked on the word, a tear trembling on the corner of her lashes. And then she blinked, impatiently shaking her head to clear the tear away. She turned to look at him in the dim room. "Fenris?"

"I am here."

"Oh, Fenris." Evelyn turned, her arms sliding around him as her head pressed into his shoulder. She was trembling in his arms, and he held her close, stroking the glossy brown hair that spilled over her shoulders, glad he could be here for her.

"Do you have these dreams often?" he asked once the tremors that shook her had ceased.

Evelyn cleared her throat, pulling back from him. "Occasionally."

He knew what that meant. Years of watching her, listening to her, studying her, told him that she would not admit to that much unless these incidents were frequent. Fenris swallowed, guilt taking him. It had been three years since her mother was killed—how many nights had she awakened scared and tormented and alone?

"I'm fine, Fenris," she said when he didn't speak. She pushed the covers off, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I'll just get up for a little while, practice my forms. You go back to sleep."

"Stop."

She did so, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "What is it? I'm sorry, can't you sleep, either, now? I didn't mean to disturb you."

He got up, as well, moving toward her side of the bed. "That is not what I meant. You have nothing to apologize for."

"Then ... what?" Her head tilted to the side and she looked confused. "Oh, Maker, Fenris, did I hit you while I was thrashing around?" She reached up to touch his cheek as he came toward her, probing gently for injuries.

"Hawke! You did not disturb me, and you did not hit me." He took her hand in his, holding the callused fingers against his lips. "I had no idea ... I was so lost in my own—" He paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself and get the words straight in his head. "I should have been here."

She shook her head. "I still don't understand. You are here."

"But—" It would be easier not to say this; easier to let her go, let her wear herself out and return to sleep, and he would not have to admit to his tremendous guilt. But he had sworn, to her and to himself, that he would no longer run from the difficult moments between them. Fenris steeled himself against his own cowardice and continued. "I was not here when you needed me."

"Oh. But, Fenris, you were! You came to me the night my—that night. I really don't know how I would have made it through without you." Her hands cupped his face and she kissed him softly.

Fenris shook his head. "It is not that night to which I refer, but the others. All the other nights when you awoke from nightmares and I was not here to comfort you. In my selfishness and my cowardice, I did not consider that I was leaving you alone. I told myself it was better for you that way." He cleared his throat against the constriction there. "I am so very sorry."

Evelyn was staring at him, her mouth fallen open in surprise. Then she nodded. "You ought to be. Although ..." An impish smile brightened her face, and her blue eyes were bright with humor. "Cursing your infernal, Maker-damned stubbornness did while away the small hours of quite a few sleepless nights."

He couldn't help the answering smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I must confess, I spent quite a few nights cursing my stubbornness as well."

"Well, as long as we're agreed." Evelyn's arms slid around his waist, pulling him against her. "I did need you, Fenris. Not just in the middle of the night, but in the mornings when I woke up to a silent house, and every time I couldn't help walking by that horrid foundry on the way home from the Hanged Man—"

"I was there." He remembered hovering behind her all those times, watching her nearly break and then pull herself back together, sick in the knowledge that he was not what she deserved.

"I know." There was a long pause before she said, almost under her breath, "That made it worse. That you were so close, that you obviously cared enough to be there, but you wouldn't speak." She pulled back far enough to look into his eyes. "But that was then. You're here now, and that's all that matters."

"I should attempt to make it up to you, to atone for my mistakes."

"You can't." The words hung stark between them. "You can't go back and change what happened or give us back all the years that we wasted not being together. But we don't have to poison today with yesterday's guilt."

"That is not so easy as you might think."

"Do you want to waste more of our lives, feeling guilty about things that have already happened?" Evelyn sighed. "I don't. I want to be glad that time is over, and enjoy being together now."

"You are incredibly generous."

"No, I'm not. I want what I want, and I don't like to let regret get in the way of that. If it had, I would never have accomplished anything in Ferelden, never learned to be a good swordswoman or joined the army or gotten my family out of Lothering. I'd have stood around and wrung my hands and wished for the good old days, like my mother did, and we'd have been killed by the darkspawn. I learned several moves in to take what came next and let go of what had been left behind."

"Not entirely," he pointed out, gesturing toward the bed, the covers on her side twisted from her thrashings.

Evelyn shook her head. "Not entirely, no. I can't let go of all my past; but I do the best I can."

"How can you deny your memories that way?" he asked, thinking of the brief tiny snippets of his own memories that he had spent so many hours chasing.

"I don't deny them. I just don't allow them to have power over me, not the way you do." He began to protest, but Evelyn cut him off. "You have let the loss of your memories control your life, made decisions because of it, isolated yourself from creating further memories just to avoid losing any more than you already have. That is worthy of regret, if anything is ... but only if it makes you look forward to our future rather than focus all your energies on our past."

"You truly forgive me for everything I have put you through?" Fenris threaded his hands into her hair, looking into her eyes, searching for any hint of anger or disappointment, and found none.

"I do." A wicked gleam came into those blue eyes, and she smiled. "However, if you feel motivated to perform a penance ..." She pressed against him, and Fenris could feel every soft curve of her through the thin nightrail she wore. "I have some ideas."

"Hmm. A truly penitent man might be expected to perform several acts of contrition," he agreed, nuzzling her neck.

"I thought you might see it that way." And, capturing one of his hands in hers, she led him back to their bed.