This is another chapter that just kept growing as I wrote it. It takes place very soon after Fenris and Evelyn have reconciled. It was interesting to go back to that point and revisit their earlier selves.

"Then he dropped the duck and ran. He didn't get far, though, because Merrill was waiting for him." Evelyn chuckled, letting the door of the mansion close behind her.

"What I do not understand is why Varric needed that particular duck. Could he not have let the thief keep it and simply purchased another?" Fenris asked. Automatically his hands began on the buckles to her armor, and Evelyn sighed with relief as he helped her lift the breastplate off over her head before placing it on the stand.

"Well, he told me there was a large ruby stuck in its rear end, but you know Varric. 'No shit, there I was, sticking this ruby up the duck's ass'," Hawke said, imitating Varric's storytelling style.

Fenris laughed. "So you are saying we will never know why that particular duck."

"I think he just liked it. Maybe he wanted to keep it as a pet. Oh, thank you, Bodahn," she said, taking the letters her dwarven servant held out for her. He bowed and disappeared into the kitchen.

Evelyn carried her letters into the office, leaning one hip on the edge of her desk while she slit them open.

"Well, will you look at that?" She held one in the air, smiling.

"What?"

"Ruxton Harimann is getting married. Don't know the girl," she said, squinting at the name. "But his sister is holding an engagement ball for them. Terribly formal, no doubt, as befits Ruxton's snobbishness."

"A far cry from when we first met him," Fenris said dryly.

Hawke grinned, remembering the scene in Ruxton Harimann's bedroom, finding him entangled with an elven prostitute and shouting out such debauched things even Varric had been tempted to blush. "He was under the influence of a desire demon," she reminded Fenris.

"Still."

"Should be an interesting party, then, don't you think?"

Fenris was leaning over poking the fire. He stopped, looking up at her. "You wish me to accompany you to this affair?"

"Well … of course."

He straightened, his brow furrowing. "But do you not usually attend these things with Varric?"

"Or with a date. I used to do that, yes. But now that you and I are together, why would I want to go with anyone else?" Evelyn stood up, dropping the rest of the mail on her desk.

"It … simply had not occurred to me that you might wish me to accompany you to functions as your … er …"

"Man?" Evelyn hated to see him discomfited, but she was glad the subject had come up, if it was going to bother him so.

"Yes."

"I do. I very much do."

"Ah."

"Don't you want to go with me?"

"I have no wish to see you— No. Never mind." He turned away, letting his bangs fall over his eyes.

"Nuh-uh." Evelyn moved in front of him, ducking her head to look him in the eye under the fall of white hair. "What's on your mind?"

"I do not belong in the circles you move in. I don't want you to be … self-conscious."

He was startled when she hooted with laughter, retreating to her desk and leaning on it. "Self-conscious? I got over that the first time I had to walk into the Viscount's office still covered in blood and entrails." Her laughter eased into a smile. "I don't belong in those circles, either, Fenris. I'm a farm girl, born and raised in wild, barbaric Ferelden. I don't go to these events to impress anyone with my fine manners or my gorgeous clothes."

This much was true. Fenris often wished she would let him, or Varric, or Isabela, assist her in the selection of her finery. While he found her enchanting in anything she wore, she could look far more so if he had his way. "Then why do you attend them?"

"Because they're fun. The people I like mostly outweigh the ones who are insufferable snobs or just plain evil."

"But there are those others there. And you know what they will say. We've both heard the epithets as we walk around Kirkwall together—largely from those in Hightown, as you are well aware."

"I know. And they bother me, I won't deny it." Evelyn came toward him again, standing very close. "But it would bother me more to hide from it. I love you, Fenris, and I've chosen to spend my life with you. I wouldn't have it any other way."

He couldn't help himself. Those sweet words from her sweeter mouth made him hungry for the taste of her, and he pulled her close.

Evelyn broke away from the kiss to smile at him. "Besides." Her hands skimmed up the outside of his thighs teasingly. "What fun would it be to go anywhere without you? No one else gets all my jokes."

Fenris shivered at her touch, but he still felt uncomfortable. "Varric does," he muttered. He wasn't proud of the jealousy he could never quite conquer, but he couldn't deny it.

"Not all of them, he doesn't." She was licking his ear now, and suddenly it didn't matter how many of her jokes Varric got—he never got his ear nibbled, and that was enough for Fenris.

He leaned against the doorway, watching her as she finished pulling on her gloves. Evelyn cast a sideways glance at him. "You know, I can't believe I forgot to mention the most important reason for you to come along to this thing."

"What's that?"

"That black armor." She made an appreciative sound that shot straight through him.

"If you like it so much, we could stay home and you could demonstrate your admiration," he growled.

"Nice try." She came closer, cupping his face in her gloved hands, which he found surprisingly erotic. "This time, I want to dance with you all night, not just for a few brief moments that neither one of us can enjoy." They both remembered that agonizingly brief dance at Aveline's wedding—the dance that had convinced Evelyn there was no future for her with another man, and had convinced Fenris that he had to take steps to meet his sister and greet his future.

Fenris leaned his forehead against hers. "When you put it that way, I admit it does sound appetizing," he whispered huskily.

"Then let's go, before I really do have you out of that armor." She punctuated the comment by sliding her hand along the supple black leather over his stomach. Fenris grabbed it, kissing her gloved fingertips.

"If you insist." He wasn't quite as reluctant as he pretended to be—he relished the idea of holding her in public and showing to the world that she belonged to him. But it was true that the racial epithets and the disgusted reactions of people who saw them together bothered her. Fenris hated to see her upset and to know that he, even if only indirectly, was the cause of it.

All of Hightown appeared to have been invited to this event, judging by the streams of people heading toward the Harimann estate. Fenris saw a number of their neighbors, but they refused to make eye contact with him. Typical enough.

Hawke's hand tightened on his arm; she saw them, too. And it distressed her. Fenris hated that it bothered her—even the downtrodden, despised elves of Kirkwall's alienage were better off than where he had come from. Although, he thought, his mouth quirking at the corner at the irony, it was far more common a sight in Tevinter to see an elf and a human embracing, since masters often enjoyed taking their bedslaves out in public. He and Hawke would have drawn notice in Tevinter only because they were walking side-by-side.

Flora Harimann greeted them at the door. "Serah Hawke! And Messere Fenris. Such a pleasure to have you both."

"Where's the happy couple?" Hawke asked.

"Over there, pinned against the fireplace by the De Launcets. Although Ruxton doesn't mind as much as I should in his shoes."

The tall, dark-haired Ruxton certainly seemed happy enough, chatting with the De Launcets with one arm around his thin, long-nosed bride-to-be and the other wrapped around a wineglass.

"I'll leave him to it, then," Hawke said. "And you, Flora? Are you well?"

"What? Oh … fine. Perfectly fine." Flora seemed distracted suddenly, looking over Hawke's shoulder. Fenris followed her gaze to see the shining white armor of his friend Sebastian and smothered a smile. Flora's interest in Sebastian had been easy to see three years ago; clearly it had not abated in the intervening years. Unfortunately, it was an interest doomed to go unreturned. Sebastian's devotion to the Chantry was total. Privately, Fenris thought it was a bit of a waste to dedicate your whole life to an institution that could not care for you in return, but Sebastian found fulfillment in his calling.

Sebastian joined them now. "Flora!" he said in his rich, warm brogue, kissing her cheek, oblivious to the way it reddened at his touch.

Fenris tugged lightly on Hawke's arm to pull her away from the two of them. He understood Sebastian's commitment to the Chantry, but still held out hope that his friend might find something more fulfilling to do with his life. Andrastean Fenris might be, but he saw little point in spending one's life in her service. If the Maker had truly turned his back on all of them, it behove them to work for themselves instead.

He spied Varric across the room, busily chatting up a bevy of well-dressed young ladies. The dwarf was short, hairy, occasionally vulgar, and dressed like an Antivan prostitute … yet women were drawn to him. Not in the way that Fenris was aware women were drawn to himself—salivating but frightened, in relatively equal measures. Women loved Varric. They spoke to him openly of their thoughts and dreams, they shared their feelings with him. They trusted him. And men were not threatened by him.

Well, most men, Fenris corrected himself. In a secret place he did not like to look into, he was threatened by Varric's relationship with Hawke. It was uncomplicated, supportive, and seemed completely open; the two of them shared an understanding that others around them couldn't follow. It made Fenris wonder what, other than the physical, he brought to the table that Varric couldn't already provide.

As if sensing the dark turn of his thoughts, Hawke laid her hand briefly on the small of his back. Fenris shivered at the touch. It was still so strange to be casually touched like that and not to instantly leap to the attack.

As they made their way through the crowds of chatting people, a minor noble from the Nevarran embassy stepped in front of them.

"The Champion of Kirkwall," he said, lifting his glass in a toast. "What a great pleasure it is to meet you." His eyes raked her body, encased in a tight-fitting gown of black silk. "One wonders where you keep your blades concealed."

"I don't. My sword is longer than your leg; I left it at home as being out of place in a party," Hawke said coldly.

"Please do not feel the need to jest so, dear lady. I am impressed with your prowess as it is."

"Impressed you may be, but you are certainly also misinformed."

"Perhaps we could discuss it with a dance." His eyes slid over Fenris briefly and without curiosity. "If your bodyguard could be persuaded to trust you with me for a brief time."

"Thank you, but I am not interested. And Fenris is not my bodyguard." Hawke slid her arm around Fenris's waist in an unmistakable message.

The Nevarran noble glanced again at Fenris. "I see. I had heard that Fereldans were willing to sleep with their dogs; I suppose it should come as no surprise that they sleep with their elves as well."

It was an uninspired insult. Fenris didn't think it merited so much as a raised eyebrow, but he had to catch Hawke's arm to keep her from attacking the man.

"Barbarians," the noble said with a simpering smile on his face. "None of them have the wit to handle themselves in civilized conversation; they must always turn to their fists." He turned away, yawning, and then yelped as he tripped over an unseen person. With champagne dripping down his waistcoat, he glared at the dwarf who had been in his way. "Watch where you're standing!"

"So sorry, my lord." Varric's tone was utterly sincere, and Fenris smothered a smile. Varric glanced at him quickly, jerking his head toward the dance floor.

"Shall we dance, before we cause an international incident?" Fenris murmured in Hawke's ear.

"Us? He's the one causing the incident!"

"Hawke."

"Fine." She let him draw her out onto the floor, albeit reluctantly. As the music played and Fenris led her in the steps of the dance, her temper cooled until at last she was smiling at him. "Sorry about that."

"Hawke, people are going to continue to make remarks about our relationship. Do you truly need to fight them all?"

"Not all, just the ones who get in my face and insult my nationality into the bargain. Surely I'm not supposed to just stand there and let him say that being with you is lower than being with a dog, and impute that to my birthplace, without defending myself?" Her blue eyes were wide with outrage.

Fenris skillfully maneuvered them past two other couples who were executing a very showy set of steps. "Are his words true?"

"Of course not, but what does that matter? To allow him to say them uncontested doesn't benefit anyone."

"To attack him over them in a party held in someone else's honor doesn't, either. Is this how we repay Flora Harimann for inviting us?"

Hawke frowned. "I suppose not. But—"

"There is no but, Evelyn. Our commitment to one another will cease to be notable if we cease to be so strident in defending it."

"How long does that take?"

"As long as it does, I suppose. In the meanwhile, we are missing a moment I have looked forward to with some enthusiasm."

"What moment is that?"

Fenris pulled her more closely into his arms. Letting his voice drop in the way he knew she loved, he said into her ear, "The moment when I have the chance to dance with you."

Evelyn shivered against him, her hands tightening on his waist and shoulder. "That's a very good point."

Three more songs went on as they moved together, lost in each other's arms. At last the musicians took a break and reluctantly, Evelyn and Fenris broke apart. He loved to see her beautiful blue eyes gone all soft and hazy.

"We have not seen much of the party," he whispered to her.

"Ask me if I care."

"Do you care?"

For answer, she kissed him, soft and sweet.

As they stood gazing happily into one another's eyes, a voice interrupted their dreamy fugue. "Well, that'll certainly get you the attention you were looking for."

"Varric, be elsewhere," Fenris said. The dwarf's voice was like a splash of cold water.

"And miss the fun? Not on your life, elf."

"What is it that you think you are doing?" Another voice, this time the well-bred accent of Seneschal Bran, who had dated Hawke for a brief period of time. "Serah Hawke, I had thought better of you. Such displays are not appropriate—and not good for international relations," he added in a lower voice.

"I know, Bran." Hawke sighed. "I'm afraid you're doomed to disappointment where I'm concerned, and I am sorry about that. But about the rest of it, I'm not sorry at all. It's time for Thedas to make a change and if it starts with me, so be it."

Bran shook his head. "There are days, Serah Hawke, when I am not sure if the day you arrived here was the luckiest day for Kirkwall."

She chuckled. "Funny, I always wonder if it was the luckiest day for me."

Bran raised his eyebrows and turned on his heel. Fenris spied Sebastian making his way toward them through the crowd, and turned toward his friend. "I am sorry if we made Flora or her brother uncomfortable."

"Apparently I make Flora uncomfortable," Sebastian said, glancing over his shoulder with a sigh. "She wants me to tell you she's sorry if you've been made to feel unwelcome at a party to which she invited you."

"Not at all," Hawke said, slipping her arm around Fenris's waist. "We're having a lovely time."

"I'm glad to hear it." Sebastian's blue eyes twinkled. "I don't suppose I could claim a dance with the lovely lady?"

"You dance, Choirboy?" Varric asked. Fenris had forgotten the dwarf was there, and the waspish tone made him jump. "I thought Andraste forbade such goings-on."

"Andraste herself danced and sang. Joy made her happy," Sebastian replied seriously, ignoring the barb in the dwarf's words. "What do you say, Hawke?"

"By all means. Just as long as you don't mind having your feet stepped on. Fenris is remarkably sensitive about it." She cast him a teasing glance.

"Perhaps if he wore something on his feet, then." Sebastian grinned, holding out his arms to Hawke.

Fenris stepped to the side, content to watch her as she spun and swayed in the arms of his friend.

"Not worried the Choirboy will sweep her off her feet, elf?"

He smiled. "Not in the least."

"No." Varric looked at the dancing couple. "No, I don't suppose there is. None of you know the first thing about creating romantic tension."

"Three years wasn't enough for you, dwarf?"

Varric cast him a venomous look. "That wasn't tension, that was torture. For everyone who cares about her. Do you have any idea what you put her through?"

Fenris flushed, his gaze dropping to his toes. He had some idea of the difficulties Hawke had suffered, but he imagined he knew less of them than Varric did, as the dwarf had been there all along and he had not.

Varric seemed to feel enough had been said. He cleared his throat and moved away toward a servant with a tray of champagne in fluted glasses. Fenris lifted his head and caught Hawke's eye across the crowded room. Her smile banished the darkness that had begun to gather around him. She had forgiven him for his foolishness—in time, those who cared for her would no doubt forgive him as well.

His presence here as an elf garnered far less attention than it would have done a mere few years ago … in time, who was to say that more elves might not be accepted amongst those of higher birth? Ferelden was already changing its ways in that regard, and the Free Marches were not that dissimilar to the country to the south, much as they might like to protest otherwise.

The dance ended, Hawke and Sebastian bowing to each other, and she came back to Fenris's side, slipping her arm through his.

"Have you enjoyed your evening?" he asked her.

"It's been entertaining."

"Do you feel more … comfortable about appearing in public with me now?"

She looked at him, her blue eyes wide. "It was never you I was uncomfortable about. It was these people here, and I think they've proven that many of them are asses."

"Not all. Not even most. Some are our friends, most appear uninterested, and only the occasional imbecile has something to say." He held her gaze seriously. "It seems to me that you are agitated by these people out of all proportion. Why is that?"

Hawke fidgeted uncomfortably, her face twisting as she considered the question. Fenris felt badly for forcing the issue, but it was one they were going to have to resolve, or every time they were out together outside the Hanged Man they would go through scenes similar to the ones they had faced this evening.

"I guess," she said finally, "I just want everyone to see in you what I see. I am so proud to be seen with you, Fenris."

He shook his head, but he could not repress the smile that stole across his face at her words. "I do not know why … but then, I suppose I do not have to know," he continued, preventing the explanation he could see bubbling to her lips. "It is enough to know that you feel it. And because I know how you feel, I do not have to care what other people think. The only person whose opinion matters to me is you." His hands cupped the sides of her face. "And I would love to take you home right now and show you how I appreciate you."

"I think that sounds like the finest idea of the night." Hawke's blue eyes warmed on his. "I love you, Fenris."

"And I love you, Evelyn."