"Encompass me, my lover,
With your eyes' wide calm
Though noonday shadows are assembling doom,
The sun remains when I remember them;
And death, if it should come,
Must fall like quiet snow from such clear skies."

- J.F. Hendry, "The Constant North"

Garrett had trekked up and down the Wounded Coast for years, but he could hardly say he knew its paths well. They twisted and turned, often leading to dead ends or stone walls too smooth to climb. Nor had he ever attempted to climb Sundermount's dangerous passes at night. Even he considered it a needless risk. Encountering highwaymen or giant spiders was always a threat, but attempting to fight them in the dark and on dangerous terrain was near suicidal.

Garrett reached inside himself to his reserves of mana. On most days, he was flish with it: waves of magic running warm and electric through him. Now he found hollows and empty spaces where he should have felt strength and power. It would replenish, with rest and time, though he wasn't sure how much of either of those he would have in the near future. He drew on the smallest bit of power within him, just enough to make the tip of his staff glow. It let off only a meager light, illuminating the darkness rather than banishing it. It would have to be enough.

They picked their way up the trail, staying alert for any signs of danger. Garrett stopped to catch his breath at the top of a steep slope. Aside from his and Fenris's plodding footsteps, the only sound that could be heard was the wind whispering through the sea grass. A chill ran through the mage. After the chaos of Kirkwall and their flight from it, the near-silence was more disturbing than any threats that may have ambushed them from the shadows.

Fenris, who had taken the lead, took a few steps back. He rested his hand on Garrett's shoulder. "We should continue." The elf looked up at the shadow of the slope. "The closer we are to Kirkwall, the more likely they are to find you."

Garrett brought a shaky hand to his forehead. There always seemed to be a "they" and a "them" after him, so much so that sometimes he lost track of who wanted his head on a plate this time. "Right now I'm more worried about spiders than the Chantry. We're more likely to end up in a web than on the end of a sword."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Fenris replied.

Garrett covered Fenris's hand with his. He looked over his shoulder, back at Kirkwall. His home.

Would it still be his home come dawn?

The cave was shallow and cool, with only a few chambers to explore. Garrett and his companions had cleared it of slavers only a week before, and it still held traces of their presence: barrels, benches, spilled flasks of mead and a crate of hard tack.

Garrett never liked venturing into the caves. They held far too many curved passageways and dead ends, offering ample opportunities for ambush from enemies. The chambers all looked identical to him. It was all too easy to enter one cave, get lost in the interconnected passages, and wander out miles from where you started.

But if Garrett disliked them, it was nothing compared to Fenris's utter hatred. He did not walk into these caves – he prowled. Though they were both exhaused, Fenris explored every nook and cranny of their resting place for the night, attempting to memorize the layout. He paused when he saw the deepest chamber.

Rusted iron bars were built into the stone itself, blocking the chamber off from anyone who might try to escape. A slave pen. Or it had been, once. Before they'd left, Fenris and Aveline had hauled the door leading into the cage off its hinges and dragged it to the sea. No one would ever hold people here again.

Fenris closed his fist around one of the remaining bars. "You've always done good work here, Garrett."

Exhausted as he was, Garrett managed a smile at the unexpected compliment. "Well, of course. I can't think of a better way to cheer you up than by killing slavers."

Fenris smiled, and Garrett kissed him lightly. The elf's lips tasted of blood and sweat, iron and salt. Fenris leaned into the kiss, wrapping his slender arm around Garrett's waist. The mage combed his hands through Fenris's white hair.

Fenris pulled away and took Garrett's hand, leading him away from the slave pen. He brought him to a smaller chamber, one with damp bed rolls that the slavers must have used as their personal quarters.

Once there, Fenris returned Garrett's kiss, felt his lover's arms wrap around his body. Garrett's mouth traveled down Fenris's neck, careful to avoid the lyrium markings on the elf's olive skin. The Champion's fingers fumbled with the straps of Fenris's heavy armor.

The elf's hands roamed over Garrett's body, seeking a way under the mage's robe. The weight on his chest lifted while Garrett loosened the straps to his breastplate. Fenris fervently kissed Garrett: his lips, his neck, his collarbone, anything his mouth could reach. Garrett finally undid the final strap on Fenris's armor. The breastplate clattered to the stone floor, echoing throughout the cave. The noise made both men jump, and then Garrett smiled.

Garrett leaned in for another kiss. Fenris hesitated.

"Is everything all right?" Garrett asked, his voice husky. It wasn't unusual for Fenris to pull away when they were intimate. He knew that Fenris sometimes went to dark places in his mind, where he was not allowed to follow. Garrett had come to accept that about Fenris, to love him with all his scars and fears.

Fenris only sighed. "I…I'm sorry."

"For what?" Garrett ran his thumb down Fernis's cheek.

Fenris clasped Garrett's hand in both of his. "I was afraid that I would lose you tonight. I couldn't…" His voice broke. He cleared his throat. "It would have killed me to have let you die."

"But I didn't." Garrett leaned forward, lightly butting his forehead against the shorter man's. "Neither did you." He raised their hands up to his lips. "Fenris, I won't let anything keep me from you. Mages or Templars. Anything." He puctuated each word with a kiss on Fenris's long fingers.

Fenris cradled Garrett's cheek in his hand. "Nor I, you." The hairsbreadth gap between their lips vanished, and the warrior gave himself over to his lover.

Garrett was always gentle when they made love. He knew to never touch Fenris's markings without permission, else he recoil in pain. Garrett followed Fenris's lead, listening to the elf's body as much as his voice. Garrett's pleasure was second to Fenris's comfort. Something worse than enslavement, maybe even worse than those markings, had been done to Fenris; Garrett took great to care that his lover always felt safe with him.

There was something different that night as they yielded themselves to one another. After the battle with Orsino and Meredith, then men's passion was driven by something more than lust and love. They were free, and together, and alive. Trapped in a cave, after running for their lives once again, and yet…by some miracle, still able to breathe, and feel, and live.

At last they pulled apart and lied down to sleep. Fenris kept one arm around Garrett, his head pillowed on the mage's bare chest. Fenris didn't normally like physical contact while he slept, but tonight, they both needed it.

Garrett stared into the darkness of the cave and listened to Fenris's quiet breathing. He had been named Champion, a hero, for surviving what so many did not. Death had dogged his steps for so long. He thought of Bethany, and Leandra, and the Arishok he slew so many years ago. Of Grand Cleric Elthina, whose blood was on his hands, as much as it was Anders'.

He was no Champion. Just a man who survived.

He tightened his arm around Fenris's sleeping form.

He still had something to survive for.