It had been eight, nine minutes at least since she arrived at the door but she couldn't seem to do anything other than look at it. The giant rectangle of heavy dented wood was cast a silvery blue in the moonlight and she had begun to think of it as a kind of sentry, protecting those on boths sides of it from their own stupidity. She kept thinking she had already knocked, only to realize that was only in her imagination. After playing out all the possible ways things could go in her sluggish, wine soaked mind, she still was not sure what exactly it was she was hoping for. But the meantime the blood on her hands was getting sticky, her fingers tacking together every time she fidgeted. You can't stand here forever, her drunken mind told her. Either knock, or leave.

Finally she put her knuckles to the door and banged, sounding off an alarm of pain that shot up her hand and to her elbow. She had been at this door countless times before and knew that a quiet knock wouldn't be heard, but she gripped her wrist in surprise at the force she had used, as well as the intensity of the pain. The punches she had thrown against the heads of the two street urchins who just accosted her must have knocked something in her wrist out of place.

She was about to turn and go, grateful that the Maker was denying her her bad decision, when the door opened. His warm brown eyes looked her over, mapping out the bloodstains that were dripping off her leather suit.

"You're hurt." he said with a worried urgency, "Come in."

She walked in wordlessly, feeling adrenaline shoot up her spine in preparation for the night's inevitable continuation of poor choices. That whole day had been a sort of a rampage, beginning in High town as she walked the streets in front of Fenris's house, wanting to scream at him, wanting to bang on his door and ask him why? Wanting to cry and wrap herself in his arms. Why did he walk out like that?

Anders' hands flew over her body, pulling and inspecting her leathers at their bloodiest spots. She stood there and let him, watching his face as the reality dawned on him.

"This isn't your blood." he said finally, standing to look into her eyes with a quizzical expression.

She shook her head in confirmation and took in the features of his face. "My wrist hurts." she said as she held out the hand she had knocked on his door with, which was still throbbing with pain.

His warm hands enclosed gently over her injured wrist and she felt the energy grow under his touch, a soothing buzz that penetrated all the way through her flesh and bones, spreading a welcome numbness up her arm. When it subsided, her pain was gone.

"What happened?" he asked her. She shrugged, feeling her body sway with the effort. "Just the usual street thugs." she said.

The truth was, the two men weren't even trying to rob her, and they hadn't tried to kill her until after she punched them both for the disgusting comments they were making. But then they fought back with a viciousness that she found herself enjoying. She wished she had dragged the fight out longer; it was over before she was ready to stop hitting them.

"Hawke, what's wrong?" he asked. She had never done anything like this before. Showed up on his doorstep, alone in the middle of the night, at an hour that no sane person should be out walking the streets.

But after the two bottles of wine she put away at The Hanged Man, she had been looking for a fight.

"Hawke?" he asked as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her until her eyes finally met his.

If things had gone a little bit differently over the past couple years it could have been Anders and not Fenris who was currently in possession of her heart.

Anders had those warm brown eyes that shimmered with intensity, and an appealing softness that was so very different from Fenris's fiery aggression. The two of them couldn't be any more different.

And Anders had never hid his attraction to Hawke. It was well known that if she wanted him, he was hers for the taking, despite all his warnings about Justice, all his proclamations about how he would inevitably hurt her.

She dragged her eyes over the lines of his face, taking in his long slender nose and the soft curve of his lips. But something was different tonight, besides the fact that he had clearly just emerged from bed. He must have just thrown on his robe before coming to the door, as his feet were bare.

He looked at her with deep concern and she realized she still hadn't answered him. She didn't even know where to begin. Her love had abandoned her, she had the weight of the whole city on her shoulders, she had consumed more wine in a single sitting than she could ever remember doing before. She had been wandering through the streets of Kirkwall since before the sun went down and she felt a deep weariness in her bones. There was so much that was wrong, but while it was enough to make her feel that she was being eaten up from the inside out, it was still nothing compared to a life as a slaver's pet, or a hunted apostate whose body housed an uncontrollable spirit. For all the aching in her gut, her actual problems were laughable. What could she say about what was wrong that wouldn't just sound pathetic to someone like Anders?

He let her go and rushed off into the rear of the clinic and she still couldn't bring herself to move. He returned with a glass of water which he thrust into her hand. She took a deep drink and realized how parched her mouth and throat were. She emptied the glass and he took it back, and stood before her quietly.

His hair was down. That's what was different, she realized. He had pushed it back behind his ears, and it was tousled from sleep. In the dim light his brown eyes glinted, two dark glowing coals that ebbed and pulsed from within golden skin. He walked the glass over to a table and set it down. When he turned to walk back, his hair loosed itself and fell along his face. She had always felt Anders was attractive, always relished the way his dark eyes would clamp onto her, studying her face with an intensity that would make her feel naked even when she was standing before him in twenty pounds of armor.

He stopped before her, searching her face for anything that might help him make sense of her behavior, her uncharacteristic silence.

She let her eyes linger on his face. She wanted to see the hunger in his impossibly expressive eyes for her again.

Hawke raised her hand and smoothed a tendril of his hair back behind his ear. She let her fingers work slowly, taking in the cool slickness of the clump of soft strands, and the delicate warmth of his ear.

His eyes darkened as her hand slid from his ear, down his neck and then dropped off his chest. He drew a deep shaky breath.

"Hawke," he whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"You're a healer, right?" she answered finally. "I need healing."

He swallowed loudly, his mouth sounding dry.

"Was there more than just your wrist? There should be considering all this blood…Maker, what did you do to those men?"

"I did what we do. What we all do." she said. Killing two men was a light night of business for the Champion and her crew.

"What else hurts?" he asked.

She thought a minute, her mind a quagmire of emotions and suppressed urges all fighting for dominance.

"Everything." she breathed.

She watched his expression turn to one of anguish and pain, and for the first time, she considered what it was that she was asking of him. Had she really walked here from The Hanged Man with the purpose of toying with a good man's heart? How did she really want this go? A surge of conscience invaded her, draining her of whatever selfish and deranged impulse it was that had brought her here.

"I shouldn't have come." she whispered, "I'm sorry."

She knew now that he could see the bad decision she had tried to make, and could feel the argument he seemed to be having with himself about it.

"You can stay." he said finally.

She searched his face and deep into his soft eyes for anything that looked like awareness of what he was doing, what he was allowing of her.

"No," she croaked. "I wasn't thinking." She turned, intent on walking back out that damn door that it had taken her forever to come through. But a warm hand closed around her elbow, gently holding on. She stopped. He was standing close now, his hot breath sweeping softly over the side of her neck.

She turned to look at him, his face was now lowered much closer to hers and framed by a curtain of shaggy blonde hair that partially obscured his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she tried to turn away again, but again his grip held tight.

He was quiet for a moment, swallowing heavily.

"It's okay." he said, his words barely audible. "Stay."

"I don't want to hurt you." she said.

Her heartbeat was like a stampede in her ears as the seconds stretched on. She didn't want to break his heart the way that Fenris had just broken hers, but couldn't seem to force herself to break free of his hold.

"Hurt me," he implored. "I want you to."

Those words strummed a chord deep within her. What had her whole night been about, if not to satisfy some desire to punish herself and punish everyone else as well? Hurt me. He was asking her for it, but could she really do that to him?

She turned to face him again, letting her hand raise itself back up to the hair that was obscuring his eyes, smoothing it back behind his ear once again. Her hand lingered at the base of his jaw, seeming to have a mind of its own. He took another step closer, standing only inches away now. She became sharply aware of the closeness of his lips, and of the hot woodsy scent that was emanating off his skin.

"Anders…" she began, not sure how to finish the sentence, but knowing she needed to say more. The gap between them was closing, and if she didn't refuse him now, she wasn't sure she would be able to once his lips were upon hers. She had come with the hope of feeling his arms around her, of losing herself in a hot, sweaty jumble of limbs and skin. But now that just seemed cruel. Anders wanted much more than just that from her, and she couldn't offer anything but her body to him. At least not tonight.

He seemed to see her thoughts, and he whispered "Please."

The seconds continued to stretch long and heavy as his lips hovered so close to hers. Her mouth was watering for him, ready to dive in to all the pleasures and pains he could offer her. He could end their suffering himself, if he was to take her then. But he was holding back, letting her be the one to decide once and for all.

She conjured up a mental image of Fenris, his large green eyes and the small curl of his lips as he smiled. She recalled the way the lyrium markings on his skin glowed a light blue in the dark during their one night together. She wanted to trace her fingers along them, but was afraid to hurt him. If there was any chance of him returning to her, striking up an affair with Anders was a sure way to ruin it. It helped to steel her conviction and she took a deep breath.

"I want to" she said. "I want to so badly. But I can't. This was foolish. I shouldn't have come. I'm so sorry."

She braced herself for the disappointment she knew he would feel, and winced at the profound regret that was coursing through her. She had already gone too far, gotten his hopes up.

His hand fell from her elbow and he cleared his throat.

She immediately wanted to run back out of the clinic and jump into the first fight she could find, except this time she would let herself lose. Let the bloody mess of her body get scraped off the street the following morning. She deserved nothing less. She looked down at her bloodstained boots, unable to meet his eyes again.

"Sleep here. You can take my bed." he said.

It was a sensible suggestion. No one in their right mind should be wandering the streets at this hour. And it was likely she would just end up in front of Fenris' home again, if she made it to High Town at all.

She nodded.

"Except…" he stopped.

"What?"

"Well, Hawke you're covered in blood."

"Right. Of course I'll wash up first." she said and he led her to a barrel of water. Most of the blood on her leather had begun to dry, and she was too tired to tackle the mess. She unbuckled the pieces, sliding them down off her body and leaving them in a pile on the floor, until she was standing there in her underclothes. She wet the cloth and scrubbed at the blood spatter that had made it between the pieces of leathers to stain her skin.

She turned to see Anders walking toward her with averted eyes, and he set a burning candle down on the nearby table.

"I think I need your help." she said turning to face him. "Did I get it all? I can't see my face, or my back."

"Um, okay. Let me see." he said as he stepped into the light with her. She handed him the cloth and he tilted her chin up so he could peer down into her face. She couldn't read his expression, his eyes seemed to be boarded up now, not giving any indication of what he was thinking. He looked over her clinically, the way he must have looked at his patients, inspecting all the features of her face but not lingering.

She felt a faint, buzzing vibration at his touch. It wasn't until he turned her around and was using the cloth on the back of her arms that she realized it must have been his magic.

She turned to take his hand, and let it rest in her own.

"You are… buzzing." she said.

"Sorry." he said simply, offering no explanation.

"I have held my sister's hand a million times and I have never… felt her magic like this. Is this normal?" she asked him.

"Not always. It happens sometimes when I... " he stopped. He was speaking so quietly she had to move closer so she could hear him. The buzzing in his hand made the skin on her palm tingle and itch. She wanted to reach up and touch him somewhere else, to see if she could feel it everywhere.

"When you what?"

"When I am… stressed."

"Oh, of course. Anders… I am sorry, I feel like such a fool." she said and she released his hand.

It was so close to what Fenris had said to her before he walked out, leaving her to lay alone with a racing mind and a roiling heart for hours before the sun finally rose. And she was about to do the same thing to her kind and gentle friend. Despite what she could feel was a deep well of potentially terrifying power streaming just below his skin, she began to realize that Anders was the more vulnerable one out of the two of them in that moment. She suddenly felt like the scum of the earth.

"I don't mean to tease you." she whispered. "I really am sorry. I care about you so much." she said. Finally his gaze met hers again, and she felt him soften a little.

"Where is Fenris?" he asked. She had been expecting that question since the moment she laid eyes on him after the door opened.

"Not with me. Not anymore apparently." she said.

He nodded quietly and set the cloth down on the counter. Taking her hand, he led her back into his quarters, and picked up a light cotton robe for her to put on. It was soft and enveloped her in his scent. She wrapped it around herself and watched as Anders began walking out of the room.

"Where are you going to sleep?" she asked him.

"I have beds out in the clinic for patients. I'll just take one of those. Goodnight Hawke. "

She stood there and watched as he turned to walk out of the room, and she felt a stabbing pain in her gut. She didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to use and abuse him, but she could barely stomach watching him walk away, leaving her by herself in his small, sparse room, which had a bed big enough for two.

"Wait." she said so quiet she wasn't sure if he heard, but he stopped.

"You could stay. Just to sleep. If you want." she said. "If you don't mind sleeping beside me."

"I'm afraid that might be more than I could bear." he said over his shoulder, and then closed the door behind him.

She sighed and felt tears sting her eyes. She blinked them back and settled down into Anders' bed. It was soft and she smelled him everywhere. She nuzzled her face down into the pillow and pulled the blankets tight around her. It took only minutes before she dropped off into a black, empty sleep.

Sometime in the night, she felt the bed beside her sink down with the weight of another body, and it dragged her out of her dreamless slumber. She turned to find Anders laying beside her, situated just far enough away that no part of him touched her.

She reached a hand out and laid it gently on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I must get some better beds out there. That was agonizing."

"It's okay." she said and she drew her hand back and tucked it under her cheek. She didn't want to make this harder for him than necessary.

Her eyes blinked at the darkness between them. There was no window in his small room, and the candle he brought with him had been extinguished. The room was pitch black, but she could hear his soft breathing, could feel the warmth radiating off him.

"How is your wrist?" he asked softly.

"Good as new." she answered.

"And everything else?"

She thought a moment. She had told him that everything hurt. And it had. Her mind, her heart, her body, it all hurt.

"Still a mess." she said.

For several seconds all she could hear was the sound of her own heart and she thought he must be trying to sleep now. But then his voice cut through the dark again.

"Would it help if I held you?" he asked.

Hawke immediately wanted him to, and wanted it badly.

"Yes." she whispered.

They scooted together and she settled herself into the crook of his body. The arms that encircled her felt very different from Fenris's wiry limbs. Anders' whole body was softer. Still lean and muscled, but the weight of her settled into him and not just up against him. He was warm and didn't pull her too close or too tight. She exhaled a deep breath, finally feeling a deeper sense of comfort. Anders' fingers caressed her hair softly, raising small pleasant shivers along her skin. She closed her eyes and let his soothing embrace wash over her, luring her back into the black abyss of sleep. But this time the blackness wasn't as cold or as empty.

She woke again, feeling as though she had been sleeping for years. Her head was pounding and the room was still pitch black, but she could hear the low rumbling of voices not far outside her door. She felt around in the bed and discovered that she was alone. Anders must have risen to greet some refugees come to his clinic for help. She felt beside the bed for the bedside table and her hand tumbled over the candle. Using her fingertips as eyes, she located the small case of matches and struck one of the slender sticks across the wood of the table. It flared brightly, illuminating the wrinkled indentation beside her where Anders had slept.

She rose and noticed the glass of water sitting on the bedside table. She was sure Anders wouldn't mind her drinking it. He might even have set it there just for her.

Peeking out the door, she confirmed that Anders and his patients were in a part of the clinic not visible from the little rear hallway, so she crept quietly around the corner and over to the washroom that still had her pile of bloodied leathers. They had the sharp, tangy smell of souring blood and she shivered to put them back on without cleaning them, but didn't see any other option. She didn't want to waste all of his water in cleaning up this mess, and wearing his robe as she exited the clinic would only stir up gossip. Gossip that would be mostly wrong, and would definitely get back to Fenris.

She decided the best way to exit through the people between her and the outer door was to stride out with her head held high and to act perfectly natural, like there was nothing at all of note to see.

She took a deep breath and with a quick pace, emerged into the main room of the clinic. Several pairs of surprised eyes looked up at her and she nodded a hello to everyone.

"My wrist feels much better Anders. Thanks again." she said to him as she walked past him. He was standing in front of a small boy, his hands travelling softly over his skinny outstretched leg. Anders' warm brown eyes followed her as she made her way to the door.

"Any time Hawke." he called, and then turned his attention back to the boy.

The sun pierced her eyes when she stepped out into the open air, but despite her still faintly throbbing headache, she felt rested. It couldn't have been many hours that she had slept in Anders' arms, but what sleep she did get seemed to have been the restorative salve that her body severely needed.

Instead of walking home, she turned to the docks. Upon reaching the glinting water, she knelt down over the edge of the ramshackle pier, and pulled up handfuls of water to help her scrub the remains of the blood off her leathers.

When she had gotten the worst of it off, she stood, feeling rested and empty, and began the long walk back home.

From the very beginning Fenris was like a current of electricity, a live wire stripped of all protective coatings and ready to burn anyone nearby at the slightest urging. It stemmed from the unnameable and immeasurable burden of hatred that he carried, and it was clear that no matter what revenge it caused him to dish out to his opponents, it was he that suffered as its greatest victim.

But in those quiet moments alone in Danarius's mansion, when he would suck down a bottle of wine and get wistful and soft in his storytelling, Hawke saw under that hard shell. Everything in his identity had been given to him by people he despised; fickle masters trying to shape him into the perfect attack dog and party favor, and who used him as a psychological punching bag when they had no one for him to kill or intimidate. And those cruel people had the power over him that they did largely because of magic. While for Anders the Circle was a prison, Fenris's prison had bars held in place by the talents and corruption of mages. They both sought freedom, and saw the other as their oppressor. The men were two sides of the same coin, Hawke realized. And she sat somewhere in the middle, the sharp and crooked edge dividing heads from tails.

She had noticed the violent internal struggle in Fenris' eyes anytime he thought no one was paying attention. He would sit silently as she questioned dignitaries and business partners, negotiating terms and payment, and he would slip out of the room without moving a muscle. Against the backdrop of a turbulent, explosive Kirkwall, she saw a man living quietly in a completely different but equally precarious reality. But it was the hidden underbelly of softness that was also there that pained her most. To take the gentle, contemplative spirit that she saw in their private moments, and twist it into the hard mask he wore the rest of time could only have taken great and prolonged efforts on the part of his master.

She had told herself she was trying to help him find who he really was, underneath all the traits that had been molded into him by hands not his own. She didn't know if he could truly feel free if he couldn't locate a piece of himself that was authentically his, a part that still would be there if the entire trajectory of his life had been different, if he had been born in a different time or a different land. He was searching, always searching. For meaning, for peace, for direction, for vengeance. But nothing ever felt the way he expected it to, further intensifying his despairing feeling that he did not, could not truly know himself.

Hawke had been absolutely captivated by him since almost the moment he had appeared. Mesmerized by the markings that glowed an icy blue, by the shimmers of incredible vulnerability that hid beneath the cracks in his broody facade. She had loved how open he was with her when they were alone. She had began to think that maybe she could really help him. Maybe she was the only one who really could.

"I have been thinking of you. In fact I've been able to think of little else." He had practically growled when she came upon him waiting for her at her home, going on five weeks ago now. His head was lowered the way a servant would speak to his master, but he had approached her aggressively, like he was ready for a fight. Seeing him stride so powerfully toward her had put her stomach through the floor, even before she processed the words he had spoken. "Command me to go, and I shall." he had said. All she could think to say in response was a single word: "Stay." She had been aching to touch him for months now, her fingers practically tingling with the urge anytime they had been close. He had mentioned the pain in his markings and so she resisted, but when he finally kissed her, he seemed to register no discomfort. He kissed her as though they were in battle and he was trying to slay her dead with only the power of his embrace, his arms trembling in their effort. His soft warm lips captured her whole mouth and took it hostage, and she had immediately surrendered to him. It was the single most passionate experience she had ever had in her life up until that point.

But Fenris hadn't even given her a single full night. Two hours, maybe three, before she woke to find him, fully dressed and standing beside the dying fire. He had begun to remember his life before his markings. He said it all came rushing back in a rapid series of flashes, and then left as quickly as it came. "I can't do this. It's too much… I can't." he said.

She rushed out of bed, not caring about how little she wore and stepped between him and the door.

"No...don't leave me already," she begged.

"Just stay the night. Just tonight. We don't have to do anything you don't want to. We can just talk. Or sleep. Just stay, please." she asked, feeling the flood of tears building up behind her eyes, sobs rising in her throat. She forced them back down. "Fenris, we can work through this."

"I'm sorry" he said as he walked out the door. He turned for just a moment, meeting her eyes as she stood there, paralyzed in place and preparing for the imminent torrent of anguish about to be unleashed in her. And then he was gone.

Hawke threw herself down onto the bed and cried hard into her pillow. She had put so much time and effort over the last years in building a trusting relationship with him, and the way he spoke about his feelings for her had caused her breathless anticipation over how things might finally be once he was ready to give himself to her. But this wasn't how it was supposed to go at all. Now it felt like everything was gone. It was two steps forward, a hundred steps back.

Unable to rouse herself from bed even when the sun was high the sky, she told a concerned Bodahn and Mother that she wasn't feeling well and to send any visitors away. She had no need of the city since making her fortune in the Deep Roads. It was the city who needed her. But they would just have to go without their errand girl for a day. Maybe two days, she thought. Shit, maybe all of them. Maybe it was time she withdrew from the throngs of people who looked to her to solve their problems, and took care of herself for a while.

But as the sun descended and the sky turned dark she crawled out of bed and stood at her window, feeling deeply restless and jittery. The despair and desperation that had soaked her bed with tears had now turned to anger, but she found it disappointingly hard to hold onto. Fenris didn't know that so many of his memories would surface when he paced at her door the evening before, waiting to finally take her. She couldn't really blame him for something he didn't know would happen. She could blame him for cowardice, for not having the balls to face his feelings and to let her help. But she couldn't even begin to imagine the torment he felt over the events of his life, the fear he would feel at finally learning what it was he had lost.

She wondered what he was thinking, feeling, in his own mansion just blocks away. He was probably as full of anguish as she was, or even more and for many more reasons.

So she stole out into the dark night, and walked to his mansion, but stopped herself at knocking on his door. A dim light flickered in one of the windows, and she watched it for a time, waiting to see the movement of any shadow.

But there was nothing to see.

She gave it a week before venturing back to Anders' door, this time stone sober and ready to do whatever might be needed to repair their friendship.

"Hawke! Good to see you. You are well, I hope?" he greeted her with a warm smile.

"I am Anders, thank you. You?"

"Oh you know, trying to orchestrate a revolutionary uprising, hiding out from the Templar menace and healing the sick, injured and stupid. All in a normal day's work around here." he said with a smile.

She smiled back relieved at his easy banter. He turned to put a small pot of salve into the hands of an old woman with wispy grey hair.

"Here you go Dina, this should last a week or two if you use it sparingly." he told her as he took her arm and helped her as she hobbled toward the door.

"Actually, Hawke, I'm glad you're here. I have a favor to ask you." he said as he strode back through the now empty clinic.

"Name it." she said.

"Hm. Would you like to join me at The Hanged Man for a pint? I can explain there."

"Lead the way," she responded.

"No no, ladies first." he said sweeping his arm toward the door. "Besides, I need to lock up."

The Hanged Man was as hopping as ever, and she nodded to Varric and Isabela who sat at a full table and were too deeply ensconced in what looked to be a very serious game of Wicked Grace to do more than nod back.

She and Anders took their mugs over to a small table in a corner of the tavern and sat across from each other. It was a relief to Hawke how they slipped right back into their usual ease of communication despite the events of the evening a week prior. Anders had always proved himself to be a compassionate man, sometimes to a fault, but his immediate and unquestioning forgiveness made her feel conflicted. She didn't want him to think that she was the sort of person who regularly propositioned people, or who attempted to recover from the rejection of one man by jumping into the arms of another. She wanted to explain, wanted to be sure his opinion of her, his respect for her, hadn't been damaged by her foolish, impulsive actions.

But she had also been trying to ignore the fact that she had woken in the night several times, alone in her own bed and wishing to have his arms around her again. All they had done in their evening together was sleep, but in the few moments she had woken in his bed his arms seemed to knowingly tighten around her, never loosening or pulling away. She found such deep and unexpected comfort there that the memory of it was hard to escape. But of this, she planned to speak nothing.

Though most of her memory of that night was blurred, she had flashes of his dark eyes looking into her from behind his cage of loosed hair. The lingering image was a sharp contrast to his easygoing appearance before her now, hair fully reined in within its usual band at the back of his head.

"So, I was thinking that it might do you some good to have a change of scenery." Anders began as he sipped at his mug. "And I happen to need to take a trip out to Hercinia." he said.

Hawke immediately liked the idea. A trip outside the city would be a refreshing change of pace and might help her to clear her head a bit. Since arriving at the docks four and a half years ago she hadn't set foot outside of Kirkwall, and had never been anywhere else within the Free Marches. She had been giving Fenris all the space he could wish, but that was especially difficult with his home in such close and accessible proximity to hers. It was always there, pulling her mind to the familiar and beloved body inside, to the struggles he was enduring that he had rejected her help with. Some physical distance might help her gain mental distance as well.

"Yes, let's go." she said without hesitation.

Anders laughed, "you haven't even heard why I need to go yet."

"Okay, why are we travelling to Hercinia Anders? And when are we leaving?"

He smiled warmly at her, and began "I have received a letter from an old contact of mine who has just come into port there. He has spoken to a man there, a former Templar who has fled the Order, who claims to have Seeker documents that contain some very interesting information, including the mentioning of a ritual capable of reversing Tranquility."

"Really?" Hawke said incredulously. "Could that be true?"

"My contact, Sylvan, says that he was skeptical about it, but now there are Seekers that have come into town who are searching for this former Templar. They seem to be incredibly concerned about something he has in his possession."

"Well then we must go quickly, shouldn't we? We must try to reach him before the Seekers do, if they haven't already."

"My thoughts exactly. Sylvan says the man has a small group of apostates who are helping him hide in an underground bunker just outside the city, but his days there are numbered. Soon he will probably either flee again, or be found."

"How long will it take us to get to Hercinia?"

"If we get horses and travel with the bare minimum of stops we might be able to reach Hercinia in four days time, though I have never been there before, so that is just my estimation."

"Who else do you want to come along?"

"Actually I was hoping it would be just us." he said. "We could get in and out of places more quickly and with less attention. Bringing a dwarf or an elf will surely attract notice, and Aveline wouldn't be able to leave the guard for that amount of time anyway. Besides, we can't take the chance that anyone might learn what is in these documents before we get to them." he said. "I know our companions are trustworthy, but all it takes is one mindless comment…"

"Could it be true Anders? What would it mean if it was?" she asked, her mind racing with possibilities. "What would this mean for the mages? What kind of a backlash would it create from the Templars and the Seekers?"

"I'll be honest, I am skeptical that it is true at all. This is why I want to see them for myself."

"So we leave tomorrow," she said.

"Yes. I knew I could count on you." he said as his face lit up with a warm smile. "We should get as early a start as possible. I know a way out of the city to the north via the sewers, and then we should stick close to the mountains and camp whenever necessary," said Anders.

At the end of her second pint, she began to feel the warm familiar tipsiness spreading throughout her body, loosening muscles that she had been holding tensely and helping her laughter come easier and easier. She was excited about the trip, about the chance to seek something that could be very meaningful, instead of the routine mediation and mercenary duties that normally filled her day. Anders too seemed to be in very good spirits as well, even as his mind was clearly a little preoccupied. He informed Varric about their trip, giving few details but making it clear it was to attend to some very important business. Anders and Varric were sitting companionably and shooting lighthearted barbs back and forth to each other when Hawke said her goodbyes, promising to meet Anders outside his clinic at dawn the next morning.

Taking the quickest possible routes, it took about an hour to walk to her home in High Town, but as had become her habit she first walked past Fenris' house. This time instead of loitering about on the street outside his window, she let herself in.

Her heart quickened as she made her way through the spacious foyer and back to the room he had designated his quarters. Even before she reached him, she heard him grumbling to himself, deeply involved in some one sided conversation. He was on the ground, sharpening his greatsword in front of the fire. The pile of broken glass in the corner had grown substantially since the last time she had been there. When he finally heard her approach, he turned swiftly, brows furrowed in a grimace. But when their eyes locked his expression softened and he stood.

"Decided to actually come in this time instead of just mill about in the street?" he said. The words would have stung if his tone hadn't been so gentle

"I guess stealth isn't my strong suit after all." she said.

"Well you're quite good when you're actually trying." he answered. "It's clear that you haven't been." He walked over to the wooden table and pulled out a chair, motioning for her to come sit. He took his usual position at the head of the table, where numerous wine bottles were set off to the side, waiting for their turn to join the pile of broken glass.

She walked nervously across the room and sat. It was the chair she had spent so many hours in, listening to him talk, exploring each other's histories and getting to know each other.

"I have been wondering if you were ever going to speak to me again. I am glad you're here." he said.

"If you wanted to speak sooner, you knew where to find me."she answered.

"That is the truth. I have almost come to you a few times." he said, and Hawke's heart fluttered for a brief moment, until she squashed down any budding feelings of hope.

"We haven't gone this long without speaking since the day we met. I have… missed our conversations." he said.

Hawke sat silently, hoping he would continue.

"Do you have any jobs coming up? I have been cooped up in here since…" he stopped and sighed heavily. "I feel like a caged animal. It would be nice to have a mission to focus on for a change. Things are so much simpler in battle."

"No one forced you to stay cooped up in here Fenris."

"I know but… it hasn't been easy for me since that night. I can't stomach the thought of being around other people, having them talk to me and act so blighted normal. What am I to say to them when they flit about and whine about their petty troubles? No one here understands, or has any idea... You were the only one that really understood. But I have ruined that too." he said. "I am sure it has not been easy for you either. For that I am sorry."

"I still understand." she said honestly. That doesn't mean she had to like it, she thought to herself. But she did understand that he had been attempting to deal with more than he was able. Attempting and failing.

"Do you?" he asked, "Do you think you might… I mean, will you start coming around again?"

"I think… I still need some more time." Hawke felt her breath quicken as the emotions from their last night rose steadily up into her throat. Here he was before her now, his eyes so full of hope, looking so much the way he had before she found him in her hall, and it was abundantly clear that despite the pain he caused her that night, her feelings for him had not changed. She wanted more than anything to go to him and pull his face to hers, to feel the warmth of his skin and clutch him to her, to burrow herself into his chest and stay there.

"That night, Fenris, I..." she began figuring she might as well let it all out, but he stood abruptly and walked back over to the fire. She bit back the words she was going to say and sank down into her chair, letting go of any hope that she might get some resolution from him. She reached over to the open bottle of wine on his table and drank deeply from it, again and again, until only drops remained. Then she threw it full force against the wall, and the silence of the room was shattered with the cascading sounds of the crashing glass.

She heard Fenris move, but did not turn to look at him. She sat silently in her chair, readying herself to leave. He could tell her all about his feelings, but Maker forbid she might need to discuss hers.

She stood and said, "I am leaving town tomorrow for a little while."

His footsteps got louder until he stood before her, but she kept her eyes down on the table. "I am accompanying Anders to Hercinia to seek a man who might have some important information."

He swallowed audibly and shifted his weight on his feet.

"May I join you?" he asked finally.

"No." she answered deciding not to offer him an explanation regarding why. "I'll be back in two weeks, give or take. I just wanted to let you know, in case you needed anything in that time. I will not be in Kirkwall." She dragged her gaze up to his face finally. The hopeful, sad look in his eyes made her want to cry, and she felt the ache growing around her heart, the stinging returning to her eyes. It took almost more effort than she had within her not to reach out and touch his face. She looked away quickly, casting her eyes about for something else.

"Please come back safely." he whispered.

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

He slid a finger under her chin and gently tilted her face up so that she was looking at him again. She found herself desperately hoping he would kiss her. She tried not to look at his lips, at the perfect cupids bow mouth that for one night had delivered upon her some of the most soul shattering kisses she had ever felt.

"If you need me for anything, I remain at your service." he said, his voice cracking softly. "And even if you don't, I will continue to hope for your visits." He lingered before her, his large green eyes sweeping palpably across her face. For a brief second she thought that maybe he would kiss her after all, but then he stepped back and retreated sulkily to the fire.

"If you do encounter trouble in your travels, send a message and I will find you."