Feren sat at the edge of camp, staying as far away from the others as he possibly could. Not that he hated his companions – far from it – but he didn't trust himself enough to socialize with the others. It was one of those rare times in his adult life that Feren felt alone, truly alone. It was a sad, depressing feeling and all he wanted was a flagon of Dwarven ale to drown his thoughts in. And he wanted Joan. He wanted to feel her skin against his and run his fingers through her dark hair. He wanted her to comfort him in her special away and chase away his loneliness. But she was not there, and he ached for return.

The chill of the night air caressed his cheek and a clear, brisk scent overwhelmed his senses. He tried to lose himself in the night air, substituting its charm for the charm of the drink. But he could not. His memories seized him once more, forcing him to relive the past.

He was a young boy: three, maybe four years old at best. He and his sister Rica were huddled in one of the back rooms of their squalid cottage. They did their best to comfort one another, as though they could protect themselves from the sound of abuse emerging from the next room. They could hear the sickening noise of his fist bruising their mother's flesh, accompanied by the sound of her pathetic whimpers.

"Whore," the man spat. "Dwarf whore."

The man didn't have a name, and if he did it didn't matter to them. He was like so many of their mother's lovers before him: abusive, drunk, and quick to leave. Feren wanted desperately to run into the room and throw himself at the nameless man abusing his mother. He wanted to rip the man's beard out and smash his face with a club. But he couldn't. His fear held him back.

Instead he stayed with his sister, shivering with a mixture of rage and fright. He wished he could take his family and leave Dust Town forever. He wished the man would grow tired of hitting his mother and disappear into the filth of Orzammar. More than that, he wished that he'd never heard of Dust Town or lived among the casteless poor in a decrepit village. And, at that moment, he wished that he no longer existed in Dust Town, the Dwarven kingdom, or anywhere else for that matter. He wished for death to take him away from his nightmare of a life. He wanted to die.

"Hey," Joan pulled him from his stupor. She stood above him, arms crossed over her chest and a frown upon her brow.

"Hey," he greeted unenthusiastically as she seated herself next to him.

"Wynne tells me that you've been like this for awhile," she said.

"Wynne talks too much," he muttered.

"She means well," Joan replied softly. "What's wrong? You've been like this ever since we visited the Pearl."

"I don't want to talk about it right now," he said. The anger from his memory had not yet dissipated.

"Oh," she said softly. She scooted closer to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as best as she could. She buried her face into his neck and held him tightly, as though she hoped to soothe him with the closeness of her body. His heart melted.

He turned his upper body to face hers and pulled her into an embrace. He inhaled deeply, relishing the sweetness of her scent. "Missed you," he murmured.

"I missed you too," she admitted quietly. She reached up to stroke his reddish-brown hair. Her mother used to stroke her hair in the same way. She hoped it would bring her lover the same comfort.

He pulled away from her slightly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I guess I should explain myself."

"It can wait if you're not ready yet," Joan reminded him. "No one is forcing you to speak."

"But I want to," he said. "At least I want to tell you."

"Okay," she whispered. "I'm listening."

"I told you that my mother was a drunk, and that she spent most of our money on herself, remember?"

"Of course I do," she answered.

"That wasn't the worst thing she did. She'd go out drinking and would often return with a man with her. Sometimes, if we were asleep, she drunkenly wake us up just so we could meet her next 'husband'."

"That's awful," Joan said sadly. She held his hand and squeezed his fingers.

"That's not the worst thing," he said bitterly. "Sometimes she'd sleep with the guy – loudly - even if she knew that we could still hear them. And sometimes the guy would hit her, throw her against the wall and insult her. I used to lay awake at night wishing that I was dead, just so I wouldn't have to live with her anymore."

"Oh, Feren, I'm so sorry," she responded, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "Really I am. I had no idea it was that bad."

"I've already dealt with it," he soothed. "I've learned to lose myself in other things so I don't think about what I had to go through when I was a kid. But sometimes those memories take over my thoughts, and I can't help but lose myself in them."

"So what does this have to do with the Pearl? Did something there trigger those memories?"

"Yes," he said, holding her hand between both of his, "there was. There was a Dwarven woman there, did you see her?" When she nodded he said, "when I looked into her eyes, it was like I was looking into the eyes of my mother and my sister. Like I could see their desperation, their pain, and their grief. I wanted to wipe the pain from that woman's eyes and take her somewhere else, so she could know true happiness. I wanted to save her because I could not save my mother, and I cannot save my sister."

"Maybe when this is over, when everything is over, we can go back there and find some way to help her," Joan suggested.

He shrugged. "Maybe," he sighed. "I do not know. Sometime I wonder why I am even here, and why I deserve to be a Grey Warden."

"Feren, you are working with me every day to ease the pain in the lives of others. It is our duty as Grey Wardens, yes, but I've seen the hope you kindle in people just through your actions alone," she said. "You are the strongest man I know, and more of an addition the Grey Wardens then I could ever hope to be."

"Do you honestly think that?"

"I don't just think it, I know it. And so does everyone else."

"Joan," he smiled, "you are truly the most amazing woman I know." He pulled her face to his and planted a kiss on the side of her mouth.

"Mmph," she started, shifting her face so she could speak. "Right back at you," she managed before he pressed her mouth against his. He kissed her passionately, tasting her, smelling her, losing himself inside of her.

"Love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

Author's Note: It felt damn good to write this. Honestly, I think this is some of the best work I've done on fanfiction so far (which isn't saying much). I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are welcomed! (Thank you in advance).