Hey, everybody! Hope the rest of your April was awesome! Mine actually got better because I got a few more days off from work (but mostly because I got that horrible seasonal bug that keeps you in bed, so I had a bunch more time to write. What a double edged sword. I'm partly grateful I got sick! Hahaha.

I have to say that this is probably one of my favorites for this collection so far. When I saw the word "impossible", I didn't know what exactly I wanted to do with it, but after racking my brain, I decided on this little number, which is my version of what happens after Hawke defeats the Arishok in one-on-one combat for Isabela. I know Fenris does suggest the duel if Isabela doesn't come back, but I really liked having Isabela in my party. She's funny. XD So I decided to do it this way. The word "impossible" here is tied to living without someone you love dearly, which I feel like we can all relate to! And the song was an obvious choice. :P

Also, there is a bit of Anders/F!RogueHawke in here, but don't let it fool you! This Hawke belongs to Fenris alone. ;) And there is some implied sexual comments as well as some other actual racy comments, so this is probably rated T to T plus. Feel free to point out my typos as well, and I'll go back and fix them. Still have to do that with the other chapters...I'm not exactly the best editor around when it comes to my own work...

As a reminder, I'm shortening the length of this collection. It'll be somewhere between 12 and 20 one shots. I really love this community. Everyone is so nice and honest and helpful. And I really appreciate everyone who has made me feel welcome and who enjoys reading what I write. Wouldn't be here without you guys!

I'll never say no to reviews! Here's number six! :)

Sixth Movement: Impossible

"So keep breathing.

'Cause I'm not leaving you anymore.

Believe it.

Hold on to me and never let me go."

- Nickelback, "Far Away"

With a swift parry, Hawke managed to by herself enough time to dodge the great metal monster that was the Arishok's axe, the slick blade coming down into the carpet of the Viscount's throne room, ripping a hole large enough for Varric to contentedly slip through. The sight of the tear was enough to make Hawke's knees quake, but she forced both of them to remain stationary. Showing fear to the Arishok would only result in a massive loss of respect, and the fact that he did not find her completely disgusting was the only thing she had in her arsenal against these colossal Qunari.

Muttering something Hawke assumed was from the Qun, the Arishok spun both weapons in a full circular revolution in his hands and turned back to his self-proclaimed "basalit-an" (which Hawke had decided meant "one who receives countless death threats from the Arishok" in their vernacular). His eyes were small, like most Qunari, but they held a destructive passion and a thirst for control that she'd never seen in any living being—elf nor dwarf nor human.

Hawke was not easily frightened, but, in the last few months, this was the face that had haunted her darkest nightmares; the face that she felt would bring the destruction of Kirkwall, leaving a fiery, bloodstained mire in his wake. She alone was the sole member of the City of Chains that had the mettle to stand up for him, and, as Hawke had dreaded, that oncoming storm had finally arrived, and she now carried the weight of so many innocents on her shoulders; Hawke wished she could rid herself of the heavy burden, but she had gone past the point of no return. There was nothing she could do but just bear it.

Rolling his shoulders, the gigantic Qunari turned his weapons away from her, lowering his body into a half-crouch. Hawke quickly recognized the stance as a preemptive charge. Swallowing a lump the size of a lemon in her throat, Hawke copied his movement, watching him intently, preparing to react when he made the lunge. She also noticed that the lump also burned going down, much like the juice of said fruit, too.

He came barreling towards her, the sound of his running echoing throughout the spacious room. With the grace of a lioness, Hawke waited until he was close enough to her before dropping to the ground, and ramming her elbow into the Arishok's knee with all her might. Pain shot up her arm, and she tried her best to choke back the distressed moan, and the noise that came out reminded her of the call of a goose that she'd heard as a child near the plains in Lothering. It felt as if the bone had struck a solid block of red steel, and Hawke knew that, if the bone wasn't broken, it was badly sprained.

Nevertheless, her efforts were not in vain, as the Arishok came tumbling down like a building struck from a rock thrown by a catapult. Both his armaments were sent flying into the air, landing by the right wall. They looked so much less menacing by themselves. Propelling herself with her good arm, Hawke tumbled out of the way as the Arishok met the same fate as his arms, grunting hoarsely as he did so.

Hawke had to act fast, and she had to act now. This opportunity was a gift, and she could not squander it. She reached for her daggers that hung patiently on her back and sprinted to her foe. Ending this hastily was the best way to avoid further injury, as her whole forearm had begun to throb from the risky strike she had made. Leaping at the Qunari leader, Hawke jumped and brought both daggers down, attempting to plunge them straight into his back in order to pierce his heart.

But the Arishok was two steps ahead of her. Flipping over onto his back, he snatched up Hawke by her ankle and squeezed much harder than necessary to get a firm grip. Nausea inundated her as she heard a strange crack and a wet sounding smack. The next thing she knew, the room was moving around her, and her back collided with something hard and unmovable.

Hawke blinked several times, but the world around her couldn't come back into focus. Her eyes floated in her head, and she let them wander all around until she caught the hazy sight of her foot, which seemed to be no longer attached to her leg.

'…No…' Hawke pleaded. 'It…can't end like this…'

But what else could she do? Her vision was failing. Hawke had no left foot and she'd been drained of her very last drop of stamina. At this rate, if she tried to fight any longer, the Arishok would kill her in less time than it took to snap his fingers. He was going to kill her regardless. There was nowhere left for her to run. Her options had dwindled.

Hawke had fought long and hard for this city; a city that meant absolutely nothing to her. She was Fereldan. A foreigner. The only reason why she ended up in this place was because of that damned Blight that razed Lothering to the ground. She had lost everything because of the Blight or this cursed place. That ogre would have never attacked Carver had the Blight not destroyed Lothering. Bethany would not be with the Grey Wardens now if it wasn't for the darkspawn in the Deep Roads, which she could blame both the Blight and Kirkwall for. And, last but certainly not least, her mother would be alive, right now, if it weren't for a mad Marcher mage. Yet she had put her life on the line for something that had caused her naught but anguish. Why? What had she been thinking?

"On your feet, Hawke!" someone called out to her, their voice desperate.

"Get up! Get. Up!" another one cried.

"Keep fighting!"

"You can't give in!"

"Come on, Hawke!"

Although she did not know who her supporters were, their words sent resolve straight into her veins. They were right. No matter what, if she wasn't battling this enemy for the sake of the city of Kirkwall, she was doing it because she knew it was the right thing to do. Because it was the only way to stop the Arishok's unsuitable tyranny. The only thing between him and the deaths of countless guiltless lives was her, and she could not sit idly by and watch him take everything. Carver nor Bethany nor Mother…not even the great Malcolm Hawke could do that.

Gritting her teeth, Hawke grip the sides of a cylindrical beam in the throne room and used it as a crutch to help her stand. The pressure on her damaged ankle was almost insufferable, yet Hawke successfully pushed the stinging out of her mind and did her best to find the hazy form of the Arishok as well as her weapons.

The two daggers were back where the Arishok had been, which was about half way across the room. There was no way she could make it there. The Arishok, however, was currently picking up his own sword and axe from where they had skittered off to. Once they were back where they were supposed to be, he started making his way to her, albeit he seemed to be taking his time.

Meaning he either no longer saw her as a threat, or he was merciful enough to give her time to defend herself. But the latter could have been directly linked to the other. Best case scenario, Hawke would be allowed a brief farewell before her untimely end.

Scrambling, Hawke's eyes darted to the floor around her, hoping there was something there that she could use to defend herself. Mostly there were just two handed swords; something that would be useful to someone like Aveline or Fenris, but they were inoperable for her. The only thing that she managed to find was one single arrow that had been misfired from a bow, the tip sharp and the shaft undamaged. It was made of stable wood, and it would serve as a good meager defense, until she could find a way to her true weapons.

Gripping it like a blade, Hawke leaned against the stone beam and watched the Arishok's approach as best as she could, listening to the hypnotic yet forboding swish of his strange, waist down robe. She would just have to wait until he got close enough, then jab at his face and, with luck, hit one of his eyes. That would buy her enough time to find something that she could effectively kill him with.

The shadow of the Arishok enveloped her as he closed the gap between them. He reeked of blood, sweat and sea water, and she could feel the heady exhales from his nose tickle her cheeks. Hawke didn't know why, but all she wanted to do at that moment was cry. She missed her family, and she longed for a comfy bed to lounge in and a tub of hot water for her bruises and cuts. She wanted home; whether or not she meant her estate or her shack in Lothering…she wasn't sure.

But one thing was certain. Hawke wanted her family. She wanted her father to sing her a lullaby, like he used to do when she would have nightmares. She wanted her mother to make her famous hot apple pie and tell her that everything would always work out for the best. Hawke wanted Carver to come and put frogs down her back like he used to do when she made him angry. She wanted Bethany to braid her hair and talk to her about silk dresses and handsome boys. She wanted the musky air of Lothering. The sounds of farm animals greeting her when she woke up. The peals of laughter from little children and the melodious hymns echoing from the slapdash Chantry there.

She wanted her normal life back.

But she was never going to get it back.

And if things kept going the way they were, she wouldn't even have a life to long for.

Twirling her improvised weapon, Hawke, thrust the arrow in the general direction of the Arishok's face, but she did not feel the tip break skin. Instead, she felt one of his hands, which were three times the size of her own, snake around her wrist and wrench around, twisting it so far in a direction Hawke knew that it was not supposed to go in.

This scream she could not stifle, and she felt the bones split, demolishing her best sword arm.

She was going to die.

'…It won't be so bad…' she tried to tell herself.

It wouldn't be, not really. To be with her parents and brother again? To never have to worry about Kirkwall or Qunari or mages or templars or pain or being alone ever again? She should have been elated by this. This was the freedom she craved. And it wasn't like as though people couldn't get along without her. They'd done so for most of their lives. She worried for Bethany, but she had comrades to care for her now. Bethany didn't need her anymore. No one needed her.

Casting her eyes towards the steep stairwell of the room, Hawke allowed herself to gaze upon her precious friends for one last time. She forced a wide smile, praying that they would take it as a sign that she cared for them greatly, and would watch over them. That had always been the plan, anyhow. She couldn't just leave them alone. She would miss them too much. Varric, Merrill, Anders…

But then the world stopped turning, and her sight became clear.

Because the first face she saw was that of Fenris, the elf she pined for.

And the single tear that was rolling down his cheek.

He was crying.

Crying for her.

How could she have been so stupid?

That one tear, that one single, corporeal gesture was all she needed to revive her desire to live.

She had someone she loved.

As though her injuries had never been sustained, Hawke yanked her arm back into place and made another stab at her opponent. This one didn't miss. The pointed tip of the arrow sunk into the neck of the Arishok, blood spurting out from the puncture. Red pooled out from his mouth, and he gagged, stumbling back and clutching his throat with the hand that used to hold his lethal axe. She had changed the tide of the match, but Hawke wasn't done.

Seeing an opening, she stuck the arrow back into the same gash that he had, this time pulling it so as to widen the wound. Tacky Qunari blood painted her face and hair, but she would not stop. She could not. Dying was no longer an option, and she refused to admit defeat.

Blinking twice, she took in the scene of the Arishok. His eyes that had been so sinister moments ago were now shocked and vacant, and the blood that had come from his own body melded together with his tribal war paint, and Hawke could not tell where one ended and the other began. Sputtering in the throat that was no longer there, the Arishok gasped out one last sentence.

"We shall…return…"

And then the body of the Qunari that had beleaguered her for so long slumped over, never to move again.

"The city has been saved!" exclaimed a bystander.

Hawke was proud of her victory, but she would have to wait to start the celebration.

Because her body was now catching up with her, and the blood from her ankle was soaking through her leather boots, and she couldn't feel anything past her elbow on her right arm.

Hawke swooned, legs buckling from underneath her. Pain and a disgusting feeling dampness overwhelmed her senses, and Hawke through her head away from the applauding crowd to vomit at the dead Arishok's feet. All she heard after that was thunder. Lots of thunder, but she saw no flashes of light. She felt her eyelids open and close, but each time she could only see a black slate. Had she gone blind?

"I-I can't…" she wheezed, unable to exhale properly.

"She's badly wounded," said a tender voice. It was familiar. She knew that voice.

"Anders," she struggled to speak.

"We're getting you out of here, Hawke," Anders replied in a way that reminded her of her mother.

"I…I can't…"

"Hush, now, love," the healer placed a finger upon her lips. "Rest now. I'll take care of everything. I swear to you."

Hawke allowed her lids to shut, though it didn't make much of a difference. Everything was still dark. But try as she might, she could not sleep, but she could not keep herself conscious, so she drifted to a place that was somewhere between here and the Fade; a place where she felt no pain, but a place where she could hear and feel what was happening around her.

"Someone needs to carry her. She's in danger," Anders whispered.

"Let me," a smoky voice chimed in. It was Fenris. It had to be.

'Fenris!' Hawke tried to say, but it her lips would not obey. 'Are you there?'

"Are you sure you can be fast enough?" challenged what Hawke assumed to be Varric.

"I will run as if the wind were at my heels."

"Good enough," Anders added. "Take her to her home in Hightown. Varric and I will follow."

"Sebastian, Merrill, Isabela and I will stay here to deal with the citizens and the Chantry," Aveline's matter-of-fact attitude was easy enough to discern.

"Isabela's…gone," squeaky Merrill said dejectedly.

"I saw her slip out when the Qunari left," Sebastian's voice was like a balm for her soul. "I don't know where she went, but I don't have much faith that she'll be returning any time soon."

"I agree," Aveline snorted. "Blasted whore. She's the one that got Hawke into this mess."

"There's no point in arguing about it now," Anders snapped.

Two strong arms snaked themselves underneath Hawke's head and behind her knees, and the sensation of her being lifted up in the air made her a tad queasy, but she kept her breathing steady. If Fenris was the one carrying her, she had no desire to empty the contents of her stomach onto his chest. Revolting and mortifying.

The thundering noise filled her ears once again, and Hawke deduced that it came from the pitter-patter of Fenris', Anders' and Varric's feet as they sprinted, supposedly, towards her home right outside the gate. Fenris had tucked her damaged limbs close to his body, but the others swished like the cat tails caught in a gale. Hawke wanted to mumble something, move to let him know that she was still awake, but her body was just too fatigued and trodden to even consider it.

When everything became motionless and Hawke heard the boom of a door closing, she felt much more peaceful knowing that she was probably back at the Amell estate. It didn't take long, though, for more clamors to erupt.

"Oh, my word!" Bodahn bellowed. She'd recognize him anywhere. "What in the name of Orzammar—"

"Trust me, you don't wanna know," Varric warned.

"Blood," whined who Hawke believed was Sandal.

"It's all right m'boy," Bodahn said calmly. "Nothing to fret over! Don't you remember being with the Hero of Fereldan? Why he and the King of Fereldan were always getting into…"

Bodahn's words became quieter and quieter until they finally disappeared, and Hawke heard another door creak shut. They had gone into another room of her house.

"Put her on her bed. Varric, can you go get me some water? Hawke has a washroom over there with a pump in it."

"Seriously, Blondie?" Varric laughed. "How do you even know that?"

"I've been in this room before."

"How did you manage that?" Fenris snapped.

'I've toured the estate to everyone…'

As if reading her mind, Anders countered with "She's shown the whole damn place to everyone when she moved in here! Stop assuming I'm trying to rape the girl!"

"Then you should stop staring at her so hungrily," Fenris grumbled, and Hawke became engulfed by downy sheets and fluffed pillows.

Her body allowed her to sigh with satisfaction.

"I'm allowed to want to be with a woman," Anders hissed. "You stare at her just like I do. How can you even say such a thing?"

"When I stare, sex is not the first thing that comes to mind."

"How can you think so lowly of me? You think that all I want is to make love and run?"

"I entered this conversation at the wrong time," Varric chortled. "I heard "rape", "sex", "low", and "make love and run"."

Hawke was sure that Fenris and Anders were redder than tomatoes at that moment.

Hawke's body also allowed her to laugh.

"Hawke?" all three said in unison, though in different tones. Varric sounded staggered, Fenris sounded relieved, and Anders sounded terrified.

Opening her eyes, the room began to spin. She had lost so much blood, she was starting to feel a little…jumbled. Like she had no regulator between her mouth and her brain. The boys appeared as though they were vibrating, and the colors had become much more intense. Fenris' hair was glowing. Anders' head was too large for his body, and Varric was fat.

Hawke giggled. "You guys…look so-so weird! Ahahaha!"

"Whoa," chubby Varric's golden eyes bugged. "I think she's lost it, fellas."

"It's the blood loss," Anders confirmed her own suspicions. "It's made her…well, drunk is the best way to put it I suppose. She's not delusional, but she's not in the right frame of mind."

Hawke looked up at Anders with a playful smile. "You-you know, Anders…when I first met you…I thought that it would be s-so cool if you could turn me into-to a newt. C-Can you do that? Can ya? Can ya?"

Anders' pinched his lips together, hiding a grin. "I suppose. If I tried."

"You will do no such thing," Fenris spat.

"Oh, Fenris," Hawke half-sighed, half-moaned. "I s-swear…when-whenever you speak, I feel like my ears ar-are having orgasms. You're voice i-is making love to my ears, Fenris!"

Fenris buried his embarrassed face in his hands.

Varric laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes. "This is the best day of my life! And I was just going to spend this precious time drinking."

"Hawke," Anders took her attention away from Fenris and Varric. He leaned down on his knees right by her bedside. "Is there anywhere in particular that's in a lot of pain? I know the Arishok crushed your ankle—"

Hawke silenced Anders by shoving her lips on his.

The mages lips were full and supple, and it didn't take him long to copy the movements of hers. Deepening the kiss, Hawke lightly probed his mouth with her tongue, the passion on Anders' end increasing twofold. Strangely enough, the stubble scraping against her smooth face felt amazing. Hawke was evidently not the first girl to lock lips with the apostate. He was a better kisser than Fenris!

But their stint of intimacy was short-lived; the elf in question soon took Anders by the collar and tossed him as close to the fireplace as he could get without actually throwing him in.

"…Wow…" Anders said with stars in his eyes.

"Occidam tibi!" Fenris roared, markings illuminating blue. "Manete de mei virgo!"

"She kissed me!" Anders snapped back, baffling Hawke. Did Anders know Arcanum? Was he able to understand Fenris?

"There is a Maker," Varric said to the sky, grateful and reverent.

"She is not mentally sound. You are. Hawke kissing you is irrelevant."

"Oh, I see now. You're mad that I kissed her back," Anders said slyly. "One thing I did learn at the Circle; you take an opportunity when you see it."

"And if you take another," Fenris cracked his knuckles just by flexing his hand. "I might become curious as to what color your liver is."

"I'm not going to not kiss Hawke if she kisses me," Anders stood, brushing himself off. "And I could turn you into Elf Flambé before you even got close to my liver."

"Is that a challenge?" Fenris stepped forward.

"It just might be," Anders touched noses with him.

"If it h-h-helps," Hawke added. "Did you know that…that…the word "stressed" is…the word "desserts"…spelled backwards? Get it? Hahaha! Desserts! …I like cake."

"I should just kill myself right now," Varric said, utterly astounded. "It's not going to get any better than this."

Hawke whimpered. "You can't leave, Varric…"

Varric's eyes simpered. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you, sweetie. You know that."

Hawke beamed, sitting up in bed, and stretched her arms out to Varric, suggesting a hug, but soon remember that her right arm was shattered, and she howled from the wound like a terrified mabari hound.

"Don't move!" Anders raced to her side, Fenris in tow, haunting his steps as a vindictive specter. "The Arishok broke your arm, Hawke. You can't move it."

"Damn…Quanri," The new Champion swore.

"Are you all right, carissimi?" Fenris asked carefully.

Hawke squealed from delight. "Your voice...orgasms…"

"We-ahem…" Fenris cleared his throat. "We've established that, Hawke. Please, carissimi, tell me where it hurts."

"That…depends…" Hawke offered a coquettish smile. "What are you going to do…after I tell you?"

"Oh boy," Varric stroked his chin, smirking. "I think you and I should get outta here, Blondie."

Fenris stretched the skin of his face with his hands.

"I'm going to take off your boot, Hawke," Anders said, delicate, yet steadfast. "I want to look at your ankle."

Anders gestured to his elven and dwarven assistants. "Find towel or a rag and wet it in the water. I'll need to clean the blood to really examine the break."

"Anders," Hawke placed a hand on her healer's whiskery cheek. "When I have children, will you deliver them?"

Fenris blanched. Varric gave Anders a light punch to the shoulder.

"Ah—well…" Anders flushed, scratching his head, gaze refusing to meet the Champion's. "I…uh…don't see why not."

"Good," Hawke sighed, relieved. "You can take my boot off now."

"Th-thank you, Hawke…" Anders shook his head to gather his thoughts, then began undoing the buckles that kept her shoe in place.

With the gentleness and precision, Anders shimmied the boot from her leg as far as it would go, when it snagged at Hawke yipped, he took a knife from his pocket and used it to cut the leather of the bloody shoe as to free her leg. Once the boot was gone, Hawke let her gaze travel down to her foot, not taking the time to consider what exactly she would be seeing.

The skin of her actual foot, including her stubby toes, had turned bluer than Fenris' lyrium tattoos, tinged with a slight purple. Everything ankle down was swollen to a little larger than Varric's fist, and there was blood, both wet and dry, coming from a slash so deep that had been made by the Arishok's talon-fingers. Inclining her head, Hawke saw the cut had gone all the way to her bone; that was the only explanation for the thick white object she was looking at. It helped restore a fragment of her everyday psyche.

"I'm…going to be sick…" she sputtered, throwing a hand over her mouth.

"Don't look at it, Hawke," Anders soothed her. "Lie back. I've got you."

Hawke did as she was told, and she saw both Varric and Fenris reenter the room, the latter clutching a damp white cloth. Without thinking, Hawke extended her good hand out to him, signaling that she wanted someone to succor her while Anders patched her up.

Fenris understood this gesture immediately, and threw the cleaning rag at the apostate before crossing the room in four long strides, settling himself by her bedside.

"This is…disgusting…" Hawke bit down on her lip.

"You will be well before you know it. Tibi estis valida."

Hawke let out a breath raggedly. "I…wish Mother was here."

The air in the room became stagnant as soon as she said it, and none of the men made any endeavor to apologize or to even comment on her statement. Varric sat himself in the chair over by Hawke's desk, while Fenris and Anders both lingered beside her. Fenris made it his task to be the comforter, and he removed his protective gauntlets so as to stroke the top of his former lover's head with his bare palm. The steady movement helped to lull Hawke from her previous anxious state, and it allowed Anders the proper environment to practice his craft sufficiently.

The runaway Warden pumped magic into his hands, and he cradled the ankle of his companion as he would a newborn bird that hadn't the ability to fly. With one blink, the magic and lyrium flowed like a river from his body into hers, mending the broken bone at a snail's pace.

The lyrium and the soothing sensation of it was the most wonderful feeling, and some of the earlier irrationality that rocked Hawke's world clouded her thoughts for a second time.

"Oh, wow," Hawke giggled.

"I have been told I'm quite good with my hands," Anders meant it for Hawke, but his eyes latched on to Fenris.

"Nice one, Blondie," Varric sniggered.

The elf offered the mage a poisonous grimace.

"He's teasing, Fenris!" Hawke winked at the elf.

"He should concentrate on healing you, not make witty remarks."

"Good thing her ankle's done now, eh?" Anders grumbled, removing his hands and giving them a shake; his ritual after using his Maker given gifts. Hawke found it endearing.

"Can I look at it without feeling ill?" Hawke said facetiously.

"It's swollen; that I can't fix. But the bone is intact and the gouge by your heel is gone. You're going to be bedridden for a while, I'm afraid.

"Just what I didn't want to hear," Hawke griped. "Please tell me it's not more than a couple days?"

Thoughtfully, Anders placed both hands on his hips, scanning her up and down so as to properly diagnose. After a few seconds of tongue clicking and lip chewing, Anders put his hands up in the air in a defensive fashion.

"Five days, at least."

Varric hissed as though he'd pricked himself with one of Bianca's bolts.

"…You're joking," Hawke said flatly.

Anders shook his head. "The swelling is bad. And your arm is even worse—don't look at it, Hawke!"

"Sorry!" Hawke squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to see the entire extent of the damage, but she also didn't want to get sick all over her bed. The choice was clear.

"Is she really to stay like this for that long?" Fenris questioned, his snowy hair falling in his eyes.

"If she wants everything to heal properly, yes. My magic can repair breaks and cuts, but I can't get rid of the bruising, the swelling and the pain. She can't walk around and fight like normal."

"Maker's breath, there is no way…" Hawke gaped, then turned to Fenris in critical need of his patronage. "Five days is a bit much, isn't it?"

Fenris crossed his arms tightly over his chest, puckering his lips like a child denied sweets.

"I…am no healer, Hawke. For once, I must agree with the mage. You should allow yourself to rest."

"Varric?" the Champion squeaked.

"Oh, no you don't," The dwarf wagged his finger at her. "Don't break out the pouty-face on me, Hawke. After what just happened with the Arishok, I'm surprised you're still alive, let alone conscious. I'm goin' with Blondie on this one."

"Ugh!" Hawke threw an adult version of a temper tantrum, slamming her head into a mountain of pillows.

All three men chuckled. Once the humor had subsided, Anders went straight to work on Hawke's arm, which was the exact same color and had distended just like her foot. The hands of the apostate evaporated the pain and left behind a pleasing tingle, which she absolutely loved. Fenris never once left her side, and he kept himself busy by running his fingers through Hawke's wavy hair or scraping his fingernails lightly across the skin of her other arm. It brought her more solace than he could ever comprehend, and Hawke jotted down a mental note to thank him for his charity once Varric and Anders went to their respective homes.

As soon as her arm had been stabilized, Anders told Hawke to keep the water that Varric had filled in her tub, and that, sometime tomorrow afternoon, he would come by and heat the water with magic so that she could take a warm bath, as it would help relax her muscles that he was certain would be sore when she woke up in the morning. For her swelling, he created about two bricks of ice around the size of whet stones, wrapped them in cloth, and told her to apply them if the swelling got worse. He and Fenris both elevated her arm and foot with pillows taken from one of the spare rooms in her house, also for the swelling.

"You should be fine from here on," Anders said in good spirits. "Just get a good night's sleep. I'll be back to check and see how you are tomorrow."

Hawke ground the back of her teeth. For some odd reason, she wasn't comfortable with the idea of Anders leaving. Truth be told, she wasn't comfortable with the idea of any of her friends leaving. Hawke had never been injured like this before. There were times in Lothering and in Kirkwall when she was cut or bruised, but this was her first real serious wound. What if she couldn't get Bodahn or Sandal to respond to her calls if there was an emergency? What if more Qunari attacked, and she could not protect them? Or if she needed help getting up from her bed to relieve herself?

'…Okay. That one is a little embarrassing…'

But the core of the problem did not change. Weathering this alone wasn't something she particularly wanted. If her mother, father, Carver or Bethany were here, she would have no qualms in letting each one of them walk out her door. Each one of them had left and, save for the minute chance in the Bethany department, they were not coming back. This meant that asking for someone to keep her company wasn't childish or idiotic. It was practical.

Hawke squared her shoulders, but spoke with a tiny voice. "Acutally…I—that is…"

Anders gave her an inquisitive look. Varric's was lighthearted. Fenris' was expectant.

"I'd…I'd like you to stay. All of you. I…would feel…I would be able to sleep easier knowing that there was someone here who could watch over Sandal and Bodahn while I'm incapacitated."

"Enchantment boy?" Varric beckoned to the door with his thumb. "That kid's burned down hordes of darkspawn, not to mention the assorted array of homes and buildings. You're a horrible liar, Hawke."

Hawke wiped some invisible dust from her stomach. "I'm just…concerned."

Anders gave her the biggest smile she'd ever seen from him. "Of course I'll stay, Hawke. You know, I should've thought of that in the first place. You're going to need help in case you fall out of bed or something…"

"I will stay as well," Fenris nodded curtly.

That made Hawke's heart leap to her throat.

"Sounds like you don't really need me, though," Varric shrugged. "Someone needs to go tell the Team Sharing and Caring that you're not dead anyway."

"That's right," Anders agreed. "The others don't know. That's a good idea Varric. Fenris and I can take care of Hawke."

Fenris regarded the Champion with wide, affectionate eyes. "Is this a suitable arrangement?"

Hawke bobbed her head up and down, hair dancing.

"So, Blondie," Varric said emphatically, yanking on Anders' coat. "You should, uh, walk me to the keep, y'know? Plus we should make a plan about where to look for Isabela…since she, well, pulled another vanishing act."

Anders understood Varric's implications instantaneously. "Right! Can you look after Hawke while I'm with Varric, Fenris?"

"Yes," Fenris said to Hawke's marred ankle.

Varric said his goodbyes to his friend, making her promise that she would try to behave for the two men and not kiss them willy-nilly. Hawke vowed and even got a dilapidated hug from her dwarf companion, and Anders said he would be back as soon as he could. It wasn't until they both left that Fenris shot a daunting scowl in her direction.

Hawke balked at his irate aura. "Are you…feeling all right?"

"No, I am not 'feeling all right'!" Fenris spat, balling his fists. "You cannot begin to fathom how furious I am!"

Hawke's chest began to ache. "…This is about Anders isn't it?"

Fenris gave a low snarl before waving his hands. "That is…a piece of what plagues me, yes."

"A piece?"

"There is much more to how I am feeling at this juncture."

Hawke shifted uneasily. "Have I…really upset you this much?"

"Yes," Fenris paced. "But it was indirect, so this anger is somewhat unjustly fixed on you, I suppose."

Hawke leaned away from him. "Somewhats and supposes? You sound more confused than mad, Fenris."

"Oh, no," the elf laughed without humor, stopping in his tracks. "I am under no illusion as to what has me on edge, little minx."

"Ah, so I'm a minx now am I?" Hawke felt secretly accomplished. "Should I take this as a complement or an insult?"

"That doesn't matter. I'm talking about more than just you, amasiuncula."

"Insult then."

"Hawke." Fenris huffed.

"Fenris." Hawke gave him a melodramatic eye roll.

"Can you not act seriously?" Fenris exploded, his voice shaking everything in the room, the fire flickering in an effort to recoil. His volume even made Hawke jump.

"Fenris—"

"Festis bei umo canavarum!" The elf dropped to the floor, crossing his legs and shoving his hands in the mound of snowy tresses.

This wasn't anger. This was…vexation.

"I am talking about the Arishok, Hawke." Fenris allayed himself, but he did not take his hands from his hair.

"What does the Arishok have to do with this?"

"Not the Arishok specifically, you stubborn woman."

"Whoa, now," Hawke pointed at him. "Let's play nice. I'll be serious if we can play nice."

At her words, Fenris directed his smoldering green eyes at her, a slight wisp of friskiness coalescing with the heat.

"What if I do not want to play nice?" Fenris said with a low voice.

Hawke felt the inside of her mouth start to itch. "…That depends. What's the context of "nice" to you, Fenris?"

"Perhaps I should hear your own context before I respond."

"I was talking about throwing out the insults."

Fenris grinned cheekily. "I was not."

"So, then, it's safe to say that my kissing Anders did not bother you."

"Of course it did, but that is not my place." Fenris picked at his breastplate. "I do not own you. You may kiss any man you wish. Though, I must know; why did you do that?"

"Blood loss, like he said. Your hair was shining and Varric gained about fifty pounds."

Fenris laughed heartily. "I would have loved to see through your eyes at that moment."

"I'm sure you would have. My turn, though. Why were you bothered?"

Fenris gulped. "Can I…not feel a little protective over you after what…transpired?"

"But you left."

"Did I ever say I wanted to?"

Hawke's stomach lurched, but not in a bad way. "You didn't want to leave?"

"No. But I had to."

"Why?"

Fenris ran his tongue over his thin lips. "It is…complicated. Suffice it to say that, while I cannot be with you, I do have…feelings?"

Hawke rested her chin in her good palm. "This is one of those things I'm just going to have to accept and get over right?"

"I'm afraid so," Fenris winked. "However, I reserve the right to keep Anders from kissing you. You may kiss him if you wish."

"Little possessive, don't you think?"

"I enjoy entertaining the notion that you will be mine someday soon."

Hawke flushed. "I think I'm going to…remember that."

Fenris whispered "It is my hope that you do."

While Hawke was more than excited about his flirting, she couldn't help but feel a little befuddled at his forwardness. He cared for her, yet could not act as her lover? That did not add up. She took what she could get though. Fenris did hint that he would enter such a relationship in the future if she was still around. That was better than nothing, which was her assumption a handful of days ago. Could she wait for him?

Kissing Anders was nice, but when she had kissed Fenris…

There was nothing in Thedas that could compare.

Resisting the former slave was such a trial…

Nervousness got the better of her, and Hawke mumbled. "We…seem to, uh, have gotten off track. You were telling me about the Arishok."

"I haven't waylaid the conversation, Hawke," Fenris rested his hands in his lap, his gaze shifting from provocative to solemn. "Not entirely."

"Andraste's Grace, Fenris. I'm tired, sore and, ostensibly, bedbound for five days. Forgive me if I can't hunt for hidden clues in your dialogue."

Fenris' brow rutted. "O..ten…excuse me?"

"Nevermind," Hawke waved his question away. "I'll explain it later. What does any of this have to do with the Arishok?"

"Why did you do it?" Fenris slapped his knees. "Why challenge such a brute for someone who deceived you and abandoned you?"

Hawke rubbed her eye. "You want to know why I didn't let the Qunari take Isabela."

"Yes, I do."

"Well, that's simple," Hawke shrugged. "I didn't think Isabela deserved it. She brought the book back. That was much more than I thought she would do. Who knows what those crazy horned giants would have done to her."

"Converted her to the Qun," Fenris said plainly. "She would either accept it willingly, or they would force her. The Qunari waste nothing."

Hawke smacked her lips from the bad taste of truth. "Now I'm even gladder I agreed to a duel. Or are you saying that it's the dueling part that's upset you?"

"No," Fenris cut the air with his hand. "The duel was tolerable. I did not think that the terms were acceptable."

"Isabela was—is—my friend, Fenris." Hawke wiggled her inflamed foot just a tad. "I would do the same for you if you got in trouble with the Qunari."

"I am not so foolish as to find myself in that kind of situation."

"The Qunari was just an example, Fenris!" Zealous aggravation seized her. "I would help any of my comrades. I've done it before. I helped Sebastian kill his family's murderers. I helped Anders find that mad templar. I even helped Aveline court Donnic, Maker be my witness! So when that huge Qunari threatened to take a loyal ally, I didn't even think twice about whether or not I should let him. I would have died before I let him make off with Isabela—"

"That is the point, Hawke!" Fenris leapt to his feet, his ire neck-and-neck with the Champion's. But the adoration that cavorted in his eyes, like a tuft of smoke that came after blowing out a candle, flared and enlarged. "You could have died! You were dying! I watched the whole battle, Hawke, and I am unreservedly amazed as to how you walked away from that with only broken bones. Do you not understand how grave a matter this is? How astounding?"

"I could give a nug's ass how impossible it was to defeat the Arishok," Hawke said caustically.

"You are missing my true meaning, amasiuncula," Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And what, pray tell, is that, Fenris?" Hawke sat up in bed as best she could, tired of his obscurities. "That I'm an idiot for protecting others? That I bit off more than I could chew? That I should learn not to stand up for other people that can't defend themselves? That—"

"You. Frightened. Me!"

Hawke felt her tongue go dry as Fenris' face turned red, but not from chagrin. Rage like this in Fenris…he wasn't even this mad when they found out Hadriana was on the Wounded Coast. Hawke didn't know what to make of his temperament. But it struck a chord of fear and confusion with such a force that it took all her resolve not to hide behind a pillow and cry.

But it was the substance of the words that kept all of that bravado from waning.

"When I saw him break your arm, I—" Fenris' voice broke. "It was the first time I had ever prayed. I didn't even know what to think. All I could see was your grave. An urn filled with ashes from your body. I thought…"

And when Fenris looked back up at her, she saw that same tear meandering from his eye to his chin.

"I thought I had lost you, carissimi."

Hawke's jaw hit the floor. "…Fenris."

"Please," he ran to her side, fell to his knees and rested his wet face on her thigh. "I beg you—I beseech you, Hawke. Do not ever, ever, frighten me like that again. I cannot…I will not live in a world…that does not have you in it."

Touched by his openness and sincerity, Hawke felt all the words within her scatter like startled rats. He had shed tears for her; not many, but two was more than none. He had pleaded with her to safeguard herself because he did not want to part with her forever. The confession annexed everything that had previously occurred between them, and that familiar love she held for him blossomed into a stunning flower on her heart. But how to reply? How could she tell Fenris how much he meant to her if she couldn't articulate it?

Fenris backed away from her like a scolded mabari. "Forgive me…I seemed to have gotten…carried away."

"No!" Hawke said a bit too loudly. "I mean—I…well…"

The elf regarded her with a stare that was equal parts reticent and eager.

"I…" Hawke drew circles on her sheets with her pinky. "I…I couldn't live in a world without you, either…that's why I…I changed my mind."

Fenris straightened. She could tell just by looking at him that his heart was hammering.

"Changed your mind? What are you talking about?"

"I…" Hawke let her own tears jolt from her eyes. "I was going to let the Arishok kill me…"

Fenris stoned himself, flabbergasted.

"I felt awful," Hawke continued, stumbling. "I-I…I just…my mother…and Father…I thought I would be happier if I just died and went to be with them. I thought that no one needed me…"

"What a foolish thought."

"I know!" Hawke sniveled. "It was selfish of me. But when…when I saw your face, I knew…"

Hawke concentrated all of her love for him into a single point, then mentally shot it in the form of an arrow, her damp blue eyes playing the part of the bow, straight at Fenris.

"I knew it was impossible. I couldn't leave you. It was like you took a chain and bound me to you. I was floating away, and you pulled me back. That's how I killed him, Fenris. I was so…so determined to live; I ignored my body and just…didn't stop fighting.

Fenris' breathing deepened at Hawke's earnestness, waves of unadulterated desire pulsing with the swiftness of a birds wings and the steadiness of a rain shower. It was enough to give Hawke goose bumps all over her arms and legs. He did not blink, just dug his gaze into her, arousing her senses and making Hawke long to be free of her wounds so she could embrace him like she knew he wanted her to.

"I will never leave you, carissimi. So you must not leave me."

"Never," Hawke hiccupped. "I can't. I'm sorry I frightened you. Truly, I am. I can't promise I won't ever do it again, but I'll be more careful about choosing my battles.

"That is wonderful to hear," Fenris sighed, reassured. "I would also like to apologize for my…impolite behavior. I should not have shouted at you, Hawke."

"Oh, there's no need. I can't hold a grudge against you." Hawke braced herself. "…You have my heart, Fenris."

Hawke suspected him to brush off her semi-proclamation of love. Then he smirked.

"It truly is a horrible thing, yearning for you but not being able to satiate it.

"Don't forget, this is your choice, not mine."

"I know. What a masochist I am. I'm turning away cream for milk."

"Then…don't do it." Hawke twiddled her thumbs. "Let me be with you."

Fenris, obviously dismayed, shook his head. "I cannot. I wish I could, but I cannot. It is difficult for me. It is a hunger I have never known before. All I ask is your patience, if you are willing."

Hawke bashfully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Of course she was willing. "Sounds like you could go for some supper, though, hmmm?"

The elf's grin ballooned. "I believe it is something sweet that I'm craving."

Hawke faked obliviousness. "Oh, I see! Cake, perhaps?"

"Yes," Fenris chuckled darkly. "Cake."

"What kind?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I do, actually."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Very well."

And then Fenris said something about an intimate part of her anatomy that made Hawke's neck sizzle.

But not before Anders walked into her room to hear him make the lewd comment.