Five times that Fenris took Hawke’s hand, and one time that he held it. (Also known as: my ham-fisted attempt to summarize the THREE YEARS between Act II and III into one relatively short chapter.)

For @dadrunkwriting . It’s a long one, folks (>7000 words). Sorry about this.

Read on AO3 instead: tinyurl.com/fenhawke2

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–One–

Hawke took a slow, deep breath, then handed the urn to Carver. “Here,” she said. “You can have the honours.”

Carver gingerly took the urn from her hands. He studied the fine porcelain receptacle for a moment before speaking. “I wish we could have buried her with Father,” he said softly. “And Bethany too.”

Fenris watched as Hawke took another deep breath, then smiled at her younger brother. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “Mother float away on the wind and find them much more easily like this. And maybe some bits of her will go floating off to Orlais or Rivain or somewhere nice and exotic. She always did want to travel in style.”

Carver huffed. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

She shrugged and gave him another devil-may-care grin. “Why bother? Life’s so short already.” She nodded at the edge of the cliff and waved her hand expansively at the calm waters of the Wounded Coast. “Go ahead. Send her off. Just… make sure the wind is blowing the right way first.”

Carver shot her an annoyed look, then opened the lid of the urn. After a moment’s hesitation, he released Leandra Amell’s ashes to the air.

The whole group watched in silence as the ashes drifted away into the wind, but Fenris studied Hawke from the corner of his eye. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, her customary grin replaced by a look of utter seriousness.

She held herself very still for a long moment. Then, with a heavy exhale, she loosened her arms and looked at Carver. “Come here, you big dummy,” she said, and she wrapped her arms around her brother’s shoulders in a tight hug.

Carver’s eyes widened with surprise for a moment, then he hugged her in return. Varric cleared his throat gruffly, and Sebastian squeezed his shoulder while Fenris pretended not to notice.

A moment later, Carver sighed and pressed his face against Hawke’s shoulder. “I wish….” he muttered, then trailed off into silence.

“I know,” Hawke said softly. She sniffed, then in a bright voice she said, “Keep on wishing, baby brother. Something will come true eventually. That’s how probability works, right?”

Anders chuckled. “Not quite,” he said gently, and Hawke shot him a little wink.

“I do wish you’d stop calling me ‘baby brother’,” Carver muttered.

Hawke laughed and squeezed him harder. “Best keep on wishing, because that’s not going to happen.”

Carver grunted. A few moments later, he extricated himself from Hawke’s arms and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Well. The memorial reception is at your, er. It’s at the house tonight, right?”

“Yes, around sunset,” she confirmed. “And bring a date! It’s sure to be a smashing party.” She tilted her head. “You’re allowed to date, right? You’re not one of those boring celibate Templars, are you?”

Carver rolled his eyes and walked away. Hawke smirked at his departing back, then sighed and seated herself on the ground.

Varric slowly approached and patted her shoulder. “You okay, Hawke? You want a moment alone?”

She playfully wrinkled her nose at him. “Not a chance. Have you met me? Come sit with me, all of you.”

Fenris and the others seated themselves on the grass. An awkward, quiet moment later, Hawke spoke up. “So, Aveline. Any raunchy sex stories you want to share with us?”

Aveline’s face instantly turned beet red, and there was a ripple of laughter from the rest of the group as the Knight-Captain sputtered. “Hawke! I can’t – I’m not telling – that’s private!”

“That means a resounding yes,” Anders teased.

Hawke lifted her hands innocently. “I’m only asking because I’m jealous! I think you’re the only one in this sorry little group who’s getting lucky these days.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly at the others. “Merrill? Anders? Any juicy tales? I’m ignoring you, Sebastian, unless your own hand counts.” She tilted her head curiously. “Are Chantry brothers allowed to, you know. Say hello to their little Makers?”

Aveline wrinkled her nose in disgust, and Sebastian lifted his chin primly. “That’s none of your business,” he said, and Hawke mockingly blew him a kiss.

Anders turned to Merrill with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t I see you poking around in some noble’s garden the other day, Merrill? A secret rendez-vous, maybe?”

Merrill blinked at him in bewilderment. “Secret… what? No! I was, um, picking flowers. For Varric?”

“They must have gotten lost along the way, Daisy, because I didn’t get them,” Varric drawled.

Fenris smirked as he listened to their banter. Hawke laughed along with the others and prodded the conversation forward with provoking statements, and Fenris was glad to see her looking so genuinely happy. It had been a hard two weeks while the city struggled to recover from the Qunari attack, and he’d noticed her becoming more and more withdrawn as they scurried from Darktown to Hightown trying to fulfill the myriad demands for the Champion’s help.

After some time, Hawke took a more passive role in the conversation, listening and laughing instead of talking. Her smile was more wistful than cheeky now, and Fenris quietly studied the shifting hint of melancholy under her smile.

Suddenly she turned to look at him. “You’re awfully quiet,” she remarked. “No snark tonight from my favourite brooding warrior?”

“Oh,” he said, caught off guard by her attention. “I was simply…” He couldn’t say he was worrying about her. That would invite too much teasing from their insufferably nosy friends. “I was wondering if we should head back to Kirkwall,” he said instead. “It’s… is it getting late?”

Her eyes widened. “Shit, maybe,” she said, and glanced at the sky. “You’re right, we should go.”

The others started to gather themselves and rise, and Hawke smiled at Fenris. “Handsome and punctual,” she purred. “What would I do without you?”  

“You would be late all the time. Your tardiness would get worse and worse until your days and nights reversed,” he drawled. He pushed himself to his feet, then offered his hand.

Hawke’s smile widened as she took his outstretched hand. He wrapped his fingers strongly around her own and helped her rise.

Once she was on her feet, she held his fingers for a moment longer. “Thank you,” she murmured.

He gazed into her clear coppery eyes. They were warm and deep and still just a little bit sad.

“You’re welcome,” he said. Then he released her hand.

–Two–

“Cheers,” Varric said, and clinked his flagon against Hawke’s tumbler and Fenris’s glass. “To the Champion.”

Hawke squinched up her face as though she smelled something bad. “Must you?” she complained. “I hate that bloody title. I’d rather be called the Most Boring Mage in Kirkwall than the Champion.” She took a hearty gulp from her drink.

Fenris subtly pushed the bowl of roasted nuts toward her. She took one and popped it in her mouth, then chewed noisily as she continued to ramble. “Honestly, they make it sound like I’m doing all this interesting stuff on my own, when all of you are with me constantly. I never do any of this stuff by myself. What about you?” She gestured at Fenris. “The Broody Champion of Kirkwall who speaks Qunari. I much prefer the sound of that. Let’s face it, you’re the only reason the Arishok thought I was worth talking to in the first place. Or you.” She pointed accusingly at Varric, then began counting on her fingers. “Kirkwall’s smartest man. Knows everyone. Has a one-of-a-kind crossbow. Why isn’t anyone paying attention to you?”

“I am an elf, and he is a dwarf,” Fenris said flatly.

Hawke stared at him for a moment, then her eyes widened. “Andraste’s tit. It is racism, isn’t it?” She shook her head and sat back in her chair, looking as though she’d had a life-changing revelation. “Racism,” she said wonderingly. “Well, that’s some complete nugshit. We should go set that straight immediately so they’ll all start paying attention to you two instead. Then I can go home and relax.”

Varric snickered and folded his arms. “Very altruistic of you, Hawke.”

She grinned at him and lifted her brandy to her lips. “Hey, I never claimed to be an altruist. I mean, I’m no Isabela, but I’m also no Grand Divine What’s-Her-Name.”

There was a very brief and awkward pause at the mention of the absent pirate. Then Fenris shifted in his seat. “In all fairness, you defeated the Arishok entirely on your own,” he said. “That is a feat worth remembering. An apostate mage acting with the strength of a warrior.”

Varric widened his eyes. “Wow, elf. That’s almost poetic. Can I borrow that phrase?”

“That was one time!” Hawke interrupted indignantly. “One big fancy fight one time, and that was months ago. And still they’re expecting me to help them with every little thing. ‘Oh Champion, save my daughter from blood mages.’ ‘Oh Champion, save my son from the crazy Templars.’ ‘Oh Champion, make sure the Qunari never ever bother us again.’ I just…” She drained the last of her brandy, then grinned at Fenris and Varric. “Why people think I can keep them safe is beyond me. Has everyone forgotten what a disaster I am? Gorgeous and sexy, sure, but a total disaster.”

Fenris went still with his glass halfway to his lips. He knew where she was going with this.

She kicked her feet up on Varric’s table as she continued to talk. “I mean, let’s look at the catalogue of evidence. My sister’s dead. My mother’s dead. My brother’s off with the Templars fighting his own shadow one second and abominations the next. Isabela’s run off to do who-knows-what. And I’m just…” She trailed off, then slid her feet back down to the ground and leaned her elbows on the table, her face suddenly bright and alert. “I have an idea. We should set up cots for Merrill and Anders in Aveline’s office.”

Fenris frowned at the non-sequitur, and Varric raised his eyebrows. “Why?” he asked.

“To keep them safe, obviously!” she chirped. “They’re both going to do something stupid. I just know it. I can feel it in my bones,” she said, with a dramatic lifting of her hands. “I can’t save them from themselves, but Aveline can. It’ll be like daycare!”

“Or you could send them to the Circle,” Fenris suggested. He knew he shouldn’t say it, but it was begging to be said.

Varric grimaced as Hawke spun toward Fenris. “Never,” she said, swiftly and vehemently. “That will never happen. My family always stays free.” She stared at him for a moment longer, then smiled slightly. “That’s like a Hawke family motto.” She winked at Varric. “You can quote me on that.”

Fenris quashed his scathing reply as he studied her lovely face. She was grinning again as she settled back in her chair and teased Varric about the attention he’d been getting from a group of girls who frequented the tavern, but Fenris could see her conflict as clearly as if it was painted on her face.

He knew she still blamed herself in part for everything that had happened to her family, and it was clear now that she would blame herself if anything adverse became of anyone else in their little group.

An hour and two more drinks later, Hawke’s eyelids were drooping shut as she described one of Merrill’s more disastrous recipes to them. “… I don’t think she was supposed to include the roots in the pie, but… well, there they were. Extra ruffage, I guess. It still tasted quite good.” She yawned widely, then laid her head on her folded forearms.

Fenris stood from the table. “Come on, Hawke. I will walk you home.”

She lifted her head from her arms and smiled lazily at him. “Will you carry me like you did that one time?”

Fenris looked at her in surprise. He wasn’t aware that she remembered the time he’d carried her to bed; she’d been even drunker than this at the time.

He glanced furtively at Varric, only to find the dwarf smirking knowingly at him. He scowled, then returned his attention to Hawke. “Not here,” he muttered. “Not unless you really can’t walk-”

Hawke rose to her feet, then pretended to fall down. “Oh no, Fenris, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” she said dramatically. “Please, O Strong and Handsome Warrior, lift me up!”

Varric chuckled. “She’s going to regret this tomorrow. I’m definitely putting it in the book.”

Fenris raised one eyebrow. “I implore you, don’t.” He offered Hawke his hand.

She reached up and grasped his fingers, then stumbled and fell against his chest as she rose to her feet. Fenris hastily grasped her elbow to steady her, then carefully stepped away from the heat of her body.

She hooked her hand firmly around his arm, then dragged him over to Varric’s side so she could kiss the dwarf on the forehead. “Goodnight, my favourite friend,” she slurred.

Varric chuckled and patted her on the elbow as she swung away. “‘Night, Champion.”

Hawke groaned. “I take it back. You’re my worst enemy.” She waved lazily to Varric, then pulled Fenris toward the stairs by his entrapped arm.

He allowed her to drag him along; she needed the equilibrium that his steadier feet could provide. She was half-asleep by the time they made it halfway to Hightown, and Fenris carefully hefted her into his arms.

She wrapped one arm around his neck, and he tried to ignore the shiver of warmth down his spine when her uninhibited fingers toyed with the hair at the back of his neck. “Thanks, Fenris,” she muttered, then fell unconscious in his arms.

He swallowed hard. “You’re welcome,” he whispered to her sleeping form. Then he carried her the rest of the way home.

–Three–

“Fenris, what’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?” he said absently. He turned around to look at Hawke.

She continued up the steep mountain path until she drew level with him. “You’ve been extra broody today,” she panted. “Is something wrong?”

“Something more than the usual grump, you mean?” Merrill chirped as she pranced past.

He scowled at the Dalish mage, then turned back to Hawke. In truth, he was preoccupied; he’d finally found some reliable contacts in Qarinus, informants who could fact-check the information that Hadriana had fed to him, and he was anxious at the very thought of hearing back from them. It would be months before he heard a word – his instructions had just left by messenger this morning – but Fenris was already impatient for news.

Hawke didn’t need to know that, however. He didn’t want to tell her about all of this until he had more concrete information. She’d only want to help him, and this was something he had to do himself.

“I am fine,” he assured her. Then he gestured for her to precede him on the path up to Sundermount’s peak.

“You sure?” Hawke said. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Especially if it involves a prank. Things have been so boring lately with all the helping and the good deeds.” She raised her eyebrows invitingly. “We could steal someone’s pants. Or replace their hair tonic with depilatory cream, something like that.”

He smirked. “Tempting as that sounds, I shall decline for now.” He jerked his chin at Merrill’s back. “Best catch up to her before she falls into a rabbit hole.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “On second thought, never mind. Let’s return to Kirkwall.”

Hawke tutted and shoved his arm. “You are horrible,” she informed him, then continued up the path in Merrill’s wake.

Fenris shrugged unconcernedly, then followed her along the poorly maintained path, picking his way over rubble and broken rocks and slimy puddles.

Suddenly Hawke tripped, hitting the ground hard on her hands. “Fuck!” she exclaimed. She flexed her ankle and hissed with discomfort, and Fenris crouched at her side.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She pursed her lips with annoyance. “Rynne Hawke, the Champion of Beauty and Grace,” she muttered. She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a twisted ankle.”

Fenris rose and offered her his hand. She reached up and took his fingers, then grasped his hand for a moment longer as she whispered a quiet word, and a cool green glow shimmered over her ankle.

She flexed the ankle experimentally, then smiled up at him. “Thank you, my gallant warrior,” she purred.

He smirked at her playful tone, then shrugged and released her hand. “I did nothing. You healed yourself.”

Hawke planted her fist on her hip. “Fenris, haven’t you learned anything from those stories you’ve been reading? Nothing heals a girl more quickly than the touch of a big, strong, handsome man.” She laughed as Merrill hurried back down the path to meet them.

“What’s happened?” she asked. Then she looked between Hawke and Fenris. “Oh Elgar’nan. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Hawke said cheerfully. She winked at Fenris, then stepped over the pit in the ground that had tripped her and continued her way up the mountain.

Merrill giggled.

Fenris frowned at her, alarmed by how smug she looked. “What?” he demanded.

She beamed at him. “You’re in love,” she crooned.

Fenris scowled more deeply. She wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of hearing it. “I am not,” he lied, then stepped around her and continued in Hawke’s wake.

Merrill trotted after him. “You keep looking at Hawke with sad puppy eyes every time her back is turned,” she chirped.

“There are no puppy eyes,” Fenris snarled, but Merrill was undaunted by his wrath.

“It’s all right, you know,” she said, with an annoying degree of calm. “Even you can be happy once in a while. It won’t kill you.” She blinked innocently. “But your face might crack if you smile, so be careful.”

He clenched his jaw, then vaulted up the path to escape her. Merrill was a fool, and she didn’t know anything about him.

Fenris couldn’t be happy, not yet. He had to be reunited with his sister first. He had to learn everything she could tell him about his past.

He drew level with Hawke, and she smiled sweetly at him as he joined her. “I’ve been considering the matter, and I really think we should do a prank tonight,” she announced. “Let’s pick on Varric! It’ll have to be something good if we want to get him.” She gazed pleadingly at him. “Please?”

He studied her beautiful cheeky face, then sighed. “All right, fine. But I bear no responsibility if it goes terribly wrong.”

She grinned wickedly. “Good,” she said with relish. “That means I’ll get all the credit if it goes terribly right.”

He smiled and shook his head as they made their way up the mountain.

He couldn’t be happy, not yet.

But maybe someday.

–Four–

Fenris wandered into Hawke’s foyer, then nodded his thanks to Orana as she directed him upstairs. He continued to ponder his dilemma as he made his way up the stairs.

He needed more coin to pay his sources in Qarinus. Thus far, he’d been paying his contacts with his savings from the jobs he did with Hawke and the others, but it was looking like he’d have to pick up some extra jobs in the evenings during the times when he wasn’t with Hawke.

He was slightly bitter about it. Not about the extra work per se; finding his sister was the first priority, and the extra jobs were necessary to save the coin his informants needed to track her down.

If he was totally honest, his bitterness stemmed from the fact that the extra jobs would mean less free time to spend with Hawke.

It was a selfish concern. What really mattered was discovering where his sister was and if she was safe. He saw Hawke every damned day. He wouldn’t suffer if he saw her a bit less frequently.

Besides, it was probably for the best to find a bit of space. His longing for Hawke still made it difficult to be around her at times. It was probably best for him to be apart from her once in a while. Keep his head straight and his mind on his long-term goals.

And thus it was that he was mildly annoyed when a messenger showed up at his door requesting his presence at the Champion’s mansion. “At your leisure, no rush,” the messenger had said, and Fenris had heard Hawke’s voice in the words. He’d been halfway out the door at the time, planning to go ask around in Lowtown for leads to odd jobs and tasks. Instead, despite his stern and disciplined speeches to himself, here he was at Hawke’s door.

He scowled as he poked his head into her bedroom. “Hawke?” he grunted.

“You got here so soon! I’m in here,” she called, and Fenris frowned more deeply as he stepped into her bedroom and peered into the lavatory.

Hawke was sitting on a stool in front of the mirror with a razor in her hand, and her chestnut-brown hair was cut bluntly at her shoulders.

She turned to look at him as he drew close, then laughed. “Oh no. Is it that bad?” she said.

Fenris closed his mouth and shook his head. “Not… bad,” he said, semi-truthfully. “I am simply surprised. Why…?”

She shrugged. “I just wanted a change. I’ve been thinking about cutting it for a few months now. But I got this far,” she waved vaguely at herself, “and then I figured out that I, you know. Don’t know what I’m doing.”

Fenris folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “And you thought it logical to send a messenger to fetch me?”

“Yep,” she said pertly. “You cut your own hair, don’t you?”

He nodded, and Hawke smiled. “Good,” she said. “Then you can teach me how to do it.”

He raised his eyebrows, then took a tentative step into the lavatory. “I have never taught anyone to cut their own hair before,” he said slowly.

“Well, anything you say can’t make this any worse,” she said cheerfully. “I was actually hoping for a haircut something like yours.”

His eyebrows rose even higher. “Like mine?”

“Yes, but shorter at the back and the sides. Can you help?”

He studied her head for a moment, then shrugged helplessly. “I suppose I can try.”

She beamed at him, and he shot her a half-smile before leaning against the wall behind her and folding his arms. “Start by cutting the lower part at the back. Closer to your neck.”

Hawke frowned uncertainly, then set the razor down and picked up a linen strip from the vanity and swiftly tied the bulk of her hair into a messy bun at her crown. Then she picked up the razor and reached behind her head, lifting a lock of hair and lowering the razor toward it. “Like this-?”

Fenris hastily reached out and grabbed her hand. “No,” he said. If she cut it there, she would have a bald spot. He carefully adjusted her hands, then released her. “Now cut,” he said.

She sliced with the razor, and a long dark lock of hair drifted to the floor. Fenris met her eyes in the mirror and nodded. “Go on,” he prompted.

She haphazardly gathered another handful of strands and lowered the razor toward it, and Fenris took her hands again adjusted them before allowing her to cut.

Eventually she adjusted her technique to cut the right length of hair, and Fenris leaned back against the wall again. He watched her in silence for some time until the bottom-most layer of hair was done. Then she pulled another layer of hair from her messy bun and started again.

Fenris wordlessly adjusted her fingers before letting her cut the first lock of hair. Once Hawke got into the groove with the second layer, she began to talk. “My mother used to cut my hair,” she said.

Fenris met her eyes in the mirror, but didn’t reply. The anniversary of Leandra’s death had been a week ago.

Hawke shot his reflection a small half-smile. “I used to wear my hair short, you know. When I was young. But when I got older, she said I should start wearing it long. It was prettier, according to her.” Hawke smirked. “I refused at first. But then it just got easier to grow it out than to listen to her little comments when I asked her to cut it for me.”

Fenris frowned slightly. “‘Little comments’?” he asked.

She huffed dismissively. “It was nothing, really. Just her way of saying she thought that proper ladies should have long hair.” She grinned and raised one mischievous eyebrow at him. “I’m no proper lady. But I couldn’t be bothered to argue about it.”

Fenris was silent for a long moment. When she’d finished cutting the second layer of her hair, he spoke. “Change is good,” he said quietly. “Even if it’s a return to something you used to… um… love.”

She met his eyes in the mirror. “Exactly,” she said softly.

Fenris stared at her, arrested by the seriousness of her face and the depth of her eyes.

He swallowed hard; his mouth was suddenly dry. He nodded his chin at her head. “I believe the next layer will bring you around to the sides of your head. Just, er, continue doing as you have done so far.”

Hawke nodded obediently, and she cut the third layer in silence as Fenris supervised her work.

Once she’d finished the layer, she lowered her hands to her lap with a sigh and rolled her neck from side to side. “My arms are getting sore,” she admitted with a rueful smile.

Fenris debated with himself for a moment, then held out his hand. “I’ll help. If you allow it.”

She stared at him, then smiled. “You’re kidding.”

He frowned and withdrew his hand. “Unless you don’t trust my-”

“No, no,” Hawke protested immediately, “that’s – please, go ahead! It’ll be far better if you do it. I should have asked you from the start.” She handed him the razor, then fluttered her eyelashes coyly at him. “A beautiful man handling my scalp? How could I say no to that?”

He rolled his eyes, and Hawke chuckled as Fenris began to slice her hair with brisk, smooth strokes of the razor.

It was odd, this. Cutting someone else’s hair. Fenris had never done it before, and his cutting of his own hair had been haphazard at best. It should have been easier to cut someone else’s hair, but Fenris found himself pausing quite a few times to make sure he wasn’t making a total mess of the dark-haired mage’s head.

During one pause, Hawke spoke again. “You know Isabela’s been gone for a year now?”

Her voice was light and casual, and Fenris grew still as he studied her profile. Her face looked as pleasant as ever.

He licked his lips. “Yes,” he said carefully.

Hawke was quiet for a long moment as Fenris continued to cut her hair. Then she spoke again. “She’ll be back. I’m sure of it. That tart can’t stay away forever.”

Her tone was confident, but her eyes were locked on his reflection, and Fenris finally met her eye. She wanted reassurance, he knew. She wanted him to tell her that Isabela would come back. That she hadn’t left Kirkwall permanently.

People die, and people leave, and that’s life, Hawke had once told him. But her pleading gaze on Fenris’s face told a different story.

She wanted him to tell her that Isabela wouldn’t be another person to leave forever.

He could reassure her. Isabela had told him that she’d return, after all. It wouldn’t be a lie or a stretch of the imagination.

But Fenris wasn’t certain. And Hawke deserved better than uncertainties and half-truths.

He returned his gaze to the razor in his hands. “It’s… hard to say,” he said finally. “She will likely return. But I couldn’t hazard a guess as to when.” He handed her the razor. “You can finish off the front yourself, I assume?”

Hawke nodded, and they were both quiet for a moment while she worked on her bangs. Then she sighed. “She is a flighty bitch, that one,” she said. She smiled wanly at him.

But Fenris met her gaze seriously. There was one thing he knew for certain. “If Isabela does return, it will be for you,” he told her.

The corner of her lips quirked briefly in a smile, and she returned her attention to her hair. A short while later, she placed the razor on her vanity and turned on her stool to look up at him. “How do I look?” she asked. She ruffled her now-short hair.

Her bangs were long and spiky, and they fell flirtatiously over one eyebrow. The short cut accentuated her cheekbones and allowed him to better admire the smooth lines of her neck and jaw.

It suited her perfectly. Fenris gazed at her with an aching appreciation for a long moment, then cleared his throat. “Beautiful,” he said. “But that is no different than always.”

She flushed, and Fenris smiled at the pinkness of her cheeks. She rose from the stool and gently punched his shoulder. “Very suave, mister,” she said playfully.

He bowed his head mockingly, and Hawke chuckled as he led the way from her lavatory back into her bedroom and then out into the hall.

He made for the stairs, but Hawke stopped him before he could descend. “Fenris.”

He turned to look askance at her, and she smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

He admired her lovely gamine hair. “You are very welcome,” he said.

–Five–

Fenris breathed slowly in through his nose, then exhaled. His eyes were calmly closed, and the Chantry sisters’ chanting was calming as well, but the feeling jumping in his chest was anything but calm.

Varania wasn’t in Qarinus.

The news had hit him like a punch in the stomach. So much coin he’d spent and so much time finding reliable sources in Qarinus, all just to learn that Varania had gone to Minrathous years ago…

My own fault, he thought angrily. He should have acted on Hadriana’s information earlier. If he had, he would have found Varania by now. But like an idiot, he’d done nothing for years, and she’d moved on.

Of course she did, because that’s what normal people do, he thought, with a fresh surge of fury at himself. As a consequence, he was back to square one.

He took another deep, calming breath. Then he was distracted by a soft snuffling laugh to his left.

He opened his eyes and frowned at Hawke, who was sitting on the pew beside him. “Quiet,” he muttered.

She bit her lip and nodded silently, then slowly dipped her hand into her bag of sunflower seeds.

Fenris raised his eyebrows at her, and she lifted her shoulders innocently. “What?” she mouthed silently. She carefully pulled her hand out of the bag of seeds.

Fenris watched as she lifted one seed and placed it delicately on the tip of her tongue. He tore his eyes away from her mouth, then gave her an exasperated look.

She smiled impishly, then jerked her chin to the left. Sebastian was standing there, and from the tension in his shoulders, Fenris could tell that Hawke had already hit him with at least one sunflower seed shell.

Fenris shot her a warning look. “Just be quiet,” he mouthed to her, and she nodded.

He closed his eyes again and inhaled, then reminded himself that the time he’d spent looking into Qarinus was not a total loss. One of his contacts was a merchant who travelled from Qarinus to Minrathous, so he could be relied upon again. And Fenris knew quite a few people in Minrathous, despite his lowly stature there. He’d been… unique, after all, and not easily forgotten. But that also made it difficult to stay incognito while making his inquiries. The last thing he wanted was for Danarius to interfere with his investigations and – Maker forbid – harm his sister before he could get her safely here.

Another soft snicker interrupted his thoughts, and Fenris opened his eyes and scowled. “Hawke, shut up,” he muttered.

“Sorry, sorry,” she whispered, but her face looked anything but sorry. “It’s just – please, Fenris, I know you’re trying to find peace, but you have to see this. You won’t regret it, I promise.” She reached for her bag of seeds again.

Fenris grabbed her hand. “Stop. You’re making too much noise. I cannot… think.”

She blinked at him with her bright bronze eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “Just watch this one time. Then I’ll leave if you want me to.”

He pursed his lips, then released her hand. “Fine. Just once,” he whispered severely.

She grinned, then pulled a seed from her bag and placed it on the tip of her tongue. She carefully chewed the seed with her front teeth, then shot a quick glance at Fenris.

He shrugged irritably, and Hawke turned back to face Sebastian. Then she spat the sunflower seed shell at him.

Her aim was unnervingly accurate: the shell hit him right on the back of the neck, and he twitched.

Instantly Fenris understood why she was laughing so much. It was the twitch. Sebastian was usually so calm and composed, but the twitch was completely erratic. To make the situation even more ludicrous, Sebastian was clearly trying to maintain his usual composure, but his shoulders were steadily creeping up toward his ears.

Fenris bit the inside of his cheek, but the words escaped him before he could stop himself. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered.

Hawke grinned at his long-unused pet phrase, an instantaneous and blinding expression of pure mischievous joy, and Fenris smiled helplessly back at her, unable to resist the lure of her uninhibited grin.

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she laughed silently, then she sighed happily. “All right, I’ll go now,” she whispered. “Leave you to your prayers and all.”

She shifted as though to rise, but Fenris waved her back. “No,” he said softly. “It’s fine. Stay.”

She tilted her head, a tiny half-smile on her lips. “Are you sure? I’m being a disgusting brat, I know. You didn’t come here for this.”

Fenris shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, and he meant it. In truth, he was actually feeling calmer now.

Hawke smiled and shrugged, and they both relaxed back on the pew.

After a moment of peaceful silence, Fenris raised one eyebrow at her. “Give me one of those seeds,” he said.

She grinned.

–One–

Fenris slipped through the Chantry doors and strode swiftly toward the rear of the grand building. He had one last errand to run after this, and then he was quite eager to find something to eat; the foolish dragonling hunt he’d been on that morning had dragged on longer than expected, and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

He headed up the left-hand staircase, intent on meeting the Chantry brother who’d ominously requested ‘a delivery-man who looks like he can handle himself’. But when he reached the top of the stairs, he stopped short.

Hawke? She was standing toward the back of the Chantry near the votive candle rack, and Fenris frowned, distracted from his task by the sight of her. It was odd for her to be here, and even odder to see her alone.

He approached her tentatively. When he was a few feet away, she turned and smiled. “Fenris!” she said happily.

He nodded a greeting. “What brings you here? Visiting Sebastian?” he asked.

She shook her head. “You just missed Carver,” she said. “I was about to leave myself. We just lit one of these candle things for Mother. Carver thought she’d like it. I’m of the mind she’d have preferred a silver candelabra, but that’s just me.” She shrugged and smiled, but her eyes were downcast.

Suddenly Fenris remembered: it was two years today since Leandra had died.

He winced. “I… apologize. I did not remember-”

Hawke waved her hand dismissively. “Ah, don’t apologize! Why would you remember? I wish I could forget sometimes. Coming here is such a bore.” She laughed lightly, then met his eyes. “What are you up to? A little prayer? A little seed-spitting?” She waggled her eyebrows.

Fenris smirked and shook his head. “Not today. I’m… delivering something,” he said vaguely. Hawke knew he’d been doing extra work in his spare time, but he hadn’t told her just how much. If she knew how much coin he needed to save, she would offer him money and she would want to know why he needed it, and Fenris was trying heartily to avoid both of those scenarios. For now, he’d allowed her to think he was trying to pay off some old gambling debts to the regulars at the Hanged Man.

Her face lit up with mischief. “Delivering something?” she asked. “What something?”

He bit back a smile. He could practically see the prank unfolding behind her eyes. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I will be taking it to the Gallows.”

If possible, her face lit up even more. “Oh my,” she drawled. “I do hope it’s something dirty. Especially since it’ll be you carrying it.” She lifted her eyes dreamily to the ceiling. “Handsome angry elf smuggles erotica from the Chantry to the Gallows. It’s like the premise for an amazing story.” She snickered.

Fenris shook his head in exasperation. “For my sake, I hope it is not that.”

She snickered again, then elbowed him playfully. “If it is erotica, make sure you say a loud ‘hello’ to Carver when you drop it off. That’ll be sure to make him some friends.”

Fenris huffed in acknowledgement. Then he gestured vaguely at the votive candles. “Was Carver, er…” He trailed off awkwardly, uncertain how to ask ‘was Carver an asshole today’ without it sounding extremely rude.

Fortunately, Hawke seemed to fill in his meaning. “He’s fine,” she said breezily. “He didn’t even make any thinly veiled comments about mages today! It was a nice change of pace.” She shot him a wry look. “He took off like a flock of pigeons when I made a joke, though. Too bad Bethany and I got all the humour genes in the family.”

Fenris glanced pointedly at the enormous sculpture of Andraste that stood in pride of place near the pulpit. “Was the joke about Andraste’s ample bosom?” he drawled.

Hawke’s eyes widened comically. “How did you guess?”

Fenris couldn’t help himself. He chuckled and folded his arms. “You’re insufferable.”

She sighed happily. “Thank you, thank you. I try.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, then Fenris forced his gaze back to the gentle flickering of the candles before them. He should really get moving and meet his Chantry contact, but he was reluctant to leave her side.

Then Hawke spoke. “Do you think I’ll have to come here every year to do this? Light a candle and remember her, I mean?”

Fenris looked at her. Her eyes were on the votives, and she was toying idly with her fingers.

When he didn’t reply, Hawke went on. “It’s not as though we can ever forget that she’s dead. Her or Father. Or Bethany.” She sighed heavily, then ran a hand through her short hair. Then she lifted her chin and smiled brightly at him. “I think we should have a party once a year to celebrate all of them. Not a soppy sad thing with the dirges and the wailing. A proper party to celebrate what they were like when they were alive.”

Her gaze was questioning, but Fenris could only shrug helplessly. He didn’t know the protocol for dealing with the death of a loved one. The only near-death he’d ever suffered was Hawke’s, and if she had died after the duel with the Arishok, Fenris certainly wouldn’t have felt like celebrating.

“It sounds… like an idea,” he said lamely.

Hawke grinned at his lackluster response. “You’d have a good time,” she insisted. “You’re fun at parties. You’re better at jokes than I am when you’ve had a few drinks.” Then she sighed and turned back to the votives. “Ah, who knows. I’ll think on it. I’m pretty sure I would never see Carver again if we didn’t both keep coming here for this.”

Fenris studied her seriously for a long moment. She was smiling still, smiling as she always was, but Fenris knew the pain that lived beneath the mask of her smile.

He thought hard for a moment. Then he slowly reached out and took her hand. He slid his fingers along her palm, then carefully interlaced his fingers with hers.

Her hand was cold. Fenris squeezed it gently, then took a deep breath in through his nose and lifted his gaze to her face.

Her eyes were wide, impossibly wide and clear and brilliant. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then she smiled and squeezed his hand. “Be careful with this,” she whispered. “You might give a girl ideas.”

He didn’t smile. “Hawke,” he said, “you are…”

Everything, he thought. She was everything, pure and simple. She was the humour he’d been unable to find in the world. She was the mage who was both strong enough to fight with him and strong enough to resist the insidious lure of power. She was the only person he’d trusted to see his naked skin and to see beyond it, and she was the woman he hoped to trust again someday with his bare body.

Hope. She was hope and sadness and loyalty and vivacity and pain, and Fenris loved her more than he could say.

“You are worth standing beside,” he said, finally and truthfully. “It is my honour to be here at your side.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was all he could offer her until he was ready.

Her smile broadened, and she squeezed his hand again. “Right back at you,” she said softly.

He smiled. Then, very reluctantly, he released her hand. “I must make this delivery,” he said. “But… if you are interested… I could summon the others when I am done. We could have a late-night party.” He smirked wryly. “I’ll even fetch Anders and Merrill, if you insist on it.”

Her smile broadened even further, and she finally turned away from the votive candle rack. “That sounds perfect,” she said. She squeezed his arm gently. “Thank you, Fenris. Really.”

Fenris nodded, then forced himself to walk away and meet the contact for this blasted delivery job. He forced himself to think about the job at hand, and about the grumbling in his stomach.

He forced himself to think about anything except Hawke.

Soon, he reassured himself. His savings were accruing, and in another month or two he would have enough to pay for Varania to journey here and meet him, once his informants finally tracked her down.  

When Varania was safe, and when Fenris knew everything about his past, he would be able to tell Hawke all the things he felt –  all the things kept secret and scribbled on the scraps of parchment shoved under his bed.

When Fenris was whole, he would tell Hawke everything. And he would never have to walk away from her again.