It's the end of Fen and Orana's story, but keep watching; next will probably be Sebastian/Flora or Bethany/Nathaniel, unless Varric comes up with a REALLY FUNNY STORY, which sometimes happens. Thank you again for all who are reading this, and I welcome any feedback, good or bad!

The next morning Fenris woke, very late, with a headache and a foul taste in his mouth. Blinking for a moment, he realized that he'd fallen asleep propped up against the chair next to the fire. Raising his hand to his forehead, he was surprised when it came away with a cool, damp rag; the empty bottle that should have been at his feet was gone, and there was a now-cold cup of peppermint tea in its place, with a packet of what he recognized as headache herbs on the saucer. He sat up fully, wincing, then drank the tea and took the herbs.

He stirred the fire while he waited for them to take effect and thought back on the previous night. He could tell that the herbs were helping; his thoughts were becoming clearer and he realized just how much of an ass he'd been, especially to Orana. The rest of his thoughts from the night before were a tangle that perhaps wasn't as confusing as he wished it was, but there was no helping that.

After washing his face, he padded downstairs, keeping an ear open; as usual he heard a bustle from the kitchen which suggested that Orana was baking. It wasn't surprising, considering that Hawke was planning on hosting a party to 'introduce' Sebastian to the neighbourhood soon – although to be honest, Orana never needed an excuse to cook or bake. Pausing at the door, he took a deep breath – he wasn't quite sure what he'd say to her, but he figured that "I'm sorry" might be a good start.

Setting the empty teacup on the table, he cleared his throat. "Thank you for the tea and the herbs, Orana. I'm- I'm sorry about last night."

She turned – he noticed for the first time, with surprise, that she no longer started or jumped when he addressed her, even when he caught her unawares. Her cheeks were mildly pink and she shook her head.

"No, Fenris. I owe you an apology." She nodded towards the cup. "How's your head?"

He held up a hand. "It's better, and no, you don't owe me an apology. I got angry over something you had every right to say, so please don't think anything of it." He looked down at the table. "Do I truly sound like Anders when I go off on a rant?"

Orana gave him a half-smile. "You do. It's a little more understandable for you, though. You do have a right, after all, to resent Danarius for all he did to you."

Fenris gave a short laugh. "I see. But I should resent Danarius, and not blame it on magekind, is that what you mean? Hate the man and not the mage." He shrugged. "I don't think it's that easy, honestly. I am who I am, and that's not going to change easily, or overnight. And I can't just 'turn off' my hatred and distrust of mages, you know. Especially as they are dangerous." She nodded, but he shrugged again, continuing. "But perhaps it's time to step back and stop letting them control my life even now, eh?" He rubbed his hand across his forehead. "I probably could have done with about half of that bottle last night."

She put aside the mound of dough she'd been kneading under a warm, damp cloth, and reached into the larder for eggs and butter. Within a few minutes there was bacon sizzling in a pan alongside two eggs, sunny-side-up – his favourite breakfast – and he watched her work with a fondness that surprised even him.

When she sat the food in front of him, he touched her arm lightly before she could turn away. "I'm sure you've been working all morning, why don't you take a break?" She blushed again, but nodded, and brought a pot of tea over to the table for them both to share. Personally, he preferred coffee – the bitter taste suited his mood most of the time – but between Orana and Hawke he was becoming a tea drinker in spite of himself.

They talked for a little while about small things – the weather, Sebastian's party, the Midwinter celebration Hawke had mentioned hosting in a month. The topic led him to encourage her to tell him about her family – she rarely spoke of herself and he enjoyed it when she did. Her stories might not always be happy, but he wanted to know more about her. After all, thanks to Hawke, she already had his life story – as much as he knew of it himself.

She'd just finished telling him about the cakes her father used to make for Midwinter when she paused in realization. "I'm so sorry-" she started, but he shook his head.

"Don't be. I've never begrudged anyone family just because I myself know nothing of my own." He gave a cynical shrug. "Honestly, sometimes I think it does me better that I know nothing of them."

She frowned. "But your sister – Varania. Why don't you write to her and-"

He held up his hand, frowning. "Don't. Hawke's already tried, and my answer is the same as it was then – why should I? I don't know her, I don't remember her, and if she's not a slave then I have no business in her life. I'm better off as I am without the added complications."

She winced. "What if she misses you?"

"She hasn't tried to find me, has she?"

"How do you know that?"

He shook his head, standing. Picking up his now-empty plate, he placed it on a counter and turned to go. "It doesn't matter, Orana. Thank you for breakfast; I'll let you get back to your baking." Leaving the kitchen, he closed his eyes for a moment, surprised at the pain he felt inside; so much for a chance to have a normal, civil conversation with Orana, no matter how much he might want to. She's better off on her own, anyhow.

Sebastian's party came and went and a week afterwards the prince was visiting his estate – mostly to talk with Fenris about the possibility of his spending more time there now that he was 'in society' – when Hawke sent a note that surprised the elf very much. Apparently she'd been summoned – not to the Viscount's Keep, but to the qunari compound – the Arishok had asked for her and Viscount Dumar had requested that she not keep him waiting. He liked to think that Hawke would have asked him to go with her anyhow, but he knew that she needed him especially now as he knew a fair amount about the Qun.

Sebastian offered to go with them and Fenris accepted, knowing that it wouldn't hurt to have a second archer on their side if things got messy – and he knew the Arishok hadn't requested Hawke for a social gathering. They met her outside the estate; he was surprised to see that the First Enchanter was at her side, but considering she and Anders had fought just a day or two before, it made sense. He shrugged, and nodded to the mage; it probably wouldn't hurt to have one along and of the three they had at hand – Anders, Merrill, and Orsino – he much preferred the latter.

They made their way to the compound in the docks; a guard stood at the closed gate, but he let them through once he recognized Hawke's face. She'd been there several times in the year before their deep roads expedition and it seemed that the Arishok had remembered her. Fenris shook his head – that might not be a good thing.

The meeting was quick; there was a dearth of social niceties, but that was usual with the qunari. The Arishok's message was short, and to the point – a thief had stolen an important and dangerous recipe and if not stopped, could kill many citizens. Of course it couldn't be a recipe for qunari cookies or something of the sort. He bit his mental tongue, knowing that the more tired he was, the more sarcastic he became.

Once they had their task, Hawke led them into Darktown and in her usual succinct manner had their target's situation and location in hand well within the hour. He noticed with a raised eyebrow that she made a deliberate effort to avoid Anders' clinic; he was glad, but wondered just how badly their last fight had gone. He made a mental note to talk to her later, see how she was doing. He didn't like Anders, but he hated to see Hawke upset.

They tracked the pathetic dwarf merchant to a cave just outside the city, but in an unsurprising – to Fenris, anyhow, who was feeling particularly cynical – twist, he'd been set up by someone, an elven fanatic bent on wreaking as much havoc as she could and blaming it on the qunari. More than likely aided, abetted, and perhaps even sponsored by that Chantry harridan who tried to get us killed so long ago. Hawke should do something about her.

Upon entering the Lowtown alley they'd been directed to by Javaris, Fenris winced at the acrid tang in the air. He could feel it burn his nostrils and the back of his throat, and after a few minutes his head began to hurt. Frowning, he redoubled his efforts to find and close all of the barrels; if it was affecting him in this way, he could imagine what it was doing to the others. Hawke was looking ill, Orsino winced as if his head were hurting as well, and Sebastian had already gotten sick in a corner. Luckily for them, the fanatic and her followers had been easy enough to find - had, in fact, thrown themselves at Hawke and company, which made the task of dealing with them so that they could get back to clearing the fog that much easier.

He'd just found what he was relatively certain was the last barrel – it had better be, since he'd broken the worthless rusted crowbar he'd been using to close them upon it, which meant no one was opening that barrel, but also that he had no way of closing any others – when he heard Hawke swear; he snapped his head up, looking for enemies, but instead saw a ragged woman stumble out of a house holding a baby. They all realized the meaning at the same time, and he and Sebastian were already running towards the nearest hovels to look for survivors by the time Hawke had finished her exclamation. He saw her pause, out of the corner of his eye, as Orsino pulled her aside, pointing; he frowned but paid no other attention to it, as he had more important things to attend to.

He paused at the woman who'd struggled out first; she was coughing badly and the baby in her arms was waving its hands feebly. Looking around for a clear place on higher ground, he saw that Orsino had already found such a spot – a raised area with scaffolding and walls – and was dragging an amount of ragged sackcloth into the centre. Fenris steered the woman in that direction, carrying her and the child together once it became clear that she was too weak to climb the steps, and the mage met him at the top, leading her to a space where she could sit. Fenris paused for a moment to watch the First Enchanter begin to examine the child, then hopped down and ran off to the next building.

They were busy for hours; halfway through, the guard joined them, and soon after sisters from the Chantry arrived to aid the sick and wounded. Through it all, he took person after person to Orsino; after the sisters arrived and Fenris was able to share the patients out depending on what kind of care they required, he had a chance to pause and watch for a moment.

Orsino was working – not tirelessly, by any means, as Fenris could tell that he was already weary – but without pause or thought for himself, and Fenris had to grudgingly give him credit. He'd expected the mage to be soft and lazy, considering his scholar's life in the Circle – instead he'd been a boon in their combat and while his energy might not equal Fenris' or Hawke's, it did not seem that he had any intention of complaining. He just worked as fast as he could to aid as many as could.

Things were winding down as he picked up a young half-elven boy to carry over to the sisters; the lad grabbed onto his arm and Fenris winced at the shooting pain. Pausing to look down, he realized that at some point he'd received a pretty sizeable gash – though not deep – across his arm; setting the boy down with one sister he turned to another. Holding out his arm, he rasped out – "Could you, please?" and the woman nodded, though her eyes widened a little at his tattoos. She led him over to sit against the wall, and he took the opportunity to look around; the moon was low on the horizon and there were guards bustling about – carrying away bodies or barrels – but for the most part the work seemed to be over.

Turning his head, he saw Sebastian asleep; he shook his head with a wry smile. A flash of red hair caught his eye and he saw Hawke leading an elderly woman up to Orsino; Fenris frowned when he saw how weary she looked, and was relieved when he saw the mage catch her arm, talk to her for a bit, then lead her over to patch up the wounds she'd received. When that was done she walked over to wake Sebastian; Fenris caught Orsino's eye and gave him a measured nod of respect, which the mage returned with his own wry smile.

They parted ways in Hightown – Orsino to return to the Gallows, Sebastian to go with the sisters back to the Chantry, and Hawke and Fenris to return to their respective estates. He'd just walked into the paved courtyard in front of the manor – was thinking how nice it was not to have to sneak home every night – when he realized that the front door was ajar and froze, his heart leaping into his throat.

Creeping slowly towards the door, he peered inside and saw that there was no one in the foyer or immediate vicinity. Carefully padding inside, he eased the door shut and barred it; as he made his way stealthily towards the back stairs he paused, hearing voices from the study.

"-'swhat I'm tellin' you! We been casin' this place for a week now, an' that blasted knife-ear ain't left it at night once. Why else would 'e be stayin' so close, 'less there was somethin' 'ere? This place belongs to a bloody prince. Look 'arder, an' I'll see if I can't make 'er talk."

Fenris realized that "'er" could only apply to Orana and his vision immediately began to cloud with rage, his exhaustion fading as if it had never been. There was just time to hear, "That's right, missy, you be a good elf an' tell me what I want t'know an' I'll go easy on ye," before he kicked the door open, his greatsword raised. There were shouts from the intruders – there were three of them – and a gasp from Orana; her head shot up and the beseeching look of fear and relief that she gave him pierced his heart.

Sometimes it takes one action, one single moment to make someone come to a realization that they might not have found otherwise in months of soul-searching, and that was one such moment for Fenris. For all that he'd convinced himself that Orana had progressed farther into the world than him and was beyond his reach, that one look told him that not only did she love him, but she needed him. She was no Elisebeth Hawke, who could shoot a qunari at twenty paces, but that was fine by Fenris. She was Orana - his Orana.

The bandits – disorganized gutter trash without even ties to the Carta or Coterie – stood no chance. He flung himself into the room; before the one who'd been threatening Orana could even turn around he was dead, his skull shattered. With a twist of his wrist and a spin Fenris carried the swing over into the second man, and the third had just begun to run, panicked, towards the door when the elf ran him through. He kicked at the body, disentangling it from the blade, and turned to Orana just in time to see her fall to her knees, looking half-stunned.

He dropped his blade and ran forward, catching her just before she fell onto the dead bandit at her feet. Lifting her carefully, he carried her up the few study steps into the back part of the room and dropped into a chair in front of the fireplace, Orana still in his arms. She clung to him, trying not to cry, and he put his lips to her forehead, murmuring soothing endearments in Arcanum that she did understand – having been a magister's slave – and which made her cheeks turn pink, causing her to cling to him even harder.

They sat there for a while, both oblivious to the time of night – now early morning, actually – and their location. Eventually Fenris' weariness caught back up with him and he stood, slowly setting her on her feet. Looking down to the lower level he grimaced. "I'll deal with the bodies later; for now, I need sleep. Will you be able to rest here, or shall I take you to Hawke's?"

Orana shook her head, her hand still on his. "I'll stay," she said quietly, and he led her into the foyer, letting her hide her face against his shoulder as they passed the dead bandits. At the landing they parted for their separate rooms, but at his door, he paused.

"Orana?"

She looked back at him, a small smile on her face. "Fenris?"

He flushed. "Tomorrow, would you – help me write a letter? Your handwriting is better than mine."

The characters belong to Bioware, I just borrow them.