But not immediately, Varric thought, not even soon. It shamed him that he could even think about their little vendetta as they sat in the Hanged Man, steadily getting drunk(er) and trying to forget the shadows of the Chantry, and a broken-hearted old man cradling the body of his son.

"Don't worry," Isabela said quietly, just for his ears.

Aveline was leaning against Donnic and deflecting Merrill's questions; Anders and Hawke were drinking in grim silence, and Fenris was watching them in even grimmer silence, verging on positively grisly. Something had changed between Broody and Hawke, Varric had noticed; he hoped it was for the best. "Don't worry about what?" he asked, remembering to react rather belatedly.

"Hawke and Fenris. This little war we have going? I have the next volley under control."

"Rivaini... don't you think we should just drop it?"

She gave him that "you moron" expression again, which apparently meant 'no'. "Varric. I kissed the Knight-Commander. I can't have sex for a month. They are not getting away with this. I admit, I'm not as good with the plans as you, but this will buy us a little time..." and she murmured a few words in his ear.

"You –holy mother of nugs, how did you manage that?"

Isabela smiled like an extremely satisfied cat. "I screwed him once."

"How long until -?"

"A couple of days, I think."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Hawke was not eager to face the day. The death of Saemus had left a very bad taste in her mouth, hardly compensated by the death of that scheming bitch Petrice. Some days Kirkwall was just like an explosive waiting for some idiot to strike a match...

On the other hand, there was Fenris... nothing really had been decided between them since that day, but that wasn't a bad thing necessarily. She loved him and he knew it; he was tentative and afraid, but he wanted her – more than that, he cared for her. They stole kisses, too often for discretion, but as for anything more – there was a certain tension, not unpleasant, between them. They were, she thought, waiting for something.

She wasn't sure what.

"Mistress Hawke?" Orana's soft voice scattered her half-formed thoughts.

"What is it, Orana?"

"I brought you breakfast, and a message arrived for you. It looks important." Hawke struggled to sit up, and Orana waited until she looked steady to balance the tray, with its tea and toast and fruit and letter, on her lap. "Call me if you need me, Mistress."

"Music practice?" she smiled at the elf.

"If – if that's all right, Mistress. I've completed my other duties, I wouldn't neglect them!"

"Orana," she said, and the girl calmed down again. Hawke hated to see it, but sometimes she forgot that she was no longer serving a magister, and that Hawke wanted her to be happy first and foremost. It was such an alien idea, apparently.

And that made her think of Fenris again – well, most of her thoughts did circle around to him.

Absently, Hawke pried free the griffon seal on the letter, and took a bite of toast.

It was a short epistle, written in the hand of a man who didn't have a great deal of patience with this writing nonsense. It was formal, concise, and Hawke spat crumbs all over her bedspread when she read it.

Serah Ardanne Hawke,

This is your official Notice of Conscription. By the authority of the Grey Warden and the crown of Ferelden, you are hereby ordered to report to the Royal Palace in Denerim by summer's end for induction and training as a Grey Warden.

Failure to comply or desertion is punishable by death.

Gorram Cousland

By Andraste's grace King of Ferelden, Teyrn of Highever, Arl of Amaranthine, Commander of the Grey.

Breakfast forgotten, Hawke barely remembered to get dressed before she bolted out of the mansion.

-0-0-0-0-0-

She found Fenris poring over a letter identical in every respect except the 'Ardanne Hawke' bit. She waved her own at him.

"It's got to be Isabela and Varric again," she said. "It's got to be a forgery... but I could swear that's the genuine seal of the Grey Wardens – I saw it once in Lothering. I can't imagine how they might have come by it if isn't a fake. It has to be fake."

"Hawke," Fenris said, "you are babbling. It is either another of Varric and Isabela's pranks, or it is genuine. If it is a forgery, then there is no reason to panic. If it is genuine...?"

"Then we are both in very deep trouble. Nobody crosses the Grey Wardens." Hawke sighed and pushed her blue hair off her forehead. She sat down beside Fenris. "Either way, how in the world did they do it?"

Fenris smirked. "A question I am sure they are still asking themselves after several of our responses. Isabela may know that you are responsible for her current bout of chastity, but I doubt she has worked out exactly when the abomination cast his little nerve-block spell."

Hawke grinned. "And I would never have guessed you could draw pictures like that. I expected them to come back short a couple of limbs for that little stunt with the Knight-Commander."

Fenris raised his arm, inviting her to come closer; he hissed a little as he slid his arm about her shoulders and the simple contact stabbed through his lyrium brands. Hawke winced a bit. It seemed selfish to enjoy touching him so much when she knew it hurt him – but then, Fenris was the best judge of weighing what he could stand against what he wanted.

Those brands...

Hawke jerked upright and stared at the elf, as a stunning, brilliant idea struck her with all the force of a half-brick in a sock. "Fenris, even if it isn't genuine... The Grey Wardens. If ever there was a place Danarius couldn't touch you..."

Fenris got up, pacing back and forth as he did when deep in thought. Hawke expected him to say something about darkspawn and the Deep Roads, or about Bethany's death at her own hands because of them; about taking orders again; that entering the Grey Wardens was for life and almost the same as slavery. Instead, when he stilled, he turned and looked at her, and all his heart was in his green eyes. "You... also received a letter," he pointed out quietly.

Hawke felt herself smiling, joy filling her, making her feel so light she could have danced the Remigold in the air above his head. "Fenris. Of course I'd come with you. You don't imagine I'd let you get away from me now, do you?"

Fenris rushed her, knocking her down onto the bed, covering her throat with small kisses and smaller bites. She laughed, threading her hands in his black hair and locking her legs about his waist to bring him even closer. "Everything," Fenris gasped, punctuating each word with another kiss. "Friendship. Freedom. Safety. A future. Your love. All your gifts. Let me-"

"Yes." It didn't matter what he would've said next.

Fenris pressed his forehead to hers, staring down into her eyes as if he could see her very soul. "Let me – there is nothing I can give you except –" He took a shaky breath, but his voice was sure, and his eyes almost blazed with hope and – "I am yours, and if you wished it, I would stand in the Chantry and swear it."

- and love.

"Fenris," Hawke murmured, tracing the long, elegant line of his ear. "Did you just ask me to marry you?"

"Yes." He echoed what she had already seen. "I... I love you, Hawke."

She smiled playfully up at him. "Well, I could probably do better-"

"Festis bei umo canavarum, muliercula!"

Hawke wasn't sure what that meant, but it clearly wasn't flattering. "- but, Fenris, I am yours." She shifted her body beneath his, feeling him hard against her. "In every sense of the word."

"No," he said softly, and silenced her objections with his mouth. "Not yet. I will wait, and claim you properly first." He took a breath. "Tonight, if the Grand Cleric allows. Otherwise, tomorrow. A ship to Ferelden and the Grey Wardens by the end of the month."

"Hasty man," Hawke said, and pulled his mouth down to her. "I like it. But..."

"But?"

"But either way, we need to do something truly spectacular to Varric and Isabela first. Call it a farewell gift."

Fenris furrowed his brow, and thought. "Have you noticed how the way the pirate runs off as soon as we approach the Qunari compound?"

-0-0-0-0-0-

The smell of salt and shit meant he was on the Docks, the pain of his skull suggested somebody had knocked him unconscious and dumped him there, and the warmth against his back suggested he wasn't alone. A stream of curses meant Rivaini had just come to, and if Rivaini was there, it meant that Hawke and Broody were behind it.

The world, soft in the thin morning light, swam hazily into view. They were right outside the Qunari compound. Curious choice of venue.

Right. What else could Varric deduce? Both his hands were handcuffed to Rivaini's, and that wouldn't usually be a problem, except that Hawke had a very accurate idea of what the two of them could manage by way of escape and had probably accounted for it. He started shaking a lockpick out of the lining of his coat anyway.

"Varric?" He'd never heard Rivaini sound like that before. Like him, the pirate queen was always full of confidence and a stylish swagger, but now she sounded... well, if he were telling the story in his usual charming fashion, he would have called her shaken.

If he were being honest, he would have gone for 'about to shit her non-existent pants with terror'.

With some effort, he slipped her a second lockpick, and started work on the cuffs. "Varric, this is very, very bad."

" Is that 'left to die in the Deep Roads by a treacherous bastard of a brother' or 'Knight-Commander Meredith has amorous intentions' bad?"

"It's 'that relic I stole is the most sacred thing the Qunari have, they came to Kirkwall specifically to get it back and they know I took it and what I look like' bad!"

"Holy nug crap, Rivaini! You've been sitting on that all this time?" Varric tried to brace himself against her back and get his feet underneath him.. "The handcuffs can wait, let's just get away."

"You didn't need to know!" Isabela protested. "I thought I could keep out of their way until I found the fucking th – Oh, fuck."

"Rivaini? Don't clam up on me now –" he swallowed. On the wall opposite was the tall, wavering shadow of a Qunari.

-0-0-0-0-0-

A crashing downstairs interrupted Hawke's breakfast with Fenris, itself a replacement for the one interrupted by the conscription letter. She sighed and set down the kippers. "No peace around here."

"Hawke!"

That was Varric, and Fenris smirked. "I think that was successful."

Varric appeared in the doorway, and he didn't look amused or irritated or even angry.

He looked terrified. "Hawke, Broody, you need to come right now. Rivaini's in trouble, and it's your fault."

"What?" Hawke rose, reaching for her daggers. "What happened?"

"The Qunari," Varric told her, as they raced down the stairs and towards the Docks. "That relic she stole? Only the Qunari relic. Only the reason they're here in Kirkwall in the first place. They know she took it."

"They will not believe that she does not know where it is," Fenris said, looking rather green. Even if he did not care much for the pirate, he had put her into the hands of the Qunari. This was not something they could ever forgive – and it was his fault. "They... they will not treat her kindly."

"Oh, sweet Maker," Hawke gasped, and they ran on. "However did you get out of there, Varric? Can we sneak in?"

"They let me go! I wasn't Rivaini." Varric was making a valiant effort to keep up. "If they get my messages, Aveline and the mages will meet us there. Broody, you know the Qunari – what can we do?"

"We can storm the compound and get slaughtered," Fenris replied, without sarcasm. "If the Arishok will parley, however, there may be a chance." He was thinking furiously, calling on every scrap of language and lore he had ever learned. The Arishok respected Hawke...

If they would only let him speak...

Aveline, the abomination and the blood mage were indeed waiting for them – which might save them all if it came to a brawl, or doom them if the Arishok was in a talking mood and a single one of them opened their mouth.

"Hawke, what's happened?" Aveline greeted them.

"The Qunari have Isabela," she answered quickly. "That relic was Qunari. I don't know what they're planning for her-"

"-but it wouldn't be pleasant," the captain completed the sentence. "Well, that's not happening. If anyone kicks her arse, it's me. What's the plan, Hawke?"

"Fenris does the talking," Hawke said firmly, "and nobody else says a thing. If that doesn't work, kill everybody that stands between us and her."

"No," Fenris said, his stomach one sick mess of guilt and fear. "If the Arishok will not talk, then there is nothing we can do for Isabela. We run." And live with the knowledge that he had sent her to her – not death exactly, but re-education under the Qun, or existence as a mindless labourer.

"Well, that's simple," Hawke said. "I like simple. Everybody ready?" Her friends nodded with varying degrees of determination. "Good. And just for luck..." Hawke grabbed him, and Fenris only just suppressed his reflexes in time. She kissed him - hard, hungry, almost desperate. "I will be very cross if you do anything stupid, like getting yourself hurt," she muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear over Aveline's "Well, that's new, isn't it?", Anders's "You know, I could have done without seeing that," Varric's "About time. Who would've thought it?" and Merrill's giggle, "Ooh, that's so cute!"

"You hear me, lover?" Hawke asked.

He nodded, took a deep breath. "Let's go."

They almost marched down into the Docks district. Fenris flanked by Hawke and Aveline; Merrill, Anders and Varric tucked in behind them. Fenris banished his fear, lifted his head. Some things you learned in slavery could be useful.

He greeted the gate guard in fluent Qunlat, requesting an audience with the Arishok, using what he hoped was the correct balance of command and respect. It must have been close, for the Qunari called to another, out of sight, that Hawke was here. There was a silence, and then the Arishok himself spoke in a language they could all understand.

"She may enter. Her bas may accompany her."

It seemed Hawke, and Hawke alone, was worthy of recognition. That was not promising... but at least he was talking. They approached the broad stairs that led to the Arishok's dais. At its top, the Arishok stood in his accustomed seat, his warriors about him. Off to one side stood Isabela, by herself and still; it was only after a second glance that Fenris saw faint blue glow to her skin, the saarebas whose spell held her, and the arvaarad who held the mage.

"Shanedan, Hawke," the Arishok greeted her.

Hawke glanced at Fenris; he shook his head and stepped forward. "Greetings, Arishok." He spoke in rapid Qunlat; he had only one chance to make this desperate gamble work, and it depended on the Arishok accepting him as something more than just another useless bas.

"You wish to duel for the thief," the Arishok rumbled in the same tongue, before Fenris had broached the subject. "I had expected something of this kind." He rose, picking up a massive sword and an axe that was even larger, and descended the stairs slowly. Fenris knew a moment's exultation – it had worked, the Qunari had agreed to his wild plan – and a cold fear. He was good... but was he good enough?

Hawke took his hand; hers was cold, and trembling. He wished he could explain what was going on...

"But you are not worthy," the Arishok continued, and then switched to the common tongue. "Hawke. You alone are basalit-an. Will you fight me for your thief?"

No. Not Hawke.

She swallowed and released his hand. "A duel. For Isabela."

"Kill me," the Arishok continued, "and the duty that binds me is ended. You may take your thief; my warriors will return to Par Vollen to await the appointment of the next Arishok."

"If you kill me...?" Hawke almost whispered the words, and Fenris closed his eyes against the pain of them. No. It could not be so. If his stupid idea got Hawke killed... he did not see how he could go on living.

"Then you will be dead," the Arishok answered. "And we will stay here until we meet the Qun's demand, or until it becomes necessary to impose order upon this city."

Hawke nodded and squared her shoulders. "Then –"

"No!" Fenris said. "I will not allow it! Arishok. She is female. She is... she is kadan. This fight is mine."

"Not just yours," Aveline said. "We all stand together."

The Arishok dismissed them both. "Hawke is basalit-an. You are not. What is your answer, Hawke?"

"Fenris," Hawke said softly, "it's okay. I can do this." She looked up at the massive Qunari. "I think I can do this." She loosened her daggers in their sheaths and stepped forward. "I accept, Arishok."

The horned head nodded. "Good. There is to be no interference. Come." Hawke looked terribly small beside the Arishok as they walked to the centre of the compound. The Qunari surrounded them, sketching out a rough ring for the duel – a ring with no cover, little room to manoeuvre, and no way for Fenris or the others to interfere if things went horribly wrong.

"I don't like this, just so you know," Anders muttered.

"Oh, but Hawke will win," Merrill reassured him. "She's terribly clever."

"Hey, Broody," Varric patted him on the shoulder. "She'll be fine. No story that I'm telling would end here. Too untidy."

"This isn't a story, Varric," Aveline said, watching unflinchingly as Hawke adjusted her armour and spun her blades around her hands to test their responsiveness.

Hawke nodded, and the Arishok charged – an unstoppable force, unbelievably fast, impossible to withstand- but not to evade. Hawke was simply there one moment, and gone the next. In the dust of the Arishok's wake, a flicker of blue appeared – and the Arishok roared as Hawke plunged a dagger into the back of his knee.

A disabling strike – surely it would at least slow him. Hawke ducked under the slashing sword and axe, crushing a smoke grenade as she went. The Arishok turned, seeking her – and if the wound she'd inflicted bothered him, he gave no sign of it – and spied her standing at the other end, baiting him to charge again.

It went on like that – the Arishok charging, Hawke dodging, sometimes only by the slimmest of margins, and striking back at him, dealing wounds that seemed to have no more effect than a fleabite. He was monstrously strong, far too fast and far too large; Hawke looked so small and so fragile, a butterfly duelling a bear. The minutes dragged like hours, but each moment stood out with terrible clarity.

Aveline beside him, muttering fierce encouragement and advice to Hawke, who could not hear her.

Hawke's blades dancing an intricate pattern with the Arishok's, forced back at each clash by his superior strength, his greater reach.

Varric and Merrill cheering her on, so very confident...

Twinned daggers biting deep into the Arishok's sword arm, his grip on the blade loosening.

The Qunari's axe striking, and Hawke twisting clear of the killing blow just in time – but not escaping it entirely. Her cry of agony as her dagger fell to the ground, accompanied by two small-

Anders's choked sound of horror as he recognised Hawke's sundered fingers. Merrill retching when the Arishok's boot came down on them.

Hawke slower now, the Arishok bleeding from dozens of small cuts but just as swift, just as strong as when the endless duel had begun.

Fenris stood and watched, a statue of cracked ice. One wrong tap, and he would shatter.

Hawke...

The last of her smoke grenades exploded at the Arishok's feet, buying her a precious moment to down a healing potion, stop her hand bleeding. She grinned at them – a weary, bloodstained flash of teeth, before the Qunari came charging out of the smoke and she flung herself out of the way.

But the tide had truly turned when the Arishok maimed her. Hawke was running out of tricks; Fenris could deny it no longer. She was losing – he was losing her, and without her, he had nothing.

He was nothing.

She had been dancing around the Arishok before, but now the Qunari seemed to be playing with her, with the calm, distant sadism of a cat with a cornered mouse. Whenever she showed herself he pounced, allowing her to slip away with another claw-mark upon her.

She was bleeding and it was all his fault, she was going to-

"Hawke!" her name was torn from his throat, and Fenris flung himself forward, trying to make that unyielding wall of Qunari part for him. Her eyes met his for an instant, and she mouthed a word.

"Sorry."

Just that, as she wiped her dagger over a certain fold of her gauntlet and poisoned the blade, and the Arishok's sword thrust forward, and she didn't dodge – bloodstained steel protruding from her back, her body sliding down the huge blade as he lifted her high, and the sound of it would ring in Fenris's ears until the day he died.

"Ataash varin kata," the Arishok said, almost gently, to the woman impaled on his sword and dying. In the end lies glory.

"Guess... again..." Hawke said, blood trickling from her mouth. With a sudden, violent spasm, she buried her poisoned dagger in the Qunari's eye. He shuddered – she cried out only weakly as his movement shook her upon the sword-

- and the Arishok fell. The circle of Qunari broke.

They ran to Hawke's side – the mages, the storyteller, the captain, the elf who loved her. Aveline pulled the sword free; Anders poured his heart and soul into healing and Fenris threw himself to his knees beside her, her limp, maimed hand cradled in his as he begged silently for her life.

If she lived, he would beg for her forgiveness.

He watched her pale face as the sun beat down on them and never knew when the Qunari left, when Isabela joined them, when others of the city guard came to Aveline for orders, when Anders sat back, wiping sweat from his brow. He looked only at Hawke, and knew when her breathing steadied, when a vestige of colour returned to her face, when her eyes opened.

"Well," Hawke croaked, "that could have gone better. I take it I won?"

"Hawke," Varric told her, "I watched that and I still don't believe it. There's no way I'll ever be able to tell this properly."

Isabela shouldered the dwarf aside – and slapped Hawke (but gently). "That's for sticking me outside the Qunari compound." Then she bent over and kissed Hawke hard on the mouth. "That's for the dramatic rescue. Besides, you're all helpless right now; I probably won't get another chance like this."

"It was... it was my idea," Fenris said. He still couldn't believe it, and he would never forget what he had done – but he could not help the emotion that rushed through him, the smile on his lips. Hawke was going to live. "My fault."

"Got it," Isabela said, then punched him.

Anders chuckled wearily.

"Hey, hey, none of that," Hawke protested. "We're getting married today, and then we're going to join the Grey Wardens." She looked up at Fenris, her lips twitching. "Don't tell me you forgot to speak to the Grand Cleric about it."

"I have had... other things on my mind," Fenris said. "Hawke...forgive me."

"Blondie, would you check my ears? I think I just heard-"

"No, I heard that too, and I don't think Hawke has concussion." The mage poked at her head. "Grey Wardens? Married?"

"You know that letter was a joke, right?" Varric asked.

"I guessed, but it's still a good idea. Tell you all about it," Hawke said, slowly sitting up. "Later. Get that ridiculous pain-block spell off Isabela first."

"I knew you were behind that!" the pirate said, setting hands to hips. "I also kissed Meredith, you know!"

"You did what to the Knight-Commander?" Anders asked, then, "actually, don't tell me. I've had enough shocks for one day."

"Well, she is pretty," Merrill piped up. "I wish I had her hair, don't you? And her eyes are very pretty too, if a bit intense, sometimes I think she must have trouble seeing, she stares so hard –"

Leaning on Fenris, Hawke got up; Aveline offered Anders an arm, and Merrill chattered away at both of them.

Varric heaved a sigh, and looked up at Isabela. "Honestly, Rivaini, this whole mess was not what I expected when I stuck that potion into her drink."

"It worked, though. Eventually." The pirate grinned. "You have to admit it, it did get them together. That's ten sovereigns you owe me."

"Despite the eventual success of your little plot, that is positively the last time I play matchmaker."

"Fifteen says you can't get that Chantry priest – Sebashful – to kiss Merrill."

"Well, Bianca could use a new- damn you, Rivaini."