She knew she shouldn't; but the paper had fallen to the floor, there was nobody else in the room and... Well, surely it wouldn't hurt to have a little peek?

Hawke glanced around - all clear - and quickly ducked under the table to retrieve the sheet of parchment, the dwarf's elegant handwriting spidering across the page. It had fallen out of his journal earlier that morning and Hawke had spotted her name etched in blue ink right at the top of the sheet. Ever since, she had been plying Varric with ale and biding her time until he had to answer the call of nature. She had mere minutes now to find out what he had written. Her eyes slid over the page.

It was the way that elf looked at Hawke. Like he could eat her up for breakfast and then go back for second helpings. That was the face of a man with one thing on his mind, and for once it wasn't killing people. Not that she noticed. She's so hopeless with men that they could be dancing the Remigold in front of her holding signs saying "I Want You", and she'd assume they meant as a healer for hire.

Hawke felt her heart stutter and she had to gulp in a breath.

Shame really; she's been pretty uptight lately, ever since we ran into Carver in the Gallows and they had that big argument, and she could do with something to loosen her up. I heard Isabela's been trying but - by the Ancestors - that pirate tries with everyone. I should know. I've only just managed to placate Bianca.

Isabela, really? Hawke's eyebrows raised into her fringe.

Anyway, Isabela noticed the elf looking at her too, and I could tell by the look on her face that she's up to something. I think -

Hawke quickly shoved the paper back down behind the desk as she heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Varric, I'm sorry, but I've got to go," she said, quickly turning and hurrying out of the door. The dwarf watched her go, two pints of ale in his hands, before shrugging and setting them both down next to his chair.

How had she been so blind? Or perhaps Varric was exaggerating; it wouldn't be the first time his imagination had run away with him. She thought back to all the time she had spent with Fenris over the past three years. Had he ever flirted with her? She didn't think so. She had tried flirting with him once – the evening they first met – but he had responded with an embarrassed cough and she had resolved then and there never to flirt with anyone again – she was terrible at it. Which was a shame because, Maker knew, she thought the elf was beautiful. She was surprised that she could concentrate at all whenever he was around. Okay, she had set a few things on fire by mistake – and there was that one time she hadn't realised Isabela had been knocked out by that abomination – but for the most part she had grown used to her infatuation and been able to control it. She had never thought her feelings might be returned.

Could it be that he did… no, she shook her head. She was plain, not at all like her little sister had been. She carried a bit too much weight under her robes and she was a mage, of all things – everyone knew how much Fenris hated mages. He was everything she was not – graceful where she was clumsy, controlled where she was awkward, muscular where she was soft.

But Varric was her best friend, and why would he lie about something like this? If there is any truth in it… Maker, she thought with a horrified frown, if it is true then that would mean Isabela is meddling and who knows where that might end?

She sighed. She would have to do something about this, and fast, before the pirate embarrassed them all.

They were out at the Wounded Coast the next day when they came across some of Aveline's city guards desperately holding off a group of raiders. The leader of the city patrol, Lieutenant Harley, called out to them for help. Typical, Hawke thought, always getting caught up in other people's business. Still, she thought Aveline wouldn't be too happy if they walked past without assisting, so she agreed to join the attack.

The fight was far harder than she had anticipated. Most of the raiders were of the usual type – burly but unskilled - and they normally had no trouble working as a team to cut down such brawlers. However, this particular group was being assisted by a powerful blood mage – one who all too easily distracted Hawke from helping her own companions. The raiders were numerous and she fought to keep control of her mana and watch out for everyone else at the same time. The clash of sword and shield surrounded her, arrows whizzing through the air with a whine. Her head hurt and she struggled to concentrate.

After what felt like hours but was probably a matter of minutes, the blood mage was dead, as were his cronies – but Fenris was suddenly down on one knee, holding his side.

"Fenris!" She raced over and fell to her knees beside him, hands instantly questing to find his injury.

"I'm OK," he mumbled, "damn sword broke the skin, but I don't think it's deep."

She peeled back the leather of his armour to reveal a large and nasty-looking wound pumping crimson blood, which was rapidly soaking through his tunic and breeches.

"Not deep!" she sounded angry, trying to hide her panic. "Fenris, you're bleeding all over the place, try to hold still while I heal you."

She lay her hands on the skin around the wound, slick and cold. Fenris groaned in pain, his entire body tensing under her touch. The injury was worse than she had thought, she could sense damage to his kidneys and she knew he was at risk of organ failure if she couldn't knit the flesh back together soon. She gritted her teeth and her fingers glowed green as her entire world narrowed to her magic and the man beneath her. Focus, focus… she whispered encouragement to herself under her breath as she began to pour the energies into his body, bright emerald light flowing from her hands and into him. His blood instantly coagulated, the raw pink exposed flesh of the wound coming together. She continued to mutter curses as she felt her own energy draining, her mana running low. She steeled herself and forced more magic into him, deeper into his body, ignoring the way he flinched at the feel of it prickling over his skin. Breathing hard, she felt the way his muscle and tissue melded together, repairing the damage, blood once again flowing as it should within his body. His skin warmed beneath her hands, losing the mottled appearance which had started to take hold. She smiled, knowing he would be safe, and then her eyes rolled back in her head and everything went white.

When she regained conscious awareness, the first thing she knew was the sensation of being carried, of strong arms encircling her, her legs kicking into the air.

"What… where am I? What happened?" She was confused, head aching and eyes feeling as if someone had rubbed them in the sand that seemed to surround them.

"It seems you saved my life, Hawke. 'Thank you' is insufficient, but I do not know what else to say."

She peered up at Fenris, who was holding her tightly and gazing down at her with an intensity in his eyes that she had never seen directed at her before. Maker, if she hadn't felt so weak already... She remembered the fight, the healing she had done. Her fingertips still burned with the residue of her magic.

"You're hurt… you shouldn't be carrying me!"

He ignored her protests. "I was hurt. You healed me, remember. That's why you're in that state – I'm doing far better than you are now, trust me."

She sighed and closed her eyes again, resting her cheek against the warm leather of his tunic and breathing in his smells of musk and sweat and the tang of lyrium. He had taken off his cuirass and she could feel the muscles of his chest moving as he walked. With a jolt, she realised that she was becoming aroused by his proximity, by his scent and his heat. Her moisture started to soak into her smallclothes and she pressed her thighs together uncomfortably, a flush creeping across her skin. She hoped Varric wasn't watching too closely. What had possessed her to ask both Varric and Isabela to come along today? She would never hear the end of this.

She gritted her teeth and tried to think of unpleasant things for the remainder of the journey back to Kirkwall. Sister Petrice… what Gamlen does in the Rose… that smelly armoursmith in the market… Maker, his body odour… Darkspawn… the Deep Roads… spiders… Bartrand's feet… the unidentifiable stains in the Hanged Man…

Finally they were back in Hightown, at the door of her estate. Mother was fussing over her as expected, and she allowed herself to be carried upstairs and deposited on her ridiculous four-poster bed, gratefully sinking into the soft mattress. She glanced up briefly to see Fenris backing out of her room, a look of concern on his face, before sleep claimed her.

She sought him out the next day. He was seated in his usual fireside chair in the dilapidated mansion he squatted in, drinking wine straight from the bottle. As usual she walked straight in – he never locked the door, probably because his enormous greatsword would be enough to deter most potential intruders.

"How are you feeling? I wanted to check you had fully healed."

He smiled up at her, a rare sight, and indicated for her to join him. "I'm doing well, Hawke, and for that I have you to thank. Once again."

"You don't need to thank me, Fenris. I was just doing my job," she said, and belatedly realised how that sounded when she saw him frown. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that… I mean, it's what I am good at – you're a warrior, I am a healer. You defend me from the blows and I mend the damage you take. Not that you usually take much – you're an incredible fighter."

"And you're not a bad healer," he said, lips quirking again. She raised an eyebrow – this was the first time she had ever heard him refer to her magic in anything other than derogatory terms. And it only took me saving his life for him to do it. She smiled back at him and sat down, accepting the bottle he offered her.

She tipped the wine to her lips and drank a deep draught, coughing violently as the astringent liquid burned her throat. Tears streamed from her eyes as she struggled to stop the spasms in her chest, and she heard Fenris laughing at her predicament. Even through the pain and the shortness of breath, she was amazed – it really was a night of firsts with Fenris. She had never heard him properly laugh before and it was a magical sound, husky and rich.

"It's not funny. I don't normally drink wine. And this stuff tastes like tar!" She finally got herself under control and threw a grubby cushion at the elf, who laughed even harder. She puffed out an indignant breath. "Are you drunk, Fenris?"

"I am… pleasantly intoxicated, but not drunk. I don't seem to be able to get drunk any more. Why do you think I am drunk?"

She looked at her hands, still clutching the wine bottle. "I suppose it's because you're laughing. You normally seem so unhappy all the time."

"I don't normally have much to be happy about," Fenris said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"Perhaps I could help with that?"

Andraste's arse, had she really said that? She raised her hand to her lips, eyes widening as she replayed her words in her mind. It couldn't be the wine – she had only had one drink. It was that Maker-forsaken dwarf with his stupid journal, giving her ideas that the elf would be interested in her. What had she done? She curled in on herself, trying to sink into the chair in mortification.

But Fenris was still smiling. "Perhaps you could."

What?

She nervously looked over at him, thunderstruck and struggling to swallow the lump which had formed in her throat. Her hands were shaking and her mouth had gone dry. Unlike her, he looked relaxed and calm, reclining in his chair and gazing at her intently.

"Um… wha… F... Fenris?" Eloquent as always. She could have kicked herself. Pull yourself together, Marian.

His smile had turned wolfish as he rose from his chair and leaned over her, hands gripping her upper arms, eyes looking into hers, his breath hot on her face.

"Tell me you don't want this, and I will stop."

Then his mouth was on hers, hard and urgent. She froze, tensing at the sudden contact, before her body took over and she began to respond. She parted her lips and felt his tongue press against her teeth, silencing the whimper that had bubbled in her chest. She felt all strength leave her limbs as he devoured her with his lips, growling softly at the back of his throat. He tasted of bitter wine and cloves, sour and unbelievably erotic. He kissed like he fought – enthusiastic, determined and rough. Maker, but kissing him was the headiest, most incredible feeling of her life. She wanted to freeze this moment and never stop.

But he did stop, pulling away with another of those knee-trembling smiles and a caress of his fingers against her cheek.

"You were right." He exhaled loudly and ran his hands through his hair.

"R… right?" She could barely speak, her mind turned to jelly.

"That made me feel happy. Kissing you. I hope that was what you had in mind," he said, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes… yes, of course." She was aware that she was trembling, her voice shaking. "Definitely. Kissing. What I meant."

"Good. I would have hated to have taken advantage."

"No… not at all… definitely not," she was blathering again, sounding just like Merrill. The thought made her cringe. "In fact, it wasn't just kissing I had in mind."

Maker's breath!

Fenris' other eyebrow rose and he looked at her thoughtfully. "I can't say this is something I know much of," he said, "since I have lived most of my life as a slave, and being with others… intimately… isn't something that's permitted unless your master demands it. I… I want to, though. Very much. If you do."

"You've never…? Even since your escape?"

"I've never stayed in one place for long, never trusted anyone enough. Does that bother you?"

"No!" Her voice was a squeak. "I just… I guess I am surprised. You're so, well, so attractive, and I assumed…"

"That I'd be fighting them off with a lyrium stick? Hardly." Fenris snorted, pushed his hair out of his eyes again. She loved when he did that. Wondered what his hair felt like to touch.

"I guess so. Anyway, I do. Want to, I mean." She blushed, looked at the floor. At his feet as he stood in front of her, one hand outstretched.

She was walking backwards, hands pushing through the softness of his hair, feeling the strands playing over the smooth skin of her palms. His lips were exploring hers again, melded together, neither of them willing to break the kiss as they headed towards the bed in the centre of the room. The back of her knees banged against the bed frame and she buckled down on to the mattress, bringing him down with her.

They lay together on the sheets, kissing deeply for what felt like hours. His kisses were breathtaking in their intensity, all sweet, soft lips and fierce, forceful passion. Calloused hands were on her face, cupping her cheeks, rough textured but tender in their touch. His eyes gazed into hers, deep pools of olive green reflecting his need for her. She pushed her body closer to his, one hand on his narrow waist, pulling feebly at the buckles on his tunic. He laughed softly and reached down to help her, unclasping the fastenings and tugging the armour over his head. Her breath caught at the sight of him – bronzed skin rippling over tight sinew, his muscles highlighted by the flowing white scars of his lyrium markings, hateful yet beautiful. He was like a dream – the most magnificent man she had seen, or could ever have imagined. She couldn't believe he was allowing her to touch him, but touch him she did –fingers trailing gentle patterns across his chest and his flat stomach as he wriggled beneath her, husky moans falling from his lips.

She could see his breeches straining tight, and tentatively ran a finger across his leather-clad erection. He hissed and arched into her, eyes half-closed and burning with a desire she had never seen in a man, let alone one as taciturn and private as Fenris. The sultry whispers he was emitting were shooting straight to her groin and she could feel the dampness of her own need slicking against her soft thighs, soaking through her smalls. She tugged desperately at the laces of his leggings, wanting to see all of him, to memorise his flesh, to make real what she had until now only imagined in her fantasies. His hips raised to allow her to slide his breeches down his legs and he wriggled out of them in one fluid move, kicking them to the floor.

She felt her heart thump and her breath stop at the sight of the man before her, naked and glorious, eyes hooded with lust. For her. She suddenly had to swallow hard to contain hysterical laughter borne of disbelief and fear; this man was such a long way from the rough and carefree farm boys she had tumbled with back in Lothering. She felt out of her depth and unworthy of his attentions.

Her thoughts must have reflected in her eyes, as Fenris hesitated, frowned. "What's the matter, Hawke? If you have changed your mind, we -"

Andraste's fiery sword, she thought, he must think she has seen him as he is, and not wanted him. She shook her head violently. "No! No, I haven't changed my mind. I definitely haven't changed my mind."

He took her hand in his, pulled her down to lay beside him. She threw one arm over his chest, her fingers against his warm bare skin. He focused his gaze on her face and sighed, "Then what?"

"Oh, Fenris, you're going to think I am stupid."

"I promise I won't." His eyes were intense, burning into hers with the force of a thousand fireballs.

"It's just, look at you. You're just how I imagined you would look underneath your armour," she blushed, "you're the most amazing man I have ever seen. I'm… well, I'm not the same as you. I don't want you to be… disappointed."

"Hawke. Marian, do you trust me?"

She looked at him levelly, this deadly, ferocious warrior who could rip the heart out of a man with his bare hands. This bitter and angry man, who hated magic and mages and everything she had lived her life as. And she nodded without hesitation.

He inclined his head towards her. "Then let me…"

No further words were spoken as he leaned forward and began to untie her robes. She tensed, held her breath as the fabric slipped from her shoulders and her pale, soft skin was exposed, inch by inch, to his sight. He touched every part of her as she was uncovered, murmuring unintelligible words under his breath as his fingers stroked and the palms of his hands slid across her body. Her skin prickled, tingled at his touch and she felt herself become even more aroused, mewling her need for him to keep going, don't ever stop. Slowly, sensuously, he undressed her, kissing and touching until she felt she was going to explode beneath him. She had never been revered like this before and it was intoxicating.

Her robes were on the floor and his fingers were unlacing her breastband as he leaned down to whisper hoarsely in her ear. "You are a beautiful woman, Marian Hawke. Your hair is like silk," he ran his fingers through her short black crop, "your eyes are the deepest shade of blue I have ever seen. Your skin is so soft and smooth," here he kissed her neck, "and you smell like wildflowers and cotton. I love the way you look," he removed her breastband with a quick flick of one wrist, narrowing his eyes as he gazed at her trembling body, "and you make me feel in a way I hadn't thought possible. I want to touch every inch of you, to kiss you everywhere. I want nothing more than to make love to you, to be inside you, to feel you all around me. Tell me you want me."

"Oh Fenris, please."

Those were the only words she felt capable of, her conscious mind dissolving under the onslaught of his words, his voice. She shuddered violently as he slipped his fingers under her smallclothes and swiftly added them to the pile on the floor. Her thighs parted involuntarily and she whimpered as his long, strong fingers found her entrance and began to gently stroke her, coating his hand in her juices. He kissed her again, intense and passionate, and she responded, eyes closed and pouring all her want, her need for him into the kiss. This was going to happen. Never in her wildest dreams could she ever have imagined it being like this.

Her hips rose from the bed, arching into his hand as he circled her clitoris with his thumb, one finger dipping into her. Fenris trailed kisses along her body, humming with pleasure as he found her breast and began to pull at a nipple with his lips, his tongue snaking over her skin. She groaned aloud at the feeling of him touching her most sensitive places, building the tension in her body almost to breaking point.

His mouth moved over the pliable soft skin of her belly, caressing her lightly and whispering soft words in between kisses. She couldn't understand most of what he said, but some words were unmistakeable. Beautiful. Need. Want.

Then his mouth was on her core, tongue replacing fingers, and she came apart beneath him, writhing and crying out his name. Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes as she abandoned herself fully to another person for the first time in her life. The sensations rolling through her were almost unbelievable. Never knew it could feel like this.

The ripples of her climax were still shooting through her body when Fenris lifted himself above her, muscles in his arms cording as he balanced between her thighs. She gasped as he sheathed himself within her with one hard thrust, his breath hitching as he held himself still, a look of wonder in his eyes. His mouth worked wordlessly and his body trembled as he began to move slowly inside her.

The friction between them was overwhelming. The feel of him pushing into her was like nothing she had ever experienced, and the entire time his eyes were fixed on her face, bottomless tourmaline pools heavy with emotion. She felt as if he were pinning her to the bed with his gaze alone. Her thighs wrapped around his waist and she pulled him deeper, sobbing shallow breaths against his shoulder.

"Are you OK? You're crying." Fenris spoke softly into her ear, one hand stroking her hair.

"More than OK. Please don't stop."

She raised one hand to his cheek, caressing his skin. Her fingers traced a pattern across his lips, puffy with the kisses they had shared. He swallowed hard and shifted inside her, increasing the pace of his thrusts as she desperately tried to match his slightly erratic rhythm. She tightened herself around him, drawing a pained hiss and a snap of his hips as he pushed harder into her. She became aware that she was keening, the same word over and over. Please, please, please.

Fenris was panting hard now and his movements were becoming frantic, eyes glazed and body taut. She ran her fingernails sharply down the smooth tanned skin of his back and he bucked against her, growling gutturally as he came, fire in his eyes and her name on his lips.

He collapsed on her chest, sweat mingling and legs entwined. Breathing hard, she wrapped her arms around him, kissing his hair, taking in the scents of sex and spices. The lyrium in his body was sparking, glowing blue and tingling against her skin. For some minutes they lay like this, still joined together as he softened, speechless and overcome with emotion.

Finally she stroked his hair back from his face and sighed. "Maker, Fenris. That was… beyond anything I could ever have expected."

He chuckled, a sound which shot straight through her body and sparked in her groin. "I have no idea why we did not do that sooner, Hawke."

"Mm. So, will we be…?"

"If you want to, then yes. On a regular basis," he said, smiling contentedly.

She curled up in his arms that night, feeling beautiful for the first time in her life.

She paid a special visit to the Hanged Man the following evening.

"Hawke. Good to see you," Varric was propping up the bar, half way through a glass of Corff's finest. "Something I can help you with?"

"I just wanted to thank you, Varric."

"Thank me? For what? Have I saved your life again and not even noticed?"

She grinned, clapped the dwarf on the shoulder. "Nope. I've sort of got a confession to make."

"A confession?" Varric's brows knitted. "Not that I want to put you off, sweetheart, but I think Sebastian's the best one for such things, not me."

"Ha ha. Okay, here's the thing. I accidentally saw one of the pages from your journal, the one where you write about how Fenris really likes me. And you're right, I would never have guessed. So it's thanks to you that I had the courage to approach him, to… well. You know."

"You and Fenris?" Varric frowned.

She smiled widely. "Yup."

"Together?"

"Yup."

"But… I never wrote about you and Fenris. Fenris never looks at anyone, not even Isabela, not for want of her trying."

There was a silence.

"No, you did. You said that he wanted to eat me for breakfast, or something like that," Hawke said, a confused expression on her face.

Varric thought for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Oh, that's just classic. Classic. Fenris! My dear Hawke, I was talking about that Crow assassin we ran into up at Sundermount. You thought I meant Fenris?"

"Uh…"

"That's a good one. But, wait, you're saying…?" Varric raised an eyebrow.

Hawke looked at the floor, shuffling her feet. She was mortified at having misconstrued the journal entry so badly and for making such a fool of herself. But had she? Fenris had wanted her just as much as she had wanted him. And without the extra confidence that Varric had given her… she supposed it didn't matter if it had all been based on a misunderstanding.

"I'm not saying anything, Varric. I think your stories have got us all into enough trouble, don't you?"

She smiled again, ordered him another pint from Corff, and left him to nurse his drink while she returned to Fenris' mansion, her mind already racing with the possibilities of the coming evening.

A/N: I wrote this for a challenge I posted myself on a forum called The Author Exchange. The link for the forum is on the profile of the wonderful Hatsepsut. Do go and check it out if you are a writer :)