Author's Note:

Here's another entry for the story! In the reviews, I was asked for more conversation, and that just got my mind working on more conversation-ey things that may have happened behind the scenes. I find that I enjoy writing Sebastian as a steadying force in my stories and I'm going to start trying to explore Fenris's reactions to Hawke in juxtaposition of his ingrained behavior.

I am going to be replaying the game so I can actually get the timeline on this story more or less correct.

Also, I think I answered all the reviews that I could but if I didn't, please don't be mad. I'll try to do better next time.

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Honest Work"

Sebastian pushed the sweaty hair from his face.

He stretched his arms above his head with a groan, then turned to grin at me. "A day of honest labor is truly a reward all its own."

I leaned on my axe and regarded him curiously. "It's barely mid-morning."

"Aye, and already I feel loose and limber from the workup." He replied, reaching for another cord of wood and placing it on his block. "It is good to see you out of that cavern of a home, Fenris. I appreciate the help here. As will the needy who cannot provide their own firewood."

I nodded once and hefted the axe. It was long and heavy, weighted for chopping rather than combat. I exhaled on the downswing and the axe head bit into the block. The two halves of the wood flew to the side.

We worked in silence, the prince and I. His pile of wood grew faster than my own. I had the strength to do the work, of course, but lacked the experience. Also, firewood was not necessarily an imperative in my homeland.

"You know," Sebastian said suddenly, his breath bursting forth with the impact of his axe, "if you like, I am sure the Chantry Mother has other tasks to occupy you when you are otherwise without purpose."

"What gives you the idea I need work?"

"Well, you did show up this morning and join in with my own chores with nary a word."

"Perhaps I was bored."

Another cord of wood flew apart under Sebastian's axe. He turned an all-too-knowing eye on me. "I don't think you are the type to get bored, Fenris. Restless, yes. Perhaps you find yourself at a loss for direction at times. But never bored."

"You presume much about my mental state." I retorted, but there was no heat in it. I wedged the axe into the block and stooped to gather the split logs. "Perhaps I was bored, took a walk, and then took pity on the one person out in the cold chopping wood."

"It's hardly cold, yet." He laughed. "Wait a few weeks, when the snows come in."

I curled my lip. "I'd really rather not."

Once he'd gathered an armload of wood we made our way to the cart that was hitched to the elderly donkey that Merrill had named Daisy. "For sure. Your home is drafty, is it not? It will not be fun when the ice starts coming down. Have you thought about what you will do during wintertide?"

I shrugged. "I've plenty to burn in the hearth to keep warm."

"Oh, dear," he sighed. "Fenris, I am afraid we may have to arrange an intervention for you. For your own sake. And ours."

I returned to the cut wood and loaded up again. "An intervention for what?"

"For someone who has spent so much time caring for yourself, you seem to only take stock of the necessities when they are imminent upon you. Winter in a place like Kirkwall is no joking thing, and I shudder to think what may happen to you."

I scratched my left ear, then almost fumbled the wood. I got it to the cart just in time, then cocked an eyebrow at the man. "So there is the concern for me. What about an intervention is for your sake?"

"Eh?"

"'I'm afraid we'll have to stage and intervention, for your sake and ours,'" I paraphrased. "What possible reason could my habits put anyone else in jeopardy?"

"Easy," he said, tumbling his load into the cart. "Hawke would be pissed."

"And I am to care what she thinks of my choices?" I said, my voice a bit flinty.

We walked to Daisy, who was chewing thoughtfully on the edges of a yellowing hedge. Sebastian took her lead and we began heading to the woodshed. "I don't mean it like that and you know it, Fenris. Hawke is like a… she's much like a chantry mother."

I snorted. "I don't see her taking the oaths anytime soon."

"And like a chantry mother, she cares for the ones she sees as her own. Her family."

I stiffened at the words. "I am neither her property nor part of her family."

He shook his head at me. "You don't get it. We all are. Part of her family, that is."

Something behind my forehead itched at that remark, but I didn't really want to chase that particular inkling down. "I fail to see how this means my choices affect you."

"Dealing with Hawke when she gets her back up is no mean feat."

"And so you bow to her whim, just to allay any anger?"

"No."

He pushed the shed door open and tied Daisy to the post outside it. I loaded up with wood. He regarded me for a moment, unmoving. "Sometimes I forget how you must look at us. At the world." He said softly. He sounded almost sad.

I took care to stack the wood neatly on the racks, giving myself some time to form a reply. The first one that came to my lips was angry and acidic. Nosey as he may be, the chantry brother did not deserve my ire for making an observation like that.

I turned. "How am I supposed to see the world? Or you?" I said, gesturing with one hand. "I've only two eyes with which to look."

The fire burned merrily again.

It was almost enough to banish the dark thoughts that skirted the edges of my mind. I was exhausted from the exertions of the day. In addition to chopping wood, we'd tackled some of the larger weeds in the garden and cleaned out a sizable tool shed. My muscles were sore in new ways. It seemed that the tasks of the mundane took as much of a toll as battle.

I sniffed. The sweat on my skin was no longer fresh, and there was no rest until I washed the odor away.

My bucket was out in the well, and I washed quickly. Sebastian was right. The weather was turning, and it wouldn't be long before I would have to figure out what to do with myself.

I looked about my room while I toweled off. The room itself was more than enough for my purposes. Perhaps I could simply take pains to proof it against the wind and cold.

"And that's all you need to do!" Hawke said with a wide smile.

Hawke and Merrill clustered around the door that I was holding up. "You can let go of it now, Fenris," Hawke said. "It should be set on the hinge."

I let go of it cautiously. The door was solid oak and heavy, but it slid along its intended arc with only a quiet creak.

"Ooh, Hawke. It really looks like it weighs nothing at all now." Merrill said, grabbing the handle and pulling it back. It moved easily.

"As long as you balance it properly, even a heavy door will swing the right way." She said with a smile.

"How did you learn how to do that?" Merrill asked, "I mean, between being a soldier and running from darkspan, you somehow learned the skills needed to fix houses?"

"I did grow up on a farm, you know." She replied. "It's only natural that I learn a few helpful things over the course of growing up."

I stepped away and into the room beyond. "What room is this?" I asked. There was a bed there, with torn sheets and a rotten mattress. The sheets did not look salvageable. Over on a dense chest of drawers was what may have been a jewelry box, thought the lid was missing.

"The master room," Hawke said from right behind my shoulder.

"The master's room." Came the voice. "Now."

My bowels turned to ice and I slowly turned. And there she was, pale face over blue and green robes. Her face was lurid in the torchlight. "Go now, little wolf, before I tell him you refused his order. He has another job for you."

I took in an unsteady breath, and she noticed. It made her smile when I was nervous. "Yes, mistress," I muttered, ducking my head.

"What was that?" Hawke asked, coming around to place herself in front of me. I blinked several times.

"Oh, er. Nothing." I said, not meeting her eyes.

Hawke eyed me for a moment more, then swung an arm out to encompass the room. I almost flinched at the sudden movement, but managed to hold it in. "This is the room of the lord and lady of the house." She said, "It would have been where my grandparents slept."

I glanced around. "It's in no fit state for use now," I managed through my dry throat.

"True enough. I want to clean it up and get it ready for Mother. I think it would be right for her to take this room, don't you think?"

I didn't know how to really respond to that. It had never been my place to assign quarters to people. When I didn't reply, she seemed to deflate a little.

The room was covered in debris. Mostly scraps of bedding or clothing, but something beneath the desk caught my eye. I ducked under and grabbed it, thankful for something to divert the topic. "What is this?"

"Hmm?" she took the cloth from my hands. "I haven't seen it before." It was a piece of cloth, covered in grey dust and old cobwebs. She shook it out gently, then smoothed it back from its crumpled folds.

Hawke brought the cloth to the desk and laid it out with care. I looked over her shoulder at it, and discovered that it was something done in cross stitch. The craftsmanship was very well done. I'd seen many works of art across many mediums in my time, and it was hard to capture the movement of wind across wildflowers in a simple charcoal sketch. Whoever had done this, had managed the effect with needle and thread.

Hawke traced a hand down one side of the piece, where vines of honeysuckle climbed a wooden trellis. The background depicted a sunrise and a cozy cottage with a path leading to the fore. Once her hand reached the ragged bottom of the scrap, she ran a finger over a series of intricate squiggles and loops that traversed the entire lower border. "Mother would love this," she whispered.

"Hm?" I asked. I stared hard at the squiggles. "It is very well done, but delicate. And filthy."

"It can be cleaned."

"Carefully," I said. "It could unravel if its not cared for just right."

"Fenris," Hawke said, grabbing up the cloth and spinning 'round on her heel. "I-"

I shuddered. She was too close. Her face was less than a foot from mine and her hands were up, holding the artwork. I stared at her hands.

Hawke stopped still. I think her breath caught, but I couldn't be sure. I could only stare at her hands, my body screaming at me to flee. All that held me still was a litany marching through my mind.

Don't run. Running only makes them chase you.

"I," I started, but my throat was dry. I cleared it, and stepped backwards once. Deliberately. "I think maybe Sebastian can help with… with that." Was my voice pitched higher just now?

Something flashed across her face, but I couldn't see what. Her hands were still right there, and I couldn't look away from them. My blood thundered in my ears.

Slowly, she lowered them. As though broken from a trance I glanced at her face, then cast my eyes back to the floor in reflex. I stepped back again, once, then twice more. "I'll go find him." I muttered.

I left the room as Merrill passed me.

"Oh, Hawke. Look at the pretty shade of red your face is. I was going to build up the fire in the fireplace but if you're too warm we can…"

My steps were measured and steady, in complete contrast to my shaken state. I could hear each breath funnel through my nose, then exit my mouth.

This shame. It ate at me.

Escape slowly. Running only gets their interest up.

Pathetic.

Reviews are love! I get so many ideas from reading your comments. Was this chapter too fluffy? I don't do a lot of fluff, so I don't know if it was over the top.