Anders, true to his word and aware of the gravity of Fenris' threat, stayed with us, although he grew even more morose. I added some bandits to our list of targets to try to appease him, but since we still accepted every contract for apostates, it had little effect. Well, as long as he fought and healed, he could keep his gloomy private thoughts—I was enjoying life more than I had thought possible and each day seemed like a new adventure, each night full of the discovery of hidden recesses of delight.

And we were running out of apostate jobs anyway, there just weren't that many left who were willing to make the hopeless choice to try to flee. Word had gotten around the Circle that we had effectively stopped all those who had braved the Templars and the non-Tranquil mages left were deciding more and more to stay put.

It was one of the last of those jobs that caused a ripple in my perfectly calm pool of pleasure. We were sent after three sisters, the eldest in her early twenties. They had only recently been sent to the Circle and were young and foolish, thinking themselves invincible.

They were easy to track, of course; we had often defeated much more wily prey. We found them hiding behind some refuse deep in a alley, no doubt hoping the foul smell would discourage us. I poked the pile of rotting cabbage, dog shit, the occasional dead dog, a decayed arm, and entire bushel of turnips that looked like they may be salvageable and various other detritus. Finally I heard the expected squeak, and then some colorful swearing in Ferelden sung out in a high, clear voice.

There emerged from the mess the three girl children we were seeking, all blond, all comely, all defiant, the smallest not more than six or seven years old. The oldest walked up to me boldly, shoving her yellow locks out of her eyes and said, "We are not running away." I crossed my arms and did not try to hide my amusement as I eyed her ruffled pink frock—it seemed that they had somehow maintained their clothes or had someone on the outside willing to help them. I suspected the later, and wondered who. The Templars paid even better for those helping mages than for the mages themselves.

Seeing my obvious skepticism, the girl continued, reaching into her bosom for a piece of paper. "We are only going to the Ferelden Circle. See, here is our letter of passage. The ship leaves tonight and once we're back in Ferelden, we'll go right there."

I tightened my mouth and asked, "Do I look like I just fell off the turnip wagon?"

She carefully unfolded another piece of paper, this one much more worn and folded small as if it had been secreted somewhere. "See," she held it out to me, "from Chief Enchanter Irving. He knows we're coming. He'll have his Templars there to meet us when we land. We know that we have to go to a Circle, just please not the one in Kirkwall." She ended with the first bit of humility I had heard from her and she dropped her head and added a final, plaintive, "Please."

I looked at the crew. Isabela actually looked as if she had a tear in her eye and Varric had that sympathetic expression that always seemed silly on his dwarven face. Anders was pleading with sad eyes, but then he always did when we were dealing with apostates. We could afford the small loss of fees and of prestige for finally missing our marks—we had been so consistent that the Templars could hardly complain. I said, "Varric, Isabela, will you undertake to see that they board this ship and stay until it sails?" Their replies were quick and enthusiastic. I shrugged and walked from the alley, feminine cries of thanks echoing behind me.

As I rounded the corner, followed closely by my newly appointed baby sitters, I heard an all too familiar snick sound. I froze and held my breath, unwilling to recognize Fenris as he walked out, wiping his blade on a blue cloth I had given him. Isabela launched herself at him screeching, "Why?" and was thrown back against the opposite wall with enough force that she crumpled to the ground. Anders just covered his eyes and turned away, and Varric looked stunned, speechless for once.

I looked at Fenris for a long moment, then turned away, walking slowly homeward, my head down, defeated.

He found me there, of course. I wasn't trying to hide, and actually I needed the distraction, even if the distraction I got was the cause of the distraction I needed. Fenris knew how to make me forgive him anything, and he was at his best that afternoon. He asked nothing of me, and gave me everything that he knew I liked best until I was laying back on the bed, loose limbed, with an insipid but very happy smile decorating my face.

I knew, though, that I had to face my crew, if I even still had a crew. I drug myself up and dressed, saying, "I'm going to the Hanged Man, see if anyone's there. Want to join me?"

It was a great relief when he shook his head and said, "No. You go ahead. I'll stay in and read tonight." Ever since I'd taught him to read, he had been working his way methodically through my library and was now on the letter G. I wasn't sure if he was reading the book on gnomes or the strange old gynecology text that someone had left, but whatever it was, he would consume every word.

They were all there in the tavern, and I was sure they had been waiting for me to make an appearance. Isabela craned her neck after I came in, trying to make sure Fenris wasn't following, I assumed. There was a collective sigh of relief that no one tried to hide when they realized I was alone. Apparently Varric had been designated their spokesman, and I hadn't even gotten a drink before he started in on me.

Yes, I knew that the girls did not deserve to die, yes I knew that Fenris had disobeyed my direct order, yes I knew everything that they insisted repeating ad nauseam and in ever shriller tones. I just nodded and kept drinking, switching to whiskey after a few pints of ale.

They finally shut up or I stopped listening, I'm not sure which, but just when I thought I was safe, one of them would start again. After one of my many trips that night to the convenience, I stumbled into one of the small alcoves to stood to either side of the bar, rather going back to be badgered further. I slumped in the broken chair that had been discarded there and let my head fall back, staring at the ceiling that was only beginning to spin a bit.

It was a relief to just be alone and I was luxuriating in my solitude when I felt a hand at my groin. Ah, so Fenris had made it after all and found me, clever boy. I was drunk enough that having my cock sucked in the semi-privacy of an abandoned niche in the Hanged Man seemed like a very good idea. I let my head loll, watching the rafters and enjoying the expert attention being paid to my member, when suddenly the soft lips and hot mouth were yanked away. Before I could raise my head I was grabbed by the neck and slammed into the wall.

My bleary eyes were filled with Fenris' outraged face as he slammed me back again. Thankfully, the third time my head hit, I passed out.

I knew where I was before I had fully regained consciousness since there was a peculiar sensation of having been cut off at the knees when waking in Varric's short bed. Yes, it was not the first time that I'd been dragged up the stairs and dumped in the nearest bed, which was the dwarf's.

I opened my eyes and tried to sit up, only to roll over immediately to puke on the floor, missing the bucket waiting for me by half a foot. I heard Varric's groan, echoing my own, as he brought a mop. "I swear Hawke, you have the worst aim in KIrkwall," he complained. "But I'm glad to see you awake."

Well, I was happy that one of us was, because I would have much preferred to still be unconscious. The room was spinning in earnest now, and even closing my eyes didn't help—when I did that I just had a colorful after image of the spinning room that was even more nauseating. I managed to gasp, "Get Anders. I think I'm dying." Normally the mage wouldn't cure hangovers, he had some moralistic thought that those who drank too much would learn from their pain, although he could easily observe that it never worked.

I was surprised at the solemnity in the dwarf's voice as he answered, "Anders is not available. And my not be available, ever. But if he survives, he certainly won't be able to heal anyone else for weeks. What were you two thinking anyway? You know that wolf you keep on a leash is rabid, and not inclined to share his meat."

I managed to prop myself on an elbow after emptying myself again, this time hitting the bucket squarely to Varric's relief. "What do you mean? What in the hell happened anyway? Last thing I remember, Fenris and I were enjoying a little semi-private time, and…"

The damn dwarf was laughing so loudly I thought my head would explode. He he finally gasped to a stop, the said, "That wasn't Fenris playing your flute, lad, that was Anders."

I looked at him in disbelief. Anders? Why would Anders have? Oh yes, whiskey, and, well, he'd always been fond on me. But what could he have been been thinking. Oh yes, whiskey. It was starting to make some sort of sense now… If Fenris came, and apparently he had since I had the image of his angry face permanently burnt into my retina, and if he had found Anders and me, well, like he apparently found us. Oh, poor Anders. He wouldn't have had a chance to use his magic, surprised by an enraged Fenris. And now we were short a mage too. And very possibly a warrior, depending on how successful I was at patching things up. And all I wanted to do was lie down and gracefully die.

I sat the rest of the way up, swaying and holding myself more or less steady with my hands. Fortunately I was still dressed. It was one less thing to deal with and I thought that there were a very small number of things I would be capable of dealing with today.

Varric tried to talk me out of leaving, but I knew I had to find Fenris, and soon. I staggered out of the pub into the bright morning light, then ran for the shade of a corner, again emptying myself, this time ending in the dry heaves. I had to get some water, or I was pretty sure my death wish would be fulfilled. I made my way to a public fountain. Shoving several matrons out of the way, I hung my head under the running water and gulped great quantities from my cupped hands. When the line got long enough that I thought the waiting women might have a chance if they attacked me en masse, I left them to their morning chores and made my way up the long long climb to my hightown estate. Isabela was right, it was a silly place to live, much too far to walk hungover. I should just take a room in the hanged man and let Bodahn have the damned mansion. But then the mansion was close to Fenris'. With that thought of the elf, I hurried my steps, weaving dangerously, but determined to make the best time I could.

I went to my place first. I hoped that he might be there, although I suspected that hope was in vain, but I could also take a few moments to throw on some clothes that didn't stink and down one of Bodahn potions. They were not as effective as the ones that Fenris cooked up, but it would be better than noting.

When I got to the estate, the door was hanging half off it's hinges. So he had been here. Bodahn, Sandal and my useless hound were curled up under a heavy desk where they had apparently spent the night. I didn't disturb them, but made my way upstairs to my room.

Well, it used to be my room. Right now it looked rather like a chamber where someone had tried to cage a wild beast. A wild beast with very sharp claws. Carved into the high wainscoting, in deep tall letters was the word BASTARD. The bedposts has been sheared off and dumped to the side, sticking out of the shredded canopy like the bones of some sad, very dead beast. The bedclothes were in tatters and the mattress slit from top to bottom, the stuffing pulled out. The marble fireplace had been chipped in several places, and everything on the mantle smashed. Above it hung a pastoral scene that I was fond of, one bought for me by Fenris. It was still in its frame, but hung in strips.

I was afraid to open the armoire because I knew that he would not have spared by clothes. Taking my courage in hand, I peeked inside and it was as bad as I feared. Nothing was left that could even be repaired. I noticed my jewelry box missing, then remembered some glints in the happily burning fire. Yes, there they were… all of my small but carefully considered collection of gold and silver, melting and dripping off the blazing logs. The only thing that he had spared was the bookcase, and that said a great deal. I didn't often read, the books were there for his pleasure.

Well, changing clothes was not an option, and I didn't really want to deal with a recently terrorized Bodahn, so I let him sleep. Food seemed like a bad idea, but I did pull myself a mug of ale. That helped so much that I had another and had to talk to myself severely to keep from having a third.

Back out into the cursed sunlight, up more steep stairs. I almost fell at the very top, desperately clutching for a non-existent bannister, and finally draping myself awkwardly over a marble plinth. A few passersby gave me a concerned look and a wide birth, shaking their heads that I was so obviously drunk so early in the day. Well, fie on them, I was on a mission.

I didn't bother to knock, the elf never locked his door, although he did lock the wine cellar. I found him easily enough by following the scritch-scritch sound of blade on stone. Poor fellow had apparently dulled his sword destroying my belongings.

I staggered into the room and he held up the blade, saying levelly, "No further. If you have anything to say, say it and leave, but come no further." I kept walking, in my unsteady way, towards him. "I mean it Hawke," he said, "keep coming and I'll kill you, I swear I will." Best offer I had had all day, so I kept walking.

When I was within a few feet of him, he threw down his sword and said, "Festis bei umo canavarum! Say it. Whatever you think there is to be said, then leave me. I am done with you. A mage! Bah."

It was one of the few times in my life when I thought the truth might be the most effective response, even though he probably wouldn't believe me right away, so I just said, "I thought it was you."

Well, maybe that wasn't the best idea. He pulled a knife from his sleeve and held it to my throat, growling, "You… thought… that… that… thing… that demon… that abomination… was ME!"

Looking cross eyed and worried at the blade, I said, "Fenris, I was drunk. Really really drunk. I barely knew which way was up. And yes, I really did think it was you. I would never have allowed Anders to do such a thing, surely you know that. And you seem to have gotten your revenge on both of us, so could we, you know, forget about it?"

"Is the mage dead," he snarled.

"Not so far, I don't think," I replied my mouth twisted half way between horror and amusement.

"A shame," he said. "And now you want to kiss and make up?"

I smiled my goofiest smile and said, "Yes. That's the spirit! Kiss and make up and you can have your way with my poor beaten body… if you let me have some of your phenomenal potion first." I had almost said magic potion, which just might have been fatal in that moment. He grunted, came back with a glass, watched me drink it down, then resumed his threatening position.

He pulled the knife down the side of my throat, making a thin cut, watching me shiver, then tossed it away. He started to rip off my jerkin, but I put a hand on his saying softly, "Fenris, it's the last one I have, so unless you want to go clothes shopping for me?" At this he actually laughed and the tension was broken. I did not think I was forgiven, but I was beginning to think my odds of living out they day were at least even now.

He carefully removed my clothes, then his own, slapping my hands away when I tried to help. When we were both standing naked, he said in a husky voice, "Never. Never again. Not with anyone. I don't care how drunk you are or how drunk they are. If you ever do that to me again, so help me, I will leave, with or without killing you first." He grabbed my hair and pulled me to him, slamming his mouth on mind so hard that our teeth clicked loudly, reaching for the back on my throat with his long tongue. His brands were starting to flare and I rubbed my hands on them, tracing them across his arms, down him back, then cupped his buttocks and lifted him onto me. Fifteen minutes ago I would have sworn that I was incapable of that maneuver, but between Fenris' potion and Fenris' presence, I was a new man.

I carried him to the table where I had spotted a convenient dish of butter. Setting him on the edge so I could rock him back and forth, I scooped up a handful of the soft yellow goo and slathered it on both of us, then drove myself into him. He arched his back and used his hands to drive himself back towards me. We continued shoving at each other until I pulled him down to his feet and dropped to my knees. I wrapped my tongue around the head of his quivering cock, savoring the juices I found there, as may hand worked in the hole I had just opened, massaging vigorously.

He started panting, his breath wheezing in and out. I added my other hand, rolling his balls and running it up the shaft as he grabbed my head and forced it down. When he came, it was so hot I felt that my mouth and throat were scalded, but it was a pain that I would gladly repeat. I fell backwards, pulling him down on top of me. I had not spent, but I didn't care, there would be time for me later, for now, he had forgiven me and that was all that mattered in the world.