The scent of roses filled the air. The stone bench felt warm from the home of the autumn sun. Distant voices buzzed pleasantly beyond the peace of the Chantry garden. Cassidy closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling a serene smile tug at her lips.

"You were happy here."

She no longer felt startled by the sound of his voice in dreams. She only nodded contentedly. "It was home," she answered.

"But you have a new home now," he continued. Spirit fire danced along the lines of lyrium, the green light flickering steadily.

"Such as it is," she laughed. Her voice held none of the brittle anger that tinged her every word lately; only a soft sadness. "The Qunari have ripped the city apart. The mages and Templars will probably pick up where the Qunari left off. And I'm an orphan. Not much of a home."

"You say this because you are afraid to go back," he stated. "You wish to stay here."

"Yes." She felt light, whole. Untroubled. "Did I die? Is that why you're here?"

"I am here because you are here."

"Why am I here, then?"

"Because we need to heal." His expression was gentle as he cradled her face in his hands."Ask me," he commanded softly, green flames dancing beneath the familiar features. "Do not be afraid."

She searched his face and found no hint of an answer in the unnaturally impassive expression. "Why do you wear his face, Courage?" she whispered, only half-fearing the answer.

The spirit smiled enigmatically, as Fenris never had. He—it—pressed a burning kiss to her forehead and stroked a finger down her cheek. Pain blossomed along the length of her body as he pulled her close, pressed her against his chest. Her hands scorched as she tried to push him away.

"Wake up," he commanded. "Do not be afraid."

The steady ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room, filling the late Viscount's deserted hall like a heartbeat. Aveline and her guard had escorted the rescued nobility home. Merrill and Anders were busy healing the wounded masses. And Isabela—selfish, treacherous, foolish Isabela—would never return to Kirkwall if she wanted her heart to stay where it was.

The clock pulsed, and Fenris felt his blood pulse with it.

Her skin was pale, cold, and damp. The rust-red stain of blood spread outward from a narrow rip in the center of her padded robe. The shallow rise and fall of her chest was barely detectable. Fenris watched it raptly, hardly daring to breathe for fear of disturbing the fragile rhythm. The sharp turquoise gaze was shuttered; blue veins laced the sick pallor of her face. He counted her breaths between pulsing beats of the giant clock.

Until they stopped.

Numb panic held him in place as the moment seemed to freeze. The pendulum arrested its swing; the steady, pulsing tick ground to a halt and left only a terrible, pounding silence. Fenris felt the hot breath of rage and anguish rush through him—

-and escape abruptly as Cassidy gasped harshly. Green light pooled at her abdomen like water from a spring. It bubbled out of her, until it covered her like a blanket. The gaatlok smell he'd come to associate with the spirit riding her hung heavily in the air. Fenris watched, transfixed, as the ugly wound began to knit closed, as she continued to gulp air into her lungs, as her body began to heal. He inched towards her, hope flaring bright and hot somewhere near his heart. He knelt, leaning closer until his face hovered scant inches above hers.

Her eyes flew open, startling him into a rapid retreat. Unease—fear—slowly turned his blood cold as he looked into not the familiar, laughing gaze, but into twin pools of green flame. Fenris felt his heart thud fiercely in protest as he eased his blade from its scabbard. "Courage, I presume," he growled warily. The lyrium in his veins screamed in agony, and he longed to plunge his hand into Cassidy's—the monster's chest, he corrected himself.

The spirit pulled Cassidy's familiar features into an eerie, ancient smile of knowing. It held Fenris captive in its hypnotic gaze for what seemed like an eternity, before Cassidy's eyes fluttered shut again. Her harsh rasping eased into the steady rhythm of true sleep, one breath for every swing of the giant pendulum.

He should kill her now, Fenris knew. He had been a fool to believe the spirit lurking inside her was anything but a demon. He should end its hold on her, before it grew stronger. It would be a mercy—better that she died a hero now, than risk her becoming an abomination later. As powerful a mage as she was, such a creature would likely turn Kirkwall into bloodbath.

Still, he did not move.

The hunting knife in his belt would serve. He would give a clean death. He owed her that, for all she had done for him—and for what he had done to her.

Still, he did not move.

She was a mage, he reprimanded himself furiously. It shouldn't matter that she was the most strong-willed mage he had ever met. It shouldn't matter that she was the first—only—one he had ever trusted. It shouldn't matter that she had made him feel like he could be more than a fugitive waiting for vengeance. He had to end it now. He had to free her.

Still, he did not move.

"Is that brooding, moping, or perfectly content?" The laughter in her voice was weak, barely there, but it was hers. "I can't tell from this angle."

"Hawke?" Fenris called warily. He cautiously sidled closer, positioning himself so he could look into her face. "It is you, isn't it?"

"You were expecting the Grand Cleric?" she retorted archly as she struggled to rise from her prone position.

Guilt, anger, and relief boiled together in his gut to form a snarled mess that gnawed at his control like a hungry wolf. There was a strange, knowing softness in the amused quirk of her lips, in the shine of her steady, turquoise gaze that unnerved him. Even more alarming, the snarling tangle of confusion eased, and he felt an answering tenderness curl slowly inward to replace it. Fenris shied away from examining it too closely, afraid of what he might find. Innumerable, dangerous thoughts swirled in his head, turning into questions that shriveled on his tongue.

"Are you all right?" Cassidy asked, a concerned frown puckering her brow.

He shook his head to clear it—he hadn't realized he'd been staring. "Don't be daft," he snapped. "You're the one laid out on the floor with a stomach wound, and you ask if I'm all right." He clenched his fists at his sides and turned his face away from hers. "Now I know you're possessed."

"And you're irascible, stubborn, and taciturn," she shot back amiably. "Yet here we are."

Fenris's chest constricted fiercely at the familiar good-natured needling. The specter of his past and the reality of what she was collided sharply, creating a jagged edge that sawed at the bonds holding him to all he knew of his life. He sensed the spirit's presence within her, lingering like a storm cloud; he couldn't quite banish the memory of the inhuman, otherworldly twist of Cassidy's lips. His hand drifted unconsciously toward the hilt of his hunting knife.

"Fenris."

His name on her lips called to another memory, one Fenris held close like a treasured jewel. The questions and doubts slowly fell away—they could wait. "That is my name," he drawled, successfully keeping all but the barest tremor from his voice.

"Look at me, Fenris," she ordered gently.

He forced his eyes away from the new, puckered scar on her abdomen and dragged his gaze to her face. The piercing stare was clear, lucid—there was no trace of the green fire that had danced through her mere moments ago. Her scrutiny whipped through him, leaving him with the feeling that she could see into the core of him.

"It's just me in here," she promised him quietly.

Perhaps she could see into the core of him, he thought. Honesty compelled him to ask, "For how long?"

The softness of her answering smile was excruciating. "For as long as you have need of me," she replied.

Dawn glittered against the shattered glass that littered the ransacked hall; the pink and gold rays sent sparkling rainbows into a chaotic, brilliant swirl. The silence stretched and grew into an all-consuming peace wholly alien to Fenris. It felt strange to realize that it was enough to know she was alive. It was enough to feel the not-quite-uncomfortable prickle of her magic against the lyrium etched into his skin. There was a nearly-tangible snap as the jagged edges of possibility severed him from some of his ever-present tension, casting him adrift. It was…terrifying. And liberating.

"Here we are," he agreed belatedly, tentatively brushing her fingers with the talons of his gauntlet.

The sun rose, and hope rose with it.

It hurts just to wake up

Whenever you're wearing thin

Alone on the outside,

So tired of looking in.

The end is uncertain,

And I've never been so afraid.

But I don't need a telescope

To see that there's hope

And that makes me feel

Brave.

AN: I think that's it, guys-I think Cassidy and Fenris are done with me for the moment. I've really enjoyed writing this; I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed it, put it on alert, and favorite'd it-you guys kept me going. Closing lyrics are from Owl City's "Tidal Wave", for anyone who's wondering. Thank you, Bioware, for creating awesome characters, and for letting us poor slobs play with them.