The morning dawned crisp and cool, unusually so for Kirkwall. Hawke made her way to Fenris' mansion, weighed down with books and parchment. It was surreal, resuming this little pilgrimage.

Hawke found Fenris in the main hall, holding a wooden practice sword and calmly swinging his way through a complex looking sequence. He seemed unaware of her presence, stopping and restarting the sequence a couple of times as she watched.

He was, she had to admit, fun to watch. Lithe and graceful and seemingly unaware of the effect he had on people around him. He was also, she noticed, still wearing her scarf.

A few more moments passed before she decided to interrupt. "Well, I see you have done well keeping up on your reading without me. You are tracing letters in the air with your blade, right?"

Fenris stopped, his lips quirking in a slight smile. "Something like that. Here." He picked up a narrow pole, tossing it towards her.

Wholly unprepared, Hawke dropped her pack and barely manage to catch the thing. It felt similar in height and weight to her staff, though it was devoid of enchantments. She kept it in her hand as she bent down to right her pack and pick up the books that had fallen out. "In all seriousness, and I know it has been awhile, you do remember how this tutoring thing works, right?"

"Yes. I wanted to do something else first."

"Mmhmm. Sparring? I think you have a bit of an advantage on me."

Fenris gestured for her to come closer. "Stand here."

It was useless, trying to puzzle out his intentions, especially this early in the day. Leaving her pack, Hawke walked over to the indicated spot.

Fenris moved slowly, taking her hands with the lightest touch and setting them on the staff. He wasn't wearing his gauntlets. "You've done staff work before, right?"

Hawke nodded. "My father wanted to make sure my sister and I could defend ourselves without magic. Carver also loved to practice together. It was one of the few things he could do better than me."

Fenris nodded, moving to stand next to Hawke and mimicking her stance, practice sword held before him. "Watch my feet, see if you can copy my movements." He moved through a sequence, slow and sure.

Hawke followed his example, quirking a brow. "So it's a fighting lesson. What, unconvinced by previous examples of my prowess?"

"Tired of abandoning sensible tactics to rush to your defense, maybe. Watch your left foot."

Hawke chuckled, making the adjustment. "Oh, I only need you to rush in and save me fifty, sixty percent of the time."

Fenris changed his sequence, motioning her to do the same. He had her start chaining the sequences together, turning different directions mid-step and offering mild corrections when necessary. It was an easy rhythm to find, exchanging observations with him as they practiced the forms, side by side.

Things were much simpler on the battlefield. Perhaps that was his plan, to bring some of that ease back into their interactions.

Fenris stopped her once she had the pattern memorized and had performed it without fault a couple times. Setting his sword aside, he stood in front of her. "Do you think you could do that distracted?"

Hawke grinned. "Of course. It's not that difficult. Feels familiar, really."

Fenris nodded. "Close your eyes. Walk through the sequence again."

Hawke shut her eyes, adjusting her grip on the staff. She started the sequence, confident she knew what she was doing, only to find the staff torn away. Warm hands slipped into hers, taking the place of the smooth wood.

"Keep going."

Carefully, one of her hands was guided to her companion's shoulder. Fenris' tunic was soft, a marked contrast to the taunt muscles it covered. Her other hand was held out to the side, its position not terribly dissimilar from the grip she had been practicing on the staff. Fenris' other hand found her waist, applying gentle pressure when they reached a point in the sequence when she had to turn or change direction.

Hawke kept her eyes closed, her feet moving. At least now she knew why the sequence felt familiar. There had been a similar dance at the Viscount's harvest festival. She had kept stepping on her partner's toes while trying to change direction at the wrong time.

It was considerable more pleasant here, now, letting Fenris guide her with a sure hand. It was also the closest they had been since things went so terribly. The only time either of them had dared initiate physical contact.

The idea did occur to her that Fenris was being a tease. Playing some sort of game with her, to have left her so abruptly only to lure her here…like this…

But she knew him well enough to know that was not the case. Fenris was not the sort for games.

The sequence wound to a close. Hawke kept her eyes shut, not moving, gratified that Fenris seemed unwilling to move as well. She feared making any misstep that might end this moment. Even breathing seemed too daring.

Moments passed. She could feel the beat of his heart through their joined hands, accelerated beyond the physical demands of dancing. Finally, she could stand the silence no more. "You really do dance."

A soft sigh, air moving against her cheek. She felt him lean closer. "The nobility here still dance the dances of the Imperium. They gave them new names, but the steps are the same. I spent plenty of dull hours at formal affairs with little else to do but watch the Magisters and their guests dance."

"That explains how you know them, not why you wanted to help me learn."

A touch, fleeting enough to almost be imagined, traced a line from her cheek to chin. "I know I owe you much, Hawke. Explanations I do not wholly trust myself to give and have to beg you not to seek. But I want…no, I need you to understand that I am here for you. In any capacity…"

"…except one?"

"Except one."

Hawke opened her eyes. Fenris was staring at her, intently. His hands hadn't moved. If anything, his grip on her side had tightened.

"I cannot claim to understand Fenris. But…I will respect your wishes. I won't ask questions."

"Thank…

"Oh! Except for one. The scarf. Why are you wearing still wearing it? Tell me that, and I will keep my mouth shut from here on out."

Fenris frowned, looking at the innocuous piece of cloth. "It seemed a fitting way to mark my intentions. That even if I am not with you, I am yours. In so far as I will be anyone's."

"So it's symbolic. My loyal knight's chosen favor."

Fenris shrugged slightly, the barest twitching of his shoulders. "If you wish to think of it that way."

Hawke smiled, shaking her head. "You and Aveline ought to compare notes. Between marigolds and scarves and other such nonsense, you will surely craft the least intuitive system of nonverbal communication known to man."

Fenris smiled, slightly.

Whatever this was, it was certainly preferable to the awkward avoidance of the past weeks. It seemed she would have to content herself with it. For now.

"Well. My loyal knight. And unexpected dance master. Shall we go through that one again?"

And so things fell back into a familiar rhythm. Morning lessons resumed, alternating between learning letters and learning dance forms. Hawke's mother was delighted by her daughter's new found confidence on the dance floor and subsequently baffled by her eventual refusal to continue using them. There was, Hawke finally insisted, no one at the fancy gatherings she cared to dance with.

Her friends inquired, obliquely in some cases, brazenly in others, about her and Fenris. Hawke remained mute on the subject, letting things lay.

For now.