NOTE: All characters and settings belong to Bioware.

Author note: After recruiting Fenris, I couldn't help but think the body-guard slave turned distrustful fugitive probably had some trouble playing well with others.

Hawke crawled back through the brush to her companions, careful to keep her litany of curses in her head as she scooped copious amounts of sand into her armor with every movement. Giving a little hop to try to shake the sand loose, she eyed her companions. "Alright, ladies and gentleman," she smiled at her team members, "there are a few more Tal-Vashoth there than we'd anticipated, so, we're going to have a bit of a change of plan."

"How many more?" Fenris's question was pointed.

"Oh, you know how I am with numbers," Hawke waved a hand dismissively, crouching down to begin sketching something on the sand, "Beth, I want you to stand up on the top. See how many you can turn into icicles before they get to the rest of us. Whatever you do-"

"Hawke."

She looked up, fixing Fenris with a piercing glance, and sighed, "Twelve. There are twelve of them. One of them's one of their mages. I'll be trying to take him out. Happy?"

"No." Still, the Tevinter elf relaxed, listening to Hawke's plan in silence. He suppressed his scowl when Hawke put him in charge of keeping their enemies off of her sister, but didn't bother to contradict their leader, simply concentrating on readying his mind for the coming battle.

This was going well, Hawke reflected, ripping her blade out of the back of one of the huge Tal-Vashoth. She was springing up and flipping out of the way of the blade swinging at her before she even registered its presence, feeling the blade bite into the heel of her boot as she used it to kick off.

She was still in the air when she heard Bethany's pained scream. Spinning, the rogue located her sister on the top of the dune, desperately fending off the heavy blows of one of the Tal-Vashoth as she scrambled backwards. With a rogue's awareness of the battlefield, she knew the pirate was closer, fighting somewhere behind her back. "Isabela! Help Bethany!"

Her own opponent's blade swung down at her again, and she leapt up, trying to get behind the huge form to finish it off quickly. Did Fenris fall? Why wasn't the elf protecting her sister? As she fell, she spared a moment to glance around the battlefield, spotting the warrior facing off against the leader of the Tal-Vashoth, farther away from Bethany than any of them.

"Get down!" It was Isabela's voice, and Bethany let out another scream. There was a crack and the smell of ozone and smoke in the air as the mage reached out with lightning, then fire.

Burying one of her blades in the back of her opponent's neck, Hawke felt it lodge against giant vertebrae, and she couldn't pull it loose as she sprang away. Leaving it for now, she dashed towards where she could see the pirate standing over her fallen sister. The sand gave way under her feet as she struggled up the hill, lungs and muscles burning. Swapping her single blade to her strong hand, she pushed off with her strong legs to cross the remaining distance in a single leap.

She and Isabela then had the Tal-Vashoth whirling between them, roaring in fury as he threw off one rogue, only to have the other score a hit on a leg, or in the heavy muscles of his back. Somewhere behind them, Fenris's opponent gave a roar of pain and fury that ended quickly.

"Hawke!" He'd apparently finally seen the battle taking place atop the dune. One of her feet slipped in the sand and she went down on one knee, automatically reaching up to cross her blades and catch the sword coming for her. Except she only held one blade, and instead threw herself to the ground to get a few more feet of clearance. From that vantage point, she had the view of Fenris appearing above her in a flash of lyrium, moving faster than the eye could see and still managing to place one foot neatly on either side of her head, preventing her from moving back any farther.

A drop of sweat hit her forehead as Fenris stood above her, holding the Tal-Vashoth blade away from them both. Then, there was a harsh gurgle, and one of Isabela's blades bloomed from their final opponent's throat. Dropping his sword, Fenris grabbed Hawke by the neck of her armor, pulling them both back and out of the way as the Tal-Vashoth fell first to his knees, then to the ground with a force that shook them.

"Are you alright, Hawke?" Fenris was panting; she could feel his breath on the top of her head.

"Bethany!" She ignored him, shoving herself up at the expense of an elbow in Fenris's ribs.

Isabela was already crouched over the mage, pressing a folded cloth to a bleeding gash across Bethany's chest, "Come on, honey," she was crooning, fishing out a potion and uncorking it with her teeth.

Hawke crawled over, using her hands to slow the bleeding and leaving Isabela to pour the potion down her sister's throat. She felt the shadow of Fenris behind her, but ignored the elf in favor of her sister, "Come on, Bethany. Beth. Mum will kill me if I don't get you home. Come on." Her hands were saved from trembling by the pressure she was putting on the bandage.

The younger girl's cough was the most beautiful sound Hawke had ever heard, even if it did come with a splatter of spit and healing potion onto her face. "Mari?"

"'atta girl," Isabela stroked Bethany's hair. "Think we can get you home now?"

Trying to breathe shallowly against the pain of her wound, Bethany nodded, "Help me up." She pushed herself up weakly with her good arm.

Still kneeling on the ground, Hawke said, very quietly, "Fenris, are you hurt?"

"I am unharmed," the elf said, a trace of pride in his voice at having escaped unscathed.

"Good. You can carry Bethany." Pushing herself to her feet, she went to her previous kill, putting her foot on the creature's head and ripping the blade out from between the bones in his neck. The blade was nicked, she noted, a distant part of her mind cursing the need to buy a new one. Isabela was riffling quickly through the pockets of their victims, and even she was being less thorough than usual.

Fenris was supporting Bethany on one side, and Hawke glided in to the other, smiling at her sister encouragingly as she hooked an arm around her waist to help hold her up.

"Aw, honey, they broke your little stick," Isabela bent to pick up the shattered remains of Bethany's staff.

Another piece of equipment they'd need to replace. They walked in painful silence for a short while before Fenris shifted uncomfortably under Bethany's arm, "Hawke?"

"Where were you?" Her voice was cold, and she didn't look over, though only the width of her sister's narrow shoulders separated them.

"I was able to separate their leader. He put up more of a fight than I had anticipated."

Hawke gave a slight nod, falling silent again and still refusing to look at the elf. Behind them, Isabela let out a low whistle, "Someone's in trouble. Is there going to be a spanking?" Even the pirate's voice was a little tight.

"Let's not fight right now," Bethany's voice was breathy with pain, and groggy with the potions. "Just want to go home."

They walked in silence a few more minutes, until Bethany's feet slipped and she stumbled, crying out as her half-healed wound started to bleed again. "Stop." Hawke obeyed instantly, helping Fenris lower her sister to the ground. For a moment, the mage simply laid there, eyes closed. Then, a faint green glow covered her skin.

Fenris's lyrium lines flared to life and he sprang back with a hiss.

"There we go," Bethany said weakly, her wound knitting closed in a few heartbeats. Then, she promptly passed out.

"Andraste's tits," Hawke swore, brushing her sister's hair away from her face, "At least she could do that much. We're going to need to set up camp."

Isabela looked around, "It's too open here. That cave with the creepy crawlies we passed?"

Hawke nodded, reaching to scoop her sister up again, grunting at the suddenly dead weight.

"I have her," Fenris's lines were still fading, but he shouldered Hawke aside and scooped the mage up easily.

They spent that night huddled in a cave, waiting for Bethany to recover. No matter what Isabela did, she couldn't get her two conscious companions to speak, and finally, the pirate went off to stare at the water, muttering into a flask she'd had stored somewhere very creative.

She hadn't spoken to him in a week. There had been jobs; Fenris knew there had been jobs, but Hawke hadn't said a word to him. Even at the Hanged Man, she barely acknowledged his presence, concentrating only on her cards, or her drink, or whatever vulgar tale Isabela was spinning.

It wasn't until Bethany came back, pulling him aside to thank him for carrying her up the coast that Hawke finally deigned to acknowledge his presence. Shoving her drink aside with enough force that only Isabela's ship-born reactions kept the mug from tumbling to the ground, Hawke stood. "Don't you dare thank him," she snarled at her sister, storming from the tavern.

With only a frustrated glance at Bethany, Fenris moved to follow her, gliding through the door even before it could shut.

Hawke's angry steps took her to the docks before Fenris finally stopped shadowing her and stepped up beside, "You are angry with me. You have been angry with me."

"You were supposed to watch her. I left you to watch her." Her blue eyes never left the water, and the breeze whipped her hair around her head.

"Their leader was alone; I had a chance to-"

"I don't care what you had a chance to do. I told you to watch my sister and you left her alone. She could have died, Fenris!"

"The mage-"

She whirled, and the motion was so swift and unexpected that her slap caught him full in the face, the flair of his lyrium in reaction lighting the whole area. "She's my si-" her words ended in a gasp as he caught her wrist in one of his clawed gauntlets, gripping tight enough that the small bones ground together.

"Never strike me," Fenris's voice was cold. "I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I am sorry your sister," his sneer was obvious in the fading blue light, "was injured. It happens."

"It wouldn't have happened if you'd listened to me. We had a plan, Fenris," she didn't struggle against his grip, concentrating on keeping the pain from her voice.

"I am not your slave, to follow your every whim. I have not traded Danarius for you, no matter that you are a prettier package."

Growling in frustration, she finally gave in to the urge to try to pull her wrist away, and he loosened his grip but did not release her, "Is Aveline my slave? Is Varric? Is Bethany?" Seeing his dark eyebrows draw together in confusion, Hawke pressed him, "No, but when they're following me, on my jobs, they listen to me. They follow my orders. If you can't handle that, I can't trust you at my back."

"And what will you do? Go without a swordsman?" Leaning closer, he pushed her back against the short wooden railing, "You are not that skilled, Hawke." He lowered her hand, but did not release her wrist, rather seeming to have forgotten he was holding it.

"I'll think of something. I can't put Bethany at risk like that again. I can't. I can't lose her, I- Fenris," the anger died, "I can't." The last was a choked whisper.

The sudden change in her tone brought him up short; he tilted his head, regarding her, "Why?"

"Why do you think I'm doing this?"

"I know you live in Lowtown. I assume you wish to move yourself somewhere more secure."

"Not me. Them. Fenris, this is all for them. They're all I have left; Beth, my mother, it's all for them. If I lose one of them, then it's all for nothing. If you can't help me do that, I'll find someone who can."

He was silent, staring at her under the moon, trying to meet her eyes through the drifting curtains of their hair. She was pressed hard against the splintered wood railing, back arched slightly as he kept her pinned there. Did he want her to trust him? It wasn't the first time he'd considered that, considered if he wanted her to come for him when she had a job. It would be easier to walk away, easier to make his own way. More profitable, too, he suspected, with Hawke's generosity and strict morals.

"You're hurting me."

"What?" He gave a start, looking at her in confusion.

She twitched her wrist again, and he released it as if he'd been burned. She didn't leave, however, merely reaching back and steadying herself on the railing. They were silent, staring at each other for a long minute, then she looked away, down at the rough planks. "I'm sorry I hit you."

He nodded, stepping away to put his hands on the railing, standing beside her for a moment. "I am not used to working with others. All I know how to do is fight alone."

"I know. But you have to try. If you want to stay with us."

The breeze shifted, and he caught the faint scent of Hawke's hair over the pervading stench of fish. It was a strangely comforting scent. Not flowery, but strong and subtle; his mind whispered that it was the smell of confidence, but he banished that ridiculous notion. If that is what he thought, it was only because it was her smell, her confidence. Finally, he vowed, "I will not let it happen again. I will follow where you lead."

Tension she hadn't known she was feeling drained from her, and she let out her breath in a long sigh, raising her bruised wrist to push her hair back from her face. Shoving herself off of the railing with a grunt, she nodded, "Good. I'd hate to have to start dragging Aveline with me on all my side-trips."

Fenris sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a movement too subtle to see by moonlight, "We shall be doing more questionable jobs, then?"

"Oh, that's not it." No light was needed to know that she was smirking; she was the first person Fenris had ever met who could smirk with her entire body, from the tilt of her head and stance of her feet, to the tone of her voice.

"Then what?" He was walking beside her as they left the filthy docks and their stench.

Slowing, Hawke leaned back to give him a smug look, "You have a much nicer ass." When he coughed, she laughed aloud.