The best part of any battle, even a battle with crazy blood-mages and Tevinter slavers, was looting. As Isabela was so fond of saying "If we kill them, we get their stuff." Hawke liked stuff. He made it a point to sort through all the stuff and pack it away like a magpie after every fight. He left most of the gold to his companions. It's not like he needed it anymore. But stuff...that was a different thing altogether.

He was finding good stuff today. An amulet that Anders might like. Some armor straps for Fenris. Some pretty stones. And some torn trousers. Hawke started to shove them all in his pack.

Something about the trousers made him pull them out and look at them again. A sudden thrill ran down the back of his spine. Was it...them? The pair he'd been looking for all these years? It couldn't be. The sound of an argument caught his attention and he shoved the trousers into his pack to look at later.

Fenris had killed some dark-haired woman and was ranting about mages. Anders was arguing with him. Hawke figured he'd better do something. He patted Fenris on the shoulder.

"I don't want you comforting me!" The elf yanked out of Hawke's grip and stormed off.

Anders winced. "I hate to say this, but someone should probably go after him."

Hawke was back at his pack, digging for the trousers he wanted to examine. The others gave him a significant look. "Hmmm? Oh, right. I guess that's me."

It took them a while to get back to Kirkwall. They'd had to stop for a bit and rest, taking the opportunity to grab a quick bite to eat as well. Hawke tried not to fidget. He wanted to go through the stuff he'd found, particularly the trousers, but everyone was watching and he didn't want to display them until he was sure. Once they made it back to the city, Hawke headed over to Fenris' mansion. It seemed to be empty. He looked around half-heartedly, shrugged and headed home. Surprisingly, Fenris was waiting for him in his own foyer.

"We didn't know where you'd gone." Hawke smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

Fenris launched into a diatribe about Hadriana and mages in general. It seemed he did want to be comforted, after all. Hawke smiled and and put on his best 'I really feel for you' expression. He did a lot of nodding and agreeing, tossing out lighthearted comments that he hoped would defuse the situation. He wished Fenris would just finish what he needed to say and go home to drink. The sooner Fenris left, the sooner Hawke could check out the trousers he'd found. When the elf finally stopped ranting, Hawke reached out to pat him on the shoulder again. "So you're just going to leave, then?" he said, hopefully.

Fenris howled and shoved Hawke against the wall. Hawke blinked stupidly at him, only to crack his head against the panelling when Fenris dove in and bit at his lips, kissing him fiercely. Hawke was dumbfounded. What was this about?

Oh, right, the comforting thing. Gamely, he relaxed as his mouth was thoroughly ravished by a glowing elf. Fenris was actually a pretty good kisser. Okay, a really good kisser. He gasped as Fenris ground their hips together. Comforting, right. Hawke could do this. He could be very comforting. He reached around to grab the elf's ridiculously lithe ass. The elf, who was a really, really good kisser. In fact, for the first time all day, Hawke forgot about packs and treasure and trousers. He didn't even think about trousers when his own were puddled around his ankles while a snarling elf pounded wildly into his ass. He was moaning, face smashed up against the wall and when Fenris came, deep inside of him, his own orgasm shook his whole body, shooting onto the woodwork. Bodhan's going to love cleaning that up, he thought wryly. He didn't have much time to dwell on it, since he was being thrown – thrown! – onto his bed.

He knew Fenris was strong, he'd have to be to swing that tree-trunk of a sword around the way he did, but being tossed across the room like a rag doll came as quite a surprise. Well, there'd been quite a few surprises today. And apparently, there was also going to be quite a bit of coming. He found himself with his legs thrown over tattooed shoulders while Fenris swallowed his cock. Then climbed up and started slamming back into Hawke's increasingly pliant ass. Lots of coming. And screaming. There was also screaming. The good kind. Hawke wasn't exactly sure how comforting any of this might be, but Fenris was definitely getting something out of his system. Repeatedly.

He wasn't sure if he finally fell asleep or passed out from a combination of dehydration and exhaustion. He woke up feeling sore and sticky with his mouth tasting like old shoes. He was scratched, bruised and still naked. For some reason Fenris was dressed and standing by the mantle. The elf was fretting about something, something he seemed to have forgotten or just remembered. Something about a mistake. Hawke was still having trouble processing coherent thought, and the main thing he kept dwelling on was how soon he could get to his pack and look for those damn trousers. He tried to say things he thought were witty and appropriate, without letting on that he was only half listening. Eventually Fenris rushed off, obviously upset. Probably left a kettle on the fire at home or something. Alone at last, Hawke grabbed his pack and dumped it on the bed.

No. No, it couldn't be. The trousers were gone. Hawke was frantic, searching through every item he'd scavenged, turning his pack inside out, even checking the clothes he'd been wearing, his coat, his boots. Nothing, (oddly, the red smalls he'd been wearing were nowhere to be found). He let out a wail of despair. How could this be happening!

The door to Varric's suite burst open and Hawke rushed in, looking particularly frantic. "They're not here. I can't find them."

"Find who? What? You did catch up to Fenris, didn't you?" Varric was playing cards and drinking with Isabela and Merrill.

"Fenris? I found him, he's fine." Hawke waved dismissively. "I'm looking for my trousers."

Three sets of eyebrows went skyward.

"You're wearing your trousers, sweet thing."

"What?" Hawke looked down. "No, not these, the trousers I found when we were looting yesterday. I need those trousers!"

"Fenris is fine? Just fine? Did you talk to him?"

"Yes, Varric I talked to him. He's fine."

"Erm, Hawke, do you know you have...bite marks all over your neck? I'm just asking because I think your tunic is on backwards, and you've got bite marks. And, umm, scratches." Merrill was peeking down the back of his collar.

"Ooh, bite marks. Hawke, what did we miss? Just how fine is Fenris?" Isabela adopted that purring tone she used whenever she was talking about sex. Which was almost always.

Hawke twisted around for a second before he realised there was no way he could see the back of his own neck. "Right, Fenris is fine. We had sex. A lot of sex. Then he left. Something about a mistake. That's not important – I can't find my trousers!"

"Left? He just...left? He dumped you?" Varric stared at him incredulously. "So, wait a minute, Hawke, are you telling us you managed to land and lose the hottest piece of ass in Kirkwall..."

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Rivaini, second hottest piece of ass in Kirkwall, in under twenty-four hours?"

Hawke frowned. "Um, yeah, I think that sounds right."

"Because of another pair of torn trousers. See, this is why I tell stories, because real life just too unbelievable."

"Umm. Yes?" Hawke realised everyone was staring at him with various expressions of amazement. "They're not just any torn trousers, Varric. It'sthem, the pair I've been looking for all this time." His gaze got a bit fevered. "The One True Pantaloons." He pronounced each syllable with a kind of passionate reverence.

"You're shitting me. I thought those were a myth." Varric looked impressed.

"The One True Pantaloons? Is that some kind of relic? A pair of Andraste's lacy knickers or something?" Isabela cocked an eyebrow at them.

"Oooh, aren't those the pants that funny dwarf in Hightown is always ranting about?" Merrill clapped her hands together. "But didn't you find those already? That pair in those dreadful tunnels under the Gallows?"

Hawke glowered. "Those were fakes. But this pair is real, I'm sure of it. And now I've lost them."

Varric looked over his shoulder. "Go check your pack Rivaini, I'll look through mine."

Isabela had nearly reached the door when it swung open in her face. Anders brushed past her. "Hawke, just the person I was looking for. I think you left one of Barkley's toys in my pack." He held out a particularly ratty wad of cloth.

Hawke gasped. "The trousers!" He rushed forward and threw his arms around Anders. "I could kiss you right now."

Anders turned bright pink and pulled away. "You can't keep teasing me like that and expect me to resist, Hawke," he muttered.

Hawke was clutching the at wad of fabric with an expression of glee on his face. "Resist? I don't want you to resist, I want those trousers on the table, now!"

Anders gasped and threw himself back into Hawke arms, kissing him wildly. He said something about disasters and love and leaving a door open tonight then rushed off. Odd. But then, Hawke was having an odd kind of week. Fortunately, Anders had dropped the trousers in question when he'd dived into Hawke's arms.

"At last!" Hawke scooped up the fabric and shook it out, oblivious to the stunned expressions on the faces of his friends.

"Well, that's it," Isabela threw up her hands. "Hawke has officially lost his marbles."

"Oh, has he?" Merrill frowned. "But he had such a whole huge box of them in his study. How could he have lost them?"

"Never mind, Daisy. Okay, Hawke, let's see these trousers you're so excited about."

Hawke laid them reverently on the table, smoothing out the wrinkles and arranging them just so.

"Hawke, those are the ugliest pants I've ever seen." Varric shook his head.

"Just what are the One True Pantaloons, anyway?" Isabela crossed her arms as she regarded the purple and bright orange paisley monstrosity Hawke had just displayed.

"I heard they glow when darkspawn are near."

Isabela smirked. "They're already glowing, Varric. It's called clashing. As in, these colours are clashing."

Hawke shook his head. "No, no, that's just a myth. They don't glow, but they do fit anyone who wants to wear them. Doesn't matter what size you are."

"Who would want to wear them?" Isabela's smirk turned to a grimace.

"That's just it, they're loaded with magical enhancements! They double your elemental resistances, raise all your attributes by a factor of 5..."

"All your attributes?" That purr was back.

"...increase your stamina by 10..."

"Mmm, this is sounding better by the minute."

"...regenerate health by the second and give you +5 extra suaveness."

"Ooh, try them on Hawke, I can't imagine what extra suaveness would look like." Merrill bounced eagerly on her toes.

"Let me," Isabela grabbed the pants. "I'm not wearing any pants as it is, so let's see what they do." She shimmied into the trousers, which fit her like a glove. A hideous glove, but still a glove.

"Go on, Isabella, say something suave." Merrill giggled.

Isabela turned in a slow circle, wiggling her ass all the way around. "So, how are my attributes looking?"

"Not bad, Rivaini, that shouldn't have been suave, but for you, not bad."

"Okay, let's try the resistances." She stuck her hand over the candle on the table, right into the flame. "Hah! Nothing! I didn't feel a thing! Hit me with a cold spell, kitten." Merrill scrunched up her nose and blasted Isabela with a Winter's Grasp. The pirate gave a little shiver then started laughing. "Amazing!"

She pulled the trousers off, tossing them to Merrill. "Your turn, kitten."

"Oh dear," Merrill pulled the pants on over her leggings. "I'm sure this won't be very suave. I don't think I know how to do suave." Sure enough, they fit her perfectly. She leaned against the table. "Well?" There was something elegant about the way she rested against the edge of the huge wooden plank, nothing like her usual endearing yet awkward manner. She seemed more limber, somehow, relaxed and even a tiny bit sultry.

"Wow, Merrill! You look positively delicious!"

"Really? Oh, my." Even the colour and pattern somehow seemed agreeable once the trousers were actually being worn. She giggled. "I've never felt delicious before." She wiggled out of them, ears a bit pink.

Isabela pulled her close. "Kitten, you are always delicious. And don't let anyone tell you different."

Hawke, forgetting he wasn't wearing any smalls, dropped the pants he was currently wearing (much to Isabela's delight). Varric and Merrill politely looked away while Hawke pulled on the Pantaloons. Once again, they were a perfect fit. He held his arms out and turned back and forth.

"Well?"

"Let's put it to the real test, Hawke. Give it your best shot. Say something that's supposed to be clever but just comes out stupid."

Hawke frowned. "Varric, I'm hurt. I thought you appreciated my devastating wit."

"Huh. That was actually kind of suave. Never thought I'd see the day." Varric shook his head. "You win, Hawke, those really are The One True Pantaloons."

"Maybe you should get Anders to try them on when he comes to see you tonight," Merrill beamed. "Poor man, he's always so grumpy. He might feel better with a little bit of suaveness."

Isabela laughed. "Oh, I'd love to see that. Or even better, Justice trying to be suave. You have to try it, Hawke. And tell us all about it!"

"That sounds like a pretty good idea, actually." Varric rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It would make a good story, that's for sure."

Hawke frowned. Oh, right, Anders had said something about stopping by later. He switched back to his own trousers, once again forgetting about his smalls. "Sure would be nice to see Anders cheer up a bit. He's always on about that mage thing of his. He could use a vacation, actually. You'd think that last trip to the Deep Roads would have lightened him up a bit. Change of scenery and all." He shrugged. "I'll give it a try. That man is just so hard to please."

"I'm sure you'll think of something." Isabela was purring again.

"I should have mother make some pastries. He loves pastries. She can make up a nice basket for him to take back to the clinic. Or a sandwich. He could really use a good sandwich." Hawke packed the trousers away carefully. He wasn't taking any chances on losing them again. He made his way back to the estate, making sure to leave the door unlocked. He couldn't wait to to get Anders into his pants.