Author's Note: This is my first attempt in years at fanfiction, but my love of the Dragon Age series (and particularly one broody elf) has prompted my delving into it once more. This story has canon and non-canon aspects, though I tried my hardest to stay true to the personalities of the characters as best I could. Rated M for some violence and language, sexual themes (more so in some chapters than others), as well as an illusion to non-con. rape. This is a work in progress that I'm doing in my free time, but I fully intend to complete it in the near future. Any feedback is very much appreciated!

Guilty Pleasure - Chapter 1.

"Fenris," She breathed, pulling her gaze from the leather bound book in her lap. She was seated near the fire, it's warm light casting long shadows across her face. She had reacted to the noise of her chamber's door being pushed open, and now stared at the bowed head of the elf who stood in her doorway. He lifted his face just enough to peer through the fallen strands of white hair, green eyes dancing with the glow of the flames. Confusion and what he happily recognized as pleasant surprise was present in her expression, a faint smile gracing her lips. "What are you doing here? It's rather late. You do know we have an assignment tomorrow, right?"

He didn't answer, but proceeded to stalk quickly towards her, determination etched into the hard lines of his features. In one fluid motion, he took hold of her shoulders and hoisted her out of the red velvet chair, sending her book tumbling to the floor. Once standing he brought her closer to him, leaving only a sliver of space between their bodies. He didn't dare pull her flush against him, knowing he was unworthy of her touch. A small cry of pain escaped her lips. His clawed gauntlets were digging into flesh through the thin robes she wore due to his unintentional intensity. He loosened his hold of her immediately, the last thing he wanted to cause this woman was more pain.

Slowly, he worked up the courage to look into her face. Thankfully no anger or resentment showed from his transgression. Instead she simply looked more confused than when he first arrived unannounced. She opened her mouth to speak, shooting panic through him. He needed to say what he had come to, before his bravery vanished once again like it had so many times before. He couldn't afford to let her speak first, not without risking the hours of attempts he had made just to walk through her front door.

"I am sorry for my intrusion at this hour," He began, cutting her off before she could utter a syllable, "But I cannot wait another moment to speak to you about this. It has taken me far too long to be able to do so."

Barging in on the limited time she had for a quite moment alone was something he hated to have to do. She had been far too good to him these past three years, put up with far too much of his nonsense. Calling on her at this late an hour was just one foolish action of many. Why she had continued to seek out his company, during missions and in their off hours at the Hanged Man, he could not fathom. He knew if she had cut him completely out of her life, he would have deserved nothing less. Yet here he was. Intruding into her home, her bedchamber no less, the very place he had so wronged her, and she didn't bat an eye. He doubted that he ever could posses the same level of patience as her.

Peering down from her befuddled face, he focused his attention on her hands, pressed against his breastplate from the rough assistance standing she had received. He took one of his own from her shoulders and placed it over her hand closest to his heart. His tan skin covered her pale, which was decorated with numerous nicks and scars; mementos from battles and practice sessions with her daggers that had long since past. They only made her more beautiful to him, proof of her resolve to keep fighting, even when wounded. Her hands felt remarkably soft, despite the raw strength he knew, had witnessed personally, that lingered in the muscles and tendons that lay beneath. She felt just as he had remembered from their one night together, so long ago yet fresh in his mind as if it had been yesterday. He recalled the feel of an individual finger, gentle and light as a spring breeze, tracing each of the lyrium veins that ran down his neck, his arms, his back, his chest. He felt a pang of longing deep within him. How he wished he could feel that touch again, even if just once more.

No, he shook himself. That same longing was what had gotten him into this predicament. He needed to focus.

"Fenris?" A shiver ran through his body at the sound of his name on her tongue. He didn't respond immediately, hoping he could coax her into saying it by remaining silent. She complied with his unspoken request, tilting her head down and under his, brightest blue looking for emerald green, as she said again, "Fenris?"

Finally acknowledging her questioning tone, he tore his eyes away from their touching hands, and looked into her eyes. He couldn't help but let a small smile raise the corners of his mouth. She alone had that power over him, to make him feel happiness in any situation, even if the world seemed in chaos around them.

"Yes, my friend?" He answered.

"You wanted to say something?" She asked. If she had been confused before, now she was completely perplexed. She looked on at him expectantly, calmly waiting for him to continue with what he had come to her so late at night to say. Curses in Arcanum flew through his head at himself. How long had he stood there, looking the fool, holding her in place as he relived a memory? Seconds? Minutes? Surely not hours, though he knew the possibility for him to get so lost in such a moment was there. He steeled himself. If he was going to have any chance of feeling the way he did that night again, he had to say it, and say it now.

"I did. Yes. We have never-" He began. Why did his throat suddenly feel like ash? It seemed his body wanted to make this just as difficult as his mind did. Clearing his throat he continued, sounding slightly hoarser than usual. "We never discussed what happened between us, all those years ago."

"You, well, you didn't seem to want to talk about it." She replied, her face falling, turning her head from his view. He watched as color rushed to her cheeks, and reprimanded himself once again. Was it not enough that he had already hurt her physically tonight? He had to make her feel embarrassed as well? That was the last straw. Taking his remaining hand from her shoulder, he cupped the side of her face, gently turning her towards him.

"I was a fool," He professed, "I was weak. I couldn't bare facing my memories alone, and I couldn't stand the idea of pleading for your aid. Not for something as simple as reminders of a past I'm trying to be rid of. I ran. I ran like a scared child, because I was too proud to accept that I needed you so. I thought it would be better if you hated me, rather than see me so vulnerable."

"That night we spent together has haunted my sleep ever since. I remember your touch as if it were yesterday, and ache to feel it again. I know that I squandered the precious gift that is your trust. I seek your forgiveness, and, if you'll have me, a final opportunity of redemption. I can never hope to be the man you truly deserve, but I promise you this; Should you accept me, I will stand by your side, unerring, from this day forward, until the end. The Maker himself will be unable to separate us. I will never leave you again."

As he paused for a moment, he looked away. He focused his gaze into the fireplace to their left instead, terrified at what he was about to propose. However he hated the outcome it could bring, he knew that it must be said. He would not force her to endure him if she did not wish to. Stomach churning, he continued, "And if you do not have the ability to forgive my transgressions, which I myself do not know if I could do, than I make another promise. I will leave your chamber, your home, and we will never have to speak of this or that night from now on. I will offer myself as a silent, faithful companion, my sword ready to fell any who would stand in your way. If that is too much of me to hope for, than I would never darken your company with my presence again."

He waited, still looking into the burning logs of the fire as they cracked and popped. The silence between them seemed to stretch for ages, each second more painful to bear than the last. Finally, after what felt like eons but was more than likely mere moments, she sighed. His head jerked up, looking at her once more, anticipation and fear certainly painted across his face, though he cared little. All that mattered was what she would say with these next terrifying words.

"Fenris," She had said his name again, softer and more tender than he had ever heard it spoken. Dare he think that there was more than simple kindness and pity behind her tone? "I always thought that you regretted - that you felt like I had been a mistake."

"Never!" He exclaimed, far louder than he had intended to. He took her face in both hands now, looking at her with the glare of a man possessed. She startled at the shout, but relaxed almost immediately. He continued, quieter now, though still with the same mounting intensity that only grew as he spoke, the words coming far easier than he ever thought possible, "You were - are - the most beautiful thing to come into my miserable existence. I never fully understood how much someone could mean to me before you stepped into my life. You have stood by me since the day we met, even though the occasion of our meeting was due only to lies. I have done nothing but brought you trouble since then, both in battles that should never have involved you and in your bedroom, for Maker's sake! Yet here you are, as steadfast and kind as ever, though I give nothing but grief in return! If anyone should regret what happened between us, it should be you, Marian Hawke. For me, it was the best night of my life, and I will feel that way about it until the day I die."

His chest was heaving at this point, the passion from his words enough to knock the wind out of him. Dropping his hands from her face, he stepped back from her. He needed the space between them, for if she refused him, turned him away from her chambers and her life, he didn't know if he would be able to let go of her should they still touch.

Again the silence between them stretched on for what seemed decades. He held himself there, a living statue, terrified to move least it give her cause to reject him. She stood equally motionless, face still flushed, but with the look of someone with too many thoughts in their head all at once. Slowly, she raised her arms from her side, crossing them over her chest. With horror, he watched her turn, facing the wall her elegant four poster bed rested against. She did not move. She did not speak. She just stood, her back to him in pointed silence.

Grief, more painful than he had ever known, worse than that which he had felt the night he walked away, overcame him. His head fell again, arms hanging limply at his side. "I understand," He choked out over a lump in his throat the size of an apple, "I will not bother you any longer." Turning, he took the first few agonizing steps towards her door, realizing it would be the last time he would ever do so.

Before he could move more than a few feet, however, he heard quick movement behind him. He turned, and saw Hawke coming at him, a wild look in her eyes. She grabbed him by the shoulder joints of his armor, pulling him roughly towards her.

"Fenris," She growled, intensity hotter than the sun burning in her face, her eyes, her touch. Her short black hair flew into her eyes, but she made no attempt to correct it. "Be honest. Is it true? Is everything that you just told me true?"

He was taken aback, quite shocked by this side of her. "Every word," He answered, with more sincerity that he had ever known.

"Prove it to me," She wasn't asking. She was ordering. "Prove it to me this instant, Fenris."

"How?" He asked, overjoyed that he was being granted a chance to show her the extent of his affection. "Tell me, and it is done!"

She did not speak, but let go of his cuirass, instead taking hold of both his hands. She pulled him further towards her bed, until she was backed against one of it's posts and he was pressed full against the length of her. Winding a hand into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling him down while her eyes closed, she kissed him hard and sent fire through his nerves. How long had he wished to feel this again? Her hand around his neck, her soft mouth against his own, the feel of her thigh as it moved against his. It all culminated together in a building desire in his lower stomach that stretched ever farther throughout his whole body. Yet something was nagging at the back of his mind. It didn't feel right. Was he taking advantage of a delicate moment?

"Hawke," He breathed against her, finding it hard to focus from the way she ran her free hand up and down the opening in the back of his armor, "are you sure you want to do this?"

She let go of his head then, pulling her mouth away from his, and lifted the lids of her eyes. "You swore to me that every word you spoke was the truth." She stated plainly.

"And it was!" Fenris insisted, grabbing her arms once more, shaking her slightly in spite of himself. "I have never been more honest with someone than I was moments ago with you!"

A hungry smile spread wide across her face as she lifted the hand that had been in his hair to his face, cradling his cheek in her palm the same way he had hers. He closed his eyes and moved into her touch, relishing every moment his skin contacted hers. "You told me, in those same moments, that you would never leave me again. Did you mean that truthfully as well?"

"With all of my being, and everything that I am," He whispered, not a moment's hesitation in his words.

"Then I have nothing to fear, and nothing more to ask for," She said in response. "All I will ever need in this life and the next, is you by my side. But for now, I want to know just how much the night we spent together meant to you."

"And I don't want your answer in words," She blurted, cutting off Fenris before he could think to begin to answer her question, "I want a demonstration."

That was all the reassurance he needed. His troubled gaze turned to one of pure lust, matched in intensity by the one Hawke wore as she looked into his eyes.

"If that is what you wish," He growled, a devious grin parting his lips, "Than I am more than happy to oblige."

With that, the world melted away and it was just she and him. She torn at the buckles of his armor, throwing it piece by piece on the floor haphazardly, kissing him hard all the while. Stripped down to his leggings, his hands finally free from the accursed gauntlets, he reached for the knot that held her robes closed. His nimble fingers made quick work of them, and soon she stood before him in nothing but her small clothes and breast band. He barely had time to take in the beauty of her curved hourglass figure before she had shoved him backwards onto the mattress. He laughed loudly as she fell on top of him, his arms reaching around her, holding her tightly to him as if he never intended to let go. She laid her head against his collarbone, allowing a brief rest from the whirlwind that had brought them onto her bed so quickly.

She stretched out on top of him, as his hands ran up and down her body, insistent on committing the feel of every inch to memory. "I've dreamed of this moment," He said, the gravel in his voice rich with want, "For such a long time."

She raised her head to look at him, black hair once again in her face. This time however, Fenris raised a hand and gently brushed it from her eyes to better see the crystal blue. "So have I, Fenris." She breathed, "It feels like it's been -"

What Hawke was about to say, Fenris would never know. A tremendous crash sounded out over her words, and he sat bolt upright with a start. Pain shot through his neck as he tried to shake the fog out of his head. The room had suddenly become much darker, cooler as well, as if the fire that had just been burning had been out for some time. And where was Hawke? Hadn't she just been lying there with him?

The same crashing noise came again, this time with the hissing and yowling of two cats, fighting over Maker only knew in the ally outside. It was then that Fenris realized he was holding something in his hand. Thin where he gripped it, and widening outwards, he heard a swish of liquid come from inside as he moved the object around. A bottle of nearly empty wine. He sighed, realization quickly flooding his head. He leaned forward in the hard wooden chair with elbows resting on his knees, the bottle still in hand. He was situated in front of the remains of a small fire that had died in it's hearth hours ago.

A dream. A beautiful, perfect, torturous dream. He tried his hardest to recall as much as he could, grasping at straws of the brief euphoria his mind had allowed him while in the Fade. Snapshots of Hawke's face, her hands, her exposed, rounded hips danced around in his head, though the flow of how they ran together was already a distant memory.

He had hoped, he remembered now, that the alcohol would make sleep come to him easier, without thoughts of Hawke plaguing him. It had worked, at least as far as sleep was concerned, seeing as he had passed out with his head thrown over the back of the chair. No wonder there was a sharp pain whenever he moved his neck. Unfortunately it seemed that he couldn't escape his demons in a sleep fueled by copious amounts of drink, as Hawke had invaded his dreams once again.

He grumbled and forced himself from his unintended bed, quickly realizing the dream had affected him in the waking world as well. Stumbling over the discarded bottles of the other sleeping aids he had employed from earlier that night, he yanked and pulled at his leggings, which he noticed with slight embarrassment had grown considerably tighter than usual around his groin. Finally freeing his legs from the tangled mess of leather, he cast them off onto the cold tile floor. Apparently he had already seen to removing his tunic earlier in the night, though where it had been discarded he couldn't fathom at the moment. With a huff, he dropped himself in his small clothes on his back into the mess of furs and blankets that covered the bed. He looked over at his hand that still clutched the original wine bottle, shrugged to himself, and brought the glass to his lips. The remaining liquid was gone in a matter of a few short gulps. Pulling back his lips at the bitter dryness of the wine, he lobbed the now empty container across the room. Reveling in the sound the shattering glass made against the wall and tile as it fell, he tugged a loose covering over himself. He swore he could still feel the touch of her hand lingering on his face, and took guilty pleasure in the sensation.

Disappointment and anger at his failed attempt to have a single night of peace racked through his wine fogged mind. Of course her image would follow him into the Fade, how naive was he? She dogged his thoughts every waking moment of the day, and most nights previous. Why did he think more than his usual amount of alcohol before bed would make any difference? Stupidity. Pure stupidity on his part. If anything, the extra bottles seemed to have made his visions of her more vivid. Now all he had to show for his new found efforts at an uninterrupted sleep were a body part that would not relinquish it's interest in what had happened in the dream and a hangover to look forward to in the morning.

"Good," He thought to himself bitterly, "I deserve it after what I did to her."

Three years ago. Three years ago he had walked out on Hawke. Left her undressed in her bed, confused and visibly shaken by his sudden insistence on leaving. He had flat out refused her offer to try and work things out. After intruding into her home, taking advantage of her trust and practically forcing himself on her, he had been too much of a coward to fully explain why he acted as he did. She had been the one and only person he had ever known who made any attempt to understand him, to see where his rash anger and bitter temperament came from, rather than just distance herself from him. She was the only person who had looked upon him with kindness and sympathy, who had tried to help him talk through his past torments as a slave. He had abandoned the one person he hoped never to allow harm to come to.

She had been unwaveringly loyal, helped defend him from those who would steal him away, force him back to Tevinter, back to that bastard Danarius. She had been forgiving when he had betrayed her in the Fade, if only momentarily, all for the false promise of enough power to make his former master pay. She had even offered to be by his side in the damned slaver holding caves, after all he had done to her on that night. He was weak. He knew he needed her there with him, and so accepted her company.

While there, she had seen him spit venom in the face of Hadriana, promising her mercy for information, and then literally crushing her life in his hand, his grudge against her too deeply seated to ignore. And what had she done? Not chastised him for his falsehood, not shied away from his murderous glares and blood covered hand, still clutching the pulped mass that had been Hadriana's heart. She had reached out to him, placed a gentle hand on his arm, and given him even more undeserved understanding and comfort, only to have it shoved back into her face by him. He had shaken her away just as he had before, just as he had sworn time after time that he would never allow himself to do again. When he went to her to apologize for his unleashed anger at her expense, again she had forgiven him, without a moment's hesitation.

He stared up into the tattered canopy of his bed, running his tattooed fingers through his mussed hair, and felt something other than his skin brush past his temple. He raised his hand above him, and with a pang realized what it had been. There, still tied around his right wrist, acting both as a token of happier times and penance for the pain he had caused who it belonged to, was the small slip of red fabric.

He had ripped the cloth piece off of the sheet that covered them that night. He remembered the event clearly, remembered holding her tightly to himself. Her head rested on his chest while he watched her bosom rise and fall gently as she breathed in her sleep. The smile she had worn since they had collapsed into each other's arms still lit her face. The blissful warmth that radiated from her skin against his was more wonderful and comforting than any sensation he had ever known.

But the beauty of the moment was marred, disfigured by the memories that had flooded back to him such a short time ago. Memories of a past burned from him with lyrium had been present, but what troubled him more were those that came back from the time after Danarius had laid claim to him. The injustice that he had been forced to recall them while he had made love with this exquisite woman was insurmountable. Flashes. They had only been flashes, but they had been enough to send chills through his body and make him feel sick to his stomach, even with her soft caressing and gentle words beneath him.

Danarius, calling for Fenris to be brought into his chamber at some ungodly hour of the night. The door closing with a snap and hearing the bolt being set in the frame. A wicked smile and voice with only malice and cruelty behind it. His clothing being ripped from his body as he was thrown to his knees. His hair being pulled and face being slapped, as he remained motionless and compliant. Evil things whispered in his ears, false pretenses for loving words. Being shoved forward with such force that he had to catch himself with his hands on the cold stone floor. Pain that raked through his whole body, shooting up his spine and through all his limbs. His eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched, nails digging into his own flesh. Feeling the agony, wanting desperately to cry out, but knowing further torment would follow should he do so. Night after night of this torture, for as long as he could remember. Sometimes weeks apart, other times every night for days at a time.

Tearing himself back to the present he flew upright, rubbing his eyes with both hands. He willed the foul memories to disappear from his mind as best he could. He flung an arm out to his side, his hand connecting with yet another bottle, and clutched it. With fury like a caged animal, he hurled it too across the room with far more force than any previous. The shattering of glass was accompanied with the crash of some unknown object, but Fenris could care no less. The more destruction he could bring to the magister's old mansion, the better.

He tried to force himself to think of something, anything else. The wine still in his veins quickly complied, once again bringing Hawke's face swimming before him. This time, however, sadness shown through in her eyes, and he could see tears that clouded her vision. The night came back to him in full, and he could not tell if he was either too exhausted or simply did not care anymore to try and stop what he was about to relive for quite possibly the hundredth time. He laid back down, and fell into yet another memory.

She sat herself up on the edge of her bed, arms wrapped around and covering herself with the blankets. She had become suddenly much more modest when she had awoken, finding him already fully dressed and standing by the fire. Fenris scowled at this. Making her feel her body, her perfect body, was something that needed to be hidden was just the first of many wounds to be inflicted on her that night.

Recognizing the anger in his face, Hawke misinterpreted it's intention. "Was it that bad?" She asked with a small chuckle. She wasn't fooling him. The slightest edge of hurt in her voice could be heard, and he knew she was doing a marvelous job of hiding just how disappointed she was to find him like this rather than lying beside her.

"I'm sorry, it's not - ," he began, turning to face her fully, stepping back towards the bed they had just shared, "It was fine." As soon as the words escaped his lips, he knew he had chosen poorly. Fine? He had just experienced the most wonderful feeling he had ever known with this woman, regardless of the unwanted memories, and he called it fine? He glanced, and saw she had turned away, black hair shielding him from her view, as she looked off into a far corner. For an elf who prided himself on his exceptional vocabulary, he had chosen the worst possible moment to let it fail him.

"No, that is insufficient," He stumbled, trying to correct what had already been done, "It was better than anything I could have dreamed."

"Your markings," She continued, looking back up to him. Was that disgust in her eyes supposed to be directed towards herself? "They hurt, don't they? I'm sorry, I should have known better, I didn't want or – or mean to hurt you."

He was incredulous. How was it possible she thought she could ever do him wrong? He had been the one to come into her home unannounced. He had been the one to offer but a few paltry words to explain his intrusion. He had kissed her, none too gently in truth, pushed her against a wall, dragged her into her chambers with little more grace than a charging bull, and fallen on her. He had torn the clothes from her body and thrown her on the bed. He had given only the slightest afterthought to look at her and make sure she wasn't opposed to his advances. She, after all, had not asked for any of this.

Panting, with one hand grasping her thigh, the other wrapped around her back, clutching at her shoulder, he had looked into her face. He'd seen with a great thrum of satisfaction that she was breathing just as heavily as him, face flushed and eyes clouded with longing. She gave the smallest of nods, smiling up from the pillows. It seemed she had known exactly why he had stopped, and intended to put his mind at ease. Wrapping her hands around the back of his head, she pulled him close so as to whisper into his ear.

"I want this," Was all she said, and that was all it took. Before he knew it, he had given up all resistance, allowing the primal side of him to take over.

After all of that, after giving him so much, here she was. Concerned that she had caused him pain? How was that possible? It was as if she had been the one throwing herself at him. For this and an eternity's worth of reasons more, this woman was more than he ever deserved, and he knew it.

As terrible as it made him feel, knowing he was not worthy of her company made saying what came next the slightest bit easier. "It's not that. I began to remember - my life before Danarius - just flashes. It's too much. This is too fast, I – I cannot do this." At least it was partially true.

The weight of his words seemed to break over her. It took her a long moment to respond, and in that time, realization of what he was doing dawned across her face. The utter despair in her voice when she finally spoke next was enough to break his heart, had he himself not already done so. Damn his pride. Damn his inability to fathom opening himself up to her in the manner needed to remain by her side.

"We can work through this," She was begging him.

He needed to get out of there. Another moment and he would not have the strength to do so. The way her eyes began to fill with tears, tears he had caused, was more than he could stand.

"I'm sorry... All I wanted was to be happy. Just for a little while." He turned on the spot, eyes averted from her, and walked to the door. Once he stood flush with it, he paused, resting his hand on the frame.

"Forgive me," He whispered, sure it was too low for her to hear. With that, he whisked himself out into the hall, grasped hold of the brass doorknob and pulled it shut with one fluid movement.

He sank against the wood silently, leaning his head and back against the heavy oak door. With a ferocious pull at his heart, he recognized a noise he had only heard twice before; once when Hawke had lost Bethany to the Deep Roads, and again when Leandra was taken by the madman. Now he heard it again, because of him. A sharp yet delicate intake of breath, followed by what he knew were tears finally spilling from her eyes. She had done so well keeping them at bay while he was inside, but now when she thought no one else could hear her, they came.

That had been the moment, he thought, bringing himself back to the darkened bedroom with difficulty. That time he spent pressed against her door, listening to her sob because of him, was without a doubt the lowest point of his entire existence. Nothing Danarius ever did or could possibly do again to him would wound him as much as knowing that he had been the cause of her grief.

He wished he could work up the same courage he had in the dream. He would go to her in an instant, beg her forgiveness, try to set things right. He would gladly begin the long task of making up for all the pain he had caused her, if only he could bring himself to ask for the opportunity. But no, he couldn't. He was a coward who preferred to drown his sorrows in wine rather than face his mistakes. Besides, he though, it had been too long. Surely any feelings she had once possessed for him were long since dead. Years had passed, and he had taken too much time. She surely would not have waited for him. Maker knew he wouldn't have in her place.

And yet, despite all his self loathing and pity he tortured himself with, he bitterly admitted to himself that his decision to leave her was best. As time had moved on, he had come to the realization that the further Hawke was from him, the safer she would be. Even though it had lead to her anguish and sorrow, his abandonment meant she would continue to live. Danarius was still out there, still looking for him no doubt. He knew it was likely he would come for him soon. If Hawke was there when it happened, was still by his side when he came, what then? The thoughts that ran through his mind were enough to shake him to his core.

Sighing deeply, he resigned himself to yet another long night of disconnected images centered around her and his cruelty. He pulled the covering up to his shoulders, the faintest beginnings of a headache throbbing in the back of his skull. Hopefully he could sleep off most of this mistake by morning. Closing his eyes, he felt unconsciousness envelope him again. It wasn't long before he traveled the Fade once more, Hawke's face flitting in and out of his visions.