“This is madness,” his voice was rough and the low growl that caught in his throat was hardly contained, “you’re going to waltz in and put yourself at risk? Again? And for what, Hawke?”

The silence that filled their room was nearly suffocating. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Hawke, turning away so that there was no vulnerability displayed.

It’d been a long time since he addressed The Champion as simply Hawke. Their relationship had grown closer, more intimate since the events at Kirkwall.

Still, his fury was uncontainable.

“What has The Inquisition done for you? For us?” he knew it was a bit unreasonable, especially given that Varric was personally asking for Hawke’s help, “do you truly think I would allow you to—“

“Allow me?” Hawke’s voice interrupted.

Fenris knew immediately that he spoke poorly. The position he was taking, while in his mind was protective, easily came off as possessive.

“I don’t —“ he hesitates, “I cannot lose you. I refuse.”