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body div#devskin0 hr { }

Set between ‘The Dream’ & ‘Penchant for Violence’
“Rise and shine, Lanky!”

Disorientated, Fenris looked up to see Isabela sat on one of the benches he’d pulled over to the fire. She was a picture of ease given she shouldn't have been there at all. He scowled, unable to form a more suitable verbal response to her chirpiness. Of course she smiled back, winking playfully.

“You know how to keep a girl hanging, Fenris. I’ll give you that!”

With a groan he stiffly sat forward turning to glare at the dusky light creeping through the windows.

Late afternoon, he surmised, his mood darkening further to realise he’d lost a large portion of the day to his restless dreams.

“Wow, you don’t look so good.”

“I wonder why?” Fenris answered sarcastically, running a hand through his mess of dampened hair.

“I guess it might have something to do with that,” Isabela laughed, pointing to the bottle he still clutched firmly in his hand.

He eyed the familiar ornate label for an instant, unable to stop the sardonic grin from spreading across his face. “Agreggio Pavali,” he muttered.

“Any left?” asked Isabela, hopefully.

Fenris lifted the near empty bottle to the light and gently sloshed the dregs in answer.

“Pity,” she added with a pout. “Looks like the genuine article too, very expensive.”

Fenris couldn’t argue with that. The wine had been just one of the many treasures he’d uncovered over the past few days of waiting. Having been so angered by circumstance he’d ended up ripping into it like a terror, keen to dissolve his troubled mind in a drunken stupor. Clearly he’d succeeded, the faint pounding in his skull could testify to that – not to mention the hazy memories of cursing mages and the wine respectively into the early hours.

“The last time I had anything close to that percentage would have to have been the seven crates of Nevarrian Brandy. Some of the prettiest cargo I ever transported, though we were on the wrong course for nearly a week before I noticed.”

“Didn’t any of your crew notice?” Fenris asked dryly.

Isabela shook her head in answer. “Think most were probably as drunk as I was. You have to give it to the Imperium though, they certainly specialise in the beverages that make you blind.”

Fenris looked to the bottle again, his brow furrowing. “And the rest,” he growled. How often had he had to pour this vile concoction for Danarius’s guests? His former master taking great delight in how his appearance intimidated the other mage-fools.

Verimas asinu, he cursed angrily bringing the bottle to his lips and downing what little wine remained. He ignored the now stale flavour as it stung his tongue, enjoying the small victory the act signified.

Smacking his lips, he cast the empty bottle aside. “It’s good I can still take pleasure in the small things,” he added grimly, resting his head back.

“So,” Isabela began, “you’ve decided to hole up in here, have you?”

Fenris sighed, wondering why he hadn’t thrown her out yet.

“Why?” she asked clearly questioning his sanity.

“I like the view.”

“So do I,” she replied suggestively. That got his attention, no doubt as she’d intended. “Doesn’t mean it’s not a gloomy pile of shit, however!” she grinned.

Fenris’s eyes narrowed at her double meaning. “Is there some other place I should be?” he asked.

“Several by my count.”

“Name one,” he demanded.

“The Hanged Man.”

Fenris suppressed a growl as he got to his feet, suddenly eager to move. The Hanged Man was the last place he felt like being. “This is where I said I’d be,” he added in passing, reaching for where Lethendralis was leant against the wall.

“That’s why I’m here,” said Isabela, watching as he made for the door and pulled it open.

He paused briefly at her reply wondering whether to question it further but decided against it. His underlying fears and frustrations compounded by the last fortnight were already beginning to claw at his back, a foul side effect of having sobered up, he didn’t need anything else adding to that.

It was lighter than he’d expected as he looked down into the main hall. He’d cleared most of it, piling the scattered debris to the sides of the vast space, blocking all the doors bar the main entrance. If he’d had more to work with on that front he might have shored up his defences there too, but there was little he could do with the remnants of the hall’s main doors. Hawke had seen to that the night they’d cleared the place of demons. At least if the mansion were attacked he’d controlled the flow of his enemy somewhat, but right now, more importantly, he had somewhere to practise.

“You know it’s never wise to leave a rogue alone in your room,” Isabela mused, following Fenris out.

“Why? There’s nothing of value for you to steal,” he replied, not looking back as he made his way down the stairs.

“Not now there isn’t,” she grumbled. “If I find a stash of expensive liqueur, though, don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

“You won’t,” he assured her, striding out into the middle of the hall.

She leaned over the balustrade, resting her chin in her hands. “Who’s to say I haven’t already, I’ve been here a while.”

Fenris looked up at her for a moment, pulling Lethendralis free of its scabbard. “Would you still be here if you had?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she shrugged, “I guess you just don’t know how pretty you are.”

For a gloomy pile of shit, you mean, thought Fenris, rolling his eyes. “Or you haven’t told me your reason for breaking in.”

He scythed the massive blade through the air experimentally as he began to move. Each step positioned just so to help stretch out his stiff muscles. He found comfort in the rhythmic strokes, the sureness of the hilt in his hands. It was easier to keep his dark thoughts at bay like this - as long as he tried not to consider how this simplest of actions would have been impossible but for Hawke’s ‘care’. Repulsive as the idea was to him it didn’t stop it from being the case.

Asinu! He’d not even thanked her, not that she’d appeared to want his thanks, or opinions, or anything bar his sword arm.

He shook his head, briefly at a loss as to why this left him irritated. That she was so detached was hardly a loss. It simply emphasised the truth of the choice she had offered: Stay; fight; be paid, or leave - either was fine by her.

“I resent that,” said Isabela, cutting into his train of thought. He stopped and looked up at her again confused for a second before he remembered what he’d just said. “I simply pushed the door, is it my fault it opened?”

Like it would have stopped you if it hadn’t, Fenris remarked inwardly, irritated further by the niggling reminder of a warning Hawke had given him about that not so long ago: ‘The doors not locked – anyone could walk in.’

He began moving again, choosing now to ignore the presence that remained up on the balcony above him. Though he could feel Isabela watching him intently, surprisingly she said nothing else and moments later he forgot she was there at all, lost in trying to rationalise his tangled thoughts as he practised.

He was still waiting for the inevitable anger to return with his wherewithal. That it appeared to be in no rush was slightly disturbing. Nothing had changed. He was frustrated, yes, and confused by Isabela’s presence – though not entirely surprised - but why should any of that impact on the conviction that had quite literally driven him to drink a matter of hours earlier.

He knew it was the dream, if only the last seconds of it.

Though the memory of the night Riven had been murdered was still as fresh and vivid as it had ever been, holding a strong portion of the guilt he continually suffered, Hawke’s untimely appearance had overshadowed the potency of it - smothering his darkest memories in favour of a whole array of new concerns.

That she’d appeared at all troubled him most. That his sub-conscience could've dedicated that much time to her… it was maddening.

His swings became far more violent as he thought of the question she had put to him: Why do you linger here?

“Why indeed?” he snarled under his breath, swiping Lethendralis in a great arc over his head. As if he had a choice what he relived in dreams? - As if he’d ever had a choice.

Till now, his conscience whispered.

Fenris paused then, breathless from his efforts finding it impossible to reconcile the strangeness of such freedom with anything he knew to be true of mage kind. Why Hawke thought he would be in any way tempted to
remain was beyond him. Yet he still couldn’t get away from the fact that if he was honest with himself - he was.

He’d always thought himself a decent judge of character. Even as a slave, when all his thoughts were motivated by his Master’s needs, he could still tell who was honourable, and who wasn’t. He just hadn’t known that it mattered. He’d been surrounded by liars and murderers. Perhaps it was a part of his nature that had survived the lyrium branding, despite everything else being stripped away? It was mildly comforting to believe that not everything he was capable of resulted from Danarius’s meddling. That said, he’d never felt such an overwhelming mix of feelings toward any mage before.

Hawke’s recent endeavours and choices were undeniably contemptuous, the defence of the abomination notwithstanding, but her honest, forthright nature could not be denied. Fenris had seen the sincerity of her concern, an image simply mirrored by her appearance in his dream – a figure of compassion breaking into his psyche before the worst of that memory was relived.

Hawke truly hadn’t wanted to hurt him with her magic, a first to his knowledge, and miraculous too because she hadn’t. Being healed by her had been uncomfortable, but to say it was painful would be a lie.

His hand touched tentatively at his arm, doubting his belief in her capabilities even as he recalled her focus and unquestionable skill. All these years he’d lived with continual discomfort, the lyrium crawling beneath his skin leaving a residual ache that was only worsened by use. Since Hawke had healed him that ache had been lessened significantly and whether there was a link between that and his markings being so stimulated by her magic Fenris didn’t know.

He wasn’t fool enough to put it all down to luck. There was something about Hawke’s magic he was evidently susceptible to; that fact alone could make her as lethal an advisory as any mage ever could be.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Set between ‘The Dream’ & ‘Penchant for Violence’
“Rise and shine, Lanky!”

Disorientated, Fenris looked up to see Isabela sat on one of the benches he’d pulled over to the fire. She was a picture of ease given she shouldn't have been there at all. He scowled, unable to form a more suitable verbal response to her chirpiness. Of course she smiled back, winking playfully.

“You know how to keep a girl hanging, Fenris. I’ll give you that!”

With a groan he stiffly sat forward turning to glare at the dusky light creeping through the windows.

Late afternoon, he surmised, his mood darkening further to realise he’d lost a large portion of the day to his restless dreams.

“Wow, you don’t look so good.”

“I wonder why?” Fenris answered sarcastically, running a hand through his mess of dampened hair.

“I guess it might have something to do with that,” Isabela laughed, pointing to the bottle he still clutched firmly in his hand.

He eyed the familiar ornate label for an instant, unable to stop the sardonic grin from spreading across his face. “Agreggio Pavali,” he muttered.

“Any left?” asked Isabela, hopefully.

Fenris lifted the near empty bottle to the light and gently sloshed the dregs in answer.

“Pity,” she added with a pout. “Looks like the genuine article too, very expensive.”

Fenris couldn’t argue with that. The wine had been just one of the many treasures he’d uncovered over the past few days of waiting. Having been so angered by circumstance he’d ended up ripping into it like a terror, keen to dissolve his troubled mind in a drunken stupor. Clearly he’d succeeded, the faint pounding in his skull could testify to that – not to mention the hazy memories of cursing mages and the wine respectively into the early hours.

“The last time I had anything close to that percentage would have to have been the seven crates of Nevarrian Brandy. Some of the prettiest cargo I ever transported, though we were on the wrong course for nearly a week before I noticed.”

“Didn’t any of your crew notice?” Fenris asked dryly.

Isabela shook her head in answer. “Think most were probably as drunk as I was. You have to give it to the Imperium though, they certainly specialise in the beverages that make you blind.”

Fenris looked to the bottle again, his brow furrowing. “And the rest,” he growled. How often had he had to pour this vile concoction for Danarius’s guests? His former master taking great delight in how his appearance intimidated the other mage-fools.

Verimas asinu, he cursed angrily bringing the bottle to his lips and downing what little wine remained. He ignored the now stale flavour as it stung his tongue, enjoying the small victory the act signified.

Smacking his lips, he cast the empty bottle aside. “It’s good I can still take pleasure in the small things,” he added grimly, resting his head back.

“So,” Isabela began, “you’ve decided to hole up in here, have you?”

Fenris sighed, wondering why he hadn’t thrown her out yet.

“Why?” she asked clearly questioning his sanity.

“I like the view.”

“So do I,” she replied suggestively. That got his attention, no doubt as she’d intended. “Doesn’t mean it’s not a gloomy pile of shit, however!” she grinned.

Fenris’s eyes narrowed at her double meaning. “Is there some other place I should be?” he asked.

“Several by my count.”

“Name one,” he demanded.

“The Hanged Man.”

Fenris suppressed a growl as he got to his feet, suddenly eager to move. The Hanged Man was the last place he felt like being. “This is where I said I’d be,” he added in passing, reaching for where Lethendralis was leant against the wall.

“That’s why I’m here,” said Isabela, watching as he made for the door and pulled it open.

He paused briefly at her reply wondering whether to question it further but decided against it. His underlying fears and frustrations compounded by the last fortnight were already beginning to claw at his back, a foul side effect of having sobered up, he didn’t need anything else adding to that.

It was lighter than he’d expected as he looked down into the main hall. He’d cleared most of it, piling the scattered debris to the sides of the vast space, blocking all the doors bar the main entrance. If he’d had more to work with on that front he might have shored up his defences there too, but there was little he could do with the remnants of the hall’s main doors. Hawke had seen to that the night they’d cleared the place of demons. At least if the mansion were attacked he’d controlled the flow of his enemy somewhat, but right now, more importantly, he had somewhere to practise.

“You know it’s never wise to leave a rogue alone in your room,” Isabela mused, following Fenris out.

“Why? There’s nothing of value for you to steal,” he replied, not looking back as he made his way down the stairs.

“Not now there isn’t,” she grumbled. “If I find a stash of expensive liqueur, though, don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

“You won’t,” he assured her, striding out into the middle of the hall.

She leaned over the balustrade, resting her chin in her hands. “Who’s to say I haven’t already, I’ve been here a while.”

Fenris looked up at her for a moment, pulling Lethendralis free of its scabbard. “Would you still be here if you had?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she shrugged, “I guess you just don’t know how pretty you are.”

For a gloomy pile of shit, you mean, thought Fenris, rolling his eyes. “Or you haven’t told me your reason for breaking in.”

He scythed the massive blade through the air experimentally as he began to move. Each step positioned just so to help stretch out his stiff muscles. He found comfort in the rhythmic strokes, the sureness of the hilt in his hands. It was easier to keep his dark thoughts at bay like this - as long as he tried not to consider how this simplest of actions would have been impossible but for Hawke’s ‘care’. Repulsive as the idea was to him it didn’t stop it from being the case.

Asinu! He’d not even thanked her, not that she’d appeared to want his thanks, or opinions, or anything bar his sword arm.

He shook his head, briefly at a loss as to why this left him irritated. That she was so detached was hardly a loss. It simply emphasised the truth of the choice she had offered: Stay; fight; be paid, or leave - either was fine by her.

“I resent that,” said Isabela, cutting into his train of thought. He stopped and looked up at her again confused for a second before he remembered what he’d just said. “I simply pushed the door, is it my fault it opened?”

Like it would have stopped you if it hadn’t, Fenris remarked inwardly, irritated further by the niggling reminder of a warning Hawke had given him about that not so long ago: ‘The doors not locked – anyone could walk in.’

He began moving again, choosing now to ignore the presence that remained up on the balcony above him. Though he could feel Isabela watching him intently, surprisingly she said nothing else and moments later he forgot she was there at all, lost in trying to rationalise his tangled thoughts as he practised.

He was still waiting for the inevitable anger to return with his wherewithal. That it appeared to be in no rush was slightly disturbing. Nothing had changed. He was frustrated, yes, and confused by Isabela’s presence – though not entirely surprised - but why should any of that impact on the conviction that had quite literally driven him to drink a matter of hours earlier.

He knew it was the dream, if only the last seconds of it.

Though the memory of the night Riven had been murdered was still as fresh and vivid as it had ever been, holding a strong portion of the guilt he continually suffered, Hawke’s untimely appearance had overshadowed the potency of it - smothering his darkest memories in favour of a whole array of new concerns.

That she’d appeared at all troubled him most. That his sub-conscience could've dedicated that much time to her… it was maddening.

His swings became far more violent as he thought of the question she had put to him: Why do you linger here?

“Why indeed?” he snarled under his breath, swiping Lethendralis in a great arc over his head. As if he had a choice what he relived in dreams? - As if he’d ever had a choice.

Till now, his conscience whispered.

Fenris paused then, breathless from his efforts finding it impossible to reconcile the strangeness of such freedom with anything he knew to be true of mage kind. Why Hawke thought he would be in any way tempted to
remain was beyond him. Yet he still couldn’t get away from the fact that if he was honest with himself - he was.

He’d always thought himself a decent judge of character. Even as a slave, when all his thoughts were motivated by his Master’s needs, he could still tell who was honourable, and who wasn’t. He just hadn’t known that it mattered. He’d been surrounded by liars and murderers. Perhaps it was a part of his nature that had survived the lyrium branding, despite everything else being stripped away? It was mildly comforting to believe that not everything he was capable of resulted from Danarius’s meddling. That said, he’d never felt such an overwhelming mix of feelings toward any mage before.

Hawke’s recent endeavours and choices were undeniably contemptuous, the defence of the abomination notwithstanding, but her honest, forthright nature could not be denied. Fenris had seen the sincerity of her concern, an image simply mirrored by her appearance in his dream – a figure of compassion breaking into his psyche before the worst of that memory was relived.

Hawke truly hadn’t wanted to hurt him with her magic, a first to his knowledge, and miraculous too because she hadn’t. Being healed by her had been uncomfortable, but to say it was painful would be a lie.

His hand touched tentatively at his arm, doubting his belief in her capabilities even as he recalled her focus and unquestionable skill. All these years he’d lived with continual discomfort, the lyrium crawling beneath his skin leaving a residual ache that was only worsened by use. Since Hawke had healed him that ache had been lessened significantly and whether there was a link between that and his markings being so stimulated by her magic Fenris didn’t know.

He wasn’t fool enough to put it all down to luck. There was something about Hawke’s magic he was evidently susceptible to; that fact alone could make her as lethal an advisory as any mage ever could be.