A/N: Inquisitor Seldras Lavellan belongs to my good friend Shro!
Hawke was both more and somehow less than Nyssa had imagined.
She of course knew who the Champion of Kirkwall was. Everyone did, especially after Varric's tales of their exploits had sold hundreds of copies across the Free Marches. A copy had made its way into the Inquisition library, and she'd read it over a few days. The way Varric wrote, Kirkwall was a city of intrigue and exhilarating danger, where blood mages lurked around every corner and the Carta made shady deals in every back alley in Lowtown. In reality Nyssa knew Kirkwall was an overcrowded shithole, and it had only been getting worse since the Chantry exploded.
He was right about the Carta, though, and he insisted he was mostly right about Hawke. Even so it was odd to see such a well-known person doing something as mundane as having a pint in a tavern. Especially a grubby old place like the Herald's Rest.
Cassandra laughed a little too loudly, and Nyssa tried to hide her grin behind her cup. She never considered Inquisitor Lavellan and the Seeker to have much in common, but here they both were hanging on to Hawke's every word. They'd kept the woman talking almost non-stop since she'd arrived with Varric, and gradually Nyssa had faded into the background of their conversation...but that was alright. She was content to drink her wine, listen and take the measure of the Champion herself.
"I shit you not, Sprout," Varric laughed, "it was a disaster." He slapped his hand on the table for emphasis, then took a gulp from his cup before continuing. "We're on the floor, ass over teakettle, and the elf looks down at us and says, 'You got started without me.'"
"Nobody ever believed Fenris had a sense of humour," Hawke said, as Seldras laughed. "But he did."
Fenris.
The name jumped out at Nyssa, drowning out the rest of the conversation.
"You know Fenris?" she asked without thinking, and four pairs of eyes turned towards her.
Hawke looked at her from under dark brows. Nyssa didn't miss the split-second glance at Varric before she answered.
"I assume we're talking about the same elf. Unless it's a common name, like the elven equivalent of...I don't know, Aedan or something."
"It's not an elven name," Nyssa said. "It's Tevinter. Was he tall? Brown skin, white hair? With markings on his flesh?"
Varric's eyes widened in surprise, then he chuckled.
"Marigold!" he said, and put down his pint. "You do know the elf."
"They say it's a small world," Hawke replied, and shrugged. "I haven't seen him since we left Kirkwall. That was five years ago now."
A mixture of hope and wistfulness made Nyssa's heart speed up a little. She remembered Fenris well; not merely from his unique appearance, but from the connection they made. However brief it had been, and however long it had been since...she still remembered, and thought of their days together fondly.
"I met him once, around four years ago," she said by way of explanation. She gave a bare-bones recounting of their brief adventure, and although she left out the more intimate details, she could almost hear Varric's ears pricking up.
The conversation didn't stay on the topic of Fenris for much longer. Within ten minutes it was back to Corypheus and the dangers of red lyrium. With her wine finished Nyssa excused herself and practically fled from the tavern, where the orange glow faded into blue-black, and the smoky haze into cool night air. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
"Fenris meant something to you, huh?" said Varric from behind her.
Nyssa turned around and regarded him with an exasperated glare.
"Nosy dwarf," she said, and he laughed. "You couldn't leave it alone, could you?"
"Aww, don't look at me like that, Marigold."
"How am I supposed to look?" Nyssa replied irritably. "I don't want this getting around Skyhold. I already get enough mockery as it is."
"They're just curious about you, Marigold." He patted her arm, an uncharacteristic show of affection. "You know you can be a little...uh…"
Nyssa snorted. "Prickly?"
"Exactly. You know what humans are like. They want to know they can relate. So," he said, and smirked. "Was it a whirlwind romance?"
Nyssa relented. "It was only a few days. He was in trouble from a group of slavers on the road to Ostwick. His ability, with his hands, it wasn't working like it should. He let me…" she paused. "Renew is the best word, I suppose. Renew the magic."
"And he let you?"
"He took some convincing."
There was more to it than that, of course, but there was a limit to her comfort with sharing. Varric knew that; by his expression he was dying to probe her for more information. If she spilled it would end up in his next novel, no doubt...but if she didn't, he would probably write to Fenris and get the truth from him.
Then a sudden, brilliant idea came to her.
"Varric."
"Marigold."
"If you know how to reach Fenris…"
Varric smirked.
"I knew you would ask," he said. "I lost touch since the Seeker hauled me up to the Conclave. But," he added, at her sigh of disappointment, "I happen to know someone who might."
"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" Varric asked.
Nyssa stopped suddenly enough that a disgruntled maid nearly ran into her from behind.
"Really?" she said. "You're choosing this moment to ask that?"
"As your friend, I have to ask. Fenris...well, he has issues. A lot of issues, with magic, and with mages. You should have heard him and Blondie argue."
'Blondie' was Varric's nickname for the mage Anders, Nyssa remembered.
"It's not as if I haven't considered it," she replied, chewing on her lip. And she had considered it, in the days that followed their first conversation. She'd considered it so much it disturbed her sleep and distracted her thoughts, until she'd nearly fed someone a poultice in the healing tent just yesterday.
"Look," she said, and stepped up to the tavern door. "He's not a wild animal. He has had a difficult life, and perhaps he acted badly before I knew him. I can't hold him accountable for every mistake he's ever made, unless I want to do the same for myself. Now are we going to meet this contact of yours, or not?"
Varric smirked. "You'll be fine, Marigold." He pushed open the door.
Nyssa spotted the 'contact' as soon as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. There, at the back of the room, in one of the booths. A human woman relaxed against the wall, booted feet on the table. One hand held a clay mug; the other held a dagger in position with two fingers. The point of the weapon ground into the wooden table, spinning like a top.
"Isabela?" Nyssa said, glancing at Varric. She was familiar enough with Fenris and Varric's descriptions of the woman. Who else but the Queen of the Eastern Seas could have a presence large enough to fill the near-empty tavern?
The woman straightened as Nyssa and Varric approached the table. She was dark-skinned, with curling black hair and shrewd brown eyes that looked Nyssa up and down baldly. The dim light flashed on the gold at her ears and neck.
"Varric," Isabela said, her lips curling. "Who is this pretty thing?"
"Rivaini, meet Marigold."
"Nyssa," Nyssa said. "Clan Ralaferin."
Isabela leaned forward until her breasts pressed on the table. Nyssa forced herself not to glance down.
"I'm here about Fenris," Nyssa said.
"Oh." Isabela sighed wistfully. "I miss that man. He had the most incredible a-"
Nyssa coughed.
"Armour," Isabela finished, then smirked. "You thought I was going to say something dirty, didn't you?"
Varric sat himself down and took a gulp from the woman's clay mug.
"Andraste's ass!" he said, grimacing. "What kind of piss are you drinking now?"
"I take what I can get around here."
"Never mind. Look, Nyssa wants to get in touch with Fenris. I figure you'd be the best person to ask."
"Last I heard he was wandering around the Free Marches killing every Tevinter with his magical fisting powers," Isabela replied, rolling her eyes. "He sent me a letter a month ago and all he could talk about was how many slavers he killed."
"Do you know where he is now?" Nyssa asked.
Isabela stopped spinning the dagger and flipped it with a practiced hand. She began to clean under her fingernails. A few seconds passed in silence.
Nyssa sat down directly across from her and leaned forward, mimicking the other woman's pose. Isabela glanced down, then up, meeting her gaze.
"What do you want in return?"
Isabela smirked.
"I like her," she said to Varric, and held out her hand. "No charge. I owe Varric a favour, anyway."
As soon as Nyssa placed the letter into Isabela's hands she wanted to snatch it back. What reason had she to believe Fenris even remembered her? It had been a few days, four years ago. If she changed her mind she could take the letter back, burn it and keep her feelings to herself.
Nyssa's hand twitched; Isabela raised an eyebrow, as if she knew what the other woman was thinking. Then she tucked the letter into her bodice and took another swig from her mug.
"Don't worry your pretty head," she purred. "I'll make he gets it."