No one really questioned Fenris's abrupt appearance, as the members of Skyhold grew accustomed to the foolishness that Cole would bring through the doors of the mountainous sanctuary. The first war summit Hawke insisted that he join her, which he declined in favor of somewhere less important. As much as he detested the the idea of leaving Hawke's side after so long apart, he knew he had no business discussing the strategies of this Inquisition.
He instead decided to find the familiar company of a certain dwarf with a penchant for storytelling, and he knew just where to find him.
The sounds of the tavern could be heard across the training grounds, Varric sitting squarely in the middle of the ruckus. An elf with oddly cropped blonde hair sat to his right, a tall pint in her delicate hand. Beside her was a large dark haired and bearded man with a booming laughter that could be heard through his own pint. Fenris's eyes rested on the bulk of a large grey figure, two large horns with one eye covered with a leather patch. A qunari. His hand twitched towards his sword strapped comfortably to his back before he realized it was not there: Hawke had insisted that he leave it in her chambers, as he would not need it in the safety of Skyhold.
Besides, she quipped, the damn thing puts people on edge. You need to make some friends for once.
He tried not to smile as he remembered her teasing. That woman, however much he remembered he needed her, would truly be his undoing.
He made his way closer to Varric's table, finally catching the dwarf's gaze.
"And here he is in the flesh! I was just telling them how the kid plucked you out of Maker knows where to deliver you safely to our illustrious mistress Hawke. Any comments on your tale, Master Fenris?" he took a deep bow of his head, nearly spilling his pint, obviously deep into drink before Fenris arrived. It was good to see some things never changed.
"Only that I remember none of it, and that I find myself in the strangest company of my life," he crossed his arms unconsciously.
"Perish the thought! I'm wounded that you would believe that the wild adventures we shared would be no match for a spirit...boy...kid...thing!"
"I was cradled on his back and have no memory of it. I find that competes well with pirate whores of bygone days," Fenris couldn't help but smirk as Varric sputtered on the last chug of ale in his pint.
"Yeeeeah. The kid does that," the qunari slammed his drink down harder than he meant to, now looking at Fenris, "You'll get used to it soon though." He was shocked to see the beast had such manners, let alone a decent sense of humanity. The "bull" as he called himself, barely even sounded like a true qunari, with his Fereldan accent and actual sentences not comprising of grunts, which made Fenris curious as to how he got there. And why. Varric caught the questioning squint in Fenris' gaze.
"Ah. Perhaps some introductions are in order?" Varric cleared his throat, pointing to each character around the table and pairing them with their name and a quick bit of information. A warden, city elf, and Ben Hassrath. How on Thedas Hawke managed to find this lot was beyond him. A tall dark haired man walked up behind him, sitting down next to the Bull. He smelled of something that prickled the ends of Fenris's hair, almost setting his marks aglow. He couldn't quite decide why before he spoke.
"Now don't forget the pretty one. My name is Dorian Pavus of Minrathus. I'm sure we will have great fun charming the knickers off one another, though in the meantime, I require a stout drink," the man got up just as quickly as he sat down, lingering that burning scent in the air as he passed. That was it. He was another bloody magister. Fenris now realized why Hawke wanted to relieve him of his sword, as it took every ounce of his willpower not to run up to their chambers to grab it, picturing the bulk of it rammed in the gut of this filth. He didn't realize his marks were ablaze until Varric grabbed his arm.
"Maybe we could all use a stout drink, eh?" the glow of his skin subsided, knowing that now was not the time to paint the walls with blood. Perhaps later, after slipping blissfully into drunkenness he could rip the mustache from the bastard's grin and shove it up his-
Varric instead shoved a pint into his hands, offering him a cheers and sitting him down across the table.
Fenris was surprised at how easily he slipped into the familiar banter and chatter that always surrounded his old friend. In truth, he actually did miss the dwarf after he was whisked away by the seeker, and he actually was concerned with his welfare when he had been gone for so long. But running from the chantry was time consuming, particularly when the stakes were so high.
Never before had he been on the run with someone else. Running, hiding, these were things he was used to and could easily do again. But to have someone with him, someone who if he lost would crush him, changed everything. Where before he would take risks and deal with the consequences as they came, now he found himself worrying himself sick, constantly watching over his shoulder for those who might do Hawke harm. He never once divulged this weakness to her, never told her of his nightmares of watching a horde of templars end her life as he stood helpless and broken.
It was ironic, then, that the very place he was terrified of her coming to now became the very place he felt safest.
He could not pinpoint the exact reason why, but there was something about this castle in the mountains, something in the very bricks that formed it, that left him at ease. He found himself able to relax in the company of his old friend, even with these strangers now surrounding him.
Eventually the ale consumed became too much, and the old dwarf passed out, his snores muffled by the wood table. Fenris chuckled to himself. With the other companions now gone, it was now on him to return Varric to a more suitable resting place.
As he slid his hands beneath the dwarf's arms, ready to sling him across his shoulders, a soft touch slowed his movement.
"I'm sorry if I scared you. I want to help people. I hope I helped Hawke...she dreamed of you every night, so loud it hurt my sleep," a pale lad shrouded in an oversized hat peered through him with crystal eyes.
"You brought me back to Hawke. Whatever you are-however you got me here, I am grateful. There is no offense," the boy smiled as a reply, and offered his hand to help carry the remarkable weight of Varric.
"Varric missed you too. I can't bring her here, not to the seeker, not away from Fenris. That elf will kill us if anything happens to her," Fenris stared in disbelief, but was too tired from his long day and drink to ask whatever the lad had actually meant.
"The dwarf was right. I would kill anyone who hurt her," Fenris did not mean for it to sound like a threat, but the lad did not seem to have been bothered by it, so they continued on carrying their friend. They finally found a suitable bed and dragged him into it. Fenris did not linger, and instead made his way up to the battlements that connected the tavern to the high room in which Hawke had claimed as her own.
The air outside was crisp, wind biting his cheeks from the snow below. He guessed that no matter the season, there would always be snow in these mountains. Before the thought could chill him further, a dark figure resting upon the battlements caught his attention.
An elf sat cross legged on the thick stone wall, the height and precariousness of her seat not seeming to give her any trouble. She was gazing up at the dark cold sky, eyes alight from the stars that shone.
As he stepped closer, curiousity getting the better of him, she cocked her head to the side.
"You must be lady Hawke's guest. It is an honor to finally put a face with a name," she never took her eyes from the sky, which he found odd. He quirked one of his brows unintentionally, stepping closer as he replied.
"The honor could be shared if I had your name as well,"
"Ah. Forgive my mood. I seem to be in another world tonight. Call me Lavellan," she finally peeled her gaze from the stars to face Fenris, a grin now spreading over her cheeks, "But please for Andraste's shiny arse don't call me Inquisitor," such a response, and such a person, were totally unexpected. He could not help but return the grin, however foolish. How much ale had he consumed?
"Then I have you to blame for taking lady Hawke away from me in the first place,"
"There are many things that you can blame me for," her eyes drifted down, now over the battlements to the mountains below, "But I believe it was our mutual friend that wrote her and invited her up to my humble homestead."
A light flickered in the room near them, a candle lit within. Fenris glanced at the familiar shadow that the light created and his body unvoluntarily leaned toward it.
"Go on then, don't waste your night here in the cold when you have a warm woman to get to," the Inquisitor smiled warmly, though there was no mistaking a sadness that haunted her eyes. Fenris smiled awkwardly in reply, not knowing what words would be appropriate as a farewell given the strange conversation they shared. If it could be called that.
He strode off to the room that glowed with the promise of his beloved.
