Fenris paced the hollowed out shell of a manor, tracing and retracing the halls, lyrium itching in the branching lines that wove through his skin. He didn't know if it was restlessness, loneliness, or some other prickling of his senses, but it was easier to ghost through the halls in search of possible intruders than it was to attempt self reflection.

He picked up the same bottle three times, uncorking it, and each time placing it corked once more, in a new location. As sweet as freedom may taste, his stomach wasn't welcoming any sort of food at the moment, let alone spirits. There were good days and bad days, in his life of waiting for more Tevinter slime to crawl out from the woodwork. The good days allowed for a fair amount of bloodshed, and an even fairer amount of purpose.
Lately?
It'd been slow. There wasn't much for him to do, and Hawke only had so many errands to run that required a large sword and an angry elf to wield it. That he'd been left behind on several recent errands was probably due to his own growing restlessness manifesting in harsh words toward his companions. The inactivity had crawled under his skin, biting and writhing like a particularly vengeful wasp, and there wasn't much he could do for it except wait.
Endure.

Hope that the next time around, he'd be able to hold his tongue.
Fenris threw himself into a ragged chair, shaking a half-consumed bottle of wine violently for a moment and watching the bubbles swirl. Fainter than the tiny pops of fizzling bubbles inside the darkened glass, he noticed footsteps outside.

He made a soft, irritated noise and leaned back, listening to the muffled sounds of footsteps approaching his front door. It wouldn't have been noticeable in the day with so much traffic, but few stalked so late in the evening in Hightown.

If his ears were more mobile, they'd be flattened to his skull with irritation.

There were few people who would approach a broken-down mansion at such an hour, so his options were either 'Trap', 'Burglars', or 'Hawke'.

Part of him hoped for the first one, just for something to do that didn't require restraint.

Fenris prowled toward the door, the tension in his shoulders relaxing minutely when his sensitive ears recognized Aveline's voice. Since Aveline rarely (had she ever?) graced him with her presence voluntarily, Hawke must be leading the pack.

"So," The guardswoman started, voice muffled beyond the door, "you're getting Fenris, so we probably aren't dealing with any apostates. What's going on?" Hawke's reply was lost through the wood, but he could recognize that voice anywhere.

He hesitated a few feet from the door, gauntlet claws tapping together a few times as he considered just... not answering the door. Damn it all.

He exhaled, feeling his lips twist in a disgruntled scowl at his own weakness. He yanked the door open, glaring out at the trio from behind bangs that might be a bit more mussed than usual.

"Well?" He bit out, the twisting in his stomach both easing and renewing at the sight of his... friend. Lover... Whatever they were. He could still feel the red cloth press against the inside of his wrist, so they must be something, at least.

"Did we interrupt your beauty sleep" Varric teased, earning only an unamused, blank stare. Restraint.
"No."

"You know, it's been a few days since we killed something, Fenris, care to join us?" In spite of Hawke's light tone, his expression remained rather serious.

"The slavers are at it again." He seemed to say it half as much to answer Aveline's question as an encouragement for Fenris to come along.

It could have passed as a trick of the light, but a gleam of blue shuddered down the scarred tattoos at the mention of slavers, coupled with Hawke's hard expression.

"You know me well," Fenris answered, only half forcing the quirk of his lips at the offer of violence. Bloodshed - especially slaver blood - sounded like an excellent way to shuck the tense anxiety wrapped around his throat.

"I'll fetch my blade." He turned and walked back into the house, leaving the door open in invitation. (As if anyone would want to join him in this wreck of a house-) he brushed away the thought, quickly slinging his sword across his shoulders and heading back to the entrance.

"Looks like he could use a few more hours of beauty sleep" Varric mused, clearly still within earshot of the broody elf.

Hawke stepped in, not going too much further than the entrance. There was no reason to follow him in, if only because they would be leaving again soon. The man's voice was soft, barely on the edge of his hearing even as Fenris made his way back to the entrance. "He did... I'll... If there's time after this, I'll talk with him. ...I'm sure all of us have sleepless nights. We shouldn't read too far into it."

Fenris felt a faint pang of guilt, remembering that he'd only visited when the man's mother had died. Didn't even visit after he'd been skewered by the Arishok. But no - he couldn't return. It wasn't his place. He still had too much to finish. Too much baggage, and hate to try to insert himself into someone else's life like that.

He found Varric leaning against his door frame, musing about something with an unreadable expression. Avaline stood dispassionately outside the door, looking at the mess inside the foyer with something akin to exasperated disgust. Last time she'd tried to retrieve him, she'd stepped on a half-mummified rat carcass. Honestly, he'd forgotten it was there. It didn't smell, and blended in with the rest of the broken rubbish, so her indignant horror at the time had been entertaining.

It's not like he slept in the rubbish.

Varric looked up when the soft clink of Fenris's sword against armor heralded his otherwise silent approach. He seemed to consider saying something, eyes sweeping over tangled white hair, but reconsidered and remained blessedly silent.
For once.

He bounced himself up off the doorframe as Fenris slid up to stand at Hawke's side, and Varric made a grand gesture. "Shall we?"

Hawke nodded, more at Fenris than at Varric. "We shall."

The trip down to the docks was about as awkward as Fenris had expected. While their comments might include them, and Hawke frequently attempted to offer pointed questions to the group, the restless frustration kept eating at the back of his tongue. It was better to remain silent.

Hawke led them to the docks, scanning the area with a hand up against the last sunlight's rays bouncing golden off the water. Tall buildings kept the rest of Kirkwall shadowed in the afternoon, but the docks always had the loveliest sunsets.

Avaline commented as much, and Fenris ignored Hawke's dutiful snip against the smell of fish for his sake. There was no need. It felt forced.

Hawke seemed to sense the disinterest at last, shoulders slumping slightly. The next moment he perked up again, like a dog who had scented a hare. The man darted into an alley, a soft yelp letting them know he'd found his prey.

"Ah Marcus, here we are again. I think we both know what I want, so let's be quick, right?"

The three of them trickled into the alley behind him, finding the broad mage holding a smaller man against the wall by a fisted shirt. Fenris vaguely recognized him as the warehouse supervisor - a ratlike man who fidgeted far too much for his taste.

"I don't know what you're talking about," The man - Marcus - was quick to deny. His reedy voice trembled in a way that made Hawke's gaze sharpen.

"It's a bit late for that," he demurred, "we know you know something, it's just a matter of how much trouble you want to bring down before spitting it out.~" Marcus glared at them, lips thinning. Hawke backed off, brushing down the front of his shirt with a heavy hand that inspired a small flinch.

"Come on now Marcus. You know me! I always pay well for information. Or, of course, we could always just dismiss that fun part and go straight for the 'I'm going to make your insides into your outsides' part. I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a rush today so you'll need to make your mind up right about now."

Marcus shot an acidic look at Kirkwall's Champion, tucking his head in a belligerent gesture. "Southmost dock, some suspicious looking guys have been acting like they've got something to hide." He clicked his tongue, glaring at the other three and muttering under his breath. "Not like you're the first one to threaten my life over this shit. Everyone else this week is a regular, or part of Meredith's stock." Fenris watched as the pale eyes were drawn down to the tense flexing of clawed gauntlets.

"You tried to hide them," Fenris accused, metal scraping metal as his fists clenched.

"Fenris, maybe he doesn't know what those bastards are doing." Hawke dropped the man. "Doesn't make his decision any smarter, but we have bigger fish to fry. Come on." He pushed a silver coin into Marcus' hand and quickly started making his way towards the southernmost docks.

Fenris lingered a beat longer than Marcus was probably comfortable with, but did eventually turn to follow, letting the shaken man tuck the sovereign away. He practically prowled, stalking in their shadows with that unsettling anxiety focusing into something sharper - resolved.

There would be death on his sword, tonight.