She'd had too much whiskey for this. Or, perhaps she hadn't had enough. The elf was watching her with a knowing smirk, his lanky frame moving about the roof with a loose sureness. She could see this was a man — barely a man, definitely closer to a kid — who was used to getting what he wanted.

"Admiring our Commander I see," he teased. Avery watched him warily as he stepped jangly circles around her, kicking at chunks of broken glass. "Can't say I blame you. He is quite strapping, isn't he?"

Avery said nothing, partly because she didn't know what to say, partly because she wasn't exactly enjoying his baiting tone.

"Do you know him?" he asked. "Or perhaps you just want to know him?"

He laughed quietly, "You're certainly not the first. He has a whole fan club around here somewhere, following him constantly with lovesick eyes. I'm sure he's given every one of them a good rogering. At least I hope so. It'd be a waste if he hasn't."

She scowled at him, her vision slightly blurred by the liquor filling her head. The darkness was falling faster and faster around them, and soon a lantern or light of some sort would be required to see much of anything at all.

He stepped up onto the narrow top of the stone rail, balancing on one foot as he leaned boldly over the drop off. The sight made her incredibly nervous. The last thing she'd wanted to do was help scrape splattered elf up off the ground.

"Ah, well. He's gone now," he said. He balanced gracefully for another anxious second, and then hopped back off in a single smooth motion, landing as lightly as a cat. This was obviously the Inquisitor Varric had warned her about. Despite his cocksure attitude, the kid was definitely attractive, oozing charisma with every sly glance, every calculated move. The twin daggers on his back were purple with the reflection of the fading sky, and she saw the delicate lines of a faint vallaslin under his large, almost black eyes.

She remained silent. Varric had warned her to lay low and she had no idea what she should say to him when he inevitably asked who she was. Should she lie? If she gave only her first name would he be able to put two and two together? Most people who knew of the Champion of Kirkwall also knew her first name. But she couldn't have been the only Avery in Thedas.

"Oh shit, did I piss you off already?" he laughed again, apparently concerned by her silence. "I do that to people sometimes. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." In a disorienting blur his voice had gone from cocky and taunting to disarmingly genuine. Avery reeled at the sudden shift, but still kept her mouth shut.

"Anyway, I'm Mahanon." He held out that green glowing hand to her, watching her with dark, glinting eyes. "You can call me Anon. Or Inquisitor I guess, but I prefer Anon."

She took his hand and felt a vortex of energy confined within his grip, that green marking singing alarmingly with the song of the Fade. After a quick handshake she flipped his hand and held it in both of hers, inspecting the strange, glowing brand that pulsated in his palm. It churned and prickled, feeling alive. His fingers brushed deliberately against hers and rested there, his full lips curling in a sly smile as he watched her study the mark.

The sound of more footsteps approached quickly as someone ascended the stairs adjacent to the roof. A dark figure appeared, making a beeline straight for them. The black shadow of an intimidatingly powerful man slowly emerged into view, and Avery felt her heart begin scrambling against her breast, fluttering with an anxious ache. It was Cullen of course, apparently come to explore whatever he thought he'd seen standing on the roof. His steps slowed as he closed the distance, his face pale and wan even in the growing darkness. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, only that his eyes were trained firmly upon her, round and wide with what looked like cautious disbelief.

"It is you," Cullen said quietly, ignoring the Inquisitor for the first several seconds. Eventually his gaze broke away and fell upon Anon's hand in hers, and she dropped the hand guiltily, realizing a moment too late that the hasty motion only looked suspicious, and she had no reason to feel guilty about it in the first place. She noted a sharpness in his dark eyes as he turned to glare quietly at Anon.

"Ah, so you do know each other," Anon said in his sing-song voice, sounding completely unaffected by Cullen's pointed disapproval. "Well perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me this lovely lady's name, Commander? She hasn't said a word to me yet."

Cullen shifted his weight on his feet and swallowed hard. Avery was having a hard time looking straight at him. Floating blue blotches were blocking out her vision as though as all her blood had just drained completely out of her. She wasn't sure she could speak even if she wanted to; her throat felt as parched as the Hissing Wastes.

"If she hasn't given you her name, perhaps it is because she doesn't want you to have it," Cullen snapped.

She took a deep breath. This was not the way she envisioned any of this. She should be smiling, being polite, acting as unaffected and easygoing as Anon looked. He didn't seem to give a single shit about the daggers that Cullen was casting his direction. She tapped into the whiskey flowing through her veins and tried to loosen herself up a bit.

"Avery," she said finally, managing to keep her voice steady and pleasant. "Nice to meet you Inquisitor Anon."

"Oh, one or the other is fine. Both just sounds so formal," he said as he winked, a small, flirtatious flourish she only barely saw.

She smiled. It was as false a smile as she'd ever worn in her life, and Cullen's frown deepened further as his eyes flicked over to her. What was it she had practiced saying again?

"Knight-Commander. You look well."

He cleared his throat, and Avery could see his chest rising and falling quickly, enough to betray his own nerves. She was slightly amused by Cullen's reaction to Anon. He did not seem to care much for the elf at all, which was certainly not what she expected. Anon's reputation had preceded him thanks to Varric, but now she could see for herself that easy charm that probably kept his bed warm on a regular basis, as well as threatened the prospects of any other man in proximity. That wink especially had been pure Isabela.

"It's just Commander now," Cullen croaked. She forced herself to look directly into his face, but with him standing with his back to the disappearing sun she found it almost completely obscured by shadow. She saw the outline of those golden curls, the graceful, muscled neck, and that regal bearing which was made all the more impressive by that pauldron of his. But the lack of light made the whole scene feel distant and dreamlike, and she relaxed slightly. Why had she been so afraid of seeing him again? He was just a man like any other. Perhaps it was just the combination of darkness and intoxication, but she found herself laughing softly.

Cullen cleared his throat again. "If you two aren't discussing anything of great importance, perhaps I might ask for a moment of your time?"

Anon sighed dramatically, "well I suppose, but I was really looking forward to—"

"Not you," Cullen interjected.

"Oh. Well that would be up to the lady, wouldn't it?"Anon asked brightly, completely unperturbed.

"That's why I was asking the lady."

Avery thought for a moment.

"I don't see why not," she answered, feigning nonchalance. She was increasingly pleased by her performance, but her heart continued to flutter as she anticipated being alone with him. At least it would be dark. At least she wouldn't have to look into his eyes.

The three of them just stood there, no one making a move to leave. Cullen sighed again.

"Inquisitor, do you mind?" he asked.

Anon rocked back on his heels, and then he bent slightly. Before she really knew what was happening, she felt that buzzing green hand close gently around hers, and lift up to his face where warm lips pressed a soft kiss onto the back of her hand. It was a bold move that completely caught her off guard and she had no idea why he'd done it. Perhaps the man was simply trying to antagonize Cullen. Anon gave a quiet bow and disappeared into the shadows behind them without even the trace of a sound. Avery was left reeling by the gesture, and Cullen's snarl was practically audible as he turned to watch the elf disappear.

They stood in silence long enough for Avery's heart to try to make an escape out her throat. She was sure he could probably hear her heavy breathing, suddenly feeling as though she couldn't get enough air. The brief, whiskey soaked looseness was gone, and now she was achingly aware that she was standing alone in the dark with the man who'd haunted the crushed remains of her heart. This was all coming way too fast. She'd only just arrived, she'd barely gotten settled in. She thought she'd at least have more time than a few hours before she had to face down her past. The night around her began to spin, and she was struggling to bring herself back into focus when he finally spoke.

"Where have you been?" he asked softly. "You just… left, and didn't come back."

She cleared her throat, but there wasn't one single answer she could think to say. She'd been everywhere. All across Thedas and back again, she'd been lost inside herself, lost at the bottom of countless bottles of liquor, lost for a short amount of time within Fenris's arms and big green eyes. And then lost alone, wandering across lands she didn't even try to identify.

She didn't trust herself to say anything in response.

"I was told you left with that elf friend of yours, the one with the blue marks. Is he… are you… um, I mean, are you here alone?"

"I am. I am alone," she said, finally finding her voice. I have been alone for a very long time.

He took a step closer and her breath caught in her throat. She was increasingly sure that any moment now her heart was going to burst through the walls of her chest. Her stomach had begun to churn, a vise tightening itself on her temples. She realized her body was completely clenched up and she made an effort to release her muscles one by one. First her jaw, then her shoulders, then her fists. How quickly she'd gone from faking a smile to feeling like she was going to empty the contents of her stomach all over his boots. With only darkness before her eyes now, she saw instead the well worn images of their last moments together, of the crushing emptiness that infected her soul after he'd unexpectedly broken things off with her in the Gallows. It was so long ago, but there before him in the dark, it all suddenly felt painfully fresh.

"Can we go somewhere with light? I… I want to see your face," he said. But she couldn't go anywhere except her quarters, and she didn't want to take him there. Where else could else she run to if she needed to escape? Instead she tugged on her connection to the veil and pushed forth a burst of mana, manifesting a crackling sphere of light over her hand.

She kept her eyes cast down, afraid to look at him. He took another step closer, and a tickle crawled over her scalp as he picked up a rope of her hair and pulled his fingers lightly down it.

"I like this," he said softly.

She was staring at the detail of his chestplate, shiny metal with rivets and seams gleaming out from under the red drapes of velvet. She recalled the words he'd said to her at the Gallows, deliberately bringing them forth in her memory to try to put some fire back in her blood. This person standing before him wasn't who she was anymore. She was stronger than this.

She took a step back, out of his reach, crunching her boot down on some shards of broken glass.

She should face him, get used to looking at him again. She'd need to be able to handle it the next time it happened so she could stop flailing about. Finally, she looked up.

He was, if possible, even more breathtaking than she remembered. For a fraction of a second she felt like she was standing on the ledge in Kirkwall, but for the small differences that somehow only made him more beautiful. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a thin scar cutting down the top of his lip, marring the corner of that perfect curve that she'd spent so much time kissing. But it was strangely more of an enhancement than a detriment. She dragged her eyes away as she felt her body try to sway toward him, and drew them up to meet his amber gaze. The torment that she saw there was so intense that she gasped. Deep brown pools of vivid, raw emotion tore at her heart, and it was too much to take. She quickly extinguished the light in her hand and took another step back, placing more of the black night between them.

"It's been a long time," she began. "There's no point in pretending that we still know each other, because we don't."

She could think of nothing more that needed to be said, so she brushed past him, leaving him alone in the inky darkness. She numbly made her way back to her quarters, wobbling back to rest upon the door as it shut tightly behind her. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the table and gulped until the world began to spin, then stumbled toward the bed and let the mattress catch her as she fell.

She winced at the blinding light that forced its way through her eyelids. Those damn white mountain peaks seemed to reflect the full force of the sun ten times over, reflecting painful rays directly through her windows and onto her pounding head. She brought her hands to her temples immediately and just laid there, basking in the glow of her own healing. The pounding eased, the tight pain constricting her scalp drained away. She realized bitterly that if she wasn't a healer, she probably wouldn't be able to drink so much. There was no way she'd be able to endure an entire day of those pounding hangovers, which would probably have put her off the drink long ago. She'd tried not to overindulge, and most of the time she succeeded at that. But other times, when the trauma of her life reared its ugly head, her good friend whiskey was usually the closest friend around.

When she felt somewhat normal again, she rose and gave herself a quick wash in the washbasin, scrubbing her face and her teeth, dressing in a fresh pair of leathers. She was sure Varric would be making his way over at some point, and she was also sure she'd be seeing that strange little Inquisitor.

She opened her trunk and located an inkwell and some stationary, sitting down to finally write Fenris and let him know she had arrived in Skyhold safely. He would have wanted her to do so yesterday, but she still struggled sometimes to think of things to say to him that wouldn't inadvertently aggravate the hurt that remained between them. He would always be her friend, she knew that without question. And such a fiercely protective one at that, which was part of why she hadn't told him when she learned at the last minute that Cullen would be in Skyhold. As the only other soul who knew about the loss that had driven her to walk into the sea, he probably would have insisted upon coming along and not left her side for the entire duration.

If not for that day a year ago, she was certain that she would have let him come. She sighed to herself as she thought about how inverse those experiences with Cullen and Fenris had been. The first time she'd seen Cullen in four years, he was eye level with a child, smiling and laughing. And the day she knew she and Fenris had no romantic future, he'd been glaring hatefully at one.

They had found their way to a park in a town and sat in the grass, basking in the long awaited warmth of the sun. It was finally spring again, the trees bursting and verdant, and the air filled with joyful birdsong. Avery found herself smiling as she watched a small girl beside a puddle, sticking her finger in and freezing it solid, only to melt it and do it all over again. Sitting nearby with a book was her watchful mother, a look of pure adulation lighting up her face whenever she glanced at the young girl. Avery's smile had quickly turned to tears as she blinked back the memory of her own unexpected loss, and she glanced at Fenris, seeking the comfort he'd become so adept at providing. But instead of finding comfort, she was startled to see him staring at the child with a nasty sneer.

Avery nudged him, hard.

"Stop looking at her like that, Fenris." she'd hissed, horrified at his open disdain. "She's just a child! What is wrong with you!?"

"She should be in a Circle," Fenris grumbled, "Children cannot control their magic. She needs to be somewhere that she can be contained. Not running free, risking the lives of others."

Avery almost laughed. The Circles everywhere were falling apart, rebellions still rising up far and wide, even almost two years after the Chantry explosion. Several Circles had already fallen completely, taking their cue from Kirkwall. She knew Fenris still harbored his deeply ingrained resentment toward magic, even as he claimed to love an apostate himself, but she found herself sitting in utter disbelief, feeling a slow realization creep under her skin. It'd only been a year since the night she finally turned to him in the tent and found his mouth in the dark. She'd thought she loved him again for a little while, and knew that he loved her. But what she felt as she looked at him in that moment was not love. It was fear.

"Sure, just take the poor kid away from her mother, from her family and everything she knows, and stick her in a glorified prison with a bunch of strangers?"

"She could hurt someone," was all he'd said in response.

"I am walking proof that that is not always the case. And what if that was your own child? You really think they'd be better off anywhere but with the family who loves them?"

"I would not want a child with magic."

She did not feel that a child was in her future anymore at that point anyway, but accidents happened, the way it had with Cullen. When several weeks later she found herself relieved to the point of tears to start her monthly cycle, she realized that she had no desire to live in fear of another accident. How was it even possible that he could love her, possessed of magic as she was? What were his secret thoughts when she conjured up some spell to aid their travels? Everything about their relationship had suddenly been quietly called into question. He would be there for her through thick and thin, that she knew. Indeed he already had been. And when it came down to his own flesh and blood, she realized it was possible that he'd end up feeling differently than he expected to, but she still shuddered to think of Fenris blaming an innocent for something they couldn't help.

Six months later they'd peacefully agreed that she would leave him behind in a Tavern in the Southron Hills and strike out on her own for a little while. They'd found each other again eventually, but nothing had ever been the same between them, and any prospect of romantic entanglement was now completely, permanently squelched.

She picked up the quill and began her letter, keeping her text simple in case he hadn't had time to study his reading in her absence.

Fenris,

I made it to Skyhold safely. It is beautiful here, but the journey was rough. I hope you are well. Varric sends his regards. I miss you and will see you soon.

Hawke