Isabela's suite hardly passed for such a fancy name. As he had predicted it had only the barest of necessities, including a tattered dresser that had been repaired so many times that most of its materials did not even match anymore. There was a single bed, but as promised Isabela was rarely there to claim it, the one time she had Fenris had found her passed out drunk with a bottle in her hand, dangling over the side.

He had been comfortable enough on the floor, as long as he didn't think about what had likely marred the surface over the years. The character of the room perfectly suited the pirate, entirely utilitarian and serving every purpose she needed with not an inch wasted on pampered aesthetics or luxuries. Fenris wondered if this was how she preferred to reside because of the years she had spent aboard a ship and how similar her cabin must have been.

All of her glamor had been spent on her person, most of it in that pretty gold necklace that she wore, her living arrangements were all a matter of practicality. Except for the strange leather straps that hung over her bed, which had caused Fenris to tilt his head and eye them. They looked like a harness of some sort, or the bridle to a horse.

"What are those?" Fenris had asked when he ran out of plausible ideas for them.

Isabela had skirted around the question. "Oh those," she said with a start, "they're just decoration really."

"Odd decoration."

Now the leather harness bothered him every time he walked in, taking a moment to gander at them, and once even gripping them to get a sense of their strength. He suspected they would have well supported his weight, so he rationalized that perhaps they were for exercise, though he never saw Isabela actually use them.

Nights at the Hanged Man did not seem all that different from nights in the estate he had lifted from Danarius, save for the quality of the drink. The company could at times be pleasant and he enjoyed conversation with Varric, but there were times it was simply too much. At nights it could be difficult to sleep with the rancorous singing from below or the whores earning their keep from a nearby room. And the crowds often got to him. His first night at the Hanged Man had caused a swell of anxiety to clutch at his chest with a cold iron grip. After years of spending the nights alone the sights, the sounds, they were too much, overloading him and he'd been forced to call an early night. Though he could feel Varric's eyes on him as he retreated the Dwarf pleasantly said nothing.

Fenris wandered to the tavern below where the barkeep was polishing the grime from the tankards with a dirty rag. During the day time the Hanged Man was much more quiet and subdued, usually populated with sailors enjoying their precious few days of shore leave before they were swept back into the monotonous blue sea.

"Was some men askin' about you," the barkeep said without looking at Fenris, still fixated on the paradox of the tankard becoming more dirty when scrubbed with a filthy piece of cloth. Fenris's ears perked up and his eyes narrowed.

"Who? What were they asking?"

"Halfs and halfs about your friend to be sure. They asked how often you come in here, if they guess right at your friend bein' a sailor or pirate or some such."

Fenris could feel a soft glow of rage in his eyes. "What did you tell them?"

Finally the barkeep put the tankard down and looked Fenris in the eye, his face a mock of pain. "I told them this is a right establishment and if they have questions they can ask you themselves. I ain't in the business of sellin' whispers and losing customers. That's carta business that is."

"I see," was all Fenris could say. He tapped the bar to indicate he was craving a drink and the barkeep obliged, placing a fresh mug of warm beer before him. It was not Fenris's preferred beverage, but he preferred it to the horrible wines that the Hanged Man had available to them. He suspected, though, that he was simply spoiled by Denarius's selection.

Any further thoughts were intruded when the main door opened, causing Fenris to swing in his chair, letting out a sigh of relief when he realized it was only Hawke. Despite his status placing him well above the Hanged Man he rarely dressed the point, though tonight he was garbed in a kind of fine silk that made Fenris cock an eyebrow.

"You smell of peaches," Fenris noted as Hawke sat down next to him.

Hawke fidgeted until he was comfortable on the barstool, then groaned, looked down to see if he'd gotten anything on his clothes, then fidgeted again. "Yes, well," Hawke said, "now I smell of piss."

"Awfully dressed up for a night at the Hanged Man."

"I'm not staying," Hawke explained as he reached into his coat and retrieved an opulent looking piece of paper and placed it on the table. "I need your help with something." He unfolded the document, but the words on it meant nothing to the illiterate Fenris.

"I can't read, Hawke," Fenris said, a hint of shame and anger on his voice.

"I understand that, but you can speak. How much Tevinter do you remember?"

"Enough."

"Good." Hawke cleared his throat. "Horacious invited me to dinner. Everything on here is typically cordial, but the bottom of the letter seems Tevinter. I was hoping..."

Fenris stared, confusedly, at Hawke.

"If I read you the words can you tell me what they mean?"

"Maybe," Fenris said, eyeing the Tevinter script. "I haven't spoken conversationally in a very long time. And you'll probably muddy the accent."

"Well you're the only one I know that can help me decipher it and seeing as Horacious involves you..."

"Let's get this over with," Fenris said, a little more curtly than intended.

As expected Hawke struggled with many of the words. On more than one occasion Fenris was forced to interject and correct the man's pronunciation, though the Elf was forced to admit that they were likely guessing at the word at that point.

"Indi..ind...indoo...it?" Hawke stuttered.

"Inuidetur," Fenris corrected. "It means evil eye. Watched.."

Putting the words together caused a sudden snap in Fenris's head. He shook his head as he ran them over, disbelieving the words. His eyes wandered over to the barkeep.

"Say it all together again," he insisted as he imagined the men interrogating the barkeep.

"Tibi cum amico cauendum est, enim inuidetur," Hawke complied, the words coming off his tongue awkwardly.

Fenris growled to himself. "It's a threat," he said angrily. "It says, 'For you it is necessary to watch out with your friend, for he is being...watched..' He's letting you know he's tracking me."

"Why would he so overtly reveal his hand like that?" Hawke asked, glancing at the letter and shaking his head.

"Tevinter slave hunters are a boastful lot." Fenris tapped the letter. "Especially the wealthy ones. He probably thought you wouldn't be able to translate it, a little joke before he made his move. Besides," Fenris gestured to the bartender, "men were here...asking about me."

Hawke frowned. "Is that so?" he demanded of the barkeep. The man shared a look with Hawke, exchanging glances between him and Fenris before finally nodding.

"Aye, it's true," he acknowledged, "four men askin' what was the Elf's business, asking about his companion."

"Companion?" Hawke asked.

"Isabela," Fenris explained. "I'm staying with her until we resolve this Horacious issue."

"I see," Hawke said, the pain in his face evident. Fenris regretted the revelation almost instantly.

"It's not like that," Fenris tried to insist, but Hawke waved him silent.

"What were these men wearing?" Hawke demanded, his hazel eyes stern and intimidating enough to set the barkeep back a step.

"I uh," the barkeep stammered a moment as he recalled them, "they was dressed foreign messere. Lots of greens and blues, the biggest one had purple."

Hawke reached into his belt and plucked the coin purse from it, reaching in for a couple of gold sovereigns. "Let me know if they come back. They ask around too much, you let my friend here know and you hustle them out, got it?"

The barkeep eyed the sovereigns for a moment, his eyes glinting at his good fortune before sliding them off the counter. "You're a good man, messere."

"Just do it," Hawke reiterated. He then looked at Fenris. "You just be careful."

"That the Elikdos already tracked me here is disconcerting," Fenris agreed, shifting out of his seat with Hawke. "If he thinks he'll take me easily..."

"Don't go looking for them," Hawke warned, "I'm going to go meet with him right now, we'll talk when I'm done."

The moment felt heavy for Fenris as he watched Hawke leave. A large part of him wanted desperately to retrieve his sword and follow after the Champion, play the part of valet and see this Horacious for himself, but wisdom was able to temper his rash urges and with a long sigh he returned to his seat, content to wait for Hawke's report.

Not long after Hawke had left Isabela slid into the bar, graceful as ever, all beads and golden smiles.

"Isabela," Fenris said as she passed, grabbing her attention. "We have a lot to talk about."